"Do you know this Beauvallet, Father?" asked Philip directly. "I regret, sire, no. I knew his father by sight, but the sons by hearsay only." "A pity." Philip's smile died. He regarded the opposite wall for a while. "I do not see what El Beauvallet does in Spain," he said, and awaited enlightenment. It came from Porres. "The tale is very strange, sire, almost incredible. It is said--by the lady's cousin--that El Beauvallet came into Spain to carry off Doña Dominica de Rada y Sylva." Philip looked at him. It was plain that such a mad exploit was beyond his Catholic Majesty's comprehension. Father Allen spoke from behind the King's chair. "Beauvallet had no need to come into Spain if that had been his purpose." Philip nodded. "That is true. This is a very foolish tale," he said. "Moreover, it is impossible for such a man as El Beauvallet to enter into Spain." "As to that, sire"--Father Allen lifted his shoulders--"there might be ways of compassing it, if the man were bold enough." A new voice spoke from the door behind Philip. "A man in league with the powers of darkness could do it." A monk of the Dominican order had come in quietly. His cowl partly shaded his face, but his eyes shone dark and intense. He came further into the room. "I have thought on this, sire." He sighed heavily. "Who can say what such a man might do?" The faintest hint of a contemptuous smile flitted across Father Allen's lips, but he said nothing. "Consider, sire, what dreadful errand this man may have come upon," insisted Frey Luis in a hushed voice. Philip brought his gaze round to the Frey. "What errand?" he asked, puzzled. "Sire, how shall we say that El Beauvallet would hesitate to seek the life of even your Majesty?" Frey Luis folded his hands in the wide sleeves of his habit and fixed his eyes on Philip. Philip moved a paper on his desk. His brain turned this over and detected a flaw. "If such were his errand, Frey Luis, he would have made the attempt when I saw him in this room with only yourself present," he said. "Sire, who knows in what cunning ways Satan goes to work?" Don Cristobal interposed. "I do not think that this man is such a one, sire. I could more readily believe, from what I have seen of the man, in Don Diego de Carvalho's explanation." But King Philip was not at all inclined to believe in it. His matter-of-fact mind discarded it as the wildest of suppositions. "A test might be made," he mused. "A simple Mass, perhaps." Don Cristobal coughed. The dull eyes travelled to his face. "You were about to say, señor?" "The Chevalier, sire, has made the suggestion himself." Philip looked at the Jesuit. Father Allen spoke smoothly. "That is clever of him," he said. "But you should know, sire, that it is not so long since the Beauvallets were of the True Faith. It is almost sure that this man would pass such a test triumphantly."