"I will not detain you long—not longer, Señor, than you wish, though I think that when you have heard what I have to say, you may not be in such a hurry. The point is this. If—mind, I say ’if’—I knew the whereabouts of a letter in which your name is mentioned in connection with a little affair on the Barcelona road—you remember?—a couple of years ago?—if, I say, I had such a letter, that is, if I knew where such a letter was to be found, would it be worth anything to you, Don Miguel?" Pablo Quintanar grinned maliciously. He had been the victim for the past half-hour; it was now his turn. Miguel had done his best to dissemble his start of surprise and anxiety; but the man’s searching gaze was upon him, and though he replied with a show of confidence he felt that it was not convincing. "My name has no doubt been mentioned in a good many letters, my friend; but I am quite indifferent whether I am well or ill spoken of. Hard words break no bones." "That may be, Señor, but they sometimes break reputations, and you are dancing on a thin rope. But if I tell you that this letter also has a message about a sum of money hidden by the writer, how does that alter the case?" "I can tell you better if you inform me what the message is, and what the name of the writer is." "Well, I can tell you the name of the writer; it is the late Señor Alvarez." "Ah! I heard that a letter had been lost—that, then, was what you found instead of the plan. Do you know, my friend, that this places you in a very awkward position? You will do well to hand the letter over to me. The slightest whisper of suspicion—" The man glared viciously at the speaker, then snapped out: "You may be quite sure that as you are the only man who knows anything about it, I shall take care that you swing on the same gallows." Don Miguel shifted his feet uneasily. "You need not fear, my friend; I am not the man to betray you. I merely thought it would be safer for you if this letter were in my possession." "Oh, no doubt! but, Señor," added Quintanar with a harsh laugh, "I couldn’t allow you to take the risk—especially as the letter is of no value to you. I need not detain you, Señor." Miguel considered a moment, tapping the floor lightly with his foot. "What do you want for the paper?" "Well, Señor, I am not unreasonable. Let us say one thousand pesetas down and a quarter of the treasure when you find it." Miguel laughed softly. "Thank you, my friend! Before I pay a thousand pesetas I should like to know what I am paying it for." Quintanar, hesitating for a moment, slowly drew out a blue paper from beneath his jacket, and said: "What do you think of this? ’I am convinced that Miguel Priego was at the bottom of this dastardly outrage. Unfortunately, we have no proof at present that would satisfy a judge, but if any of the men who assisted him can be found and induced to give evidence it is still possible that he may be brought to book.’