The men had been all civility when he gave his mule into their hands on his arrival. What could be the cause of this unpleasant change of attitude? Jack was puzzled. Meanwhile he wanted his mule unhaltered and saddled, and though he was tempted to do it himself, and not trouble the reluctant servants, he saw that such a course would not improve his position with them. He knew the Spanish character too well to bluster or dictate. After a pause of only a few moments he addressed the same man quietly and politely, but with a firmness that admitted no refusal; and the servant, dropping his eyes, turned sullenly to do his bidding. A few minutes later, as he rode out of the courtyard, he met the alcalde, looking very angry and much perturbed. He was coming, evidently, from his interview with the commissary. He looked up at Jack as he passed, and half-stopped, as though hesitating whether to address him. Jack was surprised to note the same quick glance of suspicion in the alcalde’s eyes as he had seen in those of the stablemen. The official seemed to be on the point of speaking, but he gave a hurried and anxious glance towards the window of the commissary’s room, flushed hotly, and with a final dark look at Jack turned away. Jack rode on, feeling that the eyes of the whole inn were upon him, and possessed by an unaccountable sense of insecurity. The meaning of it all flashed upon him quite suddenly. The alcalde had seen him in close and apparently friendly conversation with the commissary. Their interview had lasted for a considerable time, and must have been talked about among the people of the inn. Every Spaniard must feel that no true patriot would hold amicable intercourse with a Frenchman, an enemy of his country, except under compulsion, and it was now evident to Jack that he was regarded as a traitor, perhaps a spy, selling the interests of his compatriots to the invader. The thought made him smile. "Shall I go back and tell them?" he said to himself. "They’d be surprised to find how the boot is on the other leg." But a moment’s reflection convinced him that to reveal his secret would not be politic, even if he were believed. There were too many Frenchmen about the inn to make it safe for him to enter into long explanations. Then another thought came which promised a spice of adventure. "I shouldn’t wonder if they follow me, and perhaps try to do for me. They will if they think I’m a French spy. I’ll take the Valladolid road first, and cut off to the left when I’m well out of sight from the town." Careful not to look behind, he rode slowly on until a bend in the road concealed him from the inn; then he jogged the sides of his mule and quickened its pace from a walk to a trot.