‘Ah! but we have no time to do things ill or carelessly,’ said the priest. ‘My story is a long one, but I will tell it as quickly as I can.’ ‘Take your time,’ urged the General soothingly. ‘This great plot, you say, which is to spread over all Spain—’ ‘Is for to-morrow night, my friend.’ CHAPTER XXV SWORDCRAFT ‘Rien n’est plus courageux qu’un cœur patient, rien n’est plus sûr de soi qu’un ésprit doux.’ THE General set down his glass, and a queer light came into his eyes, usually so smiling and pleasant. ‘Ah! Then you are right, my friend. Tell us your story as quickly as possible.’ ‘It appears,’ said Concha, ‘that there has been in progress for many months a plot to assassinate the Queen Regent and to seize the person of the little Queen, expelling her from Spain, and bringing in, not Don Carlos, who is a spent firework, but a Republic—a more dangerous firework, that usually bursts in the hands of those that light it. This plot has been finally put into shape by a letter—’ He paused, tapped on the table with his bony fingers, and glanced at Estella. ‘A letter which has been going the round of all the malcontents in the Peninsula. Each faction-leader, to show that he has read it and agrees to obey its commands, initials the letter. It has then been returned to an intermediary, who sends it to the next—never by post, because the post is watched—always by hand, and usually by the hand of a person innocent of its contents.’ ‘Yes,’ murmured the General absently, and there was a queer little smile on Estella’s lips. ‘To think,’ cried Concha, with a sudden fire less surprising in Spain than in England, ‘to think that we have all seen it—have touched it! Name of a saint! I had it under my hand in the hotel at Algeciras, and I left it on the table. And now it has been the round, and all the initials are placed upon it, and it is for to-morrow night.’ ‘Where have you learnt this?’ asked the General in a voice that made Estella look at him. She had never seen him as his enemies had seen him, and even they confessed that he was always visible enough in action. Perhaps there was another man behind the personality of this deprecating, pleasant-spoken little sybarite—a man who only appeared (oh _rara avis_!) when he was wanted. ‘No matter,’ replied Concha, in a voice as hard and sharp. ‘No; after all, it is of no matter, so long as your information is reliable.’ ‘You may stake your life on that,’ said Concha, and remembered the words ever after. ‘It has been decided to make this journey from Seville to Madrid the opportunity of assassinating the Queen Regent.’ ‘It will not be the first time they have tried,’ put in the General.