The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand, with gleaming eyes. But Conyngham seemed to have got the hold he desired, for his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse’s neck, and one of his flying heels crashed through the window by Concha’s head, making that ecclesiastic swear like any layman. The carriage was lifted on one side again, and bumped heavily. ‘Another,’ said Concha, looking for broken glass in the folds of his cassock. ‘That is a pretty trick of Conyngham’s.’ ‘And the man is a horseman,’ added the General, sheathing his sword—‘a horseman. It warms the heart to see it.’ Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt. ‘I am afraid, Excellency, that I hurt one,’ answered Vara. ‘Where the neck joins the shoulder. It is a pretty spot for the knife—nothing to turn a point.’ He rubbed a sulphur match on the leg of his trouser, and lighted a cigarette as he rode along. ‘On our side no accidents,’ continued Vara, with a careless grandeur, ‘unless the reverendo received a kick in the face.’ ‘The reverendo received a stone in the small of the back,’ growled Concha pessimistically, ‘where there was already a corner of lumbago.’ Conyngham, standing in his stirrups, was looking back. A man lay motionless on the road, and beyond, at the cross-roads, another was riding up a hill to the right at a hand gallop. ‘It is the road to Madrid,’ said Concepçion, noting the direction of the Englishman’s glance. The General, leaning out of the carriage window, was also looking back anxiously. ‘They have sent a messenger to Madrid, Excellency, with the news that the Queen is on the road to Toledo,’ said Concepçion. ‘It is well,’ answered Vincente, with a laugh. As they journeyed, although it was nearly midnight, there appeared from time to time, and for the most part in the neighbourhood of a village, one who seemed to have been awaiting their passage, and immediately set out on foot or horseback by one of the shorter bridle-paths that abound in Spain. No one of these spies escaped the notice of Concepçion, whose training amid the mountains of Andalusia had sharpened his eyesight and added keenness to every sense. ‘It is like a cat walking down an alley full of dogs,’ he muttered. At last the lights of Toledo hove in sight, and across the river came the sound of the city clocks tolling the hour. ‘Midnight,’ said Concha. ‘And all respectable folk are in their beds. At night all cats are grey.’ No one heeded him. Estella was sitting upright, bright-eyed and wakeful. The General looked out of the window at every moment. Across the river they could see lights moving, and many houses that had been illuminated were suddenly dark. ‘See,’ said the General, leaning out of the window and speaking to Conyngham, ‘they have heard the sound of our wheels.’