It was about ten o’clock at night when I arrived in Madrid, and I was standing by my luggage waiting for the porter of the hotel to which I had telegraphed for a room, and looking about me leisurely according to my wont, when I found myself the object of the close scrutiny of a stranger. He passed me two or three times, each time scanning me and my luggage so intently that I was half inclined to be suspicious of him. He did not look like a detective, however, and was too well dressed for a thief; and he puzzled me. At last, to my surprise, he came up, raised his hat, and addressed me by name in Spanish, with a great show of politeness. "I am not mistaken. Your name is Carbonnell, Ferdinand Carbonnell?" "Certainly it is. The name’s on my luggage," said I. I was not a diplomatist for nothing. He bowed and smiled and gestured. "It is also here in my instructions;" and he took from his pocket a sheet of notepaper from which he read in Spanish, "Ferdinand Carbonnell, coming by the mail train arriving ten o’clock." Having read this, he added: "I am to ask you to accompany me to No. 150, Calle de Villanueva. May I ask you to do so?" I looked at him in profound astonishment, as indeed I well might. Then it dawned on me that Mayhew had somehow heard of my arrival and had sent him. "Do you come from Mr. Silas Mayhew?" "No, indeed. I am from Colonel Juan Livenza, at your service, senor." This with more shrugs, bows, and smiles. "Thank you, but I don’t know any Colonel Livenza. I can, however, call on him; shall we say, to-morrow?" "I was to say that the Senorita Sarita Castelar wishes to see you urgently. My instructions are, however, not to press you to accompany me if you are unwilling; but in that case to beg you to name the hotel to which you go, and where Colonel Livenza himself may have the honour of waiting upon you." "I still don’t understand," I replied. I did not; but the mention of the name of Sarita Castelar made a considerable impression upon me. "It is my regret I can explain no more. I thought perhaps you would know the urgency of the matter, and that it might be the result of the telegram. But I am only a messenger." "Telegram?" I cried, catching at the word. Could my father have had important news about the Castelars after I had left and have telegraphed to Madame Chansette to have me met? It was possible, for he knew my route and the time I was to arrive. "What telegram do you mean?" I asked. "Alas, senor, I know no more than I say. I presume it is the telegram announcing your arrival. But I do not know. If you prefer not to come, it is all one to me. I will say you are going to what hotel? I was told it was very urgent. Pardon me that I have detained you." "Wait a moment. You say the matter is urgent for to-night?" "I do not know. I believe it is. I was instructed to tell you so. That is all."