"Nonsense," he said, with another laugh. "The thing’s absurd. Here, you probably know me—or some of your men will. My name is Silas Mayhew, of the British Embassy. I tell you, this is Lord Glisfoyle. Don’t get yourself into trouble and cause no end of complications by carrying this thing any further." "May I ask the names of all present?" was the reply, for he was by no means satisfied yet. "Of course you may. I’ve told you this is Mrs. Curwen," said Mayhew, coolly. "That is Lord Glisfoyle’s sister, and that Mrs. Curwen’s companion—maid, Juanita Sanchez." He did it excellently, as though the matter were the merest form. The official was puzzled, and stood pulling his beard in indecision. But he scarcely glanced at the two girls, vastly to my relief. If Sarita was safe, I cared little about myself. "Excuse me a moment," he said, and going to the door he spoke to one of his men who came back to the room with him. "You are Ferdinand Carbonnell, we are sure," he said then, and to my consternation he was holding a photograph in his hand. I remembered then that Quesada had obtained one from me. "There is no room for doubt," and he showed it to Mayhew. I saw Sarita start at this, while Mercy had to cling hold to her and be helped to a chair. "I’ll go with you, of course," I said. "But I shall hold you responsible for this. My sister is not well, and your clumsy blunder has made her positively ill. It’s all right, Mercy," I said, going over to them, and taking occasion to whisper to Sarita, "I shall be perfectly safe if you’ll only get away. They can do nothing to me, and by to-morrow they’ll have a broadside from the Embassy that’ll make them shake in their shoes. But promise to leave Madrid with Mrs. Curwen." "Should I run away and leave you in danger?" she said. "I can’t stop to argue, but if you care for me and my safety, you’ll do what I ask. I’m ready," I said aloud. "Just let me see your documents." He showed me an order signed by Quesada himself, the alleged offence being high treason; and I read it aloud in order that Sarita should hear it, and I was shaking hands with Mrs. Curwen preparatory to leaving when there came another interruption. Two officers in very elaborate uniforms were ushered in by a waiter, with every sign of extreme deference. They were complete strangers to me, and my heart leapt into my mouth in fear that it boded mischief to Sarita. "Pray pardon me, madam," said one of them in English to Mrs. Curwen. "I hope we are not intruding; but we come on a mission of the highest importance. I was told Lord Glisfoyle was your guest, and I see"—this with a most courteous bow to me—"I was not misinformed." "I am Lord Glisfoyle, but I do not recall the pleasure of having seen you before."