"Depends on the business, of course," said I, "and of course on the man. I’m going to Daroca; and expect to do a good stroke there," and while I was speaking, I wrote on the back of the card: "Counting all Renegades lovers of Satan. By the Grace of God;" and covering it with a piece of lace, I handed it to him again. "Now, there’s something you might care to see." The start he gave caused him to let his cigarette fall, and as he stooped down to recover it, he whispered for me to hear— "By the Grace of God," and when he sat up his face was set like steel in his sudden excitement. He muttered a word to his companion and passed him the card. He in his turn was scarcely less excited. "It’s quite a unique pattern. Very rare;" I said; and when he returned me the lace and card, I scribbled hurriedly my name, "Ferdinand Carbonnell;" and as they read it our eyes met. "You are right, senor. We have never seen anything like it before, and are more glad than we can tell you to have seen it to-day." "I thought you would be interested," I replied, lightly; and taking the card I tore it into a hundred pieces, and flung it out of the window; and in silence put the samples away into the case. All had gone well, so far, very well; for I had turned two of the most dangerous enemies a man could well have, into two staunch allies at the very moment of peril. *CHAPTER XXIII* *NEWS OF SARITA* Having made myself known to my two travelling companions, I had next to ascertain their destination and plans. I had not much doubt that they were going to Daroca, and when I had allowed enough time for the impression I had created to have due effect, I began to talk in the casual tone one uses with chance acquaintances, covering the real meaning of my words in the form of business chatter. "I suppose you gentlemen are in the same line as myself, and going to Daroca by way of Saragossa?" "We are newspaper correspondents. I represent the ’Puebla,’ and my name is Cabrera, senor," replied the elder of the two—this was he whose head I had cracked on the highway. "My friend, Senor Garcia, is of the ’Correo.’ We are going up about the Carlist outbreak. We are going to Daroca, of course," and gave me a significant glance, and added in a lower tone, "But we shall ride from Calatayud; much quicker." "Of course," I assented, trying to rally my scanty geographical knowledge of the place to understand his meaning. I must not show ignorance on such a point, seeing that my character was that of a kind of flying scout who would be presumed to know all such things. "I think, perhaps, I’ll join you. They tell me business at Saragossa is seriously interfered with, but that at Daroca something can still be done. I am, therefore, going there." "Good," said both.