"I, too, was unarmed once before your weapon; and afterwards you swore to tell me the truth. You know why. But if you mean that I am insulting an unarmed man, here, take your revolver;" and I put it on the table and pushed it toward him. "You lied, Colonel Livenza," I repeated. The sweat broke out on his forehead in the intensity of the strain. "I don’t want it," he said, hoarsely and feebly, pushing it back to me. "I will say it. The senorita is to be my wife." I put the pistol on the chair again; for the experiment had answered, as I knew it would. "You mean that your marriage with Senorita Castelar was part of the price with which Quesada bought your help and silence?" "If you put it so, yes," he murmured. "This is infamous," cried Sarita. "But it is not all. Wait, please," I said to her; then again to him— "In regard to the Carlist plot for abducting the King, what part did he give you to play?" "I was the intermediary between him and the Carlists. Sarita knows this," and he looked across to her. "Be good enough to answer me, and not to speak to Senorita Castelar, nor use her name. He promised you that she should be your wife. How was that to be, and what was to happen if the abduction plot had not failed and the Carlist movement had been successful?" "It was not meant to succeed. His object was to get the young King away, the Monarchy overthrown, and at the same time to crush the Carlist risings as they are now being crushed. He then intended to set up a provisional Government, as a Republic, with himself at the head of it, and his own friends filling all the offices; and then to proclaim war with America, in order to consolidate all classes in favour of the Government." "And you were to be——? what besides the senorita’s husband." "I was to be Minister of War." "Spain has lost a brilliant servant, then, and you a portfolio and a wife, by the failure of the plot against the King. Of course, you were not fool enough to go so deep in without something more substantial than Quesada’s word. You knew him too well for this. What proofs of his sincerity did he give you?" He hesitated again, and showed once more the signs of extreme agitation, and at length answered in a tentative, doubtful tone— "I had only his word; nothing could be written." "What proofs had you?" I cried again, sternly. "Do you think I don’t know what I am saying?" "We discussed it frequently. I was in his confidence. I had no need of——" "What proofs had you? I shall not ask you again." "He gave me the provisional promise in a letter." The words seemed to be wrung from him like drops of blood, and when he had spoken he sighed heavily, and threw up his hands in despair. "Where is that letter? You have it with you, for you know it would be safe nowhere else. Give it to me," and I held out my hand. I could read him now easily enough, and saw my guess was right.