My former impression of him seemed to be confirmed. The man was a lunatic, or at least an eccentric; and a word or two to humour him would do no harm. "You have been following me; may I ask why?" I asked, in a less abrupt tone. "I heard your name mentioned at the house where I saw you yesterday. The friend who mentioned it knew nothing; but I knew; and when I heard you were in the house, Senor, do you think I could leave without a sight of you? Ah, Mother of God!" I was rolling myself a cigarette with a half smile of amusement at the man’s eccentricity when a thought occurred to me. I stopped in the act, and looked at him sharply and questioningly. The thought had changed my point of view suddenly, and instead of amusement my feeling was now one of some uneasiness. "Just be good enough to tell me exactly what you mean; and be very explicit, if you please," I said. "I am from Saragossa, Senor Ferdinand Carbonnell, and my name is Vidal de Pelayo," he answered, in a tone and manner of intense significance. There was purpose, meaning, and pregnant earnestness in the answer, but no eccentricity. "I don’t care if you are from Timbuctoo and your name is the Archangel Gabriel. What do you mean?" I cried, testily. The manner of his answer was a further surprise. He plunged his hand somewhere into the deepest recesses of his clothes and brought out a small, folded paper, from which he took a slip of parchment, and handed it to me without a word. "Vidal de Pelayo. No. 25. 1st Section. Saragossa. "Counting all renegades lovers of Satan. By the grace of God. (Signed) FERDINAND CARBONNELL." The signature was written in a fine free hand utterly unlike my own, of course; but there it was confronting me, and signed to a couple of lines that read to me like so much gibberish. I turned it over and handed it back with a laugh; and my thoughts went back again to my first opinion of the man. "Very interesting, no doubt; and very important, probably, but it does not enlighten me." "You mean you do not wish to know me? As you will. Then I suppose I must not open my lips to you? But I have seen you; and it is a great day for me!" "You are right; I wish you to say nothing," I replied, assuming a very grave look and speaking very severely. "You have done wrong to come here at all," I added, seeing the effect of my previous words. "You must not come again." "You will wish to know that all is going well?" he said, in a tone of remonstrance and surprise. "I have other means of learning everything," I answered, with a suggestion of mystery, and rose as a hint to him to go. "You are at the British Embassy here. It is wonderful," he cried, lifting his hands as if in profound admiration. "Where I am and what I do concerns no one," I returned, cryptically. "We all have our work. Return to yours."