"Yes. He said you would be there." He was sufficiently recovered now for his private feelings to reassert themselves somewhat, and there was a gleam of the old hate of me in his eyes as he gave the answer which let in such a flood of additional light upon my knowledge of Quesada’s treachery. I made another long shot. "He has promised to help your suit with the senorita?" "You are the devil. You do know everything, indeed," he cried. "Who are you?" "You are to answer, not question," I returned, sternly. It was now as clear as the sun at noonday that Quesada had planned this quarrel of ours, sending Livenza to catch me with Sarita, with the certain assurance that his jealousy would lead to a duel in which one of us would be certain either to fall or to be laid by during the completion of his plans. He stood to gain almost equally by the death of either. "You took with you some final instructions about this plot; what were they?" I asked, after a moment’s pause. For the first time he hesitated, and I saw the beads of sweat standing thick on his forehead, as he looked at me, trembling like a blade of grass. "You are asking me for more than my life," he murmured, his very teeth chattering in his irresolution. "Answer me, or——" I thundered, lifting the pistol a few inches. "You will never breathe a word of this?" he implored. "Answer me," I cried again, with implacable sternness. "He gave me the privately agreed upon route of His Majesty’s drive for to-morrow afternoon." He spoke in a voice low and hoarse, and the sentence was broken by three or four pauses, as if the effort to utter it was almost beyond his strength. "Give it me," I said, instantly. "I—I dare not," he answered, his voice no louder than a whisper. "Give it me," I repeated. "I—I can tell it you," he said, after a long pause. "Give it me," I cried, sternly. "I shall not ask again." He plunged a trembling hand into an inner pocket, and without withdrawing it gave me a glance of piteous entreaty. "Anything but this!" he pleaded. "God have mercy on me; anything but this, senor, I beg you. I was to have destroyed it." "As you will. Then our conference fails. I will call in our seconds and——" But he did not let me finish, for with a groan of despair he brought the paper out and laid it on the table. I picked it up, and a glance showed me what a prize it was. The writing was Quesada’s, and it gave the route of the drive and actually suggested the place where the abduction could be made—a spot on the road to Buenavista, close to where the bridge crossed the Manzanares on the way to Aravaca, and specified the time, five o’clock; adding the significant note—"Only one aide in carriage, no escort; coachman and footman." When I had read it he held out his hand for it, dreaming apparently that I should return it; and when I put it in my pocket he threw up his hands with a deep sigh of despair. "Why was to-morrow chosen instead of the following day?"