It also became evident that he saw Appleby and recognized him, for he looked straight at him with an appeal in his eyes, and then, turning his head away, plodded apathetically into the patio between his captors. That alone would probably have decided Appleby. The man had asked for help, but he had also made it plain that he had no intention of betraying a comrade; and Appleby knew that while the Castilian has his shortcomings, they are very seldom evident when he meets his end. The cazadores led the man towards one of the basement rooms, which served now and then as a place of detention when the Alcalde desired to question suspected persons, and thrust him in. Then one came out grumbling, and stopped his companion as with a gesture he crossed the patio. “There is no key, and one of us must stay here,” he said. “Now, if I could have found the little Tomasa we should have had a flask of wine. There is plenty here to‐night.” The other man glanced up at the lighted windows, and Appleby, who slipped back out of sight into the shadow, saw that he was white with dust, and surmised that he was correspondingly thirsty. “There will be no chance of that when we have told the Alcalde,” he said. “It is a misfortune. The wine would have been welcome.” They looked at each other, and then back at the closed door. “That man can scarcely hobble, and his hands are tied,” said one. “Go back and rattle at the lock, and he will think it is the key. Then if you are quick you may find Tomasa while I tell the Alcalde.” The soldier went back and did something to the lock with his bayonet, and then made a sign to his comrade, who went up the stairway. Then he disappeared through a door which apparently led to the kitchen, and Appleby, treading softly, slipped forward through the shadows. There was nobody in the patio now, and the streets were silent, while it only took him a moment or two to reach the door. In another he had slashed the man’s bonds through, and a ragged object glided silently across the patio. Appleby stood still a few seconds with beating heart until the swiftly moving shadow vanished through the arch, and then went up the stairway in haste, but as softly as he could. He, however, stopped suddenly when he reached the veranda, for Nettie Harding was leaning over the balustrade, and the banker’s wife sitting in a cane chair behind her. She saw the question in his eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I saw you. The Señora Frequilla saw nothing. She is half asleep. Why did you do it?” “He would have been shot to‐morrow,” said Appleby.