"Nay," he said, "this is serious. I need your help. Do not fail me to-night, and help me to find Mortimer. I had not the smallest intention of intruding upon you. Indeed, but for that maid at the inn, I should never have found you." "Ah," commented Etienne, half to himself, "so I owe it to that minx, do I? Yes, it is a mistake--so close as that. But no matter; what can I do for you?" "It is not for myself," Rollo answered, and forthwith in a low voice told his tale, the Frenchman assenting with a nod of the head as each point was made clear to him. Unconsciously they had strolled out of the village in the direction of the Convent of the Holy Innocents, and they were almost under its walls when the little Frenchman, looking up suddenly, recognised with a start whither he was being led. "Let us turn back," he said hastily; "I have forgotten an engagement!" "What, another?" cried Rollo. "If we stay here three days you will have the whole village on your hands, and at least half a dozen knives in your back. But if you are afraid of the Senorita Concha, I think I can promise you that she is not breaking her heart on your account!" In spite of this assurance, however, Etienne was not easy in his mind till they had turned about and were returning towards the village. But they had not left the white walls of the Convent behind, before they were hailed in English by a stentorian voice. "Here, you fellows," it said, "here's a whole storehouse of onions as big as a factory--strings and strings of 'em. I wanted to go inside to make an offer for the lot, and the old witch at the gate slammed it in my face." Looking round, they saw John Mortimer standing on one leg to eke out his stature, and squinting through a hole in the whitewashed wall. One hand was beckoning them frantically forward, while with the other he was trying to render his position on a sun-dried brick less precarious. "I suppose we must go back," said Etienne, with a sigh; "imagine standing on a brick and getting so hot and excited--in the blazing sun, too--all for a few strings of onions. I declare I would not do it for the prettiest girl in Spain!" But there could be no doubt whatever that the Englishman was in earnest. Indeed, he did not move from his position till they were close upon him, and then only because the much-enduring brick resolved itself into its component sand and sun-dried clay. "Just look there!" he cried eagerly; "did you ever see the like of that--a hundred double strings hung from the ceiling to the floor right across! And the factory nearly a hundred and fifty yards long. There's a ship-load of onions there, a solid cargo, I tell you, and I want to trade. I believe I could make my thousand pounds quicker that way, and onions are as good as wine any day! Look in, look in!"