"And the documents you asked her to bring?" I cut in suddenly, "what of those? Are they love letters?" And a quiet smile of derision showed itself at the corners of my mouth. "Do you want them, or are they to go into the archives of the Order of St Bruno as quaint but interesting curiosities?" "Neither," said Casteno simply. "They are more important, much more important, than lovers' effusions. They give the keys to various ciphers used by the Jesuits in the early days of their Order in Mexico. Is there anything else you would like to ask?" Then seeing he had put me to some confusion he went on with great earnestness: "Look here, man, why don't you trust me a little more? Don't you see that there must, in a quest like this we are engaged upon, be a hundred details about which I cannot give you my confidence? Why not be content to labour in the dark until the time for the light comes? As it is just at present, I satisfy you for a day easily and perfectly enough, but it is only for a day. Something you don't expect happens, and lo! I find about me a cloud of distrust, suspicion, and unpleasant suggestion that takes out of me every bit of heart and pluck." "Is not that your own fault?" I blurted out. "Are not your actions calculated to excite distrust? Carry your memory back to the last time you were in my office in Stanton Street. What happened then?" "Nothing of great account." But now he went very pale. "Are you quite sure of that?" I queried in the gravest tones. "Think again. Examine your conscience again. What about that dagger of yours? Why did you get up and sharpen it on the hearthstone directly you thought I should not see you?" The Spaniard started, and recovered himself with an effort. "Because I had had a fright," he stammered. "In an idle moment I had looked through the window and there I saw a man who had vowed to take my life." "I cannot believe you," I cried. "You must convince me. Tell me who was this foe?" "My own brother," he muttered, turning away from me with an impatient gesture and quickening his steps. "You have seen him yourself. The hunchback called him Paul--" "Then," I gasped in amazement, "you--you are the hunchback's son?" "Of course I am," he retorted. "I thought you guessed that directly you saw Paul when we were up in that recess watching my father put on his disguise. The relationship seemed so evident that I did not feel there was any necessity to explain it." "But you call yourself Casteno?" "No; I changed my name after I had quarrelled with my father some years ago and got employment in the Royal Household of Spain. I purchased the right to do so--" "Then you talk English like a native." "So does the hunchback." "And when that morning you saw your brother," I went on, breaking away on a new tack, "why did you go after him?" "To make peace if I could. As it was doubtful I prepared myself also for war." "And did you find him?"