"But he may go back to England. We discussed it all here at our secret meeting last Thursday." "Well, and suppose he is in England, it does not matter. The avenging hand of our great Contraras--who may _Dios_ protect--will strike him there, never fear. Wherever he is, he cannot escape us. He will die, and his death will be a mystery to the English police--as so many deaths have been." At that moment the pair found themselves passing the great old Gothic door of Santa Gadea, which the sacristan had thrown open to the air for an hour to clear the atmosphere of incense before closing for the night. In the deep, cavernous silence the eternal red lamp showed before the figure of the Virgin crowned, while far beyond were the long candles burning before the altar, with its many steps. The sight of those candles impelled the pious and enthusiastic Carlos to suggest that they should enter the church, and there pray for the success of their plans. The Deputy-Governor of Navarre in the shabby straw hat smiled, and at once agreed. In all Latin countries the lower class have a habit of kneeling before their favourite altar and craving blessings of the most paltry character. In Italy, the _contadini_ ask that the winning numbers of the _lotto_ or Government lottery may be revealed to them, or beg that their attempt at theft may be successful. In Spain they implore divine grace for a big catch of fish, or a fat harvest, so that they may enrich themselves. Cupidity is, alas, the mainspring of most of the prayers of Southern Europe. Garcia Zorrilta, political adventurer and wire-puller, who by reason of his cunning and unscrupulousness had risen from clerk in a flour-mill in Toledo to be Deputy-Governor of the Province of Navarre, knew how pious was his friend the young fisherman, and, mock piety being part of his profession, he was compelled to enter that great dark, over-ornamented church, and there kneel with his companion before the altar. What Zorrilta, one of the lieutenants of the great Contraras, prayed for one does not know, but the prayer of Carlos the fisherman was for the speedy death of the one man he most greatly feared, the man to whom he had referred as "the Englishman." But as he rose from his knees, he whispered under his breath: "_Cuando no puede uno vestirse la piel del leon, vestase de la vulpeja_--when you cannot clothe yourself in the lion's skin, put on that of the fox." CHAPTER ONE. The evening shadows were falling softly as the Earl of Saxham stepped into one of the small drawing-rooms of that palatial residence, Ticehurst Park, in the county of Sussex. Ticehurst Park was a magnificent domain, deeply mortgaged. Out of its fair revenues, there were two or three heavily-pensioned dowagers who had to be provided for, there were a heap of relations who had to draw their small annual stipends.