The pale features of this half-Spaniard wrinkled into a smile that was more sardonic than anything. The thin, writhing fingers played about the corners of his mouth, while the pair of bright and somewhat protruding eyes which a second before had been fixed upon the stalwart form of Andrews, then the only one of the three horsemen remaining visible, lost themselves in a vacant gaze. In those few following seconds José saw himself powerful and rich, head of a prosperous old firm, a partner of the business in the place of his cousin Tom, successor to his Uncle Juan's riches. Let us turn from the contemplation of a youth so devoid of all that was pleasant and taking--José was born with a kink, a moral kink, if you will--let us leave him with it and follow Tom and his comrade. But in doing so let us remember that though José might be weak, he was yet a force to be reckoned with, a force, had Tom but known it, likely enough to come between him and those much-cherished ambitions. José might easily intervene between the gallant and handsome staff officer whom he called cousin and that post in the army to which youthful good spirits and assurance caused him to aspire. "The way to the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son, _señor_," answered a man of whom Tom made an enquiry. "There are few in this city who do not know the name and the house. Pass directly on till you enter another square, then turn to the left, descending toward the water. The house is on the right, some little distance down." There it was at last. Jack pulled in his horse at the sight, while his estimation of our hero went up a little. For to the high and mighty Jack trade was trade, something at which he was rather wont to turn up his nose. It was purely ignorance of the world that made him do so; for to do him but justice the young ensign was no snob. And here he found himself in front of an enormous range of buildings, with warehouses and stores running right down to the water. Over the main building flew the flag of England, with that of Portugal close beside it, while a board of modest proportions announced the fact that this was the home of Septimus John Clifford & Son. Tom slid from his saddle, handed his reins over to Andrews, and went striding up the steps of the building, his sword and sabretache swaying at his side. A very gallant figure he cut too as he entered the office and enquired for Don Juan de Esteros. "What name?" he was asked. "Say a British officer," he responded, and presently was ushered into a handsomely furnished office. A little man, bearing traces of obvious ill health, rose from a chair, and at once advanced with hand cordially outstretched. "This is an honour," he said in broken English, mingled with a word of Portuguese. "To what do I owe the visit? What can I do for you, sir? But surely----" As he gripped Tom's hand he peered through his spectacles into his face, while a flush suddenly suffused his own olive complexion.