The two men shook hands, and the new-comer seated himself in front of Hillyard.

“You will take coffee and a cigar?” Hillyard asked in Spanish, and gave the order to the waiter.

The two men talked of the heat, the cinematograph theatres at the side of the Plaza, the sea-bathing at Caldetas, and then the sharp-faced man leaned forward.

“Ramon says there is no truth in the story, senor.”

Hillyard struck a match and held it to his companion’s cigar.

“And you trust Ramon, Senor Baeza?”

Lopez Baeza leaned back with a gesture of unqualified assent.

“As often and often you can trust the peasant of my country,” he said.

Hillyard agreed with a nod.  He gazed about the room.

“There is no one interesting here to-night,” he said idly.

“No,” answered Lopez Baeza.  “The theatres are closed, the gay people have gone to St. Sebastian, the families to the seaside.  Ouf, but it is hot.”

“Yes.”

Hillyard dropped his voice to a whisper and returned to the subject of his thoughts.

“You see, my friend, it is of so much importance that we should make no mistake here.”

“Claro!” returned Lopez Baeza.  “But listen to me, senor.  You know that our banks are behind the times and our post offices not greatly trusted.  We have therefore a class of messengers.”

Hillyard nodded.

“I know of them.”

“Good.  They are not educated.  Most of them can neither read nor write.  They are simply peasants.  Yet they are trusted to carry the most important letters and great sums of money in gold and silver from place to place.  And never do they betray their trust.  It is unknown.  Why, senor, I know myself of cases where rich men have entrusted their daughters to the care of the messengers, sure that in this way their daughters will arrive safely at their destination.”

“Yes,” said Hillyard.  “I know of these men.”

“Ramon Castillo is as honest as the best of them.”

“Yes, but he is not one of them,” said Hillyard.  “He is a stevedore with thirty years of the quayside and at the port of Barcelona, where there are German ships with their officers and crews on board.”

Hillyard was troubled.  He drew from his pocket creased letters and read them for the twentieth time with a frowning countenance.

“There is so much at stake.  Two hundred feluccas—­two hundred motor-driven feluccas!  And eighteen thousand men, on shore and sea?  See what it means!  On our side, the complete surveillance of the Western Mediterranean!  On the other side—­against us—­two hundred travelling supply bases for submarines, two hundred signal stations.  I want to be sure!  I want neither to give the enemy the advantage by putting him upon his guard, nor to miss the great opportunity myself.”

Lopez Baeza nodded.

“Why not talk with Ramon Castillo yourself?” he asked.