Hillyard was already rising from his chair.  He stood straight up.

“All except that they will be forbidden too,” he added with a smile, “to supply either food or drink or oil to any enemy vessel.”

Jose Medina raised his hands in protest.

“That order was given months ago.  But it shall be repeated, and you can trust me, it shall be obeyed.”

The two men went to the door of the villa, and stood outside in the garden.  It seemed the interview was over, and the agreement made.  But indeed the interview as Hillyard had planned it had hardly begun.  He had a series of promises which might be kept or broken, and the keeping or breaking of them could not be checked.  Jose Medina was very likely to be holding the common belief along that coast that Germany would surely win the war.  He was in the perfect position to keep in with both sides were he so minded.  It was not to content himself with general promises that Hillyard had brought the Dragonfly to Palma.

He turned suddenly towards Jose Medina with a broad laugh, and clapped him heartily upon the back.

“So you do not remember me, Senor Jose?”

Medina was puzzled.  He took a step nearer to Hillyard.  Then he shook his head, and apologised with a smile.

“I am to blame, senor.  As a rule, my memory is not at fault.  But on this occasion—­yes.”

Through the apology ran a wariness, some fear of a trick, some hint of an incredulity.

“Yet we have met.”

“Senor, it must be so.”

“Do you remember, Senor Jose, your first venture?” asked Hillyard.

“Surely.”

“A single sailing-felucca beached at one o’clock in the morning on the flat sand close to Benicassim.”

Jose Medina did not answer.  But the doubt which his politeness could not quite keep out of his face was changing into perplexity.  This history of his first cargo so far was true.

“That was more than thirteen years ago,” Hillyard continued.  “Thirteen years last April.”

Jose Medina nodded.  Date, place, hour, all were correct.  His eyes were fixed curiously upon his visitor, but there was no recognition in them.

“There were two carts waiting, to carry the tobacco up to the hills.”

“Two?” Jose Medina interrupted sharply.  “Let me think!  That first cargo!  It is so long ago.”

Medina reflected carefully.  Here was a detail of real importance which would put this Senor Hillyard to the test—­if only he could himself remember.  It was his first venture, yes!  But there had been so many like to it since.  Still—­the very first.  He ought to remember that!  And as he concentrated his thoughts the veil of the years was rent, and he saw, he saw quite clearly the white moonlit beach, the felucca with its mast bent like a sapling in a high wind, and the great yard of the sail athwart the beam of the boat, the black shadow of it upon the sand, and the carts—­yes, the carts!