“If we could only be sure.”

“I’m sure, Dick.  Let’s cross the hall; I want to see how it looks from the other side of the house.”

Gale followed Thorne out of the restaurant into the high-ceiled corridor which evidently divided the hotel, opening into the street and running back to a patio.  A few dim, yellow lamps flickered.  A Mexican with a blanket round his shoulders stood in the front entrance.  Back toward the patio there were sounds of boots on the stone floor.  Shadows flitted across that end of the corridor.  Thorne entered a huge chamber which was even more poorly lighted than the hall.  It contained a table littered with papers, a few high-backed chairs, a couple of couches, and was evidently a parlor.

“Mercedes has been meeting me here,” said Thorne.  “At this hour she comes every moment or so to the head of the stairs there, and if I am here she comes down.  Mostly there are people in this room a little later.  We go out into the plaza.  It faces the dark side of the house, and that’s the place I must slip out with her if there’s any chance at all to get away.”

They peered out of the open window.  The plaza was gloomy, and at first glance apparently deserted.  In a moment, however, Gale made out a slow-pacing dark form on the path.  Farther down there was another.  No particular keenness was required to see in these forms a sentinel-like stealthiness.

Gripping Gale’s arm, Thorne pulled back from the window.

“You saw them,” he whispered.  “It’s just as I feared.  Rojas has the place surrounded.  I should have taken Mercedes away.  But I had no time—­no chance!  I’m bound!...There’s Mercedes now!  My God!...Dick, think—­think if there’s a way to get her out of this trap!”

Gale turned as his friend went down the room.  In the dim light at the head of the stairs stood the slim, muffled figure of a woman.  When she saw Thorne she flew noiselessly down the stairway to him.  He caught her in his arms.  Then she spoke softly, brokenly, in a low, swift voice.  It was a mingling of incoherent Spanish and English; but to Gale it was mellow, deep, unutterably tender, a voice full of joy, fear, passion, hope, and love.  Upon Gale it had an unaccountable effect.  He found himself thrilling, wondering.

Thorne led the girl to the center of the room, under the light where Gale stood.  She had raised a white hand, holding a black-laced mantilla half aside.  Dick saw a small, dark head, proudly held, an oval face half hidden, white as a flower, and magnificent black eyes.

Then Thorne spoke.

“Mercedes—­Dick Gale, an old friend—­the best friend I ever had.”

She swept the mantilla back over her head, disclosing a lovely face, strange and striking to Gale in its pride and fire, its intensity.

“Senor Gale—­ah!  I cannot speak my happiness.  His friend!”

“Yes, Mercedes; my friend and yours,” said Thorne, speaking rapidly.  “We’ll have need of him.  Dear, there’s bad news and no time to break it gently.  The priest did not come.  He must have been detained.  And listen—­be brave, dear Mercedes—­Rojas is here!”