Farther on is another palace, standing likewise on the Paseo del Ebro, backing likewise on to a labyrinth of narrow streets.

It is called the Palacio Sarrion, and belongs to the father and son of that name.
It seemed that Francisco de Mogente was going to the Palacio Sarrion; for he passed the great door of the archbishop's dwelling, and was already looking towards the house of the Sarrions, when a slight sound made him turn on his heels with the rapidity of one whose life had been passed amid dangers--and more especially those that come from behind.
There were three men coming from behind now, running after him on sandaled feet, and before he could do so much as raise his arm the moon broke out from behind a cloud and showed a gleam of steel.

Don Francisco de Mogente was down on the ground in an instant, and the three men fell upon him like dogs on a rat.

One knife went right through him, and grated with a harsh squeak on the cobble-stones beneath.
A moment later the traveler was lying there alone, half in the shadow, his dusty feet showing whitely in the moonlight.

The three shadows had vanished as softly as they came.
Almost instantly from, strangely enough, the direction in which they had gone the burly form of a preaching friar came out into the light.