The flat was occupied by Lopez Baeza who turned from the window to greet him.
"I was not followed," said Hillyard as he put down his hat and stick.
Habit had bred in him a vigilance, or rather an instinct which quickly made him aware of any who shadowed him.
"No, that is true," said Baeza, who had been watching Hillyard's approach from the window.
"But I should like to know who our young friend is on the kerb opposite, and why he is standing sentinel." Lopez Baeza laughed.
"He is the sign and token of the commercial activity of Spain." From behind the curtains, stretched across the window, both now looked down into the street.

A youth in a grey suit and a pair of orange-coloured buttoned boots loitered backwards and forwards over about six yards of footwalk; now he smoked a cigarette, now he leaned against a tree and idly surveyed the passers by.

He apparently had nothing whatever to do.

But he did not move outside the narrow limits of his promenade.

Consequently he had something to do.
"Yes," continued Baeza with a chuckle, "he is a proof of our initiative.
I thought as you do three days ago.