You think him safe in Mallorca and look! He lands one morning from the steamer, jumps into a motor-car, and in five minutes--whish!--he is gone like the smoke of my cigarette.

He will drive his car through our mountains by tracks, of which the guardia civil does not even know the existence." By devious tracks, then, now through narrow gullies in brown and barren mountains, now striking some village path amidst peach trees and marguerites, Jose Medina drove Martin Hillyard down to the edge of the sea.

Here amongst cactus bushes in flower, with turf for a carpet, a camp had been prepared near to one of the two tiny villages.

Jose Medina was king in this region.

The party arrived in the afternoon of the twenty-sixth day of the month, all of the colour of saffron from the dust-clouds the car had raised, and Hillyard so stiff and bruised with the intolerable jolting over ruts baked to iron, that he could hardly climb down on to the ground.