What my relations were with this man, Hillyard--yes, you came into the conversation, my friend, too--I was quickly to be persuaded to tell.
Oh--you have a saying--everything in your melon patch was lovely." "Not for nothing has the American tourist come to Spain," Hillyard murmured.
"Then their voices dropped a little, and your B45 was mentioned--once or twice.

And a name in connection with B45 once or twice.

I did not understand what it was all about." "But you remember the name!" Fairbairn exclaimed eagerly.
"Yes, I do." "Well, what was it ?" It was again Fairbairn who spoke.

Hillyard had not moved, nor did he even look up.
"It was Mario Escobar," said Jose Medina; and as he spoke he knew that the utterance of the name awakened no surprise in Martin Hillyard.
Hillyard filled his pipe from the tobacco tin, and lighted it before he spoke.
"Do you know anything of this Mario Escobar ?" he asked, "you who know every one ?" Jose Medina shrugged his shoulders, and threw up his hands.
"There was some years ago a Mario Escobar at Alicante," and Jose Medina saw Hillyard's eyes open and fix themselves upon him with an unblinking steadiness.

Just so Jose Medina imagined might some savage animal in a jungle survey the man who had stumbled upon his lair.
"That Mario Escobar, a penniless, shameless person, was in business with a German, the German Vice-Consul.