And there were other things even worse, too shameful, indeed, to be written.
'Doubtless there is more that has not come beneath my notice,' said Fonseca coolly, 'but these things I know for truth, and one of the murders could be proved against him were he captured.

Stay, give me ink, I must add to the record.' And he wrote in his cipher: 'In May, 1517, the said de Garcia sailed to England on a trading voyage, and there, in the parish of Ditchingham, in the county of Norfolk, he murdered Luisa Wingfield, spoken of above as Luisa de Garcia, his cousin, to whom he was once betrothed.

In September of the same year, or previously, under cover of a false marriage, he decoyed and deserted one Donna Isabella of the noble family of Siguenza, a nun in a religious house in this city.' 'What!' I exclaimed, 'is the girl who came to seek your help two nights since the same that de Garcia deserted ?' 'The very same, nephew.

It was she whom you heard pleading with him last night.

Had I known two days ago what I know to-day, by now this villain had been safe in prison.