slough of broken glass. Down the whole length of the Preciados but
one lamp was left alight, and the narrow street was littered with
tiles and fallen bricks, for many chimneys had been blown down, and
more than one shutter lay in the roadway, torn from its hinges by
the hurricane. It was at the risk of life that any ventured abroad
at this hour and amid the whirl of falling masonry. Larralde and
Conyngham had the Calle Preciados to themselves--and Larralde cursed
his spurs, which rang out at each footfall, and betrayed his
whereabouts.

A dozen times the Spaniard fell, but before his pursuer could reach
him, the same obstacle threw Conyngham to the ground. A dozen times
some falling object crashed to earth on the Spaniard's heels, and
the Englishman leapt aside to escape the rebound. Larralde was
fleet of foot despite his meagre limbs, and leapt over such
obstacles as he could perceive, with the agility of a monkey. He
darted into the lighted doorway--the entrance to the palatial
mansion of an upstart politician. The large doors were thrown open,
and the hall-porter stood in full livery awaiting the master's
carriage. Larralde was already in the patio, and Conyngham ran
through the marble-paved entrance hall, before the porter realised
what was taking place. There was no second exit as the fugitive had
hoped--so it was round the patio and out again into the dark street,
leaving the hall-porter dumfoundered.

Larralde turned sharply to the right as soon as he gained the Calle
Preciados. It was a mere alley running the whole way round a
church--and here again was solitude, but not silence, for the wind
roared among the chimneys overhead as it roars through a ship's
rigging at sea. The Calle Preciados again! and a momentary