Drowsily, Myra opened her eyes, awakened by the clatter made by Madre Dolores as she set down a tray on which was a breakfast of coffee and rolls by her bedside.

“Buenos dias, senorita,” said Dolores, as Myra, unable to realise for a few moments where she was, blinked at her sleepily and dazedly.

“Buenos dias,” repeated Myra mechanically. “Let me see, that is Spanish for ‘good morning,’” she added to herself, stretching luxuriously and yawning. “I wonder where the maid is who speaks English?”

And then the mists of sleep lifted suddenly as she sat up in bed and she remembered everything vividly. Dolores, eyeing her curiously, wondered why the English senorita blushed furiously, wondered what she could have said to cause the fair senorita such obvious embarrassment.

“Possibly it is not anything I have said which caused her to blush,” reflected the old woman. “Maybe she is thinking of last night, remembering that I saw the master carrying her to bed, or perhaps she is thinking of something that happened afterwards.”

Dolores was not so wide of the mark. It was recollection of the events of the preceding night that had brought the burning blush to Myra’s cheeks, and the thought of the interpretation the old woman might have put on what she had seen and heard.

“Just as well, perhaps, that she does not understand English, as she was probably eavesdropping all the time,” thought Myra.

She was amazed that she should have been able to sleep soundly after her emotional ordeal, until she remembered that when at last Don Carlos had desisted in his attempt to make her surrender herself voluntarily and had left her, Madre Dolores had reappeared and insisted upon her drinking something out of a glass. The “something” was a sweet and pungent cordial, which probably contained some soporific drug.

When the mists of sleep cleared away completely from her mind, Myra found it difficult to analyse her feelings, but her predominant emotion was resentment against the man who had made love to her so lawlessly and had almost imposed his will on her.

Mingled with her resentment was something akin to fear, the haunting dread that her ordeal of the previous night might be a prelude to something worse. The hot flush of shame stained her fair face again as she realised she had been on the very verge of surrendering herself.

“I hate him! I hate him!” Myra told herself as she dressed. “I’ll kill myself rather than confess I love him, and let him gloat over his conquest.... What should I do? Should I promise to marry him on condition that he takes me back to-day, and then denounce him to the authorities when we reach the Castle? That would be something like treachery, but it was treachery on his part to kidnap me while I was his guest.... I shall wait and see how he behaves before deciding.”

She had to wait longer than she anticipated, for she found that “El Diablo Cojuelo” had left his stronghold. Failing to make herself understood, Dolores fetched an old man who looked like a comic opera pirate and who could speak a little English.

“El bueno maestro the boss he go away sun-up but will come back pretty-dam-quick, yes, I think,” the man explained, with many bows and smiles. Actually it was not English he spoke but a queer mixture of Spanish and American. “The boss Cojuelo, he makka the business with the Ingles at El Castillo de Ruiz. You no need to have the fear, senorita. You alla right, yes, sure aquí. I spik the Ingles all right yes? Vos comprender? Bein! The boss, the maestro, he come back all right, senorita. Yes, allaright, tank you ver’ much, please!”

Left alone in the outer room, Myra walked up and down restlessly, wondering why he had gone back to the Castillo de Ruiz. The idea of attempting to escape occurred to her, and, after satisfying herself she was not being watched, she went to the cunningly-contrived door which seemed to be part of the wall of rock.

It was difficult enough to determine which part of the wall was the door, and when she did discover the seam that indicated it, Myra could find no lock, lever or spring to open the portal.

Baffled, she wandered through the maze of rocky passages, and encountered Madre Dolores, who, realising that she was on a sort of tour of exploration, showed her various cell-like apartments, gabbling away volubly but unintelligibly all the while, before conducting her to a great cave at the end of the labyrinth, a cave in which there were mules and asses tethered to rings fixed into the walls, and men of all ages and in all sorts of garb were taking their ease, smoking, drinking and playing cards or throwing dice.

At sight of Myra all the men who were awake rose and bowed respectfully, and the old brigand who could speak some English-American lingo stepped forward.

“Salve, senorita!” he exclaimed. “We give the welcomes and salutations to our reina, the consort of our boss El Diablo Cojuelo.”

Myra turned and fled in confusion, blushing hotly, and found her way back to the other big apartment. She had no watch and no means of judging the passage of time, since no daylight could be seen, but she guessed it must be evening when Madre Dolores served a third meal.

She was toying with the food that had been set before her when she heard a sharp click, the secret door swung open, and a hooded figure stepped into the room.

“I have brought you your betrothed, Myra,” said Don Carlos, after quickly closing the door behind him and throwing off his disguise. “I have brought Mr. Antony Standish here, and I propose to test the strength of his love for you and your love for him.”

“How interesting!” drawled Myra, with forced calmness. “Where is Tony, and how did you manage to capture him? I should have thought the whole district by now would be full of police and soldiers hunting for El Diablo Cojuelo.”

“Mr. Standish has been conveyed to a cell through the entrance used by my men,” answered Don Carlos. “Unfortunately the messages summoning the police and the military, and reporting that the beautiful Senorita Rostrevor and Don Carlos de Ruiz have been kidnapped, do not appear to have been delivered. Possibly the servants of Don Carlos, sent to summon aid, were intercepted by the followers of El Diablo Cojuelo.”

“Quite possibly!” agreed Myra, satirically, meeting the challenging glance of his twinkling eyes unflinchingly. “But how did you manage to capture Tony? Didn’t he make a fight of it?”

“A masked and armed emissary of El Diablo Cojuelo by some mysterious means found his way into El Castillo de Ruiz, surprised Mr. Standish in his own room and demanded that he should accompany him to arrange terms for your ransom. Needless to say, I was the masked emissary. Mr. Standish demanded that his own safety be guaranteed, and it was not until I sardonically suggested he was more concerned about himself than about his fiancee, and was probably content to leave the beautiful Senorita Rostrevor to the tender mercies of El Diablo Cojuelo rather than endure any personal hardship, that I persuaded him to accompany me.”

“Well, the fact that he accompanied you, without any guarantee of his personal safety, shows how much he loves me,” commented Myra.

“H’m! That remains to be proved, but I promise you he shall be put to the test,” retorted Don Carlos. “You, of course, can simplify the situation by telling him you have fallen in love with your captor and do not wish to be ransomed.”

“I can further simplify the situation by telling Tony that El Diablo Cojuelo is Don Carlos de Ruiz,” said Myra.

“No, Myra, that would complicate matters, since it might necessitate my keeping Standish a prisoner here indefinitely in order to prevent him from denouncing me to the authorities. Give me your word of honour not to reveal my identity to Standish, and I will have him brought in here to strike a bargain for you in your presence. You should be interested to know what value your English lover places on you.”

“I don’t think you are playing fair,” said Myra, after much hesitation. “However, I promise, if you wish, not to reveal your identity to Tony to-night, but I shall not promise not to denounce you as soon as I regain my freedom.”

“Thank you, Myra mia, that is sufficient promise,” said Don Carlos, and laughed as he resumed his disguise. “I think I can promise you some amusement and enlightenment.”

He looked again a mysterious and forbidding figure as he took a seat at the table and rang a bell and gave orders, after laying an automatic pistol in front of him. Seated on the couch some distance away, Myra had the sensation of watching and taking part in a play or a game of make-believe when, after a few minutes, Tony Standish, guarded by two villainous-looking but picturesquely-attired brigands, was marched into the apartment.

Tony’s face was pale and he looked ruffled. At sight of Myra he gave a gasp of relief.

“Thank heaven you are safe, darling!” he exclaimed. “I have been crazy with anxiety about you. How have these bally ruffians been treating you?”

“I have had a ghastly time, Tony,” answered Myra. “I haven’t actually been ill-treated, but this man” she nodded towards the hooded figure at the table “has been making love to me and trying to take advantage of my helplessness.”

“Are you the fellow who calls himself El Diablo Cojuelo?” demanded Tony, addressing the hooded figure. “Do you speak any English?”

“I am he who is known as El Diablo Cojuelo, senor, and I promise you that you will find me a veritable devil if you do not agree to my terms,” answered Don Carlos. “Oh, yes, I speak English. How else could I have made love to the Senorita Rostrevor?”

“How dare you make love to Miss Rostrevor?” blustered Tony. “I warn you you shall suffer for this outrage. We are British subjects, and the British Government will make your confounded Spanish Authorities pay the penalty. Take off that hood thing and let’s have a look at you.”

It was a futile sort of speech, but Tony was conscious that he was at a disadvantage and he was trying to bluff.

“I am afraid the shock of seeing my face might be too much for you, senor,” retorted Don Carlos, with a muffled laugh. “But I am willing to face you as man to man, if the idea is acceptable to you, and to fight you with such weapons as you may select, or without weapons. I flatter myself I am fairly proficient in your English sport of boxing, if you would prefer a fist fight rather than a duel with swords or pistols. I rather fancy we can settle this matter without calling for the intervention of the British Government!”

“What are you blathering about?” asked the astonished Tony. “Why do you want to fight me?”

“I am making you what an Englishman would surely call a sporting offer, senor,” explained Don Carlos. “I will fight you for Miss Myra Rostrevor. If I beat you, you surrender her to me. If you beat me, I surrender her to you, set you both at liberty, and promise you safe conduct back to El Castillo de Ruiz without any question of payment of ransom, provided you give me your word of honour not to betray my identity, which I shall reveal to you. Is it a bargain?”

“But but hang it all! the whole thing’s fantastic!” stammered Tony, more bewildered than ever. “Why should I take the risk of having to surrender Miss Rostrevor to you? It is an absurd proposal, although you may think it is a sporty offer. I’m not afraid to fight you, but I’ve got to consider Miss Rostrevor.”

“Does this proposal appeal to Miss Rostrevor?” inquired Don Carlos, turning his hooded head in Myra’s direction. “It is possible that the risk of becoming the property of El Diablo Cojuelo is not altogether distasteful to her!”

Myra did not know how to answer. She felt inclined to bid Tony accept the offer, yet she knew it would be an unwomanly thing to do. Instinctively she felt, moreover, that in a fight Don Carlos would prove the victor.

“The risk is distasteful to me,” she equivocated, after a pause.

“You seem to forget that you are completely at my mercy,” remarked Don Carlos drily. “It is an act of grace on my part to offer Senor Standish the opportunity of fighting for you.”

“Here, cut out this nonsensical talk and drop your pose of being a sportsman,” interposed Standish. “What’s the idea, anyhow? It’s heads you win and tails I lose, I suppose, if it comes to fighting you. If I beat you, one of your gang of cut-throat ruffians would probably knife me. I see through your bluff, my man. You are pretending that you want to keep Miss Rostrevor with the idea of extorting a bigger ransom.”

“You insult me!” thundered Don Carlos, springing up from his chair and bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a crash. “El Diablo Cojuelo has never broken his word and has kept his every promise, yet you dare to suggest he would not fight fair. Let me insult you in return, Senor Standish, by suggesting you are too much of a coward to fight for the girl you profess to love, and would surrender her rather than suffer pain.”

“Confound you, you ruffian! How dare you talk to me in that fashion!” burst out Tony, forgetting his position, and taking an impulsive step forward only to be seized roughly by his guards, one of whom jabbed the point of a knife against his breast. Tony flinched, then he shrugged his shoulders and faced the hooded figure disdainfully.

“Easy to take the high hand and to fling insults at a man when you have a lot of armed ruffians to protect you!” he said sarcastically. “What’s the idea, anyhow? Why not get down to business instead of spouting a lot of balderdash?”

“I can dispense with the protection of the guards,” Don Carlos remarked. “Garcilaso and Riafio, you will withdraw and leave me to deal with the senor. Wait outside,” he added in Spanish.

He resumed his seat as the guards left the room, and Myra could see his eyes gleaming like black diamonds through the slits in his mask.

“Well, how much will you take to set Miss Rostrevor at liberty?” inquired Tony impatiently, after a pause. “I am sick of all this bluff and nonsense, being brought here blind-folded, and all that sort of thing, by another fellow dressed like you. The whole thing seems to me a fake, and it seems to me you must be in league with the authorities, else how could you have a place like this electric light and all the rest of it without being spotted?”

“Strange, is it not, Senor Standish?” responded Don Carlos, and his muffled voice had laughter in it. “Yet I assure you I am not in league with the authorities, and even Don Carlos, who prides himself on knowing practically every foot of the mountain range, failed to find my stronghold. Even a Division of your wonderful British Army and all your Scotland Yard would not discover the nest of El Diablo Cojuelo. You and Miss Rostrevor are as completely lost to the world here, and as helpless as you would be if the earth had swallowed you up.”

“Oh, I quite realise you are in a position to dictate terms at present, if that’s what you are getting at?” Tony exclaimed. “Why not get down to business without all this palaver? Look here, I’ll pay you 10,000 pesetas to set Miss Rostrevor at liberty and give her safe conduct back to the Castle de Ruiz.”

“Ten thousand pesetas,” repeated Don Carlos. “Dios! Ten thousand pesetas! Miss Rostrevor, I congratulate you! Ten thousand pesetas are the Spanish equivalent of about sixty pounds, in English money. You see what a fabulous value your lover places on you. Sixty pounds! You must indeed feel flattered!”

Tony Standish’s face crimsoned in annoyance, and a vicious expression flashed into his pale blue eyes.

“How much do you want?” he snapped.

Don Carlos did not answer. He rose from the table and walked to and fro, reiterating:

“Ten thousand pesetas sixty pounds!”

Tony cursed under his breath, then his glance fell on the automatic pistol lying on the table, and he snatched it up and levelled it at his captor.

“Hands up, or I’ll put a bullet through you!” he cried excitedly.

“Ten thousand pesetas sixty pounds!” sneered Don Carlos again, paying no heed to the pistol levelled at him. “So that is the value you place on the woman you profess to love!”

Stung to fury and scarcely realising what he was doing, Tony Standish fired, but the shot did not seem to take effect, and before he could fire a second time Myra sprang at him and snatched the pistol from his hand. As she did so, the two guards dashed into the room, grappled with Tony and bore him to the floor. One of them put a knife to the Englishman’s throat, and twisted round his head to call out something to his master.

“No, not now,” said Don Carlos shortly, in Spanish. “Take him away, manacle him, and guard him closely.”

The men dragged Standish to his feet and hustled him out of the room, and as they did so Don Carlos reeled, a gasping cry broke from him, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.