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Updated: May 5, 2025
A word was coming out clear, writing itself unmistakably in the middle of the line, at the bottom of the sheet a signature. Zimmermann! "From the General Staff!" said Hillyard, in a whisper of excitement. "My word!" He looked at Fairbairn with an eager smile of gratitude. "It's your doing that we have got this yours and Lopez Baeza's!"
When Baeza's match went out there was no light anywhere; from a room somewhere above came a sound of quarrelling voices a woman's voice high and shrill, a man's voice hoarse and drunken, and, as an accompaniment, the wailing of a child wakened from its sleep. At the very top of the house Baeza rapped on a door.
And once more Hillyard's quiet eyes rested upon Baeza's face. "It is not wise that we should walk out together. There is no one here, it is true, but in the chairs outside the cafés who shall say?" "Yes. You go on ahead," Hillyard agreed. "That is wise." Lopez rose. "Give me five minutes, señor. Then down the Rambla. The second turning to the right, beyond the Opera House.
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