disguises according to the possibilities of his clients, almost as much as he enjoyed wrangling and bargaining, for their last sous. A greedy and grasping old scoundrel, no doubt, but once you entrusted yourself to M. Mendoza you could rely upon his performing his part of the bargain with zeal, honesty, and secrecy.
The two Legionaries divested themselves of their uniforms and put on the clothes handed to them.
Another knock, and Rupert came in.
"Hallo, Willie Clarkson," said he to Mendoza, who courteously replied with a "Buenas tardes, señor."
"That one will be an English caballero," he observed.
"Thought I should never get here," said Rupert. "Got into the wrong rabbit-warren," and took off his tunic.
The Jew did not "place" the Bucking Bronco mmediately upon his entrance, but studied him carefully, for some minutes, before announcing that he had better shave off his moustache and be a Spanish fisherman, muleteer, or sailor. If questioned, he might tell some tale, in execrable French, of a wife or daughter kidnapped at Barcelona and traced to a Tlemcen brothel. He should rave and be violent and more than a little drunk.…
And could the worthy M. Mendoza supply a couple of good revolvers with ammunition?
"Si, si," said M. Mendoza. "Ciertamente. Con placer. A most excellent one of very large calibre and with twenty-eight rounds of ammunition for forty francs, and another of smaller calibre and longer
