And Morano wore that old triumphant sword,
and carried the mandolin that was ever young.
They had not gone far when it was as Morano had said; for, looking
back, as they often did, to the spot where their road touched the
sky-line, they saw la Garda spurring, seven of them in their
unmistakable looped hats, very clear against the sky which a
moment ago seemed so fair.
When the seven saw the two they did not spare the dust; and first
they came to Morano.
"You," they said, "are Rodriguez Trinidad Fernandez, Concepcion
Henrique Maria, a Lord of the Valleys of Arguento Harez."
"No, masters," said Morano.
Oh but denials were lost upon la Garda.
Denials inflamed their suspicions as no other evidence could. Many
a man had they seen with his throat in the hands of the public
garrotter; and all had begun with denials who ended thus. They
looked at the mandolin, at the gay cloak, at the emeralds in the
scabbard, for wherever emeralds go there is evidence to identify
them, until the nature of man changes or the price of emeralds.
They spoke hastily among themselves.
"Without doubt," said one of them, "you are whom we said." And
they arrested Morano.
Then they spurred on to Rodriguez. "You are, they said, "as no man
doubts, one Morano, servant at the Inn of the Dragon and Knight,
whose good master is, as we allege, dead."
"Masters," answered Rodriguez, "I am but a poor traveller, and no
servant at any inn.
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