"Thank you," I said.
I opened it. It was forwarded from Pamplona.
COULD YOU COME HOTEL MONTANA MADRID
AM RATHER IN TROUBLE BRETT.
The concierge stood there waiting for another tip, probably.
"What time is there a train for Madrid?"
"It left at nine this morning. There is a slow train at eleven, and the Sud Express at ten to-night."
"Get me a berth on the Sud Express. Do you want the money now?"
"Just as you wish," he said. "I will have it put on the bill."
"Do that."
Well, that meant San Sebastian all shot to hell. I suppose, vaguely, I had expected something of the sort. I saw the concierge standing in the doorway.
"Bring me a telegram form, please."
He brought it and I took out my fountain-pen and printed:
LADY ASHLEY HOTEL MONTANA MADRID
ARRIVING SUD EXPRESS TOMORROW LOVE
JAKE.
That seemed to handle it. That was it. Send a girl off with one man. Introduce her to another to go off with him. Now go and bring her back. And sign the wire with love. That was it all right. I went in to lunch.
I did not sleep much that night on the Sud Express. In the morning I had breakfast in the dining-car and watched the rock and pine country between Avila and Escorial. I saw the Escorial out of the window, gray and long and cold in the sun, and did not give a damn about it. I saw Madrid come up over the plain, a compact white sky-line on the top of a little cliff away off across the sun-hardened country.
The Norte station in Madrid is the end of the line. All trains
