While carrying on my eye-courtship with the kneeling devotee, I stood
somewhat in shadow. A column, with the statue of some canonised
churchman, afforded me a niche where I was concealed from the other
worshippers.
But there was a darker shadow behind me--occupied by a darker substance.
Tia Josefa was not the only spy present in the Cathedral.
I was made aware of it, by hearing a voice--of course spoken in a
whisper, but so close to my ear, that I had no difficulty in
distinguishing every word.