midday
With Concha he was as simple , as direct , and as unsophisticated as the old priest himself , and now took his leave without attempting to disguise the fact that he had accomplished a foreset purpose . Without difficulty he found the small stationer 's shop next to the synagogue in the Calle de Madrid , and bade the stationer -- a spectacled individual with upright hair and the air of seeking something in the world which is not usually behind a counter -- take his card to Señor Larralde . At first the stationer pretended ignorance of the name , but on discovering that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a conversation of intrigue , disappeared into a back room , whence emanated a villanous smell of cooking . While Sir John waited in the little shop , Father Concha walked to the Plazuela de l'Iglesia Vieja , which small square , overhanging the Tagus and within reach of its murmuring voice , is deserted except at midday , when the boys play at bull-fighting and a few workmen engage in a grave game of bowls . Concha sat , book in hand , opened honestly at the office of the day and hour , and read no word . Instead , he stared across the gorge at the brown bank of land which commands the city and renders it useless as a fortress in the days of modern artillery . He sat and stared grimly , and thought perhaps of those secret springs within the human heart that make one man successful and unhappy , while another , possessing brains and ability and energy , fails in life , yet is perhaps the happier of the two .