Benton's eyes seemed hypnotically drawn to the table pointed out, but he kept them tensely riveted on his coffee cup.
"Yes?" he impatiently prompted.
"Of course," continued Blanco absently, "no one could regret more profoundly than the Grand Duke any accident or fatality which might befall his royal kinsman, yet even the holy saints cannot prevent evil chances!" He paused to sip his coffee. "At the right of 'Louis, the Dreamer,' as he is called, sits the Count Borttorff, who is not greatly in favor with Prince Karyl. He, too, is a Galavian of noble birth, but Paris knows him better than Puntal. He on the left, the man with the puffed eyes and the dissipated mouth—you will notice also a scar over the left temple—" Blanco was regarding his cigarette tip as he flecked an ash to the floor—"is Monsieur Jusseret supposed to be high in the affairs of the FrenchCabinet Noir."
"There is one more—and a vacant chair," suggested Benton.
Thetoreadornodded. "True, I had not forgotten the other. Tall, black-haired, not unlike yourself in appearance,Señor, save for a heavier jaw and the mustache which points upward. He is an Englishman by birth, a native of the world by adoption. Once he bore a British army commission. Now he is seen in distinguished society"—Blanco laughed—"when distinguished society wants something done which clean men will not do. His name, just now, is Martin. In many quarters he is better known as the English Jackal. Where one sees him one may scent conspiracy."
In all the life and color compassed between the four walls of Moorish tiles and arches, Benton felt the magnet of the group irresistibly drawing his eyes to itself.
"And this gathering about a table for a cup of coffee, in Cadiz—what of it?" argued Benton. He tried to speak as if his curiosity were dilute and his thoughts west of the Atlantic. "Are they not all known here?"
Again Blanco gave the expressive Spanish shrug.
"Few people here know any of them. I only said,Señor, that if any chance should cause Galavia to mourn her new King that same chance would elevate the tall, pale gentleman from a café table to a throne. I did not say that the chance would occur."
"And yet?" urged Benton, his eyes narrowing,"your words seem to hint more than they express. What is it, Manuel?"
The Spaniard took a handful of matches from a porcelain receptacle on the table. He laid one down.
"Let that match," he smilingly suggested, "stand for the circumstance of the Grand Duke leaving Paris for Cadiz which is—well, nearer to Puntal—and less observant than Paris." He laid another on the marble table-top with its sulphur head close to the first, so that the two radiated from a common center like spokes from a hub. "Regard that as a coincidence of the arrival of the Count Borttorff from the other direction, but at the same time, and at the precise season of the coronation and marriage of the King." He looked at the two matches, then successively laid down others, all with the heads at the common center. "That," he said, "is the joining of the group by the distinguished Frenchman—that the presence of the English Jackal—that is the chance that runs against any King or Queen of meeting death. That—" he struck another match and held it a moment burning in his fingers "—regard that,Señor, as the flaring up of ambitions that are thwarted by a life or two."
He touched the burning match to the grouped tips of sulphur and his teeth gleamed white as he contemplated the little spurt of hissing flame. Then he dropped his flattened hand upon the tiny eruption andextinguished it, as his sudden grin died away to a bored smile.
HIS TEETH GLEAMED WHITE AS HE CONTEMPLATED THE LITTLE SPURT OF HISSING FLAME.
"There, it is over," he yawned, "and of course it may not happen.Quien sabe?"
"And if they should flare up—" Benton spoke slowly, carefully, "others might suffer than the King?"
"How should one say? The King alone would suffice, but Kings are rarely found in solitude," reasoned the Andalusian. "For a brief moment Europe looks with eyes of interest on the feasting little capital. The King will not be alone. No, it must be—so one would surmise—at the coronation."
"Good God!" Benton gaspingly breathed the exclamation. "But, man, think of it—the women—the children—the utterly innocent people—the Queen!"
The Spaniard leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, his hands spread on the table. "Si, Señor, it is regrettable. Yet nothing on earth appears so easy to supply as Kings—except Queens. And after all, what is it to us—an American millionaire—a Cadiztoreador?"
For a moment Benton was silent. When he spoke it was in quick, clear-clipped interrogation.
"You know Puntal and Galavia?"
"As I know Spain."
"Manuel, suppose the quaking of a thronedoesinterest me, you will go there with me—even though I may lead you where its fall may crush us both?"
The Spaniard grinned with a dazzling show of white teeth. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "As well a tumbling castle wall as a charging bull."
"Good. The first thing is to learn all we can of Louis and his party."
"There is," observed Blanco calmly, "a table on this side also shielded by plants. From its angle we can observe,—and be ourselves protected from their view. However, we will first go for a stroll in thecalleand return. The change of position will then be less noticeable. Also, theSeñor'sforehead is beaded with moisture. The air of the street will be grateful."
As Benton rose he noticed that the Grand Duke was leaning confidentially toward the member of the FrenchCabinet Noir.
Fifteen minutes later the two men were ensconced in their more sheltered coign, with wine glasses before them, and all the seeming of idle hours to kill.
"Is Louis ostensibly a friend of the throne?" demanded the American.
"Professedly, he is,Señor. He will write his felicitations when the marriage and the crowning occur—he will even send suitable gifts, but he will remain at his café here with his absinthe, or in Paris near thefair Comptessa Astaride, whom he adores, unless, of course, he goes to touch the match."
"Does he never return to Puntal?"
"Once in five years he has been there. Then he went quietly to his hunting lodge which is ten miles, as the crow flies from the capital, yet barred off by the mountain ridge. It is two days' journey by sea from Puntal, and save by the sea one comes only through the mountain pass, which is always guarded. Yet on that occasion heliographs reported his movements; the King's escort was doubled and the King went little abroad."
"Who stands at Louis' back? Revolutionists?"
"Dios!No,Señor. The Galavians are cattle. Karyl or Louis, it is one to them. Galavia is a key. The key cares not at what porter's belt it jingles. Europe cares who opens and closes the lock.Comprende?Spain cares, France cares, Italy cares, even the Northern nations care. The movement of pawns affects castles and kings."
Manuel suddenly halted in his flow of talk. "Blessed Saints!" he breathed softly. "When he comes nearer you will see him—the palms obscure him now. It is Colonel Von Ritz. He has just entered. He stands near Karyl and the throne. He is a great man wasted in a toy kingdom. All Europe envies the services which Von Ritz squanders on Galavia."
Benton looked up with a rush of memories, and was glad that the Galavian could not see him.
Like all the men concerned, Von Ritz was inconspicuously a civilian in dress, but as he came down the center of the room he was, as always, the commanding figure, challenging attention. His steady eyes swept the place with dispassionate scrutiny. His straight mouth-line betrayed no expression. He came slowly, idly, as though looking for someone. When still some distance from the table where sat the Duke Louis, he halted and their eyes met. Those of the Duke, as he inclined his head slightly, stiffly, wore a glint of veiled hostility. Those of Von Ritz, as he returned the salute, no whit more cordially, were blank, except that for the moment, as he stood regarding the party, his non-committal pupils seemed to bore into each face about the table and to catalogue them all in an insolent inventory.
Each man in the group uneasily shifted his eyes. Then Karyl's officer turned on his heel and left the place. Louis watched him, scowling, and as the Colonel passed into the street turned suddenly and spoke in a vehement whisper. Jusseret's sardonic lips twisted into a wry smile as though in recognition of an adversary's clever check.
The café was now filled. Few tables remained unoccupied, and of these, several were near that of the Ducal party.
Blanco rose. "Wait for me,Señor," he whispered, then went to the front of the café where Benton lost him in a crowd at the door. A moment later he came lurching back. His lower lip was stupidly pendent, his eyes heavy and dull, and as he floundered about he dropped with the aimless air of one heavily intoxicated into a chair by a vacant table not more than ten feet distant from that of Louis, the Dreamer.
There he remained huddled in apparent torpor and for some moments unobserved, until the Duke signaled to a passing waiter and indicated thetoreadorwith a glance. The waiter came over to Blanco. "TheSeñorwill find another table," he said with the ingratiating courtesy of one paying a compliment. "It is regrettable, but this one is reserved." Blanco appeared too stupid to understand, and when finally he did grasp the meaning he rose with profuse and clumsy apologies and staggered vacantly about in the immediate neighborhood of the conspiring coterie. Finally, after receiving further attention and guidance from the waiter, he returned to Benton, and dropping into his chair leaned over, his white teeth flashing a satisfied smile. "The matches may not flare,Señor," he said, "but it would appear it was planned. Now Martinand Borttorff cannot go to Puntal. Since the brief visit of Von Ritz they are branded men. The others are already known to Karyl's government."
Benton sat with his brows knitted intently listening.
"Now," went on Blanco, "there is one thing more. They await the man for whom they hold the empty chair."
There was a brief silence, then the Spaniard uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction. Benton glanced up to see a young man of frank face, blond mustache and Paris clothes drop into the vacant place with evident apologies for his tardiness.
"Ah," breathed Blanco again, "I feared it would be someone I did not know. He is theTenienteLapas, of Karyl's Palace guard. Thepobrecito! I wonder what post he hopes to adorn at the Court of the Pretender."
For a moment the Spaniard looked on with an expression of melancholy reflection. "That boy," he said "at last, has the trust and friendship of the King. Before him lies every prospect of advancement, yet he has been beguiled by the Countess Astaride, and throws himself into a plot against Karyl. It is pitiable when one is perfidious so young—and with such small cause."
"Who is the Countess Astaride?" inquired the American.
"One of the most beautiful women in Europe, towhom these children are playthings. For her there is only Louis Delgado. It is her firing of his dreams which makes him aspire to a throne. It is she who has the determination. He can see visions of power only in the colors of his absinthe glass. She uses men to her ends. Lapas is the latest—unless—" Blanco paused—"unless he is playing two parts, and really serves Karyl. Come,Señor, there is nothing further to interest us here."
With the sapphire bay of Puntal at his back, his knees clasped between interlacing fingers, Benton sat on the stone sea-wall and affected to whistle up a lightness of heart. Near at hand sprawled a picturesque city, its houses tinted in pea-greens, pinks and soft blues, or as white and decorative as though fashioned in icing on a cake.
Clinging steeply to higher levels and leaning on buttressing walls, lay outspread vineyards and cane fields and gardens. Splotching the whole with imperial and gorgeous purple, hung masses of bougonvillea between trellis and masonry. At a more lofty line, where the sub-tropical profusion halted in the warning breath of a keener atmosphere, came the scrub growth and beyond that, in succeeding altitudes, the pine belt, the snow line and the film of trailing cloud on the white peaks.
Out of the center of the color-splashed town rose the square tower of the ancient cathedral, white in a coat of plaster for two-thirds of its height, but gray at its top in the nakedness of mossy stone.
To its dilapidated clock Benton's eyes traveled repeatedly and anxiously while he waited.
From the clock they wandered in turn to the road circling the bay, and the cliff at his left, where the jail-like walls of the King's Palace rose sheer from the rock, fifty feet above him.
From the direction of the Cathedral drifted fragments of band music, and the bugle calls of marching platoons. Everywhere festivity reigned, working great profits to the keepers of the wine-shops.
Manuel Blanco turned the corner and Benton slipped quickly down from his perch on the wall and fell into step as the other passed.
"It is difficult to learn anything,Señor." The Spaniard spoke low as he led the way outward from the city.
"Puntal is usually a quiet place and the festivities have made it like a child at afiesta. One hears only 'Long live the King—the Queen!' There are to be illuminations to-night, and music, and the limit will be taken off the roulette wheels at the Strangers' Club. Bah! One could have read it in the papers without leaving Cadiz."
"Then you have learned nothing?"
"One thing, yes. An old friend of mine has come for the festivities from the Duke's estate. He saysthe pass is picketed and a guard is posted at the Look-out Rock."
"The Look-out Rock?" Benton repeated the words with an inflection of inquiry.
"Yes—look above you at the hill whose summit is less high than the ridge peaks—there below the snow." Blanco suddenly raised his voice from confidential undertone to the sing-song of the professional guide. "Yonder," he said, scarcely changing the direction of his pointed finger, "is the unfinished sanatorium for consumptives which the Germans undertook and left unfinished." Two soldiers were sauntering by, smart in newly issued uniforms of tall red caps, dark tunics, sky-blue breeches, and polished boots. "That point," went on Blanco, dropping his voice again, as they passed out of earshot, "is three thousand, five hundred feet above the sea. From the rock by the pines—if you had a strong glass, you could see the Galavian flag which flies there—the eye sweeps the sea for many empty leagues. One's gaze can also follow the gorge where runs the pass through the mountains. Also, to the other side, one has an eagle's glimpse of the Grand Duke's hunting lodge. There is an observatory just back of the rock and flag. The speck of light which you can see, like a splinter of crystal, is its dome, but only military astronomers now look through its telescope. There one can read the tale of open shuttersor barred windows in the house of Louis, the Dreamer. You understand?"
"Yes."
"Now, do you see the thread of broken masonry zig-zagging upward from the Palace? That is a walled drive which runs part of the way up to the rock. In other days the Kings of Galavia went thus from their castle to the point whence they could see the peninsula spread out below like a map on the page of a school-book."
"Yes? What else?"
"This. The lodge of the Duke as seen by the telescope sleeps shuttered—an expanse of blank walls. Yet the Duke is there!"
"Louis—in Galavia?"
"Wait." Blanco laid his hand on the other's arm and smiled.
"My friend is superstitious—and ignorant. He tells how the Duke has a ship's mast with wires on a tower fronting the far side. He says Louis talks with the open sea."
"A Marconi mast?"
Manuel nodded.
Benton's eyes narrowed under drawn brows. When he spoke his voice was tense.
"In God's name, Manuel," he whispered, "what is the answer?"
The Spaniard met the gaze gravely. "I fancy,Señor," he said slowly, "the matches will burn."
"When? Where?"
"Quien sabe?" Blanco paused to light a cigarette. Two priests, their black robes relieved by crimson sashes and stockings, approached, and until they were at a safe distance he talked on once more at random with the sing-song patter of the guide. "That dungeon-like building is the old Fortressdo Freres. It has clung to that gut of rock out there in the bay since the days when the Moors held the Mediterranean. It is said that the new King will convert it from a fortress into a prison. It is now employed as an arsenal."
Slowly the two men moved back to the busier part of the city. They walked in silence until they were swallowed in the crowds drifting near the Central Avenue. Finally Blanco leaned forward, moved by the anxious face of his companion. "Mañana, Señor," he suggested reassuringly. "Perhaps we may learn to-morrow."
"And to-morrow may be too late," replied Benton.
"Hardly,Señor. The marriage and coronation are the day following. It should be one of those occasions." Benton only shuddered.
They swung into theRuo Centrale, between lining sycamores, olive trees and acacias, to be engulfed in ajostling press of feast-day humanity. Suddenly Benton felt his coat-sleeve tugged.
"Let us stop," Manuel shouted into his ear above the roar of the carnival clamor. "The Royal carriage comes."
Between a garden and the pavement ran a stone coping, topped by a tall iron grill, and laden with screening vines. The two men mounted this masonry and clung to the iron bars, as the crowd was driven back from the street by the outriders. Before Benton's eyes the whole mass of humanity swam in a blur of confusion and vertigo. The passing files of blue and red soldiery seemed wavering figures mounted on reeling horses. The King's carriage swung into view and a crescendo of cheering went up from the crowd.
Benton saw blurred circles of color whirling dizzily about a steady center, and the center was the slender woman at Karyl's side, who was the day after to-morrow to become his Queen. He saw the fixed smile with which she tried to acknowledge the salutations as the crowd eddied about her carriage. Her wide, stricken eyes were shimmery with imprisoned tears. To drive through the streets of Puntal with that half-stunned misery written clear in lips and eyes, she must, he knew, have reached the outmost border of endurance. Karyl bent solicitously forward and spoke, and shenodded as if answering in a dream, smiling wanly. It was all as some young Queen might have gone to the guillotine rather than to her coronation. As she looked bewilderedly from side to side her glance fell upon the clustering flowers of the vine. Benton gripped the iron bars and groaned, and then her eyes met his. For a moment her pupils dilated and one gloved hand convulsively tightened on the paneling of the carriage door. The man dropped into the crowd and was swallowed up, and he knew by her familiar gesture of brushing something away from her temples, that she believed she had seen an image projected from a troubled brain.
"Come," he said brokenly to his companion, "for God's sake get me out of this crowd."
The Strangers' Club of Puntal sits high on a solid wall of rock and overlooks the sea. Its beauty is too full of wizardry to seem real, and what nature had done in view and sub-tropical luxuriance the syndicate which operates the ball rooms, tea gardens, and roulette wheels has striven to abet. To-night a moon two-thirds full immersed the grounds in a bath of blue and silver, and far off below the cliff wall the Mediterranean was phosphorescent. In the room where thecroupiersspun the wheels, the color scheme was profligate.
Benton idled at one of the tables, his eyes searching the crowd in the faint hope of discovering somethread which he might follow up to definite conclusion. Beyond the wheel, just at thecroupier'selbow, stood a woman, audaciously yet charmingly gowned in red, with a scale-like shimmer of passementerie. A red rose in her black hair threw into conspicuous effect its intense luster.
She might have been the genius ofRouge et Noir. Her litheness had the panther's sinuous strength. The vivid contrast of olive cheeks, carmine lips and dark eyes, gave stress to her slender sensuousness.
Hers was the allurement of poppy and passion-flower. In her movements was suggestion of vital feminine force.
Perhaps the incurious glance of the American made itself felt, for as she threw down a freshlouis d'or, she looked up and their eyes met. For an instant her expression was almost that of one who stifles an impulse to recognize another. Possibly, thought Benton, she had mistaken him for someone else.
"Mon dieu," whispered a voice in French, "the Comptessa d'Astaride is charming this evening."
"Ah, such wit! Such charm!" enthused another voice at Benton's back. "She is most perfect in those gowns of unbroken lines, with a single rose." Evidently the men left the tables at once, for Benton heard no more. He also turned away a moment later to make way for an Italian in whose feverish eyes burned theroulette-lust. He went to the farthest end of the gardens, where there was deep shadow, and a seaward outlook over the cliff wall. There the glare of electric bulbs and blazing doorways was softened, and the orchestra's music was modulated. Presently he was startled by a ripple of laughter at his shoulder, low and rich in musical vibrance.
"Ah, it is not like this in your gray, fog-wrapped country."
Benton wheeled in astonishment to encounter the dazzling smile of the Countess Astaride. She was standing slender as a young girl, all agleam in the half-light as though she wore an armor of glowing copper and garnets.
"I beg your pardon," stammered the American, but she laid a hand lightly on his arm and smilingly shook her head.
"I know, Monsieur Martin, we have not met, but you were with the Duke at Cadiz. You have come in his interest. In his cause, I acknowledge no conventions." In her voice was the fusing of condescension and regal graciousness. "It was wise," she thoughtfully added, "to shave your mustache, but even so Von Ritz will know you. You cannot be too guarded."
For an instant Benton stood with his hands braced on the coping regarding her curiously. Evidently he stood on the verge of some revelation, but the rôlein which her palpable mistake cast him was one he must play all in the dark.
"You can trust me," she said with an impassioned note but without elevating her voice. "I am the Countess—"
"Astaride," finished Benton.
Then he cautiously added the inquiry: "Have you heard the plans that were discussed by the Duke, and Jusseret and Borttorff?"
"And yourself and Lieutenant Lapas," she augmented.
"And Lapas and myself," admitted Benton, lying fluently.
"I know only that Louis is to wait at his lodge to hear by wireless whether France and Italy will recognize his government," she hastily recited; "and that on that signal you and Lapas wait to strike the blow."
"Do you know when?" inquired the American, fencing warily in the effort to lead her into betrayal of more definite information.
"It must be soon—or never! But tell me, has Louis come? Has he reached his hunting lodge? Does he know that guards are at the rock? Do you, or Lapas, wait to flash the signal from the look-out? Ah, how my gaze shall be bent toward the flag-staff." Then, as her eyes wandered out to sea, her voice became soft with dreams. She laughed low and shookher head. "Louis, Louis!" she murmured. "When you are King! But tell me—" again she was anxious, executive, imperious—"tell me everything!"
Obviously he was mistaken for the English Jackal!
Benton countered anxiously. "Yet, Your Majesty,"—he bent low as he anticipated her ambition in bestowing the title—"Your Majesty asks so many questions all at once, and we may be interrupted."
Once more she was in a realm of air castles as she leaned on the stone coping and gazed off into the moonlight. "It is but the touching of a button," she murmured, "andallons! In the space of an explosion, dynasties change places." Suddenly she stood up. "You are right. We cannot talk here. I shall be missed. Take this"—she slipped a seal ring from her finger. "Come to me to-morrow morning. I am at the Hôtel de France. I shall be ostensibly out, but show the ring and you will be admitted. When I am Queen, you shall not go undecorated." She gave his hand a warm momentary pressure and was gone.
On the next afternoon at the base of the flag-staff above Look-out Rock, Lieutenant Lapas nervously swept the leagues of sea and land, spreading under him, with strong glasses. Though the air was somewhat rarer and cooler here than below, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the cigarettes which he incessantly smoked followed each other with a furious haste which denoted mental unrest.
At a sound of foliage rustled aside and a displaced rock bumping down the slope, the watcher took the glasses from his eyes with a nervous start.
Up the hill from the left climbed an unknown man. His features were those of a Spaniard. As the officer's eyes challenged him he halted, panting, to mop his brow with the air of one who takes a breathing space after violent exertion. The newcomer smiled pleasantly as he leaned against a bowlder and genially volunteered: "It is a long journey from the shore." Then after a moment he added in a tone of respectful inquiry: "You are Lieutenant Lapas?"
The officer had regained his composure. He regarded the other with a mild scrutiny touched with superciliousness as he nodded acquiescence and in return demanded: "Who are you?"
"Do you see that speck of white down yonder by the sea?" Blanco drew close and his outstretched finger pointed a line to the Duke's lodge. "I come from there," he explained with concise directness.
The officer bit his lip.
"Why did you come?" The Spaniard paused to roll a cigarette before he answered:
"I come from the Duke, of course. Why else should I climb this accursed ladder of hills?"
"What Duke?" The interrogation tumbled too eagerly from the soldier's lips to be consonant with his wary assumption of innocence. "There are so many Dukes. Myself, I serve only the King."
The Spaniard's teeth gleamed, and there was a strangely disarming quality in the smile that broke in sudden illumination over his dark face.
"I have been here only a few days," explained Blanco. Then, lying with apt fluency, he continued: "I have arrived from Cadiz in the service of the Grand Duke Louis Delgado, who will soon be His Majesty, Louis of Galavia, and I am sent to you as the bearer of his message." He ignored the other's protestationsof loyalty to the throne as completely as he ignored the frightened face of the man who made them.
Lapas had whitened to the lips and now stood hesitant. "I don't understand," he stammered.
The Spaniard's expression changed swiftly from good humor to the sternness of a taskmaster.
"The Duke is impatient," he asserted, "of delays and misunderstandings on the part of his servants. His Grace believed that your memory had been well schooled. Louis, the King, may prove forgetful of those who are forgetful of Louis, the Duke."
Lapas still stood silent, pitiably unnerved. If the man was Karyl's spy an incautious reply might cost him his life. If he was genuinely a messenger from the Pretender any hesitation might prove equally fatal.
Time was important. Blanco drew from his pocket a gold seal ring which until last night had adorned the finger of the Countess Astaride. Upon its shield was the crest of the House of Delgado. At the sight of the familiar quarterings, the officer's face became contrite, apologetic, but above all immeasurably relieved.
"Caution is so necessary," he explained. "One cannot be too careful. It is not for myself alone, but for the Duke also that I must have a care."
Blanco accepted the explanation with a bow, then hespoke energetically and rapidly, pressing his advantage before the other's weakness should lead him into fresh vacillation.
"The Duke feared that there might be some misunderstanding as to the signal and the programme. He wished me to make it clear to you."
Lapas nodded and, turning, led the way through the pine trees to a small kiosk that was something between a sentinel box and a signal station built against the walls of the old observatory.
"I think I understand," said Lapas, "but I shall be glad to have you repeat the Duke's commands and inform me if any changes have been made."
"No, the arrangements stand unaltered," replied the Spaniard. "My directions were that you should repeat to me the order of your instructions and that I should judge for His Grace whether or not your memory is retentive. There must be no hitch."
"I don't know you," demurred Lapas.
"His Grace knows me—and trusts me. That should be sufficient," retorted Blanco. "I bring you credentials which you will refuse to recognize at your own risk. Unless I were in the confidence of the Duke, I could scarcely be here with a knowledge of your plans."
Blanco's eyes blazed in sudden and well simulated wrath. "I have no time to waste in argument. Choose quickly. Shall I return to Louis and inform him thatyou refuse to trust those he selects to bear his orders?"
For an instant the Spaniard stood contemptuously regarding the other's terror, then with a disgusted exclamation he turned on his heel and started to the door of the kiosk. But Lapas was in a moment catching at his elbow and protesting himself convinced. He led Blanco back to a seat.
"Listen." The Lieutenant sat at the crude table in the center of the small room and talked rapidly, as one rehearsing a well-learned lesson.
"The Fortressdo Freresis stocked with explosives. Karyl goes there with Von Ritz and others of his suite to inspect the place with the view of turning it into a prison. The Grand Duke, waiting at his hunting lodge, is to receive by wireless the message from Jusseret and Borttorff, who convey the verdict of Europe, as to whether or not it is decided to recognize his Government. If their message be favorable, he will raise the Galavian flag on the west tower of the hunting lodge, and I shall relay the message here with the flag at Look-out Point. This flag-pole will be the signal to those in the city whose fingers are on the key, and whose key will explode the powder indo Freres. If the flag which now flies from the flag-staff here is still flying when the King enters the fortress, the cap will explode. If the flag-staff is empty, the King's visit will be uneventful. It will require fifteen minutes for the King to go from the Palace to the Fortress. I must not remain here—I must be where I can see."
Lapas rose and consulted his watch with nervous haste. "You will excuse me?" he added. "I must be at my post. Are you satisfied?"
Blanco also rose, bowing as he drew back the heavy chair he had occupied. "I am quite satisfied," he approved. His hands were gripping the chairback and when Lapas had taken two paces to the front, and Blanco had appraised the distance between, the chair left the floor. With the same lightning swiftness of motion that had brought salvos of applause from the bull-rings of Cadiz and Seville, he swung it above his head and brought down its cumbersome weight in an arc.
Lapas, his eyes fixed on the door, had no hint. A picture of serene sky and steady mountains was blotted from his brain. There was blackness instead—and unconsciousness.
A bleeding scalp told thetoreadorthat the blow had only cut and stunned.
Rapidly he bound and gagged his captive. Dragging him back through the narrow room he made certainty doubly sure by tying him to the base of the neglected telescope in the abandoned observatory.
A hundred yards below the rock, tucked out of sightof the man at the flag-pole, stretched a ledge-like strip of level ground, backed by the thick tangle of growth which masked the slope. Beyond its edge of roughly blocked and crevassed stone, the gorge fell away a dizzy thousand feet. Out of the pines struggled the half-overgrown path where once a road had led from the castle. This way the earlier Lords of Galavia had come to look across the backbone of the peninsula, to the east.
As Benton paced the ledge impatiently, awaiting the outcome of Blanco's reconnoiter, he noticed with a nauseating sense of onrushing peril how the purpled shadows of the mountains were lengthening across the valley and beginning to creep up the other side.
Each time his pacing brought him to the edge of the clearing he paused to look down at the sullen walls of Karyl's castle.
A woman, flushed and breathless from the climb, pushed through the scrub pines at the path's end and stopped suddenly at the marge of the clearing. Her slender girlish figure, clad in corduroy skirt and blue jersey, was poised with lance-like straightness, and a grace as free as a boy's. Her hands, cased in battered gauntlets, went suddenly to her breast, as though she would muffle the palpitant heart beneath the jersey. She stood for a moment looking at the man and the ultramarine of her eyes clouded slowly into gray. Thepink flush of exercise died instantly to pallor in her cheeks.
Then the lips overcame an impulse to quiver and spoke slowly in an undertone and with marked effort. "This is twice that I have seen you," she whispered, "although you are three thousand miles away."
The man wheeled, not suddenly, but heavily and slowly. "I am real," he answered simply.
Cara put out one hand like a sleep-walker, and came forward, still incredulous.
"Cara, dearest one!" he said impetuously. "You must have known that I would be near you—that I would be standing by, even though I couldn't help!"
She shook her head. "I have been having these hallucinations, you know, of late." She explained as though to herself. "I guess it's—it's just missing people so that does it."
She was close to him now, close, too, to the sheer drop of the cliff, walking forward with eyes wide and fixed on his face. He took a quick step forward and swept her to him, crushing her against his breast.
She gave a glad exclamation of realization, and her own arms closed impulsively around his neck.
"You are real! You are real!" she whispered, looking into his eyes, her gauntleted hands holding his face between them.
"Cara," he begged, "listen to me. It's my lastplea. You said in the letter I have in my pocket—there where your heart is beating—that you could not refuse me if I came again. Dear, this is 'again.' TheIsisis a speck out there at sea awaiting a signal. Will you go? I have no throne to offer, but—"
"Don't," she cried, holding a hand over his lips. "For a minute—just for a little golden minute—let us forget thrones." Then as the furrow came back between her brows: "Oh, boy, it's my destiny to be always strong enough to resist happiness when I might have it by being less strong, and always too weak to bear bravely what must be borne—when it can't be helped."
He stood silent.
After a moment she went on. "And I love you. Ah, you know that well enough, but up there beyond your head which I love, I see the green and white and blue flag of Galavia which I hate, and destiny commands me to be disloyal to you for loyalty to it. On the eve of life imprisonment," she went on, clinging to him, "I have stolen away to play truant perhaps for the last time—still craving freedom, longing for you; and now I find freedom, and you, just to lose you again! I can't—I can't—yes—I can—I will!"
Suddenly he held her off at arms' length and looked at her with a strange wide-eyed expression of discovery.
"But," he cried with the vehemence of a suddenthought, "you are up here—safe! Safe, whatever happens down there! Nothing that occurs there can affect you!"
"Safe, of course," she spoke wonderingly. "What danger is there?"
The man turned. "For God's sake—let me think a moment!" He dropped on the pine needles and sat with his hands covering his face and his fingers pressed into his temples. She came over.
"Does that prevent your thinking?" she softly asked, dropping on her knees at his side and letting one hand rest on his shoulder.
For moments, lengthening into minutes, he sat immovable, fighting back the agonized and torrential flood of thought which burst upon him with unwarned temptation. The danger was not after all a danger to the woman he loved, but a menace to his enemy. She was safe three thousand feet above the threatening city. He had only to hold his hand, perhaps, for a half-hour; had only to keep her here and let matters follow their course.
He was not entertaining the thought, except to assure himself that he could not entertain it, but it was racking him with its suddenness. The King was there—in peril. She was here—safe. Insistently these two facts assaulted his brain.
"Pardon,Señor." Blanco broke noisily downthrough the pines and halted where the path emerged. For an instant he stood in bewildered surprise.
"Pardon, Your Highness—" he exclaimed, bending low; then, quenching the recognition in his eyes and assuming mistake, he laughed. "Ah, I ask forgiveness,Señorita. I mistook you for the Princess. The resemblance is strong. I see my error."
"Manuel!" Benton rose unsteadily and stared at thetoreadorwith a face pallid as chalk. He spoke wildly, "Quick, Manuel—have you learned anything?"
The Spaniard glanced inquiringly at the girl, and as Benton nodded reassurance went on in a lowered voice. Only fragments of his speech reached Cara's ears. Her own thoughts left her too apathetic to listen.
"The plan is this. It is to happen at the Fortressdo Freresthis afternoon while the King inspects the arsenal. Now, in fifteen minutes!" He pointed down toward the city. "See, the cortége leaves the Palace! Lapas was to be here at the rock—the blessed Saints help him! He is hobbled to his telescope." Swiftly he rehearsed the story as it had come from the lips of Lapas.
Benton was studying the Duke's lodge with his glasses. "There is a flag flying on the west tower," he muttered.
He turned slowly toward the Princess. Outstandingveins were tracing cordlike lines on his temples. His fingers trembled as he focused the glasses.
Blanco looked slowly from one to the other. Suddenly he threw back both shoulders and his eyes grew bright in full comprehension of the situation he had discovered.
"Señor!" he whispered.
"Yes?" echoed the American in a dull voice.
"Señor—suppose—suppose I have confused the signals?" The tone was insinuating.
Benton's mind flashed back to a Sunday School class of his childhood and his infantile horror for the tale of a tempter on a high mountain offering the possession of all the world if only—if only—
He took a step forward. Speech seemed to choke him.
"In God's name!" he cried, "you have not forgotten?"
The Spaniard slowly shook his head and smiled. The expression gave to his face a touch of the sinister. "No—but it is yet possible to forget,Señor. I serve no King, I serve you. Sometimes a mistake is the truest accuracy.Quien sabe?"
The Andalusian looked at the girl who stood puzzled and waiting. "Sometimes in thePlaza de Toros, Señor," he went on, speaking rapidly and tensely, "the throngs cry, 'Bravo, matador!' and toss coins into thering. Yet in a moment the same throngs may shout until their throats are hoarse: 'Bravo, toro!' A King is like a bull in the ring,Señor—he has a fickle fate. To me he is nothing—if it pleases them—it is their King—let them do as they wish." He shrugged his shoulders.
Benton straightened. "Manuel," he said with a strained tone, "the flag comes down."
The Andalusian smiled regretfully, and once more shrugged his shoulders.
"As you say,Señor, but are you sure you wish it so?"
"Manuel, I mean that!" said the American with a steadied voice. "And for God's sake, Manuel," he added wildly, "throw the rope over the gorge when you have done it!"
For a moment Benton stood rigid, his hands clenched together at his back as he watched the quick step of the Andalusian climbing to the flag-staff. At last he turned dully and looked down where he could see the royal cortége, not yet half-way along the road to the fortress, then he went over to the girl's side.
"Cara," he said, "I have earned the right to kiss you good-by."
"It's yours without the earning, but good-by—!" She shuddered. "What does it all mean?" she asked in bewilderment. "What was it you discussed?"
"Listen," he commanded. "Tell Von Ritz or Karyl that Lapas is a traitor and a prisoner in the observatory; that Louis is at his lodge and that the Countess Astaride is a conspirator in a plot to assassinate the King. Tell them that a percussion cap and key connect the magazines ofdo Frereswith the city."
The Princess looked at him with eyes that slowly widened in amazed comprehension. "I understand," she whispered. "And the flag—see, it is coming down—that means?"
He dropped on one knee and lifted her fingers to his lips. "It means that you are to be crowned Queen in Galavia to-morrow," he answered with a groan. "Long live the Queen!"
"To-morrow!" repeated the girl with a shudder.
Both stood silent under such a strain as cannot be long sustained. At the crunch of branch underfoot and the returning Blanco's, "Señor! Señor!" both started violently.
"Look,Señor," exclaimed the Spaniard. "The King has entered the fortress." Then, seeing that the eyes of both man and girl turned at his words from an intent gaze, not on the town but the opposite hills, he added, half-apologetic: "I shall go,Señor, and look to my prisoner. If you need me, I shall be there."
With the same stricken misery in her eyes that they had worn as she passed in her carriage, Cara remained motionless and silent.
The bottom of the valley grew cloudy with shadow. The sun was kissing into rosy pink the snow caps of the western ridge. A cavalcade of horsemen emerged at last fromdo Freresand started at a smart trot for the Palace. Cara pointed downward with one tremulous finger. Benton nodded.
"Safe," he said, but without enthusiasm.
"I must go." Cara started down the path and the man walked beside her as far as the battered gate which hung awry from its broken columns. Over it now clambered masses of vine richly purple with bougonvillea. She broke off a branch and handed it to him. "Purple," she said again, "is the color of mourning and royalty."
Blanco noted the coming of evening and realized that it would be well to reach the level of the city before dark. He knew that if Lapas was to be turned over to Karyl's authorities, steps to that end should be taken before he was discovered and released by those of his own faction. He accordingly made his way back to the gate.
Benton was still standing, looking down the alley-way which ran between the half ruined lines of masonry. His shoulders unconsciously sagged.
The Spaniard approached quietly and stood for a moment unwilling to interrupt, then in a low voice touched with that affectionate note which men are not ashamed to show even to other men in the Latin countries, he said: "SeñorBenton!"
The American turned and put out his hand, grasping that of thetoreador. His grip said what his lips left unworded.
"Dios mio!" exclaimed Blanco with a black scowl."We saved the King, but we bought his life and his throne too high! He cost too dear!"
"Blanco," Benton spoke with difficulty, "I have brought you with me and you have asked no questions. The story is not mine to tell."
The Andalusian raised a hand in protestation.
"It is not necessary that you tell me anything,Señor. I have seen enough. And I know the King was not worth the price."
Benton shook his head. "Are you going on with me, now that you know what you know?"
"Señor, it grieves me that you should ask. I told you I was at your disposition." The Spaniard went on talking rapidly, talking with lips and eyes and gesture. "When you came to Cadiz and took me with you on the small steamer, I did not ask why. I thought it was as Americans are interested in all things—or perhaps because the many millionpesetasof theSeñor'sfortune might be affected by changing the map of Europe. No matter. You were interested. It was enough."
He swept both hands apart.
"But had I known then what to-day has taught me, I should have held my tongue that evening when the Pretender plotted in the café."
"To-morrow," said Benton slowly, "there will be festivity. I can't be here then. I must leave to-night—but you,amigo mio, you must stay and watch. If Lapas is taken prisoner and silenced there will be no one in Puntal who will suspect you. No one knew me and if I leave at once, the Countess will hardly learn who was the mysterious man to whom she gave a ring."
"But,Señor,"—Blanco was dubious—"would it not be better that I should be with you?"
"You can serve me better by remaining here. I would rather have you near Her."
The man from Cadiz nodded and crossed himself.
"I am pledged,Señor," he asserted.
"Then," continued the American, "for a time we must separate. TheIsiswill sail to-night."
The men walked together to the terminal station of the small ratchet railway. When they parted the Spaniard and the yachtsman had arranged a telegraph code which might be used by the small but complete wireless equipment of theIsis. An hour later the launch from the yacht took him aboard at the ancient stone jetty, where the fruit-venders and wine-sellers shouted their jargon, and the seaweed clung to the landing stage.
When Karyl had returned to the Palace after the inspection of the Fortressdo Freres, he had sent word at once to that part of the Palace where Cara had her suite. She was accompanied by her aunt, the Duchess of Apsberg, and her English cousin, Lilian Carrowes,who also knew something of the life in America with the Bristows.
The King craved an interview. He had not seen her since morning and his request conveyed the desolation occasioned by the long interval of empty time.
The girl, who in the more informal phases had consistently defied the Court etiquette, sent an affirmative reply, and Karyl, still in uniform and dust-stained, came at once to the rooms where she was to receive him.
There was much to talk of, and the King came forward eagerly, but the girl halted his protestations and rapidly sketched for him the summary of all she had learned that afternoon.
With growing astonishment Karyl listened, then slowly his brows came together in a frown.
It was distasteful to him beyond expression to feel that he owed his life and throne to Benton, but of that he said nothing. Lapas had been, in the days of his childhood, his playmate. He had been the recipient of every possible favor, and Karyl, himself ingenuous and loyal to his friends, felt with double bitterness that not only had his enemy saved him, but, too, his friend had betrayed him.
Then came a hurried message from Von Ritz, who begged to see the King at once. The soldier must have been only a step behind his messenger, for hardly had his admittance been ordered when he appeared.
The officer looked from the King to the Princess, and his eyes telegraphed a request for a moment of private audience.
"You may as well speak here," said Karyl dryly. "Her Highness knows what you are about to say."
"Lieutenant Lapas," began Von Ritz imperturbably, "has not been seen at the Palace to-day. His duties required his presence this evening. He was to be near Your Majesty at the coronation to-morrow."
"Where is he?" demanded the King.
"That is what I should like to know," replied Von Ritz. "I learn that last night the Count Borttorff was in Puntal and that Lapas was with him. To-day the Countess Astaride left Puntal, greatly agitated. I am informed that from her window she watcheddo Frereswith glasses during Your Majesty's visit there, and that when you left she swooned. Within ten minutes she was on her way to the quay and boarded the out-going steamer for Villefranche. These things may spell grave danger."
So rarely had Karyl been able to anticipate Von Ritz in even the smallest matter that now, despite his own chagrin, he could not repress a cynical smile as he inquired: "What do you make of it?"
Von Ritz shook his head. "I shall report to Your Majesty within an hour," he responded.
"That is not necessary," Karyl spoke coolly. "Youwill, I am informed, find Lieutenant Lapas bound to a telescope at the Rock. You will find the explosives atdo Freresconnected with a percussion cap which was to have been touched while we were there this afternoon. The Countess was disappointed because the percussion cap was not exploded. Sometimes, when ladies are bitterly grieved, they swoon."
For a moment the older man studied the younger with an expression of surprise, then the sphinx-like gravity returned to his face.
"Your Majesty, may I inquire why the cap failed to explode?" he asked, with pardonable curiosity.
"Because"—Karyl's cheeks flushed hotly—"an American gentleman, who had been here a few hours, intercepted the signal—and reversed it."
For an instant Von Ritz looked fixedly into the face of the King, then he bowed.
"In that case," he commented, "there are various things to be done."
When Monsieur François Jusseret, the cleverest unattached ambassador of France'sCabinet Noir, had first met the Countess Astaride, his sardonic eyes had twinkled dry appreciation.
This meeting had seemed to be the result of a chance introduction. It had in reality been carefully designed by the French manipulator of underground wires. Louis Delgado he already knew, and held in contempt, yet Louis was the only possible instrument for use in converting certain vague possibilities into definite realities. Changing the nebulous into the concrete; shifting the dotted line of a frontier from here to there on a map; changing the likeness that adorned a coin or postage-stamp: these were things to which Monsieur Jusseret lent himself with the same zest that actuates the hunting dog and makes his work also his passion.
If the vacillation of Louis Delgado could be complemented by the strong ambition of a woman, perhaps he might be almost as serviceable as though thestrength were inherent. And Paris knew that Louis worshiped at the shrine of the Countess Astaride. The Countess was therefore worth inspecting.
The presentation occurred in Paris, when the Duke took his acquaintance to the charming apartments overlooking the Arc de Triomphe, where the lady poured tea for a smallsalonenlisted from that colony of ambitious and broken-hearted men and women who hold fanatically to the faith that some throne, occupied by another, should be their own. Here with ceremony and stately etiquette foregathered Carlists and Bonapartists and exiled Dictators from South America. Here one heard the gossip of large conspiracies that come to nothing; of revolutions that go no farther than talk.
In Paris the Duke Louis Delgado was nursing, with lukewarm indignation, wrath against his royal uncle of Galavia who had fixed upon him a sort of modified exile.
Louis had only a languid interest in the feud between his arm of the family and the reigning branch. He would willingly enough have taken a scepter from the hand of any King-maker who proffered it, but he would certainly never, of his own incentive, have struck a blow for a throne.
Sometimes, indeed, as he sat at a café table on theChamps Elyséeswhen awakening dreams of Springwere in the air and a military band was playing in the distance, dormant ambitions awoke. Sometimes when he watched the opalescent gleam in his glass as the garçon carefully dripped water over absinthe, he would picture himself wresting from the incumbent, the Crown of Galavia, and would hear throngs shouting "Long live King Louis!" At such moments his stimulated spirit would indulge in large visions, and his half-degenerate face would smile through its gentle but dissipated languor.
Louis Delgado was a man of inaction. He had that quality of personal daring which is not akin to moral resoluteness. He was ready enough at a fancied insult to exchange cards and meet his adversary on the field, but a throne against which he plotted was as safe, unless threatened by outside influences, as a throne may ever be.
When Louis presented Jusseret to the Countess Astaride there flashed between the woman of audacious imagination and the master of intrigue a message of kinship. The Frenchman bent low over her hand.
"That hand, Madame," he had whispered, "was made to wield a scepter."
The Countess had laughed with the melodious zylophone note that caressed the ear, and had flashed on Jusseret her smile which was a magic thing of ivory and flesh and sudden sunshine. She had held up theslender fingers of the hand he had flattered, possibly a trace pleased with the effect of the Duke's latest gift, a huge emerald set about with small but remarkably pure brilliants. She had contemplated it, critically, and after a brief silence had let her eyes wander from its jewels to the Frenchman's face.
"Wielding a scepter, Monsieur," she had suggested smilingly, "is less difficult than seizing a scepter. I fear I should need a stronger hand."
"Ah, but Madame," the Frenchman had hastened to protest, "these are the days of the deft finger and the deft brain. Even crowns to-day are not won in tug-of-war."
The woman had looked at him half-seriously, half-challengingly.
"I am told, Monsieur Jusseret," she said, "that no government in Europe has a secret which you do not know. I am told that you have changed a crown or two from head to head in your career. Let me seeyourhand."
Instantly he had held it out. The fastidiously manicured fingers were as tapering and white as her own.
"Madame," he observed gravely, "you flatter me. My hand has done nothing. But I do not attribute its failure to its lack of brawn."
"Some day," murmured Delgado, from his inert posture in the deep cushions of a divan, "when thetime is ripe, I shall strike a decisive blow for the Throne of Galavia."
Jusseret's lip had half-curled, then swiftly he had turned and flashed a look of inquiry upon the woman. Her eyes had been on Louis and she had not caught the quick glint that came into the Frenchman's pupils, or the thoughtful regard with which he studied her and the Duke across the edge of his teacup. Later, when he rose to make his adieux, she noted the thoughtful expression on his face.
"Sometimes," he had said enigmatically, and had paused to allow his meaning to sink in, "sometimes a scepter stays where it is, not because the hand that holds it is strong, but because the outstretched hand is weak or inept. Your hand is suited."
She had searched his eyes with her own just long enough to make him feel that in the give-and-take of glances hers did not drop or evade, and he, trained in the niceties of diplomatic warfare, had caught the message.
So the Countess had been fired with ardent dreams and later, when the time seemed ripe, it was to her that Jusseret went, and with her that he made his secret alliance.
The ambitions cherished by Marie Astaride to become Louis' queen were secondary to a sincere devotion for Louis himself.
When at the last he had weakened and threatened to crumple, it was she who goaded him back to resolution. When the Duke had gone half-heartedly to his lodge to await the decision of the European Powers, it was she who went to Puntal to direct the conspirators and watch, from the windows of her hotel suite, the fortress on the jetty.
Her one deplorable error had been in mistaking Benton for Martin. This had been natural enough. Though she had never met the "English Jackal," she had once or twice seen him at a distance, and she had been misled by a strong resemblance and an excessive eagerness.
The afternoon she had spent on the balcony of her suite, her eyes fixed on the Fortressdo Freres.
At last, with a wildly beating heart she had seen the King, Von Ritz and the escort ride up to the entrance and disappear. She had waited—waited—waited, her nerves set for the climax, until the continued silence seemed an unendurable shock.
Then the King and escort emerged. She, sitting pale and rigid, saw them mount and turn back unharmed toward the city. Her ears, eagerly set for the detonation which should shake the town and reverberate along the mountain sides, ached with the emptiness of silence.
Across the street a soldier, off duty and in civilianclothes, sat on the sea-wall and whittled. Incidentally he noticed that Madame the Countess was interested beyond the usual in some matter. He was there to notice Madame the Countess. His instructions from Von Ritz had been to keep a record of her goings and comings, and who came to see her or went away.
Therefore, when the King and his small retinue had trotted past the window and when Madame the Countess rose to go in, and when just as she crossed the low sill of the window she suddenly caught up both hands to her throat and fell heavily to the floor, the soldier, whittling a small crucifix, made a record of that also. When a moment later a gentleman whom he had not seen in Puntal for months, but whom he knew as the Count Borttorff, because that gentleman had formerly been Major of his battalion, hurriedly left a closed carriage and entered the place, the incident was noted. When still later both Borttorff and the Countess emerged and reëntered the conveyance, driving rapidly away, he likewise noted these things. Going from the pier whither he had followed the closed carriage, he reported his observations with soldierly dispatch to Colonel Von Ritz.
The Grand Duke Louis meanwhile, waiting in great anxiety, had received the message which had come by the wireless mast. The words were in code, and being translated they read: "France, Italy, Spain, Portugal will recognize. Strike." The signature was "Jt.," which Delgado knew for Jusseret. The Duke had been greatly excited. He paced the room in a nervous tremor. It was arranged that a small steamer, which had stood a short distance offshore since yesterday to relay the wireless message and make it doubly sure, should pick the Duke up as soon as Lapas signaled by a triple dip of the flag that the fortress had been destroyed. The steamer was then to rush the Grand Duke around the cape to Puntal, bringing him in as though he had come from Spain. Those conspirators who were in the capital, strengthened by those who would declare for Louis, with Karyl dead and no other heir existent, would proclaim him King. Lapas would see that the royal salute was fired as the steamer entered the harbor, and the Countess would either meet him and explain all the details or would speak with him by Marconi if she had left the town.
Louis spent the forenoon in an agony of anxiety and impatience. All afternoon he watched through binoculars the white and blue and green flag on the rock above him. He was waiting for the triple dip that should tell him the fortress had been scattered in débris and with it the government. Evidently the King was late going to the arsenal.
He had imagined it would be earlier. The hours dragged interminably. Louis walked the stone buttresswhere the flag which he had raised in signal to Lapas flapped and whipped against its staff. At last his binoculars, fixed on the rock, caught the dip of the colors there. With a great sigh of relief the Duke watched to see them rise and dip, rise and dip again. The flag came down the length of the pole—and did not go up.
Panic seized the Pretender. There was no way of talking with the ridge three thousand feet above. It was a climb of an hour and a half by the pass. Evidently there had been a miscarriage. In the prearranged code of flag signals the only provision for the drooping of the colors on the hill was in the event that it should be wished to stop the explosion. That would be only in the event of refusal by the governments to recognize; the governments had not refused! Possibly Lapas had turned traitor!
There had also been some unexplained delay seaward. The little steamer, which should have remained near by, was a speck on the horizon, and without her there was no possibility of escape. Wildly Louis, the Dreamer, hurried to his improvised Marconi station and called the ship. Finally toward evening came a response and with it a message from somewhere out at sea, relayed from ship to ship around the peninsula.
The message said simply in code: "Failure.Make your escape." It was signed "M. A."—Marie Astaride.
Louis rushed, panic-stricken, down to the shore. He and the few men with him paced the beach in the settling twilight with desperate anxiety. The steamer seemed to creep in, snail-like, over the smooth water. Meanwhile binoculars fixed on the pass showed a number of small specks sifting like ants through the lofty opening. Troops were advancing. It was now the life-and-death question of which would arrive first, the boats from the ship that had stood off at sea a bit too long, or the soldiers coming across the broken backbone of the mountains.
At last the ship had drawn near, and circled under full steam far enough out to get away to a flying start as soon as the Ducal party had been taken on board. Small boats were rushed toward the beach and Louis, the Dreamer, with his party waded knee-deep into the water to meet the rescuers.
At the same moment a bugle call announced the coming of Karyl's soldiery.
As Louis Delgado went over the side, he turned quickly back and, leaning over the rail, gazed through the settling darkness toward shore.