"Don't dare to doubt that I did, and always will. Tell me what the letter said?" I pulled her hands down, too roughly perhaps, and held them fast in mine.

She tried to check her sobs. "I could show you the letter if there were a light. Since that day I've carried it with me, so that I could look at it sometimes, and have strength to hate you if my heart failed."

"My own darling—mine again," I soothed her. "It's been a horrible plot. If that letter was not full of love and longing for you, it was forged; no doubt after the handwriting of the one I really sent."

"You mean my mother—would do a thing like that?"

"She might have justified it by telling herself that the end sanctified the means."

"I know—she was ready to do almost anything to turn me from you," Monica admitted, leaning against me so confidingly that all I had suffered was forgotten. "I couldn't have believed this of her; but—she did tell me the night before Manzanares that at Toledo she heard you calling Pilar O'Donnel, 'darling.' 'Young Mr. O'Donnel seems very fond of his sister,' mother said, looking straight at me, though she seemed to speak innocently. 'I heard him call her "darling girl." ' You can imagine how I felt! But I hoped she was mistaken, or that she'd invented it to make me unhappy; so I wouldn't let myself be very unhappy, only a little distressed. Because, you know, Miss O'Donnel is awfully pretty and perfectly fascinating. Mother said, the night we were at Manzanares, that she was one of those girls whom most men fall irresistibly in love with; and—and I loved you so much, I couldn't help being jealous."

"As if any man could even see poor little Pilar, when you were near!" I exclaimed, forgetting Dick's difference of opinion.

"Oh, I had faith in you, then. But next morning that pretty Mariquita handed me a letter, which I was sure was from you, as she hid it behind a tin of hot water. I was taking it, when mother saw, and snatched it away. You can't imagine the things I said to her, to make her give it back. I was so furious, that for once in my life I wasn't in the least afraid, and I would have tried to rush past her and run out to you, when she'd refused to give the letter up, but I wasn't dressed. My room had no door of its own. I had to go through mother's room to get out; and before I knew what she was doing, she'd slammed the door between us, locking it on her side. I hadn't even a proper window, only a little barred, square thing, high up in the wall. I couldn't scream for help, even if I hadn't been ashamed to make a scene in a strange hotel; so what was I to do.

"She kept me there, wild with rage against her, for quite an hour after I was dressed and ready to dart out when I had the chance; but at last she unlocked the door, looking very grave. 'I've opened your letter,' she said, 'and read it, as it was my duty and my right to do. It is different from what I expected, and I've decided after all that it's as well you should have it.'

"Then she handed me a torn envelope, and I recognized it as the one we had crumpled up between us when she snatched it away. Your handwriting was on it, and I never doubted it was yours inside, though it looked as if you'd written in a hurry, with a bad pen. No name was signed; but the letter said you thought it best to tell me, without waiting longer, that you feared we'd both been hasty and made a mistake in our feelings. Our meeting was romantic, and we'd been carried away by our youth and hot blood. Now you'd had time to see that it would be unwise of me to give up a man like the Duke of Carmona for one unworthy enough to have fallen in love with another girl. Accordingly, you released me from all obligations, and took it for granted that you were also free. Then you bade me good-bye, wishing me a happy future in case your car and the Duke's happened to go on by different ways. Do you wonder I tried to hate you, and that I said 'yes' the very next night, when the Duke asked me again if I wouldn't change my mind and marry him?"

For answer, I caught her against my breast, and we clung to each other as if we could never part.

"Such a promise is no promise," I said at last. "I have you, and I don't mean to let you go, lest I lose you for ever. Monica, will you trust yourself to me, and run away with me to-night?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I daren't go back to them. But what shall we do?"

"I'll tell you what I've been thinking," I said. "My car isn't far off. Colonel O'Donnel and Pilar, who'd do anything for you and me, are in the cathedral. Just outside this chapel the man who locked us in is waiting for my signal to open the door. With the O'Donnels and Dick Waring to see you through, will you motor with me to Cadiz, take ship for Gibraltar, and marry me on English soil?"

"Suppose there should be no ship for days?" she hesitated.

"There is one nearly every day; but at worst I can hire a boat of some sort."

"Once we were in Gibraltar, you'd be out of reach if the Duke tried to take revenge," she said. "Yes, I will go! I love you and I can't give you up again. Oh, Ramon, I never would have promised to marry him, if I hadn't longed to show you that—that I didn't care, and that there was someone who wanted me very much, if you didn't."

"How like a woman!" I exclaimed, laughing—for I could laugh now.

"He has only kissed my hand," she went on, "and I hated even that."

"Yet you're wearing his brooch," a returning flash of jealousy made me say; "and a mantilla, to please him."

"The brooch is his mother's. So is the mantilla. She at least has been kind; so I let her put them both on for me to-day, when she asked."

"Kind? When there's time I'll tell you one or two things. But now there's no time for anything except to take you away."

"Listen! The Miserere has begun," she said. "Has it been long? I heard it only now. Can we get out before it's over?"

"Of course we can—though not quite as easily, perhaps, as if the crowd were moving with us. However, we can't afford to wait."

"What wonderful music!" Monica whispered. "I wish I dared to feel it were blessing us."

"Yes, feel it so," I said, and involuntarily was silent to listen for an instant to the melodious flood which swept from aisle to aisle in golden billows. Out from the wave of organ music and men's voices, boyish soprano notes sprayed high, flinging their bright crystals up, up, until they fell, shattered, from the vaulted ceiling of stone.

From each dimly seen column shot forth one of those slender-stemmed, flaming white lilies of light, such as had bloomed in Our Lady's garden, as the pasos moved blossoming through the streets. It seemed as if they might have been gathered and replanted here, to lighten the darkness; and as the music soared and sank, its waves set the lily-flames flickering.

I peered out, and saw my man hovering near. In the gloom he did not catch the signal I gave him with my hand, but when I shook a handkerchief between the gratings he came quickly. As he unlocked the doors I slid the promised bribe into his palm; and having glanced about to make sure as far as possible that we were not watched, I called Monica.

"Take us out by the nearest way," I said; and the man began to hurry us officiously through the crowd.

Monica clung to me tightly, and I could feel the tremblings that ran through her body. My heart was pounding too; for it is when the ship is nearest home, after a stormy voyage, that the captain remembers he has nerves. It seemed too marvellous to be true, that the girl was mine at last, and yet—what could separate us, now that I held her close against my side, and she was ready to go with me, out of her world into mine?

"This way, this way, senorito," our guide warned me, plucking at my arm as I steered ahead, confused by a thousand moving shadows. I followed, brushing sharply against a tall man in conical capucha and trailing robe of blue. He turned, his masked face close to mine, so close that even in the dusk I caught a flash of glittering eyes. Then, giving me a sudden push, he cried out, "Help—murder! An anarchist—a free-thinker! To the rescue!"

It was Carmona's voice, and I knew instantly that he must have borrowed this dress from some friend in the cathedral—perhaps a member of the cofradia to which he himself belonged—so that he could search for me and Monica, without being seen by us.

Thrusting the girl behind me, yet keeping her close, I hurled him away, but he sprang at me again, and this time something glittered in his right hand. I fought with him for it, and pulled a slim length of steel up through his closed fingers, so that the sharp dagger-blade must have cut him to the bone. He gave a cry, and relaxed his grasp; but though he was disabled for the instant a dozen men in the crowd, which swirled round us now, caught and held me fast. Monica was wrenched from me; the dagger had fallen to the ground (but not before I had seen it was of Toledo make); the figure in the blue capucha was swept out of my sight, and I was fighting like a madman in a strait-jacket for freedom.



XXXII

ON THE ROAD TO CADIZ

It was a mouse who gnawed a hole in the net that entangled the lion.

Now, I am no lion in importance, nor was Colonel O'Donnel's messenger of as little significance as a mouse; yet he was the last creature to whom I would have looked for succour in a moment of stress. Nevertheless to him I owed my rescue.

"A mistake, a mistake," he chirped, jumping about, bird-like, just outside the circle of struggling men. "I am a verger here; this gentleman was with me. He did nothing. He is a most respectable and twice wealthy person, a tourist whom I guide. He is innocent—no anarchist, no free-thinker. That other—that pretended brother—has made a practical joke. See, he has run away to escape consequences. There is nothing against this noble senor; you have it on the word of a verger."

Because it was bewilderingly dark, and they might have got the wrong man; because, too, the verger was probably right, and it had been a joke played upon them by a person who had now disappeared, the twelve or fifteen men who surrounded me fell back shamefacedly, glad on second thoughts to melt away before they could be identified and reproached for disturbing the public peace, and spoiling the music to which their King listened.

I was free, but I would not leave the cathedral yet, for my hope was to find Monica again. I wandered in every direction, while the verger went off to bring Dick and the O'Donnels to meet me in the Orange Court.

Pilar's delight in the first part of my story was dashed by the sequel. Of course, she said, it must come right in the end, since Monica and I understood each other at last. But just for the moment everything seemed difficult. The Duke was sure now that I was Casa Triana, and not Cristobal O'Donnel. He would almost certainly make all the trouble he could, and a man of his influence could make a good deal. As his attempt to stick a dagger into me—by way of a quick solution—had been covered by the capucha of a cofradia, I could not take revenge by laying a counter accusation. I might say I had recognized his voice, and that I thought I had recognized the dagger bought in Toledo; but I could prove nothing, and the Duke would score.

Still, as the Cherub remarked consolingly, he could not do much worse than force me out of Spain. Neither I, nor anyone else, had ever said in so many words that I was Cristobal O'Donnel. If people had taken my identity for granted because of a few round-about hints, and because for a joke I had borrowed a friend's uniform for a day or two, nothing very serious could be made out of that after all; and as Cristobal really was on leave, he need not be involved. He was a good officer, whose services were valued, and I was not to worry lest harm should come upon him. I need think only of Monica and of myself. Had I formed any idea of what to do next?

"I must get Monica out of Carmona's house," I said.

"You'll have to lie in wait and snatch her from under their noses next time they show them," suggested Dick; "unless—"

"Unless?"

"Carmona keeps his indoors until he's arranged to have yours politely deported."

"I can't be got rid of in an hour."

"You could to-morrow."

"I'm afraid you can," sighed the Cherub, "and that, though I shall do my best, I may be powerless to help you."

"What if it were known that he saved the King yesterday?" Pilar asked her father.

"The King is going away to-morrow. You know, he's off to England in a few days. Besides, the incident to-day will be hushed up. The King will know, of course, and a few others; but it will be kept out of the papers,—anyhow, until they've got their hands on both the men concerned."

"I've still got to-night," I said, "and it's not eleven yet. I hoped that in the confusion Monica had given her mother and Carmona the slip, and that if I waited here I might find her again. I thought she might try to get back to the chapel where we had our talk, trusting that I'd look for her there. But she didn't come, and I searched everywhere in vain before I tried watching the crowd pass through the Court of Oranges. Now, I'm certain that Carmona or Lady Vale-Avon must have pounced upon her while I was surrounded, and forced her away. No doubt they're at home long ago. Why shouldn't I appeal to the English consul, and say that the Duke of Carmona's detaining an English girl in his house against her will?"

"No use," said the Cherub. "She's under age, and she's with her mother, who's visiting the Duchess."

"Then I'll go to Carmona's door and make such a row that they'll be obliged to let me in."

"You'd get into a police cell instead. A man's house is his castle, especially when it's a palace and he's a Duke."

I was silenced. I knew the Cherub was right; but it seemed monstrous that in this twentieth century such tyranny should divide a girl from her lover.

When I had thought for a moment I said, "Anyhow, I shall go to the house and try to bribe a servant. Once in, I'd not come out without Monica. I've done two satisfactory things to-day by bribery and corruption, and I don't see why I shouldn't bring it off the third time."

"The Duke's servants have been in the employ of the family for years, and their fathers and grandfathers before them. No money would bribe them to deceive their master and mistress," said the Cherub.

"I shouldn't have thought either the Duke or his mother capable of inspiring such devotion."

"It isn't devotion—it's fear. To an unfaithful servant in that house—well, almost anything might happen."

"Have you any advice to give me, then?" I asked, in despair.

The Cherub shook his head. "The prudent thing would be to go away to-night, and trust Lady Monica's loyalty. She can't be forced into marrying the Duke, you know; and if she breaks the engagement he'll have to let her alone, for dignity's sake."

"That might be prudent; but of course I won't do it."

"Of course you won't," returned the Cherub, as if it went without saying.

"Very well, then; matters are desperate, and desperate remedies must be tried; things can't be worse than they are. I shall hang about Carmona's house early in the morning, and when the first person comes out I'll go in. If I don't come out, you will know what's become of me; and I don't suppose in these days even a Duke can kill a man without getting into trouble?"

"He would merely have you arrested as a housebreaker," said the Cherub.

"Well, I should have seen Monica first, and perhaps have got her on the right side of the door."

"We'll have a go at the business together," said Dick. "It would be more sociable."

"All right, thank you," said I. "Then something's settled; and these best of friends can go home and sleep."

"Sleep!" echoed Pilar scornfully. "Oh, if I were a man, and could do something to punish the Duke!"

"I wish you could set your bull at him," said Dick. "Only, now I think of it, it's his bull still."

Try as we might, it was impossible to persuade either Colonel O'Donnel or Pilar that they ought to return quietly to bed, if not to sleep. No, they would do nothing of the kind. Besides, no properly disposed person within ten miles of Seville would lie in bed that night. Processions would go on till early morning. Many people would watch them, or spend the hours till early mass in prayer in the cathedral, which would be open all night. Why should not the O'Donnel family do as others did?

There was no answer to this; and it was finally arranged that, if they wished to rest at all, it should be at the hotel in the Plaza de San Fernando, where we had dined. That was to be the rendezvous; and the Cherub would engage the verger we knew to watch the Duke's house in the morning, bringing news of our fate to the hotel—if we did not bring it ourselves.

Never—if I live beyond the allotted threescore years and ten—shall I forget that strange night of Holy Thursday in Seville.

Dick and I wandered through the streets, and in the Plaza de la Constitucion, where electric lamps and moonlight mingled bleakly, while never-ending cofradias passed.

A sky of violet was like a veil of silky gauze, and as the moon slid down the steeps of heaven the vast dome paled. One by one the stars went out like spent matches; dawn was on its way. Electric lights flared and died, leaving a pearly dusk more mysterious than any twilight which falls with night.

The crowds had thinned; but silent brotherhoods moved through streets where there was no other sound than the rustling of their feet, the tap of their leaders' silver batons. So faint was the dawn-dusk, that they were droves of shadows on their way back into night, their candle-lights lost stars. Now and then the clink of a baton brought to some half-shuttered window a face, to be presently joined by other faces, peering down at the dark processions of men and black-robed, penitent women.

Outside the great east door of the cathedral halted a paso, like a huge golden car. Christ was nailed to a cross not yet lifted into place. A Roman soldier, of exaggerated height and sardonic features, stood reading the parchment with the mocking inscription about to be nailed above the thorn-crowned head. His evil mouth was curled in a satirical smile. Two centurions in armour sat their impatient horses, and gave directions for raising the cross. The effect was startling; for in this pale beginning of light, and the atmosphere of tingling exaltation which steeped the town, it was difficult not to believe that the terrible carved figures of wood had life, and that with the eyes of one's flesh one beheld the world's great tragedy.

Somehow the impression of horror was but deepened by the fact that the bearers had come out from under the curtains of the paso, to take off the large pads they wore on their heads, to drink water, and smoke cigarettes with the penitents who had rolled up the masks from their pale, damp faces. They might have been comrades of the Roman soldiers, in their obliviousness of that tortured form on the cross.

It was not yet five o'clock when Dick and I plunged into the cool gloom of the cathedral, passing the spot where Carmona had struck at me, and the chapel where I had taken Monica. The stones were slippery as the floor of a ballroom, with wax dropped from innumerable candles, and the air was heavy with the smoke of stale incense.

The searchlight of dawn could scarcely penetrate the black curtains which throughout Holy Week had draped the cathedral; therefore a solitary beam, like a bar of gold, slanted in through one superb window.

The amethysts, emeralds, and rubies of incomparable painted glass transformed the yellow bar into a rainbow which streamed down the length of the majestic aisle and struck full upon a golden altar. Then slowly the jewelled band moved from the gold carvings, the flames dying as it passed. Travelling, still like a searchlight, it found the prostrate forms of sleeping men exhausted by their vigils, snatched out of veiling darkness kneeling women clad in black, and at last rested on the Holy Week monument itself, paled its myriad candles, and made pools of liquid gold on the vestments of priests who had knelt all night in adoration of the Host.

"Say," said Dick, half whispering, "I don't gush as a rule; but doesn't it look like the light of salvation coming to save lost souls?"

Not a hotel in Seville had shut its doors that night of Holy Thursday; not a concierge had done more than nod and wake out of a broken dream, for there had been an excited coming and going through all the dark hours.

At six o'clock Dick and I were at the fonda, inquiring for Colonel O'Donnel and his daughter. They had come in at two, and were now asleep, it seemed; but had left a note for the senores. In this note we were assured that the friendly verger of last night's adventure would be lurking in the neighbourhood of Carmona's house as early as six o'clock, and should we want him we would know where he was to be found.

We took bedrooms, bathed, dressed again, and after hot coffee and rolls decided that is was time to go on guard. To be sure, it was absurdly early; but by this time the Duke's household might be astir, and we must not risk letting Monica be carried away before we had had a chance to practise the gentle art of housebreaking.

The clocks of Seville were spasmodically telling the hour of seven when we entered the narrow and dusky lane of the Calle de las Duenas. So fast asleep were the shuttered windows that our mission seemed a fool's errand; but as we came in sight of the Duke's closed door the Cherub's messenger loomed out of the shadows.

Unshaven and haggard, his eyes glittered like black beads in the daylight; and he greeted us excitedly. "Senores," he began, "I was going to look for you at the hotel. A thing has happened. The Senor Colonel told me I must watch the house of His Grace the Duke, and let you know when you came if anyone had been out or in. Who would think of people starting upon a journey before the day is awake? But so it is. The Duke, whom I have seen in other years, has gone away in an automobile with his honourable mother and two other ladies."

"You are sure it was he?" I asked, completely taken aback.

"Sure, my senorito. The car was a large grey car. And"—his face grew sly as a squirrel's—"I can tell you where it is going, if you would like to know."

"I want to know all you can tell," I said.

"Well, the grey car arrived a little before half-past six, I should think. In it there was only the young man who drives, dressed in leather. 'What is going to happen?' I asked myself. It seemed better to wait and see than run to the hotel to say, 'there's an automobile at the door for the Duke,' and perhaps find it gone, no one could tell where, when I got back. But I do not sleep on my feet. There are always ideas running in my head. I pretended to be strolling past, and stopping for a look at such a fine machine. Perhaps I had matches in my pocket, perhaps not; in any case I asked the young man in leather to give me a light for my cigarette. He did, and it was a natural thing to fall into talk. 'You make an early start,' I said. He nodded. 'Going far?' 'To Cadiz to-day, by Jerez.' That is all, honoured senores; but I tell it for what it is worth. A few minutes later the grand people came out, and the automobile shot away."

"Did they put on luggage?" I asked.

"All the automobile would hold."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Dick. "Carmona's thrown sand in our eyes this time. Who'd have supposed he'd turn tail and run away like a coward in the midst of the Holy Week show, with the King still in town?"

"I was a fool not to expect the unexpected," I said. "If anyone except Colonel O'Donnel's man had told me I should have been between two minds whether to accept the story or not. But O'Donnel called him a trusty fellow; and he served me well last night. If we wait to verify his story, by the time we find out it's true the grey car will have got too long a start. I don't like Carmona's stealing off. It looks as if there were something up."

"He showed last night that he was desperate," said Dick. "I guess we'd better get on the road before much grass grows."

"You're the best of friends," said I. And paying the verger well for his services, we hurried back to the hotel to find Ropes and have the car got ready.

It was still very early, and the Cherub and Pilar had not had many hours beauty sleep; but we could not leave for an indefinite absence without bidding them good-bye; and we were on our way to knock at Colonel O'Donnel's door when Pilar appeared from the room adjoining.

A moment, and she understood everything. "You'll follow!" she exclaimed, without waiting to hear my plans.

"And I'll go with him," said Dick, looking wistfully at her; for he had not had his answer yet, and who could tell when he would have it now, or what it would be when it came?

"Of course. I knew you would," Pilar replied. And a light leaped up in her dark eyes. If it meant nothing warmer, it meant approval. "You'll want to go at once. Oh, I am sorry you'll miss the fair. You don't know what a fairyland Seville is, with miles of streets and park roofed in with arches of coloured lights, like jewels; and papa has a tent in the gayest place, where we stay all day, and see our friends, and it's such fun visiting the booths and side-shows! But maybe next spring you'll come back for the feria with your bride, Don Ramon; and as for you, Senor Waring—"

"As for me?" repeated Dick, anxiously. "Am I not to come back before that?"

"You're to come back when you like, and—papa will be glad to see you," she answered, just as any conventional little senorita might have answered. But at least she had the kindness to blush; and I would have moved away to give Dick a last chance if at that moment the Cherub had not come out of his room.

Instantly Pilar dashed into explanations, and between the three of us he soon had the history of events.

No one on earth looks less practical than the dreamy-eyed, soft-voiced Cherub; yet it was he who thought of practical details which we had forgotten. He it was who reminded us that it would not be prudent to take Ropes away from Seville. As the man who said he had discovered the bomb, his evidence would be wanted, and if he disappeared it would look mysterious. His real connection with the Marques of Casa Triana might be unearthed by the police; and because of that miserable affair at Barcelona, whose consequences were continually cropping up, some hideous story might be concocted and believed.

Dick and I unhesitatingly decided to take the Cherub's advice, and leave Ropes behind. He was engaged in getting the car ready, and would no doubt be disappointed to hear that he was to be temporarily abandoned; but he would see the wisdom of such a course, and might be trusted to guard my interests. As for Dick, he might turn his back on the proceedings in Seville without danger, for he posed only as the employer of a man who had found the bomb; besides, as I suggested without glancing at Pilar, he could come back in a few days in case he were wanted to give evidence.

Thus it was settled; at eight o'clock we had said good-bye to Pilarcita and the Cherub, softening the farewell with a hopeful "au revoir"; and with Ropes staring disconsolately after us, we flashed out of the Plaza de San Fernando.

I drove, with Dick beside me, for there was no longer need for subterfuge. Carmona knew me for what I was, and I could help Monica more by defying him than by playing the old waiting game, of which I was tired.

It seemed strange to be racing across country again in the car, after those fevered days in Seville. With the steering-wheel in my hand, the steady thrum of the motor seemed to say, "You'll do it; you'll do it;—I'll help you to do it."

The air was made of perfume—orange blossoms and acacias; and the vast flowery plain where Seville is queen gave us a tolerable road, on which the car ran lightly. Soaring snow peaks of fantastic shapes walled the green arena of rolling meadows, and the day was like a day of June.

Save for the grey Lecomte, scarcely a motor had we seen since leaving Biarritz, except in Madrid; but now, when I tried to decipher the road hieroglyphics, the dust showed more than one track of pneus. Cars had come to Seville from Madrid for Semana Santa, and had evidently run out this way for a spin more than once. As I had not Ropes' detective talent I was unable to distinguish the Lecomte's tyre-marks from others.

In sight of the conspicuous church tower at Utrera—ancient home of outlaws—we came upon a dusty white line diverging to Ecija. Pausing to question a road-mender, I remembered Colonel O'Donnel's story of the Seven Men of Ecija, and the curious bond between them and the Dukes of Carmona. But what brought the tale to my mind—unless it was the name of Ecija on the road-map and signpost, or the fact that we were now in the real heart of brigand-land—I could not have told.

Yes, said the road-mender, he had seen an automobile go by—a big one, not long ago, steering as if for Jerez. Was it grey? He would not be sure, but at all events the thing was so grey with dust that had there been another colour underneath, no one could have seen it. Ladies in the car? Well, he was not positive, for it had gone by like a cannon-ball in a cloud of smoke; but there were several persons inside, and it was the only motor which had passed him to-day. Several cars had appeared in the distance yesterday, but they had turned back on the Seville side of Utrera.

One automobile, a big one, apparently grey, and with several persons inside, had gone by at a tremendous pace not long before. That sounded as if the car we chased could not be far away. Our eyes searched the tell-tale dust, and found the sleek, straight trail of a pneu in the midst of wobbling cart tracks. We had but to follow that straight trail, then, I said, to come up with Carmona and interfere with his new plans.

Now we were racing through a wide region of salt marsh, where within enclosures grazed hundreds of fierce black bulls, sooner or later to die in the arena. The country became desolate, and curiously sad. We met no more peasants' carts or laden donkeys as the road began to undulate among the foothills of distant mountain ranges.

"What an ideal place for a band of Colonel O'Donnel's bandidos, eh?" said Dick; then drew in his breath with a sharpness that cut the sentence short, as we whirled round a hummock at a turning of the road.



XXXIII

THE SEVEN MEN OF ECIJA

Close in front of us was drawn up a large automobile, its front wheels mounted on a barrier of rough stones built across the highway. Rolled in the dust lay a leather-clad chauffeur, limp in unconsciousness or death; and with their backs to the car, two young men stood bravely defending themselves against seven.

So suddenly did we burst upon the scene, and so furiously had I to put on the brake, that I saw only a wild picture of determined faces pale above flashing blades, fierce faces under red peasant caps, and carbines used as clubs. Then Dick and I were out of the Gloria; and instead of two there were four against seven.

Where were the revolvers we had bought by Don Cipriano's advice at Madrid, for just such an emergency as this?—In our suit-cases at the Cortijo de Santa Rufina, forgotten from the moment of purchase until this moment of need. But, as by one accord, each seized a jagged stone which had rolled from the barricade, and before we had had time for two consecutive thoughts we had joined the strangers, and all four were fighting like demons.

Oddly enough, the seven red caps did not fire their carbines, and had apparently directed all their efforts to disarming or stunning the automobilists. But at sight of us their tactics changed. Surprised at first, their astonishment was burnt up by rage. Four of the seven turned upon us, and drew knives, but quick as light I had wrenched one of them out of a brown hand, giving its owner a smashing blow between the eyes with my stone.

Down he dropped like an ox, and I was ready for another; but the blade of a third would have slid between my ribs had not one of the seven cried out sharply, "Stop! A red car—a red car. These are the men we want."

"Disable them," yelled another voice; but it was easier said than done. The second's pause which followed the warning shout saved my skin. The brigand's knife flew; and he got a side blow on the temple which sent him spinning.

We were now four against five; but already the right arm of another red cap spouted crimson from the blade in a sword-stick which was flashing blue lightning, and another wore a dark spot on his shirt—a spot which spread and changed its shape.

There was no time to look at faces. I scarcely saw the features of friend or foe, and could not have sworn to the identity of one man had my life depended on it. But I knew that two beside whom we fought were brave beyond the common, that they were worth fighting for and with. We were all four shoulder to shoulder now, our backs against the car, though how we had won through to that position I could not have told.

Another red cap had gone down on one knee, cursing, and there was a fresh blot of crimson on a dark-stained shirt. We four had the advantage now, for we had come to no harm but a few bruises and an aching head or two, when suddenly there was a howl from the fellow last down, "El guardia civile!"

It was true. Out of the distance rode two men, dashing towards us from the direction of Jerez. Far away still, their white, black, and red uniforms caught the sun; and guessing from the knot of forms swaying round a motor-car that something was wrong, the pair spurred their horses to a gallop.

"It's too hot for us!" panted the brigand I took for the leader. He growled an order; and supporting two of their fallen comrades who were able to help themselves, the uninjured pair made off towards a small wood where I now saw horses tethered. After them we went; but they promptly left their half-disabled friends to shift for themselves, and loaded their carbines—so lately clubs—with quickness almost incredible.

An instant later two black muzzles covered us; and the tide of battle might after all have turned disastrously, had not the shrill ping of a bullet warned the enemy that there was no time to waste upon reprisals.

One of the civil guard had fired from a distance, but with precise aim, as a yell of pain announced. A man already wounded got another souvenir of the encounter; and out of the seven only four could get to their saddles. One limped in the rear, but he had lost his carbine; one sat where his comrades had flung him in their flight, and the last of the seven—stunned by my stone—lay breathing stertorously on the road.

"After them—after them!" one of the young men who had fought so brilliantly shouted now to the civil guards. "Don't let them get away."

For the first time I looked at him with seeing eyes. Then, I could hardly stifle an exclamation. It was the King.

He gave me back look for look, smiling that brave and charming smile which has magic in it to transform an enemy into a loyal servant.

I had my cap off now, and so had Dick, who wore the jaunty air I had seen him wear in more than one battle.

"I have to thank you both," said the King. "And—not for the first time. Our cars, as well as ourselves, have met before. Wasn't it—near Biarritz?"

I felt the blood stream up to the roots of my hair. "Your Majesty has a King's memory for faces," I stammered.

"There are faces one doesn't forget," said he. "But we'll talk of that presently. Now we have work here."

The King's companion was already down on one knee by the side of the chauffeur, pouring aguardiente from a flask into the man's half-open mouth. As for the fellow I had hit, I was sure that he would presently come round, but little the worse for wear; and I suggested that Dick and I find a rope in the car, which would bind him and the two other half-disabled ones. But the King would not let us work alone. He did as much as we, and more, before we were joined by the young officer who was his friend.

Discouraged and weak from loss of blood, as well as the loss of their carbines and their comrades, the wounded brigands made no further fight. But they were silent, save for a muttered oath or two, and I made up my mind that the true secret of this morning's work would never be torn from them.

For there was, of course, a secret. The King, who had not the clue which I held, saw that, and wondered why the brigands had not wished at first to shoot us. Plainly, their plan had been to make captives.

The obvious idea was that they would have conveyed their prisoners to some brigands' nest in the mountains, in the hope of obtaining a rich ransom. But they had evidently expected an automobile, or they would not have raised a barricade, just round a sharp corner on a particularly lonely piece of road.

Could they have been lying in wait for the King? This seemed impossible, as he had told no one that he was going out, and the expedition had indeed been made on the impulse, in the company of but one companion beside the chauffeur. He had intended to have a spin, and discover the state of the roads as far as practicable on the way to Jerez before turning back for the procession in the afternoon. And that evening he must return to Madrid. No, it was not the King for whom the seven men had prepared.

Who, then, was to have been their prey?

I believed that I could have answered this question, but I kept silent; and there was no reason why the King should guess that I had a suspicion.

"At all events," he said, "we have you and your friend to thank that the affair was not more serious. I hope we should have been able to give a good account of ourselves; but seven against two are long odds. And there seems a fate in it that you should have come to me in the nick of time to-day as well as at Biarritz. I should like to know your names."

I had dreaded this. Foolishly, perhaps, I felt that I could not bear to see the cordial light in his eyes fade to proud coldness, as it must when he knew me for a son of the man who had tried to place another on his throne. Besides, that I should at such a moment announce myself a Casa Triana would seem like bidding for pardon as a reward for what I had done. The confession stuck in my throat; and while I hesitated, Dick spoke.

"My friend didn't mean you to know, sir," said he, gabbling so fast that I could not stop him; "but this isn't the second time he's happened to be around when there was a little thing to be done for your Majesty,—it's the third. Yesterday it was he who snatched that bomb away from the man under the paso, collared the other fellow, and stuck the bomb in a smashed water-jar, although he gave the credit to the chauffeur—who, by the way, is 'shover' to this car. My friend here is travelling, as you might say, incog. for important private reasons, which he'll want you to know some day, sir, if he doesn't now; and that's why, when Ropes the chauffeur happened along, he made him a present of all the praise."

The King flushed, looking me straight in the eyes with an expression so noble and at the same time so kind that, had we lived a century or two ago, when men were not ashamed to show their true feelings, I should have thrown myself at his feet.

"I thank you again," he said, "for everything. I'm glad to know you are Spanish, even if I am to know no more. But am I to know no more?"

"Will your Majesty pardon me," I asked, "if I beg to remain nameless for the present?"

"I could pardon you far graver crimes," the King said smiling; "and I'm sure your reason, whatever it is, reflects nothing but honour on yourself. I owe you a debt. Claim it's payment in my gratitude whenever you will; the sooner the better. And if you want a friend, you'll know where to find one."

He held out his hand, and when I took it, shook mine warmly in English fashion. Something else he was about to say on a second thought, when his friend—who had now restored the chauffeur to dazed consciousness—drew his attention. "Sir," he said, "the guardia civile are coming back without prisoners."

A minute or two later the two men had galloped up to us, one wounded in the cheek. They had chased the brigands, exchanging shots, until suddenly, having passed beyond a clump of trees and a few lumpy hummocks of sand, the band had vanished as if by magic. The civil guards had explored the spot for some cleverly concealed hiding-place, which they knew must exist within the space of two hundred metres, but they had found nothing. And as they had had no time to ascertain the condition of the men left for us to deal with, they had thought it best to return lest the wounded enemy prove not to be hors de combat after all.

Fortunately the distance from this lonely spot to Jerez was not more than thirty kilometres, and within three miles there was a farm. Here a cart could be got to take the wounded brigands into the town; and from Jerez a posse of men would be immediately sent out to scour the country for the escaped brigands.

The King, whom the guardia civile recognized with respectful surprise, was now anxious to get back to Seville, where he was due in the royal box for the Good Friday procession, and must appear by five o'clock at latest. He delayed only long enough to be sure that his chauffeur was not hurt beyond a slight concussion of the brain, to speak a few kind words to the civil guard, and to say a significantly emphasized "Au revoir" to Dick and me. Then, taking the wheel himself, whilst the half-dazed chauffeur lay in the tonneau, he backed the big, reddish-brown car off the barricade, and darted away in a cloud of dust at a good forty miles an hour.

It was left for us to do what we could to advance the civil guard with their task; and though we had already lost too much time for my peace of mind, it was our plain duty to help those who had helped us. When we had levelled the rough barricade we reluctantly bundled the wounded men into our tonneau, and going at a pace which enabled the civil guards to gallop close behind us, we steered for the farm of which they had spoken. There, in a buzz of excitement, the brigands were piled into a cart; and leaving them to follow, presided over by one mounted guard leading his comrade's horse, we took the other on to Jerez in our car, so that the search party might be organized the sooner.

Sometimes virtue brings its own reward, and mine came when I learned that our new companion had met an automobile going at a great pace towards Jerez. It had gone so fast that, in the dust, he was not sure of the colour or number of persons inside, but he thought that he had seen several ladies.

If he could he would have compelled us to stop in Jerez and give evidence of the attack by brigands; but laughingly we told him that, rather than be delayed again, we would spill him out by the roadside and vanish into space before he could set the telegraph to work. As for the brigands, the leader with three others had escaped, and the faces of those captured were not known to the guard. But the fact that they had been seven was significant in his opinion; and he believed that they would prove to be men of Ecija, forming a band officially supposed to be defunct.

Should we give a hint of our suspicions, we knew well that every effort would be made to detain us at Jerez, and such a catastrophe I would have avoided at almost any price, unless there had been a hope of handicapping Carmona. But that there was no such hope I was as sure as that the abortive plan had been organized by him.

How he had communicated so quickly with his friends the Seven, I did not pretend to say, unless he had known where to find their leader, and visited him this morning in his car. Whatever he had done, however, he would not have been fool enough to jeopardize his reputation for the sake of laying me by the heels. The fact that he had claimed the aid of bandits proved that he wished to dispose of me without implicating himself, though why he had not adopted the far simpler plan of denouncing me as Casa Triana to the police, I could not conceive. Still, there was ingenuity in this idea. If a young man—or two young men—were captured in a lonely place known to be infected with brigands; if such young men were held for ransom, and kept out of the way for weeks or months, what was all that to a Duke of Carmona?

What if, when one of those young men appeared in the world again (minus an ear or a finger, perhaps), he told a fairy story about the enmity of the Duke, and reminded the public of an old nurse's tale concerning a bond between the house of Carmona and the leader of the seven famous brigands? Who would believe him? Who would not think it a silly and spiteful attempt on the part of an embittered man to injure a grandee of Spain?

Carmona would not have taken the whole Seven into his confidence, that was certain. He would have appealed to the leader alone. That leader had escaped; and even if he were captured he would not betray the Duke. Why should he, since it would not help himself; whereas, if he were loyal, Carmona would secretly use influence to lighten his lot?

Dick and I discussed these matters in English, under the nose of the civil guard, as I drove on to Jerez; and shrewd Yankee as he was, for once he accepted the Spanish point of view. If we were to "get even with Carmona and pay him out for this," it must be in some less clumsy way, Dick agreed.



XXXIV

THE RACE

It was lucky for us that the guard had met an automobile between the brigands' barricade and Jerez, otherwise we should have been at sea. The road-mender near Utrera had seen but one car, and that might have been the King's; but now we had something to hope for still; and Dick and I resolved to get out of Jerez as soon as possible, provided we could learn that the car we followed had gone on. If we lingered, the civil guard might, after all, think it his duty to have us detained, and we did not wish to give him time to change his mind.

"It's a pity, though," said Dick, with a thirsty sigh. "I've always had a sneaking fancy that if I ever came to Spain I'd stop at Jerez—'the place where the sherry comes from'—and potter about in huge, cool bodegas, sampling golden wine from giant casks with queer names on them. Only think what it would feel like to-day to have a stream of mellow 'Methusalem' trickling over our dusty lips and down our dry throats? Great Scott! I daren't dwell on it, since it can't be. But it's a grand chance missed."

Almost as he spoke we flashed into a neat white town, with green glimpses of patios; and groaning, Dick shut his eyes upon a great bodega where the famous names of Gonzalez and Byass loomed black on white.

We dumped our civil guard at the entrance to a side street which was, we hinted, rather narrow for automobiles, and, not waiting for his grateful adieux, we darted on, asking a bootblack the way to the best hotel. At the "Sign of the Swan" we paused just long enough to give the Gloria water, and to find out that a motor-car had stopped for a few moments about two hours ago. There were ladies inside, but they had not got out. A gentleman, covered with dust, had ordered sherry and biscuits, which he and the chauffeur had themselves carried to the other passengers, appearing rather impatient with the waiters. This gentleman had spoken Spanish in the hotel, but had been heard conversing in English with his friends. They had remained about fifteen minutes, and had then gone on. A waiter remembered seeing the chauffeur and his master consulting a road-map, and had heard the word "Cadiz" spoken.

This gave us an apparently unbroken clue, and half expecting to be caught in a police-trap, we slipped stealthily out of Jerez, with a spurt of speed as streets were left behind.

Still we were watched by purple-robed, guardian mountains, sitting in conclave. A running fire of poppies swept the fields between which we travelled, while distant meadows were paved with gold, or with forget-me-not blue like squares of the sky's mosaic fallen out. The air grew luminous as the crystal bell which hangs over the lagoons of Venice; and with the subtle change of atmosphere we had in our nostrils the first tang of the sea.

Here and there a strip of lush green was belted with cactus, but we were driving through salt marshes, and round us spread a plain piled with strange, shining pyramids of salt, white and bright as hills of diamond dust. Then, suddenly, a broken line of turrets and domes and spires was cut in gleaming pearl against the sky; and it was not the opal clearness of the air alone which took the memory to Venice. Here was the same ebb and flow of salt water in glittering lagoons, the same dark, waving lines of seaweed, the same wide stretch of sapphire beyond the alabaster domes.

For Spain, the road was good, and we glided smoothly through the pretty old town of Puerta de Santa Maria, with its big bodegas and Byronic associations. Across the Guadalquivir, where it tumbles into the Atlantic, dashing through an aromatic forest of umbrella pines we came out at Queen Isabel's white, Moorish looking Puerto Real. Thence, distant Cadiz on its rock appeared to change position bewilderingly, like a group of fairy castles, as we swept round the rim of that semicircular bay where once the Phoenicians traded in metals of England, and amber of the Baltic; where the ships of the Great Armada lay; and where Essex wrought destruction.

At San Fernando, I was assailed by doubt. What if, after all, the car we sought had not gone to Cadiz, but had here taken the coast road to Algeciras? The great conference was only just over, there; tourists of all nations were flocking to the town, attracted by curiosity; and as the place boasts the most beautiful hotel in Spain, it seemed likely that in flying from Seville the Duke should choose Algeciras instead of Cadiz. But some fishermen, on that rope of sand which binds Cadiz to the mainland, had seen a car pass a few hours before. Yes, only one; and they thought it was grey. It had four or five passengers, and was going to Cadiz.

Thither we spurted, Dick studying a plan of the city as we flew along the straight road embanked above the sand. By the time we arrived in silver Cadiz he was able to say in which direction I must drive to find the chief hotel; and in an open place not far from the crowded port we stopped.

Dick stayed to guard the car from the crowd which quickly collected, while I went to question the landlord.

No travellers with an automobile were stopping with him at present; but one had arrived a couple of hours ago, perhaps, and its passengers had wished to remain overnight. Unfortunately, however, as a big ship had just come in from America every room was taken.

There was no other hotel at which persons of taste could stop in comfort; and after some discussion, the owner of the car had decided to run on to Algeciras by way of Tarifa. The party, consisting of three ladies, one gentleman, and the chauffeur, had taken a hasty meal, and had got away about an hour and a half before our arrival.

"Those beastly bandidos!" I exclaimed to Dick in a rage of disappointment. "If it hadn't been for them we should have been on the heels of the grey car, and caught it up here at the hotel. I should have been able to snatch Monica away from under their noses—for I know she wouldn't have failed me."

"Those beastly bandidos introduced you to the King,—don't forget that," said Dick consolingly. "And the day may come before long when you'll be glad of that introduction. You can never tell, in a life like yours. And once Carmona's at Algeciras, why, you've got him in a kind of cul-de-sac from which he can't escape, any more than a mouse can jump out of a basin half full of water. If he takes rooms at the Reina Cristina, you'll come plump upon him. If he tries to return by road, he'll run into your arms; and one or the other must happen unless he puts his auto on a train or steamer, neither of which is likely."

Somewhat comforted, I proposed to follow at once, but Dick wistfully reminded me that the afternoon was wearing on, and he was wearing with it. Soon he would be worn out, unless I gave him something to eat. It seemed years since that cup of coffee and roll of the early morning.

If we needed nourishment, the car needed water. Both needs were supplied somewhat grudgingly by me, though the physical part of me did appreciate the coolness of the restaurant, and the strange dishes for which Cadiz is famous; the mushroom-flavoured cuttle-fish, the golden dorado in sherry.

Then off we started again, to take a road which the landlord warned us was none too good. People who travelled by carriage or diligence had evil things to say of the fourteen to eighteen hours of journey, though the scenery was fine. This did not sound enlivening; but what good horses could do in fourteen hours, the Gloria could do in three or four.

Through ramifications of narrow streets I steered the car out of Cadiz. In all directions they branched off from one another, interlacing, overlapping with the intricacy of a puzzle. The houses were high, too, and there was not a window with glittering balcony of glass and iron, where dark-eyed women did not lean between heaven and earth, to smile down upon our humming motor. It was all very quaint and gay, in spite of ancient, tragic memories; and though few cities of Spain are older than Cadiz—which claims Hercules for founder—the white houses looked as clean as if they had been built yesterday or some mediaeval model.

We tore back to San Fernando; and soon came upon the bad surface which had been prophesied. The Gloria bumped over ruts and grooves, and scattered stones, and perforce I had to slacken speed lest she should break some blood-vessel. Nevertheless we did not waste time in covering the six miles to Chiclana de la Frontera; and when we had crashed through this ancient stronghold of the Phoenicians we jolted out into an open, sandy solitude, with only the knoll of Barosa to break its blank monotony.

Even a mind preoccupied must spare a few thoughts for Graham and the "Faugh-a-ballaghs," on this ground where Spanish men and British men fought shoulder to shoulder against the French invader. But when we passed the road branching away to Conil, and held straight on across the little river Salado, I heard a thing more instructive than history, more exciting than romance.

A man we met—who looked almost old enough to remember the brave days of the great tunny fishing—had seen a large automobile, not more than an hour ago. Evidently, then, we were gaining on the quarry. The news gave me courage.

The sea and the Straits of Gibraltar were near now, and though they were not in sight yet, nor the sandy headland of Trafalgar, the smell of salt came to us with the wind.

At the old Moorish town of Vejer de la Frontera (scarcely a town in this storied corner of the world but tells, with its "de la Frontera," of days when the Moors were crushed back, ever farther and farther) we had travelled full thirty miles from Cadiz. Childish voices screaming round the car cried that another automobile was not far ahead; and like a racehorse nearing the finish, we put on speed, dashing at a rush to the Laguna de Janda, over the ground where Tarik the Conquerer began his great running fight with Rodrigo. So through little Venta de Tabilla, leaving the lake to plunge into an imposing gorge which was a doorway to the sea. There, spread out before, were the straits and the burning African coast; Europe and Africa face to face; white Tarifa jutting into the green waves; Trafalgar in the distance, smothered in clouds like clinging memories; Tangier opposite, a crescent of pearls, tossed seaward by towering blue waves which were the Atlas Mountains. Taking the wild beauty of the scene with all that it meant, it was one of the great sights of the world—the world once supposed to end here, with Hercules' pillars.

As the Gloria sprang on towards Tarifa, a fierce wind which had been lying in wait leapt at the car and sent her staggering. Gust after gust darted from ambush, half blinding our ungoggled eyes with the sand they flung by handfuls into our faces. But we jammed on our hats; and the Gloria bore the onslaughts bravely, her voice drowned in the screaming of the wind, which might have been the war cries of those Moorish armies whose battleground this land had been for seven centuries.

As the good white road mounted the shoulder of a down on its way to Tarifa, that most Moorish of all Spanish towns stood up like a model cut out of alabaster in a frame of jade. Clear against the sky rose the crumbling tower of Guzman el Bueno, the Abraham of mediaeval history; but our way, instead of leading through the strange old city, passed the horseshoe gate of entrance, and bore us up into the mountains.

Not a soul did we meet, once we turned our backs upon Tarifa. Only the wild wind would not desert us, but roared in strange voices along the hollows of the land, in a country where all was wild. The rough mountain sides were peppered with stunted oaks; and as our way ascended more thrilling grew the views, with the smoke of great steamers streaming black pennons over the sea, and the Atlas Mountains squatting Sphinx-like to guard the African shore.

Then, we lost the hard blue line of water, screened behind mountains; and slipping down over the summit we hid from the bellowing wind. The car flew like a circling bird round the wide curves, and dropped us in peaceful vales sheltered by cork forests, and rocky walls inlaid with the silver of trickling streams.

Thus, back to the wide sea view and downs whose flowery carpet was torn by jagged nail-heads of rock. Cork trees, sombre as giant olives clad in mourning, strong in their corselets and shields of half-stripped bark as knights in armour, covered the hills like a vast army. At the foot of the hoary warriors, waved bracken and yellow iris in tangled masses; high above their heads sailed here and there a golden eagle of a vulture, looking like paper birds or Japanese kites.

Far below us the white houses of Algeciras lay scattered, a broken necklace of white beads; and from across the water that dark lion, Gibraltar, crouched as if waiting to spring.

Whether Dick or I saw it first I can't tell, but we exclaimed together, "There's the other car!" And there it was, a moving speck upon the road in a white cloud of dust.

After it we went with a bound of increased speed. No need now to stop and ask the way to the hotel; all we had to do was to follow and catch up with the Lecomte at the steps of the Hotel Reina Cristina. A wild idea flashed into my head, that I would snatch Monica as she alighted from Carmona's car, fling her to Dick in mine, jump in after her myself, and be off before the others had time to recover from their surprise.

The more I thought of this the more feasible did it seem. No slowing up for sharp turnings now; trust to luck that the road was clear ahead! I was thrilling with hope and excitement as we dashed after the disappearing dust-covered automobile into a wide open gateway. The scent of heliotrope and rose geranium, hot under the April sun, intoxicated me as we swept along the white avenue, and came in sight of the other car just drawing up before an arcaded loggia.



XXXV

THE MOON IN THE WILDERNESS

Two ladies and their maid were getting out. An American young man was helping them down. The grey car was not a Lecomte. The owner, his chauffeur, and the three women were of types entirely different from those we sought.

The discovery, coming after such exaltation of hope, was like a blow over the heart.

"Hard luck," exclaimed Dick. "But Carmona's car must be somewhere."

"If it ever started," I said. "I begin to think now that Carmona rallied his brigands, and sent me out to meet them, knowing I'd surely follow if I believed he had gone that way."

"Oh come, there's hope still," Dick consoled me. And turning to the owner of the car, he asked if he had seen another grey automobile. He had not; and, on further questioning, he went on to tell us that he had started from Seville meaning to stop at Cadiz and come on here to-morrow; but the hotel had been full, so he had "rushed it" to Algeciras. These details proved that his was the motor we had been chasing from the first; and the excellent Spanish which the Californian spoke to the porters accounted for one misleading bit of information.

While the party of care-free tourists went indoors, Dick and I stood in our coats of dust to discuss the situation. We soon agreed that there was but one thing to do. Wire Colonel O'Donnel for news of Carmona's movements, and wait where we were for an answer.

To none save those who count every moment precious could such a delay have been irksome. The place was a paradise, the garden a corner of Eden, and the Reina Cristina more like the country house of some Spanish millionaire than a hotel.

Leaving the Gloria, we went in to write a telegram; and in a court, charming as the patio of a Moorish palace, we sat to plan out a message. The people of the hotel confirmed our fears that no answer could come from Seville till morning; so Dick busied himself in choosing rooms, while, to save time, I took the car by the sea road to the telegraph-office in town.

How many miles up and down those flower-bordered paths Dick and I walked next morning waiting for news, neither could have told. Eleven o'clock had struck when Colonel O'Donnel's answer was brought to me in the garden.

"On receipt of wire, interviewed verger," I read. "Made him confess to accepting large sum from agent of C—— to send you on wrong track. Making inquiries and hope let you know in few hours whether C—— really gone; if so, which direction. Advise you stop Algeciras till hear from me again. Am sending on luggage there."

"A few hours!" I was beginning to know too well what a few hours could mean in Spain where, to a population of philosophers it mattered nothing if a thing happened to-morrow or the day after.

Gibraltar was empurpled with night and sequined with ten thousand lights when the next telegram arrived—a message which covered two telegraph forms.

"Just learned C—— left to-day for Granada with same party. Took train, and whether shipped automobile not found out. C—— believed to be ill. Friend at club says C—— been heard say knows at Granada man worth twenty physicians, natural bone-setter, herb doctor. Perhaps wishes consult this person. Illness seems mysterious. House of C—— well known at Granada. Inquire at Washington Irving, where suppose you will stay. Will wire or write to that address."

I should have been off within the hour, but the quickest way of reaching Granada was by Ronda, and there was no road for automobiles. One could walk, one could ride, along a bridle path through gorges unsurpassed for grandeur; but it was an expedition of two days, whereas if we could curb our impatience until early morning, we would reach Ronda by train in about four hours.

Not being quite mad, we waited, rose at five, and before seven were steaming out of Algeciras, while the great cloud-cataract of the Levanter churned and boiled over Gibraltar. On a truck, travelling by the same train, was my brave Gloria, none the worse for yesterday's wild flight, and ready for another when she could take the road beyond Ronda. I had not ceased yet to wonder at the expedition with which she had been shipped. Dick discovered, however, that the manager of the line was a Scotsman, a kind of fairy godfather for all the region round, which explained the mystery; and his road was wonderful. In a glass coach, which was an "observation car," we tore through scenery so diversified that it might have been chosen from the finest bits of a whole continent. There were wooded ravines tapestried with pink sweetbrier; there were far hill-towns like flocks of gulls resting on the edge of giddy precipices; there were strange old fortresses; ruined Moorish castles; velvet-green fields with aloe hedges grey as lines of broken slate; dark, noble gorges sprinkled with mother-o'-pearl flakes of white wild roses, that drifted down the red rock into water green as onyx. There were blossomy bits of Holland and long tracts of Switzerland. Glacier-mills in narrow gorges were like empty niches for colossal statues of saints; pink and white orchards foamed at the feet of ancient look-out towers; black rocks, like huge watch-dogs, seemed to crouch on cushions of wild flowers; and weeping willows fringed the river with silver before it dashed away to do battle among the mountains; acacias showered perfume, and orange groves pushed so near to the train that a hand reached out could have plucked their golden globes.

There were caves and underground rivers, haunted by enchanted Moors; and at last, a brief glimpse of Ronda hanging high against the sky, vanishing like the fabled Garden of Iram, and not to be seen again until the train mounted the cliff by many loops.

Just as we arrived at the end of the journey a thought in my brain seemed to snap like the trigger of a carbine. In my haste to get off by the first morning train I had forgotten to try and find more petrol at Algeciras, although I had not enough left to get the car to Granada.

There was just time to telegraph back to the Reina Cristina and beg some of the young Californian, who had fallen so deeply in love with the place that he intended to stay a week. We had become friendly and he would certainly grant the favour, therefore we might count on travelling that night by acetylene and moonlight. Meanwhile, there was a long day to wait, but I tramped off my restlessness as best I could in exploring every foot of Ronda.

After that one look upward from the train, when Ronda hung before our eyes over a thousand foot gorge, we had at last sneaked in, so to speak, by a back door. If it had not been for that first glimpse, and if we had not read "Miranda of the Balcony" we should not have guessed, in walking from the station to the Alameda, that Ronda differed from other Moorish towns. But far away was a barrier of iron railing, and a curious effect as if beyond it everything ended except the sky. We walked on, reached that railing, and leaned over.

No picture, no book had been able to give us a real idea of Ronda. It was stupendous—wonderful. We stared down at the world beneath as if we hung in a balloon, for the rock fell away from our feet, a sheer precipice; and men working in the valley below were like tiny crabs. The Moorish mills were white, broken hour-glasses, shaking out a stream of silver; geese on the river were floating bread-crumbs; a string of donkeys crawling up the steep Moorish road were invisible under their packs, which looked like mushrooms with moving stems.

The noise of the river floated up to us with a muffled roar, and across the deep valley its water had cut, tumbled a wild mountain-land, crossed here and there by white threads of road which clung to the sky-line and disappeared.

"Great Scott, if this eagle's nest doesn't take the cake!" exclaimed Dick, always modern. "If there were any more to take, it could have that, too. Hurrah for you, rock and river. You're sublime."

But we had not seen all, by hanging over that iron railing, nor nearly all. There was the palace of the Moorish King, and the terrible steps cut by Christian captives. There was the bridge swung over the gorge; and the far-famed "window" of rock, one of the wonders of the world. There was the old Roman amphitheatre, turned into a bull-ring; the town wall, which Hercules helped to build; the Roman gate, and the Moorish gate, and the house where Miranda lived; and a hundred other things to be found by mounting steep hills or sliding down wild precipices.

The splendid mountain air had given Dick a ferocious appetite; nevertheless he could hardly be torn from the cliff above the "window," and vowed that it would be worth while coming all the way from New York to Ronda next year when the grand new hotel should be finished.

Rain fell while we lunched, but we wandered out again, in a thin mist like a sieve, through which sifted turquoises and silver spangles; nor did we cease wandering until it was time for the train to arrive with the expected petrol. The Californian had not failed us; and with a good supply of food for the Gloria, and enough for ourselves to last until morning, we set off, against the advice of everyone.

The sky had cleared, and twilight would soon merge into moonlight; but we would need the moon and stars as well on the road we had to travel. In more than one place it was marked on my map by an ominous, thin black line which meant "Motorists, beware." The country was sparsely populated; people whispered of bandidos; and if anything happened to the car in the middle of the night, there would be no means of getting help.

Still, if we won through without serious mishap, we should save a day; for there was no train to Granada until morning, and Dick was as keen on the adventure, for the adventure's sake, as I was for another reason.

After all, we reminded each other, it was a journey of only a hundred and twenty miles. With no traffic to interfere, the Gloria ought to fly over the distance in four hours; and what if everyone did try to discourage us? We had experienced that sort of thing in Biarritz, and the dangers had resolved themselves into chimeras. Nothing in Spain was as troublesome nowadays as the busybodies would have one believe—not even the beggars.

My big searchlights cast a flashing ring on the road, which the car seemed to push swiftly before it as it ran.

Dick peered through the uncertain light for the hill town of Teba, from which the Empress Eugenie took her title, but my eyes were glued to the road.

To think, if we had known at Jerez that Granada was the lodestar, we could have reached Ronda in a run of four hours day before yesterday! But it was useless to repine, and fate had given us Ronda.

By the time we had passed through the straggling village of Campillos the moon was up, a great white, incandescent globe of light, so brilliant that instead of draining colour from rock, and grass, and flower, it gave new and almost supernatural values to all.

We had the world to ourselves, a wonderful world like a vast silver bowl half full of jewels. Over the tops of mountains cut jaggedly of steel, strange figures seemed to run along the horizon. Bathed in unearthly radiance lay fields of poppies like deep lakes of blood filling the valleys between little rolling hills, and here and there a miniature mountain of pink or glittering grey, rose out of the plain like a fairy palace which would be invisible in daylight. Olive trees stretching away in straight lines on either side of endless avenues, fountained silver under the moon, each avenue swept by a wave of poppies. It was an Aladdin's Cave landscape made out of rare metals and precious stones that imitated trees and flowers.

Antiquera on its wild crags, was a ragged black hole in the silver sky, until we shot into the town under the dominating castle of crimson memories.

There, was life and music still; guitars tinkled, children who should have been in bed frolicked in the streets with lambs that followed them like dogs, while everyone, old and young, laughed and hooted at the Gloria as she shot by without stopping, on her way to Loja and Granada.

A sharp turn to the left swept us out of Antiquera, and so good was the road that Dick and I began to laugh at the gloomy prognostications which thus far had not been fulfilled.

My spirits rose to such a height that as we passed under the Lovers' Rock, still haunted by the Moorish maiden and her Christian lover, I quoted Southey, verse after verse of the old-fashioned poetry coming back to my mind. The Pena de los Enamorados stood up like a small model of Gibraltar, rising out of the plain; and as we wound on among other pinnacles almost as majestic, we could see the bleached skeleton of Archidona hanging on its mountain. Once the place had been a famous nest of brigands; and when after climbing a tremendous hill, we had come into its long white street, Dick was of opinion that Archidona of to-day was still an ideal summer resort for the fraternity in case they should crave a town life. Each low-browed house in the interminable avenue looked a fit nursery for mysteries and secrets. Here and there a dark face framed in a knotted red handkerchief peered from a lighted doorway, staring after the Gloria until she had slipped over the brow of the hill to coast smoothly down another as steep.

There, had we but known, the peaceful olive grove through which we passed and hushed the song of nightingales was to be our last glimpse of peace. Beyond that silver barrier lay chaos, a chaos of wild mountains, deep chasms, and grim steppes, solitary, unpeopled, forbidding under the moon!

If we broke an axle here, with leagues to walk to the nearest farm, there was no hope of Granada to-morrow. And now the road was equally well fitted for breaking axles, necks, and hearts.

It was made of rock in petrified waves, among which the Gloria floundered and buck-jumped as long ago Dick had expected her to do when she crossed the Spanish border. Every part of her shivered as though she were a horse in the bull-ring, and I pitied her as if she had a nerve in every spring and chain.

"This is no road; it's a nightmare," groaned Dick. But if it were, it was a nightmare which ran with us glaring, showing frightful fangs, for mile after mile of horror. Just as the steep slope of a descent offered a softer cushion for the suffering tyres, and hope stirred within us, we broke into such a region as imagination pictures in the streets of Lisbon after the great earthquake. Gullies and vertical rifts scored the highway serpentining hither and thither, the chasms gaping to swallow the Gloria or at least bite off a wheel.

Now the earthy lip of a cleft would crumble and fall in as our driving-wheels skimmed along the edge; now, steer with all the nerve and nicety I might, the Gloria would rock as she hung half over a gully. Somehow I coaxed her down the hill, and driving out from the labyrinth of crevasses, I breathed a sigh of relief. But the next instant, I had only time to jam on the brakes to save the car from vaulting into a small river which ran across the road. Carefully embanked on either side, the stream flowed swiftly, cutting the descent at right angles.

Whatever the depth might prove, I had to risk it. Mounting the nearer embankment, I drove down into the running water, where the moon laughed up at me as I broke her glittering reflection.

"Good old San Cristobal!" cried Dick as we came through without damage and climbed the opposite bank, to plump down a breakneck descent on the other side.

But it was early still to praise the saint. We had only to look ahead to see how much more he had to do for us, if we were to win through to Granada at all. Where a little clump of houses had assembled at the bottom of the hill, as if to watch our struggle, another and far broader river flowed.

It also raced across the highway, as if roads were made for river-beds; and this time the situation was so serious that I stopped the Gloria to reflect.

There was no doubt about it; this river was deep. Though a cart might ford it safely, and have the flood of rippling silver no higher than the axles, it was different with an automobile. I wondered bleakly what would happen to the silencer if its mass of heated metal were suddenly plunged into cold water, and what would happen to the commutator.

"When in doubt, play a trump," said Dick. "And I guess that camel-backed bridge is a trump, if it's only a knave—or the deuce."

It was true, there was a narrow erection which might pass as a bridge, if one wished to pay a compliment. It was of stone, and came to a steep point at the apex, like a "card tent" when two cards receive support from one another. It was the question of a fraction of an inch, if the Gloria were to squeeze over; but between the danger of a jam and the danger of a burst cylinder, I decided to risk playing Dick's trump.

First I got out and unscrewed the wheel-caps to give more clearance, then in again for the trial, while Dick walked, ready to offer aid if it were needed. I had rasped through to the top, and the Gloria had actually started on the down grade, when she gave a grinding scream, and stuck between the parapets.

I tried to move, and could not. The car was hopelessly jammed.

"Nice fix," said Dick. "If I was writing a book, I'd say, 'this route only suitable for hundred horse-power cars, built in small sections, and carrying cheerful passengers.' Now, we were cheerful once—and may be again. Chuck me over the key of the tool-box, will you?"

I did so without a word, lest if I uttered any they should be too strong. But curiosity overcame me when I heard a metallic chinking, then the blows of a hammer.

"Only knocking down a bit of this old parapet," was the calm answer to my question. "Some of it's gone already; why not more? I bet future generations will thank me—as it's certain never to be mended."

As he spoke, there was a great splash, when a piece of the parapet, already weakened by years of storm and stress, plumped over into the river. The car was released, and slid down the other slope of the camel's back.

Now it did seem that we might safely thank San Cristobal, since nothing could well be worse than the pass from which he had just delivered us, scratched, bruised, yet unbroken. We had but to scramble out of the rough river-bed, bump over the level crossing of a railway, to come out upon a broad, smooth highway like a road to paradise. Ready to shout with joy, I put on speed, and the Gloria sprinted over the white and silent way as if she were happy to turn her back upon Inferno.

Yesterday's study of the map assured me that at length we had struck the main road from Malaga, and there seemed every reason to believe that the ordeal just over would be our last. Flying along at a good fifty miles an hour, under a tired moon that sought the west, presently a town rose grandly up before us, throned on rocks in a wide valley, and pallid in the strange light as some sad queen.

Loja, tragically lost key of Granada, sister of famed Alhama, stronghold of that fierce alcayde who called Boabdil's sultana daughter! Loja, and only thirty miles more to Granada.

We rushed towards that wide valley, and on to the mountain town which dared to repulse Ferdinand. In the deserted streets the only sound was the singing of many springs, the same musical voices, the same strains that Lord Rivers heard close upon five hundred years ago, when he came with his English archers to help conquer the wild place. El Gran Capitan, too, had come here, a lonely exile, after all his splendid services to an ungrateful king. He, too, had heard the singing of Loja's springs, not in triumph, but in sorrow.

Down in the valley beyond, the river cried a warning to us; but we did not heed, even when the road surface changed again to gluey mud; squelching on, mile after mile, at the best pace we could, and saying always that soon we should be on the Vega. So the dawn stole up and quivered on the snows of the Sierra Nevada.

The moon was gone, and it must still be long before the sun would shine over the mountains, when a black shadow like a great coffin deserted on the road, gave me pause. I pulled up in haste, only just in time, and could hardly believe I saw aright. But there was no illusion. We were on the highway from the port of Malaga to Granada, yet here was a broken bridge, a noble structure which should have outworn centuries, tumbling into ruin.

The fall of the great central arch was no new thing, for moss and lichen enamelled its jagged edges with green and gold. Some branches loosely strewn across the road were the only signposts indicating this tragedy, though perhaps it was a story as old as the great earthquake of two-and-twenty years ago.

A yard or so more and we should have been over; but San Cristobal had not forgotten us; and the next thing was, how to cross the river without a bridge. I turned and went back, discovering wheel-tracks which showed an obscure bye-path dipping over the edge of the embankment. I followed, and beheld the ford, a little farther on in a baby forest, where a broad stream lay in flood between low banks.

"We'll have to get through," I said, and drove the Gloria into the water. If there should be mud—but there were stones instead; and with tiny waves swishing among the spokes of her wheels she set out to rumble over.

"I believe she'll do it—" I had begun, when she gave a great hiss, as when a blacksmith plunges a red-hot horseshoe into water; and a cloud of steam gushed up. Still I forced her on, expecting each instant to hear some fatal crash, while we plunged deeper into the stream. Now the little waves splashed coldly across my feet. Would they mount to the carburetor, spoil the ignition, or, still worse, would they crack the cylinders?

Neither of us spoke, and the car stormed on, sobbing. For a moment she clawed in vain at something, and then stumbled, as if on her knees, up the farther bank. Dripping water and puffing steam she climbed to the high-road again, and, with a bound, started on through spouting mud, as if nothing had happened. One would have thought her fired by some incentive as powerful as mine, which forced her on in the face of all difficulties; and perhaps it was a song of gladness which the motor hummed, as she came out upon the Vega.

Suddenly the first beams of the sun streamed down the white slopes of the far Sierra Nevada, touched the vast fertile plain, and wrought magic with a castled hill which floated up, dreamlike, from a purple haze where a great city lay asleep. Clustering vermilion towers blazed with the gold of dawn, and dazzled our eyes with the glamour of romance. For the sleeping city was Granada, and the red towers and gardens on the castled hill were the towers and gardens of the Alhambra.

The adventure was over. And under one of those roofs, dove-grey in the dawn, I hoped that Monica was sleeping.



XXXVI

WILES AND ENCHANTMENTS

In spite of dykes and dams, said Dick, we had arrived at a place to visit which had once seemed to him as wonderful as finding the key of the rainbow. Yet here we were; and Granada—after we had entered at last by crossing still another river—came out from under its spell of enchantment when we saw it at close quarters. Only that wonderful hill above was magical still, as magical to the eye as when Ibraham the astrologer decreed its gardens.

More than half the miradored Moorish houses had given place to modern French ones; and descendants of the banished owners in far Tetuan and Tunis, might as well fling their keys and title-deeds away.

The dome of Isabella's cathedral and the towers of old, old churches rose from among the roofs of commonplace streets; ordinary shops of yesterday and to-day ran up the steep hill towards the Alhambra; but at a great gateway—la Puerta de las Granadas, raised by Charles the Fifth—the centuries opened and let us drive through into the past.

At this hour of the morning, the deep green forest of the Alhambra park, beyond the classic arch, was still as the enchanted wood which hid from the world the Sleeping Beauty in her palace. The nightingales had gone to sleep, and the daylight birds had finished their first concert, but another voice was singing, the joyous high soprano of water—water unseen, rippling through subterranean channels; water seen tumbling in crystal runnels on either side of the road in its bubbling way downhill.

Still we saw nothing of the enchanted vermilion towers which draw all the world across sea and land. There was but a glimpse of ruddy battlements once at a turn of the road, through a netting of trees and branches; then we were in a green cutting in the deep wood, where two pleasant, old-fashioned hotels faced each other.

We were expected at the house named after that delicate and genial soul who awoke Europe and America to the charm of the Alhambra. I had hopefully telegraphed from Ronda that we would arrive early, en automobile; nevertheless, the landlord, knowing the route, was smilingly surprised to see us.

There was a telegram; that was the first thing we learned; and it was from Colonel O'Donnel; but he had no news to tell. He merely wired his advice that, if possible, Senor Waring should come back to Seville immediately, as his evidence was now wanted in the affair of the bomb.

Dick at once said that he would not desert me, but I urged upon him the advisability of going. He had seen me through my great adventure; and if Carmona and the others were in Granada there was nothing he could do at the moment which I could not do for myself. If he failed to appear in Seville, there might be trouble; and should I find that I needed his help, I would telegraph.

Pilar's name was not spoken, but it rang in our thoughts, and Dick could not hide the flash of eagerness that lit his eyes. Perhaps by this time she would have made up her mind whether he were to have "yes" or "no" for his answer.

"My going shall depend on whether Carmona's here or not," he said; and I turned to the landlord with a question. Did he know whether the Duke of Carmona and his mother had come, and brought friends to their palace in Granada?

The Spaniard laughed. He knew but too well, since the arrival of the distinguished family had roused something like an emeute in his and other hotels. Carmona palace was perhaps the most interesting show-place left in the town of Granada, except the tombs of los Reyes Catolicos in the cathedral. It was the palace where Boabdil had fled from his father's wrath; and after the Alhambra and the Generalife it was the one thing that tourists came to see. Now they were prevented from seeing it by the arrival of the Duke and Duchess, a calamity which did not happen in the high season once in ten years. If the house (which had in these days but one grand suite of furnished and habitable rooms) was occupied by its owners, it was usually for a few weeks in the height of summer, after strangers had ceased to come south; or else in the autumn, before the time for travellers. Now there was great dissatisfaction among the foreign visitors, who considered themselves defrauded of their rights. Yesterday morning several parties of tourists had insisted upon an entrance, and in the afternoon, in fulfilment of the Duke's request, two civil guards had been stationed before the door to keep would-be intruders at a distance.

This did not seem a hopeful outlook for me, in case I wished to try some such coup d'etat as I had planned in Seville. But there would be other ways of reaching Monica, I told myself, when the landlord had gone on to say that the Duke was supposed to be seriously ill. If Carmona were suffering, he would not be able to watch the members of his household as closely as before, and it ought not to be impossible to let Monica know that I was in Granada. Once she understood that I was ready and waiting to take her away, means would be found to reach her.

There was only time, when Dick had finally decided to go, for a bath and breakfast before I spun him down to the station for the morning train.

Meanwhile I had learned that every room in our landlord's two hotels was occupied, for it was the most crowded season. But I was to have a villa belonging to the hotels given to me for my entire use, a villa in an old Moorish garden of tinkling fountains, flowing rills, rose-entwined miradores, jasmine arbours, myrtle hedges, and magnolia trees. The Carmen de Mata Moros was to be mine for as few days or as many weeks as I chose to remain. Satisfied, therefore, that I should not have to camp under the trees of the park, I determined, when I had seen Dick off, to put up the car in the town of Granada, and reconnoitre the neighbourhood of the Carmona palace.

An inquiry here and there took me to the street without much delay. The palace, sacred to memories of Boabdil, his gentle Sultana Zorayda, and his stern mother Ayxa, was to be found on the outskirts of the Albaicin, that part of Granada once favoured by the Moorish aristocracy, now almost given up to the poorer Spaniards, and gypsies rich enough and sophisticated enough to desert their caves. Ferdinand and Isabel had granted the house to a rich Moorish noble who had fore-sworn his religion to help them in their wars, and who became the first Duque de Carmona, owner of many estates and many palaces.

My landlord had not been misinformed. The fine entrance, with its fifteenth century Spanish coat of arms over the Moorish portal, was kept by two civil guards. I walked up, and with the air of a tourist, inquired how soon the palace would be open to visitors. The men could not tell me. Was the Duke ill? They believed so. And as I could get nothing further from them I walked away.

Above, on the hill, clustered the red towers of the Alhambra. I fancied that in those towers there must be windows which overlooked the patio of Boabdil's old palace, and I resolved to prove this presently, but I was not yet ready to leave the Albaicin.

I had brought down my Kodak as an excuse for lingering, and now I began, within sight of Carmona's doors, to take leisurely snapshots. When I had been thus engaged for nearly half an hour, I saw a young woman, evidently a servant, leaving the palace with a small bundle under her arm; and without appearing to notice her, I strolled in the direction she was taking. Once beyond eyeshot of the civil guards, I spoke to the girl, taking off my hat politely.

"You are from the Duke of Carmona's?" I said. "I am an acquaintance of his, and intended to call, but I hear he is seeing no one."

"That is true, senor," replied the girl, a handsome creature of the gypsy type, with bold eyes which took in every detail of my features and clothing. "His Grace arrived very fatigued and is obliged to lie in bed; which is inconvenient, as there are foreign guests who must be so constantly entertained by Her Grace the Duchess, that she has no time to nurse her son."

"I trust he has a clever doctor," said I.

"Oh, a very clever one," the girl answered eagerly. "Not an ordinary physician, but a wonderful person. My brother knows him well, and goes into the Sierra to find herbs and flowers for his medicines and balsams."

Evidently the girl was proud of the acquaintance, and I humoured her.

"Such remedies are good in cases of fever and malaria," I said.

"And for many other things," she persisted. "His Grace has contracted some poisoning of the hand. I do not know how; but he is better already, and will no doubt soon be well. If the senor would care to send a line of sympathy, I might arrange for it to reach the Duke. At present not even the most intimate friends are admitted, but I am in the confidence of Her Grace's maid, who came with her from Seville. Indeed I'm now on the way to do an errand for her."

I caught at this opening.

"I should like to send a note," I said, "but not to the Duke."

Having got so far, I took a roll of bank-notes from my pocket, as we strolled slowly on together. A young woman so anxious to convey an impression of her own importance, must have ambitions beyond her place in life.