"Tell me--everything," urged the yacht-owner. "What are the
revolutionists doing and how is--how are things?" Carefully he avoided
directing any question to the point on which his eagerness for news was
poignant hunger.
When Blanco told how Louis had left Galavia just before the soldiers
reached the lodge, Benton's face darkened. "That was fatal blundering,"
he complained. "So long as Delgado is at large the Palace is menaced.
If they had taken him, and held him under surveillance, the Cabinet
Noir would be disarmed. Now they will try again."
Blanco nodded.
"There is no charge they can make against him," he mused. "They cannot
bring him back because the government cannot admit its peril. Outwardly
his bill of health is clean. Assuredly when they let him slip, Señor,
they committed a grave error."
Benton rose and paced the deck in deep reflection. At last he halted and
spread his hands in a gesture half-despairing.
"My God!" he said in a low voice. "The anxiety will drive me mad! You
saw their methods. An entire cortége was to be blown into the air--just
to kill Karyl. Next time, what will they attempt?" He broke off with a
shudder.
"I have seen the Queen," said Blanco slowly.
Benton wheeled. For an instant his face lighted, then he leaned forward.
He said nothing, but his whole attitude was a question.
"You behold in me, Sir Manuel Blanco," began the Andalusian grandly.
Then, slipping his arm through that of the other man, he began leading
him around the deck. When he had finished his narrative, he said: "I
begin my office as Ambassador by delivering this packet." From his
pocket he produced the paper-wrapped rose. "I was instructed to give it
to you at some future time. Possibly, Señor, I am over-prompt. Lawyers
and diplomats should be deliberate."
The Mediterranean day had died slowly from east to west while the men
had talked, and the last shred of glowing sky was darkening into the sea
at the edge of the world astern, when Benton greedily thrust out his
hand for the packet.
"Gracias," he said bluntly, and turning away went precipitously to his
cabin.
After dinner, when the Captain had betaken himself to the bridge and the
smoke from the Spaniard's cigarettes and Benton's pipe had begun to
wreathe clouds against the ceiling-beams, Blanco broached his diplomacy.
In the dulled expressionlessness of the face opposite him and the stoop
of the shoulders, Manuel read a need for an active antidote against the
corrosive poison of despair.
"Where are we going now, Señor?"
Benton shrugged his shoulders.
"'Quien sabe!' as you say in Spain. We are simply cruising, drifting,
keeping out of sight of land."
"And drifting is the precise thing, Señor, which we must not do. I
have hitherto done without question what you have said. Now I hold a
new dignity." There was a momentary flash of teeth as he smiled. "As
Ambassador, I make a request. May I be permitted to take entire control
of affairs for a brief time? Also, will you for a few days obey my
instructions, without question?"