Part 3

When the messenger left, the discussion between the Colonel and Corpola was resumed, and I began to eye my guard more closely than ever, for some sign that his vigilance was sufficiently relaxed to enable me to make a spring upon him and seize his weapon.

But just when I was in the very act of making my effort another interruption came from without. There was a second knocking at the door, this time hurried and agitated, and a voice called, urgently and vehemently,

"Colonel Livenza, Colonel Livenza! I must see you at once."

It was a woman's voice, and the three men were obviously disturbed at it.

"Quick, you two. Take him into the next room," said Livenza, in a whisper.

Corpola and Valera seized me, and each menacing me with his revolver and pressing the barrel close against my head, led me into the dark room adjoining, Livenza opening the door and closing it again the instant we had passed.

"A single sound will cost you your life," whispered Corpola, fiercely into my ear, giving an additional pressure of the pistol-barrel by way of emphasis.

But he did not succeed in scaring me to the extent he hoped. The circumstances were now as much in my favour as I could expect to have them. It was not a pleasant experience to stand between two desperate fanatics in a dark room with their pistols pressed close to my head; but it was obvious that I had only to jerk my head out of the touch of the pistols to make it exceedingly difficult for my guards to regain their advantage.

Despite my awkward plight I was hopeful now, for both were positively trembling with excitement.

"What is the meaning of all this?" I whispered; designing merely to get them off their guard. "That was a woman's voice."

"Silence!" said Corpola, in a fierce whisper.

"Very well," I answered, with a big shrug of my shoulders.

This action was designedly intended to embarrass the two men, and for half a second the pressure of the pistol-barrels was relaxed; but that half-second was sufficient for me. I slipped my head back from between the pistols, and at the same moment caught the two men from behind and thrust them against each other; then turning on Valera, the weaker of the two, I gripped his revolver in my left hand, caught his throat with the other, and dragged him across the room, scattering chairs and tables and bric-a-brac in my course, and having wrested his weapon from him, flung him away from me into the darkness. Then I fired the revolver and sent up a shout for help that echoed and re-echoed through the room.

A loud cry in a woman's voice followed, then the sound of an excited altercation in high tones, the door of the room I had just left was thrown open and Colonel Livenza and a woman's figure showed in the frame of light.

"Have a care," I called. "I am armed now and desperate." But at that moment there was the flash and report of a pistol fired close to me and Corpola, who had used the moment to approach me stealthily from behind, threw himself on me. I had twice his strength, however, and my blood being up I turned on him savagely, and, untwisting his arms, seized him by the throat, and fearing Livenza might come to his aid, dashed his head against the wall with violence enough to stun him. Then jumping to my feet again and still having my revolver, I rushed to square matters with Livenza himself, who alone stood now between me and freedom.

At that instant the woman spoke.

"You are Ferdinand Carbonnell. Have no fear. You are quite safe now. I came here on your account." The words were good to hear in themselves; but the voice that uttered them was the most liquid, silvery and moving that had ever fallen on my ears; and so full of earnest sincerity and truth that it commanded instant confidence.

As she spoke she stepped back into the room and I saw her features in the light. To my surprise she was no more than a girl; but a girl with a face of surpassing beauty of the ripest southern type, and her eyes, large, luminous, dark brown glorious eyes, rested on my face with a look of intense concern and glowing interest.

"You will not need that weapon, Senor Carbonnell," she said, glancing at the revolver I still held.

"I am convinced of that," I answered, smiling, and tossed it on to the table.

"I thank you. You trust me," she said, with a smile, as she gave me her hand. "I am Sarita Castelar, this is my good aunt, Madame Chansette; Colonel Livenza, here, is now anxious to make amends to you for the extraordinary occurrences of to-night."

He was standing with a very sheepish, hang-dog expression on his face, and when she looked at him, I saw him fight to restrain the deep feelings which seemed to be tearing at his very heart during the few moments he was fighting down his passion. He looked at me with a light of hate in his eyes, crossed to the door, and threw it open.

"If I have made a mistake I regret it," he said, sullenly.

"Senor Carbonnell will give his word of honour, I know, not to speak of anything that has happened here to-night," said the girl.

"Willingly. I pledge my word," I assented, directly.

"Then we will go. Our carriage is waiting; will you let us take you to your hotel?" And without any further words we left the room and the house, Sarita insisting that I should lead Madame Chansette while she followed alone, having refused the Colonel's escort.

*CHAPTER IV*

*SARITA CASTELAR*

The rapid kaleidoscopic change in the situation, and the surprising means by which it had all been brought about, were so profoundly astonishing that for a time I was at a loss for words to thank the wonderful girl who had come to my rescue.

The palpitating actuality of imminent danger; the vehemence of Corpola's wild, fanatical passion; the tension as I stood in the dark room waiting for the moment to strike; the exertions of the two desperate struggles which followed, and then the sudden transition to the perfect assurance of safety which followed the intervention of Sarita Castelar, were succeeded by some minutes of reaction. I could not instantly reconcile myself to a return to the atmosphere of every-day commonplace.

The mere utterance of an ordinary formula of thanks seemed so inadequate to the occasion that I sat still and silent as we dashed through the now nearly-deserted streets, thinking over the whole mystery and wondering what could possibly be the clue.

Before I had collected my wits the carriage drew up with a jerk at the hotel.

"I have not thanked you," I said, feebly.

"You can do that another time if you think thanks are necessary. We shall be at home to-morrow afternoon. There is much to explain. Will you come then? 28, in the Plaza del Nuovo. But you know where we live."

"Yes, come, Senor Carbonnell," said Madame Chansette, "I am anxious to speak with you--most anxious."

"My dear aunt is in sore need of diplomatic advice to control her turbulent niece," said Sarita, laughing. "We shall expect you, mind."

"I shall certainly come," I answered, eagerly. "But I want----"

"No, no, not to-night. Everything to-morrow. Good-night;" and she held out her hand and dismissed me.

I stood staring blankly after the carriage, and then walked into the hotel feeling much like a man in a dream, dazzled by the beauty of the girl who had rendered me this inestimable service; and when I reached my room I threw open my window, gazed out over the moon-lit city, and steeped my senses in a maze of bewildering delight as I recalled the witchery of her inspiring voice, the glances of her lustrous, wonderful eyes, and the magnetic charm of her loveliness. At that moment the thoughts dearer to me than all else in the world were that she was so interested in me that she had done all this for my sake, that she was my cousin whose future and fortune her guardian wished me to protect and, above all, that I was to see her again on the morrow, and for many morrows. Madrid had become, instead of a place of exile, a veritable city of Blessed Promise.

How long I gazed out into the moonlight and rhapsodised in this fashion I do not know; but I do know that I had a sufficient interval of lucid commonsense to be conscious that I had fallen hopelessly in love with my cousin at first sight, and it was a source of rarest ecstasy to picture in fancy the great things I would achieve to serve her, and to hope that a chance of doing some of them would come my way. And when I got into bed and fell asleep it was to dream that I was doing them.

I am not exactly a rhapsodist by nature; and the lapse into wistful dreaminess had all the charm of the unusual for me; but the morning found me in a much more practical frame of mind.

I reviewed coolly the strange events which had heralded my arrival in Madrid, and certain points began to trouble me; that there should be someone of doubtful repute of the same name as my own, and that so glorious a creature as Sarita Castelar should be deeply mixed up with Carlists of such a desperate character as those who had menaced my life.

Those were the matters which needed to be cleared up first, and I would ask her freely about them that afternoon. But in the meantime prudence warned me to hold my tongue about everything.

I went to the Embassy to report myself, and afterwards had lunch and a long chat with my old friend, Mayhew. His knowledge on all matters and persons in Madrid was quite cyclopedic, and he told me a hundred and one things that would be useful for me to know. I need only refer to two subjects. We were speaking of Spanish politics when he mentioned a name that kindled suddenly all my interest.

"The man of the hour here is Sebastian Quesada, the Minister of the Interior," he told me. "He is out-and-away the most powerful member of the Government, and, I believe, a most dangerous man. He plays for nothing but his own hand, and allows nothing to stand in his way. The most ghastly stories are told of him; and I believe most of them are true, while all of them might be. He will court you, fawn on you, threaten you, promote you, anything in the world so long as he can use you, and the instant you are useless to him or stand in his way, he kicks you out of it, ruins you, treads you in the gutter, imprisons you, or, if needs be, gets a convenient bullet planted in your head or a knife in your heart. You smile, but he has done it in more instances than one. He is piling up money fast by the most disreputable and dirtiest methods; and Heaven and himself only know how rich he is, for he is a veritable miser in his avarice and secrecy. But he has what so few in this strange, lackadaisical country possess--indomitable will and tireless energy. If you come his way, Carbonnell, give him as wide a berth as you can; or, look to yourself. And if ever you have to cross swords with him, arrange your affairs, make your will, and prepare for failure before you start on the expedition."

"I have heard of him," I said.

"Europe will hear of him, too, unless some one of his victims gets a chance to assassinate him. If this were a Republic, he would be President, and his policy would be pretty much like that of the Moors--he'd make his position permanent by killing off every possible competitor. And I'm not by any means sure that he won't yet be the first President of a Spanish Republic."

And this was the man who had filched the Castelar's patrimony, and it was to be part of my task to try and force him to disgorge it! A hopeful prospect.

"By the way, do you know a Colonel Livenza?" I asked.

"I know of him--Colonel Juan Livenza, you mean. There's not much to know about him. He's a cavalry officer of good family, held in fairly high esteem, and said to be a man of exemplary life. A royalist of the royalists; a bigot in his loyalty indeed, they say; and like all bigots, narrow-creeded and narrow-minded. A follower of Quesada, and either a believer in him or a tool. Presumably, Quesada hasn't yet had need to use him and get rid of him. But that day will come. Livenza is pretty much of a fanatic in his religion, his politics, and his militarism; and like all fanatics, has to be watched, because one lobe of the brain is always too big for the skull, and may lead him into danger. At present, indeed, it is sometimes whispered that he has a much more dangerous fanaticism than politics or religion--a passion for that turbulent little revolutionary beauty, Sarita Castelar. Now, Carbonnell, if you want a type of perfect Spanish beauty----"

"I know of her," I interposed, having no wish to hear his comments. "Her guardian, Madame Chansette, and my father are old acquaintances."

"Oh, well, keep your coat buttoned up and well padded on the left side with non-conducting substance when you come under the fire of the brightest eyes in Madrid. And keep your own eyes open, too," he said, with a glance and a laugh.

I did not think it necessary to tell him how nearly his words touched me, and I am glad to say my looks kept the secret as closely as my lips. But I thought with a smile of his caution when I started a little later for Madame Chansette's house, and found my heart beating much faster than was at all usual or necessary.

I was conscious of a little disappointment when I found Madame Chansette alone, and even the warmth of her very cordial welcome did not make amends.

"I am so glad you have come to Madrid, Mr. Carbonnell. I am in such need of advice and assistance; and Lord Glisfoyle writes me that you know everything."

"He told me something before I left London, but his chief instructions were that I should endeavour to find out precisely the position of things here, and then report to him, with any suggestions that might occur to us."

"We sadly want a man's capable head in our affairs," she said, weakly. "I am really dreadfully afraid at times."

"My strange experience of last night has told me something; would it be well for you, do you think, to say quite freely, what you fear, what troubles you, and what you think should be done?"

"I don't understand that affair last night at all. It distressed and frightened me so; but there are so many things I don't understand. What I wish is for Sarita to go away with me, either to Paris or England. She is getting so involved here. She is a dreadful Carlist, as I suppose you know; and believes she can play a great part in the political affairs of the nation. As if that were possible in a country like Spain. How it will end I am afraid to think. But we shall all be ruined;" and she sighed and tossed up her hands with a gesture of despair.

"But women are not taken very seriously in politics here, are they?" I asked.

"This is not politics, Mr. Carbonnell; it is conspiracy. The child worries her pretty head from morning to night, from one week to another, with all sorts of plots and plannings--I don't know a quarter of them--and Heaven be thanked I don't, or I should be in my grave. And then there's her brother. You know Ramon is really dangerous, and does awful things. I wouldn't have him here--but then, thank Heaven, he daren't show his face in Madrid. As if he, a young fellow, little more than a boy, silly enough to commit himself so deeply with the Carlists that he is actually compelled to keep in hiding, and fly about from place to place, always dodging the police and the soldiers, could hope to fight successfully with a powerful man like my nephew, Sebastian Quesada. I tell them both--at least, I tell Sarita, and I suppose she manages to communicate somehow with Ramon, for really she does some wonderful things--I tell them both they had much better give up all thought of trying to get back their fortune. He'll never give up a peseta. I suppose I know my own brother's child's nature. I'm a Quesada--you know that, I think--and I tell them that they might as soon expect to be King and Queen of Spain as to make Sebastian disgorge what he has once got hold of. Besides, there is no need. I have plenty for them both; and who should have it, if not my dear sister's children? At least, Ramon must really behave better if he wishes to regain my favour."

Madame Chansette was as voluble as she was inconsequential, and it was not until I questioned her closely that I could get any grasp of the case. She talked to me at great length, apparently much relieved to have someone into whose ear she could pour the tale of her troubles, and on whom she thought she could lean for support in them.

I could get few definite facts. Madame Chansette told me, as my father had done, that Ramon had been intended by his family for the priesthood, but had broken his vows, and had plunged into a life of dissipation, and had attempted to get a reckoning with Sebastian Quesada and recover his and Sarita's fortune. He was a wild, passionate lad, no match for Quesada in any respect, and had been driven by his passion to make two attempts on his enemy's life. As a result he had been proscribed, and had to live in hiding. He had then become a Carlist of the most violent kind, a veritable firebrand; moving from place to place under assumed names, and stirring up rebellion in all directions. He had also drawn his sister into his schemes, and she had so compromised herself that Madame Chansette had written in the last extremity to my father to beg him to intervene.

"There must be some man's capable head in the matter, or we shall all be ruined," she exclaimed dismally five or six times; although what the "man's capable head" was to do to restrain the very wilful beauty was not clear. Madame Chansette, as it seemed to me, meant that she was tired of the sole responsibility, and wished to share it with someone who could be blamed if matters went wrong.

"The position is a very difficult one," I admitted.

"Of course, I told her you were coming; that Lord Glisfoyle was as much her guardian as anyone, and that, as you were representing him, you would have authority yourself. You do agree with me, don't you, that she ought to give up this--this dangerous mischief, and just try to play a woman's legitimate part and get married? Of course, if you don't think that, your coming will only make matters worse than they were before; but I'm sure you will. You must have seen for yourself in that affair last night, whatever the meaning of it all was, how dangerous this conduct is, and how sure to lead to mischief."

"Have you told Sarita that you yourself would leave Madrid if she did not do as you wish?"

"My dear Mr. Carbonnell, how could I?" cried the dear, weak old lady, apparently aghast at the notion. "How could I possibly leave the sweet child here alone? What would she do without me? Besides, how could I? Why, she rules me just as she rules everyone else who comes in contact with her. She wouldn't let me go;" and she smiled so sweetly and feebly--"and I love her so. No one can help it. It would kill me to leave her."

As this was somewhat difficult of reply, I said nothing; and after a few seconds she glanced at her watch and exclaimed--

"Oh, dear, my time is all but up, and I fear I have got so little way with you." Seeing my perplexed expression, she laughed, and added: "Of course, my seeing you alone first is Sarita's arrangement. She does the drollest things. She declared that she would give me every chance of persuading you to side with me, and that she would not say a word of any kind to you to influence you until you and I had had an hour's private conference. And now, what will you do, Mr. Carbonnell?" and she put her white, thin hand on my arm, and looked quite eagerly into my face.

"I will promise to serve you to my utmost, Madeline Chansette," I said.

"Spoken like an Englishman and a diplomatist," exclaimed the voice that had so thrilled me on the preceding night; and, turning, I saw Sarita had entered the room unperceived. "You would make poor conspirators, you two, for you've been plotting against me with an open door," she added, coming forward.

She looked even more lovely than on the previous night, and she gave me as warm a welcome as had Madame Chansette--put both her hands into mine and held them, without a touch of self-consciousness, as she gazed frankly and searchingly into my eyes. She appeared satisfied with a scrutiny that was rather embarrassing to me, and smiled as she withdrew her hands.

"Yes, I am glad you have come, cousin Ferdinand. I suppose I may call him cousin Ferdinand, aunt Mercedes? I don't know how you do in more formal England, but we Spaniards are quicker in the use of the Christian name," she added to me. "I wanted to look closely at you. It is a new thing for me to have a male relation who may be a friend--or an enemy, such as my dearest aunt here. I have only Ramon, whose friendship is more dangerous at times than another man's enmity would be; and my other cousin, Sebastian Quesada." The tone in which she uttered the name was intensely significant. "Yes, yes, I am satisfied. I am glad you have come. You are true. You trusted me instinctively last night; and I will trust you always. My impressions are never wrong. But you will not find me tractable any the more for that; I mean in my dear, dear, dearest aunt's sense of the word," and she kissed the little old lady once for each of the epithets.

"I will try to deserve your words of welcome, cousin Sarita," I said earnestly, but conscious of a clogging tongue.

"I hope so--for you are one of those men who always succeed when they really try. But you have already promised to serve this dear, dreadful, tyrannous, loving enemy of mine. So take care;" and she laughed softly as she was bending over Madame Chansette and settling her more comfortably in her chair. "You are to show that 'capable man's head' which aunt Mercedes is never tired of declaring is so much needed in our affairs." She sat down close to Madame Chansette and took her hand. "I am a sad rebel, am I not, little tyrant?"

"If I didn't love you so much, I should be a far better guide for you, child," was the simply-spoken reply.

"Aye, with a love as sweet and tolerant and true as a mother's," said Sarita, softly. "So sweet that it makes even rebellion like mine difficult and hard at times. You must know, cousin Ferdinand, that we are a most divided pair. In all but our love--which nothing can ever disturb or threaten--we are like the poles, so far apart are our tastes, our principles, our ways, our aims, our lives, everything. You can think, therefore, how we have discussed you. At first aunt Mercedes said Lord Glisfoyle would come; and then I was not interested. I knew what a man of his years would say to me; and there was nothing before me but flat, dogged rebellion. But when we knew that he was not coming, and you were to come in his place--ah, that was different indeed. I warned my dearest that her last hope was gone; that youth--even diplomatic youth--would side with youth, and that if she looked to you for help in her plans, she would be disappointed. We discussed you, analysed you, weighed you, thought of you, talked of you, and, I think, each resolved to win you. I did;" and she smiled frankly.

"Sarita!" exclaimed Madame Chansette, protestingly. "You must have mercy on Mr. Carbonnell. He does not know you."

"I will have no mercy where he is concerned. You would not have me spare you the truth, or hide how much we were interested in you?" she cried to me. "Why should you not know how much you have been in our thoughts, seeing how much you were to influence our lives? I will deal with you perfectly frankly."

"I may hold you to that pledge," I interposed.