Chapter 10

This big, open space, shaped like a parallelogram, walled by hotels, Government buildings, and shops, struck me as a Spanish combination of Piccadilly Circus and the Mansion House, thrown into one. Ten busy streets poured their traffic into the place; intricate lines of tramways converged there. The pavements were crowded with loungers who had the air of never doing anything but lounge, and wait for excitements. There was much coming and going of leisurely pedestrians, talking and laughing, all classes mingling together; men in silk hats on the way to their clubs chatting with men in _capas_ and grey sombreros, who belonged to very different clubs; smart officers in uniform shoulder to shoulder with bull-fighters whose little twisted pigtails of black hair appeared under their tilted hats; ragged but handsome beggars thinking themselves as good, if not as fortunate, as their brothers in broadcloth; merry boys shouting the evening papers, black-eyed women and men selling cheap but colourful jewelry, post-cards, toys, and marvellous sweets. It was as gay a scene as could be found in any capital, and it seemed to me that this absolute democracy was after all the true note of modern Spain. Whatever else we may be, we never have been, never will be a nation of snobs, we Spaniards whose favourite saint is the peasant Isidro.

Steering cautiously through the throng which scarcely troubled itself to move before us, we took one of the main arteries leading out from the Puerta del Sol (where no sign of a gate was to be seen), and turned into the deep blue shadows of the Calle Echegaray to our hotel.

Already I had discovered that it is not the habit of Spanish landlords to descend from the important first floor to the unimportant ground floor and welcome their guests. They are glad to have you come if you choose, but they do not care if you stop away, for there are plenty of others; and whether you are cousin to the King of England or an American millionaire, or a Spanish commercial traveller, very timid and just starting in business, you will be given the same reception, unless you put on “proud airs,” when you will be shown that you had better go elsewhere. But with an old friend, all is different; everyone welcomed the Cherub and the señorita; for their sakes everyone welcomed Dick and me. I was vaguely introduced as a relative—no name given; no name, in the flurry of greeting, asked; for Spain is not like France or Germany, where the first thing to do is to write down all particulars about yourself on a piece of paper.

Ropes drove the car off to a garage, and we were shown to rooms which made us realize that we had left the provinces behind and come into the capital.

“Thank goodness I shall have a pillow to sleep on to-night,” said Dick, “instead of doing the carved-knight-on-a-marble-tomb act. I looked particularly at the two neat, rounded blocks those chaps in Burgos Cathedral had to rest their heads on, and the alleged pillows on my bed were an exact copy, hardness and all.”

“I like them hard,” said I.

“That’s right! Stand up for Spanish institutions.”

“There’s one anyhow I don’t think you’d run down,” I remarked.

“Which one?”

“Spanish girls.”

We dined in great spirits that evening, in the big scarlet and gold restaurant; and in rich, red Marqués de Riscal Dick drank confusion to the Duque de Carmona. The Cherub had told us where Carmona’s flat was situated, saying that his car would perhaps be kept under the same roof with his carriage and the state coach.

The company was interesting to watch. Leoncavallo had as a guest the famous ex-bull-fighter Mazzantini; a Russian prince entertained several beauties of the Opera; and there were two or three politicians greatly in the public eye. We were hungry; the dinner was good; there was much to talk over; and all seemed to be going well.

But about half-past ten, when Pilar had gone, and the Cherub was having a “yarn” and a cigar in the sitting-room of our suite; Ropes appeared, looking serious.

“Something bad has happened, sir; and I blame myself,” said he.

“Something wrong with the car,” I asked quickly.

“Something _out_ of the car, sir,” he amended. “The main shaft of the change-speed gear.”

“Impossible!” said I. “A car can’t go along dropping her gearing, as a woman drops her purse!”

“No, sir. But she can, so to speak, have her pocket picked. After all that’s come and gone, I ought to have kept my eyes open.”

“Out with it, my good chap,” said I; “don’t try to break it to us.”

“It’s the car that’s broken into, sir. I found the garage all right, left her safe and sound, came back here, but after dinner thought I’d go round again to tinker a bit at the car in case of an early start to-morrow. When I got to the place there were three new fellows on duty, and they seemed astonished when they saw I intended to work on the Gloria. The chauffeur who looked after that car had been in, they said; and you can believe, sir, I pricked up my ears. He’d been working like a demon, said they, opening the gear-box and dismounting the main shaft. Then he went off with it over his shoulder, after telling the foreman his master wouldn’t believe the pinions were so worn there ought to be a new set, and he was going to show it to him. They were surprised, I can tell you, sir, when I said we’d been robbed, and that the thief wasn’t your chauffeur. But just then one of the old lot came in, and bore witness that I was the right man. It did seem like a bad dream, but a peep at the gear-box showed me it was real enough. I was a fool not to give somebody warning, or pay a man to stay by the car.”

“I can’t see that you had reason to be suspicious,” said I, “although it’s a rascally outrage, and makes me feel murderous. Did they describe the supposed chauffeur?”

“They did sir; and I expected to recognize the description. But I didn’t; they’re too smart for that.”

“You think we know him?”

“Sure of it, sir. Nothing easier than a bit of disguise.”

“It might be a common motor-car thief, who wanted a main shaft for a Gloria car.”

“And then again, sir, it mightn’t.”

“Anyhow,” said I, “the thing to do would be to apply to the police, have the ruffian run to earth and arrested, no matter what his position. The worst of it is, though, I’m not anxious to have the eye of the Spanish police turned upon me, and there are those who count on that fact.”

“Wouldn’t I like to smash their heads for this! Wouldn’t I like to smash their car!” growled Dick.

“No. That would be playing it too low down,” said I.

Ropes coloured under his sunburnt skin, and began to search for non-existent dust on the leather cap in his hand.

“You’re right, sir, no doubt,” he said, in a meek voice.

I was half sorry that he, or anyone, should agree with me. It seemed somehow as if my chauffeur were taking this monstrous thing too coolly. “Well, the fact remains that we’re done,” I said, with suppressed fury. “If the Duke of Carmona has had a hand in this act, it’s a sign that he means to get off while we’re held up waiting for a new shaft and pinions to arrive—probably all the way from Paris. He can go to-morrow—”

“Beg pardon, sir; he can’t, not in his own car,” said Ropes. “If _we_ can’t leave, no more can’t he.”

“Why, what have you done?” I tried to speak sternly.

“Oh, next to nothing, sir. A bit of a touch on his magneto ignition, and a tickling of his coil, just enough to keep him in hospital till he’s doctored up.”

Rope’s expression was so childlike that Dick and I burst out laughing. “You demon!” I said. “How did you get at the car?”

“Much the same as they did at ours, though I don’t pretend to be as clever as some. I said to myself, as this car of the Duke’s is new, and he doesn’t drive it himself, chances are he’s never had a motor before, and wouldn’t have a garage in Madrid, though he does live here part of the year and must have fine stables. I inquired what was the best garage besides ours, and strolled round, thinking the chauffeur would have gone straight to the Duke with his news. I found the place, and all the chaps were standing outside open doors, watching a couple of dogs having a fight. I walked in, without a word to anyone, though I’d have said I came from the Duke if I’d had to. There was the car; and before one of those blessed dogs had chewed the other’s nose off, I’d polished up my little job. Then I came to you, feeling a bit better than a few minutes before.”

“You ought to be crushed with remorse,” said I; but I’m afraid I grinned; and Dick remarked that if he were King of England he’d give Ropes a knighthood.

“Heaven knows what the next move will be,” I commented, when the avenger had gone, not too stricken in spirit. “It begins to look as though the enemy would stick at little, and we can’t go on giving tit for tat.”

“He won’t take open action against you for the present,” said the Cherub, “as he isn’t sure you aren’t Cristóbal O’Donnel; and you’re warned if he tries to strike in the dark. He’s probably found out through the Ministry of War that Cristóbal’s on leave, so to rid himself of your company he’s resorted to the only means which occurred to him.”

“I have to thank you that he had no surer means,” I said.

“It’s the fashion in Spain, if a friend wants a thing, to tell him it is his,” replied Colonel O’Donnel. “You wanted me for a father, Pilar for a sister. I said, ‘We are yours.’ There’s not much to be thankful for. I would do ten times more for your father’s son; and my confessor’s a sympathetic man. Besides, to tell you a secret of mine which even Pilar doesn’t know, though she has most others at her finger-end, your mother was my first love. I adored her! You have her eyes!”

Whereupon I shook hands with the Cherub.

XVIII

THE MAN WHO LOVED PILAR

When Ropes had gone to send a telegram to Paris, Dick and I talked the matter over from so many points of view, that Colonel O’Donnel apparently went to sleep. It was only when I burst into vituperation against Carmona, that the excellent man suddenly showed signs of life.

“I’ve been thinking,” said he, and I found myself cheering up at the statement; for I had noticed that, though the Cherub often had the air of being silent through laziness; that from his mellifluous Andaluz he discarded all possible consonants as he would discard the bones of fish; yet, with his murmurings, invariably rolled from his tongue some jewel of good sense.

“We have a friend near Madrid,” said he, “who has an automobile. I know little about such things; but when I heard that you had a twenty-four horse-power Gloria, I thought, ‘It is the same as the Conde de Roldan’s.’ It will be days before your new parts can come from Paris, even if you send Ropes; and there are few automobiles on sale here, if any. It’s a hundred chances to one you could get parts to fit your car in that way. But if Don Cipriano’s car is what I think, he will give you what you want. When the new parts arrive, they will be for him.”

“Colonel O’Donnel,” said Dick, “you and your family are bricks!”

“That’s true,” said I; “but if you could persuade your friend to such an act of generosity, I couldn’t accept. I—”

“Oh,” said the good man, with cherubic slyness, “he would give his left hand for such a chance to please us! Perhaps you haven’t noticed that my _nina_ is rather attractive; but it has not escaped the observation of Don Cipriano.”

So the wind blew from that quarter! I threw a glance at Dick, and saw on his face the same expression of disconcerted _amour propre_ I had once seen when a bullet went whistling by his nose. But he said nothing about either missile; and now it was left for me to justify our appreciation of the señorita.

Ordinarily, if there is one thing which the Cherub loves, it is to dawdle, but now he rose without a sigh and remarked that there was no time to waste. He must fetch Pilar.

“She will have gone to bed,” I objected.

The Cherub smiled. Pilar go to bed at half-past ten on her first night in Madrid after months of absence? Not she. Her father was willing to bet that she was at her window looking down upon the street, and wishing she had been born a man that she might be in it. “Night is the time for amusement in Madrid,” said he. “One can lie in bed till afternoon without missing anything; but at night—that is the time to be alive here! And though our home is in the southern country, when we are in Madrid my Pilar and I, we are true Madrileños. Had she and I been alone, she would have made me take her to the theatre or circus. We should not have got home till one: and then I should have had to give her supper. Oh, she will be enchanted when I call her back to life!”

With that he trotted off, and before it seemed that he could have explained anything, he had brought Pilar to us in triumph, her hat on her head, dimples in her cheeks, and stars in her eyes. “I’m ready!” she exclaimed.

“Ready?” I echoed. “For what?”

“Why to drive with you all to Don Cipriano’s! What else? We mustn’t lose a minute, or our bad fairy will have time to work some other evil charm before we’ve remedied the first. Oh, I may be only a girl, and not of importance; but Don Cipriano thinks me important, and I shall have to be there to make smiles at him. He has a Gloria, and it is twenty-four horse-power. Father sent to order a carriage while I put on my hat and coat. Don Cipriano’s place is only half an hour out of Madrid, even with a ‘simón.’ He breeds horses, and oh, such dogs! Come along—come along!”

“At this time of night?” said Dick. “He’ll think we’re mad!”

“It’s always early till to-morrow morning in Madrid,” laughed Pilar. “Ah, how nice to have an excitement!”

“He won’t be at home,” said Dick.

“Yes, he will. San Cristóbal will keep him there.”

Before we knew what we were doing, this small Spanish whirlwind had swept us downstairs in her train, into the vehicle which had actually arrived, and out into the midst of a night-scene as lively as a fair. Many shops were open and brilliantly illuminated. Café windows blazed like diamonds; half the population of Madrid was in the streets, and a stranger might have thought that something unusual had happened; but Pilar assured us it was “always like that.” “You can live in the street if you like, in Madrid,” said she, “and I should think lots of quite charming people do. There are sweets and fruit when you’re hungry, and water and wine and fresh milk of goats when you’re thirsty, cool doorways or nice hot pavements to sleep on when you’re tired, with lettuce leaves or a cabbage for a pillow, all at a cost of a penny or two a day; and if you’re clever somebody passing by will give you that penny. So, rich or poor, with a palace or no home, you can be happy in Madrid.”

“I wonder how you’d like New York?” muttered Dick.

“That depends on the person I lived with!” said Pilar.

Soon we had left the gold and crimson glow of the streets, and were out in the blue night. Over the Puente de Toledo we passed, and on along a broad white road.

Pilar had said that we would reach our destination in half an hour; but her enthusiasm ran faster than our horses; and it was nearly midnight when we stopped in front of a tall archway that glimmered in the dark. A clanging bell had to be pulled, and was echoed by a musical baying of many dogs. “The darlings!” exclaimed Pilar. “I know their voices. It’s Melampo, and Cubillon, and Lubina, the dearest pets of all; named after the dogs who went with the shepherds to see the Christ-child in His cradle—you remember—so they can never go mad.”

By this time the gate was open, and a wave of beautiful greyhounds surged round us, although called imperatively back by a man who looked like a cross between a porter and a gamekeeper. Then came a cordial burst of recognition between the Cherub, Pilar, and the servant. We drove into a courtyard, and before we could descend from our carriage the master of the house had appeared at a lighted doorway, tall, brown, ruddy, picturesque in Spanish riding breeches and short coat; a handsome man of thirty-five, perhaps, whose face lit from surprise to rapture at sight of Pilar. Dick and I came in for a welcome too, though I could see that the Conde de Roldan was not easy in his mind about these young men who seemed on terms of intimacy with his friends.

From the courtyard we passed through a doorway into a patio, and from the _patio_ into a nondescript room which could have belonged to no one but a bachelor and a sportsman. There was, however, a mother, and the poor lady would have been torn from her bed to greet the welcome ones, had not the father and daughter protested. To-morrow, if all went well, they would come again, and see dear Doña Rosita; but now, let her sleep. We were here on business.

“May I explain you?” Pilar appealed to me. “Don Cipriano is safe. And I want him to be interested.”

Poor Don Cipriano! He had visibly a bad half moment, trembling lest we had rushed out to announce my engagement to the adorable Pilarcita; but it was good to see the light come back to his eyes when he heard that I—blind worm—had fallen in love with another girl. Clever Pilarcita made this fact clear, so that Don Cipriano’s jealous heart might warm to me before he knew what thing was wanted. Dick became tolerable also, as a friend following in the train of my adventures; and soon the poor fellow was ready to put not only the gearing of his motor-car, but his house and everything in it, at our service.

He blessed his patron saint for bringing us to his door, and for permitting him to have ridden home from a distant farm in time to greet us; he roundly cursed the Duke of Carmona, consigning him to Purgatory for a longer period than usual; and when everyone of us (except Dick) was in the best of humours with everybody else, we paid a visit to his car.

She might, in all but colour, have been twin-sister to mine. There seemed reason to hope that the pinions of this Gloria would fit the other Gloria, and that no time might be lost in making the experiment, the Conde de Roldan volunteered to spin us into Madrid, letting our “simón” go back empty. If we decieved ourselves, rather than I should be delayed (said he), his car was mine to take where I would, and the Cherub stepped on my foot to check a refusal.

There was a chauffeur in this interesting household, but he was several other things as well, and was a better dog-doctor than the vet. At that moment he was assisting at an addition to the family of Lubina’s daughter; but in any case, Don Cipriano, protested, he would have allowed no one to drive us save himself.

We raced to Madrid in a fourth of the time we had taken in coming; and two hours after the moment when we had news of the disaster, we arrived at the garage of my injured Gloria.

A somnolent night-porter (one of the few persons in Madrid who appeared to use the night for sleep) let us in; and at the sound of our entrance the figure of a man sprang from the cushions of my car. Pilar gave a cry, which changed to a laugh as she saw that it was Ropes.

“San Cristóbal failed you for a few minutes this evening, didn’t he? But he’s going to make up for it now,” she said. “And I’m going to see him do it, if it takes all night.”

In vain did the Cherub try to persuade her that it would be well to let him escort her home, as the experiment would be a long affair. Nobody seconded his efforts, and, if they had, ten chances against one that Pilarcita would have listened. Never, in all her life, said she, had she known anything like the excitements of the last few days, and it was too probable that she never would again.

With this, she climbed into her old place in my Gloria’s tonneau, her bright eyes bewitching in the uncertain yellow light; and enchanted with the prospect of retaining her society, Don Cipriano proposed a feast. He would not listen to discussions, but rushed the bewildered watchman off to a neighbouring restaurant, whence a waiter appeared with the speed of magic. Supper was ordered; chicken, salad, champagne, all that could be found of the best; and _dulces_ for the señorita.

While Ropes and I worked as if for a wager, a swarm of amused waiters came buzzing about the garage, bringing chairs, a table, clattering dishes, clinking knives and forks, and silver pails wherein tinkled ice embedding gold-labelled bottles.

Ropes is unrivalled as a mechanic, and I am not unhandy with tools, so that between us, under the inspiration of Pilar’s bright eyes and sayings, we had the pinions out of Don Cipriano’s car by the time the champagne was cold. Then, while corks were popping, the great experiment was tried. “A fit! a fit!” I exclaimed, and joyously we drank to the health of the two Glorias.

Such tips as they got that night, those waiters and that watchman could never have seen. No doubt they thought us mad, and perhaps we were; but it was partly the fault of San Cristóbal.

XIX

A PARCEL FOR LIEUTENANT O’DONNEL

Never was such a man as Don Cipriano, Conde de Roldan. Not content with lending me his wings that I might fly while he was left to crawl, he proposed to heap other favours upon the friend of his friends.

He offered me an asylum at his place for my rejuvenated car, lest the enemy in reconnoitring should learn our secret before the time; and, better still, he volunteered to visit the camp of that enemy, and discover his plans.

Being an acquaintance of the lady whom Carmona had jilted, he was no admirer of the Duke’s. Nevertheless, he was a member of a club which Carmona frequented when in Madrid, and he thought that the Duke would look in next day. Even if he should decide to proceed by rail, after discovering how “two can play at the same game,” such a change of plan would mean delay; therefore Carmona and his party would spend at least one day in Madrid. Don Cipriano offered to go early to the club, and not to leave until he had seen the Duke. The moment he had any news he would bring it to us.

I accepted my new friend’s invitation to house the Gloria, as his place was so close to town that Ropes or I could spin her back at short notice; and at dawn, when merry Madrid was thinking of bed, my car towed out his dismantled one. Pilar and her father had gone home to dream their good deeds over; Dick, when he heard that we were to drive behind the Conde’s horses, developed a headache, and Ropes and I had to carry the business through ourselves.

We bathed and breakfasted in the country, and drove back to Madrid while the gay world slept. He would now, Don Cipriano announced, spend the day in the city, on watch-dog duty; but as he would have no news until afternoon, I might visit the picture galleries if I liked. “They will make you feel proud of your country,” he said; and so they would, no doubt. But I resolved to sacrifice them in the fear that, after all, Carmona might evade me if I gave him so good a chance.

Never had I seen Dick so gloomy as when I returned to him, and the black dog was not chased away by my praises of Don Cipriano. He cheered up, however, at the prospect of sightseeing with the Cherub and Pilar; the Cherub martyred; Pilar joyous in the thought of showing off the Murillos and Velasquez which she adored.

They did the Armería and picture galleries all the morning, until they were drooping with fatigue; waggled back in a dilapidated cab, clamouring for their lunch and my tidings; departed again in the afternoon to finish what they had left undone.

Meanwhile I had heard nothing; and the day, spent in waiting for Don Cipriano or for some bit of gossip picked up by Ropes, was long.