The Lighted Match - Page 45/142

Benton's eyes seemed hypnotically drawn to the table pointed out, but he

kept them tensely riveted on his coffee cup.

"Yes?" he impatiently prompted.

"Of course," continued Blanco absently, "no one could regret more

profoundly than the Grand Duke any accident or fatality which might

befall his royal kinsman, yet even the holy saints cannot prevent evil

chances!" He paused to sip his coffee. "At the right of 'Louis, the

Dreamer,' as he is called, sits the Count Borttorff, who is not greatly

in favor with Prince Karyl. He, too, is a Galavian of noble birth, but

Paris knows him better than Puntal. He on the left, the man with the

puffed eyes and the dissipated mouth--you will notice also a scar over

the left temple--" Blanco was regarding his cigarette tip as he flecked

an ash to the floor--"is Monsieur Jusseret supposed to be high in the

affairs of the French Cabinet Noir."

"There is one more--and a vacant chair," suggested Benton.

The toreador nodded. "True, I had not forgotten the other. Tall,

black-haired, not unlike yourself in appearance, Señor, save for a

heavier jaw and the mustache which points upward. He is an Englishman by

birth, a native of the world by adoption. Once he bore a British army

commission. Now he is seen in distinguished society"--Blanco

laughed--"when distinguished society wants something done which clean

men will not do. His name, just now, is Martin. In many quarters he is

better known as the English Jackal. Where one sees him one may scent

conspiracy."

In all the life and color compassed between the four walls of Moorish

tiles and arches, Benton felt the magnet of the group irresistibly

drawing his eyes to itself.

"And this gathering about a table for a cup of coffee, in Cadiz--what of

it?" argued Benton. He tried to speak as if his curiosity were dilute

and his thoughts west of the Atlantic. "Are they not all known here?"

Again Blanco gave the expressive Spanish shrug.

"Few people here know any of them. I only said, Señor, that if any

chance should cause Galavia to mourn her new King that same chance would

elevate the tall, pale gentleman from a café table to a throne. I did

not say that the chance would occur."

"And yet?" urged Benton, his eyes narrowing, "your words seem to hint

more than they express. What is it, Manuel?"

The Spaniard took a handful of matches from a porcelain receptacle on

the table. He laid one down.