Manuel Blanco was ubiquitous during the first days following the
coronation. He listened to the fragments of talk that drifted along the
streets. He frequented the band concerts in the Public Gardens and drank
native vintages in the wine-shops. He elbowed his way naïvely into
chattering groups with his ears primed for a careless word. Nowhere did
he catch a note hinting of intrigue or danger. It seemed a sound
conclusion that if the plotters had not entirely surrendered their
project for switching Kings in Galavia, their conspiracies were being
once more fomented on foreign soil, just as the first plan had been
incubated in Cadiz.
One evening shortly after the dual celebration, a steamer laden with
tourists lay at anchor in the bay, outlined in points of light like a
set-piece of fireworks. Hundreds of new sight-seeing faces swarmed along
the narrow, cobbled streets. This would be a great night in the
Strangers' Club and Blanco decided to spend an hour there.
In evening dress he moved through the gardens and pavilions of the
casino on the rock, where with the coming of darkness the gayety of the
town began to focus and sparkle.
The coronation of Karyl had brought to an end official mourning for the
late King, and the crêpe which had palled the national insignia on all
public buildings had been cleared away. With this restoration of public
gayety came a liberal sprinkling of uniforms to the throngs that crowded
the ball-rooms, tea-gardens and gambling halls.
Blanco was standing apart, looking on, when he felt a light touch on his
shoulder and turned to find a young officer at his back who smilingly
begged him for a moment in the gardens. The Spaniard noticed that the
man who addressed him wore the epaulettes of a Captain of Infantry and
the added stripe and crown of gold lace at the cuff which designated
service in the household of the reigning family.
He turned and accompanied the officer through the wide door into the
lantern-hung grounds, passing between the groups which clustered
everywhere about small wicker tea-tables. There were no quiet or
secluded spots in the gardens of the Strangers' Club to-night, but after
a brief glance right and left the Captain led the way to a table in a
shadowed niche between two doors. The light there was more shadowed and
the tides of promenaders did not crowd so close upon it as elsewhere. As
the two came up a third man rose from this table and Manuel found
himself looking into the flinty eyes of Colonel Von Ritz.
Von Ritz spoke briefly. If Señor Blanco could spare the time, His
Majesty wished to speak with him.
The younger officer turned back into the casino and Von Ritz led the
toreador through the front gardens, where the tennis courts lay bare
between the palms. The acacias and sycamores were soft, dark spots
against the far-flung procession of the stars.