“We’ll find out when the Duke and his mother take Lady Monica to look at the cathedral,” said the girl, delighting in her own ingenuity; “and then we’ll start too. Though we can’t bear the Duke, we’ve always been civil to him and his mother whenever we’ve met in Madrid, praise the saints, so they can’t be rude to us now. If we go up and speak, they’ll have to introduce us to Lady Vale-Avon and Lady Monica. I shall take a _great_ fancy at first sight to Lady Monica, of course; and I shouldn’t wonder if I can make her like _me_. The rest will be easy for the whole trip. Oh, we shall have fun!”
I began to think we should, and that, thanks to a girl’s counter-plotting, I should have pretty plain sailing in spite of Carmona. But because I began to see land ahead, I was the more anxious to give Monica peace of mind; and when we said good-night to the O’Donnels about half-past ten, I set out to carry through the plan I had thought of before dinner.
On the wall of the landlord’s office, off the main hall, I had seen a guitar hanging. It belonged to his son, a romantic-looking young fellow, whose sympathetic soul delighted in lending the national aid to courtship, without asking a single question.
I would be no true Spaniard if I could not play the guitar; and in fact my mother had given me some dexterity with the instrument, before I was ten years old. I had neglected it for years; nevertheless, my fingers had but to touch the strings to be on friendly terms with them.
Madrid and Seville would probably be waking up to fullest life at this hour; but in provincial towns one goes to bed early because there is nothing more amusing to do.
At eleven the windows of the principal hotel were dark; and without being stared at curiously by any passer-by, I stationed myself under the first floor balconies, with my guitar.
I did not know which room was Monica’s, but I did know that it could not be far away; and I counted on the chance that anxious thoughts might keep her from sleeping soundly.
Softly, and then more boldly, I began to thrum the air of the Hungarian waltz which they had played that night at the Duchess of Carmona’s, while I told Monica I loved her. Often its passionate refrain had echoed in my ears since, and brought the scene before me. I hoped that Monica also might remember.
Five minutes passed, and still I played on, yet nothing happened. Then, when I had begun to fear failure, I heard a faint sound overhead. A window was opening. There was no gleam of light, no whisper; but something soft and small fell close to my feet. I stooped and picked it up. It was a rose, weighted by a grey suède glove, tied round the stem; and the glove was scented with orris, the same delicate fragrance which had come to me when I kissed Monica’s hand, and her letters.
She had had my message, and answered it.
XIII
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE CATHEDRAL
Before six next morning, Cristóbal O’Donnel was tapping at my door, with the promised uniform and accoutrements concealed under the military overcoat which was also to be put at my disposal.
Hearing our voices, Waring appeared, yawning, at the door of the adjoining room, and there was a good deal of stifled laughter among the three of us, as I got into my borrowed red and blue. The things fitted well enough, as I have only an inch or two the advantage of the other Cristóbal, and even the cap accommodated itself to my head almost as if it had been made for me. When I was ready for the part assigned by Pilar, Dick said that I had never looked so well before, and probably never would again.
My suit-cases were packed, and the programme which Dick had to carry out when O’Donnel and I had gone, was to settle our account at the hotel, get the luggage bestowed on the roof of the car, and finally to drive round to the cathedral door, in order to start from there in the end, without going back to the _fonda_ or garage. We were grumbling at the absence of poor Ropes, when there was a discreet knock at the door, and Ropes himself appeared as we opened it, like a jack-in-the-box.
His happy smile was changed to a stare of surprise at sight of me in the uniform of a Spanish officer, but true to his training he ironed all expression out of his features in an instant, and allowed himself to look only decorously pleased when Dick and I welcomed him with enthusiasm.
“Well done!” said I. “Did you break out of gaol?” But to tell the truth I was faintly uneasy; because, if he had, it would mean trouble for us all presently, when we had been traced by the police. But I need not have doubted the faithful Ropes.
“No, sir, I didn’t break out,” he replied. “I wouldn’t have done that in any case, though I didn’t like to think of my work on your hands. But I’ll tell you how it was, if I won’t be disturbing you.”
O’Donnel, who could not understand a word, thought that he must be off, as he wanted to hear mass and catch the train for Biarritz. I let him go without me, therefore; and after our good-byes, Dick and I clamoured for Ropes’ story.
“It was a rum go altogether, sir,” said he. “They took me off to the head police office at Irun, and the chief asked me all manner of questions; but I kept on repeating ‘no comprendo,’ and showing the cards of Mr. George Smith. I couldn’t understand all their jabber, but they mentioned your name, and from the way they looked when I put on my stupid airs, I thought they began to have their doubts. The chief policeman motioned me to stop where I was, and ordered two of the men to go somewhere. From my place, I could see the bridge, and the two policemen who seemed to be looking for something.
“By and by came the thrum of an automobile, and I could tell it was a Lecomte. A minute later the chaps outside were talking to the Duke of Carmona, who stopped his car where they were. They talked a bit; then he gave the wheel to his chauffeur and came into the police office. The chief treated him very deferential; they laid their heads together in a corner, but I could see them reading a telegram, and once and again they had a squint at me.
“I knew too much to let on I suspected the Duke of a hand in the business, but having heard him answer Mr. Waring about the tyre in English as good as my own, I jumped up and asked if he’d interpret for me with the police. I explained what had happened, showed my card, and said there’d been a silly mistake which was causing me no end of annoyance. Then I said I’d write to _The Times_, about the sort of thing that happened to Englishmen travelling in Spain, and talked of the Embassy at Madrid.
“All the time I was speaking the Duke pulled his moustache and stared so hard, if I’d had on a false moustache or wig, or any of that kind of business, he’d have been sure to find it out. He looked cross and puzzled too; but finally he said, as I was English, and he believed they were wanting a Spaniard, there must be a mistake, and he would do the best he could to help me. I suppose he must have told them they were on the wrong job after all, for after he’d gone, and they’d buzzed awhile and made out a lot of papers, they said that as a very important person certified to my being Mr. George Smith, I could go.
“By this time it was afternoon, and I wanted to get on as soon as possible, so I took the next train for San Sebastian, and hunted up a place to hire a motor bike. I didn’t know where you’d have gone after that, so I couldn’t book by train; but I counted on picking up your trail if I kept the road.”
“How could you expect to do that, since there must be a lot of automobiles going back and forth between Biarritz and San Sebastian, even at this time of year?” said I.
“Why, from the non-skids, sir. I’d know ours anywhere. There’s three of the steel studs worn close down on the off driving wheel, which makes a queer little mark in dust or mud. I could even see, once I got on to the tracks, that you’d followed the Duke’s car, for your tracks came sometimes on his, almost obliterating his trail for a bit. I can tell you, sir, it cheered me up to be coming on your tracks like that. Made me feel at home in a strange country. The bike took me along pretty well, too; but do the best I could, night came on without my overtaking you. For fear of losing the tracks, I put up at a _posada_, got under way the minute there was a streak of dawn, and found you here by inquiring.”
“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes as well as a thorough brick, Ropes,” said I. “Now, have something to eat; get the motor bicycle back to San Sebastian by rail, and be ready for another start.”
With this I was off, leaving him to Dick. I turned the collar of Cristóbal’s big coat up to my eyes, pulled the cap down far enough almost to meet it, and went out, praying to meet none of Cristóbal’s fellow-officers.
The wild wind for which Burgos is famed wailed through the long, arcaded streets with their tall yellow buildings, and tried to hurl me back from the great honey-coloured gateway with its towers and pinnacles, where I would have paused to pick out the statue of the Cid from other battered statues in weather-beaten niches.