Part 12

After this letter of Monica’s I had at least some idea of how matters stood; and in the circumstances there seemed nothing to do but to be near her, and to wait.

It was not until the latter part of March that the Duke of Carmona came back to his mother’s villa at Biarritz.

His arrival was not announced in the local paper, nevertheless I heard of it; and the day after, Mademoiselle de la Mole sent me another letter from Monica, only a few lines, evidently written in great haste.

They were to pay the visit to the Duchess of Carmona in Seville, and were to arrive there in time for the famous ceremonies of Holy Week; that was all she knew. The time of starting was either not decided, or else it was not considered best that she should know too long beforehand.

“I’m miserable about going,” wrote the girl; “but what can I do? I used to think it would be glorious to see Spain, but now I’m frightened. I have a horrible feeling that I shall never come back. I know it’s too much to ask, and I don’t see how you can do it if I do ask, since I can tell you nothing of our plans; but if only, only, you could keep near me, within call, I should be safe. I suppose it’s useless to hope for that? Anyway, whatever happens, I shall always love you.”

To this I wrote an answer, but Angèle feared she might fail in getting it to her friend. The lease of Lady Vale-Avon’s Biarritz villa had just expired, and the mother and daughter were moving to the Duchess of Carmona’s for a few days. For some reason, the Duchess had not once invited Angèle to come to her house since the ball. She might not be able to see Monica; and it would be very unsafe to trust to the post.

It was on the evening of the day on which I had this news that my chauffeur knocked at the door of our sitting-room at the hotel.

“I thought,” said he, “I’d better tell your lordship something which has just happened. It may be of importance; it may be of none.”

Now I may as well explain that Peter Ropes is no common chauffeur. He is the son of the old coachman who served my father for many years in England; was groom to my first pony; went abroad with me as handy man; was with me through most of my adventures; when I took up motoring, volunteered to go into a factory and thoroughly learn the gentle art of chauffeuring; and at this time understood an automobile, and loved it, as he understood and loved a horse; he is of my age almost to the day; and I suppose will be with me in some capacity or other till one of us dies. He has a brown face, which might have been carved from a piece of oak; the eyes of a soldier; and never utters a word more than he must.

“You said I could go to the pelota this afternoon,” he continued. “When I came back I went to the garage, and found a strange chauffeur examining your Gloria. I stood at a distance, behind the King of England’s car, and watched what he would do. M. Levavasseur, the proprietor of the garage, came in just then, and I inquired in a low voice who the fellow was. He didn’t know; but the man had asked for Mr. Trevenna’s chauffeur, saying, when he heard I was out, that he was a friend of mine. I gave Levavasseur the hint to keep quiet, and got out of the way myself. Presently the chauffeur walked over to Levavasseur, and said, in French, that he wouldn’t wait any longer.”

“Well, what then, Ropes?” I asked.

“He went away, and I went after him. He didn’t see me, and I don’t believe he would have known me from Adam if he had. He stopped at another garage, and I thought best not to go in there. But I waited, and after a while a very dark, tall gentleman, who looked Spanish, walked into the garage. Five minutes later he and the chauffeur came out together. They parted at the entrance, and it was the gentleman I followed this time. He went to a large, handsome villa; and a person I met told me it was the Duchess of Carmona’s house. That is the reason I thought the thing important.”

“But why, exactly?” I persisted, guessing what Ropes would say.

“Because I think the gentleman was the Duke of Carmona.”

“And if he were?”

“I’ve heard gossip that he’s anxious to stand well with the King of Spain. It occurred to me he might have some political interest in trying to learn the real name of Mr. Trevenna, if you pardon my having such a thought. He might have sent his chauffeur to look at your car, and make a report; and if he did, whatever the reason was, it would mean no good to your lordship. I thought you ought to know, and be upon your guard, in case of anything happening.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re right to speak, and it may be you’ve done me an invaluable service.”

Ropes beamed; but having said all he had to say, another word would have been a waste of good material, which he was not the man to squander.

PUZZLE: FIND THE CAR

“What do you think it means?” asked Dick, when the chauffeur had gone.

“It’s just struck me, it may mean that Carmona intends to slip away with his guests in his new automobile, and that he wanted to find out something about my car, what it was like, and so on, in case I got wind of the idea, and followed.”

“The identical thing struck me. He wouldn’t go spying himself, but sent his chauffeur, a new importation, probably, to have a look at the Gloria and describe it. I wonder how he heard you had one.”

“Easy enough to do that. Of course he’s found out somehow, perhaps through employing a detective, that Chris Trevenna and Casa Triana are one man. He can’t make much use of the knowledge to bother me on this side the frontier, but—”

“Yes; a big but.”

“It seems pretty certain that his own car must have come, or be coming here, and that he means to use it going into Spain, or he wouldn’t have developed this sudden interest in mine.”

“It looks like it. Now he knows, if a dark blue Gloria crosses his path, it’s the car of the pursuing lover, and—”

“I was just thinking that a dark blue Gloria will not cross his path.”

“You don’t mean—”