Chapter XVII War to the Knife
I did not keep Sebastian Quesada waiting, but plunged at once into my business.
“I do not think our interview need be a very long one, and I will state my object at once. It concerns Sarita Castelar. I know that preparations for decisive action against the Carlists have been made, and that all is in readiness for the signal from you. I have just heard very terrible news in the city to-night, concerning a mad wild act of theirs, and being anxious for a reassurance on the senorita’s account, I have come to ask you for it.”
“You will do more wisely not to interfere in our political matters,” he answered curtly, with a frown at the mention of Sarita.
“I am obliged, of course, by your friendly counsel; but excuse me if I say I have not come for advice, but information.”
“I have none to give you;” and his tone was even sharper than before. It was as stern and hard indeed as his look was dour. But in a moment a great change came. His eyes softened and his face brightened, and, using the tone of our former intercourse, he added: “Why can’t we remain friends, Carbonnell? Why do you come to me like this? It is but an hour or two since we parted, and nothing can have occurred since that need estrange us; and there was no cloud between us then. Don’t you think I wish to be your friend now as I did then?”
I looked at him in considerable surprise. His overtures did not touch me in the least; I was searching for his motive and could not find it.
“Before you and I can speak again of friendship, there are matters which must be explained,” I answered, coldly. “Since I saw you this afternoon, you have impliedly accused me of complicity in this Carlist business: I have that from the doctor whom you frightened away from Colonel Livenza’s house. You have also intervened in the quarrel between Colonel Livenza and myself—a quarrel which had its origin in an errand on which you sent him.”
He listened closely, and was too skilled in masking his looks to give any indication of the effect of my words. But I thought he was surprised when I stopped, having said so little.
“Your quarrel with Livenza was the outcome of the scene at the Café de l’Europe, where the hot-headed fool insulted you.”
“No, that was the open cause. The real one was the result of his coming to Senorita Castelar’s at the time I was there—a visit timed by you.”
“Livenza is in love with the senorita, and hopes to marry her; and you know how some of us Spaniards feel on such matters. But what is this to me?”
“You had given me good news to carry to her, you knew when I was going, and you sent Livenza there. What happened afterwards was the direct consequence.”
“It is preposterous!” he cried, with a shrug of the shoulders. “As if I could be responsible for what two angry men do when they quarrel. Really!” and he laughed. Clearly he was relieved that I had nothing worse to say. “I am glad at any rate that you have not hurt each other.” This with a scarcely veiled sneer.
“When a man who professes to be my friend deliberately tries to embroil me in an affair which may cost me my life, I do not dismiss it with a shrug of the shoulders and a laugh, as something too trivial to be noticed. But if you will give me the information I came for, I will go.”
“I have no information to give you;” and he got up.
“To that I answer I am not going without it, nor without an assurance and a proof of Sarita Castelar’s safety—and safety without any entangling complications;” and I looked at him as I said the last sentence with a meaning that did not escape him.
“The only information I can give you is that which to-morrow will be public property; that our police and soldiery are even now engaged in hunting out these reckless traitors and conspirators who have carried their audacity to the point of abducting our beloved young King. All those who have had a hand in this dastardly scheme will suffer, and if the Senorita Castelar has been mad enough to meddle with such treason, no power in the State can save her from the consequences.”
But instead of being impressed by his vehemence I smiled.
“And you say all would suffer?”
“Every man, woman, and child concerned. I have this moment come from a Council of State.”
“And the master mind who planned this coup and by whose help and information it was alone possible?” As I half unsheathed this sword of attack, his own weapon leapt at once from the scabbard, and he answered hotly—
“Is one Ferdinand Carbonnell, senor?” He spoke with grim significance, meeting my look with eyes full of fire and threat, and his misinterpretation of my meaning was wilful. “A name that at a word from me will be full of peril for its owner. We Spaniards love our King with a force which the people of other countries cannot fathom.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. He knew of the coincidence which had bound up my name so closely with the Carlist intrigues, and he was threatening to saddle the responsibility upon me. Nor was it by any means an empty threat in the present temper of the loyalists. Once get me packed away into a Spanish gaol on such a charge, and I might whistle either for the chance of a fair trial or an opportunity of even communicating with the outside—to say nothing of approaching the King. The scent of personal danger began to come near; and I recalled how on more than one occasion he had warned me against meddling with Carlist matters.
He watched me closely in the short pause, and then broke it to say in a tone conciliatory and temperate—
“I am still willing to be your friend. Leave Madrid to-night and cross the frontier with all speed, and all may be well. I cannot answer for what my colleagues will do when they know who Ferdinand Carbonnell is, and that he is a member of the British Embassy staff. Be advised and go while there is time.”
He had flashed the sword of danger in my face, and now, like a clever tactician, dangled the chance of escape before me.
“Do I understand you to mean that, knowing thoroughly who I am and that I am absolutely untouched by these matters, you yourself would be so mean a liar as to say that I am Ferdinand Carbonnell the Carlist?” I spoke with the galling sting of slow, precise deliberation; and even his practised self-restraint could not repress a start of anger nor prevent his sallow face turning pale at this thrust. But my anger had betrayed me into a bad blunder—I saw it the moment the words were out of my lips; and as he recovered himself he shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands as he faced me. It was a declaration of war from me, and as such he treated it. His tone was as level as my own—stern, official, and hard.
“I know nothing of yourself or your history except what you have told me. You say you came here a few weeks since, and yet I find your name known everywhere. You rendered my sister a service, and then used it to work your way into my confidence. In that confidence I have said many things to you, which you may have used for these Carlist purposes. I gave you my confidence and my friendship because I believed all you told me. If my faith in you was wrongly placed, you have had opportunities of getting information. Things have, I know, leaked out, but I have never thought of you before in this connection. For aught I know to the contrary—for I know only what you have told me, I repeat—you may be this other Ferdinand Carbonnell.”
“By God, but you are a blackguard,” I cried, my rage leaping quite beyond control, as I jumped to my feet. “The worst that men say of you is not half so bad as this foul conduct. Do your worst. Tell this lie if you will. Fling me into one of your gaols if you dare—and I will leave it to prove that the man who planned this act against the King, which fills you now with such honest patriotic indignation, was not Ferdinand Carbonnell, but you, Sebastian Quesada, and prove it I can under your own handwriting. Stop,” I thundered, as I saw him making his way to the bell to summon assistance. “Try to bring your servants here, and I’ll fling myself on you and choke the life out of you before they can come. I have yet a word, and you’d better hear it. You wrote me a note to-day to ask me to ride with you.” He started and glanced at me as I made an intentional pause. “At the same time you were writing another note giving the latest news of the young King’s movements, so that these Carlists might trap him safely. That note I received and possess; the other went to your jackal Livenza for him to make the necessary arrangements. Those notes are in safe hands, and if you dare to lay a finger on me the whole plan will be revealed—the whole truth told, with all your black treachery uppermost.”
His answer was more in character than any he had yet made. He turned to his table and sounded his bell vigorously; and for a few moments of tense silence we waited.
“Send Senor Rubio to me,” he said to the servant who came.
I knew the name as that of one of the chief police agents; and knew also that he had determined to have me arrested.
“I am a member of the British Embassy, Senor Quesada. If you molest me, I warn you of the consequences.”
“I offered you my friendship and protection, and you declined them and heaped abuse on me. You shall now feel my power.”
I made no reply, and then the police official entered—a spare, dark, ferrety-faced man, with quick-twinkling eyes.
“Senor Rubio, you have a warrant for the arrest of Senorita Sarita Castelar, which I told you to hold back.”
“I have, your Excellency.”
“You will execute it at once. This is Senor Ferdinand Carbonnell, of whom you know; hold him in custody; the warrant will be made out.”
“I am a British subject, and a member of the British Embassy here in Madrid. I shall resist arrest, and hold you responsible for any consequences.”
The official heard this with some dismay, and looked at the Minister for an explanation.
“Do your duty, Senor Rubio. You have my orders.”
“You must come with me, please,” said the man, turning to me.
“I am armed,” was my reply.
“Get the help you need,” cried Quesada, sternly. “Do you hear?” he added, angrily, for the man paused; but at this he went to the door and opened it to call assistance. It was clear he had little stomach for the task; and he appeared no less relieved than surprised when, instead of his police assistants, Dolores Quesada entered. She was looking pale and very agitated, but said to her brother quite firmly—
“I heard that Senor Rubio had been sent for; and before anything more is done I have something to say to you. Dismiss him for a moment.”
To my surprise, her brother sent him away.
“Have you ordered Senor Carbonnell’s arrest?”
“This is no concern of yours, Dolores.”
“Why have you two quarrelled?” she cried passionately, and turned to me as if demanding an explanation. But I, of course, could give her none, and said so.
“Sebastian, Senor Carbonnell shall not be arrested. I will not have it.”
“Senor Carbonnell will scarcely wish to owe his safety to you,” he answered, with an ugly sneer. “Nor is this a matter in which I can allow you to interfere. He has come here purely out of solicitude for the safety of his friend—Sarita Castelar. You owe him thanks for what he did for you, and, remembering that, I have tried to induce him to leave the country. He will not, and as he remains he must take the consequences. This is a State matter, and, I repeat, you must not interfere. It can do you no good.”
That there was a meaning under his words which she understood was clear by her change of colour; but when he finished she turned upon him as if to retort angrily. She checked herself, however, and instead asked me, in a voice that only with a great effort she was able to keep firm and cool: “Will you not give your word to leave Spain, Senor Carbonnell?”
“Certainly I cannot and will not, senorita,” I replied, marvelling much at the turn things were taking.
“You hear?” exclaimed Quesada, lifting his eyebrows. “You know why he stays?”
This seemed to strike right at her heart. She sank into a chair and bent her head on her hand.
“This step is necessary, Dolores. Be warned; and leave us,” he continued, in the same meaning tone.
“I do not care; I do not care. This shall not be. I swear it shall not. I swear by the Holy Virgin it shall not.” Her words came with almost hysterical vehemence. “I claim his safety. Come what may, I dare you to harm him, Sebastian. I dare you,” and she sprang to her feet again. “Senor, the way is open for you. I open it. No one shall harm you. You are a man of honour, and will at least remember that——”
She stopped.
I felt vastly embarrassed; but, reflecting how much my liberty at that moment might mean to Sarita, I turned towards the door to see if I was really to get away.
“Stay,” cried Quesada, hesitating in his fear of what I might do.
“You are free to go, senor,” said the sister.
“I shall always remember to whom I owe my liberty; and unless I am driven to act, by steps which your brother has threatened, the recollection will guide my own attitude.”
“No, you shall not go,” cried Quesada again, this time angrily and decidedly.
“Sebastian, if you dare to thwart me in this, I will go straight to the Palace and say what—you know I can say.”
“You are ruining us, Dolores.”
Her reply was worthy of her brother for its directness. She went to the door, and called in the police official.
“Senor Rubio, my brother wishes you to understand that he has made a mistake in ordering this gentleman’s arrest. He is a member of the British Embassy. Permit me, senor,” she said to me, holding the door for me to pass.
“Your Excellency’s wishes——?” asked Rubio.
The answer was a wave of the hand, and I was free. A minute later, I was driving to my rooms, with a pretty picture of Dolores Quesada’s anxious face in my thoughts.
How long I should remain at liberty was another question, however. Owing to the power she had over him, of a kind I could not guess, Dolores had succeeded in defeating his purpose for the moment; but I knew him too well not to think he would instantly set about repairing that defeat by indirect means unknown to her. I was too dangerous to be left at liberty, and he knew it; and probably his agents were even now starting out in quest of me; for Spanish prisons tell no tales.
But I could at least make good use of my liberty, and my first step must be to rush to my rooms and procure a sufficient supply of money for emergencies. I had quite long enough start of the police for this, as a single minute in the rooms would be enough.
Little did I think, however, of the news I should find awaiting me. A telegram lay on the table, and a glance at its contents filled me with surprise, concern, and pain. It was from the family solicitors in London, and ran as follows:
“Deeply regret to announce Lord Glisfoyle thrown from horse this afternoon and picked up dead. Neck broken. Can you return at once, or wire instructions? Writing you fully by this post.”
Poor Lascelles! And as I stood staring absently at the message my thoughts went toppling head over heels down the staircase of the years which he and I had climbed in so different a fashion.
We were scarcely a lucky race, we Carbonnells. My father had had a struggle for many years, and had barely held the title long enough to free himself, by the sweating process of rigid economy, from the smarts and humiliations of the debts piled up in time of poverty. Now Lascelles, in the very course of his humdrum, stay-at-home, commonplace life, had been cut over with a side swing of the remorseless scythe; and here was I, the very antithesis of my brother, flying for my liberty, my life perhaps in danger, and at the very moment of becoming head of the Carbonnells, known and likely to be officially labelled as that much more fateful chief, Ferdinand Carbonnell, head of the most dangerous and violent section of the Carlists. At the thought I started, and seemed to catch a gleam of light. I was no longer mere Ferdinand Carbonnell—I was Lord Glisfoyle. Would Quesada dare to pursue me now?
My answer was prompt. I crammed the telegram into my pocket, and rushed to the drawer where my money was and thrust the whole of it into another pocket, got my revolver and a good supply of cartridges, and hurried out of the house. I might be a peer of Great Britain, but for the moment I was a political fugitive in Madrid, and Sarita had yet to be saved.