“Does he never return to Puntal?”

“Once in five years he has been there.  Then he went quietly to his hunting lodge which is ten miles, as the crow flies from the capital, yet barred off by the mountain ridge.  It is two days’ journey by sea from Puntal, and save by the sea one comes only through the mountain pass, which is always guarded.  Yet on that occasion heliographs reported his movements; the King’s escort was doubled and the King went little abroad.”

“Who stands at Louis’ back?  Revolutionists?”

“Dios! No, Senor.  The Galavians are cattle.  Karyl or Louis, it is one to them.  Galavia is a key.  The key cares not at what porter’s belt it jingles.  Europe cares who opens and closes the lock. Comprende? Spain cares, France cares, Italy cares, even the Northern nations care.  The movement of pawns affects castles and kings.”

Manuel suddenly halted in his flow of talk.  “Blessed Saints!” he breathed softly.  “When he comes nearer you will see him—­the palms obscure him now.  It is Colonel Von Ritz.  He has just entered.  He stands near Karyl and the throne.  He is a great man wasted in a toy kingdom.  All Europe envies the services which Von Ritz squanders on Galavia.”

Benton looked up with a rush of memories, and was glad that the Galavian could not see him.

Like all the men concerned, Von Ritz was inconspicuously a civilian in dress, but as he came down the center of the room he was, as always, the commanding figure, challenging attention.  His steady eyes swept the place with dispassionate scrutiny.  His straight mouth-line betrayed no expression.  He came slowly, idly, as though looking for someone.  When still some distance from the table where sat the Duke Louis, he halted and their eyes met.  Those of the Duke, as he inclined his head slightly, stiffly, wore a glint of veiled hostility.  Those of Von Ritz, as he returned the salute, no whit more cordially, were blank, except that for the moment, as he stood regarding the party, his non-committal pupils seemed to bore into each face about the table and to catalogue them all in an insolent inventory.

Each man in the group uneasily shifted his eyes.  Then Karyl’s officer turned on his heel and left the place.  Louis watched him, scowling, and as the Colonel passed into the street turned suddenly and spoke in a vehement whisper.  Jusseret’s sardonic lips twisted into a wry smile as though in recognition of an adversary’s clever check.

The cafe was now filled.  Few tables remained unoccupied, and of these, several were near that of the Ducal party.

Blanco rose.  “Wait for me, Senor,” he whispered, then went to the front of the cafe where Benton lost him in a crowd at the door.  A moment later he came lurching back.  His lower lip was stupidly pendent, his eyes heavy and dull, and as he floundered about he dropped with the aimless air of one heavily intoxicated into a chair by a vacant table not more than ten feet distant from that of Louis, the Dreamer.