“It must be soon—­or never!  But tell me, has Louis come?  Has he reached his hunting lodge?  Does he know that guards are at the rock?  Do you, or Lapas, wait to flash the signal from the look-out?  Ah, how my gaze shall be bent toward the flag-staff.”  Then, as her eyes wandered out to sea, her voice became soft with dreams.  She laughed low and shook her head.  “Louis, Louis!” she murmured.  “When you are King!  But tell me—­” again she was anxious, executive, imperious—­“tell me everything!”

Obviously he was mistaken for the English Jackal!

Benton countered anxiously.  “Yet, Your Majesty,”—­he bent low as he anticipated her ambition in bestowing the title—­“Your Majesty asks so many questions all at once, and we may be interrupted.”

Once more she was in a realm of air castles as she leaned on the stone coping and gazed off into the moonlight.  “It is but the touching of a button,” she murmured, “and allons!  In the space of an explosion, dynasties change places.”  Suddenly she stood up.  “You are right.  We cannot talk here.  I shall be missed.  Take this”—­she slipped a seal ring from her finger.  “Come to me to-morrow morning.  I am at the Hotel de France.  I shall be ostensibly out, but show the ring and you will be admitted.  When I am Queen, you shall not go undecorated.”  She gave his hand a warm momentary pressure and was gone.

CHAPTER XII

BENTON MUST DECIDE

On the next afternoon at the base of the flag-staff above Look-out Rock, Lieutenant Lapas nervously swept the leagues of sea and land, spreading under him, with strong glasses.  Though the air was somewhat rarer and cooler here than below, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the cigarettes which he incessantly smoked followed each other with a furious haste which denoted mental unrest.

At a sound of foliage rustled aside and a displaced rock bumping down the slope, the watcher took the glasses from his eyes with a nervous start.

Up the hill from the left climbed an unknown man.  His features were those of a Spaniard.  As the officer’s eyes challenged him he halted, panting, to mop his brow with the air of one who takes a breathing space after violent exertion.  The newcomer smiled pleasantly as he leaned against a bowlder and genially volunteered:  “It is a long journey from the shore.”  Then after a moment he added in a tone of respectful inquiry:  “You are Lieutenant Lapas?”

The officer had regained his composure.  He regarded the other with a mild scrutiny touched with superciliousness as he nodded acquiescence and in return demanded:  “Who are you?”

“Do you see that speck of white down yonder by the sea?” Blanco drew close and his outstretched finger pointed a line to the Duke’s lodge.  “I come from there,” he explained with concise directness.

The officer bit his lip.