“I don’t know you,” demurred Lapas.

“His Grace knows me—­and trusts me.  That should be sufficient,” retorted Blanco.  “I bring you credentials which you will refuse to recognize at your own risk.  Unless I were in the confidence of the Duke, I could scarcely be here with a knowledge of your plans.”

Blanco’s eyes blazed in sudden and well simulated wrath.  “I have no time to waste in argument.  Choose quickly.  Shall I return to Louis and inform him that you refuse to trust those he selects to bear his orders?”

For an instant the Spaniard stood contemptuously regarding the other’s terror, then with a disgusted exclamation he turned on his heel and started to the door of the kiosk.  But Lapas was in a moment catching at his elbow and protesting himself convinced.  He led Blanco back to a seat.

“Listen.”  The Lieutenant sat at the crude table in the center of the small room and talked rapidly, as one rehearsing a well-learned lesson.

“The Fortress do Freres is stocked with explosives.  Karyl goes there with Von Ritz and others of his suite to inspect the place with the view of turning it into a prison.  The Grand Duke, waiting at his hunting lodge, is to receive by wireless the message from Jusseret and Borttorff, who convey the verdict of Europe, as to whether or not it is decided to recognize his Government.  If their message be favorable, he will raise the Galavian flag on the west tower of the hunting lodge, and I shall relay the message here with the flag at Look-out Point.  This flag-pole will be the signal to those in the city whose fingers are on the key, and whose key will explode the powder in do Freres.  If the flag which now flies from the flag-staff here is still flying when the King enters the fortress, the cap will explode.  If the flag-staff is empty, the King’s visit will be uneventful.  It will require fifteen minutes for the King to go from the Palace to the Fortress.  I must not remain here—­I must be where I can see.”

Lapas rose and consulted his watch with nervous haste.  “You will excuse me?” he added.  “I must be at my post.  Are you satisfied?”

Blanco also rose, bowing as he drew back the heavy chair he had occupied.  “I am quite satisfied,” he approved.  His hands were gripping the chairback and when Lapas had taken two paces to the front, and Blanco had appraised the distance between, the chair left the floor.  With the same lightning swiftness of motion that had brought salvos of applause from the bull-rings of Cadiz and Seville, he swung it above his head and brought down its cumbersome weight in an arc.

Lapas, his eyes fixed on the door, had no hint.  A picture of serene sky and steady mountains was blotted from his brain.  There was blackness instead—­and unconsciousness.

A bleeding scalp told the toreador that the blow had only cut and stunned.

Rapidly he bound and gagged his captive.  Dragging him back through the narrow room he made certainty doubly sure by tying him to the base of the neglected telescope in the abandoned observatory.