Louis rushed, panic-stricken, down to the shore.  He and the few men with him paced the beach in the settling twilight with desperate anxiety.  The steamer seemed to creep in, snail-like, over the smooth water.  Meanwhile binoculars fixed on the pass showed a number of small specks sifting like ants through the lofty opening.  Troops were advancing.  It was now the life-and-death question of which would arrive first, the boats from the ship that had stood off at sea a bit too long, or the soldiers coming across the broken backbone of the mountains.

At last the ship had drawn near, and circled under full steam far enough out to get away to a flying start as soon as the Ducal party had been taken on board.  Small boats were rushed toward the beach and Louis, the Dreamer, with his party waded knee-deep into the water to meet the rescuers.

At the same moment a bugle call announced the coming of Karyl’s soldiery.

As Louis Delgado went over the side, he turned quickly back and, leaning over the rail, gazed through the settling darkness toward shore.

“Do we make for Puntal, Your Majesty?” inquired the captain, saluting.

Louis turned coldly.  “No.”

The officer looked at the Duke for a moment and read defeat in his eyes.

“Where then—­Your Grace?” he inquired.

Louis winced under the quick amendment of title.  “Anywhere,” he said shortly; “anywhere—­except Puntal.”

CHAPTER XV

THE TOREADOR BECOMES AMBASSADOR

Manuel Blanco was ubiquitous during the first days following the coronation.  He listened to the fragments of talk that drifted along the streets.  He frequented the band concerts in the Public Gardens and drank native vintages in the wine-shops.  He elbowed his way naively into chattering groups with his ears primed for a careless word.  Nowhere did he catch a note hinting of intrigue or danger.  It seemed a sound conclusion that if the plotters had not entirely surrendered their project for switching Kings in Galavia, their conspiracies were being once more fomented on foreign soil, just as the first plan had been incubated in Cadiz.

One evening shortly after the dual celebration, a steamer laden with tourists lay at anchor in the bay, outlined in points of light like a set-piece of fireworks.  Hundreds of new sight-seeing faces swarmed along the narrow, cobbled streets.  This would be a great night in the Strangers’ Club and Blanco decided to spend an hour there.

In evening dress he moved through the gardens and pavilions of the casino on the rock, where with the coming of darkness the gayety of the town began to focus and sparkle.

The coronation of Karyl had brought to an end official mourning for the late King, and the crepe which had palled the national insignia on all public buildings had been cleared away.  With this restoration of public gayety came a liberal sprinkling of uniforms to the throngs that crowded the ball-rooms, tea-gardens and gambling halls.