“Gracias,” he said bluntly, and turning away went precipitously to his cabin.

After dinner, when the Captain had betaken himself to the bridge and the smoke from the Spaniard’s cigarettes and Benton’s pipe had begun to wreathe clouds against the ceiling-beams, Blanco broached his diplomacy.

In the dulled expressionlessness of the face opposite him and the stoop of the shoulders, Manuel read a need for an active antidote against the corrosive poison of despair.

“Where are we going now, Senor?”

Benton shrugged his shoulders.

“‘Quien sabe!’ as you say in Spain.  We are simply cruising, drifting, keeping out of sight of land.”

“And drifting is the precise thing, Senor, which we must not do.  I have hitherto done without question what you have said.  Now I hold a new dignity.”  There was a momentary flash of teeth as he smiled.  “As Ambassador, I make a request.  May I be permitted to take entire control of affairs for a brief time?  Also, will you for a few days obey my instructions, without question?”

Benton looked across the table at the dark face half-obscured behind a blue fog of cigarette smoke.  After a moment he smiled.

“Admiral,” he said, “issue your orders.”

“You will instruct the Captain,” said Manuel promptly, “to head at once for Villefranche.  There you, Senor, will leave the yacht, and I will go with it to Monte Carlo.  I wish to be as soon as possible in the casino where the drone of the croupier and the clink of outflowing louis d’or constitute the national refrain.”

Benton’s eyes narrowed in perplexity.  On his face was written curiosity, but he had agreed to ask no questions.  He unhesitatingly put his finger on the electric bell.

“Ask the Captain to come here as soon as he is at leisure,” he directed when the steward had responded to the call.

“Good,” commended Blanco.  Then with a sorrowful shake of his head he commiserated:  “I am sorry that you are to be denied the excitement of the rouge et noir and the trente et quarente of the gold table, Senor, but if the Countess Astaride and Louis should meet there, the lady would know you.  I fancy that she will not again mistake you for someone else.  As for myself, neither of them yet knows me.”

“Are they at Monte Carlo?” Benton sat suddenly upright, and Blanco had the first reward of his diplomacy, as he noted the quickening interest in the questioning eyes.

“I am only guessing, Senor.  If the guess is good, I may learn something.  What is in my mind, may fail.  If you are willing to trust me I would rather not reveal it now.”

“And I?” questioned Benton.  “Have I any part to play in this, or do you go it alone?”

Blanco leaned forward.