“The arms seem to be those of a family of Galavia which is connected with Royalty.  Did you pick it up in a curio shop?  If so, some servant must have stolen it.”

Blanco stood up.  “We waste time fencing, Senor Reebeler,” he said, “His Grace, Louis Delgado, was held captive by the King until several days ago.  He then escaped.  That escape has been kept secret by the King.  Only men in the Duke’s confidence know of it.  I am in the service of His Grace and I report to you.  In these times we do not carry signed letters of introduction—­those of us at least who are not protected behind the insignia of Consular office.”

There was a long silence.  Reebeler, under the influence of brandy and perplexity, breathed heavily.  Blanco poured from a squat bottle and watched the soda bubble in the glass.

Finally the Consul inquired with a show of indifference:  “Why do you assume that I know anything of this matter?”

Blanco laughed.  “I have already told you that I come from His Grace.  Naturally His Grace knew to whom to commend me.  I have frankly given myself into your hands by declaring my sentiments.  On the other hand, you decline a similar confidence.  You are discreet.”  He waved his hand. “Adios.”

“Wait.”  The Consul stopped him at the door.  He paused, cleared his throat and then abruptly suggested:  “Suppose you return to-morrow at six.”

The Spaniard bowed.  “I only wish you to test me, Senor.”

That evening Blanco knew that he was being shadowed.  The next day he had the same sense of being incessantly watched.  This was a thing which he had expected and for which he was prepared.  Promptly at six o’clock he returned to the Rue do Consilhiero.

He knew that his greatest danger lay in the possibility of communication by the conspirators with the Duke or the Countess, but he had been assured that Marie Astaride was in Cairo and it could safely be assumed that Delgado would return to Galavia only at the psychological moment.  If either of these assumptions were false Louis would, of course, recognize the description of his kidnapper.  The Countess would connect the episode of the ring with the former checkmating of her plans.  At all events, he must chance those possibilities.

This time the Consulate was discreetly shut in by drawn jealousies.  Within, beside Reebeler himself, were a number of men, all of whom narrowly scrutinized the newcomer.  Those who were not in uniform carried themselves with a cocky smartness that belied their civilian clothes.  The man from Cadiz returned their gaze with the same imperturbable steadiness and the same concealed wariness which he had employed when, in the Plaza de Toros, he awaited the charge of the bull.

For a time they allowed him to stand in silence under the embarrassing batteries of their eyes, then an elderly officer assumed the position of spokesman.