The Lighted Match

Benton looked up with a rush of memories, and was glad that the Galavian

could not see him.

Like all the men concerned, Von Ritz was inconspicuously a civilian in

dress, but as he came down the center of the room he was, as always, the

commanding figure, challenging attention. His steady eyes swept the

place with dispassionate scrutiny. His straight mouth-line betrayed no

expression. He came slowly, idly, as though looking for someone. When

still some distance from the table where sat the Duke Louis, he halted

and their eyes met. Those of the Duke, as he inclined his head slightly,

stiffly, wore a glint of veiled hostility. Those of Von Ritz, as he

returned the salute, no whit more cordially, were blank, except that for

the moment, as he stood regarding the party, his non-committal pupils

seemed to bore into each face about the table and to catalogue them all

in an insolent inventory.

Each man in the group uneasily shifted his eyes. Then Karyl's officer

turned on his heel and left the place. Louis watched him, scowling, and

as the Colonel passed into the street turned suddenly and spoke in a

vehement whisper. Jusseret's sardonic lips twisted into a wry smile as

though in recognition of an adversary's clever check.

The café was now filled. Few tables remained unoccupied, and of these,

several were near that of the Ducal party.

Blanco rose. "Wait for me, Señor," he whispered, then went to the

front of the café where Benton lost him in a crowd at the door. A moment

later he came lurching back. His lower lip was stupidly pendent, his

eyes heavy and dull, and as he floundered about he dropped with the

aimless air of one heavily intoxicated into a chair by a vacant table

not more than ten feet distant from that of Louis, the Dreamer.

There he remained huddled in apparent torpor and for some moments

unobserved, until the Duke signaled to a passing waiter and indicated

the toreador with a glance. The waiter came over to Blanco. "The

Señor will find another table," he said with the ingratiating courtesy

of one paying a compliment. "It is regrettable, but this one is

reserved." Blanco appeared too stupid to understand, and when finally he

did grasp the meaning he rose with profuse and clumsy apologies and

staggered vacantly about in the immediate neighborhood of the conspiring

coterie. Finally, after receiving further attention and guidance from

the waiter, he returned to Benton, and dropping into his chair leaned

over, his white teeth flashing a satisfied smile. "The matches may not

flare, Señor," he said, "but it would appear it was planned. Now

Martin and Borttorff cannot go to Puntal. Since the brief visit of Von

Ritz they are branded men. The others are already known to Karyl's

government."