The Lighted Match

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 naïvely 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 crêpe 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.

Blanco was standing apart, looking on, when he felt a light touch on his

shoulder and turned to find a young officer at his back who smilingly

begged him for a moment in the gardens. The Spaniard noticed that the

man who addressed him wore the epaulettes of a Captain of Infantry and

the added stripe and crown of gold lace at the cuff which designated

service in the household of the reigning family.

He turned and accompanied the officer through the wide door into the

lantern-hung grounds, passing between the groups which clustered

everywhere about small wicker tea-tables. There were no quiet or

secluded spots in the gardens of the Strangers' Club to-night, but after

a brief glance right and left the Captain led the way to a table in a

shadowed niche between two doors. The light there was more shadowed and

the tides of promenaders did not crowd so close upon it as elsewhere. As

the two came up a third man rose from this table and Manuel found

himself looking into the flinty eyes of Colonel Von Ritz.

Von Ritz spoke briefly. If Señor Blanco could spare the time, His

Majesty wished to speak with him.

The younger officer turned back into the casino and Von Ritz led the

toreador through the front gardens, where the tennis courts lay bare

between the palms. The acacias and sycamores were soft, dark spots

against the far-flung procession of the stars.