“I paid the bill at the Chateau Madrid.”

It amused him to see how much it disconcerted Delorme that he should begin with this trivial demand. Delorme was obviously struggling to conceal his nervous excitement.

“Of course. Here you are.” He handed over a fifty taller note.

“And now, if you would be so kind as to give us your report.”

“No,” thought Sandoval, “you could never make him forget his manners. He’s not what you’d imagine, for a rabid demagogue.”

And he recounted his tale. As he spoke, the stranger drew closer to him, studying him intently.

“Splendid, really splendid!” remarked Delorme. “Only an artist could have accomplished that. I particularly like the way you timed the Countess’ arrival.”

“It was very simple. I sent her an anonymous letter saying that if she wished to expose her husband she should come to the Chateau Madrid at six. I know how jealous she is.”

Delorme turned to the stranger.

“This place in the country where they’ve taken him is manned by our people, masquerading as household staff. If necessary, they’ll detain him by force. But it won’t be needed. Fear of his wife will be much more effective.”

“Thank you, Sandoval,” said the stranger, and again offered his hand.

“Glad to be of service. Might I ask one favour in return? I don’t like being a blind instrument. If there’s no special reason why you can’t, would you explain why it was necessary to get that pious idiot out of the capital?”

“Why?” the stranger replied. “Because it’s his job as Chief Steward to select the regiment responsible for guarding the palace the following day. Since he won’t be there tomorrow, I shall have to choose it myself.”

Sandoval glanced quizzically at Delorme.

“The gentleman you are speaking with is Major Mawiras-Tendal, His Highness’ principal aide-de-camp.”

Sandoval bowed, rather maladroitly. What he had heard astonished him. The King’s aide-de-camp and close friend was involved in this business? How very widespread the discontent must be …

It had barely touched him personally. As a mere painter he understood little of the economic problems that had produced it. The King himself was a kind and intelligent man, extremely sympathetic in Sandoval’s opinion. It was only his loathing of petty-bourgeois complacency that had brought him into Delorme’s camp. That, and the love of gambling, and of the unexpected—in a word, the desire to live dangerously.

“And the day after tomorrow,” the Major continued, “the Twelfth Regiment is on guard at the palace. It’s the one regiment in which we can count on every man. Do you follow me?”

“So, then. The day after tomorrow?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

The Major shook hands and left. Sandoval stood staring after him, speechless.

“Well, well. He too?”

“He especially. He’s closer than anyone to the Nameless Captain.”

“Extraordinary.”

“Don’t forget that Mawiras-Tendal is the grandson of the great revolutionary hero after whom every street in Alturia is named.”

“Blood being thicker than water … ”

“So it seems. Sometimes these truisms turn out to be true. Life holds no greater surprise.”

“Have you any orders for me, for tomorrow?”

“My orders? I must ask just one thing of you.