The Puppet Crown [88]
"You picked up a rose to-night," said the Colonel.
"So I did." Maurice blew a puff of smoke into the chimneyplace and watched it sail upward and vanish. "Moreover, I propose to keep it. Have you any objections?"
"Only this: her Highness intended the rose for me."
"No, no, my friend," easily. "She would not have laughed had you picked it up."
"That is to say I lie?"
"It is," laconically.
There was no eluding a statement so bald as this. Beauvais sat upright. "To call me a liar is a privilege which I extend to no man."
"I did not call you a liar," undisturbed. "You wrote it down yourself, and I simply agreed to it. A duel? Well, I shall not fight you. Dueling is obsolete, and it never demonstrated the right or wrong of a cause. Since my part in this affair is one of neutrality, and since to gain that knowledge was the object of your invitation, I will take my leave of you."
He rose and looked at the porcelain clock. As he did so his gaze rested on a small photograph standing at the side of it. He scanned it eagerly. It was a face of dark Castilian beauty. He turned and looked at Beauvais long and earnestly. There was an answering gaze, an immobility of countenance. Maurice experienced a slight shock. The haze over his memory was dispersed. The whole scene, in which this man loomed in the foreground, came back vividly.
"Your stare, Monsieur, is annoying."
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Maurice, leaning against the mantel.
"Do me the honor to explain it."
Maurice, never dreaming of the trap, fell head foremost into it. "I have traveled a good deal," he began. "I have been--even to South America."
"Ah!" This ejaculation expressed nothing. In fact, Beavais was smiling. There was a sinister something behind that smile, but Maurice was unobservant.
He went on. "Yes, to South America. I was there in a diplomatic capacity, during one of the many revolutions. This country was the paradise of adventurers, the riff-raff of continental social outcasts. I distinctly remember the leader of this revolution. Up to the very last day, Captain Urquijo was the confidential friend of the president whom he was about to ruin. Through the president's beautiful daughter Urquijo picked up his threads and laid his powder train. The woman loved him as women sometimes love rascals. The president was to be assassinated and his rival installed. Captain Urquijo was to be made General of the armies.
"One fine day the troops lined both sides of the plaza, the square also about which lay the government buildings. It was the event of some celebration; I believe the throwning off of the yoke of Spain. The city flocked into the plaza. Strangely enough, those who were disaffected--the soldiers under Urquijo--faced the loyal troops. By a preconceived plan, the artillery was under the command of Urquijo. Suddenly this Captain's murderous and traitorous guns swept the plaza, mangling women and children. There was a flaw, however, in the stroke. Urquijo fled, a reward posted for his head--mind you, his head; they did not want him alive.
"The daughter expiates her foolish love in a convent. Her disgraces proved too much for her father, who blew out his brains. The successor secured extradition papers in all the leading capitals of the world. The story was the sensation of the day; the newspapers made much of it. All governments offered to assist the republic in hounding down this rascal. To whatever country he belonged, that country promised to disown him." _ .
Maurice took the photograph. and cast it into Beauvais's lap. "Do you recognize that face? Is it not a mute accusation to your warped conscience?" The voice, changing from the monotone of narrative, grew strong and contemptuous. "I know you. I recognizcd you the moment I laid eyes on you, only I could not place you. Perhaps it was because it did not seem possible that you would dare show your face to civilized people. That photograph has done its work. By the Lord, but you're a fine rascal! Not a bit changed. Have you forgotten your Spanish? As God