"_Señor_, what became of your friend?" inquired Blanco.
"Oh!" the boy hesitated for a moment, then broke into a laugh. "I'm afraid that's an anti-climax. They found that he was simply a nervy stowaway. He had not booked his passage and so--"
"Yes, at Malta. Meantime he was stripped to the waist and armed with a shovel in the stoke-hold."
"There was another phase to it, though--" began the boy afresh.
At that moment the whistle of the small excursion steamer below broke out in a shrill scream. Young Harcourt hurriedly pushed back his chair and grabbed for his Panama hat. "Cæsar!" he cried, "there's the whistle. I shall miss my boat for the Grotto." And he hastened off with a shout of summons to a crazy victoria that was clattering by empty.
During a long silence Blanco studied the cone of Vesuvius.
"Blanco!" Benton leaned across the table with an anxious frown and stretched out a hand which over-turned the wine glasses. "There was one thing he said that stuck in my memory. He said the Powers would see that in the end Louis had his throne."
"The Powers have lost their instrument! You forget, _Señor_, that this is underground diplomacy. It must appear to work itself out and the new King must be logical. With Louis a prisoner their meddling hands are bound."
Benton rose and pushed back his chair. His companion joined him and together they passed out through the stone-flagged court and into the road. For fifteen minutes they walked morosely and in silence through the steep streets where the shops are tourist-traps, alluringly baited with corals and trinkets. Finally they came out on the beach where many fishing boats were dragged up on the sand, and nets stretched, drying in the sun.
"In God's name, Manuel, what do I care who occupies the throne of Galavia? No other man could so block my path as Karyl." Then as one in the confessional he declared shamefacedly: "I have never said it to any man because it is too much like murder, but--sometimes I wish I had reached Cadiz one day later than I did." He drew his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his forehead.
The Spaniard skillfully kindled a cigarette in the spurt of a match, which the gusty sea-breeze made short-lived.
"And now," he calmly suggested, "it is still possible to let Europe play out her game alone. After all, _Señor_, we are as the young _touristo_ indicated--only amateurs."