The Car of Destiny
seconded his efforts, and, if they had, ten chances against one that
Pilarcita would have listened. Never, in all her life, said she, had she
known anything like the excitements of the last few days, and it was too
probable that she never would again.
With this, she climbed into her old place in my Gloria’s tonneau, her
bright eyes bewitching in the uncertain yellow light; and enchanted with
the prospect of retaining her society, Don Cipriano proposed a feast. He
would not listen to discussions, but rushed the bewildered watchman off to
a neighbouring restaurant, whence a waiter appeared with the speed of
magic. Supper was ordered; chicken, salad, champagne, all that could be
found of the best; and _dulces_ for the señorita.
While Ropes and I worked as if for a wager, a swarm of amused waiters came
buzzing about the garage, bringing chairs, a table, clattering dishes,
clinking knives and forks, and silver pails wherein tinkled ice embedding
gold-labelled bottles.
Ropes is unrivalled as a mechanic, and I am not unhandy with tools, so
that between us, under the inspiration of Pilar’s bright eyes and sayings,
we had the pinions out of Don Cipriano’s car by the time the champagne was
cold. Then, while corks were popping, the great experiment was tried. “A
fit! a fit!” I exclaimed, and joyously we drank to the health of the two
Glorias.
Such tips as they got that night, those waiters and that watchman could
never have seen. No doubt they thought us mad, and perhaps we were; but it
was partly the fault of San Cristóbal.
XIX
A PARCEL FOR LIEUTENANT O’DONNEL
Never was such a man as Don Cipriano, Conde de Roldan. Not content with
lending me his wings that I might fly while he was left to crawl, he
proposed to heap other favours upon the friend of his friends.
He offered me an asylum at his place for my rejuvenated car, lest the
enemy in reconnoitring should learn our secret before the time; and,
better still, he volunteered to visit the camp of that enemy, and discover
his plans.
Being an acquaintance of the lady whom Carmona had jilted, he was no
admirer of the Duke’s. Nevertheless, he was a member of a club which
Carmona frequented when in Madrid, and he thought that the Duke would look
in next day. Even if he should decide to proceed by rail, after
discovering how “two can play at the same game,” such a change of plan
would mean delay; therefore Carmona and his party would spend at least one
day in Madrid. Don Cipriano offered to go early to the club, and not to
leave until he had seen the Duke. The moment he had any news he would
bring it to us.
I accepted my new friend’s invitation to house the Gloria, as his place
was so close to town that Ropes or I could spin her back at short notice;
and at dawn, when merry Madrid was thinking of bed, my car towed out his
dismantled one. Pilar and her father had gone home to dream their good
deeds over; Dick, when he heard that we were to drive behind the Conde’s
horses, developed a headache, and Ropes and I had to carry the business
through ourselves.
We bathed and breakfasted in the country, and drove back to Madrid while
the gay world slept. He would now, Don Cipriano announced, spend the day
in the city, on watch-dog duty; but as he would have no news until
afternoon, I might visit the picture galleries if I liked. “They will make
you feel proud of your country,” he said; and so they would, no doubt. But
I resolved to sacrifice them in the fear that, after all, Carmona might
evade me if I gave him so good a chance.
Never had I seen Dick so gloomy as when I returned to him, and the black
dog was not chased away by my praises of Don Cipriano. He cheered up,
however, at the prospect of sightseeing with the Cherub and Pilar; the
Cherub martyred; Pilar joyous in the thought of showing off the Murillos
and Velasquez which she adored.
They did the Armería and picture galleries all the morning, until they
were drooping with fatigue; waggled back in a dilapidated cab, clamouring
for their lunch and my tidings; departed again in the afternoon to finish
what they had left undone.
Meanwhile I had heard nothing; and the day, spent in waiting for Don
Cipriano or for some bit of gossip picked up by Ropes, was long.
But five o’clock and Don Cipriano came together. Carmona had been to the
club. The Conde de Roldan had not spoken to him, but the Duke had talked
to another man, a motoring friend of the King’s. Perhaps, with few others,
would the Duke have been so expansive. He had said, “I’m only in Madrid
for the day. Should have been off this morning, with my mother and two
ladies who are going to visit her in Seville, but had an accident to my
automobile, which has made me a lot of bother. I hope to get away, though,
sometime to-morrow.” Then he had asked after the health of a certain
actress, and the subject had been definitely changed.
This was a triumph. I heartily thanked Don Cipriano, all the while feeling
a guilty thing; for if I were loyal to Dick and wished him luck, I must be
disloyal and wish defeat for my benefactor.
We spoke of the road, which he knew, and said was not too bad; and about
brigands, who were making themselves talked of just then. “You’d better
buy arms, if you haven’t them,” said Don Cipriano; “but there’s not much
danger on this side Seville.”
He had brought a road-map; and we were examining it, in the reading-room
of the hotel, wondering whether Cannona would take the direct way through
Manzanares, Valdepeñas, and Cordoba, or another which Don Cipriano
considered better, though longer, by Talavera de la Reina, Trujillo, and
Zafra, when the _concièrge_ came to say a messenger with a parcel wished
to see me.
“It must be a mistake,” I replied.
“He asked for el Teniente O’Donnel; and he has a packet for you.”
“Bring it in, please, and let me see how it’s addressed.”
“He won’t give it up, sir, without seeing you himself. Those were his
instructions.”
I got up impatiently and went into the hall, where a boy in the livery of
some shop handed me a small parcel. There was no address upon it, and I
wondered if this were not some purchase of Pilar’s, sent back to my care.
However, I decided to open it, and found nothing inside except a little
steel paper-knife with the word _Toledo_ engraved on the black and gold
handle.
I stared at the thing stupidly for a moment, as I fumbled for a
_pourboire_ to give the messenger, when it occurred to me that he might
explain the mystery. “Did a lady buy this?” I asked; “a young lady, with a
tall señor also young, and another middle-aged?”
“A young lady? yes, sir. But she was with only one señor, and two señoras,
both of an age.”
“You saw them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Describe all four, and you shall have two pesetas instead of one.”
“One señora was Spanish, brunette, fat, with dead eyes in a large, soft
face of two chins. The other was tall and foreign, handsome, but with an
air! I would not be her servant. The señor was distinguished. Dark, with a
thin nose that turned down, like his moustache; a face of an old picture;
one shoulder higher than the other.”
“But the young lady?”
“Oh, sir, the señorita was a white and gold angel, made of a sunbeam! It
was she who bought the knife, while the others chose a thing for the tall
señora. She quickly gave it and the money to an attendant, with the
address, saying it must be put into the gentleman’s own hand.”
I gave the boy five pesetas instead of two.
A paper-knife with the word _Toledo_ engraved upon it from Monica for me!
No message, only that! But was it not in itself a message—the only one she
could find a way to send?
I went back to Don Cipriano. “I’ve just heard,” said I, “that when Carmona
starts, he intends to go to Toledo.”
XX
THE MAGIC WORD
When the others came back, and the paper-knife was shown, all agreed with
me that it could mean but one thing. The best of it was that to go to
Toledo the grey car must pass the Conde de Roldan’s place where my Gloria
lay; and all we need do would be to await the moment when the Lecomte
flashed by. Then we might give Carmona a surprise.
None of us doubted that he must guess the cause of his accident, as we
guessed at ours; nevertheless, the blow he had inflicted was far more
severe than our retaliation, and he doubtless hoped that, despite our
revengeful scratch, he could slip out of Madrid leaving us _hors de
combat_.
Don Cipriano dined with us that night, and went with the others to the
Teatro Español, where the great Guerrero and her husband were acting. It
was not thought well for me to appear, lest the Duke should be there, and
say to some acquaintance, “You see the O’Donnel’s. Is that the son who is
in the army?”
When they returned, Pilar had news. Carmona, with the Duchess, Lady
Vale-Avon, and Monica had all been at the theatre in a box.
“I knew that girl was beautiful,” said Pilar, “but I didn’t know how
beautiful until to-night! With her pearly skin and golden hair among all
the dark heads, she gleamed like a pearl amid carbuncles, and everyone was
looking at her. You know how we admire fair beauties, and how we expect to
adore the young queen when she comes? Well, if it had been Princess Ena
herself, people could hardly have stared more, and the Duke was delighted.
He wants everything that’s best for himself, and to have others appreciate
it. He was so proud of Lady Monica between acts, and kept bending over her
as if she belonged to him. I don’t think he saw us; but I was glad you
weren’t there, or you would have been wild to fly at him.”
“You make me wild to do that now,” I said.
“Have a little patience, and you will steal her,” said Pilar.
“If she would only let me! But she won’t.”
“Who knows what she will be ready to do if they press her? And after
to-night, too! She seemed half afraid of him, as if she began to realize
more and more what he is. Oh, if you weren’t here I should want to do some
desperate deed and snatch her away myself! He likes having her admired,
while she’s not yet his; but he has enough of the Moor in him to shut up a
wife, so that no other man should see her beauty. And then presently he
would tire, and be cruel.”
“Don’t let’s talk of it,” said I. “It’s not going to happen.”
Though it was so late before we slept, we were dressed at an unearthly
hour—according to the Cherub—and driving out with the small luggage which
accompanied us on the car, to Don Cipriano’s place on the Toledo road.
Ropes had spent the night there, and the Gloria was ready. The luggage was
got into place; and Don Cipriano and his mother—a fairy godmother of an
old lady, with a white dome of hair under a priceless black lace
mantilla—were determined to provide us with food and drink as if to
withstand a siege.
There was a snow-cured ham from Trevelez, the most famed in Andalucía.
There was delicious home-made bread, _cuernos_, _molletes_, and
_panecillos_; and olives large as grapes. There was white, curded cheese;
quince jam or _carne de membrillo_; angels’ hair, made of shredded melons
with honey; _mazapan_, smelling of almonds, and shaped like figures of
saints, serpents, and horses; oranges from Seville and Tarifa; fat figs
dried on sticks; and, most wonderful of all, a wineskin of the country, so
old that the taste of the skin was gone a generation ago, and plump with
as much good red wine as would have filled six bottles.
“You will need these things,” insisted the old lady, giving the Cherub a
friendly pat on the arm, as she encircled Pilar’s waist. “It is different
on the road between Madrid and Seville, from those you have travelled. You
will want to lunch out of doors, in the sunshine, for you won’t find good