The Car of Destiny
Colonel O’Donnel; but he had no news to tell. He merely wired his advice
that, if possible, Señor Waring should come back to Seville immediately,
as his evidence was now wanted in the affair of the bomb.
Dick at once said that he would not desert me, but I urged upon him the
advisability of going. He had seen me through my great adventure; and if
Carmona and the others were in Granada there was nothing he could do at
the moment which I could not do for myself. If he failed to appear in
Seville, there might be trouble; and should I find that I needed his help,
I would telegraph.
Pilar’s name was not spoken, but it rang in our thoughts, and Dick could
not hide the flash of eagerness that lit his eyes. Perhaps by this time
she would have made up her mind whether he were to have “yes” or “no” for
his answer.
“My going shall depend on whether Carmona’s here or not,” he said; and I
turned to the landlord with a question. Did he know whether the Duke of
Carmona and his mother had come, and brought friends to their palace in
Granada?
The Spaniard laughed. He knew but too well, since the arrival of the
distinguished family had roused something like an _emeute_ in his and
other hotels. Carmona palace was perhaps the most interesting show-place
left in the town of Granada, except the tombs of los Reyes Católicos in
the cathedral. It was the palace where Boabdil had fled from his father’s
wrath; and after the Alhambra and the Generalife it was the one thing that
tourists came to see. Now they were prevented from seeing it by the
arrival of the Duke and Duchess, a calamity which did not happen in the
high season once in ten years. If the house (which had in these days but
one grand suite of furnished and habitable rooms) was occupied by its
owners, it was usually for a few weeks in the height of summer, after
strangers had ceased to come south; or else in the autumn, before the time
for travellers. Now there was great dissatisfaction among the foreign
visitors, who considered themselves defrauded of their rights. Yesterday
morning several parties of tourists had insisted upon an entrance, and in
the afternoon, in fulfilment of the Duke’s request, two civil guards had
been stationed before the door to keep would-be intruders at a distance.
This did not seem a hopeful outlook for me, in case I wished to try some
such _coup d’état_ as I had planned in Seville. But there would be other
ways of reaching Monica, I told myself, when the landlord had gone on to
say that the Duke was supposed to be seriously ill. If Carmona were
suffering, he would not be able to watch the members of his household as
closely as before, and it ought not to be impossible to let Monica know
that I was in Granada. Once she understood that I was ready and waiting to
take her away, means would be found to reach her.
There was only time, when Dick had finally decided to go, for a bath and
breakfast before I spun him down to the station for the morning train.
Meanwhile I had learned that every room in our landlord’s two hotels was
occupied, for it was the most crowded season. But I was to have a villa
belonging to the hotels given to me for my entire use, a villa in an old
Moorish garden of tinkling fountains, flowing rills, rose-entwined
miradores, jasmine arbours, myrtle hedges, and magnolia trees. The Carmen
de Mata Moros was to be mine for as few days or as many weeks as I chose
to remain. Satisfied, therefore, that I should not have to camp under the
trees of the park, I determined, when I had seen Dick off, to put up the
car in the town of Granada, and reconnoitre the neighbourhood of the
Carmona palace.
An inquiry here and there took me to the street without much delay. The
palace, sacred to memories of Boabdil, his gentle Sultana Zorayda, and his
stern mother Ayxa, was to be found on the outskirts of the Albaicín, that
part of Granada once favoured by the Moorish aristocracy, now almost given
up to the poorer Spaniards, and gypsies rich enough and sophisticated
enough to desert their caves. Ferdinand and Isabel had granted the house
to a rich Moorish noble who had fore-sworn his religion to help them in
their wars, and who became the first Duque de Carmona, owner of many
estates and many palaces.
My landlord had not been misinformed. The fine entrance, with its
fifteenth century Spanish coat of arms over the Moorish portal, was kept
by two civil guards. I walked up, and with the air of a tourist, inquired
how soon the palace would be open to visitors. The men could not tell me.
Was the Duke ill? They believed so. And as I could get nothing further
from them I walked away.
Above, on the hill, clustered the red towers of the Alhambra. I fancied
that in those towers there must be windows which overlooked the _patio_ of
Boabdil’s old palace, and I resolved to prove this presently, but I was
not yet ready to leave the Albaicín.
I had brought down my Kodak as an excuse for lingering, and now I began,
within sight of Carmona’s doors, to take leisurely snapshots. When I had
been thus engaged for nearly half an hour, I saw a young woman, evidently
a servant, leaving the palace with a small bundle under her arm; and
without appearing to notice her, I strolled in the direction she was
taking. Once beyond eyeshot of the civil guards, I spoke to the girl,
taking off my hat politely.
“You are from the Duke of Carmona’s?” I said. “I am an acquaintance of
his, and intended to call, but I hear he is seeing no one.”
“That is true, señor,” replied the girl, a handsome creature of the gypsy
type, with bold eyes which took in every detail of my features and
clothing. “His Grace arrived very fatigued and is obliged to lie in bed;
which is inconvenient, as there are foreign guests who must be so
constantly entertained by Her Grace the Duchess, that she has no time to
nurse her son.”
“I trust he has a clever doctor,” said I.
“Oh, a very clever one,” the girl answered eagerly. “Not an ordinary
physician, but a wonderful person. My brother knows him well, and goes
into the Sierra to find herbs and flowers for his medicines and balsams.”
Evidently the girl was proud of the acquaintance, and I humoured her.
“Such remedies are good in cases of fever and malaria,” I said.
“And for many other things,” she persisted. “His Grace has contracted some
poisoning of the hand. I do not know how; but he is better already, and
will no doubt soon be well. If the señor would care to send a line of
sympathy, I might arrange for it to reach the Duke. At present not even
the most intimate friends are admitted, but I am in the confidence of Her
Grace’s maid, who came with her from Seville. Indeed I’m now on the way to
do an errand for her.”
I caught at this opening.
“I should like to send a note,” I said, “but not to the Duke.”
Having got so far, I took a roll of bank-notes from my pocket, as we
strolled slowly on together. A young woman so anxious to convey an
impression of her own importance, must have ambitions beyond her place in
life.
The dark face sparkled at sight of the money, and tactfully I explained
that my principal interest centred in a young guest of the Duchess’s. Any
person who could take word from me to her, unknown to others, would be
well rewarded. I should not think five hundred pesetas too much, to give
for such a service.
A hint was enough. In an instant the girl became a woman of business and a
mistress of intrigue. She would not, she said, dare attempt to deliver a
note. It would be simpler, less dangerous for all concerned, to be at work
in a corridor through which the English señorita must pass; to murmur a
few words which would attract her attention; to receive a verbal message
in return; and to bring it to me when she could—not to-day; that would be
impossible; but to-morrow evening about nine, at which time she had
already permission to go out.
Should I trust her? Her face was one to inspire a man’s admiration rather
than trust, but I had no alternative. If I surrendered this chance, I
should hardly find another as promising; and as I must depend upon someone
in Carmona’s house, why not upon this woman? The bribe I offered was
tempting enough to keep her true, if anything could.
I hesitated no more than a moment in accepting her amendment of my
proposal, since she assured me it was impossible to make an appointment
sooner. And the message I sent Monica was cautiously worded.
The friends who had seen her last in the cathedral of Seville were anxious
to see her again, and begged that she would arrange to meet them as soon
as possible, to carry out the plan which had been interrupted.
The girl repeated these words after me, promised to remember them and give
me the answer to-morrow night at nine, in case any message were entrusted
to her. We were not to meet at the same place, however, but on the
Alhambra Hill, in the road leading up from the “Wasinton” (as she called
the hotel) to the Carmen de Mata Moros. She had a brother living not far
from there, she said, whom she expected to visit the following evening. I
offered half the money in advance as an incentive to loyalty, and it was
accepted with dignity. Then, when we were parting, I asked if one could
see into the palace _patio_ from the Alhambra, which towered above us on
the height.
“From the middle window of the Sala de Ambajadores the señor will find
himself able to see very well,” she answered. “And there is still another
_patio_, into which there is a better view from the gardens of the
Generalife. Certainly the gardens are very high and far; but if the señor
has a spy-glass of some sort? And if he chooses I can try to tell the
young lady that he will be first in one place, then in the other, hoping
for a sight of her. Let us say, in the afternoon between four and six at
the Alhambra; after that, at the Generalife, till the sun is gone.”
This neat plan was worth an extra twenty-five peseta note, and I gave it.
Afterwards, having no other personal affairs to distract my attention, I
wandered through the streets of Granada and into the chill cathedral
before going up to make acquaintance with the Carmen de Mata Moros.
When I had seen the villa, with its enchanting terraced garden, hanging on
the hillside high above the Vega, a wild hope blazed within me that I
might snatch Monica, persuade the English Consul to marry us, and keep her
here for the honeymoon, flaunting my happiness in Carmona’s face. Of
course the idea was fantastic, but it gave me a few moments of happiness.
I lunched in the garden under the thick shade of _nisperos_ trees, and
before the time agreed upon I started to walk to the Alhambra.
Not for worlds would I have taken a guide to show the way. All my life,
since the days when my mother told me legends of treasure hidden and
Moorish warriors enchanted, the Alhambra had been a fairy dream to me.
There was no one in the world, save only Monica, whose company I would
have craved for this expedition. Other people’s thoughts and impressions
of the place might be better than mine, but I did not want to hear them; I
wanted only my own.
Under the huge leaning elms, which people who trust guide-books attribute
to Wellington, I wandered until I came to a great red tower, with a
horseshoe arch for entrance. There on the keystone was the carved hand;
beyond, over the arch within, the key; and remembering the legend that
never would disaster come until the Hand had grasped the Key, I knew that
this must be the Gate of Justice.
Now, a spell fell upon me. It was as if the Hand had come down to touch me
on the shoulder, and give the Key to hidden wonders, which only I might be
allowed to see. That was the fiction with which I pleased myself; for he
who comes to the most famous of places is as truly a discoverer as he who