And then he grew a little more subtle.
“There is another point, Mr. Donnington. We shall necessarily take more interest than heretofore in your movements.”
“I am quite indifferent about that,” I replied. “You may quarter your agents in my rooms and on my yacht, if you wish.”
“I don’t mean any such thing as you imply. But you have certain friends in Lisbon, and——”
“On your introduction,” I reminded him.
“There is, for instance, the Visconte de Linto.”
“To whom I was presented by the Marquis de Pinsara.”
“Some of his family were known to you previously. The whole of that family occupy a somewhat peculiar position. You may have heard that the visconte filled for some years a Court position with a good emolument and no duties. M. Franco has put an end to that—as in so many other cases—and this has produced both discontent and bitterness in some quarters. Between such discontent and actual disaffection, the gap is small; and we cannot help being impressed by a coincidence where we find close friendly relations between some such family and a foreigner who suddenly acquires such dangerous information as you yourself possess.”
“If you mean that my acquaintance is likely to prejudice them in any way, it shall cease. But it is a mare’s nest—nothing more.”
“The prejudice might be against you, Mr. Donnington. The position of that family is—peculiar. The visconte is angry and embittered by the loss of his salary. His wife is indiscreet and has often spoken against the Government in very strong terms. The son is a lieutenant in the one regiment in Lisbon some of whose officers are not wholly free from a suspicion of disaffection. And the daughter, a very charming young lady, is engaged to marry another officer of the same regiment and, further, has one or two friends—one especially—who is something of an enigma. Then you arrive, and—well, you can draw the inference.”