My intention was to make one condition—that Miralda, her mother, the visconte, Vasco and, if possible, Dagara, should be pardoned for their complicity in the affair. They had been forced into the net by Barosa’s tortuous cunning, and that I could prove if put to it.
I felt that I had a perfect right to impose such a condition as the price of my services. I had thwarted the abduction plot, and my own experiences proved that, but for me, nothing would have saved the king. Moreover, I had risked my life—had very nearly lost it, indeed—and, although I had chosen my own method instead of turning informer in advance, that was my own concern. But the result had been entirely successful, for it had led to my taking a batch of the men in it red-handed.
In making this decision to go at once to Volheno, I had none but personal considerations. I had no interest in the political issues involved in the struggle between the Throne and the people. They were nothing to me. The Government managed their own affairs in their own way; and if I had been fool enough to have offered them suggestions, they would have laughed at me for an impertinent interfering puppy.
At the same time, the part of informer was a profoundly hateful one to play, and if I could have gained my end as easily and safely by dealing direct with Barosa, I should have preferred that method.
But he was too dangerous a man. I had far too high an opinion of his ability, shrewdness and resource to believe for an instant that I could pit myself against him. It was much more by accident than anything else that I had obtained the whip-hand over him now; and it would be sheer folly to run the risk of giving him an opportunity to outwit me, when a word to Volheno would lay him by the heels.
I took Bryant and Simmons ashore with me. I sent the latter up to my rooms and, as I deemed it best not to go about alone, I drove with Bryant to Miralda’s house and left him in the carriage to wait for me.
My anxiety on Miralda’s account rendered me nervously uneasy. This feeling quickened into alarm when the servant told me she was not in the house. The viscontesse was at home and I sent a message begging her to see me at once.
The instant she entered the room I read ill news in her manner and looks. She was greatly agitated, her face was white and drawn, her eyes full of trouble, and she appeared both surprised and angry to see me. She drew back and would not take my hand. “You asked for me, Mr. Donnington? I wonder you dare to come here, sir.”
“Dare to come?” I repeated, bewildered by this reception.
“Why is not Miralda with you?”