This unexpected development was of course all in my favour, although there were some days of acute anxiety and suspense.
So soon as I was in possession of the needed proofs that Quesada's death was due to murder from private motives and was not an assassination in any way concerning the Carlists, I had been confident enough of ultimate success to take Sarita back to Madrid, place her again with Madame Chansette, and then open up communications with the Duke of Novarro.
From my first interview with him I brought away a piece of sorrowful news for Sarita. Her brother was dead. He had been shot at Daroca in the act of escaping from the police who had arrested him. Her grief was very deep, but Ramon's death severed the family tie which bound her to Spain; and when the first pangs of sorrow had passed, it came to be accepted between us that if the amnesty for the Carlists was secured she would go with us to England.
Then, just as matters appeared to be going well, an unexpected thing occurred. I had received a summons to attend at the Palace one day, and went down to tell the others, and as I entered Mrs. Curwen's room I heard her say:
"I'm glad the tornado's over, Mercy. It's a blessing we shall all go back safe and sound to England. Your brother's a regular storm-centre."
"I think the storm-centre is moving at last, and across the Atlantic, as the weather people say, Mrs. Curwen," I said, referring to the war news.
"Ah, did you hear me, Lord Glisfoyle; but you seem to be the storm-centre. Have you brought any more little volcanoes or blizzards with you now? I shall always think of a cyclone when I think of you," she declared, laughing.
"I am summoned to the Palace this afternoon, and hope, with you, to find the tornado is over."
"Have you any news of Sarita's matters then?"
"None, but I expect to hear everything this afternoon. Did you see Dolores Quesada this morning, Mercy?"