This was the best I could do at the moment, though, if the bomb was made with picric acid, I had accomplished nothing. I could only hope; and pressing on I came up with Ropes, who had collared his man and jammed him against a wall.
Not a sound had the wretch uttered. He knew that, if he resisted, he would be instantly denounced and torn to pieces by a crowd not likely to wait for clear proof of such an accusation. Since he had failed, it was better to trust to the mercy of his captor and of the police than to the thousands wild with enthusiasm for the King. Fortunately for him, as for us, the crowd had something better to do than stop to watch what they took for some trifling private quarrel.
“He tried to knife me,” said Ropes; “but I stopped that. Knife's in my pocket. What next, sir?”
It was characteristic that he did not ask what the man had done.
“Give the brute up to the police,” I answered in English. “He was with another chap whom I've lost, in a plot to throw a bomb at the royal box; and the bomb's in this water-jar.”
For the first time Ropes' face lost its imperturbable expression. “What, sir!” he exclaimed, “after your troubles—excuse my mentioning them—you concern yourself in an affair like this!”
“I've no choice. We can't let this beast escape. If they have him, the police may get his mate. He looks a coward and sneak.”
“Beg pardon, sir, you have a choice. I've got the man. Give me the jar with the bomb, and I'll take the whole thing on my shoulders with the police, though it's a shame you should lose [pg 253]the credit. I've a clean bill; chauffeur to Mr. R. Waring, American newspaper correspondent. No need to bring you into it.”
“If you're blown up by the bomb—”
“Would get blown up just the same sticking to you, for I would stick like a burr, sir. (Now, no good wriggling, you beast, or gabbling about a mistake. There's no mistake, and you won't get away!) Better tell him what's in that jar, sir—my Spanish doesn't run as far—and that'll quiet him.”