“After them—after them!” one of the young men who had fought so brilliantly shouted now to the civil guards. “Don't let them get away.”
For the first time I looked at him with seeing eyes. Then, I could hardly stifle an exclamation. It was the King.
He gave me back look for look, smiling that brave and charming smile which has magic in it to transform an enemy into a loyal servant.
I had my cap off now, and so had Dick, who wore the jaunty air I had seen him wear in more than one battle.
“I have to thank you both,” said the King. “And—not for the first time. Our cars, as well as ourselves, have met before. Wasn't it—near Biarritz?”
I felt the blood stream up to the roots of my hair. “Your Majesty has a King's memory for faces,” I stammered.
“There are faces one doesn't forget,” said he. “But we'll talk of that presently. Now we have work here.”
The King's companion was already down on one knee by the side of the chauffeur, pouring aguardiente from a flask into the man's half-open mouth. As for the fellow I had hit, I was sure that he would presently come round, but little the worse for wear; [pg 278]and I suggested that Dick and I find a rope in the car, which would bind him and the two other half-disabled ones. But the King would not let us work alone. He did as much as we, and more, before we were joined by the young officer who was his friend.
Discouraged and weak from loss of blood, as well as the loss of their carbines and their comrades, the wounded brigands made no further fight. But they were silent, save for a muttered oath or two, and I made up my mind that the true secret of this morning's work would never be torn from them.
For there was, of course, a secret. The King, who had not the clue which I held, saw that, and wondered why the brigands had not wished at first to shoot us. Plainly, their plan had been to make captives.