It was this hasty judgment of Wenceslas and his political associates which had delayed further consideration of the objectionable measure for six years. But the interim had seen his party enormously strengthened, himself in control of the See, and his preparations completed for turning the revolt, whenever it should come, to his own great advantage. He had succeeded in holding the Church party aloof from actual participation in politics during the present crisis. And he was now keeping it in constant readiness to throw its tremendous influence to whichever side should offer the greatest inducements.
Time passed. The measure dragged. Congress dallied; and then prepared to adjourn. Wenceslas received a code message from his agent in Bogotá that the measure would be laid on the table. At the same time came a sharp prod from New York. The funds had been provided to finance the impending revolution. The concessions to be granted were satisfactory. Why the delay? Had the Church party exaggerated its influence upon Congress?
Wenceslas stormed aloud. “Santa Virgen!” he muttered, as he paced angrily back and forth in his study. “A curse upon Congress! A curse––”
He stopped still. In the midst of his imprecations an idea occurred to him. He went to his escritorio and drew out the Legate’s recent report. “Ah,” he mused, “that pig-headed Alcalde. And the good little Josè. They may serve. Bien, we shall see.”
Then he summoned his secretary and dictated telegrams to Bogotá and New York, and a long letter to the Alcalde of Simití. These finished, he called a young acolyte in waiting.
“Take a message to the Governor,” he commanded. “Say to His Excellency that I shall, call upon him at three this afternoon, to discuss matters of gravest import.” Dismissing his secretary, he leaned back in his chair and dropped into a profound revery.
Shortly before the hour which he had set for conference with the Departmental Governor, Wenceslas rose and went to his escritorio, from which he took a paper-bound book.
“H’m,” he commented aloud. “‘Confessions of a Roman Catholic Priest.’ Bien, I was correct in my surmise that I should some day have use for this little volume. Poor, misguided Rincón! But––Bien, I think it will do––I think it will do.”
A smile played over his handsome, imperious face. Then he snapped the book shut and took up his hat. At the door he hesitated a moment, with his hand on the knob.