Benton halted so close to the water's edge that a bit of sea-weed was washed up close to his feet. "Any threat to the throne of Galavia now is also a threat to Her. We must learn what these Powers purpose doing." He threw back his shoulders and his step quickened with the resolution of fresh action.
"Besides," he supplemented, "Delgado is a dreaming degenerate! We must get back into the game."
The Spaniard laughed. "As you say, Señor. After all, this mere cruising grows monotonous. Playing the game is better."
When, at twilight that evening, the launch came chugging back to the yacht with the mail from Naples, Benton caught sight of a blue envelope in which he recognized the form of the Italian telegraph. He tore it open and his brows contracted in incredulous wonderment as he read the message.
"Miss Carstow and two other ladies arrive Parker's Hotel Naples Tuesday afternoon. Rely on your meeting her with yacht. She will explain. Be ready to sail immediately on arrival. Address reply Pagratide, care Grand Palace Hotel."
Benton smiled almost happily as he scrawled, in reply, "Isis and self at Miss Carstow's service. Waiting under steam. Benton."