Blanco noted the coming of evening and realized that it would be well to reach the level of the city before dark. He knew that if Lapas was to be turned over to Karyl's authorities, steps to that end should be taken before he was discovered and released by those of his own faction. He accordingly made his way back to the gate.
Benton was still standing, looking down the alley-way which ran between the half ruined lines of masonry. His shoulders unconsciously sagged.
The Spaniard approached quietly and stood for a moment unwilling to interrupt, then in a low voice touched with that affectionate note which men are not ashamed to show even to other men in the Latin countries, he said: "Señor Benton!"
The American turned and put out his hand, grasping that of the toreador. His grip said what his lips left unworded.
"Dios mio!" exclaimed Blanco with a black scowl. "We saved the King, but we bought his life and his throne too high! He cost too dear!"
"Blanco," Benton spoke with difficulty, "I have brought you with me and you have asked no questions. The story is not mine to tell."
The Andalusian raised a hand in protestation.
"It is not necessary that you tell me anything, Señor. I have seen enough. And I know the King was not worth the price."
Benton shook his head. "Are you going on with me, now that you know what you know?"
"Señor, it grieves me that you should ask. I told you I was at your disposition." The Spaniard went on talking rapidly, talking with lips and eyes and gesture. "When you came to Cadiz and took me with you on the small steamer, I did not ask why. I thought it was as Americans are interested in all things—or perhaps because the many million pesetas of the Señor's fortune might be affected by changing the map of Europe. No matter. You were interested. It was enough."