Blanco nodded.
"There is no charge they can make against him," he mused. "They cannot bring him back because the government cannot admit its peril. Outwardly his bill of health is clean. Assuredly when they let him slip, Señor, they committed a grave error."
Benton rose and paced the deck in deep reflection. At last he halted and spread his hands in a gesture half-despairing.
"My God!" he said in a low voice. "The anxiety will drive me mad! You saw their methods. An entire cortége was to be blown into the air—just to kill Karyl. Next time, what will they attempt?" He broke off with a shudder.
"I have seen the Queen," said Blanco slowly.
Benton wheeled. For an instant his face lighted, then he leaned forward. He said nothing, but his whole attitude was a question.
"You behold in me, Sir Manuel Blanco," began the Andalusian grandly. Then, slipping his arm through that of the other man, he began leading him around the deck. When he had finished his narrative, he said: "I begin my office as Ambassador by delivering this packet." From his pocket he produced the paper-wrapped rose. "I was instructed to give it to you at some future time. Possibly, Señor, I am over-prompt. Lawyers and diplomats should be deliberate."
The Mediterranean day had died slowly from east to west while the men had talked, and the last shred of glowing sky was darkening into the sea at the edge of the world astern, when Benton greedily thrust out his hand for the packet.
"Gracias," he said bluntly, and turning away went precipitously to his cabin.
After dinner, when the Captain had betaken himself to the bridge and the smoke from the Spaniard's cigarettes and Benton's pipe had begun to wreathe clouds against the ceiling-beams, Blanco broached his diplomacy.