"You know what they say here in Corbo, that it was I who engineered the affair of fifteen years ago. They even hint that I took an active part in the doings at the palace on that night. Well, they are not far wrong. It was I who did the majority of the work, seeing that my followers faltered at the last moment. I had too much at stake to risk failure. I had worked hard, believing that the choice of the people would fall on me, failing a direct heir. It did; I was made Dictator, and for a few brief weeks I tasted the fruits of power.
"But Spain was stronger than I, and my crime—my political crime—went for nothing. Enrico was placed where I would sit, and now he is at last paying the penalty of his licentious and foolish mode of life. The King is dying."
For a moment the lieutenant was interested in spite of himself.
"But his nephew will——"
Señor Dasso rose and snapped his fingers.
"That for him. What do the people think or even know of him, a man who has hardly been seen by them, a man who hates San Pietro and all in it—including his uncle? I understand he is in Africa shooting lions at this present moment. When he hears of his uncle's death it will be too late."
"But Spain?"
"Spain has her own troubles now, and I have information that a little diplomacy is all that is needed. It is my hour and I will want help—I will want dirty work done. To-night I saw my chance when I noticed that your cards were marked. I took it, as I take all chances."
"What is it you want of me?"
"There will be many things. First I want you to watch and tell me all about these English people, Miss Bax—Baxendale and her Mr. Sydney. I want you to——"