"Spain, my dear sir, is powerless where an Estrato is concerned. Enrico's nephew even must bow to her claim. Believe me there will be no difficulty; but it is better to be in time and not to allow Dasso to mount the throne at all. It might be harder to dislodge him once there, than we imagine."
The old man paused for a moment and drew his chair nearer to Edward.
"I saw him look at her very hard that evening they met at my house. They say," his voice sank to a whisper, "that Gabriel Dasso's was the hand that struck down the royal victims that night fifteen years ago. It is said that he and one other alone of all the band of conspirators went right through with it. That other, a Señor Orates, shot himself within a week."
"And the people—do they know this?"
Señor Luazo made an expressive gesture with his hands.
"Fifteen years is a long time, Mr. Sydney, and the people of San Pietro have a short memory. There are a few of us old ones, we who knew the king and his queen, who do not forget. We have been unconsciously awaiting this day for fifteen years. I wonder if Dasso saw any likeness when he looked at her? There is a likeness, elusive indeed, but at times I see the eyes of Queen Elene as I have seen them look on those she liked. If Dasso saw it too, he will be dangerous. I would like to come to an issue with Gabriel; regicide that he is, he is received everywhere. His crime has never been brought home to him, and in any case is regarded as a political one. It has made my blood boil, señor, to see him at my table."
Long after Señor Luazo had left, Edward sat gazing into the dying fire. The windows of the library looked inland, and by turning his head he could see the row of lights in the Palace windows. He thought of the dying king and of how the affair that looked at first like being a comedy, might at any moment now develop into a tragedy.