Lieutenant Mozara looked straight in the elder man's eyes.
"You mean the Princess Miranda, Dasso."
The other looked up quickly.
"Ah, then you have heard?"
"I have heard enough to know that. I have played the spy well," and the sallow face lit up with an evil grin. "I have suspected the facts for two days now."
He drew his chair closer to Dasso's.
"And what is more, they are waiting for the same signal as you are. When the guns at the Palace boom out the death—well—it'll be the devil take the hindmost."
Gabriel Dasso rose and paced nervously up and down the room, biting his moustache. It seemed to him that here was a grave danger, and he cursed the luck that had brought Miranda to life at the time when his plans seemed so prosperous—when success seemed assured. Then a thought occurred to him and he pulled up sharp before the man who was sitting drumming his fingers on the table.
"It seems to me, Gaspar, that you have taken up my cudgels very thoroughly. Your expression when you spoke of her Royal Highness wasn't a very pretty one. You don't like the lady, eh?"
"No, curse her—I don't."