“That girl in white,” John said, “is the prettiest little thing I ever saw—appealing. Poor child, she looks dazed.”
A short man in a red blouse began shouting then, others echoed him, “Conrad, Conrad! Maria Lalena is dead—Impostor—Conrad! Conrad!”
And Conrad, slim and black on the Cathedral steps, seemed to grow in height. The crowd moved and swayed and pushed and shouted. They were growing more and more excited. In their efforts to get a better view, the people left a lane in front of our car.
“There’s your chance,” I urged. “Start the car, and let’s get away, now.”
“It’s a fine show, free,” John objected.
“It’s not going to be free, long,” I said. “There are a lot of police over there, and if they start getting ugly we’ll probably spend a month or so in a smelly jail for having been present, though foreign.”
“All right,” John agreed, and started the engine. Little by little he inched his way along. Our interpreter lost his hat and jumped off our running board. A woman with a baby took his place. The baby was crying. The woman’s hair had come unpinned, and covered her shoulders in a dark curly mass, not too clean. The car crawled along slowly, stopped, rolled on for another slow foot or two. Not far to the right a narrow alley opened, leading apparently to some back door in one of the government buildings. The turbulence grew. Conrad was speaking again, but we could not understand him. Then there were more people coming up the alley, but they were so anxious to see that they ran around the car, and let us through, foot by foot: we obstructed their view.
It was almost half a city block down the alley, which was practically a tunnel. The corner was difficult. Probably ours was the first car that had attempted it, but by edging forward and back, and bending one mudguard a little, we made it. Then a few feet and we were in a street again, a street we might have thought crowded an hour ago. However, we could get through it slowly, and then, quite suddenly, there was no more crowd, only scattered, running figures, all going the same way, toward the square, the Princess, Conrad, and the Queen.
“Do you suppose we can get food in this town?” John asked. I didn’t. The whole population seemed to be either in the square or on its way there. Every house and shop was closed and barred.
“Barricaded inside as well is my guess,” John said, “for there’s very likely to be a lot of trouble for someone here tonight unless something is done to stop it. Yolanda has played a trump, but now it’s Conrad’s turn, and he talked to the crowd as though he knew what he was about. If he wants the throne, and he isn’t assassinated, I’m betting on him, for all of Maria Lalena’s pretty, childish appeal.”