The station agent was known to me as a patriot, but he was still bobbing his head after the royal party when I accosted him.
“Get me a horse, Pedro.”
“A horse! Ah, your excellency is joking. Every horse that could be found has been impressed by the Emperor.”
“Anything will do. A nag of any sort, with saddle or cart, will answer my purpose. The Cause demands it, Pedro.”
“I am powerless, your excellency. Absolutely powerless!”
It was true enough. The only way for me to get to de Pintra’s mansion was on foot, and after inducing the man to give me a peasant’s dress in exchange for my police uniform, I set out at once.
It was a long and gloomy walk. There was a moon, but large banks of clouds were drifting across the sky, and the way was obscured more than half the time, causing me to go slowly in order to avoid stumbling into the ditches.
I met no one on the road, for the highways were usually deserted at this hour, and the silence all about me added its depressing influence to the anxiety of my thoughts.
The Emperor’s advent into this stronghold of the Revolution indicated that at last he had determined to act and suppress the conspiracy that had grown to such huge proportions. With the real leader—“the brains of the revolt,” as de Pintra was called—out of the way, Dom Pedro doubtless had concluded he could easily crush the remainder of the conspirators.
But his success, I argued, would depend upon his securing the key to the secret vault, for without that the records would never come into his possession.