Tino seemed very uncomfortable to find himself alone with me. But I conversed with him as good humoredly as though I had never told him what I should do to him in the event of his misbehavior under my roof. And we got on well enough.
He had mean eyes, however, and a fussy, jerky, nervous manner, yet furtive for all that. An odd monarch with the most false face, except for Ferdinand's, that I had ever beheld, though at first encounter one might easily be deceived and take him for what he pretended to be—a bluff, noisy, unceremonious, and somewhat coarse soldier with his tête-de-militaire and his allure and vocabulary of the Caserne.
"We've some friends arriving to-day," he said. "Did my wife tell you?"
"Somebody mentioned it yesterday, I believe."
"Well, they'll be here to-day, so fix them up snugly, O'Ryan."
"The rain may prevent them from starting," I suggested.
"Rain or no rain they'll be here," he repeated, lighting a strong cigarette.
He went away presently upstairs. And I did not doubt they would all have their noses together in a few moments discussing whatever crisis had brought them to this lonely little valley without escort or servants and carefully camouflaged.
I went into the living-room where Smith sat reading.
"What the devil," said I, "has brought these Kings here, Smith? Can you guess?"