One evening, as I entered Dom Miguel’s library, I found myself face to face with a strange visitor. He did not wear a mask, as did so many of the conspirators, even in the chief’s presence; but a long black cloak swept in many folds from his neck to his feet.

My first thought was to marvel at his size, for he was considerably above six feet in height and finely proportioned, so that his presence fairly dominated us and made the furnishings of the room in which he stood seem small and insignificant.

As I entered, he stood with his back to the fireplace confronting Dom Miguel, whose face wore a sad and tired expression. I immediately turned to withdraw, but a gesture from the stranger arrested me.

“Robert,” said Dom Miguel, “I present you to General Manuel Deodoro da Fonseca.”

I bowed profoundly. General Fonseca was not only a commander of the Emperor’s royal army, but Chief Marshal of the forces of the Revolutionary party. I had never seen the great man before, as his duties required his constant presence at the capital; but no figure loomed larger than his in the affairs of the conspiracy.

Seldom have I met with a keener or more disconcerting glance than that which shot from his full black eyes as I stood before him. It seemed to search out my every thought, and I had the sensation of being before a judge who would show no mercy to one who strove to dissemble in his presence.

But the glance was brief, withal. In a moment he had seized my hand and gripped it painfully. Then he turned to Dom Miguel.

“Let me hear the rest of your story,” said he.

“There is nothing more, General. Izabel has learned my secret, it is true; but she is my daughter. I will vouch for her faith.”

“Then will not I!” returned Fonseca, in his deep, vibrant tones. “Never have I believed the tale of her estrangement from that scoundrel, Leon de Mar. Men are seldom traitors, for they dare not face the consequences. Women have no fear of man or devil. They are daughters of Delilah—each and every one.”

He turned suddenly to me.

“Will you also vouch for Senhora Izabel de Mar?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

“And quite right, sir,” he returned, with a grim smile. “Never trust a woman in politics. But how about Francisco Paola? Do you vouch for him?”

I hesitated, startled by the question.

“Answer me!” he commanded.

“I cannot see that I am required to vouch for any one, General,” said I, nettled by his manner. “I am here to serve the Cause, not to judge the loyalty of its leaders.”

“Ugh!” said he, contemptuously; and I turned my back upon him, facing Dom Miguel, over whose features a fleeting smile passed.

Fonseca stalked up and down the apartment, his sword clanking beneath his cloak, and his spurs clicking like castanets. Then he planted his huge figure before the chief.

“Watch them both,” said he brusquely; “your daughter and your friend. They are aware of our most important secrets.”

De Pintra’s face reddened.

“Francisco is true as steel,” he retorted, firmly. “Not one of us—including yourself, General—has done more to serve the Cause. I have learned to depend upon his discretion as I would upon my own—or yours.”

The general frowned and drew a folded paper from his breast pocket.

“Read that,” said he, tossing it into Dom Miguel’s hand. “It is a copy of the report made by Paola to the Emperor this morning.”

De Pintra glanced at the paper and then gave it to me, at the same time dropping his head in his hands.

I read the report. It stated that the Minister of Police had discovered the existence of a secret vault constructed beneath the mansion of Miguel de Pintra, the rebel chief. This vault, the police thought, contained important records of the conspiracy. It was built of double plates of steel, and the entrance was guarded by a cleverly constructed door, which could only be unlocked by means of a stone set in a ring which was constantly worn by Dom Miguel himself. In conclusion the minister stated that every effort was being made to secure possession of the ring, when the rebels would be at the Emperor’s mercy.

“Well, sir, what do you think of Francisco Paola now?” inquired Fonseca, with a significant smile.

“Did he not himself invent the secret vault?” I asked.

“He did, sir.”

“How long ago.”

“A matter of two years. Is it not so, Dom Miguel?”

The chief bowed.

“And until now Paola has kept this secret?” I continued.

“Until now, yes!” said the general. “Until the vault was stored with all our funds and the complete records of the revolution.”

“Then it seems clear to me that Paola, as Minister of Police, has been driven to make this report in order to serve the Cause.”

Dom Miguel looked up at me quickly, and the huge general snorted and stabbed me with his terrible eyes.

“What do you mean?” demanded Fonseca.

“This report proves, I fear, that our suspicions of Madam Izabel are well founded,” I explained, not daring to look at Dom Miguel while I accused his daughter. “Paola has doubtless discovered that this information regarding the vault and its mysterious key has either been forwarded to the Emperor or is on the way to him. Therefore he has forestalled Madam Izabel’s report, in order that he may prove his department vigilant in serving the government, and so protect his high office. Can you not see that Paola’s claim that he is working to secure the ring is but a ruse to gain time for us? Really, he knows that he could obtain it by arresting Dom Miguel. But this report will prevent the Emperor putting his man Valcour upon the case, which he would probably have done had he received his first information from Izabel de Mar.”

For a moment there was silence. Then the general’s brow unbent and he said with cheerfulness:

“This explanation is entirely reasonable. It would not do for Paola to get himself deposed, or even suspected, at this juncture. A new Minister of Police would redouble our danger.”

“How did you obtain this copy of the report?” asked de Pintra.

“From one of our spies.”

“I have no doubt,” said I, “that Paola was instrumental in sending it to you. It is a warning, gentlemen. We must not delay in acting upon it, and removing our treasure and our records to a safer place.”

“And where is that?” asked Fonseca.

I looked at the chief. He sat thoughtfully considering the matter.

“There is no need of immediate haste,” said he presently, “and nothing can be done to-night, in any event. To-morrow we will pack everything in chests and carry them to Senhor Bastro, who has a safe hiding-place. Meantime, General, you may leave me your men to serve as escort. How many are there?”

“Three. They are now guarding the usual approaches to this house.”

“Let them ride with you to the station at Cruz, and send them back to me in the morning. I will also summon some of our nearby patriots. By noon to-morrow everything will be ready for the transfer.”

“Very good!” ejaculated the general. “We cannot abandon too soon the vault we constructed with so much care. Where is your daughter?”

“In her apartments.”

“Before you leave to-morrow, lock her up and put a guard at her door. We must not let her suspect the removal of the records.”

“It shall be done,” answered de Pintra, with a sigh. “It may be,” he continued, hesitatingly, “that my confidence in Izabel has been misplaced.”

The general did not reply. He folded his cloak about him, glanced at the clock, and strode from the room without a word of farewell.

When he had gone Dom Miguel turned to me.

“Well?” said he.

“I do not like Fonseca,” I answered.

“As a man he is at times rather disagreeable,” admitted the chief. “But as a general he possesses rare ability, and his high station renders him the most valuable leader the Cause can boast. Moreover, Fonseca has risked everything in our enterprise, and may be implicitly trusted. When at last we strike our great blow for freedom, much will depend upon Manuel da Fonseca. And now, Robert, let us retire, for an hour before daybreak we must be at work.”

It was then eleven o’clock. I bade the chief good night and retired to my little room next the study. Dom Miguel slept in a similar apartment opening from the opposite side of the study.

The exciting interview with Fonseca had left me nervous and wakeful, and it was some time before I sank into a restless slumber.

A hand upon my shoulder aroused me.

It was Dom Miguel.

“Come quick, for God’s sake!” he cried, in trembling tones. “She has stolen my ring!”