The habit of reading having penetrated, as we are told, to all classes of the community, I am not without hope that some who peruse this chronicle will be able, from personal experience, to understand the feelings of a man when he first finds a reward offered for his apprehension. It is true that our police are not in the habit of imitating the President’s naked brutality by expressly adding “Alive or Dead,” but I am informed that the law, in case of need, leaves the alternative open to the servants of justice. I am not ashamed to confess that my spirits were rather dashed by his Excellency’s Parthian shot, and I could see that the colonel himself was no less perturbed. The escape of Fleance seemed to Macbeth to render his whole position unsafe, and no one who knew General Whittingham will doubt that he was a more dangerous opponent than Fleance. We both felt, in fact, as soon as we saw the white sail of The Songstress bearing our enemy out of our reach, that the revolution could not yet be regarded as safely accomplished. But the uncertainty of our tenure of power did not paralyze our energies; on the contrary, we determined to make hay while the sun shone, and, if Aureataland was doomed to succumb once more to tyranny, I, for one, was very clear that her temporary emancipation might be turned to good account.

Accordingly, on arriving again at the Golden House, we lost no time in instituting a thorough inquiry into the state of the public finances. We ransacked the house from top to bottom and found nothing! Was it possible that the President had carried off with him all the treasure that had inspired our patriotic efforts? The thought was too horrible. The drawers of his escritoire and the safe that stood in his library revealed nothing to our eager eyes. A foraging party, dispatched to the Ministry of Finance (where, by the way, they did not find Don Antonio or his fair daughter), returned with the discouraging news that nothing was visible but ledgers and bills (not negotiable securities—the other sort). In deep dejection I threw myself into his Excellency’s chair and lit one of his praiseworthy cigars with the doleful reflection that this pleasure seemed all I was likely to get out of the business. The colonel stood moodily with his back to the fireplace, looking at me as if I were responsible for the state of things.

At this point in came the signorina. We greeted her gloomily, and she was as startled as ourselves at the news of the President’s escape; at the same time I thought I detected an undercurrent of relief, not unnatural if we recollect her personal relations with the deposed ruler. When, however, we went on to break to her the nakedness of the land, she stopped us at once.

“Oh, you stupid men! you haven’t looked in the right place. I suppose you expected to find it laid out for you on the dining-room table. Come with me.”

We followed her into the room where Carr lay. He was awake, and the signorina went and asked him how he was. Then she continued:

“We shall have to disturb you for a few minutes, Mr. Carr. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Must I get out of bed?” asked Johnny.

“Certainly not while I’m here,” said the signorina. “You’ve only got to shut your eyes and lie still; but we’re going to make a little noise.”

There was in the room, as perhaps might be expected, a washing-stand. This article was of the description one often sees; above the level of the stand itself there rose a wooden screen to the height of two feet and a half, covered with pretty tiles, the presumable object being to protect the wall paper. I never saw a more innocent-looking bit of furniture; it might have stood in a lady’s dressing-room. The signorina went up to it and slid it gently on one side; it moved in a groove! Then she pressed a spot in the wall behind and a small piece of it rolled aside, disclosing a keyhole.

“He’s taken the key, of course,” she said. “We must break it open. Who’s got a hammer?”

Tools were procured, and, working under the signorina’s directions, after a good deal of trouble, we laid bare a neat little safe embedded in the wall. This safe was legibly inscribed on the outside “Burglar’s Puzzle.” We however, were not afraid of making a noise, and it only puzzled us for ten minutes.

When opened it revealed a Golconda! There lay in securities and cash no less than five hundred thousand dollars!

We smiled at one another.

“A sad revelation!” I remarked.

“Hoary old fox!” said the colonel.

No wonder the harbor works were unremunerative in their early stages. The President must have kept them at a very early stage.

“What are you people up to?” cried Carr.

“Rank burglary, my dear boy,” I replied, and we retreated with our spoil.

“Now,” said I to the colonel, “what are you going to do?”

“Why, what do you think, Mr. Martin?” interposed the signorina. “He’s going to give you your money, and divide the rest with his sincere friend Christina Nugent.”

“Well, I suppose so,” said the colonel. “But it strikes me you’re making a good thing of this, Martin.”

“My dear colonel,” said I, “a bargain is a bargain; and where would you have been without my money?”

The colonel made no reply, but handed me the money, which I liked much better. I took the three hundred and twenty thousand dollars and said:

“Now, I can face the world, an honest man.”

The signorina laughed.

“I am glad,” she said, “chiefly for poor old Jones’ sake. It’ll take a load off his mind.”

The colonel proceeded to divide the remainder into two little heaps, of which he pushed one over to the signorina. She took it gayly, and said:

“Now I shall make curl papers of half my bonds, and I shall rely on the—what do you call it?—the Provisional Government to pay the rest. You remember about the house?”

“I’ll see about that soon,” said the colonel impatiently. “You two seem to think there’s nothing to do but take the money. You forget we’ve got to make our position safe.”

“Exactly. The colonel’s government must be carried on,” said I. — The signorina did not catch the allusion. She yawned, and said:

“Oh, then, I shall go. Rely on my loyalty, your Excellency.”

She made him a courtesy and went to the door. As I opened it for her she whispered, “Horrid old bear! Come and see me, Jack,” and so vanished, carrying off her dollars.

I returned and sat down opposite the colonel.

“I wonder how she knew about the washing-stand,” I remarked.

“Because Whittingham was fool enough to tell her, I suppose,” said the colonel testily, as if he disliked the subject.

Then we settled to business. This unambitious tale does not profess to be a complete history of Aureataland, and I will spare my readers the recital of our discussion. We decided at last that matters were still so critical, owing to the President’s escape, that the ordinary forms of law and constitutional government must be temporarily suspended. The Chamber was not in session, which made this course easier. The colonel was to be proclaimed President and to assume supreme power under martial law for some weeks, while we looked about us. It was thought better that my name should not appear officially, but I agreed to take in hand, under his supervision, all matters relating to finance.

“We can’t pay the interest on the real debt,” he said.

“No,” I replied; “you must issue a notice, setting forth that, owing to General Whittingham’s malversations, payments must be temporarily suspended. Promise it will be all right later on.”

“Very good,” said he; “and now I shall go and look up those officers. I must keep them in good temper, and the men too. I shall give ‘em another ten thousand.”

“Generous hero!” said I, “and I shall go and restore this cash to my employers.”

It was twelve o’clock when I left the Golden House and strolled quietly down to Liberty Street. The larger part of the soldiers had been drawn off, but a couple of companies still kept guard in the Piazza. The usual occupations of life were going on amid a confused stir of excitement, and I saw by the interest my appearance aroused that some part at least of my share in the night’s doing had leaked out. The Gazette had published a special edition, in which it hailed the advent of freedom, and, while lauding McGregor to the skies, bestowed a warm commendation on the “noble Englishman who, with a native love of liberty, had taken on himself the burden of Aureataland in her hour of travail.” The metaphor struck me as inappropriate, but the sentiment was most healthy; and when I finally beheld two officers of police sitting on the head of a drunken man for toasting the fallen rigime, I could say to myself, as I turned into the bank, “Order reigns in Warsaw.”

General assent had proclaimed a suspension of commerce on this auspicious day, and I found Jones sitting idle and ill at ease. I explained to him the state of affairs, showing how the President’s dishonorable scheme had compelled me, in the interests of the bank, to take a more or less active part in the revolution. It was pathetic to hear him bewail the villainy of the man he had trusted, and when I produced the money he blessed me fervently, and at once proposed writing to the directors a full account of the matter.

“They are bound to vote you an honorarium, sir,” he said.

“I don’t know, Jones,” I replied. “I am afraid there is a certain prejudice against me at headquarters. But in any case I have resolved to forego the personal advantage that might accrue to me from my conduct. President McGregor has made a strong representation to me that the schemes of General Whittingham, if publicly known, would, however unjustly, prejudice the credit of Aureataland, and he appealed to me not to give particulars to the world. In matters such as these, Jones, we cannot be guided solely by selfish considerations.”

“God forbid, sir!” said Jones, much moved.

“I have, therefore, consented to restrict myself to a confidential communication to the directors; they must judge how far they will pass it on to the shareholders. To the world at large I shall say nothing of the second loan; and I know you will oblige me by treating this money as the product of realizations in the ordinary course of business. The recent disturbances will quite account for so large a sum being called in.”

“I don’t quite see how I can arrange that.”

“Ah, you are overdone,” said I. “Leave it all to me, Jones.”

And this I persuaded him to do. In fact, he was so relieved at seeing the money back that he was easy to deal with; and if he suspected anything, he was overawed by my present exalted position. He appeared to forget what I could not, that the President, no doubt, still possessed that fatal cable!

After lunch I remembered my engagement with the signorina, and, putting on my hat, was bidding farewell to business, when Jones said:

“There’s a note just come for you, sir. A little boy brought it while you were out at lunch.”

He gave it me—a little dirty envelope, with an illiterate scrawl. I opened it carelessly, but as my eye fell on the President’s hand, I started in amazement. The note was dated “Saturday—From on board The Songstress,” and ran as follows:

It is a pleasant thing, as has been remarked, laudari a laudato viro, and the President’s praise was grateful to me. But I did not see my way to fall in with his views. He said nothing about the money, but I knew well that its return would be a condition of any alliance between us. Again, I was sure that he also “designed to marry the signorina,” and, if I must have a rival on the spot, I preferred McGregor in that capacity. Lastly, I thought that, after all, there is a decency in things, and I had better stick to my party. I did not, however, tell McGregor about the letter, merely sending him a line to say I had heard that The Songstress was hovering a few miles off, and he had better look out.

This done, I resumed my interrupted progress to the signorina’s. When I was shown in, she greeted me kindly.

“I have had a letter from the President,” I said.

“Yes,” said she, “he told me he had written to you.”

“Why, have you heard from him?”

“Yes, just a little note. He is rather cross with me.”

“I can quite understand that. Would you like to see my letter?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied carelessly.

She read it through and asked:

“Well, are you going over to him—going to forsake me?”

“How can you ask me? Won’t you show me your letter, Christina?”

“No, John,” she answered, mimicking my impassioned tones. “I may steal the President’s savings, but I respect his confidence.”

“You see what he says to me about McGregor.”

“Yes,” said the signorina. “It is not, you know, news to me. But, curious to relate, the colonel has just been here himself and told me the same thing. The colonel has not a nice way of making love, Jack—not so nice as yours nearly.”

Thus encouraged, I went and sat down by her. I believe I took her hand.

“You don’t love him?”

“Not at all,” she replied.

I must beg to be excused recording the exact terms in which I placed my hand and heart at the signorina’s disposal. I was extremely vehement and highly absurd, but she did not appear to be displeased.

“I like you very much, Jack,” she said, “and it’s very sweet of you to have made a revolution for me. It was for me, Jack?”

“Of course it was, my darling,” I promptly replied.

“But you know, Jack, I don’t see how we’re much better off. Indeed, in a way it’s worse. The President wouldn’t let anybody else marry me, but he wasn’t so peremptory as the colonel. The colonel declares he will marry me this day week!”

“We’ll see about that,” said I savagely.

“Another revolution, Jack?” asked the signorina.

“You needn’t laugh at me,” I said sulkily.

“Poor boy! What are we idyllic lovers to do?”

“I don’t believe you’re a bit in earnest.”

“Yes, I am, Jack—now.” Then she went on, with a sort of playful pity, “Look at my savage, jealous, broken-hearted Jack.”

I caught her in my arms and kissed her, whispering hotly:

“You will be true to me, sweet?”

“Let me go,” she said. Then, leaning over me as I flung myself back in a chair, “It’s pleasant while it lasts; try not to be broken-hearted if it doesn’t last.”

“If you love me, why don’t you come with me out of this sink of iniquity?”

“Run away with you?” she asked, with open amazement. “Do you think that we’re the sort of people, for a romantic elopement? I am very earthy. And so are you, Jack, dear—nice earth, but earth, Jack.”

There was a good deal of truth in this remark. We were not an ideal pair for love in a cottage.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got no money.”

“I’ve got a little money, but not much. I’ve been paying debts,” she added proudly.

“I haven’t been even doing that. And I’m not quite equal to purloining that three hundred thousand dollars.”

“We must wait, Jack. But this I will promise. I’ll never marry the colonel. If it comes to that or running away, we’ll run away.”

“And Whittingham?”

The signorina for once looked grave.

“You know him,” she said. “Think what he made you do! and you’re not a weak man, or I shouldn’t be fond of you. Jack, you must keep him away from me.”

She was quite agitated; and it was one more tribute to the President’s powers that he should exert so strange an influence over such a nature. I was burning to ask her more about herself and the President, but I could not while she was distressed. And when I had comforted her, she resolutely declined to return to the subject.

“No, go away now,” she said. “Think how we are to checkmate our two Presidents. And, Jack! whatever happens, I got you back the money. I’ve done you some good. So be kind to me. I’m not very much afraid of your heart breaking. In fact, Jack, we are neither of us good young people. No, no; be quiet and go away. You have plenty of useful things to occupy your time.”

At last I accepted my dismissal and walked off, my happiness considerably damped by the awkward predicament in which we stood. Clearly McGregor meant business; and at this moment McGregor was all-powerful. If he kept the reins, I should lose my love. If the President came back, a worse fate still threatened. Supposing it were possible to carry off the signorina, which I doubted very much, where were we to go to! And would she come?

On the whole, I did not think she would come.