Sir Rupert took the Duchess of Deptford in to dinner. The Duke was expected in a day or two, but just at present was looking after racing schooners at Ryde and Cowes. Ericson had the great satisfaction of having Helena Langley, as the hostess, assigned to him. An exiled Dictator takes almost the rank of an exiled king, and Ericson was delighted with his rank and its one particular privilege just now. He was not in a mood to talk to anybody else, or to be happy with anybody but Helena. To him now all was dross that was not Helena, as to Faust in Marlowe's play. Soame Rivers had charge of Mrs. Sarrasin. Professor Flick was permitted to escort Miss Paulo. Hamilton and Mr. Andrew J. Copping went in without companionship of woman. The dinner was but a small one, and without much of ceremonial.

'One thing I miss here,' the Dictator said to Helena as they sat down, 'I miss To-to.'

'I generally bring him down with me,' Helena said. 'But this time I haven't done so. Be comforted, however; he comes down to-morrow.'

'I never quite know how he understands his position in this household. He conducts himself as if he were your personal property. But he is actually Sir Rupert's dog, is he not?'

'Yes,' Helena answered; 'but it is all quite clear. To-to knows that he belongs to Sir Rupert, but he is satisfied in his own mind that I belong to him.'

'I see,' the Dictator said with a smile. 'I quite understand the situation now. There is no divided duty.'

'Oh, no, not in the least. All our positions are marked out.'

'Is it true, Sir Rupert,' asked the Duchess, 'that our friend,' and she nodded towards Ericson, 'is going to make an attempt to recover his Republic?'

'I should rather be inclined to put it,' Sir Rupert said, 'that if there is any truth in the rumours one reads about, he is going to try to save his Republic. But why not ask him, Duchess?'

'He might think it so rude and presuming,' the pretty Duchess objected.

'No, no; he is much too gallant a gentleman to think anything you do could be rude and presuming.'

'Then I'll ask him right away,' the Duchess said encouraged. 'Only I can't catch his eye—he is absorbed in your daughter, and a very odd sort of man he would be if he were not absorbed in her.'

'You look at him long enough and keenly enough, and he will be sure very soon to feel that your eyes are on him.'

'You believe in that theory of eyes commanding eyes?'

'Well, I have noticed that it generally works out correctly.'

'But Miss Langley has such divine eyes, and she is commanding him now. I fear I may as well give up. Oh!' For at that moment Ericson, at a word from Helena, who saw that the Duchess was gazing at them, suddenly looked up and caught the beaming eyes of the pretty and sprightly young American woman who had become the wife of a great English Duke.

'The Duchess wants to ask you a question,' Sir Rupert said to Ericson, 'and she hopes you won't think her rude or presuming. I have ventured to say that I am sure you will not think her anything of the kind.'

'You can always speak for me, Sir Rupert, and never with more certainty than just now, and to the Duchess.'

'Well,' the Duchess said with a pretty little blush, as she found all the eyes at the table fixed on her, including those that were covered by Professor Flick's moony spectacles, 'I have been reading all sorts of rumours about you, Mr. Ericson.'

Ericson quailed for a moment. 'She can't mean that,' he thought. 'She can't mean to bring up the marriage question here at Sir Rupert's own table, and in the ears of Sir Rupert's daughter! No,' he suddenly consoled himself, 'she is too kind and sweet—she would never do that'—and he did the Duchess only justice. She had no such thought in her mind.

'Are you really going to risk your life by trying to recover your Republic? Are you going to be so rash?'

Ericson was not embarrassed in the least.

'I am not ambitious to recover the Republic, Duchess,' he answered calmly—'if the Republic can get on without me. But if the Republic should be in danger—then, of course, I know where my place ought to be.'

'Just what I told you, Duchess,' Sir Rupert said, rather triumphant with himself.

Helena sent a devoted glance at her hero, and then let her eyes droop.

'Well, I must not ask any indiscreet questions,' the Duchess said; 'and besides, I know that if I did ask them you would not answer them. But are you prepared for events? Is that indiscreet!'

'Oh, no; not in the least. I am perfectly prepared.'

'I wish he would not talk out so openly as that,' Hamilton said to himself. 'How do we know who some of these people are?'

'Rather an indiscreet person, your friend the Dictator,' Soame Rivers said to Mrs. Sarrasin. 'How can he know that some of these people here may not be in sympathy with Orizaba, and may not send out a telegram to let people know there that he has arranged for a descent upon the shores of Gloria? Gad! I don't wonder that the Gloria people kicked him out, if that is his notion of statesmanship.

'The Gloria people, as a people, adore him, sir,' Mrs. Sarrasin sternly observed.

'Odd way they have of showing it,' Rivers replied.

'We, in this country, have driven out kings,' Mrs. Sarrasin said, 'and have taken them back and set them on their thrones again.'

'Some of them we have not taken back, Mrs. Sarrasin.'

'We may yet—or some of their descendants.'

Mrs. Sarrasin became, for the moment, and out of a pure spirit of contradiction, a devoted adherent of the Stuarts and a wearer of the Rebel Rose.

'Oh, I say, this is becoming treasonable, Mrs. Sarrasin. Do have some consideration for me—the private secretary of a Minister of State.'

'I have great consideration for you, Mr. Rivers; I bear in mind that you do not mean half what you say.'

'But don't you really think,' he asked in a low tone, 'that your Dictator was just a little indiscreet when he talked so openly about his plans?'

'He is very well able to judge of his own affairs, I should think, and probably he feels sure'—and she made this a sort of direct stab at Rivers—'that in the house of Sir Rupert Langley he is among friends.'

Rivers was only amused, not in the least disconcerted.

'But these Americans, now—who knows anything about them? Don't all Americans write for newspapers? and why might not these fellows telegraph the news to the New York Herald or the New York Tribune, or some such paper, and so spread it all over the world, and send an Orizaba ironclad or two to look out for the returning Dictator?'

'I don't know them,' Mrs. Sarrasin answered, 'but my brother-in-law does, and I believe they are merely scientific men, and don't know or care anything about politics—even in their own country.'

Miss Paulo talked a good deal with Professor Flick. Mr. Copping sat on her other side, and she had tried to exchange a word or two now and then with him, but she failed in drawing out any ready response, and so she devoted all her energies to Professor Flick. She asked him all the questions she could think of concerning folk-lore. The Professor was benignant in his explanations. He was, she assumed, quite compassionate over her ignorance on the subject. She was greatly interested in his American accent. How strong it was, and yet what curiously soft and Southern tones one sometimes caught in it! Dolores had never been in the United States, but she had met a great many Americans.

'Do you come from the Southern States, Professor?' she asked, innocently seeking for an explanation of her wonder.

'Southern States, Miss Paulo? No, madam. I am from the Wild West—I have nothing to do with the South. Why did you ask?'

'Because I thought there was a tone of the Spanish in your accent, and I fancied you might have come from New Orleans. I am a sort of Spaniard, you know.'

'I have nothing to do with New Orleans,' he said—'I have never even been there.'

'But, of course, you speak Spanish?' Miss Paulo said suddenly in Spanish. 'A man with your studies must know ever so many languages.'

As it so happened, she glanced quite casually and innocently up into the eyes of Professor Flick. She caught his eye, in fact, right under the moony spectacles; and if those eyes under the moony spectacles did not understand Spanish, then Dolores had lost faith in her own bright eyes and her own very keen and lively perceptions.

But the moony spectacles were soon let down over the eyes of the Professor of Folk-Lore, and hung there like shutters or blinkers.

'No, madam,' spoke the Professor; 'I am sorry to say that I do not understand Spanish, for I presume you have been addressing me in Spanish,' he added hastily. 'It is a noble tongue, of course, but I have not had time to make myself acquainted with it.'

'I thought there was a great amount of folk-lore in Spanish,' the pertinacious Dolores went on.

'So there is, dear young lady, so there is. But one cannot know every language—one must have recourse to translations sometimes.'

'Could I help you,' she asked sweetly, 'with any work of translating from the Spanish? I should be delighted if I could—and I really do know Spanish pretty well.'

'Dear young lady, how kind that would be of you! And what a pleasure to me!'

'It would be both a pride and a pleasure to me to lend any helping hand towards the development of the study of folk-lore.'

The Professor looked at her in somewhat puzzled fashion, not through but from beneath the moony spectacles. Dolores felt perfectly satisfied that he was studying her. All the better reason, she thought, for her studying him.

What had Dolores got upon her mind? She did not know. She had not the least glimmering of a clear idea. It was not a very surprising thing that an American Professor addicted mainly to the study of folk-lore should not know Spanish. Dolores had a vague impression of having heard that, as a rule, Americans were not good linguists. But that was not what troubled and perplexed her. She felt convinced, in this case, that the professed American did understand Spanish, and that his ordinary accent had something Spanish in it, although he had declared that he had never been even in New Orleans.

We all remember the story of Morgiana in 'The Forty Thieves.' The faculties of the handsome and clever Morgiana were strained to their fullest tension with one particular object. She looked at everything, studied everything—with regard to that object. If she saw a chalk-mark on a door she instantly went and made a like chalk-mark on various doors in the neighbourhood. Dolores found her present business in life to be somewhat like that of Morgiana. A chalk-mark was enough to fill her with suspicion; an unexpected accent was enough to fill her with suspicion; an American Professor who knew Spanish, but had no confidence in his Spanish, might possibly be the Captain of the Forty Immortals—thieves, of course, and not Academicians. Dolores had as vague an idea about the Spanish question as Morgiana had about the chalk-mark on the door, but she was quite clear that some account ought to be taken of it.

At this moment, much to the relief of the perplexed Dolores, Helena caught the eye of the pretty Duchess, and the Duchess arose, and Mrs. Sarrasin arose, and Hamilton held the door open, and the ladies floated through and went upstairs. Now came the critical moment for Dolores. Had she discovered anything? Even if she had discovered anything, was it anything that concerned her or anyone she cared for? Should she keep her discovery—or her fancied discovery—to herself?

The Duchess settled down beside Helena, and appeared to be made up for a good talk with her. Mrs. Sarrasin was beginning to turn over the leaves of a photographic album. 'Now is my time,' Dolores thought, 'and this is the woman to talk to and to trust myself to. If she laughs at me, then I shall feel pretty sure that mine was all a false alarm.' So she sat beside Mrs. Sarrasin, who looked up at once with a beaming smile.

'Mrs. Sarrasin,' Dolores said in a low, quiet voice, 'should you think it odd if a man who knows Spanish were to pretend that he did not understand a word of it?'

'That would depend a good deal on who the man was, my dear, and where he was, and what he was doing. I should not be surprised if a Carlist spy, for instance, captured some years ago by the Royalists, were to pretend that he did not speak Spanish, and try to pass off for a commercial traveller from Bordeaux.'

'Yes. But where there was no war—and no capture—and no need of concealing one's acquirements——'

Mrs. Sarrasin saw that something was really disturbing the girl. She became wonderfully composed and gentle. She thought a moment, and then said:

'I heard Mr. Soame Rivers say to-night that he didn't understand Spanish. Was that only his modesty—and does he understand it?'

'Oh, Mrs. Sarrasin, I wasn't thinking about him. What does it matter whether he understands it or not?'

'Nothing whatever, I should say. So it was not he?'

'Oh, no, indeed.'

'Then whom were you thinking about?'

Dolores dropped her voice to its lowest tone and whispered:

'Professor Flick!' Then she glanced in some alarm towards Helena, fearing lest Miss Langley might have heard. The good girl's heart was set on sparing Miss Langley any distress of mind which could possibly be avoided. Dolores saw in a moment how her words had impressed Mrs. Sarrasin. Mrs. Sarrasin turned on Dolores a face of the deepest interest. But she had all the composure of her many campaigns.

'This is a very different business,' she said, 'from Mr. Rivers and his profession of ignorance. Do you really mean to say, Miss Paulo—you are a clever girl, I know, with sound nerve and good judgment—do you mean to say that Professor Flick really does know Spanish, although he says he does not understand it?'

'I spoke to him a few words of Spanish, and, as it so happened, I looked up at him, and quite accidentally caught his eye under his big spectacles, and I saw that he understood me. Mrs. Sarrasin, I could not be mistaken—I know he understood me. And then he recovered himself, and said that he knew nothing of Spanish. Why, there was so much of the Spanish in his accent—it isn't very much, of course—that I assumed at first that he must have come from New Orleans or from Texas.'

'I have had very little talk with him,' Mrs. Sarrasin said; 'but I never noticed any Spanish peculiarity in his accent.'

'But you wouldn't; you are not Spanish; and, anyhow, it's only a mere little shade—just barely suggests. Do you think there is anything in all this? I may be mistaken, but—no—no—I am not mistaken. That man knows Spanish as surely as I know English.'

'Then it is a matter of the very highest importance,' said Mrs. Sarrasin decidedly. 'If a man comes here professing not to speak Spanish, and yet does speak Spanish, it is as clear as light that he has some motive for concealing the fact that he is a Spaniard—or a South American. Of course he is not a Spaniard—Spain does not come into this business. He is a South American, and he is either a spy——'

'Yes—either a spy——.' Dolores waited anxiously.

'Or an assassin.'

'Yes—I thought so;' and Dolores shuddered. 'But a spy,' she whispered, 'has nothing to find out. Everything about—about his Excellency—is known to all the world here.'

'You are quite right, dear young lady,' Mrs. Sarrasin said. 'We are driven to the other conclusion. If you are right—and I am sure you are right—that that man knows Spanish and professes not to know it, we are face to face with a plot for an assassination. Hush!—the gentlemen are coming. Don't lose your head, my dear—whatever may happen. You may be sure I shall not lose mine. Go and talk to Mr. Hamilton—you might find a chance of giving him a word, or a great many words, of warning. I must have a talk with Sarrasin as soon as I can. But no outward show of commotion, mind!'

'It may be a question of a day,' Dolores whispered.

'If the man thinks he is half-discovered, it may be a question of an hour,' Mrs. Sarrasin replied, as composedly as if she were thinking of the possible spoiling of a dinner. Dolores shuddered. Mrs. Sarrasin felt none the less, but she had been in so many a crisis that danger for those she loved came to her as a matter of course.

Then the door was thrown open, and the gentlemen came in. Sir Rupert made for Dolores. He was anxious to pay her all the attention in his power, because he feared, in his chivalrous way, that if she were not followed with even a marked attention, she might think that as the daughter of Paulo's Hotel she was not regarded as quite the equal of all the other guests. The Dictator thought he was bound to address himself to the Duchess of Deptford, and fancied that it might look a little too marked if he were at once to take possession of Helena. The good-natured Duchess saw through his embarrassment in a moment. The light of kindliness and sympathy guided her; and just as Ericson was approaching her she feigned to be wholly unconscious of his propinquity, and leaning forward in her chair she called out in her clear voice:

'Now, look here, Professor Flick, I want you to sit right down here and talk to me. You are a countryman of mine, and I haven't yet had a chance of saying anything much to you, so you come and talk to me.'

The Professor declared himself delighted, honoured, all the rest, and came and seated himself, according to the familiar modern phrase, in the pretty Duchess's pocket.

'We haven't met in America, Professor, I think?' the Duchess said.

'No, Duchess; I have never had that high honour.'

'But your name is quite familiar to me. You have a great observatory, haven't you—out West somewhere—the Flick Observatory, is it not?'

'No, Duchess. Pardon me. You are thinking of the Lick Observatory.'

'Oh, am I? Yes, I dare say. Lick and Flick are so much alike. And I don't know one little bit about sciences. I don't know one of them from another. They are all the same to me. I only define science as something that I can't understand. I had a notion that you were mixed up with astronomy. That's why I got thinking of the Lick Observatory.'

'No, your Grace, my department is very modest—folk-lore.'

'Oh, yes, nursery rhymes of all nations, and making out that every country has got just the same old stories—that's the sort of thing, as far as I can make out—ain't it?'

'Well,' the Professor said, somewhat constrainedly, 'that is a more or less humorous condensed description of a very important study.'

'I think I should like folk-lore,' the lively Duchess went on. 'I do hope, Professor, that you will come to me some afternoon, and talk folk-lore to me. I could understand it so much better than astronomy, or chemistry, or these things; and I don't care about history, and I do hate recitations.'

Just then Soame Rivers entered the room, and saw that Ericson was talking with Helena. His eyebrows contracted. Rivers was the last man to go upstairs to the drawing-room. He had a pretty clear idea that something was going on. During the time while the men were having their cigars and cigarettes, telegrams came in for almost everyone at the table; the Dictator opened his and glanced at it and handed it over to Hamilton, who, for his part, had had a telegram all to himself. Rivers studied Ericson's face, and felt convinced that the very imperturbability of its expression was put on in order that no one might suppose he had learned anything of importance. It was quite different with Hamilton—a light of excitement flashed across him for a moment and was then suddenly extinguished. 'News from Gloria, no doubt,' Rivers thought to himself. 'Bad news, I hope.'

'Does anyone want to reply to his telegrams?' Sir Rupert courteously asked. 'They are kind enough to keep the telegraph office open for my benefit until midnight.'

No one seemed to think there was any necessity for troubling the telegraph office just then.

'Shall we go upstairs?' Sir Rupert asked. So the gentlemen went upstairs, and on their appearance the conversation between Dolores and Mrs. Sarrasin came to an end, as we know.

Soame Rivers went into his own little study, which was kept always for him, and there he opened his despatch. It was from a man in the Foreign Office who was in the innermost councils of Sir Rupert and himself.

'Tell Hamilton look quietly after Ericson. Certain information of dangerous plot against Ericson's life. Danger where least expected. Do not know any more. No need as yet alarm Sir Rupert.'

Soame Rivers read the despatch over and over again. It was in cypher—a cypher with which he was perfectly familiar. He grumbled and growled over it. It vexed him. For various reasons he had come to the conclusion that a great deal too much work was made over the ex-Dictator, and his projects, and his personal safety.

'All stuff and nonsense!' he said to himself. 'It's absurd to make such a fuss about this fellow. Nobody can think him important enough to get up any plot for killing him; as far as I am concerned I don't see why they shouldn't kill him if they feel at all like it—personally, I am sure I wish they would kill him.'

Soame Rivers thought to himself, although he hardly put the thought into words even to himself and for his own benefit, that he might have had a good chance of winning Helena Langley to be his wife—of having her and her fortune—only for this so-called Dictator, whom, as a Briton, he heartily despised.

'I'll think it over,' he said to himself; 'I need not show this danger-signal to Hamilton just yet. Hamilton is a hero-worshipper and an alarmist—and a fool.'

So, looking very green of complexion and grim of countenance, Soame Rivers crushed the despatch and thrust it into his pocket, and then went upstairs to the ladies.