Every room in every house has its mystery by day and by night. But at night the mystery becomes more involved and a darker veil gathers round the secret. Each inmate goes off to bed with a smiling good-night to each other, and what could be more unlike than the hopes and plans and schemes for the morrow which each in silence is forming? All this of course is obvious and commonplace. But there would be a certain novelty of illustration if we were to take the fall of night upon Seagate Hall and try to make out what secrets it covered.

Ericson had found a means of letting Helena know by a few whispered words that he had heard news which would probably cut short his visit to Seagate Hall and hurry his departure from London. The girl had listened with breath kept resolutely in and bosom throbbing, and she dared not question further at such a moment. Only she said, 'You will tell me all?' and he said, 'Yes, to-morrow'; and she subsided and was content to wait and to take her secret to sleep with her, or rather take her secret with her to keep her from sleeping. Mrs. Sarrasin had found means to tell her husband what Dolores had told her—and Sarrasin agreed with his wife in thinking that, although the discovery might appear trivial in itself, it had possibilities in it the stretch of which it would be madness to underrate. Ericson and Hamilton had common thoughts concerning the expedition to Gloria; but Hamilton had not confided to the Dictator any hint of what Mrs. Sarrasin had told him, and what Dolores had told Mrs. Sarrasin. On the other hand, Ericson did not think it at all necessary to communicate to Hamilton the feelings with which the prospect of a speedy leaving of Seagate Hall had inspired him. Soame Rivers, we may be sure, took no one into the secret of the cyphered despatch which he had received, and which as yet he had kept in his own exclusive possession. If the gifted Professor Flick and his devoted friend Mr. Copping had secrets—as no doubt they had—they could hardly be expected to proclaim them on the house-tops of Seagate Hall—a place on the shores of a foreign country. The common feeling cannot be described better than by saying that everybody wanted everybody else to get to bed.

The ladies soon dispersed. But no sooner had Mrs. Sarrasin got into her room than she hastily mounted a dressing-gown and sought out Dolores, and the two settled down to low-toned earnest talk as though they were a pair of conspirators—which for a noble purpose they were.

The gentlemen, as usual, went to the billiard-room for cigars and whisky-and-soda. The two Americans soon professed themselves rather tired, and took their candles and went off to bed. But even they would seem not to be quite so sleepy and tired as they may have fancied; for they both entered the room of Professor Flick and began to talk. It was a very charming 'apartment' in the French sense. The Professor had a sitting-room very tastefully furnished and strewn around with various books on folk-lore; and he had a capacious bedroom. Copping flung himself impatiently on the sofa.

'Look here,' Copping whispered, 'this business must be done to-night. Do you hear?—this very night.'

'I know it,' the Professor said almost meekly.

'What have you heard?' Copping asked fiercely. 'Do you know anything more about Gloria than I know—than I got to know to-night?'

'Nothing more about Gloria, but I know that I am on the straight way to being found out.' And the Professor drooped.

'Found out? What do you mean? Found out for what?'

'Well, found out for a South American professing to be a Yankee.'

'But who has found you out?'

'That Spanish-London girl—that she-devil—Miss Paulo. She suddenly talked to me in Spanish—and I was thrown off my guard.'

'You fool!—and you answered her in Spanish?'

'No I didn't—I didn't say a word—but I saw by her look that she knew I understood her—and you'll see if they don't suspect something.'

'Of course they will suspect something. South Americans passing off as North Americans! here, here—with him in the house! Why, the light shines through it! Good heavens, what a fool you are! I never heard of anything like it!'

'I am always a failure,' the downcast Professor admitted, 'where women come into the work—or the play.'

The places of the two men appeared to have completely changed. The Professor was no longer the leader but the led. The silent and devoted Mr. Andrew J. Copping was now taking the place of leader.

'Well,' Copping said contemptuously, 'you have got your chance just as I have. If you manage this successfully we shall get our pardon—and if we don't we shan't.'

'If we fail,' the learned Professor said, 'I shan't return to Gloria.'

'No, I dare say not. The English police will take good care of that, especially if Ericson should marry Sir Rupert's daughter. No—and do you fancy that even if the police failed to find us, those that sent us out would fail to find us? Do you think they would let us carry their secrets about with us? Why, what a fool you are!'

'I suppose I am,' the distressed student of folk-lore murmured.

'Many days would not pass before there was a dagger in both our hearts. It is of no use trying to avoid the danger now. Rally all your nerves—get together all your courage and coolness. This thing must be done to-night—we have no time to lose—and according to what you tell me we are being already found out. Mind—if you show the least flinching when I give you the word—I'll put a dagger into you! Hush—put your light out—I'll come at the right time.'

'You are too impetuous,' the Professor murmured with a sort of groan, and he took off his moony spectacles in a petulant way and put them on the table. Behold what a change! Instead of a moon-like beneficence of the spectacles, there was seen the quick shifting light of two dark, fierce, cruel, treacherous, cowardly eyes. They were eyes that might have looked out of the head of some ferocious and withal cowardly wild beast in a jungle or a forest. One who saw the change would have understood the axiom of a famous detective, 'No disguise for some men half so effective as a pair of large spectacles.'

'Put on your spectacles,' Copping said sternly.

'What's the matter? We are here among friends.'

'But it is so stupid a trick! How can you tell the moment when someone may come in?'

'Very good,' the Professor said, veiling his identity once again in the moony spectacles; 'only I can tell you I am getting sick of the dulness of all this, and I shall be glad of anything for a change.'

'You'll have a change soon enough,' Copping said contemptuously. 'I hope you will be equal to it when it comes.'

'How long shall I have to wait?'

'Until I come for you.'

'With the dagger, perhaps?' Professor Flick said sarcastically.

'With the dagger certainly, but I hope with no occasion for using it.'

'I hope so too; you might cut your fingers with it.'

'Are you threatening me?' Copping asked fiercely, standing up. He spoke, however, in the lowest of tones.

'I almost think I am. You see you have been threatening me—and I don't like it. I never professed to have as much courage as you have—I mean as you say you have; but I'm like a woman, when I'm driven into a corner I don't much care what I do—ah! then I am dangerous! It's not courage, I know, it's fear; but a man afraid and driven to bay is an ugly creature to deal with. And then it strikes me that I get all the dullest and also the most dangerous part of the work put on me, and I don't like that.'

Copping glanced for a moment at his colleague with eyes from which, according to Carlyle's phrase, 'hell-fire flashed for an instant.' Probably he would have very much liked to employ the dagger there and then. But he knew that that was not exactly the time or place for a quarrel, and he knew too that he had been talking too long with his friend already, and that he might on coming out of Professor Flick's room encounter some guest in the corridor. So by an effort he took off from his face the fierce expression, as one might take off a mask.

'We can't quarrel now, we two,' he said. 'When we come safe out of this business——'

'If we come safe out of this business,' the Professor interposed, with a punctuating emphasis on the 'if.'

Copping answered all unconsciously in the words of Lady Macbeth.

'Keep your courage up, and we shall do what we want to do.'

Then he left the room, and cautiously closed the door behind him, and crept stealthily away.

Ericson, Hamilton, and Sarrasin remained with Sir Rupert after the distinguished Americans had gone. There was an evident sense of relief running through the company when these had gone. Sir Rupert could see with half an eye that some news of importance had come.

'Well?' he asked; and that was all he asked.

'Well,' the Dictator replied, 'we have had some telegrams. At least Hamilton and I have. Have you heard anything, Sarrasin?'

'Something merely personal, merely personal,' Sarrasin answered with a somewhat constrained manner—the manner of one who means to convey the idea that the tortures of the Inquisition should not wrench that secret from him. Sarrasin was good at most things, but he was not happy at concealing secrets from his friends. Even as it was he blinked his eyes at Hamilton in a way that, if the others were observing him just then, must have made it apparent that he was in possession of some portentous communication which could be divulged to Hamilton alone. Sir Rupert, however, was not thinking much of Sarrasin.

'I mustn't ask about your projects,' Sir Rupert said; 'in fact, I suppose I had better know nothing about them. But, as a host, I may ask whether you have to leave England soon. As a mere matter of social duty I am entitled to ask that much. My daughter will be so sorry——'

'We shall have to leave for South America very soon, Sir Rupert,' the Dictator said—'within a very few days. We must leave for London to-morrow by the afternoon train at the latest.'

'How do you propose to enter Gloria?' Sir Rupert asked hesitatingly. What he really would have liked to ask was—'What men, what armament, have you got to back you when you land in your port?'

The Dictator divined the meaning.

'I go alone,' he said quietly.

'Alone!'

'Yes, except for the two or three personal friends who wish to accompany me—as friends, and not as a body-guard. I dare say the boy there,' and he nodded at Hamilton, 'will be wanting to step ashore with me.'

'Oh, yes, I shall step ashore at the same moment, or perhaps half a second later,' Hamilton said joyously. 'I'm a great steppist.'

'Bear in mind that I am going too,' Sarrasin interposed.

'We shall not go without you, Captain Sarrasin,' Ericson answered with a smile. For he felt well assured that when Captain Sarrasin stepped ashore, Mrs. Sarrasin would be in step with him.

'Do you go unarmed?' Sir Rupert asked.

'Absolutely unarmed. I am not a despot coming to recapture a rebel kingdom—I am going to offer my people what help I can to save their Republic for them. If they will have me, I believe I can save the Republic; if they will not——' He threw out his hands with the air of one who would say, 'Then, come what will, it is no fault of mine.'

'Suppose they actually turn against you?'

'I don't believe they will. But if they do, it will no less have been an experiment well worth the trying, and it will only be a life lost.'

'Two lives lost,' Hamilton pleaded mildly.

'Excuse me, three lives lost, if you please,' Sarrasin interposed, 'or perhaps four.' For he was thinking of his heroic wife, and of the general understanding between them that it would be much more satisfactory that they should die together than that one should remain behind.

Sir Rupert smiled and sighed also. He was thinking of his romantic and adventurous youth.

'By Jove!' he said, 'I almost envy you fellows your expedition and your enthusiasm. There was a time—and not so very long ago—when I should have loved nothing better than to go with you and take your risks. But office-holding takes the enthusiasm out of us. One can never do anything after he has been a Secretary of State.'

'But, look here,' Hamilton said, 'here is a man who has been a Dictator——'

'Quite a different thing, my dear Hamilton,' Sir Rupert replied. 'A Dictator is a heroic, informal, unconventional sort of creature. There are no rules and precedents to bind him. He has no permanent officials. No one knows what he might or might not turn out. But a Secretary of State is pledged to respectability and conventionality. St. George might have gone forth to slay the dragon even though he had several times been a Dictator; never, never, if he had even once been Secretary of State.'

Captain Sarrasin took all this quite seriously, and promised himself in his own mind that nothing on earth should ever induce him to accept the office of Secretary of State. The Dictator quite understood Sir Rupert. He had learned long since to recognise the fact that Sir Rupert had set out in life full of glorious romantic dreams and with much good outfit to carry him on his way—but not quite outfit enough for all he meant to do. So, after much struggle to be a hero of romance, he had quietly settled down in time to be a Secretary of State. But the Dictator greatly admired him. He knew that Sir Rupert had just barely missed a great career. There is a genuine truth contained in the Spanish proverb quoted by Dr. Johnson, that if a man would bring home the wealth of the Indies he must take out the wealth of the Indies with him. If you will bring home a great career, you must take out with you the capacity to find a great career.

'You see, I had better not ask you too much about your plans,' Sir Rupert said hastily; 'although, of course it relieves me from all responsibility to know that you are only making a peaceful landing.'

'Like any ordinary travellers,' Hamilton said.

'Ah, well, no—I don't quite see that, and I rather fancy Ericson would not quite see it either. Of course you are going with a certain political purpose—very natural and very noble and patriotic; but still you are not like ordinary travellers—not like Cook's tourists, for example.'

'No-o-o,' Captain Sarrasin almost roared. The idea of his being like a Cook's tourist!

'Well, that's what I say. But what I was coming to is this. Your purposes are absolutely peaceful, as you assure me—peaceful, I mean, as regards the country on whose shores you are landing.'

'We shall land in Gloria,' the Dictator said, 'for the sake of Gloria, for the love of Gloria.'

'Yes, I know that well. But men might do that in the sincerest belief that for the sake of Gloria and for the love of Gloria they were bound to overthrow by force of arms some bad Government. Now that I understand distinctly is not your purpose.'

'That,' the Dictator said, 'is certainly not our primary purpose. We are going out unarmed and unaccompanied. If the existing Government are approved of by the people—well, then our lives are in their hands. But if the people are with us——'

'Yes—and if the existing Government should refuse to recognise the fact?'

'Then, of course, the people will put them aside.

'Ah! and so there may be civil war?'

'If I understand the situation rightly, the people will by the time we land see through the whole thing, and will thrust aside anyone who endeavours to prevent them from resisting the invader on the frontier. I only hope that we may be there in time to prevent any act of violence. What Gloria has to do now is to defend and to maintain her national existence; we have no time for the trial or the punishment of worthless or traitorous ministers and officials.'

'Well, well,' Sir Rupert said, 'I suppose I had better ask no questions nor know too much of your plans. They are honourable and patriotic, I am sure; and indeed it does not much become a part of our business here, for we have never been in very cordial relations with the new Government of Gloria, and I suppose now we shall never have any occasion to trouble ourselves much about it. So I wish you from my heart all good-fortune; but of course I wish it as the personal friend, and not as the Secretary of State. That officer has no wish but that satisfactory relations may be obtained with everybody under the sun.'

Ericson smiled, half sadly. He was thinking that there was even more of an official fossilisation of Sir Rupert's earlier nature than Sir Rupert himself had suspected or described. Hamilton assumed that it was all the natural sort of thing—that everybody in office became like that in time. Sarrasin again told himself that at no appeal less strong than that of a personal and imploring request from her gracious Majesty herself would he ever consent to become a Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

Sir Rupert had come to have a very strong feeling of friendship and even of affection for the Dictator. He thought him far too good a man to be thrown away on a pitiful South American Republic. But of late he accepted the situation. He understood—at all events, he recognised—the almost fanatical Quixotism that was at the base of Ericson's character, and he admired it and was also provoked by it, for it made him see that remonstrance was in vain.

Sir Rupert felt himself disappointed, although only in a vague sort of way. Half-unconsciously he had lately been forming a wish for the future of his daughter, and now he was dimly conscious that that wish was not to be realised. He had been thinking that Helena was much drawn towards the Dictator, and he did not see where he could have found a more suitable husband. Ericson did not come of a great family, to be sure, but Sir Rupert saw more and more every day that the old-fashioned social distinctions were not merely crumbling but positively breaking down, and he knew that any of the duchesses with whom he was acquainted would gladly encourage her daughter to marry a millionaire from Oil City, Pennsylvania. He had seen and he saw that Ericson was made welcome into the best society of London, and, what with his fame and Helena's money, he thought they might have a pleasant way in life together. Now that dream had come to an end. Ericson, of course, would naturally desire to recover his position in South America; but even if he were to succeed he could hardly expect Helena to settle down to a life in an obscure and f[oe]tid South American town. Sir Rupert took this for granted. He did not argue it out. It came to his eyes as a certain, unarguable fact. He knew that his daughter was unconventional, but he construed that only as being unconventional within conventional limits. Some of her ways might be unconventional; he did not believe it possible that her life could be. It did not even occur to him to ask himself whether, if Helena really wished to go to South America and settle there, he could be expected to give his consent to such a project.