The Toreador Becomes Ambassador

Manuel Blanco was ubiquitous during the first days following the
coronation. He listened to the fragments of talk that drifted along the
streets. He frequented the band concerts in the Public Gardens and drank
native vintages in the wine-shops. He elbowed his way naïvely into
chattering groups with his ears primed for a careless word. Nowhere did
he catch a note hinting of intrigue or danger. It seemed a sound
conclusion that if the plotters had not entirely surrendered their
project for switching Kings in Galavia, their conspiracies were being
once more fomented on foreign soil, just as the first plan had been
incubated in Cadiz.

One evening shortly after the dual celebration, a steamer laden with
tourists lay at anchor in the bay, outlined in points of light like a
set-piece of fireworks. Hundreds of new sight-seeing faces swarmed along
the narrow, cobbled streets. This would be a great night in the
Strangers' Club and Blanco decided to spend an hour there.

In evening dress he moved through the gardens and pavilions of the
casino on the rock, where with the coming of darkness the gayety of the
town began to focus and sparkle.

The coronation of Karyl had brought to an end official mourning for the
late King, and the crêpe which had palled the national insignia on all
public buildings had been cleared away. With this restoration of public
gayety came a liberal sprinkling of uniforms to the throngs that crowded
the ball-rooms, tea-gardens and gambling halls.

Blanco was standing apart, looking on, when he felt a light touch on his
shoulder and turned to find a young officer at his back who smilingly
begged him for a moment in the gardens. The Spaniard noticed that the
man who addressed him wore the epaulettes of a Captain of Infantry and
the added stripe and crown of gold lace at the cuff which designated
service in the household of the reigning family.