After what they had seen, it came as no great surprise to the guests of
Don Carlos to find themselves served with a dinner which would have
done credit to the Ritz or the Savoy, and with rare wines of the
choicest vintages.
"Would you care to dance after dinner, or merely to listen to a
wireless programme?" their host inquired during the meal. "Concealed
in the big antique cabinet in the hall there is a powerful wireless set
with which I can pick up any European station, and possibly you noticed
that the floor of the hall is really a spring dance-floor, stained to
make it seem as ancient as the panelling."
"Our host is a magician!" cried Lady Fermanagh.
"You certainly seem to be something of a magician, Don Carlos, and your
castle is something like Aladdin's cave," Myra remarked to her host as
she was dancing with him later in the evening in the great hall.
"Myra, darling, have I found the magic to make your heart respond to
the call of love?" asked Don Carlos in a low voice. "My castle lacks
nothing save a mistress, and all my heart is craving for you, its ideal
mate. I love you, love you, love you, mia cara, with all the strength
and passion of my being. Confess that you love me, darling, and say
you will be mine."
Myra found herself compelled to look into his glittering dark eyes,
felt as if she were being hypnotised, and it was only by an effort of
will that she broke the spell he seemed to be casting on her.
"It isn't fair to take advantage of your position as host to make love
to me again," she protested, annoyed to find her heart throbbing
tumultuously and her cheeks burning. "You are quite a wonderful
person, but I do not intend to give you the opportunity to justify your
boasts."
"Who knows but what I may make the opportunity, Myra, and take you in
spite of yourself?" Don Carlos responded. "Here I am a king, and none
dares dispute my authority, save El Diablo Cojuelo."
"If you persist in talking like that, I shall not feel safe in your
house," said Myra. "That sounded like a veiled threat, Don Carlos, and
you are not playing the game."
"There are no set rules to the game of love, dear lady, and I am
playing to win," retorted Don Carlos, scarcely above a whisper.
"Listen for your lover at midnight."
At heart Myra was a little scared, although her pride would not permit
her to acknowledge the fact. She remembered how she had been awakened
at dead of night at Auchinleven, with the impression strong upon her
that someone had touched her, and had found Don Carlos's note on her
pillow. She remembered his threats or promises to take her in spite of
everything...
Most of the guests were tired after their long journey, and the party
broke up about eleven o'clock. Myra went to her own grey and rose
bedroom, declined the services of the waiting maid and carefully bolted
the door after bidding the girl good-night.
"What did he mean by telling me to listen for my lover at midnight?"
she wondered. "What am I scared about? He surely wouldn't be so
dastardly as to force his way into my room... Oh, I wish I hadn't
come!"
Myra was tired, yet she was reluctant to undress and go to bed, flung
herself down in a chair by the fire, and lit a cigarette. Presently
the room seemed to her oppressively hot and she rose and opened the
casement. As she did so she saw lights moving about in the dark
courtyard below, and again she felt unreasoningly apprehensive until
common sense told her the lights were probably lanterns carried by
outdoor servants attending to their duties.
At last she heard a clock in one of the corridors strike twelve, and as
the last stroke died away a mellow voice, which she recognised as that
of Don Carlos, rang out in song in the courtyard beneath her window.
He sang in Spanish, accompanying himself on a guitar, and although Myra
could understand but few of the words she knew he was singing a
passionate love song, serenading her, and she was conscious of a heart
thrill.
She rose and moved involuntarily towards the open window, where she
stood listening, the prey of mingled emotions. It did not occur to her
for some minutes that her figure would be silhouetted against the
light, and when the thought did flash across her mind she moved back
quickly and switched off the lights, but crept back again to the
casement to listen again to the thrilling song until the last notes
died away.
"Adios, mia cara!" said the voice below, and there was silence.
Strangely stirred, Myra undressed in the dark and crept into bed, but,
tired though she was, it was a long time before she could compose
herself to sleep.
"Am I falling in love with him?" she asked herself, and did not answer
her own question.
She was inclined to laugh at herself next morning, and to chide herself
for being sentimental, and the opportunity to administer another
reproof speedily presented itself.
"Did you hear someone singing a serenade in the courtyard last night,
Myra, after we went to bed?" one of the guests inquired in Don Carlos's
hearing.
"Yes, I thought of throwing him a few coppers in the hope he would stop
and let me get to sleep," drawled Myra, and had the satisfaction of
seeing Don Carlos's lips tighten and his black brows draw together in a
frown.
"If you are prepared to run the risk of being waylaid by El Diablo
Cojuelo, I suggest that you go riding and allow me to show you the
neighbourhood," Don Carlos said. "I have half a dozen good horses in
my stables."
Myra, Tony, and several others who were keen on horse exercise welcomed
the proposal with enthusiasm, and went to change into riding kit.
Their ride was quite uneventful. They saw some fine mountain scenery,
but no sign of any brigands. They did, however, meet a squad of
mounted carabineros, who saluted them respectfully, and with the leader
of whom Don Carlos paused to chat.
"You will be relieved to learn that the officer reports that everything
seems quiet, and he has no news of El Diablo Cojuelo having been seen
in the neighbourhood for many weeks," he reported when he rejoined his
guests. "But I doubt if he has taken fright, as the Captain suggests.
He isn't easily scared."
He made no attempt to make love to Myra that day, but often she caught
him looking at her with an expression that baffled her and made her
feel vaguely uneasy. He looked, somehow, like a schoolboy with a
sphinx-like expression, planning mischief and inwardly enjoying some
private joke.
"He is quite the most exasperating man I have ever met--and the most
interesting," Myra reflected, as she dressed for dinner that evening.
"I wonder if he really has a heart, or if he is acting all the time?"
Dinner was served in the great hall that night, and once again it was a
triumph for the chef and the host. During the meal an orchestra,
composed of some of the servants on the estate, clad in picturesque
national costumes, discoursed sweet, haunting, heart-stirring music.
Outside, the courtyard was festooned with coloured lights and around
lighted braziers groups of men, women and children, in multi-coloured
garments, were gathered, feasting, singing, playing and dancing.
"To-night, if it pleases you, we will mingle with my people, who are
holding festival in your honour," said Don Carlos when dinner was over.
"I would advise you all to put on your warmest wraps, for the night
winds here in the Sierra Morena are treacherous."
The night seemed quite mild, but Myra took her host's advice and put on
her fur coat before going out into the courtyard to watch the
performance. Don Carlos and his English guests were greeted with
cheers when they appeared in the patio. A bearded patriarch, who
looked as if he had stepped out of a picture by Velasquez, stepped
forward and delivered a flowery speech of welcome, then comely maidens
and dark-visaged youths performed a picturesque dance to the
accompaniment of stringed instruments.
The set dance over, groups of men sang old Spanish and Basque folk
songs, after which Don Carlos's own orchestra, which had played in the
great hall during dinner, took up a position in the centre of the patio
and dancing became general.
"Come, let's mingle with the throng and take part in the fun," cried
Don Carlos gaily. "Come, Myra, let me teach you the Spanish dance the
boys and girls are dancing so merrily."
He did not wait for an answer, and before Myra quite realised what was
happening she found herself being whirled round in his arms in the
midst of the motley crowd.
"Don't hold me so tightly, Don Carlos, and don't dance so fast," she
protested breathlessly, after a few minutes. "I am nearly suffocated
in this fur coat, and the cobbles are hurting my feet. One can't dance
on cobble-stones in satin shoes."
"Myra, darling, the delight of holding you in my arms made me forget
all else," Don Carlos responded, slackening his pace. "I'll guide you
out of the crowd, and make love to you instead of dancing."
"I don't want you to make love to me," said Myra, "but I shall be glad
to get out of this crush, for I hate being elbowed about."
"Make way, good people, make way for the señorita who will soon be your
mistress!" cried Don Carlos in Spanish, and those around stopped
dancing to cheer.
Just as the couple were free of the crowd, all the electric lights,
both in the castle and the courtyard, were suddenly extinguished, and
at the same moment uproar broke out at the courtyard gates and shots
were fired.
"The bandits! El Diablo Cojuelo and his men!" a voice screamed.
Instantly all was confusion. Women shrieked and ran in all directions
in the darkness.
"I am here! Rally to your master, Don Carlos!" shouted Don Carlos.
"Rally to Don Carlos!"
Almost immediately he was surrounded, not by his own servants, but by a
body of masked and armed men. Myra clung to his arm, but was snatched
away from him, someone enveloped her head in a cloak, she was picked up
in strong arms as if she were a baby and carried quickly for some
distance. She struggled fiercely, but the cloak that enveloped her, to
say nothing of her own fur coat, hampered her movements, and she was
almost as helpless as an infant in the arms of its nurse.
Her captor halted for a moment, growled out some orders breathlessly in
Spanish, and Myra found herself dumped down on the seat of a motor car,
which immediately started off at a rapid rate. Half stifled, she tore
the cloak from her face, and as she did so an arm encircled her.
"El Diablo Cojuelo has captured the prize of his lifetime!" said a deep
voice triumphantly.
Myra's heart seemed to miss a beat as she felt the outlaw's arm tighten
around her, panic seized her, and she had to fight the inclination to
scream, and scream and scream.
"You are trembling, little lady," said the muffled voice of her captor.
"Do not be so sore afraid. I am not the fiend people make El Diablo
Cojuelo out to be, and will take care of so precious a treasure. Don
Carlos will ransom you, but perhaps when you have seen me and my
mountain nest you will not want to be ransomed."
Myra's natural courage began to reassert itself, and she was ashamed of
having displayed any signs of fear. "Displayed" is hardly the word,
for the inside of the car, which was hurtling along at great speed, was
so dark that she could not even see the shape of the man whose arm
encircled her, and she knew he could not see her.
Somehow, the brigand's voice, muffled though it was--as if he were
speaking with something over his face--struck her as vaguely familiar,
and as Myra collected her scattered wits it occurred to her that El
Diablo Cojuelo had spoken in English.
"A Spanish brigand who speaks English!" she exclaimed aloud, and
Cojuelo laughed.
"Si, señorita!" he answered. "So we shall be able to understand each
other. Don Carlos de Ruiz taught me English, and I imitate his voice
and accent when I am speaking your language. We are really very good
friends, Don Carlos and I, and he bears me no ill-will. I provide him
with amusement, and he would be sorry to see me captured."
"He will certainly bear you ill-will for having kidnapped me, and make
every effort to kill you," retorted Myra, recognising that Cojuelo's
muffled voice did resemble that of Don Carlos.
"Because he loves you?" queried Cojuelo, with a chuckle. "You think he
will be mad because I have robbed him of his heart's desire?"
"How do you know that he loves me?" asked Myra in amazement.
She was no longer terrified, and had recovered her nerve, but she still
found it difficult to believe she was not dreaming. It seemed more
like a nightmare than actuality that she should be sitting in a
pitch-dark car, talking of love and Don Carlos to a Spanish outlaw who
had captured her, and whose arm encircled her waist. She was not
conscious of fear now, but Cojuelo's reply to her question scared her
more than a little.
"Sweet señorita, what man with a heart and eyesight could resist
falling in love with so beautiful a woman?" he responded. "Perhaps I
shall fall in love with you myself and refuse to surrender you, no
matter how great a ransom is offered. For years I have been seeking my
ideal, but not one of the many women I have captured in my time pleased
me enough to make me wish to keep her. You may be different."
Before Myra could find words to reply, the car came to a sudden stop,
the door was flung open and a gruff voice growled out a question in
Spanish which Cojuelo answered in the same language.
"We will alight now, señorita, and take a little riding exercise," he
said to Myra. "I know you are an expert horsewoman, for I was near you
this morning when you were riding with Don Carlos, and I know you will
have no difficulty in sitting a mule although you are not in riding
dress. Only mules can negotiate the paths that lead to my mountain
nest. Come!"