LESBA’S BRIGHT EYES
Later that evening there was a large gathering of the important members
of the conspiracy, but the result of their deliberations only served to
mystify us more than before as to the murderer of Madam Izabel and the
possessor of the ring. Many were the expressions of sorrow at the
terrible fate of Dom Miguel—a man beloved by all who had known him. The
sad incident of his death caused several to waver in their loyalty to
the projected Republic, and I was impressed by the fact that at this
juncture the Cause seemed to be in rather desperate straits.
“If the ring is gone and the records discovered,” said one, “we would
best leave the country for a time, until the excitement subsides, for
the Emperor will spare no one in his desire for vengeance.”
“Let us first wait for more definite information,” counseled the old
general, always optimistic. “Should an uprising be precipitated at this
time we have all the advantage on our side, for the Republic is to-day
stronger than the Empire. And we have yet to hear from Paola.”
So, after much comment, it was determined to watch every action of the
court party with redoubled vigilance, and in case danger threatened the
republicans, to give the signal that would set the revolution going in
full swing. Meantime we would endeavor to get in touch with Paola.
But the Minister of Police had mysteriously disappeared, and although
telegrams were sent in every direction, we could hear nothing of Paola’s
whereabouts. Inquiries at the court failed to elicit any information
whatever, and they were doubtless as ignorant on the subject as
ourselves.
Officially, I was supposed to be occupying a dungeon in the fortress,
and Mazanovitch had actually locked up a man under my name, registering
the prisoner in the prescribed fashion. Therefore, being cleverly
disguised by the detective, I ran little risk of interference should I
venture abroad in the city.
Curiously enough, Mazanovitch chose to disguise me as a member of the
police, saying that this plan was less likely than any other to lead to
discovery. Wherever I might wander I was supposed to be off duty or on
special service, and the captain enrolled me under the name of Andrea
Subig.
I was anxious at times to return to Cuyaba, for Lesba’s white face, as I
had last seen it on the morning of Dom Miguel’s incarceration, haunted
me perpetually. But the quest of the ring was of vital importance, and I
felt that I dared not return until I could remove my dear friend’s body
from the vault and see it properly interred.
Under Mazanovitch’s directions I strove earnestly to obtain a clue that
might lead to a knowledge of where the missing ring was secreted; but
our efforts met with no encouragement, and we were not even sure that
the murderer of Izabel de Mar had ever reached the capital.
On the third morning after my arrival I was strolling down the street
toward the railway station, in company with Mazanovitch, when suddenly I
paused and grasped my comrade’s arm convulsively.
“Look there!” I exclaimed.
Mazanovitch shook off my hand, impatiently.
“I see,” he returned; “it is the Senhorita Lesba Paola, riding in the
Emperor’s carriage.”
“But that scoundrel Valcour is with her!” I cried.
“Scoundrel? We do not call Senhor Valcour that. He is faithful to the
Emperor, who employs him. Shall we, who are unfaithful, blame him for
his fidelity?”
While I sought an answer to this disconcerting query the carriage
whirled past us and disappeared around a corner; but I had caught a
glimpse of Lesba’s bright eyes glancing coyly into the earnest face
Valcour bent over her, and the sight filled me with pain and suspicion.
“Listen, Captain,” said I, gloomily, “that girl knows all the important
secrets of the conspiracy.”
“True,” answered the unmoved Mazanovitch.
“And she is riding in the Emperor’s carriage, in confidential
intercourse with the Emperor’s spy.”
“True,” he said again.
“Paola has disappeared, and his sister is at court. What do you make of
it, senhor?”
“Pardon me, the Minister of Police returned to his duties this morning,”
said the man, calmly. “Doubtless his sister accompanied him. Who knows?”
“Why did you not tell me this?” I demanded, angrily.
“I am waiting for Paola to communicate with us, which he will do in good
time. Meanwhile, let me counsel patience, Senhor Americano.”
But I left him and strode down the street, very impatient indeed, and
filled with strange misgivings. These Brazilians were hard to
understand, and were it not for Lesba I could wish myself quit of their
country forever.
Lesba? What strange chance had brought her to Rio and thrown her into
the companionship of the man most inimical to her brother, to myself,
and to the Cause?
Was she playing a double game? Could this frank, clear-eyed girl be a
traitor to the Republic, as had been Izabel de Mar?
It might be. A woman’s mind is hard to comprehend. But she had been so
earnest a patriot, so sincerely interested in our every success, so
despondent over our disappointments, that even now I could not really
doubt her faith.
Moreover, I loved the girl. Had I never before realized the fact, I knew
it in this hour when she seemed lost to me forever. For never had speech
of mine brought the glad look to her face that I had noted as she
flashed by with Valcour pouring soft speeches into her ears. The
Emperor’s spy was a handsome fellow; he was high in favor at court; he
was one of her own people—
Was he, by the by? Was Valcour really a Brazilian? He had a Brazilian’s
dark eyes and complexion, it is true; yet now that I thought upon it,
there was an odd, foreign cast to his features that indicated he
belonged to another race. Yes, there was a similarity between them and
the features of the Pole Mazanovitch. Perhaps Valcour might also be a
Pole. Just now Mazanovitch had spoken kindly of him, and——
I stopped short in my calculations, for I had made a second startling
discovery. My wanderings had led me to the railway station, where, as I
approached, I saw the Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro de Alcantara,
surrounded by a company of his Uruguayan guard, and in the act of
boarding a private car attached to the Matto Grosso train.
I had never before seen the Emperor, but from descriptions of him, as
well as from the deference of those about him, I had no doubt of his
identity.
His hurried departure upon a journey, coupled with Paola’s presence at
the capital, could only bear one interpretation. The Minister of Police
had been in conference with the Emperor, and his Majesty was about to
visit in person the scene of the late tragedy, and do what he might to
unearth the records of that far-reaching revolution which threatened his
throne.
Here was news, indeed! Half-dazed, I started to retrace my steps, when a
soft voice beside me said:
“Have you money, senhor?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then,” continued Mazanovitch, “you must take this train for Cuyaba. Let
the Emperor guide you. If danger threatens us, telegraph me the one
word, ‘Lesba’! Do you understand, Senhor Harcliffe?”
“I think so,” said I, “but let me use some other word. Why drag a
woman’s name into this affair?”
He coughed slightly.
“It is a word you will remember,” said he. “Good by to you, senhor.”
He had an odd way of disappearing, this strange Pole, whose eyes I had
never seen. With his last word he actually melted into the crowd of
loiterers who were watching the Emperor’s departure, and I could not
have found him again had I so desired.
My first thought was to rebel at leaving Rio, where Lesba Paola had
taken refuge from the coming storm. But the girl seemed amply amused
without me, and my duties to the interests of my dead chieftain forbade
my deserting the Cause at this crisis. Therefore I would follow the
Emperor.
As the train moved slowly out of the station, I swung myself upon the
steps of the rear car, and the next instant was tumbled upon the
platform by a person who sprang up behind me.
Angrily protesting, I scrambled to my feet; but the fellow, with
scarcely a glance in my direction, passed into the car and made his way
forward.
The exclamations died suddenly upon my lips.
The belated passenger was Senhor Valcour, the spy.