CHAPTER IX.
RASCALS READY FOR ACTION.
In a handsome room in the royal palace at Penza, capital of Joyalita, a man in a gorgeous uniform sat at a heavy mahogany table, writing.
It was very early in the morning of the eighteenth, the day on which the council was to be held that would decide the future fate of Joyalita.
A tap at the door, and in response to the gorgeous man’s “Come in!” a slim man, in plain clothes, whose shifty eyes took in the whole apartment at a glance, while he ran one of his clawlike hands over his damp face, stepped forward.
“Well, Jason?” snapped the man at the table.
“I came in to tell you that everything is attended to, Don Solado. We have Prince Marcos safely in the hands of Gaspara, and there is nothing to interfere.”
“Good, Jason! You have done well. I will see that proper notice is taken of your services. Prince Miguel will be in supreme power in Joyalita after the council to-day, and I feel that I am safe in promising you an important official position in the palace.”
“I thank you, Don Solado,” returned Jason. “There is a Doctor Fordham, who traveled with the prince, besides Phillips, his man—who used to be my immediate superior in the household—and another man, engaged to take my place, I believe. They will perhaps come to Joyalita.”
Don Solado, the prime minister, and the man who had engineered the plot to deprive Prince Marcos of his birth-right, as well as to sell the country to the neighboring country of Carita, got up from his chair and walked up and down the room as a sort of vent for his anger.
“That rascal Phillips must not be allowed to cross the border line of Joyalita. Where is Prince Miguel?”
“In his own apartments.”
“I’ll go and see him.”
It was at this moment that the door opened again. This time it admitted no less a person than Prince Miguel himself. He was in an even more gorgeous military uniform than Don Solado, and he carried himself with the hauteur which had distinguished him while in New York, only with more of it.
Jason slipped out of the room. Miguel threw himself into a chair near the big table and looked inquiringly at Solado.
“Everything has been arranged, Miguel,” said Solado, adopting the familiar tone which was his customary one when speaking to Prince Miguel alone. “We have that troublesome fellow shut up in the mountains, in charge of my amiable friend Gaspara.”
“What will be the end of that?”
“Whatever you like, Miguel,” was the reply. “Gaspara’s orders are only to take care he does not get away. But you can depend on him to do anything that may seem necessary to make your position at the head of Joyalita’s government secure.”
“Anything?” whispered Miguel significantly.
“Anything. If you would prefer that he never came back, you have only to say the word to Gaspara, and there will be nothing more seen of Marcos. I don’t like to go to extremes. But, if you wish it——”
“Bah! You’re too mealy-mouthed, Solado,” snarled Miguel. “Still, we can let that matter rest for the present. Everything ready for the council?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad of it, for I had a hard and hurried trip from New York to be here in time. When we have made the arrangement with Carita, I shall take my place as the reigning prince of Joyalita, and I think I shall then be in a position to care for those who are faithful to me.”
Don Solado bowed low.
“That is the understanding, your highness!” he said, in smooth, significant accents.
Miguel left the apartment, and Don Solado went on with his preparations for the council meeting to be held that day, and which would settle the future course of the government of Joyalita.
The whole city of Penza was in a ferment. It was generally understood that there was to be a radical change in the relations of the country with its near neighbor, Carita, and there was some talk that Miguel might take the place of Prince Marcos, “because the latter felt no longer able to bear the cares of state.”
As is often the case with a population ruled by hereditary princes, they had only a vague idea of what was to be done, and trusted entirely to the high officials who always had managed their affairs.
It was to be a gala day in Penza. Let the people have plenty of music, flags, and military display, and they would not be likely to interfere with more important matters.
That was the policy of Don Solado, who was in general charge, and Miguel agreed with him. The rascals had laid their plans well.
It had been given out that Prince Marcos was in the United States, and that he intended to stay there.
This in itself was calculated to lessen somewhat the affection the people of Joyalita had always shown for their prince. They could not understand why he would stay away at such a time as this, when his country surely needed him, if ever it had.
Miguel went to his private room—after strolling about the public square, in full uniform, attended by a staff of officers almost as glittering as himself. He had shown himself to the people, and now he felt that he might have a little time to look after his personal affairs before he would be called into the council chamber.
No sooner was he in his room than he took from a pocket the magnificent gold watch and fob, with their blaze of diamonds and other precious stones, and studied them for several minutes.
“The Seal of Gijon!” he muttered. “I’m glad I have such an able rascal as Jason to do things for me. I should have had difficulty in carrying out my plans without this. The seal will be necessary to make the contract binding. I have let the Carita people believe I have the seal in my possession, with the consent of Marcos. If I couldn’t produce it, I should have had a hard time to explain, I am afraid. Well, here it is, and I shall have it ready when the time comes.”
He sat musing pleasantly over his prospects, toying with the watch and fob. For two years and more he had been plotting to get his cousin out of the position he held, as ruler of Joyalita.
With Don Solado at his back, he had hatched all sorts of schemes, but they had all fallen down, one after the other. Some of these schemes Marcos suspected, but most of them had been concocted and then had collapsed without the good-natured prince knowing anything about them.
It was only of late that he had been convinced of Miguel’s treachery. He had seen proofs of it even before the attempt to kidnap and kill him in New York City, and now he was as determined to save his country as his cousin was to hand it over to another power, with himself as the real ruler.
Miguel had gone over the whole plot in his mind, and had just come to the conclusion that it was absolutely perfect, so that it could not fail, when there came a sharp tap-tap at his door, followed by a thump.
This was the signal agreed upon between him and Solado to show that it was the latter who demanded entrance.
Miguel hastily stuffed the Seal of Gijon in his pocket and strode across the thickly carpeted floor to unlock the door.
Don Solado stumbled in, trembling and weak, and with great beads of perspiration standing forth on his flabby white face.
“He’s here!” he gasped.
“Who?”
“Marcos!”
“What?” shrieked Miguel. Then, dropping his voice, he asked angrily: “What are you talking about, Solado? Are you crazy? Isn’t Marcos up in the mountains, with Gaspara? You told me that——”
“Yes, yes. I know what I told you. He was with Gaspara. But—he has escaped!”
Miguel sat back in his chair, his legs extended and his arms by his sides, staring stupidly at Solado.
“How was it?” he managed to ask at last. “How did he escape?”
“Just ran away when Gaspara’s men were not attending to their duty,” growled Solado. “He might not have got off even then, only that he had a motor car waiting for him not far away, with his physician, a Doctor Fordham, and a valet. It is all that fellow Jason’s fault. He did not take proper precautions. He knew those two men were with the prince.”
“Didn’t he do anything to make them safe?” asked Miguel.
“Yes. He gave them something in their coffee that made them sleep, at Mala’s house in Paron. But they woke up in the morning, trailed the car to Gaspara’s place, and took Marcos away.”
“In fact, a blunder has been made all around,” snarled Miguel. “Well, we must do something, quickly, or we shall have Marcos here before the treaty is signed. He is on his way, of course.”
“I know he is. He was seen in Paron this morning. He went to Mala’s for some of his baggage that had been taken out of the car, and then started for Penza. I got a telegram from Mala.”
“Mala deserves recognition. I’ll see that he has it if we keep Marcos away. The question is, how can we do it?”
“Give me twenty cavalrymen, and I’ll keep him out of Joyalita,” suddenly declared Solado, with more energy than he had heretofore shown. “Young Lieutenant Trenzini is aching to have some chance to show his loyalty to you. What is more, he hates Marcos.”
“That’s true,” observed Miguel thoughtfully. “Trenzini wanted to marry that niece of yours, Claudia, didn’t he?”
“Yes. But Marcos has been polite to her a few times, and she thinks she can get him.”
“Perhaps she will. I have no objection,” sneered Miguel. “But he will not be ruler of Joyalita after to-day, so perhaps she won’t want him then.”
“Yes, she will,” was Don Solado’s quick reply. “I believe the girl would be fool enough to marry him if he were utterly ruined—if he would have her. Young women of her kind never have any sense, it seems to me.”
“Well, that is of no consequence,” shrugged Miguel. “I’ll give orders for Lieutenant Trenzini to take twenty troopers and go and meet this automobile with Marcos and his men. That’s what you mean, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then. Go on with your preparations for the council, and I will show myself in the public square again, after I get Trenzini off. We’ll beat Marcos yet.”