nded Blanco. Then with a sorrowful shake of his head he
commiserated: "I am sorry that you are to be denied the excitement of
the _rouge et noir_ and the _trente et quarente_ of the gold table,
_Senor_, but if the Countess Astaride and Louis should meet there, the
lady would know you. I fancy that she will not again mistake you for
someone else. As for myself, neither of them yet knows me."

"Are they at Monte Carlo?" Benton sat suddenly upright, and Blanco had
the first reward of his diplomacy, as he noted the quickening interest
in the questioning eyes.

"I am only guessing, _Senor_. If the guess is good, I may learn
something. What is in my mind, may fail. If you are willing to trust me
I would rather not reveal it now."

"And I?" questioned Benton. "Have I any part to play in this, or do you
go it alone?"

Blanco leaned forward.

"It may be necessary to have someone near enough to the Palace in Puntal
to insure immediate action--action to be taken on the instant.... You
must return to the city, _Senor_.... It will be for only a few days. The
Grand Palace Hotel is above the town in large gardens.... If you choose
you can remain there with your presence absolutely unknown, so far as
the city proper is concerned. Also, the Marconi office has a station in
the hotel grounds. With a code which we have yet to arrange, I can keep
in touch with you...."

The next day Benton was a passenger by steamer from Villefranche to
Puntal.

The Grand Palace Hotel, dominating its own acres of subtropical gardens,
looks down on the city as one seated on an eminence commands the common
things at his feet. Between its grounds and the scalloped bay, run the
huddled habitations of the town's water-front, with its delicately
tinted walls and riotously colored gardens invading every crevice.

Following the semicircle of the bay, the eye commands that other
eminence where the King's Palace shuts itself in austerely at the very
center of the arc. Through the clustered, tea-sipping loungers on the
galleries and terraces Benton made his way several days later, wearing
the studiously affected unconcern of the tourist; an unconcern which he
found it desperately difficult to assume in Puntal.

Driven by a growing and intense desire to put distance between himself
and all alien humanity, he turned into a narrow, steeply climbing street
which ran twisting between toy-houses and vine-cumbered garden-walls,
until at last it lost its right to b