tudied the cone of Vesuvius.

"Blanco!" Benton leaned across the table with an anxious frown and
stretched out a hand which over-turned the wine glasses. "There was one
thing he said that stuck in my memory. He said the Powers would see that
in the end Louis had his throne."

The Spaniard shook his head dubiously.

"The Powers have lost their instrument! You forget, _Senor_, that this
is underground diplomacy. It must appear to work itself out and the new
King must be logical. With Louis a prisoner their meddling hands are
bound."

Benton rose and pushed back his chair. His companion joined him and
together they passed out through the stone-flagged court and into the
road. For fifteen minutes they walked morosely and in silence through
the steep streets where the shops are tourist-traps, alluringly baited
with corals and trinkets. Finally they came out on the beach where many
fishing boats were dragged up on the sand, and nets stretched, drying in
the sun.

Then Benton spoke.

"In God's name, Manuel, what do I care who occupies the throne of
Galavia? No other man could so block my path as Karyl." Then as one in
the confessional he declared shamefacedly: "I have never said it to any
man because it is too much like murder, but--sometimes I wish I had
reached Cadiz one day later than I did." He drew his handkerchief and
wiped the moisture from his forehead.

The Spaniard skillfully kindled a cigarette in the spurt of a match,
which the gusty sea-breeze made short-lived.

"And now," he calmly suggested, "it is still possible to let Europe play
out her game alone. After all, _Senor_, we are as the young _touristo_
indicated--only amateurs."

"And yet, Manuel," the American smiled half-quizzically, "yet we seem
foreordained to play bodyguard to Karyl. Fate throws him on our hands."

"We might decline in future to accept the charge."

Benton halted so close to the water's edge that a bit of sea-weed was
washed up close to his feet. "Any threat to the throne of Galavia now is
also a threat to Her. We must learn what these Powers purpose doing."
He threw back his shoulders and his step quickened with the resolution
of fresh action.

"Besides," he supplemented, "Delgado is a dreaming degenerate! We must
get back into the game."

The Spaniard laughed. "As you say, _Senor_. After all, this mere
cruising grows monotonous. Playing the game is better."

When, at twilight that evening, the launch came chugging back to