Philip inclined his head. “You did well, señor.”
A man came in, and stood attentively at the King’s elbow. Philip was already writing a laborious memorandum. His pen moved unhurriedly. He remarked without raising his eyes from the paper: “Yet so desperate a man as this might not hesitate to steal a horse. A runner must be sent to the Frontier.”
From what he had seen of Beauvallet Don Cristobal did not think that he would hesitate for a moment. “With submission, sire, I would suggest that a runner be sent to the ports, in especial Vigo and Santander.”
“Runners will be sent at once,” said Philip calmly, “to all the ports with orders to the Alcaldes to apprehend this man. But we shall do well to remember, Don Cristobal, that we have to do with one who has evil arts at command.”
Whatever doubts Don Cristobal might cherish as to Beauvallet’s supposed wizardry he merely bowed his head respectfully.
Father Allen, until now a silent listener over against the window, came forward. “Your Majesty has forgotten that there is the servant to be reckoned with.”
The King’s brain did not work fast, but it never forgot. “The servant fled, Father,” he said positively.
Father Allen bowed. “So we were led to believe, sire.”
Philip had to digest this. A shade of annoyance crossed his face. “I cannot think that I have been well-served in this,” he said, and motioned to the secretary to write at his dictation.
The various despatches were at last ready; messengers were to ride to the Frontier, and to any port of size. Through the length and breadth of Spain would run the news that a famous pirate was at large. Philip leaned back in his chair with a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction. “He will run into a net,” he said with unwonted urbanity. “We shall presently draw the strings tight.”
This was all very well, but there were others who did not share the King’s optimism. Perinat, when he heard next day of the escape, fairly danced with mortification, and predicted disaster to an awestruck circle.
“To hold him and to let him slip through the fingers!” raved Perinat. “He should have been shackled and handcuffed, and never left! What do you know of him? Nothing! I knew, ah, I knew! but I was not heeded. Oh devil and fiend! oh warlock, you are away yet once again!”
Noveli cut into this impassioned outburst. “He cannot get away. Every port will be stopped, and none allowed to set sail on any vessel. The Frontier will be barred before he can reach it, and even if it were not you forget that he has no pass.”
Perinat pointed a prophetic finger. “You may stop the ports, you may bar the Frontier, but he will slip through your guards, and laugh at you as he does so! Ah, to have had him, and to let him go!” His fierce gaze swept the group. “The ports! the Frontier! Why came he into Spain? Heard you not the true reason from Carvalho’s lips? Where is Doña Dominica de Rada?”
“Why, on the road to Vasconosa,” said someone. “But—”
“Then let the King send there for him!” said Perinat. “And still he will be too late! The villain’s away, I tell you!”
Another gentleman came to join the group, one whose eyes were restless and uneasy, and whose fingers twitched rather nervously. Don Rodriguez de Carvalho, on whom the news had fallen like a thunderbolt, was in a sorry case. Sharing to the full the popular dread of El Beauvallet, he did not know what to do. He feared for his son’s life, he feared for his niece’s safety, and he dared not divulge Beauvallet’s probable destination for fear of implicating Dominica, and seeing her and her wealth swallowed up by the Holy Inquisition. He came now, fussy and fidgeting, to hear what was being said of the escape, and was in time to catch Perinat’s last words.
Perinat pounced on him at once. “Ah, in a good hour, Carvalho! Tell me, will not this pirate be after your niece?”
Don Rodriguez looked startled. He stammered:—“I do not think it—I cannot suppose it. She was resolute in denying him. Maybe we mistake—what should El Beauvallet hope to make in Spain?”
“He is self-declared,” interposed Aranda, “That evening when I first met him he dared to speak his own name! Do you remember, Losa? He said that if El Beauvallet stood where he stood then he would still laugh. What impudence! What daring! One gasps at it.”
Perinat, obsessed by the one idea, brushed this aside. “You waste time! The King should be told of this. It is for you, Carvalho, to warn him.”
Don Rodriguez hesitated and was lost. “If you think it wise, señors. … But I cannot agree with you. I cannot suppose that my niece would suffer him. She is headstrong indeed, but she does not forget—in short, señors, if El Beauvallet seeks her indeed it is against her will.”
“Against her will when she declared she knew him not?” burst out Perinat. “The girl’s besotted!”
Losa lifted a finger to silence Perinat. “I think that the King should be told that Doña Dominica de Rada is on her way to Vasconosa, and that El Beauvallet may well be on her heels,” he said.
“Well, señor, well. … If you do not think it is to waste his Majesty’s time,” Don Rodriguez said unhappily.
He went to the King, and found Don Cristobal de Porres there, announcing failure to find El Beauvallet in Madrid. He blurted out his mission as best he could, and was at pains to tell the King that he himself was no believer in the wild tale.
Philip gave it his slow consideration. The first thing he said was:—“If this is so it casts grave doubts on Doña Dominica’s faith. This must be looked into. Why was I am not told that Doña Dominica had left Madrid?”
Don Rodriguez made haste
