Vendetta in Spain

Apart from an intolerable ache caused by the finality of his loss of Angela, only one emotion stirred him repeatedly; it was a fierce craving to see justice done on those responsible for her death. Daily he spoke of this to the Conde, who kept him informed about the progress the police were making in their investigations.

The name of the assassin was Mateo Morral and he was on the police files as an agitator, but had done nothing before throwing the bomb which might have justified his arrest. He had come from Barcelona and was a Catalan of superior type; his bearded face had a mild expression, his hands were well cared-for and he had a general air of middle-class respectability.

The old house from which the bomb had been thrown had been divided up into apartments, and it was Morral's unsuspicious appearance which had enabled him to rent a room on its third floor without anyone suspecting that he might be an anarchist. But when the room had been broken into, it had been found that, in addition to chemicals left over from compounding the explosives for the bomb, there were others that indicated he had been treating himself for syphilis.

Immediately he had thrown the bomb he had rushed downstairs, mingled with the crowd in the street, and succeeded in reaching the office of a Don Jos6 Nakens, who was the editor-proprietor of a Republican weekly journal called The Mutiny. Nakens had provided him with a change of clothes and found him shelter for the night. Ke had then managed to escape unrecognized from the city and gone into temporary hiding with another associate at a village on the road to the Escorial. Next day he attempted to board a train at Torrejon de Ardoz, but by then his description had been circulated throughout the length and breadth of Spain, and at the station he was identified. A rural guard who was present had tried to arrest him but Morral had shot him dead with a Browning pistol, and had then used the pistol to kill himself.

Further investigations disclosed that had the anarchists' original plot matured it would have had infinitely more hideous results. A gallery in the church in which the wedding Mass was to be celebrated had been allotted to the Press. With forged credentials Morral had succeeded in obtaining a pass to it and had intended to throw his bomb down into the body of the church at the moment when the King and Queen received the Sacrament. Had he done so the two hundred fragments into which it splintered must have killed not only them but half-a-hundred other royalties, priests and officials grouped about the high altar.

By a dispensation attributable only to God this ghastly slaughter had been prevented by an eleventh-hour alteration of arrangements. It had been suggested that little four-year-old Don Alfonso Maria -who as the son of the King's deceased sister was Heir Apparent to the Throne - was too young to be expected to sit quietly through the long ceremony in the body of the church; so it was decided that he and his attendants should sit in the gallery with his cousin, the fourteen-year-old Princess Pilar, next to him to keep him from becoming restless. The Press then having been relegated to a position that would have made the aiming of the bomb more chancy, Morral had elected to hurl it from his room in the Calle Mayor.

It was on learning this that de Quesnoy burst out:

'What infamy! The imagination reels at the thought of such a massacre. It seems incredible that any human being, let alone an educated man like this Morral, could become so obsessed with vindictiveness against the ruling caste as to plan the murder of men, women and even innocent children indiscriminately. Yet one cannot doubt that he would have turned the church into a shambles had he had the chance. Hell is too good for such Devil's spawn.'

The disease from which he was suffering had probably affected his brain,' suggested the Conde.

'Perhaps; but what of the others who aided and abetted him - the editor who got him out of Madrid, and the man who hid him in the country? Besides, these anarchists are becoming an ever-increasing menace to established order. In Russia during the past twenty years nihilists have murdered scores of Provincial Governors and other high officials. In France, Italy or Belgium every few months they commit some appalling outrage. Look, too, at the toll they are taking of Europe's rulers. In '94 one of them assassinated President Carnot in Lyons, in '98 another stabbed to death the Empress

Elizabeth of Austria, and in 1900 yet another killed King Humbert of Italy. A dozen other rulers have been wounded or had narrow escapes. Not one of them today can wake up in the morning without the thought that he may be murdered before evening.'

The Conde nodded. 'It is not the first attempt on Don Alfonso, either. Just a year ago a bomb was thrown during his State visit to Paris, while he was driving through the streets with President Loubet. He gave fine proof of his courage on that occasion by leaning out of the carriage window and crying, ' Vive la France/' Then he turned with a smile to the President and asked, 'Was that intended for you or for me?' The President rose to the occasion and replied, 'This is the land of equality, Sir.' But you are right. These anarchists are a hideous menace. Among their victims that you omitted to name was President McKinley of the United States. His assassination a few years ago shows that their organization must be world-wide.'

'Exactly; and they cannot all be mad, at least not in the accepted sense which would make them medically certifiable.'

'No, they are fanatics; mostly, I think, embittered men who have brooded upon imagined wrongs so long that they have lost all moral sense and are prepared to go to any lengths to avenge themselves upon society.'

'They are responsible for their actions!' de Quesnoy exclaimed harshly. 'And nothing - nothing - can excuse this deliberate treacherous warfare they are waging on unsuspecting people. They should be stamped out like poisonous reptiles. I only wish to God that I knew a way to set about it.'

T understand how you must feel, and you are right,' the Conde agreed. 'But you may be sure that the police are doing everything possible to that end. Regarding yourself, though, Count; permit me to remark that now eight days have elapsed since your personal tragedy I do feel that you should make an effort to cease brooding upon it. Will you not try to put these villainous anarchists out of your mind and engage it with new interests?'

De Quesnoy sighed. 'I suppose that I ought to, and since you wish it I will make the endeavour; but I fear it will prove a hard task. You see at the moment there is nothing in which I feel I could interest myself.'

'You are interested in art and history.'

*I am, but I have visited the Prado many times and have already seen most of the sights of Madrid.'

'Of course; but I gather you have never been in Southern Spain. Andalusia is the loveliest part of my country and in its cities are some of the most beautiful buildings in the world. The Moors left us finer examples of their great civilization than any that are to be found in North Africa.'

'Were I in a normal state I am sure I should find them fascinating, but at the moment I really could not face a sightseeing tour on my own.'

The Conde smiled. 'My dear friend, we should not dream of allowing you to do so. I have already discussed this proposal with Francois and he was delighted at the idea of acting as your companion and guide.'

'How good of you both;' de Quesnoy raised a faint smile in reply. 'In that case it would be churlish of me to refuse.'

That evening de Vendome came up to discuss the trip with him and the places he proposed they should visit. His plan was to go south to Cordoba, across to Seville, then through Jerez de la Fron-tera to Cadiz; from there down to Algeciras, inland to Ronda, across to the Mediterranean coast at Malaga, inland again to Granada, return to the sea at Alicante, up the coast to Valencia, and so back to Madrid, stopping a few nights or longer, if they felt so inclined, in each of these places.

'But such a tour could take up to two months,' de Quesnoy protested.

'What matter,' the young Prince shrugged. 'Neither of us has any duties to claim him; and among these places there are several that I have never been to myself. Like you, after becoming an exile from France I decided to change my nationality, and I am now a Spaniard. So the more I can see of what is now always to be my country, the better.'

De Quesnoy shook his head. 'That is a plausible excuse, dear boy, and it is charming of you to make it; but you will have many opportunities to visit these places in more cheerful company than mine. I really cannot allow you to saddle yourself with me for more than a couple of weeks. However hard I try not to show my grief it is certain that I shall be moody and preoccupied for a good part of the time.'

'I don't mean to give you the chance to be. We are going by road in my new automobile and whenever you show signs of depression I intend to make you drive it.'

'What!' exclaimed the Count, sitting up with a jerk. 'But I've never driven an automobile in my life. I hate the damn' smelly unreliable things.'

The Prince laughed. 'Being, like yourself, a lover of horses, until quite recently I shared your prejudice. But