He rang the bell.
"Sir?" said the competent valet. ("Competent valets are in attendance
at each of these flats."--_Advt._)
"Has any one been here since I left?"
"Yes, sir. A foreign-looking gentleman called. He said he knew you,
sir. I showed him into your room."
The same night, well on in the small hours, the telephone rang. Roland
dragged himself out of bed.
"Hullo?"
"Is that Senor Bleke?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Beware!"
Things were becoming intolerable. Roland had a certain amount of nerve,
but not enough to enable him to bear up against this sinister
persecution. Yet what could he do? Suppose he did beware to the extent
of withdrawing his support from the royalist movement, what then?
Bombito. If ever there was a toad under the harrow, he was that toad.
And all because a perfectly respectful admiration for the caoutchouc
had led him to occupy a stage-box several nights in succession at the
theater where the peerless Maraquita tied herself into knots.
* * * * *
There was an air of unusual excitement in Maraquita's manner at their
next meeting.
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