"I have some news for you, Mercy, but I can’t tell you now. I must go." I was standing almost in the front of the box, between the two, and Mrs. Curwen said— "Did you ever see such a scene? What a love that boy King is! I should like to kiss him." I glanced then across at the Royal box, and to my discomfiture saw that his little Majesty was taking my advice, and, with an opera glass, was earnestly searching the audience. As I looked across, the glass was full upon our box. He started, lowered the glass, and looked eagerly at me. Then he turned to the Queen impetuously, said something to her, and handed her the glass; and she in her turn looked across the house at me. He had recognised me, and I dare not stay another minute, for fear he should send to enquire for me. I turned to Mayhew, who was sitting by Mrs. Curwen. "I want to speak to you, Silas. Come with me;" and, murmuring an excuse to the widow, we went out. "Is anything wrong?" he asked anxiously. "Yes, there’s a devil of a mess, and I’m in it up to the neck, and I want you to help me. I’ve got a nasty job for you. I’ve had a telegram from London just now to say that my brother is dead. He was thrown from his horse this afternoon. Here’s the wire." "Then that name you sent in——" he began. "I didn’t use it because of that. But my own name has got mixed up with this infernal Carlist business, and I didn’t dare send it in. Ferdinand Carbonnell may be proscribed at any moment, and I’ve scraped my shoulder already once this evening against a prison door. What I want you to do is to break this news of poor Lascelles’ death as best you can to my sister, as soon as you get a chance, and just make them both understand that they’re to know nothing of any Ferdinand Carbonnell. If I’ve been recognised here, as I think I have, and anyone comes questioning, just say I’m Lord Glisfoyle, and if they press for any address give them the Hotel de l’Opera." "I don’t quite understand. Why——" "That’s all right; I can’t spare another second," and I hurried off, leaving him staring after me with the telegram in his hand, the very picture of bewilderment. I walked quickly along the corridor, left the building, and turned at a quick speed in the direction of the Calle de Valencia, in search of Sarita. And when I found how much time I had lost through my visit to the Opera, I was troubled with serious misgivings. *CHAPTER XIX* *A CARLIST GATHERING* The Calle de Valencia was a sufficiently important street to be well known, and I had no difficulty in finding it. It had a prosperous look; the houses were for the most part of a good size; and their condition and appearance suggested that the occupants were of the well-to-do class.