"He is dead, Sarita," I said, and rose to take her out of the room, but the strain and the shock had been too much for her strength. She had fainted and lay white, wan, and helpless in the chair on which she had crouched when he made his last desperate attempt to shoot her. *CHAPTER XXXIV* *A KING’S RIDDLE* The effects of Sebastian Quesada’s death were national and dramatic. For some days the political atmosphere was highly charged with electricity; the utmost confusion appeared to prevail, and in the result the war party emerged triumphant and irresistible. Scarcely a voice was to be heard in favour of peace, even from those who had previously been staunch adherents of the dead Minister. The reason of this was to some extent a matter of conjecture on my part. How wide-reaching Quesada’s conspiracy had been I never learnt precisely; but enough was told to enable me to guess a great deal more. Quite suddenly, and much to my surprise, the policy of a general amnesty for the Carlists embroiled in the recent outbreak found wide and most influential support. The avowed reason for this was the obvious expediency of uniting all classes in Spain, in order to present a compact front to the common enemy; but I believe the real reason was a very different one. I have grounds for saying that the scrutiny of Quesada’s private affairs and papers revealed the fact that so many of the prominent men in the country had been more or less involved in his movement to establish a Republic, that the loyalists were afraid of the results of a strict investigation and rigorous prosecution. The war policy was a good rallying cry, and in view of it the hatchet was to be buried. This unexpected development was of course all in my favour, although there were some days of acute anxiety and suspense. So soon as I was in possession of the needed proofs that Quesada’s death was due to murder from private motives and was not an assassination in any way concerning the Carlists, I had been confident enough of ultimate success to take Sarita back to Madrid, place her again with Madame Chansette, and then open up communications with the Duke of Novarro. From my first interview with him I brought away a piece of sorrowful news for Sarita. Her brother was dead. He had been shot at Daroca in the act of escaping from the police who had arrested him. Her grief was very deep, but Ramon’s death severed the family tie which bound her to Spain; and when the first pangs of sorrow had passed, it came to be accepted between us that if the amnesty for the Carlists was secured she would go with us to England. Then, just as matters appeared to be going well, an unexpected thing occurred. I had received a summons to attend at the Palace one day, and went down to tell the others, and as I entered Mrs. Curwen’s room I heard her say: