Evil in a Mask

'What an extraordinary life you have led,' Lisala com­mented, 'and how clever of you to have thought of this way to rejoin me.'

For a while they talked of the long journeys they had made from Persia. Then they made love again, talked, laughed, and made love yet again. It was close on five o'clock in the morn­ing before they could bring themselves to part; but with the happy prospect of renewing their bliss during the nights to come.

The following day Roger slept late then, in the afternoon, took a stroll round the docks at Bclem. They had become a positive hive of activity. The British merchants were still en­deavouring to get their goods away in any ship at any price, and now the Portuguese were equally active. There were eight ships of the line, four frigates, four sloops and some twenty merchantmen, all being provisioned in frantic haste, in case the Prince Regent did, after all, change his mind and decide to go to Brazil.

After dining, knowing that he had another long night of love-making before him, Roger went to bed for three hours; then, at midnight, he again scaled the garden wall and, in the pavilion, enjoyed the passionate embraces of Lisala.

Next day, the 25th, he had himself rowed out to the Hibernia to find out if there was any reliable news. Sir Sidney told him that Junot's advance guard was reported to have reached Alenquer only some thirty miles from Lisbon, but that the French army, with its Spanish auxiliaries, was said to be in a shocking state. Torrential rains and lack of susten­ance in the country through which they had advanced had reduced their numbers by half. Hundreds of men had been drowned while fording rivers in spate, hundreds more had collapsed from illness and semi-starvation. Yet the remainder, driven by Junot who, no doubt, was being driven by Napo­leon, were staggering on. In the Admiral's opinion, if Don Joao had had the guts to order his army to resist the French, even the unwarlike Portuguese troops would have been cer­tain of victory.

Roger stigmatised Strangford as a vain, spineless popinjay; since for some days he had made no further attempt to per­suade the Prince Regent to go aboard one of the warships that were being prepared for a voyage to the Americas. But that morning, under a flag of truce, the Minister had gone ashore to deliver an ultimatum from Sir Sidney, 'Either the Prince of Brazil would go to Brazil, and Portugal resume her status as Britain's ally, or the British Fleet would bombard Lisbon until it was reduced to a heap of rubble.'

Returning to the city, Roger spent an hour at his inn, then again presented himself at the de Pombal mansion. This time the Marquis was at home and he received Roger courteously; but he was in a state of considerable agitation. He had just returned from the Palace out at Queluz. Strangford and the Foreign Minister, d'Aranjo, had been closeted with Don Joao, while a host of anxious notabilities had crowded the salons and corridors. Apparently the Prince still refused to go, but at least he had agreed that the most valuable of his treasures should be loaded on to the warships, hedging with the state­ment that they could always be brought back to the Palace.

Roger then enquired whether, should the royal family leave, the Marquis would accompany them.

De Pombal frowned. 'How can you ask that, Mr. Brook? If Don Joao does go, it is the clear duty of every member of his Court to go with him. In fact, many more people will wish to accompany him than there is accommodation for them in the ships. When you arrived, I was just about to set out for Belem with a view to securing in good time quarters for my­self and my family.'

'A wise precaution,' Roger agreed. 'I, too, am about to go there; because in the past twenty-four hours the situation of the English here has greatly deteriorated. A number of your high officials are pro-French, or wish to curry favour with them; so they are beginning to carry out the letter of the law as proclaimed in the Royal Ordinance. A number of pro­minent British citizens have been arrested; so I am leaving the inn where I have been staying and returning to my quar­ters in die flagship.'

The Marquis at once offered Roger a seat in his coach and they set off together. That morning Roger had already de­cided that the time had come for him to accept Sir Sidney's invitation, and had packed a small bag with immediate neces­sities. On their way, he collected the bag from the Leao d'ouro, but left there the bulk of his belongings, either to be collected later or against his return to the inn should Don Joao finally refuse to leave for Brazil. He then drove on with de Pombal to the port, where they separated.

On board the Hibernia again, Roger found that Strangford had not yet returned. For a while he paced the quarter deck with the impatient Admiral, then they supped together. By ten o'clock Strangford was still not back, so Roger went ashore to keep his nightly rendezvous with Lisala.

He found her sitting in the pavilion, weeping. Putting his arms about her, he asked her what was the matter; although he had already guessed what her answer would be.

'It's terrible; too terrible,' she moaned. 'Nothing definite is settled as yet, but it seems that idiot Don Joao may yet go to Brazil. And if he does Papa has decreed that all of us must go too. This afternoon he secured cabins for us on a barque named the Nunez. Already all the servants have been set to work packing our most valuable pictures and other things to be sent aboard her. But I refuse to be separated from you. If we have to go, you must come with us.'

Roger shook his head and said softly, 'No, sweet. That I will not do. I sacrificed my career with Napoleon by deserting in order to rejoin you in Lisbon. But to go to Brazil is another matter. You can have no idea what that country is like. The towns are small and squalid, surrounded by jungle inhabited by every sort of poisonous reptile, and tropical diseases kill off a considerable part of the population every year. There is no culture and every form of discomfort, including appalling heat that makes life intolerable for several months each year. You and I could not possibly find happiness there.'

'But we'd be together,' she protested. 'And what possible alternative is there?'

That was a question which, during the past few days, had given Roger furiously to think. After the de Pombals had left Isfahan he had contemplated catching up with them on the pretext of asking for Lisala's hand in marriage; but had aban­doned it because he thought it certain that the Marquis would refuse him as a suitor for his daughter's hand. But now the situation was very different. The Marquis would certainly think twice before dragging Lisala off to Brazil against her will when an Englishman of good birth and not inconsiderable fortune, whom she loved, wanted to marry her. He had little doubt that he could, if need be, explain away to Napoleon his having left the mission in Isfahan. But he had been within an ace of dying on the field of Eylau. Why should he expose himself to similar risks in other campaigns when, instead, he could settle down in England with the lovely Lisala as his wife? He said to her:

'My love, there is an alternative. I have a charming house at Richmond, just outside London, and enough money to pro­vide you with every comfort. I will ask your father's permis­sion for us to marry.'

For a moment she considered, then she shook her head. 'No, much as I should love to be your wife, I must say "no" to that. Brazil may be all you say it is at present; but with the Court there matters would soon improve and life become tolerable. To do as you suggest would mean that I should be permanently separated from my family, and I cannot think I would be happy living in England. I adore the sun, so the heat in Brazil would not trouble me. The cold and fogs in your country would depress me utterly, and to spend the rest of my life with no-one but foreigners to talk to would make me miserable.'

For over an hour Roger argued with her; but she would not be persuaded so, for the time at least, he was compelled to abandon the project. So stricken was she by the threatened upheaval in her life that, for once, she was disinclined to make love; and, after their last two hectic nights, Roger felt no desire to press her. A little before two o'clock he left her and made his way back through the dark streets to Belem, then went aboard Hibernia to sleep in the cabin that had been allotted him.

Next morning he joined Sir Sidney and Strangford for breakfast. The Minister was in fine form, as his mission had proved in part successful. Don Joao still refused to leave for Brazil, but at least he had been persuaded to take up his resi­dence in the flagship of the Portuguese Fleet, and that was half the battle won. For it Strangford took all the credit to himself, although Roger felt certain that it was really due to the Admiral's threat to bombard Lisbon; and Don Joao had given in only to save thousands of his subjects from being killed and having his capital destroyed.

Roger spent a miserable day mooning about the flagship, while wrestling with his problem. After having lived for so many years actively employed in the centre of great events, the thought of going into exile and living like a cabbage in distant Brazil appalled him. Yet he was equally loath to lose Lisala. She was, he knew, entirely self-centred. Her plea that he should become a deserter in order to rejoin her in Lisbon was evidence enough of that, and now she was putting her own interests before his, without the least consideration of his fu­ture happiness. Yet she had bewitched him to such a degree that he could not bear the thought of never seeing her again. Eventually he decided that there was only one thing for it. Somehow he must kidnap her; then she would have no option but to marry him.

Late that night he went ashore and kept his usual midnight tryst with her in the garden pavilion. Again he did his utmost to persuade her to let him ask her father for her hand, but she was adamant in her refusal. He then told her of his determina­tion not to go to Brazil, upon which she gave way to one of her violent fits of temper, declaring that he could not be truly in love with her and did not deserve the great love she felt for him. There ensued a bitter quarrel, with tears and reproaches; but at length they made it up and, in a highly emotional state, relieved the tension by a passionate consummation on the set­tee, that left them both exhausted.

Next day, the 27th, the Prince Regent reluctantly kept his promise to go aboard the Portuguese flagship. Frightened that his people might endeavour to prevent him, he arrived at the dock in a plain carriage, hoping that he would not be recog­nised. But the scores of bales and cases containing objects of value which had recently, and were still being sent off to the ships, had alerted the populace to his probable intention. As he stepped from the carriage he was spotted. The crowd did not abuse him, but showed their distress that he should be abandoning them by sullen stares and a low moaning.

Strangford, Sir Sidney and Roger had gone ashore to wit­ness the embarkation. It provided a distressing sight, for Don Joao's more resolute wife, who had wanted him to stay and fight, had to be picked up and forcibly dumped into the royal barge.

Simultaneously, scores of noble families were embarking; among them the de Pombals. From a distance Roger saw them taken off and rowed out to the Nunez, which was close inshore. Quickly he secured a boat and was rowed out after them. As he went aboard the Nunez he noted with satisfaction that the merchantman's gunwale was not too high out of the water for a person to be dropped overboard into a waiting boat, without risk of injury, provided his or her fall was broken by someone in the boat.

The de Pombals were still on deck, superintending the bring­ing aboard of some of their baggage. Roger bowed to the ladies, then said to the Marquis, 'My lord, I am come aboard to ask if there is anything I can procure for you in the city which might make your voyage more supportable.'

De Pombal returned his bow. 'That was good of you, Mr. Brook; but I have brought with us as many comforts as the confined space here permits finding room for. And it is not yet certain that we shall make the voyage.'

'Of that, my lord, I am aware; so I will not yet take final leave of you. Should His Highness decide to sail, my Admiral will have several hours' notice of it; ample time for me to come across and wish you fair winds and good fortune in Brazil.'

Standing nearby, Lisala had heard what he said, and gave him a sad smile. He then spent a quarter of an hour talking to them before returning to shore.

That evening he said to Sir Sidney, 'Admiral, I have been pursuing a private project while here in Lisbon. I am deeply in love with a Portuguese lady and wish to make her my wife. Would you have any objection to my bringing her aboard, then giving us both passage to England?'

The Admiral laughed. 'What a fellow you are! When we were together at Acre, I recall that you were in love with a Turkish Princess. But no matter. If you have a mind to form a more permanent association with some charming Portuguese, by all means bring her to Hibernia, and we'll do our best to make her voyage a pleasant one.'

In the afternoon Strangford went to see the Prince Regent in his flagship. Still, the Prince refused to give his fleet sailing orders, and insisted that he must await developments. When the Minister returned, the Admiral snapped at him:

'Bad weather is blowing up and I'll not stay to sec my ships encounter it on a lee shore. Go again tomorrow and tell this cowardly oaf that, should his ships not cross the bar tomorrow, I'll blow his fleet out of the water.'

Unhappy and impatient, Roger waited next day until Strangford returned from giving this final ultimatum to Don Joao. On the Minister's return, bursting with pride in his achievement, he said, 'I used no threats, but by gentle words succeeded in persuading him to put his trust in us and honour the agreement he made with our Government many months ago. He has consented to sail tomorrow for Brazil.'

Hearing this, Roger decided that the time for action had come. That evening he asked Sir Sidney to let him have a boat to take him across to Nunez, and the Admiral placed a gig at his disposal.

When she was well away from Hibernia, Roger produced a small bag of gold. Clinking the coins in it, he said to the Petty Officer in charge, 'I go to the Nunez to collect a Por­tuguese lady. But her friends may prove reluctant to let her go, so there may be trouble. Obey my orders implicitly and this gold is yours to divide between yourself and the boat's crew.'

The Petty Officer grinned, and replied, 'Aye, aye, Sir. We'll stand by, and to hell with the Portuguese should they prove troublesome.'

On boarding the Nunez, Roger found a number of the gen­try of both sexes strolling round the deck, taking the evening air. De Pombal was nowhere to be seen, but he soon spotted Lisala and her duenna. Directly Lisala caught sight of him, she came hurrying over with Dona Christina to the place where he was standing, beside the bulwark amidships.

Gravely Roger said, 'I am come as I promised to wish you a pleasant voyage, and to hope that in Brazil you will find hap­piness.'

With equal gravity she replied, 'That was kind of you; but it will do nothing to heal my broken heart. Will you not, at this eleventh hour, change your mind and accompany me?'

He shook his head. 'No, dear Lisala, my mind is set. But will you not change yours and let me make a home for you in England?'

As he spoke, he moved a little sideways, so that he would be able to seize her the more easily, heave her over the low bulwark, shout to the Petty Officer below to be ready to break her fall, then drop her down into the boat.

At that moment she, too, moved, and away from the bul­wark, as she said, 'Alas, I cannot bring myself to it. But before we part, come below and we'll drink a glass of wine to­gether, to some future love that may expunge from our minds the grief we now feel.'

For a moment Roger hesitated; then, feeling certain that she would come on deck again to see him off, agreed.

Dona Christina, hitherto knowing nothing of their passion for each other, had been staring at them with startled dis­approval. As they turned away to go below, Lisala snapped at her, 'Remain here, old woman, and keep a brace upon your tongue, or I'll claw your eyes out.'

Leaving the duenna mouth agape and petrified with fear, Roger followed Lisala down the after ladder. She led him along a passage and, pointing to two adjacent doors, said, 'That is Papa's cabin and that is Aunt Anna's.' Turning into a narrower passage, she added, 'They are quite roomy and I could have had a similar one next to Papa's, but I would have had to share it with my sanctimonious old duenna; so I pre­ferred a much smaller one along here.'

Unlocking a door, she motioned him into what was no more than a slip room, measuring about seven feet by four. It had a single bunk, beneath which Lisala's trunks were stowed. Above the bunk were cupboards. From one of them she took two china mugs half full of wine. Handing him one, she smiled.

'This was the best I could do. Knowing you intended to come aboard to bid me farewell, I purloined it from a bottle that Papa opened last night.'

Raising their mugs, they drank to each other in silence. As Roger swallowed, then lowered his mug, he asked. 'What is this wine? I don't recognise it.'

She shrugged. 'I have no idea. Papa could bring only the oldest wines from his cellar, so it is probably something very rare. But drink up. We dare not linger here for long, and I want to carry away a last memory of your loving me.'

Quickly they finished the wine and set aside the mugs. Lisala gave him a gentle shove and whispered, 'Lie down on the bunk, my love. I wish to play the man and have a glorious ride on you.' Two minutes later, they were locked together. When their first ecstasy was over, she made no move to clamber off him, but insisted that they should enjoy another. Its consumma­tion was delayed, because Roger was feeling an unusual weak­ness in his limbs. When he did at length achieve it, she still did not get up, but lay, her mouth glued to his, kissing him fiercely.

Several more minutes passed before she withdrew her arms from round his neck, rolled off the bunk and quickly adjusted her lower garments.

He made to rise, but was seized with giddiness. With a sud­den laugh, she slipped out of the cabin. Calling to her in a husky voice, he managed to throw his legs over the side of the bunk. Then he heard the key turn in the lock.

Staggering to his feet, he lurched towards the door, stum­bled, fell against it, managed to reel back to the bunk and collapsed. Two minutes later he was out cold.

When he came to, it was pitch dark. He had a splitting head­ache and a frightful taste in his mouth. For some moments he could not imagine where he was. Then the motion of the ship ploughing through the waves told him that he was at sea. Memory flooded back. With bitter fury he realised that Lisala had got the better of him. He was on his way to Brazil.

The Ghastly Journey

On realising what had happened to him, Roger's rage knew no bounds. That a man such as himself, who had few equals in experience of plots and the taking of subtle measures to achieve his secret ends, should have been tricked and kidnapped by a girl was a terrible blow to his amour propre. Yet, after a while, his resentment on that head was slightly lessened by his sense of humour, causing him to sec the funny side of it.

There remained the fact that he was being carried off to Brazil; and that was no laughing matter. For some minutes he wondered whether he could still evade such an unwelcome prospect. British warships would, he felt certain, be escorting the Portuguese flotilla for at least the first part of the voyage and, if he could succeed in geting himself transferred to one of them, he would escape making this most undesirable jour­ney. But this was a Portuguese ship. She must now be well out at sea and, the weather being roughish, it seemed very im­probable that any boat's crew would agree to take the risk of transferring him from the Nunez to a British frigate.

Jumping up from the bunk, he beat hard with his fists on the cabin door, hoping to attract attention. But the groaning timbers of the ship partially muffled his hammering and, ap­parently, no-one heard it. Hunger now added to his unhappy state and further hours dragged by while he still sat, in in­creasing misery, a prisoner on the edge of the bunk.

It was not until six o'clock that the door was unlocked and Lisala stood framed in it. Looking anxiously at him, she en­quired, 'Are you greatly enraged at my having carried you off?'

Roger had long since learned that there were times when it paid to show anger, and others when it could do only harm.

In the present instance no display of the fury he was feeling would get him back on shore and, since he was now condemned to a long sea voyage, quarrelling with Lisala could make it even more uncongenial. Restraining himself, he replied with a wry grimace, 'Knowing my feelings about going to Brazil it was a scurvy trick to have kidnapped me in this way. But since it is further evidence of your love for me, how can I not forgive you?'

Smiling, she replied, 'I am much relieved. I am glad, too, not to find you still under the influence of the dnig. Had I done so, I should have been terrified that I had given you too much. I took it from Papa's medicine chest, and had to guess at the dose. It now remains for us only to secure my papa's acceptance of your having smuggled yourself aboard to accom­pany me.'

'Smuggled myself?' Roger repeated with a frown.

'Why, yes. I'd not dare confess to having locked you in my cabin. We must say that, out of love for me and without my knowledge, you hid yourself and sailed as a stowaway.'

'And where, if you please, am I supposed to have spent the night?'

'Where I did, most uncomfortably, concealed between some bales of stores on the lower deck.' As Lisala spoke, she put a hand to her disordered hair and added, 'Just look at the state I am in. And I feel quite dreadful. Please go on deck now and show yourself, so that meanwhile I can unpack some of my things and tidy myself.'

Seeing no alternative to doing as she asked, Roger embraced and kissed her, then made his way up on deck. There were already some forty or fifty people, mostly men, standing gloom­ily about there. The coast of Portugal was no longer visible but, near and far, could be seen other ships ploughing through the waves on the same course as the Nunez. Within a few hun­dred yards there was a frigate flying the White Ensign. Roger looked longingly at her but, as he had feared, the sea was much too choppy for there to be any prospect of a boat taking him across to her. He had always been a bad sailor and was already beginning to feel queasy. But, for once, he resigned himself to that unhappy state on the grounds that it would enable him to cut short his difficult interview with de Pombal.

Scanning the faces round about, he soon saw the Marquis standing with a group of other gentlemen just below the poop. As he advanced towards them, de Pombal caught sight of him and exclaimed in surprise, 'Mr. Brook! How do you come to be aboard the Nunez?'

With a bow, Roger said, 'May I have a word with Your Lordship in private?'

Inclining his head, the Marquis left his companions and walked over to a place on the windward side of the ship, where there were fewer people. When he halted, Roger bowed again and resumed:

'My lord, I have a confession to make. I am passionately enamoured of Lisala and could not support the thought that I would never see her again. This led to my forming a resolve to emigrate to Brazil. Having taken my decision hastily, I had no opportunity of securing for myself suitable accommodation for the voyage; so, yesterday afternoon I came aboard Nunez and stowed away. I need hardly assure you that my intentions are honourable. I am by no means without fortune, and own a pleasant property in England. I request your permission to pay my suit to your daughter.'

Greatly taken aback, dc Pombal stared at Roger. After a moment he said, 'Mr. Brook, I hardly know what to say. By leaving Europe in this fashion you have clearly demonstrated your devotion to my daughter. But my choice of a husband for her is a matter requiring grave consideration. During the voyage I can do no more than allow you to make her the sub­ject of your attentions.'

For the time being, that was all Roger required and to have gone into the matter further might have led to complications. Putting his hand quickly to his mouth, he bowed and said, 'I thank you, Sir. Now . .. now, if you will forgive me, I must leave you, as I am feeling far from well.' Then he turned and hurried away to the fo'c'sle where he knew the 'heads' lay.

During the course of the day he had good cause to resent more than ever having been forced to undertake this long voyage. He learned that over fifteen thousand people: nobles and officials with their families and servants, were accompany­ing the Prince Regent into exile. Every warship and merchant­man in the great fleet was crowded beyond her normal capacity. Only persons of high rank enjoyed the privilege of sleeping in narrow cabins; the rest dossed down where they could on the deck or below it, in odd corners with their cloaks wrapped round them and only the valises they had brought with them for pillows.

He learned that, on the previous evening, the fleet had got away only by the skin of its teeth. Junot and his weary, be­draggled vanguard had entered Lisbon while many of the ships had still been at anchor. The French had even prevented a few ships from leaving by sending off boats packed with troops who had shot down the sailors in the rigging, then boarded the ships and captured them.

But Don Joao, in the flagship Principe Real and his prin­cipal Ministers, Antonio de Aranjo and the Viscount de Anadia, had got away. Other Counsellors, the Marquis dc Belas, Don Rodrigo da Sousa, the Duke of Cadaval and Dr. Jose Carreira Pieanco, were in Medusa and, like de Pombal, tem­porarily separated from their master.

In Nunez, no orderly routine had yet been established. When food was produced in the main cabin at the usual dinner hour, protocol soon went by the board. Normally, the Gran­dees and their ladies would have been given ample time to take their pick of the most enjoyable edibles, but after a few min­utes, there ensued a wild scramble and everyone piled on to his own plate spoonsful from the dishes nearest to hand.

Faced with the problem of where to sleep in the over­crowded ship, Roger went to the Captain and bartered some of his gold for permission to doss down in the flag locker. It was no more than a cubby-hole adjacent to the deck house on the poop; but at least it would not be as stifling as the crowded cabins below decks, and the flags provided a not uncomfortable couch on which to lie.

Next morning he presented himself to Lisala and her aunt They showed no surprise, as the Marquis had already told them of Roger's presence aboard. De Pombal, who was with them, made no reference then or later to Roger's having asked Lisala's hand in marriage. Apparently, in conformity with his long career as a diplomat, he had decided to leave the mat­ter open and await developments.

After a few days, life aboard the Nunez began to form a pattern. De Pombal and six other noblemen had formed a committee, the decisions of which were accepted as orders by the other passengers. A roster was drawn up, dividing them into three classes: the aristocracy, the bourgeoisie, and the servants. To prevent the unseemly jostling at meal times, three services took place at hourly intervals. The poop was reserved for the nobility, the waist of the ship for the ordinary citizens and the fo'c'slc for the menials. The stock of food was listed and strictly rationed. To minimise the appalling congestion, those who had no cabins were divided into watches which alternately spent eight hours below and eight hours on deck. Masses were said at eight o'clock in the morning and four o'clock in the afternoon, so that both watches could perform their devotions daily. Hours were set for games and competi­tions, the educated were formed into reading circles and held Spelling Bees; those having vocal or musical talent helped to while away the long evenings as a choral society or by giving concerts. The gentry also amused themselves with charades and playing cards.

Thus, as the flotilla ran down the coast of Africa in better weather, boredom and distress at having been uprooted from their homes was, to some extent, alleviated. But little could be done to lessen the discomfort of their quarters, the mono­tonous, inferior food and the claustrophobia resulting from spending all one's waking hours with hardly space to move about among the swarm of people constantly occupying the crowded decks.

Roger consoled himself as well as he could with the com­panionship of Lisala. As they sat side by side during the morn­ings and sometimes in the afternoons, he taught her to speak English. The frequent lessons enabled her to pick it up quite quickly, and soon they were able to talk together of matters that it would not have been desirable for their neighbours on the deck to hear and understand.

But for them to make love in such conditions was impos­sible. By night and day every comer of the ship either had someone squatting in it or it was liable to be invaded at any moment. To visit her in her cabin was equally out of the ques­tion, as at all hours people were passing up and down the pass­age outside, so the risk of his being seen going in or out was too great to be taken.

The fact that they were constantly together added to their frustration and, in Roger's case, it strengthened his secret de­termination to abandon Lisala rather than go to Brazil, if he could possibly manage to escape from the Nunez.

His hopes of this were pinned on the fact that all convoys bound for South America always put in at Madeira. There, stores would be replenished; fresh fruit, vegetables and live­stock would be taken on board. During that activity it seemed certain that an opportunity would occur for him to go ashore and, if British warships were still escorting the convoy, secure a passage home in one of them; or, at the worst, remain there until a ship called that would take him back to Europe.

On the evening they sighted the island he felt very heavy-hearted and talked with special tenderness to Lisala; for he was terribly distressed at the thought of parting from her. But long experience had taught him that, sooner or later, all pas­sionate attachments, except that between him and Georgina, declined at best into no more than an affectionate relationship; and that, after a year or two he would meet with some other woman whose beauty and personality would set his brain on fire.

But his secret plans were set at naught by the elements. During the night a storm blew up. He woke in the early hours, to find the Nunez rolling and pitching in a heavy sea. Prone to seasickness as he was, a quarter of an hour later he was vomit­ing into a bucket.

When dawn came, feeling incredibly ill he staggered out on to the deck. Rain was descending in torrents, reducing visi­bility to less than a hundred yards. Every stitch of canvas had been taken in and, with bare masts, the Nunez was being driven through great, spume-flecked waves by the fury of the storm.

Roger lurched back to his cubby-hole and collapsed on the pile of flags. He was sick again and again, until there was noth­ing remaining inside him. Yet, with soul-searing pain, his wretched stomach automatically continued in its attempts to throw up.

Later, he was vaguely conscious that Lisala, who had proved a much better sailor than he was, had his head in her lap and was doing her best for him. But her ministrations did litdc to relieve his agony. For hours on end the ship continued to soar up mountainous waves, then descend like a plummet into the troughs between them. At the same time she laboured on with a ghastly corkscrew motion, causing her to shudder with every twist, and her timbers to groan from the strain put upon them. At times she rolled so heavily that it seemed certain that she must turn turtle and go down. As, unresisting, Roger rolled with her from side to side on his couch of flags, he prayed that she would. Death seemed to him preferable to continuing lon­ger the torments he was suffering.

From time to time he lapsed into unconsciousness, only when he came to again to enter on a new bout of agonising retching that reduced him to mental and physical exhaustion.

For three days the hurricane continued. At last the ferocious waves subsided into a heavy swell. Still dazed, he crawled out of the flag locker on hands and knees and looked about him. The Nunez was still running with bare masts before the tail end of the storm and he saw that her foremast was missing. It had been snapped off six feet above the deck.

Round about, other passengers were lying on the deck, sprawled grotesquely in a sleep that might have been death, or squatting against the bulwarks, staring in front of them with vacant, lack-lustre eyes.

Gradually some of them pulled themselves together, levered themselves up on to the still heaving deck, and compared ex­periences. Roger learned that everyone aboard, with only a few exceptions among the crew, had succumbed to seasickness. A few ships in the flotilla might have succeeded in reaching

Madeira and sheltering in the bay of Funchal; but the majority had become scattered and were now out in the wastes of the Atlantic.

That afternoon, under still leaden skies, those passengers who were sufficiently recovered assembled to partake of cold food. Yet, when it came to the point, the majority of them could not face it. To the discomfort of overcrowding, which made the ship a human ant-heap, was now added the horror that it stank to high heaven with vomit and excrement.

The Portuguese officers and crew, aided by a number of the more stalwart passengers, did what they could to cleanse the decks of the sewage which had accumulated from prostrate victims of the tempest; but it was the best part of a week be­fore the awful stench no longer caused the weaker elements of the ship's company to be again overcome by nausea.

For several days after the great storm, a heavy swell con­tinued to make life on board far from comfortable; but at length it subsided and the daily routine established before they had sighted Madeira was resumed. Meanwhile, several other ships, including a Portuguese man-of-war, had been sighted and converged to form a small convoy. Signals were exchanged, but no news was forthcoming from any of them about the Prin­cipe Real, on board which were Don Joao and his family.

Every day carried them a little further southward and, to begin with, they enjoyed the warmer sunshine; but later the heat added to their miseries. Below decks, it became stifling; so the poop, the waist of the ship and the fo'c'sle were packed with a solid jam of men and women sitting or standing, all listlessly endeavouring to get a breath of air. Tempers frayed. There were angry disputes, violent quarrels over the posses­sion of a few square feet of deck and, at times, there were fights in which knives and belaying pins were used.

Week after week the hellish voyage continued, periods of rough weather alternating with spells of calm, when the sails hung slack and the unhappy passengers suffered acutely from sunburn. Dysentery was rife, food short and water strictly rationed. Hardly a day passed without one or more deaths from various causes. During the hurricane many people had been injured and were still nursing broken bones. Others went mad from sunstroke and several, driven out of their wits by their terrible existence, committed suicide by jumping over­board. Few any longer bothered to maintain a presentable ap­pearance. All the men let their beards grow; the hair of the women became lank or scruffy, their clothes were bedraggled and their faces peeling.

At long last, soon after midday on January 20th, they sighted land. Going down on their knees, they gave heartfelt thanks, then eagerly scanned the shore. For a while it appeared to be a solid mass of tall trees right down to the water's edge; but, as the Nunez came nearer in, they discerned a break in the forest, then a cluster of small, half-hidden buildings from which a score or more of boats were putting out.

As they approached, they separated, one or more making for each of the ships in the flotilla. Three came alongside Nunez. Two were canoes manned by Indians—small, copper-coloured men with lank black hair and painted faces. The third was a ketch, in the stem of which were three men wear­ing wide-brimmed hats of plaited straw, dirty cotton shirts, and leather breeches. One was a Portuguese, the other two were half-castes.

The Portuguese came aboard and announced himself as Senhor Pedro Sousa. He told them that the little township was Macod, and that he ran a trading post there. When he learned that the flotilla was part of a large fleet in which the Prince Regent had sailed to take up permanent residence in Brazil, he expressed great delight; he regretfully shook his head when they expressed their eagerness to land. Macod, he said, had no more than a dozen white inhabitants and, apart from primitive native huts, less than a score of buildings; so the accommodation there would be hopelessly inadequate to house the thousand or more people who had arrived in the con­voy.

However, it transpired that Rio de Janeiro, for which the flotilla had been making, was only a hundred miles away to the south. Meanwhile, he promised to supply them with as much fresh fruit and vegetables and as many chickens and pigs as his small community could furnish; then returned to his ketch to go ashore and put this matter in hand.

An hour or so later, the canoes began to come off again to the several ships, loaded with these supplies which were re­ceived with rapture by the voyagers who, for several weeks past, had been forced to exist on a minute ration of salt pork and weevilly biscuits. With the best will in the world, Sousa could send off only enough to provide very small portions per person; but, even so, they savoured every mouthful with ex­traordinary pleasure.

Sousa was a guest at this meagre but greatly-appreciated evening feast. Afterwards, Roger drew him aside and said, 'Senhor, I have very urgent business in Rio which has already been too long delayed. At the moment the wind is not favour­able to ships heading south; so, if you could sell me horses and a guide, I'd reach the city more swiftly by taking the coast road. How say you?'

The Portuguese hesitated. ‘I could fulfil your needs; but there are certain risks. The road is rough, and you might encounter hostile Indians.'

'I'll take that risk,' Roger replied, 'so, when you go ashore, I will go with you.'

He then wrote a brief note to Lisala, which read: My love, do not be worried by my leaving the ship. I'll see you in Rio. Going below, he pushed it under her cabin door. An hour later, Sousa climbed down the rope ladder to his ketch. To the sur­prise of those who were seeing the Portuguese off, Roger fol­lowed him. Laughing up at them as he descended, he said:

'I've stolen a march on you. Senhor Sousa has invited me to spend the night in his house; so I will be the first to see some­thing of our new country.' A little envious, but admiring his initiative, they waved him away.

Sousa lived in a long, low, wooden building which was also his store, where he bartered gaudy trinkets with the In­dians in exchange for rare woods, alligator skins and other commodities. When they reached it, one of the half-castes was called in and, over drinking horns of mate—which Roger found similar to rather nasty tea—a bargain was struck. For two of his pieces of gold the half-caste and an Indian would convey him to Rio.

Soon after dawn the next morning they set out, the Indian riding a hundred yards ahead, to warn them of danger, and the half-caste with a lead mule loaded with a bivouac and pro­visions.

The road was no more than a track and, for the greater part of the way, ran through dense jungle. The trees were taller than any Roger had ever seen. Looped from their branches hung gigantic creepers; huge ferns and smaller trees bearing strange fruit grew so thickly in between that the sides of the track formed impenetrable walls of greenery. For long stretches the trees met overhead so that, in spite of the blazing sun above, the way was lit only by a mysterious twilight. The air was humid and, in spite of the shade, it soon became intensely hot.

Occasionally they forded shallow streams and after a while Roger suggested they should strip at one of them and refresh themselves with a dip. But his companion would not let him because, in addition to danger from alligators, there lived in them swarms of tiny piranha fish that would attack a man and tear every shred of flesh from his bones in a matter of minutes.

The silence, broken only now and then by the calling of a bird or rustic made by an animal in the undergrowth, was most oppressive. Once they saw a jaguar crouched on the branch of a tree; but the half-caste scared it off with a shot from his musket. From other trees twenty-foot-long pythons hung lazily, head down, and to pass them they put their horses into a gallop.

Strings of orchids dangled from roots in the forks of many of the trees; bright-plumaged macaws flapped squawking across the track; and huge butterflies flitted from bush to bush. But Roger, dripping with sweat as though he were in a Turkish bath, constantly tormented by mosquitoes and saddle-sore from moisture trickling down between his legs, was suffering far too much discomfort to enjoy these beauties of nature.

They halted to feed and bivouac on the edge of Indian vil­lages in which the natives were semi-civilised and friendly.

Late in the afternoon of the second day, to Roger's intense relief, they rode into the outskirts of Rio. It was the 23rd January 1808, eight weeks to the day since he had, unex­pectedly and most unwillingly, left Lisbon. Never in all his hazardous life had he experienced such prolonged misery. Ow­ing to seasickness and lack of good food during the long voy­age, he had lost both weight and vigour; his two-day ride had resulted in his face becoming swollen with insect bites, and he was suffering from sunburn on his hands and neck. But now, at last, he could hope for better times and a resumption of the delights that Lisala was so eager to give him.

His first impression of Rio was its staggering beauty. The broad estuary on the inner side of which it lay was so long that its discoverer, Andre Goncalves, sailing up it on the first day of the year 1502, had christened it the River of January.

The cloudless azure sky, reflected in the waters of its many bays, made them a heavenly blue. Slopes covered with the bright green of palms and other tropical vegetation rose from them. In places spurs of high land ran right down to the sea. The spurs led up to a panorama of lofty hills, beyond which were range after range of mountains, lavender-hued as they faded into the far distance.

But as they advanced into the city itself, Roger's elation at the sight of this beautiful setting swiftly evaporated. He had expected it to resemble a second-rate town in Spain or Por­tugal, with straggling suburbs of poor dwellings; but, as the capital of one of the greatest colonies in the world, to have a broad main street, a spacious, tree-shaded square and a few fine buildings in the centre. It had none of these things.

The only square, which gave on to a stony beach littered with wreckage and refuse, was of bare, hard-trodden earth, with not a tree upon it. The principal street was mean and narrow. The only building of any size was the Viceroy's Palace, a low, ugly block from which the white paint was peeling and with narrow, dirty windows. Near it was the Telles Arch, an evil-smelling passageway, in which a score of scrofulous beg­gars were lounging. The other streets leading from it were even meaner and no more than alleyways between rows of high houses with greenish balconies and steep grey roofs. The only drainage consisted of gutters, cleansed from time to time by downpours of tropical rain; but, as the weather had been fine for the past week or so, they were now choked with garbage and excrement thrown out of the windows. The stench beggared description.

Roger's guide took him to the only inn. It was run by a Frenchman named Philippe, a robust and cheerful individual, who gave him a hearty welcome and showed him up to a pass­ably well-furnished room. Already Roger had noted that the cafe on the ground floor was clean and bright, and was deeply thankful for having been brought to this little oasis of civilised living in a town of such unbelievable poverty and squalor.

Having thanked his guide and sent him and the Indian off with handsome pourboires, Roger ordered hot water to be brought up, so that he could have a most welcome bath, and sent for a barber to shave him. During the voyage he had grown a full beard. Now he had it shaved off, but retained his side-whiskers. It was weeks since he had looked in a mirror. On doing so it suddenly struck him that the reddish tint with which he had dyed his hair in Lisbon had grown out. But no-one aboard the Nunez appeared to have noticed that.

He then sought out the landlord, ordered the best bottle of wine available, and invited him to share it. Nothing loath, Philippe produced a dust-encrusted bottle of Madeira and took his guest into his own small parlour. When they had settled down, Roger asked:

'Would you like to make a large sum of money?'

'But naturally.' The Frenchman spread out his hands and grinned. 'Providing, Senhor, that it is within the law. Even a week in the prison here is as good as a death sentence. Each newcomer picks up from some other prisoner typhus, small­pox or cholera, and the poor devils die like flies.'

'No, it is nothing illegal. But I am in possession of a secret which could make you a rich man within a month. And I am prepared to disclose it to you if you can do me a service.'

'Tell me your requirements, Senhor.'

'They are quite simple. I intend to settle here, and I want to lease a furnished house for not less than a year. I am aware that I cannot expect to acquire a handsome property in this miserable city. But it must be of a fair size, with, say, six or seven rooms and not in the town itself; somewhere on the outskirts with, preferably, a garden.'

'That should not be difficult if you are prepared to pay a fair price for it.'

'I am. But I want it tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow!' The Frenchman raised his eyebrows. 'That is another matter. It will take time to make enquiries. And the people here are beyond belief indolent. Any notary in Rio would take a month or more to draw up the contract.'

'No doubt. That is why I am offering you a small fortune for getting me what I want. You have the morning to work in and, by mid-afternoon, the contract must have been drawn up and signed, so that I can take immediate possession. Other­wise the deal is off.'

Philippe considered for a moment, then he asked, 'What guarantee have I that you are not making a fool of me?'

On the little finger of his left hand Roger was wearing a fine diamond ring. Drawing it off, he threw it across the table. 'There is your guarantee. Should you fail, I will trust you to return it to me.'

Picking up the ring, the innkeeper made a little bow. 'The moment I set eyes upon you, Senhor, I realised that you were an hidalgo; and there are few such in this filthy town in which fate has condemned me to make my living. Your haste in this matter puzzles me, as it will cost you much more than you would normally have to pay. But it is not for me to enquire why you are in such a hurry. You can rely on me to do my best for you.'

Roger had come from Lisbon with only the clothes he stood up in, so next morning he went out and bought a selection of poor-quality garments, which were the best he could find.

He then took a stroll round the town, and was more than ever appalled by the filth and destitution that he saw on all sides. It far exceeded the worst accounts he had had of the place, by the telling of which he had endeavoured in vain to dissuade Lisala from leaving Lisbon for Brazil.

The only feature of die otherwise barren square was a rude fountain, round which was a crowd of Negro slaves, waiting their turn to fill pitchers they carried on their heads, as none of the houses had water laid on. Near the Viceregal Palace stood an ugly little church. On entering it he saw, in accord­ance with the dictates of religion, several corpses laid out. They were already blue and stinking, so another focus for disseminating disease; and he hurried out. He had already noted that everyone he passed was hung about with crucifixes and other sacred symbols, which indicated that the inhabitants of the place were under the thraldom of a dirty, ignorant priest­hood.

At the sea end of the square there was a fish market: the stalls covered with filthy, ragged canvas which only partly kept off the myriads of flies. Further along stood the Arsenal and, anchored off it, were a number of fishing boats painted in brilliant colours; adding yet another touch to the beauty of the more distant scene. But by ten o'clock the sun was blazing down so fiercely that, his shirt sucking to him with perspira­tion, he went back to the inn.

At midday, Philippe returned to say he had found a house that might prove suitable, and they drove to it in a rickety carriage drawn by a starved-looking mule. The place was a rambling, two-storey building, standing in two acres of garden and woodland, on a slight eminence just outside the town. It was sparsely furnished and in bad repair; but its accommoda­tion was ample for Roger's requirements and in front it had a long verandah, from which there was a splendid view of the lovely bay.

The owner was a childless widow who, Philippe had in­formed Roger on their way there, had been left badly off and was having difficulty in making both ends meet. She received them courteously and a Negress slave brought coffee for them. Evidently having seen in Philippe's approach that morning a probability that she might be able to dispose of her property for a good round sum, and settle permanently in more eco­nomical quarters, she announced that, having thought matters over, she was averse to letting the house but was prepared to sell it; and named a figure.

Roger still had a considerable sum in gold in his money-belt, but nowhere near enough to buy the property outright. Nevertheless, he was quick to realise that, when the flotilla of refugees arrived, he would be able to resell the place for ten times its present value. So he said he was agreeable to buy, provided the lady would take somewhat less, and accept pay­ment by instalments over the next twelve months. He then excused himself to have another look at the view from the verandah, leaving Philippe, as they had previously arranged, to negotiate on his behalf.

Out on the verandah he anxiously scrutinised the bay as, should the flotilla be sighted before he had completed his ar­rangements, the advantage he had derived from arriving in Rio ahead of it would be lost. To his relief, only a solitary merchantman, outward bound, was in sight.

Ten minutes later, Philippe joined him to say that he had got a third off the price. Ten per cent was to be paid down, and the remainder at monthly intervals. In spite of the grilling heat, accompanied by the widow, they piled into the carriage and drove into the town to the house of the lady's notary.

He was about to settle down for his siesta and expressed great surprise at being asked to transact any business with such urgency; but he was prevailed upon by the offer of an exceptionally large fee to draw up a letter of agreement which, pending a formal contract, would be binding upon both par­ties. Roger paid the ten per cent in gold and the widow duly signed, at the same time agreeing to give possession that even­ing, then collect her personal belongings later and several pieces of furniture which she particularly valued.

Having left the widow with her lawyer, on the way back to Philippe's inn Roger disclosed the secret he had promised the Frenchman. Don Joao was shortly to be expected in Brazil and with him were coming fifteen thousand people. The price of everything was certain to skyrocket. All Philippe had to do was to go out at once and buy every cask and bottle of wine he could lay his hands on. His profits should be enormous.

Amazed, most grateful and tremendously excited, Philippe set off immediately, to secure the supplies which would prove a bonanza for him. Roger went up to his room and, satisfied with the result of his exertions, but sweating like a pig, col­lapsed upon his bed.

In the comparative cool of the evening, he again went out and down to the barren square. Round the shoddy fountain he found gathered the notables of the city, as it transpired was their custom. Most of them sat lethargically in carrying chairs, fanning themselves and slowly imbibing fruit drinks laced with locally-made spirit, brought to them by Negro slaves. So enervated had they become by the climate and the dreary lives they led that the arrival of Roger as a newcomer aroused in them only a faint interest. When questioned about himself, Roger said that he was an Englishman travelling for pleasure, and the ship in which he had sailed from Europe had become so damaged in a tempest that she had been forced to drop anchor off Macod, to carry out immediate repairs. Meanwhile he kept an eye on the entrance to the great bay, expecting that the arrival of the flotilla could not now be long delayed.

When darkness fell, there was still no sign of it, but at half past six the next morning, Philippe roused Roger with the news that it was approaching. Having dressed in haste, Roger hurried down to tie square, to find half the population of the city already assembled, and the remainder flowing into it.

A fishing boat had encountered the flotilla soon after dawn and at once returned to harbour with the almost incredible news that the Prince Regent was on his way from Portugal to take up permanent residence in Brazil. That His Royal Highness was not aboard one of the ships, now only a mile away, was a disappointment but, nevertheless, the huge crowd of people was wild with excitement.

The Viceroy went off in his barge, on which the gold leaf had long since tarnished, to welcome the distinguished re­fugees, and brought ashore the most important ones, among whom was de Pombal. It took Roger ten minutes to fight his way through the crowd until the Marquis caught sight of him and exclaimed, rather coldly Roger thought:

'Why, Mr. Brook! You left us without explanation at Macod and we have been wondering what had happened to you. It seems you decided to steal a march on us by making your way here overland.'

Roger gave a wry smile. 'It is as well I did, milord; for I fear you will all find Rio a far from pleasant city to live in. But at least I have secured for you reasonable accommodation.'

Another two hours elapsed before Lisala, her aunt and Dona Christina came ashore. Since the day that her charge had gone with Roger up the mountain outside Isfahan, the duenna had always regarded him with suspicious hostility; but the other two ladies were delighted to see him.

He was, however, much amused by their reactions when he took them out to see their new home. They thanked him cour­teously for his forethought in finding quarters for them, but by their standards it was a poor place, and they obviously found difficulty in restraining their comments on its lack of amenities.

It was not until the evening that they began to appreciate the service he had rendered them. While they rested during the hottest hours, he returned to the inn to collect an ample supply of stores that he had asked Philippe to procure for him, and the Marquis went down to the hard to superintend the bringing ashore by his servants of the most urgently-needed baggage. De Pombal got back an hour or so before Roger, and gave the ladies a first account of the amazement and distress of their companions during the voyage at finding themselves stranded in such a place as stinking, poverty-stricken and disease-ridden Rio.

The evening went in unpacking and in arranging the rooms. The latter business provided a succession of unhappy surprises for the ladies, as they found the cooking utensils scanty, dirty and worn, the beds hard; many of the sheets holed; and large, dangerous-looking spiders on the ceilings of those bedrooms that had not been occupied for a considerable time. But the Marquis comforted them by saying that, within a few days, they would have all the household goods, furnishings and pic­tures that they had brought with them from Lisbon. Over an alfresco supper they became more cheerful and were at least able to enjoy the relief that their ghastly voyage was over.

The bedroom that Roger had chosen for himself was only one door away from that allotted to Lisala, her duenna's room being in between. It had been a tiring day, so they all retired to bed early. Roger restrained his impatience until midnight, then tiptoed along to Lisala's room.

It was lit by a solitary candle, and she was sitting up in bed waiting for him. In fervid whispers they exchanged greetings, then made violent love, temporarily satiating the terrible frus­tration to which they had both been subject for so many weeks. But both of them felt too weak and tired to repeat the act. For a long while they lay embraced and dawn was creeping through the curtains when Roger tiptoed back to his room.

Two days after the arrival of the flotilla, news came in that Don Joao and his principal Ministers had landed on January 22nd at Bahia, the old capital, eight hundred miles to the north; then that other ships of the scattered fleet had arrived at other Brazilian ports.

During the days that followed, it frequently rained in torrents, often for hours at a stretch, and the marshlands out­side the city became swamps: breeding grounds for malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Meanwhile the unhappy exiles made such arrangements for themselves as they could. Quite unscrupu­lously the Viceroy commandeered the best houses in the town for the Portuguese nobility, and the unfortunate Brazilian owners were compelled to occupy lodgings little better than shacks. Other rich refugees who had brought large sums of money with them paid fantastic prices for houses with only three or four rooms. The majority continued to live in the ships for as long as they could, and only gradually acquired mean accommodation.

The newcomers soon began to adopt many of the customs of the Brazilians—the hours they kept, the food they ate and the clothes they wore—which had been dictated largely by the torrid climate. From Portugal the wealthy had brought only their personal servants, stewards and cooks, all of whom were white. Here in Rio mulattos occasionally filled such posts; but the great majority of servants were Negro slaves, and such exiles as could afford to do so bought one or several of them.

De Pombal purchased seven: two to do the menial tasks in the house, four to act as stablemen or carry the heavily-cur­tained sedan chairs used by the ladies when they went into the town, and a seventh who acted as a guard to keep the swarms of beggars from molesting them.

This last was named Baob, and he was a much superior man to the average slave. He was a magnificent specimen of the Negro and claimed to be the son of an African chief. As it was several years since he had been shipped over to Rio, he knew the city thoroughly and was unusually intelligent. In accordance with custom there, the Marquis had made for him a smart livery in the de Pombal colours. Waving his long staff threateningly as he preceded the ladies, he made a most im­posing figure. When not so employed he had the free run of the house and was always on call for any small service they required.

When the people of quality had settled in, they began to visit one another at their new homes, spending hours over meagre refreshments while they aired their bitter complaints. Roger accompanied the de Pombals on these occasions, and to a reception given by the Viceroy. The so-called 'Palace' proved to be on a par with the rest of the town. Starved for many years by the Home Government of sufficient funds to maintain a state in keeping with their high office, the Vice­roys had lived in penury. The rooms had not been redecorated for several generations; the furniture was conspicuous by its very scantiness; most of such chairs and sofas as there were had cotton covers to conceal the fact that in places their bro­cade had rotted away; and the walls were stained with mildew.

In the meantime, Roger was spending most of every night with Lisala. During the voyage being constantly in each other's company, yet unable to do more than snatch a very occasional kiss, had at times made them irritable and quar­relsome. But now that good food and leisure had restored their vigour they were enjoying the renewal of their passion with the same abandon and delight as they had experienced during the first hectic nights they had spent together in Isfa­han; and, so far, they had no reason to believe that any member of the household suspected their liaison.

It was January 31st, the morning after the Viceroy's re­ception, that dc Pombal, being alone with Roger after break­fast, said to him with a serious mien:

'Mr. Brook, for some days past I have felt that I must broach to you a matter that has been much on my mind. Either you or I—or rather, I and my family—must leave this house.'

A Bolt from the Blue

Roger immediately jumped to the conclusion that somehow the Marquis had found out about his nightly visits to Lisala, and that he himself was in for an extremely unpleasant quarter of an hour. To gain a little time, he frowned and said: 'My Lord, I fail to understand ...'

'It is on account of your relationship with Lisala,' de Pombal promptly informed him.

His worst fears confirmed, Roger decided that, instead of expressing regret and bowing under the abuse he expected the outraged father to heap upon him, he would carry the war into the enemy's camp. With all the dignity he could muster, he said firmly:

'Your Lordship has long been aware of my passionate, attach­ment to your daughter. I informed you of it the day after the Nunez sailed from Lisbon, and that I wished to marry her. That matters are at present as they are is entirely due to your refusal to allow us to become affianced. You have only to give your consent, and I will happily make Lisala my wife.'

With a mildness that, in the circumstances, Roger found truly amazing, the Marquis replied, 'Mr. Brook, I willingly concede that the present situation is of my own making; be­cause, although I refused my consent to an engagement, I did give you permission to make Lisala the object of your atten­tions. Seeing that the two of you were about to be confined for several weeks in the close quarters of a crowded ship, I saw no alternative. But now that we are settled here in Brazil I cannot allow the association to continue. The fact that you are living under the same roof, and your constant attendance on her wherever we go, is prejudicial to my arranging for her a ... er ... please forgive the expression but I must be plain ... a more suitable marriage.'

Roger's surprise at de Pombal's forbearance was swiftly overtaken by relief. His last words were a clear indication that, after all, he did not know that his daughter was Roger's mistress. He was simply anxious to secure for her a husband of his own choice; and, as long as the handsome Mr. Brook continued to be her constant companion, that would prove a serious obstacle to arranging a match.

The relief Roger felt was only momentary. He had escaped the scathing reproaches of an indignant parent, but was still faced with the prospect of being again separated from his be­witching Lisala. With a frown, he asked:

'In what way, milord, do you consider me an unsuitable husband for your daughter? I possess a not inconsiderable fortune and from England I can, in due course, have funds transmitted to me here. Whereas the Portuguese nobility now in Brazil are cut off from their sources of revenue; and will remain so as long as the Emperor Napoleon continues master of the Continent. With regard to birth, I consider few of your friends my superior. I am the son of an English Admiral and, on my mother's side, have noble blood. She was the daughter of a Scottish Earl.'

De Pombal's eyes suddenly grew hard, and his voice harsh. 'So you say; but I have no guarantee that you are speaking the truth!'

'My Lord!' Roger began an indignant protest

Angrily the Marquis cut him short. 'Can you deny that when we first met you styled yourself M. le Colonel Chevalier de Breuc?’

This bombshell took Roger entirely by surprise and he could not altogether conceal his dismay as the hatchet-faced Marquis went on scathingly:

'Have you recently regarded yourself in a mirror? If so, you must have seen that, since leaving Lisbon, your hair has reverted to its natural colour. There, owing to your excellent English, you practised a clever deceit upon me by pretending to be your cousin. But you could not change your mannerisms.

When we first met at Persopolis, you had a decided limp. Evidendy you were taking great pains to rid yourself of it; for when we met again three months later, it was no longer notice­able. But while on board the Nunez you became too ill to con­trol your walk so carefully. Within a week of being at sea I realised the truth.

'Had I disclosed that when we first met you were in the service of the Corsican brigand, you would have been hung from the yardarm. I refrained only because I at least gave you credit for having been inspired to this duplicity by a deep love for Lisala. It may be that you are now telling the truth, and that it is Bonaparte whom you have deceived. Be that as it may, I can regard you only as an unscrupulous adventurer; and noth­ing would induce me to give my daughter's hand to such a man.'

Under this torrent of acid denunciation, Roger paled, then said in a low voice, 'I thank you, milord, for your forbearance during the voyage. That I am, in fact, an Englishman, I vow upon my honour; but I do not deny that for many years past I have served the Emperor. That I should have done so does not weigh upon my conscience, and I will happily give you a full explanation.'

'I desire no explanation,' de Pombal replied coldly. 'At best it could be that you are a spy—so dishonourable a trade that it debars all those who practise it from respectable society. I had hoped that when you left the Nunez at Macod I would see you no more. Then, we landed here in Rio and learned of the exertions you had gone to in order to secure for us this comfortable accommodation, I could not bring myself to re­pudiate you. But now I can no longer defer taking steps to safe­guard Lisala's future; and our continued association stands in the way of my doing so. It remains now only for you to say if you are prepared to make the house over to me or if I must find other quarters for myself and my family.'

Ruefully Roger admitted to himself that he was completely defeated. All hope of his marrying Lisala or remaining there as her secret lover had been swept away. Standing up, he bowed and said:

'My Lord. It should be easier for me to find quarters for one than you for four, together with your servants; and I am anxious that the ladies should continue to enjoy such comforts as are available here. However, I paid only a deposit on this property, so no doubt you will be willing to relieve me of fur­ther liability.'

'Certainly,' the Marquis replied promptly. 'I brought with me from Portugal ample funds. Let me have particulars. I will both make myself responsible for the purchase and reim­burse you for such outlays as you have already made. More­over, I wish to make it clear that I have no vindictive feelings towards you. I shall not disclose to anyone that you have created for yourself a dual identity; and when we meet in future, as we are bound to do if you remain in Rio, it will be as acquaint­ances who have simply decided that we have not found it agree­able to continue living under one roof.'

Roger bowed again. 'For that I thank you, milord.' As he had been considerably worried about how he was to find the further instalments to pay for the house, its being taken over was a relief. But that had hardly crossed his mind when de Pombal delivered another blow:

'You will agree, I am sure, that a formal leavetaking would prove most painful to Lisala; so it would be best if you left here some time today, without giving any particular reason, I will then tell her that, after you and I had discussed her fu­ture, you volunteered to leave rather than continue to com­promise her by your attentions.'

For Roger that meant that he would be deprived of a last night with his beloved, the opportunity to tell her the truth about what had taken place and that, her father's having iden­tified him as Colonel de Breuc had wrecked all hope of their marrying. But, since he could not say that to the Marquis, he saw no option other than to agree.

He went upstairs with fury in his heart, packed his belong­ings into two small bags, then sat down to write a note to Lisala. In it he told her the reason for his tearing, said that he would do his utmost to devise a way by which they could meet in secret, and vowed his eternal devotion.

His next problem was to get it to her unseen. As he carried his bags out to the stable, he ran into the giant Negro, Baob. It then occurred to him that this neweomer to the household was much more likely to prove trustworthy than one of the servants whom the Marquis had brought with him from Por­tugal. So he gave Baob the note, together with a muriodor and charged him to give the missive to Lisala when no-one was looking. With a cheerful grin the colourfully-clad black man accepted the commission.

An hour later Roger was drinking a botde of wine with Philippe. The inn was crowded to capacity, but the French­man, eager to repay Roger in some measure for the fortune he was now making, at once volunteered to turn out the guest who was occupying his old room, so that he could install him­self there for as long as he wished; and said that he would get for him a slave as a personal servant.

Next morning Baob arrived with a note from Lisala. It was brief but poignant. I am utterly distraught. I could kill my father for having turned you out. You must find some way to come to me at nights. You must. You must.

Her window was at least clearly, the only means of the house, then round the

At ten o'clock that night Roger was outside the house, re­connoitring it for a possible means of getting up to Lisala's bedroom. He knew already that, like every other house in Rio, the heavy doors were securely bolted and the ground-floor windows shuttered and barred, as a protection against the in­numerable thieves and half-starved, desperate men who swarmed in the city. Had Lisala's room been at the front of the house, he might have climbed to it by way of the verandah; but hers and that of the Dona Christina were at the back and on that side there was not even a creeper that might have given him a handhold to scale the wall. Her window was at least fifteen feet above the ground and clearly the only way of reaching it was by a ladder.

Moodily, he walked all round the house then round the outbuildings. In a loft above the big barn the slaves slept on a thin layer of infrequently-changed straw, and no precautions were taken to prevent desperadoes entering there. The door of the barn was a little open, so he went in. The starlight was just sufficient for him to make out a long ladder against the wall; but a glance was enough to tell him that it was far too heavy for him to lift unaided.

On recrossing the yard, he saw that Lisala's window was now dimly lit. Evidently she was expecting him; but not that he would have arrived so early. Apparently she had been lis­tening intently, so had caught the sound of his careful foot­steps, as the curtain was pulled aside and she put her head out of the window.

'Roger, Roger my love, come up to me,' she whispered.

'I cannot,' he whispered back. 'How can I without a lad­der? And the one in the barn is too heavy for me to lift. You must come down and let me in.'

She shook her head. 'No. You know those bolts, bars and chains on the doors as well as I do. Undoing them would make such a clatter it's certain I'd be heard.'

At that moment there came the screech of ill-fitting wood on wood, as the Dona Christina threw up her window. Roger had just time to dive behind a wagon that was standing in the yard, then came the high-pitched voice of the old woman:

‘Who's that? Who is that out there?'

Lisala had drawn in her head and swiftly snuffed her candle. Roger held his breath and remained crouching behind the wagon. Minutes passed; the silence was intense. At last the duenna decided that she had been mistaken in thinking that someone was outside, gave a raucous cough and shut her win­dow. Before moving, Roger slowly counted up to a thousand; then he tiptoed away.

Next day Baob brought another note from Lisala. In it she implored Roger to find some way to come to her and heaped curses on her father.

Roger wrote back, saying that the only way in which he might reach her room was for her to secure somehow a rope ladder, or at least a knotted rope, which she could lower to him so that he could climb up.

The following day she replied to the effect that he must surely realise how impossible it was for her to come by a rope, or hide it if she did; so he must suggest some other means of coming to her.

Although he had brooded over the question for hours, he could think of none, and wrote to tell her so, ending by assuring her that he shared her distress, and of his unfailing devotion.

There, for the time being, their correspondence ended; and he endeavoured to reconcile himself to their unhappy situation. Now and then they met at the houses of mutual friends, but had no opportunity to exchange even a few words together unheard by others. On such occasions her huge tawny eyes silently reproached him, but he could do no more than acknow­ledge her glances by an almost imperceptible shrug, and little helpless gestures.

With February there came Lent and a fervid display of the religious fanaticism that obsessed the population of Rio. There were fasts, processions in which hundreds of people followed sacred relics of the saints, crawling on their knees along the ground, public flagellations and votive offerings, out of which the unwashed priesthood lined their coffers.

From dawn to dusk the big Candelabra Church and all the others were packed with penitents beating their breasts and wailing repentance for their sins. Out of curiosity, Roger visited a few of the churches, but left again almost at once, repelled by the stench, not only of the living but also of the dead.

For there were no cemeteries in Rio. Everyone of import­ance was buried either under the floor or in cavities in the walls of the churches. Owing to the high rate of mortality, there had been recent interments in all of them and, quite often, the stones had not been securely replaced, with the result that the horrible emanations from rotting corpses pervaded these places of worship.

Slaves and the destitute who died in the gutters were not buried at all. Their bodies were roughly bundled up in straw, thrown into carts, then dumped on the waste ground outside the city. Great flights of vultures descended upon them and, within a few hours, picked the bones clean.

One day Roger rode out to see the slave market at Vallonga. It was situated in a long, narrow valley between two wooded hills, one of which ended in a high cliff dropping sheer to the sparkling sea. On it stood a small, whitewashed Chapel to the

Virgin and the big warehouses into which the human cargoes from Africa were herded, after the tax upon them had been paid to the Crown.

Their sufferings during the long crossing were so terrible that it was a miracle that any of them survived. Three hun­dred and more were packed into the holds of small ships, where they lay for weeks head to foot like sardines, manacled and bound. To weaken them and so decrease the possibility of mutineering, they were deliberately half-starved. Even so, a,t times they were seized by a suicidal despair. Groups of them stag­gered to their feet; then, weeping and cursing, beat with their handcuffs on the iron gratings that confined them. The frenzy spread until the hold became a seething mass of screaming men and women. But their hopes of deliverance were invariably crushed. A dozen of the crew would descend with muskets and pour volley after volley of buckshot into the demented swarm of Negroes, killing some, wounding others so that they soon died from untended wounds, and cowing the remainder into submission.

When the survivors were flogged ashore, their bodies were those of living skeletons, scarcely able to walk, their ribs suck­ing out under the taut skin of their chests. Still manacled, they were kept in the long warehouses for several weeks while being fattened up for sale. Their stomachs shrunken from many weeks of semi-starvation, they were unable to keep down the quantities of corn mush with which they were forcibly fed, and spewed it up. Lying in their vomit and excrement, they gradu­ally put on weight until they were thought sufficiently saleable to be auctioned.

Roger knew, too, that their last days would be scarcely less terrible. In the Southern States of America, it was the custom that, when the cotton-picking slaves became too old to work any longer in the fields, they were allowed to sit idle in the sun and given enough food to support them. But that was not so here in Brazil. When slaves, through illness or old age, became a charge upon their master, they were turned out to fend for themselves. For a year or two they might continue a miserable existence begging their bread in the streets then, incapable from weakness or disease of doing so any longer, they died like pariah dogs; and the sanctimonious frequenters of the so-called Christian churches did not even spare a glance for the wasted bodies of such human offal.

Utterly appalled by this spectacle of ruthless inhumanity, had Roger been a less rational man he would have gone into the Chapel of the Virgin and overthrown her image for per­mitting such atrocities. As it was, having long since rejected the belief that, if a Christian God did exist, he had any power whatever to protect his votaries, he rode back into Rio sick with rage and disgust.

At the end of the month, news arrived that caused the mer­chant community of Rio to become delirious with joy. For three centuries Brazil, as a colony of Portugal, had been re­stricted to selling her products only to the mother country; and Portugal could absorb only a limited quantity of the valu­able merchandise that Brazil could supply. Under the liberal influence of Jose da Silva Lisboa, Vicondc de Cairu, the Prince Regent had issued an Ordinance opening Brazilian ports to the ships of all nations. A still further cause for rejoicing was that Don Joao had left Bahia and was on his way to Rio, which he intended to make his permanent capital.

Lenten tribulations were swept aside and the Carnival that normally followed it was anticipated by several days. The city became a Bedlam. The wealthy retired into their houses. The narrow streets became solid rivers of dancing, laughing people. Silk and satin garments, which slaves were normally forbidden to wear, were donned by the Fiesta Kings and Queens elected by them. Carried high upon swaying palanquins, they made their way slowly through the throng, preceded by drummers, trumpeters and rattle-wielders.

All order vanished. The Viceroy's dragoons were power­less to stop even the worst excesses. Reeling with drink, the Negroes defied their masters, broke into the shops and copu­lated joyfully with their women in the gutters.

This saturnalia continued for several days; then it eased a little, only to be renewed when on March 7th Don Joao and his Court, accompanied by several thousand other exiles, ar­rived. The Prince was received with unbounded enthusiasm. Every window in the city remained alight all night. The fol­lowing morning, a thousand dead-drunks lay snoring where they had fallen in the alleys adjacent to the Viceroy's Palace. The great horde of diseased, crippled and destitute descended on them like flights of vultures, to rob them of the few coins or trinkets they possessed.

From the beginning Roger had decided that Rio was an impossible place for a civilised man to make his permanent home in. For the week he had been living under the same roof as Lisala he had put all thoughts of the future from him, ex­cept the possibility that, in time, her father would consent to their marriage. All hope of that had been shattered, and even his ingenuity had failed to devise a means by which he might continue to be her lover.

Several weeks had now passed since they had slept together and the feeling had been growing upon him that there was little likelihood of their ever doing so again. The unsavoury city, with the din of church bells calling its religion-obsessed population to some service every hour of the day, and the disgusting orgies that had been taking place during the past fortnight had, at length, decided him to endeavour to forget Lisala and make his way back to Europe as soon as an oppor­tunity offered.

It came on March 20th, with the arrival of the British fri­gate. Phantom. Roger gave her Captain time to go ashore and make his number with the Portuguese authorities; then, the following morning, had himself rowed out to her. Her Com­mander was a Captain Jackson and it chanced that, in the eighties, he had served in the Caribbean as a Midshipman un­der Roger's father. Over a bottle of Canary Sack, they talked of the Admiral and other matters.

Captain Jackson had brought out a despatch from Mr. Can­ning to Don Joao's Foreign Minster and, when a reply was ready, would return to England. He willingly agreed to take Roger with him.

The Phantom had left Portsmouth on February 10th, and up till then there had been little difference in the situation on the Continent. Junot had swiftly subdued Portugal, and Napo­leon was continuing to perfect his 'Continental System'. The Kingdom of Etruria, in northern Italy, had, in 1802, been created by him as a puppet State for the daughter of Carlos VI of Spain. That winter he had arbitrarily taken it over, and incorporated the Kingdom in that of Italy, which was governed for him by his stepson, Eugene de Bcauharnais. Then, in January, when the Pope had insisted on maintaining his neut­rality and refused to close his ports to Brittish shipping, the Emperor had sent an army to occupy Rome.

Knowing the dilatoriness of the Portuguese, it was not to be expected that a reply to Mr. Canning's despatch would be forthcoming for at least a week; so Captain Jackson said he would let Roger know when it came to hand, which would still give Roger several hours' notice before Phantom was ready to sail.

Towards the end of the week Roger began to wonder what course he should pursue with regard to Lisala. If there had been any possibility of securing a private meeting with her, he certainly would have done so; but if he made a formal call on the de Pombals, nothing was to be gained by that, and the unexpected announcement of his coming departure might quite possibly lead to a most undesirable scene in the presence of her family. Eventually he decided to write a letter and get Baob to deliver it to her.

Next morning, up in his room, he set about it, giving as his reasons for leaving Rio: the hopelessness of their again being even temporarily united and—which was true enough—the fact that, having all his life lived at the centre of great events, he could not bring himself to remain any longer in exile in such uncongenial surroundings. He was just about to add how much her love had meant to him and how he would always treasure the memory of it, when Mobo, the slave whom Phi­lippe had procured to act as Roger's servant, came up to say that Baob was below asking to see him.

Putting aside his letter, Roger told Mobo to go down and bring Baob up. On entering the room the huge, gaily-clad Negro bowed profoundly and, as Roger had felt almost cer­tain would be the case, handed him a letter from Lisala.

Breaking the seal, he opened and read it. To his consterna­tion she had written to tell him that she was enceinte, and to implore his help. She had done everything she could think of to terminate her pregnancy, but had failed. In due course, Dona Christina, or her Aunt Anna, could not fail to realise her condition, and would tell her father. The fate of girls of good family in such circumstances was ordained by custom. Her baby would be taken from her and she would be forced to take the veil. The thought of spending the rest of her life in a convent was more than she could bear. She would rather commit suicide. Her only hope was in him. Somehow he must get her out of the house and take her to some distant place where she could have his child and they would afterwards live happily together.

Roger's brain began to race. For a moment he visualised the sort of existence Lisala would be compelled to lead in a convent: fasts, penances, perpetual discomfort in rough clothes or on board-hard beds, periods of enforced silence, having to kneel on the cold stones of a chapel several times a day. He could not possibly abandon her to such a fate. And she was carrying his child. From long experience he had always been most careful about taking every possible precaution. But ob­viously they must have slipped up on one of those first nights in Rio, when weariness after their hideous voyage had made them careless.

How to get her away from her family presented a prob­lem that seemed to defy solution. At least he could thank his gods that a British ship lay in the harbour and, if only he could get Lisala on board, he felt sure that Captain Jackson would give her passage with him to England. But how could that be done?

If the de Pombal ladies had made frequent excursions into the town, he could have hired a band of desperadoes to help him kidnap Lisala; but, as far as he knew, since the beginning of the horrible Fiesta, except on one occasion to pay homage to Don Joao, they had never left the house. And they might not do so again for another week or more. In the meantime, the odds were that the Phantom would have sailed. To make sure of her sailing with them he must have Lisala in his keep­ing within forty-eight hours.

There was only one thing for it. He must abduct her from the house. Already he had racked his brain in vain for a way to get up to her room. That could only be done by raising the heavy ladder, and he could not do that without help. His first thought was to take Mobo with him; but he promptly dis­missed it. The Negro was barely capable of brushing his clothes and running small errands. As a companion in a dan­gerous undertaking he would prove a liability rather than an asset. The penalties for slaves who broke the law were so ter­rible that they did so only when driven by dire necessity. When Mobo's dull brain grasped the fact that he was being used in an illegal act, he would first take the opportunity to do a bolt, and chance his luck in coming upon one of the numerous en­campments of runaway slaves who were scraping a living in the depths of the jungle.

Looking up, Roger's glance settled on Baob, who was stand­ing silently in the doorway, waiting to know whether he was to take back an answer to Lisala's letter.

Baob was a very different type of man from Mobo. He was intelligent, self-confident, and was well acquainted with the layout of the de Pombal property. Moreover, he was already accepting money to act as the carrier of a secret correspond­ence between Roger and Lisala.

After a moment's thought, Roger asked him, 'Would you like to earn enough money to buy your freedom?'

The ivory teeth of the big black flashed again, and he re­plied in bastard Portuguese, 'Yes, lord. To do that I's your man.'

Roger nodded. 'Then tell the Senhorita Lisala to have no more fears. I will do as she has asked. Later today—say be­tween seven and eight o'clock—return to the town and meet me on the foreshore below the square.'

Salaaming deeply, the Negro said, 'Will do, lord.' Then he turned and went down the stairs.

Thinking matters over, Roger could not decide whether this unexpected development was-a good thing for him or not. The thought of again enjoying Lisala, after not having done so for so many weeks, held an allure that, as he contem­plated it, made his heart beat faster. But he was nearly twice her age, and she was extremely highly sexed. In fact she was nearer than any woman he had ever known to being a nympho­maniac. Uneasily, he wondered whether he would prove cap­able over a prolonged period of satisfying her cravings. Again, enchanting though she was as a companion, he knew her to be utterly selfish, that on occasion she displayed a most evil tem­per, and that in her character there was a vicious streak.

But she was now carrying his child; and in him lay her only hope of any happiness in the future. So fate had clearly or­dained that, for better or for worse, a link existed between them which he could not ignore.

During the siesta hours he thought out in detail what had to be done to succeed in carrying off Lisala. Then he had himself rowed out to the Phantom. To Captain Jackson he gave a version of his situation which was very near the truth. He said that he was in love with a Portuguese lady who re­turned his love; but her father would not consent to their mar­rying. He had, therefore, determined to abduct her. He then asked the Captain if he would consent to receiving the lady on board and conveying her with him back to England.

After a short hesitation, Jackson replied, ‘I should like to oblige you in this, Mr. Brook, and in these troubled times it occurs not infrequently that ladies must be accepted as pas­sengers in British men-of-war. But I am averse to letting my­self in for trouble with the Portuguese. If you can bring her aboard without their knowledge, well and good. But should they come after her and her father demand her return, I'll have no alternative but to let him have her.'

This was as much as Roger could expect. Having thanked the Captain, he raised the question of money. Although he had been repaid by de Pombal for his original outlay on the house, his nine weeks in Brazil had made heavy inroads into the sum he had brought with him. He had also had an un­pleasant surprise when he had endeavoured to dispose of a few of his stock of small diamonds. Only then had he dis­covered that Brazil was one of the few countries in the world that produced considerable quantities of diamonds, and the sum he had been offered was so paltry that he had rejected it. Now he produced the bag of stones, emptied it out on the cabin table and said to Jackson:

'I have another favour to ask. To carry through the enter­prise I intend to undertake I need gold to bribe a man to give me his assistance. In England that little lot would fetch at least three hundred guineas. Would you oblige me by taking them as security for a loan of a hundred?'

The Captain prodded the stones with his finger and replied, ‘I do not doubt your word, Mr. Brook; but I know nothing of the value of precious gems. However, I will do as you wish if you are willing to back the transaction with your note of hand.'

'By all means,' Roger agreed; upon which Jackson pro­duced for him pen, ink, paper and a sand-horn, then unlocked an iron-bound chest. Ten minutes later, having told the Cap­tain that he expected to bring the Senhorita aboard at about one a.m. the following morning, Roger was being rowed ashore, with the gold in his breeches pockets.

On the stony, wreck-strewn beach he found Baob waiting for him. He had decided that it could only prove dangerous to mislead the big Negro about his intention; so he told him that he needed his assistance not only to get up to Li­sala's room, but that he meant to carry her off. He then out­lined his plan. It was to arrive the following night at midnight on horseback, and with a led horse for Lisala. Having tethered the horses at the back of the big barn, he would go round to its entrance. Together they would raise the heavy ladder to Lisala's window. While Baob kept watch in case any of the slaves in the loft were aroused and possibly came out to see what was happening, he would go up and bring Lisala down. Baob was to tell Lisala what was planned, so that she would be fully dressed in travelling clothes and have a single valise ready packed with only a change of attire, fresh underclothes and her most precious possessions.

The African showed no surprise at Roger's revelation that he had in mind much more than a secret meeting with Lisala, and displayed his intelligence by asking several shrewd ques­tions. Roger than produced a handful of guineas from his pocket and said:

'Fifty of these are for you if you are willing to do all that I require of you: twenty-five before we leave, if I can get safely away with the Senhorita.'

For a slave the sum offered was a fortune. As Baob stared down at the gold, his eyes opened wide, their whites contrast­ing sharply with the black skin of his face. Roger picked five of the guineas from the top of the pile in his palm and offered them to the Negro as an earnest of good faith. Eagerly Baob accepted them, bowed to the ground and swore on St. Balthasar, the patron saint of the slaves, to follow Roger's instruc­tions to the letter.

The next day Roger could settle to nothing. The hours seemed to drag interminably. At last dusk fell. He supped, as usual, in the coffee room. Another two hours crept by, while the other inmates of the place went to bed. The inn fell silent. Having left in an envelope enough money to settle his score, he crept down the back stairs and let himself out into the yard.

After supper he had ordered Mobo to saddle his horse, and another that he had hired from Philippe that afternoon, then take them out and walk them quietly up and down at the far end of the big, barren square. Slaves normally never asked questions, and were used to exercising infinite patience; so he was confident that, even if Mobo were left walking the horses for four or five hours, he would continue to do so until his master appeared. Actually he had been out there for only a little over two hours when Roger joined him, took over the horses and told him to remain near the fountain until he re­turned.

At an easy pace he rode out to the house. There was a quar­ter moon, which gave more light than he could have wished for; but it was not yet high in the sky, so the trees threw big patches of shadow, of which he took advantage wherever it was possi­ble. In the outskirts of the city nothing was moving, and the silence was broken only by the croaking of the tree frogs. With­out incident, he reached the back of the big bam, tied the reins of his horses to a nearby tree and, going round to the front of the barn, found Baob waiting there for him.

Together, making as little noise as possible, they got out the big ladder, carried it across the yard and set it up under Lisala's window. Roger took from his pocket a small bag con­taining the guineas he had promised the big Negro as the first instalment of his bribe. Baob murmured his thanks, kissed Roger's hand and took the money.

Roger then mounted the ladder. Lisala's window, like all the others in the house, was in darkness; but it was open. Im­mediately he tapped on the upper pane, the curtains parted and she threw her arms round his neck. After a prolonged kiss he whispered, 'Give me your valise and I'll take it down; then I'll come back for you.'

As he spoke, he felt the ladder suddenly shift beneath him. Another moment and it was wrenched away to fall sideways with a crash in the yard. Wildly Roger clutched at the win­dow-sill. Dangling there, he heard Baob shout:

'Thieves! Thieves! A man is breaking into the Senhorita's room!'

The Betrayal

At that awful moment, as Roger clung to the sill of Lisala's window, the question that flashed through his mind was: Why should Baob have betrayed him? By doing so, the herculean Negro had nothing to gain. On the contrary, he was throwing away twenty-five pieces of gold—more than he could have earned, had he been a free man, by a year's hard work.

But this was no time for idle speculation. Tensing his mus­cles, Roger heaved himself up, threw his body across the win­dow-sill, then clambered, breathless, into the room. Baob was still shouting, 'Thieves! Thieves!' and, by now, his shouts had roused the household. From the next room there came the sound of a creaking bed, then the opening and slamming of a door.

Lisala, staring wide-eyed at Roger, gasped, 'Holy Virgin! What are we to do?'

Roger drew his sword. His blue eyes were blazing with anger and his lips were drawn back, showing his teeth in a snarl. 'Fight our way out. 'Tis our only chance. Otherwise this means death for me and a living death in a convent for you. Can I but get at that treacherous slave, I'll cut his testicles off and ram them down his throat.'

He was still speaking when the door was flung open and Dona Christina burst into the room. Her hair was in curlers and her flabby checks unrouged. Without corsets, her breasts sagged beneath her hastily-donned dressing gown, giving her, with her broad bottom, a grotesque pear-shaped appearance. The moonlight was just sufficient for her to recognise Roger. At the sight of him her mouth fell open and her eyes bulged.

Lisala was standing several feet nearer the door than Roger.

With the ferocity of a tigress, she flung herself on the old woman, clawing at her face. Screaming, the duenna backed away, tripped and fell. In one spring, Lisala went down on top of her and pounded at her face, yelling:

‘I hate you! I hate you! You sanctimonious old cow! For spying on me all these years, take that . . . and that. .. and that!*

Stooping, Roger seized Lisala and dragged her off, crying, 'Enough! Enough! Quick. Never mind your valise. We've got to get away. It may already be too late.' Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her after him out into the passage.

The light there was dim, but sufficient for Roger to see the Marquis, sword in hand, hurrying towards him. Halting, he cried, 'My Lord, I beg you to put up your sword and parley with me.'

'So it is you, Mr. Brook!' de Pombal rapped back. 'Nay, I'll not parley with an unscrupulous adventurer.'

At that instant another door further down the passage opened and the Senhora de Arahna appeared. Turning his head for a moment, the Marquis snapped, 'Anna, return to your room and lock the door. You can be of no help to me in dealing with this villain.'

Recognising Roger with Lisala behind him, and realising that this was an attempted elopement, Dona Anna wailed, 'Lisala, what are you about? Dear child, think of your future. To leave your father's roof with a man to whom you are not married would be a terrible thing to do.'

'He wished to marry me,' Lisala retorted angrily. 'But Papa would not have it. 'Tis he who has driven us to this present pass.'

The Senhora turned on her brother. 'Joaquim! Our reputa­tion can yet be saved. Mr. Brook is of good birth and some fortune. Far better let them marry than have the name of de Pombal dragged in the mud by such an appalling scandal.'

'Nay, Anna,' the Marquis cried furiously, 'that I will never do. Have you not realised that this Mr. Brook is no other than Colonel de Breuc, whom we met in Isfahan? For years, on his own admission, he has played a double game, either as a spy for Bonaparte or the English. I know not which, but it is unthinkable that I should give my daughter to such an un­principled rogue.'

It was Lisala who caused the already boiling pot to run over. With equal fury she shouted back, 'The choice is not yours. He has long been my lover, and I am now carrying his child.'

The Senhora gave a gasp, 'Dear God! What have we done to deserve this tribulation!' Putting her hand to her head, she slid to the floor in a dead faint.

De Pombal gave a sudden hiss. Seething with rage, he raised his sword and came at Roger, rasping, 'I'll kill you for this I I'll kill you!'

Roger threw himself on guard, parried the Marquis' first thrust and cried, 'My Lord, I implore you to desist. I am ac­counted one of the finest swordsmen in the Emperor's army; and I am twenty years your junior. To have to wound you would distress me greatly, but if you continue to lunge at me, I'll have no alternative.'

Ignoring Roger's warning, de Pombal continued like a maniac to thrust and cut at him. Such wild strokes could be dangerous; but from years of sword-play, Roger found no great difficulty in warding off the attack. For a good minute their blades clashed, slithered and threw out sparks. Suddenly, Roger felt his right ankle grasped, there came a sharp pull upon it which sent him off balance. He lurched, made a wild effort to recover his stance, failed and crashed to the floor face down.

It was Dona Christina. Bleeding and bartered she had crawled out from Lisala's room unnoticed, while the terrific altercation was taking place. Thrusting an arm past Lisala's feet, she had grabbed Roger's ankle and jerked it towards her with all the strength of which she was capable.

Catching sight of her duenna's outstretched arm, Lisala stooped, seized the old woman by the hair and banged her head viciously against the wall, until she became unconscious.

As Roger hit the floor, his breath was driven from his body, and his sword jerked from his hand. He needed no telling that he was now in peril of his life. Still fighting to get air back into his lungs, he managed to swivel round his head and look up. The Marquis towered over him, his eyes gleaming with intense hatred. He had drawn back his sword, so that it now pointed downward, and was about to thrust it with all his force through Roger's body, pinning him to the floor.

Only just in time, Roger jerked himself aside. The point of the weapon passed within an inch of his side, pierced the woven matting along the passageway, penetrated an inch deep into the floorboards, and remained quivering there.

Frustrated but undefeated, de Pombal flung himself down on Roger's prostrate body, grasped him with both hands by the throat and strove to throttle him.

Roger seized his wrists and endeavoured to tear them apart. For what seemed an age, the awful struggle continued. Al­though getting on for sixty, the Marquis had kept himself in good condition. His tall, slim figure was almost entirely bone and muscle. With the strength of a madman he clung on to Roger's neck, forcing his nails into the flesh until blood began to seep from the wounds.

Squirming, kicking and striking at his attacker's face, Roger, half strangled, fought desperately to wrench himself free. Sud­denly the Marquis gave a long, agonised groan. His grip re­laxed and he collapsed inert on Roger's prostrate body.

It was the best part of a minute before Roger got his breath back sufficiently to pull dc Pombal's now limp fingers away from his throat and push his unresisting form aside. He could only suppose that this unexpected ending of the conflict was due to his adversary's having had either a heart attack or a haemorrhage of the brain. Still panting, he sat up, then wrig­gled round on to his knees. As he did so, his glance fell on the Marquis's back. The light was dim, yet sufficient for him to see that a narrow object about five inches long was sticking up from it. Next moment, petrified with horror, he realised what it was.

The roads being dangerous, it was not unusual for ladies in southern Europe, when going on a journey, to wear a sti­letto under their skirts, strapped to their leg. Lisala evidently followed this custom. She must have whipped out the weapon and driven the long, thin blade up to the hilt through her father's back straight down into his heart.

Staggering to his feet, Roger stared at her. With her eyes half closed, her lips drawn back, she returned his stare, and whispered in a hoarse voice, 'I... I had to do it.' Then, with a sudden change of manner, she burst out defiantly, 'He would have forced me to take the veil. I'd kill a dozen men rather than live buried alive as a nun.'

Roger swallowed hard, picked up his sword and muttered, ‘What's done is done. Come! We are not yet out of the wood.' Lisala's aunt still lay where she had fallen, in the doorway of her room. She had not come out of her faint, but showed signs of doing so. Stepping over her legs, he led the way downstairs.

Normally he would not have been afraid of the slaves, as for one of them to give a white man even a surly look could lead to a terrible thrashing, and to lay a hand on one meant certain death. But Baob was of a different kidney and, having betrayed him, would have good reason to fear retribution if Roger got away. It was an unpleasant possibility that, on the excuse that Roger was carrying off the Marquis' daughter against her will, Baob might induce the others to attack him.

There were, too, the Portuguese servants de Pombal had brought with him: a valet, a cook and the Senhora de Arahna's personal maid. Their quarters were in a separate wing of the house, on the far side of the staircase. As Roger came down the hall, he found them crouching there together, apprehen­sively. The valet, Miguel, was holding a pistol; but his hand was trembling.

Roger now displayed the resource which had so often saved him when in a tight corner. In a harsh voice, he cried:

'Get you upstairs. Tragedy has stricken this house. I came here late tonight to transact secret business with your master. Above us we heard a commotion. Going up, we found that Baob had put a ladder up to the Senhorita's window. He was in her room, and about to assault her. We fell upon him, but he fought savagely. As M. le Marquis bent above his fainting daughter, Baob seized on the dagger she keeps at her bedside, and stabbed him in the back. I then succeeded in driving Baob from the room, out of the window and down the ladder. It may be that to save himself he is now persuading the other slaves to mutiny. Go up to your master and do what you can for him. My first duty is to convey the Senhorita to a place of safety.'

His story was thin. Dona Christina and Dona Anna had both seen him, sword in hand, quarrelling violently with de Pombal; but neither had actually witnessed the murder of die Marquis. It was Baob's shouts that had aroused the household; _t but he might have done so in an attempt to cover up the fact that his own act had triggered off the whole awful business.

In any case, Roger's rapid explanation of his presence there was readily accepted by the Portuguese servants, and he had implicated Baob in the investigation which was certain to en­sue.

The Marquis alone knew the whole truth about what had taken place, and he was dead. It could be argued that Dona Christina and Dona Anna suddenly awakened, had not grasped the full significance of what was happening, and both had be­come hysterical. Lisala could be counted on to swear that when attacking her duenna, she had, in the dark, believed that she was fighting off Baob. In Rio, there was one law for the white and one for the black. Whatever view a Court might take of the affair, even the suggestion that the big Negro had at­tempted to assault his master's daughter was enough to en­sure him a very painful death.

Without another glance at the trembling servants, Roger walked to the front door, pushed back the bolts, turned the key in the lock and swung over the thick, swivel bar. Opening the door, he peered out. The moon had risen, and its light enabled him to see for some distance. There was no sign of movement. Turning, he beckoned to Lisala. With a calm and resolution that filled him with admiration, she followed him out.

Frowning, he murmured, 'Having told these people that I drove Baob out of your window, what they will make of my saying that I am taking you for your safety from the house, God alone knows. But, at least, for the moment I have mud­died the waters. When the story of this awful night's work becomes common property, no-one will know what to believe. Now we have to get hold of the horses and, as Baob was to have had them ready for me, that may be far from easy.'

Together they walked very quietly round to the back of the house. Screened by a clump of bamboos, they could sec both its windows and the yard. The windows were now lit, and the sound of wailing came from them. In the yard the Negro .slaves were squatting, talking in low voices and, now and then, looking up to the lighted windows. Baob was not among them.

Taking Lisala by the hand, Roger drew her away and round to the back of the barn. To his relief, the two horses were still tethered there. Roger sheathed his sword and extended the palm of his hand. Lisala put her left foot in it and vaulted into the saddle of the nearer horse. He freed the animal's reins and gave them to her. Standing alongside the other horse, he was about to put his foot in the stirrup when there came a sudden rustic in the nearby undergrowth.

Baob leapt from it, holding on high a murderous machete, with a razor-sharp blade of which the slaves on the planta­tions hacked through the thick stalks of the sugar-canes. Swing­ing round, Roger bent double, at the same moment whipping out his sword. Agility had always been his best card when fighting duels. Now, with the swiftness of a cat, he leapt aside and, in one clean thrust, drove the sword straight through the big Negro's stomach.

With an awful groan, Baob collapsed, falling on his back. Roger put his foot hard on the Negro's groin, then drew out his blade. As he did so, he said:

'Why you should have betrayed me, I cannot think. Now you have received your just deserts. Owing to your treachery, the master who was good to you has been killed. Had it not been for that, I would have driven my sword through your heart, and you would have had a quick death. As it is, you will be dead by morning, but will first writhe in agony for several hours. May your own strange gods have mercy on your black soul.'

Bending down over the prostrate, gasping giant Roger rifled through his garments until he found the twenty-five guineas he had given him. Putting the coins in his pocket, he mounted his horse and said to Lisala:

'It is as well for us that he was lying in wait here to kill me. By killing him I have eliminated another witness to this night's events. When a Court is held, it will be more mystified than ever as to how your father met his death.'

As they rode side by side down towards the harbour, Roger badgered his wits for a plausible account of what had occurred, to give Captain Jackson.

No-one, other than Lisala, had actually seen her father and Baob killed. Only the two Senhoras could testify that Roger had been in Lisala's room and that she had declared herself to be eloping with him because her father had refused to con­sent to their marriage. As against that, the Portuguese ser­vants believed that Roger had come to the house to transact some secret business with their master, and that it was Baob who had broken into Lisala's room.

After furious thinking, Roger reconstructed a version of what might have taken place. He and de Pombal had been downstairs discussing business. They had heard sounds above and had gone up. Baob, alarmed by the sound of their ap­proach, had slipped out of Lisala's room, and crept to the head of the stairs. Dona Christina had emerged from her room, failed to notice Baob behind her, and gone into Lisala's. Ren­dered hysterical by Baob's attempted assault, Lisala, in the semi-darkness, had believed the duenna to be the Negro re­newing his assault, and so attacked her. Roger and the Mar­quis, the latter leading, had then come up the stairs. Baob had sprung out from the dark comer of the landing and, evidently gone berserk, stabbed de Pombal in the back. Roger, whip­ping out his sword had then driven it through Baob's stomach. In spite of the wound, Baob's great strength had enabled him to reach the window and get away down his ladder. Roger had not realised that the wound he had inflicted was mortal, so feared that Baob, knowing his life to be already forfeit, might induce the other slaves to mutiny. He could not have defended all three ladies from an attack by the slaves, so had decided that his first duty was to get Lisala away to safety.

Parts of this story, contradicted by the two Senhoras, might be suspect; but in the main it would be difficult to refute. Roger gave it to Lisala and made her repeat it so that she should have clearly in her mind what to say if she was questioned. During their ride she had remained silent; owing, Roger supposed, to shock and remorse at her awful deed. But now she replied to him quite calmly, so he told her that, when they went aboard the ship, she must show great distress. A quarter of an hour later they reached the shore.

Mobo, squatting on his haunches, was dozing near the foun­tain. Roger gave him a small packet he had prepared, con­taining money enough to keep him for a couple of months, then told him to take the horses back to the inn.

As soon as the slave had disappeared, Roger walked with Lisala along the shore in the direction of the Arsenal. Tied up there were scores of boats of varying sizes. Selecting a dinghy, Roger helped Lisala down into it, cast off and rowed out to the Phantom. On the way, she dipped her handkerchief into the sea, so that the wet rag would give the impression that she had been crying into it.

The terrible affray that had followed Baob's betrayal had occupied no more than a few minutes and, although it seemed difficult to believe that so much had happened in a single hour, it was only a little after one o'clock. The officer of the watch had been warned to expect them at about that time, and took them aft to Captain Jackson's state-room.

The Captain received them most politely, complimenting Roger on his lady's exceptional beauty. Roger wondered grimly what the gallant sailor would have said had he been aware that the sylph-like young creature who was dabbing her wonderful eyes as she curtsied to him had, some fifty-five minutes earlier, murdered her father. He could only thank his gods that he had been the sole witness to that awful crime.

Anticipating that his guests might be hungry after their mid­night elopement, the Captain had had a cold collation pre­pared for them. As they were about to sit down to it, Lisala groaned and, lurching against Roger's shoulder, pretended to faint. Jackson exclaimed:

'Poor lady! It is most understandable that, having arbit­rarily left her parent, she should be overcome with emotion.'

'She has far greater cause than that, Sir, to have become distraught, as I must tell you,' Roger replied quickly. 'But before I speak of it, could we not get her to a cabin?'

'Indeed, yes. One has been made ready for her.' Together, they supported Lisala out of the state-room along to a single-berth cabin. There, knowing there would be no women on board to assist her, she appeared to recover sufficiently to as­sure them that she could look after herself.

Only too well Roger realised that he now had to take one of the stiffest fences he had ever encountered. Unless he could persuade Jackson that he and Lisala were entirely innocent, the Captain would put them ashore, and they would have lost their chance of getting back to Europe.

When they returned to the state-room, he gave Jackson an edited version of the night's events, upon which the Captain became extremely worried.

Roger asserted firmly that, although his real reason for hav­ing been in the house had been to carry off Lisala, no-one could prove that he had not gone there on business at the invita­tion of the Marquis; that his arrival and Baob's attempted assault on Lisala had been only a most unfortunate coincidence, and that no charge could be brought against him other than having driven his sword through, and probably killed, a slave who had, a few minutes earlier, slain his own master.

' 'Tis a terrible business,' Jackson said glumly. 'A full in­quiry is certain to be held and you will be called on to give evidence.'

'That I will do,' Roger agreed, 'but only here in this ship to a magistrate sent aboard by the Portuguese authorities. Should I go ashore to attend a Court, 'tis certain they'll detain me for further questioning. That would mean my losing this chance to return to England, and that I will not do. As a British subject against whom no serious charge can be brought, I claim the right of sanctuary in this ship.'

Jackson scowled at him. 'You can be charged with having abducted the Senhorita. I want no trouble with the Portu­guese. If they insist on your appearing before a Court, I must hand you over.'

Roger banged the table with his fist. 'Sir! You will do so at your peril. I have a second identity. I am also Colonel le Che­valier de Breuc, aide-de-camp to the Emperor Napoleon. For many years Mr. Pitt accounted me his most valuable secret agent. Mr. Canning and others in the present Ministry are old friends of mine. God forbid that I should have to take such a step against one of my father's former officers; but do you abandon me to the Portuguese, I vow I'll have you broken.'

The Captain cast down his eyes, avoiding the harsh stare in Roger's blue ones; but remained silent. He had only his pay, and a family at home to support. Instinctively he had the feeling that Roger was not lying and, for him, the threat was a terrible one.

After a moment, Roger resumed. ‘I apologise. I have gone too far, and put you in an impossible position. You must do what your conscience dictates, and I'll think no worse of you, nor do you harm. I'll say only that when one Englishman is in difficulties, he should be able to count on the help of an­other.'

He had given Jackson the loophole to escape without dis­honour. After a moment the Captain nodded. 'So be it, Mr. Brook. I will refuse to surrender you, and carry you back to England. But what of the Senhorita? Had she simply eloped with you as planned, and her relations learned that you had brought her aboard my ship, then sought to regain her, I could have maintained that, as she was of marriageable age and had come willingly, it was a purely private matter in which I had no intention of intervening. But these two killings put a very different complexion on the affair. Her aunt may assert that you abducted her by force and call on the authorities to claim her. Should such a demand be made on me, how can I refuse to hand her over?'

Roger sighed. 'That certainly is a problem. For you to give me, as a British subject, sanctuary is one thing; but to give sanctuary to her is quite another. Yet I am most loath to aban­don her. It would mean her being forced to take the veil and, enduring the living death of life as a nun.'

For some while they sat silent, then Jackson said, 'There is one way in which you could save her. As Captain of this ship I am empowered to marry any couple aboard it. Make her your wife tomorrow, and she will become a British subject.'

During the past months Roger had frequently contemplated making Lisala his wife. But that night she had finally revealed herself. Not only was she obsessed by sex and abnormally selfish. Behind the face of a Madonna, lay an unscrupulous and vicious mind. To gain her ends she had gone to the length of murdering her own father. Her beauty was only skin deep. She was Evil in a Mask.

A Very Ticklish Situation

It was one of the worst nights that Roger had ever spent. It had begun with betrayal, involved him in violence and mur­der, necessitated his blackmailing an honest sea-captain, and ended in hours of terrible indecision.

Why Baob should have betrayed him still remained a mystery. The result of that betrayal had shocked him pro­foundly. About his ability to force Captain Jackson into do­ing as he wished he had had no serious doubts. He had in the past defied and got his way with Pitt, Napoleon and half a dozen other powerful personalities on the European stage; so experience had taught him that, by a mixture of charm, subtle argument and brutal determination, he could bend most men to his will. But now he was faced with an issue that only he could resolve. Should he, or should he not, marry Lisala?

It could be argued that it was to save him that she had mur­dered her father. But Roger had grown to know her well enough to feel certain that that had not been her prime pur­pose. The deed had been inspired by her determination, what­ever the cost, not to be forced into spending the rest of her life as a nun. Her beauty was staggering, and her sexual attraction such that a hermit vowed to celibacy would have thrown over his chances of heaven for the opportunity to possess her. Yet, concealed by that flawless loveliness lay a mind that was ab­normal. She had not even shown remorse for her crime, and had faked tears only to impress Captain Jackson. The only indications of her abnormality were that her magnificent eyes were a trifle too widely spaced, the violence of her temper and the voluptuousness of her movements.

Recalling the eagerness with which she had abandoned her­self to him that first time in the cave up on the mountain, and the frenzy of passion she had since displayed during those brief spells when they had been able to consummate their love in Isfahan, Lisbon and Rio, he had grave doubts about his ability to satisfy her abnormal sexual craving over a prolonged period. Yet, to take her to Europe, then abandon her seemed too heartless to contemplate. And, above all, she was carrying his child. Dawn found him mentally exhausted and heavy-eyed, but he had decided that he must go through with it.

At seven o'clock he went to her cabin, to find her sleeping as soundly as a virgin in a convent, with no more on her con­science than the necessity to make confession that the sin of gluttony had led her to steal a piece of chocolate cake. Rous­ing her, he explained the situation to her, adding that if the Captain married them, it would have to be in accordance with the Church of England ceremony. He told her this, with half a hope that, as she was a Catholic and he a Protestant, she might refuse marriage if not celebrated with the rites of her own Church.

During the many years Roger had spent in France, it would have proved a serious handicap to admit that he was not a Roman Catholic; so he had attended such services as he could not avoid, although, like many officers who had inherited atheism from the Revolution, he had never gone to confession. He had adopted the same policy while crossing the Atlantic in the Nunez and later in Rio. Moreover, both in Isfahan and Lisbon he had given de Pombal the impression that he was a Catholic; so his admission that he was not caused Lisala con­siderable surprise.

Nevertheless, she remained quite unperturbed and said to him, 'The time people waste on their knees and the venera­tion they give to reliquaries filled with old bones has always been a mystery to me. And that women should deny them­selves the enjoyment of their natural desires in hope of some vague future happiness seems to me a great stupidity. I have, too, always resented having to tell lies once a week, as so many people do, to some smelly old priest in a confessional. I give not a hoot how we are married, provided it be legal and your child born in wedlock.'

This last possible postponement of the issue having been brushed aside, Roger repaired to Captain Jackson and reported his decision. At nine o'clock, the Captain had all hands piped on deck and, with Roger and Lisala on cither side of him on the poop, read the service out of the prayer book, duly uniting them. Roger then asked that the ship's company should be given a double issue of rum at his expense, which provoked hearty cheers from the British tars. The health of the newly-weds was enthusiastically drunk, and they descended to the state-room to partake of a glass of wine with the Captain and his officers.

Their Commander had informed them before the ceremony that his reason for not having ordered a wedding breakfast was on account of Lisala's having lost her father the previous night; so he felt that such a jollification would be out of place. In consequence, even this small reception was embarrassing to its participants and, Roger reflected grimly, a poor augury for the future. Fortunately it was cut short by a Portuguese officer coming aboard to request the presence of Captain Jack­son at the Palace at noon.

Already dressed in his best uniform, with a long face, the Captain duly went ashore, expecting to have to resist a de­mand for the surrender of Roger and his bride. He had every intention of keeping the promise he had made in the early hours of that morning; but was greatly troubled by the fact that three Portuguese men-of-war lay anchored in the estuary, so he was hopelessly outgunned and, if the Portuguese turned nasty, he would find himself in a most unpleasant situation.

Roger, too, was aware of that and knew that if a threat was made to open fire on the Phantom, he would have no alter­native but to throw in his hand. He could only endeavour to comfort himself with the thought that, if the worst happened, luck and his skilful planning had combined to eliminate any evidence that either Lisala or he had had any hand in the mur­der of her father. Nevertheless, he could not escape the charge of having abducted her; so, if they were arrested and taken ashore, things would go hard with both of them.

For three extremely anxious hours they strolled up and down, or sat about, under the awning over the poop. At last Captain Jackson returned. As he came alongside in his gig, they saw that his thick uniform was stained with sweat, and he was mopping the perspiration from his face with a ban­danna handkerchief.

When he had been piped aboard and they had followed him into the state-room, he said gruffly:

'The city is in a ferment concerning the Marquis* death. While I was at the Palace, there was talk of nothing else. People are much mystified, as the accounts of the affair differ greatly. For a slave to have assaulted his master's daughter is a thing unheard of. The only explanation offered is that he must have gone mad; but he is dead, so has escaped torture, and no-one will ever now know the truth of the matter. You, Mr. Brook, are greatly blamed for having abandoned the injured duenna and the Senhorita's aunt. Apparently there was no question whatever of the other slaves mutinying, and you had already driven your sword through the one who might have incited them to do so, as he scrambled out of the window. It is said, too, by the Senhora de Arahna that, sword in hand, you had a violent quarrel with the Marquis before carrying off the Senhorita. The duenna is still too ill to make a statement. But, when she is sufficiently recovered to give an account of what occurred, more light should be thrown on this terrible affair.'

Roger paled. It was Dona Christina who had pulled his leg from under him when he had actually been crossing swords with de Pombal. The testimony she would give could be re­futed only by asserting that she had temporarily gone out of her mind and had imagined the whole scene. Would that be believed? And the story that Baob had come up through the window, with the intention of raping Lisala? That rested solely on the word of Lisala and himself; and it was with her stiletto that the Marquis had been stabbed through the back.

With narrowed eyes and his heart beating fast, Roger said, 'Maybe, in the excitement of the moment, I was foolish to adhere to my original plan to abduct the Senhorita. All would have gone smoothly but for the unforeseen aberration of that accursed Negro. What attitude are the authorities taking in the matter?'

The Captain shrugged. 'Naturally they are anxious to ques­tion you; so they have issued an order for your arrest.'

'I'll not leave this ship unless the Portuguese threaten to fire upon her,' Roger declared firmly.

'You will not need to. No-one ashore is aware that you are aboard her.'

'Thank God for that! And I am greatly your debtor, Sir, for not having divulged that. . . that my wife and I are your guests here.'

Jackson's leathery face broke into a smile. 'I was not even questioned about you, Mr. Brook. I think now I have suffi­ciently paid you out for the way in which you spoke to me in the early hours of this morning. The rowing boat in which you came out to Phantom was cast adrift and washed ashore on the incoming tide. In it was found a high, tortoiseshell comb that had evidently fallen from your wife's dishevelled hair, and has been identified as hers by her aunt. It is assumed that you went out to a Portuguese barque which sailed on the dawn tide, and paid her Captain well to take you up to Recife.'

Out of habit, Lisala crossed herself and exclaimed, 'Holy Virgin be praised!'

Roger gave a wry smile and admitted, 'I deserved the fear you inflicted on me these past few minutes. But, relieved as I am now, I fail to understand why you were sent for from the Palace if it was not to be asked if we had taken refuge aboard Phantom.'

Jackson returned his smile and drew from the big, flapped pocket of his coat a large envelope with heavy seals. 'It was to receive this. 'Tis the reply to the despatch that I delivered eight days ago.'

'Then, your mission accomplished, you are free to sail’ Roger exclaimed joyfully. 'We'll not have to remain here dread­ing that someone ashore may yet get wind of it that we are aboard.'

'Yes, Mr. Brook. I deplore having become involved in this whole unsavoury business. But I admire your resolution, and it is clear that the gods have favoured you. Phantom is fully watered and provisioned. On the evening tide we sail for Eng­land.’

In their role as 'the eyes of the Fleet', frigates were one of the fastest types of ship, afloat, and rarely reefed sail, except when meeting exceptionally bad weather. In consequence, she made the crossing in six weeks. But it was a far from comfort­able one, and the last form of honeymoon Roger would have taken from choice. As was always the case, rough seas made him wretchedly seasick. However, that at least provided him with an excuse for keeping within bounds the amorous de­mands that Lisala made upon him.

On May 9th, Phantom docked at Portsmouth. Being the bearer of a despatch, as soon as Captain Jackson had cleared his papers he hired a coach to take him to London, and with him he took Roger and Lisala.

As was Roger's custom when returning from long absences abroad, he went straight to Amesbury House in Arlington Street. It was the town mansion of the Earl of Amesbury, the father of Roger's best friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel, who had permanent apartments there, and was always happy to put him up.

They arrived shortly after eleven o'clock, and Roger sent up his name, together with the information that he had brought with him from Brazil a lady whom he had recently made his wife. The footman returned to say that His Lordship had just finished breakfast and, if they would forgive his still being in deshabille, he would be delighted to receive them at once.

Lord Edward was an unusual character. Owing to short­sightedness, he had a permanent stoop, which had caused his friends to nickname him 'Droopy' Ned. He abhorred blood sports and spent much of his time collecting old jewellery, studying ancient religions and experimenting on himself with Eastern drugs. But he was very well-informed, extremely shrewd and had often given Roger sound advice.

He received them in a flowered silk chamber robe and wear­ing a Turkish turban. After kissing Lisala's hand, he peered at her with his short-sighted eyes, then smiled and said:

'M'dear, much as I'd like to congratulate Roger, I can hardly find it in me to do so. Now that you are come to London, and the season is in full swing, within a week there will be a score of beaux besieging so lovely a creature as yourself, and he'll not get a wink of sleep from having to drive them off.'

Roger laughed. 'You're right, Ned, that Lisala will prove the toast of the season. But we have spent the night driving up from Portsmouth, so her present need is a good sleep.'

Droopy had already ordered wine and ratafias for their refreshment. When the footman brought them, he told him to find the housekeeper and have her prepare a double bed­room for Mr. and Mrs. Brook as speedily as possible. For a quarter of an hour the new arrivals described their journey and the state of things in Brazil when they had left it. The housekeeper then arrived and, after Lisala had thanked their host in her pretty, broken English, led her away. Roger's first question, as he poured himself another glass of Bordeaux, was, 'How fares it with my beloved Georgina?'

Raising his eyebrows, Droopy replied, 'She married again, over a year ago. Did you not know? Since then she has lived abroad with her new husband, the Baron von Haugwitz, a Prussian ex-diplomat who has a castle on the Rhine.'

Roger frowned. Georgina remained the great love of his life. Between his long absences abroad, they had again and again ignored other ties to spend happy, laughing days and nights together. To learn that, on this occasion, he was to be denied yet another glorious secret reunion with her was a heavy blow.

At length he said, 'I think I once met the Baron in Paris towards the end of '99. Just before Talleyrand sent me as En­voy Extraordinary to Mr. Pitt in an abortive attempt to agree a peace. If I remember, he was a tall, handsome man of about forty; a cousin of the King of Prussia's First Minister, and had for a while been Ambassador here in London.'

'That is the man,' Droopy agreed. 'When he was here as Ambassador, he was mightily taken with Georgina, but at that time married. On his wife's death, he returned to England and pressed his suit successfully with our vivacious Countess.'

*Dost know what she has done about the children?' asked Roger.

'Her little Earl she took with her; your daughter, Susan, remains at Stillwaters in the good care of her great-aunt Marsham. Not knowing when, if ever, you would return, I have been down on several occasions to see them.'

'That was good of you, Ned. How fares the child?'

'Well enough physically, and she bids fair to become a beauty. But she is sad at heart. How could it be otherwise when, for eleven years she shared nursery and playroom with Georgina's boy; then, by this new marriage, they were reft apart?'

'Eleven years!' Roger gave a heavy sigh. 'She must then now be rising thirteen; and I have spent little more than that number of weeks with her in her whole life.'

'Take that not too much to heart, dear friend; for it was duty that kept you abroad, and few men can have served their country better.'

'Aye, Ned, I've pulled a trick or two on Britain's enemies. But, all the same, I've proved a sorry parent, and I am by way of becoming one again.'

Droopy raised his eyebrows. 'M'seems you've lost no time, since you tell me you married this Brazilian belle only in March.'

Roger had no secrets from his old friend, so he gave him an account of his year-long affair with Lisala, suppressing only the fact that she had slain her father.

When he had finished, Droopy commented, 'All's well that ends well, then. With such a wife you'll be the envy of the town. That Madonna face crowning the body of a Venus; rarely, if ever, have I beheld a female with attractions so cal­culated to bewitch a man.'

'Bewitch a man! You've said it, Ned. She has indeed put a spell on me, and I still cannot make up my mind whether I am glad or sorry that fate should have thrown me in her path. When I am apart from her for a while, I see her as she really is—-a beautiful mask, behind which lies a mind that lacks all humane qualities. She is utterly selfish and would go to any lengths to gain her ends. At times she displays the temper of a virago; and I have become convinced that for her love means one thing only—the satisfaction of sexual craving. Yet when we are together and her eyes light up, her lips part and she gives me that dazzling smile, I count myself the luck­iest man in Christendom.'

Nodding his narrow, bird-like head, with its great beak of a nose, Droopy said, 'What you have told me does not bode well for a happy marriage. But I am inclined to think that you have been too long divorced from civilised society so, from lack of other interests, brooded overmuch on certain episodes which have revealed to you your wife's shortcomings. Maybe they are not so ineradicable as you have come to suppose. Fur­thermore, when she has her child, that may make a different woman of her. Tis often so.'

He then stood up and added, 'But you have been up all night. Now I am sending you to bed. By this time, doubtless, Madame is sound asleep; so you had best occupy the bed in the dressing room. We'll meet again this evening. My cousins Lady Caroline and Judith Stanley are both here on one of their periodic visits. I'll tell them about Mrs. Brook, and you may be sure they will do everything in their power to make her stay with us a pleas­ure.'

Lisala had only the sadly-worn clothes she stood up in; but the ladies of the family lent her garments that fitted her well enough for her to be presentable at dinner. The Earl was still in the country, but relatives, friends and hangers-on usually numbered from twelve to twenty at every meal. All of them proved most eager to hear about the royal family's flight from Portugal, and about Brazil; so Roger and Lisala were the cen­tre of attention. But, pleading the fatigue they still felt from their journey, they escaped early to bed.

The following morning Roger went alone to Droopy's apart­ment, to breakfast with him. Over their mutton chops, washed down with good bordeaux, they discussed the future. Roger's intention was, as soon as practical, to take his bride to the

'Grace and Favour' residence, Thatched House Lodge, in Rich­mond Park, of which Mr. Pin had given him the tenure for life. But first Lisala had to be provided with an entire new wardrobe, and he wished to spend a couple of nights at Geor­gia's lovely old home, Stillwaters, in order to see his daughter.

Droopy assured him that Caroline and Judith would be delighted to take Lisala to the best mercers, modistes and mil­liners and would also introduce her to many of their friends, so she would have plenty to occupy her while Roger was out of London. Roger then said:

'Tell me now, what has been happening in Europe? During my long absence I had little reliable news.'

Heavily buttering a muffin, his friend replied, 'The war goes on, of course, but oh! how drearily. Since Billy Pitt's death, England seems to have lost all power of initiative. The so-called "Ministry of All the Talents" failed lamentably, both in its attempts to agree a peace and to prosecute the war. Since His Grace of Portland became Prime Minister, with Mr. Can­ning as his Foreign Secretary, we have had hopes that matters would improve. But, so far, the only notable success—of which you must have heard—was the seizing of the Danish Fleet at Copenhagen. The expedition to Egypt proved a fiasco. We took Alexandria but were defeated at Rosena and, in September, had to evacuate our forces. Admiral Collingwood has, alas, become a tired old man. Although he had a fleet of some eighty ships in the Mediterranean, he failed to prevent the French from entering the Adriatic, revictualling Corfu and returning unmolested to Toulon. That apart, we continued to be mis­tress of the seas. Two sizable squadrons despatched by Bona­parte into the Atlantic to disrupt British commerce did us little damage, and have since become dispersed and impotent.

'But Bonaparte now rules the roost unchallenged on the Continent, from the Baltic to the Mediterranean. His alliance with the Czar leaves him nothing to fear in the North. They treat their third partner, Prussia, with contempt and have despoiled her of half her territories. 'Tis said, too, that they plan to divide the Empire of the Great Turk between them. Meanwhile, Alexander's army has overrun Sweden's Finnish lands and Napoleon bullies the states in the south into accept­ing his "Continental System".

'Portugal, Spain, Etruria and the States of the Church are now all occupied by his troops, and in January he even suc­ceeded in coercing neutral Austria into closing her ports on the Adriatic to British shipping. His policy is inflicting the gravest hardship upon both his own people and all others who have submitted to his will. Our industrial revolution gave us a virtual monopoly in manufactured goods. Europe had be­come dependent on Lancashire cottons, and Yorkshire wool­lens. They are, too, starved of the many exotic goods brought by our merchant fleets from the Indies and the East. Sugar is now almost unobtainable on the Continent, and coffee is worth its weight in gold.'

'It surprises me that supplies are as short as that,' Roger put in. 'Although British bottoms carried to the Continent far more than those of any other nation, there remain the neu­trals, particularly the United States. The merchants there must be making fortunes out of such a situation. Surely, too, neu­tral ships could be used to take in our manufactured goods?'

Droopy shook his head. 'On the contrary. The Government is carrying out a counter-blockade. Our merchants are much opposed to it, because by using neutral ships they could con­tinue to export their goods. But that has been forbidden, bring­ing trade almost to a standstill and threatening many mer­chants with bankruptcy. Neutral ships sailing from their own countries are also barred from entering Continental ports. You can well imagine the resentment that such a high-handed action by U3 has caused. We are already at war with half the world, and the other half would now like to sec us speedily defeated.'

'Then things are come to a sorry pass,' Roger commented, 'and no-one seems the gainer. Smugglers excepted, of course. They must be reaping a golden harvest.'

'They are indeed, for they no longer have to fear the Ex­cise men on the other side, at least as far as Bonaparte's allies are concerned. In secret they defy his ordinances and wel­come cargoes of illicit goods. Even the French themselves are prone to do so on occasion. Would you believe it, not long since Bourrienne, who was once the Emperor's Chef de Cabinet, and is now his agent at Hamburg, was ordered to supply fifty thousand uniforms for the French troops up in Poland. At his wits' end where to find them, and not daring to disobey his master, he had the cloth for them smuggled over from England.'

Roger laughed. 'Poor Bourrienne. I knew him well. He was a charming man and of the very highest intelligence. His only fault was that, having made a bad speculation, he recouped himself from the Public Funds. Although a thousand others were doing the same, Napoleon dismissed him for it; and, after years of invaluable service. Never did a master more surely cut off his nose to spite his face. But what of Spain? While waiting at an inn for the coach that brought us up from Portsmouth I heard two officers say that the French are having trouble there.'

'So I beard in White's some days ago. The course events will take in Spain has been the main subject of speculation for the past two months. I think it as good as certain that Bonaparte intends to take the whole country over, just as he has Portugal. In mid-March Murat, or the "Grand Duke of Berg" as he is now styled, arrived in Madrid as Napoleon's Lieutenant-General. With him he brought a considerable body of French troops. The pretext for doing so was that they are to assist the Spaniards in resisting a British invasion. But ob­viously their presence was to enable Murat to coerce King Carlos into doing as Bonaparte wishes; so he might as well have named him Viceroy.'

'Then, after all these years, the Prince of Peace has been forced into second place?'

'Oh, Godoy! That wretched man now has no place at all. Within a day or two of Murat's arrival, the mob rose, sacked the Prince's palace and half-killed him. It was Ferdinand who brought about his downfall. For plotting against his father, the Heir Apparent had been under house arrest for some while. Tis said he learned that his parents contemplated fol­lowing the Portuguese pattern of sailing for their territories in the Americas, and tipped off the French. To stop them,

Napoleon sent a fleet to blockade Cadiz, and gave Ferdinand his head. Having got Godoy out of the way, he forced his father to abdicate and had himself proclaimed King. Although the people acclaimed him with delight, Murat refused to acknow­ledge him; and, ten days later, King Carlos repudiated his abdication as having been forced upon him under duress. So now there are two Kings of Spain, but neither has the power to lift a finger without Murat's sanction. Realising this, the populace is showing intense resentment, and on May 2nd the Madrilelios rose in revolt against him. He quelled the riot with much bloodshed. More than that is not yet known here.'

'The Spaniards are a proud people,' Roger said thought­fully; 'and, if they get the bit between their teeth, Murat's position may become very difficult. I doubt, though, whether that could greatly influence the general situation.'

'Nor I,' Droopy agreed. 'Meanwhile the war drags on. Our people here are utterly weary of it and, short oj surrender, would give anything for peace. But I see no hope of it.'

Three days later, early in the morning, Roger rode down to Richmond. At Thatched House Lodge he found the faithful Dan, who welcomed him with a shout of joy. His now ageing henchman had, as ever, proved a most conscientious steward. With the aid of a cleaning woman and a gardener, he had kept the place in excellent order. Roger told him of his marriage and, to the old ex-smuggler's delight, that having at last come home, he intended to take up permanent residence there.

Dan happened to know of a good woman, no* seeking a place, who would prove an excellent cook-housekeeper and promised to engage within a week such other staff as would be required. Roger then spent an hour wandering round the house and garden. For him they held nostalgic memories of Amanda and the happy year they had spent there before sail­ing for the West Indies, where she had died giving birth to his daughter Susan. He then remounted his horse and rode on to Ripley.

The sight of Georgina's splendid home, looking out on its placid lake, from which the house had taken its name, Still­waters, evoked still more poignant memories of past joys. Yet he had no sooner entered the spacious hall than they were replaced by bleak depression. Nothing there had been altered: the same marble busts of long-dead Caesars sail gazed sighdess from their pedestals, the broad, grand staircase with its gilded iron balustrade rose gracefully to the floor above. But the place seemed eerily to have become peopled with unseen ghosts and had lost its soul.

Mrs. Marsham greeted him with pleasure, but said that Colonel Thursby, Georgina's father, who lived there for a good part of the year, was away in the North; which was a big dis­appointment to Roger. Susan then came in from the garden where she had been picking flowers. Shyly she accepted his kiss, then impulsively thrust the flowers at him. A little awk­wardly, he accepted the gift, then gave her the big parcel of presents he had brought for her. Eagerly she undid the package and was soon exdaimiing with delight at the lovely silks, costly knick-knacks and a string of small pearls suitable for a girl considerably older than herself.

As he watched her, he marvelled at the way in which she had grown. In spite of her puppy fat, she was already a young lady. She had her mother's auburn hair, and his bright blue eyes. Unquestionably, in a few years, she would be a beauty. He felt a surge of pride in the fact that she was his daughter.

Over the evening meal, for which, as a treat, she was allowed to stay up, he endeavoured to entertain her and her great-aunt with accounts of Turkey, Persia and Brazil; but it soon be­came clear to him that these distant places meant no more to them than voyages to the Moon. When she had gone to bed, Roger told Mrs. Marsham of his new marriage, and said that he had not brought his wife down because he had feared that to produce her without warning might upset Susan; but he would break the news to her the following morning.

Mrs. Marsham told him that she did not think it would make much impression on the girl, because she saw him so rarely. But she was troubled about the child, on account of a depression she had manifested since Georgina's departure. There could be no doubt that she was pining for her long­time playmate, the young Earl, and bitterly resented having been parted from him.

Of Georgina Mrs. Marsham had little news. Owing to the blockade, communications with the Continent were very diffi­cult. Only two letters had got through. In them Georgina had described the castle on the Rhine in which she now lived, and said that she found the very limited society there somewhat boring but, apart from that, she gave the impression of being contented and happy.

Next morning, Roger told Susan that he had married a lovely Portuguese lady whom he would shortly bring down to see her. The girl took this news with indifference, merely remarking dutifully that she hoped they would be happy.

Roger had intended to stay two nights, but felt that he could not bear the dead atmosphere of the house for so long. He had known it filled with the cream of the fashionable world: statesmen, Ambassadors, beautiful and witty women. They had dined, gambled, flirted, conversed with knowledge on the problems of the day and, above all, there had been hose many glorious nights of play and laughter in Georgina's great bed. At midday he said that urgent business required his presence in London and, heavy-hearted, rode away.

By then Lisala was beginning really to enjoy herself. With Roger's guineas and the aid of Caroline and Judith, she had purchased a fine array of furbelows. From new acquaintances, invitations were coming in to routs, balls and parties at Ranelagh and Vauxhall Gardens. The London season was at its height. Wherever she went, tribute was paid to her beauty. Very soon she became known as La Belle Brasilienne, and the most desirable men jostled one another to secure a dance with her.

After twelve days in London, Roger said to her one morn­ing, 'My beloved, I feel that we have accepted Lord Edward's hospitality for long enough. By now my house out at Rich­mond should be ready for us to occupy it. Within a day or two we'll go there and settle in.'

To his amazement, she shook her head and replied, 'No. We cannot do that. We must return to Portugal.'

'In God's name, why?' he demanded. 'Are you not happy here?'

'Yes. I find London far more agreeable than I had expected it to be.'

'Then why this urge to leave it? From Richmond it is no long drive to the metropolis. We can continue to accept the invitations with which we are being showered and, at the same time, enjoy a home of our own.'

'Maybe. But by the time we can get to Lisbon, news of my father's death will have reached there. As his heir, I must claim my inheritance.'

Roger was momentarily shocked by her callousness. Then he said, 'That is unnecessary. I have money enough to sup­port us both.'

She shrugged. 'A few thousand guineas perhaps. But no great fortune. Unfortunately, Papa took with him to Brazil the family jewels. So those are lost to me, at least for some time to come. I have a craving for rubies, emeralds, diamond and pearl necklaces to adorn my person; and those you can­not afford to buy. So to Portugal we must go, in order to claim my inheritance before those filthy French get their hands on the de Pombal properties, declaring that they have gone by default.'

In vain Roger argued with her, urging that it was far from easy now to get to Portugal. But she swept aside his protests, asserting that there were smugglers who would run them over, and that if he did not love her enough to go with her, she would go alone.

During the day Roger gave the matter much thought. To allow Lisala to make such a voyage unaccompanied was out of the question; so his problem was how most speedily and safely he could convey her there.

Eventually he decided to seek an interview with Mr. Can­ning. As a pretext, he could say he had recently returned from Brazil, so could furnish an account of the state of things in that country. Accordingly, he wrote to the Foreign Secretary.

Two days later, Canning welcomed him as an old friend, recalling the evenings when they had shared the exhilarating company of Billy Pitt and thanked him for his communication from Vienna. For some ten minutes Roger spoke of the hideous voyage endured by the exiles, the miserable conditions in Rio, and the potential natural wealth of Brazil. Then he mentioned that, before leaving Lisbon, he had spent a week in Madrid.

Immediately the Minister displayed greater interest, and asked his impressions of the leading men there. Roger gave him such information as he could, then Canning said:

'Spain has now become our principal preoccupation. Hav­ing in the past been our most successful secret agent and at­tached to Bonaparte's staff, you will doubtless know that he has long had designs on the Peninsula and postponed them only while having to deal with Prussia and Russia.

'His pact with the Czar at Tilsit freed him to turn his gaze south; and he has played his cards there with his usual un­scrupulous cunning. .By tempting Godoy with a Kingdom in southern Portugal, he induced him to use Spanish troops to help subdue that country. As France's ally, he then requested King Carlos to send a considerable contingent of Spaniards to assist in garrisoning Hanover; and that moron of a King did as he was asked.

'Thus Spain was denuded of her best regiments and, theo­retically, vulnerable to invasion by us. On that pretext, Bona­parte infiltrated many thousands of his own troops into the Peninsula and by guile, or forged documents, they have since gained possession of all the principal fortresses, including Pamplona, San Sebastian, Figueras and Barcelona. With these in his hands, twenty thousand troops in Portugal, forty thou­sand in northern Spain and another twelve thousand in Cata­lonia, he has Spain by the throat.

'When that dawned on the slow-witted King, he decided to seek safety in his American dominions. But by then it was too late. His son, that unsavoury young Prince Ferdinand, prevented his departure and forced him to abdicate. Bona­parte played with Ferdinand for a while, persuading him that he intended to support his claim to the throne, then sent General Savory to lure him to Bayonne. There he was con­fronted by his parents and Godoy who, after being half-killed by the mob and spending a month in prison, had been released at the order of the French. My intelligence sources report that most terrible scenes ensued. But, of course, Bonaparte had the last word. With Godoy, he drew up a Convention by which King Carlos and Prince Ferdinand surrendered their claims to the Spanish throne.'

Roger nodded. 'So there is now no King of Spain; but Godoy gets his Kingdom of the Algarve after all.'

'By no means. He, too, becomes a permanent exile, and Bonaparte has come out in his true colours. He does not intend to partition Portugal, but keep it for himself.'

Canning took a pinch of snuff, then went on, 'But Spain has now become our major concern. The Spanish people took great umbrage some while since at a proposal by Bonaparte that Spain should be deprived of the Balearic Isles, so that he could give them in exchange for Sicily. His treatment of the Spanish royal family has further incensed them, an-f to such a degree that on May 2nd there were bloody riots in Ma­drid. Now, I gather, the whole country is seething with hatred of the French. Having told you all this, I should like to have your opinion. Do you think there is any chance at all of the people rising en masse and driving the French out of Spain?'

' 'Tis hard to say, Sir,' Roger replied. 'I took a poor view of the nobility that I met when in Madrid; but the people are tough, courageous and deeply religious. If their priests in­flamed them further against their oppressors, they might suc­ceed in forcing die French to retire into their fortresses But Napoleon would still hold Spain, unless . . . yes, unless we could send an expeditionary force with ample artillery to sup­port the insurgents.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Canning. 'That is the very thing I have in mind. But we dare not take such a risk unless we have sound reason to believe that the Spanish people will fully commit themselves. And now a thought has come to me. I am,of course, aware that, since the death of our dear friend, Billy, disgusted with the Government that succeeded him you refused to accept further missions abroad. Would you consider re-entering the Service as my special agent? Having been a member of Bona­pane's staff, you are in a unique position to find out how the French view their chances of holding down a widespread rebel­lion. Such knowledge would be invaluable to me. Will you go to Spain on my behalf?'

Back into the Battle

After hesitating for a moment, Roger smiled and said, 'It so happens that I came here today to ask if you would aid me to get to Lisbon. I recently married the daughter of the late Marquis de Pombal. She has inherited a great property there, and is anxious to go to Lisbon so that she can claim it. Knowing that British ships of war are constantly patrolling the coast of Portugal, it occurred to me that you might be good enough to secure for my wife and me a passage in one, and enable us to be put ashore on a dark night in some secluded bay.'

'My congratulations, Mr. Brook. I shall be happy to ar­range matters as you wish. May I take it you will then go on for me to Madrid?

'I thank you, Sir. But to proceed to Madrid may not be necessary. Do you know who now commands in Lisbon?'

'Yes, General Junot. At least, he did so up until a week ago; and, as he has occupied that post ever since the Braganzas fled, there is little likelihood of his having been superseded.'

'Excellent!' Roger smiled again. 'He is one of my oldest friends, and it is certain that he will be well informed about how matters are shaping in Spain. If the frigate that lands us can return after a week or so, and send in a boat, I'd be able to transmit to you by her a sound appreciation of the situa­tion.'

'An admirable idea. That could save us weeks in learning what our prospects are should we send an army into the Pen­insula.'

They parted most cordially, Canning having promised to let Roger know when a frigate was sailing to relieve another in the fleet that was blockading Portugal.

Two days elapsed; then, late at night on May 25th, a note arrived for Roger from Canning, to let him know that Gadfly, a sloop-of-war which was lying off Greenwich, would be sail­ing the following noon with despatches for the Admiral com­manding the British squadron blockading Lisbon; and that her Captain had been given orders respecting Mr. and Mrs. Brook.

Next morning Lisala threw one of her fits of temper when Roger told her that she must leave behind all the pretty clothes she had bought, because they were to make a secret landing, so could take only what they could carry. To his insistence she had to give way and, when they went downstairs, her face had its usual angelic expression.

Droopy conveyed them down to Greenwich in his coach; Caroline and Judith came too, to see them off. The ladies exchanged tearful farewells and the Brooks went aboard Gad­fly, to be received by a young Lieutenant named Higgins. He apologised for the narrowness of the quarters in the sloop, but gallantly gave up his own cabin to them. It was a sunny after­noon when they dropped down the Thames and the weather proved clement for the remainder of their voyage. On the night of May 30th, he put them ashore in a small cove some ten miles north of Lisbon.

Roger would have preferred to face the long walk to the city, rather than risk giving themselves away by seeking trans­port; but Lisala would not hear of it, and showed at her best in dealing with the situation. She knocked up the people at the nearest farmhouse, boldly told them who she was and, with­out giving any explanation of their presence in such a lonely spot in the middle of the night, demanded to be driven into Lisbon.

The Portuguese peasants being accustomed to obeying or­ders from the nobility without question, the farmer harnessed two mules to his wagon, put some bundles of straw in it for them to sit on, and they set off.

As they entered the city, the early summer dawn was break­ing. Already they had planned what they intended to do. Hav­ing been twice to the de Pombal mansion as an Englishman,

Roger feared that, if a pro-French servant recognised him, that might cause him considerable inconvenience. So Lisala was to leave him near the Leao d'ouro, and proceed to her home on her own. Then, later in the day, he would get in touch with her.

At the inn the servants were just starting the daily round. Roger sent one of them to rouse the landlord, who came down­stairs in a chamber robe and night-cap. On seeing Roger, he exclaimed:

'Senhor Brook! Where have you been all this time? You disappeared without giving me a word of notice. But no mat­ter. By returning to Lisbon you have run your head into a hornets' nest. If the accursed French learn of your presence here, it will be the worse for you.'

Roger laughed. *Don't worry. I can take care of myself. But what of my baggage? Is it still here, or have you disposed of it as payment for what I owe you ?'

'No, Senhor. Expecting you would return in a week or so, I had your things put up in the attic. Then, to tell the truth, I forgot all about them.'

'Praise be for that! Please give me a room, have them brought down to it, and hot water sent up so that I may bathe myself.'

An hour later, Roger came downstairs. He had shaved off his side-whiskers and was dressed in the resplendent uniform of a French Staff Colonel, that he had had made for him in Madrid.

At the sight of this metamorphosis the landlord's eyes opened wide. Roger quickly put a finger to his lips and said in a low voice, 'I had this uniform made secretly when I was here last November, intending to don it when the French arrived and to pass myself off as one of them. Most unfortunately, I was aboard a ship when the tempest arose and was carried off to Brazil. I am only just returned but, I trust, not too late to be of service to my country in this guise.'

The landlord began to laugh until his big paunch wobbled. Bending towards Roger, he whispered huskily, 'Be easy, Senhor. No one here will say a word of this. And may God pros­per your activities against the accursed French.'

After giving the man several pieces of gold to settle what he owed, Roger sat down to a hearty breakfast; then returned to his room and slept for a few hours.

At four o'clock he ordered a carriage and now, as a high-ranking officer of the occupying Power with nothing to fear, he had himself driven out to the de Pombal mansion.

While discussing with Lisala his reappearance in Lisbon they had been faced with the fact that, on seeing him again, most of the dc Pombal servants would recognise him as Mr. Brook; but there were others who had accompanied the Mar­quis to Persia, so if Roger arrived clean shaven and wearing French uniform, they would tell their companions that he was the Chevalier de Breuc who had paid court to Lisala in Isfa­han.

He therefore presented himself in this role and said to the footman who opened the door to him: 'There is a rumour in the city that the Senhorita de Pombal has returned home. If that is so, I should much like to pay my respects to her, as I made her acquaintance while she was in Persia.'

A major-domo showed Roger up to the big salon and left him there for a short while, then returned to usher in Lisala. With apparent surprise and evident delight, she greeted Roger, exclaiming how pleased she was to see him again after many months.

No sooner had the servant left the room than they burst into laughter and embraced. Then Roger said, 'All has gone well, my love. The landlord at the Leao d’ouro now believes me to be an English spy, and can be relied on to keep his mouth shut. Now that we are established in the eyes of your servants as old friends, they will feel no surprise if I visit you here fre­quently. In the meantime, you must see your attorney and urge him speedily to make good your title to your inheritance. I will sec General Junot and, if any difficulties arise, seek his influence to brush them aside. And, now, fatigued by your night's ad­venture, you must to bed, lest the roses in your lovely cheeks become faded.'

Roger marched out of the house as he had entered it—a master in yet another land which had become subject to his all-powerful Emperor. That evening he went to the Palace which Junot had taken over, and sent up his name. The Due d'Abrantes had him brought up, flung his arms round him, kissed him on both cheeks and cried:

'Mon vieux! Mon vieux! Mon cher Breuc! Where have you been? What have you been doing all this time, and what brings you to this God-forsaken country?'

Roger returned the hug and kisses. 'Mon cher Androche, it is a long story. The Emperor sent me with General Gardane's mission to Turkey and Persia. Later my travels were extended further than he intended. I was here when the Braganzas left and aboard one of their ships. A storm rose, and I could not get ashore. To my fury I was carried off with them to Brazil. From there I have only just returned. I fear the Emperor will be exceeding angry with me, owing to my long absence. As you know, he is capable of venting his displeasure in no mean manner on those who have failed to carry out his wishes.'

'Do I not?' Junot angrily slapped his thigh. 'Regard my own case. You were there at the siege of Toulon when, as an officer of little significance, he promoted me to be his first A.D.C. When he was still poor, I housed him and lent him money. I have accompanied him on all his campaigns and many times been wounded in his service. Who, if not I, when he distributed his batons, deserved to be a Marshal of the Em­pire? Yet he ignored me, and fobbed me off with a dukedom, which means nothing to a soldier.

'Last autumn, he promised to promote me to Marshal, did I succeed in preventing the royal family from leaving Por­tugal. Tis true that he gave me thirty thousand men and a corps of Spanish auxiliaries. But he could have had no idea of the territory I had to cross. The rain descended in torrents, the rivers became near-unfordable, the peasants preferred death to yielding up to us the food they had hoarded for the winter. Believe me, it was a nightmare march. Two-thirds of the Span­iards perished and thousands of my own men fell by the way­side. I reached Lisbon with no more than fifteen hundred, and

I was only one day too late. Yet, despite all my efforts, the Emperor turned on me and rent me because I had failed to prevent the departure of the Braganzas.'

'He'll make you a Marshal yet.' Roger gave his old friend a consoling pat on the shoulder. 'Meanwhile, you could be worse off than as the uncrowned King of Portugal.'

'True. When I was here previously, as Ambassador, the Portuguese were so pro-English that they were frequently dis­courteous to Laure and myself. But now matters are very differ­ent. They shower us with presents and fight to kiss our hands.'

'You were lucky to be sent here, instead of to Madrid.'

'Indeed I was. Poor Murat was given a most unpleasant task. Our master refused to reveal to him his true intentions, telling him to keep both sides sweet; so he knew not which to back when Ferdinand forced his old father at gun point to abdicate, and whether to protect Godoy or allow the mob to hang him.'

'I gather that scamp was very lucky to get away with his life.'

'Yes. While the mob sacked his palace, he managed to hide; but, after twenty-four hours, became so plagued by thirst that he had to come out and, on asking a gendarme for a glass of water, was recognised. The mob gave him a most terrible beating and, before he could be saved by arrest, battered in his face. He would have been executed next day had not that le­cherous old cow, Queen Maria, gone down on her knees and begged his life of her son. Ferdinand granted it, but is a verit­able swine and kept him in prison for a month without even allowing him a doctor. The Emperor then ordered that he should be conveyed to Bayonne, and it was he who drew up the treaty that has put an end to Bourbon rule in Spain.'

'What terms did the Emperor force these awful people to accept?'

'Carlos handed over the Crowns of Spain and the Americas for an income of seven and a half million francs a year, with the estates of Compiegne and Chambord. Ferdinand signed away his rights for a castle and a pension.'

'And now they are gone, who is to occupy the throne?'

Junot laughed. 'That question has been quite a comedy. As the Emperor had made his brothers Joseph, Lucien and Jerome Kings, Murat considered that, as brother-in-law, he had a good claim to the next vacant throne. Think, too, of the enjoyment he would have derived from designing for himself new costumes as King Achille I. But our master had other plans. He has been far from pleased at the way in which Louis has ignored many of his orders regarding Holland. 'Tis said he wrote to him, saying that the air of the Low Countries was not good for his health, so he should have the Crown of Spain instead. Can you believe it, Louis refused it on the grounds that the Dutch people needed him and that he owed having become their King, not to his big brother, but to a call of God.’

'Was there ever such a family as the Bonapartes?' Roger raised his eyes to heaven. 'But I'm not surprised. Louis has always been a neurotic and has now become a monomaniac. Who, then, is to have the throne of Spain?'

'Joseph. And, in his case, without even being asked if he would like it. The Emperor simply ordered him to leave Naples and join him in Madrid, where he is at present. Aiurat is to replace Joseph as King of Naples; so, after all, our hand­some swashbuckler has not come off too badly.'

Roger nodded. 'The eldest brother is by far the best of the hatch. But I don't envy him his new Crown, from all I hear of the situation in Madrid.'

'Mon Dieu, no! Spain is about to blow up about our ears.'

'Do you really think that?' Roger raised a sceptical eye­brow.

'I'd wager my chances of yet getting a Marshal's baton on it. The émeurt in Madrid on May 2nd sparked the trouble off. The news of it ran round Spain like wild-fire. The Spanish notables had been summoned by the Emperor to Bayonne, and accepted the Constitution he thrust at them; but the people rejected it with angry contempt. By the middle of the month the hardy mountaineers of the north began to arm themselves, on the 24th, their little province of Asturias actually declared war on France. A few days later, Galicia and Leon followed suit. My latest intelligence is that the south, too, is in a fer­ment. Andalusia, Mercia and Valencia may join the rebellion any day. Within a month there will be fighting throughout the whole Peninsula.'

Roger shrugged. 'What can such rabble do against our well-armed and well-disciplined troops?'

'They can render the country near-untenable by raids and ambushes. No small body of French troops will be safe out­side the cities, and in them they'll no longer dare to go abroad at night, for fear of assassination. The odds are that we'll be compelled to withdraw into the fortresses.'

'But with them in his hands, the Emperor will still hold Spain. They, at least, are impregnable, except from assault by a regular army with cannon.'

'Of course. But what if the English take advantage of our difficulties to seize one of the ports? Given a base, they could supply the rebels with arms and ammunition, and land an army of their own. To provision our garrisons across a hos­tile countryside would, in any case, be far from easy. Sup­ported by English regulars, the Spaniards could reduce them one by one.'

Feigning anxiety and distress, Roger exclaimed, 'Do you really fear then that we may be driven out of Spain?'

'Not without a long and ghastly struggle. But if the English do land an army, it may well come to that.'

Roger had his answer for Mr. Canning, and much more quickly than he had expected. His only regret now was that he had told the young Captain of the sloop not to return to the bay for a week.

Over a bottle of wine, he told Junot about the awful voyage to Brazil, and of the state of squalor they had found in Rio; then of his marriage to Lisala and her inheritance. Having congratulated him, Junot asked, 'But how did you succeed in getting back here?'

With a laugh Roger replied, 'How do you think? In a British ship, of course. As you know, I am bi-lingual. Before you reached Lisbon I was here on the Emperor's business, posing as an Englishman. The Portuguese believed me to be one when

I was carried off to Brazil and I succeeded in maintaining the fiction there until I could arrange with the Captain of a British frigate to give my wife and myself passage to England. After a short spell there I persuaded another British Captain to take us across to Algeciras. From thence we came overland.'

Junot nodded. 'Tell me now about your wife.'

'Willingly. I had intended to. She is a most lovely creature but our present situation is a difficult one, and I would be grateful for your help.

'Her father died recently, so she is heir to a great inherit­ance and has returned to Lisbon to claim it. Naturally I have accompanied her, but now that Portugal is subject to France I could not come here as the Englishman her people supposed me to be when I married her in Brazil. For the moment we are keeping our marriage a secret and have been compelled temporarily to separate. She has returned to her family man­sion; I have secured quarters at the Leao d'ouro. There is naught to prevent my calling on her frequently as her servants are aware that I was previously acquainted with, and enam­oured, of her when she was in Persia and I was there as a member of Gardane's mission. We shall go about together and shortly let it be known that we intend to marry.'

'What an amusing farce! But the sooner your situation is regularised the better. Bring her to dine with us tomorrow. I will tell no-one but Laure your secret. She will be delighted to see you again, and both of us will look forward to meeting the lovely heiress you have captured.'

Roger happily accepted. For a while the two old friends talked on together then, having satisfactorily established his position in Lisbon, Roger took his departure.

He had known the vivacious Laure Junot, Duchesse d'Abrantes, when she had been Mademoiselle Permon. She received him with a radiant smile and made much of Lisala. Some thirty people sat down to the meal, most of them sol­diers with whom Roger had served in past campaigns, and it proved a gay occasion. When he condoled with the Duchesse on the Emperor's not having made Junot a Marshal, she ex­claimed :

'The ingratitude of the man! Of course, he is now "Sire" to everybody; but time was when to his face I used to call him "Puss-in-Boots". I am now writing my memoirs, though, so I'll pay him out with posterity.'

During the days that followed, all went well. Roger paid frequent visits to Lisala and, in front of her servants, she welcomed him more warmly on each occasion. It was soon clear to the de Pombal household that their mistress was having a hectic affaire with the handsome Colonel de Breuc; but while they might privately disapprove of this fraternisation with one of their conquerors, they were too well trained to show it.

Meanwhile, Lisala had summoned her steward and the fam­ily lawyers to a series of conferences. They had recently learned of the Marquis' death, but had heard only garbled accounts of it. All reports agreed that he had met his death in a fracas caused by an Englishman's attempt to abduct Lisala. Some said he had died as a result of a heart attack, others that he had been murdered by a mad slave, and others again that it was the Englishman who had killed him. But a two-month-old Brazilian news-sheet that had recently reached Lisbon gave an account of his funeral service in the Candelabra Church, so there could be no doubt that he was dead.

Fortunately for Lisala, practically the whole of the Portu­guese Court had accompanied Don Joao to Brazil, so there remained in Lisbon no relatives or elderly, close friends of the family, who might have questioned her; and no-one suspected for a moment that M. le Colonel Chevalier de Breuc could be the Englishman mixed up in the affair.

Roger spent a lot of his time with his old comrades-in-arms, and had several more long conversations with Junot. The curly-haired Pro-Consul was confident that he could hold down the Portuguese, at least for the time being; but news kept coming in of further uprisings in Spain.

A week after Roger had landed, he wrote a long apprecia­tion for Mr. Canning. In it he gave as much reliable informa­tion as he could gather about the areas in rebellion, and strongly advised the sending of representatives to the rebel leaders with a view to their arranging for the arrival of a British Expedi­tionary Force.

That night he rode out with his despatch to the deserted cove ten miles north of the city. Unfortunately, there was a high wind, and it was raining hard, so visibility was too poor for him to make out whether the sloop was lying offshore or if her Captain had decided that the weather made it too dan­gerous to keep the rendezvous. After waiting for three hours, he gave up and, soaked to the skin, returned to his inn.

All next day he was greatly worried, as it was possible that the sloop's failure to send a boat ashore might be due to her having been sunk or captured. If so, his only line of swift communication with England was cut, and it might be many weeks before he would be able to get to the Foreign Minister information, the use of which could give a new turn to the war in Britain's favour.

At night he again rode out to the bay. To his relief, he could discern Gadfly half a mile out and, presently, she sent a boat in to the beach. Lieutenant Higgins had come himself. Roger handed him the despatch and impressed upon him the im­portance of delivering it in London as a matter of the utmost urgency.

He was now free to give his attention solely to Lisala's affairs. Like men of the law the world over, the Portuguese attorneys were habitually dilatory. Normally, while their fees piled up, they would have taken many months to secure for Lisala an order of the Court that she was at liberty to deal with her father's estate.

To expedite matters, Roger sought Junot's help. Follow­ing the example of their Emperor, his representatives had be­come accustomed to taking swift decisions and asserting their authority to have them quickly carried out. Junot sent for the Chief Justice, told him curtly that he would be very displeased if Lisala's affairs were not settled within the next ten days, and that, should the Court rule against her, he would have those responsible clapped into prison.

It was an arbitrary pronouncement that ignored any pre­tence of maintaining justice. But in the lands the French had conquered they rode roughshod over every law. Feeling slightly guilty, but also a shade contemptuous, Roger watched the old Chief Justice submissively walk with bowed head from the palatial salon in which the resplendent Junot gave audience.

On June 20th, the Court met and, cowed by fear, gave the decision required of them. As Lisala's petition could hardly be challenged, they would almost certainly have done so in any case; but her right to dispose of her father's estate as she wished had been granted to her many months sooner than it otherwise would have been.

After the case had been heard, Roger accompanied Lisala back to the de Pombal mansion. Over a dinner a deux that evening, he said to her, 'Now, my love, that your business has been formally settled, I suggest that during the next few days you give detailed instructions to your steward about how you desire your property and revenues to be handled. Then I will devise a means by which we can return to England.'

'No,' she replied sharply. 'Why should we? I now see the Duchess almost every day, and she has been sweet to me. I find, too, that the French officers are much more amusing than your stodgy friends in London. We have ample money; the ground has now been made ready for us to announce our engagement, we will then go through another marriage cere­mony and you can move in here and live with me, instead of our putting up any longer with making love at odd hours and infrequent intervals.'

An argument ensued. Having accomplished his mission, Roger was most averse to remaining in Portugal. More than ever he was anxious to settle down in the comfortable home that for so long he had been unable to occupy.

For three days they continued to bicker over the question. Then, on the morning of June 24th, an officer arrived at Roger's inn with a message that His Excellency the General-Duke de­sired to see him upon an urgent matter.

Going to the palace, Roger found his not very intelligent but normally cheerful friend looking far from happy. Having greeted him awkwardly, Junot said:

'Mon vieux, I am greatly distressed because I fear that, unwittingly, I have brought misfortune upon you. In a recent letter to the Emperor, I happened to mention that you had re­cently returned from Brazil, where you had captured a beauti­ful young heiress, and were here in Lisbon. From him, only a few hours since, I received a despatch. He has ordered me to send you to him in Madrid under close arrest.'

Caught in the Web

Since his return to Lisbon at the beginning of the month, Roger had not given a thought to Napoleon. His mind had been occu­pied by, in turn, the importance of getting his intelligence on the situation in Spain to Canning, Lisala's affairs, and his de­sire to persuade her to return to England.

For several years past, his mind had seesawed between the desire to be done for good with courts and camps, and settle down to a safe, pleasant life at home; then, after a period, the restless urge to play again a part in great affairs. Sickened by the terrible crossing of the Atlantic, which had been forced upon him, and the dreary discomfort of existence in Rio, the fortnight he had recently spent in England had made residing there permanently seem more than ever attractive. Only Lisala's insistence on claiming her fortune had persuaded him to contemplate returning to Portugal and Canning's appeal to his patriotsm finally decided him to do so. But he had had no intention of remaining there a day longer than was neces­sary, much less of re-entering the service of the Emperor. Now, once more, he had become involved, and most dangerously, with Napoleon.

Giving a resigned shrug, he said to Junot, 'Since our mas­ter has ordered you to send me to Madrid, I must obviously submit. But why he should require my presence there—and under arrest—I cannot think.'

Junot shrugged. 'Surely the explanation is not far to seek. Having learned that you are once more in Europe, he resents the fact that you should have dallied here in Lisbon, instead of reporting at once to him. I can only say again how sorry I am that I should inadvertently have brought this about, by a mention that, at a reception I gave not long since, you and your beautiful wife were among the guests.'

'That was understandable enough. But what of her? Can she accompany me on the journey, and will you give me a day or so in order that she may have time to prepare herself for it?'

'I would I could: but I dare not. She can follow you, of course. But the order is marked "immediate". And you know our master well enough to be sure that he will tolerate no de­lay. While I send to your inn for your belongings, you can write her a note explaining your sudden departure; but you must set off within the hour.'

Putting as good a face as he could on the matter, Roger sat down and penned a letter to Lisala.

They had never spoken of her having murdered her father and he had, as far as possible, put it out of his mind. Recog­nising that, when thwarted, rage could temporarily rob her of all control, he told himself that she had not intended to kill the Marquis, but struck out in blind fury, concerned at that moment only with saving him, her lover.

Since leaving Brazil, apart from occasional outbursts brought on by her determination to get her own way, they had been happy together. Her beauty had continued to have a mesmerising effect upon him and, owing to their circum­stances during the past three months, her demands that he should make love to her had been no greater than he had been happy to meet.

In consequence, his letter expressed genuine distress at be­ing parted from her and an assurance, about which he was very far from confident, that they would soon be re-united. However, thinking it wiser to await the outcome of his inter­view with the Emperor, he did not suggest that she should at once follow him to Madrid. Instead, he told her that, should any trouble arise, she could rely on the friendship of Junot and his Duchess, as the General had already promised that they would take every care of her.

Shortly before midday, the Captain of Hussars who had brought Roger Junot's message that morning, came in to report that a coach was now loaded with baggage and provisions and ready to set out. Junot said that the Captain was to act as escort; so Roger formally surrendered his sword to him and took leave of his old friend. Ten minutes later, the coach was jolting over the cobbles, on its way to Madrid.

The Captain was a pleasant young man and, knowing Roger's high reputation with the Army, did all he could to make the journey agreeable. But for Roger it entailed four days of gnawing anxiety. He had always previously succeeded in producing to Napoleon plausible reasons for his long ab­sence from headquarters. But the present case was going to be exceptionally difficult to explain away.

He thought it certain that General Gardane would have reported his departure from Isfahan on a project of his own invention—that he would proceed to Goa, the Portuguese settlement in India, and there assess its vulnerability to a sur­prise attack by the French. But he had never been to Goa and, if he had, he could not possibly have reached Lisbon until several weeks after Don Joao's fleet had sailed for Brazil. How, then, was he going to account for having been in one of the ships and carried off in her, owing to a storm?

Napoleon was extraordinarily indulgent to old friends and, even when his Secret Police reported that one of his early com­rades-in-arms was conspiring against him, would do no more than transfer the offender to some distant command, where he was deprived of any opportunity to make mischief. But in matters of discipline he was adamant. Those who disobeyed his orders did so at their dire peril. He had reduced at least one General to the ranks, and other victims of his displeasure had found their prospects of advancement blighted for good after interviews during which he had vented his wrath upon them.

Roger was no longer concerned for his career in the French Army; but, the nearer they came to Madrid, the more he feared that, for having deliberately ignored the Emperor's instruc­tions, he might shorrty find himself serving a sentence in a fortress.

On June 29th, they drove into the Spanish capital. At the Royal Palace, the young Captain handed Roger over to the Provost Marshal, and obtained a receipt for him. The Pro­vost asked him for his parole. Knowing that an attempt to escape would be to admit guilt, he gave it willingly. He was then taken to a not unpleasant room on the third floor and left there.

Presently, in deference to his rank, a soldier servant was sent to bring up his meals and attend to his other requirements. During the three days that followed, no-one else entered his room, and he was left to brood in considerable apprehension on what the future held in store for him.

It was early in the evening of the fourth day that two offi­cers arrived, to escort him to the Presence. As he tidied him­self up, his heart began to beat a little faster, from the frightening knowledge that, within the next half-hour he would, unless he played his cards supremely well, find himself stripped of his uniform and being taken off to a cell.

Placing himself between his escorts, he was marched down­stairs, to the lofty main floor of the building. The guards at a pair of tall double doors came smartly to attention. An equerry rapped sharply on the doors with a silver-headed wand, waited a moment, then threw them open.

They gave on to a huge, white and gold salon, at the far end of which Napoleon was pacing slowly up and down. Abruptly coming to a halt, he turned and with a gruff word, dismissed Roger's escort. As the two officers fell back, Roger continued to advance, his eyes fixed on the Emperor.

He was, as usual, dressed in the white breeches and green tunic of the Guides. Since Roger had last seen him, he had put on weight and now had a small, but definite, paunch. His face was very pale, and his smooth forehead seemed to bulge more than ever under dark hair which had thinned a little and was brushed sideways. The two most striking things about him were the breadth of his head, with its powerful, forward-thrusting jaw, and his fine eyes, which were now glowering with anger. The expression of those eyes showed that he was in one of his blackest moods.

Within a few feet of a broad, satinwood desk littered with papers and maps, Roger halted and bowed three times. Napo­leon snarled at him:

'What have you to say for yourself?'

'A great deal, Sire,' Roger replied quietly, 'having, as ever, been most diligent in your service.'

'You lie! Instead of carrying out my orders, you have been gallivanting across half the world, pursuing some woman.'

Roger knew that, if he allowed himself to be bullied, within a matter of minutes he would be dismissed and finished. Per­mitting himself a slight smile, he said, 'Do not we all at times? That is, men who are men, like Your Majesty and me. I trust the Countess Walewska is in good health; or has she . . . er, been replaced by ...'

'Silence! I have not had you brought here to talk of bed­fellows, but to demand an explanation of your flagrant dis­obedience.'

'Then talk of bedfellows we must, Sire. What goes on in the beds you frequent is known only to Fouche, but . . .' 'That rogue!'

'Why, yes.' Roger proceeded to develop the red herring. ' Tis common knowledge that it is reported to him every time you use a chamber pot.'

'Who in hell's name told you that?'

'Oh, er . . . a charming lady who later pleasured me with her embraces.'

'Her name? Who was this spying whore?'

Roger shook his head. 'How can you ask such a thing? Your Majesty and I are men of honour. We do not kiss and tell. Suffice it that she took me only because she was over­wrought with distress at having been abandoned by you, Sire.'