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The conversation conducted by Maraquita to a ceaseless bouche pleine accompaniment from her friends bore exclusively upon the subject. Paranoya had, it appeared, existed fairly peacefully for centuries under the rule of the Alejandro dynasty.
The whole fact is that there has been political crisis in Paranoya. Upset. Apple-cart. Yes? You follow? No? The Ministry have been what do you say? put through it. Expelled. Broken up. No more ministry. New ministry wanted. To conciliate royalist party, that is the cry. So deputation of leading persons, mighty good chaps, prominent merchants and that sort of bounder, call upon us.
As the standing army of Paranoya amounted to twenty thousand men, and as it seemed possible to corrupt it thoroughly at a cost of about thirty shillings a head, the obvious course, to Roland's way of thinking was to concentrate on this side of the question and avoid unnecessary bloodshed.
Maraquita scanned his face keenly. "You are not weakening, Roland?" she said. "You would not betray us now?" "Well, of course, I don't know about betraying, you know, but still . What I mean is " Maraquita's eyes seemed to shoot forth two flames. "Take care," she cried. "With me it is nothing, for I know that your heart is with Paranoya.
There was an air of unusual excitement in Maraquita's manner at their next meeting. "We have been in communication with Him," she whispered. "He will receive you. He will give an audience to the Savior of Paranoya." "Eh? Who will?" "Our beloved Alejandro. He wishes to see his faithful servant. We are to go to him at once." "Where?" "At his own house. He will receive you in person."
Roland was too polite to inquire what on earth the Infamy of 1905 might be, but its mention had a marked effect on the company. Some scowled, others uttered deep-throated oaths. Bombito did both. Before supper, to which they presently sat down, was over, however, Roland knew a good deal about Paranoya and its history.
The fact was borne in upon him at the end of the second week by the arrival of the deputation. It blew in from the street just as he was enjoying his after-dinner cigar. It consisted of three men, one long and suave, the other two short, stout, and silent. They all had the sallow complexion and undue hairiness which he had come by this time to associate with the native of Paranoya.
She now talked nothing but figures, and from the confused mass which she presented to him Roland was able to gather that, in financing the restoration of royalty in Paranoya, he would indeed be risking everything for her sake. In the matter of revolutions Maraquita was no niggard. She knew how the thing should be done well, or not at all.
They offer me to be President. See? No? Yes? That's right. I am ambitious blighter, Senor Bleke. What about it, no? I accept. I am new President of Paranoya. So no need for your kind assistance. Royalist revolution up the spout. No more royalist revolution." The wave of relief which swept over Roland ebbed sufficiently after an interval to enable him to think of some one but himself.
At heart he was afraid of women, and in the entire list of the women of whom he had been afraid, he could not find one who had terrified him so much as Lady Eva Blyton. Other women notably Maraquita, now happily helping to direct the destinies of Paranoya had frightened him by their individuality.
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