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Updated: June 29, 2025
Albert was so infernally strong and silent and efficient. He could dissect a car and put it together again. He could drive through the thickest traffic. He could sit silent in company without having his silence attributed to shyness or imbecility. But he could not get engaged to Muriel Coppin. That was reserved for Roland Bleke, the nut, the dasher, the young man of affairs.
I want to talk to him." That was Roland's first introduction to Miss Billy Verepoint. "I've been wanting to have a chat with you all the evening, Mr. Bleke," she said, as Roland blushingly sank into the empty chair. "I've heard such a lot about you." What Miss Verepoint had heard about Roland was that he had two hundred thousand pounds and apparently did not know what to do with it.
For some months after his arrival, Muriel had been to Roland Bleke a mere automaton, a something outside himself that was made only for neatly-laid breakfast tables and silent removal of plates at dinner.
He smiled a sickly smile and said that it didn't matter. The charming creature who sat on his assailant's left, however, took a more serious view of the situation. "Sidney, you make me tired," she said severely. "If I had thought you didn't know how to act like a gentleman I wouldn't have come here with you. Go away somewhere and throw bread at yourself, and ask Mr. Bleke to come and sit by me.
He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be broken gently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly there came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was nervous. "After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to you ungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder, perhaps.
The solid earth seemed to melt under him. "We talked it over last night after you had gone to bed, and we came to the conclusion that there was only one honorable step to take. We must make good your losses. We must buy back those shares." A ray of hope began to steal over Roland's horizon. "But " he began. "There are no buts, really, Mr. Bleke.
Roland entered with two thoughts running in his mind. The first was that the beloved Alejandro had got an uncommonly snug crib; the second that this was exactly like going to see the dentist. Presently the squad of retainers returned, the butler leading. "His Majesty will receive Mr. Bleke." Roland followed him with tottering knees.
The same night, well on in the small hours, the telephone rang. Roland dragged himself out of bed. "Hullo?" "Is that Senor Bleke?" "Yes. What is it?" "Beware!" Things were becoming intolerable. Roland had a certain amount of nerve, but not enough to enable him to bear up against this sinister persecution. Yet what could he do?
Did she labor under the distressing delusion that he proposed to shed his blood on behalf of a deposed monarch to whom he had never been introduced? Maraquita's next remarks made the matter clear. "I have told them," she said, "that you love me, that you are willing to risk everything for my sake. I have promised them that you, the rich Senor Bleke, will supply the funds for the revolution.
His Majesty, King Alejandro the Thirteenth, on the retired list, was a genial-looking man of middle age, comfortably stout about the middle and a little bald as to the forehead. He might have been a prosperous stock-broker. Roland felt more at his ease at the very sight of him. "Sit down, Mr. Bleke," said His Majesty, as the door closed. "I have been wanting to see you for some time."
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