Whither Thou Goest

by William Le Queux

restaurant keeper led him up a narrow staircase--the house was avery old one--to a big room on the second floor. A long table stood inthe middle of the apartment, on which were set bowls of flowers anddishes of fruit. Moreno looked around gratefully. As far as creaturecomforts went, he was going to have a pleasant evening. Maceda wasevidently going to do his best.

  Maceda pointed to a little side-room.

  "It is there the initiation will be performed at seven. At half-past,dinner will be served. After dinner, the business of the meeting willtake place. You are a bit early. I know this much, that you are hereon the introduction of Emilio Lucue."

  "Quite right," answered Moreno easily. "It was Lucue who persuaded meto the right way."

  Maceda raised his hands in admiration at the mention of that name.

  "Ah, what a man, what a genius!" he cried in fervent tones. "If ourcause ever triumphs, if the world-wide revolution is ever broughtabout--and sometimes, my friend, I feel very disheartened--it is menlike Lucue who will make it a possibility."

  "Trust to Lucue," answered Moreno, in his easy way. "If he can't do it,nobody can."

  Maceda moved towards the door. "Excuse me that I can no longer keep youcompany. But business is business, you know. I must be there towelcome my patrons. Maceda's restaurant is nothing without Maceda. Youknow that. My subordinates are good, and do their best, but it is mypersonality that keeps the thing going. If I am away for ten minutes,everything hangs fire." Moreno waved a cheerful hand at him.

  "Do not stand upon ceremony, my good old friend. I shall be quite happyhere till the others arrive. No doubt I shall see you later."

  The proprietor walked to the door, with his long, slow stride.

  "The three will be here at seven to initiate you. I shall run up for afew moments now and again during the dinner. The two men who will waitupon you are, of course, members of our society. I shall hope to bepresent, if only for a brief space, at the meeting. Once again, athousand welcomes."

  Maceda shut the door carefully. Moreno was left alone, in the long,narrow room. He gave vent to a low whistle, when Maceda was out ofearshot.

  "The old boy takes it very seriously," so ran his reflections. "Isuppose they will all take it quite as seriously. Anyway, they intendto do themselves well. I wonder where the money comes from? And Ifurther wonder if I shall meet anybody whom one would the least expectto find in such a venture."

  On the stroke of seven Lucue arrived, a fine, handsome man of imposingpresence. He was accompanied by two men, one an Italian, the other aRussian. It was evidently going to be a meeting of many nations.

  Lucue greeted the journalist with a friendly smile. "Ah, my friend, youare before us. That is a good sign. I hope you do not feel nervous."

  Moreno answered truthfully that he did not. The whole thing appealedgreatly to his sense of humour. Here were a dozen anarchists, meetingin a small restaurant in Soho, and pluming themselves upon the ideathat, from their obscure vantage-ground, they could blow up the worldinto fragments and overpower the forces of law and order, to bring itinto accordance with their wild dreams.

  The four men went into the ante-room. Here the solemn rights ofinitiation were performed with perfect seriousness. Afterwards, when hereflected on the subject, Moreno remembered that he had taken some veryblood-curdling oaths.

  His gay and easy temperament was not greatly affected by the fact. Hehad been in the pay of the Secret Service before; he was in its pay now.A man must take risks, if he wanted to make a good living. Besides, heloved adventure. If the apparently genial Lucue ever had cause tosuspect him, then Lucue would stick a knife into his ribs without theslightest compunction. But he felt sure he was the cleverer of the two,and that Lucue would suspect every member of the fraternity beforehimself.

  The somewhat tedious initiation over, the four men went into thedining-room. Most of the members had arrived. The two waiters werebringing up the soup.

  Moreno recognised with a start the portly form of Jackson, otherwiseJuan Jaques, the moneylender of Dover Street. Lucue had told him thatthe common language was French, in order to accommodate allnationalities.

  Moreno addressed him. "I don't think you remember me, Mr Jackson. Ihad the pleasure of introducing young Harry Mount Vernon to you somemonths ago, when he was wanting a little of the ready. He has alwaysspoken in the highest terms of you." Mr Jackson, always suave andgenial, bowed and smiled. But it was evident he was searching therecesses of his memory.

  Moreno helped him out of his difficulty.

  "I am Andres Moreno, a Fleet Street journalist, who mixes with all sortsand conditions of men."

  "Ah, I remember now." Jackson, to call him by his assumed name, shookhim cordially by the hand. "And so, you are one of us?"

  "Yes, very much so," replied Moreno quietly.

  "Our friend Lucue converted me to the good cause. He is a wonderfulman."

  Jackson repeated the enthusiasm of Maceda.

  "A genius, my dear friend, an absolute genius. If the great causetriumphs, it will be due to him." Another worshipper, thought Moreno,with a quiet, inward chuckle. They were all certainly very serious,with a whole-hearted worship of their leader.

  The great leader looked round the room with his broad, genial smile.

  "All here, except the two ladies," he said. "We must wait for theladies. It is their privilege to be late. We must exercise patience."

  As he spoke, two women entered the room, one obviously a Frenchwoman,the other as obviously an Englishwoman.

  Jackson darted across the apartment, a somewhat grotesque figure, bowedto the foreigner, and shook the Englishwoman cordially by the hand.

  "Always late, my dear Violet," he said, "but better late than never."

  Then Lucue bustled up, and took the situation in hand.

  "Now, Jackson, you mustn't monopolise one of the two charming youngwomen in the room. I want my new friend, Moreno, to sit next hishalf-compatriot, because, as you know, although his father was Spanish,his mother was English."

  The pretty Englishwoman bowed, and they took their seats together at theflower and fruit-laden table. Lucue, probably through inadvertence hadnot mentioned the woman's name.

  Moreno stole cautious glances at his companion. She was certainly verycharming to look at; her age he guessed at anything from five and twentyto thirty. Where had he seen her before? Her face was quite familiarto him.

  And then recollection came back to him. A big bazaar in the AlbertHall, stalls with dozens of charming women. And one particular stallwhere this particular woman was serving, and he had been struck withher, and inquired her name of a brother journalist, who was a greatexpert on the social side. He turned to her, speaking in English.

  "Our good friend Lucue was rather perfunctory in his introduction. Hementioned my name, but he did not give yours. Am I not right in sayingthat I am speaking to Mrs Hargrave?"

  Violet Hargrave shot at him a glance that was slightly tinged withsuspicion.

  "I think we had better talk in French, if you don't mind--it is the rulehere. It might annoy others if we didn't. Where did you know me, andwhat do you know about me?"

  Moreno felt on sure ground at once. He was dealing with a woman of theworld. In two minutes, he could put her at her ease.

  "I am a journalist, rather well-known in Fleet Street."

  "Yes, I know that," answered Violet a little impatiently. "Lucuementioned your name, and it is, as you say, a well-known one. But youhave not answered my question. Where did you first know me?"

  Moreno explained the little incident of the Albert Hall Bazaar.

  "I see, then, you rather singled me out from the others," said MrsHargrave, and this time the glance was more coquettish than suspicious."But I am more interested in this--what do you know about me?"

  Moreno put his cards on the table at once.

  "We journalists pick up a lot of odd information. I know that you arean intimate friend of our friend
Jackson, otherwise Juan Jaques, and oneof us; and that to a certain extent you help him in his business, byintroducing valuable clients."

  "Oh, you know that, do you?" Mrs Hargrave's tone was quite friendly.She respected brains, and this dark-faced young Anglo-Spaniard was notonly good-looking, but very clever. "Tell me some more."

  "Well, I know that you still live in Mount Street, that you married JackHargrave, who was never supposed by his friends to have any visiblemeans of subsistence. Also that at one time, you were a great friend ofGuy Rossett, the man who has just been appointed to Madrid."

  "Oh, then you know Guy Rossett?"

  "No," answered Moreno quietly. "I don't move in such exalted circles.But I always hear of what is going on in high society, through myinfluential