happy over the business is MademoiselleDelmonte. By the way, she went out the first. She must have flownalong like the wind. The others are behind. I can see them through theback of my head. I can wager they are just discussing whether we can betrusted--you, with your English father, I, with my English mother."
He shot at her a penetrating glance, but she did not move a muscle.
"The southern blood in both is stronger than the northern," she answeredcalmly. "And we are each a true son and daughter of the Revolution."
He came to the conclusion that, for the moment, Violet Hargrave wasimpenetrable. Would he ever be able to disturb that _sang-froid_?
When he reached his humble lodgings, for it was a part of his role tolive plainly, he found a long letter from his old friend, MauriceFarquhar.
It was the letter that had been written from Ticehurst Park. Itexplained at great length that Isobel Clandon had lost her father, thatthere were no longer any ties to bind her to England, that she wanted tobe near her lover, in view of the danger that threatened him. Aboveall, that she did not wish Guy to know, at any rate for the present.Could Moreno help?
The young man knitted his brows. His first impulse was to write backand strongly oppose the scheme. Then his subtle mind began to work,half unconsciously. Isobel Clandon over in Madrid could do no harm. Hewould not prophesy that she would do any good. But there was no knowingwhat might happen with this bloodthirsty brotherhood. She might beuseful.
He knew an English couple living in Madrid, old connections of hismother; he was sure they would willingly take in Isobel as a boarder.They were not rich people, only just in comfortable circumstances, theywere elderly and childless. They would welcome a young girl as a memberof their household.
He would go to Madrid to-morrow and interview them. And he could killtwo birds with one stone while he was there.
He interviewed the elderly couple; they would be delighted to receiveMiss Clandon.
Afterwards, in response to a letter received at the Embassy, Guy Rossettmet the young journalist in the same obscure restaurant in Madrid, wherehe had met him previously.
"Things are humming a bit, eh?" queried Moreno, as they sat at a smalltable, quaffing a bottle of light wine.
"Looks like it," answered Rossett, speaking with the usual Englishphlegm. "I've had some very important information over to-day."
"Most of which, I expect, has been supplied by me, not but what I admitthere are two or three very good men out on the job." Moreno wasdreadfully conceited, but he could be generous when he chose. He wouldsometimes allow that there were other people who might be--well, nearlyas clever as himself.
"Well, Moreno, you wanted to see me. I take it, you have a reason?"
"Of course I have. I know you ultimately hear everything fromheadquarters. But that takes time, and I am on the spot."
"I know all that," said Rossett. "Besides, I have instructions fromheadquarters to keep in touch with you, because you _are_ on the spot."
"That is really awfully good of them, when you come to think of it,"said Moreno in his quiet, sarcastic way. "Fancy them relaxing red tapeto that extent! I fancy there is a new spirit abroad."
"Well, what is it?" asked Rossett a little impatiently.
Moreno puffed at his cigar a little time before he answered.
"I am going to put a very direct question to you. Some time ago yougave some very important information to the Secret Service about thisanarchist movement. It is due to that that you are here."
"Yes, I did," answered Guy shortly.
"You know we are both practically in the same service," said Morenoslowly, "and we might be frank with each other. Was that informationgiven under the seal of secrecy?"
Guy nodded. "Yes, it was, absolutely."
"As an honourable man, you could not reveal the name of your informant?I can give you my word, it is very important."
Guy thought for a few seconds. "No, I cannot give you the name of myinformant. It was done absolutely under the seal of secrecy."
"I understand," said Moreno. "And a very considerable price was paid tothe man--or woman--I am convinced it was a woman, who sold you thisinformation."
"Quite right. But why do you say it was a woman?" asked Guy Rossettquickly.
"If I had not already been sure it was a woman, my friend, I should bequite sure of it by your sudden question. You English people are notquite so subtle as we who have southern blood in our veins."
Rossett bit his lip. He felt he had given himself away to thisquick-witted foreigner, nine-tenths Spanish and one-tenth English.
There was a long pause. Moreno shifted his point of attack.
"Do you know that Mrs Hargrave is over in Spain, in Fonterrabia?"
"What!" almost shouted Guy in his astonishment.
Moreno looked at him steadily. "Ah, you have not heard that fromheadquarters. Well, you see, they don't know the little side-currentsas well as I do. They do not know, for instance, that she is a swornand apparently zealous member of the brotherhood."
"Violet Hargrave, of all people!" cried Rossett. He was in a state ofbewilderment.
"You know, I daresay, that Mrs Hargrave is no friend of yours now,whatever she may have been once," said Moreno, speaking in his quiet,level tones.
"Yes, I think I can understand that."
"Come, Mr Rossett, throw off a little of that insular reserve, and letus talk together quite frankly. Believe me, I am speaking entirely inyour own interests. There is no doubt that, at one time, you paid MrsHargrave very marked attention, that you fed her hopes very high."
"I was a bit of a fool, certainly," admitted Guy.
"And then, pardon me for speaking quite frankly, you threw her overrather abruptly, because you had fallen in love with somebody else--awoman, of course, a thousand times superior to the discarded one."
"You seem to know all about it, Mr Moreno."
"It is my business to know things," replied the journalist quietly."Well, it is a case of the `woman scorned,' you know. I should say thefair Violet hated you now as much as she once loved you."
"It may be possible. I have a notion that you know women better than Ido."
"Bad women perhaps," said Moreno quietly. "My experience has lainrather in their direction. I think I have only known three good womenin my life, two of whom were my mother and a girl I was once engagedto--she died a week before our wedding day."
Rossett regarded him with a sympathetic gaze. So this swarthy,black-browed young Spaniard had had his romance. His voice had brokenas he spoke of his dead sweetheart.
"I am sorry for your experience. Most of the women I have known havebeen very good, the fingers of one hand would count the bad. But tellme more about Violet Hargrave. She hates me, you say?"
"I should say with a very bitter and malignant hatred," was Moreno'sanswer.
"All arising, of course, from jealousy or disappointment. How far isthis hatred going to lead her?"
"I should say to the furthest point."
Rossett recoiled. "You mean to say she can have so changed that shewould contemplate that?"
Moreno did not mince his words. "You will take my word for it that itis revenge she seeks, and she will not hesitate. Her position in thebrotherhood will give her a very plausible excuse."
For a moment, Guy Rossett lost his head. "Yes, you told me just now, Iremember, she belonged to the brotherhood. But I always understood--"
He paused; Moreno noted that sudden pause. Rossett had been on thepoint of saying something that would have revealed much.
The young man leaned forward and whispered.
"Mr Rossett, do you still refuse to give me the name of yourinformant?"
"I am afraid I cannot," was the firm reply. "My word was given, youunderstand." Again he seemed on the point of saying something further,and refrained.
Moreno shrugged his shoulders. "I admire your scrupulousness, but Istill think you are very foolish in your own int
erests. Still, I knowwhat you Englishmen are. If my suspicions had been confirmed by yourpositive evidence, my hands would have been very much strengthened. Icould have dealt with the matter in a very positive and speedy way."
Rossett kept silence. It was the safest method with the subtle youngSpaniard, who took notice of every word and every glance, and rapidlyconstructed a theory out of the most slender facts.
"There is no more to be said, so far as that is concerned," said Morenoquietly. "You could have made it very easy for me; as it is, I shallhave to expend more time and trouble. But trust me, I shall get theinformation I want in good time. I shall find people in your own walkof life less scrupulous than you are yourself."
"Perhaps," replied Rossett briefly.
"I am keeping watch and ward over you, as you know," went on Moreno inlighter tones. "And I promise you I will give you plenty of notice ofdanger."
"It is pretty near, eh?" queried Rossett.
"Not very far off, I can assure you. I am seeing the Chief of theSpanish police to-morrow. I have some very important information togive him."
The next day Moreno had a long interview with the Chief of Police, andalso with the Head of the Spanish Secret Service. Both the officialsmade copious notes at the respective interviews. When he left themMoreno felt he had done good work. He was sure that he could outwitZorrilta, Alvedero, even the great Contraras himself.
He took a flying visit to England after this, having two objects inview. First, he wanted to see Isobel to arrange the details of herjourney to Madrid. He lunched with her and Lady Mary at a quiet littlerestaurant in Soho. He promised to meet her on her arrival at Madridand conduct her to her friends. He would say nothing to Guy Rossetttill he had her permission.
For at the eleventh hour Isobel's heart a little failed her. From whatpoint of view would Guy contemplate this rather wild adventure? Wouldhe take it as a proof of her devoted love, or would he frown at theescapade, as a little unwomanly? Men of the straightforward Englishtype like Rossett are apt to be a little uncertain in their judgment ofwhat is seemly in their womenkind, and what is the reverse.
After luncheon, he went to keep an appointment with one of the chiefs ofthe English Secret Service. This gentleman received him verygraciously. Moreno stood high in his estimation. He had rendered veryvaluable service in the past and the present.
"Delighted to see you, Mr Moreno. But I should have thought at themoment you could hardly be spared from Spain, more especially theneighbourhood of Fonterrabia, and Madrid."
"I never take a holiday, sir, unless I feel I am justified. In thisinstance I am. It is true I had a little private business on in Englandat this particular time, which does not concern your department. But Ihave sandwiched that in."
The grey-haired gentleman listened politely. Moreno, as he knew byexperience, did not make many mistakes.
"Some little time ago, Mr Guy Rossett, at present attached to Madrid,gave you some very important information about the anarchist movement inSpain."
"Ah, you know, do you?" was the cautious answer.
"Of course, I have known it for a long time. For very special reasons Iwant to know the name of the man or woman who gave that information toRossett. I will give you my reasons presently."
The other man thought a moment. "Yes, I remember the details perfectly.Rossett handed us certain memoranda which he had obtained fromsomebody, whose name he would not disclose."
"That is exactly like Rossett. I have attacked him direct and he stillkeeps silence. As an honourable Englishman he remains staunch to hispromise. One cannot blame him, although in his own interests it wouldbe better if he were a little less scrupulous."
The grey-haired man began to get interested. "Give me a few moredetails, Mr Moreno, so that I can see what you are driving at."
Moreno unfolded his suspicions briefly. He finished his story with thewords, "If you could not make Rossett speak, I cannot. But you havethose memoranda in your archives. Will you show them to me so that Imay see if I recognise the handwriting."
The other thought for a moment before he replied. Even in the SecretService everything is conducted with the most scrupulous fairness,although their opponents are destitute of the elementary principles ofhonesty.
Then he made up his mind. "From what you have told me, I think it iswise that I should show you these memoranda, with a view tostrengthening your hand. Kindly wait a few minutes and I will fetchthem."
He was only away a very short time, but Moreno's nerves were on the rackduring the brief absence. Were his suspicions going to be absolutelyconfirmed, or still left in the region of mere conjecture?
The grey-haired man came back, and placed half a dozen closely coveredsheets before him. They were in a small, clear, feminine handwriting.
Triumph glared in Moreno's dark eyes. "As I guessed. She wasn't cleverenough to disguise her hand. I can understand she could not run therisk of having them copied. Why didn't she get Rossett to write themout at her dictation?"
The other man made no reply to this ebullition on the part of the youngSpaniard.
"Of course you can't part with these, or any one page of them?" askedMoreno.
"Out of the question," came the expected answer. "I quite agree. Butyou can get photographs taken of them, and then I shall have this womanin the hollow of my hand."
"That shall be done, Mr Moreno. You are going back to Spain to-day.They shall be sent to you to-morrow at whatever address you leave withme." And Moreno walked out of the cosy little room well pleased withhimself. Guy Rossett might have saved him all this trouble if he hadchosen to open his mouth. Still, he had got the information he wanted.And, above all, what a fool Violet Hargrave had been, to let thosememoranda go out in her own handwriting! Moreno, who thought of everydetail, would not have done that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
The great anarchical association of which Ferdinand Contraras was theleading spirit did not differ greatly in essential features from thosetyrannical and effete institutions which it was striving to supersede.
There was still the wide gulf between the classes, bridged overspeciously by the fact that they addressed each other as "comrade,"waiving all distinctive titles.
The chief addressed the educated young fisherman as Somoza shortly,which was natural. And, on the other hand, Somoza addressed him, thoughalways very respectfully, as Contraras, which would not have been at allnatural, under ordinary circumstances.
Still, Somoza did not slap him on the back, or take liberties, as hewould have done with an elderly fisherman in his own rank of life. Thegulf of class could not quite be crossed by dropping titles, and callingeach other comrade.
And then there was the question of wealth. Contraras, in spite of hisnumerous donations to the cause, was still rich; so was Jaques.Zorrilta was moderately well-off. Alvedero and Lucue were poor. Thesharing out had not begun yet. Lucue, as we know, lived in humblelodgings in Soho, which galled him somewhat, as he was fond of comfortand the flesh-pots.
Contraras, after a brief sojourn at Fonterrabia had come back to Madrid,where he had many friends in his own sphere of life. Although not ofnoble birth himself, he had married a woman, a member of a family poorbut boasting of the proudest blood of Spain in its veins.
At Madrid he had engaged a suite of rooms at the Ritz Hotel in the Plazade Canovas, near the Prado Museum. Democrat and anarchist as he was intheory, the man delighted in displaying a certain amount of ostentation,whether at home or abroad.
A little aware of his weakness in this direction, he consoled himself bythe thought that in doing this he was throwing dust in the eyes ofpeople of his own class--that he could more successfully carry on hispropaganda, because nobody would ever suspect him of seeking tooverthrow the regime under which he had prospered so exceedingly.
The young Frenchwoman, Valerie Delmonte, was in Madrid at the same timealso as Contraras. She was staying at an equally luxurious hostelry--the Grand Hot
el de la Paix in the Puerta del Sol. She also had a suiteof rooms, imitating her illustrious chief.
She chose to be known by her maiden name of Mademoiselle ValerieDelmonte. It did not suit her emancipated notions that a woman shouldsink her identity in that of a husband. She had borne with theinfliction for three short years of married life. When her elderlyhusband, a rich Paris financier, died she found herself a very wealthywoman. Monsieur Varenne had no near kith or kin. With the exception ofa few handsome legacies, he had left all his money to this young womanwho was very handsome and still young, only in the late twenties.
Contraras was an anarchist by profound and philosophical conviction. Hehad persuaded himself that revolution, open and brutal revolution, wasthe only cure for a rotten and diseased world.
Valerie had arrived at the same conclusion from a merely personalstandpoint--from the point of view of her own feelings. Naturally of amorbid temperament, absolutely a child of the gutter, the offspring ofdrunken and dissolute parents who had starved and beaten her, she hadsuffered no illusions as to what existence meant for the impoverished.
She was a sharp-witted child, with plenty of brain-power, and amarvellous capacity for self-education. At the age of twelve herparents had sold her for a paltry sum to the proprietor of a travellingcircus. This man had perceived at once that there was plenty of grit inthe precocious child. He had got her very cheap. If he trained hercarefully he might make a good deal of money out of her.
The precocious little Valerie left her parents without the slightestregret--her life had been one long torture with them.
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