Whither Thou Goest

by William Le Queux

reversed, I rather doubt if Icould have done that."

  But Farquhar shook his head. "Oh, you are one of God's good women. Inany situation you would act a thousand times better than I should."

  Suddenly the somnolent Earl woke up, in full possession of hisfaculties.

  "Well, Farquhar, what do you know about Guy?" He took the matter upfrom the point where it had been left in abeyance.

  Farquhar explained patiently that, in his opinion, Guy Rossett was in aposition of considerable danger.

  Naturally, at this point, Lord Saxham went off at a violent tangent.

  "Then why the devil doesn't Greatorex recall him, as I have begged himto do. Good heavens! I have been supporting this wretched Governmentthrough thick and thin. Can't they grant me this little favour? Mypoor boy! He doesn't want their infernal promotion. He will inherit abig fortune from his great-aunt. He can snap his fingers at Greatorexand the rest of them."

  Suddenly he began to sob, and buried his head in his hands. "My poormurdered boy," he moaned. "And Greatorex sent him to his death."

  Farquhar smoked on stolidly. He did not feel greatly attracted towardshis host. Lady Mary shot a somewhat contemptuous glance at her penitentparent, who was seeking to throw the blame on Greatorex.

  "Pay no attention to him," she whispered across the table. "The ForeignOffice is not to blame. He got Guy transferred abroad in order toseparate him from Isobel. I have told you."

  Farquhar understood and nodded. He had already come to the conclusionthat Lord Saxham was a very poor and weak creature--not a good specimenof his order. How had he become possessed of such a daughter, sogentle, so high-minded? There must have been some virility on thefemale side of the family.

  He drove back to his chambers in a rather exhilarated frame of mind.Lady Mary was very charming. He had quite got over that first feelingthat he was to be exploited for the benefit of the Rossett family. Maryhad put that all right, in her gentle, persuasive way. She hadexpressly laid emphasis on the fact that she, at any rate, was pleasedto welcome him for himself.

  He dismissed his taxi, and climbed up the steep stairs to his suite ofrooms in one of the most cloistered courts of the Temple. To hissurprise, the light in the hall was burning.

  What had happened? He went into the dining-room, a blaze of electriclight.

  Stretched on the sofa, puffing at a long cigar, was Andres Moreno,awaiting his arrival.

  "The devil!" cried Farquhar shortly, sharply, and decisively.

  Moreno waved a genial hand.

  "Not exactly, old man, but one of his ambassadors. I say, I suppose youcan give me a shake-down."

  "Of course, but why are you here? Why are you not in Spain?"

  "All will be unfolded in good time, my boy. But what about a drink? Icould do with one."

  "You know where the things are. Surely you could have helped yourself?"said Farquhar.

  "Never care to drink alone, old man. By the way, I see you are inevening togs. Have you been dining with the aristocracy?"

  "You've just hit it," replied Farquhar, as he went to the sideboard andfetched out a decanter of whiskey. "I have been dining in BelgraveSquare with the Earl of Saxham and his daughter. Lady Mary Rossett."

  "Good heavens, this might be called a coincidence," cried Moreno, as hedrained the refreshing draught offered to him.

  Farquhar was rather impatient at any exhibition of humour. He frowned alittle.

  "Now, Moreno, out with it. What has brought you here? I am delightedto see you, of course, but you have not come all this long journey fornothing."

  But Moreno was still in high spirits that were not to be abruptlyquenched.

  "What a splendid Lord Chancellor you will make, always with both eyes onthe practical, intolerant of anything that disturbs the even course ofjustice. Perfect embodiment of the legal mind. _A votre sante, monami_!" He drained his glass.

  Farquhar looked at him critically. "You're a bit of an ass to-night,aren't you?"

  "Not at all, most noble Festus. Never was I saner than I am at thepresent hour. Well, perhaps just at the moment I am suffering a littlefrom swollen head. I, the poor Fleet Street journalist--you remember,Farquhar, how they used to despise me in the early days--have outwittedthe keenest brains of the anarchists. I have made abortive their great_coup_."

  "I know," said Farquhar generously. "My hearty congratulations, oldman. But still, you have not come all this way to tell me that. Youhave something behind."

  Moreno's manner changed at once. He sat down in an easy chair andbecame the solemn and grave personage who had important interests atstake.

  "You remember an interview in these chambers a little time ago, when yougave me a certain promise?"

  Farquhar remembered the incident well.

  "Yes, I gave you a certain promise. You have come to remind me of it?"

  "Are you overwhelmed with briefs?"

  "I cannot exactly say I am overwhelmed with them, but I have enough tokeep me going."

  "I see," said Moreno quietly. He had cast aside his gay and chaffingmood; he was quite serious. "Can you depute those to somebody?"

  "If it were imperative, I could."

  Moreno rose and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.

  "Good! Then I claim your promise. Pack your bag to-morrow morning andcome with me to Spain. I am going to outwit them again. I might do itsingle-handed, but your assistance will be invaluable. Will you come?"

  "It is to help Guy Rossett?"

  "It is to help Isobel Clandon through Guy Rossett. I will explaineverything as we travel together to-morrow."

  "I adhere to my promise," said Farquhar. "I will make all myarrangements in the morning. I shall be at your disposal after twelve.How long will you want me for?"

  "A week at the outside."

  Moreno stifled a yawn. In spite of his vigorous constitution, he wasvery tired.

  "Let us turn in, old man. I feel as if I could sleep the clock round."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  Contraras paid a flying visit to London. It was a secret visit, that isto say he stayed in an obscure hotel in the East of London, notventuring to his house in Fitzjohn's Avenue. His wife and daughterbelieved him to be still in Spain, from where he wrote letters to themat irregular intervals. He was far too busy to attend closely todomestic correspondence.

  Moreover, like many great reformers, he had little in common with hisfamily. His wife openly sneered at his doctrines; privately she thoughthe was a hypocrite who lacked the courage to practise what he preached,to lead the simple life which he was inculcating upon others. Theironly child fully endorsed the mother's sentiments.

  Moreover, she was in love with a young man who had been attracted to herby the report of her father's wealth. He was a poor cadet of an old andaristocratic family, and conservative to the backbone. The slightestword of this somewhat empty-headed young man outweighed the mostprofound arguments of the intellectual Contraras.

  She was very dissatisfied with her parent, with what she considered hisnonsensical theories of perfect equality. Miss Contraras was quitecontent to take the world as she found it. She did not trouble her headabout the woes of the humbler classes. As long as she could live softlyand have plenty of new frocks, she was happy. Why should people withbrains trouble to keep those who could not keep themselves?

  Contraras came over to be present at a special meeting of the Englishsection of the brotherhood, held, as usual, at Maceda's restaurant. Thegreat _coup_ had failed, but he was still undaunted, still full ofresolution.

  There were only about half a dozen choice spirits present. Maceda, forthis special occasion, had delegated to his manager the task of lookingafter his comfortable little establishment.

  Both Lucue and the restaurant keeper greeted their Chief with asorrowful air. Maceda voiced their mutual sentiments.

  "The iron must have entered into your soul, comrade. So near tosuccess, and then to fail. And then, t
he fate of poor Valerie, sobright, so clever, so full of enthusiasm for the cause!"

  The leader's voice broke a little as he answered: "Alas, poor Valerie--afate worse than death. How she will eat out that brave heart of hers intheir loathsome dungeons!"

  He passed his hand across his brow, as if in that action he was tryingto brush away a painful reminiscence. But the next moment he was againthe man of action, of indomitable resolve.

  "I think never again will I sanction the use of women in enterprises ofthis character, however willing they may be to take the risk and pay thepenalty of failure. And now to our immediate business. How are thingsprogressing in this country?"

  Both Lucue and Maceda, but especially the former, who had only thebusiness of the propaganda to attend to, gave him a most