Chapter Fourteen.Moreno met Isobel and her maid at the railway station, and drove them to the home of his friends, the Godwins, who lived in a respectable but not particularly fashionable quarter of Madrid.Mrs Godwin, a buxom and kind-faced woman, received the girl with open arms. Mr Godwin had discreetly absented himself during the first meeting of the two women.“So delighted to see you, Miss Clandon. I was a very intimate friend of Andres’ mother. Any friend of his is very welcome. I shall do my best to make you happy during your stay here. I am afraid the accommodation is not what you have been used to. We are a little cramped for room.”A dear good honestbourgeoisecreature. Isobel took to her at once. She felt themilieuwas not quite what she could have desired, but Moreno had done all he could, most probably out of his old friendship for Farquhar. Whatever discomforts she might have to endure, well—she had brought them on herself by embarking on this daring adventure.Mr Godwin came in presently, a large, heavy man, who greeted her with great gravity. She learned afterwards that he had been connected with the wine trade, and had retired from active business on a respectable competence.Moreno took his departure as soon as he could. He had several matters on hand, besides looking after a wandering maiden of a romantic turn of mind.Isobel stayed him at the door. “When am I going to see Guy?” she whispered.The young journalist looked at her kindly. He remembered his own too short-lived romance. That whisper had come straight from her heart.“Ah, that is for you,” he said. “You know, you confessed you were a little doubtful about how he would look upon it. Will you ask Lady Mary to write him the news, or would you rather that I should?”Isobel interrupted him eagerly. “Oh, would you? Lady Mary is a darling, and devoted to us both. But if I write to her, and she has to write to Guy, it may be ages before we meet. And, besides,” she added with the unconscious guile of a woman, “in certain things, men are so much better diplomatists than women. I am sure you could put everything from a reasonable point of view, present everything in quite a favourable light. I do not want him to think I am a masculine sort of person, an enlightened female who goes tearing about all over the world after a man she loves.”Moreno was a very kind-hearted fellow. He could not resist that wistful look in the beautiful dark eyes. The girl was alone in the world. She had just lost her father; Guy was now her sheet-anchor.“I say, if you want to see him quickly, why not send a note round to the Embassy, just giving him your address, and saying simply, ‘I am here’?”But Isobel rather shrank from that. It seemed too bold, perhaps a little unmaidenly. She had always been educated in the belief that a woman should never make advances. Advances might be made through a third party, perhaps, if they were made with discretion.“But you could explain it all so much better than I could, Mr Moreno, how the whole thing was led up to by your letter to Lady Mary.”Moreno looked at his watch. “I was going to leave Madrid in half an hour. Well, I can catch a train three hours later, it won’t make much difference. I will be off at once to the Embassy, and catch Rossett there, if not, at his flat. You, of course, can see him at any time, to-day or to-morrow?”“A thousand thanks,” replied Isobel, with her charming smile. “Yes, I shall not stir out much anyway. But I will keep in the two whole days.”“Mrs Godwin, I warn you, will insist on showing you the sights of Madrid.”“I will resist her,” said Isobel firmly.Moreno smiled, and said good-bye. It was a little pathetic, he thought, the patient, loving woman ready to wait the man’s convenience. Ever the way with true love.A brief drive to the Embassy in the Calle Fernando el Santo, a hastily pencilled note sent up to Rossett. Half an hour later, the two men were seated at a different rendezvous, for this time Moreno was not in his working-man’s dress. He had to be very cautious.Moreno went to the point at once. “I have news that will startle you, Mr Rossett. Your fiancée Miss Clandon, is in Madrid at this moment.” He named the respectable but unfashionable quarter in which the girl had taken up her abode.“What?” shouted Guy Rossett in his astonishment. It was just the same ejaculation he had used when he learned that Violet Hargrave was in Spain. The vocabulary of the average Englishman is very limited when he has to express sudden emotion. And Guy was quite the average type.“Of course you are very surprised. Well, I am afraid it is all due to me. You remember some time ago I begged you to get out of this place. You refused. I took it on myself to write to your sister to use your father’s influence to get you recalled. That fell through too.”“It was very kind of you to interfere in my private affairs, Mr Moreno,” observed Rossett stiffly.“You are a bit of responsibility to me, Mr Rossett,” replied the journalist in his usual imperturbable fashion. “I will tell you frankly I should be very glad to see the back of you to-morrow, for your own sake—” He added in a lower voice, “Still more for the sake of the girl who loves you as much as you love her.”“Forgive me,” cried Rossett hastily. “I quite appreciate that you mean very well to both of us.”“Thank you,” said Moreno. “Well, to get on with my story. I have a very old chum, one Maurice Farquhar who happens to be a cousin of your fiancée. One night, in his chambers, I hinted that danger was threatening you here. It seems he told Miss Clandon. As I have stated, I wrote to your sister. The two women put their heads together. Miss Clandon’s father died. She had no longer any ties binding her to England. She was mad to come out here to be near you. As men of the world, we might say, the unreasoning caprice of a very loving woman.”“It was very sweet and dear of her,” said Guy. There was a little break in his voice as he spoke. “But I am interrupting you in your story. Please go on.”“There is not much more to tell. As I have said, the two women put their heads together. Lady Mary sent for Farquhar to consult him as to how Miss Clandon could get to Spain. She felt if she consulted you, you would, under the circumstances, have vetoed the project altogether.”“I don’t think there is the slightest doubt I should,” said Rossett, quite frankly.“I agree. Well, they were not going to give you the chance. They took matters into their own hands. Farquhar knew nothing about Spain; he wrote to me to ask me if I could help them. Well, I helped them. I went over to London, saw your sister and Miss Clandon, and arranged for the journey. I met her at the station to-day, took her to the house of some very respectable English people whom I have known from my boyhood, not people of your class, nor of Miss Clandon’s. But I think there she will be very quiet and comfortable.”Guy Rossett leaned across the table and held out his hand.“A thousand thanks, Mr Moreno. After this, we must be firm friends. My brave little Isobel, how plucky and daring of her. And you took all this trouble!”There was no suspicion in his frank tones, but Moreno liked to clear up everything as he went on.“Yes, it took up a good deal of my time, but I didn’t grudge it. I saw your fiancée and sister dining one night with you at the Savoy, but had never spoken to them in my life. But Farquhar is an old chum of mine; he has done me some very good turns. I was pleased to return the compliment.”There was a brief pause, before Moreno spoke again. “I left Miss Clandon a little time ago. She is longing to see you. I suggested she should send round a note to you. She seemed a little fearful of what you might think of her hasty action. She begged me to come round and explain matters. That is why I am here. Here is her address.”“Again a thousand thanks.” Rossett looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have to dine at the Embassy to-night, and there is no getting out of that. We are the slaves of duty. I have only just time to get back and dress. I will leave as soon after dinner as I decently can, and go round to her.”“Away with you, duty calls,” said Moreno, rising briskly. “I will send a note round to her saying I have seen you, and that you will be there to-night.” It was late when Rossett, hurrying as fast as he could, entered the small drawing-room of the flat tenanted by the respectable Godwins. Isobel was alone; the worthy couple, with commendable tact, had absented themselves. Moreno had told them just as much as it was well for them to know, and they were not very inquisitive people.It was a very delightful meeting. They had been longing for each other since they last parted. They exchanged their vows of love all over again.“And you are sure you are not angry with me, Guy?” asked Isobel, as they sat hand in hand on the rather hard sofa.“Angry, my brave little darling. Why should I be? But I say, this is not the sort of place for you, you know. Have you brought a maid with you?”“Yes, our old parlourmaid, Ethel. I don’t suppose you remember her.”“Yes, I do. Well, you must go the Ritz, or one of the good hotels.”“Oh, please no, dearest. I have no chaperon, you see, and it might look queer. Besides, I don’t want to meet a lot of people, and have to explain things. I would much prefer to stay hereincognita. Dear Mrs Godwin is quite a motherly old soul, and knows nothing of what is going on in the great world except what she learns from the newspapers. And I am not so far off, after all. You can come and see me sometimes.”“Every day, darling,” cried Rossett. On reflection, he was inclined to think that, under the very peculiar circumstances, Isobel’s course of action was the right one. If she blossomed forth at a fashionable hotel, a great deal would have to be explained. In a censorious and conventional world, young women, however pure in heart, cannot afford to be adventurous.As they sat on the sofa, she told him at great length of her visit to Ticehurst Park, and the Earl’s consent to their engagement, of his endeavour to get her to use her influence to lure Guy from his post, of her refusal, in which she had been staunchly supported by her father. She had told him briefly of this at the funeral, but he had been so pressed for time that she had only supplied him with the barest details.“The old dad, he was always great at a bargain, but this time you got the better of him, my darling.”Then he put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew forth a letter. “By Jove, I had very nearly forgotten—a letter received this morning from that dear old Aunt Henrietta. I won’t read you all of it, there are yards, but I’ll just run through a passage that concerns us.”This was the passage he read. “I hear a great deal from Mary, who as you know is a most indefatigable correspondent, about your fiancée, Isobel Clandon. She describes her as a most sweet and lovable girl. There were always the two types in the Rossett family, the practicable and the romantic. You, Mary, and myself belong to the latter. I married for love, Mary would have done, and you are going to.“I hear also your post is rather a dangerous one, and that they have tried to get you recalled, but that you will not hear of it. Well, I admire your spirit and sense of duty. Still, as soon as you can retire with honour, do so.“Now that your father has given his consent, there is nothing to wait for. I shall make the way easy for you, as I have always tried to do. Bring your Isobel to see me at the first opportunity. I am longing to make her acquaintance.”“What a darling!” cried Isobel enthusiastically. “Well, anyway, there are three dear people in the present Rossett family, your Aunt, Mary, and yourself. And Lord Saxham is not so bad after all.”In her happiness she freely forgave the old gentleman his former hostility, his attempt to drive a bargain with her.“No, he’s by no means so bad, when you get to know him, to pierce through the crust as it were. He is a sort of cross between the practical and romantic Rossetts,” said Guy.They talked for a long time about their future plans.When Isobel laid her head upon her pillow that night, she was happier than she had ever been since the day her dear old father died.
Moreno met Isobel and her maid at the railway station, and drove them to the home of his friends, the Godwins, who lived in a respectable but not particularly fashionable quarter of Madrid.
Mrs Godwin, a buxom and kind-faced woman, received the girl with open arms. Mr Godwin had discreetly absented himself during the first meeting of the two women.
“So delighted to see you, Miss Clandon. I was a very intimate friend of Andres’ mother. Any friend of his is very welcome. I shall do my best to make you happy during your stay here. I am afraid the accommodation is not what you have been used to. We are a little cramped for room.”
A dear good honestbourgeoisecreature. Isobel took to her at once. She felt themilieuwas not quite what she could have desired, but Moreno had done all he could, most probably out of his old friendship for Farquhar. Whatever discomforts she might have to endure, well—she had brought them on herself by embarking on this daring adventure.
Mr Godwin came in presently, a large, heavy man, who greeted her with great gravity. She learned afterwards that he had been connected with the wine trade, and had retired from active business on a respectable competence.
Moreno took his departure as soon as he could. He had several matters on hand, besides looking after a wandering maiden of a romantic turn of mind.
Isobel stayed him at the door. “When am I going to see Guy?” she whispered.
The young journalist looked at her kindly. He remembered his own too short-lived romance. That whisper had come straight from her heart.
“Ah, that is for you,” he said. “You know, you confessed you were a little doubtful about how he would look upon it. Will you ask Lady Mary to write him the news, or would you rather that I should?”
Isobel interrupted him eagerly. “Oh, would you? Lady Mary is a darling, and devoted to us both. But if I write to her, and she has to write to Guy, it may be ages before we meet. And, besides,” she added with the unconscious guile of a woman, “in certain things, men are so much better diplomatists than women. I am sure you could put everything from a reasonable point of view, present everything in quite a favourable light. I do not want him to think I am a masculine sort of person, an enlightened female who goes tearing about all over the world after a man she loves.”
Moreno was a very kind-hearted fellow. He could not resist that wistful look in the beautiful dark eyes. The girl was alone in the world. She had just lost her father; Guy was now her sheet-anchor.
“I say, if you want to see him quickly, why not send a note round to the Embassy, just giving him your address, and saying simply, ‘I am here’?”
But Isobel rather shrank from that. It seemed too bold, perhaps a little unmaidenly. She had always been educated in the belief that a woman should never make advances. Advances might be made through a third party, perhaps, if they were made with discretion.
“But you could explain it all so much better than I could, Mr Moreno, how the whole thing was led up to by your letter to Lady Mary.”
Moreno looked at his watch. “I was going to leave Madrid in half an hour. Well, I can catch a train three hours later, it won’t make much difference. I will be off at once to the Embassy, and catch Rossett there, if not, at his flat. You, of course, can see him at any time, to-day or to-morrow?”
“A thousand thanks,” replied Isobel, with her charming smile. “Yes, I shall not stir out much anyway. But I will keep in the two whole days.”
“Mrs Godwin, I warn you, will insist on showing you the sights of Madrid.”
“I will resist her,” said Isobel firmly.
Moreno smiled, and said good-bye. It was a little pathetic, he thought, the patient, loving woman ready to wait the man’s convenience. Ever the way with true love.
A brief drive to the Embassy in the Calle Fernando el Santo, a hastily pencilled note sent up to Rossett. Half an hour later, the two men were seated at a different rendezvous, for this time Moreno was not in his working-man’s dress. He had to be very cautious.
Moreno went to the point at once. “I have news that will startle you, Mr Rossett. Your fiancée Miss Clandon, is in Madrid at this moment.” He named the respectable but unfashionable quarter in which the girl had taken up her abode.
“What?” shouted Guy Rossett in his astonishment. It was just the same ejaculation he had used when he learned that Violet Hargrave was in Spain. The vocabulary of the average Englishman is very limited when he has to express sudden emotion. And Guy was quite the average type.
“Of course you are very surprised. Well, I am afraid it is all due to me. You remember some time ago I begged you to get out of this place. You refused. I took it on myself to write to your sister to use your father’s influence to get you recalled. That fell through too.”
“It was very kind of you to interfere in my private affairs, Mr Moreno,” observed Rossett stiffly.
“You are a bit of responsibility to me, Mr Rossett,” replied the journalist in his usual imperturbable fashion. “I will tell you frankly I should be very glad to see the back of you to-morrow, for your own sake—” He added in a lower voice, “Still more for the sake of the girl who loves you as much as you love her.”
“Forgive me,” cried Rossett hastily. “I quite appreciate that you mean very well to both of us.”
“Thank you,” said Moreno. “Well, to get on with my story. I have a very old chum, one Maurice Farquhar who happens to be a cousin of your fiancée. One night, in his chambers, I hinted that danger was threatening you here. It seems he told Miss Clandon. As I have stated, I wrote to your sister. The two women put their heads together. Miss Clandon’s father died. She had no longer any ties binding her to England. She was mad to come out here to be near you. As men of the world, we might say, the unreasoning caprice of a very loving woman.”
“It was very sweet and dear of her,” said Guy. There was a little break in his voice as he spoke. “But I am interrupting you in your story. Please go on.”
“There is not much more to tell. As I have said, the two women put their heads together. Lady Mary sent for Farquhar to consult him as to how Miss Clandon could get to Spain. She felt if she consulted you, you would, under the circumstances, have vetoed the project altogether.”
“I don’t think there is the slightest doubt I should,” said Rossett, quite frankly.
“I agree. Well, they were not going to give you the chance. They took matters into their own hands. Farquhar knew nothing about Spain; he wrote to me to ask me if I could help them. Well, I helped them. I went over to London, saw your sister and Miss Clandon, and arranged for the journey. I met her at the station to-day, took her to the house of some very respectable English people whom I have known from my boyhood, not people of your class, nor of Miss Clandon’s. But I think there she will be very quiet and comfortable.”
Guy Rossett leaned across the table and held out his hand.
“A thousand thanks, Mr Moreno. After this, we must be firm friends. My brave little Isobel, how plucky and daring of her. And you took all this trouble!”
There was no suspicion in his frank tones, but Moreno liked to clear up everything as he went on.
“Yes, it took up a good deal of my time, but I didn’t grudge it. I saw your fiancée and sister dining one night with you at the Savoy, but had never spoken to them in my life. But Farquhar is an old chum of mine; he has done me some very good turns. I was pleased to return the compliment.”
There was a brief pause, before Moreno spoke again. “I left Miss Clandon a little time ago. She is longing to see you. I suggested she should send round a note to you. She seemed a little fearful of what you might think of her hasty action. She begged me to come round and explain matters. That is why I am here. Here is her address.”
“Again a thousand thanks.” Rossett looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have to dine at the Embassy to-night, and there is no getting out of that. We are the slaves of duty. I have only just time to get back and dress. I will leave as soon after dinner as I decently can, and go round to her.”
“Away with you, duty calls,” said Moreno, rising briskly. “I will send a note round to her saying I have seen you, and that you will be there to-night.” It was late when Rossett, hurrying as fast as he could, entered the small drawing-room of the flat tenanted by the respectable Godwins. Isobel was alone; the worthy couple, with commendable tact, had absented themselves. Moreno had told them just as much as it was well for them to know, and they were not very inquisitive people.
It was a very delightful meeting. They had been longing for each other since they last parted. They exchanged their vows of love all over again.
“And you are sure you are not angry with me, Guy?” asked Isobel, as they sat hand in hand on the rather hard sofa.
“Angry, my brave little darling. Why should I be? But I say, this is not the sort of place for you, you know. Have you brought a maid with you?”
“Yes, our old parlourmaid, Ethel. I don’t suppose you remember her.”
“Yes, I do. Well, you must go the Ritz, or one of the good hotels.”
“Oh, please no, dearest. I have no chaperon, you see, and it might look queer. Besides, I don’t want to meet a lot of people, and have to explain things. I would much prefer to stay hereincognita. Dear Mrs Godwin is quite a motherly old soul, and knows nothing of what is going on in the great world except what she learns from the newspapers. And I am not so far off, after all. You can come and see me sometimes.”
“Every day, darling,” cried Rossett. On reflection, he was inclined to think that, under the very peculiar circumstances, Isobel’s course of action was the right one. If she blossomed forth at a fashionable hotel, a great deal would have to be explained. In a censorious and conventional world, young women, however pure in heart, cannot afford to be adventurous.
As they sat on the sofa, she told him at great length of her visit to Ticehurst Park, and the Earl’s consent to their engagement, of his endeavour to get her to use her influence to lure Guy from his post, of her refusal, in which she had been staunchly supported by her father. She had told him briefly of this at the funeral, but he had been so pressed for time that she had only supplied him with the barest details.
“The old dad, he was always great at a bargain, but this time you got the better of him, my darling.”
Then he put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew forth a letter. “By Jove, I had very nearly forgotten—a letter received this morning from that dear old Aunt Henrietta. I won’t read you all of it, there are yards, but I’ll just run through a passage that concerns us.”
This was the passage he read. “I hear a great deal from Mary, who as you know is a most indefatigable correspondent, about your fiancée, Isobel Clandon. She describes her as a most sweet and lovable girl. There were always the two types in the Rossett family, the practicable and the romantic. You, Mary, and myself belong to the latter. I married for love, Mary would have done, and you are going to.
“I hear also your post is rather a dangerous one, and that they have tried to get you recalled, but that you will not hear of it. Well, I admire your spirit and sense of duty. Still, as soon as you can retire with honour, do so.
“Now that your father has given his consent, there is nothing to wait for. I shall make the way easy for you, as I have always tried to do. Bring your Isobel to see me at the first opportunity. I am longing to make her acquaintance.”
“What a darling!” cried Isobel enthusiastically. “Well, anyway, there are three dear people in the present Rossett family, your Aunt, Mary, and yourself. And Lord Saxham is not so bad after all.”
In her happiness she freely forgave the old gentleman his former hostility, his attempt to drive a bargain with her.
“No, he’s by no means so bad, when you get to know him, to pierce through the crust as it were. He is a sort of cross between the practical and romantic Rossetts,” said Guy.
They talked for a long time about their future plans.
When Isobel laid her head upon her pillow that night, she was happier than she had ever been since the day her dear old father died.
Chapter Fifteen.A week had passed since the conversation between Valerie Delmonte and Contraras had taken place. A great function was on at the Royal Palace to-night. All the élite of Madrid would be there.For this special occasion, the leading members of the Spanish section had shifted from Fonterrabia to the capital—Zorrilta, Alvedero, Violet Hargrave, Andres Moreno. Contraras and Valerie Delmonte had already taken up their residence there. It was the night of the greatcoup, on the successful development of which depended the dawn of the new era.Moreno had a busy day. Thanks to the noble-spirited action of Mademoiselle Delmonte, who had taken the entire execution of thecoupupon herself, he was spared any active participation in it. Violet Hargrave, who had been originally named as an assistant, was also dispensed with.At eleven o’clock in the morning, he was seated in the private room of the Head of the Spanish Secret Service. There was also present the Head of the Police. The three men talked together for a very considerable time. Moreno was attired in his shabby workman’s garb; he had on also a false beard and moustache.When the interview was terminated, Moreno rose; and turned to the Chief of Police.“You have thought it all out then? You know she will come with the Duchess del Pineda.”“She will be watched from the moment she enters the Palace to the moment she leaves it,” was the chief’s confident reply.“And you say that the Duchess is quite ignorant of her intentions?” It was the Chief of the Secret Service who spoke.“I will swear to the innocence of the Duchess, also to that of the Duke. They are simply tools. They have been made use of by a superior intelligence, by a man who has a strong hold over the Duke.”“I wish, Mr Moreno, you were able to take us a little more into your confidence. Would it not be possible to bag the whole lot to-night?”The Chief of the Police rubbed his hands at the thought. “Ah, that would be a fine idea. And I suppose, Mr Moreno, you have it in your power to enable us to do so?”“Gently, gentlemen, if you please. Don’t be ungrateful. I am helping you somewhat to-night. And because I am doing this, you want to rush things,” answered the young journalist in his usual quiet way. “Now, look you, much as I desire to serve you, I have a very tender regard for my own skin.”“Naturally,” cried the Secret Service man. And the Chief of Police echoed him.“The secret of this project to-night has been entrusted to a good many people,” continued Moreno. “If it fails, as you promise me it will fail, two things will occur to the mind of the Chief—one that the brotherhood has been betrayed by one in their counsels, the other that your spies noticed something suspicious in the behaviour of the woman, and that she was arrested on the strength of that suspicious behaviour.”The two men nodded their heads. They began to see the drift of his observations.“I was at first designed to take part in this project, but the original programme was altered. Had it been adhered to, I think I could have enabled you to bag the whole lot, at any rate, most of them, and yet escaped scot free myself, of course with your co-operation.”“We dare not ask you to disclose your plan?” insinuated the Secret Service man gently.Moreno shook his head. “I think not. But if thiscoupfails, there will be another planned shortly. By that time my ideas will be perfected, and I trust I shall be able to do what you want, and escape with a whole skin. Only one member of the brotherhood will be here to-night. The others are scattered about. Suspicion would at once fall upon me if every one except myself were taken.”“We could work that out pretty easily, could we not?” queried the Chief of Police eagerly.“I think not,” was Moreno’s answer. “You would have got this lot out of the way, but there are a few members of the brotherhood left in London, and every man has a knife handy. I must show a clean sheet to those who remain at large. Please trust me, and I will shortly do it in my own way.”Moreno left after cordial hand-shaking. Both the Chiefs were men of considerable astuteness, and great experience. But they agreed that there was a certain subtlety about this young man, a certain suggestion of strength and confidence, that won their admiration.Moreno perhaps did not repose quite so much confidence in them as they did in himself.“I hope to heaven they won’t bungle it at the last minute,” he said to himself as he walked along. “If I were dealing with the French police, I shouldn’t have a doubt.”He walked down the Puerta del Sol, past the Grand Hotel de la Paix. He saw the tall form of Contraras enter the vestibule. He shrugged his shoulders, and a look of regret stole over his face.“He is going to hearten her up for this night’s work, the old devil, while he stands safely outside, and looks on. Poor little woman! I wish I could save her. But how can you save a fanatic?” So ran his thoughts. “Why in the name of wonder does a woman who has got everything in the world she requires want to mix herself up with this wretched and bloodthirsty crew? She must lie on the bed she has made, and it will be a pretty hard one, I should wager.”Moreno walked swiftly in the direction of a poor quarter of the town. He entered the humble abode of an inferior member of the Spanish Secret Service, where he doffed his working-man’s garb and assumed his ordinary clothes.Later on, he saw Violet Hargrave, who was living close to him.Violet seemed very restless and perturbed. “This is the great night,” she said by way of greeting. “I wonder if it will come off all right.”“I should say there is every chance it will, unless Valerie’s nerve fails her at the last moment,” was Moreno’s diplomatic answer.Mrs Hargrave gave a little shudder. Her pretty delicate face went a shade paler.“I cannot help feeling glad that I wasn’t brought into it.”Moreno bent upon her his keen glance. “And yet I should not put you down as a very tender-hearted person.”“I don’t know that I am, or should be under certain circumstances. But I have no grudge against these people, no particular wrong to avenge. Aren’t you really glad you are out of it?”“I suppose, in a way, I am. Still, one feels a bit of a coward in letting Valerie take all the risk. It seems taking advantage of her bravery, to snatch at the chance of avoiding all danger for oneself.”“I shall sit up very late, on the chance of hearing the news.”“On the contrary, I think I shall go to bed early,” said Moreno. “We shall hear nothing to-night in this distant quarter. And in the morning there will be the news, or no news at all. The Chief will let us know.”The great Contraras, very upright and vigorous for his age, was shown into Mademoiselle Delmonte’s sitting-room. She sprang up eagerly at his entrance.“I am so glad you have come. You are a little late, are you not? Luncheon will be served in a few moments.”He could see she was very restless, and her cheeks were pale; there was a strange, almost unnatural brilliance in her dark eyes. Her voice was jerky.He took both her hands in his and pressed them tenderly. “You are not afraid, Valerie?”He was a fanatic, bold, brutal, and ruthless in his fanaticism, ready to sacrifice anything and everybody to the one absorbing idea. But at the sight of those pale cheeks, that quivering mouth, a momentary regret assailed him. He was a father, and this beautiful young woman was young enough to be his daughter.“We ought to have had a man for this job,” he said, speaking a little hoarsely. “But you know you chose it yourself; you would not even have another associated with you.”“I know.” She tried to laugh lightly, but there was a quaver in the laugh. “I do not regret. I am not really afraid. But I suppose every soldier on his first battlefield has inward tremors that he cannot repress. I am a soldier of the Revolution, and to-night is my first battlefield.”“And you feel those tremors, eh?”“Just a little, although I blush for them. But don’t let us think of this. Ah, here comes lunch.” They sat down to the meal. She was a very abstemious woman, and rarely partook of stimulants. But, in honour of Contraras’ visit, she had ordered a bottle of champagne. Under its exhilarating influence, her jangled nerves readjusted themselves, and she became her natural self. The colour returned to her cheeks.She raised her glass and nodded to her guest.“To the new world, born upon the ruins of the old.”“Amen to that wish!” cried Contraras fervently, as he drank his wine in one long draught.There was a long pause, which she broke abruptly. “I think I have told you I made my will in London last year.”Contraras nodded. “Yes, you told me that.”“But I did not tell you the details. I have left all my money in the hands of the Public Trustee, to divide amongst certain charities. As private fortunes go, it is a fair one—but what a small sum to go to the alleviation of this vast amount of human misery!”“You could not have made a better use of it,” said Contraras appreciatively.“To you, my dear friend, I have left twenty thousand pounds to devote to whatever purpose you think fit. Of course you will apply that money to the spreading of the propaganda.”“I much appreciate your kind thought, my dear Valerie; it is just like you. But may the day be far distant when—”She raised her hand. “We will speak no more of that, please. I wonder what will be the result of to-night?”“Success!” cried Contraras confidently. “Success!”A few minutes later he rose to go.“The Duchess will call for you in her carriage. Once arrived at the Palace, keep under her wing for some time, so as to avoid suspicion. Then seize your time and opportunity. Would you like me to come round and see you before you start? But I shall look out for you at the Palace.”For a moment she did not answer him, she was pursuing the train of her own thoughts.“I never told you I had my fortune told by a gipsy when I was sixteen. Would you like to know what she predicted?”“If you wish,” replied Contraras politely. He had no respect for gipsies or their prophecies.“Ah, I see it won’t interest you. I don’t think you believe much in the spiritual side of existence. Still, I will tell it; it will not take a moment. Up to the present, it has come remarkably true. This gipsy, she was a very old woman, predicted that I should have a very hard life for some years, then would come some years of great good fortune, and then—equally great tribulation.”Contraras smiled. “My dear child, she probably predicted precisely the same things hundreds of times to her clients. The veil of the future is not to be lifted by a wandering beggar-woman.”“Of course, I knew you would not be impressed, or perhaps you just say it to cheer me.”She had forgotten his question—should he come and see her again before she started for the Palace? He repeated it.“No, my good friend, I would rather not. If all goes well, we shall meet again often. If not, we will say good-bye here. A thousand thanks for your friendship and kindness.”Could fanaticism go further? She was thanking this hardened old schemer for his friendship and kindness—friendship and kindness that were ready to sacrifice her at any moment for his own ends.
A week had passed since the conversation between Valerie Delmonte and Contraras had taken place. A great function was on at the Royal Palace to-night. All the élite of Madrid would be there.
For this special occasion, the leading members of the Spanish section had shifted from Fonterrabia to the capital—Zorrilta, Alvedero, Violet Hargrave, Andres Moreno. Contraras and Valerie Delmonte had already taken up their residence there. It was the night of the greatcoup, on the successful development of which depended the dawn of the new era.
Moreno had a busy day. Thanks to the noble-spirited action of Mademoiselle Delmonte, who had taken the entire execution of thecoupupon herself, he was spared any active participation in it. Violet Hargrave, who had been originally named as an assistant, was also dispensed with.
At eleven o’clock in the morning, he was seated in the private room of the Head of the Spanish Secret Service. There was also present the Head of the Police. The three men talked together for a very considerable time. Moreno was attired in his shabby workman’s garb; he had on also a false beard and moustache.
When the interview was terminated, Moreno rose; and turned to the Chief of Police.
“You have thought it all out then? You know she will come with the Duchess del Pineda.”
“She will be watched from the moment she enters the Palace to the moment she leaves it,” was the chief’s confident reply.
“And you say that the Duchess is quite ignorant of her intentions?” It was the Chief of the Secret Service who spoke.
“I will swear to the innocence of the Duchess, also to that of the Duke. They are simply tools. They have been made use of by a superior intelligence, by a man who has a strong hold over the Duke.”
“I wish, Mr Moreno, you were able to take us a little more into your confidence. Would it not be possible to bag the whole lot to-night?”
The Chief of the Police rubbed his hands at the thought. “Ah, that would be a fine idea. And I suppose, Mr Moreno, you have it in your power to enable us to do so?”
“Gently, gentlemen, if you please. Don’t be ungrateful. I am helping you somewhat to-night. And because I am doing this, you want to rush things,” answered the young journalist in his usual quiet way. “Now, look you, much as I desire to serve you, I have a very tender regard for my own skin.”
“Naturally,” cried the Secret Service man. And the Chief of Police echoed him.
“The secret of this project to-night has been entrusted to a good many people,” continued Moreno. “If it fails, as you promise me it will fail, two things will occur to the mind of the Chief—one that the brotherhood has been betrayed by one in their counsels, the other that your spies noticed something suspicious in the behaviour of the woman, and that she was arrested on the strength of that suspicious behaviour.”
The two men nodded their heads. They began to see the drift of his observations.
“I was at first designed to take part in this project, but the original programme was altered. Had it been adhered to, I think I could have enabled you to bag the whole lot, at any rate, most of them, and yet escaped scot free myself, of course with your co-operation.”
“We dare not ask you to disclose your plan?” insinuated the Secret Service man gently.
Moreno shook his head. “I think not. But if thiscoupfails, there will be another planned shortly. By that time my ideas will be perfected, and I trust I shall be able to do what you want, and escape with a whole skin. Only one member of the brotherhood will be here to-night. The others are scattered about. Suspicion would at once fall upon me if every one except myself were taken.”
“We could work that out pretty easily, could we not?” queried the Chief of Police eagerly.
“I think not,” was Moreno’s answer. “You would have got this lot out of the way, but there are a few members of the brotherhood left in London, and every man has a knife handy. I must show a clean sheet to those who remain at large. Please trust me, and I will shortly do it in my own way.”
Moreno left after cordial hand-shaking. Both the Chiefs were men of considerable astuteness, and great experience. But they agreed that there was a certain subtlety about this young man, a certain suggestion of strength and confidence, that won their admiration.
Moreno perhaps did not repose quite so much confidence in them as they did in himself.
“I hope to heaven they won’t bungle it at the last minute,” he said to himself as he walked along. “If I were dealing with the French police, I shouldn’t have a doubt.”
He walked down the Puerta del Sol, past the Grand Hotel de la Paix. He saw the tall form of Contraras enter the vestibule. He shrugged his shoulders, and a look of regret stole over his face.
“He is going to hearten her up for this night’s work, the old devil, while he stands safely outside, and looks on. Poor little woman! I wish I could save her. But how can you save a fanatic?” So ran his thoughts. “Why in the name of wonder does a woman who has got everything in the world she requires want to mix herself up with this wretched and bloodthirsty crew? She must lie on the bed she has made, and it will be a pretty hard one, I should wager.”
Moreno walked swiftly in the direction of a poor quarter of the town. He entered the humble abode of an inferior member of the Spanish Secret Service, where he doffed his working-man’s garb and assumed his ordinary clothes.
Later on, he saw Violet Hargrave, who was living close to him.
Violet seemed very restless and perturbed. “This is the great night,” she said by way of greeting. “I wonder if it will come off all right.”
“I should say there is every chance it will, unless Valerie’s nerve fails her at the last moment,” was Moreno’s diplomatic answer.
Mrs Hargrave gave a little shudder. Her pretty delicate face went a shade paler.
“I cannot help feeling glad that I wasn’t brought into it.”
Moreno bent upon her his keen glance. “And yet I should not put you down as a very tender-hearted person.”
“I don’t know that I am, or should be under certain circumstances. But I have no grudge against these people, no particular wrong to avenge. Aren’t you really glad you are out of it?”
“I suppose, in a way, I am. Still, one feels a bit of a coward in letting Valerie take all the risk. It seems taking advantage of her bravery, to snatch at the chance of avoiding all danger for oneself.”
“I shall sit up very late, on the chance of hearing the news.”
“On the contrary, I think I shall go to bed early,” said Moreno. “We shall hear nothing to-night in this distant quarter. And in the morning there will be the news, or no news at all. The Chief will let us know.”
The great Contraras, very upright and vigorous for his age, was shown into Mademoiselle Delmonte’s sitting-room. She sprang up eagerly at his entrance.
“I am so glad you have come. You are a little late, are you not? Luncheon will be served in a few moments.”
He could see she was very restless, and her cheeks were pale; there was a strange, almost unnatural brilliance in her dark eyes. Her voice was jerky.
He took both her hands in his and pressed them tenderly. “You are not afraid, Valerie?”
He was a fanatic, bold, brutal, and ruthless in his fanaticism, ready to sacrifice anything and everybody to the one absorbing idea. But at the sight of those pale cheeks, that quivering mouth, a momentary regret assailed him. He was a father, and this beautiful young woman was young enough to be his daughter.
“We ought to have had a man for this job,” he said, speaking a little hoarsely. “But you know you chose it yourself; you would not even have another associated with you.”
“I know.” She tried to laugh lightly, but there was a quaver in the laugh. “I do not regret. I am not really afraid. But I suppose every soldier on his first battlefield has inward tremors that he cannot repress. I am a soldier of the Revolution, and to-night is my first battlefield.”
“And you feel those tremors, eh?”
“Just a little, although I blush for them. But don’t let us think of this. Ah, here comes lunch.” They sat down to the meal. She was a very abstemious woman, and rarely partook of stimulants. But, in honour of Contraras’ visit, she had ordered a bottle of champagne. Under its exhilarating influence, her jangled nerves readjusted themselves, and she became her natural self. The colour returned to her cheeks.
She raised her glass and nodded to her guest.
“To the new world, born upon the ruins of the old.”
“Amen to that wish!” cried Contraras fervently, as he drank his wine in one long draught.
There was a long pause, which she broke abruptly. “I think I have told you I made my will in London last year.”
Contraras nodded. “Yes, you told me that.”
“But I did not tell you the details. I have left all my money in the hands of the Public Trustee, to divide amongst certain charities. As private fortunes go, it is a fair one—but what a small sum to go to the alleviation of this vast amount of human misery!”
“You could not have made a better use of it,” said Contraras appreciatively.
“To you, my dear friend, I have left twenty thousand pounds to devote to whatever purpose you think fit. Of course you will apply that money to the spreading of the propaganda.”
“I much appreciate your kind thought, my dear Valerie; it is just like you. But may the day be far distant when—”
She raised her hand. “We will speak no more of that, please. I wonder what will be the result of to-night?”
“Success!” cried Contraras confidently. “Success!”
A few minutes later he rose to go.
“The Duchess will call for you in her carriage. Once arrived at the Palace, keep under her wing for some time, so as to avoid suspicion. Then seize your time and opportunity. Would you like me to come round and see you before you start? But I shall look out for you at the Palace.”
For a moment she did not answer him, she was pursuing the train of her own thoughts.
“I never told you I had my fortune told by a gipsy when I was sixteen. Would you like to know what she predicted?”
“If you wish,” replied Contraras politely. He had no respect for gipsies or their prophecies.
“Ah, I see it won’t interest you. I don’t think you believe much in the spiritual side of existence. Still, I will tell it; it will not take a moment. Up to the present, it has come remarkably true. This gipsy, she was a very old woman, predicted that I should have a very hard life for some years, then would come some years of great good fortune, and then—equally great tribulation.”
Contraras smiled. “My dear child, she probably predicted precisely the same things hundreds of times to her clients. The veil of the future is not to be lifted by a wandering beggar-woman.”
“Of course, I knew you would not be impressed, or perhaps you just say it to cheer me.”
She had forgotten his question—should he come and see her again before she started for the Palace? He repeated it.
“No, my good friend, I would rather not. If all goes well, we shall meet again often. If not, we will say good-bye here. A thousand thanks for your friendship and kindness.”
Could fanaticism go further? She was thanking this hardened old schemer for his friendship and kindness—friendship and kindness that were ready to sacrifice her at any moment for his own ends.
Chapter Sixteen.Moreno had declared to Violet Hargrave that he proposed to go to bed early, and wait till to-morrow for the news.When he spoke that had been his original intention. But, as the evening drew on, he began to feel a certain restlessness stirring in him. Certain things were about to happen, or, as he hoped, to be frustrated. He could hardly compose himself to sleep under the unusual circumstances. He would go out, and form one of the undistinguished crowd that clustered round the Palace gates. If anything dramatic happened, he could not fail to be aware of it. The news would spread like wildfire.On his arrival, he caught sight of a woman closely veiled standing close beside him. He recognised her at once. It was evident that Mrs Hargrave could no more endure to stay indoors than he could.He moved up a few paces and spoke to her in English, practically their native tongue.“The same sudden impulse seized both of us,” he whispered. “Well, it is a very orderly crowd. I don’t think we shall be pushed or knocked about. We shall enjoy the sight of the grandees arriving. By the way, it is a pity we were not sent an invitation, then we could have seen it from the inside.”Violet Hargrave whispered back. “I simply couldn’t stay indoors. My nerves seem on edge to-night.”“Mine are a bit out of time, too,” answered Moreno in a low voice.And, while they were waiting, Moreno indulged in several philosophical reflections.A curious and not ill-natured crowd was gathered round the Palace, something like the throng that gathers round a wedding. There was no harm in these good-humoured, laughing persons, mainly of the lower order. They were not envious of the people who went inside, these men in Court costume, these women of another world, daintily attired. They discussed and admired the good looks of the men, the exquisite costumes of the women.If the Court Chamberlain had suddenly appeared, and in the name of their Majesties, bade them enter the Royal precincts in a spirit of perfect equality with the other guests, they would have been very embarrassed and, save for a few adventurous spirits, have declined the invitation. They would have felt out of place.From what causes arose this antagonism amongst the clever extremists of the proletariat toward the more fortunate ones of the earth?Moreno was puzzled to find a solution. Envy perhaps was the contributing cause. And yet the ordinary man who dines at a common eating-house is not always envious of the man who eats a sumptuous luncheon at the Ritz or Carlton. The middle-class prosperous professional man does not always gnash his teeth when he thinks of a nobleman, possibly his client, who has a rent roll of a hundred thousand a year.Moreno was very just. There was a time when he had had to fare very frugally, and he had not complained. Things had improved. When the fancy took him, he would indulge in a good dinner, a bottle of champagne, and an excellent cigar. Was he hurting the toiling millions very much if he occasionally indulged in these luxuries? Were the few fortunate ones of the earth, and after all they were very few, hurting him if they indulged in them every day?Night was slowly settling over the city. Far away from this scene of revel and display, some thousands of humble workers had eaten their frugal suppers, and were preparing for bed. If all the money that was to be spent upon this function had been shared between them, would they have been much the richer? Champagne, excellent cigars, and good dinners could not be given to every creature on God’s earth. That was an inexorable economic law, which no revolutionist could alter.He was raised from his reveries by a light touch on his arm.“Who are these two men?” It was Violet Hargrave who spoke. “Somehow, they look people of importance.”Moreno recognised them at once, as they drove slowly through—the Chief of the Secret Service, the Head of the Police. He was glad that they were on the scene early. They might not have quite the perfect methods of the corresponding French organisations, but perhaps they would justify themselves before the night was over.“I don’t know them from Adam, but, as you say, they certainly look persons of importance, especially the fat one.”Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him, herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not to be caught by a leading question like that.Then presently she nudged him. “Look, look, the Chief!”Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined face showed clear against the waning light.“Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!” said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son of the Revolution.Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up, containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light. The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests, and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative, if at times critical.Moreno turned to his companion. “I say, it’s a bit of a shame that you and I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might have worked that while he was about it.”Mrs Hargrave smiled back; she was very attracted by this black-browed young Spaniard.“My dear friend, under the new régime, we shall all go to Court.”“To the Court of Contraras, I suppose?”“Something of that sort,” answered Violet, letting herself go a little. “And Madame Contraras, more aristocratic than any queen, will smile condescendingly, and the pretty daughter will turn up her nose at us.”The conversation was getting dangerous. Mrs Hargrave must be checked in her impulsive moods, which, he honestly admitted, were very rare.“Ah, if I could see dear old Contraras in that position I would die happy,” he exclaimed, with a splendid mendacity.Mrs Hargrave stole a quiet glance at him.“Yes, he is very wonderful, is he not? But I can’t honestly say I like his womenkind. They have no sympathy with his aspirations.”As they were speaking, a very gorgeous carriage rolled up. It contained the Duchess del Pineda and Valerie Delmonte. The Duke had not accompanied them. He had pleaded indisposition, but probably prudence had dictated his absence. Anyway, if certain things happened, it would be possible for him to plead a successfulalibi.“Look, look!” cried Violet Hargrave, a little excitedly for her. “Valerie Delmonte!”Moreno, the kindly-hearted, felt a spasm of pity as he gazed on the face of the handsome, fanatical young Frenchwoman, whom that wily old Contraras had subjugated to his evil will.“Poor child!” he said aloud, for the benefit of his companion, “I can only hope she will not lose her nerve. It was a man’s job, but she would insist upon having it.”There was a little lull in the procession of carriages. And then there drove up one conveying Guy Rossett and a colleague. The Ambassador had already arrived, with his wife.Moreno stole a glance at his companion. She was heavily veiled, but he could see that her face had grown pale, that a sad look had come into her eyes.“Our admirable young diplomatist!” whispered the young man. “Well, Madrid is not a very safe place for him.”“But he is in no danger to-night I take it?” came back the answer in a whisper as low as his own.“I should say not. For the present, we have left him out of our calculations; we are flying at higher game. He will hardly come within the sphere of Valerie’s operations. His Chief may—I doubt even that.”Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Presently Moreno spoke in the same low whisper.“You have no great affection for Mr Rossett, I take it?”“No, I have not any great affection for Mr Rossett.”“And yet you were once very good friends.”Mrs Hargrave stiffened a little. “You seem to know a great deal of my private affairs. Yes, we once were very good friends. He knew my husband long before I married him. I fancy I have told you that.”Moreno was not to be daunted by her aloof attitude. He was never wanting in enterprise.“I should not be surprised if, at the present moment, you hated him.”“Perhaps you are right,” was the curt answer.Moreno indulged in a quiet inward chuckle. If she had known that Isobel Clandon was established so close to her lover, that through his adroit manipulation of affairs they were meeting every day, her hatred must have expressed itself more heartily.Valerie Delmonte, under the wing of the unsuspecting Duchess, was now within the Palace.She had only once before looked upon a scene approaching this, and it had been much less brilliant.Once, early in their married life, her husband had taken her to one of the President’s receptions in Paris. It was easy, in his position, to secure the entrée for himself and wife.She remembered that evening well. Never had she felt more humiliated. Half a dozen times kind old Monsieur Varenne had introduced her to some of his acquaintances. There was a formal bow interchanged, and nothing beyond; one and all they had sheered off. Even in a republican and democratic country, these purse-proud citizens would have nothing to do with the girl who had come from the music halls.She recalled how, when she had reached home that night, she had burst into a fit of wild sobbing, and her kindly, elderly husband had tried to comfort her.“Calm thyself,ma chérie, we will not go to these hateful places again. We will lead our own life.”To-night, how different. A Court, one of the oldest in Europe, reflecting that atmosphere of pomp and state associated with long descended Royalty. The kindly young King, his British-born Queen, chatting graciously with their favoured guests. Men in resplendent uniforms and orders, great ladies of the highest Spanish nobility, what a contrast to the homely reception of the President in those far-off days!Then she had been escorted by a very wealthy but somewhat shady financier, whose influence had not been sufficient to enable her to scale the social heights to which she had aspired.To-night she was under the wing of a popular chaperon, in whose veins ran the proudest blood of Spain. The Duchess, acting according to instructions, introduced her to everybody she came across.Mademoiselle Delmonte, handsome, brilliant, and vivacious, was an immediate success. This aristocratic assemblage, ignorant of her antecedents, only recognising that she was under the wing of the popular Duchess, took her at her real valuation.Being a woman, she was naturally pleased with her momentary success. But she was sensible enough to know to what she owed it. If these people who were flattering her now had known of her lowly origin, how she had graduated through the circus and the music hall to the possession of wealth, they would have turned their backs on her, as the purse-proud parvenus had done in the democratic salons of the French President.These bitter reflections rather tended to harden than soften her resolution. To-night she was an avenging angel, bent upon the task of making these insolent people atone for the insults heaped upon the lowly-born.Once in her triumphant progress she came near to Contraras, who was standing alone, surveying the brilliant scene with his keen, deep-set eyes.She disengaged herself from the arm of her companion, a handsome young man of some standing in Spanish Society.“Excuse me a moment. I see an old friend, to whom I must say a few words.”“What do you think of it all?” she whispered, as she held out her hand.“What I have always thought of such spectacles as these,” he whispered back. “These besotted creatures feast and dance and make merry, without a thought of their oppressed and toiling fellow-creatures.” He spoke intensely, in the most bitter spirit of his gloomy fanaticism.She could not linger, “My nerves are in perfect order,” she assured him as she turned away. He smiled kindly at her as she passed on.The amiable and innocent Duchess had performed the duties of chaperon so well, had introduced her to so many people, that it was a long time before Valerie could shake herself free. It was a very crowded assemblage. If she could once break away, she would be free to roam where she pleased.The moment came at last, close upon midnight. She was alone and mistress of her own movements. Her thoughts were no longer distracted by the idle chatter of some companion forced upon her.Slowly, she edged her way towards the Royal circle. Progress was a little difficult, but at last she stood within a few feet of the King and Queen. She stood for a few moments, perhaps summoning up her courage. Then her hand stole towards her pocket.Before she could reach it, a little cordon was formed round her, a cordon of six men in ordinary evening dress. The hand of one of the men gripped hers, and held it in a grasp of iron.“Come quietly, mademoiselle,” whispered a voice in her ear. “We have followed you round all the evening, we fancied there was something suspicious about you. We may, of course, be mistaken, but in these troublous times we have to be very careful. We will take you to a private room, and have you searched. Of course, if nothing is found upon you, you will go free, and we will make you handsome amends.”Valerie gave a little choking sob. The gipsy’s prophesy had come true—several years of hard life, a few years of good fortune, and then great tribulation.“I came here with the Duchess del Pineda,” she said in a broken voice, hardly knowing what she was saying. “Do you dare to suspect—”It was the Head of the Police who held her wrist in that iron grasp. He spoke in a suave voice.“Mademoiselle, we always suspect in our profession. For the Duchess del Pineda I have the highest respect. Will you consent to come quietly? If we are in the wrong, you have nothing to fear.”She turned with them without a word. She had failed miserably. The upholders of law and order had scored signally over the scattered and imperfect organisation of the brotherhood.Between them, she walked through the long, brilliantly-lit rooms. The Chief of Police tucked her arm under his, keeping a tight hold on her wrist. The other five men accompanied them. There was nothing in the general attitude to suggest that she was not a very charming woman being escorted by a bevy of admirers.Contraras was standing by the door as the procession passed out. Agitated as she was, she saw him, and flashed at him an agonised glance.He flashed back at her a glance equally eloquent. He knew the Chief of Police by sight, and he understood what had happened. Poor little Valerie had failed! They would take her to some room, and search her. In her pocket they would find those cunning little bombs that, once launched, would have sent tyrants and oppressors hurling into space, and proclaimed the dawn of the new era.Poor little Valerie! His eyes grew misty. As she had failed, it would have been better if he had left her alone. If ever he felt remorse in his life, he felt it that night.His first impulse was to leave the Palace at once. But wiser thoughts prevailed. The Chief of Police had recognised him, he was sure. If he left immediately, it might give cause for suspicion.Valerie had failed. For the moment the Cause had suffered a set-back. But his resolution was still undaunted, his brain still active. Because he had failed to-day, it did not follow that he would not be successful to-morrow.He sought out the Duchess del Pineda, who was, as usual, surrounded by a group of chattering friends.“Good evening, Duchess. What has become of our young friend, Mademoiselle Delmonte?”“I really cannot tell you. She broke away from me a long time ago. She has been a tremendous success, I can assure you. I hope she intends to make a long stay in Madrid. She will be most popular.”“I really cannot tell you. I know nothing of her plans,” answered Contraras in his grave, quiet tones. “As I told the Duke, I met her in France and England, where she appeared to move in the best circles.”“Naturally,” said the innocent Duchess. Nobody would suspect the highly respected Contraras of telling a deliberate lie.Outside the Palace, the crowd had thinned, but Moreno and Violet Hargrave still waited. Midnight had struck and all was quiet. There were no signs that heralded the happening of a tragedy. A few belated arrivals passed through to the Palace. The crowd began to melt away.And then there was a little stir. A carriage drove up outside the Palace doors. Two men and a woman stepped into it, the woman was in evening dress.The carriage passed the two watchers. Mrs Hargrave peered into the slowly-moving vehicle.“Valerie Delmonte,” she whispered excitedly. “There is a man sitting beside her, one of those two men I noticed driving in—don’t you remember I said they looked people of importance, and you said you did not know them from Adam. What does it mean? Valerie alone with those men?”“It looks as if thecouphad failed,” replied Moreno quietly. “I should say that Valerie has been caught, and those two men are members of the police.”Mrs Hargrave grew a little hysterical. “Thank God, it was not myself,” she added, after a pause. “I am glad it was not you.”Moreno was about to reply when another carriage drove through, the occupant of which was Contraras. His tall form seemed huddled up; he was evidently in a state of extreme dejection.Moreno tucked Mrs Hargrave’s arm under his own.“Come along! Evidently thecouphas failed; the police have been one too many for us. Valerie Delmonte going away with those two men, poor old Contraras huddled up in that carriage, his attitude expressing that all is lost, at any rate, for the moment! We have nothing to wait for. We shall hear all about it to-morrow.”They walked along arm in arm, both occupied with their own thoughts. Mrs Hargrave broke the long silence.“He is a wonderful man. If he is dejected to-night, he will be full of energy and vigour to-morrow.” Moreno agreed. “Yes, he will think of morecoups. I suppose the next one will be the removal of Mr Rossett.”Violet made no answer immediately. Then, presently she said. “I fancy he is considered a rather dangerous person from our point of view.” Moreno shrugged his shoulders. “And yet I fancy his removal would not greatly hasten the new era, do you? He is really a quite insignificant person. If Valerie had brought it off to-night, well and good—but I must confess these minor developments don’t interest me greatly. Do they interest you?”“A little, I think,” answered Mrs Hargrave, in a somewhat faint voice.Moreno looked at her steadfastly. Her nerves were a bit out of order to-night. That long vigil outside the Palace had told on them—that waiting for the crash of the bombs which Valerie Delmonte had carried in her pocket, the bombs which now had been appropriated by the Chief of Police.He gave her arm a tender pressure. “I believe at bottom you are really a womanly woman. The end justifies the means, of course, but some of the means are very bloodthirsty, don’t you think?”“I thought so to-night, when I was waiting to hear the crash of those devilish, cunning little bombs, the latest invention of science, as our good old Contraras assures us.”Moreno pulled himself up; perhaps he had been a little too frank. But he knew that the photographed letter always gave him the whip-hand of Violet Hargrave.“Still, we must not be squeamish. Revolutions are not made with rose-water, and you must break eggs to make omelettes.”“Absolutely true.” Mrs Hargrave, looking provokingly pretty under her veil, sighed a soft assent to these platitudes. He fancied her arm gave a responsive pressure to his.When he went to bed that night, Moreno was disturbed with remorseful thoughts of Valerie Delmonte. If the Chief of Police had found those bombs in her pocket, it was he who had told that somewhat slow-moving official he would find them there.Then he comforted himself. If he had betrayed Valerie, he had prevented her from hurling to destruction a dozen or more innocent people. His conscience was quite clear. If she had been a very ugly woman, instead of a very pretty one, perhaps his conscience might not have been troubled at all.“I didn’t think much of that Chief of Police at first,” he murmured drowsily, as he turned on his pillow. “But he seems to have managed it all right. Still, on the whole, I would rather deal with Scotland Yard, or the Sûreté in Paris.”
Moreno had declared to Violet Hargrave that he proposed to go to bed early, and wait till to-morrow for the news.
When he spoke that had been his original intention. But, as the evening drew on, he began to feel a certain restlessness stirring in him. Certain things were about to happen, or, as he hoped, to be frustrated. He could hardly compose himself to sleep under the unusual circumstances. He would go out, and form one of the undistinguished crowd that clustered round the Palace gates. If anything dramatic happened, he could not fail to be aware of it. The news would spread like wildfire.
On his arrival, he caught sight of a woman closely veiled standing close beside him. He recognised her at once. It was evident that Mrs Hargrave could no more endure to stay indoors than he could.
He moved up a few paces and spoke to her in English, practically their native tongue.
“The same sudden impulse seized both of us,” he whispered. “Well, it is a very orderly crowd. I don’t think we shall be pushed or knocked about. We shall enjoy the sight of the grandees arriving. By the way, it is a pity we were not sent an invitation, then we could have seen it from the inside.”
Violet Hargrave whispered back. “I simply couldn’t stay indoors. My nerves seem on edge to-night.”
“Mine are a bit out of time, too,” answered Moreno in a low voice.
And, while they were waiting, Moreno indulged in several philosophical reflections.
A curious and not ill-natured crowd was gathered round the Palace, something like the throng that gathers round a wedding. There was no harm in these good-humoured, laughing persons, mainly of the lower order. They were not envious of the people who went inside, these men in Court costume, these women of another world, daintily attired. They discussed and admired the good looks of the men, the exquisite costumes of the women.
If the Court Chamberlain had suddenly appeared, and in the name of their Majesties, bade them enter the Royal precincts in a spirit of perfect equality with the other guests, they would have been very embarrassed and, save for a few adventurous spirits, have declined the invitation. They would have felt out of place.
From what causes arose this antagonism amongst the clever extremists of the proletariat toward the more fortunate ones of the earth?
Moreno was puzzled to find a solution. Envy perhaps was the contributing cause. And yet the ordinary man who dines at a common eating-house is not always envious of the man who eats a sumptuous luncheon at the Ritz or Carlton. The middle-class prosperous professional man does not always gnash his teeth when he thinks of a nobleman, possibly his client, who has a rent roll of a hundred thousand a year.
Moreno was very just. There was a time when he had had to fare very frugally, and he had not complained. Things had improved. When the fancy took him, he would indulge in a good dinner, a bottle of champagne, and an excellent cigar. Was he hurting the toiling millions very much if he occasionally indulged in these luxuries? Were the few fortunate ones of the earth, and after all they were very few, hurting him if they indulged in them every day?
Night was slowly settling over the city. Far away from this scene of revel and display, some thousands of humble workers had eaten their frugal suppers, and were preparing for bed. If all the money that was to be spent upon this function had been shared between them, would they have been much the richer? Champagne, excellent cigars, and good dinners could not be given to every creature on God’s earth. That was an inexorable economic law, which no revolutionist could alter.
He was raised from his reveries by a light touch on his arm.
“Who are these two men?” It was Violet Hargrave who spoke. “Somehow, they look people of importance.”
Moreno recognised them at once, as they drove slowly through—the Chief of the Secret Service, the Head of the Police. He was glad that they were on the scene early. They might not have quite the perfect methods of the corresponding French organisations, but perhaps they would justify themselves before the night was over.
“I don’t know them from Adam, but, as you say, they certainly look persons of importance, especially the fat one.”
Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him, herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not to be caught by a leading question like that.
Then presently she nudged him. “Look, look, the Chief!”
Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined face showed clear against the waning light.
“Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!” said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son of the Revolution.
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up, containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light. The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests, and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative, if at times critical.
Moreno turned to his companion. “I say, it’s a bit of a shame that you and I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might have worked that while he was about it.”
Mrs Hargrave smiled back; she was very attracted by this black-browed young Spaniard.
“My dear friend, under the new régime, we shall all go to Court.”
“To the Court of Contraras, I suppose?”
“Something of that sort,” answered Violet, letting herself go a little. “And Madame Contraras, more aristocratic than any queen, will smile condescendingly, and the pretty daughter will turn up her nose at us.”
The conversation was getting dangerous. Mrs Hargrave must be checked in her impulsive moods, which, he honestly admitted, were very rare.
“Ah, if I could see dear old Contraras in that position I would die happy,” he exclaimed, with a splendid mendacity.
Mrs Hargrave stole a quiet glance at him.
“Yes, he is very wonderful, is he not? But I can’t honestly say I like his womenkind. They have no sympathy with his aspirations.”
As they were speaking, a very gorgeous carriage rolled up. It contained the Duchess del Pineda and Valerie Delmonte. The Duke had not accompanied them. He had pleaded indisposition, but probably prudence had dictated his absence. Anyway, if certain things happened, it would be possible for him to plead a successfulalibi.
“Look, look!” cried Violet Hargrave, a little excitedly for her. “Valerie Delmonte!”
Moreno, the kindly-hearted, felt a spasm of pity as he gazed on the face of the handsome, fanatical young Frenchwoman, whom that wily old Contraras had subjugated to his evil will.
“Poor child!” he said aloud, for the benefit of his companion, “I can only hope she will not lose her nerve. It was a man’s job, but she would insist upon having it.”
There was a little lull in the procession of carriages. And then there drove up one conveying Guy Rossett and a colleague. The Ambassador had already arrived, with his wife.
Moreno stole a glance at his companion. She was heavily veiled, but he could see that her face had grown pale, that a sad look had come into her eyes.
“Our admirable young diplomatist!” whispered the young man. “Well, Madrid is not a very safe place for him.”
“But he is in no danger to-night I take it?” came back the answer in a whisper as low as his own.
“I should say not. For the present, we have left him out of our calculations; we are flying at higher game. He will hardly come within the sphere of Valerie’s operations. His Chief may—I doubt even that.”
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Presently Moreno spoke in the same low whisper.
“You have no great affection for Mr Rossett, I take it?”
“No, I have not any great affection for Mr Rossett.”
“And yet you were once very good friends.”
Mrs Hargrave stiffened a little. “You seem to know a great deal of my private affairs. Yes, we once were very good friends. He knew my husband long before I married him. I fancy I have told you that.”
Moreno was not to be daunted by her aloof attitude. He was never wanting in enterprise.
“I should not be surprised if, at the present moment, you hated him.”
“Perhaps you are right,” was the curt answer.
Moreno indulged in a quiet inward chuckle. If she had known that Isobel Clandon was established so close to her lover, that through his adroit manipulation of affairs they were meeting every day, her hatred must have expressed itself more heartily.
Valerie Delmonte, under the wing of the unsuspecting Duchess, was now within the Palace.
She had only once before looked upon a scene approaching this, and it had been much less brilliant.
Once, early in their married life, her husband had taken her to one of the President’s receptions in Paris. It was easy, in his position, to secure the entrée for himself and wife.
She remembered that evening well. Never had she felt more humiliated. Half a dozen times kind old Monsieur Varenne had introduced her to some of his acquaintances. There was a formal bow interchanged, and nothing beyond; one and all they had sheered off. Even in a republican and democratic country, these purse-proud citizens would have nothing to do with the girl who had come from the music halls.
She recalled how, when she had reached home that night, she had burst into a fit of wild sobbing, and her kindly, elderly husband had tried to comfort her.
“Calm thyself,ma chérie, we will not go to these hateful places again. We will lead our own life.”
To-night, how different. A Court, one of the oldest in Europe, reflecting that atmosphere of pomp and state associated with long descended Royalty. The kindly young King, his British-born Queen, chatting graciously with their favoured guests. Men in resplendent uniforms and orders, great ladies of the highest Spanish nobility, what a contrast to the homely reception of the President in those far-off days!
Then she had been escorted by a very wealthy but somewhat shady financier, whose influence had not been sufficient to enable her to scale the social heights to which she had aspired.
To-night she was under the wing of a popular chaperon, in whose veins ran the proudest blood of Spain. The Duchess, acting according to instructions, introduced her to everybody she came across.
Mademoiselle Delmonte, handsome, brilliant, and vivacious, was an immediate success. This aristocratic assemblage, ignorant of her antecedents, only recognising that she was under the wing of the popular Duchess, took her at her real valuation.
Being a woman, she was naturally pleased with her momentary success. But she was sensible enough to know to what she owed it. If these people who were flattering her now had known of her lowly origin, how she had graduated through the circus and the music hall to the possession of wealth, they would have turned their backs on her, as the purse-proud parvenus had done in the democratic salons of the French President.
These bitter reflections rather tended to harden than soften her resolution. To-night she was an avenging angel, bent upon the task of making these insolent people atone for the insults heaped upon the lowly-born.
Once in her triumphant progress she came near to Contraras, who was standing alone, surveying the brilliant scene with his keen, deep-set eyes.
She disengaged herself from the arm of her companion, a handsome young man of some standing in Spanish Society.
“Excuse me a moment. I see an old friend, to whom I must say a few words.”
“What do you think of it all?” she whispered, as she held out her hand.
“What I have always thought of such spectacles as these,” he whispered back. “These besotted creatures feast and dance and make merry, without a thought of their oppressed and toiling fellow-creatures.” He spoke intensely, in the most bitter spirit of his gloomy fanaticism.
She could not linger, “My nerves are in perfect order,” she assured him as she turned away. He smiled kindly at her as she passed on.
The amiable and innocent Duchess had performed the duties of chaperon so well, had introduced her to so many people, that it was a long time before Valerie could shake herself free. It was a very crowded assemblage. If she could once break away, she would be free to roam where she pleased.
The moment came at last, close upon midnight. She was alone and mistress of her own movements. Her thoughts were no longer distracted by the idle chatter of some companion forced upon her.
Slowly, she edged her way towards the Royal circle. Progress was a little difficult, but at last she stood within a few feet of the King and Queen. She stood for a few moments, perhaps summoning up her courage. Then her hand stole towards her pocket.
Before she could reach it, a little cordon was formed round her, a cordon of six men in ordinary evening dress. The hand of one of the men gripped hers, and held it in a grasp of iron.
“Come quietly, mademoiselle,” whispered a voice in her ear. “We have followed you round all the evening, we fancied there was something suspicious about you. We may, of course, be mistaken, but in these troublous times we have to be very careful. We will take you to a private room, and have you searched. Of course, if nothing is found upon you, you will go free, and we will make you handsome amends.”
Valerie gave a little choking sob. The gipsy’s prophesy had come true—several years of hard life, a few years of good fortune, and then great tribulation.
“I came here with the Duchess del Pineda,” she said in a broken voice, hardly knowing what she was saying. “Do you dare to suspect—”
It was the Head of the Police who held her wrist in that iron grasp. He spoke in a suave voice.
“Mademoiselle, we always suspect in our profession. For the Duchess del Pineda I have the highest respect. Will you consent to come quietly? If we are in the wrong, you have nothing to fear.”
She turned with them without a word. She had failed miserably. The upholders of law and order had scored signally over the scattered and imperfect organisation of the brotherhood.
Between them, she walked through the long, brilliantly-lit rooms. The Chief of Police tucked her arm under his, keeping a tight hold on her wrist. The other five men accompanied them. There was nothing in the general attitude to suggest that she was not a very charming woman being escorted by a bevy of admirers.
Contraras was standing by the door as the procession passed out. Agitated as she was, she saw him, and flashed at him an agonised glance.
He flashed back at her a glance equally eloquent. He knew the Chief of Police by sight, and he understood what had happened. Poor little Valerie had failed! They would take her to some room, and search her. In her pocket they would find those cunning little bombs that, once launched, would have sent tyrants and oppressors hurling into space, and proclaimed the dawn of the new era.
Poor little Valerie! His eyes grew misty. As she had failed, it would have been better if he had left her alone. If ever he felt remorse in his life, he felt it that night.
His first impulse was to leave the Palace at once. But wiser thoughts prevailed. The Chief of Police had recognised him, he was sure. If he left immediately, it might give cause for suspicion.
Valerie had failed. For the moment the Cause had suffered a set-back. But his resolution was still undaunted, his brain still active. Because he had failed to-day, it did not follow that he would not be successful to-morrow.
He sought out the Duchess del Pineda, who was, as usual, surrounded by a group of chattering friends.
“Good evening, Duchess. What has become of our young friend, Mademoiselle Delmonte?”
“I really cannot tell you. She broke away from me a long time ago. She has been a tremendous success, I can assure you. I hope she intends to make a long stay in Madrid. She will be most popular.”
“I really cannot tell you. I know nothing of her plans,” answered Contraras in his grave, quiet tones. “As I told the Duke, I met her in France and England, where she appeared to move in the best circles.”
“Naturally,” said the innocent Duchess. Nobody would suspect the highly respected Contraras of telling a deliberate lie.
Outside the Palace, the crowd had thinned, but Moreno and Violet Hargrave still waited. Midnight had struck and all was quiet. There were no signs that heralded the happening of a tragedy. A few belated arrivals passed through to the Palace. The crowd began to melt away.
And then there was a little stir. A carriage drove up outside the Palace doors. Two men and a woman stepped into it, the woman was in evening dress.
The carriage passed the two watchers. Mrs Hargrave peered into the slowly-moving vehicle.
“Valerie Delmonte,” she whispered excitedly. “There is a man sitting beside her, one of those two men I noticed driving in—don’t you remember I said they looked people of importance, and you said you did not know them from Adam. What does it mean? Valerie alone with those men?”
“It looks as if thecouphad failed,” replied Moreno quietly. “I should say that Valerie has been caught, and those two men are members of the police.”
Mrs Hargrave grew a little hysterical. “Thank God, it was not myself,” she added, after a pause. “I am glad it was not you.”
Moreno was about to reply when another carriage drove through, the occupant of which was Contraras. His tall form seemed huddled up; he was evidently in a state of extreme dejection.
Moreno tucked Mrs Hargrave’s arm under his own.
“Come along! Evidently thecouphas failed; the police have been one too many for us. Valerie Delmonte going away with those two men, poor old Contraras huddled up in that carriage, his attitude expressing that all is lost, at any rate, for the moment! We have nothing to wait for. We shall hear all about it to-morrow.”
They walked along arm in arm, both occupied with their own thoughts. Mrs Hargrave broke the long silence.
“He is a wonderful man. If he is dejected to-night, he will be full of energy and vigour to-morrow.” Moreno agreed. “Yes, he will think of morecoups. I suppose the next one will be the removal of Mr Rossett.”
Violet made no answer immediately. Then, presently she said. “I fancy he is considered a rather dangerous person from our point of view.” Moreno shrugged his shoulders. “And yet I fancy his removal would not greatly hasten the new era, do you? He is really a quite insignificant person. If Valerie had brought it off to-night, well and good—but I must confess these minor developments don’t interest me greatly. Do they interest you?”
“A little, I think,” answered Mrs Hargrave, in a somewhat faint voice.
Moreno looked at her steadfastly. Her nerves were a bit out of order to-night. That long vigil outside the Palace had told on them—that waiting for the crash of the bombs which Valerie Delmonte had carried in her pocket, the bombs which now had been appropriated by the Chief of Police.
He gave her arm a tender pressure. “I believe at bottom you are really a womanly woman. The end justifies the means, of course, but some of the means are very bloodthirsty, don’t you think?”
“I thought so to-night, when I was waiting to hear the crash of those devilish, cunning little bombs, the latest invention of science, as our good old Contraras assures us.”
Moreno pulled himself up; perhaps he had been a little too frank. But he knew that the photographed letter always gave him the whip-hand of Violet Hargrave.
“Still, we must not be squeamish. Revolutions are not made with rose-water, and you must break eggs to make omelettes.”
“Absolutely true.” Mrs Hargrave, looking provokingly pretty under her veil, sighed a soft assent to these platitudes. He fancied her arm gave a responsive pressure to his.
When he went to bed that night, Moreno was disturbed with remorseful thoughts of Valerie Delmonte. If the Chief of Police had found those bombs in her pocket, it was he who had told that somewhat slow-moving official he would find them there.
Then he comforted himself. If he had betrayed Valerie, he had prevented her from hurling to destruction a dozen or more innocent people. His conscience was quite clear. If she had been a very ugly woman, instead of a very pretty one, perhaps his conscience might not have been troubled at all.
“I didn’t think much of that Chief of Police at first,” he murmured drowsily, as he turned on his pillow. “But he seems to have managed it all right. Still, on the whole, I would rather deal with Scotland Yard, or the Sûreté in Paris.”