Whither Thou Goest Part 12

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

Jackson repeated the enthusiasm of Maceda.

"A genius, my dear friend, an absolute genius. If the great cause triumphs, it will be due to him." Another wors.h.i.+pper, thought Moreno, with a quiet, inward chuckle. They were all certainly very serious, with a whole-hearted wors.h.i.+p of their leader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pretty Englishwoman bowed, and they took their seats together at the flower and fruit-laden table. Lucue, probably through inadvertence had not mentioned the woman's name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moreno explained the little incident of the Albert Hall Bazaar.

"I see, then, you rather singled me out from the others," said Mrs Hargrave, and this time the glance was more coquettish than suspicious.

"But I am more interested in this--what do you know about me?"

Moreno put his cards on the table at once.

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

"Oh, you know that, do you?" Mrs Hargrave's tone was quite friendly.

She respected brains, and this dark-faced young Anglo-Spaniard was not only good-looking, but very clever. "Tell me some more."

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

"Oh, then you know Guy Rossett?"

"No," answered Moreno quietly. "I don't move in such exalted circles.

But I always hear of what is going on in high society, through my influential friends."

She looked at him quizzically. "Have you many influential friends?" she asked, with just a touch of sarcasm in her pleasant, low-pitched voice.

A slight flush dyed Moreno's swarthy cheek at what he considered her impertinent question.

"More perhaps than you would think possible," he answered stiffly.

She read in his nettled tone that she had wounded his _amour propre_.

She hastened to make amends. She was always a little too p.r.o.ne to speak without reflection.

"Oh please don't think I meant to be rude. But we soldiers of fortune, and all of us here are that, are not likely to have many friends in high places."

The journalist paid her back in her own coin.

"Not real friends, of course. But still, we swim about in many cross currents. You yourself have a certain position in a certain section of what we might call semi-smart society."

Violet Hargrave laughed good-humouredly. She was liberal-minded in this respect, that she seldom resented a thrust at herself when she had been the aggressor.

"Very neatly put. I have no illusions about my actual position. I am not sure that my particular circle is even semi-smart, except in its own estimation."

So peace was restored between them, and they chatted gaily together during the progress of the meal. She had taken a great liking to the brainy young journalist. And Moreno, on his side, was forced to admit that she was a very attractive woman.

The grave and dignified Maceda, looking more like a n.o.bleman than the proprietor of an obscure restaurant, came up a few times, and talked in confidential whispers with the princ.i.p.al guests. He chatted longest with Lucue and the handsome young Frenchwoman, Valerie Delmonte, who, Moreno learned afterwards, stood high in the councils and the estimation of the society.

After dinner, the waiters withdrew, the men smoked, and the two ladies produced dainty cigarette cases. Then the business of the evening began.

The genial Lucue, who looked the least ferocious of anarchists, opened the proceedings. He gave a brief but lucid survey of what was going on abroad, of the methods by which the great gospel of freedom was being spread in different capitals.

The young Frenchwoman, Valerie Delmonte, who had dined well on the most expensive viands, delivered a fiery and pa.s.sionate harangue against the great ones of the earth, the parasites and bloodsuckers who existed on the toil of their poorer brethren.

Her speech roused the a.s.sembly to enthusiasm, Mr Jackson being particularly fervent in his applause. No doubt, he believed himself to be a philanthropist, insomuch as he levied his exactions on the leisured cla.s.ses; thus, in a measure, redressing the balance of human wrongs.

Moreno applauded with hardly less fervour than the moneylender, and he was pleased to note that the eloquent Valerie shot a grateful glance at him. He had already gained the confidence of Lucue. He felt sure, from the reception accorded her, that she was only second to the great man himself. If he could secure her good graces, his position would be safe.

Some business, not of great importance, was discussed. Certain projects were put to the vote. On one subject, Lucue and Mademoiselle Valerie dissented from the majority. Moreno decided with the two, and the majority reversed its verdict.

Violet Hargrave was, perhaps, the least enthusiastic of the party.

Truth to tell, she was studying the young journalist very intently. He interested her greatly.

The proceedings ended. A meeting was arranged for next week at the same place, when two members of the brotherhood were expected to arrive from Barcelona with the latest reports of what was happening in Spain.

After a little desultory chatting in groups, Maceda's guests prepared to depart.