Whither Thou Goest Part 16

It was a long time before Moreno spoke again. He wanted to touch upon a delicate question, and he was not sure how far he might venture. If he said what he wanted to say, he was making use of the private information that was given him by Maurice Farquhar. Of course, Moreno, with his swift intuition, had arrived at the conclusion that family influence had been at the back of Rossett's promotion, for certain private reasons.

"I take it also that your father, Lord Saxham, had something to do with this appointment." Rossett flushed, and spoke haughtily. He thought this cosmopolitan was presuming.

"I am not aware that my father had anything to do with the matter."

Moreno a.s.sented blandly. "Perhaps, but excuse me for saying that your family might desire to remove you from the society of a certain very charming young lady, in whose company I saw you that night at the Savoy."

"What do you know, or guess?" asked Rossett angrily.

"Please, Mr Rossett, do not be irate with me. Believe me I am your friend and well-wisher. I cannot tell you as much as I would wish, for, in the double role I am playing, I have to be very cautious."

"Please go on," said Rossett, a little mollified by the evident sincerity of his companion.

"For certain reasons which I am not at liberty to divulge, I take an interest in the young lady, who, I am sure, is devoted to you, and to whom I am sure you are equally devoted. I should also be pleased to be of service to yourself. You know that I am a member of the Secret Service, and that I regard every Englishman as under my care."

"Yes, I know that," a.s.sented Rossett a little grudgingly. Like his chief, Mr Stonehenge, he had a rooted distrust of all foreign nations.

Was this man playing a double game? Anyway, he seemed to be remarkably well informed.

"I suppose you would think it impertinent if I proffered you some very good advice?" was the Spaniard's startling question.

Rossett stared at him. Andres Moreno was most certainly a very extraordinary person. And yet there was a certain fascination about the man which enabled him to take extraordinary liberties.

"I will tell you when you have offered it," answered the young diplomat curtly.

A greasy-looking waiter came up and hovered about the table. Evidently he was wanting to listen to the conversation. Moreno waved him angrily away, speaking in Spanish.

"One of the gang," he whispered to Rossett. "The city is honeycombed with them. Perhaps he understands French; we will speak English."

He paused a moment before he spoke again.

"My advice to you is to clear out of this as quickly as you can, on some pretext or another. Write a private note to Greatorex to recall you; mention my name, he knows me well. Tell your father to pretend to be ill, and get leave of absence to go to his bedside. You understand."

"Why should I do this?" queried Guy sharply. Moreno looked at him steadily. "Go home as I advise you, and marry the girl you love. Stay here, and this country, fair as it looks to outward seeming, is likely to provide you with a grave."

For a second, Rossett's face blanched. He was young, and death seemed far distant. The ominous words of his companion had brought it very near.

"Why, why?" he stammered. His glance sought the sinister figure of the eavesdropping waiter hovering in the background.

Moreno looked in the same direction. "You see that scoundrel yonder, whom I chased away just now. He carries a knife always with him; so do hundreds of his fellow ruffians. You are in the black books of the brotherhood. There are several looking out for an opportunity to put you out of the way, because you know too much of them and their doings.

Take my advice, and clear out. If you stop here, you have only a dog's chance."

Rossett spoke slowly and distinctly, the st.u.r.dy bulldog breed a.s.serting itself. "I am sure you mean well. But do you think I would run away before this cowardly pack? Let them do their worst."

"Think of the girl you love," pleaded Moreno pensively. He thought the young man was a bit of a fool, but he could not help admiring him.

A spasm of pain crossed Rossett's face. On the one hand, home and love, Isobel Clandon for his wife. On the other, flight before the dagger of the anarchist a.s.sa.s.sin. Was there any doubt as to the choice, to a man of his breed?

"I will stay," he said doggedly. "And, if I put the issue to her, Isobel would say the same. I will stay, and, with your help, I will win through to safety."

Moreno at this juncture could not help swaggering a little. "You have the best brains of the Secret Service at your disposal," he said, "but you are a heavy charge, Mr Rossett. I should be much happier if you were back in England."

"I go back in honour, not as a fugitive," answered Guy quietly, as the two men walked together out of the restaurant.

"If that man had known who you were," observed Moreno, as they pa.s.sed the waiter, "he would have slipped the knife into your ribs. Adieu, my friend. As you have chosen to stay here, we shall meet often. I shall let you know how things are going on."

And then, as they were parting, Rossett suddenly arrested him with a question.

"But, I say, how do you justify your existence here? What does Fleet Street say to your absence?"

Moreno smiled his subtle smile. "My dear friend, I am sending weekly articles up to Fleet Street on this delightful country, and its equally delightful population. In short, I am `booming' Spain. I am the innocent journalist, out on a much needed holiday."

Rossett smiled. "You are a very wonderful man. _Au revoir_."

That night three letters were written to London. One was from Guy addressed to his sister, and it contained the important question, had his father anything to do with his appointment to Madrid; in other words, did he owe his promotion to anything except his own merits?

Mary's reply came back in due course. It was distinctly conciliatory and diplomatic. But, as Mary was not very adapt at telling a lie, the truth peeped through. It was evident to Guy that Lord Saxham had exercised his influence to get his son to Spain, with the view of separating him from Isobel; Guy felt very bitter towards his father. He felt it was something in the nature of a dirty trick, diplomatic perhaps, but none the less of a questionable nature.

Moreno wrote two letters. The first was to Lady Mary Rossett. He had not even been introduced to that charming young woman, but such an elementary fact as that did not deter him. He explained who he was, he recalled the evening at the Savoy. He pointed out that her brother was in great danger, and that she should use all the influence of her family to get Guy recalled on some pretext or another. He added that he had met Guy in Madrid and urged this course upon him, that Guy on scenting danger, with the stubborn pride of the Englishman, had refused to abandon his post.

The second letter he sent to the head of the English Secret Service with a request that it should be shown to Greatorex. The motive of the second letter was the same as the first, that Guy Rossett should be got out of harm's way, before an anarchist knife should be dug in his ribs.

Mary took the letter to her father. She was very genuinely alarmed; she also had a faint recollection of the swarthy young Spaniard who had sat at an adjoining table on that well-remembered evening at the Savoy. He had mentioned in his letter that he was a member of the Secret Service.

She was disposed to trust him.

She thrust the letter into Lord Saxham's hand with an almost tragic gesture.

"Now, father, you can see what you have done by sending him over to Spain. That wily old Greatorex wanted to use him just for his own purpose, and you fell in pat with his scheme."

Lord Saxham read the letter, and his face blanched. "Oh, my poor boy,"

he groaned.

His daughter loved him, but at the bottom of her heart there was always a little good-humoured contempt. He was so terribly weak. Headstrong, violent, and explosive, but always weak.

Lady Mary spoke irritably; she was tender and compa.s.sionate, but not in the least weak.

"We have got to act, father, and act immediately. Guy must come back at once. You must see this artful old Greatorex to-morrow."

Saxham promised that he would see Greatorex to-morrow. He 'phoned up that important personage, and fixed an appointment.

The two men met. By that time Greatorex had received Moreno's letter from the head of the Secret Service. He knew, therefore, exactly what his old friend Lord Saxham had come about.

The Earl began in his usual explosive manner. "By G.o.d, Greatorex, you haven't treated me well in this matter. You have sent my poor boy to his death."

If Lord Saxham had been a less important member of the aristocracy, the imperturbable Greatorex would have shown him the door. But under the circ.u.mstances forbearance had to be exercised.

"Softly, softly, if you please, my dear Saxham. It was at your request I sent your son to Spain, to get him out of an unfortunate entanglement."

"I know, I know," spluttered the Earl, never very great in argument, "but I didn't know he was going to his death."