Whither Thou Goest Part 21

"A great deal too much!" burst in Zorrilta angrily. "The question is, where did he get his information from? Some traitor, of course."

Moreno glanced at Violet Hargrave. He had his suspicions of her, but not a muscle of her countenance moved. His suspicions of her then were not confirmed. But Violet said nothing in reply to Zorrilta's angry outburst.

There came a diversion. Father Gonzalo pa.s.sed the window of the small sitting-room. His hawklike eye peered through the window.

"_Dios_!" cried Zorrilta, jumping up. "That accursed priest again! He roves about here like an evil spirit."

"Who is he, this priest?" cried Moreno eagerly. He had seen the lean figure of the father pa.s.sing the window, and had noted the keen, inquisitive glance.

Zorrilta explained what he had learned from the intelligent fisherman Somoza. Father Gonzalo was a Jesuit, not attached to the Church of Santa Gadea. He was suspected of being a spy in the pay of the Government.

Moreno rose. "Shall I go and sample this gentleman?" he said. "I can play the role of the devout Catholic very well."

Zorrilta and Alvedero grinned. They were both nominal Catholics, but their religion did not trouble them very much. They were pleased with the enterprising spirit of their new recruit.

"Go my friend, come back and report to us." Moreno, well pleased, strode out, and soon overtook the priest, who was walking leisurely.

"Good evening, Father," he said pleasantly. He also added a few Spanish words which were a pa.s.sword.

When he heard those magic words, the priest's lean, ascetic face changed at once.

"You are one of us?" he asked briefly.

"Of course. My name is Moreno. I am attached to the English Secret Service, and I am helping your Government to beat the anarchists."

"Good," said Father Gonzalo. "Those people I saw you with in the little sitting-room at the `Concha,' I know the two well, Zorrilta and Alvedero; the woman I do not know. I take it they are all anarchists.

You are joining up with them for your own purposes."

"Precisely," answered Moreno. "Keep your eyes open too. This is, at present, the headquarters of the conspiracy."

"My son, good night," said the wily Jesuit in his most paternal tones.

"We shall meet again. You have, of course, made a good excuse for leaving your friends, and running after me."

Moreno smiled. "When I return I shall give the best report of you, a report that I trust will disarm suspicion. But it is as well to put you on your guard. You have a very keen enemy here, one Carlos Somoza, a fisherman. Conciliate him, if you can." The Jesuit's dark eyes flashed. "I know him. The dirty dog. I will be on my guard. I will go to Santa Gadea, and pray for my sins."

The unctuous priest stole away. Moreno watched his departure with a contemptuous smile. He did not seem a very valiant member of the church militant.

Moreno joined his companions. He addressed them in his usual easy fas.h.i.+on.

"Couldn't get much out of him. I should say he was quite a harmless old chap, full of good works. He seemed very concerned that I should be drinking at a place like the `Concha.' He gave me some very good advice. I don't think he has brains enough to be a spy."

The other two men laughed. Moreno had carried the affair off so well that they believed him implicitly.

Then Alvedero spoke seriously.

"This affair of Guy Rossett was very pressing." He turned to Moreno and Violet Hargrave. "I daresay you know that Lucue has delegated this matter to me, as being on the spot."

The two members of this conclave of four bowed; they had gathered this much before they left England.

"Yesterday, however, I had instructions from our great leader, Contraras," pursued Alvedero; he uttered the name of his chief in accents of profound reverence. "The affair of Guy Rossett has, for the moment, sunk into comparative insignificance. There is bigger game afoot."

"Ah!" breathed Moreno eagerly. True to his histrionic instinct, he was playing the role of enthusiast very well.

Violet Hargrave, who was never very enthusiastic, thought it well to imitate him, and leaned forward as if eager to catch the next words from the great man's lips.

Alvedero spoke slowly. "As you know, in difficult times, we have to proceed with great caution--I cannot divulge all that Contraras has entrusted me with to-day. To-morrow Valerie Delmonte will be over here!

We will meet at the same place and the same hour."

He paused, and then lifted his hands to the low roof of the mean sitting-room in which the four were a.s.sembled.

"The brain of that man is stupendous, gigantic," he cried, in tones of the deepest admiration. "My friends, he has planned a great _coup_, and Valerie Delmonte is going to carry it out! She is devoted, she is fearless, she will not blench. To-morrow at this hour and this place I will take you into the secret; it is possible one of you may be called upon to a.s.sist."

A few minutes later the meeting broke up. There would be an exciting day to-morrow, thought Moreno, as he strolled away.

CHAPTER TEN.

If Lord Saxham had been, in his heart, disappointed that he could not induce Isobel to cajole her lover away from his post, he was too much a gentleman to go back on his word. Besides, he recognised that in this instance the girl was right, and he wrong, that she had displayed a n.o.bility of spirit which was lacking in himself and his daughter.

He had given his consent to the engagement without imposing conditions, and he could not in honour take that consent back. In addition, he could not but feel a whole-hearted admiration for a woman who could sacrifice her own feelings, not to mention her own interests, in such an unselfish fas.h.i.+on.

The immediate result of the brief visit to Ticehurst Park was the despatch of a paragraph to the various papers announcing the engagement of Mr Guy Rossett, second son of the Earl of Saxham, to Miss Clandon, daughter of General Clandon.

When father and daughter arrived at their modest home in Eastbourne, the news was public property. Letters of congratulation came by every post from the numerous friends and acquaintances whom they had made during their long sojourn in the town.

Isobel could now openly wear that beautiful ring which hitherto she had only dared to look upon in secret--that expensive ring which, as a matter of fact, had been purchased from money supplied by the obliging Mr Jackson. For, at the actual moment when the General had given his consent to the engagement, Guy had been extremely hard up.

So now all was plain sailing. Isobel was very proud of her lover, naturally very delighted at her adoption into the Saxham family. But, as there is no happiness without alloy, the knowledge of that lover's danger weighed terribly upon her spirits, and caused her to shed many bitter tears.

Her little world which congratulated and fussed around her, of course, knew nothing of this. To the girls of her own age, girls moving in respectable but middle-cla.s.s circles, who knew nothing of the aristocracy except through the fas.h.i.+onable papers, she was greatly to be envied.

There was one amongst the numerous letters of congratulations which had touched her very deeply. It was written by her cousin, Maurice Farquhar. It was couched in rather stiff, sometimes stilted phraseology, but sincerity was in every line. And, if Maurice was a bit priggish and old-fas.h.i.+oned, he was always a gentleman.

He had made no allusion to his own disappointed hopes. He had congratulated her heartily on her engagement, expressed his conviction that she would adorn any station to which she was called. And the letter had concluded with these words.

"I know the danger that is threatening your fiance. Moreno has promised to let me know if I can help him. I do not fancy it will ever be in my power to render any valuable a.s.sistance; our paths in life do not seem to meet anywhere. Still, if the time does come, I shall do my best, from my own cousinly affection for you."

It was put frankly but gracefully. He did not care twopence for Guy Rossett. It was not to be expected that he would. But he would be a friend to Rossett, because he still loved Isobel. She laid down the letter with a little sigh. So short a time as two years ago, Maurice might have satisfied her maiden dreams, she was not quite sure. She was so wrapped in the present that she could hardly see the past in its proper proportions. Anyway, she could reckon on her cousin in the future as a true and loyal friend.

Her heart was very much with Guy in that dangerous post at Madrid, her thoughts ever. One night when the two were sitting alone in the General's cosy little den, a little cry escaped her.

"Somehow, I seem to hate Eastbourne! It is very ungrateful, considering how happy I have been here. But I do so long to be near Guy."

The General was very moved by that pathetic cry. He stirred uneasily in his chair.

"Of course you wish it, my darling. I daresay Lady Mary wishes the same. But, if you were both there, neither of you could do him the least good, nor avert any danger that is threatening him."

"Oh, I recognise that," said Isobel, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"It is the suspense that is so horrible. If one were near, one might know something of what is going on."