Whither Thou Goest Part 26

When he reached his humble lodgings, for it was a part of his role to live plainly, he found a long letter from his old friend, Maurice Farquhar.

It was the letter that had been written from Ticehurst Park. It explained at great length that Isobel Clandon had lost her father, that there were no longer any ties to bind her to England, that she wanted to be near her lover, in view of the danger that threatened him. Above all, that she did not wish Guy to know, at any rate for the present.

Could Moreno help?

The young man knitted his brows. His first impulse was to write back and strongly oppose the scheme. Then his subtle mind began to work, half unconsciously. Isobel Clandon over in Madrid could do no harm. He would not prophesy that she would do any good. But there was no knowing what might happen with this bloodthirsty brotherhood. She might be useful.

He knew an English couple living in Madrid, old connections of his mother; he was sure they would willingly take in Isobel as a boarder.

They were not rich people, only just in comfortable circ.u.mstances, they were elderly and childless. They would welcome a young girl as a member of their household.

He would go to Madrid to-morrow and interview them. And he could kill two birds with one stone while he was there.

He interviewed the elderly couple; they would be delighted to receive Miss Clandon.

Afterwards, in response to a letter received at the Emba.s.sy, Guy Rossett met the young journalist in the same obscure restaurant in Madrid, where he had met him previously.

"Things are humming a bit, eh?" queried Moreno, as they sat at a small table, quaffing a bottle of light wine.

"Looks like it," answered Rossett, speaking with the usual English phlegm. "I've had some very important information over to-day."

"Most of which, I expect, has been supplied by me, not but what I admit there are two or three very good men out on the job." Moreno was dreadfully conceited, but he could be generous when he chose. He would sometimes allow that there were other people who might be--well, nearly as clever as himself.

"Well, Moreno, you wanted to see me. I take it, you have a reason?"

"Of course I have. I know you ultimately hear everything from headquarters. But that takes time, and I am on the spot."

"I know all that," said Rossett. "Besides, I have instructions from headquarters to keep in touch with you, because you _are_ on the spot."

"That is really awfully good of them, when you come to think of it,"

said Moreno in his quiet, sarcastic way. "Fancy them relaxing red tape to that extent! I fancy there is a new spirit abroad."

"Well, what is it?" asked Rossett a little impatiently.

Moreno puffed at his cigar a little time before he answered.

"I am going to put a very direct question to you. Some time ago you gave some very important information to the Secret Service about this anarchist movement. It is due to that that you are here."

"Yes, I did," answered Guy shortly.

"You know we are both practically in the same service," said Moreno slowly, "and we might be frank with each other. Was that information given under the seal of secrecy?"

Guy nodded. "Yes, it was, absolutely."

"As an honourable man, you could not reveal the name of your informant?

I can give you my word, it is very important."

Guy thought for a few seconds. "No, I cannot give you the name of my informant. It was done absolutely under the seal of secrecy."

"I understand," said Moreno. "And a very considerable price was paid to the man--or woman--I am convinced it was a woman, who sold you this information."

"Quite right. But why do you say it was a woman?" asked Guy Rossett quickly.

"If I had not already been sure it was a woman, my friend, I should be quite sure of it by your sudden question. You English people are not quite so subtle as we who have southern blood in our veins."

Rossett bit his lip. He felt he had given himself away to this quick-witted foreigner, nine-tenths Spanish and one-tenth English.

There was a long pause. Moreno s.h.i.+fted his point of attack.

"Do you know that Mrs Hargrave is over in Spain, in Fonterrabia?"

"What!" almost shouted Guy in his astonishment.

Moreno looked at him steadily. "Ah, you have not heard that from headquarters. Well, you see, they don't know the little side-currents as well as I do. They do not know, for instance, that she is a sworn and apparently zealous member of the brotherhood."

"Violet Hargrave, of all people!" cried Rossett. He was in a state of bewilderment.

"You know, I daresay, that Mrs Hargrave is no friend of yours now, whatever she may have been once," said Moreno, speaking in his quiet, level tones.

"Yes, I think I can understand that."

"Come, Mr Rossett, throw off a little of that insular reserve, and let us talk together quite frankly. Believe me, I am speaking entirely in your own interests. There is no doubt that, at one time, you paid Mrs Hargrave very marked attention, that you fed her hopes very high."

"I was a bit of a fool, certainly," admitted Guy.

"And then, pardon me for speaking quite frankly, you threw her over rather abruptly, because you had fallen in love with somebody else--a woman, of course, a thousand times superior to the discarded one."

"You seem to know all about it, Mr Moreno."

"It is my business to know things," replied the journalist quietly.

"Well, it is a case of the `woman scorned,' you know. I should say the fair Violet hated you now as much as she once loved you."

"It may be possible. I have a notion that you know women better than I do."

"Bad women perhaps," said Moreno quietly. "My experience has lain rather in their direction. I think I have only known three good women in my life, two of whom were my mother and a girl I was once engaged to--she died a week before our wedding day."

Rossett regarded him with a sympathetic gaze. So this swarthy, black-browed young Spaniard had had his romance. His voice had broken as he spoke of his dead sweetheart.

"I am sorry for your experience. Most of the women I have known have been very good, the fingers of one hand would count the bad. But tell me more about Violet Hargrave. She hates me, you say?"

"I should say with a very bitter and malignant hatred," was Moreno's answer.

"All arising, of course, from jealousy or disappointment. How far is this hatred going to lead her?"

"I should say to the furthest point."

Rossett recoiled. "You mean to say she can have so changed that she would contemplate that?"

Moreno did not mince his words. "You will take my word for it that it is revenge she seeks, and she will not hesitate. Her position in the brotherhood will give her a very plausible excuse."