Whither Thou Goest Part 34

"Absolutely true." Mrs Hargrave, looking provokingly pretty under her veil, sighed a soft a.s.sent to these plat.i.tudes. 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 Surete in Paris."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Lord Saxham and his daughter had left Ticehurst Park. They were in their town house in Belgrave Square. They were neither of them very fond of London.

The Earl, in his youth and middle age, had experienced all the fleeting joys of the Metropolis. Mary, after the experience of her unfortunate love-affair, had definitely resolved that she would retire into a convent and devote herself to good works as soon as her father died.

Belgrave Square was even a little duller than Ticehurst Park. They were in the midst of a crowd that had forgotten them.

Lord Saxham was, to put it vulgarly, a back number, and was quite out of the modern whirl. Lady Mary, during her brief season, had fallen head over ears in love with the handsome young Guardsman, and had buried her heart in his grave.

The only thing that had drawn them up from the sylvan shades of Ticehurst Park was this--they wanted to be near Greatorex, that they could know what was happening to Guy at first hand.

The eldest son of the house. Viscount Ticehurst, dropped in occasionally, and deigned to spare them a few moments of his valuable time. As a matter of fact, at the present moment he was occupied with a particularly pretty chorus-girl, whom he was half inclined to marry.

Mary was fond of both her brothers, but she recognised the difference in them. Eric was as weak as water and dest.i.tute of brains. He was capable of marrying any chorus-girl on the sly, and then rus.h.i.+ng her down home and presenting her as his wife, to the terrible consternation of his poor old father, who thought that people should always marry in their own cla.s.s.

Guy was different--there was just a little bit of common sense in him.

He had fallen violently in love with Isobel Clandon--a girl not quite in his own world, from the Earl's point of view--but a sweet and lovable girl, and above all a lady.

And Guy had waited for the parental consent, which had been wrung under somewhat false pretences. But he had been content to wait until his future wife would be received under proper auspices. He would not rush her down and take his father by storm, as Ticehurst would do when the time came for him to present his chorus-girl to a justly offended parent.

Father and daughter sat at luncheon in the dining-room of the house in Belgrave Square.

Very terribly did Lady Mary miss her beautiful gardens, her flowers, her dogs, her aviary of little songsters. She was essentially a country girl. She hated any city, with its cramped and narrow streets. Even Paris had no attractions for her. Vienna and Berlin left her cold.

"You have seen Greatorex this morning, father?" she questioned when the servants had withdrawn.

Lord Saxham frowned. He had realised, in this his latest visit to the Metropolis, that he was a back number. He remembered the years long ago when he was the most golden of the gilded youth. Then his name was one to conjure with. He led the revels; if it pleased him, he painted the town red. Now, except for a few ancient cronies, n.o.body recognised him.

"Yes, I saw Greatorex," he answered gloomily. "He was always as close as wax. He is closer than ever. He comes of an infernally close family. That family has never been anything great." He was getting into his explosive vein. "Always underlings and jackals--always content to serve."

"What did he say about Guy?" asked Mary softly.

"Only that he was quite happy and well. He did vouchsafe to volunteer the information that some great anarchist _coup_ had failed."

"Well, that was about as much as you could expect," said Mary in her quiet, gentle tones. "He is not going to give information to everybody."

"To everybody?" spluttered the Earl, in his most fiery mood. "Am I everybody? I have supported this Government through thick and thin. I have backed them up through everything. Why do they withhold their confidence from me, at this important moment?"

Lady Mary used all her _finesse_. She knew too well why Greatorex did not trust him. He was an open sieve. All news would filter through him in five minutes, at all his clubs, to the first acquaintance he met.

"You must not blame Greatorex, dear; he carries a very heavy burden. He dare not give an incautious confidence, drop a random word."

"But why this reticence to me, of all people?" thundered Lord Saxham, in his most indignant tones. "Am I not the soul of discretion? Should I betray a confidence?"

Mary made no answer. She knew her father well. Privately he was the soul of honour. He would not betray a confidence wilfully. But he was loose of speech, and he was quite vain. He would drop a few hints, perhaps unconsciously, from which attentive listeners might gather much.

She let the stormy ebullition pa.s.s. Then she spoke.

"I wish we could hear some really authentic news of dear old Guy."

The Earl grunted.

"You hear daily from Isobel?"

"Of course, but Isobel is a woman. She tells me what she is allowed to know. Because she is a woman, Guy and Moreno keep everything from her.

They make out the path is strewn with roses. They will not tell her the truth, for fear of frightening her."

"Then where are you going to get your information from?" asked the Earl querulously.

There was a long pause. When she spoke, a faint colour dyed Lady Mary's cheek.

"I wonder if that young barrister would know anything; I almost forget his name--you remember, Isobel's cousin who came down to Ticehurst and arranged her journey to Spain. Yes, I remember, Maurice Farquhar. He is a bosom friend of that Spanish man, Moreno, who, I fancy, is trying his best to defeat the anarchists."

The Earl was, fortunately, very un.o.bservant to-day.

"Yes, I remember him quite well, a perfectly decent sort of young fellow. A rather forlorn hope, eh?"

The flush had died away from Mary's cheek. She had regained her self-control. She spoke quite calmly.

"Yes, I agree, but drowning people catch at a straw. Let me ask him to dinner, and find out if he knows anything."

Lord Saxham was certainly in his most benignant mood.

"By all means. He might be useful."

Lady Mary wrote a note to Farquhar, addressed to his chambers in the Temple. It was a somewhat formal letter--when she put pen to paper, Mary was always formal--inviting him to dine in Belgrave Square.

Farquhar's first impulse was to refuse. He had no wish to mingle with the aristocracy on unequal terms. When he became Lord Chancellor, it would be a different matter.

Then he thought of Lady Mary's winsome appearance, and he altered his mind. He sent a note accepting the invitation. But of course he knew why he was being asked. They wanted to know if he could give any reliable information about Guy Rossett.

He presented himself at Belgrave Square on the tick of the clock. Not for him the _mauvais quart d'heure_ consecrated to meaningless conversation in the drawing-room.

Lord Saxham shook him kindly by the hand. Lady Mary was graciousness itself. Could she ever be anything but kind, even if there was, at the back, a little subtle feminine diplomacy.

It was a party of three, waited on in solemn state by the butler and two footmen. There was not even a fourth to make matters even. Farquhar smiled inwardly. These two guileless persons, father and daughter, must have desired his company exceedingly! Well, he would learn all about it later on.

The servants had withdrawn. The men smoked. Lady Mary did not leave the room. It was an informal party. Farquhar puffed leisurely at his cigar. He was awaiting developments.

Saxham opened the ball. He was a most undisciplined person. He was always like a bull in a china shop, charging with blind fury.