Whither Thou Goest Part 39

Contraras smiled oddly. "In that case, I think there is only one course. It is regrettable, it is repugnant to me. But the safety of the brotherhood is my first consideration."

Moreno had learned all he wanted to know. He knew now what was working in that fanatical brain.

"I understand," he said quietly. He added with the most apparent sincerity. "The safety of the brotherhood must always be the first thought. I quite agree."

Shortly after, Contraras left to return to his luxurious hotel. He parted from the two with many expressions of good-will. He was disposed to confirm Lucue's high opinion of Moreno. There was a confident bearing about the young man that impressed him. He was sure that he would prove a valuable recruit to the brotherhood.

They were left alone--the man quite young, the woman still comparatively youthful.

Moreno spoke first. "We have been a.s.signed a post of honour, but it is also a post of danger. Don't you think so?"

Mrs Hargrave s.h.i.+vered. "When I remember poor Valerie Delmonte, I must confess I don't feel very brave. But you spoke very confidently of being able to snare Rossett."

"I am quite confident of being able to do that."

"I suppose you won't tell me why you are so confident of the fact?"

Moreno shook his head. "No, I certainly won't. In this business, never let your left hand know what your right hand doeth."

She shot at him a rather coquettish glance, which thrilled him just a little. She was certainly a very pretty and fascinating woman.

"I am to be trusted, really, you know," she pleaded. "I can be as close as wax."

"I will tell you some day," he answered. He thought, as he spoke, the day might be a very long one.

"But you will tell Contraras and everybody then," she pouted. "I thought we had been such pails."

It suddenly dawned upon him that this adventuress, as he had always looked upon her, was falling in love with him. He was not quite certain that he was not falling in love a little bit with her. If he were only certain that in her were the makings of a good woman! But he would require great proofs of that.

He broke a rather embarra.s.sed silence.

"Well, now you will get your revenge on Guy Rossett."

"I am not quite so certain that I want it now." She spoke in a very low voice.

"But this is a very different mood from that of a certain night at Mount Street."

"I know, I know." Violet spoke a little wildly. "I was very bitter then. Things seemed changed somehow."

"You know that Guy Rossett has to be `removed,' in obedience to the orders of our revered chief?"

"I know, I know." Suddenly she burst into bitter sobbing. Presently she lifted her tear-stained face. "You think I am a very bad woman, don't you? I am not really, only hard and embittered with my early life. If I could only find somebody who really cared for me!"

It was a clear invitation. Moreno took her hand in his; he could not disguise from himself that he was attracted. But, at the same time, he did not lose his head. Could he trust her--would she be useful for his purpose?

"Suppose that I said I cared?"

Violet sobbed afresh. "No, no, it is impossible. You would never believe in me, you could never trust me."

And then Moreno leaned forward and spoke to her, very gravely.

"I think, before you leave, we must have a little conversation together.

When it is finished, I will tell you whether I trust you or not."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

It was a long time before Moreno spoke. It was evident that, in her present mood, Violet Hargrave was perfectly prepared to be made love to.

It was not the first time it had occurred to him that this woman of mixed nationality like himself was more than usually attracted by him.

But although he was one of the vainest men living in certain respects, notably in the high estimate in which he always held his own capacity and mental qualities, still in other matters he was fairly modest.

Every man can get some woman to fall in love with him, or, at any rate, to profess affection. Some day he would come across a woman whom he could impress sufficiently to justify him in asking her to marry him.

For the time would come when, like other men, even of the most roving disposition, he would want to say good-bye to adventure and settle down quietly.

As regards his personal appearance, he was quite a just and dispa.s.sionate critic. He could look in the gla.s.s and sum up the general verdict that would be pa.s.sed by the opposite s.e.x. In appearance he was rather short and squat. His features, somewhat irregular, were redeemed from plainness by a pair of very brilliant dark eyes, and a perfect set of strong white teeth.

Still, he had not the makings of a Don Juan in him; he was not the sort of man whose path was likely to be strewn with conquests; not the type of man, like Guy Rossett, for instance, on whom most women looked with a kindly eye, even on their first acquaintance.

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, Violet's att.i.tude could hardly be misinterpreted. The misty eyes raised appealingly to his, the soft inflections in her voice said as plainly as words could speak that here was a woman fully ready to respond at the first hint from him.

But he was very cautious; he felt he must proceed warily. He must never forget that this woman had been, more or less, an adventuress from her girlhood, the a.s.sociate of desperate and callous men, who hesitated at nothing in the attainment of their objects. Not so very long ago, she had exulted in the prospect of obtaining a terrible revenge, through others, on the man she had once professed to love.

Why had she turned, so suddenly, as it seemed, from this vengeance, had almost said that she no longer desired revenge? In an ordinary woman, the explanation would have been simple. Rossett now no longer aroused her love or hate because she had found a new lover in Moreno himself.

Always severe to himself in these purely personal matters, he asked himself the candid question if a woman so attractive as she undoubtedly was could turn from a man of Rossett's physical advantages to himself?

Years ago, he had loved devotedly a simple little girl with no pretensions to beauty or great charm, possessing only average intelligence. He had loved her for her sweet nature, her good qualities. And she had loved him in return.

But this was an entirely different matter. That poor little dead girl, still a very tender memory, had never had any other lover but himself.

Violet Hargrave, with her powers of fascination, her blonde prettiness, her quick mentality, must have had many men at her feet.

Did the foreign element in him attract the foreign element in her? It might be so, but he could not be sure of that. In many things he was more Spanish in thought and feeling than English, but she was more English than Spanish in everything, of that he was convinced.

Had he been a few years younger, had he enjoyed less experience in life, have thought less over social problems, anarchist doctrines might have appealed to him very strongly. He was sure they would never appeal to her, the English strain in her was too strong.

When he spoke, he put a very leading question.

"I have often wondered whether you are really greatly interested in the Cause? Whether the methods we have to adopt are not somewhat repugnant to you?"

He looked at her very steadfastly. He judged her to be an admirable actress, but he noticed she did not meet his glance. Perhaps if she was really attracted by him, as she seemed to be, it was not so easy to act.

She spoke a little nervously. "What on earth has made you think that?

Why should I be here if I were not sincere? I joined the organisation of my own free will. Juan Jaques, who was my sponsor, explained everything very clearly to me."

Moreno spoke lightly. "You have been comfortably off for many years, and you are more English than foreign. Anarchist principles don't take deep root in English soil."

"My father was a revolutionary at heart, although not an active one,"

she said hastily. "Of course, I don't suppose my mother thought about such things."

Moreno was too polite to say he did not believe in that little fiction about her father. This derelict parent might not have had a very great love for the social inst.i.tutions from which he did not derive much benefit. But from a natural dissatisfaction with his own lot to professed anarchy was a long step.