Whither Thou Goest Part 41

Moreno thought he understood. "And the Spanish side came uppermost then. You could have run a dagger into the pair of them at the moment, and perhaps after you had done it, sat down and wept because you had killed the man. I don't suppose you would have shed a tear over the woman--she would have deserved her fate."

Violet was recovering herself fast. The colour had come back into her cheeks. She looked at him admiringly.

"You seem to know something of my delightful s.e.x," she said, with a faint smile. Then, after a pause, she added, "And you want to drive a bargain with me, don't you, in return for not denouncing me?"

Moreno a.s.sented. "You are quite right. You say you now don't desire the removal of Rossett. To be quite frank, no more do I."

She looked at him sharply out of her tear-dimmed eyes, red and swollen with the violent weeping of a few seconds ago.

"But why do you wish to spare Guy Rossett? You say you are a true son of the Revolution."

"I am," replied Moreno composedly. "I am with certain reservations."

He felt he could not trust her too implicitly yet. "When they attack the Heads, the great ones of the earth, I am in the heartiest sympathy with them--that is the way to obtain our ends. But I draw the line at making martyrs of the small fry, the mere instruments, the humble tools of the despotic system. I think it brings justly deserved odium on us.

To remove an inoffensive person like Rossett is worse than a crime, it is a blunder. If the great Revolution is coming, how can a feeble person like him stop its impetuous course?"

Violet Hargrave listened attentively. When was he going to suggest the terms of the bargain?

"Will you help me to save young Rossett? It is the price of my silence.

You can do nothing against me. Whatever innuendos or suggestions you might make, if such occur to you, would not weigh a moment against the d.a.m.ning evidence in my possession. They would only regard it as the frantic action of a guilty woman, trying to save herself from their vengeance."

He thought it wise to rub this in. He did not believe she was very clever, but she was cunning. He wanted to divert her from any idea of attempting to readjust the situation to her own advantage.

"You show me very plainly you don't trust me, by that somewhat unnecessary warning," she said a little bitterly. She was hardened enough, heaven knows, but the distrust of the man she had grown to care for hurt her more than she liked to admit.

"I am not quite a fool," she added. "You have the whip-hand of me, I admit frankly. If I thought to match myself against you, and bluff it out, I recognise I have not a dog's chance. Yes, I am willing to help you to save Guy Rossett. But I would like you to tell me why you want so particularly to save him."

But Moreno was not going to satisfy her curiosity. He gave her one of his reasons.

"Because I hate and loathe unnecessary bloodshed," was his answer.

There was a long pause, during which Violet's mind worked rapidly.

"Are you very sure in your own mind how you are going to save him?" she asked presently. "I mean, so that we can go scot free."

Self would always be the predominating note, he thought. Well, perhaps that was natural.

He tapped his forehead significantly.

"I have pretty well worked it out here; there are just a few details to be filled in. With regard to our own personal safety, I feel pretty confident I shall be unsuspected. As for you, I will guarantee it. I will see you every day, as my plans develop."

Violet rose to say good night. There was genuine admiration in her glance, as she held out her hand.

"I believe you are a very wonderful man," she said, in a tone of conviction.

Moreno smiled, well pleased with the delicate flattery. He always had a kindly feeling towards anybody who praised his mental qualities.

He saw her to the door. As they parted, she lifted up her face.

"You would not care to kiss a woman of my type--bad, selfish and unscrupulous as you know me to be?" she said boldly.

For a second he hesitated. Then he kissed her lightly on her pale cheek. He could not bring himself yet to touch her lips.

"Anyway, you are going to do a good thing now," he said, as she pa.s.sed out.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

During these hot summer days, poor Isobel lived in alternate fits of hope and despair.

Guy visited her every day. He always seemed very cheerful, full of optimism. The forces of law and order must prevail; these mad anarchists, well organised as they were, and led by a most subtle brain, would be defeated very shortly. Once the Heads were taken, the movement would suffer a speedy eclipse.

But at times it seemed to her quick woman's ears that there was a false note in his cheerful tones, that he was not so certain of the ultimate result as he pretended to be.

Moreno came to see her every day too. She had conceived a strong liking for the black-browed young journalist. Moreover, she had great faith in him.

Guy, of course, was her king amongst men. But she was not so hopelessly in love that she could not distinguish between the mental qualities of the two. Guy was very intelligent; he could s.n.a.t.c.h at the hints of others, and shape his course of conduct on them.

But Moreno had a subtle and penetrating intellect, a touch of genius.

And he combined inspiration with prudence.

If Guy talked cheerfully when he was with her, her fears and doubts revived on his departure. Could he look all round and accurately weigh the chances?

When Moreno told her to cheer up, and promised that all would be well, she felt fortified. There was a sureness, a quiet power about the man that raised her drooping spirits.

"You are sure that you will beat them, you are sure you will save Guy?"

she had asked him one day, when he had paid her a brief visit.

He spoke very deliberately. "I have outwitted them once before." He looked a little gloomy as he spoke. It went to his kind heart to recall that on that occasion he had been compelled to sacrifice that charming young Frenchwoman, Valerie Delmonte. "I shall outwit them again, believe me."

His tone was very confident, Isobel thought. "I am sure you will lay your plans very well, Mr Moreno, but there is many a slip between the cup and the lip."

"The cup will be carried to the lip this time without a falter." He spoke with his usual a.s.surance.

"Guy always speaks cheerfully too," said Isobel in her simple, straightforward way. "But I am always doubtful when he leaves me."

"Mr Rossett does not know what is in my mind, Miss Clandon. And I dare not tell him, for reasons of my own. An incautious confidence might utterly frustrate my plans. I have many helping me, but I have close at hand a man who is going to be my ablest lieutenant. Strange to say, you know that man well."

Isobel lifted up to him startled eyes. "You bewilder me. I know so few people."

"It will surprise you to know that your cousin, Maurice Farquhar, is in Madrid at the present moment and waiting to receive my instructions."

"Maurice Farquhar in Madrid," she repeated. "But why, but why?"

"Because I wanted to have a clear-brained, resolute Englishman at my right hand when the supreme moment came. I can't tell you everything.

I daren't tell you much. Would you like to see your cousin? I can manage it easily."

"Oh, I would love to," replied Isobel promptly, speaking according to the dictates of her open, generous nature. Then she suddenly remembered that Guy had expressed a certain jealousy of her cousin. "But perhaps at the moment it might not be prudent. I am here _incognita_, in a rather difficult situation. Later on, perhaps."

From those few halting phrases Moreno guessed accurately enough what was pa.s.sing in her mind. She had a sincere affection, for her cousin, who came over here to a.s.sist her at the greatest personal inconvenience, but she would not see him, in case his visit might give offence to her lover. It is ever thus that self-sacrifice in love is rewarded.