Mr Stonehenge gave a sigh of relief. "I see you know your business. I
don't know that Pineda has yet definitely decided, but he will swim with
the tide. If there is a revolution he will try to lead it, like
Mirabeau. In the meantime, he keeps in with both parties."
"I have led him on to a few disclosures already," observed Rossett.
"Ah, that is good. I can see that if you stick to it, you will fly
high. Of course, you know he is as poor as a church mouse."
There was a little grimness in Rossett's smile as he answered: "I am
quite sure of that." Stonehenge looked at him keenly. "Ah, I don't
want to be curious, but he has borrowed money of you?"
The other nodded. "A trifle, sir. I thought it was worth it. I shall
lose it, of course, and although I have done it in the interests of my
country, I don't suppose the Government will make it up to me." The
Ambassador laughed. "Virtue is its own reward in this profession, my
dear Guy. They can subscribe any amount to the party funds, but they
won't give an extra penny to the men who serve them well. Anyway, I am
glad you have taken the measure of Pineda. He has really no brains."
"An absolute ass," corrected Rossett, "an absolute ass, with more than a
normal share of vanity."
"A most accurate description," assented the chief. "But, with his birth
and connections, he might temporarily make a decent figurehead.
Monarchies have had their _rois faineants_. Revolutions when they start
have upper class and middle-class puppets to lead them. Afterwards, as
we know, these are displaced by the extreme element."
Rossett had found no difficulty in financing the impecunious Spanish
grandee. For Great-Aunt Henrietta, on hearing of his promotion, had
forwarded him a very substantial cheque.
Out of this, he had paid off Mr Jackson, and was able to take up his
new post with a clean sheet. Needless to say that his sister Mary, the
most honourable of women, was delighted at the position of affairs.
While events were progressing in Spain, Moreno the journalist had called
on his old friend Farquhar at the familiar chambers in the Temple. It
was a few days after Moreno's initiation into the brotherhood by Lucue--
the initiation which had been followed by that very significant
interview with Violet Hargrave.
The visitor's keen glance detected at once that his old friend looked
gloomy and depressed. And, in truth, Farquhar was in no jubilant mood.
His rejection by his pretty cousin, Isobel, the knowledge that another
man had secured what he so coveted, was weighing upon him heavily.
He pulled himself together on Moreno's entrance, and extended a cordial
hand. He was a very reticent man, and always hid his feelings as much
as possible.
"Great things have happened since I last saw you, my friend," cried the
journalist gaily. "I am now a full-fledged member of the brotherhood,
the great brotherhood. You remember I told you I was going to be
initiated?"
Yes, Farquhar remembered. Moreno had mentioned the fact, and he had
been interested. He had thought at the time his friend was running
great risks, but no doubt the journalist was playing his own game in his
own subtle way.
Since that conversation, his own affairs had made him forgetful of
everything save the daily duties of his profession, duties which he
never neglected.
He smiled genially. "When are you going to blow us all up? You haven't
brought a bomb in your pocket by any chance?"
Moreno shook his head. "Much too crude, my good old friend. We work in
a more subtle way than that, by peaceful and pacific means."
He knew Maurice Farquhar well enough, so sure was he of the sterling
character of the man, to trust him with his life. This reserved,
somewhat priggish barrister would no more reveal a confidence than a
Roman Catholic priest would betray the secrets of the confessional.
At the same time a man in his delicate and dangerous position must be
doubly and trebly cautious. He must put even Farquhar off the scent,
till the day arrived when he could speak freely.
He spoke a moment after, in a rather abrupt tone. "Forgive me for
putting a certain question to you, and, believe me, it is not dictated
from any spirit of impertinent curiosity. You remember our meeting your
cousin and Guy Rossett? I told you I formed certain conclusions with
regard to their relationship. Have you by any chance had an opportunity
of testing the accuracy of the opinion I formed?"
For a moment Farquhar was at the point of telling this most inquisitive
journalist to mind his own business, and not to pry into matters that,
to all appearances, were no concern of his.
Then he remembered that he had known the man for many years, and during
the period of a very intimate acquaintance he had never known him guilty
of a breach of good taste.
Moreno had expressly stated he was animated with no spirit of
impertinent curiosity. In short, he had apologised for putting the
question. He then had some subtle and convincing reason for putting it.
Farquhar spoke more frankly than he had at first thought would be
possible under the circumstances.
"After what you said, I made it my business to inquire. I am very
greatly attached to my uncle and cousin. Whatever affects the welfare
of either is deeply interesting to me."
He paused a few seconds. It was hard to admit to Moreno that his
suspicions were justified. And he was gaining a little time by
expressing himself in these cautious and judicial words, words of course
which told the keen young journalist what he wanted to know, without
need of further speech.
"It is, as you surmised, an absolute secret to all but a very few,"
resumed Farquhar, after that brief pause. "You diagnosed the situation
perfectly. Rossett's father is, at the present moment, the
stumbling-block."
"Thanks for your perfect frankness," answered Moreno easily. The next
question was one still more difficult to put, for he had guessed the
situation as regards Farquhar quite easily. The barrister was in love
with Isobel Clandon himself, had delayed too long in his wooing, and too
late learned the bitter truth, that a more enterprising lover had
carried her off.
"I take it that since you are greatly attached to your cousin, as well
as your uncle, you would be disposed to help Rossett, in the event of
his needing a friend?"
There was no reserve in the voice that replied.
"Yes, any man whom my cousin loves, whether he is her lover or husband,
will find in me a friend."
Moreno nodded his head. He could not say how much he appreciated this
attitude, for he was sure that Farquhar was genuinely in love with
Isobel. And he was sure now of what he had known all along, that the
man was perfectly straight and honest, devoid of any petty or
dishonouring meanness. Self-sacrifice could go no further than this--to
assist Isobel's lover.
"I am very glad to hear that, Farquhar. For the moment, my lips are
sealed. Even to you, my greatest friend, I cannot tell all. But the
day may come when danger will threaten Guy Rossett. It will be well
then to know who are the friends on whom he can rely. It may be, when
that day comes, you can help, perhaps you cannot. But, if you can, I
shall count upon you."
"I have given you my promise," replied Farquhar simply. "For the sake
of Isobel Clandon, I will help Guy Rossett, if my assistance is of any
use."
A couple of hours later, Moreno left his friend's chambers, after
talking on other and impersonal subjects.
Shortly after that interview between the two men, there was a meeting at
Maceda's restaurant. It was a special function, convened especially by
the great Lucue himself. There were only six people present, the chief
himself, Maceda, who, on this very particular occasion, had delegated
the conduct of his establishment to his second in command, Jackson,
otherwise Jacques the moneylender, the Frenchwoman, Valerie Delmonte,
Violet Hargrave, and Andres Moreno, the latest recruit.
The repast this time was of a much simpler nature. It lacked the
elegance and profusion characteristic of the ordinary assemblages, when
the affairs of the brotherhood was discussed in a general fashion. It
was evident from these symptoms, concluded Moreno, that something of
importance, some stern business was in the air.
When the comparatively simple meal had been finished; Lucue opened the
proceedings, speaking as usual in French.
"I had hoped that our brother from Barcelona, Jaime Alvedero, would have
been with us to-night," he explained to his fellow-conspirators. "But
grave affairs have detained him. He is, as you know, technically my
superior, but he has written to me, authorising me to act with full
authority in this very important matter of Guy Rossett. For the benefit
of our latest member, Andres Moreno, I will just explain how, at the
present moment, this young Englishman is a serious menace to the
brotherhood."
Moreno looked expectantly in his chief's direction. He already knew a
great deal of what Lucue was going to explain at length for the
journalist's benefit, but he was too wide-awake to betray this. He
appeared profoundly moved by his chief's disclosures.
He assumed an expression of the greatest gravity when Lucue had
finished, for he knew that this apparently genial and most astute person
was watching him narrowly.
"It is a very serious menace, his appointment to the Court of Spain, as
he will be on the spot," he commented quietly at the conclusion of the
long harangue. "It must be counteracted in some way and speedily. As
the newest member of this association, it does not become me to offer
suggestions. I leave these to wiser and more experienced heads." He
looked meaningly at the other three men, who he knew were the
acknowledged chiefs of this particular section of the great brotherhood.
Lucue indulged in a smile of approval. Like most great men, he was not
a little vain, and easily won by judicious flattery.
"Our brother Moreno is very modest," he said pleasantly. "But I have no
doubt in a short space we shall find him one of our wisest counsellors.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have a short way with people who try to
thwart our well-laid plans."
Moreno played splendidly. He knew that, as the newest recruit, and with
English blood running in his veins, he had to justify himself.
"That is true statesmanship," he said, in a voice of deep conviction.
"For although, for the time, we do not hold the reins of power, I am
convinced that we are better and more far-seeing statesmen than those
whom at the moment misgovern and oppress the world."
There was loud applause at this speech. The good-looking Frenchwoman
clapped her hands loudly. Jackson and Maceda grunted audible approval.
Lucue's aspect grew more benign. Violet Hargrave smiled her charming
smile, which might mean anything, approval or disapproval. At least, so
Moreno thought.
He was not quite sure of her yet. Was she, through some inexplicable
warp of temperament, devoted heart and soul to the schemes of this
infamous association, or was she, like himself, playing a double game?
"Since we are all united on our policy," broke in Lucue's bland tones,
"it only remains to settle the means."
There was a stir in the small assembly. The Frenchwoman leaned forward
eagerly; Moreno did the same. He had no doubt of her fidelity to the
cause. He could not follow a safer guide.
But after a longer discussion, they were unable to form any settled
plan. They all felt it was almost impossible to engineer the matter
from England. Finally, they agreed to refer it back to Alvedero, who
had the advantage of being on the spot.
Then Lucue made a suggestion. "I propose that our comrades, Violet
Hargrave and Andres Moreno, set out for Spain to confer with the leaders
there. I suggest them for this reason--being partly English, they will
be able to move about more freely, be less liable to suspicion on
account of that fact."
Moreno and Violet Hargrave nodded their heads in confirmation of their
acceptance of the task assigned them.
Moreno shuddered inwardly, as he recalled the blood-curdling oaths which
had been administered to him. On Violet Hargrave's face had come a
sudden expression which he could not quite define. He was inclined to
think that it reflected a certain happiness in the prospect of doing
harm to Guy Rossett.
The meeting broke up, and they went down the stairs together. When they
reached the door, Violet spoke.
"Come to my flat to-night, as you did when you were first initiated,"
she said, in the voice that sounded so sweet and womanly. "It is
evident that you and I are going to be very closely associated,"--she
shot at him a coquettish glance--"whether you desire it or not."
A man wholly Spanish on his father's side was not likely to be deficient
in gallantry.
"There is nothing I desire more, Mrs Hargrave. Apart from the
importance of our common aims and aspirations, there is nothing in our
brief association with the brotherhood that has given me greater
pleasure than the fact that I have been enabled to make your
acquaintance."
They hailed a passing taxi, stepped in, and drove to the flat in Mount
Street.