Contraras embarked on his great mission. Elderly man as he was, the
fire of his convictions kept him alert and youthful.
He stayed a day in Madrid; from thence he travelled to Barcelona. And
then he went on to Fonterrabia.
In the same little cafe, the "Concha," he met several members of the
brotherhood, Zorrilta, specially summoned, Alvedero, Andres Moreno,
Violet Hargrave, and Mademoiselle Delmonte.
He opened the proceedings in his sharp, autocratic way. "You have
already had a meeting about this particular _coup_ which I planned in
London."
The young Frenchwoman spoke eagerly. If ever there was an enthusiast in
the sacred cause, she was one. Ready to be burned or hanged for her
principles, she had the spirit of the early Christian martyrs.
"We know all about it, Contraras." In the spirit of true democracy,
they addressed each other by no formal prefix. "I have undertaken it.
It probably means death to me, I can only escape by a miracle, but it
also means death to our enemies."
Contraras looked at her approvingly from under his bushy eyebrows.
"There spoke a true daughter of the Revolution which is to remake the
world. If years had not come upon me, if my eyesight were more keen, my
hand more sure, I would not delegate this task to another, less
especially to a woman."
Zorrilta hastened to observe obsequiously, "We cannot afford to hazard
your precious life, Contraras. You are the head and brain of this
organisation. The general directs the battle from safe ground. He does
not go into the firing-line like the common soldier."
Contraras smiled, well pleased. Like most great men, he was very
susceptible to flattery, as easily susceptible as the most despotic
monarch that ever ruled.
"I appreciate your devotion to the cause, your loyalty to myself," he
said in his most gracious manner. "When this great blow is struck, when
we make a most terrible example, the echoes of it will reverberate
through the world. The downtrodden population will arise, the
world-revolution will be in being."
There was a subdued murmur of applause at the conclusion of his speech.
Moreno applauded the loudest; somehow Violet Hargrave could never force
herself to be very enthusiastic. Moreno was watching her very narrowly.
Mademoiselle Delmonte spoke. "I cannot say how proud I am to have had
this task deputed to me." She looked very brave and resolute.
The meeting lasted for over half an hour. Details of the great _coup_
were settled. Contraras had a powerful and logical brain. He never
allowed digressions or diversions, he always kept everybody to the
point. When the meeting broke up two people were very radiant,
Contraras, who had planned the _coup_, the enthusiastic Valerie
Delmonte, who had undertaken to carry it into execution, with or without
assistance, as might be determined.
They strolled out from the obscure little cafe one by one. Moreno
presently overtook Mrs Hargrave, in her peasant dress. They lodged
near each other; it was natural they should stroll along together in the
direction of their respective homes.
Behind them came Contraras, and the two other men who had joined forces
after leaving the cafe. Contraras looked after the two young people
with those keen eyes which age had not very greatly dimmed.
"The Englishwoman I know well," he whispered to Alvedero. "She is a
protegee, almost an adopted daughter, of our staunch comrade Jaques.
What about this Moreno? Is he to be trusted?"
"You know that Lucue vouches for both."
"Ah!" sighed Contraras. "Lucue is a keen judge of men. I have never
known him make a mistake. But I do not like the English mother."
"And, in the case of Violet Hargrave, you have the English father. And
yet, you have no suspicion of her."
Contraras nodded his massive head, the head with the broad, deep brow of
the thinker.
"Your remark is just, my friend. I chose Violet Hargrave myself, on the
recommendation of my friend Jaques; that, of course, prejudices me in
her favour. Moreno was chosen by Lucue. Perhaps I am a little bit
jealous of Lucue. And I am growing old."
"No," cried Alvedero, with whole-hearted admiration. "Give you another
ten years yet, and you will still be the brains and leading spirit of
this organisation. Zorrilta is good, Lucue has a touch of genius. But
there is only one Contraras. Ten years hence you will be our leader, as
you are to-day." And while Contraras and Alvedero were exchanging these
confidences, Moreno was talking to Violet Hargrave.
"We seem to be engaged in a pretty bloodthirsty business, don't you
think, Mrs Hargrave? Not much in common with Fleet Street, or the flat
in Mount Street, eh?"
Violet Hargrave smiled. "We have both come out here to find adventure.
Spain is a land of surprises. We shall have plenty of adventure before
we have done with it."
There was a grim note in the journalist's tones, as he answered: "On
this particular _coup_, engineered by our great leader, Contraras, it
seems to me as likely as not that you and I shall meet our deaths. The
one person who seems perfectly happy over the business is Mademoiselle
Delmonte. By the way, she went out the first. She must have flown
along like the wind. The others are behind. I can see them through the
back of my head. I can wager they are just discussing whether we can be
trusted--you, with your English father, I, with my English mother."
He shot at her a penetrating glance, but she did not move a muscle.
"The southern blood in both is stronger than the northern," she answered
calmly. "And we are each a true son and daughter of the Revolution."
He came to the conclusion that, for the moment, Violet Hargrave was
impenetrable. Would he ever be able to disturb that _sang-froid_?
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 circumstances, 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 Embassy, 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?"