Moreno had declared to Violet Hargrave that he proposed to go to bed
early, and wait till to-morrow for the news.
When he spoke that had been his original intention. But, as the evening
drew on, he began to feel a certain restlessness stirring in him.
Certain things were about to happen, or, as he hoped, to be frustrated.
He could hardly compose himself to sleep under the unusual
circumstances. He would go out, and form one of the undistinguished
crowd that clustered round the Palace gates. If anything dramatic
happened, he could not fail to be aware of it. The news would spread
like wildfire.
On his arrival, he caught sight of a woman closely veiled standing close
beside him. He recognised her at once. It was evident that Mrs
Hargrave could no more endure to stay indoors than he could.
He moved up a few paces and spoke to her in English, practically their
native tongue.
"The same sudden impulse seized both of us," he whispered. "Well, it is
a very orderly crowd. I don't think we shall be pushed or knocked
about. We shall enjoy the sight of the grandees arriving. By the way,
it is a pity we were not sent an invitation, then we could have seen it
from the inside."
Violet Hargrave whispered back. "I simply couldn't stay indoors. My
nerves seem on edge to-night."
"Mine are a bit out of time, too," answered Moreno in a low voice.
And, while they were waiting, Moreno indulged in several philosophical
reflections.
A curious and not ill-natured crowd was gathered round the Palace,
something like the throng that gathers round a wedding. There was no
harm in these good-humoured, laughing persons, mainly of the lower
order. They were not envious of the people who went inside, these men
in Court costume, these women of another world, daintily attired. They
discussed and admired the good looks of the men, the exquisite costumes
of the women.
If the Court Chamberlain had suddenly appeared, and in the name of their
Majesties, bade them enter the Royal precincts in a spirit of perfect
equality with the other guests, they would have been very embarrassed
and, save for a few adventurous spirits, have declined the invitation.
They would have felt out of place.
From what causes arose this antagonism amongst the clever extremists of
the proletariat toward the more fortunate ones of the earth?
Moreno was puzzled to find a solution. Envy perhaps was the
contributing cause. And yet the ordinary man who dines at a common
eating-house is not always envious of the man who eats a sumptuous
luncheon at the Ritz or Carlton. The middle-class prosperous
professional man does not always gnash his teeth when he thinks of a
nobleman, possibly his client, who has a rent roll of a hundred thousand
a year.
Moreno was very just. There was a time when he had had to fare very
frugally, and he had not complained. Things had improved. When the
fancy took him, he would indulge in a good dinner, a bottle of
champagne, and an excellent cigar. Was he hurting the toiling millions
very much if he occasionally indulged in these luxuries? Were the few
fortunate ones of the earth, and after all they were very few, hurting
him if they indulged in them every day?
Night was slowly settling over the city. Far away from this scene of
revel and display, some thousands of humble workers had eaten their
frugal suppers, and were preparing for bed. If all the money that was
to be spent upon this function had been shared between them, would they
have been much the richer? Champagne, excellent cigars, and good
dinners could not be given to every creature on God's earth. That was
an inexorable economic law, which no revolutionist could alter.
He was raised from his reveries by a light touch on his arm.
"Who are these two men?" It was Violet Hargrave who spoke. "Somehow,
they look people of importance."
Moreno recognised them at once, as they drove slowly through--the Chief
of the Secret Service, the Head of the Police. He was glad that they
were on the scene early. They might not have quite the perfect methods
of the corresponding French organisations, but perhaps they would
justify themselves before the night was over.
"I don't know them from Adam, but, as you say, they certainly look
persons of importance, especially the fat one."
Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him,
herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not to
be caught by a leading question like that.