Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined face
showed clear against the waning light.
"Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!"
said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son of
the Revolution.
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up,
containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light.
The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests,
and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative,
if at times critical.
Moreno turned to his companion. "I say, it's a bit of a shame that you
and I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might have
worked that while he was about it."
Mrs Hargrave smiled back; she was very attracted by this black-browed
young Spaniard.
"My dear friend, under the new regime, we shall all go to Court."
"To the Court of Contraras, I suppose?"
"Something of that sort," answered Violet, letting herself go a little.
"And Madame Contraras, more aristocratic than any queen, will smile
condescendingly, and the pretty daughter will turn up her nose at us."
The conversation was getting dangerous. Mrs Hargrave must be checked
in her impulsive moods, which, he honestly admitted, were very rare.
"Ah, if I could see dear old Contraras in that position I would die
happy," he exclaimed, with a splendid mendacity.
Mrs Hargrave stole a quiet glance at him.
"Yes, he is very wonderful, is he not? But I can't honestly say I like
his womenkind. They have no sympathy with his aspirations."
As they were speaking, a very gorgeous carriage rolled up. It contained
the Duchess del Pineda and Valerie Delmonte. The Duke had not
accompanied them. He had pleaded indisposition, but probably prudence
had dictated his absence. Anyway, if certain things happened, it would
be possible for him to plead a successful _alibi_.
"Look, look!" cried Violet Hargrave, a little excitedly for her.
"Valerie Delmonte!"
Moreno, the kindly-hearted, felt a spasm of pity as he gazed on the face
of the handsome, fanatical young Frenchwoman, whom that wily old
Contraras had subjugated to his evil will.
"Poor child!" he said aloud, for the benefit of his companion, "I can
only hope she will not lose her nerve. It was a man's job, but she
would insist upon having it."
There was a little lull in the procession of carriages. And then there
drove up one conveying Guy Rossett and a colleague. The Ambassador had
already arrived, with his wife.
Moreno stole a glance at his companion. She was heavily veiled, but he
could see that her face had grown pale, that a sad look had come into
her eyes.
"Our admirable young diplomatist!" whispered the young man. "Well,
Madrid is not a very safe place for him."
"But he is in no danger to-night I take it?" came back the answer in a
whisper as low as his own.
"I should say not. For the present, we have left him out of our
calculations; we are flying at higher game. He will hardly come within
the sphere of Valerie's operations. His Chief may--I doubt even that."
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Presently Moreno spoke in the same low
whisper.
"You have no great affection for Mr Rossett, I take it?"
"No, I have not any great affection for Mr Rossett."
"And yet you were once very good friends."
Mrs Hargrave stiffened a little. "You seem to know a great deal of my
private affairs. Yes, we once were very good friends. He knew my
husband long before I married him. I fancy I have told you that."
Moreno was not to be daunted by her aloof attitude. He was never
wanting in enterprise.
"I should not be surprised if, at the present moment, you hated him."
"Perhaps you are right," was the curt answer.
Moreno indulged in a quiet inward chuckle. If she had known that Isobel
Clandon was established so close to her lover, that through his adroit
manipulation of affairs they were meeting every day, her hatred must
have expressed itself more heartily.
Valerie Delmonte, under the wing of the unsuspecting Duchess, was now
within the Palace.
She had only once before looked upon a scene approaching this, and it
had been much less brilliant.
Once, early in their married life, her husband had taken her to one of
the President's receptions in Paris. It was easy, in his position, to
secure the entree for himself and wife.
She remembered that evening well. Never had she felt more humiliated.
Half a dozen times kind old Monsieur Varenne had introduced her to some
of his acquaintances. There was a formal bow interchanged, and nothing
beyond; one and all they had sheered off. Even in a republican and
democratic country, these purse-proud citizens would have nothing to do
with the girl who had come from the music halls.
She recalled how, when she had reached home that night, she had burst
into a fit of wild sobbing, and her kindly, elderly husband had tried to
comfort her.
"Calm thyself, _ma cherie_, we will not go to these hateful places
again. We will lead our own life."
To-night, how different. A Court, one of the oldest in Europe,
reflecting that atmosphere of pomp and state associated with long
descended Royalty. The kindly young King, his British-born Queen,
chatting graciously with their favoured guests. Men in resplendent
uniforms and orders, great ladies of the highest Spanish nobility, what
a contrast to the homely reception of the President in those far-off
days!
Then she had been escorted by a very wealthy but somewhat shady
financier, whose influence had not been sufficient to enable her to
scale the social heights to which she had aspired.
To-night she was under the wing of a popular chaperon, in whose veins
ran the proudest blood of Spain. The Duchess, acting according to
instructions, introduced her to everybody she came across.
Mademoiselle Delmonte, handsome, brilliant, and vivacious, was an
immediate success. This aristocratic assemblage, ignorant of her
antecedents, only recognising that she was under the wing of the popular
Duchess, took her at her real valuation.
Being a woman, she was naturally pleased with her momentary success.
But she was sensible enough to know to what she owed it. If these
people who were flattering her now had known of her lowly origin, how
she had graduated through the circus and the music hall to the
possession of wealth, they would have turned their backs on her, as the
purse-proud parvenus had done in the democratic salons of the French
President.
These bitter reflections rather tended to harden than soften her
resolution. To-night she was an avenging angel, bent upon the task of
making these insolent people atone for the insults heaped upon the
lowly-born.
Once in her triumphant progress she came near to Contraras, who was
standing alone, surveying the brilliant scene with his keen, deep-set
eyes.
She disengaged herself from the arm of her companion, a handsome young
man of some standing in Spanish Society.
"Excuse me a moment. I see an old friend, to whom I must say a few
words."
"What do you think of it all?" she whispered, as she held out her hand.
"What I have always thought of such spectacles as these," he whispered
back. "These besotted creatures feast and dance and make merry, without
a thought of their oppressed and toiling fellow-creatures." He spoke
intensely, in the most bitter spirit of his gloomy fanaticism.
She could not linger, "My nerves are in perfect order," she assured him
as she turned away. He smiled kindly at her as she passed on.
The amiable and innocent Duchess had performed the duties of chaperon so
well, had introduced her to so many people, that it was a long time
before Valerie could shake herself free. It was a very crowded
assemblage. If she could once break away, she would be free to roam
where she pleased.
The moment came at last, close upon midnight. She was alone and
mistress of her own movements. Her thoughts were no longer distracted
by the idle chatter of some companion forced upon her.
Slowly, she edged her way towards the Royal circle. Progress was a
little difficult, but at last she stood within a few feet of the King
and Queen. She stood for a few moments, perhaps summoning up her
courage. Then her hand stole towards her pocket.
Before she could reach it, a little cordon was formed round her, a
cordon of six men in ordinary evening dress. The hand of one of the men
gripped hers, and held it in a grasp of iron.
"Come quietly, mademoiselle," whispered a voice in her ear. "We have
followed you round all the evening, we fancied there was something
suspicious about you. We may, of course, be mistaken, but in these
troublous times we have to be very careful. We will take you to a
private room, and have you searched. Of course, if nothing is found
upon you, you will go free, and we will make you handsome amends."
Valerie gave a little choking sob. The gipsy's prophesy had come true--
several years of hard life, a few years of good fortune, and then great
tribulation.
"I came here with the Duchess del Pineda," she said in a broken voice,
hardly knowing what she was saying. "Do you dare to suspect--"
It was the Head of the Police who held her wrist in that iron grasp. He
spoke in a suave voice.
"Mademoiselle, we always suspect in our profession. For the Duchess del
Pineda I have the highest respect. Will you consent to come quietly?
If we are in the wrong, you have nothing to fear."
She turned with them without a word. She had failed miserably. The
upholders of law and order had scored signally over the scattered and
imperfect organisation of the brotherhood.
Between them, she walked through the long, brilliantly-lit rooms. The
Chief of Police tucked her arm under his, keeping a tight hold on her
wrist. The other five men accompanied them. There was nothing in the
general attitude to suggest that she was not a very charming woman being
escorted by a bevy of admirers.
Contraras was standing by the door as the procession passed out.
Agitated as she was, she saw him, and flashed at him an agonised glance.
He flashed back at her a glance equally eloquent. He knew the Chief of
Police by sight, and he understood what had happened. Poor little
Valerie had failed! They would take her to some room, and search her.
In her pocket they would find those cunning little bombs that, once
launched, would have sent tyrants and oppressors hurling into space, and
proclaimed the dawn of the new era.
Poor little Valerie! His eyes grew misty. As she had failed, it would
have been better if he had left her alone. If ever he felt remorse in
his life, he felt it that night.
His first impulse was to leave the Palace at once. But wiser thoughts
prevailed. The Chief of Police had recognised him, he was sure. If he
left immediately, it might give cause for suspicion.
Valerie had failed. For the moment the Cause had suffered a set-back.
But his resolution was still undaunted, his brain still active. Because
he had failed to-day, it did not follow that he would not be successful
to-morrow.
He sought out the Duchess del Pineda, who was, as usual, surrounded by a
group of chattering friends.
"Good evening, Duchess. What has become of our young friend,
Mademoiselle Delmonte?"
"I really cannot tell you. She broke away from me a long time ago. She
has been a tremendous success, I can assure you. I hope she intends to
make a long stay in Madrid. She will be most popular."
"I really cannot tell you. I know nothing of her plans," answered
Contraras in his grave, quiet tones. "As I told the Duke, I met her in
France and England, where she appeared to move in the best circles."
"Naturally," said the innocent Duchess. Nobody would suspect the highly
respected Contraras of telling a deliberate lie.
Outside the Palace, the crowd had thinned, but Moreno and Violet
Hargrave still waited. Midnight had struck and all was quiet. There
were no signs that heralded the happening of a tragedy. A few belated
arrivals passed through to the Palace. The crowd began to melt away.
And then there was a little stir. A carriage drove up outside the
Palace doors. Two men and a woman stepped into it, the woman was in
evening dress.
The carriage passed the two watchers. Mrs Hargrave peered into the
slowly-moving vehicle.
"Valerie Delmonte," she whispered excitedly. "There is a man sitting
beside her, one of those two men I noticed driving in--don't you
remember I said they looked people of importance, and you said you did
not know them from Adam. What does it mean? Valerie alone with those
men?"
"It looks as if the _coup_ had failed," replied Moreno quietly. "I
should say that Valerie has been caught, and those two men are members
of the police."
Mrs Hargrave grew a little hysterical. "Thank God, it was not myself,"
she added, after a pause. "I am glad it was not you."
Moreno was about to reply when another carriage drove through, the
occupant of which was Contraras. His tall form seemed huddled up; he
was evidently in a state of extreme dejection.
Moreno tucked Mrs Hargrave's arm under his own.
"Come along! Evidently the _coup_ has failed; the police have been one
too many for us. Valerie Delmonte going away with those two men, poor
old Contraras huddled up in that carriage, his attitude expressing that
all is lost, at any rate, for the moment! We have nothing to wait for.
We shall hear all about it to-morrow."
They walked along arm in arm, both occupied with their own thoughts.
Mrs Hargrave broke the long silence.
"He is a wonderful man. If he is dejected to-night, he will be full of
energy and vigour to-morrow." Moreno agreed. "Yes, he will think of
more _coups_. I suppose the next one will be the removal of Mr
Rossett."
Violet made no answer immediately. Then, presently she said. "I fancy
he is considered a rather dangerous person from our point of view."
Moreno shrugged his shoulders. "And yet I fancy his removal would not
greatly hasten the new era, do you? He is really a quite insignificant
person. If Valerie had brought it off to-night, well and good--but I
must confess these minor developments don't interest me greatly. Do
they interest you?"
"A little, I think," answered Mrs Hargrave, in a somewhat faint voice.
Moreno looked at her steadfastly. Her nerves were a bit out of order
to-night. That long vigil outside the Palace had told on them--that
waiting for the crash of the bombs which Valerie Delmonte had carried in
her pocket, the bombs which now had been appropriated by the Chief of
Police.
He gave her arm a tender pressure. "I believe at bottom you are really
a womanly woman. The end justifies the means, of course, but some of
the means are very bloodthirsty, don't you think?"
"I thought so to-night, when I was waiting to hear the crash of those
devilish, cunning little bombs, the latest invention of science, as our
good old Contraras assures us."
Moreno pulled himself up; perhaps he had been a little too frank. But
he knew that the photographed letter always gave him the whip-hand of
Violet Hargrave.
"Still, we must not be squeamish. Revolutions are not made with
rose-water, and you must break eggs to make omelettes."
"Absolutely true." Mrs Hargrave, looking provokingly pretty under her
veil, sighed a soft assent to these platitudes. He fancied her arm gave
a responsive pressure to his.
When he went to bed that night, Moreno was disturbed with remorseful
thoughts of Valerie Delmonte. If the Chief of Police had found those
bombs in her pocket, it was he who had told that somewhat slow-moving
official he would find them there.
Then he comforted himself. If he had betrayed Valerie, he had prevented
her from hurling to destruction a dozen or more innocent people. His
conscience was quite clear. If she had been a very ugly woman, instead
of a very pretty one, perhaps his conscience might not have been
troubled at all.
"I didn't think much of that Chief of Police at first," he murmured
drowsily, as he turned on his pillow. "But he seems to have managed it
all right. Still, on the whole, I would rather deal with Scotland Yard,
or the Surete in Paris."