In a shabby room of a shabby house in one of the most obscure quarters
of Madrid, five men were sitting. They were Contraras, Zorrilta,
Alvedero, Moreno, and Somoza, the fisherman of Fonterrabia.
"Guy Rossett is here, in the next room." It was Moreno who spoke. He
turned to the fisherman. "Has he recovered sufficiently, Somoza?"
The fisherman answered: "He was still a little bit dazed a minute ago
when I left him. The handkerchief I flung over his face contained a
pretty strong dose. I should give him another ten minutes before he is
ready to face the tribunal."
The capture had been easy. Guy Rossett, reckless of danger, had left
his flat to pay his visit to Isobel Clandon. Two members of the Secret
Police were ready to accompany him. Fearful of compromising Isobel, he
had rather roughly dispensed with their services. Reluctantly, they had
obeyed him. They agreed between themselves that an Englishman was
always pig-headed, a bit of a dare-devil, and inclined to take risks.
Guy walked carelessly along. He was in rather good spirits. He had
received that day a cheerful note from Moreno that everything was going
well, that very soon the heads of the anarchist movement in Spain would
be laid by the heels.
Of course, in this letter, Moreno did not explain his methods. If he
had done so, Guy might not have been in quite such high spirits.
For at this moment, playing his very difficult game of saving Guy
Rossett, saving himself and Violet Hargrave, and also snaring the
anarchists, Moreno could only give his full confidence to one man, his
old friend and companion, Maurice Farquhar.
As a matter of fact, Rossett never knew what had really taken place that
night. He was never told that Moreno knew of his projected visit to
Isobel that evening, from a random remark of hers dropped in the
afternoon--that he had set Somoza and another tall Biscayan fisherman to
follow him, for the purpose of bringing him to the house where the heads
of the anarchist movement were assembled in solemn conclave.
Rossett walked gaily along. He would have a precious hour with Isobel.
In a dark street two men came up behind him. One pinioned his arms from
behind. Somoza pressed a saturated handkerchief over his face. In a
few seconds the unfortunate young diplomatist was drugged and helpless.
A cab, driven by a member of the brotherhood, had crawled slowly after
the two men. As soon as the driver saw what had happened, he drove
rapidly up. The two powerful men lifted the inert body into the
vehicle. He was partially recovered when they halted at the house where
the tribunal of five was sitting to pronounce judgment on the man who
had dared to thwart their plans.
They locked him in a room adjoining that in which Contraras was
presiding over the deliberations of his five trusted lieutenants. After
locking him in securely, Somoza went to report the matter to Moreno.
His colleague, the other Biscayan fisherman, remained on guard outside
the closed door, for fear of untoward accidents. Rossett was a powerful
man.
Contraras, with his fine intellectual face, his hair in places turning
from iron-grey to white, looked the embodiment of dignified justice.
Perhaps, in his warped and fanatical mind, he believed he was.
He spoke in his most judicial accents. "Nobody shall ever say that he
has not had a fair trial, when brought up before the tribunal of the
brotherhood. We will wait an hour, if it is necessary, for this
misguided young man to recover his senses." Moreno, who had arrived the
last of the party, looked round with a sudden start. "Where is our
comrade, Violet Hargrave?"
Contraras hastened to explain. "Ah! of course you have not heard.
Alvedero went to bring her here, according to arrangement. He found her
stretched on the sofa, motionless and inanimate. He thinks she is in a
dying condition. He is going round to inquire after these proceedings
are over."
"This is very sad," said Moreno, in his gravest manner. "And she is
such a nice woman personally, and so devoted to the Cause, through the
influence of Jaques. I wonder,"--he cast an inquiring look at
Alvedero--"if, by any chance, she drinks or drugs. Many apparently nice
women do!" Alvedero shook his big head. "I doubt it. I should say a
seizure of some sort. Perhaps her heart is weak. She looks a little
fragile."
Moreno, for obvious reasons, did not pursue the subject. Violet
Hargrave's absence had evidently excited no comment, no suspicion.
A quarter of an hour had elapsed. Somoza was deputed to enter the
locked room and ascertain the condition of the prisoner. Contraras was
resolved to proceed justly, according to his interpretation of the word
justice.
Somoza returned after his inspection, and reported that the effects of
the saturated handkerchief had worn off. Guy Rossett was in a sense
clothed in his right mind. He was fit to face the tribunal.
The members of the conclave assumed masks. Somoza had worn a mask when
he had entered the locked room. Whatever happened, it was essential
that Guy Rossett should not be able to identify any one of them.
The prisoner, or captive, whatever he might be called, was brought in.
In the cab he had been bound securely round the legs and wrists, but not
painfully. He was assisted to a chair by the masked Somoza, where he
sat facing his judges.
His face was a little pale, due to the effects of the chloroform, but
his demeanour was firm. He felt himself in a very tight corner, but he
had been assured so often by Moreno that he need never despair. A good
angel, in the shape of Moreno himself, was watching over him.
He cast his glance rapidly over the masked men confronting him. Where
was the black-browed young journalist whom he had known in old days?
Yes, there on the right, nearest to the door. Had that position been
chosen by accident or design? He recognised at once the short, squat
figure. Through the holes of the mask, he could see the gleam of those
dark eyes. His demeanour would be more indomitable than ever.
Contraras opened the proceedings in his most judicial manner.
"Mr Rossett, you will recognise that you are now at the mercy of the
brotherhood, against whom for some time you have directed your
activities."
"Quite true," replied Guy Rossett in his curtest manner. Whatever fate
was in store for him, he was not going to knuckle under to this crew of
bloodthirsty ruffians.
Contraras continued in his calm, imperturbable manner.
"I cannot say that, up to the present, you have done us very much harm,
but still you are a menace to our schemes, our aspirations."
"I am pleased to hear that I am of sufficient importance to justify this
mock tribunal." Rossett waved his hand contemptuously at the masked men
sitting in judgment on him.
The eyes of Contraras flashed through his mask. He took his position
very seriously.
"Mr Rossett, let me advise you, in your own interests, not to carry
matters with too high a hand. Kindly recognise your position. If you
were seated in the Calle Fernando el Santo, I admit you would be top
dog. At the present moment the brotherhood, here in this obscure house,
in this obscure quarter of the city of Madrid, is in that enviable
situation."
A bitter retort was on Rossett's lips, but he thought he perceived an
almost imperceptible gesture of warning from the short, squat figure in
the corner near the door. He temporised.
"The fortunes of war, I admit, are with you, sir. I am sorry I have not
the advantage of knowing whom I have the honour to address."
Contraras was, at heart, a gentleman. He felt the sting of the rebuke.
"Mr Rossett, if you come into line with us to-night, I may deal with
you quite frankly. Before we separate, you may know as much about me as
I do about you."
There was an obvious movement on the part of Zorrilta and Alvedero.
They evidently thought their chief was going too far.
Contraras hushed the incipient rebellion with an authoritative wave of
his hand.
"Gentlemen, kindly leave me to deal with this matter. Mr Rossett and I
will understand each other in a very few moments."
He turned towards the young diplomatist, still undaunted in the midst of
this hostile crowd.
"Mr Rossett, you have much to lose by opposing us--perhaps life itself.
By withdrawing from this unequal contest--and, believe me, it is
unequal--you have much to gain."
"I am not so sure it is unequal," answered Guy Rossett stubbornly. He
had perceived too late the warning signal of Moreno, anxious that the
somewhat uncertain Contraras should not be deflected from his present
calm, judicial mood.
But Contraras kept his temper. "Mr Rossett, you are a young man, with
life, a happy and prosperous life, before you. I know a great deal
about you; it is my business to know much about other people. You are
engaged to a very charming girl, you will inherit a great fortune from a
wealthy aunt."
"And, if you could establish your principles," broke in Guy, speaking
with some heat, "you might take away from me my fiancee--you would
certainly rob me of my fortune."
But Contraras was still patient. He was trying to reason with this
obstinate young man, whose bold bearing moved his admiration.
"We cannot tell how the great Revolution will shape itself ultimately.
But let us deal with present facts. A charming girl is waiting for you,
longing for the moment when she can be your wife."
A shadow of pain passed over Guy's face. To-night, he had set out to
visit his beloved Isobel, and he had been snared.
Contraras watched him narrowly through the holes of his mask.
"And a big fortune will be yours very shortly. Are you prepared to give
up these advantages for the sake of thwarting the brotherhood?"
"I rather think I am. But tell me what you propose. I admit you are
arguing in a most temperate fashion. But you have something up your
sleeve all the time."
"I have," admitted Contraras frankly. "Mr Rossett, believe me, I have
no personal animosity against you, except as the tool of a decaying and
effete system. Come into line with me, and your bonds shall be loosed,
and you shall go forth a free man."
"Your conditions?" queried Rossett, in a hard voice.
"Take your solemn oath, no, give me your word as an English gentleman--I
will accept that--that you will resign your position at the Embassy, and
take no further action against the brotherhood."
He rose, and pointed at the door. "Give me that promise, Mr Rossett,
and you can walk out a free man."
If Guy hesitated a moment, his hesitation must be pardoned. In that
swift instant he thought of Isobel, anxiously waiting his arrival, his
dear sister Mary, anxious and troubled also, even his father, whose
maladroit interference in his affairs had sent him into this hotbed of
disaffection.
Then he spoke slowly and deliberately. "You invite me to dishonour
myself, in order to secure my own personal safety. My answer is, _No_.
Do your worst."
"You will not reconsider that decision, Mr Rossett?"
Guy shook his head. "No, a thousand times, no. Do what you like with
me. I am a defenceless man. You can murder me here, and probably hush
up your crime. But I shall be avenged--you can reckon on that."
Contraras rose, and paced the room in great agitation. He was a brave
man himself; he admired the quality of bravery in others. Fanatical and
resolute as he was, it went against the grain to condemn this young
Englishman to death, because he would not accept the dishonourable terms
offered to him.
"Mr Rossett, I wish to spare you. The brotherhood does not condemn in
haste." He turned to Somoza. "Take this gentleman to his room, and
bring him here in a quarter of an hour. Perhaps, by that time, he will
take a more reasonable view of his position."
"Come, senor, if you please," said the obedient Somoza, speaking through
his mask in the most polite accents. A Spaniard is always courteous,
even if he is about to murder you.
The fisherman bent down to assist his prisoner to rise, but before
Rossett was firmly on his legs, the short, squat figure of Moreno got up
from his chair. He laid his finger to his lips and looked round at the
assembly.
"Silence, gentlemen, for a moment! I am sure I heard the sound of a
whistle. Yes, there is another one. Did you catch it?"
No, nobody had caught it, except Moreno. He stole gently to the window,
and pulled the blind an inch aside. He dropped it hastily, and
staggered back in a state of extreme agitation. In that apparently
unconscious movement he had drawn nearer to the door.
"_Dios_!" he cried, in a shrill voice. "The house is surrounded. There
are dozens of men outside."
The pulling aside of the blind was a signal he had arranged with his
friend, the head of the Police. The pretence of the whistle was a
blind.
There was a heavy trampling on the stairs. Almost before he had ceased
speaking, the locked door was burst open to admit the members of the
police, with levelled revolvers covering the masked men.
Two of the unwelcome visitors seized Somoza and handcuffed him. A third
cut the secure but not painful ropes that bound Rossett, and conducted
him down the narrow staircase.
A cab was waiting; his guardian bundled the young man in.
Was it a dream? Isobel's soft arms were round him, Isobel's soft voice
was whispering to him.
"My darling, you are safe. Moreno has kept his promise."
Rossett was bewildered. No wonder! He had hardly yet recovered from
the effects of the drug which had been administered by Somoza. His head
fell back on her shoulder.
"Isobel, my dear sweetheart! You here! What does it mean?"
"It means that you are saved through Moreno, and my cousin Maurice
Farquhar." She felt it was no time to palter with the truth.
"Your cousin, Maurice Farquhar! What has he to do with it all?"
She was pleased to note that there was no suspicion in his tones, only
the expression of bewilderment.
"Oh, it would take hours to explain, but I will cut it as short as I
can. My cousin and Moreno are great friends. Maurice has come over
here to help him. I was expecting you to-night, as you will remember.
Maurice came round to explain that you had been kidnapped. He was
coming on here, as Moreno's lieutenant, to help the police. I implored
him to take me along, to welcome you when you escaped from them. He
consented, and here I am."
Guy clasped her in his arms. "You darling! And where is Mr Farquhar?
I would like to thank him."
Isobel beckoned to a man standing a little way in the shadow. He
advanced.
"Maurice, Guy wishes to thank you for all your share in this night's
work."
The two men exchanged a cordial handshake. Guy muttered his thanks.
"I would like to tell you to drive off straight away," said Farquhar.
"But you must wait a minute or two. There will be a third occupant of
this vehicle--our friend Moreno, who is going to pass the night at the
house of the Chief of Police. To-morrow he will go to England."
In the room from which Rossett had been conducted to his friendly
guardian, the head of the police was taking the situation in hand.
"Masks off, if you please, gentlemen," he cried out in stentorian tones.
The men turned hesitatingly to each other. But the levelled revolvers
had an eloquence that was very appealing. They tore off their masks and
flung them on the floor.
The chief scrutinised them in turn, offering audible comments.
"Ah, Contraras, the dark horse of the conspiracy, connected with the
Spanish nobility through your wife. I think I have met you at the
Court. Alvedero--ah, for some time you have been suspect. Zorrilta, I
know you well. Governor of the Province of Navarre."
He pointed to Somoza. "This gentleman I do not know. We shall find
something about him later on."
He turned to Moreno, who preserved an impassive demeanour.
"I have not the honour of knowing this gentleman, either," he said with
a splendid disregard of the truth, for which Moreno admired him
immensely. "But no doubt I shall shortly atone for my ignorance. I
shall have something to say to him later on."