Moreno all the time had been edging nearer to the door. Suddenly he
pulled out a knife, and hurled himself at the man who was guarding it.
The man went down before the apparently savage onslaught. Moreno rushed
down the stairs.
"After him," yelled the Chief. "Don't let that man escape."
Three of the waiting men clattered down the stairs after the flying
Moreno. They returned a few moments later, crestfallen. They explained
that he had flown like the wind, that they had lost him in the darkness.
The Chief swore roundly, and cursed them. "Dolts, idiots!" he cried
fiercely. "You have let him slip through your fingers. I believe he is
the most dangerous man of the lot."
He was certainly playing his part splendidly. It had, of course, all
been rehearsed. The man on whom Moreno had sprung had fallen down of
his own accord. The men who had been dispatched to pursue him had lost
him on purpose.
Farquhar met him at the door of the shabby house and piloted him to the
cab in which Guy Rossett and Isobel were seated.
"Here is the third passenger," he said. Moreno got in and looked
triumphantly at the two. "Well, what do you think of the English Secret
Service?" he cried in exultant tones. "Mr Rossett is saved, I have
escaped without suspicion, and my good friend the Chief of Police will
make a splendid haul upstairs. He played up splendidly. Well, I think,
after to-night the anarchist movement will have a big set-back in
Spain."
The cab drove along. Isobel was deposited at the Godwins'. Rossett was
put down at his own flat. Moreno was conveyed to the residence of the
Chief of Police, where he was to pass the night.
A telegram was awaiting Guy. It was from his sister Mary.
"I was summoned to Aunt Henrietta this morning. She had passed away
before I arrived."