that, in herpresent mood, Violet Hargrave was perfectly prepared to be made love to.It was not the first time it had occurred to him that this woman ofmixed nationality like himself was more than usually attracted by him.
But although he was one of the vainest men living in certain respects,notably in the high estimate in which he always held his own capacityand mental qualities, still in other matters he was fairly modest.Every man can get some woman to fall in love with him, or, at any rate,to profess affection. Some day he would come across a woman whom hecould impress sufficiently to justify him in asking her to marry him.For the time would come when, like other men, even of the most rovingdisposition, he would want to say good-bye to adventure and settle downquietly.
As regards his personal appearance, he was quite a just anddispassionate critic. He could look in the glass and sum up the generalverdict that would be passed by the opposite sex. In appearance he wasrather short and squat. His features, somewhat irregular, were redeemedfrom plainness by a pair of very brilliant dark eyes, and a perfect setof strong white teeth.
Still, he had not the makings of a Don Juan in him; he was not the sortof man whose path was likely to be strewn with conquests; not the typeof man, like Guy Rossett, for instance, on whom most women looked with akindly eye, even on their first acquaintance.
Under ordinary circumstances, Violet's attitude could hardly bemisinterpreted. The misty eyes raised appealingly to his, the softinflections in her voice said as plainly as words could speak that herewas a woman fully ready to respond at the first hint from him.
But he was very cautious; he felt he must proceed warily. He must neverforget that this woman had been, more or less, an adventuress from hergirlhood, the associate of desperate and callous men, who hesitated atnothing in the attainment of their objects. Not so very long ago, shehad exulted in the prospect of obtaining a terrible revenge, throughothers, on the man she had once professed to love.
Why had she turned, so suddenly, as it seemed, from this vengeance, hadalmost said that she no longer desired revenge? In an ordinary woman,the explanation would have been simple. Rossett now no longer arousedher love or hate because she had found a new lover in Moreno himself.
Always severe to himself in these purely personal matters, he askedhimself the candid question if a woman so attractive as she undoubtedlywas could turn from a man of Rossett's physical advantages to himself?
Years ago, he had loved devotedly a simple little girl with nopretensions to beauty or great charm, possessing only averageintelligence. He had loved her for her sweet nature, her goodqualities. And she had loved him in return.
But this was an entirely different matter. That poor little dead girl,still a very tender memory, had never had any other lover but himself.Violet Hargrave, with her powers of fascination, her blonde prettiness,her quick mentality, must have had many men at her feet.
Did the foreign element in him attract the foreign element in her? Itmight be so, but he could not be sure of that. In many things he wasmore Spanish in thought and feeling than English, but she was moreEnglish than Spanish in everything, of that he was convinced.
Had he been a few years younger, had he enjoyed less experience in life,have thought less over social problems, anarchist doctrines might haveappealed to him very strongly. He was sure they would never appeal toher, the English strain in her was too strong.
When he spoke, he put a very leading question.
"I have often wondered whether you are really greatly interested in theCause? Whether the methods we have to adopt are not somewhat repugnantto you?"
He looked at her very steadfastly. He judged her to be an admirableactress, but he noticed she did not meet his glance. Perhaps if she wasreally attracted by him, as she seemed to be, it was not so easy to act.
She spoke a little nervously. "What on earth has made you think that?Why should I be here if I were not sincere? I joined the organisationof my own free will. Juan Jaques, who was my sponsor, explainedeverything very clearly to me."
Moreno spoke lightly. "You have been comfortably off for many years,and you are more English than foreign. Anarchist principles don't takedeep root in English soil."
"My father was a revolutionary at heart, although not an active one,"she said hastily. "Of course, I don't suppose my mother thought aboutsuch things."
Moreno was too polite to say he did not believe in that little fictionabout her father. This derelict parent might not have had a very greatlove for the social institutions from which he did not derive muchbenefit. But from a natural dissatisfaction with his own lot toprofessed anarchy was a long step.
"It runs in the blood naturally, then, that I can understand. Still, itpuzzles me. Women don't think very seriously about these matters--or,at any rate, only a very few of them. And women of means are hardlylikely to be keen on upsetting a world in which they are fairlycomfortable, in favour of a new dispensation, the results of which arehighly problematical."
She fenced with him a little longer. "Why are you so sure I wascomfortably off?" she queried.
"I think you must have forgotten what you told me. Your husband mademoney through the good offices of Jaques, and that money became yours.That flat in Mount Street was not run on a small income."
She became a little agitated under his rather ruthless cross-examinationand suggestions.
"The money that was left me was not enough to support me comfortably. Ihad to turn to other means of support."
"You would not care to tell me what they were?" Of course he had heardrumours about that Mount Street establishment, that the host and hostesswere suspiciously lucky at cards. The man, at any rate, had alwayssuffered from a shady reputation.
She became more agitated. "Yes, it is quite simple. I have beenwell-paid for my services by Jaques."
"Then it was simply money that induced you to join the brotherhood?"
"Money, combined with my natural sympathy with their objects."
Moreno appeared to accept the explanation. Jaques seemed, then, to havepaid her handsomely for her services. But evidently he had not paid herenough, or she would not have trafficked with Guy Rossett and sold himimportant secrets.
It was some little time before he spoke again, and then he played histrump card.
He left the personal question altogether, and spoke of the affairs ofthe brotherhood.
"There must be traitors amongst us," he said presently, "although I donot think they are to be found in Spain--so many things have leakedout."
"Yes." She spoke very quickly. "There was the failure of poor ValerieDelmonte. Do you think there was treachery there?"
"I rather doubt it," answered Moreno easily. "My theory has always beenthat she drew suspicion on herself by her inexperience, her amateurishmethods, her suspicious movements when she got inside the Palace. Ifthe job had been entrusted to me, with my steady nerves, I think Ishould have been successful. I boasted as much to Contraras, and Isuppose that is the reason he has given me this job."
Violet was silent. Moreno went on smoothly.
"But with regard to that affair of Guy Rossett, the information he gotwhich, for the moment, frustrated our plans--that was clearly the workof a traitor. That happened just before I came on the scene, but Lucuehas told me all about it."
He was looking at her very steadfastly. She was trying to avoid hisgaze, but those dark, brilliant eyes of his drew her lighter ones with acertain mesmeric power.
She was not acting well to-night, he thought. There crept into hertroubled glance a shadow of fear. She tried to speak lightly,indifferently, but her voice broke and faltered, in spite of her effortsat self-control.
"It seems like it. Have you any idea of who the traitor was?"
Moreno rose and walked over to the little shabby sofa, typical furnitureof the mean lodgings, where she sat. He flung at her the directchallenge.
"It is not a question of having an idea. _I know_." She laughedhysterically; she hardly knew wha
t she was saying. "You think you know,perhaps. Probably you have been led to suspect the wrong person."
"Not when I have seen the actual memoranda, not when I have a photographof that memoranda in my possession, to show, if necessary, toContraras."
For a moment she seemed paralysed. All the colour left her cheeks. Shecould only clasp her hands together and moan piteously.
Moreno spoke quite gently. "Violet Hargrave, you haven't an ounce offight left in you. Give in and own you sold those secrets to GuyRossett. I expect he paid a handsome sum for them--and probably becauseyou sold them, you lost your lover."
She burst into a fit of wild sobbing, and threw herself at his feet.She had not the heroic spirit of Valerie Delmonte. She was only a verycommonplace adventuress, with a well-defined streak of cowardice in her.Like Madame Du Barri, she would have gone shrieking to her death.
"Are you going to denounce me?" she cried wildly.
Moreno was a kind-hearted man. To an extent he despised her, althoughhe was half in love with her. But he could not but feel pitiful at thespectacle of her abject terror.
"That depends," he said quietly. "It is quite possible we may drive abargain."
Reassured by those conciliatory words, the woman speedily recovered herself-control. She rose from her kneeling attitude, brushed the tearsfrom her eyes, adjusted her disordered hair. As long as she escapedwith life, she would consent to any bargain.
What a mercy she had not been found out by Contraras, or some equallyimplacable and fanatical member of the brotherhood! In that case, hershrift would have been very short. This black-browed young man, born ofa Spanish father and an English mother, had this much of the Englishstrain in him, that he leaned to the side of mercy.
"How did you find out? How did you suspect?" were her first words whenshe had recovered herself.
"What first led me to suspect. I cannot quite explain--it was a sort ofintuition. When I once suspected, the rest was easy."
"It was Guy Rossett who gave me away?" she cried, and an angry gleamcame into her eyes.
Moreno looked at her a little contemptuously.
"And you have known this man well, and loved him! Are you not ashrewder judge of human nature than to harbour such a suspicion? Why,Rossett is just that dogged type of Englishman who would rather be putto death than betray a confidence."
Violet looked a little ashamed. "But if not from him, how did youobtain your information?"
"That is my affair. When I have quite assured myself that I can trustyou, I may tell you. It suffices that I hold in my possession thephotograph of that document. By the way, you lost your head when yougave yourself away like that, because your handwriting is known toseveral. Why did you not dictate your notes to Rossett and let him takethem down? Then you might never have been found out."
"I know I was a fool," answered Mrs Hargrave bitterly. "I suppose allcriminals make mistakes at times. I was terribly hard up at the time; Iwas in desperate want of money. I pitched a plausible tale to Guy,which I believe he swallowed at the time."
"Ah!" said Moreno. Then it was not on account of this transaction thatRossett had broken off his relations with the pretty widow. The causewas no doubt to be sought in Isobel Clandon.
"I pretended that a Spaniard whom I had known in my youth was ready toturn traitor for a handsome consideration. He had confided these notesto me, and I had taken them down from his dictation. Of course, I oughtto have done as you said. I was so eager for the money that I did notstop to think."
"And you are quite sure that Rossett did not suspect you of being amember of the brotherhood?"
"Positive. He is not naturally a suspicious man, not like yourself, forinstance. I pretended that this man, the imaginary man, was an oldfriend of my father's, that he hated the whole business and wanted toget out of it."
Moreno pondered a little. In spite of her physical attraction for him,she was a pretty bad character on her own admissions. She had owned hergreat obligations to Jaques, who, rascal that he was, had been herbenefactor. And yet she was ready to sell Jaques and the Cause he heldso dear at heart for ready money. Was it possible a woman with thisunscrupulous and predatory temperament could ever become a reformedcharacter? And, if so, was he a likely man to bring about the miracle?Passionate love might work wonders, but was she not a little past theage of passionate love?
"Let us come to the point," he said abruptly. "I take it you no longerdesire what we politely term the `removal' of Guy Rossett."
"Certainly not. I don't know that I ever really desired it."
Moreno raised his hand. "Don't forget that night at the flat in MountStreet."
"I know, I remember perfectly. I gave you a very bad impression ofmyself. I was angry, humiliated, bitterly jealous of a younger womanwho had taken him from me."
Moreno thought he understood. "And the Spanish side came uppermostthen. You could have run a dagger into the pair of them at the moment,and perhaps after you had done it, sat down and wept because you hadkilled the man. I don't suppose you would have shed a tear over thewoman--she would have deserved her fate."
Violet was recovering herself fast. The colour had come back into hercheeks. She looked at him admiringly.
"You seem to know something of my delightful sex," she said, with afaint smile. Then, after a pause, she added, "And you want to drive abargain with me, don't you, in return for not denouncing me?"
Moreno assented. "You are quite right. You say you now don't desirethe removal of Rossett. To be quite frank, no more do I."
She looked at him sharply out of her tear-dimmed eyes, red and swollenwith the violent weeping of a few seconds ago.
"But why do you wish to spare Guy Rossett? You say you are a true sonof the Revolution."
"I am," replied Moreno composedly. "I am with certain reservations."He felt he could not trust her too implicitly yet. "When they attackthe Heads, the great ones of the earth, I am in the heartiest sympathywith them--that is the way to obtain our ends. But I draw the line atmaking martyrs of the small fry, the mere instruments, the humble toolsof the despotic system. I think it brings justly deserved odium on us.To remove an inoffensive person like Rossett is worse than a crime, itis a blunder. If the great Revolution is coming, how can a feebleperson like him stop its impetuous course?"
Violet Hargrave listened attentively. When was he going to suggest theterms of the bargain?
"Will you help me to save young Rossett? It is the price of my silence.You can do nothing against me. Whatever innuendos or suggestions youmight make, if such occur to you, would not weigh a moment against thedamning evidence in my possession. They would only regard it as thefrantic action of a guilty woman, trying to save herself from theirvengeance."
He thought it wise to rub this in. He did not believe she was veryclever, but she was cunning. He wanted to divert her from any idea ofattempting to readjust the situation to her own advantage.
"You show me very plainly you don't trust me, by that somewhatunnecessary warning," she said a little bitterly. She was hardenedenough, heaven knows, but the distrust of the man she had grown to carefor hurt her more than she liked to admit.
"I am not quite a fool," she added. "You have the whip-hand of me, Iadmit frankly. If I thought to match myself against you, and bluff itout, I recognise I have not a dog's chance. Yes, I am willing to helpyou to save Guy Rossett. But I would like you to tell me why you wantso particularly to save him."
But Moreno was not going to satisfy her curiosity. He gave her one ofhis reasons.
"Because I hate and loathe unnecessary bloodshed," was his answer.
There was a long pause, during which Violet's mind worked rapidly.
"Are you very sure in your own mind how you are going to save him?" sheasked presently. "I mean, so that we can go scot free."
Self would always be the predominating note, he thought. Well, perhapsthat was natural.
He tapped his forehead sig
nificantly.
"I have pretty well worked it out here; there are just a few details tobe filled in. With regard to our own personal safety, I feel prettyconfident I shall be unsuspected. As for you, I will guarantee it. Iwill see you every day, as my plans develop."
Violet rose to say good night. There was genuine admiration in herglance, as she held out her hand.
"I believe you are a very wonderful man," she said, in a tone ofconviction.
Moreno smiled, well pleased with the delicate flattery. He always had akindly feeling towards anybody who praised his mental qualities.
He saw her to the door. As they parted, she lifted up her face.
"You would not care to kiss a woman of my type--bad, selfish andunscrupulous as you know me to be?" she said boldly.
For a second he hesitated. Then he kissed her lightly on her palecheek. He could not bring himself yet to touch her lips.
"Anyway, you are going to do a good thing now," he said, as she passedout.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
During these hot summer days, poor Isobel lived in alternate fits ofhope and despair.
Guy visited her every day. He always seemed very cheerful, full ofoptimism. The forces of law and order must prevail; these madanarchists, well organised as they were, and led by a most subtle brain,would be defeated very shortly. Once the Heads were taken, the movementwould suffer a speedy eclipse.
But at times it seemed to her quick woman's ears that there was a falsenote in his cheerful tones, that he was not so certain of the ultimateresult as he pretended to be.
Moreno came to see her every day too. She had conceived a strong
Whither Thou Goest Page 38