Kitabı oku: «Whither Thou Goest», sayfa 16
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.”
He turned to his subordinates. “Handcuff them and take them along.”
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.”
Chapter Twenty Three
The next morning Guy Rossett and Farquhar were admitted to a private audience of the King. A gracious message had been transmitted to Moreno through the agency of the Chief of Police. It would not have been very politic on the part of that enterprising young man to show himself at the Palace.
His Majesty thanked them both warmly for their services, and was very interested in the details which they gave him of that eventful evening.
“I know England well, and love it,” he said. “As long as she breeds such sons as you, she will always remain the first of great nations. Last night’s work was good. My poor country will have a more peaceful time now that we have laid these bloodthirsty scoundrels by the heels.”
Moreno’s overpowering impulse was to get back to England as quickly as possible. But there was a certain duty to perform first. He must pay his promised visit to Violet Hargrave.
He called about eleven o’clock. He found her looking pale and languid from the effects of the powerful mixture he had given her.
“Pulling round?” he inquired as they shook hands. “I can see you are, but you won’t be quite yourself for a few hours. Well, tell me what happened. I arrived late at the meeting, and simply heard from Contraras that Alvedero had reported you were indisposed. But I learned no details, and, of course, did not press for any. Did they fetch a doctor to you? If so, what is his verdict?”
A faint smile spread over her pale face.
“He has only left a few minutes ago. He came to the conclusion that I dosed myself with drugs. I allowed him to believe that I did. Of course, I have never drugged in my life.”
“A very clever man, an ornament to his profession,” remarked Moreno drily. “Still, how the devil should he guess, being totally ignorant of the circumstances? And the symptoms were precisely those which would have been produced by a long course of drugging.”
Mrs Hargrave laid her hand upon his arm, and spoke in a serious voice.
“What of last night? There is nothing in the papers this morning. I have sent out for half a dozen. Tell me what happened.”
“The brotherhood has been defeated again.” He rehearsed the scene for her benefit, and came to the concluding portion.
“Just as they were about to remove Rossett, I distinctly heard a low whistle, that was repeated a few seconds later. I just pulled aside the curtain, and saw that the house was surrounded. I had hardly put the blind back when the door was burst open and the police swarmed in. They cut Rossett loose and took him downstairs. They covered us with revolvers, and made us take off our masks. The Chief who was with them recognised Contraras, Zorrilta, and Alvedero. Myself and Somoza he did not recognise.”
“Ah!” Violet Hargrave drew a long breath. “You were the only one who escaped, then? How did you manage it?”
“By a miracle. I always keep my head in a crisis. As soon as I heard them rushing up the stairs, I drew near to the door, hoping to escape in the confusion. It was, of course, a thousand to one chance. While all the attention was being concentrated on Contraras and the others – of course the Chief didn’t expect to bag such a big game – I drew my knife, plunged it into the breast of the man guarding the door – I fear I killed him, poor fellow – flew down the stairs, knocked over another chap, and dodged through them.”
Violet Hargrave surveyed him critically. “I am afraid you haven’t a very high opinion of my intelligence. That is the story you will tell to Luçue, Maceda, and Jaques when we meet again in London. It does not impose upon me. You have escaped right enough, but you escaped with the connivance of the police.”
Moreno bit his lip; he had presumed a little too much upon feminine incredulity.
“At any rate, you are not in their clutches,” he said quietly. “I saved you. Don’t forget that.”
She reached out her hand. “Please forgive me. I am very grateful for what you have done. Of course, if I had gone there you could not have saved me. I should have been taken with the others. You could save Guy Rossett and yourself, even your clever brain could not have taken in a third. I repeat, I am very grateful.”
Moreno retained her hand in his. Secretive as he was by nature, he felt that the time for dissimulation was past.
“When we get to London – I am leaving to-night, and the sooner we make tracks the better – we will respect each other’s secrets. I have still in my possession the photographed copy of that document which you sold to Guy Rossett.”
She drew away her hand from his with an indignant gesture.
“Oh, you think I am utterly, irretrievably base!” she cried bitterly. “You think I would betray you, after what you have done for me, saved me from death or a life-long imprisonment.” She broke into wild sobbing.
He put his arm round her, and drew her gently towards him, till her crying ceased.
“My poor little Violet,” he whispered gently. “Let us speak together quite frankly. You are, on your own showing, an adventuress, with, I believe, some very womanly instincts. Well, I am not quite sure that I am very much better. You sold the Cause for money. I sold it for money, too, plus conviction. I wonder if we could turn over a new leaf, lead a new life together?”
“If I could find somebody who really cared for me,” cried the pretty little blonde woman, still tearful. “Jaques loves me, I am sure, but just with the love of a father.”
“Well, I care for you,” said Moreno, and this time he spoke without any reservation.
Violet lifted her face to his, and their lips met. Then she shivered.
“But how can we escape from this horrible brotherhood? Luçue and Jaques are left. They will exact their pound of flesh. They will snare us into equally dangerous enterprises.”
Moreno snapped his fingers. “Bah! If I have outwitted Contraras and the others, I will soon settle Luçue’s hash. As to poor old Jaques, it won’t take long to convince him that he is more safely employed in earning a hundred per cent, on his capital than in trying to blow up respectable people who have certainly never injured him. The fate of the others will frighten him.”
Violet drew herself from his protecting arm, and dried her eyes.
“I think, dear, I can really turn into a good woman,” she said plaintively. “You see, I have never had a proper chance. When I married Jack, and I was genuinely fond of him, I thought I had met a gentleman. Can you guess what he really was?”
“A card-sharper?” suggested Moreno, with his uncanny facility of guessing conundrums.
Mrs Hargrave nodded her blonde head.
“You have hit it. A week after we were married he told me all about himself. We were to take an expensive flat in Mount Street, and he would bring people there. He spent three weeks in teaching me an elaborate system of signalling. As a rule, we played together, but he had another couple of confederates to ward off suspicion.”
“Did you tell Jaques of this?”
“No, I was too ashamed. Jaques is, of course, a rogue in his own way, but not that way. He was opposed to the marriage at first, and I was keen on it. I made out that Jack was a man of good family, and well-off. I believed all he told me at the start. I didn’t want to own that I had been taken in.”
“I quite understand,” replied Moreno. “By the way, of course you didn’t know that poor old Contraras is dead.”
“Contraras dead? How did he die?”
“It appears that he always carried some poisoned tablets in his pocket in case of accidents. Before they handcuffed him – they are a bit slower here than in Paris or London – he swallowed one of them, and died as they took him downstairs. Poor old man! He was a terrible fanatic, but he was more honest than most of them. I don’t suppose there will be much mourning in Fitzjohn’s Avenue. I expect his family will be glad to have got rid of him.”
He kissed her very tenderly, as he bade her good-bye.
“A new life, little woman, from to-day?”
“A new life from to-day,” she repeated softly, “as long as I am sure that you really care.”
“I do care,” replied Moreno, speaking with unusual fervour for a man of his cautious temperament.
Of the London section of the brotherhood little remains to be told. Shortly afterwards Luçue was stabbed to death in a violent quarrel with a brother anarchist. Jaques and Maceda, alarmed at the fate of their Spanish colleagues, took but a perfunctory part in further propaganda. In twelve months’ time the London section had ceased to exist as an active force.
On a mellow October day, a few months after those thrilling events in Madrid, Isobel was married in the quiet little church on her uncle’s estates. It was in this church that her father had been christened. Her bridesmaids were Lady Mary and two cousins. Her uncle, the head of the family, gave her away.
For the Head of the Family and his wife had behaved quite properly on the occasion. They had insisted that she should be married from their house, that she should have the whole-hearted support of her kindred.
Such an arrangement suited her very well. Her bereavement had been so recent that the idea of a fashionable wedding would have been repugnant to her. Here in this quiet little church, where generations of Clandons had been christened, many of them married, she gave herself to the man of her choice.
With the advent of his great-aunt’s considerable fortune, Guy’s brief fit of ambition died out. And it must be admitted that, although he had stuck gallantly to his post, and refused to show the white feather, his experience of diplomatic life had been more exciting than pleasant. So he severed his connection with the Foreign Office, having made up his mind to lead the easy and agreeable life of a man of wealth and position.
They were to spend their honeymoon in Italy. On their return, they would renovate Aunt Henrietta’s charming country residence in Hampshire and take a house in London, where they intended to spend a good deal of their time.
For Guy was very proud of his beautiful Isobel, and he could see a time when she would become a very charming and popular hostess.
The young couple drove away amidst the cordial greetings of the small company assembled. Only a few intimate connections of the two families were present.
Moreno had been invited, but he had excused himself on some plausible pretext. He had no desire to thrust himself into an aristocratic milieu, to which he was unaccustomed. He sent the bride a very handsome present, with a card on which was written: “From Andres Moreno, as a souvenir of thrilling times in Spain.”
While Lord Saxham was saying good-bye to the Clandons, Maurice Farquhar conducted Lady Mary to the car which was to drive them back to Ticehurst Park, a distance of about fifty miles.
“You will not forget that you are due to us on the twenty-fifth,” she reminded him as they shook hands.
“Is it likely? I have been looking forward to it ever since you sent me the invitation.”
“I am looking forward to it, too,” said Mary softly, and a rather becoming colour swept over her cheek, making her look quite attractive.
The Earl joined them and mounted the car. He waved his hand cheerfully as they drove off. “Not good-bye, but au revoir, Farquhar. See you on the twenty-fifth.”
He watched the car drive out of sight, thinking of many things. He had loved Isobel with all the fervour of first love, but Isobel was gone from him. And Mary was very sweet and attractive, and took no pains to conceal that she took great pleasure in his society. Well – perhaps some day!
But even in his secret thought the young and ambitious barrister could hardly bring himself to believe that a girl of Mary’s birth and long descent would give herself to a man who had only his brains to recommend him.
Still, this younger generation of the Rossetts had a strange democratic strain in them. Guy had chosen his bride from the small squirearchy. It was openly rumoured in the clubs that, having come into a snug little income from great-aunt Henrietta, Lord Ticehurst had made up his mind to marry his chorus-girl, and defy his father.
Lady Mary had also been well provided for from the same kind source. She might prove as democratic as the others.
And, while Farquhar was ruminating over all these things, Isobel and her husband had set out on the first stage of their journey to the enchanted land of wedded romance.
