Whither Thou Goest

closely associated,"--sheshot at him a coquettish glance--"whether you desire it or not."

  A man wholly Spanish on his father's side was not likely to be deficientin gallantry.

  "There is nothing I desire more, Mrs Hargrave. Apart from theimportance of our common aims and aspirations, there is nothing in ourbrief association with the brotherhood that has given me greaterpleasure than the fact that I have been enabled to make youracquaintance."

  They hailed a passing taxi, stepped in, and drove to the flat in MountStreet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  Two men sat at a small table in an inferior restaurant in one of thelower quarters of Madrid.

  One was dressed in the rough garb of a working-man. This was AndresMoreno, who, in his adventurous life, had played many parts. With hissardonic humour he was enjoying this particular role. The danger thathe ran added a spice to his enjoyment.

  The other man, Guy Rossett, was disguised also, but not quite sosuccessfully. Moreno, due to his birth, could never be mistaken foranything but a Spaniard. On the other hand, Rossett could be easilyrecognised as a member of the bulldog race, a typical Englishman.

  That morning, at the Embassy, a note had been delivered by a trustedmessenger. It was a very brief one, and ran thus:

  "Dear Mr Rossett,--You will remember a certain evening at the Savoy,when you were dining with your sister, a young lady whose name I willnot mention, and her father. My host came over and spoke with you allfor a few seconds. I am in Spain on important business. I should liketo have a brief chat with you this afternoon."

  The writer had suggested the meeting in one of the unfashionablequarters of the town.

  He had appended his initials in a scrawling fashion. But at oncerecollection had come to Guy Rossett. He remembered that eveningdistinctly, when Maurice Farquhar had come over to their table, whenGeneral Clandon had expressed his displeasure at his nephew's associate,a man of whom Guy had some recollection.

  The scrawling initials might have stood for anything. But Rossettdeciphered them at once. The writer was Andres Moreno, a member of theSecret Service, also often in the pay of Scotland Yard.

  Guy called for a bottle of wine. Not trusting to the cigars of thecountry, he produced his own case, and proffered it to the pretendedworking-man. Moreno waved it away.

  "We will have cigarettes, if you please," he said, in a low voice."Very keen eyes are watching us here. If you dangle that case muchlonger, they will put you down as a rich English milord. We may have tomeet here often, and we want to avoid that. You see, I pose as a humbleand unprosperous working-man."

  Rossett bowed to his companion's superior judgment. Moreno knew theropes better than he did. Cigarettes were called for, and then theSpaniard opened the ball. He spoke in French, in very low tones.

  "Your friends did not do you a very good service in sending you here,Mr Rossett. At the present moment, yours is a very dangerous post."

  Rossett did not reply without reflecting. He knew enough of this man toknow that he was a trusted member of the Secret Service. But he wasintelligent enough to know that, in spite of certain walks in life,nobody can be entirely trusted.

  "Do you mind explaining a little more fully," he said cautiously.

  Moreno smiled pleasantly. He appreciated the other's caution. Rossetthad a frank, open countenance, but he was not so innocent as he looked.

  "My dear sir, I will lay my cards on the table with pleasure. I know agood deal about the Foreign Office and its ways. Greatorex sent youover here because you happen to have come into possession of a good dealof useful information about the anarchist business in this country. AmI right?" Guy nodded. "So far, you are right."

  It was a long time before Moreno spoke again. He wanted to touch upon adelicate question, and he was not sure how far he might venture. If hesaid what he wanted to say, he was making use of the private informationthat was given him by Maurice Farquhar. Of course, Moreno, with hisswift intuition, had arrived at the conclusion that family influence hadbeen at the back of Rossett's promotion, for certain private reasons.

  "I take it also that your father, Lord Saxham, had something to do withthis appointment." Rossett flushed, and spoke haughtily. He thoughtthis cosmopolitan was presuming.

  "I am not aware that my father had anything to do with the matter."

  Moreno assented blandly. "Perhaps, but excuse me for saying that yourfamily might desire to remove you from the society of a certain verycharming young lady, in whose company I saw you that night at theSavoy."

  "What do you know, or guess?" asked Rossett angrily.

  "Please, Mr Rossett, do not be irate with me. Believe me I am yourfriend and well-wisher. I cannot tell you as much as I would wish, for,in the double role I am playing, I have to be very cautious."

  "Please go on," said Rossett, a little mollified by the evidentsincerity of his companion.

  "For certain reasons which I am not at liberty to divulge, I take aninterest in the young lady, who, I am sure, is devoted to you, and towhom I am sure you are equally devoted. I should also be pleased to beof service to yourself. You know that I am a member of the SecretService, and that I regard every Englishman as under my care."

  "Yes, I know that," assented Rossett a little grudgingly. Like hischief, Mr Stonehenge, he had a rooted distrust of all foreign nations.Was this man playing a double game? Anyway, he seemed to be remarkablywell informed.

  "I suppose you would think it impertinent if I proffered you some verygood advice?" was the Spaniard's startling question.

  Rossett stared at him. Andres Moreno was most certainly a veryextraordinary person. And yet there was a certain fascination about theman which enabled him to take extraordinary liberties.

  "I will tell you when you have offered it," answered the young diplomatcurtly.

  A greasy-looking waiter came up and hovered about the table. Evidentlyhe was wanting to listen to the conversation. Moreno waved him angrilyaway, speaking in Spanish.

  "One of the gang," he whispered to Rossett. "The city is honeycombedwith them. Perhaps he understands French; we will speak English."

  He paused a moment before he spoke again.

  "My advice to you is to clear out of this as quickly as you can, on somepretext or another. Write a private note to Greatorex to recall you;mention my name, he knows me well. Tell your father to pretend to beill, and get leave of absence to go to his bedside. You understand."

  "Why should I do this?" queried Guy sharply. Moreno looked at himsteadily. "Go home as I advise you, and marry the girl you love. Stayhere, and this country, fair as it looks to outward seeming, is likelyto provide you with a grave."

  For a second, Rossett's face blanched. He was young, and death seemedfar distant. The ominous words of his companion had brought it verynear.

  "Why, why?" he stammered. His glance sought the sinister figure of theeavesdropping waiter hovering in the background.

  Moreno looked in the same direction. "You see that scoundrel yonder,whom I chased away just now. He carries a knife always with him; so dohundreds of his fellow ruffians. You are in the black books of thebrotherhood. There are several looking out for an opportunity to putyou out of the way, because you know too much of them and their doings.Take my advice, and clear out. If you stop here, you have only a dog'schance."

  Rossett spoke slowly and distinctly, the sturdy bulldog breed assertingitself. "I am sure you mean well. But do you think I would run awaybefore this cowardly pack? Let them do their worst."

  "Think of the girl you love," pleaded Moreno pensively. He thought theyoung man was a bit of a fool, but he could not help admiring him.

  A spasm of pain crossed Rossett's face. On the one hand, home and love,Isobel Clandon for his wife. On the other, flight before the dagger ofthe anarchist assassin. Was there any doubt as to the choice, to a manof his breed?

  "I will stay," he said doggedly. "And, if I put the issue to her,Isobel would say the same. I w
ill stay, and, with your help, I will winthrough to safety."

  Moreno at this juncture could not help swaggering a little. "You havethe best brains of the Secret Service at your disposal," he said, "butyou are a heavy charge, Mr Rossett. I should be much happier if youwere back in England."

  "I go back in honour, not as a fugitive," answered Guy quietly, as thetwo men walked together out of the restaurant.

  "If that man had known who you were," observed Moreno, as they passedthe waiter, "he would have slipped the knife into your ribs. Adieu, myfriend. As you have chosen to stay here, we shall meet often. I shalllet you know how things are going on."

  And then, as they were parting, Rossett suddenly arrested him with aquestion.

  "But, I say, how do you justify your existence here?