Moreno joined his companions. He addressed them in his usual easy fashion.
“Couldn’t get much out of him. I should say he was quite a harmless old chap, full of good works. He seemed very concerned that I should be drinking at a place like the ‘Concha.’ He gave me some very good advice. I don’t think he has brains enough to be a spy.”
The other two men laughed. Moreno had carried the affair off so well that they believed him implicitly.
Then Alvedero spoke seriously.
“This affair of Guy Rossett was very pressing.” He turned to Moreno and Violet Hargrave. “I daresay you know that Luçue has delegated this matter to me, as being on the spot.”
The two members of this conclave of four bowed; they had gathered this much before they left England.
“Yesterday, however, I had instructions from our great leader, Contraras,” pursued Alvedero; he uttered the name of his chief in accents of profound reverence. “The affair of Guy Rossett has, for the moment, sunk into comparative insignificance. There is bigger game afoot.”
“Ah!” breathed Moreno eagerly. True to his histrionic instinct, he was playing the rôle of enthusiast very well.
Violet Hargrave, who was never very enthusiastic, thought it well to imitate him, and leaned forward as if eager to catch the next words from the great man’s lips.
Alvedero spoke slowly. “As you know, in difficult times, we have to proceed with great caution—I cannot divulge all that Contraras has entrusted me with to-day. To-morrow Valerie Delmonte will be over here! We will meet at the same place and the same hour.”