Contraras was very gracious to his two subordinates. Whatever his defects, he had the true note of Spanish courtesy.
He turned first to Violet Hargrave. “I have just come from London, where I met our dear friend Jaques. He inquired most tenderly after you, and sent through me his kindest remembrances.”
Violet looked very pleased. If there was a tender spot in her heart, it was for the old moneylender, who had been a father to her. She flushed a little; quite a soft light came into her eyes.
“That was very sweet of him. He really has a heart of gold, dear old Juan,” she said softly.
Moreno looked at her curiously. He had not got to the bottom of her yet. A hardened adventuress, pure and simple—that was how he had first judged her. But her kindly mention of Jaques, “an old shark of the first water,” as the young journalist classed him in his own mind, revealed something that he had not credited her with. Had she, after all, a capacity for emotion, did she possess any real womanly instincts?
Contraras next addressed himself to Moreno.
“I also met in London our comrade Luçue, the man who introduced you to the brotherhood.”
“Ah, what a great man!” cried Moreno, with the fervour of a new and enthusiastic recruit. “The only man, in my opinion, who would ever be worthy to wear your mantle, if ever it should drop from your shoulders. May that day be far distant!” he added piously.
Contraras, ever pleased with a little judicious flattery, became more amiable than ever. The glance he bent upon the young journalist was almost a benevolent one.
“Luçue speaks very highly of you, and I have always had the greatest confidence in his judgment. He tells me, and, as he did not say it in confidence, I can repeat it, you expressed your opinion that we made a mistake in allowing Valerie to undertake the great coup. You added that if you had been entrusted with it, you would have brought it off.”