“Ah,” said Farquhar, with affected carelessness—that name had still power to thrill him in spite of Lady Mary. “Did you find her quite well?”
“Perfectly, so far as her health is concerned, but naturally full of doubts and fears. I told her you were here; she was, of course, greatly surprised. She expressed a wish to see you.” This, of course, was not the strict truth, but Moreno always wanted to make everybody feel happy and comfortable.
A pleased expression stole over the man’s face. “Oh, she said that, did she?”
Moreno did not answer the question directly.
“I pointed out to her that, in my opinion, such a meeting might be extremely dangerous, and that it is essential you should lie very low.”
Farquhar accepted the glib explanation. Moreno had one of the greatest qualities of a diplomatist, that he could impress nearly everybody with his sincerity.
Next morning the two men interviewed the Chief of Police, or rather the Chief of Police, by appointment, interviewed them at the journalist’s modest lodgings. In the course of that interview many things were explained at length.
Moreno, always cautious, always on the look out for accidents, stood by the window, keeping a vigilant eye on passers-by. Farquhar and the Chief sat at the far end of the room.
Suddenly he espied the tall form of Contraras nearing the house. He bundled his guests into his bedroom. “The old devil! I had a suspicion he might turn up. It is quite safe here. If I give a loud whistle, get under the bed.”
But Contraras did not pay a long visit; he did not even sit down. He had only strolled round to ascertain that things were going right. Moreno, resolutely avoiding details, assured him that everything was in train. On the evening after to-morrow Guy Rossett would be delivered into the hands of the brotherhood, to be dealt with as they thought fit.