“Perhaps some day I may be able to help you. I have just learned there is some danger threatening Guy Rossett.”
Her face blanched. She turned to him an imploring glance.
“Danger threatening Guy. Oh, please tell me, quickly.”
With a bitter pang, he realised in that anguished utterance a full sense of the love which he had lost, of the youthful heart which he had allowed another man to capture.
In a few brief sentences, he told her what Moreno had related to him.
Chapter Five.
At the period at which this story opens, there stood in Gerrard Street, Soho, a small, unpretentious restaurant, frequented almost exclusively by foreigners. Over the front was written the name of Maceda.
Luis Maceda, a tall, grave man of dignified aspect, with carefully trimmed beard and moustache, was the proprietor. He was a Spaniard, with the suave and courteous manners of that picturesque nation. The majority of his customers were his compatriots. The few Englishmen who found their way there spoke highly of him and the cuisine. At the same time, one or two of the prominent officials of the Secret Service kept a wary eye upon Maceda and his friends.