Moreno and Violet Hargrave nodded their heads in confirmation of their acceptance of the task assigned them.
Moreno shuddered inwardly, as he recalled the blood-curdling oaths which had been administered to him. On Violet Hargrave’s face had come a sudden expression which he could not quite define. He was inclined to think that it reflected a certain happiness in the prospect of doing harm to Guy Rossett.
The meeting broke up, and they went down the stairs together. When they reached the door, Violet spoke.
“Come to my flat to-night, as you did when you were first initiated,” she said, in the voice that sounded so sweet and womanly. “It is evident that you and I are going to be very closely associated,”—she shot 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 deficient in gallantry.
“There is nothing I desire more, Mrs Hargrave. Apart from the importance of our common aims and aspirations, there is nothing in our brief association with the brotherhood that has given me greater pleasure than the fact that I have been enabled to make your acquaintance.”
They hailed a passing taxi, stepped in, and drove to the flat in Mount Street.