“What do you know, or guess?” asked Rossett angrily.
“Please, Mr Rossett, do not be irate with me. Believe me I am your friend and well-wisher. I cannot tell you as much as I would wish, for, in the double rôle I am playing, I have to be very cautious.”
“Please go on,” said Rossett, a little mollified by the evident sincerity of his companion.
“For certain reasons which I am not at liberty to divulge, I take an interest in the young lady, who, I am sure, is devoted to you, and to whom I am sure you are equally devoted. I should also be pleased to be of service to yourself. You know that I am a member of the Secret Service, and that I regard every Englishman as under my care.”
“Yes, I know that,” assented Rossett a little grudgingly. Like his chief, Mr Stonehenge, he had a rooted distrust of all foreign nations. Was this man playing a double game? Anyway, he seemed to be remarkably well informed.
“I suppose you would think it impertinent if I proffered you some very good advice?” was the Spaniard’s startling question.
Rossett stared at him. Andres Moreno was most certainly a very extraordinary person. And yet there was a certain fascination about the man which enabled him to take extraordinary liberties.
“I will tell you when you have offered it,” answered the young diplomat curtly.
A greasy-looking waiter came up and hovered about the table. Evidently he was wanting to listen to the conversation. Moreno waved him angrily away, speaking in Spanish.
“One of the gang,” he whispered to Rossett. “The city is honeycombed with them. Perhaps he understands French; we will speak English.”