Moreno was puzzled to find a solution. Envy perhaps was the contributing cause. And yet the ordinary man who dines at a common eating-house is not always envious of the man who eats a sumptuous luncheon at the Ritz or Carlton. The middle-class prosperous professional man does not always gnash his teeth when he thinks of a nobleman, possibly his client, who has a rent roll of a hundred thousand a year. Moreno was very just. There was a time when he had had to fare very frugally, and he had not complained. Things had improved. When the fancy took him, he would indulge in a good dinner, a bottle of champagne, and an excellent cigar. Was he hurting the toiling millions very much if he occasionally indulged in these luxuries? Were the few fortunate ones of the earth, and after all they were very few, hurting him if they indulged in them every day? Night was slowly settling over the city. Far away from this scene of revel and display, some thousands of humble workers had eaten their frugal suppers, and were preparing for bed. If all the money that was to be spent upon this function had been shared between them, would they have been much the richer? Champagne, excellent cigars, and good dinners could not be given to every creature on God's earth. That was an inexorable economic law, which no revolutionist could alter. He was raised from his reveries by a light touch on his arm. "Who are these two men?" It was Violet Hargrave who spoke. "Somehow, they look people of importance." Moreno recognised them at once, as they drove slowly through--the Chief of the Secret Service, the Head of the Police. He was glad that they were on the scene early. They might not have quite the perfect methods of the corresponding French organisations, but perhaps they would justify themselves before the night was over. "I don't know them from Adam, but, as you say, they certainly look persons of importance, especially the fat one." Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him, herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not to be caught by a leading question like that. Then presently she nudged him. "Look, look, the Chief!" Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined face showed clear against the waning light. "Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!" said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son of the Revolution. Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up, containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light. The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests, and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative, if at times critical. Moreno turned to his companion. "I say, it's a bit of a shame that you and I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might have worked that while he was about it."