"Will you help me to save young Rossett? It is the price of my silence. You can do nothing against me. Whatever innuendos or suggestions you might make, if such occur to you, would not weigh a moment against the damning evidence in my possession. They would only regard it as the frantic action of a guilty woman, trying to save herself from their vengeance." He thought it wise to rub this in. He did not believe she was very clever, but she was cunning. He wanted to divert her from any idea of attempting to readjust the situation to her own advantage. "You show me very plainly you don't trust me, by that somewhat unnecessary warning," she said a little bitterly. She was hardened enough, heaven knows, but the distrust of the man she had grown to care for hurt her more than she liked to admit. "I am not quite a fool," she added. "You have the whip-hand of me, I admit frankly. If I thought to match myself against you, and bluff it out, I recognise I have not a dog's chance. Yes, I am willing to help you to save Guy Rossett. But I would like you to tell me why you want so particularly to save him." But Moreno was not going to satisfy her curiosity. He gave her one of his reasons. "Because I hate and loathe unnecessary bloodshed," was his answer. There was a long pause, during which Violet's mind worked rapidly. "Are you very sure in your own mind how you are going to save him?" she asked presently. "I mean, so that we can go scot free." Self would always be the predominating note, he thought. Well, perhaps that was natural. He tapped his forehead significantly. "I have pretty well worked it out here; there are just a few details to be filled in. With regard to our own personal safety, I feel pretty confident I shall be unsuspected. As for you, I will guarantee it. I will see you every day, as my plans develop." Violet rose to say good night. There was genuine admiration in her glance, as she held out her hand. "I believe you are a very wonderful man," she said, in a tone of conviction. Moreno smiled, well pleased with the delicate flattery. He always had a kindly feeling towards anybody who praised his mental qualities. He saw her to the door. As they parted, she lifted up her face. "You would not care to kiss a woman of my type--bad, selfish and unscrupulous as you know me to be?" she said boldly. For a second he hesitated. Then he kissed her lightly on her pale cheek. He could not bring himself yet to touch her lips. "Anyway, you are going to do a good thing now," he said, as she passed out. CHAPTER TWENTY. During these hot summer days, poor Isobel lived in alternate fits of hope and despair. Guy visited her every day. He always seemed very cheerful, full of optimism. The forces of law and order must prevail; these mad anarchists, well organised as they were, and led by a most subtle brain, would be defeated very shortly. Once the Heads were taken, the movement would suffer a speedy eclipse.