Moreno answered truthfully that he did not. The whole thing appealed greatly to his sense of humour. Here were a dozen anarchists, meeting in a small restaurant in Soho, and pluming themselves upon the idea that, from their obscure vantage-ground, they could blow up the world into fragments and overpower the forces of law and order, to bring it into accordance with their wild dreams. The four men went into the ante-room. Here the solemn rights of initiation were performed with perfect seriousness. Afterwards, when he reflected on the subject, Moreno remembered that he had taken some very blood-curdling oaths. His gay and easy temperament was not greatly affected by the fact. He had been in the pay of the Secret Service before; he was in its pay now. A man must take risks, if he wanted to make a good living. Besides, he loved adventure. If the apparently genial Lucue ever had cause to suspect him, then Lucue would stick a knife into his ribs without the slightest compunction. But he felt sure he was the cleverer of the two, and that Lucue would suspect every member of the fraternity before himself. The somewhat tedious initiation over, the four men went into the dining-room. Most of the members had arrived. The two waiters were bringing up the soup. Moreno recognised with a start the portly form of Jackson, otherwise Juan Jaques, the moneylender of Dover Street. Lucue had told him that the common language was French, in order to accommodate all nationalities. Moreno addressed him. "I don't think you remember me, Mr Jackson. I had the pleasure of introducing young Harry Mount Vernon to you some months ago, when he was wanting a little of the ready. He has always spoken in the highest terms of you." Mr Jackson, always suave and genial, bowed and smiled. But it was evident he was searching the recesses of his memory. Moreno helped him out of his difficulty. "I am Andres Moreno, a Fleet Street journalist, who mixes with all sorts and conditions of men." "Ah, I remember now." Jackson, to call him by his assumed name, shook him cordially by the hand. "And so, you are one of us?" "Yes, very much so," replied Moreno quietly. "Our friend Lucue converted me to the good cause. He is a wonderful man." Jackson repeated the enthusiasm of Maceda. "A genius, my dear friend, an absolute genius. If the great cause triumphs, it will be due to him." Another worshipper, thought Moreno, with a quiet, inward chuckle. They were all certainly very serious, with a whole-hearted worship of their leader. The great leader looked round the room with his broad, genial smile. "All here, except the two ladies," he said. "We must wait for the ladies. It is their privilege to be late. We must exercise patience." As he spoke, two women entered the room, one obviously a Frenchwoman, the other as obviously an Englishwoman.