"I very rarely take anything of this sort, just a glass of very light wine at lunch or dinner," she explained. "But to-night is a somewhat exceptional one. To your health, Mr Moreno. I hope we may meet often." The journalist responded in suitable terms. He was very attracted by her, but he was not quite sure that he desired a close acquaintance. He had heard from his young friend Mount Vernon of her bridge parties, and the fact that people lost large sums of money there. She was evidently of a most hospitable nature, but she might prove a very expensive hostess. They chatted for some time on different topics. Then, after a brief space, she suddenly burst out with a question. "What do you know of Guy Rossett?" Moreno shrugged his shoulders. "Next to nothing. I only know what everybody knows, that he has been sent to Madrid." Question and answer followed swiftly. "Do you know why he has been sent to Madrid?" "No. I suppose it is owing to his family influence." "Has Lucue told you nothing?" "Up to the present nothing." She looked at him keenly. Was he fencing? No, she felt sure he was speaking the truth. "Then I will tell you. Guy Rossett is being sent to Spain because he has obtained some very important information about the brotherhood. They want him on the spot, as just now Madrid and Barcelona are two very active centres." Moreno leaned forward, and looked at her steadily. He could not, at present, make up his mind about her. She was an Englishwoman living in fairly luxurious conditions. What had she in common with this anarchist crew. "Have you got any idea who gave him the information?" Violet Hargrave returned his keen glance with equal steadiness. "Not the slightest. But there are always traitors in any association of this kind." "And when they are discovered, the penalty is death." Moreno spoke quietly, but he felt an inward shiver. After all, was he so certain he was going to outwit Lucue and his brother fanatics. "The penalty is death. You have been initiated to-night, and you know that," was Violet Hargrave's answer. The journalist felt a little uneasy. He had suspected her. Did she, in turn, suspect him? But he preserved an unbroken front. "They deserve it," he said, with unblushing audacity. Mrs Hargrave bent forward, and spoke with intensity. "Guy Rossett may prove very dangerous. I think Lucue and Mademoiselle Delmonte, from the few words I have exchanged with them to-night, have resolved on a certain course of action." "Ah!" The journalist also bent forward, in an attitude of simulated eagerness. When Mrs Hargrave spoke again, she looked a different woman. Over her face came a hard, vindictive look. The dainty, almost doll-like prettiness had disappeared. "Guy Rossett must be got out of the way, before he can do much mischief."