Out of this, he had paid off Mr Jackson, and was able to take up his new post with a clean sheet. Needless to say that his sister Mary, the most honourable of women, was delighted at the position of affairs. While events were progressing in Spain, Moreno the journalist had called on his old friend Farquhar at the familiar chambers in the Temple. It was a few days after Moreno's initiation into the brotherhood by Lucue-- the initiation which had been followed by that very significant interview with Violet Hargrave. The visitor's keen glance detected at once that his old friend looked gloomy and depressed. And, in truth, Farquhar was in no jubilant mood. His rejection by his pretty cousin, Isobel, the knowledge that another man had secured what he so coveted, was weighing upon him heavily. He pulled himself together on Moreno's entrance, and extended a cordial hand. He was a very reticent man, and always hid his feelings as much as possible. "Great things have happened since I last saw you, my friend," cried the journalist gaily. "I am now a full-fledged member of the brotherhood, the great brotherhood. You remember I told you I was going to be initiated?" Yes, Farquhar remembered. Moreno had mentioned the fact, and he had been interested. He had thought at the time his friend was running great risks, but no doubt the journalist was playing his own game in his own subtle way. Since that conversation, his own affairs had made him forgetful of everything save the daily duties of his profession, duties which he never neglected. He smiled genially. "When are you going to blow us all up? You haven't brought a bomb in your pocket by any chance?" Moreno shook his head. "Much too crude, my good old friend. We work in a more subtle way than that, by peaceful and pacific means." He knew Maurice Farquhar well enough, so sure was he of the sterling character of the man, to trust him with his life. This reserved, somewhat priggish barrister would no more reveal a confidence than a Roman Catholic priest would betray the secrets of the confessional. At the same time a man in his delicate and dangerous position must be doubly and trebly cautious. He must put even Farquhar off the scent, till the day arrived when he could speak freely. He spoke a moment after, in a rather abrupt tone. "Forgive me for putting a certain question to you, and, believe me, it is not dictated from any spirit of impertinent curiosity. You remember our meeting your cousin and Guy Rossett? I told you I formed certain conclusions with regard to their relationship. Have you by any chance had an opportunity of testing the accuracy of the opinion I formed?" For a moment Farquhar was at the point of telling this most inquisitive journalist to mind his own business, and not to pry into matters that, to all appearances, were no concern of his.