"And how did you get into this?" had been Moreno's next question. Violet had been very frank. "It was dear old Jaques who drew me into it. You know I have told you how grateful I was to him, how indebted. When he asked me, could I refuse, after all the benefits he had showered upon me?" "Impossible," said Moreno in his quiet, easy tones. He added, after a pause, "I wonder if your heart is in it?" She flashed at him a swift glance of interrogation. "I wonder if yours is?" Moreno smiled. They were then each suspecting the other, on account of their mixed parentage. "Absolutely," he answered in a tone of deep conviction. "I am nine-tenths Spaniard, one-tenth Englishman. You are one-tenth Spaniard and nine-tenths Englishwoman. I very much doubt if your heart is in it." Violet spoke in a low, hard voice. And she also felt there was need of caution. "I have lived a very hard life, depending upon charity, generous charity I admit, for many years. I think I do not love the present order of things. I am really an anarchist; I think I may truly say my heart is in it." Moreno accepted her statement. She was still an enigma to him. She had spoken of Jaques with a genuine sense of gratitude, she had alluded to her late husband in terms of sincere affection. The woman had her sentimental moments. Then he remembered that she was the daughter of a drunken and derelict father--this much she had told him. Her mother was a Spanish dancer of unknown origin. Out of this peculiar blend, was it possible to fashion an honest woman. Moreno doubted it. He remembered the night in the flat at Mount Street, when she had vindictively declared that Guy Rossett had to be got out of the way. He had looked at the still very pretty woman, her fair cheeks just a little flushed with the after results of the good dinner. She had, perhaps, her good points, but was she not an absolute degenerate? Daughter of the wastrel father and the Spanish dancer! He had been very sympathetic through the recital. He had helped her on with an encouraging word or two in the pauses of her narrative, for at times she had evidently pulled herself up with the recollection that she was being too frank. But he had learned a good deal about Violet's past. He still had his suspicions. Perhaps another dinner or two might get more out of her. The four conspirators sat in the little room facing the sea. Violet Hargrave, by the way, was dressed in a peasant costume. Alvedero spoke in his deep voice. "I think, for the present, we will make Fonterrabia our headquarters. It is a quiet little town, and, for the moment, not suspect." The Deputy-Governor of Navarre assented. They could do great things from this comparatively obscure quarter. Alvedero spoke again. "Now, first, there is the question of Guy Rossett. Contraras and Lucue are agreed that he should be removed speedily."