CHAPTER XI.BORROWED PLUMES.Frobisher's highly sensitive nature demanded a flower as a little something to soothe his nerves. He passed into the conservatory where the Cardinal Moth was flaming overhead, he climbed like an over-dressed monkey up the extending ladder, and broke off a spray of the blooms. He patted them gently as he fixed the cluster in the silk lapel of his coat. Hafid looked in and announced that the car was ready. Hafid's face was white and set like that of a drug victim. Frobisher was at his most brilliant and best as the car flashed away. Presently the scene changed from the hot air and dusty glare of the streets, to green lawns and old trees and the soft music of a band of some colour and doubtful Hungarian origin. But there was the clear flow and the throbbing melody of it, and Frobisher's gloved hand beat gently to time. There were little knots of kaleidoscope colours, graceful and harmonious in graceful shades and the emerald green for a background. Here, too, was the Duchess with a swift, pecky smile for each guest, as if she had been carelessly wound up for the occasion, and something had gone wrong with the spring.Frobisher slipped in and out of the various groups with his hands behind him. There were still certain people who seemed to be smelling something unpleasant as the wicked little baronet passed, but this only added zest and piquancy to his studies. It was some time before he found the object of his search—a study in yellow, and a large black hat nodding with graceful plumes. Something round her slim, white neck seemed to stream and dazzle, there was another flash of blue fire on her breast.Yet the diamonds did not seem in the least out of place on Mrs. Benstein. There was something hard and shaky about her beauty that called for them—blue black hair drawn back in a wave from her forehead, a complexion like old ivory, and eyes suggestive of mystery. Frobisher thought of the serpent of old Nile as he looked at her critically.A marvellously beautiful woman beyond all question, a woman without the faintest suggestion of self-consciousness. Yet she was practically alone in that somewhat polyglot gathering, and she knew that most people there were holding aloof from her. Frobisher strolled up in the most natural way in the world. He had had one or two dealings with Benstein, had dined with the man, in fact, but he had contrived not to see Mrs. Benstein in public till to-day. He dropped into a chair and began to talk."You feel any attraction to this kind of thing?" he asked."Well, not much," was the candid reply. "I came here out of curiosity. The Duchess would not have asked me, only that my husband is useful to the Duke. So you have got a Cardinal Moth?"Frobisher fairly gasped, though he dexterously recovered himself. He smiled into the dark, swimming eyes of his companion. Their strange mystery irritated as well as fascinated him."And what can you possibly know about the Cardinal Moth?" he asked."Well, I know a great many things. You see my father was a merchant in the Orient, and my mother had some of the Parsee about her. We gravitate to strange things. But I see you have the Cardinal Moth, and, what is more, I know where you got it from."The last words came with a quick indrawing of the breath that faintly suggested a hiss."Paul Lopez is by way of being a relation of mine," Mrs. Benstein went on. "At one time we were engaged to be married. I was much annoyed when he changed his mind. Sir Clement, why do you choose to be so amiable to-day?"The quick audacity of the question stirred Frobisher's admiration. This woman was going to get on. With his fine instinct, Frobisher decided to be frank. Frankness would pay here."Well, I am a great admirer of courage," he said. "I admire your splendid audacity in coming here in broad daylight wearing diamonds."A wonderful smile filled the eyes of the listener."Why shouldn't I wear them if I like?" she demanded. "The stones are wonderfully becoming to me. And, after all, it is only a matter of what these chattering parrots here call fashion. See how they are all watching me, imagine the things they are saying about me.""And I am quite sure you do not mind in the least?""Not I. I must be doing something out of the common, something daring and original.""It was anything but original, but certainly very daring, for one so beautiful to marry a man as—er, mature, as Aaron Benstein," Frobisher murmured. It was an audacious speech, and Mrs. Benstein smiled. "You might have had a duke or even a popular actor.""Well, you see, I was sick of being poor. It is not my fault that I was born an artist with a second-hand clothes shop in Hoxton for a home. I don't look the part, do I? And Aaron came and fairly worshipped the ground I stood on. Except for money, and the making of it, he is perfectly childish.""Therefore he tells you all his secrets like the dutiful husband that he is?""Oh, yes. I find some of the secrets useful. There is the Countess of Castlemanor yonder, who has stared at me in a way that would be vulgar in the common walk of life. And yet, if I went up and whispered a word or two in her ear, she would gladly drive me home in her car."Frobisher laughed silently. Here was a woman after his own heart—a woman who studied society and despised it. And Frobisher was going to make use of her, as he made use of everybody, only this was going to be one of his finest efforts. Isa Benstein was no ordinary pawn in the game."I should like to see you do it," he chuckled."What is the use? She is a poor creature, despite her title and her marvellous taste in hats. Can't you give me a similar hold on Lady Frobisher? There would be some fun in humbling her."Again Frobisher laughed. The splendid audacity of the woman fascinated him. The people he made use of as a rule were not amusing. And here was a power. It pleased his vanity to know that he was bending a power like this to his will."I am angry with myself to think of what I have lost," he said. "My dear Mrs. Benstein, it can all be arranged without annoyance to the lady who does me the honour to rule my household. I will bring my wife to you presently, and she shall ask you to her fancy dance next week.""That will doubtless be a great pleasure to Lady Frobisher," Mrs. Benstein smiled. "I shall like her, but I shall like Miss Lyne a great deal better. And if you try to force her to marry that detestable little Arnott I shall do my best to spoil your hand."Frobisher's teeth flashed in one of his uneasy grins. He felt like a man who has discovered a new volcano quite unexpectedly. What an amazing lot this woman knew, to be sure; what an extraordinary fascination she must exercise over her doting husband. He followed her glance now to a distant seat under a tree where Angela and Harold Denvers were talking together."Would you like to match your wits against mine at that stake?" he asked.Mrs. Benstein declined the challenge. She was only a woman after all, she declared."I like the look of the girl," she said thoughtfully. "She's honest and true. And he's a man all through. Now go and bring Lady Frobisher to me, and we will talk prettily together, and she shall show me how much it is possible for a society woman to hate another woman without showing it. You want to make use of me or some subtle purpose, but it suits my mood for the present to comply."Frobisher went off chuckling to himself. The creature was absolutely charming, so clever and subtle. But she was neither subtle nor clever enough to see his game, Frobisher flattered himself. In a profound state of boredom Lady Frobisher was nibbling a tepid strawberry dipped in soppy cream. She was tired to death, she said, and wanted to go home."It's a tonic you need," Frobisher said, with one of his quick grins. "Come along, and have your mental shower-bath. I'm going to introduce Mrs. Benstein to you."Lady Frobisher rose stiffly. Her little white teeth were clenched passionately. But she made no protest. Under the eyes of fashionable London she crossed over to the place where Mrs. Benstein was seated. She knew perfectly well that her action would be the theme of general conversation at a hundred dinner-tables to-night, but she moved along now as if she were sweeping the primrose path of conventionality with her lace gown. There was some little seed of consolation in the fact that Mrs. Benstein made no attempt to shake hands. On the whole, she was perhaps the coolest and most collected of the two."My wife very much desires to make your acquaintance," Frobisher said in his smoothest manner. "Didn't you say something about a fancy-dress ball, Norah?"Lady Frobisher was understood to murmur something that suggested pleasure and a wish fulfilled. She was not quite sure whether she had proffered the invitation or not, but it was a small matter, as Frobisher was not likely to permit the card to be omitted."It is very good of you, and I shall come with pleasure," Mrs. Benstein said. "I am not sure, but I fancy that society is going to amuse me. Of course, it is all a matter of time, though I could have pushed my way here before. You see, the Duchess asked me here of her own volition. My dear Lady Frobisher, do you see how Lady Castlemanor is glaring at you? Yes, I will do it. I will go and dine with that lady as honoured guest on Monday night. And you shall come and see my triumph."Lady Frobisher turned feebly to her husband for support, but he was too frankly enjoying the performance to interfere. Here was a new farce, a new source of amusement."You will be a success," he predicted. "You must come to the dance as 'diamonds' or something of that kind. You would carry off any amount of jewels, and nothing becomes you better. You see we are already becoming the centre of attraction."People were passing by with studied inattention. A great society dame paused and put up her glasses. In anybody else the stare would have been rude. The great lady's face flushed crimson with anger, much as if her own cook had been found masquerading in that select assembly. She took a step forward, paused, and then walked hurriedly away. Frobisher turned away to hide the mirth that he found difficult to control. He had come here practically on business, therefore the unexpected pleasure was all the more enjoyable. With a bow and a smile Lady Frobisher turned and took her husband's arm."Well, I suppose you are satisfied now," she said, with a fierce indrawing of her breath. "With your saturnine cleverness, perhaps you will tell me why the Marchioness behaved so strangely.""The thing is obvious," Frobisher chuckled. "Benstein is a money-lender in a big way, old plate and jewels, and all that sort of thing. And he's got all her ladyship's diamonds. Probably takes the best of them home and shows his wife. Being weak and doting, she has them to play with. And Mrs. Benstein is wearing the old lady's collar and star this afternoon. And people say there's no comedy in society!"Lady Frobisher turned away mortified and cut to the quick. And this was the class of woman that she had actually asked to her dance, one of the great social functions of the season! Frobisher threw himself into a deck-chair and gave way to his own amused thoughts."Clever fellow, Lopez," he chuckled. "On the whole, he earned that cheque. But I don't quite see what he meant by saying that Mrs. Benstein—by gad, I've got it! Lopez, you are a genius! It's any money that my grip on the Shan is in Benstein's house, and she can get it."Frobisher rose and strolled back to Mrs. Benstein's side. It would have been impossible to guess from his face of the fiendish elation that burnt within him."I've been thinking over that jewel idea I gave you," he said. "Are you disposed towards it?""Yes," Mrs. Benstein said, thoughtfully. "I am very favourably disposed towards it indeed.""Then wear rubies," Frobisher urged. "Rubies will suit you splendidly. I have the greatest fancy to see you decked out in rubies. If you can get hold of some large ones. I'll come round and have tea with you to-morrow, and we can discuss the matter thoroughly."CHAPTER XII.A MODEL HUSBAND.Isa Benstein drove in her closed car thoughtfully homewards, a little less conscious than usual of the attractions caused wherever she went. On the whole she had enjoyed herself; she had got on far better than she had expected. It was characteristic of her self-reliance and strength of character that she had gone to the Duchess's party quite alone and knowing nobody there, whilst she herself was familiar by sight and reputation to everybody who would be present.She had directed her husband to obtain that invitation out of a pure spirit of curiosity. She had read paragraphs touching the great social function in the smart papers, and Isa Benstein had smiled to herself as she remembered that but for her husband and his money-bags the great gathering could not possibly have taken place at all.By instinct, by intuition, by observation, Isa had pretty well gauged modern society. She had seen it at Ascot and Cowes, at Hurlingham and Covent Garden, but as yet she had never actually been in it. And now her first experience was over.She had almost come to the conclusion that the game was not worth the candle, when Frobisher came up and spoke to her. With her natural astuteness she had not long to see that Frobisher had some intention of making use of her. That being so, the game should be mutual. Not for one moment was Mrs. Benstein deceived—by some magnetic process Lady Frobisher had been forced to be polite, and ask her to that fancy-dress ball. Mrs. Benstein had smiled, but she had seen the rooted repugnance in Lady Frobisher's face, the constrained look in her eyes."I wonder how he managed it?" she asked herself as she drove along. "And what does that little creature with the brow of a Memnon and the mouth of a tom-cat want to get out of me? Money is at the root of most things, but it can't be money in that quarter."Berkeley Square was reached at length, and for the moment Mrs. Benstein banished Frobisher from her mind. All she required now was a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most society women would have sacrificed a great deal to know the secret of Mrs. Benstein's complexion, but the secret was a simple one—she ate sparingly, and she never touched intoxicating drinks in her life. The tea was waiting in the drawing-room, the water was boiling on the spirit-kettle. A slight, dark man rose as Mrs. Benstein entered."I'll take a cup with you, Isa," he said. "Nobody makes such tea as yours.""Paul Lopez," the hostess said. "I have not been honoured like this since the day when you and I——""Agreed to part. Who was wise over that business, Isa? No sugar, please. I loved you too well——""Never! You are incapable of loving anybody, Paul. I gave you the whole of my affection—and a scarlet, flaming plant it was—and you trampled it down and killed it. Not so much as a cutting remains. And why? Because you were ambitious and I had no money."Lopez waved the accusation aside with his Apostle spoon."It was the wiser part," he said calmly. "I shall never be rich like Aaron, for instance, though I have ten times his intellect. My love of perilous adventure prevents that. And when I look round me, I am quite pleased with myself. Persian carpets, Romneys, Knellers, Lelys, Louis Quinze furniture, Cellini silver, even Apostle spoons. Have you got a complete set?""So I understand," Isa Benstein said carelessly."And there you have the keynote of this wonderful house. The exquisite pleasure you must have had in the collecting of all these beautiful things! And yourself?"Mrs. Benstein smiled queerly as she bent over the teapot. When the time came she was going to be even with this man, though, characteristically, she had no flaming anger against him. She had loved him once, and let him see it, and he had weighed the possibilities, and coldly told her it was not good enough, or words to that effect. The secret was theirs alone."You cannot say that you are not happy," Lopez said after a long pause."Well, no. Happiness is but a negative quality, after all. I am probably a great deal happier than if I had married a scoundrel like yourself, for instance. That is Aaron's voice in the hall. I suppose you have come to see him on business, or you would not be here at all."Lopez gravely accepted his dismissal. All this wonderful beauty and intellect would have been his had he at one time chosen to take it. Slowly and thoughtfully Mrs. Benstein went up to dress for dinner. She chose her gown and her jewels and her flowers with the utmost care; she might have been going to a state concert or dance, from the nicety of her selection."Madame is going out to-night?" the maid suggested."Madame is going to do nothing of the kind," Isa said, with one of her seductive smiles. "I am going to stay at home and dinetête-à-têtewith my husband. Always look as nice to your husband, Minon, as to other people. You will find the trouble an excellent investment."Benstein was late. He had been detained so long that Isa was in the dining-room before he arrived breathlessly and full of apologies. With his fat, fair face, and heavy, pendulous lips, he made an almost repulsive contrast to his wife. His dress-suit was shabby and ill-fitting, suggesting that it had been bought second-hand like his large pumps. The red silk socks bore a pleasing resemblance to the cyclist's trousers when confined to the leg with those inevitable clips; they bulged over at the ankles. Benstein wore no diamonds; he had not even a large stud in his crumpled shirt. It was a great deprivation, and the financier mourned over the fact in secret. But Isa was inexorable on that point. The man was hideously common enough, without jewels. Besides, Isa's interference in the matter was by way of being a compliment. It showed at least that she took some sort of interest in the man she had married."Kept by business," Benstein wheezed. He raised his dyed eyebrows. He flattered himself that the dye took from his seventy years, whereas the deception merely added to them. "Nice you look! Lovely!"His little eyes appraised her. Despite his many limitations, Benstein had a keen love of the beautiful—quabeautiful. Isa stood before him a vision of loveliness in a dress of green touched here and there with gold. The shaded lights rendered her eyes all the more brilliant."Give me a kiss," Benstein said hoarsely. "When you look like that I can refuse you nothing. I am getting into my dotage, men say. Well, perhaps. Good thing some of them can't see me now."The elaborate dinner proceeded in that perfect Tudor dining-room. Not a single article of furniture was there that lacked historic interest. The old oak and silver were priceless, and every bit of it had been collected under Isa Benstein's own eye. No dealer had ever succeeded in imposing on her.The silk slips were drawn at length from the polished dark oak with the wonderful red tints in it, so that the nodding flowers were reflected from a lake of thin blood. Here and there the decanters gleamed, a Tudor model of a Spanish galleon mounted on wheels was pushed along the table, its various compartments filled with all kinds of cigarettes."No, a Virginian for me," Isa said, as the servants withdrew. The drawing-room was a dream of beauty, but she preferred the dining-room. For restfulness and form and artistic completeness there was no room like the Tudor hall, she declared. "Give me good, honest tobacco.""How did you get on to-day?" Benstein asked."I didn't. I sat and watched the procession. Sir Clement Frobisher came and made himself agreeable to me, and so did his wife—under compulsion. But she asked me to her dance, and I am going.""Hope that they won't ask me, too," Benstein said uneasily."You need not go, in any case; in fact, I'd rather you didn't. I've been scheming out my dress, Aaron; do you happen to be strong in rubies just now?"Benstein nodded his huge head and smiled. More or less, he had the jewels of the great world in his possession. It was his whim to keep them at home. He trusted nobody, not even a bank. Besides, nearly every day brought something neat and ingenious in the way of a jewel fraud."I can rig you out in anything," he said. "Yes, I could pretty well cover you in rubies. They're all on diamonds just for the moment, so that they bring their emeralds and rubies to redeem the white stones. Wonder what some of those big swells would say if they knew you had got their jewels to wear, Isa?"Isa smiled at some amusing recollection, but she held her peace. Humour was not Benstein's strong point. He puffed away to the library, followed by his wife, and once there locked the door. Here was a large iron sheet that, being opened, disclosed something in the nature of a strong-room. There were scores of tiny pigeon-holes, each filled with cases and bags all carefully noted and numbered, for method was Benstein's strong point."More papers," Isa exclaimed. "A fresh lot since yesterday. Is it some new business, Aaron?""Count Lefroy," Benstein wheezed. "Valuable concessions from the Shan of Koordstan. Shouldn't wonder if those papers don't become worth half a million. Queer-looking things. Like to see them?"Isa expressed a proper curiosity on the point. The papers were in Hindustani and English, with some cramped-looking signature and the impression of a seal at the bottom."Those signatures are both forgeries," Mrs. Benstein said, after careful examination. "And that seal, I feel quite sure, is a clumsy imitation of something better.""Doesn't matter if they are," Benstein said without emotion. "If they are real, I only get a finger in the pie; if they are forged I bag the whole of the pastry. Let me once get Lefroy under my thumb like that, and I'll make a pocket borough of Koordstan. Leave your Aaron alone for business, my dear. Now let us see what we can do in the way of rubies, though I am a great fool to——""It's too late in the day to think of that," Isa said sharply. "Turn them out."The shabby cases began to yield their glittering contents. The electrics glowed upon the piled-up mass of rubies, bracelets, brooches, tiaras, armlets—the loot of the East, it seemed to be. Isa's slim fingers played with the shining strings lovingly."This is even better than I expected," she murmured. "I shall be able to trim my dress with them, I can have them all over my skirt, I can cover my bodice. I am going simply as 'rubies.' Give me that tiara."She placed the glittering crown on her head, she draped her neck and arms with the beautiful stones. Benstein gasped, and his little eyes watered. Was there ever so lovely a woman before? he wondered. When Isa looked at him like that he could refuse her nothing. It was criminally weak, but——"The thing is almost complete," Isa said. "Now haven't you got something out of the common, some black swan amongst rubies that I could attach to the centre of my forehead, something to blaze like the sun? Aaron, you've got it; you are concealing something from me."The financier laughed weakly, still dazzled by that show of beauty. In a dazed way he unlocked a little compartment and took a huge stone from a leather bag. His hands trembled as he handed it to his wife."You can try it," he said hoarsely; "you can see how it goes. But you can't have that to wear, no, no. If anything happened to it, they would make an international business of it, my life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase. You are not to ask me for that, no, no."He meandered on in a senile kind of way. With a low cry Isa fastened on the gem. She pressed it to her white forehead, where it blazed and sparkled. The effect was electric, wonderful. She stood before a mirror fascinated and entranced by her own beauty."I shall have it," she said. "I couldn't go without this, Aaron. You are going to have it set into the finest of gold wires for me. Come, I won't even ask you where you got it from. And from what you say, nobody in England is likely to recognise it. Aaron, do, do."Her smile was subtle and pleading. Nobody could have withstood it. Benstein gabbled something, his cheeks shook."Oh, Lord," he groaned. "If anything does happen! Well, well, my darling! Unlock the door and stay here till I come back. What artful creatures you women are! My dear, my dear. Positively I must go into the dining-room and treat myself to a liqueur-brandy!"CHAPTER XIII.THE QUEEN OF THE RUBIES.The faint sobbing of violins sounded from somewhere, giving the artistic suggestion of being far off, the dominant note of the leader hung high on the air. Now and then a door opened somewhere, letting in the splitting crack of Piccadilly, the raucous voices of news-boys more or less mendaciously. Sir Clement Frobisher stood before the glass in his smoking-room setting his white tie. Over his shoulder he could see the dark, smileless face of Lopez looking in."What do you want here to-night?" he asked. "What are you thinking about me?""I'd give a good round sum—if I had it—to know what you are thinking about," Lopez retorted."Money isn't worth it. I was wondering if I really looked like a waiter, after all.""Well, you don't. There is something too infernally sardonic and devilish about your head for that. May I take a cigarette? I dare say you wonder how I got here to-night? I—well, I just walked in. That kind of audacity always pays. Also you wonder why I came.""Indeed I don't. You want me to lend you one hundred pounds. What do you do with your money, friend Lopez? Not that it is any business of mine.""That being so, you have answered your own question," Lopez said dryly. "Every man has his weakness, even the strongest chain has its breaking-point. Let me have one hundred pounds. And pay yourself ten times over, as you always do for your accommodation. Did I earn my last five hundred pounds?""Indeed you did," Frobisher said frankly. "A wonderful woman, Mrs. Benstein.""About the most wonderful I ever met. None of your dark schemers about her, none of your flashing eyes and figures drawn up to their full height. But there is the rare mind in its beautiful setting. You are going to make use of that woman? We shall see."Both men smiled meaningly. The plaintive wail of the violins rose and fell, from the great hall beyond came the murmur of voices. Lady Frobisher's great function had commenced. Frobisher glanced significantly at the clock. He was in no fancy-dress himself, presumedly he was disguised as an honest man, as Lopez suggested. He laughed heartily at the gibe, and pushed Lopez outside the door with a cheque in his pocket.Quite a crowd of cloaked and dominoed women had gathered there. Lady Frobisher had reverted to the old idea of a masked ball and the uncovering after the last dance before supper. The masks appeared to be walking about as they generally did, for Shepherd strolled up to Chloe and Adonis to Aphrodite in a manner that might have suggested collusion to the sophisticated mind. One tall woman, closely draped, touched Frobisher on the arm as he threaded between the silken mysteries."I have no flowers," she said. "My man stupidly dropped mine and somebody trod on them. Take me to your conservatory, Sir Clement, and give me my choice."Frobisher offered his arm; he did not need to ask who the speaker was. Those low, thrilling tones, with the touch of power in them, could only have belonged to Isa Benstein. There was nobody in the conservatory which was devoted to orchids, and nobody was likely to be, for that part of the house was forbidden ground. Mrs. Benstein looked out from under her cloud—only her eyes and nose could be seen."May I not be privileged to see your dress?" Frobisher pleaded."Certainly not," Isa Benstein laughed. "Why should you be specially favoured? Get me two long sprays of orchid. I shall be content with nothing less than the Cardinal Moth."It was something in the nature of extracting a tooth, but Frobisher mounted the steps and tore down the two sprays asked for. Isa Benstein whipped them under the folds of her cloak. There was a subtle fragrance about her that a younger man than Frobisher would have found heady."I must fly to the dressing-room," she said. "And then to pay my respects to my hostess. Do you think that she is likely to recognise me?"Frobisher thought not. He lingered over his cigarette, making not the slightest attempt to play the host, though the dance was in full swing now, and the house echoed to the thud of feet in motion. At the same time, Frobisher was looking forward to plenty of amusement presently, before supper, when everybody unmasked. He grew a little tired of his own company presently and strolled into the ballroom. There the electrics were festooned and garlanded with ropes of roses, the plaintive band could not be seen behind a jungle of feathery ferns, a bewildering kaleidoscope of colour looped and twisted and threaded in a perfect harmony.A few of the younger and consequently moreblasémen lined the walls. A cavalier of sorts with a long, thin scar on the side of his lean head was watching the proceedings. Frobisher touched him on the arm."Not dancing, Lefroy?" he said. "Are you past all those fleeting joys?""It's an old wound in my thigh," Lefroy explained. He was just a little chagrined to discover that his host had so easily detected him. Frobisher's superior cleverness always angered him. "It is my amusement to spot the various women, and I have located most of them. But there is one! Ciel!""One that even meets with your critical approval! Good. She must be a pearl among women. Point her out to me and let us see if our tastes agree."Lefroy's eyes glittered behind their mask as they swept over the reeling crowd. A moment or two later and he just touched Frobisher on the arm."Here she comes," he whispered. "On the arm of General Marriott. No mistaking his limp, and his white hair like a file of soldiers on parade. What a costume and what a cost! That scarlet band across her brow over the mask is wonderfully effective. That woman is an artist, Frobisher. And she has the most perfect figure in Europe. Who is she?"Frobisher made no reply; he was studying Isa Benstein's costume—lustrous black from head to foot, with white seams fairly covered with rubies. There were rubies all over her corsage, bands of them up her arm, a serpent necklace round the milky way of her throat. The whole thing was daring, bizarre, and yet artistic to a point. The scarlet band across the brows struck a strong and vivid note. The rubies were not so bright as the woman's eyes. As she came nearer the tangle of blossom across her bosom showed up clearly. Lefroy gasped."A mystery in a mystery," he said. "She is wearing the Cardinal Moth. Who is she?"Frobisher laughed, and protested that each must solve the problem for himself. He liked to puzzle and bewilder Lefroy, and he was doing both effectively at the present moment. The Count would have liked to take the little man by the shoulders and shake him heartily."I believe you know who she is," he growled. "Come, Frobisher, gratify my curiosity.""I will refresh it if you like," Frobisher said with one of his sudden grins. "I am not positively sure, but I fancy I can give a pretty shrewd guess as to the identity of Madame Incognita. But would it be fair to give her secret away before supper-time? Patience, my fire-eater."The lady of the rubies passed along leaning on the arm of her companion. She gave one glance in Frobisher's direction, and Lefroy looked eagerly for some sign of recognition. But the dark eyes were absolutely blank so far as the master of the house was concerned.Lefroy turned and followed the couple in front. As Frobisher lounged back to the smoking-room for another cigarette, he almost ran into his wife.As hostess she was wearing no mask. Her beautiful face was just a little set and tired."Seems to be all right," Frobisher croaked. "They appear to be enjoying themselves. And yet half of them would like better to come to my funeral. Some pretty dresses here, but one head and shoulders over the others."You mean the ruby guise," Lady Frobisher exclaimed, with some animation. "Is it not superb! So daring, and yet in the best of taste. Everybody is asking who she is and nobody seems to know. I declare I feel quite proud of my mystery.""An angel unawares," Frobisher laughed silently. "You never can tell. And you mean to say that you can't guess who it is that is exciting all this attention?"Lady Frobisher looked swiftly down into the face of her husband. The corrugated grin, the impish mischief told her a story. It seemed very hard that the woman she most desired to keep in the background was actually creating the sensation of the evening."Mrs. Benstein," she whispered. "Clement, do you really think so?""My dear, I am absolutely certain of it. And why not? Isn't Mrs. Benstein as well-bred as a score of American women here to-night? Doesn't she carry a long pedigree in that lovely face of hers? Some folks here to-night suffer from a pedigree so old that even their grandfathers are lost in the mists of antiquity. What short-sighted creatures you women are! Can't you see that a creature so rich and daring and clever as Mrs. Benstein will be riding on the crest of the wave within a year? And you will gain kudos from the mere fact that your house saw her début into 'society'—Heaven save the mark!"Lady Frobisher had no more to say. There was a great deal of cynical truth in Frobisher's words. Mrs. Benstein was going to be a brilliant success as far as the men were concerned, therefore her presence at the assemblies of the smart set would become almost necessary. Lefroy came back at the same time, having learnt little or nothing in the refreshment room. Lady Frobisher might have gratified his curiosity if he had asked her, only she gave him no opportunity. She detested the man thoroughly; with her fine instinct she had detected the tiger under his handsome, swaggering exterior."No luck?" Frobisher laughed. "Well, it is nearly twelve o'clock, and then you will know. Come with me and smoke a cigarette till the clock strikes. It will soothe your nerves. A small soda and a drop of 1820 brandy, eh? Don't give my general run of guests that liqueur."Lefroy nodded carelessly. He would have it appear that he had dismissed the matter from his mind. But he had finished his cigarette and brandy as the clock chimed the midnight hour, and then, with a fine assumption of indifference, he returned to the ballroom. The band was playing something weird from Greig, the guests stopped just where they stood, and each cast their masks upon the floor.The swashbuckler was in luck, so it seemed to him, for the lady of the rubies stood smiling by the side of her military escort just opposite. The scarlet band had gone with the mask, revealing a fillet of rubies round the smooth white brow, a fillet with one huge ruby in the middle, so large and blazing that Lefroy stood aghast. He staggered back, and something like a stammering oath escaped him. The vulgarism was lost for the moment, and people congregated round the stranger. That many people there did not know who Mrs. Benstein was only gave piquancy to the situation."My God!" Lefroy muttered, "who is she? Where did she get it from? It's the real thing. I would swear to it amongst a million imitations. And I dare swear that, despite his air of mystery, Frobisher—— But he must not see it, I must prevent that, anyway."Lefroy hastened back to the smoking-room. His limbs were trembling under him now, a little moisture broke out on his forehead and trickled down his face. He had made a discovery that wrenched even his iron nerves. And at any cost Frobisher must not know.He was smoking and sipping brandy as Lefroy entered. If he saw anything strange or strained about the face of Count Lefroy, he did not betray the fact. He looked up gaily."Come to fetch me?" he asked. "Want me to see the lady of the rubies? Well, was the face worthy of the setting? Did you recognise her?""Never saw her in my life before," Lefroy said hoarsely. He stammered on, saying anything to gain time, anything to keep Frobisher where he was. "I've lost interest in the whole thing. Let's stay here and smoke, and talk about old times. What do you say?"Frobisher said nothing. He studied Lefroy's white face intently. Outside was a babel of laughter and chatter and the swish of drapery. A clear, calm voice announced a late visitor."His Highness the Shan of Koordstan," the footman said.Frobisher glanced at Lefroy's face. In itself it was a tragedy.CHAPTER XIV."UNEASY LIES THE HEAD——"As a matter of fact, His Highness the Shan of Koordstan had not intended to go to Lady Frobisher's dance at all, though he had been graciously pleased to accept the invitation. His present intention was to go to bed early and be a little more careful for the future. There was a shakiness about the ruler of Koordstan that told its own tale, a shakiness that would not have conduced to his popularity with his subjects in the Far East.An interview with a recently-arrived minister of his had changed his plans entirely. In place of bed he had a cold bath and a cup of strong coffee, and sat down, as far as his aching head would allow him, to review the situation. The final outcome was a fit of utter despair and an express letter to Harold Denvers, who fortunately was at home and ready to respond to the invitation.The Eastern potentate was smoking moodily as he arrived. Harold significantly declined the offer of refreshment of a spirituous description."Meaning that I have had enough already," the Shan said moodily. "But I'm sober as a judge now, had enough to make me. The shocking luck I've had lately!"He tossed a cigarette across to Denvers, and lighted a fresh one of his own."So I sent you to give me a leg up if you can. You are the only honest man of the lot. Denvers, I'm in a fine mess over the Blue Stone. If I don't produce it at once I'm done for. It would be madness for me to show my face at home again.""Somebody has discovered that your Highness has parted with it?""That's it. Lefroy is the rogue in the play. The game is Koordstan; for years he has been trying to get rid of me and put my cousin in my place. Even my own ministers are against me. And now I feel positive that Lefroy has given me away. They don't ask me to show the stone, or accuse me of parting with it—they are too deep for that. A minister comes with a lot of literature which he calls important documents of State which require to be sealed immediately. That rascal has been in my cousin's pay for years. And the worst of it is, the whole thing looks so natural and straightforward that I can't refuse, especially as everything has my sanction.""The document must be sealed with the Blue Stone?" Harold asked."Inevitably. It has been the custom for generations. Any deviation from this rule would do for me at once. Hamid Khan was here this afternoon, and I put him off this time by saying I was ill, which was no more than the truth. What shall I say when he comes back presently? If my confounded head did not ache so, I might find some way out of the difficulty, but as it is——"The Shan smote his fist passionately on the table. Nothing was any good, nothing could save the situation but the immediate production of the twenty thousand pounds needed to recover the jewel from Benstein. At the present moment the Shan had no resources whatever; he had always mortgaged his income, and most of his personal property had been dissipated in his brilliant pursuit of pleasure."But that's more or less beyond the point," he groaned. "The stone must be redeemed at once. I could not possibly put Hamid Khan off after to-night, even if I can manage that.""That will give us time to think," said Harold. "Let your man know that you don't keep so sacred a jewel at your hotel. You have heard of Chancery Lane Safe Deposit?"The Shan's eyes twinkled. His subtle mind rose to the suggested deception. For the present, at any rate, he saw his way to a pleasing subterfuge. He was pondering over the matter when there came a timid knock at the door, and a slim brown figure came humbly in."Hamid Khan," the Shan explained. "Why do you worry me again to-night? Didn't I say I was too ill to be troubled with state business?"Hamid prostrated himself at his master's feet. He was desolate and heart-broken; might any number of dogs defile his father's grave for his presumption, but the thing had to be done."I haven't got the stone," the Shan said, "I haven't been well enough to fetch it myself, and I dare not trust anybody else. Dog, do you suppose I should keep the jewel here? There is a place of vaults and steel chambers and strong rooms guarded night and day by warders, where the wealthy keep their valuables. The place is called the Safe Deposit, and is hard by where the learned lawyers argue. That is where the stone is, in proof of which I show you the key."The Shan gravely held up a latch-key. Acting though he was, there was a dignity about him that quite impressed Denvers. Hamid was impressed also, or his face belied him. He was sorry to have offended his royal master, but he was only obeying orders. Should he come again on the morrow?"Ay, at midday," the Shan said loftily. "Now take your miserable body from my presence."The Shan's dignity collapsed as the door closed behind Hamid Khan. He looked to Harold for assistance. He had not more than fourteen hours or so—and most of them the hours of the night—to find salvation. All the time Harold was leisurely turning over matters in his mind. If he could manage this thing for the Shan his future was made. He had his finger on the centre of an international intrigue almost. The Shan had always been favourable to England, his tastes and inclinations, his very vices, were English, whereas the new aspect leant towards Russia. The British Government doubtless would have stood by the Shan at this juncture had they known."There's only one thing for it," Harold said after a long pause. "We must try and work on Benstein's cupidity. He knows you, he is well aware that your name is good for a large sum of money, only he will have to wait for it. And of your integrity there is no doubt.""Your Foreign Secretary does not think so," the Shan groaned."I am not speaking of morals now, but stability. For the time you are hard up. If you will eschew champagne for a time, not to mention other things, you could make it worth Benstein's while to wait for a few weeks. Ask him to let you have the Blue Stone for a few days, after which it will be returned to him until it is properly redeemed. For this accommodation you are prepared to pay a further two thousand pounds."The Shan nodded greedily. He was prepared to promise anything. His lips were twitching with excitement. He rose and put on his coat."Let us go at once," he said. "But stop, do you know where Benstein lives? And if we do find him it's long odds that stone is deposited with his bankers.""Benstein lives in Berkeley Square," Denvers explained. "He is growing old and senile, he has come to that cunning stage when he does not trust anybody. He keeps all his valuables in a big strong-room at his house. That I know for certain. He is sure to be at home.""Then we'll go at once. It's a forlorn hope, but still—come along." Denvers checked his impulsive companion. Common prudence must not be forgotten."Your Highness forgets that you are certain to be watched," he said. "Your friend Hamid or some of his spies are sure to be pretty close. I'll go away from the hotel and wait for you in Piccadilly. Then you steal out by the side door and meet me."The Shan nodded approval. His head was too bad for him to think for himself. Harold stood on the steps of Gardner's Hotel, and hailed the first taxi that passed. The cabman was to drive to Piccadilly and there wait.Progress in Piccadilly was slow in consequence of the block of carriages before Frobisher's house. The guests were arriving in a steady stream, and Denvers amused himself by identifying most of them. One of the last comers was Lord Rashburn, Foreign Secretary, and his wife. Harold smiled to himself as he wondered what his lordship would give for his own private information. It might be necessary to appeal to Rashburn presently, and it was a good thing to know where to find him. Only it would be useless for Denvers to try and obtain admission to Frobisher's house.The Shan came up presently, and Berkeley Square was reached at length. Benstein was at home, and the footman had no doubt that he would see his visitors, late as it was. Many a bit of business with people who needed money in a desperate hurry had Benstein done between the dinner-hour and midnight. He was seated in his library now with a fat cigarette between his teeth and poring over a mass of accounts. To reckon up his money and to gloat over his many securities was the one pleasure of Benstein's life."Glad to see you, gentlemen—glad to see you," he said, rubbing his puffy hands together. "If there is anything that I can do for your Highness, it will be a pleasure.""His Highness wants to put two thousand pounds into your pocket," Denvers said. "It is the matter of the Blue Stone of——"A queer sound came from Benstein's lips, and his mottled face turned as pale as it was possible."You don't mean to say that you want the stone to-night?" he gasped."Why else are we here?" Harold demanded. The air was full of suspicion and he had caught some of it. "It is absolutely necessary that we should have it back, for a time at least. It was distinctly understood, I think, that the stone was to be returned at any hour of the day or night that we required it?"Benstein's big head swayed backwards and forwards pendulously, his thick lips were wide apart, and showing the gaps in the yellow teeth beyond. Harold's suspicions became a certainty. Benstein had parted with the stone."Do you want it now?" Benstein said, as if the words had been dragged from him.Harold intimated that he did want the stone immediately. Slowly Benstein was recovering. The rich red blood was creeping into his face again."It is impossible," he said. "Usually I keep most of my valuables here. But I recognised the political as well as the pecuniary value of the Blue Stone, and I did not dare. The stone is at the Bank of England, and I cannot get it before ten to-morrow. It is very unfortunate.""Very," Harold said dryly. "But we must make the best of it. I have a pretty shrewd idea where the stone is, but my guess would not have been the Bank of England. We don't propose to redeem the gem; we suggest that you should let the Shan have it for two or three days on the understanding that when the business is completed your charge is increased by the sum of two thousand pounds.""But this is not business," Benstein pleaded. "Under the peculiar circumstances——""Precisely," Harold interrupted dryly. "Under the peculiar circumstances you are going to accommodate us. Mr. Benstein, I fancy that you and I understand one another."Benstein's eyes dropped, and the fat cigarette between his fingers trembled. He muttered the talisman word "business" again; but he was understood to agree to the terms offered. He was shakily eager to offer his distinguished guests refreshments of some kind, but Denvers dragged the Shan away. Once in the street, the latter stopped and demanded to know what the pantomime meant."It's pretty plain," Harold said. "Old Benstein hasn't got your jewel at this moment.""Hasn't got it? Do you mean to say that he...? Preposterous! But in the morning——""In the morning it will be all right again. In the morning you will see quite another Benstein—a Benstein who has changed his mind, and will refuse to part with the Blue Stone so long as a single penny remains unpaid. I startled him to-night. I got astride of that figment of a conscience of his. But I am going to help you to clench the business. Come along.""Where are you going to?" the Shan asked feebly."Back to your hotel. You are going to dress up in your State war-paint and proceed at once to Lady Frobisher's dress-ball. I suppose you've any amount of dresses and that kind of thing—I mean you could rig out a staff, if necessary?""I've got all the mummery for going to Court, if that is what you mean.""Good," Harold cried. "I'll just step into this chemist's and get a few pigments necessary to the successful performance of my little comedy. You are going to the dance as the Shan of Koordstan, and I am going carefully disguised as Aben Abdullah, your suite."
CHAPTER XI.
BORROWED PLUMES.
Frobisher's highly sensitive nature demanded a flower as a little something to soothe his nerves. He passed into the conservatory where the Cardinal Moth was flaming overhead, he climbed like an over-dressed monkey up the extending ladder, and broke off a spray of the blooms. He patted them gently as he fixed the cluster in the silk lapel of his coat. Hafid looked in and announced that the car was ready. Hafid's face was white and set like that of a drug victim. Frobisher was at his most brilliant and best as the car flashed away. Presently the scene changed from the hot air and dusty glare of the streets, to green lawns and old trees and the soft music of a band of some colour and doubtful Hungarian origin. But there was the clear flow and the throbbing melody of it, and Frobisher's gloved hand beat gently to time. There were little knots of kaleidoscope colours, graceful and harmonious in graceful shades and the emerald green for a background. Here, too, was the Duchess with a swift, pecky smile for each guest, as if she had been carelessly wound up for the occasion, and something had gone wrong with the spring.
Frobisher slipped in and out of the various groups with his hands behind him. There were still certain people who seemed to be smelling something unpleasant as the wicked little baronet passed, but this only added zest and piquancy to his studies. It was some time before he found the object of his search—a study in yellow, and a large black hat nodding with graceful plumes. Something round her slim, white neck seemed to stream and dazzle, there was another flash of blue fire on her breast.
Yet the diamonds did not seem in the least out of place on Mrs. Benstein. There was something hard and shaky about her beauty that called for them—blue black hair drawn back in a wave from her forehead, a complexion like old ivory, and eyes suggestive of mystery. Frobisher thought of the serpent of old Nile as he looked at her critically.
A marvellously beautiful woman beyond all question, a woman without the faintest suggestion of self-consciousness. Yet she was practically alone in that somewhat polyglot gathering, and she knew that most people there were holding aloof from her. Frobisher strolled up in the most natural way in the world. He had had one or two dealings with Benstein, had dined with the man, in fact, but he had contrived not to see Mrs. Benstein in public till to-day. He dropped into a chair and began to talk.
"You feel any attraction to this kind of thing?" he asked.
"Well, not much," was the candid reply. "I came here out of curiosity. The Duchess would not have asked me, only that my husband is useful to the Duke. So you have got a Cardinal Moth?"
Frobisher fairly gasped, though he dexterously recovered himself. He smiled into the dark, swimming eyes of his companion. Their strange mystery irritated as well as fascinated him.
"And what can you possibly know about the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.
"Well, I know a great many things. You see my father was a merchant in the Orient, and my mother had some of the Parsee about her. We gravitate to strange things. But I see you have the Cardinal Moth, and, what is more, I know where you got it from."
The last words came with a quick indrawing of the breath that faintly suggested a hiss.
"Paul Lopez is by way of being a relation of mine," Mrs. Benstein went on. "At one time we were engaged to be married. I was much annoyed when he changed his mind. Sir Clement, why do you choose to be so amiable to-day?"
The quick audacity of the question stirred Frobisher's admiration. This woman was going to get on. With his fine instinct, Frobisher decided to be frank. Frankness would pay here.
"Well, I am a great admirer of courage," he said. "I admire your splendid audacity in coming here in broad daylight wearing diamonds."
A wonderful smile filled the eyes of the listener.
"Why shouldn't I wear them if I like?" she demanded. "The stones are wonderfully becoming to me. And, after all, it is only a matter of what these chattering parrots here call fashion. See how they are all watching me, imagine the things they are saying about me."
"And I am quite sure you do not mind in the least?"
"Not I. I must be doing something out of the common, something daring and original."
"It was anything but original, but certainly very daring, for one so beautiful to marry a man as—er, mature, as Aaron Benstein," Frobisher murmured. It was an audacious speech, and Mrs. Benstein smiled. "You might have had a duke or even a popular actor."
"Well, you see, I was sick of being poor. It is not my fault that I was born an artist with a second-hand clothes shop in Hoxton for a home. I don't look the part, do I? And Aaron came and fairly worshipped the ground I stood on. Except for money, and the making of it, he is perfectly childish."
"Therefore he tells you all his secrets like the dutiful husband that he is?"
"Oh, yes. I find some of the secrets useful. There is the Countess of Castlemanor yonder, who has stared at me in a way that would be vulgar in the common walk of life. And yet, if I went up and whispered a word or two in her ear, she would gladly drive me home in her car."
Frobisher laughed silently. Here was a woman after his own heart—a woman who studied society and despised it. And Frobisher was going to make use of her, as he made use of everybody, only this was going to be one of his finest efforts. Isa Benstein was no ordinary pawn in the game.
"I should like to see you do it," he chuckled.
"What is the use? She is a poor creature, despite her title and her marvellous taste in hats. Can't you give me a similar hold on Lady Frobisher? There would be some fun in humbling her."
Again Frobisher laughed. The splendid audacity of the woman fascinated him. The people he made use of as a rule were not amusing. And here was a power. It pleased his vanity to know that he was bending a power like this to his will.
"I am angry with myself to think of what I have lost," he said. "My dear Mrs. Benstein, it can all be arranged without annoyance to the lady who does me the honour to rule my household. I will bring my wife to you presently, and she shall ask you to her fancy dance next week."
"That will doubtless be a great pleasure to Lady Frobisher," Mrs. Benstein smiled. "I shall like her, but I shall like Miss Lyne a great deal better. And if you try to force her to marry that detestable little Arnott I shall do my best to spoil your hand."
Frobisher's teeth flashed in one of his uneasy grins. He felt like a man who has discovered a new volcano quite unexpectedly. What an amazing lot this woman knew, to be sure; what an extraordinary fascination she must exercise over her doting husband. He followed her glance now to a distant seat under a tree where Angela and Harold Denvers were talking together.
"Would you like to match your wits against mine at that stake?" he asked.
Mrs. Benstein declined the challenge. She was only a woman after all, she declared.
"I like the look of the girl," she said thoughtfully. "She's honest and true. And he's a man all through. Now go and bring Lady Frobisher to me, and we will talk prettily together, and she shall show me how much it is possible for a society woman to hate another woman without showing it. You want to make use of me or some subtle purpose, but it suits my mood for the present to comply."
Frobisher went off chuckling to himself. The creature was absolutely charming, so clever and subtle. But she was neither subtle nor clever enough to see his game, Frobisher flattered himself. In a profound state of boredom Lady Frobisher was nibbling a tepid strawberry dipped in soppy cream. She was tired to death, she said, and wanted to go home.
"It's a tonic you need," Frobisher said, with one of his quick grins. "Come along, and have your mental shower-bath. I'm going to introduce Mrs. Benstein to you."
Lady Frobisher rose stiffly. Her little white teeth were clenched passionately. But she made no protest. Under the eyes of fashionable London she crossed over to the place where Mrs. Benstein was seated. She knew perfectly well that her action would be the theme of general conversation at a hundred dinner-tables to-night, but she moved along now as if she were sweeping the primrose path of conventionality with her lace gown. There was some little seed of consolation in the fact that Mrs. Benstein made no attempt to shake hands. On the whole, she was perhaps the coolest and most collected of the two.
"My wife very much desires to make your acquaintance," Frobisher said in his smoothest manner. "Didn't you say something about a fancy-dress ball, Norah?"
Lady Frobisher was understood to murmur something that suggested pleasure and a wish fulfilled. She was not quite sure whether she had proffered the invitation or not, but it was a small matter, as Frobisher was not likely to permit the card to be omitted.
"It is very good of you, and I shall come with pleasure," Mrs. Benstein said. "I am not sure, but I fancy that society is going to amuse me. Of course, it is all a matter of time, though I could have pushed my way here before. You see, the Duchess asked me here of her own volition. My dear Lady Frobisher, do you see how Lady Castlemanor is glaring at you? Yes, I will do it. I will go and dine with that lady as honoured guest on Monday night. And you shall come and see my triumph."
Lady Frobisher turned feebly to her husband for support, but he was too frankly enjoying the performance to interfere. Here was a new farce, a new source of amusement.
"You will be a success," he predicted. "You must come to the dance as 'diamonds' or something of that kind. You would carry off any amount of jewels, and nothing becomes you better. You see we are already becoming the centre of attraction."
People were passing by with studied inattention. A great society dame paused and put up her glasses. In anybody else the stare would have been rude. The great lady's face flushed crimson with anger, much as if her own cook had been found masquerading in that select assembly. She took a step forward, paused, and then walked hurriedly away. Frobisher turned away to hide the mirth that he found difficult to control. He had come here practically on business, therefore the unexpected pleasure was all the more enjoyable. With a bow and a smile Lady Frobisher turned and took her husband's arm.
"Well, I suppose you are satisfied now," she said, with a fierce indrawing of her breath. "With your saturnine cleverness, perhaps you will tell me why the Marchioness behaved so strangely."
"The thing is obvious," Frobisher chuckled. "Benstein is a money-lender in a big way, old plate and jewels, and all that sort of thing. And he's got all her ladyship's diamonds. Probably takes the best of them home and shows his wife. Being weak and doting, she has them to play with. And Mrs. Benstein is wearing the old lady's collar and star this afternoon. And people say there's no comedy in society!"
Lady Frobisher turned away mortified and cut to the quick. And this was the class of woman that she had actually asked to her dance, one of the great social functions of the season! Frobisher threw himself into a deck-chair and gave way to his own amused thoughts.
"Clever fellow, Lopez," he chuckled. "On the whole, he earned that cheque. But I don't quite see what he meant by saying that Mrs. Benstein—by gad, I've got it! Lopez, you are a genius! It's any money that my grip on the Shan is in Benstein's house, and she can get it."
Frobisher rose and strolled back to Mrs. Benstein's side. It would have been impossible to guess from his face of the fiendish elation that burnt within him.
"I've been thinking over that jewel idea I gave you," he said. "Are you disposed towards it?"
"Yes," Mrs. Benstein said, thoughtfully. "I am very favourably disposed towards it indeed."
"Then wear rubies," Frobisher urged. "Rubies will suit you splendidly. I have the greatest fancy to see you decked out in rubies. If you can get hold of some large ones. I'll come round and have tea with you to-morrow, and we can discuss the matter thoroughly."
CHAPTER XII.
A MODEL HUSBAND.
Isa Benstein drove in her closed car thoughtfully homewards, a little less conscious than usual of the attractions caused wherever she went. On the whole she had enjoyed herself; she had got on far better than she had expected. It was characteristic of her self-reliance and strength of character that she had gone to the Duchess's party quite alone and knowing nobody there, whilst she herself was familiar by sight and reputation to everybody who would be present.
She had directed her husband to obtain that invitation out of a pure spirit of curiosity. She had read paragraphs touching the great social function in the smart papers, and Isa Benstein had smiled to herself as she remembered that but for her husband and his money-bags the great gathering could not possibly have taken place at all.
By instinct, by intuition, by observation, Isa had pretty well gauged modern society. She had seen it at Ascot and Cowes, at Hurlingham and Covent Garden, but as yet she had never actually been in it. And now her first experience was over.
She had almost come to the conclusion that the game was not worth the candle, when Frobisher came up and spoke to her. With her natural astuteness she had not long to see that Frobisher had some intention of making use of her. That being so, the game should be mutual. Not for one moment was Mrs. Benstein deceived—by some magnetic process Lady Frobisher had been forced to be polite, and ask her to that fancy-dress ball. Mrs. Benstein had smiled, but she had seen the rooted repugnance in Lady Frobisher's face, the constrained look in her eyes.
"I wonder how he managed it?" she asked herself as she drove along. "And what does that little creature with the brow of a Memnon and the mouth of a tom-cat want to get out of me? Money is at the root of most things, but it can't be money in that quarter."
Berkeley Square was reached at length, and for the moment Mrs. Benstein banished Frobisher from her mind. All she required now was a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most society women would have sacrificed a great deal to know the secret of Mrs. Benstein's complexion, but the secret was a simple one—she ate sparingly, and she never touched intoxicating drinks in her life. The tea was waiting in the drawing-room, the water was boiling on the spirit-kettle. A slight, dark man rose as Mrs. Benstein entered.
"I'll take a cup with you, Isa," he said. "Nobody makes such tea as yours."
"Paul Lopez," the hostess said. "I have not been honoured like this since the day when you and I——"
"Agreed to part. Who was wise over that business, Isa? No sugar, please. I loved you too well——"
"Never! You are incapable of loving anybody, Paul. I gave you the whole of my affection—and a scarlet, flaming plant it was—and you trampled it down and killed it. Not so much as a cutting remains. And why? Because you were ambitious and I had no money."
Lopez waved the accusation aside with his Apostle spoon.
"It was the wiser part," he said calmly. "I shall never be rich like Aaron, for instance, though I have ten times his intellect. My love of perilous adventure prevents that. And when I look round me, I am quite pleased with myself. Persian carpets, Romneys, Knellers, Lelys, Louis Quinze furniture, Cellini silver, even Apostle spoons. Have you got a complete set?"
"So I understand," Isa Benstein said carelessly.
"And there you have the keynote of this wonderful house. The exquisite pleasure you must have had in the collecting of all these beautiful things! And yourself?"
Mrs. Benstein smiled queerly as she bent over the teapot. When the time came she was going to be even with this man, though, characteristically, she had no flaming anger against him. She had loved him once, and let him see it, and he had weighed the possibilities, and coldly told her it was not good enough, or words to that effect. The secret was theirs alone.
"You cannot say that you are not happy," Lopez said after a long pause.
"Well, no. Happiness is but a negative quality, after all. I am probably a great deal happier than if I had married a scoundrel like yourself, for instance. That is Aaron's voice in the hall. I suppose you have come to see him on business, or you would not be here at all."
Lopez gravely accepted his dismissal. All this wonderful beauty and intellect would have been his had he at one time chosen to take it. Slowly and thoughtfully Mrs. Benstein went up to dress for dinner. She chose her gown and her jewels and her flowers with the utmost care; she might have been going to a state concert or dance, from the nicety of her selection.
"Madame is going out to-night?" the maid suggested.
"Madame is going to do nothing of the kind," Isa said, with one of her seductive smiles. "I am going to stay at home and dinetête-à-têtewith my husband. Always look as nice to your husband, Minon, as to other people. You will find the trouble an excellent investment."
Benstein was late. He had been detained so long that Isa was in the dining-room before he arrived breathlessly and full of apologies. With his fat, fair face, and heavy, pendulous lips, he made an almost repulsive contrast to his wife. His dress-suit was shabby and ill-fitting, suggesting that it had been bought second-hand like his large pumps. The red silk socks bore a pleasing resemblance to the cyclist's trousers when confined to the leg with those inevitable clips; they bulged over at the ankles. Benstein wore no diamonds; he had not even a large stud in his crumpled shirt. It was a great deprivation, and the financier mourned over the fact in secret. But Isa was inexorable on that point. The man was hideously common enough, without jewels. Besides, Isa's interference in the matter was by way of being a compliment. It showed at least that she took some sort of interest in the man she had married.
"Kept by business," Benstein wheezed. He raised his dyed eyebrows. He flattered himself that the dye took from his seventy years, whereas the deception merely added to them. "Nice you look! Lovely!"
His little eyes appraised her. Despite his many limitations, Benstein had a keen love of the beautiful—quabeautiful. Isa stood before him a vision of loveliness in a dress of green touched here and there with gold. The shaded lights rendered her eyes all the more brilliant.
"Give me a kiss," Benstein said hoarsely. "When you look like that I can refuse you nothing. I am getting into my dotage, men say. Well, perhaps. Good thing some of them can't see me now."
The elaborate dinner proceeded in that perfect Tudor dining-room. Not a single article of furniture was there that lacked historic interest. The old oak and silver were priceless, and every bit of it had been collected under Isa Benstein's own eye. No dealer had ever succeeded in imposing on her.
The silk slips were drawn at length from the polished dark oak with the wonderful red tints in it, so that the nodding flowers were reflected from a lake of thin blood. Here and there the decanters gleamed, a Tudor model of a Spanish galleon mounted on wheels was pushed along the table, its various compartments filled with all kinds of cigarettes.
"No, a Virginian for me," Isa said, as the servants withdrew. The drawing-room was a dream of beauty, but she preferred the dining-room. For restfulness and form and artistic completeness there was no room like the Tudor hall, she declared. "Give me good, honest tobacco."
"How did you get on to-day?" Benstein asked.
"I didn't. I sat and watched the procession. Sir Clement Frobisher came and made himself agreeable to me, and so did his wife—under compulsion. But she asked me to her dance, and I am going."
"Hope that they won't ask me, too," Benstein said uneasily.
"You need not go, in any case; in fact, I'd rather you didn't. I've been scheming out my dress, Aaron; do you happen to be strong in rubies just now?"
Benstein nodded his huge head and smiled. More or less, he had the jewels of the great world in his possession. It was his whim to keep them at home. He trusted nobody, not even a bank. Besides, nearly every day brought something neat and ingenious in the way of a jewel fraud.
"I can rig you out in anything," he said. "Yes, I could pretty well cover you in rubies. They're all on diamonds just for the moment, so that they bring their emeralds and rubies to redeem the white stones. Wonder what some of those big swells would say if they knew you had got their jewels to wear, Isa?"
Isa smiled at some amusing recollection, but she held her peace. Humour was not Benstein's strong point. He puffed away to the library, followed by his wife, and once there locked the door. Here was a large iron sheet that, being opened, disclosed something in the nature of a strong-room. There were scores of tiny pigeon-holes, each filled with cases and bags all carefully noted and numbered, for method was Benstein's strong point.
"More papers," Isa exclaimed. "A fresh lot since yesterday. Is it some new business, Aaron?"
"Count Lefroy," Benstein wheezed. "Valuable concessions from the Shan of Koordstan. Shouldn't wonder if those papers don't become worth half a million. Queer-looking things. Like to see them?"
Isa expressed a proper curiosity on the point. The papers were in Hindustani and English, with some cramped-looking signature and the impression of a seal at the bottom.
"Those signatures are both forgeries," Mrs. Benstein said, after careful examination. "And that seal, I feel quite sure, is a clumsy imitation of something better."
"Doesn't matter if they are," Benstein said without emotion. "If they are real, I only get a finger in the pie; if they are forged I bag the whole of the pastry. Let me once get Lefroy under my thumb like that, and I'll make a pocket borough of Koordstan. Leave your Aaron alone for business, my dear. Now let us see what we can do in the way of rubies, though I am a great fool to——"
"It's too late in the day to think of that," Isa said sharply. "Turn them out."
The shabby cases began to yield their glittering contents. The electrics glowed upon the piled-up mass of rubies, bracelets, brooches, tiaras, armlets—the loot of the East, it seemed to be. Isa's slim fingers played with the shining strings lovingly.
"This is even better than I expected," she murmured. "I shall be able to trim my dress with them, I can have them all over my skirt, I can cover my bodice. I am going simply as 'rubies.' Give me that tiara."
She placed the glittering crown on her head, she draped her neck and arms with the beautiful stones. Benstein gasped, and his little eyes watered. Was there ever so lovely a woman before? he wondered. When Isa looked at him like that he could refuse her nothing. It was criminally weak, but——
"The thing is almost complete," Isa said. "Now haven't you got something out of the common, some black swan amongst rubies that I could attach to the centre of my forehead, something to blaze like the sun? Aaron, you've got it; you are concealing something from me."
The financier laughed weakly, still dazzled by that show of beauty. In a dazed way he unlocked a little compartment and took a huge stone from a leather bag. His hands trembled as he handed it to his wife.
"You can try it," he said hoarsely; "you can see how it goes. But you can't have that to wear, no, no. If anything happened to it, they would make an international business of it, my life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase. You are not to ask me for that, no, no."
He meandered on in a senile kind of way. With a low cry Isa fastened on the gem. She pressed it to her white forehead, where it blazed and sparkled. The effect was electric, wonderful. She stood before a mirror fascinated and entranced by her own beauty.
"I shall have it," she said. "I couldn't go without this, Aaron. You are going to have it set into the finest of gold wires for me. Come, I won't even ask you where you got it from. And from what you say, nobody in England is likely to recognise it. Aaron, do, do."
Her smile was subtle and pleading. Nobody could have withstood it. Benstein gabbled something, his cheeks shook.
"Oh, Lord," he groaned. "If anything does happen! Well, well, my darling! Unlock the door and stay here till I come back. What artful creatures you women are! My dear, my dear. Positively I must go into the dining-room and treat myself to a liqueur-brandy!"
CHAPTER XIII.
THE QUEEN OF THE RUBIES.
The faint sobbing of violins sounded from somewhere, giving the artistic suggestion of being far off, the dominant note of the leader hung high on the air. Now and then a door opened somewhere, letting in the splitting crack of Piccadilly, the raucous voices of news-boys more or less mendaciously. Sir Clement Frobisher stood before the glass in his smoking-room setting his white tie. Over his shoulder he could see the dark, smileless face of Lopez looking in.
"What do you want here to-night?" he asked. "What are you thinking about me?"
"I'd give a good round sum—if I had it—to know what you are thinking about," Lopez retorted.
"Money isn't worth it. I was wondering if I really looked like a waiter, after all."
"Well, you don't. There is something too infernally sardonic and devilish about your head for that. May I take a cigarette? I dare say you wonder how I got here to-night? I—well, I just walked in. That kind of audacity always pays. Also you wonder why I came."
"Indeed I don't. You want me to lend you one hundred pounds. What do you do with your money, friend Lopez? Not that it is any business of mine."
"That being so, you have answered your own question," Lopez said dryly. "Every man has his weakness, even the strongest chain has its breaking-point. Let me have one hundred pounds. And pay yourself ten times over, as you always do for your accommodation. Did I earn my last five hundred pounds?"
"Indeed you did," Frobisher said frankly. "A wonderful woman, Mrs. Benstein."
"About the most wonderful I ever met. None of your dark schemers about her, none of your flashing eyes and figures drawn up to their full height. But there is the rare mind in its beautiful setting. You are going to make use of that woman? We shall see."
Both men smiled meaningly. The plaintive wail of the violins rose and fell, from the great hall beyond came the murmur of voices. Lady Frobisher's great function had commenced. Frobisher glanced significantly at the clock. He was in no fancy-dress himself, presumedly he was disguised as an honest man, as Lopez suggested. He laughed heartily at the gibe, and pushed Lopez outside the door with a cheque in his pocket.
Quite a crowd of cloaked and dominoed women had gathered there. Lady Frobisher had reverted to the old idea of a masked ball and the uncovering after the last dance before supper. The masks appeared to be walking about as they generally did, for Shepherd strolled up to Chloe and Adonis to Aphrodite in a manner that might have suggested collusion to the sophisticated mind. One tall woman, closely draped, touched Frobisher on the arm as he threaded between the silken mysteries.
"I have no flowers," she said. "My man stupidly dropped mine and somebody trod on them. Take me to your conservatory, Sir Clement, and give me my choice."
Frobisher offered his arm; he did not need to ask who the speaker was. Those low, thrilling tones, with the touch of power in them, could only have belonged to Isa Benstein. There was nobody in the conservatory which was devoted to orchids, and nobody was likely to be, for that part of the house was forbidden ground. Mrs. Benstein looked out from under her cloud—only her eyes and nose could be seen.
"May I not be privileged to see your dress?" Frobisher pleaded.
"Certainly not," Isa Benstein laughed. "Why should you be specially favoured? Get me two long sprays of orchid. I shall be content with nothing less than the Cardinal Moth."
It was something in the nature of extracting a tooth, but Frobisher mounted the steps and tore down the two sprays asked for. Isa Benstein whipped them under the folds of her cloak. There was a subtle fragrance about her that a younger man than Frobisher would have found heady.
"I must fly to the dressing-room," she said. "And then to pay my respects to my hostess. Do you think that she is likely to recognise me?"
Frobisher thought not. He lingered over his cigarette, making not the slightest attempt to play the host, though the dance was in full swing now, and the house echoed to the thud of feet in motion. At the same time, Frobisher was looking forward to plenty of amusement presently, before supper, when everybody unmasked. He grew a little tired of his own company presently and strolled into the ballroom. There the electrics were festooned and garlanded with ropes of roses, the plaintive band could not be seen behind a jungle of feathery ferns, a bewildering kaleidoscope of colour looped and twisted and threaded in a perfect harmony.
A few of the younger and consequently moreblasémen lined the walls. A cavalier of sorts with a long, thin scar on the side of his lean head was watching the proceedings. Frobisher touched him on the arm.
"Not dancing, Lefroy?" he said. "Are you past all those fleeting joys?"
"It's an old wound in my thigh," Lefroy explained. He was just a little chagrined to discover that his host had so easily detected him. Frobisher's superior cleverness always angered him. "It is my amusement to spot the various women, and I have located most of them. But there is one! Ciel!"
"One that even meets with your critical approval! Good. She must be a pearl among women. Point her out to me and let us see if our tastes agree."
Lefroy's eyes glittered behind their mask as they swept over the reeling crowd. A moment or two later and he just touched Frobisher on the arm.
"Here she comes," he whispered. "On the arm of General Marriott. No mistaking his limp, and his white hair like a file of soldiers on parade. What a costume and what a cost! That scarlet band across her brow over the mask is wonderfully effective. That woman is an artist, Frobisher. And she has the most perfect figure in Europe. Who is she?"
Frobisher made no reply; he was studying Isa Benstein's costume—lustrous black from head to foot, with white seams fairly covered with rubies. There were rubies all over her corsage, bands of them up her arm, a serpent necklace round the milky way of her throat. The whole thing was daring, bizarre, and yet artistic to a point. The scarlet band across the brows struck a strong and vivid note. The rubies were not so bright as the woman's eyes. As she came nearer the tangle of blossom across her bosom showed up clearly. Lefroy gasped.
"A mystery in a mystery," he said. "She is wearing the Cardinal Moth. Who is she?"
Frobisher laughed, and protested that each must solve the problem for himself. He liked to puzzle and bewilder Lefroy, and he was doing both effectively at the present moment. The Count would have liked to take the little man by the shoulders and shake him heartily.
"I believe you know who she is," he growled. "Come, Frobisher, gratify my curiosity."
"I will refresh it if you like," Frobisher said with one of his sudden grins. "I am not positively sure, but I fancy I can give a pretty shrewd guess as to the identity of Madame Incognita. But would it be fair to give her secret away before supper-time? Patience, my fire-eater."
The lady of the rubies passed along leaning on the arm of her companion. She gave one glance in Frobisher's direction, and Lefroy looked eagerly for some sign of recognition. But the dark eyes were absolutely blank so far as the master of the house was concerned.
Lefroy turned and followed the couple in front. As Frobisher lounged back to the smoking-room for another cigarette, he almost ran into his wife.
As hostess she was wearing no mask. Her beautiful face was just a little set and tired.
"Seems to be all right," Frobisher croaked. "They appear to be enjoying themselves. And yet half of them would like better to come to my funeral. Some pretty dresses here, but one head and shoulders over the others.
"You mean the ruby guise," Lady Frobisher exclaimed, with some animation. "Is it not superb! So daring, and yet in the best of taste. Everybody is asking who she is and nobody seems to know. I declare I feel quite proud of my mystery."
"An angel unawares," Frobisher laughed silently. "You never can tell. And you mean to say that you can't guess who it is that is exciting all this attention?"
Lady Frobisher looked swiftly down into the face of her husband. The corrugated grin, the impish mischief told her a story. It seemed very hard that the woman she most desired to keep in the background was actually creating the sensation of the evening.
"Mrs. Benstein," she whispered. "Clement, do you really think so?"
"My dear, I am absolutely certain of it. And why not? Isn't Mrs. Benstein as well-bred as a score of American women here to-night? Doesn't she carry a long pedigree in that lovely face of hers? Some folks here to-night suffer from a pedigree so old that even their grandfathers are lost in the mists of antiquity. What short-sighted creatures you women are! Can't you see that a creature so rich and daring and clever as Mrs. Benstein will be riding on the crest of the wave within a year? And you will gain kudos from the mere fact that your house saw her début into 'society'—Heaven save the mark!"
Lady Frobisher had no more to say. There was a great deal of cynical truth in Frobisher's words. Mrs. Benstein was going to be a brilliant success as far as the men were concerned, therefore her presence at the assemblies of the smart set would become almost necessary. Lefroy came back at the same time, having learnt little or nothing in the refreshment room. Lady Frobisher might have gratified his curiosity if he had asked her, only she gave him no opportunity. She detested the man thoroughly; with her fine instinct she had detected the tiger under his handsome, swaggering exterior.
"No luck?" Frobisher laughed. "Well, it is nearly twelve o'clock, and then you will know. Come with me and smoke a cigarette till the clock strikes. It will soothe your nerves. A small soda and a drop of 1820 brandy, eh? Don't give my general run of guests that liqueur."
Lefroy nodded carelessly. He would have it appear that he had dismissed the matter from his mind. But he had finished his cigarette and brandy as the clock chimed the midnight hour, and then, with a fine assumption of indifference, he returned to the ballroom. The band was playing something weird from Greig, the guests stopped just where they stood, and each cast their masks upon the floor.
The swashbuckler was in luck, so it seemed to him, for the lady of the rubies stood smiling by the side of her military escort just opposite. The scarlet band had gone with the mask, revealing a fillet of rubies round the smooth white brow, a fillet with one huge ruby in the middle, so large and blazing that Lefroy stood aghast. He staggered back, and something like a stammering oath escaped him. The vulgarism was lost for the moment, and people congregated round the stranger. That many people there did not know who Mrs. Benstein was only gave piquancy to the situation.
"My God!" Lefroy muttered, "who is she? Where did she get it from? It's the real thing. I would swear to it amongst a million imitations. And I dare swear that, despite his air of mystery, Frobisher—— But he must not see it, I must prevent that, anyway."
Lefroy hastened back to the smoking-room. His limbs were trembling under him now, a little moisture broke out on his forehead and trickled down his face. He had made a discovery that wrenched even his iron nerves. And at any cost Frobisher must not know.
He was smoking and sipping brandy as Lefroy entered. If he saw anything strange or strained about the face of Count Lefroy, he did not betray the fact. He looked up gaily.
"Come to fetch me?" he asked. "Want me to see the lady of the rubies? Well, was the face worthy of the setting? Did you recognise her?"
"Never saw her in my life before," Lefroy said hoarsely. He stammered on, saying anything to gain time, anything to keep Frobisher where he was. "I've lost interest in the whole thing. Let's stay here and smoke, and talk about old times. What do you say?"
Frobisher said nothing. He studied Lefroy's white face intently. Outside was a babel of laughter and chatter and the swish of drapery. A clear, calm voice announced a late visitor.
"His Highness the Shan of Koordstan," the footman said.
Frobisher glanced at Lefroy's face. In itself it was a tragedy.
CHAPTER XIV.
"UNEASY LIES THE HEAD——"
As a matter of fact, His Highness the Shan of Koordstan had not intended to go to Lady Frobisher's dance at all, though he had been graciously pleased to accept the invitation. His present intention was to go to bed early and be a little more careful for the future. There was a shakiness about the ruler of Koordstan that told its own tale, a shakiness that would not have conduced to his popularity with his subjects in the Far East.
An interview with a recently-arrived minister of his had changed his plans entirely. In place of bed he had a cold bath and a cup of strong coffee, and sat down, as far as his aching head would allow him, to review the situation. The final outcome was a fit of utter despair and an express letter to Harold Denvers, who fortunately was at home and ready to respond to the invitation.
The Eastern potentate was smoking moodily as he arrived. Harold significantly declined the offer of refreshment of a spirituous description.
"Meaning that I have had enough already," the Shan said moodily. "But I'm sober as a judge now, had enough to make me. The shocking luck I've had lately!"
He tossed a cigarette across to Denvers, and lighted a fresh one of his own.
"So I sent you to give me a leg up if you can. You are the only honest man of the lot. Denvers, I'm in a fine mess over the Blue Stone. If I don't produce it at once I'm done for. It would be madness for me to show my face at home again."
"Somebody has discovered that your Highness has parted with it?"
"That's it. Lefroy is the rogue in the play. The game is Koordstan; for years he has been trying to get rid of me and put my cousin in my place. Even my own ministers are against me. And now I feel positive that Lefroy has given me away. They don't ask me to show the stone, or accuse me of parting with it—they are too deep for that. A minister comes with a lot of literature which he calls important documents of State which require to be sealed immediately. That rascal has been in my cousin's pay for years. And the worst of it is, the whole thing looks so natural and straightforward that I can't refuse, especially as everything has my sanction."
"The document must be sealed with the Blue Stone?" Harold asked.
"Inevitably. It has been the custom for generations. Any deviation from this rule would do for me at once. Hamid Khan was here this afternoon, and I put him off this time by saying I was ill, which was no more than the truth. What shall I say when he comes back presently? If my confounded head did not ache so, I might find some way out of the difficulty, but as it is——"
The Shan smote his fist passionately on the table. Nothing was any good, nothing could save the situation but the immediate production of the twenty thousand pounds needed to recover the jewel from Benstein. At the present moment the Shan had no resources whatever; he had always mortgaged his income, and most of his personal property had been dissipated in his brilliant pursuit of pleasure.
"But that's more or less beyond the point," he groaned. "The stone must be redeemed at once. I could not possibly put Hamid Khan off after to-night, even if I can manage that."
"That will give us time to think," said Harold. "Let your man know that you don't keep so sacred a jewel at your hotel. You have heard of Chancery Lane Safe Deposit?"
The Shan's eyes twinkled. His subtle mind rose to the suggested deception. For the present, at any rate, he saw his way to a pleasing subterfuge. He was pondering over the matter when there came a timid knock at the door, and a slim brown figure came humbly in.
"Hamid Khan," the Shan explained. "Why do you worry me again to-night? Didn't I say I was too ill to be troubled with state business?"
Hamid prostrated himself at his master's feet. He was desolate and heart-broken; might any number of dogs defile his father's grave for his presumption, but the thing had to be done.
"I haven't got the stone," the Shan said, "I haven't been well enough to fetch it myself, and I dare not trust anybody else. Dog, do you suppose I should keep the jewel here? There is a place of vaults and steel chambers and strong rooms guarded night and day by warders, where the wealthy keep their valuables. The place is called the Safe Deposit, and is hard by where the learned lawyers argue. That is where the stone is, in proof of which I show you the key."
The Shan gravely held up a latch-key. Acting though he was, there was a dignity about him that quite impressed Denvers. Hamid was impressed also, or his face belied him. He was sorry to have offended his royal master, but he was only obeying orders. Should he come again on the morrow?
"Ay, at midday," the Shan said loftily. "Now take your miserable body from my presence."
The Shan's dignity collapsed as the door closed behind Hamid Khan. He looked to Harold for assistance. He had not more than fourteen hours or so—and most of them the hours of the night—to find salvation. All the time Harold was leisurely turning over matters in his mind. If he could manage this thing for the Shan his future was made. He had his finger on the centre of an international intrigue almost. The Shan had always been favourable to England, his tastes and inclinations, his very vices, were English, whereas the new aspect leant towards Russia. The British Government doubtless would have stood by the Shan at this juncture had they known.
"There's only one thing for it," Harold said after a long pause. "We must try and work on Benstein's cupidity. He knows you, he is well aware that your name is good for a large sum of money, only he will have to wait for it. And of your integrity there is no doubt."
"Your Foreign Secretary does not think so," the Shan groaned.
"I am not speaking of morals now, but stability. For the time you are hard up. If you will eschew champagne for a time, not to mention other things, you could make it worth Benstein's while to wait for a few weeks. Ask him to let you have the Blue Stone for a few days, after which it will be returned to him until it is properly redeemed. For this accommodation you are prepared to pay a further two thousand pounds."
The Shan nodded greedily. He was prepared to promise anything. His lips were twitching with excitement. He rose and put on his coat.
"Let us go at once," he said. "But stop, do you know where Benstein lives? And if we do find him it's long odds that stone is deposited with his bankers."
"Benstein lives in Berkeley Square," Denvers explained. "He is growing old and senile, he has come to that cunning stage when he does not trust anybody. He keeps all his valuables in a big strong-room at his house. That I know for certain. He is sure to be at home."
"Then we'll go at once. It's a forlorn hope, but still—come along." Denvers checked his impulsive companion. Common prudence must not be forgotten.
"Your Highness forgets that you are certain to be watched," he said. "Your friend Hamid or some of his spies are sure to be pretty close. I'll go away from the hotel and wait for you in Piccadilly. Then you steal out by the side door and meet me."
The Shan nodded approval. His head was too bad for him to think for himself. Harold stood on the steps of Gardner's Hotel, and hailed the first taxi that passed. The cabman was to drive to Piccadilly and there wait.
Progress in Piccadilly was slow in consequence of the block of carriages before Frobisher's house. The guests were arriving in a steady stream, and Denvers amused himself by identifying most of them. One of the last comers was Lord Rashburn, Foreign Secretary, and his wife. Harold smiled to himself as he wondered what his lordship would give for his own private information. It might be necessary to appeal to Rashburn presently, and it was a good thing to know where to find him. Only it would be useless for Denvers to try and obtain admission to Frobisher's house.
The Shan came up presently, and Berkeley Square was reached at length. Benstein was at home, and the footman had no doubt that he would see his visitors, late as it was. Many a bit of business with people who needed money in a desperate hurry had Benstein done between the dinner-hour and midnight. He was seated in his library now with a fat cigarette between his teeth and poring over a mass of accounts. To reckon up his money and to gloat over his many securities was the one pleasure of Benstein's life.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen—glad to see you," he said, rubbing his puffy hands together. "If there is anything that I can do for your Highness, it will be a pleasure."
"His Highness wants to put two thousand pounds into your pocket," Denvers said. "It is the matter of the Blue Stone of——"
A queer sound came from Benstein's lips, and his mottled face turned as pale as it was possible.
"You don't mean to say that you want the stone to-night?" he gasped.
"Why else are we here?" Harold demanded. The air was full of suspicion and he had caught some of it. "It is absolutely necessary that we should have it back, for a time at least. It was distinctly understood, I think, that the stone was to be returned at any hour of the day or night that we required it?"
Benstein's big head swayed backwards and forwards pendulously, his thick lips were wide apart, and showing the gaps in the yellow teeth beyond. Harold's suspicions became a certainty. Benstein had parted with the stone.
"Do you want it now?" Benstein said, as if the words had been dragged from him.
Harold intimated that he did want the stone immediately. Slowly Benstein was recovering. The rich red blood was creeping into his face again.
"It is impossible," he said. "Usually I keep most of my valuables here. But I recognised the political as well as the pecuniary value of the Blue Stone, and I did not dare. The stone is at the Bank of England, and I cannot get it before ten to-morrow. It is very unfortunate."
"Very," Harold said dryly. "But we must make the best of it. I have a pretty shrewd idea where the stone is, but my guess would not have been the Bank of England. We don't propose to redeem the gem; we suggest that you should let the Shan have it for two or three days on the understanding that when the business is completed your charge is increased by the sum of two thousand pounds."
"But this is not business," Benstein pleaded. "Under the peculiar circumstances——"
"Precisely," Harold interrupted dryly. "Under the peculiar circumstances you are going to accommodate us. Mr. Benstein, I fancy that you and I understand one another."
Benstein's eyes dropped, and the fat cigarette between his fingers trembled. He muttered the talisman word "business" again; but he was understood to agree to the terms offered. He was shakily eager to offer his distinguished guests refreshments of some kind, but Denvers dragged the Shan away. Once in the street, the latter stopped and demanded to know what the pantomime meant.
"It's pretty plain," Harold said. "Old Benstein hasn't got your jewel at this moment."
"Hasn't got it? Do you mean to say that he...? Preposterous! But in the morning——"
"In the morning it will be all right again. In the morning you will see quite another Benstein—a Benstein who has changed his mind, and will refuse to part with the Blue Stone so long as a single penny remains unpaid. I startled him to-night. I got astride of that figment of a conscience of his. But I am going to help you to clench the business. Come along."
"Where are you going to?" the Shan asked feebly.
"Back to your hotel. You are going to dress up in your State war-paint and proceed at once to Lady Frobisher's dress-ball. I suppose you've any amount of dresses and that kind of thing—I mean you could rig out a staff, if necessary?"
"I've got all the mummery for going to Court, if that is what you mean."
"Good," Harold cried. "I'll just step into this chemist's and get a few pigments necessary to the successful performance of my little comedy. You are going to the dance as the Shan of Koordstan, and I am going carefully disguised as Aben Abdullah, your suite."