Chapter 6

CHAPTER XIX.WHAT DID SHE MEAN?Harold was on the look out for Angela, so that she had not much trouble in finding him. His stolid Asiatic indifference was admirably feigned, and showed nothing of the anxiety within. There was just an interrogative gleam in his eyes for the moment."Isn't there somewhere where we can be really quiet for a few minutes?" he said. "I have successfully disposed of my royal rascal for the time, and I want badly to speak to you. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you can give me a good deal of information, Angela."Angela's smile indicated that she could. There was a small passage behind some heavy curtains leading to a suite of rarely-used rooms, and Angela led the way there. She put the light up for a few moments and disclosed a cosy corner lounge, then she snapped off the switch again."I've pulled the curtain back so that it is possible to see without being seen," she explained. "We must not stay long, Harold—I am sure that Mrs. Benstein will want me before long."Harold slipped his arm round the girl's waist, and kissed her. Stolen moments like this were very sweet. There was just an interval of blissful silence."Now tell me what you know," Harold asked presently, "about the Blue Stone.""I know nothing about the Blue Stone," Angela explained. "Mrs. Benstein has done something with it. All the mischief arose from the fact that she had no idea of the traditional value of the gem. She had not asked her husband about it. As a matter of fact a cunning idea of Sir Clement's——""I know all about that," Harold interrupted. "It was very cunning, and came near success, only I nicked in, and you and I spoilt it between us. Lefroy spotted the stone first and tried to keep the knowledge from Frobisher, which was practically impossible. Then luck conspired to force those fellows to make an offensive and defensive alliance. But where is the stone?""My dear boy, I haven't the remotest idea. All I know is that it has disappeared from Mrs. Benstein's forehead, and that she seems to be enjoying the comedy."Harold listened uneasily. He knew perfectly well that Frobisher and Lefroy would not stick at murder even to regain possession of the Blue Stone. If the sacred gem was still in Mrs. Benstein's possession she would never be allowed to reach home with the thing intact."I suppose we must wait on events," he said after a pause. "For the present the Shan is not likely to interfere. I have placed him safely at a bridge-table, and there he will sit so long as there is a game, though his kingdom was toppling about his ears. Still, it keeps him sober, and that is the main thing. I suppose Mrs. Benstein did not tell you what she proposed to do?""I didn't ask her, Harold. She is so marvellously cool and clever that I felt quite easy in my mind. But there is another foe to fight. I quite forgot to tell you about him.""Did Mrs. Benstein tell you, or did you find it out yourself?""No. It was Mrs. Benstein. She said somebody was closeted in the private smoking-room with Sir Clement and Count Lefroy. I was to pretend that I didn't know, and blunder into the room, taking care to get a good sight of the stranger before apologising. I did it very well."Harold squeezed Angela's waist affectionately. She laid a loving hand on his."Perhaps you know the man," she went on. "He looks like a true Asiatic, but at the same time he has blue eyes. It struck me as such a singular thing.""I know him perfectly well," Harold muttered. "This thing goes deeper than I expected. The man who is still plotting with these two rascals is Hamid Khan, who calls himself one of the Shan's ministers. He is perhaps the most dangerous foe my pseudo-master has. If he can only prove that the Blue Stone had been out of the Shan's possession there will be a change of dynasty in Koordstan. This is the worst piece of news I have heard to-night.""I don't quite see why you should be so deeply interested," Angela said softly."My darling, there is a good deal of self at the bottom of it," Harold admitted candidly. "I shouldn't take all this trouble and run all this risk for a worthless creature like the Shan, unless I could see some benefit in it. I want to pin him down over those concessions, which will make my fortune. They will give me control over one of the richest tracts of land in Koordstan. In a year or two I shall be wealthy.""Just as if it mattered," Angela whispered, rubbing her cheek against Harold's, "just as if it mattered, when I shall have so much. But don't forget that you have Mr. Benstein to deal with. You can't rob him of the stone which he has come by honestly in the way of business.""Oh, I know that. And we must have the stone by ten o'clock to-morrow. But I have found a way out of that difficulty. Between ourselves, Lord Rashburn showed me the way. We have a rich Englishman who will advance the money and benefit politically and secretly at the same time. He runs no risks of losing his capital either, because he is certain to get it back from the Shan in time. When Mrs. Benstein has gone home we shall follow and settle the business out of hand. I wish she would go now.""I should trust her," Angela said thoughtfully. "She will go in her own time and her own way; she will baffle those scoundrels yet, I am certain of it. My dear boy, do be careful. If you are found out——"Angela paused significantly. There was a risk of the mine being fired at any moment. There was no more dangerous or cunning foe in Europe than Sir Clement Frobisher, all the more dangerous in that he had Count Lefroy for an ally. And the time before the Shan was getting perilously short."Wait upon events a little longer," Angela urged as she arose. "We must go back again, it is not wise to stay here any longer. Mrs. Benstein may want me."Harold made no demur, pleasant as it was to linger by Angela's side. She held his face between her hands and kissed him, then he walked towards the curtain. The band was playing some passionate love waltz; there were murmurs of conversation and light laughter. It seemed almost impossible to identify intrigue and danger with so fair a scene.The two wandered on together past the dancers and the couples sitting out, talking quietly together as if they had been no more than casual acquaintances. Harold was a dull-dogged Asiatic again, but he kept his eyes about him. The crowd grew less; it was more quiet in the region of the card-rooms. Several parties were deep in bridge here, the Shan of Koordstan amongst the number. There was a pile of gold before him; from the satisfied glitter in his eyes he was winning heavily. Harold gave a sigh of relief. He was free still to follow his own plans without the added responsibility of keeping the Shan away from the champagne. He had a passion for wine, but a deeper passion for play, and so long as the cards were on the green baize, he would think of nothing else."His whole soul seems to be wrapped up in it," Angela whispered."Of course it is," Harold said contemptuously. "If I went to him now and told him that he had only to step across the room to recover his sacred gem he would ask me to come back in an hour. Doubtless he has quite forgotten why he came here. Look, here comes Frobisher."Frobisher came into the room rubbing his hands together and smiling softly. A glance at him told Harold that he had not only made his plans, but was perfectly satisfied with them. Somebody hailed Frobisher with a suggestion that he should come in and make up a table, but he excused himself. He strolled off down the corridor, and as he did so Angela caught sight of Mrs. Benstein's flashing gems in the distance."I'll follow her," she whispered. "She's gone towards the big conservatory."But Frobisher was on the same errand. He caught Mrs. Benstein up and made some remark. She smiled back at him as if there was nothing hidden under the surface."Oh, yes, the orchids," she said. "I have been promising myself a treat with your orchids. I will conveniently forget that I am engaged for the next dance. I want to see your Cardinal Moth in full bloom.""I want to know how you are soau faitwith the Moth," Frobisher grinned."That is my secret, sir," Isa Benstein laughed. "There is Eastern blood in my veins. But I know all about it. You will certainly be murdered if you keep that orchid long enough.""That, to my mind, is just the added charm," Frobisher said coolly enough. "I love the flower passionately. But the Cardinal Moth is unique, it has such a cruel, bloody history. Still I am not going to part with it for all the priests of Ghan."Isa Benstein was forced to admit that there was something in Frobisher's fascination as she looked up at the graceful ropes of blossoms. There had been one of the periodical bursts of steam which had just cleared away, so that the cloud of delicate white-pink bloom with its fluttering red satellites overshone in refulgent perfection."It is indeed the queen of flowers," a deep voice came from behind.Mrs. Benstein looked round into the dark, inscrutable face of Lefroy. She and her host and the Count were alone in the big conservatory. The door was open, but they were too far away for any one to hear or to hear any one else. That she had been lured there Isa Benstein knew without anybody to tell her. She had the Blue Stone of Ghan in her possession, both these men knew it, and they were both desirous of gaining possession, but they were both utterly unscrupulous in their methods.If it came to a personal struggle they were equal to that. They would both declare afterwards that the story of violence was a pure fabrication, and that it had existed in a hysterical woman's imagination. And for the sake of her husband Mrs. Benstein would say nothing. How could she stand up and tell the world that she had been wearing the Blue Stone at Lady Frobisher's dance, when the thing had been pledged to cover a money advance?These thoughts flashed through the woman's nimble brain like lightning. But the smile never left her face; she did not show for a moment that she knew or felt anything. She was quite ready."They are lovely," she said. "I am filled with envy, though I have some perfect orchids of my own. Miss Lyne, won't you come and worship at the shrine of Flora?"Isa Benstein raised her voice in the hope that Angela might be near. It was a sort of danger signal and might prove efficacious. The next moment Angela walked in. She understood perfectly, but she made no sign. Just for a moment Frobisher's eyes flashed like electric points."I don't care for orchids," Angela said. "There is something uncanny about them.""Not all," said Mrs. Benstein, as she bent and broke off a spray of deep blue blossom. Frobisher winced as if somebody had struck him a painful blow. "Look at these blooms; they are sweet and tender enough. Count Lefroy, I want you to arrange this spray in Miss Lyne's hair. You can reach better than I can, and I can trust your taste. Place this flat under the coil at the side."Angela made no demur, though she would far rather have done it herself. Lefroy did his work gracefully enough and stepped back to admire the effect, as did Isa Benstein. Frobisher, still snarling for the loss of his beloved flowers, looked on with his teeth bared in an uneasy grin."Perfect!" Mrs. Benstein cried, as if she had only one thought in her mind. "All this evening I have been racking my brains to know what little final touch was lacking. I beg of you as a personal favour not to remove those flowers till you go to bed. Now will you promise me?"Angela gave the promise lightly enough. Lefroy drew Frobisher a little on one side."We are wasting valuable time," he growled. "Get rid of that girl.""One moment. Her presence here is quite an accident. Our fair friend has no suspicion. I shall find a good pretext to get rid of Angela in a moment. Yes, it is a fine flower and quite unique."The last few words were spoken aloud. But if Lefroy had seized his chance for a word with Frobisher, Isa Benstein had not lost her opportunity. "I am going to make a remark," she said, "though I only dare to give you a hint. Sir Clement has ears like a hare. When I speak you are to give a laugh as if I had made a brilliant joke. You are quite sure neither of these men are really listening to us?""I think you can venture to go on," Angela murmured. "I am quite ready to laugh."She broke out into a rippling, amused smile as Mrs. Benstein slightly bent her head and said:"Be sure that you take down and brush out your hair to-night!"CHAPTER XX.CHECK TO FROBISHER.The whole thing struck Angela as strangely unreal. It hardly seemed possible that this swiftly-moving drama could be played amongst the settings of her daily life in this fashion. There was the dreamy music of the band—the Scarlet Bavarian Band of so many big social functions—the familiar fuss and flutter of drapery, the sound of well-known voices. Mrs. Benstein was smiling in the most natural way, the two men appeared to be quite at their ease. And yet here was a moving drama that any one moment might flare into tragedy. Still, Angela played the game mechanically.A light laugh rippled from her lips so naturally that she was quite surprised. She had not the slightest idea what Isa Benstein meant by the strange caution, but she had every intention of carrying it out to the letter. Frobisher sauntered back to his beautiful guest's side. Angela lingered, waiting for the next move. She saw Mrs. Benstein's eyes glance towards the door with a significant look. As she made some excuse for leaving the others together she saw a flickering smile of approval."May we smoke?" Frobisher asked, as he closed the door behind Angela. "We are all enthusiasts, and we don't want any dilettantes here.""You may do just as you please," Mrs. Benstein said. "Probably you would follow that course in any case. You are a bold man to keep the Cardinal Moth here.""What do you know about it?" Frobisher asked.There was a dry chuckle in his voice as he put the question. Mrs. Benstein looked up at the cloud of glorious blossoms over her head."I know a great deal," she replied. "I have lived with some strange people in my time and I have heard some strange things. There are certain quarters in the East End where they speak queer languages and where they know things that would startle the authorities. Amongst these people I was brought up. I learnt their ways and their methods. Ah, it was a good school for a girl who has a treacherous world to fight."The speaker flung herself into a chair and hung her long white arms by her side. The light gleamed upon her sparkling jewels and the dark eyes that sparkled more brightly still. Frobisher watched her with something more than artistic admiration; his thin blood was stirred."You speak like a Sibyl," he laughed. "If you know all about the Cardinal Moth you also know all about the Blue Stone of Ghan, I presume?"Frobisher's voice was low and hoarse and persuasive. He had flung down the challenge, and Isa Benstein was ready to receive it. She raised her large dark eyes slowly, and they seemed to float over the faces of her antagonists. She noted the leering grin on Frobisher's features, the truculent bullying expression of Lefroy's."I have heard of that also," she said in the same level tones. "The two are inseparable.""Or ought to be," Frobisher went on. Evidently he was to be the spokesman. "But if the Moth has flown far, why not the sacred jewel? Have you ever seen it, fair lady?"The question was a direct threat, and Isa Benstein rose to it. She sat there swinging her long arms idly, and glancing with perfect self-possession at her companions. They meant to have that jewel, as she knew; they were not going to stick at anything to gain possession of it."I have seen it," she said quietly; "in fact, I wore it here on my forehead to-night."Frobisher started. He fairly beamed with admiration. What a woman! What a nerve! he thought. Anybody else would have denied the thing point blank. But here was a woman prepared for any emergency. There was going to be a battle of wits here, and Frobisher rose to the fray."Surely a rash thing to do," he murmured."Wasn't it?" Isa Benstein asked with a swift and glorious smile. "But ignorance is bliss, you say. That being so, there ought to be a great deal more happiness in the world than there is. Count Lefroy, won't you sit down? No, in that other chair, so that I can see your face."Lefroy bowed and complied. All this waste of time annoyed him, but Frobisher, on the other hand, was enjoying himself exceedingly. Nothing that was straight or open ever appealed to him. He would rather have obtained a shilling by crooked means than a sovereign by holding out his hand for it."You came here wearing the Blue Stone without knowing it?" he asked. "I am interested, fascinated, and amazed. Incidentally, I am a little amused into the bargain.""Possibly," Isa Benstein smiled brilliantly. "But you are not half so amused as I am."Frobisher grinned at the way in which his challenge had been flaunted back into his teeth. With the quick subtlety of the polyglot the woman had grasped his scheme and what he wanted."It is good to feel that my guests are thoroughly enjoying themselves," he said politely. "I should like to know how the Blue Stone came into your possession at all.""Problems seem to be in the air," Isa Benstein murmured. "Your flattering interest is very soothing to my vanity. You know what a conjurer means when he speaks of forcing a card on a spectator? Of course you do. The expert with his quickness and his patter can make the spectator he selects draw any card he chooses. The conjurer in this case chose me to force his card upon. But all the same when I came here I had no notion that I was wearing anything half so historic as the Blue Stone of Ghan.""But you tound it out after you got here?" Frobisher said keenly."Yes. That was a piece of good luck. And when I did so I removed it. That was a piece of caution.""Then you had worked it all out in your mind, I suppose?""Yes. I worked it out in the best possible way—backwards. I worked it out so completely that I was in a position to read another person's mind. Shall I read that other person's mind?"Frobisher bowed and smiled in one of his quick grins. Lefroy shifted uneasily in his chair. Isa Benstein's lips were parted, her arms played idly by the side of her chair, there was no sign of fear in her eyes. When she spoke again it was quite calmly and slowly."We will begin with the conjurer," she said. "After all, he has succeeded in forcing the card that is destined to lead up to the brilliant trick that dazzles and astonishes everybody. We will assume, for the sake of argument, that you are the conjurer and I am the silly heedless spectator who is marked out as the involuntary accomplice.""The mind could not grasp you in that senile capacity," Frobisher murmured."Then give your vivid imagination free run for once, Sir Clement. The card in this case represents something that you very much desired, call it the Blue Stone of Ghan. The sacred jewel is hidden in a certain place. Your great idea is to conjure that somewhere else, and being a master of your trade, you have to make use of a third party who shall make the transfer for you without knowing anything of the matter. Only a prince among conjurers could hope to bring off so brilliant a coup as that, but there is no great success without great audacity. But Count Lefroy is looking at his watch. I am afraid that he is not interested.""It matters nothing about Lefroy," Frobisher said. "I am deeply interested. Pray go on.""Of course, our conjurer knows where the stone is. It is in the custody of an old man who has a young wife. The old man with the young wife has countless gems for safe custody. From time to time he lends these gems to his wife to wear, though, with the characteristic caution of his tribe, he never says anything to the owners. Well, here is the conjurer's card forced from him, so to speak. All he has to do now is to design an occasion when the transfer may be made. We will say it is to be at a brilliant party—a fancy-dress ball, where gems may play a leading part. The victim will be there. As the Blue Stone of Ghan is a ruby, he naturally suggests rubies, much as the common conjurer with his magic bottle induces his assistant on the stage to choose the kind of liquid he wants to dispense. Says he to himself, that old man will offer his young wife the Blue Stone as a kind of crown of glory, and she will take it, not knowing what it is. Once she arrives at the fancy-dress ball the rest is easy. Do I interest you so far?""Wonderfully," Frobisher croaked. "Fancy finding the conjurer out like that. But though you have spoiled the trick, he must have the forced card, in this case represented by the—but why complete the phrase?""Why, indeed?" Isa Benstein asked serenely. "The brilliant trick as a brilliant trick has failed, for the simple reason that the involuntary medium has been too clever for her part. But I see that the conjurer is not so disconcerted as he might be, because he can always fall back upon his bully method whereby he sometimes disguises failure and leads up to a success in a fresh line. Is it to be the bullying policy, Sir Clement?"Sir Clement bent forward and nodded eagerly. His yellow teeth were all exposed in a wide grin. Lefroy sat regarding him with open contempt. A clock somewhere struck two; the strains of the band floated in."I should like to borrow the Blue Stone," Frobisher said hoarsely."We will discuss that presently," Isa Benstein went on. "Perhaps I had better finish my train of logical reasoning. There was danger of the trick failing, in so much as the Blue Stone might have been recognised. And here was a further resource open to the conjurer. It was open to him to put aside the tricks of his trade and take the stone, take it with violence, if necessary. He would argue that his victim dared not speak, that she would put up with the loss rather than tell a story that nobody would believe. The idea of a man robbing his guest with violence under his own roof—and such a roof!—would be scouted by any common-sense person. Again, the unconscious medium would have her husband to consider. If the true facts of the case came out he would be ruined; there would be a scandal that might end in a gaol. Of course, when the desired mischief had been worked, the stone would be restored again, discreetly found before it was lost. Really, gentlemen, my imagination makes me nervous. As I sit opposite you, I am inwardly alarmed lest you should fall upon me and despoil me of a thing I would not have touched had I been aware of the true history of the case. I know I am foolish——""Madame," said Frobisher, rising with a bow. "You cruelly malign yourself. I have had some experience of clever people, and you are by far the cleverest woman I have ever met. Your insight is amazing, of your courage there can be no doubt. But don't carry your courage too far."Mrs. Benstein had risen in her turn, the critical moment had come, but she gave no sign. Frobisher stood also, shaking his head doggedly."You deem discretion to be the better part of valour," the woman said. "The English profess never to know when they are beaten! Surely that is carrying the thing too far. The man who knows when he is beaten is the most valorous foe, for the god of war is always on the side of heavy battalions. You want the stone?""I must have it," said Frobisher."Must is not a nice word, but——""But it's got to be used," Lefroy spoke for the first time. "All these words are so much air. Will you be so good as to lend us the Blue Stone for a time, or——""Stop!" Mrs. Benstein cried. "Let us quite understand one another. If I do not lend you the stone you are prepared to go to extreme measures to get it?"Frobisher nodded and grinned till his teeth flashed again. He advanced with his hands outstretched and a look of greed in his eyes. Lefroy stood by as if apart from the discussion."A few more words," Mrs. Benstein said, with a steady smile, "a few more words, and then you may do as you please. I am forced to allude to the conjurer again and his forced card. That card is in the possession of the involuntary medium. The success of the experiment depends upon the ability of the conjurer to force the card when and how he will. But suppose the involuntary ally determines to frustrate the trick, and say that he has lost the card or changed it for another, what then?"A wicked, brutish oath sprang from Frobisher's lips. All his pretty cynicism and flippant hardness had gone and the original savage looked out of his eyes. Just for a moment he panted with a rage that was unconquerable. He was a murderer in his heart at that moment."You mean," he gasped—"you mean to say that you——""Precisely. As I said before, I had thought the matter out. Am I the woman to be any man's puppet? The card has disappeared, the conjurer is baffled. If you can find the card, well and good; if not, the trick fails. The card is no longer in my possession."And Frobisher, looking into her eyes, knew that she spoke the truth.CHAPTER XXI.DENVERS LEARNS SOMETHING.Frobisher was first to recover himself. There were beads of moisture on his forehead, his teeth were ground together, but he forced a smile to his lips. Then he laughed in a low chuckling fashion, as if something subtle had greatly amused him. Lefroy stood there, glowering."I'm not going to be put off like that," he said. "The thing's impossible."Isa Benstein ignored the speaker altogether. She was lying back in her chair as if bored with the whole proceedings. The lights were gleaming on her jewels and her beautiful, tranquil face."Don't lose your head," Frobisher said, still laughing in the same noiseless way. "Surely you're not so accomplished a liar that you haven't learned to know the truth when you see it. I pay Mrs. Benstein the compliment of believing every word that she says. We have exposed our hands for nothing, and been outwitted by a very clever woman. You'll gain nothing by losing your temper.""Who could she have passed the jewel on to?" Lefroy growled."Ah, that is the point! Knowing nobody here and all! Madame, I kiss your hand. You have made Clement Frobisher look and feel like a fool. It is a sensation I have not experienced since I left school. I believe every word that you say, nay, if I let myself go I could be furiously angry with myself. Lefroy, you had better go, there is nothing to be gained by staying here. After all——"Frobisher paused, and Mrs. Benstein, with her head serenely tilted upwards, finished the sentence."After all, the Shan of Koordstan is in no better plight than he was before. Whoever has possession of the stone, it is assuredly not the Shan."Lefroy strode off and clanged the door behind him. Frobisher lighted a fresh cigarette. He had been found out in a singularly rascally action, but that did not disturb his equanimity in the least."You must be having a particularly pleasant evening," he said."The most enjoyable I ever remember." Isa Benstein smiled frankly. "In the first place, I have created a sensation and scored a most decided success. To a woman that is like a foretaste of Paradise. Then, again, I have been involuntarily forced to become the central figure of a most exciting intrigue. I love intrigues and mystery to my finger-tips. I was to have been the puppet, and yet I have beaten you all along the line. Oh, yes, I am likely to remember this evening for some time to come.""I suppose so," Frobisher grinned. "If I had known I would have lent you a prize ruby and the Blue Stone might have remained where it was. If I had made you my ally——""Impossible," Isa Benstein said, curtly. "I should never have trusted you."Frobisher laughed as if the candour appealed to him."I bear no malice," he said. "I love a strong foe. But I wish I had lent you my big ruby, all the same. You must accept a souvenir of that kind in memory of this eventful evening. I'll fetch you some uncut stones from which I shall be proud for you to make your choice. Meanwhile I shall leave you to admire my orchids. You can't very well run off with my Cardinal Moth.""I should like to examine it closer," Isa Benstein said.It was easily done. Frobisher merely pulled a lever and the framework upon which the Cardinal Moth was roped came down to within a few feet of the ground.Mrs. Benstein caressed the blossoms tenderly. Such a wealth of bloom had never been seen before. She stood with them all about her like the goddess Flora, the ropes touched her bare arms, the flowers nodded in her face."I'll not be long," Frobisher croaked as he stooped and touched one of the shining taps near the floor. "My word, what a picture for an artist you make!"He crept away gently, leaving his guest amidst the nodding blooms. They were so fascinating that Mrs. Benstein could think of nothing else for the moment. She had quite forgotten the events of the evening. She turned her lips to a cluster of the glorious blooms."They are like beautiful, fascinating snakes," she said to herself. "No wonder the man dares run the risk of having this bewildering beauty in his house. Like lovely snakes, the hiss and all complete."There was a sudden hiss of escaping steam, and the whole of the dropped trellis-work was enveloped in mist. The mass seemed to move as if it had been endowed with life or as if a strong breeze had swept over it. Then without the slightest warning a grip like a vice caught Isa Benstein below and above the elbow, pressing her forearm and causing her to wince with the horrible pain.So tight was the grip that she could not turn or move. She stood there writhing in agony, and yet too fascinated to call out. The bones creaked and cracked, and still the pain grew greater; it seemed impossible that any human fingers could grip flesh and blood like that. Were all the weird legends clinging round the Cardinal Moth true, Isa Benstein caught herself wondering in a faint, dizzy way?Then she braced herself up and struggled violently. It was characteristic of the woman that she uttered no cry. As she drooped and her eyes grew cloudy she had a faint vision of a face under a turban, and then there came a sound of swiftly rushing feet. The platform seemed to rise with a sudden jerk. Isa Benstein was wrenched from her feet, the weight of her body told, the arm came away with a cruel drag from the vice-like grip, and she fell a huddled, shimmering heap on the floor."I hope you are not much hurt," a voice whispered in her ear. "It was dreadful."Isa Benstein scrambled to her feet breathless, dizzy, and writhing with pain. But her quick eyes were clear now, and she recognised the Shan's companion, whom she knew to be Angela's lover. His face was white and quivering; there was a nameless horror in his eyes."You saw it," Mrs. Benstein said. "What was it?""I cannot tell you yet," Harold said. "It was too dreadful, too awful. The shock of discovery almost unmanned me for a moment. We will speak about that presently. How did you happen to be just where you stood?""I was admiring the flowers. Sir Clement pulled down the frame for me, so that I could see better. He went away to get something that he wanted to show me, then there was that sudden grip.""Which seemed to come out of a vapouring mist, did it not?" Harold asked hoarsely. "By accident I loosened the spring, and as the frame rose your weight released you. Is not that so?"Mrs. Benstein nodded; she had no words just for the moment. Now that the reaction had come she was feeling sick and faint with the pain. Harold's eyes were still distended with the horror of some awful discovery."It is very strange," he said. "Sir Clement did not mean to come back to you, for he has just left the house. He slipped out with some companion whose face I did not see. But your arm is painful. Nothing broken, I hope?"Isa Benstein raised her lovely white arm to prove that such was not the case. But there was a round red band, and here and there a thin red stream came from the broken skin."Would you mind keeping this to yourself for the present?" Harold asked. "Believe me, there are urgent reasons why you should do so, reasons so urgent that I cannot go into them now. If you are silent we shall bring one of the greatest scoundrels to the gallows. If not——""I will be silent," Mrs. Benstein said, between her white set teeth. "But if you could get me away to see a doctor, or if there is a doctor here whom I could trust——""Of course there is, I must have been a fool not to have thought of it before. Sir James Brownsmith is the very man, and he is interested in the case too. Nobody is likely to come in here."Harold hurried away in search of Brownsmith, whom he had seen a little while before. He found Angela and explained what he desired to her. He had hardly got back to the great conservatory before the great surgeon bustled in. Coolly enough Harold locked the door. There was no chance of Sir Clement coming back yet. In a few words he gave a brief outline of what had happened."It's part of the mystery," he said. "The same horrible mysterious force that brought that poor fellow at Streatham and Manfred to their death.""Good God!" Sir James cried. "Do you mean to say that you have solved that mystery?""Certainly I have. That is why I wanted you above all men to see Mrs. Benstein. Oh, never mind who I am for the present. To the world I am merely Aben Abdullah attached to the suite of the Shan of Koordstan, and I am popularly supposed to know very little English. Look to your patient, man."Sir James passed the rudeness from a young man to one of his exalted position. Very tenderly and gently he examined the wounded arm. But his vivid interest was more than strictly professional."This is very strange," he said. "There are no bones broken, I am glad to say—nothing worse than a severe bruise. But I could not believe, I should utterly refuse to believe that a human hand could make such a mark like that. Why, it would have to be as large as a shoulder of mutton to grip the forearm and deltoid like that. Did you see your assailant, Mrs. Benstein?""I saw nothing at all," Mrs. Benstein said, with a faint smile. "There was nobody to see."Sir James shook his head, but Harold nodded as if he quite approved of the remark. Sir James was still carefully examining the round white arm."The thing tallies," he said. "There are the same cruel marks, the same indentations as from a coarse cloth. And also we have the same great force used. In the name of God, what is it, sir?"Brownsmith spoke with a sudden horror upon him. Harold shook his head."I can sympathize with your feelings, Sir James," he said. "I came very near to fainting myself when the full force of the thing dawned upon me. But for the present I prefer to keep silence. And I will ask you to be silent also. You would be playing into the hands of an utter scoundrel if the slightest inkling of Mrs. Benstein's accident were to leak out."Brownsmith pursed up his lips and nodded."Then the best thing Mrs. Benstein can do is to go home," he said. "Plenty of hot water fomentations for the present and something to follow. I'll see that it is delivered to-night. But, seeing that Mrs. Benstein has to say good-night to her hostess, and seeing that her dress is so low in the sleeves——"Isa Benstein solved the problem in her own swift, characteristic fashion. She tore her dress from the shoulder so that the gauzy fabric hung over and hid the cruel red seam on her arm."Ask Lady Frobisher to come here," she said. "Then call my car and fetch my wraps. I quite see the necessity of making the thing look as natural as possible."It was all done so smoothly and easily that no suspicion was aroused. Mrs. Benstein had simply had an accident with her dress, an accident that necessitated her immediate return home. She had had a charming evening, one that she was likely to remember for a long time. Her manner was easy and natural; she gave no impression of one who has escaped a nameless horror, perhaps a cruel death."I can slip away, thank you very much," she said. "Perhaps the gentleman who has been so kind will see me to my car. May I ask your arm?"Harold bowed profoundly. It was just the opportunity he required. They threaded their way through the guests along the brilliantly-lighted corridor into the street where the car was waiting. Isa Benstein held out her hand in a warm and friendly grip."I am going to help you and Miss Lyne, if I can," she said. "Ask Miss Lyne to come and see me the first thing in the morning. After she has gone to bed to-night she will know and appreciate my request. Have you really solved the mystery of the two tragedies?""I am absolutely certain of it," Harold replied. "See, there is Sir Clement and that fellow—Hamid Khan, the man who was in the smoking-room, you know."Mrs. Benstein looked eagerly out of the window. Her big eyes gleamed. "It is as I expected," she said. "I have made a discovery also, Mr. Denvers. If you will call on me after eleven to-morrow you will hear of something greatly to your advantage. Strange how fate seems to be playing into our hands to-night."The car moved forward, the speaker was gone.CHAPTER XXII.STRANDS OF THE ROPE.Denvers returned to the ballroom with a feeling that he would be glad to get away. The whole thing sickened him, the light laughter and frivolous chatter jarred upon his nerves. He had been very near to a dreadful tragedy; he had learnt a hideous truth, and he had not got himself in hand yet. He wanted to know the whole truth without delay. Angela awaited him anxiously."My aunt tells me that Mrs. Benstein is gone," she said. "She had an accident with her dress. Harold, you look as if you had seen a ghost.""I have seen the devil, which is much the same thing," Harold murmured. "My dear girl, never again shall I flatter myself that I have no nerves. I dare not go into the refreshment-room and demand strong drink, but I shall be more than grateful if you will smuggle me a glass of champagne into the little alcove where we first met to-night. There I can tell you something."But it was not very much that Harold had to tell. The terrible discovery he had made must be kept to himself as far as Angela was concerned. Mrs. Benstein would like to see Angela in the morning. She had a new design for a costume that might suit the girl, so that she was to be sure and wear the blue orchids that Angela had at present in her hair."It sounds very mysterious," Angela smiled."Well, it does," Harold admitted. "But I'm sure Mrs. Benstein has good reasons for the request. Taking her all in all, she is the most brilliantly intellectual woman I have ever met, and if I mistake not she can supply the missing piece of the puzzle. Now I really must say good-night, dear old girl, and drag my master home. I have much to do before I go to bed.""What did Mrs. Benstein do with the ruby?" Angela asked."I don't know. She utterly baffled Frobisher and Lefroy. At first it occurred to me that she had passed it on to you, but she would argue that your tell-tale face would give you away. I expect she acted as the hero of Poe's 'Purloined Letter' did—place the gem in a place so simple and commonplace, that nobody would ever dream of looking for it there. However, I am quite sure that the jewel is safe."In the card-room the Shan was just finishing a rubber of bridge. He had won a considerable sum of money, and was in the best of spirits. As two of the players quitted the table, Harold drew his pseudo-master aside."You are not going to play again," he said, curtly, "you are coming home. If you refuse to come home I shall take no further interest in your affairs. Do you hear?"The Shan nodded sulkily. Like the spoilt child that he was, he had no heed for the morrow. But Denvers' stern manner was not without its effect. He wanted a glass or two of champagne first, but Denvers fairly dragged him into the street. There was no car waiting, so perforce they had to walk."You're carrying it off with a high hand," the Shan growled. "Anybody would think you had the Blue Stone safe in your pocket. Have you done anything?""I have done a great deal; on the whole, it has been a most exciting evening. Still, so far as things go I am quite satisfied with myself. The rest depends upon you. It will be your own fault if you don't see your own back to-morrow. No drink, mind; you are to go to bed quite sober.""Confound you!" the Shan flashed out, passionately. "Do you know who I am? A servant like yourself——""I am no servant of yours," Harold replied. "And I know quite well who you are. You are a dissolute, drunken fool, who is doing his best to bring himself to ruin. And I am doing my best to save you at a price. If you like to go your own way you can."The Shan muttered something that sounded like an apology."You see, I am greatly worried about the Stone," he said. "The Stone and the Moth. You promised to tell me to-night where the Moth had vanished to.""The Moth is hanging up in Sir Clement Frobisher's conservatory," Harold Denvers said. "Frobisher would have shown it to you to-night only he had a more interesting game to play. It is the very plant that was stolen from Streatham. You can imagine the price Frobisher would ask for its restoration. You would grant the price, and then he would have found some way to repudiate all the wicked story of that infernal flower.""Of course I do, my dear chap," said the Shan, now thoroughly restored as to his temper. "It has been whispered fearsomely round firesides in Koordstan for a thousand years. The Cardinal Moth guarded the roof of the Temple of Ghan. All the great political criminals were sentenced to climb to the roof and pick a flower from the Moth. The door was closed and the temple seen to be empty. When the priests outside had finished their prayer the door was open and the criminal lay on the floor dead with the marks of great hairy hands about him. Sometimes it was the neck that was broken, sometimes the chest was all crushed in as if a great giant had done it, but it was always the same. Ay, they dreaded that death more than any other. It was so mysterious, horrible.""And you have no idea how it was done?" Harold asked."Not a bit of it. The priests kept that secret. Of course they pretend to something occult, but I have been in the West too long to believe that. Still, it is pretty horrible.""You would perhaps like to know how it is done?""Of course I should, Denvers. The priests are too cunning for that.""Doubtless. All the same, I know how it is done, and, what is more to the point, Frobisher knows. It was the way that Manfred died, also that poor fellow at Streatham. And, but for a miracle, Mrs. Benstein, with your sacred jewel presumedly in her possession, would have been a further victim. Frobisher deliberately planned the last thing to close the mouth of a woman."The Shan's eyes fairly rippled with curiosity, but Harold shook his head."Not yet," he said. "I must be absolutely certain of my facts first. Now I am going to see you into bed, and come round to keep you out of mischief in the morning. Meanwhile, I am going to restore myself to a Christian garb and call up Sir James Brownsmith, late as it is. Between us we might be able to put all the pieces together."To his great satisfaction, Harold saw his dusky friend not only in bed, but fast asleep before he had finished his own change. Everything seemed to promise fair for the morrow. It was past two, and Harold hurried along in the direction of Harley Street, and he was glad to see a gleam over the fanlight of the surgeon's front door. He was pulling the bell for the second time when Sir James Brownsmith appeared."What do you want?" he asked, testily. "A consulting physician like myself——""How is Mrs. Benstein?" Harold asked coolly. The question was quite effective. "When I saw you a little time ago, Sir James, I passed as one of the Shan's suite. Clothed and in my right mind, I am Mr. Harold Denvers, at your service. I have the solution of the Manfred mystery in my pocket.""And altogether I have no doubt that you are a most remarkable young man," Sir James said. "Pray come in. I ought to be in bed, but I have not the faintest inclination for sleep. Come in."Brilliant lights gleamed in Brownsmith's cosy study, where books and scientific instruments made up the bulk of the furniture. The famous surgeon proffered cigarettes what time he looked keenly into the face of his younger companion. He lighted one of the thin paper tubes himself."I am just from Mrs. Benstein's house," he explained. "I saw her alone, her husband knows nothing; it is her great desire that he should know nothing, that the matter should be kept a profound secret, in fact.""It must be," Harold exclaimed. "Not a word of it must leak out. You made a certain examination of the wound. What did you find? Was there any blood?""I'm not quite sure. When I came to wash the arm there was no blood there. But there were the fibres of the rope, and they seemed to be impregnated with blood the same as those from the throat of Manfred, and the body of that poor fellow who was strangled at Streatham.""Are you quite sure that it is blood, Sir James?""Well, I could hazard the suggestion, though I have not made a careful analysis yet. No blood on the victim, but blood on the strands of the rope. Strange, isn't it?""If it were true, yes," Harold said, dryly. "But it isn't. Look here, Sir James."From the vest-pocket of his dress-clothes Harold took one wilted bloom of the Cardinal Moth. He crushed it between his fingers, and immediately they were covered with a rosy sticky bright red substance exactly like blood. No paint or pigment of any kind could have counterfeited the original so well."Well, that's interesting," Sir James cried. "I see your meaning. When the victim was strangled one or two of those amazing blooms must have been twisted round the rope.""In other words, the rope that did the mischief was the rope that held up the Cardinal Moth," Harold said. "It was the same at Streatham; it was the same with poor Manfred; according to your own showing, Mrs. Benstein met with her accident under precisely similar circumstances."Sir James rose and walked up and down the room in a fit of unusual excitement."You mean to infer that it was not an accident at all?" he asked."You have precisely taken in my meaning, Sir James. The Cardinal Moth is at the bottom of the whole thing. I must tell you a little of its history. The Cardinal Moth is unique amongst flowers; for centuries it guarded, or was supposed to guard, the Temple of Ghan. It had magical powers: it was used for the destruction of political prisoners. They were shut in with it to pick a flower, and always were they found dead, crushed to death. This part is no legend, as the Shan of Koordstan will tell you."The fame of the orchid got whispered about, and many were the tries to get it. At last a party of three men managed it; they divided the orchid in three parts and fled. Frobisher was with one part, and narrowly got off with his life at Stamboul. Lefroy got away with another part, but he lost it and almost his life as well in a fire at Turin, a fire that was no accident. The third man vanished, but his orchid remained intact till I came across it and brought it to Streatham, when it was stolen. My idea was to give it back to the Shan of Koordstan in exchange for certain concessions.""Do you know who stole the plant from Streatham?" Sir James asked."I have a very shrewd idea," Harold said. "But that we can go into later. At the present moment I want to show you a little experiment, and when I have done so you will know as much as I do about the mystery. I am going to prove to you that the Cardinal Moth has been a terrible power in the hands of the priests of Ghan, but I am also going to prove that the power is exercised in quite a mechanical way. To-night I managed to bring away a very small piece of the rope that sustains the Cardinal Moth. You see, it is exceedingly dry and hard, and yet under certain conditions it thickens up like a cheap sponge. We will tie this end to this leg of the table and that end to the other leg, leaving it to sway a little, and not making it too tight."Harold tied the rope as he had indicated under the eyes of Sir James, who watched him with breathless attention. The thing looked so simple, and yet there was a strange mystery behind it all, a mystery that was about to be explained. The two knots were made tight at length."Now, despite the warmth of the night, I shall have to get you to light a fire," Harold said. "It is absolutely necessary that we should boil a kettle.""No occasion to do that," Sir James said. "You shall have your kettle in five minutes. See here."From under the table he produced a copper electric kettle, filled it, and plunged the plug into the wall. In a little less than five minutes a long trail of steam issued from the spout. By reason of the long flex Harold could carry the kettle from place to place without cutting off the connection, so that the water continued all the time to boil and fizzle."Now watch this," he said. "I place this jet of steam under the rope here, and there you are! The effect is practically instantaneous. See what a simple thing it is." Sir James jumped back, horror and enlightenment in his eyes. His voice shook as he spoke."Infernal! Diabolical!" he cried hoarsely. "And you mean to say that Frobisher knew this! Damnable scoundrel; he is not fit to live, still less to die."

CHAPTER XIX.

WHAT DID SHE MEAN?

Harold was on the look out for Angela, so that she had not much trouble in finding him. His stolid Asiatic indifference was admirably feigned, and showed nothing of the anxiety within. There was just an interrogative gleam in his eyes for the moment.

"Isn't there somewhere where we can be really quiet for a few minutes?" he said. "I have successfully disposed of my royal rascal for the time, and I want badly to speak to you. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you can give me a good deal of information, Angela."

Angela's smile indicated that she could. There was a small passage behind some heavy curtains leading to a suite of rarely-used rooms, and Angela led the way there. She put the light up for a few moments and disclosed a cosy corner lounge, then she snapped off the switch again.

"I've pulled the curtain back so that it is possible to see without being seen," she explained. "We must not stay long, Harold—I am sure that Mrs. Benstein will want me before long."

Harold slipped his arm round the girl's waist, and kissed her. Stolen moments like this were very sweet. There was just an interval of blissful silence.

"Now tell me what you know," Harold asked presently, "about the Blue Stone."

"I know nothing about the Blue Stone," Angela explained. "Mrs. Benstein has done something with it. All the mischief arose from the fact that she had no idea of the traditional value of the gem. She had not asked her husband about it. As a matter of fact a cunning idea of Sir Clement's——"

"I know all about that," Harold interrupted. "It was very cunning, and came near success, only I nicked in, and you and I spoilt it between us. Lefroy spotted the stone first and tried to keep the knowledge from Frobisher, which was practically impossible. Then luck conspired to force those fellows to make an offensive and defensive alliance. But where is the stone?"

"My dear boy, I haven't the remotest idea. All I know is that it has disappeared from Mrs. Benstein's forehead, and that she seems to be enjoying the comedy."

Harold listened uneasily. He knew perfectly well that Frobisher and Lefroy would not stick at murder even to regain possession of the Blue Stone. If the sacred gem was still in Mrs. Benstein's possession she would never be allowed to reach home with the thing intact.

"I suppose we must wait on events," he said after a pause. "For the present the Shan is not likely to interfere. I have placed him safely at a bridge-table, and there he will sit so long as there is a game, though his kingdom was toppling about his ears. Still, it keeps him sober, and that is the main thing. I suppose Mrs. Benstein did not tell you what she proposed to do?"

"I didn't ask her, Harold. She is so marvellously cool and clever that I felt quite easy in my mind. But there is another foe to fight. I quite forgot to tell you about him."

"Did Mrs. Benstein tell you, or did you find it out yourself?"

"No. It was Mrs. Benstein. She said somebody was closeted in the private smoking-room with Sir Clement and Count Lefroy. I was to pretend that I didn't know, and blunder into the room, taking care to get a good sight of the stranger before apologising. I did it very well."

Harold squeezed Angela's waist affectionately. She laid a loving hand on his.

"Perhaps you know the man," she went on. "He looks like a true Asiatic, but at the same time he has blue eyes. It struck me as such a singular thing."

"I know him perfectly well," Harold muttered. "This thing goes deeper than I expected. The man who is still plotting with these two rascals is Hamid Khan, who calls himself one of the Shan's ministers. He is perhaps the most dangerous foe my pseudo-master has. If he can only prove that the Blue Stone had been out of the Shan's possession there will be a change of dynasty in Koordstan. This is the worst piece of news I have heard to-night."

"I don't quite see why you should be so deeply interested," Angela said softly.

"My darling, there is a good deal of self at the bottom of it," Harold admitted candidly. "I shouldn't take all this trouble and run all this risk for a worthless creature like the Shan, unless I could see some benefit in it. I want to pin him down over those concessions, which will make my fortune. They will give me control over one of the richest tracts of land in Koordstan. In a year or two I shall be wealthy."

"Just as if it mattered," Angela whispered, rubbing her cheek against Harold's, "just as if it mattered, when I shall have so much. But don't forget that you have Mr. Benstein to deal with. You can't rob him of the stone which he has come by honestly in the way of business."

"Oh, I know that. And we must have the stone by ten o'clock to-morrow. But I have found a way out of that difficulty. Between ourselves, Lord Rashburn showed me the way. We have a rich Englishman who will advance the money and benefit politically and secretly at the same time. He runs no risks of losing his capital either, because he is certain to get it back from the Shan in time. When Mrs. Benstein has gone home we shall follow and settle the business out of hand. I wish she would go now."

"I should trust her," Angela said thoughtfully. "She will go in her own time and her own way; she will baffle those scoundrels yet, I am certain of it. My dear boy, do be careful. If you are found out——"

Angela paused significantly. There was a risk of the mine being fired at any moment. There was no more dangerous or cunning foe in Europe than Sir Clement Frobisher, all the more dangerous in that he had Count Lefroy for an ally. And the time before the Shan was getting perilously short.

"Wait upon events a little longer," Angela urged as she arose. "We must go back again, it is not wise to stay here any longer. Mrs. Benstein may want me."

Harold made no demur, pleasant as it was to linger by Angela's side. She held his face between her hands and kissed him, then he walked towards the curtain. The band was playing some passionate love waltz; there were murmurs of conversation and light laughter. It seemed almost impossible to identify intrigue and danger with so fair a scene.

The two wandered on together past the dancers and the couples sitting out, talking quietly together as if they had been no more than casual acquaintances. Harold was a dull-dogged Asiatic again, but he kept his eyes about him. The crowd grew less; it was more quiet in the region of the card-rooms. Several parties were deep in bridge here, the Shan of Koordstan amongst the number. There was a pile of gold before him; from the satisfied glitter in his eyes he was winning heavily. Harold gave a sigh of relief. He was free still to follow his own plans without the added responsibility of keeping the Shan away from the champagne. He had a passion for wine, but a deeper passion for play, and so long as the cards were on the green baize, he would think of nothing else.

"His whole soul seems to be wrapped up in it," Angela whispered.

"Of course it is," Harold said contemptuously. "If I went to him now and told him that he had only to step across the room to recover his sacred gem he would ask me to come back in an hour. Doubtless he has quite forgotten why he came here. Look, here comes Frobisher."

Frobisher came into the room rubbing his hands together and smiling softly. A glance at him told Harold that he had not only made his plans, but was perfectly satisfied with them. Somebody hailed Frobisher with a suggestion that he should come in and make up a table, but he excused himself. He strolled off down the corridor, and as he did so Angela caught sight of Mrs. Benstein's flashing gems in the distance.

"I'll follow her," she whispered. "She's gone towards the big conservatory."

But Frobisher was on the same errand. He caught Mrs. Benstein up and made some remark. She smiled back at him as if there was nothing hidden under the surface.

"Oh, yes, the orchids," she said. "I have been promising myself a treat with your orchids. I will conveniently forget that I am engaged for the next dance. I want to see your Cardinal Moth in full bloom."

"I want to know how you are soau faitwith the Moth," Frobisher grinned.

"That is my secret, sir," Isa Benstein laughed. "There is Eastern blood in my veins. But I know all about it. You will certainly be murdered if you keep that orchid long enough."

"That, to my mind, is just the added charm," Frobisher said coolly enough. "I love the flower passionately. But the Cardinal Moth is unique, it has such a cruel, bloody history. Still I am not going to part with it for all the priests of Ghan."

Isa Benstein was forced to admit that there was something in Frobisher's fascination as she looked up at the graceful ropes of blossoms. There had been one of the periodical bursts of steam which had just cleared away, so that the cloud of delicate white-pink bloom with its fluttering red satellites overshone in refulgent perfection.

"It is indeed the queen of flowers," a deep voice came from behind.

Mrs. Benstein looked round into the dark, inscrutable face of Lefroy. She and her host and the Count were alone in the big conservatory. The door was open, but they were too far away for any one to hear or to hear any one else. That she had been lured there Isa Benstein knew without anybody to tell her. She had the Blue Stone of Ghan in her possession, both these men knew it, and they were both desirous of gaining possession, but they were both utterly unscrupulous in their methods.

If it came to a personal struggle they were equal to that. They would both declare afterwards that the story of violence was a pure fabrication, and that it had existed in a hysterical woman's imagination. And for the sake of her husband Mrs. Benstein would say nothing. How could she stand up and tell the world that she had been wearing the Blue Stone at Lady Frobisher's dance, when the thing had been pledged to cover a money advance?

These thoughts flashed through the woman's nimble brain like lightning. But the smile never left her face; she did not show for a moment that she knew or felt anything. She was quite ready.

"They are lovely," she said. "I am filled with envy, though I have some perfect orchids of my own. Miss Lyne, won't you come and worship at the shrine of Flora?"

Isa Benstein raised her voice in the hope that Angela might be near. It was a sort of danger signal and might prove efficacious. The next moment Angela walked in. She understood perfectly, but she made no sign. Just for a moment Frobisher's eyes flashed like electric points.

"I don't care for orchids," Angela said. "There is something uncanny about them."

"Not all," said Mrs. Benstein, as she bent and broke off a spray of deep blue blossom. Frobisher winced as if somebody had struck him a painful blow. "Look at these blooms; they are sweet and tender enough. Count Lefroy, I want you to arrange this spray in Miss Lyne's hair. You can reach better than I can, and I can trust your taste. Place this flat under the coil at the side."

Angela made no demur, though she would far rather have done it herself. Lefroy did his work gracefully enough and stepped back to admire the effect, as did Isa Benstein. Frobisher, still snarling for the loss of his beloved flowers, looked on with his teeth bared in an uneasy grin.

"Perfect!" Mrs. Benstein cried, as if she had only one thought in her mind. "All this evening I have been racking my brains to know what little final touch was lacking. I beg of you as a personal favour not to remove those flowers till you go to bed. Now will you promise me?"

Angela gave the promise lightly enough. Lefroy drew Frobisher a little on one side.

"We are wasting valuable time," he growled. "Get rid of that girl."

"One moment. Her presence here is quite an accident. Our fair friend has no suspicion. I shall find a good pretext to get rid of Angela in a moment. Yes, it is a fine flower and quite unique."

The last few words were spoken aloud. But if Lefroy had seized his chance for a word with Frobisher, Isa Benstein had not lost her opportunity. "I am going to make a remark," she said, "though I only dare to give you a hint. Sir Clement has ears like a hare. When I speak you are to give a laugh as if I had made a brilliant joke. You are quite sure neither of these men are really listening to us?"

"I think you can venture to go on," Angela murmured. "I am quite ready to laugh."

She broke out into a rippling, amused smile as Mrs. Benstein slightly bent her head and said:

"Be sure that you take down and brush out your hair to-night!"

CHAPTER XX.

CHECK TO FROBISHER.

The whole thing struck Angela as strangely unreal. It hardly seemed possible that this swiftly-moving drama could be played amongst the settings of her daily life in this fashion. There was the dreamy music of the band—the Scarlet Bavarian Band of so many big social functions—the familiar fuss and flutter of drapery, the sound of well-known voices. Mrs. Benstein was smiling in the most natural way, the two men appeared to be quite at their ease. And yet here was a moving drama that any one moment might flare into tragedy. Still, Angela played the game mechanically.

A light laugh rippled from her lips so naturally that she was quite surprised. She had not the slightest idea what Isa Benstein meant by the strange caution, but she had every intention of carrying it out to the letter. Frobisher sauntered back to his beautiful guest's side. Angela lingered, waiting for the next move. She saw Mrs. Benstein's eyes glance towards the door with a significant look. As she made some excuse for leaving the others together she saw a flickering smile of approval.

"May we smoke?" Frobisher asked, as he closed the door behind Angela. "We are all enthusiasts, and we don't want any dilettantes here."

"You may do just as you please," Mrs. Benstein said. "Probably you would follow that course in any case. You are a bold man to keep the Cardinal Moth here."

"What do you know about it?" Frobisher asked.

There was a dry chuckle in his voice as he put the question. Mrs. Benstein looked up at the cloud of glorious blossoms over her head.

"I know a great deal," she replied. "I have lived with some strange people in my time and I have heard some strange things. There are certain quarters in the East End where they speak queer languages and where they know things that would startle the authorities. Amongst these people I was brought up. I learnt their ways and their methods. Ah, it was a good school for a girl who has a treacherous world to fight."

The speaker flung herself into a chair and hung her long white arms by her side. The light gleamed upon her sparkling jewels and the dark eyes that sparkled more brightly still. Frobisher watched her with something more than artistic admiration; his thin blood was stirred.

"You speak like a Sibyl," he laughed. "If you know all about the Cardinal Moth you also know all about the Blue Stone of Ghan, I presume?"

Frobisher's voice was low and hoarse and persuasive. He had flung down the challenge, and Isa Benstein was ready to receive it. She raised her large dark eyes slowly, and they seemed to float over the faces of her antagonists. She noted the leering grin on Frobisher's features, the truculent bullying expression of Lefroy's.

"I have heard of that also," she said in the same level tones. "The two are inseparable."

"Or ought to be," Frobisher went on. Evidently he was to be the spokesman. "But if the Moth has flown far, why not the sacred jewel? Have you ever seen it, fair lady?"

The question was a direct threat, and Isa Benstein rose to it. She sat there swinging her long arms idly, and glancing with perfect self-possession at her companions. They meant to have that jewel, as she knew; they were not going to stick at anything to gain possession of it.

"I have seen it," she said quietly; "in fact, I wore it here on my forehead to-night."

Frobisher started. He fairly beamed with admiration. What a woman! What a nerve! he thought. Anybody else would have denied the thing point blank. But here was a woman prepared for any emergency. There was going to be a battle of wits here, and Frobisher rose to the fray.

"Surely a rash thing to do," he murmured.

"Wasn't it?" Isa Benstein asked with a swift and glorious smile. "But ignorance is bliss, you say. That being so, there ought to be a great deal more happiness in the world than there is. Count Lefroy, won't you sit down? No, in that other chair, so that I can see your face."

Lefroy bowed and complied. All this waste of time annoyed him, but Frobisher, on the other hand, was enjoying himself exceedingly. Nothing that was straight or open ever appealed to him. He would rather have obtained a shilling by crooked means than a sovereign by holding out his hand for it.

"You came here wearing the Blue Stone without knowing it?" he asked. "I am interested, fascinated, and amazed. Incidentally, I am a little amused into the bargain."

"Possibly," Isa Benstein smiled brilliantly. "But you are not half so amused as I am."

Frobisher grinned at the way in which his challenge had been flaunted back into his teeth. With the quick subtlety of the polyglot the woman had grasped his scheme and what he wanted.

"It is good to feel that my guests are thoroughly enjoying themselves," he said politely. "I should like to know how the Blue Stone came into your possession at all."

"Problems seem to be in the air," Isa Benstein murmured. "Your flattering interest is very soothing to my vanity. You know what a conjurer means when he speaks of forcing a card on a spectator? Of course you do. The expert with his quickness and his patter can make the spectator he selects draw any card he chooses. The conjurer in this case chose me to force his card upon. But all the same when I came here I had no notion that I was wearing anything half so historic as the Blue Stone of Ghan."

"But you tound it out after you got here?" Frobisher said keenly.

"Yes. That was a piece of good luck. And when I did so I removed it. That was a piece of caution."

"Then you had worked it all out in your mind, I suppose?"

"Yes. I worked it out in the best possible way—backwards. I worked it out so completely that I was in a position to read another person's mind. Shall I read that other person's mind?"

Frobisher bowed and smiled in one of his quick grins. Lefroy shifted uneasily in his chair. Isa Benstein's lips were parted, her arms played idly by the side of her chair, there was no sign of fear in her eyes. When she spoke again it was quite calmly and slowly.

"We will begin with the conjurer," she said. "After all, he has succeeded in forcing the card that is destined to lead up to the brilliant trick that dazzles and astonishes everybody. We will assume, for the sake of argument, that you are the conjurer and I am the silly heedless spectator who is marked out as the involuntary accomplice."

"The mind could not grasp you in that senile capacity," Frobisher murmured.

"Then give your vivid imagination free run for once, Sir Clement. The card in this case represents something that you very much desired, call it the Blue Stone of Ghan. The sacred jewel is hidden in a certain place. Your great idea is to conjure that somewhere else, and being a master of your trade, you have to make use of a third party who shall make the transfer for you without knowing anything of the matter. Only a prince among conjurers could hope to bring off so brilliant a coup as that, but there is no great success without great audacity. But Count Lefroy is looking at his watch. I am afraid that he is not interested."

"It matters nothing about Lefroy," Frobisher said. "I am deeply interested. Pray go on."

"Of course, our conjurer knows where the stone is. It is in the custody of an old man who has a young wife. The old man with the young wife has countless gems for safe custody. From time to time he lends these gems to his wife to wear, though, with the characteristic caution of his tribe, he never says anything to the owners. Well, here is the conjurer's card forced from him, so to speak. All he has to do now is to design an occasion when the transfer may be made. We will say it is to be at a brilliant party—a fancy-dress ball, where gems may play a leading part. The victim will be there. As the Blue Stone of Ghan is a ruby, he naturally suggests rubies, much as the common conjurer with his magic bottle induces his assistant on the stage to choose the kind of liquid he wants to dispense. Says he to himself, that old man will offer his young wife the Blue Stone as a kind of crown of glory, and she will take it, not knowing what it is. Once she arrives at the fancy-dress ball the rest is easy. Do I interest you so far?"

"Wonderfully," Frobisher croaked. "Fancy finding the conjurer out like that. But though you have spoiled the trick, he must have the forced card, in this case represented by the—but why complete the phrase?"

"Why, indeed?" Isa Benstein asked serenely. "The brilliant trick as a brilliant trick has failed, for the simple reason that the involuntary medium has been too clever for her part. But I see that the conjurer is not so disconcerted as he might be, because he can always fall back upon his bully method whereby he sometimes disguises failure and leads up to a success in a fresh line. Is it to be the bullying policy, Sir Clement?"

Sir Clement bent forward and nodded eagerly. His yellow teeth were all exposed in a wide grin. Lefroy sat regarding him with open contempt. A clock somewhere struck two; the strains of the band floated in.

"I should like to borrow the Blue Stone," Frobisher said hoarsely.

"We will discuss that presently," Isa Benstein went on. "Perhaps I had better finish my train of logical reasoning. There was danger of the trick failing, in so much as the Blue Stone might have been recognised. And here was a further resource open to the conjurer. It was open to him to put aside the tricks of his trade and take the stone, take it with violence, if necessary. He would argue that his victim dared not speak, that she would put up with the loss rather than tell a story that nobody would believe. The idea of a man robbing his guest with violence under his own roof—and such a roof!—would be scouted by any common-sense person. Again, the unconscious medium would have her husband to consider. If the true facts of the case came out he would be ruined; there would be a scandal that might end in a gaol. Of course, when the desired mischief had been worked, the stone would be restored again, discreetly found before it was lost. Really, gentlemen, my imagination makes me nervous. As I sit opposite you, I am inwardly alarmed lest you should fall upon me and despoil me of a thing I would not have touched had I been aware of the true history of the case. I know I am foolish——"

"Madame," said Frobisher, rising with a bow. "You cruelly malign yourself. I have had some experience of clever people, and you are by far the cleverest woman I have ever met. Your insight is amazing, of your courage there can be no doubt. But don't carry your courage too far."

Mrs. Benstein had risen in her turn, the critical moment had come, but she gave no sign. Frobisher stood also, shaking his head doggedly.

"You deem discretion to be the better part of valour," the woman said. "The English profess never to know when they are beaten! Surely that is carrying the thing too far. The man who knows when he is beaten is the most valorous foe, for the god of war is always on the side of heavy battalions. You want the stone?"

"I must have it," said Frobisher.

"Must is not a nice word, but——"

"But it's got to be used," Lefroy spoke for the first time. "All these words are so much air. Will you be so good as to lend us the Blue Stone for a time, or——"

"Stop!" Mrs. Benstein cried. "Let us quite understand one another. If I do not lend you the stone you are prepared to go to extreme measures to get it?"

Frobisher nodded and grinned till his teeth flashed again. He advanced with his hands outstretched and a look of greed in his eyes. Lefroy stood by as if apart from the discussion.

"A few more words," Mrs. Benstein said, with a steady smile, "a few more words, and then you may do as you please. I am forced to allude to the conjurer again and his forced card. That card is in the possession of the involuntary medium. The success of the experiment depends upon the ability of the conjurer to force the card when and how he will. But suppose the involuntary ally determines to frustrate the trick, and say that he has lost the card or changed it for another, what then?"

A wicked, brutish oath sprang from Frobisher's lips. All his pretty cynicism and flippant hardness had gone and the original savage looked out of his eyes. Just for a moment he panted with a rage that was unconquerable. He was a murderer in his heart at that moment.

"You mean," he gasped—"you mean to say that you——"

"Precisely. As I said before, I had thought the matter out. Am I the woman to be any man's puppet? The card has disappeared, the conjurer is baffled. If you can find the card, well and good; if not, the trick fails. The card is no longer in my possession."

And Frobisher, looking into her eyes, knew that she spoke the truth.

CHAPTER XXI.

DENVERS LEARNS SOMETHING.

Frobisher was first to recover himself. There were beads of moisture on his forehead, his teeth were ground together, but he forced a smile to his lips. Then he laughed in a low chuckling fashion, as if something subtle had greatly amused him. Lefroy stood there, glowering.

"I'm not going to be put off like that," he said. "The thing's impossible."

Isa Benstein ignored the speaker altogether. She was lying back in her chair as if bored with the whole proceedings. The lights were gleaming on her jewels and her beautiful, tranquil face.

"Don't lose your head," Frobisher said, still laughing in the same noiseless way. "Surely you're not so accomplished a liar that you haven't learned to know the truth when you see it. I pay Mrs. Benstein the compliment of believing every word that she says. We have exposed our hands for nothing, and been outwitted by a very clever woman. You'll gain nothing by losing your temper."

"Who could she have passed the jewel on to?" Lefroy growled.

"Ah, that is the point! Knowing nobody here and all! Madame, I kiss your hand. You have made Clement Frobisher look and feel like a fool. It is a sensation I have not experienced since I left school. I believe every word that you say, nay, if I let myself go I could be furiously angry with myself. Lefroy, you had better go, there is nothing to be gained by staying here. After all——"

Frobisher paused, and Mrs. Benstein, with her head serenely tilted upwards, finished the sentence.

"After all, the Shan of Koordstan is in no better plight than he was before. Whoever has possession of the stone, it is assuredly not the Shan."

Lefroy strode off and clanged the door behind him. Frobisher lighted a fresh cigarette. He had been found out in a singularly rascally action, but that did not disturb his equanimity in the least.

"You must be having a particularly pleasant evening," he said.

"The most enjoyable I ever remember." Isa Benstein smiled frankly. "In the first place, I have created a sensation and scored a most decided success. To a woman that is like a foretaste of Paradise. Then, again, I have been involuntarily forced to become the central figure of a most exciting intrigue. I love intrigues and mystery to my finger-tips. I was to have been the puppet, and yet I have beaten you all along the line. Oh, yes, I am likely to remember this evening for some time to come."

"I suppose so," Frobisher grinned. "If I had known I would have lent you a prize ruby and the Blue Stone might have remained where it was. If I had made you my ally——"

"Impossible," Isa Benstein said, curtly. "I should never have trusted you."

Frobisher laughed as if the candour appealed to him.

"I bear no malice," he said. "I love a strong foe. But I wish I had lent you my big ruby, all the same. You must accept a souvenir of that kind in memory of this eventful evening. I'll fetch you some uncut stones from which I shall be proud for you to make your choice. Meanwhile I shall leave you to admire my orchids. You can't very well run off with my Cardinal Moth."

"I should like to examine it closer," Isa Benstein said.

It was easily done. Frobisher merely pulled a lever and the framework upon which the Cardinal Moth was roped came down to within a few feet of the ground.

Mrs. Benstein caressed the blossoms tenderly. Such a wealth of bloom had never been seen before. She stood with them all about her like the goddess Flora, the ropes touched her bare arms, the flowers nodded in her face.

"I'll not be long," Frobisher croaked as he stooped and touched one of the shining taps near the floor. "My word, what a picture for an artist you make!"

He crept away gently, leaving his guest amidst the nodding blooms. They were so fascinating that Mrs. Benstein could think of nothing else for the moment. She had quite forgotten the events of the evening. She turned her lips to a cluster of the glorious blooms.

"They are like beautiful, fascinating snakes," she said to herself. "No wonder the man dares run the risk of having this bewildering beauty in his house. Like lovely snakes, the hiss and all complete."

There was a sudden hiss of escaping steam, and the whole of the dropped trellis-work was enveloped in mist. The mass seemed to move as if it had been endowed with life or as if a strong breeze had swept over it. Then without the slightest warning a grip like a vice caught Isa Benstein below and above the elbow, pressing her forearm and causing her to wince with the horrible pain.

So tight was the grip that she could not turn or move. She stood there writhing in agony, and yet too fascinated to call out. The bones creaked and cracked, and still the pain grew greater; it seemed impossible that any human fingers could grip flesh and blood like that. Were all the weird legends clinging round the Cardinal Moth true, Isa Benstein caught herself wondering in a faint, dizzy way?

Then she braced herself up and struggled violently. It was characteristic of the woman that she uttered no cry. As she drooped and her eyes grew cloudy she had a faint vision of a face under a turban, and then there came a sound of swiftly rushing feet. The platform seemed to rise with a sudden jerk. Isa Benstein was wrenched from her feet, the weight of her body told, the arm came away with a cruel drag from the vice-like grip, and she fell a huddled, shimmering heap on the floor.

"I hope you are not much hurt," a voice whispered in her ear. "It was dreadful."

Isa Benstein scrambled to her feet breathless, dizzy, and writhing with pain. But her quick eyes were clear now, and she recognised the Shan's companion, whom she knew to be Angela's lover. His face was white and quivering; there was a nameless horror in his eyes.

"You saw it," Mrs. Benstein said. "What was it?"

"I cannot tell you yet," Harold said. "It was too dreadful, too awful. The shock of discovery almost unmanned me for a moment. We will speak about that presently. How did you happen to be just where you stood?"

"I was admiring the flowers. Sir Clement pulled down the frame for me, so that I could see better. He went away to get something that he wanted to show me, then there was that sudden grip."

"Which seemed to come out of a vapouring mist, did it not?" Harold asked hoarsely. "By accident I loosened the spring, and as the frame rose your weight released you. Is not that so?"

Mrs. Benstein nodded; she had no words just for the moment. Now that the reaction had come she was feeling sick and faint with the pain. Harold's eyes were still distended with the horror of some awful discovery.

"It is very strange," he said. "Sir Clement did not mean to come back to you, for he has just left the house. He slipped out with some companion whose face I did not see. But your arm is painful. Nothing broken, I hope?"

Isa Benstein raised her lovely white arm to prove that such was not the case. But there was a round red band, and here and there a thin red stream came from the broken skin.

"Would you mind keeping this to yourself for the present?" Harold asked. "Believe me, there are urgent reasons why you should do so, reasons so urgent that I cannot go into them now. If you are silent we shall bring one of the greatest scoundrels to the gallows. If not——"

"I will be silent," Mrs. Benstein said, between her white set teeth. "But if you could get me away to see a doctor, or if there is a doctor here whom I could trust——"

"Of course there is, I must have been a fool not to have thought of it before. Sir James Brownsmith is the very man, and he is interested in the case too. Nobody is likely to come in here."

Harold hurried away in search of Brownsmith, whom he had seen a little while before. He found Angela and explained what he desired to her. He had hardly got back to the great conservatory before the great surgeon bustled in. Coolly enough Harold locked the door. There was no chance of Sir Clement coming back yet. In a few words he gave a brief outline of what had happened.

"It's part of the mystery," he said. "The same horrible mysterious force that brought that poor fellow at Streatham and Manfred to their death."

"Good God!" Sir James cried. "Do you mean to say that you have solved that mystery?"

"Certainly I have. That is why I wanted you above all men to see Mrs. Benstein. Oh, never mind who I am for the present. To the world I am merely Aben Abdullah attached to the suite of the Shan of Koordstan, and I am popularly supposed to know very little English. Look to your patient, man."

Sir James passed the rudeness from a young man to one of his exalted position. Very tenderly and gently he examined the wounded arm. But his vivid interest was more than strictly professional.

"This is very strange," he said. "There are no bones broken, I am glad to say—nothing worse than a severe bruise. But I could not believe, I should utterly refuse to believe that a human hand could make such a mark like that. Why, it would have to be as large as a shoulder of mutton to grip the forearm and deltoid like that. Did you see your assailant, Mrs. Benstein?"

"I saw nothing at all," Mrs. Benstein said, with a faint smile. "There was nobody to see."

Sir James shook his head, but Harold nodded as if he quite approved of the remark. Sir James was still carefully examining the round white arm.

"The thing tallies," he said. "There are the same cruel marks, the same indentations as from a coarse cloth. And also we have the same great force used. In the name of God, what is it, sir?"

Brownsmith spoke with a sudden horror upon him. Harold shook his head.

"I can sympathize with your feelings, Sir James," he said. "I came very near to fainting myself when the full force of the thing dawned upon me. But for the present I prefer to keep silence. And I will ask you to be silent also. You would be playing into the hands of an utter scoundrel if the slightest inkling of Mrs. Benstein's accident were to leak out."

Brownsmith pursed up his lips and nodded.

"Then the best thing Mrs. Benstein can do is to go home," he said. "Plenty of hot water fomentations for the present and something to follow. I'll see that it is delivered to-night. But, seeing that Mrs. Benstein has to say good-night to her hostess, and seeing that her dress is so low in the sleeves——"

Isa Benstein solved the problem in her own swift, characteristic fashion. She tore her dress from the shoulder so that the gauzy fabric hung over and hid the cruel red seam on her arm.

"Ask Lady Frobisher to come here," she said. "Then call my car and fetch my wraps. I quite see the necessity of making the thing look as natural as possible."

It was all done so smoothly and easily that no suspicion was aroused. Mrs. Benstein had simply had an accident with her dress, an accident that necessitated her immediate return home. She had had a charming evening, one that she was likely to remember for a long time. Her manner was easy and natural; she gave no impression of one who has escaped a nameless horror, perhaps a cruel death.

"I can slip away, thank you very much," she said. "Perhaps the gentleman who has been so kind will see me to my car. May I ask your arm?"

Harold bowed profoundly. It was just the opportunity he required. They threaded their way through the guests along the brilliantly-lighted corridor into the street where the car was waiting. Isa Benstein held out her hand in a warm and friendly grip.

"I am going to help you and Miss Lyne, if I can," she said. "Ask Miss Lyne to come and see me the first thing in the morning. After she has gone to bed to-night she will know and appreciate my request. Have you really solved the mystery of the two tragedies?"

"I am absolutely certain of it," Harold replied. "See, there is Sir Clement and that fellow—Hamid Khan, the man who was in the smoking-room, you know."

Mrs. Benstein looked eagerly out of the window. Her big eyes gleamed. "It is as I expected," she said. "I have made a discovery also, Mr. Denvers. If you will call on me after eleven to-morrow you will hear of something greatly to your advantage. Strange how fate seems to be playing into our hands to-night."

The car moved forward, the speaker was gone.

CHAPTER XXII.

STRANDS OF THE ROPE.

Denvers returned to the ballroom with a feeling that he would be glad to get away. The whole thing sickened him, the light laughter and frivolous chatter jarred upon his nerves. He had been very near to a dreadful tragedy; he had learnt a hideous truth, and he had not got himself in hand yet. He wanted to know the whole truth without delay. Angela awaited him anxiously.

"My aunt tells me that Mrs. Benstein is gone," she said. "She had an accident with her dress. Harold, you look as if you had seen a ghost."

"I have seen the devil, which is much the same thing," Harold murmured. "My dear girl, never again shall I flatter myself that I have no nerves. I dare not go into the refreshment-room and demand strong drink, but I shall be more than grateful if you will smuggle me a glass of champagne into the little alcove where we first met to-night. There I can tell you something."

But it was not very much that Harold had to tell. The terrible discovery he had made must be kept to himself as far as Angela was concerned. Mrs. Benstein would like to see Angela in the morning. She had a new design for a costume that might suit the girl, so that she was to be sure and wear the blue orchids that Angela had at present in her hair.

"It sounds very mysterious," Angela smiled.

"Well, it does," Harold admitted. "But I'm sure Mrs. Benstein has good reasons for the request. Taking her all in all, she is the most brilliantly intellectual woman I have ever met, and if I mistake not she can supply the missing piece of the puzzle. Now I really must say good-night, dear old girl, and drag my master home. I have much to do before I go to bed."

"What did Mrs. Benstein do with the ruby?" Angela asked.

"I don't know. She utterly baffled Frobisher and Lefroy. At first it occurred to me that she had passed it on to you, but she would argue that your tell-tale face would give you away. I expect she acted as the hero of Poe's 'Purloined Letter' did—place the gem in a place so simple and commonplace, that nobody would ever dream of looking for it there. However, I am quite sure that the jewel is safe."

In the card-room the Shan was just finishing a rubber of bridge. He had won a considerable sum of money, and was in the best of spirits. As two of the players quitted the table, Harold drew his pseudo-master aside.

"You are not going to play again," he said, curtly, "you are coming home. If you refuse to come home I shall take no further interest in your affairs. Do you hear?"

The Shan nodded sulkily. Like the spoilt child that he was, he had no heed for the morrow. But Denvers' stern manner was not without its effect. He wanted a glass or two of champagne first, but Denvers fairly dragged him into the street. There was no car waiting, so perforce they had to walk.

"You're carrying it off with a high hand," the Shan growled. "Anybody would think you had the Blue Stone safe in your pocket. Have you done anything?"

"I have done a great deal; on the whole, it has been a most exciting evening. Still, so far as things go I am quite satisfied with myself. The rest depends upon you. It will be your own fault if you don't see your own back to-morrow. No drink, mind; you are to go to bed quite sober."

"Confound you!" the Shan flashed out, passionately. "Do you know who I am? A servant like yourself——"

"I am no servant of yours," Harold replied. "And I know quite well who you are. You are a dissolute, drunken fool, who is doing his best to bring himself to ruin. And I am doing my best to save you at a price. If you like to go your own way you can."

The Shan muttered something that sounded like an apology.

"You see, I am greatly worried about the Stone," he said. "The Stone and the Moth. You promised to tell me to-night where the Moth had vanished to."

"The Moth is hanging up in Sir Clement Frobisher's conservatory," Harold Denvers said. "Frobisher would have shown it to you to-night only he had a more interesting game to play. It is the very plant that was stolen from Streatham. You can imagine the price Frobisher would ask for its restoration. You would grant the price, and then he would have found some way to repudiate all the wicked story of that infernal flower."

"Of course I do, my dear chap," said the Shan, now thoroughly restored as to his temper. "It has been whispered fearsomely round firesides in Koordstan for a thousand years. The Cardinal Moth guarded the roof of the Temple of Ghan. All the great political criminals were sentenced to climb to the roof and pick a flower from the Moth. The door was closed and the temple seen to be empty. When the priests outside had finished their prayer the door was open and the criminal lay on the floor dead with the marks of great hairy hands about him. Sometimes it was the neck that was broken, sometimes the chest was all crushed in as if a great giant had done it, but it was always the same. Ay, they dreaded that death more than any other. It was so mysterious, horrible."

"And you have no idea how it was done?" Harold asked.

"Not a bit of it. The priests kept that secret. Of course they pretend to something occult, but I have been in the West too long to believe that. Still, it is pretty horrible."

"You would perhaps like to know how it is done?"

"Of course I should, Denvers. The priests are too cunning for that."

"Doubtless. All the same, I know how it is done, and, what is more to the point, Frobisher knows. It was the way that Manfred died, also that poor fellow at Streatham. And, but for a miracle, Mrs. Benstein, with your sacred jewel presumedly in her possession, would have been a further victim. Frobisher deliberately planned the last thing to close the mouth of a woman."

The Shan's eyes fairly rippled with curiosity, but Harold shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. "I must be absolutely certain of my facts first. Now I am going to see you into bed, and come round to keep you out of mischief in the morning. Meanwhile, I am going to restore myself to a Christian garb and call up Sir James Brownsmith, late as it is. Between us we might be able to put all the pieces together."

To his great satisfaction, Harold saw his dusky friend not only in bed, but fast asleep before he had finished his own change. Everything seemed to promise fair for the morrow. It was past two, and Harold hurried along in the direction of Harley Street, and he was glad to see a gleam over the fanlight of the surgeon's front door. He was pulling the bell for the second time when Sir James Brownsmith appeared.

"What do you want?" he asked, testily. "A consulting physician like myself——"

"How is Mrs. Benstein?" Harold asked coolly. The question was quite effective. "When I saw you a little time ago, Sir James, I passed as one of the Shan's suite. Clothed and in my right mind, I am Mr. Harold Denvers, at your service. I have the solution of the Manfred mystery in my pocket."

"And altogether I have no doubt that you are a most remarkable young man," Sir James said. "Pray come in. I ought to be in bed, but I have not the faintest inclination for sleep. Come in."

Brilliant lights gleamed in Brownsmith's cosy study, where books and scientific instruments made up the bulk of the furniture. The famous surgeon proffered cigarettes what time he looked keenly into the face of his younger companion. He lighted one of the thin paper tubes himself.

"I am just from Mrs. Benstein's house," he explained. "I saw her alone, her husband knows nothing; it is her great desire that he should know nothing, that the matter should be kept a profound secret, in fact."

"It must be," Harold exclaimed. "Not a word of it must leak out. You made a certain examination of the wound. What did you find? Was there any blood?"

"I'm not quite sure. When I came to wash the arm there was no blood there. But there were the fibres of the rope, and they seemed to be impregnated with blood the same as those from the throat of Manfred, and the body of that poor fellow who was strangled at Streatham."

"Are you quite sure that it is blood, Sir James?"

"Well, I could hazard the suggestion, though I have not made a careful analysis yet. No blood on the victim, but blood on the strands of the rope. Strange, isn't it?"

"If it were true, yes," Harold said, dryly. "But it isn't. Look here, Sir James."

From the vest-pocket of his dress-clothes Harold took one wilted bloom of the Cardinal Moth. He crushed it between his fingers, and immediately they were covered with a rosy sticky bright red substance exactly like blood. No paint or pigment of any kind could have counterfeited the original so well.

"Well, that's interesting," Sir James cried. "I see your meaning. When the victim was strangled one or two of those amazing blooms must have been twisted round the rope."

"In other words, the rope that did the mischief was the rope that held up the Cardinal Moth," Harold said. "It was the same at Streatham; it was the same with poor Manfred; according to your own showing, Mrs. Benstein met with her accident under precisely similar circumstances."

Sir James rose and walked up and down the room in a fit of unusual excitement.

"You mean to infer that it was not an accident at all?" he asked.

"You have precisely taken in my meaning, Sir James. The Cardinal Moth is at the bottom of the whole thing. I must tell you a little of its history. The Cardinal Moth is unique amongst flowers; for centuries it guarded, or was supposed to guard, the Temple of Ghan. It had magical powers: it was used for the destruction of political prisoners. They were shut in with it to pick a flower, and always were they found dead, crushed to death. This part is no legend, as the Shan of Koordstan will tell you.

"The fame of the orchid got whispered about, and many were the tries to get it. At last a party of three men managed it; they divided the orchid in three parts and fled. Frobisher was with one part, and narrowly got off with his life at Stamboul. Lefroy got away with another part, but he lost it and almost his life as well in a fire at Turin, a fire that was no accident. The third man vanished, but his orchid remained intact till I came across it and brought it to Streatham, when it was stolen. My idea was to give it back to the Shan of Koordstan in exchange for certain concessions."

"Do you know who stole the plant from Streatham?" Sir James asked.

"I have a very shrewd idea," Harold said. "But that we can go into later. At the present moment I want to show you a little experiment, and when I have done so you will know as much as I do about the mystery. I am going to prove to you that the Cardinal Moth has been a terrible power in the hands of the priests of Ghan, but I am also going to prove that the power is exercised in quite a mechanical way. To-night I managed to bring away a very small piece of the rope that sustains the Cardinal Moth. You see, it is exceedingly dry and hard, and yet under certain conditions it thickens up like a cheap sponge. We will tie this end to this leg of the table and that end to the other leg, leaving it to sway a little, and not making it too tight."

Harold tied the rope as he had indicated under the eyes of Sir James, who watched him with breathless attention. The thing looked so simple, and yet there was a strange mystery behind it all, a mystery that was about to be explained. The two knots were made tight at length.

"Now, despite the warmth of the night, I shall have to get you to light a fire," Harold said. "It is absolutely necessary that we should boil a kettle."

"No occasion to do that," Sir James said. "You shall have your kettle in five minutes. See here."

From under the table he produced a copper electric kettle, filled it, and plunged the plug into the wall. In a little less than five minutes a long trail of steam issued from the spout. By reason of the long flex Harold could carry the kettle from place to place without cutting off the connection, so that the water continued all the time to boil and fizzle.

"Now watch this," he said. "I place this jet of steam under the rope here, and there you are! The effect is practically instantaneous. See what a simple thing it is." Sir James jumped back, horror and enlightenment in his eyes. His voice shook as he spoke.

"Infernal! Diabolical!" he cried hoarsely. "And you mean to say that Frobisher knew this! Damnable scoundrel; he is not fit to live, still less to die."

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