It was nearing dawn when Vera came to herself out of an uneasy slumber. The darkest hour that precedes the faint flush in the eastern sky was moving away. There was a light in the room.
Vera rubbed her eyes wondering. It was one of her fancies to have no light in her room. Better to lie with horrors she could not see than have the glimmer from a nightlight filling every corner with threatening shadows.
Vera sat up in bed, forgetting for the moment that she had a racking headache. Something had happened while she slept. Something was always happening in that house of fears, so that Vera was conscious of no new alarm. In a big easy chair at the foot of the bed Marion reclined, fast asleep.
Vera checked an impulse to wake her. In that miserable household sleep was the most blessed of all luxuries. Why, then, should Marion be disturbed? Doubtless she had come there to protect and, doubtless the girl would know all about it in the morning.
"I will not wake her," Vera murmured.
But she could not sleep herself. The splitting, blinding headache was very much in evidence just now. Vera felt that she would give anything for a glass of cold spring water. She poured out that in her own bottle, but it was flat and tepid.
She would go down into the stone-flagged outer kitchen, where the pump was, and get some fresh. In any case, she had not the least idea of going to bed again. Vera partly dressed herself, doing up her hair in a big shining knot, and then, in slippered feet, crept down tothe kitchen. She had no need of a light—there was already enough to show the way.
How cool and refreshing the water was! She drank a glass and then laved her face in the crystal fluid. All headache was gone by this time, though Vera had a curious trembling of her lower limbs that she could not account for.
She opened a side door leading into a green quadrangle, and from there made her way to the terrace. For a few minutes she stood in a dark angle facing the house, just picked out, as it was, from the gloom. Along the dim corridor some one was advancing with a light.
What could it mean? What was going on? Vera crouched close into the dark corner. She had an idea that she was going to witness something.
The light in the corridor stopped and grew brighter. From the black shadow of the house a human figure crept out and slid along the terrace to a spot where it was just possible for a man of strong courage and cool head to make his way down to the beach at low tide. At high water the sea swept the foot of the cliff.
Vera strained her eyes to make out the figure. It passed so close to her that she might have touched the hem of the white diaphanous garment about it; a faint, sour kind of perfume was in the air. These swiftly flying feet made not the slightest noise. Vera guessed at once that this was one of the Orientals whom she and Geoffrey had seen along the cliffs on a memorable occasion.
She was not far wrong. If not the same, they belonged to the same noisome band. Almost before Vera could recover from her surprise another figure followed.
Vera watched with intense eagerness. Slight and frail though she was, she was not in the least afraid. She came from the wrong race for that. She had made up her mind to know what was going on even if she ran some danger in obtaining the knowledge. And what did that light mean?
She was soon to know. Presently another figure came along, a tall figure which in the gloom bore a strong resemblance to Tchigorsky. The figure wore boots and a European dress and did not seek concealment. By its side was yet another figure also clad in European dress.
"You say this is the place?" the latter man whispered in indifferent English.
"Yes, yes," was the reply, in still more indifferent English. "It is to this place that my master, Dr. Tchigorsky, bade me bring you. And there is the signal."
The light in the corridor waved again.
"I am not satisfied," the stranger muttered. "I am in great danger."
"But not here," the other said eagerly. "Nobody knows you are here. The princess has not the least idea of your presence. And Dr. Tchigorsky, my master, bade me hunt for you until I found you. And I have done it."
"Oh, yes, you have done it right enough. And Dr. Tchigorsky would not have sent for me unless there had been danger. But why not meet him in daylight in a proper and natural manner?"
The other spat gravely on the pavement.
"The doctor is a great man," he said. "He knows. Would you have your enemies to guess that you have seen my master? That is why I bring you here at night. That is why there is the great secret."
The tall man muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgment of the force and cogency of this reasoning.
"I dare say it is all right," he said. "Fetch your master."
The servant salaamed and departed in the direction of the house. He returned presently with the information that Tchigorsky had gone along the terrace. There was a summer house a little way off, where Tchigorsky waited.
Vera felt her heart beating faster. There was no summer house along the terrace—nothing but a broken balustrade that Rupert Ravenspur was always going tohave mended. Over this there was a sheer drop to the sea below.
As the pair moved on, Vera followed. Then what followed seemed to happen in the twinkling of an eye. A white-robed figure emerged and flung himself upon the stranger. At the same time the other miscreant, who had acted as Tchigorsky's servant, attacked him from behind.
"You rascals," the stranger cried, speaking this time in French. "So I have been deceived. You are going to throw me over the cliff. There is no escape for me. Well, I don't much mind. The agony of suspense has taken all the sweetness out of life for me. I knew that sooner or later this was bound to come. But I am going to take a toll."
The stranger's breath was coming rapidly between his teeth. Vera tried to scream, but no sound emerged from her lips. She stood rooted to the spot, watching what seemed to her a long one-sided struggle. As a matter of fact, it had not lasted more than ten seconds. Gradually the stranger was forced back.
Back and back they forced him to the very edge of the cliff. There was no escape for him now. He reached out two long and swinging hands; he grasped two arms, one for each of his would-be assassins, and then he jumped backwards. Two fearful wailing yells rent the air; there was a mocking laugh, and silence.
Had she really seen this thing or had she dreamed it? Vera was not sure. Just for a brief moment her senses left her. When she came to herself again she crept along to the house and thence to her bedroom. She locked the door and flung herself upon the bed, pressing her hands to her eyes.
"How long will it last?" she murmured. "How long can one endure this and live? Oh, Heaven! is there no mercy for us?"
Then the blessed mantle of oblivion fell again.
It seemed to have been tacitly agreed by Geoffrey and Marion that nothing could be gained by telling Vera of the danger that she had escaped. Nothing could be gained by a recital of the dastardly attempt on the previous evening, and only another terror would be added to the girl's life. And, Heaven knows, they all had terrors enough.
On the other hand, Vera had made up her mind to say nothing to the family generally as to her startling adventures. Of course, Geoffrey and Ralph Ravenspur would have to know, but the rest were to be kept in the dark.
Vera's white face and serious air were accounted for by the headache from which she was palpably suffering. Some of the others understood, and they were full of silent sympathy.
"It is nothing," said Vera. "A walk along the cliffs will soon set me right." As she spoke she looked at Geoffrey significantly. He knew immediately that the girl had something important to say to him. He slipped outside and Vera followed him. Not till they were out of sight of the house did she speak.
"Dr. Tchigorsky is still about?" she asked.
"Yes, dear," Geoffrey replied. "As a matter of fact, he is hiding in Uncle Ralph's room. He has his own reasons for so doing, but the reasons are to remain a profound secret. I ought not to have told you. You are not to tell any one."
Vera gave a sigh of relief.
"I promise that," she said. "And I am exceedingly glad to hear that Dr. Tchigorsky is safe. I was not sure whether I had not seen his murder."
Geoffrey regarded Vera in amazement.
"Why, you were in your room all night," he cried. "You were——"
He was going to say "drugged," but he pulled himself up just in time. Vera told her story without further preamble. It was a thrilling story and none the less so because simply told.
"I don't profess to understand it," Vera concluded. "I tell it to you just as it happened. On the whole, I thought it as well to keep the information to myself. I dare say that Dr. Tchigorsky can solve the problem."
"He shall have a chance," said Geoffrey. "I'll tell him after luncheon. But I should not tell a soul else this, Vera."
"I had no intention, Geoffrey. And now, hadn't we better go back and say good-bye to Mrs. May. She is leaving the house directly."
Mrs. May did leave the house in the course of the morning, all smiles and blandishments. She had a particularly tender word and squeeze of the hand for Geoffrey, whom she pressed in a whisper to come and see her before long.
"I will," Geoffrey replied. "You may rely upon that."
It was with a feeling of intense relief that he was rid of her. It seemed hard to believe that the smiling polished woman of the world, thedernière criof Western civilization, should be one and the same with the fanatic princess of the fanatical East.
There was something wild and bizarre about the very suggestion. There was one last smile for every one but Marion, who had not appeared, and Mrs. May was gone.
Geoffrey made his way up to his uncle's room. There he found the two friends smoking. Tchigorsky looked at him from behind a cloud of thin smoke.
"You have news, my young friend," said Tchigorsky. "I see it in your eyes."
"I have the most important news," said Geoffrey, "only it does not convey any impression to me. It is a discovery of Vera's. She had a fine adventure last night. She was not sure whether or not she had seen your murder, Tchigorsky."
"Say on," Tchigorsky said calmly. "Say on, my boy."
Geoffrey said on accordingly. He fully expected to surprise his hearers, and he was not disappointed. Every word he said was followed with rapt attention.
"And now can you explain it?" Geoffrey asked eagerly.
"To me the explanation is perfectly clear," Tchigorsky replied. "Last night I told you that there were two other parties to the vendetta now in England, and that it was necessary to get them into the net before we close it. That is no longer necessary, for the simple reason that these two men are dead—drowned."
"Do you mean that they perished with that stranger last night?"
"Certainly, I do. A fine determined fellow, whose death I cannot sufficiently deplore. And he had his vengeance upon his foes. If he perished, they perished also."
"But who was he, Tchigorsky?"
"The other man—my fellow-countryman, Voski. Don't you remember my telling you how the princess spoke of him? He has been hunted down at last. They lured him here and destroyed him under the pretence that I wanted to see him. My presumed servant had only to mention my name, and the thing was done."
"But why bring him here?"
"Because the place is so quiet. Because they wanted to give their mistress, the princess, a pleasant surprise. I don't suppose she knew they were coming."
"But the light in the corridor?"
"That was a curious and useless coincidence. Thelight in the corridor was mine. I was looking for something. Neither of those miscreants was ever in the house at all. At the same time they had naturally been informed where I was. To-day they would have gone to their mistress with the pleasing news that they had despatched Voski. I am certain they were saving the news for her."
"What shall you do about it?" asked Geoffrey.
"I shall not do anything at present," Tchigorsky replied. "I have a little idea that may work out to our advantage later. Meanwhile nobody knows of the tragedy and nobody is to know. This afternoon you are going out fishing in a boat, but in reality you are going to look for their bodies. If you can find them all——"
"We are certain to find them all," Ralph interrupted. "They will be carried round Gull Reef on the spit of sand under the caves and deposited on the beach, whence the tide ebbs at four o'clock to-day. I have not lived here all my life for nothing. We shall find those bodies within a yard of where I say."
"And bring them up the cliff," Geoffrey shuddered. "Ugh!"
"You will do nothing of the kind," Tchigorsky said coolly. "Bring Voski, of course, but you are to bury the two ruffians in the sand. It will be easy to do so, and pile some rocks over them afterwards."
Geoffrey ventured to suggest that such a course might end disastrously, the officers of the law not to know of it. Tchigorsky waved the suggestion aside contemptuously. It was no time for nice points like these.
"Those foul creatures are dead, and there is an end of it," he said. "What can it matter whether there is an inquest held on them or not? If it is, then there will be an end of my scheme. I say you must do this. The future happiness of the family depends upon it. It is also of the utmost importance that Princess Zara does not know of the death of her miscreants."
Geoffrey nodded. He began to see daylight. And, after all, the concealment of these bodies was no crime.
"What do you say, Uncle Ralph?" he asked.
"Say that Tchigorsky is right," Ralph croaked; "Tchigorsky is always right. When we get Voski's body, what shall we do with it?"
"Lay it out in the corridor, where I can get a look at it," said Tchigorsky. "For the present I do not exist—at least, so far as this house is concerned. All you have to do is to follow my directions."
The strange pair set out on their excursion in the afternoon. It was a long pull from the village to the cliffs, but it was accomplished at length. The boat was run aground at the least dangerous spot and Ralph and Geoffrey set out along the sands. The former's step was as free and assured as that of his younger companion.
"Ah," Geoffrey cried, "you are right. There they are."
"I knew it," Ralph replied. "See if they are injured."
Geoffrey steeled himself to his gruesome task. The three men lay side by side as if they had been placed so by human hands.
As far as Geoffrey could judge, there were no signs of violence on the bodies of either of the natives. They lay by each other, their faces transfixed with rage and horror.
Beyond doubt, these men had been drowned, sucked down by the strong current and then cast up again by the sea as if in cruel sport.
"No hurts on either," Geoffrey muttered.
"It is possible. Look at the other one."
Geoffrey did so. He saw a face fixed with a grim smile, the smile of the man who can meet death and knows how to punish those who injure them. The face was seared and criss-crossed just like Tchigorsky's and Ralph Ravenspur's; indeed, with its strange disfigurement the dead Russian would have passed for Tchigorsky.
The face was black and swollen from an ugly bruise in the forehead. Had not he known the truth, and had any one told Geoffrey that Tchigorsky lay there, he would have believed it.
A spade had been placed in the bottom of the boat, and with it two deep graves were dug in the sand. Into them the bodies of the Orientals were cast; the sand was made smooth again, and a layer of heavy rocks laid on the top. The body of the Russian was conveyed to the boat and thence to the house.
There was nobody to see the mournful entry. All the family were on the terrace. A startled servant or two came forward and gave the necessary assistance to convey the body to the dimly lighted corridor.
"Go to the village and fetch the constable," said Geoffrey. "We have found a dead body on the beach."
The servant went off; the gallery was deserted. In a few minutes the family would be in the house again, and the story would have to be told. Tchigorsky looked cautiously from his hiding place.
"Is the coast clear?" he asked.
"Perfectly clear," said Geoffrey.
Tchigorsky came forward. For a long time he examined the body. The regret on his face was tempered by a gleam of grim satisfaction.
"It is very like you," said Geoffrey.
"It is me," Tchigorsky whispered. "You are to recognize it as me. The idea is that I fell over the cliffs in the darkness and was drowned. I will explain later. Somebody comes."
Tchigorsky darted off as Marion appeared. She looked white and agitated.
"Another horror," she said. "Sims just told me. Who is it?"
"I regret to say it is Dr. Tchigorsky," said Ralph. "He must have walked over the cliff in the darkness. See here."
Marion bent over the body with a shudder.
"Poor fellow," she said tenderly. "Tchigorsky beyond a doubt."
Ralph turned away, as if in grief. But the grin on his face was the grin of Mephistopheles.
Geoffrey was fain to confess that he couldn't quite follow. He turned to Ralph, who once more had recovered his old expression—an expression tinged with profound regret. From the hall below came the tones of Rupert Ravenspur demanding to know what it was all about.
"Go and tell your grandfather," Ralph said quietly. "Everybody who comes near us is fated, it seems. Poor Tchigorsky is no more. He was a mysterious man, and wonderfully reticent as to his past life, but he was the most interesting man I ever met. But I shall never hear anything more about Tibet."
"He was a very old friend of yours?" Marion asked.
"Not so very old," Ralph replied. "And I should hardly call him a friend. We were mutually interested in certain scientific matters. But as to the marvelous side of things he told me nothing."
Speaking by the letter this was perfectly true. Tchigorsky had told Ralph nothing, for the simple reason that they had learned and suffered together.
"Then why did he come here?" Marion demanded.
"To try to solve the mystery. He declared that Orientalism was at the bottom of it. But we shall never know now. Tchigorsky is no more, and such knowledge as he may have possessed has gone down to the sea with him."
Marion turned away with a sigh. Slight as their acquaintance had been, she had been drawn toTchigorsky, she said. Strange that whoever tried to help the house of Ravenspur should come under the ban.
"But Tchigorsky was drowned," said Ralph.
"No, indeed," Marion replied. "Oh, I know there are no signs of violence on the body. I know how dangerous the broken balustrade is; but I have my opinions all the same."
"You are wrong in this case," Ralph said, as he walked away.
Presently other people began to arrive. For the first time for many years Ravenspur was invaded by strangers—a policeman or two, a fussily polite inspector, a journalist with a colleague, pushing everywhere. They would have interviewed Rupert Ravenspur, but the cold glitter of his eye awed even them.
The police let Ralph alone, but Geoffrey was subjected to severe questioning. On the whole he came out of the ordeal better than Ralph had anticipated.
"You managed that very well," he said.
"I feel horribly mean and guilty. All these prevarications—"
"Call them lies, if you like," Ralph put in coolly. "It doesn't matter. Think of the good cause. If ever the end may justify the means it is here. You are deceiving only our enemies; you are injuring nobody. And you are giving Tchigorsky a heaven-sent opportunity."
"I doubt it, uncle. Clever as Tchigorsky is, well as he may disguise himself, he will fail. Did not Princess Zaza pick you both out at Lassa?"
"That was not quite the same thing. Remember she knew beforehand that we were going to make the attempt to reach the holy city. She allowed us to go so far because she is naturally a cruel woman. Moreover, all the time her spies had been dogging our footsteps.
"Before nightfall she will firmly believe Tchigorsky to be dead, which is a great point in his favor. She does not know that her other two miscreants have met with a deserved fate. Tchigorsky will go to her, passing asone of them, and will tell her a wonderful tale as to how he and his ally compassed Voski's death. He will tell how that death entailed the death of his companion."
"It is a fearfully dangerous position."
"Oh, it is. But Tchigorsky will not mind that. He loves danger for its own sake. And he will be able to act the character to the life. He speaks the language perfectly; he is up to all the rites and ceremonies. Tchigorsky will not fail."
The inquest was appointed for the afternoon. It was not likely to last long, and the verdict in the minds of most people was a foregone conclusion. Tchigorsky had walked out into the darkness, he had stumbled over the cliffs, and there was an end of the matter.
Meanwhile the police seemed to have taken possession of the house. And all the time Tchigorsky was seated in a comfortable lounge in Ralph's room, smoking cigarettes and making plans for the future.
Geoffrey had gone out after luncheon. He would not be wanted for a full hour and resented the vulgar curiosity of these strangers. Already some of the jury had arrived, and were critically examining the broken balustrades with an owl-like wisdom which, in other circumstances, would have been amusing.
Geoffrey walked along up the slope toward Jessop's farm. He met a small governess cart drawn by a donkey coming down the hill. In it was Mrs. May driving slowly along. She pulled up as she saw Geoffrey and held out her hand. Her face was very clear and bright to-day.
"You see, I have already adapted myself to circumstances," she said when Geoffrey had asked politely and feelingly after the injured foot. "The donkey and I are old friends and Jessop got the cart for me. So I am all right. By the way, what is it I hear about your finding a body down on the sands?"
"It is quite true," Geoffrey said gravely. "The body of Dr. Tchigorsky."
"Tchigorsky! Dr. Tchigorsky! Do you really mean that?"
The smooth, velvety voice had risen to a hoarse scream. Disappointment, joy, relief danced across the woman's gleaming eyes. For the moment she seemed to forget that she had a companion.
"What a dreadful thing!" she said, catching her natural voice again. "How did it happen?"
Geoffrey gave her the details without flinching.
"It was a bit of shock for us," he said, "but we are accustomed to them. Of course it will be brought in that the poor fellow met with an accident, but there is not the slightest doubt that the poor fellow was murdered."
"Murdered! Why should you say that?"
"I don't know. Of course I have no evidence. But Tchigorsky chose to interest himself in our affairs, and he has paid the penalty. That was exactly what Marion said when she saw the body."
"So that poor child actually saw the corpse! How terrible!"
"Marion did not seem to mind. She is small and slender, but has courage and resolution."
Mrs. May nodded. She had received information that was a long way from being distasteful to her. She plied Geoffrey with questions as to what Tchigorsky had said and done, but Geoffrey evaded them all. Tchigorsky had said nothing; he had hinted vaguely at what he was going to do.
"I knew him years ago," said Mrs. May.
"Oh, indeed!" Geoffrey replied. "He never mentioned that."
Mrs. May drew a long breath. Evidently she had nothing to fear. Her arch-enemy had gone to his account, leaving no mischief behind. Sooner or later the man would have had to be removed; now he had gone away, saving all the trouble. Really, it was very considerate of Tchigorsky.
"You might come to the inquest and say he was a friend of yours," said Geoffrey.
Mrs. May looked at him sharply. Had she said too much or did he suspect? But Geoffrey's eyes were clear and innocent of meaning. Mrs. May shuddered. These kind of horrors made her ill, she said.
"Pray do not mention that fact," she implored. "It can do no good and it may cause a great deal of harm."
Geoffrey disclaimed every intention of making mischief. Besides, as Mrs. May pointed out, there was his uncle Ralph. Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders.
"It is a hard thing to say," he murmured, "but my poor uncle's testimony would not carry much weight. That accident he had some years ago injured his brain. But he is harmless."
Mrs. May exchanged a few more or less banal remarks with her companion and drove on. She had got nothing out of Geoffrey, but he had baffled her and, what was more, had succeeded in lulling a set of lively suspicious to sleep.
The inquest turned out as he had anticipated. The suggestion of foul play was never raised. A surgeon testified to the fact that the deceased met his death by drowning, and that the injury to the face was doubtless caused by a fall on the rocks. Beyond that the condition of the body was normal.
Geoffrey's evidence was plain and to the point. He had little to say. He repudiated the suggestion that the family enemy had had anything to do with the thing. Dr. Tchigorsky was merely a passing visitor; he had met with an accident, and there was an end of the matter. It was impossible to say more than that.
Then, to the manifest disappointment of those who had come prepared to be thrilled with sensational details, the inquest was over almost before it had begun. Directed by the coroner, the jury brought in a verdict of "Found Drowned, but how the deceased came by his death therewas no evidence to show." Rupert Ravenspur rose from his seat and ordered the servants to clear the house.
"See that they are all out at once," he said. "Half an hour ago I found two women—ladies, I suppose they call themselves—in the picture gallery with guide books in the hands. Really, there is no sense of decency nowadays."
The curious crowd were forced back and once more Ravenspur resumed its normal aspect.
"I will see to the burial," Ravenspur said. "The poor man seems to have no friends. And I feel to a certain extent guilty. Geoffrey, you will see that all proper arrangements are made for the funeral?"
Geoffrey bowed his head gravely.
"Yes, sir," he said. "I will see to that."
Mrs. May sat among her flowers after dinner. She had dined well and was on the very best of terms with herself. It had been a source of satisfaction to see the body of her worst enemy laid to rest in the village churchyard that afternoon.
For years she had planned for the death of that man and for years he had eluded her. To strike him down foully had been too dangerous, for had he not told her that he was prepared for that kind of death? Had he not arranged it so that a score of savants in Europe should learn the truth within a month of his decease?
"And kindly fate has removed him for me," she said as she puffed with infinite content at one of her scented cigarettes. "There is no longer any danger. What have I to fear now from those wise men of the East? Nothing. They will see that Tchigorsky has died a natural death and will destroy those packets. I can act freely now."
A strange look came over the lovely face, a look that boded ill for somebody. Then the whole expression changed as Geoffrey entered. She had seen him that afternoon; she had asked him to come and he had half promised to do so. That Mrs. May hated the young man and all his race with a fanatical hatred was no reason why, for the present, she should not enjoy his society.
She was a strange woman, this Eastern, with a full knowledge of Western ways and civilization. She could be two distinct beings in as many minutes.
A moment ago she was a priestess thirsting for theblood of those who had defiled her creed, for the blood of those to the third or fourth generation, and almost instantly she was the charming hostess she would have been in a country mansion or a West End drawing room. She waved Geoffrey to a seat.
"I hardly dared hope you would come," she said. "But now you are here, make yourself at home. There are some of the cigarettes you liked so well and the claret purchased for me by a connoisseur. I never touch wine myself, but I know you men appreciate it after dinner."
Geoffrey took a cigarette and poured himself out a glass of the superb claret. The bouquet of it seemed to mingle with the flowers and scent the room. Geoffrey mentally likened himself to an Italian gallant upon whom Lucretia Borgia smiled before doing him to death.
Not that he had any fear of the wine. Mrs. May was a criminal, but she was not a clumsy one. She would never permit herself to take risks like that.
Nevertheless, it was very pleasant, for when Mrs. May chose to exercise her fascinations there was no more delightful woman. And there was always the chance of picking up useful information.
Mrs. May touched lightly on Tchigorsky, to which Geoffrey responded with proper gravity. Had Mrs. May known that Tchigorsky himself was not more than a mile away she would have been less easy in her mind.
"No more visions lately?" she asked.
"No more," Geoffrey replied. "But they will come again. We are hopelessly and utterly doomed; nothing can save us. It is to be my turn next."
Mrs. May started. There was an expression on her face that was not all sympathy.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
Geoffrey slowly extracted from his pocket a sheet of paper. He had discovered it in his plate that morning at breakfast time. Long and earnestly it had been discussed by himself and Ralph and Tchigorsky, and it hadbeen the suggestion of the last-named that Geoffrey should find some pretext for mentioning it to Mrs. May.
"This was by my plate this morning," he said. "I don't mind showing it to you, because you are a good friend of mine. It is a warning."
It was a plain half sheet of note-paper, the sort sold in general shops at so many sheets a penny. The envelope was to match. Just a few lines had been laboriously printed on the paper.
"Take care," it ran. "You are marked down for the next victim; and they are not likely to fail. You are not to go on the sea till you hear from me once more; you are not to venture along the cliffs. If you show this to anybody I shall not be able to warn you again, and your doom will be sealed.—One who loves you."
"Take care," it ran. "You are marked down for the next victim; and they are not likely to fail. You are not to go on the sea till you hear from me once more; you are not to venture along the cliffs. If you show this to anybody I shall not be able to warn you again, and your doom will be sealed.—One who loves you."
That was all there was; nothing at the top or the bottom. Mrs. May turned this over with a puzzled face and a hand that shook slightly. Under her smile was another expression, the look of one who has been betrayed and is in a position to lay her hand upon the guilty person.
"You are fortunate to have friends with the enemy," she said. "But do you think you were wise to show this to me?"
She was playing with him as the cat plays with the mouse. It was a temptation she could not resist, feeling sure that Geoffrey would not understand. But he did, though he did not show it on his face.
"Why not?" he asked innocently. "Are you not my friend? Personally I believe it is a hoax to frighten me. You can keep that paper if you please."
"Then you are not going to take any notice of the warning?" asked Mrs. May.
There was a note of curiosity, sharp, eager curiosity, in the question. Geoffrey did not fail to notice it, though he shook his head carelessly.
"I am going to ignore it, as one should ignore all anonymous letters," he said. "If the writer of that letter thinks to frighten me, then he or she is sadly mistaken. I shall go on with my life as if I had never received it."
Mrs. May's lips framed the sentence, "The more fool you," but she did not utter it. It filled her with satisfaction to find that the warning had been ignored, as it had filled her with anger to know that a warning had been received. And Mrs. May knew full well who was the author of that letter.
"I don't think that I should ignore it," she said. "It may be a cruel piece of mischief; and, on the other hand, it may be dictated by a generous desire to help you. So the moral is that you are to keep clear of the cliffs and the sea."
Geoffrey flicked the ash off his cigarette and laughed. He poured himself out a second glass of the amazing claret.
"It is an unusual thing for me to do," he said, "but your claret is wonderful. You speak of the moral, I speak of the things as they are going to be. To-morrow I shall go out fishing alone as if nothing had happened."
"Ah, but you have not spoken of this?"
Mrs. May indicated the letter lying on the table. Geoffrey looked at her reproachfully.
"Have we not trouble and misery enough in our house without making more?" he asked. "Now, I put it to you as a lady of brains and courage, if you had been in my position, would you have shown that to your family?"
Geoffrey lay back in his chair with the air of a man who has put a poser. At the same time he had ingeniously parried Mrs. May's question.
As a matter of fact, nobody but Ralph and Tchigorsky had seen the paper. And the latter point-blank refused to give his reasons why the letter was to be disclosed to Mrs. May.
She looked at Geoffrey with real admiration.
"I shouldn't," she said. "Of course, you are right and I am wrong. And I dare say you will be able to take care of yourself."
He was going to disregard the warning; he was going out alone; and nobody knew what was hanging over his head! Here was a fool of fools, a pretty fellow to assist. Much good that warning had done.
Geoffrey rose to his feet.
"And now I must go," he said. "Still, I hope to come again."
The door closed, and she was alone. Hardly had he departed before a dark figure in a white robe crept out of the gloom of the garden into the room. Mrs. May looked at the ragged looking stranger fixedly.
"Who are you, and whence do you come?" she asked in her native tongue.
The man salaamed almost to the ground.
"I am Ben Heer, your slave," he said, "and I bring you great news."
"Oh!" Mrs. May said slowly; "and so you have come at last."
Mrs. May crossed rapidly and noiselessly to the door and closed it. Not that there was any need for caution, seeing that the primitive household had been abed long ago. But precaution is never wasted.
There was coffee in the grate kept hot by means of a spirit lamp. Mrs. May poured out a cup and handed it to her guest.
She lay back in her chair watching him with a keen glance and the easy, natural insolence, the cruel cutting superiority of the great over the small.
The man stood, his hands thrust into the folds of his loose sleeves, a picture of patient resignation.
"How did you get here?" the princess asked.
"At the great house in London I asked, O mistress," Ben Heer replied. "I came over, as thou knowest, to do certain work. There was yet another one with me. And when my work was done I came on to tell what thy slave had accomplished."
"You have proofs of what you say?"
"Else I had not been here. For two years we have followed up the track of the victim. It was as if we had searched for one single perch in the whole of a great lake of water. But we never tired and never slept both at the same time. Then at last we got near, and it came to the knowledge of the prey that we were upon him. That was long before the last cold weather that nearly starved us."
The man paused and shivered. The princess noddedwith careless sympathy. She had never tried a winter in England, but she could imagine what it was.
"He knew us at last," Ben Heer resumed. "He met us face to face in the public street, and he knew that his hour had come. A night later he was in Paris. At the same time we were in Paris also. He tried Rome, Vienna, Berlin. So did we. Then he came back to London again. When he did so we knew that he had bowed his face before the All-seeing, and prayed that the end might come speedily."
The princess followed all this with impatience. But the man was speaking after the manner of his kind and could not be hurried.
He would go on to the end without omitting a single detail and the princess was forced to listen. Despite the Western garb and the evidences of Western life and custom about her, she was no longer Mrs. May, but Princess Zara.
She had only to close her eyes and the droning intonation and passionless voice of the speaker took her back to Lassa again. And the day was near, ah! the day was near, when the goal would be reached.
"Once we had him and once he escaped," Ben Heer went on. "He was a brave man was Voski, and nothing could break down those nerves of iron. He knew that the end was near. It was in a big house—a house near to London—that we found him.
"There were servants, and they were glad to have their fortunes told. It was their evening meal on the table when we got there, and the man Voski Sahib was out. Then, behold, after that evening meal the servants slept till the dawn, and at midnight the master returned. He came into his study and the bright flash of the lightning came at the touch of his fingers."
"Electric light," the princess said impatiently. "Go on."
"Then he saw us. We knew that he had no weapon. The door we barred. Then Voski, he sit down and light a cigar, smiling, smiling all the time. When we lookat him we see that he moves not so much as a little finger. There was no sign of fear, except that he look at a little box on the table now and then."
"Ah," the princess cried. "You got it, eh?"
Ben Heer made no direct reply. He was not to be hurried. He meant to describe a sordid murder in his own cold-blooded way. Probably he did not regard the thing as a crime at all; he had been acting under the blessing of the priests.
"'You have come for it?' he asked.
"We bowed low with respect, saying that we had come for it. He lay back in his chair, making a sign for me to approach. Previously we had told him that it was useless for him to call out to the servants."
"You did not tell those servants their fortunes in your present garb?"
"No, no, my mistress. We no such pigs as that.... Sahib Voski bid me approach. My friend had the 'pi' ready on the cloth.... It was held to the head of the other. And so he died peacefully in his chair."
"Ah, so you say. Where are your proofs?"
Ben Heer slowly withdrew a white packet from the folds of his dress.
"What better proof could the slave of my illustrious mistress have?" he asked. "It is here—the precious stone with the secrets of the gods written on it. Behold!"
With a slightly dramatic gesture a glittering fragment of something that looked like green jade was held on high. The princess grasped it eagerly and devoured it with her eyes. Words were pouring in a liquid stream from her lips; she was transformed almost beyond recognition.
"At last," she murmured, "at last! But the other one—your companion. How did he die? You say he is dead. How?"
Ben Heer shook his head sadly.
"I cannot say," he replied. "It might have been some scheme on the part of Sahib Voski. When we got backto our room in London we were both dreadfully ill. For days I lie, and when I get better they tell me my poor friend is dead and buried.
"Then I understood why Voski Sahib smile and smile in that strange way. It was witchcraft, perhaps, or some devil we do not know in the East—but there is the stone."
The princess was regarding the shining stone with a besotted enthusiasm that seemed grotesquely out of place with her dress and surroundings. Perhaps this suddenly flashed upon her, for she carefully locked up the stone.
"You have done well, Ben Heer," she said, "and shall not go unrewarded. The worst part of our task is over, the rest is easy."
"Then the princess goes not back to Lassa?" Ben Heer asked.
"Oh, not yet, not yet. Not till they are destroyed, root and branch to the smallest twig on the tree. I have not spared myself and I am not going to spare others. Yet there remain those of the accursed race yonder, the Ravenspurs. They know too much, they have that which I require. I will kill them off—they shall die——"
"As my mistress slew her husband when his life was of no more value to her?"
"Ah, so you know that. You would not reproach me, Ben Heer?"
"Does the slave reproach the master who keeps his carcass from the kennel?" Ben Heer asked, as he bowed low. "My mistress was right; her hands were washed whiter than the snow in the blood of the Christian. It was well; it was just."
"Then you shall help me, for there is much to be done. Take this ring. Place it on your finger and go to the others. They are outside waiting. Give them the call, thus."
The princess made a faint noise like the drowsy call of a bird and Ben Heer caught it up at once. He had heard it many times before. Then he slipped out like a cat in the darkness, and presently the call came from the gloom.A moment later it was answered and then all was still again.
Mrs. May, who had discarded the princess for a moment, closed her window, drew the blinds and lighted a cigarette. It was a glad night for her.
"So those two are out of the way," she murmured. "The road is clear at last—clear to the vengeance that must be mine. And with the vengeance comes the wealth that should make me a feared and dreaded power in the East. Give me but the wealth and Lassa shall be my footstool."
Ralph Ravenspur had wandered along the cliffs and Geoffrey had followed him. The latter came up to the blind man at the loneliest part of the rugged granite, and there for a time they sat. Ralph was graver and more taciturn than usual, till presently his head was raised and he seemed to be listening to something intently.
"What is the matter?" Geoffrey asked.
"Somebody is close to us," Ralph explained. "Somebody is creeping up to us in the gorse. Nay, you need not move. We are safe here on this bare ledge. There is one thing there is no cause to fear in dealing with these miscreants, and that is firearms. Weapons of that description make a noise and your Oriental hates noise when he is out on the kill. Ah, what did I tell you? Somebody is close by."
A figure rose out of the gorse, a slender figure with a ragged beard and brown face. The stranger crept along and dropped by Geoffrey's side.
"Don't be alarmed," he said. "It is only I—Tchigorsky."
Geoffrey was astonished, though he had no occasion to be. Ralph took the matter coolly. "I expected something like this," he said. "I knew you would desire to see me, and that is why we came along the rocks."
Tchigorsky lay on his back puffing at a cigarette.
"Keep your eyes open," he said to Geoffrey. "One can't be too particular. Not that there is any danger, for I've sent those two wretches off on a wild-goose chase for an hour or two, and the she-devil is down with oneof her blinding headaches. You wouldn't think she was a woman whose heart is in a weak state, eh?"
"I shouldn't have supposed she had one," said Geoffrey. "Have you seen her?"
"I was in her company for a long time last night," Tchigorsky explained. "I posed as one of the murderers of Voski; I gave her proofs of my success."
"The forged Garuda stone," Ralph chuckled.
"The same," Tchigorsky said gravely. "It was a magnificent forgery, and calculated to deceive those pious murderous old rascals at Lassa. At any rate, I am now deep in the confidence of the princess, and attached to her subordinates, who are pledged to assist in wiping out the Ravenspur family."
Geoffrey sighed involuntarily. He would have liked to know why this vendetta aimed at his family, but he knew that the question would be useless. Still, he felt that a great deal had been gained during the last few hours.
"Have you learned what the latest villainy is?" Ralph asked.
"Not yet. There is much uneasiness and alarm felt over the recent failures, and my dusky allies are getting a little frightened. For the next day or two I expect we shall lie low and plan some bigcoup.
"What I want to secure now are the princess' private papers. I know she has them and is in regular communication with the priests at Lassa. Give me these and I can expose the whole plot. Let me wipe these three people out, and then Lassa shall get a hint that will save further trouble from that quarter.
"A hint from the India Office that any more rascality will mean an expedition to Lassa and the destruction of their temples will suffice. But first I must have my proofs. Without proofs I am helpless."
"Find them," Ralph croaked; "find them. Never mind the scandal, never heed what people may say. Bringthe matter home, hang those wretches, and we shall never more be troubled by this plague from the East. If I had my way I should shoot the whole lot."
"And be hanged for your pains," Tchigorsky replied. "Ah, my friend, there are serious flaws in the criminal laws of this fine country of yours. Patience, patience. I shall find out everything in time."
"There is one thing I am curious to know," said Geoffrey. "I want to know who was the girl on the cliff with Mrs. May that afternoon, the girl who has such an amazing likeness to Marion. Have you discovered that, Tchigorsky?"
"That is what I am trying to get at myself," Tchigorsky replied with great gravity. "It is one of the mysteries of the campaign."
Geoffrey said no more on the point, chiefly because he had no more to say. Yet it was haunting him now as it had done for some time past. It filled his mind as he made his way down the cliffs after luncheon. And then, to his surprise, as he gained the sands he saw a figure rise from the rocks and flit along the beach until it flashed round a distant point.
It was the girl who bore that surprising resemblance to Marion. She was dressed, as before, in a blue skirt and red tam-o'-shanter.
With a sudden impulse Geoffrey followed. His feet flew over the heavy sands, making no noise. As he turned the rocky point he saw no signs of the girl, but there on the beach with her sketch-book on her knee was Marion herself, so deeply interested in manipulating her water colors that she did not see Geoffrey till he hailed her.
"Did you see her?" Geoffrey gasped.
Marion smiled at his excited face.
"See whom?" she asked. "Oh, yes, some girl did pass me; but I was so busily engaged that I did not look up. How do you think my sketch is progressing? I havebeen at it all the morning. Vera made me a small bet that I should not finish it to day, so I am going to win my bet, or perish in the attempt."
Geoffrey was hardly listening. He recollected that there had been some little chaff at luncheon over some sketch, but he had paid little heed to the subject.
"It was the same girl," he said. "The girl so like you. Oh, Marion, how unfortunate you did not look up!"
"It was indeed," Marion replied. She appeared to be deeply interested. "I would have given anything to see her. But it is not too late. Put my materials in your boat, Geoff, and I will follow up the cliffs. I can't be very much use—I'm afraid—but at any rate I may solve this much of the mystery."
Geoffrey returned to his boat. It seemed very strange to him that Marion should not have seen the girl, and also that on each occasion these two should have been so close together without meeting.
Geoffrey pushed his boat out, got his sails up, and then stood out for the bay. It was very quiet, and no other boats were to be seen. One or two of the upper windows of the castle were visible from there, but no other signs of habitation.
The breeze freshened as Geoffrey reached the open sea. Some distance from him a pile of wreckage covered with a mass of seaweed floated on the water.
"I'll anchor here and get my lines out," said Geoffrey.
He luffed and as he did so a puff of wind filled the sail. The mast gave an ominous crack, and the whole thing snapped and went by the board. Geoffrey stared with widely open eyes. The wind was as nothing, barely enough to belly the sail. Then he looked down and saw that the mast had been almost sawn away. Somebody had cut it nearly through, so that the first puff would suffice.
Geoffrey felt vaguely alarmed and uneasy. He was a good four miles from shore and was an indifferent swimmer. The sea was too dangerous and rough forbathing. There might be further treachery. He sat down and pulled hard at the oars with the idea of returning to the beach again.
As he bent his back to the work, he toppled over the seat with two short stumps in his hands. The oars, too, had been sawed through and Geoffrey was helpless, four miles from land in an open boat, with no means of progress and nobody in sight.
The position was alarming. There would be nothing for it but to wait until some passing craft came along and picked him up. But the time went by without any sign of a boat and starvation might be the result. Nor was the position improved when it began to dawn upon Geoffrey that the boat was filling fast.
He saw that a large hole had been bored in the bottom and filled with some kind of substance that slowly dissolved in the water. With a tin dipper Geoffrey worked away with all his might, but he could only keep the water from rising higher, and knew that the exertion would soon tell upon him.
"Help!" he cried. "Help! help! help!"
He ceased to call as suddenly as he had begun. What was the use of calling so long as nobody could hear him? And why waste the breath that would be so precious to him later? He could not see that the mass of wreckage and seaweed had drifted close to the boat. He saw nothing till a line thrown into the boat struck him smartly on the face. He looked up.
"Can you manage to keep her afloat?" a hoarse voice came from the wreckage.
"For an hour, perhaps," Geoffrey replied. "Why?"
"That will do," said the other. "I've got a paddle here. Hitch the rope on to the nose of the boat and bail out for all you are worth. This is another of the princess's little tricks. I expected it. Only it hasn't turned out quite in the way that I anticipated. Now, bail away."
"Tchigorsky," Geoffrey gasped. "Tchigorsky!"
"Very much at your service. I rigged up this contrivance this morning and pushed off with it, not long before you came down. But never mind me. Stick to your dipper, and I'll tell you all about it when we are ashore."
It was hard and weary work for both of them, but it was accomplished at last. Geoffrey was utterly exhausted when the boat was safely beached, and Tchigorsky, too, felt the effect of his exertions. He lifted himself cautiously off his raft and made a dart for one of the caves.
Inside he had dry clothing, long flowing robes, wig, and hair for his face, pigments that changed the hue of one hemisphere to that of another. Geoffrey, limp and exhausted, watched the artistic transformation with admiration.
"It's wonderful," he said, "but then you are a wonderful man, Tchigorsky. How did it all happen? Who did it?"
Tchigorsky smiled as he touched up his face.
"It was inspired by a woman and carried out by a woman," he said. "I dared not warn you before you started, and indeed I expected further developments. But a woman doctored your boat for you."
Geoffrey started as an idea came to him.
"Was she young and good looking?" he asked "Dressed in——"
"Dressed," Tchigorsky smiled, "in a blue serge dress and a red tam-o'-shanter. I need not ask if you have met the lady before."
Geoffrey had no reason to fear anything from his adventure in the way of catching cold, seeing that beyond his feet he was not in the least wet. But the exertion had brought the great beads to his forehead, and he lay at the entrance to the cave exhausted.
Meanwhile Tchigorsky had appeared again clad in the long Oriental robes that suited him so well. Even in the strong light that filtered through a crack on to his face Geoffrey found it impossible to recognize him.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked.
"All right," Geoffrey gasped. "I'm a little bit pumped, of course." Tchigorsky pointed to the boat pulled over the ledge of rock.
"Then oblige me by shoving her off and letting her sink in shallow water," he said. "It is not pleasant and may cause your friends a great deal of anxiety, but for a little while it will be necessary for the world to regard you as one who has met with a watery grave."
"But surely this does not apply to my family?" Geoffrey asked anxiously.
"To your family most of all," said Tchigorsky coolly. "It is all part of the scheme.
"My dear boy, I am the last man in the world to cause unnecessary suffering—goodness knows I have had enough of my own—but one must be cruel to be kind sometimes. I have worked out the scheme; I have seen the enemy's cards, and I am playing mine accordingly. I tell you the step is imperative."
"But Vera," Geoffrey groaned. "It will kill Vera.In normal circumstances the shock would be great; with a girl who has been so awfully tried the news may mean loss of reason."
"I have thought of that," Tchigorsky said. "At least your uncle Ralph and I have worked it out between us. Miss Vera is not to know anything of our scheme, but she is to know that you are safe and well. Come, I fancy you can trust Ralph Ravenspur."
Geoffrey nodded. He felt easier in his mind. Not that he was satisfied, but it would be flying in the face of Providence to interfere with the delicate and deeply laid scheme of a man like Tchigorsky.
"All right," he said. "I'll do as you desire."
"Then push the boat off without further delay. You will understand why I don't want to be seen in the matter. Go, before any one comes along."
Geoffrey went obediently. He had not much fear of anybody passing. Nevertheless he did not neglect proper precautions. As he reached the cave again he found Tchigorsky lying on a heap of dry seaweed smoking a cigarette.
"I suppose I have to thank Mrs. May for this?" Geoffrey asked.
"For this and other things," Tchigorsky nodded. "I knew it was coming; in fact, very little can happen now that I am not in a position to discount. My ruse succeeded capitally. Behold in me Ben Heer, one of the two miscreants who succeeded in destroying Voski. My colleague perished in the attempt."
"The princess is convinced of that?"
"Absolutely. She is certain that I, Sergius Tchigorsky, have gone over to the great majority. Besides, I have placed proofs of my alleged crime in her hand—the Garuda stone all the fuss was about. It is a clever imitation, but that is beside the question."
"So you have been taken into her confidence?"
"Well, not exactly that. But every new scheme is relegated so far as details are concerned to some of us,and therefore I am in a position to discount the future. In ordinary circumstances I should simply have warned you against going fishing to-day, and thus checkmated the foe again; but that would have been inartistic.
"Besides, I wanted the princess to regard you as another victim, hence the whole of this rather cheap dramatic business. You will come to life again in a few hours—when we shall have to be guided by events."
"Who was it who tampered with the boat?"
"You will learn in good time. Let us meanwhile assume that it was the work of one of my dusky companions. For the present you and I remain where we are—till dark probably—when it will be possible to smuggle you up to your uncle's room. I have not been regardless of your creature comforts. Here are cold meat and a bottle of champagne. We dine together."
Geoffrey accepted his portion with resignation. And Tchigorsky was an entertaining companion. There was no dullness in his presence.
"Very well," Geoffrey said as he lighted a cigarette. "We are safe here. Now's the time for a further recital of your thrilling adventures in Lassa."
"Agreed," Tchigorsky cried. "Where did I leave off?"
"You had been gagged and bound at the instigation of the princess."
"True. It is also true that but for the intervention of the same princess we should have been torn to pieces on the spot; and, incidentally, I may mention that that would have resulted in the absolute extinction of the house of Ravenspur. The men who a moment before had been grave, reserved priests were transformed instantly into raging fiends.
"Had they been possessed by devils they could not have flamed out more suddenly. They were mad to know that the secrets of all ages had passed into the hands of Christian dogs—dogs who had defiled their altars. And yet much the same kind of barbarous fanaticism has been displayed in civilized dominions. Theywere not any worse than the bigots who burned your English martyrs.
"We should have been torn to pieces on the spot, as I told you, but for the authority of the princess. So commonplace a death did not suit her ideas of the eternal fitness of things. Many and many a time afterwards, when racked by agony, I deeply deplored that supposed act of clemency. It would have been a far more merciful death.
"Well, we were spared for the moment and cast into a loathsome dungeon, where we were overrun with vermin, great rats which we had constantly to drive off, and spiders whose bite was very painful.
"How long we lay without food I don't know; anyway, it seemed days. Perhaps it was only so many hours. Try lying in the pitch dark fighting with nameless unseen terrors and see how many bitter years can be crammed into a minute. And yet we knew there was far worse to come. But for the fact that we were together and could cheer the black hours with the sound of each other's voices we should have gone mad. One moment we were cast down in the depths of gloom, the next we prayed for death; anon we laughed and sang sketches of gay songs. We were not insane, but were treading perilously near to the borderland.
"Then, after many years—or so it seemed to us—they fetched us again. We were not led into the banqueting hall, but to a long, low vault-like place on the floor of which were two shallow tanks or baths covered over with a frame of iron, and from the frame of iron ran long sliding rods for all the world like a bird cage, only the sliding wires of the cage ran far into the room.
"Around these cages were glowing charcoal fires, the greater part of the sliding bars or wires growing red and crocus blue from the heat. What did it mean?
"I wondered. Ah! I was very soon to know."
Tchigorsky drew a deep breath and a shudder passedover his powerful frame. The moisture on his forehead was not due to the heat alone.
"On a throne of stone the princess was seated. A few of the higher grade priests were grouped around her. Evidently they had been discussing us, and had made up their minds. We were not going to be tried even.