Chapter V · THE EYES OF RAJIID (continued 2)

But I was still a marked man, and there were strong reasons for my hesitation to go beyond the pale of English law and the protection which it affords even to the humblest of England’s sons and daughters.

I now sent to an attaché of the British embassy at Constantinople a letter in which I explained that I was betrothed to Meschid’s daughter, Pauline. I also said that, owing to my failure to get in communication with her, I desired to have agents employed to discover her present whereabouts. The answer I received to this was a telegram that read:

Pauline is Meschid’s stepdaughter. He married her mother, the widow of the late Prince Maranotti, of Basselanto, Italy. The mother died two years ago. Pauline fled to her stepbrother, the present Prince Maranotti. Her whereabouts are unknown to us.

At the end of a fortnight I was in Italy. Leaving Naples, I started for Basselanto. I had covered only a portion of the journey, however, when, in a newspaper that came to my hands, I saw a startling piece of intelligence.

Prince Maranotti had been murdered at Basselanto only a few hours before!

The dead man’s body, bruised and scratched, apparently by human hands, had been found at the foot of a cliff over which, it was thought, it had been hurled by the murderer.

Two men were suspected of having committed the crime. Of these one was a man with a singularly grotesque face, whom no one in the vicinity of Basselanto remembered having seen before the day on which the Prince had met his death. A few hours before the body was found, however, he had been seen hurrying to the station, apparently in a great state of agitation.

The second person under suspicion was an American college professor—Pietro Maranotti—a cousin to the man who had been slain.

Arriving at Basselanto, I made inquiries concerning Pauline. From servants I learned that she had not been seen at Basselanto since, as an infant, she had been taken away by her mother, an Englishwoman, who, having been married to the former Prince, had fled from his cruelty.

Despite all the privations to which I had been subjected since I had undertaken the quest of the Rajiid diamonds, my love for the beautiful young woman to whom Meschid had introduced me, had been strengthened rather than diminished. I asked myself why, if she was in trouble, she had made no attempt to communicate with me. I resolved that to the solution of this mystery I would address myself with even more energy than I had displayed in my search for the gems which, as it had been arranged, were to constitute the price of Meschid Pasha’s consent to our marriage. I was determined to employ all my time and whatever fortune I could command in finding the woman I loved.

Once more I had recourse to detectives. These I directed to trace the movements of Pauline from the time she escaped from Meschid’s harem. It was not long before these men reported that they were crossing the trails of other detectives who were engaged in a similar search. Then I learned that the employer of these was no other than the mysterious Glyncamp, of whom I had seen or heard nothing since I saw him in India.

My available funds were growing low, and I decided to sell the diamonds for which I had risked so much and for which Meschid Pasha had nothing to offer now. By doing this I would attain two objects. First, they would yield to me a sum sufficient to enable me to liquidate all the debts I had contracted, and, secondly, I would cease to be an object of the persecution of the unseen enemies who still threatened me. Having arrived at this determination, I sailed for the United States.

Upon my arrival in New York I went to the best-known jeweler in that city. To this man I told the history of the Rajiid stones, and offered them for sale. He replied that he was unwilling to buy such costly gems as a matter of speculation, but that he would try to find a purchaser. A few days later he wrote to me, requesting me to call on Hewitt Westfall.

It was with Mr. Westfall that I went to the vault in which the cylinder and the jade image were deposited, and it was in his study that the cylinder was opened and the jade image broken. There, for the first time since the Indian Mutiny, the wonderful gems flashed together, and it is to Mr. Westfall that they now belong.

To the purchaser of the lost eyes of Rajiid’s Buddha I told the story of my quest for them. Strangely enough, he appeared to have heard something of one or two of the persons I had mentioned, and he offered to cooperate with me in my search for Pauline if I would consent to submit to him certain reports that I had received from my agents. This I did not hesitate to do.

Two weeks ago Mr. Westfall invited me to this dinner, and at that time he expressed the belief that he would be able to number among his guests the young woman whom I had known as Meschid’s daughter. He has kept his word, and now, in the presence of those who have heard the story of my adventures, I offer to her who inspired me with the determination to undertake them the love, name, and fortune which, many months ago, I offered to her in the London house of Meschid Pasha.

As the Decapitated Man finished speaking, he rose from his chair and gazed earnestly toward where the Veiled Aeronaut sat with bowed head, at the foot of the table. But from the unseen lips of the heroine of his romantic tale there came no sound.

The silence was broken at length by Hewitt Westfall, who, rising, said:

“It is unfortunate that the endings of many true love stories should be so uncertain that we have to guess at them, but in this so much yet remains to be told that the story may be said to be scarcely more than begun. Even the lady to whom his lordship just has addressed himself has much to learn from others before she will be able to tell him whether or not joy or sorrow will crown the efforts he has made to win her.”

The Fugitive Bridegroom, whose face now wore a grayish pallor, half rose from his seat. Glaring at the Decapitated Man, he asked, in a voice that trembled with emotion:

“Do I understand, sir, that the lady to whom you have referred as ‘Pauline’ is—is my wife?”

“Your wife!” exclaimed the Decapitated Man, looking wonderingly at the Veiled Aeronaut.

“No,” said the Sentimental Gargoyle, in a tone of decision. “Though the lady may have given our friend, the Fugitive Bridegroom, some reason to believe that he was her husband, I protest that she is not his wife.”

“And I maintain, sir——” began the Fugitive Bridegroom, impatiently.

“Well, well, let the lady tell her own story,” interrupted the Nervous Physician, pettishly. “Until then——”

“Stop, gentlemen,” said Westfall, calmly. “All of you shall be heard in good time, and it will be from the Veiled Aeronaut that we will hear next. But, as it is now well after midnight, we shall be compelled to wait until we reassemble in the evening. Meantime, according to our arrangement, there must be no discussion of the subjects that are reserved for after dinner.”

The guests thereupon rose, and, with bewildered faces, made their way to their respective staterooms.

Breakfast was not served until nine o’clock. The One-eyed Duckhunter, accompanied by the Decapitated Man, went out after ducks, while the Whispering Gentleman, the Homicidal Professor and the Hypochondriacal Painter sat down with Westfall to a game of bridge. The Fugitive Bridegroom and the Veiled Aeronaut remained in their staterooms, and the Sentimental Gargoyle found employment in writing verses on a little table that was placed for him near the sarcophagus containing the mummy of the Princess Tushepu, of the Twentieth Dynasty.

At three o’clock all except the Veiled Aeronaut sat down to luncheon. Dinner was served at half past seven, and, when this was finished, Westfall announced that the Veiled Aeronaut was prepared to relate the story of her adventures.

The guests then seated themselves in comfortable attitudes and the Veiled Aeronaut began her story.