Front matter (continued 4)

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 XXIII.

A LUNCH AT THE BELGRAVE.

Mrs. Benstein received Denvers as arranged the next morning as if the events of the previous night had been forgotten. She was looking wonderfully fresh and bright; a tailor-made gown fitted her figure to perfection. She motioned Denvers to a chair.

"I am glad you came," she said. "Now you are to please listen to me carefully and put the past out of your mind altogether. Since I saw you last night I have learnt a great deal touching the history of the Blue Stone of Ghan."

"Which I trust is quite safe," Harold murmured.

"Oh quite," Mrs. Benstein said, with a queer little smile. "I have even satisfied my husband on that point, though he has not yet recovered from the shock of your visit—I mean the visit of yourself and the Shan last night. You want to borrow the stone for a day or so?"

"That was the suggestion we ventured to make, Mrs. Benstein."

"For the purpose of throwing dust in the eyes of certain persons who are interested in an attempt to deprive the Shan of his throne. Mind, that is merely surmise, but I fancy it is correct. But I may tell you that my husband could never have hardened his heart to that extent."

"It doesn't matter now," Harold explained. "We are in a position to redeem the gem. Of course, under the circumstances, I need not conceal anything from your Mr. Gerald Parkford——"

"Capital!" Mrs. Benstein cried. "His name is good enough for anything. Now the path is quite clear. I want you and Miss Lyne to lunch with me at two o'clock at the Belgrave. The Shan must come along, that is imperative. He is to leave a note for his minister Hamid Khan to join him there at that meal, and bring the document that requires sealing along. Also I am going to ask Sir Clement Frobisher; only I want Hamid Khan to be a little late. Do you understand?"

"Most brilliant of mysteries; I'll try to," Harold smiled. "And the Blue Stone——"

"The Blue Stone will be in evidence when the time comes. See Mr. Parkford and ask him to bring that cheque along. My husband is too ill to attend to business to-day, so I shall transact it for him."

"He has had a great deal on his mind the last few hours," Harold smiled.

"That is it, Mr. Denvers. A corner in rubies, so to speak. Now will you go and settle up this business for me without delay? I understand that the Shan wants looking after if one desires to keep him in a condition to bestow his mind on business affairs."

"I'll take the hint and my departure," Harold laughed. "I suppose you have written all your notes. And I quite forgot to ask if you feel any the worse for last night's adventure."

Mrs. Benstein had written all her notes, and on the whole she felt little inconvenience from her accident.

"Not that I am at all satisfied," she said. "Mr. Denvers, I was in great danger last night?"

"Terrible danger!" Harold said gravely. "But I have got to the bottom of the mystery now, and the same thing is not likely to happen again. I can't tell you now; in fact, if I did there would be no luncheon-party at the Belgrave to-day. But your curiosity will not be unduly tried."

By the use of the telephone and a cab, Harold managed to carry out Mrs. Benstein's desires. Parkford was waiting in his chambers, having just breakfasted.

"I expected you," he said. "Any news of the ruby?"

"Mrs. Benstein says it is all right," Harold replied. "She wants you to lunch with her at two at the Belgrave, and I was to ask you to put the cheque in your pocket. It sounds flighty and very unbusinesslike, but there are other matters mixed up with this one, and Mrs. Benstein is not the woman to do a thing of this kind without some very good reason. Will you come?"

"With pleasure," Parkford replied, "and bring the cheque along. Before very long an invitation from Mrs. Benstein will confer a mark of distinction."

The ruler of Koordstan was dressing as Denvers arrived, and suggesting something in the way of champagne and soda-water as a means of an appetite for breakfast. He had gone to bed painfully sober for him, and he resented the interference of Harold accordingly.

"'Pon my word, you seem to forget yourself," he said. "If a man can't do as he likes in my position——"

"It is precisely a man in your position who cannot do as he likes," Harold said coolly. "Leave that stuff alone till after lunch, when you can do as you please. If you want your stone back——"

"I had forgotten all about the confounded thing!" the Shan growled. "Let me see, what had you arranged? I was so interested in my bridge last night that I forgot all about it. Wasn't there a man called Parkford who promised to do something to get me out of my scrape?"

"He promised a cheque," Harold explained. "He is ready to redeem the stone for us, and Mrs. Benstein has promised that it shall be produced at the proper time. I have seen her already this morning, and she wants you to join her luncheon-party at the Belgrave at two."

"Count me in!" the Shan said eagerly. "A monstrous fine woman, Denvers; and a beautiful one, into the bargain. But you forget I promised to see Hamid Khan here in an hour's time."

"Well, you are not going to meet him here," Harold said. "Mrs. Benstein has got some little scheme on, and I am here an involuntary ally in the matter. You will be good enough to leave a note here for Hamid Khan, explaining that you have been called out on business, or pleasure, or whatever you like; so that Hamid Khan is to meet you at the Belgrave at two for luncheon, after which you will seal his papers. This is not my idea, but Mrs. Benstein's. I am looking forward to a very pretty comedy presently."

The Shan scrambled off his note and presently departed with Harold, who had no intention of losing sight of his dusky friend till the luncheon-party was over. To the Shan's suggestion of the club and billiards he assented, but to a feeble suggestion of modest liquids he turned a deaf ear. On the whole, Denvers was glad to find himself on his way to the Belgrave.

Mrs. Benstein had already arrived, accompanied by Angela. She had fetched the latter, she explained, so that she would have no time for an excuse. A spray of the Cardinal Moth flashed and trembled on Mrs. Benstein's breast; the same spray of purple orchid that Angela had worn the night before in her hair, was tucked into her belt. Mrs. Benstein was frank and easy and charming as usual, but there was just a touch of colour in her cheeks, and her eyes had a brighter sparkle than usual.

"I have managed everything myself," she cried, gaily. "I have even arranged the flowers on the table. A strange thing, is it not, that we English people can arrange flowers!"

"Ah, here is Mr. Parkford."

Parkford came up, alert, quick, and self-possessed as usual. Denvers gave him an inquiring glance, at which he smiled and tapped his breast-pocket significantly.

"No flowers, any of you!" Mrs. Benstein cried in affected surprise. "Here is one for Mr. Parkford, and there is one for Mr. Denvers. Positively, I see nothing of the shade to suit the colouring of His Highness the Shan. Ah, here is the very thing! Excuse me, Miss Lyne."

The speaker bent down and broke off a little spray of one blossom of the purple orchid from Angela's belt, and herself fixed it in the lapel of the Shan's immaculate coat.

"Who can say that it is not in perfect taste?" she cried. "It is the very shade. We will sit down, and unless Sir Clement Frobisher turns up in time we will proceed without him."

Angela looked a little disappointed at the mention of Frobisher's name. A couple of waiters busied themselves over the table, a basket of gold-foiled bottles attracted the Shan's admiring gaze. As the big Empire clock over the doorway of the great red and gold saloon struck the hour Frobisher appeared. He drew up grinning and smiling with perfect self-possession; even the presence of Denvers did not disconcert him. He affected to ignore Harold altogether. But though he smiled, there was just the suggestion of a puzzled pucker between his eyes. There was something going on that he did not understand. He made a mental note of the fact that Angela and Denvers were not to meet again.

"A pleasant party," he murmured, "and full of sweet surprises. But I always was partial to a dainty salad. Do you expect any further guests, dear lady?"

"I understand that His Highness the Shan is waiting for someone," Mrs. Benstein murmured. "It is a matter of business, I believe. Is not somebody hunting for you over there, your Highness?"

"Hamid Khan, sure enough," the Shan exclaimed. "He sees us at last. He is coming this way."

Hamid came leisurely along, smiling deferentially as he caught sight of his master. The Shan introduced his minister more or less en bloc as Hamid murmured something. Then his face suddenly changed, a sickly yellow showed under his tan as he looked up and met the slightly-mocking glance of his hostess.

"Hamid Khan and I have met before," Mrs. Benstein said serenely. "It was some years ago, but I have not forgotten."

"Egad, our friend does not duly appreciate his blessings," Frobisher chuckled as his keen eye detected the sickly pallor of the newcomer. "Try one of these liqueurs."

"The heat, the walk in the sun," Hamid murmured. "London often affects me in this way. If my master will excuse me, I will get my business done and go away. My unworthy presence——"

"Luncheon first," Mrs. Benstein gaily cried. "For the sake of old times, I cannot be refused. I confess I am very curious to see that Blue Stone and the way State documents are sealed. You will perform the operation in our presence after luncheon, will you not, Shan?"

The Shan nodded stolidly. If some play was going on he might take his part, he thought, especially with so brilliant a lady to lead him. Frobisher's restless little eyes roved from face to face, but he could read nothing. The meal proceeded gaily enough, the only silent person being Hamid Khan, who seemed restless and ill at ease. Hardly was the coffee on the table before he rose.

"Mrs. Benstein must excuse me," he said. "But I have much to do. If your Highness will produce the stone I will lay out the necessary papers and——"

He shrugged his shoulders. The Shan put down his glass and nodded. It was impossible from his stolid features to guess that he was as utterly puzzled as Frobisher, which was saying a great deal. A sudden silence, a burst of expectation had fallen on the party. A burst of laughter from an adjoining table seemed out of place, incongruous. The papers were crackling under Hamid Khan's shaky hand.

"Has anybody a wax-match?" he asked. "Thank you, sir. I will get the seals ready."

He proceeded with the aid of a vesta to melt a piece of white wax on a plate. These he laid neatly on a round patch on the paper before him.

"And now for the seal," Mrs. Benstein cried gaily. "Pray produce it, your Highness. I hope you are not so indiscreet as to carry it loose in your pocket."

"I have too many enemies for that," the Shan said, carelessly. "I have to hide it carefully—in fact, I ought not to be in the street with it at all. Now guess where it is?"

Mrs. Benstein's eyes fairly caressed the speaker. He wanted an opening lead, and he had contrived to ask for it in such a manner as to utterly throw Frobisher off the scent.

"I fancy I can tell," Mrs. Benstein went on. "Yes, you are not so clever as you imagine. You are like the man who hid his bank-note in his tie, and called the attention of the thieves who dogged him to the fact by tapping the tie nervously all the time. I have seen you glance frequently at the purple orchid in your coat. I guess that the Blue Stone is fixed in the calyx of the orchid."

"A most amazing and clever woman," the Shan murmured as he removed the flower from his coat and looked gravely into the calyx of the bloom. "By the prophet, there is some foreign substance here! I remove it between my thumb and forefinger, and behold the Blue Stone."

A queer cry broke from Frobisher, who instantly suppressed it. Hamid Khan looked up with dilating eyes and shot a glance almost murderous at Frobisher. As to the Shan, he smiled with the air of a man who has brought off some new and brilliant feat of conjuring.

"One of Frobisher's orchids too," he said. "Frobisher, if you drink so fast you'll choke yourself."

CHAPTER XXIV.

A WOMAN'S WAY.

Frobisher sat there grinning with his teeth showing in a kind of smiling snarl. The shining dome of his head exuded a beady moisture, his hand crooked upon the haft of a dessert-knife, as if it had been a dagger of melodrama. A dog sometimes looks like that when he is being whipped on the chain. Nobody spoke for the moment.

There was not the faintest shadow of triumph on Mrs. Benstein's face. She merely smiled with the delighted air of a child who watched some new and fascinating game. In a businesslike way the Shan reached for Hamid Khan's document and called for the wax.

"That is a very pretty and ingenious hiding-place," Mrs. Benstein said at length. "No enemy would think of looking for it there. Your Highness has many enemies?"

"Ask Hamid Khan yonder," the Shan said crisply. "He can tell you."

The wretched Hamid wriggled and bowed. It was evident that he had been taken quite by surprise. The Shan sealed the documents and carelessly tossed them across the table. The Blue Stone glittered there well within the reach of Frobisher, and his fingers itched for it.

"Put the jewel away," he said hoarsely. "It is dangerous to leave it there."

"A fresh hiding-place," the Shan laughed. "I feel quite nervous. Suppose that I get Parkford to take care of it for me until I get home. He is a man to be trusted, and not a man lightly to molest. Sir, will you do me the favour?"

Parkford coolly dropped the gem into his waistcoat pocket. At the same time he passed a folded strip of paper to Mrs. Benstein and nodded significantly. Then he rose.

"I am desolated," he said, "but really I have to leave. Denvers, a word with you."

The luncheon-party broke up upon this, Mrs. Benstein alone remaining. She had arranged to wait here for a friend, she explained. Frobisher slid away, followed by Hamid Khan, and outside Denvers put Angela into a passing taxi. He had work before him this afternoon.

"That was very neatly done," Parkford said to the Shan. "It was a pleasure to see Frobisher's face. You saw me pass my cheque over to Mrs. Benstein, who will hand it to her husband. If you take my advice you will allow me to deposit the Blue Stone with my bankers for the present. I am going that way, and I shall see that it is all safe."

"Put it where you like," the Shan said, recklessly. "It's all the same to me, knowing as I do that I have an honest man to deal with. This rigid virtue of mine is undermining my constitution. I'll go off to the club, and try and get a game of bridge. Dine with me to-night, Denvers?"

Denvers excused himself on the plea of urgent business; besides, it was strongly probable that His Highness of Koordstan would be beyond entertaining by dinner-time.

"You've got our dusky friend out of a tight place," Harold suggested.

"So I suppose," Parkford said, indifferently. "I like this kind of intrigue, and I have a fancy for acting unofficially for the Government. Sometimes the hobby proves expensive, sometimes the information is valuable. In this case I am going to make a good thing out of it. I am very glad, for your sake, that you told Lord Rashburn all about it. It's given me a grip upon the Shan, and I'll see that you get your concessions. But we must discuss that another time."

Harold went on his way with hope rising high within him. He began to see his way clear now, once the mystery of the Cardinal Moth was fathomed. Lefroy passed him presently, and turned into the Belgrave. Harold wondered if this was the friend whom Mrs. Benstein was expecting.

It was. Lefroy came up to the table where Mrs. Benstein was seated and took a chair by her side. There was no smile of welcome on her face.

"I am charmed to come at your summons," the Count said, placidly.

"That is very good of you," Mrs. Benstein said. "Whether you remain in that frame of mind is quite another matter. I asked you to meet me here because my time is limited, and I have business close by. As you see from the table I have had guests to luncheon."

"I envy them from the bottom of my soul," Lefroy murmured.

"I would not waste envy on some of them, Count. For instance, Frobisher and Hamid Khan. The Shan of Koordstan came here as my guest; he put off important affairs of State to please me. But I was thoughtful. I said that Hamid Khan should come on here and bring the papers that he required sealing with him."

"The documents that required the impress of the Blue Stone?" Lefroy asked.

"The same. Here is the wax cool and hard now upon the Limoges plate, and with which the deed was done. On the whole it was an interesting ceremony, and nobody was more interested than Clement Frobisher. Never has that most beautiful smile been so much in evidence."

Lefroy coloured slightly. He was not so obviously at his ease now.

"Hamid Khan was also deeply moved," Mrs. Benstein went on. "Really, I believe that both of the men I have mentioned expected that the Blue Stone would not be produced in evidence. But it was. And where do you think it came from? You can never guess, of course."

Lefroy muttered something to the effect that his talents did not lie in that direction. He was conscious of a steely glitter in the eyes of the woman he was near.

"Then I had better tell you," she went on. "He took the stone out of a great purple orchid he was wearing. It was all the more strange that just before I broke that very flower from a cluster worn by Miss Lyne. Do you remember placing a cluster of those flowers in her hair at my request last night?"

"I remember that circumstance perfectly well, Mrs. Benstein."

"Well, it was one of the same cluster of flowers. And I feel quite certain now that when at my request you adorned Miss Lyne last night in the conservatory, the Blue Stone was hidden in that very blossom. Does that intelligence appeal to you in any way, Count Lefroy?"

"You are an exceedingly clever woman," the Count said hoarsely, but with sincere admiration. "So that is the way you baffled us last night. And all the time I had actually the Blue Stone in my hand. And I'll swear that Miss Lyne was not in the secret."

"She was not; her face would have betrayed her. Now you can imagine the pleasure with which I watched Sir Clement and Hamid Khan across the luncheon-table. And you call Frobisher a clever man!"

"He is by far and away the cleverest man I ever met, Madame."

"He is nothing of the kind," Mrs. Benstein said contemptuously. "For depth and cunning he has no equal, I admit. But intellect he has little, and imagination none at all. The fellow generally scores because his plots, as a rule, are laid against honest people. But I saw through him from the first. He was going to make use of me—me! I would pit myself against him and win every time. If he had not been prepared to play the bully and the coward last night I would have spared him, but not now. Before long that man will stand in the dock, and take heed lest you stand there by his side."

Mrs. Benstein's voice had sunk to a hissing whisper, her eyes flashed with passion.

"It is hard to know what I have done," Lefroy murmured.

"It would be hard to say what you have not done," was the swift reply. "You, too, were ready last night to apply force to a desperate woman. But I beat you, and it is part of my revenge to tell you how the trick was done. You will never have another chance to get possession of the Blue Stone and ruin the Shan by your plots together with Hamid Khan. You would have made use of me, now I am going to make use of you. Here comes my husband. When he has done with you I shall dictate my terms. Meanwhile, if your nerves are not equal to the strain there are many kinds of wines here."

Lefroy declined the proffered hospitality. He began to feel like one of his own puppets as Benstein nodded ponderously and sat down. The interview had evidently been arranged for.

"I am glad of this opportunity for a little chat," Benstein said, ponderously. His fat cheeks were shaking, his hand was not quite so steady as it might have been. He seemed to be fumbling for something in the capacious pocket of a coat far too large for his bulky figure. "I was going to look you up, but my wife said she would arrange the matter."

"We have had a lot of business transactions together," Lefroy suggested.

"But there is going to be no more, my friend," Benstein said. "You are too dangerous—you are too many for the old man whose sight is not what it used to be. It is about those Koordstan possessions that you pledged with me for a large sum of money. I keep them by me, I regard them as good business, until one day I show them to my wife. And what does she say?"

"It is impossible to hazard the suggestion what so clever a woman would say," Lefroy murmured.

"She says that the whole thing is forgery. Then I look quietly into the matter, and surely enough I find that the whole thing is a forgery. I stand to lose ten thousand pounds. My first impulse is to go off to the police and ask for a warrant to issue against you. When you take my money you take part of my body. Still, if you pay me the money now, I say nothing further."

Lefroy nodded thoughtfully. He was not in the least abashed; he made no attempt to deny the truth of Aaron Benstein's accusation. He would have to find the money, but how, was quite another matter.

"If you give me a little time," he said, "I shall hope to see my way."

"Ah! ah!—a little time—seven years perhaps the Judge will say. But I leave it to my wife—she is the clever one. My dear, what shall I do?"

"At the present moment put on your hat and go back to the City," Mrs. Benstein said. "I fancy I shall know how to deal with Count Lefroy. You can't have your money back and your revenge as well. I fancy you can safely leave me to settle matters."

Aaron Benstein was certain of it. He beamed proudly at his wife and kissed his fingers as he put on his hat and most obediently waddled out of the room. For a long while neither party at the table spoke.

"I'm afraid that I don't quite understand you," Lefroy ventured at length.

"You are not meant to understand me," Isa Benstein retorted. "For the present you are going to be my puppet and dance when I pull the strings. Play me fair, and you shall not suffer for the wrong you have done my husband; play me false, and you shall stand in the dock within an hour after. Come, sir, it is the turn of the woman towards whom you and another scoundrel last night would have shown personal violence had you dared. For the present I shall be content with plain replies to plain questions. Do you know from whence Frobisher obtained the Cardinal Moth?"

"I am not quite sure, but I can give a pretty good guess," Lefroy said.

"We shall come to that presently. Was Manfred well acquainted with the properties of that accursed flower?"

"I should say not. Of course he had a good idea of its value and what one could do with it."

"Quite so. Then I suppose that I am correct in assuming that on the night of his death Manfred was party to a conspiracy to steal the orchid from Sir Clement Frobisher; in other words, he acted as your agent, and he was killed in the act of purloining the flower?"

Lefroy wriggled uneasily and muttered something. But Mrs. Benstein pinned him firmly down.

"I shall abandon you to your fate unless you speak frankly," she said. "Was Manfred trying to steal the Cardinal Moth when he met with his death?"

"You may take that for a fact," Lefroy said, as if the words were dragged from him.

"Very good. Manfred was going to steal the Moth which previously had been stolen by Sir Clement's agent from somebody else. Who sold the Moth to Sir Clement?"

"I am not quite certain, but I believe it was Paul Lopez," said Lefroy.

Mrs. Benstein rose from her seat, and flicked a solitary crumb from her dress. On the whole she did not seem displeased with the day's work.

"Enough for the present," she said. "Take me out and see me into a swift taxi."

CHAPTER XXV.

A STRIKING LIKENESS.

Frobisher had passed a bad night, and he looked as if he were likely to have an equally unpleasant morning. A small dealer out St. Alban's way claimed to have found three new orchids in his last speculative parcel, and Frobisher had set his mind on seeing them before some other soulless and selfish collector stepped in. But a slip of blue paper, humorously accompanied by a shilling, told him that his presence was imperative at the adjourned inquest on the body of the man unknown, who had been found murdered in the greenhouse at Streatham.

"Now what possible connection can I have with that?" he grumbled, as he ate his breakfast. "It was bad enough for Manfred to thoughtlessly lose his life in my conservatory: And here's a letter from George Arnott. He has a great deal of complaint about you, Angela."

"I am properly flattered by his consideration," Angela said coldly.

"Oh, that's all very well, young lady. But you are going to marry George Arnott all the same. That young scoundrel Denvers had better make the most of his time."

"He will do that without any encouragement from you," Angela replied. "Mr. Arnott is an unspeakable little cad, and I would as soon marry your butler. Indeed, I insult the butler by comparison."

An ugly smile crossed Frobisher's face, but he carried the conversation no further. He was puzzled and bewildered, and neither feeling was palatable. He had been outgeneralled by a woman, and the reflection was bitter. But he was going to have his own way over this matter, as Angela would discover.

"Mr. Arnott to see you, sir," the butler announced. "In the library, sir."

Arnott seemed to be anxious about something. He was fussing up and down the library with a mass of papers in his hand. His manner was hardly flattering.

"Well, you have made a nice mess of it," he said, "you and Lefroy between you. He's bolted." Frobisher chuckled for the first time since he rose.

"Bet you a penny old Benstein had found out all about those forgeries," he said. "Lefroy didn't know that I was au fait as to that transaction. So Lefroy has retired discreetly—urgent business on behalf of the master, and all that kind of thing, eh? That leaves the field clear for us."

"To a certain extent, perhaps. But you won't get the concessions. Hamid Khan has been utterly beaten by Mrs. Benstein and your friend Harold Denvers. It appears that Mrs. Benstein knew Hamid Khan years ago, he being no more of a Koord than you or I. The Shan has dismissed him, and at the present moment is on his way to Paris with Denvers."

A round rasping oath shot from Frobisher's lips. "So that young blackguard was in it," he exclaimed. "I fancied so."

"In it! In it up to his neck. I bribed one of the Shan's servants. Why, Denvers, calling himself Aben Abdullah or some such name, and beautifully disguised, was in your house the night before last at your wife's dance. It was he who stopped your little game and enabled Mrs. Benstein to turn the tables on you. Those concessions are as good as in Denvers' pocket."

"But where did the money come from to get that gem out of Benstein's clutches? I know for a fact that the Shan is desperately hard up for the moment."

"What does that matter?" Arnott asked irritably. "You were at Mrs. Benstein's luncheon-party at the Belgrave yesterday. Who was there besides the actors in the game? You are losing your wits, Frobisher. What do you suppose Parkford was doing there?"

Frobisher slapped his bald head helplessly.

"I never thought of that," he said blankly. "I'd go to Paris myself, only I've got to attend an inquest. Come and dine quietly to-night and discuss the plan of campaign. I shall find some way out yet. Now just you toddle off and keep your tongue between your teeth."

"And what about Miss Lyne?" Arnott asked.

"That's going to be all right—you can safely trust the young lady to me. She doesn't realise what I am capable of. Though why you should want to marry a girl who hates you and despises you from the bottom of her heart is more than I can comprehend. Eight o'clock sharp to-night."

Frobisher travelled down to Streatham a little later, and devoutly hoped that his own evidence would be a matter of form. But the hall in which the inquest was to be held was crammed with curious onlookers, for the dual sensation caused by two mysterious deaths under similar circumstances had not been forgotten by the public. Frobisher but rarely glanced at the newspapers except The Times, or he would have known that "the orchid mystery," as it had been called, was the sensation of the hour. Only by the aid of two friendly policemen did he reach a seat in court.

The proceedings were drawing on, evidence of a formal nature only being called at present. Frobisher nodded to Inspector Townsend, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance.

"Something horribly nasty about perspiring humanity," he said. "I should like to turn a garden-hose on to the gallery yonder. What on earth do you want me for, Townsend?"

Townsend admitted that there might be one or two points on which Sir Clement's evidence might prove material. He was not quite sure what the barrister for the authorities had in his mind. Frobisher glanced at his watch from time to time impatiently; he had forgotten his surroundings utterly, when the sound of his own name brought him back to the present with a start. Leisurely and with perfect self-possession he entered the box and was sworn.

"I want to ask you a few questions," the Crown counsel said. "You have read something of the case, Sir Clement?"

"I have heard of it, though I am afraid I shall be of very little use to you."

"We shall see. This man, whom I shall call the unknown for the reason that he has not yet been identified, was found dead, murdered in a greenhouse at Streatham. He had been strangled by means of a hair rope twisted about his neck and pulled tight with great force from behind."

"That you are perfectly sure of?" Frobisher said with a suggestion of a grin.

"At any rate, it will serve for a theory at present. In that greenhouse, upon the authority of Thomas Silverthorne, was a valuable orchid which had been placed there by a stranger some time before. After the murder of the unknown that orchid had absolutely disappeared."

"Very strange," Frobisher said indifferently, "but of no particular interest to me."

"Perhaps we shall make it more interesting presently," Counsel retorted. "We are inclined to believe that two people were after the orchid—the man who was killed and the man who killed him and took the orchid away. The plant must have been singularly valuable and possibly unique in its way to induce a crime like this. The whole thing is very strange and singular, and it is rendered more so by the fact that a precisely similar crime was committed in your conservatory the same night. You have valuable orchids, Sir Clement?"

Frobisher nodded. He was not quite so cool now, and an irritating lump was working at the back of his throat. His quick mind began to see what was behind these apparently innocent questions.

"I have probably the finest collection in England," he replied.

"Many of them would tempt a thief, I suppose?"

"Well, I dare say. There are orchid collectors all over the world, you see. Once a man gets hold of that passion it seldom leaves him. A valuable stolen orchid would be a marketable commodity."

"The same as stolen books or prints, eh? The commercial morality of all collectors is supposed to be low. What you mean to say is that an orchid of repute would be bought by some collectors well knowing that it had been obtained by questionable means?"

"I've no doubt about it," Frobisher admitted. "I have known such cases."

"Then here we have a motive for the crime. Let me refer to your own case for a moment. What do you suppose Mr. Manfred was doing in your conservatory at the time he died? He refused to dine under plea of a headache; he was supposed to be lying down, and yet he was found dead near your flowers. Do you think he was after one of them?"

"The inference is a fair one," Frobisher said, guardedly.

Counsel smiled as he stroked his moustache. He was getting to the point now.

"Did you or do you suspect Mr. Manfred was after a particular plant?" he asked.

Frobisher started. He saw the trap instantly. The smiling little man with the bland questions knew a great deal more than he had told as yet. He was not so much asking questions as inviting the witness to make admissions. He had been primed doubtless by Mrs. Benstein and Denvers. The lump in the back of Frobisher's throat grew large, the easy smile flickered and died on his face.

"I have a score that are almost unique," he said. "Under the circumstances——"

Counsel waved the point aside. His experience told him that he was alarming his witness. He started on another tack which was destined to be even more disturbing to Frobisher's peace of mind.

"Let me put it another way," he said in his silkiest manner. "We are pretty certain that a valuable orchid was stolen from Streatham. You tell me that commercial morality among collectors is not high, and that a plant like that would be a marketable commodity. Would you buy it, for example?"

"I would go a long way in that direction," Frobisher said with a touch of his old cynicism.

"You would! Now I am going to ask you a direct question. I need not tell you the hour at which the unknown was murdered at Streatham because you know that as well as I do. Now since that time have you added to your collection an orchid of extraordinary interest?"

Frobisher gasped. He had not expected the question. He was like a man who suddenly sees before him a deep and yawning precipice in the path of flowers. And the chasm was so deep and yawning that he could not see to the bottom of it. He hesitated and stammered.

"I certainly bought a valuable orchid the same night," he admitted.

"Ah! Now we are getting on, indeed. The orchid you bought was unique!"

"Well, that is a fair description of it. Nothing like it has been seen before."

"An orchid the like of which has never been seen before! Come, this is very interesting. Can you tell us if the plant in question has any particular name?"

"It is called 'The Cardinal Moth,'" Frobisher admitted slowly. The words seemed to be dragged from him; he half wondered what had become of his voice. "It came originally from Koordstan."

"Stolen," the Counsel cried. "The orchid, sir, is unique. It was used to guard the Temple of Ghan. It is supposed to possess certain sinister qualities. Criminals who were sent into the place where the Moth hung never came out alive, they always died, as the two unhappy men whose cases we have under consideration perished. The sentence was to pluck a flower from the Cardinal Moth. The flowers were plucked, and when the great gates were thrown back the criminal was dead, strangled. Sir Clement, I presume that you knew all about this before you purchased the Cardinal Moth the other night."

"Every collector of intelligence knows the story," Frobisher admitted.

"So when the treasure came in your way you could not resist the temptation of purchase. Now, pray be careful. Did you not buy the Cardinal Moth about an hour or two, say, after the unknown was found murdered in that conservatory at Streatham?"

Frobisher wiped his shining head; his hand was shaking slightly.

"If you put it that way, I did," he said. "It was brought to me and offered for sale that night and I bought it."

"What did you give for it?"

Frobisher gaped open-mouthed at the question. It came back to him with sudden force that he had not given anything for the Moth at all, he had only promised for Lopez's sake to tell a lie and stick to it. Counsel rapped sharply on the table before him.

"I asked you what you gave for the Cardinal Moth?" he exclaimed.

"A trifle," Frobisher admitted. "Well, nothing in money at all. You see, the man who sold it to me——"

"Can you see the man in court? Look round and let us know if he is here."

Frobisher slowly looked round the court, not so much to find Lopez as to regain his own scattered wits.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR.

Frobisher passed a handkerchief over his shining head slowly, with a feeling that he was going through the ordeal of a Turkish bath. It was a long time before he was quite sure that the vendor of the Cardinal Moth was not in court. The little questioner smiled as Frobisher shook his head. Evidently he had a powerful reserve behind him. He switched off on to another track presently.

"You know all about the history of the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.

"Every collector does," Frobisher replied. "It has been known for centuries. Times out of number adventurers have tried to obtain the whole plant, or, at any rate, a small portion of it, but without success. Generally the attempt has ended in disaster to the adventurers."

"You mean that usually they have been killed?"

"Precisely. They have died of strangulation as—as Mr. Manfred did."

"Quite so. You don't suggest that there is anything Satanic or diabolical about the Moth? No cruel force from an unseen world, or anything of that kind?"

"Certainly not," Frobisher said with the suspicion of a sneer. "Although such a thing is firmly believed in Koordstan and elsewhere."

"Then there is some trick, some danger. Now, Sir Clement, listen to me carefully. You knew all about this strange fatality that clings to the Cardinal Moth, you know that Mr. Manfred met his death by that terrible way, and that tragedy at Streatham was more or less a repetition of the thing that happened under your roof. You can't deny that."

"Have I made any attempt to do so?" Frobisher retorted.

"I didn't suggest anything of the kind," Counsel snapped. "But I do say that you suppressed, deliberately suppressed, what you knew to be facts of the deepest import. Why did you not tell all this to the police? Why didn't you mention it to Sir James Brownsmith and other friends?"

Frobisher mumbled something in reply. It came to him suddenly that he was older than he ought to be, that his nerve was no longer what it once had been. He called to mind the many brilliant knaves who had from time to time stepped jauntily into a witness-box contemptuous of the inferiority of the cross-questioner, and who had an hour later tottered from the court a broken man. How much did this little keen-eyed man know? he asked himself. He would have given half his fortune to be quite clear on that point. But he could not answer the question satisfactorily.

"Nothing could have been gained by that course," he said.

"And you want the court to believe that?" Counsel cried. "Here were you with something like a correct solution in your mind and you keep silence. When did you buy the Cardinal Moth?"

"It was on the night of the Streatham tragedy," Frobisher admitted.

"Indeed! Was the man you purchased that plant from a stranger to you?"

"No. On the contrary, I have known him for years. He was with me the night before as well."

"Worse and worse," Counsel protested. "Tell me, Sir Clement, have you ever made an attempt to raid the Cardinal Moth in person or in conjunction with others?"

"I laid a plot to get possession of it," Frobisher admitted coolly enough. He felt that he could afford to be cynical and frank on this point. "But my plans miscarried. The plant was divided into three portions. One was lost sight of, in America, I fancy; the other was lost at Stamboul, where I came very near to losing my life as well. And the third plant was burned at Turin."

"Was that by accident or design?"

"Design, doubtless. The hotel was deliberately set on fire."

"Interesting," Counsel murmured. "What was the name of your ally at Turin?"

"I'm sorry I cannot remember. In the many busy incidents in a life like mine——"

"One moment, if you please. And don't forget that you are on your oath. Now wasn't the name of your partner who got as far as Turin Count Lefroy?"

Frobisher snarled out something that sounded between an affirmative or an oath. He was clinging to the rail of the witness-box now; there was a perceptible stoop in his shoulders and his lips quivered. The little man went on with his merciless questions, smiling as he scored one point after another.

"Count Lefroy has been your partner in many a financial venture?" he asked. "But you have dissolved partnership of recent years; you could not trust one another?"

"The steel was too finely tempered in us both," said Frobisher, with a touch of his old humour.

"And so you parted. Now let us get on a little further. Of late you have been very anxious to obtain certain concessions from the Shan of Koordstan. Count Lefroy was equally anxious. And the Shan, not being so very popular with his subjects at present, would have liked to get the Cardinal Moth back again. Now were you prepared to change the Moth for the concessions?"

"I confess that some such idea was in my mind," Frobisher admitted.

"In which case was it not dangerous to ask Count Lefroy to your house? I mean to luncheon to show him the Moth, and afterwards the invitation to the fatal dinner?"

"I can't say," Frobisher replied. "I really can't see what——"

"Oh, yes you can; a clever man like yourself can see everything. The Count was as anxious to have the Moth as you were, also with an eye to these concessions. He was more anxious because he had already mortgaged the so-called concession to Mr. Aaron Benstein for a large sum of money. Did you know of that?"

Frobisher hesitated a long time before he replied. He had grown singularly hot and confused; he could see no more than that a trap was being laid for him, but the bait was invisible. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth and trust to chance.

"I was quite aware of what Count Lefroy had done," he said.

"And yet you showed him the Cardinal Moth. He was very angry and he struck Manfred in your presence. He gave you to infer that he had by the merest chance lost the Moth itself. In other words, the man who had stolen it brought it to you instead of to Count Lefroy."

Frobisher nodded. He was smiling recklessly and a little hysterically now, wondering how many hours he had been standing there under the rigid fire of questions. As he glanced up at a big clock over the coroner's head, to his intense surprise he saw that it was barely twenty minutes.

"Count Lefroy had made up his mind to steal that plant," Counsel went on. "Didn't you guess that?"

"I felt pretty sure that he would make the attempt, yes."

"As a matter of fact, we contend that the attempt was made. It was all arranged. The night of your dinner, Mr. Manfred sat out under the pretence of a bad headache. The house was quiet and you were engaged with your guests, and Manfred knew exactly where to go. He made the attempt, and in doing so lost his life."

"It looks very much like it," Frobisher said, hoarsely.

"Do you know exactly how he lost his life?" Counsel asked.

The question came quick and short like the snapping of a steel trap. Frobisher understood the import of it, nobody else practically did. He glanced at Townsend, who appeared to be deeply interested in a newspaper; the Coroner was gazing at the painted ceiling. An unconquerable rush of rage possessed the witness.

"Hang you, find out," he cried. "To the devil with you and your questions. How should I know the secret that the priests of Ghan have kept so closely all these centuries? All I know is, that anybody who tampers with the Moth under certain conditions dies, and——"

The Coroner suddenly woke up and sternly rebuked the witness. He listened humbly enough now, for he was spent and broken again, only longing passionately to be away.

"I am truly sorry, sir, but the question irritated me," he said. "Anybody would think that I had a hand in the death of poor Manfred."

"Nobody has suggested anything of the kind," Counsel went on as smoothly as if nothing had happened. "All I contend is, that you can practically solve the problem if you choose. But let us hark back a little way again. What is the name of the man who sold you the orchid?"

"His name is Paul Lopez," Frobisher said in a tone so low that he was asked to repeat it again. He passed his tongue over his dry lips. "I can tell you no more than that."

"Is he a stranger to you, or have you known him a long time?"

Sorely tempted to lie, Frobisher hesitated a moment. But once more the cruel uncertainty of the knowledge possessed by the little man opposite forced the truth from him.

"I have known Paul Lopez for years," he said. "He has done many little things for me. But I swear to you now—as I am prepared to swear anywhere—that the Cardinal Moth came to me as a complete surprise. I never expected it, and I was absolutely astonished when I saw it."

"Then you have no idea whence it came?"

"Not the slightest. It never occurred to me to ask any questions."

"The wise man does not ask questions," Counsel said dryly. "Possibly your curiosity would not have been gratified, in any case. But I suppose that you had an idea, eh? You feel pretty sure now that the plant was stolen from Streatham?"

"That is mere conjecture on your part," Frobisher replied.

"Oh, no, it isn't. I shall be in a position to prove the fact when the time comes. You can step down for the moment, Sir Clement, though I shall have to trouble you again. Call Paul Lopez."

Townsend put down his paper and stood up.

"It will be quite useless, sir," he said. "Lopez has disappeared. My information tells me that he has gone in the first instance as far as Paris. Perhaps later on we may be able to produce him, but that will require more than the usual subpoena."

The Coroner woke up again, and his eyes came down from the ceiling. Yet he had missed nothing of what was going on, as his next question showed.

"That is rather unfortunate, Inspector," he said. "What do you propose to do now?"

"Ask for an adjournment till Thursday, sir," Townsend said. "Then I hope to call Sir James Brownsmith, who I am sure will have a great deal to say. If that course is quite convenient to you——"

The Coroner snapped out a few words, and the crowd in the gallery began to fade away. In a kind of walking dream Sir Clement Frobisher found himself outside. He felt as if many years had been added to his life; he was shaking from head to foot. The gold sign of a decent hotel caught his eye. The white legend, "Wines and spirits," allured him. Somebody was speaking to him, but he did not heed.

Then he became conscious that Mrs. Benstein was standing before him. She had been in court, but he had not seen her. He muttered some commonplaces now, he tottered across the street and into a bar which was empty. The smart girl behind looked at him curiously as he ordered a large brandy-and-soda. The soda he almost discarded, he poured the strong spirit down his throat, and a little life crept into his quivering lips.

Meanwhile Mrs. Benstein stood by the door of her car. She appeared to be waiting for somebody. From the bar window the now resuscitated Frobisher watched and wondered. He saw Townsend come out of court; he saw Mrs. Benstein stop him as he touched his cap.

"I'd give a trifle to hear what they are saying," Frobisher muttered. "I wish I had never seen that confounded woman. I am growing senile. Fancy being beaten by a woman!"

Mrs. Benstein had very little to say to Townsend, but that little was to the point.

"If you can lay hands on Lopez, what shall you do?" she asked.

"Arrest him on suspicion of the Streatham murder," Townsend said promptly.

"Which he never committed. Still, it is the proper thing to do. Now tell me where I can give you a call upon the telephone about ten o'clock to-night."

CHAPTER XXVII.

MRS. BENSTEIN INTERVENES.

Mrs. Benstein was dining alone and early, for Benstein had an important engagement later, and usually he made a point of being in bed betimes. He had had a good day, which was no uncommon thing for him, and he was loquacious and talkative as usual. From the head of the table Mrs. Benstein smiled and nodded, but, as a matter of fact, she had not the least idea what her husband was talking about. Not until the coffee was on the table and the cigarettes going round did she speak. She always liked her coffee in that perfect old Tudor dining-room—the dark oak and the silver and the shaded lights all made so restful a picture.

"Now I want to give you half an hour," she said. "You will be in plenty of time to see Lord Rayfield afterwards. Did you read the account of the Streatham inquest in the Evening Standard as I asked you?"

"Read every word of it whilst I was dressing," Benstein said.

Mrs. Benstein smiled. From the way her husband was dressed, the paper in question had monopolized most of his attention. At any rate, he seemed to have grasped the case.

"What did you think of it?" she asked.

"Well, it's a queer business," Benstein said, thoughtfully. "Seems to me to be a lot of fuss to make about a paltry flower that any accident might destroy. Never could understand Frobisher wasting his money over that sort of trash."

"No, you wouldn't," Mrs. Benstein said, quietly. "But mind you, that flower is more or less of a sacred thing, and the Shan of Koordstan would have given his head to get it. He's Oriental through and through, despite his thin veneer of polish and his Western vices. I suppose those concessions that the Shan has to dispose of are valuable?"

Benstein's deep-set little eyes twinkled.

"Give a million for 'em and chance it," he said. "So you think that Frobisher——"

"Precisely. Much as he loves orchids, he didn't want the Cardinal Moth for keeping, as the Americans say. With that lever he meant to get hold of those concessions. Now I have discovered that it was young Harold Denvers who found the Cardinal Moth and brought it to England. He took it down to Streatham, thinking that it would be safe there. But Paul Lopez got to know about it, and so did another man, apparently—I mean the man who was murdered."

"You think that he was murdered by Lopez, Isa?"

Mrs. Benstein made no reply, but smiled significantly. She might have startled her husband with some strange information, but she did not care to do so at present.

"That will be the general impression after to-day's proceedings," she said. "And Paul Lopez has disappeared. But I feel pretty sure that he has not left England."

"I am certain of it," Benstein chuckled. "Lopez has never got any money. He tried me for a loan only yesterday to take him away. Guess I could put my hand upon him in an hour."

"You think he is to be found at that gambling club you are so interested in?"

"Certain of it, my dear. Lopez is friendly enough with old Chiavari, who has found him a bed and food before now. Rare good customer to Chiavari he has been. If Lopez is not hiding at 17, Panton Street, I'm no judge. Do you want to see him?"

Mrs. Benstein intimated that she did, at which Benstein said nothing and evinced no surprise. He had the most profound, almost senile confidence in his wife and her intelligence, and she did exactly as she liked, and her obedient husband asked no questions.

"Very well, my dear," he said, as he rose and looked at the clock. "I'm going past Chiavari's and I'll look in. If Lopez is there, expect him in half an hour."

Benstein waddled out of the room and presently left the house. Something seemed to amuse Mrs. Benstein as she sat in the drawing-room before her piano. Half an hour passed, the clock was striking nine, and the footman opened the door to admit a stranger.

"A gentleman to see you, madame," he murmured. "He says you would not know his name."

Isa Benstein signalled assent. She closed the door as Lopez came in and led the way to a small room beyond, furnished as a library more or less. There was an American roll-top desk and a telephone over it. Isa Benstein pushed a box of cigarettes towards her companion.

"How did you guess where to find me?" he asked.

"I didn't guess," Isa Benstein said, quietly. "I never guess anything. You were near the Coroner's court this morning, because I saw you. You did not deem it prudent to appear, so you had a friend who gave you the news en passant. After that you would deem it prudent to go away for a little while beyond the range of the police. But unfortunately as usual you have no money."

"Correct and logical in every detail," Lopez cried. "What a couple we should have made."

"You indeed! The brilliant wife and the equally brilliant husband who would have gambled everything away as soon as it was made. Strange, too, a man so clever could be such a fool. So here you are stranded in London without a feather to fly with."

"Correct again. Unless you are going to help me."

"Why should I help you? You are friendless as well as penniless. There is only one man in London who would be glad for his own sake to supply you with funds, and that is Sir Clement Frobisher. But you dare not go near him or write to him or have any communication with him for fear of the police."

"Once more absolutely correct, Isa. Truly a wonderful woman. If you fail me——"

"We shall come to that presently. What do you know of that Streatham business?"

"Very little indeed. If you want me to swear on my oath that I had nothing to do with the crime I am prepared to do so."

"But you know perfectly well who the man is. He was lying dead on the floor of the conservatory at Streatham, at the very time when you stole the Crimson Moth placed there by Mr. Denvers."

Lopez started and turned colour slightly. He did not know that this was mere conjecture on the part of his questioner, but it was. Speaking from her intimate knowledge and calculating by time she felt sure that she had not been far wrong. And here was the face of Lopez confirming her impressions.

"You need not trouble to deny it," she went on. "I know pretty well everything. Mr. Denvers had not left many minutes before the accident happened. Was there an automatic steam-pipe in the conservatory?"

"Of course. And you may be quite certain that—but do you really know everything, Isa?"

"Absolutely. I can speak from experience. I did not know till the night of Lady Frobisher's party, but I found out then. If you don't believe me, look here."

Mrs. Benstein bared her arm, and displayed the cruel circular wound above the elbow. She was very pale now, and her eyes were dark. Very slowly she pulled her sleeve down again.

"Now you can tell how much I know," she said. "Who was the man who lost his life at Streatham?"

"I don't know his name, but he appeared very familiar to me. He was a Greek, a tool of Lefroy's and that queer fellow Manfred. He was too adventurous, and he died."

"And Manfred was too adventurous and he died also. I was a little curious, and I nearly met the same fate. That fate was deliberately planned for me by Frobisher; in intent that scoundrel is as guilty of murder as if he had fired at me from behind cover. He thought to trick me, to make me his puppet and tool, and by flattering my vanity obtain possession of the Blue Stone."

"Only the scheme did not come off," Lopez grinned.

"It failed, because I have ten times Sir Clement's brains and none of his low cunning. But the scheme would never have been tried at all had you not suggested it."

"I!" Lopez stammered. "Do you mean to say——"

"You suggested it; you told Frobisher where the Blue Stone was. His quick brain did the rest. Now perhaps you begin to guess why I sent for you to-night."

"I thought perhaps you intended to help me," Lopez said with his eyes on the carpet.

"Why should I help you? To put money into your purse you did not hesitate to ruin me and my husband, knowing that my one poor vanity induced me to deck myself out in borrowed plumes. As a girl you asked for my heart and I gave it you; I gave all the love I had for any man. I have never been able to feel the same since. Don't flatter yourself that I care the least for you; the flower has been dead many years. I forgave you that. I did not get you crushed and broken, as I could easily have done. And now you dare drag me once again into your net. I sent for you to-night to make conditions; the whole truth must be told. You are to stay in London, and on Friday you are to give your evidence at the adjourned inquest."

"You are never going to have it all out?" Lopez said blankly.

"Indeed I am. Whether you and Frobisher are actually guilty of crime in the eyes of the law I don't know or care. But you both have a deal to answer for. Don't you play me false."

Lopez looked up and down again swiftly. He was thinking how he could turn this thing to advantage and go his own course at the same time. He did not hear the tinkle of the telephone-bell behind him; he took no heed as Mrs. Benstein placed the receiver to her ear.

"Yes," she said. "I am home. See you in ten minutes. Ask him to wait outside the drawing-room door. Oh, yes, the messenger came quite safely. Good night."

If Lopez heard all this it was quite in a mechanical way. He spoke presently, urging the uselessness of the proceedings that Isa Benstein suggested. She said something in reply, something cold and cutting, but she was taking no further interest in the matter. She was listening for something, the ring of the front-door bell and a step outside. It came at length, and she rose.

"My mind is quite made up," she said. "And I am not going to give you a chance to go back upon me. Will you open that door, please? I thank you. Inspector Townsend, will you be so good as to step in? As I told you over the telephone, the messenger arrived quite safely."

Lopez's hand shot swiftly behind him; then he dropped it to his side and smiled. He had been beaten, but he showed no emotion or the slightest sign of anger.

"I think you had better come quietly," he said. "I have plenty of assistance outside. The charge is wilful murder over that affair at Streatham. Shall I call a cab for you?"

Lopez nodded. As he passed out of the house Isa Benstein went to the telephone again, and called up the office of the Evening Banner. There was a hurried conversation, then the communication was cut off. It seemed to Mrs. Benstein that she had every reason to be pleased with her evening's work. "It would be good to see Frobisher's face when he knows that," she said. "And he will know to-night."

It was getting late now, but some of the evening papers were running extra specials. There had been a big railway accident in the North, and there was a little capital out of that. Frobisher heard the raucous cry of the boys as he came out of his club. He was restless and ill at ease; he could not sit down and contemplate the beauty of his orchids to-night.

"Terrible accident," a boy screamed as he passed. "More about the Streatham 'orror. Arrest of Paul Lopez to-night. Arrest of the missing witness. Speshul."

"Here, boy, let me have a paper," Frobisher called out. "Never mind the confounded change. Give me a paper, quick." His hand trembled as he took the still damp sheet, his legs shook as he made his way back to the quietude of the conservatory. He must see to this at once.

Yes, there it was, a few short pregnant lines to the effect that Paul Lopez had been arrested by Inspector Townsend a little after nine that night. It looked cold and bald enough in print, but it thrilled the reader to his marrow.

"The fool!" he hissed. "The fool had no money to get away with. Why didn't he come to me or send? I'd have given him all he wanted if it had been half my fortune."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

NEMESIS.

Frobisher raged furiously up and down the conservatory for a time. Everything seemed to have gone wrong with him all at once. His favourite clay pipe would not draw; as he jammed a cleaner down the stem angrily it came away in his hand. The case of spare pipes he could not find anywhere. It crossed his imagination suddenly that some of the more delicate orchids in the roof were looking a little stale. He touched the gauge of the automatic steam-pipe that threw off vapour at regulated intervals and found it out of order. He shook the spring tap angrily as a terrier might shake a rat.

"Confound the thing," he cried. "Everything seems to be wrong to-night. Here is a job for Hafid."

Hafid came in trembling at the long ring of the electric bell. He had not seen his master in such a dark mood for many a day. Why had he not come before? Where had the fool been? Hafid bowed before the storm.

"I'm going out, you congenial idiot," Frobisher muttered. "Something has gone wrong with the automatic steam-tap in the conservatory. Turn it on for a minute at eleven o'clock and again at twelve if I am not back. As you value your skin, don't forget it."

Hafid bowed again, and his lips formed hoarse words that Frobisher could just hear.

"Take it and burn it, and destroy it," he said. "Take it and burn it, and——"

"You chattering simian," Frobisher cried. He sprang on Hafid and shook him till his teeth chattered. "You besotted ass. Are you going to do what I say or not?"

Hafid abased himself and promised by the name of the Prophet. There was a slight hiss in the conservatory beyond that Frobisher did not notice. There was nothing wrong with the steam-valve, after all; perhaps it had stuck somewhere for a moment, but at any rate it was working again now. But Frobisher was too passionately angry to see that.

"Eleven o'clock," he commanded. "Don't forget the time. Now find my pipes for me. Find them in a minute, or I'll kick you from here to your kennel."

Hafid was fortunate enough to discover the cases of pipes precisely where his master had placed them. Then he slipped away discreetly enough before worse befell him. For some time Frobisher smoked on moodily. He looked like being beaten all along the line, and he hated that worse than losing his money. If the whole truth came out, and it could be proved that he tacitly permitted these tragedies, no decent man would ever speak to him again. Also, he was a little uneasy as to whether the law held any precedent for murder by proxy. Again, if Lopez was forced to speak to save his own skin, the Cardinal Moth would have to go. There was torture in the thought beyond the bitter humiliation of defeat. Beyond doubt, Mrs. Benstein was at the back of all this. Frobisher wondered if she quite knew everything. At any rate, if he could see her he might pick up a useful hint or two. Women always talk if properly encouraged, and a triumphant woman could never quite keep her triumph to herself.

"I'll go to-night," Frobisher muttered as he laid aside his pipe. "I dare say I can invent some ingenious excuse for calling at this time of night."

He passed from the conservatory into the hall and from thence to the drawing-room. Lady Frobisher was there, and Angela standing before the fire-place drawing on a long pair of gloves. The big Empire clock over the mantel chimed the three-quarters past ten.

"Where are you going at this time of the night?" Frobisher asked.

"Lady Warrendale's," Lady Frobisher said without looking up from her paper. "We are waiting for Nelly Blyson. We shall not start before eleven."

"Then you can take me and put me down at the corner of Belgrave Square," Frobisher said. "I've got a little business in that direction. Didn't I hear Arnott's voice?"

Lady Frobisher said nothing; she seemed to be deeply engrossed in her paper. Angela lifted her dainty head just a little bit higher.

"He certainly called," she said, "to see me. But he is not likely to come again."

Frobisher's teeth showed behind one of his sudden grins. He wanted to grip those white arms, to leave the small marks of his fingers behind. But there were better ways than that.

"So you mean that you have refused him?" he asked.

"Definitely and finally," Angela replied. "I paid him the compliment of treating him like a gentleman, but I might have spared myself the trouble. If you ask that man here again when I am present, I shall be compelled to leave the house and take up my quarters elsewhere."

Frobisher grinned again. He could pretty well picture to himself the way in which Arnott would take his rejection. And the man was not a gentleman. Frobisher's own breeding showed him that.

"Very well," he said. "Go your own way for the present. Ask Parsons to give me a call when the car comes round. I shall be amongst my flowers."

He strode back to the conservatory, hating everybody in the world, himself most of all. Hafid was crossing in the direction of the conservatory, a big old clock in the hall was close on the hour of eleven.

"Where are you going to, you black thief?" Frobisher demanded.

"My master gave certain directions for eleven o'clock," Hafid said, timidly. "I was going to——"

"I'll do it myself. But don't you forget twelve o'clock if I have not returned. Go back to your room."

The black shadow departed, Frobisher went on muttering. There was time for half a pipe, and then—then a brilliant idea came to him. He grinned and laughed aloud.

"I'll do it," he said. "I'll take the Cardinal Moth down and hide it. The thing will dry and shrivel for a time, and come back to all its beauty when it feels the grateful moist warmth again. Denvers shall not have the laugh on me. I'll be robbed. It shall go out to the world that the famous Cardinal Moth has been stolen from my conservatory. And I'll do it now, by Jove."

Then, with this design, Frobisher pulled up the extending steps. A minute later and his body was thrust into a tangle of looped ropes on which the Cardinal Moth hung. It was like untying a multitude of loose knots. The folds were all about Frobisher like a snake. So intent was he upon his work that he did not hear the hiss of the steam-valve below. The air was growing suddenly warmer and moister, but Frobisher did not seem to heed. Then, without any warning, something caught him by the wrists and held him as in handcuffs. He struggled and looked down. A cloud of steam was slowly ascending.

"My God!" Frobisher burst out. "That valve was all right, after all. Here, Hafid, help!"

But Hafid was some way off, and nobody seemed to notice. Frobisher struggled, then another loop caught him round the chest, as he fought frantically, slipped up and pinned him round the throat. A thousand stars danced before his eyes; he could hear voices in the distance. In the hour of his peril he caught the sound of Harold Denvers' voice and wondered what he was doing here.

There was a last despairing cry, a choke and a snort and a long shudder of the powerful limbs. The thousand stars went out as if suddenly swept off the face of the heavens by a passing cloud; it was dark with patches of red in it, and Frobisher grew still after a long shuddering sigh. Then he hung for the space of a few minutes—ten, at the outside—before the strain relaxed and he fell crashing to the floor.

There was light laughter in the hall, the fresh sound of a young girl's voice, the firm tones of Harold Denvers demanding to see Sir Clement Frobisher on urgent business. Hafid came forward like a shadow.

"My master is going out," he said. "The car is waiting."

"Tell him I must see him at once," Harold said curtly. "Lady Frobisher, you had better go without your husband, as our business is likely to take some time."

"I must hear my lord and master say so," Lady Frobisher replied. "What is that?"

A long wailing cry from the conservatory, a yell of horror in Hafid's voice. A strange light leapt into Harold's eyes as he dashed forward. He had guessed by instinct what had happened. Hafid was bending over the dead form of his master muttering to himself.

"Take it and burn it, and destroy it," he wailed. "Ah, if they had taken and burnt, and——"

"Hush," Harold commanded sternly with a hand over Hafid's mouth. "I see that you know quite as well as myself what has happened. Stay here a moment and be silent."

Harold hastened back to the hall just in time to intercept Lady Frobisher and Angela. From the expression of his face they knew that some tragedy had happened.

"It is my husband," Lady Frobisher said, quietly. "He is dead. Do not be afraid to speak the truth."

"I—I am afraid so," Harold stammered, "He—he has fallen from the roof of the conservatory. He must have died on the spot. Lady Frobisher, I implore you to go back to your room. Angela, will you go along! If you will leave it to me, I will do everything that is necessary."

Lady Frobisher went away quite calmly. The sudden shock had left her white and shaking, but after all she had nothing but contempt and loathing for the man who had fascinated her into matrimony. Harold drew all the servants away with the exception of Hafid, and hurried to the telephone. He gave a minute, and a voice replied.

"Is that you, Sir James?" he asked. "I am very glad to hear it. I am Harold Denvers, speaking to you from the residence of Sir Clement Frobisher. He is dead. I found him dead in the conservatory a few minutes ago. What? Oh, yes, he died in precisely the same manner as poor Manfred. Will you come at once, please? Thank you very much. I am going to ring up Inspector Townsend now."

Inspector Townsend was at Scotland Yard, and would be there immediately. Harold turned to Hafid, and led him back to the conservatory again.

"How did it happen?" he asked, sternly. "Tell me the truth."

"All I know," Hafid muttered. "My master thought the steam-valve was wrong. I was to turn on the tap at eleven o'clock, but my master said that he would do it himself. He must have been up with the Moth when the valve worked. The rest you know, sir. The rest I could not tell you. The tap was not out of order, after all, and my master is dead."

"It was a fitting end for such a scoundrel," Harold said, sternly.

He glanced up to where the Cardinal Moth still danced and nodded. Some of the long sprays nearly reached the ground. The clinging spirals were untwisted here and there. And Harold understood.

"He was removing the Moth," he told himself. "He was going to take it away and hide it, possibly to pretend that he also had been the victim of a robbery. He knew that I should claim it soon. Knave and trickster to the last! What a sensation this will make."

Sir James Brownsmith came presently, followed by Townsend. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done beyond certifying that Sir Clement was dead, and that he had perished in the same mysterious manner as Manfred and the still unrecognised victim at Streatham.

"It's a mystery to me, and yet not a mystery," Townsend said. "I've pretty well worked it out. But how did Sir Clement manage to get caught like that?"

"An accident," Harold exclaimed. "He thought that the steam-pipe was not in working order, and he was mistaken. But all England will have the explanation of this amazing mystery to-morrow. We will have the inquest here, and I shall be in a position to show the jury exactly what has happened. But, knowing what Frobisher knew, he was morally guilty of the death of Mr. Manfred."

There was no more to be said and nothing to be done beyond laying the body decently out, and locking the door of the conservatory, which Townsend proceeded to do. As Harold was going out Angela stopped him.

"Was it murder again?" she asked.

"It has not been murder at all, dearest," Harold said. "To-morrow you will know everything. Before long I shall hope to take you from this dreadful house altogether."

Angela murmured something. Her eyes were steady, but her face was very white.

"I shall be ready, Harold," she whispered. "Only not yet, not till my aunt.... And indeed it is a merciful release for her. Only I know what she has suffered. Good night."

She touched her lips to Harold's and was gone.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE TIGHTENED CORD.

London had seldom had a more thrilling hour over the morning paper. The sensational section of the press had lost nothing in the making of what was called the orchid mystery; some of them had even obtained more than an inkling of the true history of the Cardinal Moth, and many were the ingenious theories propounded as to the mysterious deaths at Streatham and in Frobisher's conservatory.

And here was another victim in the person of Sir Clement himself. As the thousands of business men poured into London by trains, 'buses and trams, nothing else was talked about. It became known presently that there would be an inquest at ten o'clock, and some time before the hour traffic opposite Frobisher's house was practically stopped. But people who had gathered there hoping to get in were disappointed. Doubtless the inquest would be adjourned to some more suitable place, but the public were rigidly excluded from a private house.