about it, nothing but policy. That was the secret of Lopez's life, and
beyond that Frobisher never attempted to penetrate. Perhaps he knew
that Lopez must not be pushed too far.
Paul Lopez had contented himself with the result of his labours for the
day. He was a plain, simply-dressed man himself, and gave no suggestion
of a liking for the luxuries and good things of this life. All the
same, he was seated now at a most perfectly-appointed table, clad in
most immaculate evening-dress, and looking across a table in the centre
of which was a veritable bank of flowers. Two opal electric swans
floated upon what was meant to resemble a miniature lake, and these gave
the only light to the dinner-table.
The dining-room was small but exquisitely furnished, for Lopez had a
pretty taste that way. There were no servants in the room now, for
coffee had been served, and Lopez was leaning back with the air of one
who has dined wisely and well.
On the other side of the table a girl sat. She was slight and fair,
with a pretty, petulant face, the spoilt look not in the least
detracting from her Greuze-like beauty. Her eyes were the eyes of a
woman, and her expression that of a child. Lopez called her simply
Cara--not even his most intimate acquaintances knew her other name--and
she was popularly supposed to be the child of some dead and gone friend.
No daughter had ever had more care and love bestowed upon her than Cara,
she was the one soft spot in Lopez's life. Perhaps she cared for him in
a way; perhaps she had come to regard him and all these luxuries as a
matter of course; certain it was that Cara lacked nothing many times
when Lopez had to go without.
There was a queer, half-ashamed look on his face now, as he pulled at
his cigarette. Cara had been scolding him, and he looked like a
detected schoolboy.
"You have been gambling again," she said, sharply. "Why do you do it?
You would be a rich man by this time if you would only let those
wretched cards alone. And you always lose. You are so headstrong and
rash, you seem to lose your senses over the card-tables. And you
distinctly promised to take me to Pau this year."
Lopez admitted the fact with a sigh. Nobody else under the sun would
have dared to speak to him as Cara was doing at this moment. It never
occurred to him to suggest that Cara might be doing something for a
living. He had promised her a good time at Pau, instead of which he had
been gambling, and had lost all his money.
"No trouble at all getting cash," he murmured.
Cara crushed a grape between her white, strong teeth. "That sounds very
pretty," she said. "But I have had no money for a week, and some of the
tradespeople are beginning to ask about their books. If I am to be
worried I shall go away. Did you get those tickets for the opera
to-morrow night?"
Lopez nodded. He had not forgotten them; in fact, he never forgot
anything of that kind. He looked furtively at the clock, and Cara
sighed.
"You are going out?" she demanded. "Which means that I am to have a
long, dull evening at home. I am sick of these long, dull evenings at
home."
"How long since you had one?" Lopez asked, good-naturedly. "My dear,
there are few girls who have as good a time as you. And business must
be attended to. I have to go out for a little time, but I shall be back
by eleven o'clock. And when I come back I'll take you to the Belgrave to
supper."
A little smile broke out on Cara's pretty, petulant face. Already she
was debating in her mind what dress she should wear. When Lopez made a
promise of that kind he always fulfilled it. Cara rose, and now gave
her guardian a loving embrace. She smiled engagingly as she lighted a
cigarette for him.
"Then be off at once," she cried, "and then you will have no excuse for
being late. It will save time if I meet you at the Belgrave. You are
to get that little table opposite the door for 10.45. And you will wait
for me in the corridor."
Cara issued her commands in the most imperial way, and Lopez listened
meekly. He had been used to command and make use of men all his
lifetime, but he never rebelled when Cara was concerned. He passed into
the road leading to Regent's Park presently, and hailed a passing taxi.
In the course of time he was set down at the corner of Greenacre Street.
A little way down that quiet, dignified thoroughfare he stopped, and
took a latchkey from his pocket. The door of the house where he paused
was closed, a feeble light glimmered over the fan, everything looked
most quiet and respectable and decorous.
In the hall was an umbrella-stand, two carved oak chairs and a Turkey
carpet. Beyond it was a dull baize door, and beyond that an inner hall
magnificently furnished. A gorgeous footman took Lopez's hat and coat,
and he proceeded to make his way up the marble staircase. There were
more baize doors, and as Lopez paused, the murmur of voices grew louder.
Lopez came at length to a magnificent double drawing-room, where the
electric lights were low and dim under crimson shades, and where a score
or two of men were gambling. There was a roulette-table, which was well
patronised, with tables for other games. There was no laughter or
badinage; from the players' faces the stakes were evidently high;
indeed, the proprietor of the Spades' Club looked with a cold eye upon
the gambler who preferred moderate stakes. The place was comparatively
new, and as yet the police had no idea of its establishment, and only a
favoured few knew where heavy play was to be found.
Lopez helped himself to an excellent cup of coffee and a liqueur, and
stood smoking placidly, and waiting for a chance to join the
roulette-table. Most of the men round were well known to him as great
lights in the world of fashion, who were killing an hour or so after
dinner before proceeding to one social function or another. They would,
most of them, return in the small hours.
Another man was waiting, a little, lithe, active man, who suggested the
East. His dress was quite modern and Western, but his dark eyes and
dusky skin told their own tale. Lopez gently touched the spectator on
the shoulder, and he turned round sharply.
"Haven't you been playing at all?" Lopez asked.
"I had my turn," the other man said. "I'm dead out of luck, Lopez. I
shall have to help myself to some of my master's jewels if this goes
on."
"Only unfortunately, he of Koordstan has already anticipated you," Lopez
laughed. "You will have to think of a better plan than that, Hamid
Khan."
Hamid Khan smiled sourly. On the staff of the Shan and sent over on a
secret, political mission, the dark-eyed man was a deadly enemy of the
man he called his master. He had all the vices and extravagances of his
imperial employer, and he would have done anything for the wherewithal
to carry on the campaign. Lopez and he had been more or less friends
for many years, and many a piece of shady business had they transacted
together.
"The Shan is hard up?" Lopez suggested.
"The Shan is at the end of his resources," Hamid Khan growled. "Of
course, it is always possible for him to raise money on those
concessions. But for the present he's what you call hard up. Still,
he's not without brains, and he may be worth backing."
"If I were you I should back him for all he is worth," Lopez said, as he
thoughtfully watched the rolling marble on the roulette-table. "I know
that you are in the opposite camp, and that you have elected to throw
your lot in with what is called the progressives in Koordstan. But the
man you want to make Shan is a friend of Russia, and the English
Government may not stand it. Besides, the present Shan is no fool, and
I happen to know that he is well advised here. If you can, get a grip on
him."
"Oh, I've got the grip fast enough!" Hamid Khan said moodily. "Perhaps
I should like to do what you suggest, but I'm too deeply plunged to the
other side now. I am forcing the old man's hand now; I came over on
purpose. The Blue Stone----"
Lopez suppressed a little cry. He affected not to be listening.
"If you will favour me with your attention," Hamid Khan said stiffly.
"My dear fellow, I beg your pardon. But red has turned up ten times in
succession, and I was counting up the theory of chance. Do you mean to
say the Shan had sold the Blue Stone?"
It was cleverly done, and the shot was an admirable one. Hamid Khan
fell into the trap at once.
"The Shan's not quite such a fool as that," he said. "If he did that
and the fact became public property he wouldn't be on the throne for a
week. But I happen to know that he hasn't got the stone at present, and
I'm going to work that fact."
Lopez listened to all that Hamid had to say; indeed, he went further,
and made several suggestions as if he had been advising a friend in the
most disinterested manner possible. At the same time, he had learnt a
valuable piece of news, and he was trying to find some way to use it to
the best advantage. There came a gap in the table presently and Lopez
changed a handful of notes into counters. These notes were all the
money in his possession, but the fact troubled Lopez not at all. Once
the gambling fever possessed him, common sense went to the winds.
He played on for some time with varying success, everything else
forgotten. He was fairly temperate at first, but the fever began to
turn in his veins, and he started gambling in earnest. Surely it was
time for black to have a turn after so marvellous a run of the red. But
according to scientific authorities, this is nothing to go by, and the
chances are quite equal even after a record run, and the end of an hour
saw the last of Lopez's gold-lettered counters swept with a careless
movement into the clutches of the bank, and he rose with a sigh.
The proprietor of the club, a tall man, with the bland air of a cabinet
minister, came up to him and proffered his condolences. Lopez lighted a
cigarette with a steady hand.
"I thought you were playing very well," the proprietor said.
"Nobody plays very well at this game," Lopez said with a smile. "There
are some of England's best intellects gathered here, well knowing that
the odds are on the bank. And yet such is the egotism of the human
nature that every individual expects that he is going to be more
fortunate than his fellows, and get the best of a dead certainty. My
dear Bishop, if it came to a battle of wits between you and myself, the
disaster to you would be great. And yet we come here and you grow
richer and richer at our expense!"
"If a small cheque is any good?" the other insinuated.
"It would go the same way. Besides, I cannot stay to-night. I have a
call elsewhere. I am taking a lady to supper at the Belgrave, where
unhappily they give no credit. In the temporary insanity of the moment
I have gambled myself dry. A five-pound note----"
The note was immediately forthcoming, with an urgent request that Lopez
would take what he liked. He took a further note, and rammed it
carelessly into his pocket. Hamid Khan rose at the same time from the
other side of the table, his dark eyes gleaming. He helped himself
somewhat liberally to champagne from the side-table.
"You also, my friend," Lopez laughed. "Let us depart and console
ourselves upon the road. If you have not anything better to do walk
with me as far as the Belgrave. I can't ask you to join me, because it
is my privilege to be supping with a lady there. Come along."
They passed presently into Piccadilly, and from thence by degrees
through Grosvenor Square. A great party was going on in one of the big
houses there, and the road was blocked with smart conveyances. The
lights shined on many lovely women, and Lopez carelessly admired them.
There was one lady in a car alone, a tall woman with a wonderfully
regular face and black hair glowing with diamonds.
"My word, but she is lovely!" Hamid Khan exclaimed. "Who is she? Looks
English, but there is a decided suggestion of the East about her."
"A wonderful woman," Lopez said. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, she is
going to be one of the big sensations of the world here. She is the
wife of Aaron Benstein, the financier. The old chap is in his dotage
now, and, of course, she married him for his money. As a matter of
fact----"
Lopez broke off suddenly; he was going to say that he had known Mrs.
Benstein pretty intimately at one time, but there was no reason to tell
Hamid that much. The block of carriages broke up at once, and the
dazzling beauty with the diamonds in her hair was gone.
"I know the name of Benstein," Hamid said. "He is the old man whom the
Shan has had so many dealings with lately. I shouldn't wonder----"
It was the turn of Hamid to break off suddenly, and Lopez smiled. Under
the big portico of the Belgrave, the curiously-assorted couple parted.
Lopez lingered a moment to finish his cigarette. In an ordinary way he
watched the well-dressed crowd flutter up the steps.
"By no means a bad night's work," he muttered. "I've picked up a piece
of priceless information, at least I hope so. Unless I am greatly
mistaken my dear little Cara is going to ruffle it with the best of them
at Pau yet."
*CHAPTER IX.*
*A WORD TO THE WISE.*
A soldier of fortune like Lopez was not easily elated by the smiles of
the first goddess, but he felt on very good terms with himself as he
stood there finishing his cigarette. Most of the people who passed him
up the flight of marble steps were familiar to him, and Lopez amused
himself by marking them off one by one. He was in an indolent mood now,
but his glance grew brighter as a smartly-appointed motor-car drove up
and a lady alighted.
She had no covering to her marvellous dead-black hair, though her dress
was hidden by a long wrap. She was quite alone, her air was absolutely
self-possessed as she looked around her. As she came up the steps she
became conscious of Lopez's presence.
She smiled in a slow, languid way, and half held out her hand. "One
always meets you in unexpected places," she said. "The last time we
came together the conditions were very different to these."
"That is quite true, Isa," Lopez said gravely.
"Mrs. Benstein, if you please," the woman said, with not the faintest
trace of annoyance in her tones. The smile was almost caressing. "We
had better observe the proprieties. Do you remember the last time we
met, Paul Lopez?"
Lopez bowed gravely. His mind had travelled back a long way. He had
never forgotten the marvellous beauty of this woman; it seemed strangely
heightened by the dress and the diamonds.
"You were not Mrs. Benstein then," he said.
"No. My ambitions did not lie in that direction. I had no liking for a
fortune ready made. I always made up my mind to carve out one for
myself. But since then I have learnt how hard it is for a woman to do
so."
The great, dark eyes grew thoughtful for a moment, then the woman
laughed.
"We are all puppets of fate," she went on, "even the strongest of us. I
am a philosopher, or at least I imagine myself to be one, so it comes to
the same thing. I am tired of the contemplation of my splendour, so I
am going to make use of it. I shall go into society."
"I am quite sure you will go anywhere you please," Lopez said.
"Yes," the woman spoke as if it were a matter of course. "To-morrow I
begin. The wife of Aaron Benstein, the money-lender. How they will
sneer and mock at me!"
"And how they will envy you from the bottom of their shallow hearts!"
Mrs. Benstein laughed as she walked up the shallow steps.
"That will give salt to the dish," she said. "I came here to-night
because I was tired of my own company. Let us sup together and talk of
old times."
Lopez was desolated, but he had to decline. There was a girl waiting for
him here, a simple girl who was not used to this kind of thing. It
seemed dreadfully rude, but Mrs. Benstein would have to excuse him. The
woman with the dark eyes smiled meaningly.
"As you will," she said. "Then I will sup alone and study human nature
uninterrupted. Good night."
She passed on to the grand salon where the band was playing, and
hundreds of soft-shaded lights played upon the banks of flowers and on
the jewels that glittered there; Cara had secured her favourite table,
and was busy looking over the menu when Lopez came up.
"I began to think that something had happened," the girl said. "I
feared lest you had gambled all your money away."
"So I did, as a matter of fact," Lopez said coolly, as he unfolded his
serviette. "I had to borrow ten pounds for the supper. But you need
not fear--the information I got was worth the price. Now let me see
what there is to eat."
"Tell me what you have discovered," Cara demanded imperiously.
"That I shall not do, my child," Lopez replied. "Suffice it, that you
have the benefit of my labours. Besides, it all refers to a closed
chapter in my life. I have found a way to put money in my purse, so
that you will ruffle it with the best of them at Pau."
Cara smiled contentedly. She finished her meal presently, and then she
had time to study the other guests. It was always a fascination to her
to try and read the history of other people. As a rule, her guesses
were fairly shrewd, and when she was wrong Lopez corrected her.
"Who are those people at the third table?" she asked. "The man looks
like a gentleman; he might have been in the army. But there is a
certain fierce swagger about him that tells a story. There is a man who
is rather cold-shouldered at his clubs. His wife is pretty, but
shallow, and not at all too straightforward. The boy with them is
dreadful. Probably rich, though."
Lopez smiled as he lay back in his chair.
"You are correct," he said. "That is Colonel Fairford and his wife.
They are the hero and heroine of that Lawton Lodge diamond scandal. Of
course nothing was ever proved, but we have our ideas. The Colonel
sticks to his clubs, but he has had a bad time there, and nobody will
play cards with him. The young man comes from Australia. He is rich at
present, but the Colonel will see that he does not long remain troubled
with superfluous cash."
A gratified little smile played about the corners of Cara's mouth.
"If the worst comes to the worst, I can call myself by a fancy name and
turn palmist," she exclaimed. "We are very clever people, you and I.
On the whole, the people here to-night are not particularly interesting.
Who is the lady with the glorious diamonds?"
Cara indicated Mrs. Benstein sitting all alone, self-possessed and
languidly interested in all that was going on around her.
"The recently-married wife of Aaron Benstein, the great financier,"
Lopez explained. "The old man is more or less in his dotage, and they
say there is nothing that he will not do for his beautiful wife."
"The diamonds are absolutely superb," Cara said.
"Why should they not be? Benstein is supposed to have two-thirds of the
jewels of society in his charge at one time or another. That is the way
in which your high dame raises the wind. Most of those stones are kept
at Benstein's own house. Doubtless his wife knows all about them.
Then, if she wishes to wear this or that precious gem, why shouldn't
she?"
Cara laughed merrily. Mrs. Benstein seemed to fascinate her.
"It is no bad thing to be the wife of a big financier," she said.
"Those diamonds and emeralds together are absolutely superb. Who was
Mrs. Benstein?"
Lopez was understood to say that she was a brilliant mystery. Nobody
quite knew where she came from, and nobody cared. But she was rich and
beautiful and clever, and if she made up her mind to play the game of
society, nobody could stop her. All this Lopez explained as he sipped
his liqueur. Cara took Mrs. Benstein in steadily.
"She would make a good enemy," she said. "Who is the vulgar woman who is
having supper with that handsome man with the red beard?"
"Oh, that is Lady Beachmore!" Lopez explained. "Beachmore is a man of a
good family, he has a good name, and his career as a soldier was an
honourable one. There are phases of human nature that beat me entirely,
Cara. A case like that makes me feel how little I know. Lady Beachmore
was on the variety stage, with nothing piquant about her but her
vulgarity. She is plain, she is horribly made up, and yet Beachmore
married her."
"Is he a rich man?"
"As things go, yes. He is one of the peers who has enough for his wants
and a little to spare, as the old song has it. Why did he marry her,
Cara?"
Cara admitted that the problem was beyond her. Lady Beachmore was vulgar
enough, in all conscience; she talked loudly and she drank a great deal
of champagne. She was extravagantly dressed, but she wore no
ornaments--which was unusual in a woman of her class.
"She ought to be smothered in stones," Cara said.
"Bridge," Lopez explained sententiously. "Lady Beachmore is one of the
most reckless gamblers in society. Probably that is why she is
tolerated in good houses. Everybody knows what a gambler she is except
her husband. If I were to hazard a guess I should say that the
Beachmore jewels are all in the possession of Aaron Benstein."
Cara nodded. The salon was gradually getting empty. Lord Beachmore
said something to his wife, who shook her head, and then he sauntered
slowly from the room. Lady Beachmore looked across to the seat where
Mrs. Benstein was reclining, and her coarse face grew red with anger. By
some kind of magnetic influence the eyes of the two women met, and the
former rose. She crossed over to Mrs. Benstein's table, a few low words
followed before Mrs. Benstein rose also.
Her eyes were flashing and her breast was heaving. She made a motion
towards the jewels in her hair, and then seemed to change her mind. A
few of the low, angry words reached Lopez's ears. A sardonic smile was
on his lips.
"A curious coincidence," he muttered. "She is actually wearing Lady
Beachmore's diamonds! Well, the information should prove valuable. I'll
go and see Frobisher to-morrow. The mere hint of what can be done
should be worth five hundred pounds."
"What are you muttering about?" Cara asked impatiently. "Take me home,
I'm tired of all this light and glitter. Sometimes I wish that I had
never left the country. All the same, I would give a great deal to know
what those people are talking about."
*CHAPTER X.*
*A WORD TO THE WISE.*
Sir Clement stood before a looking-glass in the library surveying
himself with a certain saturnine humour. He was just as fond of
analysing himself as other people, and he had just come to the
conclusion that there was a deal to be said from the Darwinian point of
view.
"Is it the morning-coat or the top-hat?" he asked himself. "How
terribly like a dissipated old ape I look, to be sure! And yet in a
velvet dinner-jacket I am quite--well, picturesque. On the whole, that
is better than being handsome. Ah, somebody is going to suffer for this!
Come in."
The door opened, and Paul Lopez came almost inaudibly into the room.
Not for a moment did Frobisher discontinue his critical examination.
"I'm going to a garden-party," he explained. "I'm taking my womenfolk to
the Duchess's afternoon affair. I was just saying to myself that
somebody would have to suffer for this."
Lopez dropped into a chair and lighted a cigarette quite coolly.
"Nobody would suspect you of this personal sacrifice without some
ultimate benefit," he said.
"Spoken like a book, my prince of rascals," Frobisher cried gaily. "I
see they have adjourned those two inquests again."
The two men looked at one another and smiled. They were not pleasant
smiles, and Frobisher's teeth bared in a sudden grin that was not good
to see. He crossed to the table near which Lopez was seated, and began
to play with a cheque-book.
"Artistic things, these," he said. "Observe the beauty of the
watermark, the fine instinct of the oblong; note the contrast between
the pale pink of the legend and the flaming red of the stamp. My Lopez,
a cheque, properly verified, and engagingly autographed, is veritably a
joyful thing."
"A study in itself," Lopez said without emotion. "What are you after,
you rascal?"
"My Lopez, you are taking liberties. I am a baronet of old creation,
whereas you are what you are."
"Arcades ambo. You sent for me, and I am here; my time is money. Once
more, what are you driving at?"
"I'm puzzled," Frobisher replied, still ogling his cheque-book lovingly.
"Frankly, I'm puzzled. If I were not so busy with the big things I'd
soon solve the little ones. Are you ever puzzled, Lopez?"
"Occasionally," Lopez replied. "When people tell me the truth, for
instance. There was one man who had everything to gain by lying to me,
and he didn't do it. That was a tough job."