wrote the words "Paul Lopez" on the top line of a cheque. The
cosmopolitan's eyes flashed for a moment.
"Well, I am going to tell you the truth," Frobisher went on. "Such a
course under the circumstances will save me a lot of trouble. Mind you,
I am going to tell the absolute truth. You know all about the Shan of
Koordstan, of course. He promised me certain things, and now he is
trying to wriggle out of his bargain. At the same time, he wants to
complete it. There is some obstacle in the way because I am prepared to
pay him more money than any one else, and he wants all the cash he can
get. Now, if it were worth my while, I could get to the bottom of this
business very soon, but you don't want sprats on the hook that you have
baited for a whale. You must find this out for me."
"And if I promise to find this out for you, what then?"
Frobisher wrote the words "five hundred pounds" under the name of Paul
Lopez on the cheque and appended his queer, cramped signature. As he lay
back with a smile, Lopez coolly reached over, tore the cheque from the
counterfoil and placed it in his pocket.
"Good," he said. "The money is already mine. I've had a few of your
cheques in my time, and I have earned every one of them. I have earned
this already."
Frobisher displayed no surprise or emotion of any kind. Lopez was worth
his money, and he never boasted. The information needed would be cheap
at the price. He waited for Lopez to speak.
"The Shan of Koordstan is generally hard up," the latter said. "He is a
precious rascal, too. I have already dogged and watched him because he
might be a profitable investment some day."
"Precisely," Frobisher chuckled, "precisely as you have studied me.
Well, you are quite welcome to all the milk you can extract from this
cocoanut. You are interesting me, beloved spy."
"Koordstan has been unlucky lately in his many dealings. The tribes are
fighting shy of him. And in the depths of his despair he found a friend
and philanthropist in Aaron Benstein. In other words, he must have
given Benstein really good security for his money. Mind, I am speaking
from personal knowledge."
"You are earning your money," Frobisher croaked. "Do you know what the
security is?"
"I know that it isn't the concession you are after, because there is
another game on over that. And Benstein is not likely to say anything,
nor is the Shan, for that matter. But one thing is wrapped up in
another, and there you are. Shall I show you how I have earned all that
cheque?"
"Rascal, you are puzzling me. If Benstein had any kind of weakness----"
"He has. He is the hardest man in London, the most clever and greedy
financier I know, and yet he has his weak point. He is old and his mind
is not what it was. And he has a young wife, a kind of beautiful slave
that he has purchased of recent years. The fellow is infatuated with
her to the verge of insanity. She has no heart and no brains, but
cunning and infinite beauty, to say nothing of an audacity that is
thoroughly Cockney in its way. I dare say you have seen her?"
Frobisher nodded thoughtfully. Benstein's wife was one of the stars of
London. She kept a _queue_ of young men in her box, but no faint breath
of scandal touched her fair fame. Benstein was too old to run risks
like that.
"We don't seem to be getting any further," Frobisher suggested.
"Indeed! The subtle play of your mind is not in evidence to-day, and
perhaps the morning-coat has unsettled you. My friend, men tell their
wives everything--everything."
"Not every man," Frobisher said, with one of his wicked grins. "I
don't, for instance."
"If you did your wife wouldn't stay here for a day," Lopez said coolly.
"Pshaw, I don't mean things of that kind; I mean business things,
successful deals, how you have got the best of somebody else; in fact,
the swaggering boasting that man indulges in before the woman of his
choice. Not a single secret of that kind does Benstein keep from his
wife--he couldn't if he wanted to."
"In other words, Mrs. Benstein has the secret that I would give a small
fortune to possess?"
"Precisely. The game is in your own hands, _mon ami_. That woman is
trying to get into society. And, with her natural audacity and the
money she has behind her, she will succeed. In a year or so she will be
turning her back upon women who won't look at her now. Only up to now
she had got hold of the wrong leaders. But she is going to your
Duchess's to-day. The Duke is in Benstein's hands."
"That's a good tip," Frobisher chuckled. "I'll get an introduction to
her."
Lopez bent across the table and lowered his voice confidentially.
"Get Lady Frobisher to take her up," he said. "Quite as great ladies
will be doing it before long. Mark my words, but Mrs. Benstein will be
the fashion some day. Nothing will keep her out. If your wife holds out
a helping hand--why, it seems to me that I shall have more than earned
my money."
Frobisher lay back in his chair, and laughed silently. He was quite
satisfied that he had found a most profitable investment for his five
hundred pounds. In great good-humour he pressed cigarettes upon Lopez.
"We are a fine couple," he said gaily. "With my brain to plot and yours
to weave, we might possess the universe. Again, it shall be done; Lady
Frobisher shall take up Mrs. Benstein. Lord, what a pleasant time I
shall have at luncheon!"
He lay back in his chair chuckling and croaking long after Lopez had
departed. The second luncheon gong sounded before he rose and made his
way to the dining-room. Lady Frobisher, tall and slim and exquisitely
patrician, had already taken her place at the table. Angela came in a
moment later with a murmured apology for keeping the others waiting.
"You have both been out?" Frobisher asked in his politest manner.
"Riding, eh? Is there anything new?"
Lady Frobisher was languidly of opinion that there was nothing fresh.
Most people were looking fagged and worn out owing to the heat of the
season; she was feeling it herself.
"It's a treat to see some suggestion of the open country," she said in
her languid way. "For instance, we met Harold Denvers. He was like a
whiff of the sea to us."
Frobisher shot a lightning glance at Angela. Try as she would, she could
not keep the colour from her face. And in that instant Frobisher knew
the meaning of Angela's secret visit downstairs a night or two before.
Angela also knew that he guessed; the flame on her cheek grew almost
painful.
"So he's back," Frobisher said, with a suppressed chuckle in his voice.
"Don't you ask him here."
"As if he would come," Angela exclaimed indignantly. "I am sure Lady
Frobisher would not do anything of the kind. She would as soon ask that
impossible Benstein woman!"
A queer light flamed into Frobisher's eyes. Luck had given him an
opening sooner than he had expected. He was prepared to lead up to his
point by tortuous means.
"Is there anything impossible in society nowadays?" he asked. "Mrs.
Benstein is beautiful and audacious, and her husband is fabulously rich.
What more could you have?"
"She was actually wearing diamonds this morning," Angela murmured.
"Well, what of that? Next year, next week, it may be the thing to wear
diamonds in the morning. After all, fashion is dictated by the
tradesman you buy your stockings from, men with Board School education
for the most part. Ain't you photographed in evening dress and
picture-hats? After that atrocity any thing is possible. Mrs. Benstein
will be at the Duchess's party to-day."
"Really, my dear Clement, I can't see how that can possibly interest
me."
Frobisher laughed again, and the quick grin bared his white teeth. He
liked his wife in these moods, he liked to bring her down from her high
pedestal at times.
"It means a good deal to you," he said gaily. "_Ma cherie_, I have a
mood to take Mrs. Benstein up. The woman fascinates me, and I would
fain study her like one of my valued orchids. Of course, I don't make a
point of it, but I shall be glad if you will get an introduction to Mrs.
Benstein, and ask her to your fancy dance next week."
"Clement, you must be mad to insult me by such a suggestion!"
"Not in the least, my dear. The Duchess is complacent, and why not you?
It is my whim; I have said it. Or perhaps you would prefer me to bring
the lady to you this afternoon."
"If that woman ever sets foot in this house," Lady Frobisher gasped.
"If she ever comes here----"
"You will be polite and amiable to her, I am sure," Frobisher said in a
purring voice, though his eyes flashed like little pin-points of flame.
"Or perhaps I had better ask the Bensteins to dinner. Sit down."
Lady Frobisher had risen, and Sir Clement did the same thing. Angela
sat there breathlessly. With a slow, gliding movement Frobisher crept
round the table to his wife's side. He took her two hands in his and
gazed steadily into her face. Her eyes were dilated, her lips were
parted, but she said nothing. Just for an instant she had one glance
into the flame of passion and evil that Frobisher would have called his
soul.
"You are not going to make a scene," he said, in the same caressing,
silken voice that made Angela long to rise and lay a whip about his
shoulders. "After all, Mrs. Benstein has a great pull over many women
that you nod and smile to and shake hands with across afternoon
tea-tables--she is quite respectable. Besides, this is part of my
scheme, and I expect to be--well, we won't say obeyed. As a personal
favour, I ask you to meet me in this matter."
Lady Frobisher dropped into a chair and her lips moved. Her voice came
weak and from a long way off.
"I'll do as you wish," she said. "Of course, it would be far better if
somebody else----"
Frobisher skipped from the room whistling an air as he went. The sudden
grin flashed all his teeth gleamingly.
"She is going to cry," he muttered, "and I cannot stand a woman's tears.
If there is one thing that cuts me to my shrinking soul, it is the sight
of a lovely woman's tears."
*CHAPTER XI.*
*BORROWED PLUMES.*
Frobisher's highly sensitive nature demanded a flower as a little
something to soothe his nerves. He passed into the conservatory where
the Cardinal Moth was flaming overhead, he climbed like an over-dressed
monkey up the extending ladder, and broke off a spray of the blooms. He
patted them gently as he fixed the cluster in the silk lapel of his
coat. Hafid looked in and announced that the car was ready. Hafid's
face was white and set like that of a drug victim. Frobisher was at his
most brilliant and best as the car flashed away. Presently the scene
changed from the hot air and dusty glare of the streets, to green lawns
and old trees and the soft music of a band of some colour and doubtful
Hungarian origin. But there was the clear flow and the throbbing melody
of it, and Frobisher's gloved hand beat gently to time. There were
little knots of kaleidoscope colours, graceful and harmonious in
graceful shades and the emerald green for a background. Here, too, was
the Duchess with a swift, pecky smile for each guest, as if she had been
carelessly wound up for the occasion, and something had gone wrong with
the spring.
Frobisher slipped in and out of the various groups with his hands behind
him. There were still certain people who seemed to be smelling
something unpleasant as the wicked little baronet passed, but this only
added zest and piquancy to his studies. It was some time before he
found the object of his search--a study in yellow, and a large black hat
nodding with graceful plumes. Something round her slim, white neck
seemed to stream and dazzle, there was another flash of blue fire on her
breast.
Yet the diamonds did not seem in the least out of place on Mrs.
Benstein. There was something hard and shaky about her beauty that
called for them--blue black hair drawn back in a wave from her forehead,
a complexion like old ivory, and eyes suggestive of mystery. Frobisher
thought of the serpent of old Nile as he looked at her critically.
A marvellously beautiful woman beyond all question, a woman without the
faintest suggestion of self-consciousness. Yet she was practically
alone in that somewhat polyglot gathering, and she knew that most people
there were holding aloof from her. Frobisher strolled up in the most
natural way in the world. He had had one or two dealings with Benstein,
had dined with the man, in fact, but he had contrived not to see Mrs.
Benstein in public till to-day. He dropped into a chair and began to
talk.
"You feel any attraction to this kind of thing?" he asked.
"Well, not much," was the candid reply. "I came here out of curiosity.
The Duchess would not have asked me, only that my husband is useful to
the Duke. So you have got a Cardinal Moth?"
Frobisher fairly gasped, though he dexterously recovered himself. He
smiled into the dark, swimming eyes of his companion. Their strange
mystery irritated as well as fascinated him.
"And what can you possibly know about the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.
"Well, I know a great many things. You see my father was a merchant in
the Orient, and my mother had some of the Parsee about her. We
gravitate to strange things. But I see you have the Cardinal Moth, and,
what is more, I know where you got it from."
The last words came with a quick indrawing of the breath that faintly
suggested a hiss.
"Paul Lopez is by way of being a relation of mine," Mrs. Benstein went
on. "At one time we were engaged to be married. I was much annoyed
when he changed his mind. Sir Clement, why do you choose to be so
amiable to-day?"
The quick audacity of the question stirred Frobisher's admiration. This
woman was going to get on. With his fine instinct, Frobisher decided to
be frank. Frankness would pay here.
"Well, I am a great admirer of courage," he said. "I admire your
splendid audacity in coming here in broad daylight wearing diamonds."
A wonderful smile filled the eyes of the listener.
"Why shouldn't I wear them if I like?" she demanded. "The stones are
wonderfully becoming to me. And, after all, it is only a matter of what
these chattering parrots here call fashion. See how they are all
watching me, imagine the things they are saying about me."
"And I am quite sure you do not mind in the least?"
"Not I. I must be doing something out of the common, something daring
and original."
"It was anything but original, but certainly very daring, for one so
beautiful to marry a man as--er, mature, as Aaron Benstein," Frobisher
murmured. It was an audacious speech, and Mrs. Benstein smiled. "You
might have had a duke or even a popular actor."
"Well, you see, I was sick of being poor. It is not my fault that I was
born an artist with a second-hand clothes shop in Hoxton for a home. I
don't look the part, do I? And Aaron came and fairly worshipped the
ground I stood on. Except for money, and the making of it, he is
perfectly childish."
"Therefore he tells you all his secrets like the dutiful husband that he
is?"
"Oh, yes. I find some of the secrets useful. There is the Countess of
Castlemanor yonder, who has stared at me in a way that would be vulgar
in the common walk of life. And yet, if I went up and whispered a word
or two in her ear, she would gladly drive me home in her car."
Frobisher laughed silently. Here was a woman after his own heart--a
woman who studied society and despised it. And Frobisher was going to
make use of her, as he made use of everybody, only this was going to be
one of his finest efforts. Isa Benstein was no ordinary pawn in the
game.
"I should like to see you do it," he chuckled.
"What is the use? She is a poor creature, despite her title and her
marvellous taste in hats. Can't you give me a similar hold on Lady
Frobisher? There would be some fun in humbling her."
Again Frobisher laughed. The splendid audacity of the woman fascinated
him. The people he made use of as a rule were not amusing. And here
was a power. It pleased his vanity to know that he was bending a power
like this to his will.
"I am angry with myself to think of what I have lost," he said. "My
dear Mrs. Benstein, it can all be arranged without annoyance to the lady
who does me the honour to rule my household. I will bring my wife to you
presently, and she shall ask you to her fancy dance next week."
"That will doubtless be a great pleasure to Lady Frobisher," Mrs.
Benstein smiled. "I shall like her, but I shall like Miss Lyne a great
deal better. And if you try to force her to marry that detestable
little Arnott I shall do my best to spoil your hand."
Frobisher's teeth flashed in one of his uneasy grins. He felt like a
man who has discovered a new volcano quite unexpectedly. What an
amazing lot this woman knew, to be sure; what an extraordinary
fascination she must exercise over her doting husband. He followed her
glance now to a distant seat under a tree where Angela and Harold
Denvers were talking together.
"Would you like to match your wits against mine at that stake?" he
asked.
Mrs. Benstein declined the challenge. She was only a woman after all,
she declared.
"I like the look of the girl," she said thoughtfully. "She's honest and
true. And he's a man all through. Now go and bring Lady Frobisher to
me, and we will talk prettily together, and she shall show me how much
it is possible for a society woman to hate another woman without showing
it. You want to make use of me or some subtle purpose, but it suits my
mood for the present to comply."
Frobisher went off chuckling to himself. The creature was absolutely
charming, so clever and subtle. But she was neither subtle nor clever
enough to see his game, Frobisher flattered himself. In a profound
state of boredom Lady Frobisher was nibbling a tepid strawberry dipped
in soppy cream. She was tired to death, she said, and wanted to go
home.
"It's a tonic you need," Frobisher said, with one of his quick grins.
"Come along, and have your mental shower-bath. I'm going to introduce
Mrs. Benstein to you."
Lady Frobisher rose stiffly. Her little white teeth were clenched
passionately. But she made no protest. Under the eyes of fashionable
London she crossed over to the place where Mrs. Benstein was seated.
She knew perfectly well that her action would be the theme of general
conversation at a hundred dinner-tables to-night, but she moved along
now as if she were sweeping the primrose path of conventionality with
her lace gown. There was some little seed of consolation in the fact
that Mrs. Benstein made no attempt to shake hands. On the whole, she
was perhaps the coolest and most collected of the two.
"My wife very much desires to make your acquaintance," Frobisher said in
his smoothest manner. "Didn't you say something about a fancy-dress
ball, Norah?"
Lady Frobisher was understood to murmur something that suggested
pleasure and a wish fulfilled. She was not quite sure whether she had
proffered the invitation or not, but it was a small matter, as Frobisher
was not likely to permit the card to be omitted.
"It is very good of you, and I shall come with pleasure," Mrs. Benstein
said. "I am not sure, but I fancy that society is going to amuse me.
Of course, it is all a matter of time, though I could have pushed my way
here before. You see, the Duchess asked me here of her own volition.
My dear Lady Frobisher, do you see how Lady Castlemanor is glaring at
you? Yes, I will do it. I will go and dine with that lady as honoured
guest on Monday night. And you shall come and see my triumph."
Lady Frobisher turned feebly to her husband for support, but he was too
frankly enjoying the performance to interfere. Here was a new farce, a
new source of amusement.
"You will be a success," he predicted. "You must come to the dance as
'diamonds' or something of that kind. You would carry off any amount of
jewels, and nothing becomes you better. You see we are already becoming
the centre of attraction."
People were passing by with studied inattention. A great society dame
paused and put up her glasses. In anybody else the stare would have
been rude. The great lady's face flushed crimson with anger, much as if
her own cook had been found masquerading in that select assembly. She
took a step forward, paused, and then walked hurriedly away. Frobisher
turned away to hide the mirth that he found difficult to control. He
had come here practically on business, therefore the unexpected pleasure
was all the more enjoyable. With a bow and a smile Lady Frobisher
turned and took her husband's arm.
"Well, I suppose you are satisfied now," she said, with a fierce
indrawing of her breath. "With your saturnine cleverness, perhaps you
will tell me why the Marchioness behaved so strangely."
"The thing is obvious," Frobisher chuckled. "Benstein is a money-lender
in a big way, old plate and jewels, and all that sort of thing. And
he's got all her ladyship's diamonds. Probably takes the best of them
home and shows his wife. Being weak and doting, she has them to play
with. And Mrs. Benstein is wearing the old lady's collar and star this
afternoon. And people say there's no comedy in society!"
Lady Frobisher turned away mortified and cut to the quick. And this was
the class of woman that she had actually asked to her dance, one of the
great social functions of the season! Frobisher threw himself into a
deck-chair and gave way to his own amused thoughts.
"Clever fellow, Lopez," he chuckled. "On the whole, he earned that
cheque. But I don't quite see what he meant by saying that Mrs.
Benstein--by gad, I've got it! Lopez, you are a genius! It's any money
that my grip on the Shan is in Benstein's house, and she can get it."
Frobisher rose and strolled back to Mrs. Benstein's side. It would have
been impossible to guess from his face of the fiendish elation that
burnt within him.
"I've been thinking over that jewel idea I gave you," he said. "Are you
disposed towards it?"
"Yes," Mrs. Benstein said, thoughtfully. "I am very favourably disposed
towards it indeed."
"Then wear rubies," Frobisher urged. "Rubies will suit you splendidly.
I have the greatest fancy to see you decked out in rubies. If you can
get hold of some large ones. I'll come round and have tea with you
to-morrow, and we can discuss the matter thoroughly."
*CHAPTER XII.*
*A MODEL HUSBAND.*
Isa Benstein drove in her closed car thoughtfully homewards, a little
less conscious than usual of the attractions caused wherever she went.
On the whole she had enjoyed herself; she had got on far better than she
had expected. It was characteristic of her self-reliance and strength
of character that she had gone to the Duchess's party quite alone and
knowing nobody there, whilst she herself was familiar by sight and
reputation to everybody who would be present.
She had directed her husband to obtain that invitation out of a pure
spirit of curiosity. She had read paragraphs touching the great social
function in the smart papers, and Isa Benstein had smiled to herself as
she remembered that but for her husband and his money-bags the great
gathering could not possibly have taken place at all.
By instinct, by intuition, by observation, Isa had pretty well gauged
modern society. She had seen it at Ascot and Cowes, at Hurlingham and
Covent Garden, but as yet she had never actually been in it. And now
her first experience was over.
She had almost come to the conclusion that the game was not worth the
candle, when Frobisher came up and spoke to her. With her natural
astuteness she had not long to see that Frobisher had some intention of
making use of her. That being so, the game should be mutual. Not for
one moment was Mrs. Benstein deceived--by some magnetic process Lady
Frobisher had been forced to be polite, and ask her to that fancy-dress
ball. Mrs. Benstein had smiled, but she had seen the rooted repugnance
in Lady Frobisher's face, the constrained look in her eyes.
"I wonder how he managed it?" she asked herself as she drove along.
"And what does that little creature with the brow of a Memnon and the
mouth of a tom-cat want to get out of me? Money is at the root of most
things, but it can't be money in that quarter."