years he has been trying to get rid of me and put my cousin in my place.
Even my own ministers are against me. And now I feel positive that
Lefroy has given me away. They don't ask me to show the stone, or
accuse me of parting with it--they are too deep for that. A minister
comes with a lot of literature which he calls important documents of
State which require to be sealed immediately. That rascal has been in
my cousin's pay for years. And the worst of it is, the whole thing looks
so natural and straightforward that I can't refuse, especially as
everything has my sanction."
"The document must be sealed with the Blue Stone?" Harold asked.
"Inevitably. It has been the custom for generations. Any deviation
from this rule would do for me at once. Hamid Khan was here this
afternoon, and I put him off this time by saying I was ill, which was no
more than the truth. What shall I say when he comes back presently? If
my confounded head did not ache so, I might find some way out of the
difficulty, but as it is----"
The Shan smote his fist passionately on the table. Nothing was any
good, nothing could save the situation but the immediate production of
the twenty thousand pounds needed to recover the jewel from Benstein.
At the present moment the Shan had no resources whatever; he had always
mortgaged his income, and most of his personal property had been
dissipated in his brilliant pursuit of pleasure.
"But that's more or less beyond the point," he groaned. "The stone must
be redeemed at once. I could not possibly put Hamid Khan off after
to-night, even if I can manage that."
"That will give us time to think," said Harold. "Let your man know that
you don't keep so sacred a jewel at your hotel. You have heard of
Chancery Lane Safe Deposit?"
The Shan's eyes twinkled. His subtle mind rose to the suggested
deception. For the present, at any rate, he saw his way to a pleasing
subterfuge. He was pondering over the matter when there came a timid
knock at the door, and a slim brown figure came humbly in.
"Hamid Khan," the Shan explained. "Why do you worry me again to-night?
Didn't I say I was too ill to be troubled with state business?"
Hamid prostrated himself at his master's feet. He was desolate and
heart-broken; might any number of dogs defile his father's grave for his
presumption, but the thing had to be done.
"I haven't got the stone," the Shan said, "I haven't been well enough to
fetch it myself, and I dare not trust anybody else. Dog, do you suppose
I should keep the jewel here? There is a place of vaults and steel
chambers and strong rooms guarded night and day by warders, where the
wealthy keep their valuables. The place is called the Safe Deposit, and
is hard by where the learned lawyers argue. That is where the stone is,
in proof of which I show you the key."
The Shan gravely held up a latch-key. Acting though he was, there was a
dignity about him that quite impressed Denvers. Hamid was impressed
also, or his face belied him. He was sorry to have offended his royal
master, but he was only obeying orders. Should he come again on the
morrow?
"Ay, at midday," the Shan said loftily. "Now take your miserable body
from my presence."
The Shan's dignity collapsed as the door closed behind Hamid Khan. He
looked to Harold for assistance. He had not more than fourteen hours or
so--and most of them the hours of the night--to find salvation. All the
time Harold was leisurely turning over matters in his mind. If he could
manage this thing for the Shan his future was made. He had his finger
on the centre of an international intrigue almost. The Shan had always
been favourable to England, his tastes and inclinations, his very vices,
were English, whereas the new aspect leant towards Russia. The British
Government doubtless would have stood by the Shan at this juncture had
they known.
"There's only one thing for it," Harold said after a long pause. "We
must try and work on Benstein's cupidity. He knows you, he is well
aware that your name is good for a large sum of money, only he will have
to wait for it. And of your integrity there is no doubt."
"Your Foreign Secretary does not think so," the Shan groaned.
"I am not speaking of morals now, but stability. For the time you are
hard up. If you will eschew champagne for a time, not to mention other
things, you could make it worth Benstein's while to wait for a few
weeks. Ask him to let you have the Blue Stone for a few days, after
which it will be returned to him until it is properly redeemed. For this
accommodation you are prepared to pay a further two thousand pounds."
The Shan nodded greedily. He was prepared to promise anything. His
lips were twitching with excitement. He rose and put on his coat.
"Let us go at once," he said. "But stop, do you know where Benstein
lives? And if we do find him it's long odds that stone is deposited
with his bankers."
"Benstein lives in Berkeley Square," Denvers explained. "He is growing
old and senile, he has come to that cunning stage when he does not trust
anybody. He keeps all his valuables in a big strong-room at his house.
That I know for certain. He is sure to be at home."
"Then we'll go at once. It's a forlorn hope, but still--come along."
Denvers checked his impulsive companion. Common prudence must not be
forgotten.
"Your Highness forgets that you are certain to be watched," he said.
"Your friend Hamid or some of his spies are sure to be pretty close.
I'll go away from the hotel and wait for you in Piccadilly. Then you
steal out by the side door and meet me."
The Shan nodded approval. His head was too bad for him to think for
himself. Harold stood on the steps of Gardner's Hotel, and hailed the
first taxi that passed. The cabman was to drive to Piccadilly and there
wait.
Progress in Piccadilly was slow in consequence of the block of carriages
before Frobisher's house. The guests were arriving in a steady stream,
and Denvers amused himself by identifying most of them. One of the last
comers was Lord Rashburn, Foreign Secretary, and his wife. Harold
smiled to himself as he wondered what his lordship would give for his
own private information. It might be necessary to appeal to Rashburn
presently, and it was a good thing to know where to find him. Only it
would be useless for Denvers to try and obtain admission to Frobisher's
house.
The Shan came up presently, and Berkeley Square was reached at length.
Benstein was at home, and the footman had no doubt that he would see his
visitors, late as it was. Many a bit of business with people who needed
money in a desperate hurry had Benstein done between the dinner-hour and
midnight. He was seated in his library now with a fat cigarette between
his teeth and poring over a mass of accounts. To reckon up his money
and to gloat over his many securities was the one pleasure of Benstein's
life.
"Glad to see you, gentlemen--glad to see you," he said, rubbing his
puffy hands together. "If there is anything that I can do for your
Highness, it will be a pleasure."
"His Highness wants to put two thousand pounds into your pocket,"
Denvers said. "It is the matter of the Blue Stone of----"
A queer sound came from Benstein's lips, and his mottled face turned as
pale as it was possible.
"You don't mean to say that you want the stone to-night?" he gasped.
"Why else are we here?" Harold demanded. The air was full of suspicion
and he had caught some of it. "It is absolutely necessary that we
should have it back, for a time at least. It was distinctly understood,
I think, that the stone was to be returned at any hour of the day or
night that we required it?"
Benstein's big head swayed backwards and forwards pendulously, his thick
lips were wide apart, and showing the gaps in the yellow teeth beyond.
Harold's suspicions became a certainty. Benstein had parted with the
stone.
"Do you want it now?" Benstein said, as if the words had been dragged
from him.
Harold intimated that he did want the stone immediately. Slowly
Benstein was recovering. The rich red blood was creeping into his face
again.
"It is impossible," he said. "Usually I keep most of my valuables here.
But I recognised the political as well as the pecuniary value of the
Blue Stone, and I did not dare. The stone is at the Bank of England,
and I cannot get it before ten to-morrow. It is very unfortunate."
"Very," Harold said dryly. "But we must make the best of it. I have a
pretty shrewd idea where the stone is, but my guess would not have been
the Bank of England. We don't propose to redeem the gem; we suggest
that you should let the Shan have it for two or three days on the
understanding that when the business is completed your charge is
increased by the sum of two thousand pounds."
"But this is not business," Benstein pleaded. "Under the peculiar
circumstances----"
"Precisely," Harold interrupted dryly. "Under the peculiar
circumstances you are going to accommodate us. Mr. Benstein, I fancy
that you and I understand one another."
Benstein's eyes dropped, and the fat cigarette between his fingers
trembled. He muttered the talisman word "business" again; but he was
understood to agree to the terms offered. He was shakily eager to offer
his distinguished guests refreshments of some kind, but Denvers dragged
the Shan away. Once in the street, the latter stopped and demanded to
know what the pantomime meant.
"It's pretty plain," Harold said. "Old Benstein hasn't got your jewel
at this moment."
"Hasn't got it? Do you mean to say that he...? Preposterous! But in
the morning----"
"In the morning it will be all right again. In the morning you will see
quite another Benstein--a Benstein who has changed his mind, and will
refuse to part with the Blue Stone so long as a single penny remains
unpaid. I startled him to-night. I got astride of that figment of a
conscience of his. But I am going to help you to clench the business.
Come along."
"Where are you going to?" the Shan asked feebly.
"Back to your hotel. You are going to dress up in your State war-paint
and proceed at once to Lady Frobisher's dress-ball. I suppose you've
any amount of dresses and that kind of thing--I mean you could rig out a
staff, if necessary?"
"I've got all the mummery for going to Court, if that is what you mean."
"Good," Harold cried. "I'll just step into this chemist's and get a few
pigments necessary to the successful performance of my little comedy.
You are going to the dance as the Shan of Koordstan, and I am going
carefully disguised as Aben Abdullah, your suite."
*CHAPTER XV.*
*HUNT THE SLIPPER.*
A fine perspiration stood out on Lefroy's face, he swayed to and fro
like one in an advanced stage of intoxication, the Count was utterly
unmanned for the moment. As his brain and eye cleared presently,
Frobisher came out of the mist in the semblance of a man who was
manifestly enjoying himself.
"I pray you sit down," he said in his silkiest manner. "My dear Count,
the heat has been too much for you. The hero of a thousand adventures
succumbs to a high thermometer--it is possible to choke a Hercules with
an orange pip. A little of the old brandy, eh?"
Frobisher's face was perfectly grave now, only the dilation of his
pupils and the faint quivering of his lips denoted his amusement.
Lefroy forced a smile in reply. He was conscious of the fact that that
little demon opposite was reading his inmost thoughts.
"Just a little of the brandy," Frobisher said coaxingly. "The kind that
I keep for my very dear friends. Ah, I am sure that is better. Now let
us sit down and smoke, and forget the giddy side outside."
Lefroy nodded. The course suggested suited him admiringly. When he was
best pleased Frobisher chatted most, and he seemed to be exceedingly
pleased about something now. Lefroy would have time to recover his
scattered thoughts and define some line of action.
"You have solved the problem of the lady of the rubies?" Sir Clement
asked.
"I have," Lefroy replied carelessly. "From a romantic point of view the
solution is disappointing. I expected to see a regal personage at the
very least, whereas----"
The speaker shrugged his shoulders insolently. The other smiled
expectantly.
"Go on, my dear Lefroy. I am all attention, I assure you. The lady of
the rubies is----?"
It was on the tip of Lefroy's tongue to snarlingly reply that Frobisher
knew perfectly well, but that was bad policy under the circumstances.
"You are typical of the spirit of the age," he said. "All the same, I
hardly expected to see the wife of a moneylender under your roof. Lady
Frobisher----"
"Has progressed rapidly of late in the cult of the proletariat. So Mrs.
Benstein is the lady of the rubies. I half expected it from the
first--only the wife of a moneylender could sport jewels like that. But
she is a beautiful woman, Lefroy, and she is going to make a great
social success."
Lefroy could only mutter something in reply. He had one great aim in
view at the present moment--to get back to the ballroom and persuade
Frobisher to remain where he was. Did the Count but know it, Frobisher
was just as eager to reverse the order of the procedure. But no
suggestion of this escaped him, he sat there smiling as if he and a
double meaning were strangers.
"I am very partial to rubies myself," he said. "In a modest way I am a
collector, and my uncut stones are worth an inspection. My wife also
has the same weakness, which is another of the many strong bonds that
bind us together. I'll show them to you."
"Don't trouble," Lefroy said hastily. "Any other time will do. If you
have to fetch them----"
"Sit down. Positively you must have another drop of the brandy. Your
nerves are better, but not what the nerves of a bold warrior should be."
So saying, Frobisher produced a case from a drawer and laid the contents
before Lefroy's eyes. In spite of himself he could not but admire. He
did not see the keen, alert look on the face of his host as he bent down
to examine the gems. People were passing the open door; there was a
light ripple of laughter and conversation. Frobisher darted into the
hall.
"This way a moment," he whispered, as he caught his wife by the arm.
"Come with me and do as I tell you. You are to keep Lefroy in yonder
room for half an hour."
He was back again before Lefroy had missed him. Lady Frobisher's
scornful eyes softened as they fell upon the tray of gems.
"We have a taste in common, then, Count," she said.
Lefroy replied suitably enough. He had a strong admiration for the
white, cold beauty of this woman; he watched her slim fingers as she
toyed with the gems. Some of them were unnamed, whilst others had
histories of their own. Frobisher pitched his cigarette into the grate.
"You can amuse the Count, my dear," he said. "He has had some little
touch of illness, and should be kept quiet. The gems will interest him.
Meanwhile, I will endeavour to take your place."
It was all done so quickly and naturally that Lefroy could do or say
nothing. Did Frobisher really know anything or not, he began to wonder.
If there was any conspiracy Lady Frobisher knew nothing of it, it only
needed a glance at that scornful, beautiful face to feel that. She was
talking now easily and naturally enough with one of the stones in her
pink palm, and Lefroy had perforce to listen. To leave the room now
would have been an unpardonable rudeness--a _gaucherie_ Lefroy never
allowed himself to commit.
Meanwhile Frobisher had mingled with his guests. He was in no hurry.
Lefroy was safely out of the way for a time, and Frobisher always
preferred to hunt his game leisurely. Besides, the crush of dancers and
guests generally was so great that progression was a matter of some
difficulty. He came across Angela presently attired in white and with a
pair of gauze wings suggestive of Peace or something of that kind.
"Stop a bit," he said, "and tell me all about it. Upon my word, you are
looking exceedingly nice. By common consent, who is the success of the
evening?"
"Oh, Mrs. Benstein, without doubt," Angela replied, with sincere
admiration. "She is lovely, and those rubies are simply superb.
Everybody is talking about them."
"And the fortunate woman herself? How does she wear her blushing
honours?"
"Very well indeed. You know, I rather like her. Everybody is asking
for an introduction now, but at first people held aloof. I have had a
long chat with Mrs. Benstein, and she quite fascinated me. She is going
to be a great success."
"Of course she is with her cleverness and audacity, to say nothing of
her beauty and her jewels, it could not be otherwise. I must go and pay
my respects to her. Where is she?"
But Angela had not the slightest idea. Something like a thousand people
were scattered about the long suite of rooms, and there were shady
alcoves and dim corners for easy conversation _a deux_. Mingled with
the brilliant throng of uniform and fancy dresses the jewelled turban of
the Shan of Koordstan stood out. He came up with his companion
similarly attired, and held out his hand.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, your Highness," said Frobisher. "I
heard that you were not quite----"
"Sober," the Shan said frankly. "I have been leading a deuce of a life
lately, Frobisher. My servant here, Aben Abdullah, insisted upon my
putting in an appearance here to-night. He has been bullying me as he
would never dare to do at home. When we get back I shall have to
bowstring him gently. He is a very valuable servant, but he knows too
much."
Aben Abdullah bowed and smiled. The Shan extended his patronage to
Angela.
"My servant knows a little English," he said. "My dear young lady, would
it be too great a trespass on your kindness to ask you to act as his
cicerone for a time? I have a little business to discuss with Sir
Clement. Aben is very intelligent, and he is a noble in his own
country."
Angela expressed her pleasure. She was always ready to sacrifice
herself to others; besides, she had rather taken a fancy to this
handsome young foreigner, who reminded her somehow of Harold Denvers.
"What would you like to do?" she asked, as they strolled off together.
Aben murmured something about the flowers that he had heard so much
about. Could he see them? Angela would be delighted. They stood in a
large conservatory at length in the dim light, and then Aben smiled down
into Angela's face.
"I feel sure of my disguise now, darling," he whispered. "If I could
deceive you, I am not in the least afraid that Sir Clement will find me
out."
"But what does it mean, Harold?" Angela asked. "You certainly reminded
me of yourself; but I should never have penetrated your disguise. But
the Shan must know all about it."
"Of course he does. It is a little scheme that we have hatched
together. I have no time to tell you everything now; indeed, with so
clever a man to deal with as Frobisher it is far better that you should
not know. But the Shan has done a very foolish thing, and his very
throne is in danger. Both Frobisher and Lefroy know this, and they will
do all they can to keep him under their control. If I can defeat that
plot and free the Shan, then I need not trouble about the future."
Angela's eyes lighted up eagerly. All her quick sympathies had been
interested.
"You will let me help you?" she exclaimed. "Harold, I am quite sure that
you want my assistance. I am a great deal stronger and braver than you
imagine. Try me."
"I am going to try you, my dear little girl," Harold whispered. "I
should like to kiss you at this moment, but I dare not take any risks.
For the present your task is a very simple one. I want you to get a
certain lady in here and sit under the shaded lamp yonder. You must get
here and keep her talking till I come back. If I hold up my two hands
your task is finished; if I come forward, you must know that I want to
speak to the lady alone."
"It all sounds very mysterious, Harold. Who is the lady?"
"They have christened her the lady of the rubies here. I was very
pleased just now to hear that you had, so to speak, made friends with
her. Will you go at once?"
Angela made off hurriedly, and, for the time being, Harold returned to
the ballroom. On the whole, he was not particularly enamoured of the
part he was playing: the idea of forcing himself into a house where he
had been forbidden by the host was repugnant to his finer feelings; but,
on the other hand, any scheme was worthy which had for its end the
defeat of a scoundrel. As the Shan caught Harold's warning eye he left
Frobisher and moved towards his ally.
"So far there is not much the matter," Harold replied. "Miss Lyne knows
exactly what she has to do, and she will do it well. You are going to
have a pretty big surprise just now, but whether it will turn out a
pleasant one or the reverse I cannot say as yet. Stand here and pretend
to be interested in the pictures."
Angela had been more successful in her search than Frobisher. A prosy
peer had buttonholed his host and the latter could not get away for the
present without using actual violence. Angela had found the lady of the
rubies sitting in a dim corner alone. She looked a little dazed and
tired.
"I am not used to it," she said frankly. "And I can't stand all their
silly folly. I sent my partner for an ice on purpose to get rid of him.
My dear young lady, you are very kind, and I've taken a great fancy to
you because you are the first person I have spoken to to-night who is
honest and true. All the same, I really want that ice, and if you can
find some quiet corner----"
"I know the very thing," Angela cried eagerly, delighted at the way fate
was playing into her hands. "Come along. There, what do you think of
that? Sit down near the light and I'll go and get the ice."
Mrs. Benstein protested, but Angela was already out of earshot. The
Shan and his companion were deeply engrossed in a pair of Romneys as
Angela passed them.
"I have secured your bird," she whispered. "She is exactly where you
asked me to place her."
Harold touched his companion on the arm, and they strolled away
leisurely in the direction of the great conservatory. It was fairly
quiet here, with few people about. Under the lamp sat a rarely
beautiful woman whose dress from head to foot was one mass of rubies.
Another one flamed across her forehead.
"What do you think of her?" Harold whispered. "And what do you think of
that big stone that is attached to her forehead by those thin gold
wires?"
The Shan started violently. He rubbed his hands across his red
bloodshot eyes.
"The Blue Stone of Ghan," he whispered hoarsely. "By Allah, she is
wearing the sacred jewel!"
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*DIPLOMACY.*
As the Shan stood there watching the graceful, unconscious form of Mrs.
Benstein, a great rage seized him. In one moment his thin veneer of
Western civilisation had vanished. He was Baserk, savage, hard and
cruel, from his glittering eyes and long fingers that crooked as if on
the woman's throat. He swayed against Denvers with the passion that
thrilled him.
"Close in on her," he hissed. "Drag the jewel away. If you steal
behind her and hold her by the throat----" He could say no more for the
present. There was safety and freedom close to his hand, and only a
frail woman between himself and his desires.
"Oh, rubbish!" Harold said coolly. "My good sir, you will kindly forget
that you are the Shan of Koordstan for a moment, and recollect that you
are a guest here. I can give a pretty shrewd guess how the stone came
here--indeed, I should have been disappointed had I not seen it.
Benstein is old and feeble, and he dotes on his wife. But there is a
better way than yours. Can I trust you?"
The Shan nodded. He was recovering himself slowly.
"Then stay here, but do not be seen. Miss Lyne will be back presently,
and she is on our side. Ah, here she comes. I have a few words to say
to her."
Angela came up at the same moment, her eyes shining blue interrogation
points. Harold drew her aside a little way and rapidly whispered a few
words in her ear.
"Questions presently," he smiled. "We have only time for action now.
Ask Mrs. Benstein to remain where she is, and say you will be back in a
moment. Meanwhile, I must get you to present me to Lord Rashburn, the
Foreign Secretary. Can you manage this?"
Angela was under the impression that she could manage this quite well.
Rashburn was a close connection of Lady Frobisher, and a great admirer
of her own; indeed, the handsome, courtly Foreign Secretary was an
avowed admirer of the sex generally. It was some little time before
Angela contrived to get possession of the great man and it required all
her fascination to induce him to listen to the handsome young man who
represented the Shan's suite.
"I'll give him five minutes," he said. "Where is the intelligent young
foreigner?"
Harold came up at a sign from Angela. Lord Rashburn was courtly as
usual, but bored. He particularly disliked intelligent young
foreigners. He hoped that Aben Abdullah knew some English.