not bore you; indeed, I propose to interest you extremely. I heard your
lordship in a recent speech observe that you derived a lot of good from
reading healthy fiction; indeed, you went on to say that, under altered
circumstances, you would have been an author yourself. I should like to
discuss a little plot with you."
Rashburn was unaffectedly interested. Mystery and intrigue of any kind
appealed to him; he was fond of building up stories from conventional
surroundings. And there was some mystery here.
"Go on," he said, courteously. "I feel I shall be interested. In the
first place, is the plot a--er--murder one?"
"Eventually, my lord. We will begin here in this very room, describing
the house and the occasion, not forgetting the host. Our host, my lord,
should make a fascinating study of a character given to--shall we
say--to diplomatic methods?"
"Why not stretch a point and make him an unscrupulous rascal?" Lord
Rashburn said dryly.
"That is a most excellent suggestion, my lord. We will go on to say that
he has designs against my master; that he desires certain concessions
that my master has promised elsewhere, say to a young Englishman who
knows the past, and who, under an assumed name, is part of his suite.
Sir Clement has a hold on my master, and I want to save him. In virtue
of his office my master has in his possession a precious jewel
called--called anything you like."
"The Blue Stone of Ghan!" Rashburn cried incautiously. "I know all
about that."
"Let us call it a magic diamond," Harold smiled. "We must not be too
realistic. After all said and done, this is no more than the plot of a
story."
"To be sure," Rashburn said hastily. "I had forgotten that. Pray go
on."
"My master is extravagant, which is a mild way of putting it. At the
risk of losing everything, his head included, he raises money on
the--er, diamond, pledges it, in fact, with a miserly old moneylender,
who has a wife that he fairly dotes on. My master's enemies, including
Sir Clement, and another called Count Lefroy, find this out. They cook
up some story to the effect that the sacred--er, diamond is wanted to
seal certain State papers. There, for the present, we must leave my
master in the dilemma into which he has got himself and go forward,
merely premising that he has promised to produce the stone and seal
those documents to-morrow morning."
"One of the most ingenious plots I have heard of for a long while,"
Rashburn murmured.
"I flatter myself that the best part is to come," Harold proceeded. "My
suggestion is that the moneylender should be seen and asked to let us
have the stone for an hour or two, and add two thousand pounds to his
charges. We called for that purpose, and the old man thinks we want the
gem back. He is in such a state of pitiable terror when we call, that
instantly I know that he has parted with the stone. From what he says
its recovery is only a question of a few hours. He says something about
the stone and the Bank of England, but that is all nonsense. I guess
what he has done. He has lent the stone to somebody, and I also have a
shrewd guess who that somebody is. Then I suggest that we come here."
"Capital!" Rashburn cried. "You are interesting me exceedingly. Go
on."
"We come here. And here we find that a great sensation has been created
by a lady who is dubbed the lady of the ru--I mean the queen of the
diamonds. She is the wife of the great financier my master and I have
been so recently interviewing. Remember he is old and senile, and dotes
on her. It is inevitable that he has lent her the great diamond as a
kind of glorious finish to her toilette."
"In fact, we may assume that you have seen it blazing on her--shall we
say forehead?" Rashburn asked.
"You have guessed it exactly, my lord," Harold went on. "Here, then, is
a beautiful complication--my master has to get the gem back, and
incidentally is ready to commit murder to do so; here is the host who
may come along at any time, and recognise the gem. That is as far as I
have developed the story as yet, but I might at this point bring in
yourself and your Government and make an international matter of it. If
this thing leaks out, the Shan, who is favourable to England, goes, and
his cousin, who is from Russia, steps on to the throne. Would it be
fair to ask the Government to lend my master two hundred thousand pounds
under the circumstances?"
Lord Rashburn glanced admiringly into the face of his companion, and
shook his head.
"It would be a foolish thing to mention the affair directly to the
Foreign Secretary at all. Officially I could not listen to you for a
moment. I can only listen to you now because I am interested in stories
of any light kind. But if you are asking my advice purely to get your
local colour right----"
"That's it," Harold said eagerly. "If it were true, which is the proper
course to pursue?"
"I see you are a born novelist," Rashburn smiled shrewdly. "Well, in
these matters there are intermediaries, rich men who are ready to
sacrifice their purse for their country. Most of these men have strong
claims on the Government of the day. Some of them become Commissioners,
of this, that, and the other, and have letters after their names. Some
become baronets, or even members of the Upper House. There is Mr.
Gerald Parkford, for instance. He is over there talking to the lady in
the yellow satin. I understand that he is deeply interested in problems
of this kind, and has frequently done the State some service, at a
considerable loss to himself. Some day his wife will wear a coronet.
Purely out of regard for your story I will introduce you to Parkford,
and then you will be able to bring the tale to a logical conclusion. Of
course you will see that if this were anything but fiction it would have
been a gross impertinence of you to have mentioned it to me."
"Of course, my lord," Harold said humbly, and carefully avoiding
Rashburn's eyes. "If your lordship will be so kind as to make me known
to Mr. Parkford----"
"I will do that with the greatest possible pleasure. I shall catch his
eye presently. Ah, I thought so."
The little keen, brown-faced man opposite looked up presently, and at a
sign from Rashburn excused himself to his fair companion, and crossed
the floor. Rashburn explained the situation in a few words.
"I understand you are fond of adventures of this kind," he said. "For
the sake of my friend here, and for the sake of his book, you will give
him the benefit of your advice. My dear young friend, I am quite
fascinated by your interesting story. Good night."
Rashburn turned upon his heel in the most natural manner, and plunged at
once into a flirtation with a pretty girl in pink. Nobody would have
guessed that he had just listened to a thrilling piece of information
that might mean a new move for him in his Eastern policy. The little
keen-eyed man looked at Harold and nodded his head interrogatively.
"Of course, Rashburn has to play his game," he said. "It would never do
for him to know anything about the thing officially, unless the Shan
approached him personally, which is not in the least likely. Because,
you see, we have got to get that ruby back--no reason to split hairs
between you and I--and by fair means or foul. Personally, I should
prefer to settle the business on prosaic business lines--go to Benstein
very late, tell him we know everything, and tender him a cheque for the
money and bring away the ruby on an authority from the Shan to do so."
"Not a written authority," Harold said hastily.
"Of course not. You could come along if you liked. That's one way of
settling the business out of hand. A day or two after, Rashburn would
ask me how the story was going on, and I should say that I had showed
you a flaw in it, and that as the money had been forthcoming the affair
was finished on much too matter-of-fact lines to give an interesting
finish. He would understand."
"And his diplomacy would be unspotted," Harold smiled. "But I fancy we
are not going to be allowed to finish quite in this light-hearted way.
We have Frobisher to deal with--Frobisher who suggested that Mrs.
Benstein should appear in the role of the Queen of the Rubies. He knew
that Benstein had the Blue Stone; he knew that Mrs. Benstein is in the
habit of borrowing gems left with her husband for security; and he
calculated on her borrowing that pearl amongst rubies for to-night. Do
you suppose, knowing Frobisher's character, that he means that stone to
leave the house?"
"I know that he is an utterly unscrupulous scoundrel," Parkford said
freely. "Oh, he is quite capable of this kind of thing. Do you happen
to know anything of Miss Lyne?"
"I am engaged to be married to her," Harold said quietly.
The little brown-faced man whistled softly, but his features expressed
no astonishment.
"I thought your English was uncommonly good for a native," he said. "Of
course, I know all about you now. My wife, who knows the history of
everybody in London, I believe, told me about Harold Denvers and Miss
Lyne, and how you had been forbidden the house and all that kind of
thing. I seem to remember, too, that at one time your father and
Frobisher were by the way of being friends."
"To my father's cost," Harold said with some little bitterness. "He
robbed and ruined my father, and he died a broken man. That was before
Frobisher put money in his purse by so shamefully abusing his position
in the diplomatic service. As to Miss Lyne----"
"Miss Lyne may be of the greatest possible service to us," Parkford
said.
"She is of use at the present moment," Harold said. "Of course she
knows I am here and why, though I should be kicked out of the house if
discovered. Miss Lyne is keeping Mrs. Benstein out of the way for the
moment--out of Frobisher's way, that is."
Parkford jerked his thumb over his right shoulder and nodded. As Harold
looked up he saw the shifting figure of Frobisher passing through the
crowd. His eyes were narrow and eager, he seemed to be looking
furtively and greedily for some one.
"The bloodhound is astir," Parkford muttered. "We must cross his trail
without delay."
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*A FRIEND IN NEED.*
Angela took her place by Mrs. Benstein's side as if they had been
friends of standing. She had a game to play, and not too many
instructions as to how it was to be played, but, at the same time, she
was strangely moved to the financier's wife. In spite of her beauty and
intelligence there was an atmosphere about her that was just a little
pathetic. She reminded Angela of some white mountain-peak stretching
away far above its fellows, solitary, beautiful and alone.
The light shimmered upon her jewels as they gently heaved upon her
breast. Her fine eyes were just a little interrogative as they turned
upon Angela.
"It is very good of you to interest yourself in me," she said. "I
wonder why you do it?"
Angela coloured slightly; after all, her attentions were not quite
disinterested.
"Perhaps it is because you fascinate me," Angela said frankly. "I have
never seen any one like you before. I love character. And yet, you
seem quite lonely, as if you were apart from the rest."
"Well, so I am," Isa Benstein replied. "The men on occasions like this
count for nothing. I never see a lot of men crowded round a pretty woman
without a strong temptation to laugh. They look so foolish. And yet
your women here rather avoid me--they are not quite sure of my position.
But I could lead the whole lot of them if I chose to do so."
Angela did not doubt it. She had only to look in that beautiful face
and see that the boast was no idle one. The brilliant light died out of
the speaker's eyes.
"But what is the good of it?" she said. "I don't believe there is any
society worthy of the name to-day. Money seems to be everything. Your
poor aristocrat sneers at the monied people. But ain't they just as
ostentatious themselves! Don't they rob their creditors and neglect
their bills to appear like other people? It seems such a dreadfully
snobbish thing to do."
The fine eyes were looking round contemptuously, the breastplate of
rubies heaved slowly. The words sounded strange from one so superbly
attired, and Mrs. Benstein laughed as she caught Angela's smile.
"You are thinking that I am no better than the rest," she went on.
"Well, perhaps not. But, then, my plumes are borrowed ones. You see my
husband is what is called a money-lender. There are lots of great ladies
here to-night who come to him for assistance, they bring their jewels
and he lends them money. I am wearing nearly all borrowed plumes
to-night."
Angela gave a little gasp at the audacity of the confession.
"Oh, of course it is wrong," Mrs. Benstein proceeded. "It's like a
laundress who keeps back a silk blouse from somebody else's washing to
wear on a Sunday. I've done that myself."
Angela listened in dazed fascination. Such a confession from one so
stately and beautiful was amazing.
"You have learnt the art of jesting with a perfectly serious face," she
suggested.
"My dear, I am telling you the exact truth. I suppose it is the impish
spirit in my blood that prompts me to do such things. In the day of my
early Sunday holidays things were different. But you can't expect a high
morality in a little Shoreditch second-hand clothes shop."
"You will tell me that you served in one next," Angela laughed.
"My dear, I did," was the reply. "Do you know, I have not the slightest
idea who my parents are. All I know is that I am not a Jewess, though I
was brought up as one. I used to run about the streets. I grew up
somehow. And then I drifted into that shop. I educated myself pretty
well, for the simple reason that I cannot forget anything. My husband
took me away and married me. I would have married any one to get away
from that blighting desolation. I was going mad for the want of colour
and brightness in my life. And--and there you are."
"Nobody could possibly tell that you have not been used to this life
always," Angela said. "There have been jealous eyes round you to-night,
but they found no flaw."
"I had no intention of them finding a flaw," Mrs. Benstein said coolly.
"I have intuition and observation. And yet, till this very night, I
have never sat and chatted with a lady before. I like you, Miss Lyne,
and I would do anything for you. I like your kind face and those
thoughtful eyes."
Angela was glad to hear it. The confession made her task all the
easier.
"I am going to ask you to help me," she said. "I felt sure from the
first that I could rely upon you. May I not be personal just for a
little longer? You say your plumes are borrowed ones. Have you any
idea of the identity of the ruby you are wearing on your forehead?"
"Not the least. My husband never mentions his clients by name--or, at
least, very seldom. I took a fancy to this stone as a kind of climax to
my costume, and with great reluctance my husband let me have it. Your
eyes are telling me strange things, Miss Lyne."
"My tongue is going to tell you stranger," Angela whispered. "To think
that you should be ignorant of the fact that you are wearing the sacred
Blue Stone of Ghan."
"The Shan of Koordstan's Royal gem!" Mrs. Benstein exclaimed. "Oh, I
know all about that. There is very little underground political history
that I don't know. Koordstan and the Cardinal Moth and the--the rest of
it. Our host to-night would give me something for the stone."
"Our host of to-night means to have it," Angela said under her breath.
"I see, I see. What an intellect the man has! It was he who persuaded
me to come as Queen of the Rubies. For his own ends he got me invited
here. He felt pretty sure that my husband would let me have the Blue
Stone to wear. I am in danger."
"I don't think you are exactly in danger," Angela said.
"Oh, yes, I am. You don't know everything, I can see. The Shan of
Koordstan is here to-night."
"He is here with one of his suite called Aben Abdullah, who, by the way,
is my beloved one in disguise. He is Harold Denvers, who is aiding the
Shan."
"A romance, a veritable romance, with danger and difficulties clinging
to it like an aroma. So I am to play the part of one of Sir Clement's
puppets! We shall see. Now tell me everything."
Angela proceeded to explain that she was going much beyond Harold
Denvers' hurried instructions. But from the first her instinct had told
her that she could make a friend of the woman. She concealed nothing,
she spoke of the difficult position of the Shan, and what Harold had to
gain by a recovery of the sacred jewel.
"I'm glad you told me," Mrs. Benstein said slowly. "Very glad. But
there is more danger here than you anticipate, danger to me and to all
of us. Sir Clement Frobisher is one of the greatest scoundrels on
earth; he is cunning into the bargain, a perfect master of trickery and
intrigue. Do you know anything of the Cardinal Moth?"
Angela shook her head. She was practically ignorant on that point.
Mrs. Benstein indicated the nodding, trembling spray of blossom on her
breast.
"These flowers are in it," she said. "The Cardinal Moth must play its
part with the rest. There will be no rest until the Moth is back again
over the altar in the temple of Ghan. You wonder perhaps how I know all
these things, but the blood of all nations contrives to make the mystery
that is called Isa Benstein. Now I want you to bring General Pearson to
me; I want you to stay here whilst we go away for a dance together. Sir
Clement, and perhaps another man, will be looking for me. Say that I
shall be back here in ten minutes to see you. You need say no more than
that."
Angela went away, wondering but obedient. The handsome old soldier would
be delighted. He had been looking for his next partner for a long time.
He was quite distracted by her absence. They walked away together,
leaving Angela behind. Presently in the distance she could see the
figure of Frobisher wandering in and out of the crowd. Angela walked
smiling up to him.
"Hide-and-seek," she cried gaily. "You are looking for somebody?"
"Even the Queen of the Rubies," Frobisher responded in a similar strain.
"A handsome reward will be paid to anybody giving information as to her
present whereabouts."
"You may keep your beloved money," Angela said. "I am above such
things. Mrs. Benstein is dancing with General Pearson, and in ten
minutes she has asked me to meet her under the lamps yonder. And here
comes Count Lefroy, as if he were looking for somebody, too."
Angela slipped away as Lefroy came up, showing his teeth in a queer,
uneasy smile. He was trembling, too, as if he had run a long distance.
Frobisher suppressed a disposition to snarl.
"You have finished, then?" he asked. "My rubies were worthy of a closer
inspection."
"And would have had the closer inspection only Lady Frobisher was called
away," Lefroy replied. "Her ladyship would have left me alone with them
but I implored her not to place so fierce a temptation in my way. She
does not know that I share your passion for those stones, especially
large ones."
"Like the Blue Stone of Ghan, for instance?" said Frobisher, with a
sharp indrawing of his breath. "It would be good to get hold of that,
eh?"
Lefroy's eyes grew a trifle harder and more uneasy. He seemed to be
miserably uncertain in his mind, divided in opinion as to whether he
should stay where he was or go away on some errand of his own. The
crowd became slightly more thick as the strains of music ceased and the
dance came to an end. In spite of everything, the rooms were growing
unpleasantly warm, and the guests were seeking cool corners. Mrs.
Benstein came presently, leaning on the arm of her military escort. Her
face was turned away, so that neither of the two men watching her could
see her features.
Lefroy drew a deep, long breath. The time had come, he would have to
stand up and fight Frobisher, the secret that he had half deemed his own
was on the verge of exposure.
"Mrs. Benstein is going into the conservatory," he said meaningly. "I
propose to follow her wise example and do the same thing. A sybarite
like you does not care for robust air. I presume, therefore, that you
are going to stay where you are."
Frobisher hooked his arm quite affectionately through that of his
companion.
"On the contrary, I feel that a tonic would do me good," he said
sweetly. "I am distressed for your sake. There is a nervousness about
you to-night that alarms me; I could not enjoy myself thinking about it.
What should I do, where should I be without my Lefroy? Orestes and
Pylades, Damon and Pythias _et hoc_, where are you all alongside of
Lefroy and Frobisher?"
He led the way into the conservatory close to where Mrs. Benstein and
her companion were seated. By accident or design, Isa Benstein had her
back to them. She seemed to be chatting gaily and without a trouble in
the world to the General, who rose presently and proceeded back in the
direction of the ballroom on ices bent. Then Mrs. Benstein rose and
sauntered to the door of the conservatory. Both the men there watched
her breathlessly--the time had come, and they both of them knew it.
She wheeled round suddenly as if conscious of their presence and smiled
gloriously.
"I am admiring the flowers," she said. "They are exquisite. But I must
have a word with Miss Lyne, whom I see in the distance. If my
distracted General misses me, pray tell him that I shall be back at
once. I trust you to do this for me, Sir Clement?"
Frobisher nodded with his mouth wide open, even he felt at a loss for
words. There stood the lady of the rubies, her dress glistening with
the gems, but her fair broad brow was clear as day, there was no vestige
of a stone to mar its pure symmetry.
"It's a wonderfully warm night," Frobisher gasped.
"Sultry," Lefroy said meaningly, "very sultry. Deprives you of your
wits, doesn't it? Weren't you saying something just now about the Blue
Stone of Ghan? Or did I dream it? Come along."
"Where to?" Frobisher asked, like a man in a dream.
"Why, to the smoking-room, to be sure," Lefroy said with polite mockery.
"As you told me just now with such tender consideration for others, you
are not quite yourself. A little brandy, the brandy you know, and a
small soda. You seem to want it badly."
"Egad," Frobisher burst out bitterly; "egad, I fancy we both do!"
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
*A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE.*
Lefroy's face, on the whole, was the more composed of the two. It was
not often, in public at any rate, that Frobisher allowed his passion to
get the better of him, but for the moment he was utterly taken aback. He
had planned his scheme so neatly, the whole cunning skein had reeled off
so splendidly that the startling disappointment was all the more
maddening.
"Nothing like the old brandy," Lefroy sneered. "You will find it a
sovereign cure."
But Frobisher was recovering himself slowly. He was not the man to show
his hand for long. The dry, hard smile was on his face now, the
passionate desire to hurt something had passed away. Ignoring Lefroy's
remark, he passed on in the direction of Mrs. Benstein.
"I have been looking for you everywhere," he said. "One does not
usually have to hunt for the sun, but in this case the planet would seem
to be a retiring one. Does my house afford such poor attraction that
you should bore yourself in this lovely spot?"
"I am not in the least bored," Mrs. Benstein said, with one of her most
brilliant smiles. "On the contrary, I have been enjoying myself
immensely. I am merely resting."
Frobisher said something appropriate. Nobody could do that kind of
thing better when the mood was upon him. At the same time, his deep-set
eyes were looking for signs, that might be conspired into something
useful. Lefroy contented himself by standing behind and smiling
vaguely.
"Your gems are all I expected them to be," Frobisher went on. "I felt
certain that rubies would suit you to perfection. But you want
something, a certain finish. A star or cluster on the forehead to
finish. Don't you agree with me, Count?"
He flashed a wicked grin at Lefroy, who said nothing. Isa Benstein gave
no sign. She smiled as she arranged the flowers, the Crimson Moth that
seemed to fascinate Lefroy.
"I thought so at first," she said. "In fact, I was wearing something of
the kind when I came here. But on mature consideration I decided that
it looked too overpowering. Several of your splendid mirrors confirmed
that impression; consequently, I removed it."
"It is in a safe place, I trust?" Lefroy said carelessly.