people in my time and I have heard some strange things. There are
certain quarters in the East End where they speak queer languages and
where they know things that would startle the authorities. Amongst
these people I was brought up. I learnt their ways and their methods.
Ah, it was a good school for a girl who has a treacherous world to
fight."
The speaker flung herself into a chair and hung her long white arms by
her side. The light gleamed upon her sparkling jewels and the dark eyes
that sparkled more brightly still. Frobisher watched her with something
more than artistic admiration; his thin blood was stirred.
"You speak like a Sibyl," he laughed. "If you know all about the
Cardinal Moth you also know all about the Blue Stone of Ghan, I
presume?"
Frobisher's voice was low and hoarse and persuasive. He had flung down
the challenge, and Isa Benstein was ready to receive it. She raised her
large dark eyes slowly, and they seemed to float over the faces of her
antagonists. She noted the leering grin on Frobisher's features, the
truculent bullying expression of Lefroy's.
"I have heard of that also," she said in the same level tones. "The two
are inseparable."
"Or ought to be," Frobisher went on. Evidently he was to be the
spokesman. "But if the Moth has flown far, why not the sacred jewel?
Have you ever seen it, fair lady?"
The question was a direct threat, and Isa Benstein rose to it. She sat
there swinging her long arms idly, and glancing with perfect
self-possession at her companions. They meant to have that jewel, as
she knew; they were not going to stick at anything to gain possession of
it.
"I have seen it," she said quietly; "in fact, I wore it here on my
forehead to-night."
Frobisher started. He fairly beamed with admiration. What a woman!
What a nerve! he thought. Anybody else would have denied the thing
point blank. But here was a woman prepared for any emergency. There
was going to be a battle of wits here, and Frobisher rose to the fray.
"Surely a rash thing to do," he murmured.
"Wasn't it?" Isa Benstein asked with a swift and glorious smile. "But
ignorance is bliss, you say. That being so, there ought to be a great
deal more happiness in the world than there is. Count Lefroy, won't you
sit down? No, in that other chair, so that I can see your face."
Lefroy bowed and complied. All this waste of time annoyed him, but
Frobisher, on the other hand, was enjoying himself exceedingly. Nothing
that was straight or open ever appealed to him. He would rather have
obtained a shilling by crooked means than a sovereign by holding out his
hand for it.
"You came here wearing the Blue Stone without knowing it?" he asked. "I
am interested, fascinated, and amazed. Incidentally, I am a little
amused into the bargain."
"Possibly," Isa Benstein smiled brilliantly. "But you are not half so
amused as I am."
Frobisher grinned at the way in which his challenge had been flaunted
back into his teeth. With the quick subtlety of the polyglot the woman
had grasped his scheme and what he wanted.
"It is good to feel that my guests are thoroughly enjoying themselves,"
he said politely. "I should like to know how the Blue Stone came into
your possession at all."
"Problems seem to be in the air," Isa Benstein murmured. "Your
flattering interest is very soothing to my vanity. You know what a
conjurer means when he speaks of forcing a card on a spectator? Of
course you do. The expert with his quickness and his patter can make
the spectator he selects draw any card he chooses. The conjurer in this
case chose me to force his card upon. But all the same when I came here
I had no notion that I was wearing anything half so historic as the Blue
Stone of Ghan."
"But you tound it out after you got here?" Frobisher said keenly.
"Yes. That was a piece of good luck. And when I did so I removed it.
That was a piece of caution."
"Then you had worked it all out in your mind, I suppose?"
"Yes. I worked it out in the best possible way--backwards. I worked it
out so completely that I was in a position to read another person's
mind. Shall I read that other person's mind?"
Frobisher bowed and smiled in one of his quick grins. Lefroy shifted
uneasily in his chair. Isa Benstein's lips were parted, her arms played
idly by the side of her chair, there was no sign of fear in her eyes.
When she spoke again it was quite calmly and slowly.
"We will begin with the conjurer," she said. "After all, he has
succeeded in forcing the card that is destined to lead up to the
brilliant trick that dazzles and astonishes everybody. We will assume,
for the sake of argument, that you are the conjurer and I am the silly
heedless spectator who is marked out as the involuntary accomplice."
"The mind could not grasp you in that senile capacity," Frobisher
murmured.
"Then give your vivid imagination free run for once, Sir Clement. The
card in this case represents something that you very much desired, call
it the Blue Stone of Ghan. The sacred jewel is hidden in a certain
place. Your great idea is to conjure that somewhere else, and being a
master of your trade, you have to make use of a third party who shall
make the transfer for you without knowing anything of the matter. Only
a prince among conjurers could hope to bring off so brilliant a coup as
that, but there is no great success without great audacity. But Count
Lefroy is looking at his watch. I am afraid that he is not interested."
"It matters nothing about Lefroy," Frobisher said. "I am deeply
interested. Pray go on."
"Of course, our conjurer knows where the stone is. It is in the custody
of an old man who has a young wife. The old man with the young wife has
countless gems for safe custody. From time to time he lends these gems
to his wife to wear, though, with the characteristic caution of his
tribe, he never says anything to the owners. Well, here is the
conjurer's card forced from him, so to speak. All he has to do now is
to design an occasion when the transfer may be made. We will say it is
to be at a brilliant party--a fancy-dress ball, where gems may play a
leading part. The victim will be there. As the Blue Stone of Ghan is a
ruby, he naturally suggests rubies, much as the common conjurer with his
magic bottle induces his assistant on the stage to choose the kind of
liquid he wants to dispense. Says he to himself, that old man will
offer his young wife the Blue Stone as a kind of crown of glory, and she
will take it, not knowing what it is. Once she arrives at the
fancy-dress ball the rest is easy. Do I interest you so far?"
"Wonderfully," Frobisher croaked. "Fancy finding the conjurer out like
that. But though you have spoiled the trick, he must have the forced
card, in this case represented by the--but why complete the phrase?"
"Why, indeed?" Isa Benstein asked serenely. "The brilliant trick as a
brilliant trick has failed, for the simple reason that the involuntary
medium has been too clever for her part. But I see that the conjurer is
not so disconcerted as he might be, because he can always fall back upon
his bully method whereby he sometimes disguises failure and leads up to
a success in a fresh line. Is it to be the bullying policy, Sir
Clement?"
Sir Clement bent forward and nodded eagerly. His yellow teeth were all
exposed in a wide grin. Lefroy sat regarding him with open contempt. A
clock somewhere struck two; the strains of the band floated in.
"I should like to borrow the Blue Stone," Frobisher said hoarsely.
"We will discuss that presently," Isa Benstein went on. "Perhaps I had
better finish my train of logical reasoning. There was danger of the
trick failing, in so much as the Blue Stone might have been recognised.
And here was a further resource open to the conjurer. It was open to
him to put aside the tricks of his trade and take the stone, take it
with violence, if necessary. He would argue that his victim dared not
speak, that she would put up with the loss rather than tell a story that
nobody would believe. The idea of a man robbing his guest with violence
under his own roof--and such a roof!--would be scouted by any
common-sense person. Again, the unconscious medium would have her
husband to consider. If the true facts of the case came out he would be
ruined; there would be a scandal that might end in a gaol. Of course,
when the desired mischief had been worked, the stone would be restored
again, discreetly found before it was lost. Really, gentlemen, my
imagination makes me nervous. As I sit opposite you, I am inwardly
alarmed lest you should fall upon me and despoil me of a thing I would
not have touched had I been aware of the true history of the case. I
know I am foolish----"
"Madame," said Frobisher, rising with a bow. "You cruelly malign
yourself. I have had some experience of clever people, and you are by
far the cleverest woman I have ever met. Your insight is amazing, of
your courage there can be no doubt. But don't carry your courage too
far."
Mrs. Benstein had risen in her turn, the critical moment had come, but
she gave no sign. Frobisher stood also, shaking his head doggedly.
"You deem discretion to be the better part of valour," the woman said.
"The English profess never to know when they are beaten! Surely that is
carrying the thing too far. The man who knows when he is beaten is the
most valorous foe, for the god of war is always on the side of heavy
battalions. You want the stone?"
"I must have it," said Frobisher.
"Must is not a nice word, but----"
"But it's got to be used," Lefroy spoke for the first time. "All these
words are so much air. Will you be so good as to lend us the Blue Stone
for a time, or----"
"Stop!" Mrs. Benstein cried. "Let us quite understand one another. If
I do not lend you the stone you are prepared to go to extreme measures
to get it?"
Frobisher nodded and grinned till his teeth flashed again. He advanced
with his hands outstretched and a look of greed in his eyes. Lefroy
stood by as if apart from the discussion.
"A few more words," Mrs. Benstein said, with a steady smile, "a few more
words, and then you may do as you please. I am forced to allude to the
conjurer again and his forced card. That card is in the possession of
the involuntary medium. The success of the experiment depends upon the
ability of the conjurer to force the card when and how he will. But
suppose the involuntary ally determines to frustrate the trick, and say
that he has lost the card or changed it for another, what then?"
A wicked, brutish oath sprang from Frobisher's lips. All his pretty
cynicism and flippant hardness had gone and the original savage looked
out of his eyes. Just for a moment he panted with a rage that was
unconquerable. He was a murderer in his heart at that moment.
"You mean," he gasped--"you mean to say that you----"
"Precisely. As I said before, I had thought the matter out. Am I the
woman to be any man's puppet? The card has disappeared, the conjurer is
baffled. If you can find the card, well and good; if not, the trick
fails. The card is no longer in my possession."
And Frobisher, looking into her eyes, knew that she spoke the truth.
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*DENVERS LEARNS SOMETHING.*
Frobisher was first to recover himself. There were beads of moisture on
his forehead, his teeth were ground together, but he forced a smile to
his lips. Then he laughed in a low chuckling fashion, as if something
subtle had greatly amused him. Lefroy stood there, glowering.
"I'm not going to be put off like that," he said. "The thing's
impossible."
Isa Benstein ignored the speaker altogether. She was lying back in her
chair as if bored with the whole proceedings. The lights were gleaming
on her jewels and her beautiful, tranquil face.
"Don't lose your head," Frobisher said, still laughing in the same
noiseless way. "Surely you're not so accomplished a liar that you
haven't learned to know the truth when you see it. I pay Mrs. Benstein
the compliment of believing every word that she says. We have exposed
our hands for nothing, and been outwitted by a very clever woman.
You'll gain nothing by losing your temper."
"Who could she have passed the jewel on to?" Lefroy growled.
"Ah, that is the point! Knowing nobody here and all! Madame, I kiss
your hand. You have made Clement Frobisher look and feel like a fool.
It is a sensation I have not experienced since I left school. I believe
every word that you say, nay, if I let myself go I could be furiously
angry with myself. Lefroy, you had better go, there is nothing to be
gained by staying here. After all----"
Frobisher paused, and Mrs. Benstein, with her head serenely tilted
upwards, finished the sentence.
"After all, the Shan of Koordstan is in no better plight than he was
before. Whoever has possession of the stone, it is assuredly not the
Shan."
Lefroy strode off and clanged the door behind him. Frobisher lighted a
fresh cigarette. He had been found out in a singularly rascally action,
but that did not disturb his equanimity in the least.
"You must be having a particularly pleasant evening," he said.
"The most enjoyable I ever remember." Isa Benstein smiled frankly. "In
the first place, I have created a sensation and scored a most decided
success. To a woman that is like a foretaste of Paradise. Then, again,
I have been involuntarily forced to become the central figure of a most
exciting intrigue. I love intrigues and mystery to my finger-tips. I
was to have been the puppet, and yet I have beaten you all along the
line. Oh, yes, I am likely to remember this evening for some time to
come."
"I suppose so," Frobisher grinned. "If I had known I would have lent
you a prize ruby and the Blue Stone might have remained where it was.
If I had made you my ally----"
"Impossible," Isa Benstein said, curtly. "I should never have trusted
you."
Frobisher laughed as if the candour appealed to him.
"I bear no malice," he said. "I love a strong foe. But I wish I had
lent you my big ruby, all the same. You must accept a souvenir of that
kind in memory of this eventful evening. I'll fetch you some uncut
stones from which I shall be proud for you to make your choice.
Meanwhile I shall leave you to admire my orchids. You can't very well
run off with my Cardinal Moth."
"I should like to examine it closer," Isa Benstein said.
It was easily done. Frobisher merely pulled a lever and the framework
upon which the Cardinal Moth was roped came down to within a few feet of
the ground.
Mrs. Benstein caressed the blossoms tenderly. Such a wealth of bloom had
never been seen before. She stood with them all about her like the
goddess Flora, the ropes touched her bare arms, the flowers nodded in
her face.
"I'll not be long," Frobisher croaked as he stooped and touched one of
the shining taps near the floor. "My word, what a picture for an artist
you make!"
He crept away gently, leaving his guest amidst the nodding blooms. They
were so fascinating that Mrs. Benstein could think of nothing else for
the moment. She had quite forgotten the events of the evening. She
turned her lips to a cluster of the glorious blooms.
"They are like beautiful, fascinating snakes," she said to herself. "No
wonder the man dares run the risk of having this bewildering beauty in
his house. Like lovely snakes, the hiss and all complete."
There was a sudden hiss of escaping steam, and the whole of the dropped
trellis-work was enveloped in mist. The mass seemed to move as if it
had been endowed with life or as if a strong breeze had swept over it.
Then without the slightest warning a grip like a vice caught Isa
Benstein below and above the elbow, pressing her forearm and causing her
to wince with the horrible pain.
So tight was the grip that she could not turn or move. She stood there
writhing in agony, and yet too fascinated to call out. The bones
creaked and cracked, and still the pain grew greater; it seemed
impossible that any human fingers could grip flesh and blood like that.
Were all the weird legends clinging round the Cardinal Moth true, Isa
Benstein caught herself wondering in a faint, dizzy way?
Then she braced herself up and struggled violently. It was
characteristic of the woman that she uttered no cry. As she drooped and
her eyes grew cloudy she had a faint vision of a face under a turban,
and then there came a sound of swiftly rushing feet. The platform
seemed to rise with a sudden jerk. Isa Benstein was wrenched from her
feet, the weight of her body told, the arm came away with a cruel drag
from the vice-like grip, and she fell a huddled, shimmering heap on the
floor.
"I hope you are not much hurt," a voice whispered in her ear. "It was
dreadful."
Isa Benstein scrambled to her feet breathless, dizzy, and writhing with
pain. But her quick eyes were clear now, and she recognised the Shan's
companion, whom she knew to be Angela's lover. His face was white and
quivering; there was a nameless horror in his eyes.
"You saw it," Mrs. Benstein said. "What was it?"
"I cannot tell you yet," Harold said. "It was too dreadful, too awful.
The shock of discovery almost unmanned me for a moment. We will speak
about that presently. How did you happen to be just where you stood?"
"I was admiring the flowers. Sir Clement pulled down the frame for me,
so that I could see better. He went away to get something that he
wanted to show me, then there was that sudden grip."
"Which seemed to come out of a vapouring mist, did it not?" Harold asked
hoarsely. "By accident I loosened the spring, and as the frame rose
your weight released you. Is not that so?"
Mrs. Benstein nodded; she had no words just for the moment. Now that
the reaction had come she was feeling sick and faint with the pain.
Harold's eyes were still distended with the horror of some awful
discovery.
"It is very strange," he said. "Sir Clement did not mean to come back
to you, for he has just left the house. He slipped out with some
companion whose face I did not see. But your arm is painful. Nothing
broken, I hope?"
Isa Benstein raised her lovely white arm to prove that such was not the
case. But there was a round red band, and here and there a thin red
stream came from the broken skin.
"Would you mind keeping this to yourself for the present?" Harold asked.
"Believe me, there are urgent reasons why you should do so, reasons so
urgent that I cannot go into them now. If you are silent we shall bring
one of the greatest scoundrels to the gallows. If not----"
"I will be silent," Mrs. Benstein said, between her white set teeth.
"But if you could get me away to see a doctor, or if there is a doctor
here whom I could trust----"
"Of course there is, I must have been a fool not to have thought of it
before. Sir James Brownsmith is the very man, and he is interested in
the case too. Nobody is likely to come in here."
Harold hurried away in search of Brownsmith, whom he had seen a little
while before. He found Angela and explained what he desired to her. He
had hardly got back to the great conservatory before the great surgeon
bustled in. Coolly enough Harold locked the door. There was no chance
of Sir Clement coming back yet. In a few words he gave a brief outline
of what had happened.
"It's part of the mystery," he said. "The same horrible mysterious
force that brought that poor fellow at Streatham and Manfred to their
death."
"Good God!" Sir James cried. "Do you mean to say that you have solved
that mystery?"
"Certainly I have. That is why I wanted you above all men to see Mrs.
Benstein. Oh, never mind who I am for the present. To the world I am
merely Aben Abdullah attached to the suite of the Shan of Koordstan, and
I am popularly supposed to know very little English. Look to your
patient, man."
Sir James passed the rudeness from a young man to one of his exalted
position. Very tenderly and gently he examined the wounded arm. But
his vivid interest was more than strictly professional.
"This is very strange," he said. "There are no bones broken, I am glad
to say--nothing worse than a severe bruise. But I could not believe, I
should utterly refuse to believe that a human hand could make such a
mark like that. Why, it would have to be as large as a shoulder of
mutton to grip the forearm and deltoid like that. Did you see your
assailant, Mrs. Benstein?"
"I saw nothing at all," Mrs. Benstein said, with a faint smile. "There
was nobody to see."
Sir James shook his head, but Harold nodded as if he quite approved of
the remark. Sir James was still carefully examining the round white
arm.
"The thing tallies," he said. "There are the same cruel marks, the same
indentations as from a coarse cloth. And also we have the same great
force used. In the name of God, what is it, sir?"
Brownsmith spoke with a sudden horror upon him. Harold shook his head.
"I can sympathize with your feelings, Sir James," he said. "I came very
near to fainting myself when the full force of the thing dawned upon me.
But for the present I prefer to keep silence. And I will ask you to be
silent also. You would be playing into the hands of an utter scoundrel
if the slightest inkling of Mrs. Benstein's accident were to leak out."
Brownsmith pursed up his lips and nodded.
"Then the best thing Mrs. Benstein can do is to go home," he said.
"Plenty of hot water fomentations for the present and something to
follow. I'll see that it is delivered to-night. But, seeing that Mrs.
Benstein has to say good-night to her hostess, and seeing that her dress
is so low in the sleeves----"
Isa Benstein solved the problem in her own swift, characteristic
fashion. She tore her dress from the shoulder so that the gauzy fabric
hung over and hid the cruel red seam on her arm.
"Ask Lady Frobisher to come here," she said. "Then call my car and fetch
my wraps. I quite see the necessity of making the thing look as natural
as possible."
It was all done so smoothly and easily that no suspicion was aroused.
Mrs. Benstein had simply had an accident with her dress, an accident
that necessitated her immediate return home. She had had a charming
evening, one that she was likely to remember for a long time. Her
manner was easy and natural; she gave no impression of one who has
escaped a nameless horror, perhaps a cruel death.
"I can slip away, thank you very much," she said. "Perhaps the
gentleman who has been so kind will see me to my car. May I ask your
arm?"
Harold bowed profoundly. It was just the opportunity he required. They
threaded their way through the guests along the brilliantly-lighted
corridor into the street where the car was waiting. Isa Benstein held
out her hand in a warm and friendly grip.
"I am going to help you and Miss Lyne, if I can," she said. "Ask Miss
Lyne to come and see me the first thing in the morning. After she has
gone to bed to-night she will know and appreciate my request. Have you
really solved the mystery of the two tragedies?"
"I am absolutely certain of it," Harold replied. "See, there is Sir
Clement and that fellow--Hamid Khan, the man who was in the
smoking-room, you know."
Mrs. Benstein looked eagerly out of the window. Her big eyes gleamed.
"It is as I expected," she said. "I have made a discovery also, Mr.
Denvers. If you will call on me after eleven to-morrow you will hear of
something greatly to your advantage. Strange how fate seems to be
playing into our hands to-night."
The car moved forward, the speaker was gone.
*CHAPTER XXII.*
*STRANDS OF THE ROPE.*
Denvers returned to the ballroom with a feeling that he would be glad to
get away. The whole thing sickened him, the light laughter and frivolous
chatter jarred upon his nerves. He had been very near to a dreadful
tragedy; he had learnt a hideous truth, and he had not got himself in
hand yet. He wanted to know the whole truth without delay. Angela
awaited him anxiously.
"My aunt tells me that Mrs. Benstein is gone," she said. "She had an
accident with her dress. Harold, you look as if you had seen a ghost."
"I have seen the devil, which is much the same thing," Harold murmured.
"My dear girl, never again shall I flatter myself that I have no nerves.
I dare not go into the refreshment-room and demand strong drink, but I
shall be more than grateful if you will smuggle me a glass of champagne
into the little alcove where we first met to-night. There I can tell
you something."
But it was not very much that Harold had to tell. The terrible
discovery he had made must be kept to himself as far as Angela was
concerned. Mrs. Benstein would like to see Angela in the morning. She
had a new design for a costume that might suit the girl, so that she was
to be sure and wear the blue orchids that Angela had at present in her
hair.
"It sounds very mysterious," Angela smiled.