Suppose that I get Parkford to take care of it for me until I get home.
He is a man to be trusted, and not a man lightly to molest. Sir, will
you do me the favour?"
Parkford coolly dropped the gem into his waistcoat pocket. At the same
time he passed a folded strip of paper to Mrs. Benstein and nodded
significantly. Then he rose.
"I am desolated," he said, "but really I have to leave. Denvers, a word
with you."
The luncheon-party broke up upon this, Mrs. Benstein alone remaining.
She had arranged to wait here for a friend, she explained. Frobisher
slid away, followed by Hamid Khan, and outside Denvers put Angela into a
passing taxi. He had work before him this afternoon.
"That was very neatly done," Parkford said to the Shan. "It was a
pleasure to see Frobisher's face. You saw me pass my cheque over to
Mrs. Benstein, who will hand it to her husband. If you take my advice
you will allow me to deposit the Blue Stone with my bankers for the
present. I am going that way, and I shall see that it is all safe."
"Put it where you like," the Shan said, recklessly. "It's all the same
to me, knowing as I do that I have an honest man to deal with. This
rigid virtue of mine is undermining my constitution. I'll go off to the
club, and try and get a game of bridge. Dine with me to-night,
Denvers?"
Denvers excused himself on the plea of urgent business; besides, it was
strongly probable that His Highness of Koordstan would be beyond
entertaining by dinner-time.
"You've got our dusky friend out of a tight place," Harold suggested.
"So I suppose," Parkford said, indifferently. "I like this kind of
intrigue, and I have a fancy for acting unofficially for the Government.
Sometimes the hobby proves expensive, sometimes the information is
valuable. In this case I am going to make a good thing out of it. I am
very glad, for your sake, that you told Lord Rashburn all about it.
It's given me a grip upon the Shan, and I'll see that you get your
concessions. But we must discuss that another time."
Harold went on his way with hope rising high within him. He began to
see his way clear now, once the mystery of the Cardinal Moth was
fathomed. Lefroy passed him presently, and turned into the Belgrave.
Harold wondered if this was the friend whom Mrs. Benstein was expecting.
It was. Lefroy came up to the table where Mrs. Benstein was seated and
took a chair by her side. There was no smile of welcome on her face.
"I am charmed to come at your summons," the Count said, placidly.
"That is very good of you," Mrs. Benstein said. "Whether you remain in
that frame of mind is quite another matter. I asked you to meet me here
because my time is limited, and I have business close by. As you see
from the table I have had guests to luncheon."
"I envy them from the bottom of my soul," Lefroy murmured.
"I would not waste envy on some of them, Count. For instance, Frobisher
and Hamid Khan. The Shan of Koordstan came here as my guest; he put off
important affairs of State to please me. But I was thoughtful. I said
that Hamid Khan should come on here and bring the papers that he
required sealing with him."
"The documents that required the impress of the Blue Stone?" Lefroy
asked.
"The same. Here is the wax cool and hard now upon the Limoges plate,
and with which the deed was done. On the whole it was an interesting
ceremony, and nobody was more interested than Clement Frobisher. Never
has that most beautiful smile been so much in evidence."
Lefroy coloured slightly. He was not so obviously at his ease now.
"Hamid Khan was also deeply moved," Mrs. Benstein went on. "Really, I
believe that both of the men I have mentioned expected that the Blue
Stone would not be produced in evidence. But it was. And where do you
think it came from? You can never guess, of course."
Lefroy muttered something to the effect that his talents did not lie in
that direction. He was conscious of a steely glitter in the eyes of the
woman he was near.
"Then I had better tell you," she went on. "He took the stone out of a
great purple orchid he was wearing. It was all the more strange that
just before I broke that very flower from a cluster worn by Miss Lyne.
Do you remember placing a cluster of those flowers in her hair at my
request last night?"
"I remember that circumstance perfectly well, Mrs. Benstein."
"Well, it was one of the same cluster of flowers. And I feel quite
certain now that when at my request you adorned Miss Lyne last night in
the conservatory, the Blue Stone was hidden in that very blossom. Does
that intelligence appeal to you in any way, Count Lefroy?"
"You are an exceedingly clever woman," the Count said hoarsely, but with
sincere admiration. "So that is the way you baffled us last night. And
all the time I had actually the Blue Stone in my hand. And I'll swear
that Miss Lyne was not in the secret."
"She was not; her face would have betrayed her. Now you can imagine the
pleasure with which I watched Sir Clement and Hamid Khan across the
luncheon-table. And you call Frobisher a clever man!"
"He is by far and away the cleverest man I ever met, Madame."
"He is nothing of the kind," Mrs. Benstein said contemptuously. "For
depth and cunning he has no equal, I admit. But intellect he has
little, and imagination none at all. The fellow generally scores
because his plots, as a rule, are laid against honest people. But I saw
through him from the first. He was going to make use of me--me! I
would pit myself against him and win every time. If he had not been
prepared to play the bully and the coward last night I would have spared
him, but not now. Before long that man will stand in the dock, and take
heed lest you stand there by his side."
Mrs. Benstein's voice had sunk to a hissing whisper, her eyes flashed
with passion.
"It is hard to know what I have done," Lefroy murmured.
"It would be hard to say what you have not done," was the swift reply.
"You, too, were ready last night to apply force to a desperate woman.
But I beat you, and it is part of my revenge to tell you how the trick
was done. You will never have another chance to get possession of the
Blue Stone and ruin the Shan by your plots together with Hamid Khan.
You would have made use of me, now I am going to make use of you. Here
comes my husband. When he has done with you I shall dictate my terms.
Meanwhile, if your nerves are not equal to the strain there are many
kinds of wines here."
Lefroy declined the proffered hospitality. He began to feel like one of
his own puppets as Benstein nodded ponderously and sat down. The
interview had evidently been arranged for.
"I am glad of this opportunity for a little chat," Benstein said,
ponderously. His fat cheeks were shaking, his hand was not quite so
steady as it might have been. He seemed to be fumbling for something in
the capacious pocket of a coat far too large for his bulky figure. "I
was going to look you up, but my wife said she would arrange the
matter."
"We have had a lot of business transactions together," Lefroy suggested.
"But there is going to be no more, my friend," Benstein said. "You are
too dangerous--you are too many for the old man whose sight is not what
it used to be. It is about those Koordstan possessions that you pledged
with me for a large sum of money. I keep them by me, I regard them as
good business, until one day I show them to my wife. And what does she
say?"
"It is impossible to hazard the suggestion what so clever a woman would
say," Lefroy murmured.
"She says that the whole thing is forgery. Then I look quietly into the
matter, and surely enough I find that the whole thing is a forgery. I
stand to lose ten thousand pounds. My first impulse is to go off to the
police and ask for a warrant to issue against you. When you take my
money you take part of my body. Still, if you pay me the money now, I
say nothing further."
Lefroy nodded thoughtfully. He was not in the least abashed; he made no
attempt to deny the truth of Aaron Benstein's accusation. He would have
to find the money, but how, was quite another matter.
"If you give me a little time," he said, "I shall hope to see my way."
"Ah! ah!--a little time--seven years perhaps the Judge will say. But I
leave it to my wife--she is the clever one. My dear, what shall I do?"
"At the present moment put on your hat and go back to the City," Mrs.
Benstein said. "I fancy I shall know how to deal with Count Lefroy. You
can't have your money back and your revenge as well. I fancy you can
safely leave me to settle matters."
Aaron Benstein was certain of it. He beamed proudly at his wife and
kissed his fingers as he put on his hat and most obediently waddled out
of the room. For a long while neither party at the table spoke.
"I'm afraid that I don't quite understand you," Lefroy ventured at
length.
"You are not meant to understand me," Isa Benstein retorted. "For the
present you are going to be my puppet and dance when I pull the strings.
Play me fair, and you shall not suffer for the wrong you have done my
husband; play me false, and you shall stand in the dock within an hour
after. Come, sir, it is the turn of the woman towards whom you and
another scoundrel last night would have shown personal violence had you
dared. For the present I shall be content with plain replies to plain
questions. Do you know from whence Frobisher obtained the Cardinal
Moth?"
"I am not quite sure, but I can give a pretty good guess," Lefroy said.
"We shall come to that presently. Was Manfred well acquainted with the
properties of that accursed flower?"
"I should say not. Of course he had a good idea of its value and what
one could do with it."
"Quite so. Then I suppose that I am correct in assuming that on the
night of his death Manfred was party to a conspiracy to steal the orchid
from Sir Clement Frobisher; in other words, he acted as your agent, and
he was killed in the act of purloining the flower?"
Lefroy wriggled uneasily and muttered something. But Mrs. Benstein
pinned him firmly down.
"I shall abandon you to your fate unless you speak frankly," she said.
"Was Manfred trying to steal the Cardinal Moth when he met with his
death?"
"You may take that for a fact," Lefroy said, as if the words were
dragged from him.
"Very good. Manfred was going to steal the Moth which previously had
been stolen by Sir Clement's agent from somebody else. Who sold the
Moth to Sir Clement?"
"I am not quite certain, but I believe it was Paul Lopez," said Lefroy.
Mrs. Benstein rose from her seat, and flicked a solitary crumb from her
dress. On the whole she did not seem displeased with the day's work.
"Enough for the present," she said. "Take me out and see me into a
swift taxi."
*CHAPTER XXV.*
*A STRIKING LIKENESS.*
Frobisher had passed a bad night, and he looked as if he were likely to
have an equally unpleasant morning. A small dealer out St. Alban's way
claimed to have found three new orchids in his last speculative parcel,
and Frobisher had set his mind on seeing them before some other soulless
and selfish collector stepped in. But a slip of blue paper, humorously
accompanied by a shilling, told him that his presence was imperative at
the adjourned inquest on the body of the man unknown, who had been found
murdered in the greenhouse at Streatham.
"Now what possible connection can I have with that?" he grumbled, as he
ate his breakfast. "It was bad enough for Manfred to thoughtlessly lose
his life in my conservatory: And here's a letter from George Arnott. He
has a great deal of complaint about you, Angela."
"I am properly flattered by his consideration," Angela said coldly.
"Oh, that's all very well, young lady. But you are going to marry
George Arnott all the same. That young scoundrel Denvers had better make
the most of his time."
"He will do that without any encouragement from you," Angela replied.
"Mr. Arnott is an unspeakable little cad, and I would as soon marry your
butler. Indeed, I insult the butler by comparison."
An ugly smile crossed Frobisher's face, but he carried the conversation
no further. He was puzzled and bewildered, and neither feeling was
palatable. He had been outgeneralled by a woman, and the reflection was
bitter. But he was going to have his own way over this matter, as
Angela would discover.
"Mr. Arnott to see you, sir," the butler announced. "In the library,
sir."
Arnott seemed to be anxious about something. He was fussing up and down
the library with a mass of papers in his hand. His manner was hardly
flattering.
"Well, you have made a nice mess of it," he said, "you and Lefroy
between you. He's bolted." Frobisher chuckled for the first time since
he rose.
"Bet you a penny old Benstein had found out all about those forgeries,"
he said. "Lefroy didn't know that I was _au fait_ as to that
transaction. So Lefroy has retired discreetly--urgent business on
behalf of the master, and all that kind of thing, eh? That leaves the
field clear for us."
"To a certain extent, perhaps. But you won't get the concessions.
Hamid Khan has been utterly beaten by Mrs. Benstein and your friend
Harold Denvers. It appears that Mrs. Benstein knew Hamid Khan years
ago, he being no more of a Koord than you or I. The Shan has dismissed
him, and at the present moment is on his way to Paris with Denvers."
A round rasping oath shot from Frobisher's lips. "So that young
blackguard was in it," he exclaimed. "I fancied so."
"In it! In it up to his neck. I bribed one of the Shan's servants.
Why, Denvers, calling himself Aben Abdullah or some such name, and
beautifully disguised, was in your house the night before last at your
wife's dance. It was he who stopped your little game and enabled Mrs.
Benstein to turn the tables on you. Those concessions are as good as in
Denvers' pocket."
"But where did the money come from to get that gem out of Benstein's
clutches? I know for a fact that the Shan is desperately hard up for
the moment."
"What does that matter?" Arnott asked irritably. "You were at Mrs.
Benstein's luncheon-party at the Belgrave yesterday. Who was there
besides the actors in the game? You are losing your wits, Frobisher.
What do you suppose Parkford was doing there?"
Frobisher slapped his bald head helplessly.
"I never thought of that," he said blankly. "I'd go to Paris myself,
only I've got to attend an inquest. Come and dine quietly to-night and
discuss the plan of campaign. I shall find some way out yet. Now just
you toddle off and keep your tongue between your teeth."
"And what about Miss Lyne?" Arnott asked.
"That's going to be all right--you can safely trust the young lady to
me. She doesn't realise what I am capable of. Though why you should
want to marry a girl who hates you and despises you from the bottom of
her heart is more than I can comprehend. Eight o'clock sharp to-night."
Frobisher travelled down to Streatham a little later, and devoutly hoped
that his own evidence would be a matter of form. But the hall in which
the inquest was to be held was crammed with curious onlookers, for the
dual sensation caused by two mysterious deaths under similar
circumstances had not been forgotten by the public. Frobisher but
rarely glanced at the newspapers except _The Times_, or he would have
known that "the orchid mystery," as it had been called, was the
sensation of the hour. Only by the aid of two friendly policemen did he
reach a seat in court.
The proceedings were drawing on, evidence of a formal nature only being
called at present. Frobisher nodded to Inspector Townsend, whom he
recognized as an old acquaintance.
"Something horribly nasty about perspiring humanity," he said. "I
should like to turn a garden-hose on to the gallery yonder. What on
earth do you want me for, Townsend?"
Townsend admitted that there might be one or two points on which Sir
Clement's evidence might prove material. He was not quite sure what the
barrister for the authorities had in his mind. Frobisher glanced at his
watch from time to time impatiently; he had forgotten his surroundings
utterly, when the sound of his own name brought him back to the present
with a start. Leisurely and with perfect self-possession he entered the
box and was sworn.
"I want to ask you a few questions," the Crown counsel said. "You have
read something of the case, Sir Clement?"
"I have heard of it, though I am afraid I shall be of very little use to
you."
"We shall see. This man, whom I shall call the unknown for the reason
that he has not yet been identified, was found dead, murdered in a
greenhouse at Streatham. He had been strangled by means of a hair rope
twisted about his neck and pulled tight with great force from behind."
"That you are perfectly sure of?" Frobisher said with a suggestion of a
grin.
"At any rate, it will serve for a theory at present. In that
greenhouse, upon the authority of Thomas Silverthorne, was a valuable
orchid which had been placed there by a stranger some time before.
After the murder of the unknown that orchid had absolutely disappeared."
"Very strange," Frobisher said indifferently, "but of no particular
interest to me."
"Perhaps we shall make it more interesting presently," Counsel retorted.
"We are inclined to believe that two people were after the orchid--the
man who was killed and the man who killed him and took the orchid away.
The plant must have been singularly valuable and possibly unique in its
way to induce a crime like this. The whole thing is very strange and
singular, and it is rendered more so by the fact that a precisely
similar crime was committed in your conservatory the same night. You
have valuable orchids, Sir Clement?"
Frobisher nodded. He was not quite so cool now, and an irritating lump
was working at the back of his throat. His quick mind began to see what
was behind these apparently innocent questions.
"I have probably the finest collection in England," he replied.
"Many of them would tempt a thief, I suppose?"
"Well, I dare say. There are orchid collectors all over the world, you
see. Once a man gets hold of that passion it seldom leaves him. A
valuable stolen orchid would be a marketable commodity."
"The same as stolen books or prints, eh? The commercial morality of all
collectors is supposed to be low. What you mean to say is that an
orchid of repute would be bought by some collectors well knowing that it
had been obtained by questionable means?"
"I've no doubt about it," Frobisher admitted. "I have known such cases."
"Then here we have a motive for the crime. Let me refer to your own case
for a moment. What do you suppose Mr. Manfred was doing in your
conservatory at the time he died? He refused to dine under plea of a
headache; he was supposed to be lying down, and yet he was found dead
near your flowers. Do you think he was after one of them?"
"The inference is a fair one," Frobisher said, guardedly.
Counsel smiled as he stroked his moustache. He was getting to the point
now.
"Did you or do you suspect Mr. Manfred was after a particular plant?" he
asked.
Frobisher started. He saw the trap instantly. The smiling little man
with the bland questions knew a great deal more than he had told as yet.
He was not so much asking questions as inviting the witness to make
admissions. He had been primed doubtless by Mrs. Benstein and Denvers.
The lump in the back of Frobisher's throat grew large, the easy smile
flickered and died on his face.
"I have a score that are almost unique," he said. "Under the
circumstances----"
Counsel waved the point aside. His experience told him that he was
alarming his witness. He started on another tack which was destined to
be even more disturbing to Frobisher's peace of mind.
"Let me put it another way," he said in his silkiest manner. "We are
pretty certain that a valuable orchid was stolen from Streatham. You
tell me that commercial morality among collectors is not high, and that
a plant like that would be a marketable commodity. Would you buy it,
for example?"
"I would go a long way in that direction," Frobisher said with a touch
of his old cynicism.
"You would! Now I am going to ask you a direct question. I need not
tell you the hour at which the unknown was murdered at Streatham because
you know that as well as I do. Now since that time have you added to
your collection an orchid of extraordinary interest?"
Frobisher gasped. He had not expected the question. He was like a man
who suddenly sees before him a deep and yawning precipice in the path of
flowers. And the chasm was so deep and yawning that he could not see to
the bottom of it. He hesitated and stammered.
"I certainly bought a valuable orchid the same night," he admitted.
"Ah! Now we are getting on, indeed. The orchid you bought was unique!"
"Well, that is a fair description of it. Nothing like it has been seen
before."
"An orchid the like of which has never been seen before! Come, this is
very interesting. Can you tell us if the plant in question has any
particular name?"
"It is called 'The Cardinal Moth,'" Frobisher admitted slowly. The
words seemed to be dragged from him; he half wondered what had become of
his voice. "It came originally from Koordstan."
"Stolen," the Counsel cried. "The orchid, sir, is unique. It was used
to guard the Temple of Ghan. It is supposed to possess certain sinister
qualities. Criminals who were sent into the place where the Moth hung
never came out alive, they always died, as the two unhappy men whose
cases we have under consideration perished. The sentence was to pluck a
flower from the Cardinal Moth. The flowers were plucked, and when the
great gates were thrown back the criminal was dead, strangled. Sir
Clement, I presume that you knew all about this before you purchased the
Cardinal Moth the other night."
"Every collector of intelligence knows the story," Frobisher admitted.
"So when the treasure came in your way you could not resist the
temptation of purchase. Now, pray be careful. Did you not buy the
Cardinal Moth about an hour or two, say, after the unknown was found
murdered in that conservatory at Streatham?"
Frobisher wiped his shining head; his hand was shaking slightly.
"If you put it that way, I did," he said. "It was brought to me and
offered for sale that night and I bought it."
"What did you give for it?"
Frobisher gaped open-mouthed at the question. It came back to him with
sudden force that he had not given anything for the Moth at all, he had
only promised for Lopez's sake to tell a lie and stick to it. Counsel
rapped sharply on the table before him.
"I asked you what you gave for the Cardinal Moth?" he exclaimed.
"A trifle," Frobisher admitted. "Well, nothing in money at all. You
see, the man who sold it to me----"
"Can you see the man in court? Look round and let us know if he is
here."
Frobisher slowly looked round the court, not so much to find Lopez as to
regain his own scattered wits.
*CHAPTER XXVI.*
*A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR.*
Frobisher passed a handkerchief over his shining head slowly, with a
feeling that he was going through the ordeal of a Turkish bath. It was
a long time before he was quite sure that the vendor of the Cardinal
Moth was not in court. The little questioner smiled as Frobisher shook
his head. Evidently he had a powerful reserve behind him. He switched
off on to another track presently.
"You know all about the history of the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.
"Every collector does," Frobisher replied. "It has been known for
centuries. Times out of number adventurers have tried to obtain the
whole plant, or, at any rate, a small portion of it, but without
success. Generally the attempt has ended in disaster to the
adventurers."
"You mean that usually they have been killed?"
"Precisely. They have died of strangulation as--as Mr. Manfred did."
"Quite so. You don't suggest that there is anything Satanic or
diabolical about the Moth? No cruel force from an unseen world, or
anything of that kind?"
"Certainly not," Frobisher said with the suspicion of a sneer.
"Although such a thing is firmly believed in Koordstan and elsewhere."
"Then there is some trick, some danger. Now, Sir Clement, listen to me
carefully. You knew all about this strange fatality that clings to the
Cardinal Moth, you know that Mr. Manfred met his death by that terrible
way, and that tragedy at Streatham was more or less a repetition of the
thing that happened under your roof. You can't deny that."
"Have I made any attempt to do so?" Frobisher retorted.