that you suppressed, deliberately suppressed, what you knew to be facts
of the deepest import. Why did you not tell all this to the police?
Why didn't you mention it to Sir James Brownsmith and other friends?"
Frobisher mumbled something in reply. It came to him suddenly that he
was older than he ought to be, that his nerve was no longer what it once
had been. He called to mind the many brilliant knaves who had from time
to time stepped jauntily into a witness-box contemptuous of the
inferiority of the cross-questioner, and who had an hour later tottered
from the court a broken man. How much did this little keen-eyed man
know? he asked himself. He would have given half his fortune to be
quite clear on that point. But he could not answer the question
satisfactorily.
"Nothing could have been gained by that course," he said.
"And you want the court to believe that?" Counsel cried. "Here were you
with something like a correct solution in your mind and you keep
silence. When did you buy the Cardinal Moth?"
"It was on the night of the Streatham tragedy," Frobisher admitted.
"Indeed! Was the man you purchased that plant from a stranger to you?"
"No. On the contrary, I have known him for years. He was with me the
night before as well."
"Worse and worse," Counsel protested. "Tell me, Sir Clement, have you
ever made an attempt to raid the Cardinal Moth in person or in
conjunction with others?"
"I laid a plot to get possession of it," Frobisher admitted coolly
enough. He felt that he could afford to be cynical and frank on this
point. "But my plans miscarried. The plant was divided into three
portions. One was lost sight of, in America, I fancy; the other was
lost at Stamboul, where I came very near to losing my life as well. And
the third plant was burned at Turin."
"Was that by accident or design?"
"Design, doubtless. The hotel was deliberately set on fire."
"Interesting," Counsel murmured. "What was the name of your ally at
Turin?"
"I'm sorry I cannot remember. In the many busy incidents in a life like
mine----"
"One moment, if you please. And don't forget that you are on your oath.
Now wasn't the name of your partner who got as far as Turin Count
Lefroy?"
Frobisher snarled out something that sounded between an affirmative or
an oath. He was clinging to the rail of the witness-box now; there was
a perceptible stoop in his shoulders and his lips quivered. The little
man went on with his merciless questions, smiling as he scored one point
after another.
"Count Lefroy has been your partner in many a financial venture?" he
asked. "But you have dissolved partnership of recent years; you could
not trust one another?"
"The steel was too finely tempered in us both," said Frobisher, with a
touch of his old humour.
"And so you parted. Now let us get on a little further. Of late you
have been very anxious to obtain certain concessions from the Shan of
Koordstan. Count Lefroy was equally anxious. And the Shan, not being so
very popular with his subjects at present, would have liked to get the
Cardinal Moth back again. Now were you prepared to change the Moth for
the concessions?"
"I confess that some such idea was in my mind," Frobisher admitted.
"In which case was it not dangerous to ask Count Lefroy to your house?
I mean to luncheon to show him the Moth, and afterwards the invitation
to the fatal dinner?"
"I can't say," Frobisher replied. "I really can't see what----"
"Oh, yes you can; a clever man like yourself can see everything. The
Count was as anxious to have the Moth as you were, also with an eye to
these concessions. He was more anxious because he had already mortgaged
the so-called concession to Mr. Aaron Benstein for a large sum of money.
Did you know of that?"
Frobisher hesitated a long time before he replied. He had grown
singularly hot and confused; he could see no more than that a trap was
being laid for him, but the bait was invisible. There was nothing for
it but to tell the truth and trust to chance.
"I was quite aware of what Count Lefroy had done," he said.
"And yet you showed him the Cardinal Moth. He was very angry and he
struck Manfred in your presence. He gave you to infer that he had by
the merest chance lost the Moth itself. In other words, the man who had
stolen it brought it to you instead of to Count Lefroy."
Frobisher nodded. He was smiling recklessly and a little hysterically
now, wondering how many hours he had been standing there under the rigid
fire of questions. As he glanced up at a big clock over the coroner's
head, to his intense surprise he saw that it was barely twenty minutes.
"Count Lefroy had made up his mind to steal that plant," Counsel went
on. "Didn't you guess that?"
"I felt pretty sure that he would make the attempt, yes."
"As a matter of fact, we contend that the attempt was made. It was all
arranged. The night of your dinner, Mr. Manfred sat out under the
pretence of a bad headache. The house was quiet and you were engaged
with your guests, and Manfred knew exactly where to go. He made the
attempt, and in doing so lost his life."
"It looks very much like it," Frobisher said, hoarsely.
"Do you know exactly how he lost his life?" Counsel asked.
The question came quick and short like the snapping of a steel trap.
Frobisher understood the import of it, nobody else practically did. He
glanced at Townsend, who appeared to be deeply interested in a
newspaper; the Coroner was gazing at the painted ceiling. An
unconquerable rush of rage possessed the witness.
"Hang you, find out," he cried. "To the devil with you and your
questions. How should I know the secret that the priests of Ghan have
kept so closely all these centuries? All I know is, that anybody who
tampers with the Moth under certain conditions dies, and----"
The Coroner suddenly woke up and sternly rebuked the witness. He
listened humbly enough now, for he was spent and broken again, only
longing passionately to be away.
"I am truly sorry, sir, but the question irritated me," he said.
"Anybody would think that I had a hand in the death of poor Manfred."
"Nobody has suggested anything of the kind," Counsel went on as smoothly
as if nothing had happened. "All I contend is, that you can practically
solve the problem if you choose. But let us hark back a little way
again. What is the name of the man who sold you the orchid?"
"His name is Paul Lopez," Frobisher said in a tone so low that he was
asked to repeat it again. He passed his tongue over his dry lips. "I
can tell you no more than that."
"Is he a stranger to you, or have you known him a long time?"
Sorely tempted to lie, Frobisher hesitated a moment. But once more the
cruel uncertainty of the knowledge possessed by the little man opposite
forced the truth from him.
"I have known Paul Lopez for years," he said. "He has done many little
things for me. But I swear to you now--as I am prepared to swear
anywhere--that the Cardinal Moth came to me as a complete surprise. I
never expected it, and I was absolutely astonished when I saw it."
"Then you have no idea whence it came?"
"Not the slightest. It never occurred to me to ask any questions."
"The wise man does not ask questions," Counsel said dryly. "Possibly
your curiosity would not have been gratified, in any case. But I
suppose that you had an idea, eh? You feel pretty sure now that the
plant was stolen from Streatham?"
"That is mere conjecture on your part," Frobisher replied.
"Oh, no, it isn't. I shall be in a position to prove the fact when the
time comes. You can step down for the moment, Sir Clement, though I
shall have to trouble you again. Call Paul Lopez."
Townsend put down his paper and stood up.
"It will be quite useless, sir," he said. "Lopez has disappeared. My
information tells me that he has gone in the first instance as far as
Paris. Perhaps later on we may be able to produce him, but that will
require more than the usual subpoena."
The Coroner woke up again, and his eyes came down from the ceiling. Yet
he had missed nothing of what was going on, as his next question showed.
"That is rather unfortunate, Inspector," he said. "What do you propose
to do now?"
"Ask for an adjournment till Thursday, sir," Townsend said. "Then I
hope to call Sir James Brownsmith, who I am sure will have a great deal
to say. If that course is quite convenient to you----"
The Coroner snapped out a few words, and the crowd in the gallery began
to fade away. In a kind of walking dream Sir Clement Frobisher found
himself outside. He felt as if many years had been added to his life;
he was shaking from head to foot. The gold sign of a decent hotel
caught his eye. The white legend, "Wines and spirits," allured him.
Somebody was speaking to him, but he did not heed.
Then he became conscious that Mrs. Benstein was standing before him.
She had been in court, but he had not seen her. He muttered some
commonplaces now, he tottered across the street and into a bar which was
empty. The smart girl behind looked at him curiously as he ordered a
large brandy-and-soda. The soda he almost discarded, he poured the
strong spirit down his throat, and a little life crept into his
quivering lips.
Meanwhile Mrs. Benstein stood by the door of her car. She appeared to
be waiting for somebody. From the bar window the now resuscitated
Frobisher watched and wondered. He saw Townsend come out of court; he
saw Mrs. Benstein stop him as he touched his cap.
"I'd give a trifle to hear what they are saying," Frobisher muttered.
"I wish I had never seen that confounded woman. I am growing senile.
Fancy being beaten by a woman!"
Mrs. Benstein had very little to say to Townsend, but that little was to
the point.
"If you can lay hands on Lopez, what shall you do?" she asked.
"Arrest him on suspicion of the Streatham murder," Townsend said
promptly.
"Which he never committed. Still, it is the proper thing to do. Now
tell me where I can give you a call upon the telephone about ten o'clock
to-night."
*CHAPTER XXVII.*
*MRS. BENSTEIN INTERVENES.*
Mrs. Benstein was dining alone and early, for Benstein had an important
engagement later, and usually he made a point of being in bed betimes.
He had had a good day, which was no uncommon thing for him, and he was
loquacious and talkative as usual. From the head of the table Mrs.
Benstein smiled and nodded, but, as a matter of fact, she had not the
least idea what her husband was talking about. Not until the coffee was
on the table and the cigarettes going round did she speak. She always
liked her coffee in that perfect old Tudor dining-room--the dark oak and
the silver and the shaded lights all made so restful a picture.
"Now I want to give you half an hour," she said. "You will be in plenty
of time to see Lord Rayfield afterwards. Did you read the account of
the Streatham inquest in the _Evening Standard_ as I asked you?"
"Read every word of it whilst I was dressing," Benstein said.
Mrs. Benstein smiled. From the way her husband was dressed, the paper
in question had monopolized most of his attention. At any rate, he
seemed to have grasped the case.
"What did you think of it?" she asked.
"Well, it's a queer business," Benstein said, thoughtfully. "Seems to
me to be a lot of fuss to make about a paltry flower that any accident
might destroy. Never could understand Frobisher wasting his money over
that sort of trash."
"No, you wouldn't," Mrs. Benstein said, quietly. "But mind you, that
flower is more or less of a sacred thing, and the Shan of Koordstan
would have given his head to get it. He's Oriental through and through,
despite his thin veneer of polish and his Western vices. I suppose
those concessions that the Shan has to dispose of are valuable?"
Benstein's deep-set little eyes twinkled.
"Give a million for 'em and chance it," he said. "So you think that
Frobisher----"
"Precisely. Much as he loves orchids, he didn't want the Cardinal Moth
for keeping, as the Americans say. With that lever he meant to get hold
of those concessions. Now I have discovered that it was young Harold
Denvers who found the Cardinal Moth and brought it to England. He took
it down to Streatham, thinking that it would be safe there. But Paul
Lopez got to know about it, and so did another man, apparently--I mean
the man who was murdered."
"You think that he was murdered by Lopez, Isa?"
Mrs. Benstein made no reply, but smiled significantly. She might have
startled her husband with some strange information, but she did not care
to do so at present.
"That will be the general impression after to-day's proceedings," she
said. "And Paul Lopez has disappeared. But I feel pretty sure that he
has not left England."
"I am certain of it," Benstein chuckled. "Lopez has never got any money.
He tried me for a loan only yesterday to take him away. Guess I could
put my hand upon him in an hour."
"You think he is to be found at that gambling club you are so interested
in?"
"Certain of it, my dear. Lopez is friendly enough with old Chiavari,
who has found him a bed and food before now. Rare good customer to
Chiavari he has been. If Lopez is not hiding at 17, Panton Street, I'm
no judge. Do you want to see him?"
Mrs. Benstein intimated that she did, at which Benstein said nothing and
evinced no surprise. He had the most profound, almost senile confidence
in his wife and her intelligence, and she did exactly as she liked, and
her obedient husband asked no questions.
"Very well, my dear," he said, as he rose and looked at the clock. "I'm
going past Chiavari's and I'll look in. If Lopez is there, expect him
in half an hour."
Benstein waddled out of the room and presently left the house.
Something seemed to amuse Mrs. Benstein as she sat in the drawing-room
before her piano. Half an hour passed, the clock was striking nine, and
the footman opened the door to admit a stranger.
"A gentleman to see you, madame," he murmured. "He says you would not
know his name."
Isa Benstein signalled assent. She closed the door as Lopez came in and
led the way to a small room beyond, furnished as a library more or less.
There was an American roll-top desk and a telephone over it. Isa
Benstein pushed a box of cigarettes towards her companion.
"How did you guess where to find me?" he asked.
"I didn't guess," Isa Benstein said, quietly. "I never guess anything.
You were near the Coroner's court this morning, because I saw you. You
did not deem it prudent to appear, so you had a friend who gave you the
news _en passant_. After that you would deem it prudent to go away for a
little while beyond the range of the police. But unfortunately as usual
you have no money."
"Correct and logical in every detail," Lopez cried. "What a couple we
should have made."
"You indeed! The brilliant wife and the equally brilliant husband who
would have gambled everything away as soon as it was made. Strange,
too, a man so clever could be such a fool. So here you are stranded in
London without a feather to fly with."
"Correct again. Unless you are going to help me."
"Why should I help you? You are friendless as well as penniless. There
is only one man in London who would be glad for his own sake to supply
you with funds, and that is Sir Clement Frobisher. But you dare not go
near him or write to him or have any communication with him for fear of
the police."
"Once more absolutely correct, Isa. Truly a wonderful woman. If you
fail me----"
"We shall come to that presently. What do you know of that Streatham
business?"
"Very little indeed. If you want me to swear on my oath that I had
nothing to do with the crime I am prepared to do so."
"But you know perfectly well who the man is. He was lying dead on the
floor of the conservatory at Streatham, at the very time when you stole
the Crimson Moth placed there by Mr. Denvers."
Lopez started and turned colour slightly. He did not know that this was
mere conjecture on the part of his questioner, but it was. Speaking
from her intimate knowledge and calculating by time she felt sure that
she had not been far wrong. And here was the face of Lopez confirming
her impressions.
"You need not trouble to deny it," she went on. "I know pretty well
everything. Mr. Denvers had not left many minutes before the accident
happened. Was there an automatic steam-pipe in the conservatory?"
"Of course. And you may be quite certain that--but do you really know
everything, Isa?"
"Absolutely. I can speak from experience. I did not know till the night
of Lady Frobisher's party, but I found out then. If you don't believe
me, look here."
Mrs. Benstein bared her arm, and displayed the cruel circular wound
above the elbow. She was very pale now, and her eyes were dark. Very
slowly she pulled her sleeve down again.
"Now you can tell how much I know," she said. "Who was the man who lost
his life at Streatham?"
"I don't know his name, but he appeared very familiar to me. He was a
Greek, a tool of Lefroy's and that queer fellow Manfred. He was too
adventurous, and he died."
"And Manfred was too adventurous and he died also. I was a little
curious, and I nearly met the same fate. That fate was deliberately
planned for me by Frobisher; in intent that scoundrel is as guilty of
murder as if he had fired at me from behind cover. He thought to trick
me, to make me his puppet and tool, and by flattering my vanity obtain
possession of the Blue Stone."
"Only the scheme did not come off," Lopez grinned.
"It failed, because I have ten times Sir Clement's brains and none of
his low cunning. But the scheme would never have been tried at all had
you not suggested it."
"I!" Lopez stammered. "Do you mean to say----"
"You suggested it; you told Frobisher where the Blue Stone was. His
quick brain did the rest. Now perhaps you begin to guess why I sent for
you to-night."
"I thought perhaps you intended to help me," Lopez said with his eyes on
the carpet.
"Why should I help you? To put money into your purse you did not
hesitate to ruin me and my husband, knowing that my one poor vanity
induced me to deck myself out in borrowed plumes. As a girl you asked
for my heart and I gave it you; I gave all the love I had for any man.
I have never been able to feel the same since. Don't flatter yourself
that I care the least for you; the flower has been dead many years. I
forgave you that. I did not get you crushed and broken, as I could
easily have done. And now you dare drag me once again into your net. I
sent for you to-night to make conditions; the whole truth must be told.
You are to stay in London, and on Friday you are to give your evidence
at the adjourned inquest."
"You are never going to have it all out?" Lopez said blankly.
"Indeed I am. Whether you and Frobisher are actually guilty of crime in
the eyes of the law I don't know or care. But you both have a deal to
answer for. Don't you play me false."
Lopez looked up and down again swiftly. He was thinking how he could
turn this thing to advantage and go his own course at the same time. He
did not hear the tinkle of the telephone-bell behind him; he took no
heed as Mrs. Benstein placed the receiver to her ear.
"Yes," she said. "I am home. See you in ten minutes. Ask him to wait
outside the drawing-room door. Oh, yes, the messenger came quite
safely. Good night."
If Lopez heard all this it was quite in a mechanical way. He spoke
presently, urging the uselessness of the proceedings that Isa Benstein
suggested. She said something in reply, something cold and cutting, but
she was taking no further interest in the matter. She was listening for
something, the ring of the front-door bell and a step outside. It came
at length, and she rose.
"My mind is quite made up," she said. "And I am not going to give you a
chance to go back upon me. Will you open that door, please? I thank
you. Inspector Townsend, will you be so good as to step in? As I told
you over the telephone, the messenger arrived quite safely."
Lopez's hand shot swiftly behind him; then he dropped it to his side and
smiled. He had been beaten, but he showed no emotion or the slightest
sign of anger.
"I think you had better come quietly," he said. "I have plenty of
assistance outside. The charge is wilful murder over that affair at
Streatham. Shall I call a cab for you?"
Lopez nodded. As he passed out of the house Isa Benstein went to the
telephone again, and called up the office of the _Evening Banner_. There
was a hurried conversation, then the communication was cut off. It
seemed to Mrs. Benstein that she had every reason to be pleased with her
evening's work. "It would be good to see Frobisher's face when he knows
that," she said. "And he will know to-night."
It was getting late now, but some of the evening papers were running
extra specials. There had been a big railway accident in the North, and
there was a little capital out of that. Frobisher heard the raucous cry
of the boys as he came out of his club. He was restless and ill at
ease; he could not sit down and contemplate the beauty of his orchids
to-night.
"Terrible accident," a boy screamed as he passed. "More about the
Streatham 'orror. Arrest of Paul Lopez to-night. Arrest of the missing
witness. Speshul."
"Here, boy, let me have a paper," Frobisher called out. "Never mind the
confounded change. Give me a paper, quick." His hand trembled as he
took the still damp sheet, his legs shook as he made his way back to the
quietude of the conservatory. He must see to this at once.
Yes, there it was, a few short pregnant lines to the effect that Paul
Lopez had been arrested by Inspector Townsend a little after nine that
night. It looked cold and bald enough in print, but it thrilled the
reader to his marrow.
"The fool!" he hissed. "The fool had no money to get away with. Why
didn't he come to me or send? I'd have given him all he wanted if it
had been half my fortune."
*CHAPTER XXVIII.*
*NEMESIS.*
Frobisher raged furiously up and down the conservatory for a time.
Everything seemed to have gone wrong with him all at once. His
favourite clay pipe would not draw; as he jammed a cleaner down the stem
angrily it came away in his hand. The case of spare pipes he could not
find anywhere. It crossed his imagination suddenly that some of the
more delicate orchids in the roof were looking a little stale. He
touched the gauge of the automatic steam-pipe that threw off vapour at
regulated intervals and found it out of order. He shook the spring tap
angrily as a terrier might shake a rat.
"Confound the thing," he cried. "Everything seems to be wrong to-night.
Here is a job for Hafid."
Hafid came in trembling at the long ring of the electric bell. He had
not seen his master in such a dark mood for many a day. Why had he not
come before? Where had the fool been? Hafid bowed before the storm.
"I'm going out, you congenial idiot," Frobisher muttered. "Something
has gone wrong with the automatic steam-tap in the conservatory. Turn
it on for a minute at eleven o'clock and again at twelve if I am not
back. As you value your skin, don't forget it."
Hafid bowed again, and his lips formed hoarse words that Frobisher could
just hear.
"Take it and burn it, and destroy it," he said. "Take it and burn it,
and----"
"You chattering simian," Frobisher cried. He sprang on Hafid and shook
him till his teeth chattered. "You besotted ass. Are you going to do
what I say or not?"
Hafid abased himself and promised by the name of the Prophet. There was
a slight hiss in the conservatory beyond that Frobisher did not notice.
There was nothing wrong with the steam-valve, after all; perhaps it had
stuck somewhere for a moment, but at any rate it was working again now.
But Frobisher was too passionately angry to see that.
"Eleven o'clock," he commanded. "Don't forget the time. Now find my
pipes for me. Find them in a minute, or I'll kick you from here to your
kennel."