That night, Nigel gave a dinner party on Maggie's account at the
fashionable London hotel of the moment. Invitations had been sent out by
telephone, by hurried notes, in one or two cases were delivered by word
of mouth. On the whole, the acceptances, considering the season was in
full swing, were a little remarkable. Every one was anxious to come,
because, as one of her girl friends put it, no one ever knew what Maggie
was going to be up to next. One of the few refusals came from Prince
Shan, and even he made use of compromise:
_My dear Lord Dorminster, will you forgive me if in this instance I
do not break a custom to which I have perhaps a little too rigidly
adhered. The Prime Minister telephoned, a few minutes after we left
him, asking me to meet two of his colleagues from the Foreign
Office to-night, and I doubt whether our conference will have
concluded at the hour you name._
_However, if you will permit me, I will give myself the pleasure of
joining you later in the evening, to make my adieux to those of my
friends whom I am quite sure I shall find amongst your company._
_Sincerely yours_,
SHAN.
Maggie passed the note back with a little smile. She made no comment
whatever. Nigel watched her thoughtfully.
"I have carried out your orders," he observed. "Everything has been
attended to, even to the colour of your table decorations. Now tell me
what it all means?"
She looked him in the face quite frankly.
"How can I?" she answered. "I do not know myself."
"Is this by way of being a farewell party?" he persisted.
"I do not know that," she assured him. "The only thing is that if I do
decide--to go--well, I shall have had a last glimpse of most of my
friends."
"As your nearest male relative, in fact your guardian," Nigel went on,
with a touch of his old manner, "I feel myself deeply interested in your
present situation. If a little advice from one who is considerably your
senior would be acceptable--"
"It wouldn't," Maggie interrupted quietly. "There are just two things in
life no girl accepts advice upon--the way she does her hair and the man
she means to marry. You see, both are decided by instinct. I shall know
before dawn to-morrow what I mean to do, but until then nothing that
anybody could say would make any difference. Besides, your mind ought to
be full of your own matrimonial affairs. I hear that Naida is talking
of going back to Russia next week."
"My own affairs are less complex," Nigel replied. "I am going to ask
Naida to marry me--to-night if I have the opportunity."
Maggie made a little grimace.
"There goes my second string!" she exclaimed. "Nigel, you are horribly
callous. I have never been in the least sure that I haven't wanted to
marry you myself."
Nigel lit a cigarette and pushed the box across to his companion.
"I've frequently felt the same way," he confessed. "The trouble of it is
that when the really right person comes along, one hasn't any doubt
about it whatever. I should have made you a stodgy husband, Maggie."
She sniffed.
"I think that considering the way you've flirted with me," she declared,
"you ought at least to have given me the opportunity of refusing you."
"If Naida refuses me," he began--
"And I decide that Asia is too far away," she interrupted--
"We may come together, after all," he said, with a resigned little sigh.
"Glib tongue and empty heart," she quoted. "Nigel, I would never trust
you. I believe you're in love with Naida."
"And I'm not quite so sure about you," he observed, watching the colour
rise quickly in her cheeks. "Off with you to dress, young woman. It's
past seven, and we must be there early. I still have the wine to order."
The dinner party was in its way a complete success. Prince Karschoff was
there, benign and distinguished; Chalmers and one or two other young men
from the American Embassy. There was a sprinkling of Maggie's girl
friends, a leaven of the older world in Nigel's few intimates,--and
Naida, very pale but more beautiful than ever in a white velvet gown,
her hair brushed straight back, and with no jewellery save one long rope
of pearls. Nigel who in his capacity as host had found little time for
personal conversation during the service of dinner, deliberately led her
a little apart when they passed out into the lounge for coffee and to
watch the dancing.
"My duties are over for a time," he said. "Do you realise that I have
not had a word with you alone since our luncheon at Ciro's?"
"We have all been a little engrossed, have we not?" she murmured. "I
hope that you are satisfied with the way things have turned out."
"Nothing shall induce me to talk politics or empire-saving to-night," he
declared, with a smile. "I have other things to say."
"Tell me why you asked us all to dine so suddenly," she enquired. "I do
not know whether it is my fancy, but there seems to be an air of
celebration about. Is there any announcement to be made?"
He shook his head.
"None. The party was just a whim of Maggie's."
They both looked across towards the ballroom, where she was dancing with
Chalmers.
"Maggie is very beautiful to-night," Naida said. "I could scarcely
listen to my neighbour's conversation at dinner time for looking at her.
Yet she has the air all the time of living in a dream, as though
something had happened which had lifted her right away from us all. I
began to wonder," she added, "whether, after all, Oscar Immelan had not
told me the truth, and whether we should not be drinking her health and
yours before the evening was over."
"You could scarcely believe that," he whispered, "if you have any memory
at all."
There was a faint touch of pink in her cheeks, a tinge of colour as
delicate as the passing of a gleam of sunshine over a sea-glistening
shell.
"But Englishmen are so unfaithful," she sighed.
"Then I at least am an exception," Nigel answered swiftly. "The words
which you checked upon my lips the last time we were alone together
still live in my heart. I think, Naida, the time has come to say them."
Their immediate neighbours had deserted them. He leaned a little
towards her.
"You know so well that I love you, Naida," he said. "Will you be my
wife?"
She looked up at him, half laughing, yet with tears in her eyes. With an
impulsive little gesture, she caught his hand in hers for a moment.
"How horribly sure you must have felt of me," she complained, "to have
spoken here, with all these people around! Supposing I had told you that
my life's work lay amongst my own people, or that I had made up my mind
to marry Oscar Immelan, to console him for his great disappointment."
"I shouldn't have believed you," he answered, smiling.
"Conceit!" she exclaimed.
He shook his head.
"In a sense, of course, I am conceited," he replied. "I am the happiest
and proudest man here. I really think that after all we ought to turn it
into a celebration."
The band was playing a waltz. Naida's head moved to the music, and
presently Nigel rose to his feet with a smile, and they passed into the
ballroom. Karschoff and Mrs. Bollington Smith watched them with
interest.
"Naida is looking very wonderful to-night," the latter remarked. "And
Nigel, too; I wonder if there is anything between them."
"The days of foreign alliances are past," Karschoff replied, "but a few
intermarriages might be very good for this country."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Absolutely! I would not suggest anything of the sort with Germany, but
with this new Russia, the Russia of which Naida Karetsky is a daughter,
why not? Although they will not have me back there, Russia is some day
going to lay down the law to Europe."
"I wonder whether Maggie has any ideas of the sort in her mind," Mrs.
Bollington Smith observed. "She seems curiously abstracted to-night."
Chalmers came grumblingly up to Mrs. Bollington Smith, with whom he was
an established favourite.
"Lady Maggie is treating me disgracefully," he complained. "She will
scarcely dance at all. She goes around talking to every one as though it
were a sort of farewell party."
"Perhaps it may be," Karschoff remarked quietly.
"She isn't going away, is she?" Chalmers demanded.
"Who knows?" the Prince replied. "Lady Maggie is one of those strange
people to whom one may look with every confidence for the unexpected."
She herself came across to them, a few moments later.
"Something tells me," she declared, "that you are talking about me."
"You are always a very much discussed young lady," Karschoff rejoined,
with a little bow.
She made a grimace and sank into a chair by her aunt. She talked on
lightly enough, but all the time with that slight suggestion of
superficiality which is a sign of strain. She glanced often towards the
entrance of the lounge, yet no one seemed less disturbed when at a few
minutes before eleven Prince Shan came quietly in. He made his way at
once to Mrs. Bollington Smith and bent over her fingers.
"It is so kind of you and Lord Dorminster," he said, "to give me this
opportunity of saying good-by to a few friends."
"You are leaving us so soon, Prince?"
"To-morrow, soon after dawn," he replied, his eyes wandering around the
little circle. "I wish to be in Pekin, if possible, by Wednesday, so my
_Dragon_ must spread his wings indeed."
He said a few words to almost everybody. Last of all he came to Maggie,
and no one heard what he said to her. There was no change in his face as
he bent low over her fingers, no sign of anything which might have
passed between them, as a few minutes later he turned to one side with
Nigel. Maggie held out her hand to Chalmers. The strain seemed to have
passed. Her lips were parted in a wonderful smile, her feet moved to the
music.
"Come and dance," she invited.
They moved a few steps away together, when Maggie came to an abrupt
standstill. The two stood for a moment as though transfixed, their eyes
upon the arched entrance which led from the restaurant into the lounge.
A man was standing there, looking around, a strange, menacing figure, a
man dressed in the garb of fashion but with the face of a savage, with
eyes which burned in his head like twin dots of fire, with drawn, hollow
cheeks and mouth a little open like a mad dog's. As his eyes fell upon
the group and he recognised them, a look of horrible satisfaction came
into his face. He began to approach quite deliberately. He seemed to
take in by slow degrees every one who stood there,--Maggie herself and
Chalmers, Naida, Nigel and Prince Shan. He moved forward. All the time
his right hand was behind him, concealed underneath the tails of his
dress coat.
"Be careful!" Maggie cried out. "It is Oscar Immelan! He is mad!"
Some of the party and many of the bystanders had shrunk away from the
menacing figure. Naida stepped out from among the little group of those
who were left.
"Oscar," she said firmly, "what is the matter with you? You are not well
enough to be here."
He came to a standstill. At close quarters his appearance was even more
terrible. Although by some means he had gotten into his evening clothes,
he was only partly shaven, and there were gashes in his face where the
hand which had held his razor had slipped. The pupils of his eyes were
distended, and the eyes themselves seemed to have shrunk back into their
sockets. His whole frame seemed to have suddenly lost vigour, even
substance. He had the air of a man in clothes too large for him. Even
his voice was shriller,--shriller and horrible with the slow and bestial
satisfaction of his words.
"So here you are, the whole nest of you together, eh?" he exclaimed.
"Good! Very good indeed! Prince Shan, the poisoner! Dorminster, enjoying
your brief triumph, eh? And you, Naida Karetsky, traitress to your
country--deceiver--"
"That will do, Immelan," Nigel interrupted sharply. "We are all here.
What do you want with us?"
"That comes," Immelan replied. "Soon you shall all know why I have come!
Let me speak to my friend Shan for a moment. I carry your poison in my
veins, but there is a chance--just a chance," he added slowly, with a
horrible smile upon his lips, "that you may go first, after all."
Nigel made a stealthy but rapid movement forward, drawing Naida gently
out of the way. Immelan was too quick, however. He swung around, showing
the revolver which he had been concealing behind him, and moved to one
side until his back was against one of the pillars. By this time, most
of the other occupants of the ballroom had either rushed screaming away
altogether, or were hiding, peering out in fascinated horror from the
different recesses. The chief maître d'hôtel bravely held his ground and
came to within a few paces of Immelan.
"We can't have any brawling here," he said. "Put that revolver away."
Immelan took no notice of the intervener, except that for a single
moment the muzzle yawned in the latter's face. The maître d'hôtel was a
brave man, but he had a wife and family, and after all, it was not his
affair. There were other men there to look after the ladies. He hurried
off to call for the police. Almost as he went, Prince Shan stepped into
the foreground. His voice was calm and expressionless. His eyes, in
which there shone no shadow of fear, were steadily fixed upon Immelan.
He spoke without flurry.
"So you carry your own weapons to-night, Immelan," he said. "That at
least is more like a man. You seem to have a grievance against every
one. Start with me. What is it?"
There were some of them who wondered why, at this juncture when he so
clearly dominated his assailant, Prince Shan, whose courage was superb
and whose _sang froid_ absolutely unshaken did not throw himself upon
this intruder and take his chance of bringing the matter to an end at
the moment when the man's nerve was undoubtedly shaken. Then they looked
towards the entrance, and they understood. Creeping towards the little
gathering came Li Wen and another of the Prince's suite, a younger and
even more active man. The two came on tiptoe, crouching and moving
warily, with the gleam of the tiger in their anxious eyes. Maggie caught
a warning glance from Nigel and looked away.
"You are my murderer!" Immelan cried hoarsely. "It is through you I
suffer these pains! I am dying of your accursed poison!"
"If that were true," Prince Shan replied, with the air of one willing to
discuss the subject impartially, "might I remind you of Sen Lu, who died
in my box at the Albert Hall? For whom was that dagger thrust meant,
Immelan? Not for the man whom you had bought to betray me, the only one
of my suite who has ever been tempted with gold. That dagger thrust was
meant for me, and the assassin was one of your creatures. So even if
your words were true, Immelan, and the poison which you imagine to be in
your body were planted there by me, are we less than quits?"
Immelan's lie was unconvincing.
"I know nothing of Sen Lu's death," he declared. "I employ no assassins.
When there is killing to be done, I can do it myself. I am here to-night
for that purpose. You have deserted me at the last moment, Prince
Shan--played me and my country false for the sake of the English woman
whom you think to carry back with you to China. And you," he added,
turning with a sudden furious glance at Naida, "you have deceived the
man who trusted you, the man who sent you here for one purpose, and one
purpose only. You have done your best to ruin my scheme. Not only that,
but you have given the love which was mine--mine, I say--to another--an
Englishman! I hate you all! That is why I, a dying man, have crawled
here to reap my little harvest of vengeance.--You, Naida--you shall be
first--"
Naida was suddenly swung on one side, and the shot which rang out passed
through Nigel's coat sleeve, grazing his wrist,--the only shot that was
fired. Prince Shan, watching for his moment, as his two attendants threw
themselves upon the madman from behind, himself sprang forward, knocked
Immelan's right hand up with a terrible blow, and sent the revolver
crashing to the ground. It was a matter of a few seconds. Immelan, when
he felt himself seized, scarcely struggled. The courage of his madness
seemed to pass, the venom died out of his face, he shook like a man in
an ague. Prince Shan kicked the revolver on one side and looked
scornfully down upon him, now a nerveless wreck.
"Immelan," he said, "it is a pity that you did not wait until to-morrow
morning. You would then have known the truth. You are no more poisoned
than I am. If you had been in China--well, who knows? In England there
is so much prejudice against the taking of a worthless life that as a
guest I subscribed to it and mixed a little orris-root tooth powder
with your vermouth."
The man's eyes suddenly opened. He was feverishly, frantically anxious.
"Tell me that again," he shrieked. "You mean it? Swear that you mean
it."
Prince Shan's gesture as he turned away was one of supreme contempt.
"A Shan," he said, "never needs to repeat."
There was the bustle of arriving police, the story of a revolver which
had gone off by accident, a very puzzling contretemps expounded for
their benefit. The situation, and the participants in it, seemed to
dissolve with such facility that it was hard for any one to understand
what had actually happened. Prince Shan, with Maggie on his arm, was
talking to the leader of the orchestra, who had suddenly reappeared. The
former turned to his companion.
"It is not my custom to dance," he said, "but the waltz that they were
beginning to play seemed to me to have a little of the lure of our own
music. Will you do me the honour?"
They moved away to the music. Chalmers stood and watched them, with one
hand in his pocket and the other on Nigel's shoulder. He turned to
Naida, who was on the other side.
"Nothing like a touch of melodrama for the emotions," he grumbled. "Look
at Lady Maggie! Her head might be touching the clouds, and I never saw
her eyes shine like that when she danced with me."
"You don't dance as well as Prince Shan, old fellow," Nigel told him.
"And the Prince sails for China at dawn," Naida murmured.