"I can assure you," I told her, "I am not out for that sort of thing at
all."
"But it will come," she persisted.
"It will not," I contradicted her firmly. "I have done all the killing I
want to, in fair fighting. I have a weakness for adventures, but nothing
would induce me to become an assassin."
She looked at me contemplatively, leaning across from her chair with her
chin balanced upon her hands. Then she got up and brought me a queer
round wooden box of fragrant Russian cigarettes. She herself lit one,
and I followed her example.
"Are you afraid, dear earnest Englishman," she asked, "that I should
hate you? Let me tell you the truth. For this man I have no love any
more. And he must die."
"He may live or he may die," I answered, "but I am no man's
executioner."
"We shall see," she remarked indifferently. "You are a just man, beyond
a doubt, but I like you. You are different from all others."
"In what respect?" I enquired.
"I admit you here," she replied, "to the intimacy of a private visit,
yet you have not yet suggested that you should become my lover. It
intrigues me, this diffidence."
I felt a sudden desire to get out of the room. She laughed at me,
laughed with simple, unaffected mirth, laughed till she came over and
laid her hands upon my shoulders.
"Go away, dear man," she begged, "before I make myself foolish about
you. You shall sit at my side to-night, and perhaps then, when you see
what others think of me, you may whisper different things."
"And where do I sit by your side to-night?" I asked.
"You and your two friends," she said, "sup with me in the restaurant
downstairs at midnight. Convey my compliments and this invitation to
your charming lady companion. I shall see her at the theatre and will
confirm it."
She gave me her fingers and held them for a moment against my lips. Then
I went out, a little dazed.
I began to fear that Naida was going to make trouble for me. At the
theatre that evening she demanded my constant attendance. Twice she sent
notes to my dressing room, and in the midst of the tumultuous applause
which followed her wonderful dancing, when she stood in the wings with
us after her seventh recall, she tore one of the red roses which had
been thrown on to the stage from its cluster, and thrust it in my
buttonhole.
"So!" she whispered. "They will know from whom that rose comes. Your
fingers will caress it when you sing. They will applaud you the more for
my sake."
This was all very pretty and soothing to my vanity, and, I frankly
admit, in its way pleasant, but I had all the time the feeling that it
was likely to bring trouble upon me. When, in her most charming manner,
Naida had issued her invitation to Rose, her enthusiastic acceptance
was entirely marred for me by the manner of it.
"A supper party will be perfectly delightful," Rose declared, smiling
with dangerous sweetness. "I have a little headache to-night but that
will pass. In any case you will not mind if Leonard--if Mr. Cotton
should bring me away early."
"So long as you do not rob me of my dear cavalier," Naida replied, to my
dismay, squeezing my arm.
I marched Leonard on one side, taking advantage of the insistent roars
of recall which drew Naida back on to the stage.
"Look here, Len," I said, "I don't know what this game is, but I'm
playing it for the three of us. I am obeying orders so far as
Mademoiselle Naida is concerned. If Rose won't see it, I shall rely upon
you."
"I'll do my best, old chap," he promised, with a gloom which I fancied
was not altogether natural. "It's a jolly hard situation, though. Rose
had asked me to take her out to supper to-night, and to dinner on Sunday
night."
"You can count that dinner off," I said firmly. "We three have dined
together every Sunday night since we started out. Sometimes it's been a
scrag of mutton and a glass of beer; once or twice--that week at Cromer,
Len--not even that. On Sunday night it's going to be caviare and a
Maryland chicken, and I'm in it."
"That's all right," Leonard assured me. "Of course, Rose thought that
you'd be in attendance on Naida."
"You and I won't have any misunderstanding, at any rate, Len," I
insisted. "Naida means just as much to me as that bit of fluff on your
coat. When our year is up, I shall ask Rose to marry me, and though
you're the dearest fellow in the world, I hope she'll have me and not
you."
"I sha'n't take advantage, old chap," Leonard promised, with a sigh,
"but it's getting filthily difficult. She pretended she wanted me to
kiss her last night."
"I'll punch your head if you do," I answered savagely. "Our call."
The supper party did not improve matters. We found quite a
distinguished little gathering in the foyer of the Milan, including the
managing director of the Parthenon, some of the best known dramatic
critics, a famous actor and his wife, another and a lady who might have
been, a foreign ambassador, and two other well-known and distinguished
men about town. Naida did her duty by placing a very distinguished
nobleman with cosmopolitan tastes upon her right, but, to my secret
dismay and the wonder of the rest of the company, she insisted upon my
occupying the seat on the other side of her.
"Now," she whispered, looking at me from under her eyelashes with that
slow, curious smile upon her lips, "I have made the little lady jealous,
is it not so? And also the great managing director who pays me my
salary, and perhaps others. But what does it matter? You are content?"
The lie came uneasily from my lips. Naida, however, seemed satisfied. It
was borne in upon me now that it was her deliberate purpose, part of the
game, in fact, not only to exploit me as a victim of her charms but to
practically advertise her simulated infatuation. I watched Rose flirting
desperately with a very attractive man who was seated upon her left, and
for a moment I felt that the situation was impossible--that I should do
best to mutter a few plain words to my hostess and deliberately
dissociate myself from the rôle into which I had drifted. Then I
remembered our chief's confidence--Naida spoke to me with unexpected
kindness. I caught the echo of Rose's unnecessarily joyous laughter, and
I changed my mind. Thenceforth I played my part. I lent myself to the
gaiety of the moment. We were all young together. The wine was good,
life was good, the very music seemed playing us down the avenues of
pleasure. From a gay party we became almost an uproarious one. We moved
outside into the lounge for our coffee, Naida never letting me for an
instant leave her side, relegating to me the duties of host, thrusting
her pocketbook into my hand, insisting that I should order the cigars
and liqueurs, fee the waiters, and even sign the bill on her behalf.
There were many smiles amongst the little company, shrugs of the
shoulders, and whispered enquiries as to my identity. My fictitious
position seemed to make me an object of envy, but I never altogether
lost my head. I waited for my opportunity, and when it came I rose
quickly to my feet and walked over to Rose's side. Her companion of the
moment had been summoned away to speak to some acquaintances in another
part of the lounge.
"Rose," I began sternly----
She looked at me with a bright but artificial smile. I leaned down and
continued under my breath.
"I play the buffoon to order," I reminded her. "You, too, have your part
in this."
"Indeed?" she murmured.
"Yes! Your part is not to make mine more difficult. Your part is to
remember----"
Then I stopped short. It was a difficult position. There was my contract
with Leonard to be borne in mind.
"To remember what?" she asked, looking at me more naturally.
"The things of which your heart assures you," I answered. "I am only
human. If I fail to-night, the fault will not be wholly mine."
After that there was a change in Rose's demeanour, and once, when our
eyes met, she smiled. Naida, however, still played her part of
sorceress. She seemed impatient of every word she was forced to speak to
others. She whispered often in my ear. Even her fingers sought mine. It
was just at this stage that for the first time I noticed the somewhat
singular appearance of a man who was watching us from the few seats
upstairs reserved for guests of the hotel who were not in evening dress.
As though he sought concealment, he had found a chair in the most remote
corner and was half hidden by a slight projection of the wall. He had a
mass of black hair, a heavy, sallow face, from which one formed the idea
that he had recently removed a beard, and dark staring eyes. He was
untidily dressed for his surroundings, amongst which he seemed curiously
out of place. An impulse prompted me to point him out to Naida. She
glanced in the direction I indicated but merely shrugged her shoulders.
"Dear friend," she whispered, "you forget that I am a famous person,
more so abroad than in your little island. There are many who watch me
with thoughts in their heart which they will never dare to utter. There
are many who would give a share of their possessions to be seated where
you are seated, to be treated as I am treating you."
"The man is a foreigner, without a doubt," I remarked.
"And foreigners," she answered, with a stabbing little glance, "are
quicker to feel and understand than Englishmen."
We kept the party going until long past closing time, and then an
adjournment of our diminished numbers was made to Naida's suite. Here
she distributed signed photographs to her remaining guests, accompanied
by a wave of the hand which meant dismissal. Rose and Leonard were
amongst the first to leave, Rose with a look in her eyes which might
have meant anything. I stepped quickly forward. Naida looked at me
warningly. Now that we had left the lounge, it seemed to me that her
demeanour had to some extent changed.
"For your impatience, Monsieur Maurice," she said, "you will be the
last. Offer the cigarettes, if you please. And your friend Mr. Cotton,
will he not take a whisky and soda before he goes?"
One by one they drifted away. Rose and Leonard were driven home by one
of the former's new admirers. The time came when we were alone. Naida
listened to the closing of the door and to the clanging of the lift
gate. Then with her back to the table against which she was leaning, she
looked across at me with an odd little smile upon her lips.
"So we are alone, my friend."
"It has that appearance," I admitted, taking one of her cigarettes and
lighting it. "I await your further instructions."
She nodded her head slowly. She seemed to be considering my attitude.
"My further instructions," she mimicked. "Oh, Monsieur Maurice, what a
strange person! Ring the bell on your left, please."
I obeyed. A maid presented herself at once from the inner room. Naida
spoke to her for a moment in some weird language. Then she turned
towards me, yawned and stretched herself.
"Prepare for a shock," she said. "For ten minutes I leave you. You seat
yourself in that easy chair, you take a whisky and soda and the evening
paper, you make yourself at home. You understand?"
"Perfectly," I answered, not at all sorry for a few minutes' solitude.
"Then au revoir! But have no fear," she added, looking back with a
mocking smile, "I shall return."
A quarter of an hour or so passed. I heard Naida telephoning from her
bedroom and heard her voice in conversation with her maid. Then she
reappeared. She was wearing a yellow creation tied around her with a
girdle, Chinese sandals tied with broad yellow ribbon; and her unloosed
hair was gathered together with ribbon of the same colour. She displayed
herself for my admiration.
"You admire, Monsieur Maurice? You like the colour?"
"You look charming," I replied. "And now?"
She held up her finger.
"You are not to stir," she directed, waving her finger at me.
She moved towards the door which led into the corridor, opened it softly
and peered outside. Then, as though not satisfied, she disappeared
altogether. When she returned, she closed the door with a little slam
and threw herself into a chair opposite to me.
"And now?" I repeated patiently.
"It is the hardest part of your task, this, Monsieur Maurice," she said,
with a demure little droop of the eyes. "You see the time? It is exactly
two o'clock. For one hour you remain where you are. At the end of that
hour you are free. You may then leave, and, if you wish it so, your
courtship of Naida is over."
"And for that hour?" I asked, a little unsteadily.
She came and sat on the arm of my chair. Her face was upturned to mine.
"Shall I keep you company?" she whispered.
I leaned down and took the kiss she offered me. I held her for a moment
in my arms. Then I gripped her wrists.
"Naida," I said, and my own voice sounded to me unfamiliar, "of course I
know this is a game, but I don't understand the rules."
"We make them," she murmured.
"I am in love with Rose Mindel," I continued. "I should be married to
her at the present moment but for a stupid agreement between Leonard
Cotton and myself, made when we three started out together. I am in love
with her, but I'm no Joseph. You know what you are, and your power. I'm
not any different from other men."
"But you do not care, then?" she asked quickly.
"There isn't any ordinary young man of my type," I answered, "who has
drunk your wine and sat by your side all the evening, and received your
kindness, and finds himself here alone with you, who wouldn't care--in a
way--the wrong way. I care like that, if it's any good. And now you
understand."
She slipped from her place, kissed me on both eyes, and ran across to
the door of the inner room. She looked back at me only for a moment,
opened her lips, said nothing, and disappeared, closing the door softly
behind her. I mixed myself the stiffest whisky and soda I had ever
concocted in my life, lit a cigar from a box I found on the sideboard,
and sat down to watch the clock.
At five minutes to three, I was walking up and down the room with my
overcoat on. At a minute to the hour, as I stood with my eyes glued to
the clock, the inner door softly opened. Naida stood framed upon the
threshold. There was a look of distress upon her face.
"Monsieur Maurice," she said, "I had made up my mind to say nothing, but
that was wrong. You are a very honourable young man and I have not met
many. It has been promised to me that no harm shall come to you, but
yet--go warily to the lift."
She disappeared and closed the door. For the first time she locked it.
Somehow, I felt, as I stepped out into the corridor, that the dangers
which might be waiting for me were small things. I stood for several
seconds, looking up and down. To reach the lift I had to traverse the
whole of the corridor, turn to the left and pass along another shorter
one. I stepped out carelessly enough, and then--the scantily lit passage
seemed suddenly filled with whispering voices, with eyes peering at me
from mysterious corners; the soft carpets behind me were reverberant
with muffled and stealthy footsteps. I was acutely conscious of the
presence of danger. As I neared the corner of the corridor every nerve
of my body was bristling with apprehension. Before I turned, I paused
for a moment and looked behind. There was only a single electric lamp
burning, but I could see dimly along the empty space to the end. There
was no sign of any moving figure, nor any sound. Then I turned the
corner to find myself suddenly seized in a pair of giant arms, the dull
flicker of upraised steel before my eyes, the sallow, brutelike face,
the black, flaming eyes of the man who had watched me from the lounge,
within an inch or two of me.
I had no chance to call out. My assailant's left hand was upon my
throat. I could see him gathering strength to drive that knife down
into my heart. My brain was perfectly active. I waited with tense
muscles for the terrible moment, meaning to fling myself on one side in
the hope that I might escape mortal injury from that first blow, at any
rate. And then I saw something loom up behind. I saw an arm raised even
higher than my captor's, and I heard the wickedest sound in life--the
crash of dull metal into a man's skull. The grasp upon my throat was
instantly relaxed, doors were thrown open along the corridor, and I sank
back into a momentary fit of unconsciousness.
* * * * *
If our customary supper party with Mr. Thomson lacked some of those
qualities which in the earlier days of our adventures had made it so
wonderful a thing, the change of venue, and our host's curious genius in
devising new dishes, still contrived to make the occasion a memorable
one. We met this time in a private room at the Hotel Albion at Brighton,
whither a telephone message had summoned us earlier in the day. Mr.
Thomson, spick and span as ever, looking in the pink of condition,
commended to us the best oysters in the world and sipped almost
reverently the contents of a dust-covered bottle of Chablis.
"I am not sure," he told us, with the air of one imparting grave
knowledge, "that in these days it is not possible to find better
vintages out of London than one comes across even in the restaurants de
luxe. This wine, for instance."
"The wine is wonderful," Rose agreed. "These oysters are wonderful, too,
and I never saw such a lobster mayonnaise as that upon the sideboard.
But, dear Mr. Thomson, if you expect us to enjoy our supper, do be
merciful. There will be no waiter in the room for at least five minutes.
Give us some idea as to the meaning of this last adventure."
Mr. Thomson smiled benevolently.
"Why not?" he said. "Here is the story in a very few words. There was in
London, ten days ago, the most dangerous anarchist and political
disturber of the peace in Europe. His name is a household word to all of
you. He passed here as Paul Kansky."
"Naida's lover," I ventured.
"As a matter of fact, her husband," Mr. Thomson explained. "His removal
was absolutely necessary for the internal peace of this country. There
were a hundred charges on which he could have been arrested, but not one
for which he could have been safely put out of the way. Being at times
open to accept a contract of this nature, I undertook to dispose of
him."
I shivered a little as I listened. Mr. Thomson continued very much as
though he were referring to some ordinary commercial undertaking.
"Kansky's one weakness was Naida Modeschka, his one passion jealousy.
With the aid of our young friend here, I succeeded in fanning that
passion into a red-hot flame. I succeeded, too, in engineering such an
attempt at wilful murder on the part of Kansky that his own demise,
owing to the apparently accidental intervention of a casual rescuer,
seemed to occur quite naturally. You behold the result of an exceedingly
well-laid scheme. This mischievous person is dead and buried under the
name he bore at the Milan Hotel, and which the great world of his
followers does not recognise."
"Then my rescuer," I exclaimed, "John P. Martin, the American Oil Trust
man----"
"Precisely," Mr. Thomson interrupted. "Mr. Martin was my agent, a man of
iron and a professional fighter, planted in room number eighty-four,
with instructions to intervene on your behalf in such a way that Kansky
could give no more trouble."
"And those other two men who gave evidence--the witnesses?"
"Also arranged for," Mr. Thomson acknowledged. "It was really a very
well-planned affair. The man Kansky's passion for Naida was proved by
the letters produced in court. His attack upon our young friend here
provided ample excuse for Mr. Martin's vigorous action. The witnesses,
of course, were able to declare that Kansky was in the act of committing
a probable murder, and that Martin's contra attack, with its unfortunate
results, saved your life."
"And Naida?" Rose enquired.
Mr. Thomson smiled.
"How should we be able to deal with these little affairs," he observed,
"but for the vagaries, my dear Miss Mindel, of your wonderful sex? Naida
was a very willing accomplice in our little scheme. For seven years in a
brutalised Russia she had lived under that man's dominance. When she was
fortunate enough to escape over here, it was certainly not with the idea
of again submitting to it. I hear the waiter. Any more questions?"
"For whom were you acting?" I asked eagerly. "How did this affair come
into your hands?"
Mr. Thomson seemed to be listening to the roar of the sea, which came to
us pleasantly through the open window.
"Ah!" he murmured. "That again is a question the answer to which I fear
must be postponed. Shall we call it Conundrum Number Four?"