MORE OF THE BEES
Of the real palpitating horror of the situation only three people round
the table knew the true inwardness. They were Tchigorsky and Ralph and
Mrs. May. Geoffrey guessed much, and probably Marion could have said a
deal had she cared to. Her face was smiling again, but the uneasy,
haunted look never left her eyes. And all through the elaborate,
daintily served meal Mrs. May never glanced at the girl once.
And yet, here under the Ravenspur roof, partaking of the family
hospitality, was the evil itself. Ralph smiled to himself grimly as he
wondered what his father would say if he knew the truth.
Once or twice as he spoke Mrs. May glanced at him curiously. She was
herself now; she might have been an honored guest at that table for
years.
"Your face is oddly familiar to me," she said.
"I regret I cannot say the same," Ralph replied. "I am blind."
"But you have not always been blind?"
"No. But my misfortune dates back for a number of years. It is a matter
that I do not care to discuss with anybody."
But Mrs. May was not to be baffled. She had an odd feeling that this man
and herself had met before. The face was the same, and yet not the same.
"Were you ever in Tibet?" she asked.
"I had a brother who once went there," Ralph replied. "I am accounted
like him. It is possible you may have met my brother, madam."
The speech was sullen, delivered with a stupid air that impressed Mrs.
May that she had nothing to fear from him. And yet the words had a
curious effect on her. Her face changed color and for the first time she
glanced at Marion. The girl was trembling; she was ashy grey to her
lips. Tchigorsky, observing, smiled.
"Tibet is a wonderful country," he said, "and Lassa a marvelous city. I
had some of my strangest experiences there. I and another man, since
dead, penetrated all the secrets of the Holy City. It was only by a
miracle that I escaped with my life. But these I will carry to my
grave."
He indicated the scars on his face. Vera was profoundly interested.
"Tell me something of your adventures there," she said.
"Some day, perhaps," Tchigorsky replied. "For the most part they were
too horrible. I could tell you all about the beasts and birds and
insects. I see you have some bees outside, Miss Vera. Did you ever see
Tibet bees?"
"Are they different to ours?" Vera asked.
Tchigorsky glanced up. Mrs. May was regarding him with more than a
flattering interest. A slight smile, almost a defiance, parted her lips.
Marion was looking down at her plate, crumbling a piece of bread
absently. "Some of them," said Tchigorsky. "Some are black, for
instance. I have a place in Kent where I dabble in that kind of thing. I
have a few of the bees with me."
Tchigorsky took a small box from his pocket and laid it on the table.
Vera inspected the black bees for a moment and then handed them back to
Tchigorsky.
By accident or design he let the box fall, the lid flew open, and
immediately half a dozen sable objects were buzzing in the air.
A yell of terror broke from Mrs. May, a yell that rang to the roof. She
jumped to her feet only to sink again with the pain of the injured limb.
She seemed to have lost all control of herself; she turned and
addressed Tchigorsky in some liquid tongue that conveyed nothing to any
one except that she was denouncing the Russian in a fury of passionate
anger.
Geoffrey had risen, too, greatly alarmed. From the head of the table,
Ralph Ravenspur coolly demanded to know what it was all about.
"The man is mad," Mrs. May screamed. "He is a dangerous lunatic. Those
are the black bees of Tibet. They are the most fearsome of insects. Ah!"
One of the droning objects dropped on her hand, and she yelled again.
She was a picture of abject and pitiable terror.
"I am doomed, doomed," she moaned. "Killed by a careless madman."
"Is there any danger?" Geoffrey demanded.
Only the life led among so many perils caused the family to wait calmly
for the next and most dramatic development. Perhaps the way in which
Tchigorsky was behaving gave them confidence. If he was a madman, as
Mrs. May asserted, then the madman was wonderfully calm and placid.
"You are alarming yourself unnecessarily," he said. "See here."
He reached over and took the bee from Mrs. May's arm. The insect had
become entangled in her sleeve and was buzzing angrily.
"The little creature is furious," he said. "As a matter of fact, they
are always more or less furious. If there is any danger there is danger
now."
He held the bee lightly in his hand. Then he released it.
"The stings have been removed," he said. "I bred these myself, and I
know how to treat them. I am sorry to have caused a disturbance."
He spoke with serious, earnest, politeness, but there was a mocking
light in his eyes as he turned upon Mrs. May. Nobody had a thought or a
glance for anybody else, and the spectacle of Marion lying back half
fainting in her chair passed unnoticed.
"Then they are usually dangerous?" Vera asked.
"My dear young lady, they are dreadful," Tchigorsky explained. "They
invade other nests and eat the honey as they might have invaded your
hives. By way of experiment I tried one of these on your hives to-night,
and your bees seemed to recognize an enemy at once. They all deserted
their hives and not one of them has returned. As some amends for what I
have done I am going to send you two of the finest swarms in England."
Vera shuddered.
"I shall never want to see a bee again," she said.
Once more the eyes of Tchigorsky and Mrs. May met. She knew well that
Tchigorsky was talking at her through the rest, and that in his own
characteristic way he was informing her that the last plot had failed.
With a queer smile on her face she proceeded to peel a peach.
"You are so horribly clever," she said, "that I feel half afraid of you.
But I don't suppose we shall meet again."
"Not unless you come to Russia," said Tchigorsky, "whither I start
to-morrow. But I am leaving my affairs in competent hands."
Again was the suggestion of a threat; again Mrs. May smiled. The smile
was on her face long after the three most interested in the tragedy had
left the dining hall and gone to the billiard room for a smoke.
"Are you really leaving us?" Geoffrey asked.
"I want Mrs. May to imagine so," said Tchigorsky. "In a day or two her
spies will bring her information that I have left England. As a matter
of fact, I have succeeded in tapping a vein of information that has
baffled me for a long time.
"Still, I am not going away and my disguise will be the one you saw me
in. If luck goes well I shall be attached to Mrs. May in the character
of a native servant before long. So if you see any suspicious-looking
Asiatic prowling about, don't put a bullet into him, for you may kill
me by mistake."
Geoffrey smiled and promised.
"That was a rare fright you gave Mrs. May over the bees," he said. "How
did you manage it?"
Tchigorsky smiled as he lighted a cigarette.
"I stole them from the woman's spare supply," he said. "I have been all
over her possessions to-day. I almost suffocated the horrible little
things and removed their stings. Of course, they won't live many hours.
I did it in a spirit of mischief, intending to release them in my lady's
own sitting room. I couldn't resist the temptation to try her nerves
to-night."
"You are getting near the truth?" Geoffrey asked.
"Very near it. We want certain evidence to bring the whole gang into the
net, and then we shall strike--if they don't murder us first. But----"
The speaker paused as Vera entered the room.
"Where is Mrs. May?" Geoffrey asked.
"She has gone to her room," Vera explained. "Her foot is so painful that
she has decided to accept an invitation to spend the night here."
"Good," Tchigorsky muttered. "It could not have been better."