The Cardinal Moth
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In the card-room the Shan was just finishing a rubber of bridge. He had won a considerable sum of money, and was in the best of spirits. As two of the players quitted the table, Harold drew his pseudo-master aside.
"You are not going to play again," he said, curtly, "you are coming home. If you refuse to come home I shall take no further interest in your affairs. Do you hear?"
The Shan nodded sulkily. Like the spoilt child that he was, he had no heed for the morrow. But Denvers' stern manner was not without its effect. He wanted a glass or two of champagne first, but Denvers fairly dragged him into the street. There was no car waiting, so perforce they had to walk.
"You're carrying it off with a high hand," the Shan growled. "Anybody would think you had the Blue Stone safe in your pocket. Have you done anything?"
"I have done a great deal; on the whole, it has been a most exciting evening. Still, so far as things go I am quite satisfied with myself. The rest depends upon you. It will be your own fault if you don't see your own back to-morrow. No drink, mind; you are to go to bed quite sober."
"Confound you!" the Shan flashed out, passionately. "Do you know who I am? A servant like yourself – "
"I am no servant of yours," Harold replied. "And I know quite well who you are. You are a dissolute, drunken fool, who is doing his best to bring himself to ruin. And I am doing my best to save you at a price. If you like to go your own way you can."
The Shan muttered something that sounded like an apology.
"You see, I am greatly worried about the Stone," he said. "The Stone and the Moth. You promised to tell me to-night where the Moth had vanished to."
"The Moth is hanging up in Sir Clement Frobisher's conservatory," Harold Denvers said. "Frobisher would have shown it to you to-night only he had a more interesting game to play. It is the very plant that was stolen from Streatham. You can imagine the price Frobisher would ask for its restoration. You would grant the price, and then he would have found some way to repudiate all the wicked story of that infernal flower."
"Of course I do, my dear chap," said the Shan, now thoroughly restored as to his temper. "It has been whispered fearsomely round firesides in Koordstan for a thousand years. The Cardinal Moth guarded the roof of the Temple of Ghan. All the great political criminals were sentenced to climb to the roof and pick a flower from the Moth. The door was closed and the temple seen to be empty. When the priests outside had finished their prayer the door was open and the criminal lay on the floor dead with the marks of great hairy hands about him. Sometimes it was the neck that was broken, sometimes the chest was all crushed in as if a great giant had done it, but it was always the same. Ay, they dreaded that death more than any other. It was so mysterious, horrible."
"And you have no idea how it was done?" Harold asked.
"Not a bit of it. The priests kept that secret. Of course they pretend to something occult, but I have been in the West too long to believe that. Still, it is pretty horrible."
"You would perhaps like to know how it is done?"
"Of course I should, Denvers. The priests are too cunning for that."
"Doubtless. All the same, I know how it is done, and, what is more to the point, Frobisher knows. It was the way that Manfred died, also that poor fellow at Streatham. And, but for a miracle, Mrs. Benstein, with your sacred jewel presumedly in her possession, would have been a further victim. Frobisher deliberately planned the last thing to close the mouth of a woman."
The Shan's eyes fairly rippled with curiosity, but Harold shook his head.
"Not yet," he said. "I must be absolutely certain of my facts first. Now I am going to see you into bed, and come round to keep you out of mischief in the morning. Meanwhile, I am going to restore myself to a Christian garb and call up Sir James Brownsmith, late as it is. Between us we might be able to put all the pieces together."
To his great satisfaction, Harold saw his dusky friend not only in bed, but fast asleep before he had finished his own change. Everything seemed to promise fair for the morrow. It was past two, and Harold hurried along in the direction of Harley Street, and he was glad to see a gleam over the fanlight of the surgeon's front door. He was pulling the bell for the second time when Sir James Brownsmith appeared.
"What do you want?" he asked, testily. "A consulting physician like myself – "
"How is Mrs. Benstein?" Harold asked coolly. The question was quite effective. "When I saw you a little time ago, Sir James, I passed as one of the Shan's suite. Clothed and in my right mind, I am Mr. Harold Denvers, at your service. I have the solution of the Manfred mystery in my pocket."
"And altogether I have no doubt that you are a most remarkable young man," Sir James said. "Pray come in. I ought to be in bed, but I have not the faintest inclination for sleep. Come in."
Brilliant lights gleamed in Brownsmith's cosy study, where books and scientific instruments made up the bulk of the furniture. The famous surgeon proffered cigarettes what time he looked keenly into the face of his younger companion. He lighted one of the thin paper tubes himself.
"I am just from Mrs. Benstein's house," he explained. "I saw her alone, her husband knows nothing; it is her great desire that he should know nothing, that the matter should be kept a profound secret, in fact."
"It must be," Harold exclaimed. "Not a word of it must leak out. You made a certain examination of the wound. What did you find? Was there any blood?"
"I'm not quite sure. When I came to wash the arm there was no blood there. But there were the fibres of the rope, and they seemed to be impregnated with blood the same as those from the throat of Manfred, and the body of that poor fellow who was strangled at Streatham."
"Are you quite sure that it is blood, Sir James?"
"Well, I could hazard the suggestion, though I have not made a careful analysis yet. No blood on the victim, but blood on the strands of the rope. Strange, isn't it?"
"If it were true, yes," Harold said, dryly. "But it isn't. Look here, Sir James."
From the vest-pocket of his dress-clothes Harold took one wilted bloom of the Cardinal Moth. He crushed it between his fingers, and immediately they were covered with a rosy sticky bright red substance exactly like blood. No paint or pigment of any kind could have counterfeited the original so well.
"Well, that's interesting," Sir James cried. "I see your meaning. When the victim was strangled one or two of those amazing blooms must have been twisted round the rope."
"In other words, the rope that did the mischief was the rope that held up the Cardinal Moth," Harold said. "It was the same at Streatham; it was the same with poor Manfred; according to your own showing, Mrs. Benstein met with her accident under precisely similar circumstances."
Sir James rose and walked up and down the room in a fit of unusual excitement.
"You mean to infer that it was not an accident at all?" he asked.
"You have precisely taken in my meaning, Sir James. The Cardinal Moth is at the bottom of the whole thing. I must tell you a little of its history. The Cardinal Moth is unique amongst flowers; for centuries it guarded, or was supposed to guard, the Temple of Ghan. It had magical powers: it was used for the destruction of political prisoners. They were shut in with it to pick a flower, and always were they found dead, crushed to death. This part is no legend, as the Shan of Koordstan will tell you.
"The fame of the orchid got whispered about, and many were the tries to get it. At last a party of three men managed it; they divided the orchid in three parts and fled. Frobisher was with one part, and narrowly got off with his life at Stamboul. Lefroy got away with another part, but he lost it and almost his life as well in a fire at Turin, a fire that was no accident. The third man vanished, but his orchid remained intact till I came across it and brought it to Streatham, when it was stolen. My idea was to give it back to the Shan of Koordstan in exchange for certain concessions."
"Do you know who stole the plant from Streatham?" Sir James asked.
"I have a very shrewd idea," Harold said. "But that we can go into later. At the present moment I want to show you a little experiment, and when I have done so you will know as much as I do about the mystery. I am going to prove to you that the Cardinal Moth has been a terrible power in the hands of the priests of Ghan, but I am also going to prove that the power is exercised in quite a mechanical way. To-night I managed to bring away a very small piece of the rope that sustains the Cardinal Moth. You see, it is exceedingly dry and hard, and yet under certain conditions it thickens up like a cheap sponge. We will tie this end to this leg of the table and that end to the other leg, leaving it to sway a little, and not making it too tight."
Harold tied the rope as he had indicated under the eyes of Sir James, who watched him with breathless attention. The thing looked so simple, and yet there was a strange mystery behind it all, a mystery that was about to be explained. The two knots were made tight at length.
"Now, despite the warmth of the night, I shall have to get you to light a fire," Harold said. "It is absolutely necessary that we should boil a kettle."
"No occasion to do that," Sir James said. "You shall have your kettle in five minutes. See here."
From under the table he produced a copper electric kettle, filled it, and plunged the plug into the wall. In a little less than five minutes a long trail of steam issued from the spout. By reason of the long flex Harold could carry the kettle from place to place without cutting off the connection, so that the water continued all the time to boil and fizzle.
"Now watch this," he said. "I place this jet of steam under the rope here, and there you are! The effect is practically instantaneous. See what a simple thing it is." Sir James jumped back, horror and enlightenment in his eyes. His voice shook as he spoke.
"Infernal! Diabolical!" he cried hoarsely. "And you mean to say that Frobisher knew this! Damnable scoundrel; he is not fit to live, still less to die."
CHAPTER XXIII
A LUNCH AT THE BELGRAVE
Mrs. Benstein received Denvers as arranged the next morning as if the events of the previous night had been forgotten. She was looking wonderfully fresh and bright; a tailor-made gown fitted her figure to perfection. She motioned Denvers to a chair.
"I am glad you came," she said. "Now you are to please listen to me carefully and put the past out of your mind altogether. Since I saw you last night I have learnt a great deal touching the history of the Blue Stone of Ghan."
"Which I trust is quite safe," Harold murmured.
"Oh quite," Mrs. Benstein said, with a queer little smile. "I have even satisfied my husband on that point, though he has not yet recovered from the shock of your visit – I mean the visit of yourself and the Shan last night. You want to borrow the stone for a day or so?"
"That was the suggestion we ventured to make, Mrs. Benstein."
"For the purpose of throwing dust in the eyes of certain persons who are interested in an attempt to deprive the Shan of his throne. Mind, that is merely surmise, but I fancy it is correct. But I may tell you that my husband could never have hardened his heart to that extent."
"It doesn't matter now," Harold explained. "We are in a position to redeem the gem. Of course, under the circumstances, I need not conceal anything from your Mr. Gerald Parkford – "
"Capital!" Mrs. Benstein cried. "His name is good enough for anything. Now the path is quite clear. I want you and Miss Lyne to lunch with me at two o'clock at the Belgrave. The Shan must come along, that is imperative. He is to leave a note for his minister Hamid Khan to join him there at that meal, and bring the document that requires sealing along. Also I am going to ask Sir Clement Frobisher; only I want Hamid Khan to be a little late. Do you understand?"
"Most brilliant of mysteries; I'll try to," Harold smiled. "And the Blue Stone – "
"The Blue Stone will be in evidence when the time comes. See Mr. Parkford and ask him to bring that cheque along. My husband is too ill to attend to business to-day, so I shall transact it for him."
"He has had a great deal on his mind the last few hours," Harold smiled.
"That is it, Mr. Denvers. A corner in rubies, so to speak. Now will you go and settle up this business for me without delay? I understand that the Shan wants looking after if one desires to keep him in a condition to bestow his mind on business affairs."
"I'll take the hint and my departure," Harold laughed. "I suppose you have written all your notes. And I quite forgot to ask if you feel any the worse for last night's adventure."
Mrs. Benstein had written all her notes, and on the whole she felt little inconvenience from her accident.
"Not that I am at all satisfied," she said. "Mr. Denvers, I was in great danger last night?"
"Terrible danger!" Harold said gravely. "But I have got to the bottom of the mystery now, and the same thing is not likely to happen again. I can't tell you now; in fact, if I did there would be no luncheon-party at the Belgrave to-day. But your curiosity will not be unduly tried."
By the use of the telephone and a cab, Harold managed to carry out Mrs. Benstein's desires. Parkford was waiting in his chambers, having just breakfasted.
"I expected you," he said. "Any news of the ruby?"
"Mrs. Benstein says it is all right," Harold replied. "She wants you to lunch with her at two at the Belgrave, and I was to ask you to put the cheque in your pocket. It sounds flighty and very unbusinesslike, but there are other matters mixed up with this one, and Mrs. Benstein is not the woman to do a thing of this kind without some very good reason. Will you come?"
"With pleasure," Parkford replied, "and bring the cheque along. Before very long an invitation from Mrs. Benstein will confer a mark of distinction."
The ruler of Koordstan was dressing as Denvers arrived, and suggesting something in the way of champagne and soda-water as a means of an appetite for breakfast. He had gone to bed painfully sober for him, and he resented the interference of Harold accordingly.
"'Pon my word, you seem to forget yourself," he said. "If a man can't do as he likes in my position – "
"It is precisely a man in your position who cannot do as he likes," Harold said coolly. "Leave that stuff alone till after lunch, when you can do as you please. If you want your stone back – "
"I had forgotten all about the confounded thing!" the Shan growled. "Let me see, what had you arranged? I was so interested in my bridge last night that I forgot all about it. Wasn't there a man called Parkford who promised to do something to get me out of my scrape?"
"He promised a cheque," Harold explained. "He is ready to redeem the stone for us, and Mrs. Benstein has promised that it shall be produced at the proper time. I have seen her already this morning, and she wants you to join her luncheon-party at the Belgrave at two."
"Count me in!" the Shan said eagerly. "A monstrous fine woman, Denvers; and a beautiful one, into the bargain. But you forget I promised to see Hamid Khan here in an hour's time."
"Well, you are not going to meet him here," Harold said. "Mrs. Benstein has got some little scheme on, and I am here an involuntary ally in the matter. You will be good enough to leave a note here for Hamid Khan, explaining that you have been called out on business, or pleasure, or whatever you like; so that Hamid Khan is to meet you at the Belgrave at two for luncheon, after which you will seal his papers. This is not my idea, but Mrs. Benstein's. I am looking forward to a very pretty comedy presently."
The Shan scrambled off his note and presently departed with Harold, who had no intention of losing sight of his dusky friend till the luncheon-party was over. To the Shan's suggestion of the club and billiards he assented, but to a feeble suggestion of modest liquids he turned a deaf ear. On the whole, Denvers was glad to find himself on his way to the Belgrave.
Mrs. Benstein had already arrived, accompanied by Angela. She had fetched the latter, she explained, so that she would have no time for an excuse. A spray of the Cardinal Moth flashed and trembled on Mrs. Benstein's breast; the same spray of purple orchid that Angela had worn the night before in her hair, was tucked into her belt. Mrs. Benstein was frank and easy and charming as usual, but there was just a touch of colour in her cheeks, and her eyes had a brighter sparkle than usual.
"I have managed everything myself," she cried, gaily. "I have even arranged the flowers on the table. A strange thing, is it not, that we English people can arrange flowers!"
"Ah, here is Mr. Parkford."
Parkford came up, alert, quick, and self-possessed as usual. Denvers gave him an inquiring glance, at which he smiled and tapped his breast-pocket significantly.
"No flowers, any of you!" Mrs. Benstein cried in affected surprise. "Here is one for Mr. Parkford, and there is one for Mr. Denvers. Positively, I see nothing of the shade to suit the colouring of His Highness the Shan. Ah, here is the very thing! Excuse me, Miss Lyne."
The speaker bent down and broke off a little spray of one blossom of the purple orchid from Angela's belt, and herself fixed it in the lapel of the Shan's immaculate coat.
"Who can say that it is not in perfect taste?" she cried. "It is the very shade. We will sit down, and unless Sir Clement Frobisher turns up in time we will proceed without him."
Angela looked a little disappointed at the mention of Frobisher's name. A couple of waiters busied themselves over the table, a basket of gold-foiled bottles attracted the Shan's admiring gaze. As the big Empire clock over the doorway of the great red and gold saloon struck the hour Frobisher appeared. He drew up grinning and smiling with perfect self-possession; even the presence of Denvers did not disconcert him. He affected to ignore Harold altogether. But though he smiled, there was just the suggestion of a puzzled pucker between his eyes. There was something going on that he did not understand. He made a mental note of the fact that Angela and Denvers were not to meet again.
"A pleasant party," he murmured, "and full of sweet surprises. But I always was partial to a dainty salad. Do you expect any further guests, dear lady?"
"I understand that His Highness the Shan is waiting for someone," Mrs. Benstein murmured. "It is a matter of business, I believe. Is not somebody hunting for you over there, your Highness?"
"Hamid Khan, sure enough," the Shan exclaimed. "He sees us at last. He is coming this way."
Hamid came leisurely along, smiling deferentially as he caught sight of his master. The Shan introduced his minister more or less en bloc as Hamid murmured something. Then his face suddenly changed, a sickly yellow showed under his tan as he looked up and met the slightly-mocking glance of his hostess.
"Hamid Khan and I have met before," Mrs. Benstein said serenely. "It was some years ago, but I have not forgotten."
"Egad, our friend does not duly appreciate his blessings," Frobisher chuckled as his keen eye detected the sickly pallor of the newcomer. "Try one of these liqueurs."
"The heat, the walk in the sun," Hamid murmured. "London often affects me in this way. If my master will excuse me, I will get my business done and go away. My unworthy presence – "
"Luncheon first," Mrs. Benstein gaily cried. "For the sake of old times, I cannot be refused. I confess I am very curious to see that Blue Stone and the way State documents are sealed. You will perform the operation in our presence after luncheon, will you not, Shan?"
The Shan nodded stolidly. If some play was going on he might take his part, he thought, especially with so brilliant a lady to lead him. Frobisher's restless little eyes roved from face to face, but he could read nothing. The meal proceeded gaily enough, the only silent person being Hamid Khan, who seemed restless and ill at ease. Hardly was the coffee on the table before he rose.
"Mrs. Benstein must excuse me," he said. "But I have much to do. If your Highness will produce the stone I will lay out the necessary papers and – "
He shrugged his shoulders. The Shan put down his glass and nodded. It was impossible from his stolid features to guess that he was as utterly puzzled as Frobisher, which was saying a great deal. A sudden silence, a burst of expectation had fallen on the party. A burst of laughter from an adjoining table seemed out of place, incongruous. The papers were crackling under Hamid Khan's shaky hand.
"Has anybody a wax-match?" he asked. "Thank you, sir. I will get the seals ready."
He proceeded with the aid of a vesta to melt a piece of white wax on a plate. These he laid neatly on a round patch on the paper before him.
"And now for the seal," Mrs. Benstein cried gaily. "Pray produce it, your Highness. I hope you are not so indiscreet as to carry it loose in your pocket."
"I have too many enemies for that," the Shan said, carelessly. "I have to hide it carefully – in fact, I ought not to be in the street with it at all. Now guess where it is?"
Mrs. Benstein's eyes fairly caressed the speaker. He wanted an opening lead, and he had contrived to ask for it in such a manner as to utterly throw Frobisher off the scent.
"I fancy I can tell," Mrs. Benstein went on. "Yes, you are not so clever as you imagine. You are like the man who hid his bank-note in his tie, and called the attention of the thieves who dogged him to the fact by tapping the tie nervously all the time. I have seen you glance frequently at the purple orchid in your coat. I guess that the Blue Stone is fixed in the calyx of the orchid."
"A most amazing and clever woman," the Shan murmured as he removed the flower from his coat and looked gravely into the calyx of the bloom. "By the prophet, there is some foreign substance here! I remove it between my thumb and forefinger, and behold the Blue Stone."
A queer cry broke from Frobisher, who instantly suppressed it. Hamid Khan looked up with dilating eyes and shot a glance almost murderous at Frobisher. As to the Shan, he smiled with the air of a man who has brought off some new and brilliant feat of conjuring.
"One of Frobisher's orchids too," he said. "Frobisher, if you drink so fast you'll choke yourself."
CHAPTER XXIV
A WOMAN'S WAY
Frobisher sat there grinning with his teeth showing in a kind of smiling snarl. The shining dome of his head exuded a beady moisture, his hand crooked upon the haft of a dessert-knife, as if it had been a dagger of melodrama. A dog sometimes looks like that when he is being whipped on the chain. Nobody spoke for the moment.
There was not the faintest shadow of triumph on Mrs. Benstein's face. She merely smiled with the delighted air of a child who watched some new and fascinating game. In a businesslike way the Shan reached for Hamid Khan's document and called for the wax.
"That is a very pretty and ingenious hiding-place," Mrs. Benstein said at length. "No enemy would think of looking for it there. Your Highness has many enemies?"
"Ask Hamid Khan yonder," the Shan said crisply. "He can tell you."
The wretched Hamid wriggled and bowed. It was evident that he had been taken quite by surprise. The Shan sealed the documents and carelessly tossed them across the table. The Blue Stone glittered there well within the reach of Frobisher, and his fingers itched for it.
"Put the jewel away," he said hoarsely. "It is dangerous to leave it there."
"A fresh hiding-place," the Shan laughed. "I feel quite nervous. 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.