The Cardinal Moth
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"That was very neatly done," Parkford said to the Shan. "It was a pleasure to see Frobisher's face. You saw me pass my cheque over to Mrs. Benstein, who will hand it to her husband. If you take my advice you will allow me to deposit the Blue Stone with my bankers for the present. I am going that way, and I shall see that it is all safe."
"Put it where you like," the Shan said, recklessly. "It's all the same to me, knowing as I do that I have an honest man to deal with. This rigid virtue of mine is undermining my constitution. I'll go off to the club, and try and get a game of bridge. Dine with me to-night, Denvers?"
Denvers excused himself on the plea of urgent business; besides, it was strongly probable that His Highness of Koordstan would be beyond entertaining by dinner-time.
"You've got our dusky friend out of a tight place," Harold suggested.
"So I suppose," Parkford said, indifferently. "I like this kind of intrigue, and I have a fancy for acting unofficially for the Government. Sometimes the hobby proves expensive, sometimes the information is valuable. In this case I am going to make a good thing out of it. I am very glad, for your sake, that you told Lord Rashburn all about it. It's given me a grip upon the Shan, and I'll see that you get your concessions. But we must discuss that another time."
Harold went on his way with hope rising high within him. He began to see his way clear now, once the mystery of the Cardinal Moth was fathomed. Lefroy passed him presently, and turned into the Belgrave. Harold wondered if this was the friend whom Mrs. Benstein was expecting.
It was. Lefroy came up to the table where Mrs. Benstein was seated and took a chair by her side. There was no smile of welcome on her face.
"I am charmed to come at your summons," the Count said, placidly.
"That is very good of you," Mrs. Benstein said. "Whether you remain in that frame of mind is quite another matter. I asked you to meet me here because my time is limited, and I have business close by. As you see from the table I have had guests to luncheon."
"I envy them from the bottom of my soul," Lefroy murmured.
"I would not waste envy on some of them, Count. For instance, Frobisher and Hamid Khan. The Shan of Koordstan came here as my guest; he put off important affairs of State to please me. But I was thoughtful. I said that Hamid Khan should come on here and bring the papers that he required sealing with him."
"The documents that required the impress of the Blue Stone?" Lefroy asked.
"The same. Here is the wax cool and hard now upon the Limoges plate, and with which the deed was done. On the whole it was an interesting ceremony, and nobody was more interested than Clement Frobisher. Never has that most beautiful smile been so much in evidence."
Lefroy coloured slightly. He was not so obviously at his ease now.
"Hamid Khan was also deeply moved," Mrs. Benstein went on. "Really, I believe that both of the men I have mentioned expected that the Blue Stone would not be produced in evidence. But it was. And where do you think it came from? You can never guess, of course."
Lefroy muttered something to the effect that his talents did not lie in that direction. He was conscious of a steely glitter in the eyes of the woman he was near.
"Then I had better tell you," she went on. "He took the stone out of a great purple orchid he was wearing. It was all the more strange that just before I broke that very flower from a cluster worn by Miss Lyne. Do you remember placing a cluster of those flowers in her hair at my request last night?"
"I remember that circumstance perfectly well, Mrs. Benstein."
"Well, it was one of the same cluster of flowers. And I feel quite certain now that when at my request you adorned Miss Lyne last night in the conservatory, the Blue Stone was hidden in that very blossom. Does that intelligence appeal to you in any way, Count Lefroy?"
"You are an exceedingly clever woman," the Count said hoarsely, but with sincere admiration. "So that is the way you baffled us last night. And all the time I had actually the Blue Stone in my hand. And I'll swear that Miss Lyne was not in the secret."
"She was not; her face would have betrayed her. Now you can imagine the pleasure with which I watched Sir Clement and Hamid Khan across the luncheon-table. And you call Frobisher a clever man!"
"He is by far and away the cleverest man I ever met, Madame."
"He is nothing of the kind," Mrs. Benstein said contemptuously. "For depth and cunning he has no equal, I admit. But intellect he has little, and imagination none at all. The fellow generally scores because his plots, as a rule, are laid against honest people. But I saw through him from the first. He was going to make use of me – me! I would pit myself against him and win every time. If he had not been prepared to play the bully and the coward last night I would have spared him, but not now. Before long that man will stand in the dock, and take heed lest you stand there by his side."
Mrs. Benstein's voice had sunk to a hissing whisper, her eyes flashed with passion.
"It is hard to know what I have done," Lefroy murmured.
"It would be hard to say what you have not done," was the swift reply. "You, too, were ready last night to apply force to a desperate woman. But I beat you, and it is part of my revenge to tell you how the trick was done. You will never have another chance to get possession of the Blue Stone and ruin the Shan by your plots together with Hamid Khan. You would have made use of me, now I am going to make use of you. Here comes my husband. When he has done with you I shall dictate my terms. Meanwhile, if your nerves are not equal to the strain there are many kinds of wines here."
Lefroy declined the proffered hospitality. He began to feel like one of his own puppets as Benstein nodded ponderously and sat down. The interview had evidently been arranged for.
"I am glad of this opportunity for a little chat," Benstein said, ponderously. His fat cheeks were shaking, his hand was not quite so steady as it might have been. He seemed to be fumbling for something in the capacious pocket of a coat far too large for his bulky figure. "I was going to look you up, but my wife said she would arrange the matter."
"We have had a lot of business transactions together," Lefroy suggested.
"But there is going to be no more, my friend," Benstein said. "You are too dangerous – you are too many for the old man whose sight is not what it used to be. It is about those Koordstan possessions that you pledged with me for a large sum of money. I keep them by me, I regard them as good business, until one day I show them to my wife. And what does she say?"
"It is impossible to hazard the suggestion what so clever a woman would say," Lefroy murmured.
"She says that the whole thing is forgery. Then I look quietly into the matter, and surely enough I find that the whole thing is a forgery. I stand to lose ten thousand pounds. My first impulse is to go off to the police and ask for a warrant to issue against you. When you take my money you take part of my body. Still, if you pay me the money now, I say nothing further."
Lefroy nodded thoughtfully. He was not in the least abashed; he made no attempt to deny the truth of Aaron Benstein's accusation. He would have to find the money, but how, was quite another matter.
"If you give me a little time," he said, "I shall hope to see my way."
"Ah! ah! – a little time – seven years perhaps the Judge will say. But I leave it to my wife – she is the clever one. My dear, what shall I do?"
"At the present moment put on your hat and go back to the City," Mrs. Benstein said. "I fancy I shall know how to deal with Count Lefroy. You can't have your money back and your revenge as well. I fancy you can safely leave me to settle matters."
Aaron Benstein was certain of it. He beamed proudly at his wife and kissed his fingers as he put on his hat and most obediently waddled out of the room. For a long while neither party at the table spoke.
"I'm afraid that I don't quite understand you," Lefroy ventured at length.
"You are not meant to understand me," Isa Benstein retorted. "For the present you are going to be my puppet and dance when I pull the strings. Play me fair, and you shall not suffer for the wrong you have done my husband; play me false, and you shall stand in the dock within an hour after. Come, sir, it is the turn of the woman towards whom you and another scoundrel last night would have shown personal violence had you dared. For the present I shall be content with plain replies to plain questions. Do you know from whence Frobisher obtained the Cardinal Moth?"
"I am not quite sure, but I can give a pretty good guess," Lefroy said.
"We shall come to that presently. Was Manfred well acquainted with the properties of that accursed flower?"
"I should say not. Of course he had a good idea of its value and what one could do with it."
"Quite so. Then I suppose that I am correct in assuming that on the night of his death Manfred was party to a conspiracy to steal the orchid from Sir Clement Frobisher; in other words, he acted as your agent, and he was killed in the act of purloining the flower?"
Lefroy wriggled uneasily and muttered something. But Mrs. Benstein pinned him firmly down.
"I shall abandon you to your fate unless you speak frankly," she said. "Was Manfred trying to steal the Cardinal Moth when he met with his death?"
"You may take that for a fact," Lefroy said, as if the words were dragged from him.
"Very good. Manfred was going to steal the Moth which previously had been stolen by Sir Clement's agent from somebody else. Who sold the Moth to Sir Clement?"
"I am not quite certain, but I believe it was Paul Lopez," said Lefroy.
Mrs. Benstein rose from her seat, and flicked a solitary crumb from her dress. On the whole she did not seem displeased with the day's work.
"Enough for the present," she said. "Take me out and see me into a swift taxi."
CHAPTER XXV
A STRIKING LIKENESS
Frobisher had passed a bad night, and he looked as if he were likely to have an equally unpleasant morning. A small dealer out St. Alban's way claimed to have found three new orchids in his last speculative parcel, and Frobisher had set his mind on seeing them before some other soulless and selfish collector stepped in. But a slip of blue paper, humorously accompanied by a shilling, told him that his presence was imperative at the adjourned inquest on the body of the man unknown, who had been found murdered in the greenhouse at Streatham.
"Now what possible connection can I have with that?" he grumbled, as he ate his breakfast. "It was bad enough for Manfred to thoughtlessly lose his life in my conservatory: And here's a letter from George Arnott. He has a great deal of complaint about you, Angela."
"I am properly flattered by his consideration," Angela said coldly.
"Oh, that's all very well, young lady. But you are going to marry George Arnott all the same. That young scoundrel Denvers had better make the most of his time."
"He will do that without any encouragement from you," Angela replied. "Mr. Arnott is an unspeakable little cad, and I would as soon marry your butler. Indeed, I insult the butler by comparison."
An ugly smile crossed Frobisher's face, but he carried the conversation no further. He was puzzled and bewildered, and neither feeling was palatable. He had been outgeneralled by a woman, and the reflection was bitter. But he was going to have his own way over this matter, as Angela would discover.
"Mr. Arnott to see you, sir," the butler announced. "In the library, sir."
Arnott seemed to be anxious about something. He was fussing up and down the library with a mass of papers in his hand. His manner was hardly flattering.
"Well, you have made a nice mess of it," he said, "you and Lefroy between you. He's bolted." Frobisher chuckled for the first time since he rose.
"Bet you a penny old Benstein had found out all about those forgeries," he said. "Lefroy didn't know that I was au fait as to that transaction. So Lefroy has retired discreetly – urgent business on behalf of the master, and all that kind of thing, eh? That leaves the field clear for us."
"To a certain extent, perhaps. But you won't get the concessions. Hamid Khan has been utterly beaten by Mrs. Benstein and your friend Harold Denvers. It appears that Mrs. Benstein knew Hamid Khan years ago, he being no more of a Koord than you or I. The Shan has dismissed him, and at the present moment is on his way to Paris with Denvers."
A round rasping oath shot from Frobisher's lips. "So that young blackguard was in it," he exclaimed. "I fancied so."
"In it! In it up to his neck. I bribed one of the Shan's servants. Why, Denvers, calling himself Aben Abdullah or some such name, and beautifully disguised, was in your house the night before last at your wife's dance. It was he who stopped your little game and enabled Mrs. Benstein to turn the tables on you. Those concessions are as good as in Denvers' pocket."
"But where did the money come from to get that gem out of Benstein's clutches? I know for a fact that the Shan is desperately hard up for the moment."
"What does that matter?" Arnott asked irritably. "You were at Mrs. Benstein's luncheon-party at the Belgrave yesterday. Who was there besides the actors in the game? You are losing your wits, Frobisher. What do you suppose Parkford was doing there?"
Frobisher slapped his bald head helplessly.
"I never thought of that," he said blankly. "I'd go to Paris myself, only I've got to attend an inquest. Come and dine quietly to-night and discuss the plan of campaign. I shall find some way out yet. Now just you toddle off and keep your tongue between your teeth."
"And what about Miss Lyne?" Arnott asked.
"That's going to be all right – you can safely trust the young lady to me. She doesn't realise what I am capable of. Though why you should want to marry a girl who hates you and despises you from the bottom of her heart is more than I can comprehend. Eight o'clock sharp to-night."
Frobisher travelled down to Streatham a little later, and devoutly hoped that his own evidence would be a matter of form. But the hall in which the inquest was to be held was crammed with curious onlookers, for the dual sensation caused by two mysterious deaths under similar circumstances had not been forgotten by the public. Frobisher but rarely glanced at the newspapers except The Times, or he would have known that "the orchid mystery," as it had been called, was the sensation of the hour. Only by the aid of two friendly policemen did he reach a seat in court.
The proceedings were drawing on, evidence of a formal nature only being called at present. Frobisher nodded to Inspector Townsend, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance.
"Something horribly nasty about perspiring humanity," he said. "I should like to turn a garden-hose on to the gallery yonder. What on earth do you want me for, Townsend?"
Townsend admitted that there might be one or two points on which Sir Clement's evidence might prove material. He was not quite sure what the barrister for the authorities had in his mind. Frobisher glanced at his watch from time to time impatiently; he had forgotten his surroundings utterly, when the sound of his own name brought him back to the present with a start. Leisurely and with perfect self-possession he entered the box and was sworn.
"I want to ask you a few questions," the Crown counsel said. "You have read something of the case, Sir Clement?"
"I have heard of it, though I am afraid I shall be of very little use to you."
"We shall see. This man, whom I shall call the unknown for the reason that he has not yet been identified, was found dead, murdered in a greenhouse at Streatham. He had been strangled by means of a hair rope twisted about his neck and pulled tight with great force from behind."
"That you are perfectly sure of?" Frobisher said with a suggestion of a grin.
"At any rate, it will serve for a theory at present. In that greenhouse, upon the authority of Thomas Silverthorne, was a valuable orchid which had been placed there by a stranger some time before. After the murder of the unknown that orchid had absolutely disappeared."
"Very strange," Frobisher said indifferently, "but of no particular interest to me."
"Perhaps we shall make it more interesting presently," Counsel retorted. "We are inclined to believe that two people were after the orchid – the man who was killed and the man who killed him and took the orchid away. The plant must have been singularly valuable and possibly unique in its way to induce a crime like this. The whole thing is very strange and singular, and it is rendered more so by the fact that a precisely similar crime was committed in your conservatory the same night. You have valuable orchids, Sir Clement?"
Frobisher nodded. He was not quite so cool now, and an irritating lump was working at the back of his throat. His quick mind began to see what was behind these apparently innocent questions.
"I have probably the finest collection in England," he replied.
"Many of them would tempt a thief, I suppose?"
"Well, I dare say. There are orchid collectors all over the world, you see. Once a man gets hold of that passion it seldom leaves him. A valuable stolen orchid would be a marketable commodity."
"The same as stolen books or prints, eh? The commercial morality of all collectors is supposed to be low. What you mean to say is that an orchid of repute would be bought by some collectors well knowing that it had been obtained by questionable means?"
"I've no doubt about it," Frobisher admitted. "I have known such cases."
"Then here we have a motive for the crime. Let me refer to your own case for a moment. What do you suppose Mr. Manfred was doing in your conservatory at the time he died? He refused to dine under plea of a headache; he was supposed to be lying down, and yet he was found dead near your flowers. Do you think he was after one of them?"
"The inference is a fair one," Frobisher said, guardedly.
Counsel smiled as he stroked his moustache. He was getting to the point now.
"Did you or do you suspect Mr. Manfred was after a particular plant?" he asked.
Frobisher started. He saw the trap instantly. The smiling little man with the bland questions knew a great deal more than he had told as yet. He was not so much asking questions as inviting the witness to make admissions. He had been primed doubtless by Mrs. Benstein and Denvers. The lump in the back of Frobisher's throat grew large, the easy smile flickered and died on his face.
"I have a score that are almost unique," he said. "Under the circumstances – "
Counsel waved the point aside. His experience told him that he was alarming his witness. He started on another tack which was destined to be even more disturbing to Frobisher's peace of mind.
"Let me put it another way," he said in his silkiest manner. "We are pretty certain that a valuable orchid was stolen from Streatham. You tell me that commercial morality among collectors is not high, and that a plant like that would be a marketable commodity. Would you buy it, for example?"
"I would go a long way in that direction," Frobisher said with a touch of his old cynicism.
"You would! Now I am going to ask you a direct question. I need not tell you the hour at which the unknown was murdered at Streatham because you know that as well as I do. Now since that time have you added to your collection an orchid of extraordinary interest?"
Frobisher gasped. He had not expected the question. He was like a man who suddenly sees before him a deep and yawning precipice in the path of flowers. And the chasm was so deep and yawning that he could not see to the bottom of it. He hesitated and stammered.
"I certainly bought a valuable orchid the same night," he admitted.
"Ah! Now we are getting on, indeed. The orchid you bought was unique!"
"Well, that is a fair description of it. Nothing like it has been seen before."
"An orchid the like of which has never been seen before! Come, this is very interesting. Can you tell us if the plant in question has any particular name?"
"It is called 'The Cardinal Moth,'" Frobisher admitted slowly. The words seemed to be dragged from him; he half wondered what had become of his voice. "It came originally from Koordstan."
"Stolen," the Counsel cried. "The orchid, sir, is unique. It was used to guard the Temple of Ghan. It is supposed to possess certain sinister qualities. Criminals who were sent into the place where the Moth hung never came out alive, they always died, as the two unhappy men whose cases we have under consideration perished. The sentence was to pluck a flower from the Cardinal Moth. The flowers were plucked, and when the great gates were thrown back the criminal was dead, strangled. Sir Clement, I presume that you knew all about this before you purchased the Cardinal Moth the other night."
"Every collector of intelligence knows the story," Frobisher admitted.
"So when the treasure came in your way you could not resist the temptation of purchase. Now, pray be careful. Did you not buy the Cardinal Moth about an hour or two, say, after the unknown was found murdered in that conservatory at Streatham?"
Frobisher wiped his shining head; his hand was shaking slightly.
"If you put it that way, I did," he said. "It was brought to me and offered for sale that night and I bought it."
"What did you give for it?"
Frobisher gaped open-mouthed at the question. It came back to him with sudden force that he had not given anything for the Moth at all, he had only promised for Lopez's sake to tell a lie and stick to it. Counsel rapped sharply on the table before him.
"I asked you what you gave for the Cardinal Moth?" he exclaimed.
"A trifle," Frobisher admitted. "Well, nothing in money at all. You see, the man who sold it to me – "
"Can you see the man in court? Look round and let us know if he is here."
Frobisher slowly looked round the court, not so much to find Lopez as to regain his own scattered wits.
CHAPTER XXVI
A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR
Frobisher passed a handkerchief over his shining head slowly, with a feeling that he was going through the ordeal of a Turkish bath. It was a long time before he was quite sure that the vendor of the Cardinal Moth was not in court. The little questioner smiled as Frobisher shook his head. Evidently he had a powerful reserve behind him. He switched off on to another track presently.
"You know all about the history of the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.
"Every collector does," Frobisher replied. "It has been known for centuries. Times out of number adventurers have tried to obtain the whole plant, or, at any rate, a small portion of it, but without success. Generally the attempt has ended in disaster to the adventurers."
"You mean that usually they have been killed?"
"Precisely. They have died of strangulation as – as Mr. Manfred did."
"Quite so. You don't suggest that there is anything Satanic or diabolical about the Moth? No cruel force from an unseen world, or anything of that kind?"
"Certainly not," Frobisher said with the suspicion of a sneer. "Although such a thing is firmly believed in Koordstan and elsewhere."
"Then there is some trick, some danger. Now, Sir Clement, listen to me carefully. You knew all about this strange fatality that clings to the Cardinal Moth, you know that Mr. Manfred met his death by that terrible way, and that tragedy at Streatham was more or less a repetition of the thing that happened under your roof. You can't deny that."
"Have I made any attempt to do so?" Frobisher retorted.
"I didn't suggest anything of the kind," Counsel snapped. "But I do say 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.