Chapter VIII: Part 8

Algy Longworth gave a strangled grunt, but Drummond took no notice. For the past half-hour he had been sunk in thought, so much so that the others had believed him asleep. Now, with a quiet smile, he looked up at the German.

"How much, my friend," he remarked, "are you getting for this?"

The German leered at him.

"Enough to see that you to-morrow are here," he said.

"And I always believed that yours was a business nation," laughed Hugh. "Why, you poor fool, I’ve got a thousand pounds in notes in my cigarette-case." For a moment the German stared at him; then a look of greed came into his pig-eyes.

"You hof, hof you?" he grunted. "Then the filthy Boche will for you of them take care."

Hugh looked at him angrily.

"If you do," he cried, "you must let me go."

The German leered still more.

"Natürlich. You shall out of the house at once walk."

He stepped up to Drummond and ran his hands over his coat, while the others stared at one another in amazement. Surely Hugh didn’t imagine the swine would really let him go; he would merely take the money and probably spit in his face again. Then they heard him speaking, and a sudden gleam of comprehension dawned on their faces.

"You’ll have to undo one of the ropes, my friend, before you can get at it," said Hugh quietly.

For a moment the German hesitated. He looked at the ropes carefully; the one that bound the arms and the upper part of the body was separate from the rope round the legs. Even if he did undo it the fool Englishman was still helpless, and he knew that he was unarmed. Had he not himself removed his revolver, as he lay unconscious in the hall? What risk was there, after all? Besides, if he called someone else in he would have to share the money.

And, as he watched the German’s indecision, Hugh’s forehead grew damp with sweat.... Would he undo the rope? Would greed conquer caution?

At last the Boche made up his mind, and went behind the chair. Hugh felt him fumbling with the rope, and flashed an urgent look of caution at the other two.

"You’d better be careful, Heinrich," he remarked, "that none of the others see, or you might have to share."

The German ceased undoing the knot, and grunted. The English swine had moments of brightness, and he went over and closed the door. Then he resumed the operation of untying the rope; and, since it was performed behind the chair, he was in no position to see the look on Drummond’s face. Only the two spectators could see that, and they had almost ceased breathing in their excitement. That he had a plan they knew: what it was they could not even guess.

At last the rope fell clear, and the German sprang back.

"Put the case on the table," he cried, having not the slightest intention of coming within range of those formidable arms.

"Certainly not," said Hugh, "until you undo my legs. Then you shall have it."

Quite loosely he was holding the case in one hand; but the others, watching his face, saw that it was strained and tense.

"First I the notes must have." The German strove to speak conversationally, but all the time he was creeping nearer and nearer to the back of the chair. "Then I your legs undo, and you may go."

Algy’s warning cry rang out simultaneously with the lightning dart of the Boche’s hand as he snatched at the cigarette-case over Drummond’s shoulder. And then Drummond laughed a low, triumphant laugh. It was the move he had been hoping for, and the German’s wrist was held fast in his vice-like grip. His plan had succeeded.

And Longworth and Sinclair, who had seen many things in their lives, the remembrance of which will be with them till their dying day, had never seen and are never likely to see anything within measurable distance of what they saw in the next few minutes. Slowly, inexorably, the German’s arm was being twisted, while he uttered hoarse, gasping cries, and beat impotently at Drummond’s head with his free hand. Then at last there was a dull crack as the arm broke, and a scream of pain, as he lurched round the chair and stood helpless in front of the soldier, who still held the cigarette-case in his left hand.

They saw Drummond open the cigarette-case and take from it what looked like a tube of wood. Then he felt in his pocket and took out a match-box, containing a number of long thin splinters. And, having fitted one of the splinters into the tube, he put the other end in his mouth.

With a quick heave they saw him jerk the German round and catch his unbroken arm with his free left hand. And the two bound watchers looked at Hugh’s eyes as he stared at the moaning Boche, and saw that they were hard and merciless.

There was a sharp, whistling hiss, and the splinter flew from the tube into the German’s face. It hung from his cheek, and even the ceaseless movement of his head failed to dislodge it.

"I have broken your arm, Boche," said Drummond at length, "and now I have killed you. I’m sorry about it: I wasn’t particularly anxious to end your life. But it had to be done."

The German, hardly conscious of what he had said owing to the pain in his arm, was frantically kicking the Englishman’s legs, still bound to the chair; but the iron grip on his wrists never slackened. And then quite suddenly came the end. With one dreadful, convulsive heave the German jerked himself free, and fell doubled up on the floor. Fascinated, they watched him writhing and twisting, until, at last, he lay still.... The Boche was dead....

"My God!" muttered Hugh, wiping his forehead. "Poor brute."

"What was that blow-pipe affair?" cried Sinclair hoarsely.

"The thing they tried to finish me with in Paris last night," answered Hugh grimly, taking a knife out of his waistcoat pocket. "Let us trust that none of his pals come in to look for him."

A minute later he stood up, only to sit down again abruptly, as his legs gave way. They were numbed and stiff with the hours he had spent in the same position, and for a while he could do nothing but rub them with his hands, till the blood returned and he could feel once more.

Then, slowly and painfully, he tottered across to the others and set them free as well. They were in an even worse condition than he had been; and it seemed as if Algy would never be able to stand again, so completely dead was his body from the waist downwards. But, at length, after what seemed an eternity to Drummond, who realised only too well that should the gang come in they were almost as helpless in their present condition as if they were still bound in their chairs, the other two recovered. They were still stiff and cramped—all three of them—but at any rate they could move; which was more than could be said of the German, who lay twisted and rigid on the floor, with his eyes staring up at them—a glassy, horrible stare.

"Poor brute!" said Hugh again, looking at him with a certain amount of compunction. "He was a miserable specimen—but still..." He shrugged his shoulders. "And the contents of my cigarette-case are half a dozen gaspers, and a ten-bob Bradbury patched together with stamp paper!"

He swung round on his heel as if dismissing the matter, and looked at the other two.

"All fit now? Good! We’ve got to think what we’re going to do, for we’re not out of the wood yet by two or three miles."

"Let’s get the door open," remarked Algy, "and explore."

Cautiously they swung it open, and stood motionless. The house was in absolute silence; the hall was deserted.

"Switch out the light," whispered Hugh. "We’ll wander round."

They crept forward stealthily in the darkness, stopping every now and then to listen. But no sound came to their ears; it might have been a house of the dead.

Suddenly Drummond, who was in front of the other two, stopped with a warning hiss. A light was streaming out from under a door at the end of a passage, and, as they stood watching it, they heard a man’s voice coming from the same room. Someone else answered him, and then there was silence once more.

At length Hugh moved forward again, and the others followed. And it was not until they got quite close to the door that a strange, continuous noise began to be noticeable—a noise which came most distinctly from the lighted room. It rose and fell with monotonous regularity; at times it resembled a brass band—at others it died away to a gentle murmur. And occasionally it was punctuated with a strangled snort....

"Great Scott!" muttered Hugh excitedly, "the whole boiling bunch are asleep, or I’ll eat my hat."

"Then who was it who spoke?" said Algy. "At least two of ’em are awake right enough."

And, as if in answer to his question, there came the voice again from inside the room.

"Wal, Mr. Darrell, I guess we can pass on, and leave this bunch."

With one laugh of joyful amazement Hugh flung open the door, and found himself looking from the range of a yard into two revolvers.

"I don’t know how you’ve done it, boys," he remarked, "but you can put those guns away. I hate looking at them from that end."

"What the devil have they done to all your dials?" said Darrell, slowly lowering his arm.

"We’ll leave that for the time," returned Hugh grimly, as he shut the door. "There are other more pressing matters to be discussed."

He glanced round the room, and a slow grin spread over his face. There were some twenty of the gang, all of them fast asleep. They sprawled grotesquely over the table, they lolled in chairs; they lay on the floor, they huddled in corners. And, without exception, they snored and snorted.

"A dandy bunch," remarked the American, gazing at them with satisfaction. "That fat one in the corner took enough dope to kill a bull, but he seems quite happy." Then he turned to Drummond. "Say now, Captain, we’ve got a lorry load of the boys outside; your friend here thought we’d better bring ’em along. So it’s up to you to get busy."

"Mullings and his crowd," said Darrell, seeing the look of mystification on Hugh’s face. "When Mr. Green got back and told me you’d shoved your great mutton-head in it again, I thought I’d better bring the whole outfit."

"Oh, you daisy!" cried Hugh, rubbing his hands together, "you pair of priceless beans! The Philistines are delivered into our hands, even up to the neck." For a few moments he stood, deep in thought; then once again the grin spread slowly over his face. "Right up to their necks," he repeated, "so that it washes round their back teeth. Get the boys in, Peter; and get these lumps of meat carted out to the lorry. And, while you do that, we’ll go upstairs and mop up."

*III*

Even in his wildest dreams Hugh had never imagined such a wonderful opportunity. To be in complete possession of the house, with strong forces at his beck and call, was a state of affairs which rendered him almost speechless.

"Up the stairs on your hands and knees," he ordered, as they stood in the hall. "There are peculiarities about this staircase which require elucidation at a later date."

But the murderous implement which acted in conjunction with the fifth step was not in use, and they passed up the stairs in safety.

"Keep your guns handy," whispered Hugh. "We’ll draw each room in turn till we find the girl."

But they were not to be put to so much trouble. Suddenly a door opposite opened, and the man who had been guarding Phyllis Benton peered out suspiciously. His jaw fell, and a look of aghast surprise spread over his face as he saw the four men in front of him. Then he made a quick movement as if to shut the door, but before he realised what had happened the American’s foot was against it, and the American’s revolver was within an inch of his head.

"Keep quite still, son," he drawled, "or I guess it might sort of go off."

But Hugh had stepped past him, and was smiling at the girl who, with a little cry of joyful wonder, had risen from her chair.

"Your face, boy," she whispered, as he took her in his arms, regardless of the other, "your poor old face! Oh! that brute, Lakington!"

Hugh grinned.

"It’s something to know, old thing," he remarked cheerily, "that anything could damage it. Personally I have always thought that any change in it must be for the better."

He laughed gently, and for a moment she clung to him, unmindful of how he had got to her, glorying only in the fact that he had. It seemed to her that there was nothing which this wonderful man of hers couldn’t manage; and now, blindly trusting, she waited to be told what to do. The nightmare was over; Hugh was with her....

"Where’s your father, dear?" he asked her after a little pause.

"In the dining-room, I think," she answered with a shiver, and Hugh nodded gravely.

"Are there any cars outside?" He turned to the American.

"Yours," answered that worthy, still keeping his eyes fixed on his prisoner’s face, which had now turned a sickly green.

"And mine is hidden behind Miss Benton’s greenhouse unless they’ve moved it," remarked Algy.

"Good," said Hugh. "Algy, take Miss Benton and her father up to Half Moon Street—at once. Then come back here."

"But, Hugh——" began the girl appealingly.

"At once, dear, please." He smiled at her tenderly, but his tone was decided. "This is going to be no place for you in the near future." He turned to Longworth and drew him aside. "You’ll have a bit of a job with the old man," he whispered. "He’s probably paralytic by now. But get on with it, will you? Get a couple of the boys to give you a hand."

With no further word of protest the girl followed Algy, and Hugh drew a breath of relief.

"Now, you ugly-looking blighter," he remarked to the cowering ruffian, who was by this time shaking with fright, "we come to you. How many of these rooms up here are occupied—and which?"

It appeared that only one was occupied—everyone else was below.... The one opposite.... In his anxiety to please, he moved towards it; and with a quickness that would have done even Hugh credit, the American tripped him up.

"Not so blamed fast, you son of a gun," he snapped, "or there sure will be an accident."

But the noise he made as he fell served a good purpose. The door of the occupied room was flung open, and a thin, weedy object clad in a flannel nightgown stood on the threshold blinking foolishly.

"Holy smoke!" spluttered the detective, after he had gazed at the apparition in stunned silence for a time. "What, under the sun, is it?"

Hugh laughed.

"Why, it’s the onion-eater; the intimidated rabbit," he said delightedly. "How are you, little man?"

He extended an arm, and pulled him into the passage, where he stood spluttering indignantly.

"This is an outrage, sir," he remarked; "a positive outrage."

"Your legs undoubtedly are," remarked Hugh, gazing at them dispassionately. "Put on some trousers—and get a move on. Now you"—he jerked the other man to his feet—"when does Lakington return?"

"Termorrow, sir," stammered the other.

"Where is he now?"

The man hesitated for a moment, but the look in Hugh’s eyes galvanised him into speech.

"He’s after the old woman’s pearls, sir—the Duchess of Lampshire’s."

"Ah!" returned Hugh softly. "Of course he is. I forgot."

"Strike me dead, guvnor," cringed the man, "I never meant no ’arm—I didn’t really. I’ll tell you all I know, sir. I will, strite."

"I’m quite certain you will," said Hugh. "And if you don’t, you swine, I’ll make you. When does Peterson come back?"

"Termorrow, too, sir, as far as I knows," answered the man, and at that moment the intimidated rabbit shot rapidly out of his room, propelled by an accurate and forcible kick from Toby, who had followed him in to ensure rapidity of toilet.

"And what’s he doing?" demanded Drummond.

"On the level, guvnor, I can’t tell yer. Strite, I can’t; ’e can." The man pointed at the latest arrival, who, with his nightdress tucked into his trousers, stood gasping painfully after the manner of a recently landed fish.

"I repeat, sir," he spluttered angrily, "that this is an outrage. By what right..."

"Dry up," remarked Hugh briefly. Then he turned to the American. "This is one of the ragged-trousered brigade I spoke to you about."

For a while the three men studied him in silence; then the American thoughtfully transferred his chewing-gum to a fresh place.

"Wal," he said, "he looks like some kind o’ disease; but I guess he’s got a tongue. Say, flop-ears, what are you, anyway?"

"I am the secretary of a social organisation which aims at the amelioration of the conditions under which the workers of the world slave," returned the other with dignity.

"You don’t say," remarked the American, unmoved. "Do the workers of the world know about it?"

"And I again demand to know," said the other, turning on Drummond, "the reason for this monstrous indignity."

"What do you know about Peterson, little man?" said Hugh, paying not the slightest attention to his protests.

"Nothing, save that he is the man whom we have been looking for, for years," cried the other. "The man of stupendous organising power, who has brought together and welded into one the hundreds of societies similar to mine, who before this have each, on their own, been feebly struggling towards the light. Now we are combined, and our strength is due to him."

Hugh exchanged glances with the American.

"Things become clearer," he murmured. "Tell me, little man," he continued, "now that you’re all welded together, what do you propose to do?"

"That you shall see in good time," cried the other triumphantly. "Constitutional methods have failed—and, besides, we’ve got no time to wait for them. Millions are groaning under the intolerable bonds of the capitalist: those millions we shall free, to a life that is worthy of a man. And it will all be due to our leader—Carl Peterson."

A look of rapt adoration came into his face, and the American laughed in genuine delight.

"Didn’t I tell you, Captain, that that guy was the goods?" But there was no answering smile on Hugh’s face.

"He’s the goods right enough," he answered grimly. "But what worries me is how to stop their delivery."

At that moment Darrell’s voice came up from the hall.

"The whole bunch are stowed away, Hugh. What’s the next item?"

Hugh walked to the top of the stairs.

"Bring ’em both below," he cried over his shoulder, as he went down. A grin spread over his face as he saw half a dozen familiar faces in the hall, and he hailed them cheerily.

"Like old times, boys," he laughed. "Where’s the driver of the lorry?"

"That’s me, sir." One of the men stepped forward. "My mate’s outside."

"Good," said Hugh. "Take your bus ten miles from here: then drop that crowd one by one on the road as you go along. You can take it from me that none of ’em will say anything about it, even when they wake up. Then take her back to your garage; I’ll see you later."

"Now," went on Hugh, as they heard the sound of the departing lorry, "we’ve got to set the scene for to-morrow morning." He glanced at his watch. "Just eleven. How long will it take me to get the old buzz-box to Laidley Towers?"

"Laidley Towers," echoed Darrell. "What the devil are you going there for?"

"I just can’t bear to be parted from Henry for one moment longer than necessary," said Hugh quietly. "And Henry is there, in a praiseworthy endeavour to lift the Duchess’s pearls.... Dear Henry!" His two fists clenched, and the American, looking at his face, laughed softly.

But it was only for a moment that Drummond indulged in the pleasures of anticipation; all that could come after. And just now there were other things to be done—many others, if events next morning were to go as they should.

"Take those two into the centre room," he cried. "Incidentally there’s a dead Boche on the floor, but he’ll come in very handy in my little scheme."

"A dead Boche!" The intimidated rabbit gave a frightened squeak. "Good Heavens! you ruffian, this is beyond a joke."

Hugh looked at him coldly.

"You’ll find it beyond a joke, you miserable little rat," he said quietly, "if you speak to me like that." He laughed as the other shrank past him. "Three of you boys in there," he ordered briskly, "and if either of them gives the slightest trouble clip him over the head. Now let’s have the rest of the crowd in here, Peter."

They came filing in, and Hugh waved a cheery hand in greeting.

"How goes it, you fellows," he cried with his infectious grin. "Like a company pow-wow before popping the parapet. What! And it’s a bigger show this time, boys, than any you’ve had over the water." His face set grimly for a moment; then he grinned again, as he sat down on the foot of the stairs. "Gather round, and listen to me."

For five minutes he spoke, and his audience nodded delightedly. Apart from their love for Drummond—and three out of every four of them knew him personally—it was a scheme which tickled them to death. And he was careful to tell them just enough of the sinister design of the master-criminal to make them realise the bigness of the issue.

"That’s all clear, then," said Drummond rising. "Now I’m off. Toby, I want you to come too. We ought to be there by midnight."

"There’s only one point, Captain," remarked the American, as the group began to disperse. "That safe—and the ledger." He fumbled in his pocket, and produced a small india-rubber bottle. "I’ve got the soup here—gelignite," he explained, as he saw the mystified look on the other’s face. "I reckoned it might come in handy. Also a fuse and detonator."

"Splendid!" said Hugh, "splendid! You’re an acquisition, Mr. Green, to any gathering. But I think—I _think_—Lakington first. Oh! yes—most undoubtedly—Henry first!"

And once again the American laughed softly at the look on his face.

*CHAPTER XI*

*IN WHICH LAKINGTON PLAYS HIS LAST "COUP"*

*I*

"Toby, I’ve got a sort of horrid feeling that the hunt is nearly over."

With a regretful sigh Hugh swung the car out of the sleeping town of Godalming in the direction of Laidley Towers. Mile after mile dropped smoothly behind the powerful two-seater, and still Drummond’s eyes wore a look of resigned sadness.

"Very nearly over," he remarked again. "And then once more the tedium of respectability positively stares us in the face."

"You’ll be getting married, old bean," murmured Toby Sinclair hopefully.

For a moment his companion brightened up.

"True, O King," he answered. "It will ease the situation somewhat; at least, I suppose so. But think of it, Toby: no Lakington, no Peterson—nothing at all to play about with and keep one amused."

"You’re very certain, Hugh." With a feeling almost of wonder Sinclair glanced at the square-jawed, ugly profile beside him. "There’s many a slip..."

"My dear old man," interrupted Drummond, "there’s only one cure for the proverb-quoting disease—a dose of salts in the morning." For a while they raced on through the warm summer’s night in silence, and it was not till they were within a mile of their destination that Sinclair spoke again.

"What are you going to do with them, Hugh?"

"Who—our Carl and little Henry?" Drummond grinned gently. "Why, I think that Carl and I will part amicably—unless, of course, he gives me any trouble. And as for Lakington—we’ll have to see about Lakington." The grin faded from his face as he spoke. "We’ll have to see about our little Henry," he repeated softly. "And I can’t help feeling, Toby, that between us we shall find a method of ridding the earth of such a thoroughly unpleasing fellow."

"You mean to kill him?" grunted the other non-committally.

"Just that, and no more," responded Hugh. "To-morrow morning as ever is. But he’s going to get the shock of his young life before it happens."

He pulled the car up silently in the deep shadows of some trees, and the two men got out.

"Now, old boy, you take her back to The Elms. The ducal abode is close to—I remember in my extreme youth being worse than passing sick by those bushes over there after a juvenile bun-worry..."

"But confound it all," spluttered Toby Sinclair. "Don’t you want me to help you?"

"I do: by taking the buzz-box back. This little show is my shout."

Grumbling disconsolately, Sinclair stepped back into the car.

"You make me tired," he remarked peevishly. "I’ll be damned if you get any wedding present out of me. In fact," and he fired a Parthian shot at his leader, "you won’t have any wedding. I shall marry her myself!"

For a moment or two Hugh stood watching the car as it disappeared down the road along which they had just come, while his thoughts turned to the girl now safely asleep in his flat in London. Another week—perhaps a fortnight—but no more. Not a day more.... And he had a pleasant conviction that Phyllis would not require much persuasion to come round to his way of thinking—even if she hadn’t arrived there already.... And so delightful was the train of thought thus conjured up, that for a while Peterson and Lakington were forgotten. The roseate dreams of the young about to wed have been known to act similarly before.

Wherefore to the soldier’s instinctive second nature, trained in the war and sharpened by his grim duel with the gang, must be given the credit of preventing the ringing of the wedding-bells being postponed for good. The sudden snap of a twig close by, the sharp hiss of a compressed-air rifle, seemed simultaneous with Hugh hurling himself flat on his face behind a sheltering bush. In reality there was that fraction of a second between the actions which allowed the bullet to pass harmlessly over his body instead of finishing his career there and then. He heard it go zipping through the undergrowth as he lay motionless on the ground; then very cautiously he turned his head and peered about. A man with an ordinary revolver is at a disadvantage against someone armed with a silent gun, especially when he is not desirous of alarming the neighbourhood.

A shrub was shaking a few yards away, and on it Hugh fixed his half-closed eyes. If he lay quite still the man, whoever he was, would probably assume the shot had taken effect, and come and investigate. Then things would be easier, as two or three Boches had discovered to their cost in days gone by.

For two minutes he saw no one; then very slowly the branches parted and the white face of a man peered through. It was the chauffeur who usually drove the Rolls Royce, and he seemed unduly anxious to satisfy himself that all was well before coming nearer. The fame of Hugh Drummond had spread abroad amongst the satellites of Peterson.

At last he seemed to make up his mind, and came out into the open. Step by step he advanced towards the motionless figure, his weapon held in readiness to shoot at the faintest movement. But the soldier lay sprawling and inert, and by the time the chauffeur had reached him there was no doubt in that worthy’s mind that, at last, this wretched meddler with things that concerned him not had been laid by the heels. Which was as unfortunate for the chauffeur as it had been for unwary Huns in the past.

Contemptuously he rolled Drummond over; then, noting the relaxed muscles and inert limbs, he laid his gun on the ground preparatory to running through his victim’s pockets. And the fact that such an action was a little more foolish than offering a man-eating tiger a peppermint lozenge did not trouble the chauffeur. In fact, nothing troubled him again.

He got out one gasping cry of terror as he realised his mistake; then he had a blurred consciousness of the world upside down, and everything was over. It was Olaki’s most dangerous throw, carried out by gripping the victim’s wrists and hurling his body over by a heave of the legs. And nine times out of ten the result was a broken neck. This was one of the nine.

For a while the soldier stared at the body, frowning thoughtfully. To have killed the chauffeur was inconvenient, but since it had happened it necessitated a little rearrangement of his plans. The moon was setting and the night would become darker, so there was a good chance that Lakington would not recognise that the driver of his car had changed. And if he did—well, it would be necessary to forgo the somewhat theatrical entertainment he had staged for his benefit at The Elms. Bending over the dead man, he removed his long grey driving-coat and cap; then, without a sound, he threaded his way through the bushes in search of the car.

He found it about a hundred yards nearer the house, so well hidden in a small space off the road that he was almost on top of it before he realised the fact. To his relief it was empty, and placing his own cap in a pocket under the seat he put on the driving-coat of his predecessor. Then, with a quick glance round to ensure that everything was in readiness for the immediate and rapid departure such as he imagined Lakington would desire, he turned and crept stealthily towards the house.

*II*

Laidley Towers was _en fête_. The Duchess, determined that every conceivable stunt should be carried out which would make for the entertainment of her guests, had spared no pains to make the evening a success. The Duke, bored to extinction, had been five times routed out of his study by his indefatigable spouse, and was now, at the moment Hugh first came in sight of the house, engaged in shaking hands with a tall, aristocratic-looking Indian....

"How d’y do," he murmured vacantly. "What did you say the dam’ fellah’s name was, my dear?" he whispered in a hoarse undertone to the Duchess, who stood beside him welcoming the distinguished foreigner.

"We’re so glad you could come, Mr. Ram Dar," remarked the Duchess affably. "Everyone is so looking forward to your wonderful entertainment." Round her neck were the historic pearls, and as the Indian bowed low over her outstretched hand, his eyes gleamed for a second.

"Your Grace is too kind." His voice was low and deep, and he glanced thoughtfully around the circle of faces near him. "Maybe the sands that come from the mountains that lie beyond the ever-lasting snows will speak the truth; maybe the gods will be silent. Who knows ... who knows?"

As if unconsciously his gaze rested on the Duke, who manfully rose to the occasion.

"Precisely, Mr. Rum Rum," he murmured helpfully, "who indeed? If they let you down, don’t you know, perhaps you could show us a card trick?"

He retired in confusion, abashed by the baleful stare of the Duchess, and the rest of the guests drew closer. The jazz band was having supper; the last of the perspiring tenants had departed, and now the _bonne bouche_ of the evening was about to begin.

It had been the Marquis of Laidley himself who had suggested getting hold of this most celebrated performer, who had apparently never been in England before. And since the Marquis of Laidley’s coming-of-age was the cause of the whole evening’s entertainment, his suggestion had been hailed with acclamation. How he had heard about the Indian, and from whom, were points about which he was very vague; but since he was a very vague young man, the fact elicited no comment. The main thing was that here, in the flesh, was a dark, mysterious performer of the occult, and what more could a house party require? And in the general excitement Hugh Drummond crept closer to the open window. It was the Duchess he was concerned with and her pearls, and the arrival of the Indian was not going to put him off his guard.... Then suddenly his jaw tightened: Irma Peterson had entered the room with young Laidley.

"Do you want anything done, Mr. Ram Dar?" asked the Duchess—"the lights down or the window shut?"

"No, I thank you," returned the Indian. "The night is still; there is no wind. And the night is dark—dark with strange thoughts, that thronged upon me as I drew nigh to the house—whispering through the trees." Again he fixed his eyes on the Duke. "What is your pleasure, Protector of the Poor?"

"Mine?" cried that pillar of the House of Lords, hurriedly stifling a yawn. "Any old thing, my dear fellow.... You’d much better ask one of the ladies."

"As you will," returned the other gravely, "but if the gods speak the truth, and the sand does not lie. I can but say what is written."

From a pocket in his robe he took a bag and two small bronze dishes, and placing them on a table stood waiting.

"I am ready," he announced. "Who first will learn of the things that are written on the scroll of Fate?"

"I say, hadn’t you better do it in private, Mr. Rum?" murmured the Duke apprehensively. "I mean, don’t you know, it might be a little embarrassing if the jolly old gods really do give tongue; and I don’t see anybody getting killed in the rush."

"Is there so much to conceal?" demanded the Indian, glancing round the group, contempt in his brooding eyes. "In the lands that lie beyond the snows we have nothing to conceal. There is nothing that can be concealed, because all is known."

And it was at that moment that the intent watcher outside the window began to shake with silent mirth. For the face was the face of the Indian, Ram Dar, but the voice was the voice of Lakington. It struck him that the next ten minutes or so might be well worth while. The problem of removing the pearls from the Duchess’s neck before such an assembly seemed to present a certain amount of difficulty even to such an expert as Henry. And Hugh crept a little nearer the window, so as to miss nothing. He crept near enough, in fact, to steal a look at Irma, and in doing so saw something which made him rub his eyes and then grin once more. She was standing on the outskirts of the group, an evening wrap thrown loosely over her arm. She edged a step or two towards a table containing bric-à-brac, the centre of which was occupied, as the place of honour, by a small inlaid Chinese cabinet—a box standing on four grotesquely carved legs. It was a beautiful ornament, and he dimly remembered having heard its history—a story which reflected considerable glory on the predatory nature of a previous Duke. At the moment, however, he was not concerned with its past history, but with its present fate; and it was the consummate quickness of the girl that made him rub his eyes.

She took one lightning glance at the other guests who were craning eagerly forward round the Indian; then she half dropped her wrap on the table and picked it up again. It was done so rapidly, so naturally, that for a while Hugh thought he had made a mistake. And then a slight rearrangement of her wrap to conceal a hard outline beneath, as she joined the others, dispelled any doubts. The small inlaid Chinese cabinet now standing on the table was not the one that had been here previously. The original was under Irma Peterson’s cloak....

Evidently the scene was now set—the necessary props were in position—and Hugh waited with growing impatience for the principal event. But the principal performer seemed in no hurry. In fact, in his dry way Lakington was thoroughly enjoying himself. An intimate inside knowledge of the skeletons that rattled their bones in the cupboards of most of those present enabled the gods to speak with disconcerting accuracy; and as each victim insisted on somebody new facing the sands that came from beyond the mountains, the performance seemed likely to last indefinitely.

At last a sudden delighted burst of applause came from the group, announcing the discomfiture of yet another guest, and with it Lakington seemed to tire of the amusement. Engrossed though he was in the anticipation of the main item which was still to be staged, Drummond could not but admire the extraordinary accuracy of the character study. Not a detail had been overlooked; not a single flaw in Lakington’s acting could he notice. It _was_ an Indian who stood there, and when a few days later Hugh returned her pearls to the Duchess, for a long time neither she nor her husband would believe that Ram Dar had been an Englishman disguised. And when they had at last been persuaded of that fact, and had been shown the two cabinets side by side, it was the consummate boldness of the crime, coupled with its extreme simplicity, that staggered them. For it was only in the reconstruction of it that the principal beauty of the scheme became apparent. The element of luck was reduced to a minimum, and at no stage of the proceedings was it impossible, should things go amiss, for Lakington to go as he had come, a mere Indian entertainer. Without the necklace, true, in such an event; but unsuspected, and free to try again. As befitted his last, it was perhaps his greatest effort.... And this was what happened as seen by the fascinated onlooker crouching near the window outside.

Superbly disdainful, the Indian tipped back his sand into the little bag, and replacing it in his pocket, stalked to the open window. With arms outstretched he stared into the darkness, seeming to gather strength from the gods whom he served.

"Do your ears not hear the whisperings of the night?" he demanded. "Life rustling in the leaves; death moaning through the grasses." And suddenly he threw back his head and laughed, a fierce, mocking laugh; then he swung round and faced the room. For a while he stood motionless, and Hugh, from the shelter of the bushes, wondered whether the two quick flashes that had come from his robe as he spoke—flashes such as a small electric torch will give, and which were unseen by anyone else—were a signal to the defunct chauffeur.

Then a peculiar look came over the Indian’s face, as his eyes fell on the Chinese cabinet.

"Where did the Protector of the Poor obtain the sacred cabinet of the Chow Kings?" He peered at it reverently, and the Duke coughed.

"One of my ancestors picked it up somewhere," he answered apologetically.

"Fashioned with the blood of men, guarded with their lives, and one of your ancestors picked up it!" The Duke withered completely under the biting scorn of the words, and seemed about to say something, but the Indian had turned away, and his long, delicate fingers were hovering over the box. "There is power in this box," he continued, and his voice was low and thoughtful. "Years ago a man who came from the land where dwells the Great Brooding Spirit told me of this thing. I wonder ... I wonder..."

With gleaming eyes he stared in front of him, and a woman shuddered audibly.

"What is it supposed to do?" she ventured timidly.

"In that box lies the power unknown to mortal man, though the priests of the Temple City have sometimes discovered it before they pass beyond. Length you know, and height, and breadth—but in that box lies more."

"You don’t mean the fourth dimension, do you?" demanded a man incredulously..

"I know not what you call it, sahib," said the Indian quietly. "But it is the power which renders visible or invisible at will."

For a moment Hugh felt an irresistible temptation to shout the truth through the window, and give Lakington away; then his curiosity to see the next move in the game conquered the wish, and he remained silent. So perfect was the man’s acting that, in spite of having seen the substitution of the boxes, in spite of knowing the whole thing was bunkum, he felt he could almost believe it himself. And as for the others—without exception—they were craning forward eagerly, staring first at the Indian and then at the box.

"I say, that’s a bit of a tall order, isn’t it, Mr. Rum Bar?" protested the Duke a little feebly. "Do you mean to say you can put something into that box, and it disappears?"

"From mortal eye, Protector of the Poor, though it is still there," answered the Indian. "And that only too for a time. Then it reappears again. So runs the legend."

"Well, stuff something in and let’s see," cried young Laidley, starting forward, only to pause before the Indian’s outstretched arm.

"Stop, sahib," he ordered sternly. "To you that box is nothing; to others—of whom I am one of the least—it is sacred beyond words." He stalked away from the table, and the guests’ disappointment showed on their faces.

"Oh, but Mr. Ram Dar," pleaded the Duchess, "can’t you satisfy our curiosity after all you’ve said?"

For a moment he seemed on the point of refusing outright; then he bowed, a deep Oriental bow.

"Your Grace," he said with dignity, "for centuries that box contained the jewels—precious beyond words—of the reigning Queens of the Chow Dynasty. They were wrapped in silver and gold tissue—of which this is a feeble, modern substitute."

From a cummerbund under his robe he drew a piece of shining material, the appearance of which was greeted with cries of feminine delight.

"You would not ask me to commit sacrilege?" Quietly he replaced the material in his belt and turned away, and Hugh’s eyes glistened at the cleverness with which the man was acting. Whether they believed it or not, there was not a soul in the room by this time who was not consumed with eagerness to put the Chinese cabinet to the test.

"Supposing you took my pearls, Mr. Ram Dar," said the Duchess diffidently. "I know that compared to such historic jewels they are poor, but perhaps it would not be sacrilege."

Not a muscle on Lakington’s face twitched, though it was the thing he had been playing for. Instead he seemed to be sunk in thought, while the Duchess continued pleading, and the rest of the party added their entreaties. At length she undid the fastening and held the necklace out, but he only shook his head.

"You ask a great thing of me, your Grace," he said. "Only by the exercise of my power can I show you this secret—even if I can show you at all. And you are unbelievers." He paced slowly to the window, ostensibly to commune with the gods on the subject; more materially to flash once again the signal into the darkness. Then, as if he had decided suddenly, he swung round.

"I will try," he announced briefly, and the Duchess headed the chorus of delight. "Will the Presences stand back, and you, your Grace, take that?" He handed her the piece of material. "No hand but yours must touch the pearls. Wrap them up inside the silver and gold." Aloofly he watched the process. "Now advance alone, and open the box. Place the pearls inside. Now shut and lock it." Obediently the Duchess did as she was bid; then she stood waiting for further instructions.

But apparently by this time the Great Brooding Spirit was beginning to take effect. Singing a monotonous, harsh chant, the Indian knelt on the floor, and poured some powder into a little brazier. He was still close to the open window, and finally he sat down with his elbows on his knees, and his head rocking to and fro in his hands.

"Less light—less light!" The words seemed to come from a great distance—ventriloquism in a mild way was one of Lakington’s accomplishments; and as the lights went out a greenish, spluttering flame rose from the brazier. A heavy, odorous smoke filled the room, but framed and motionless in the eerie light sat the Indian, staring fixedly in front of him. After a time the chant began again; it grew and swelled in volume till the singer grew frenzied and beat his head with his hands. Then abruptly it stopped.

"Place the box upon the floor," he ordered, "in the light of the Sacred Fire." Hugh saw the Duchess kneel down on the opposite side of the brazier, and place the box on the floor, while the faces of the guests—strange and ghostly in the green light—peered like spectres out of the heavy smoke. This was undoubtedly a show worth watching.

"Open the box!" Harshly the words rang through the silent room, and with fingers that trembled a little the Duchess turned the key and threw back the lid.

"Why, it’s empty!" she cried in amazement, and the guests craned forward to look.

"Put not your hand inside," cried the Indian in sudden warning, "or perchance it will remain empty."

The Duchess rapidly withdrew her hand, and stared incredulously through the smoke at his impassive face.

"Did I not say that there was power in the box?" he said dreamily. "The power to render invisible—the power to render visible. Thus came protection to the jewels of the Chow Queens."

"That’s all right, Mr. Ram Dar," said the Duchess a little apprehensively. "There may be power in the box, but my pearls don’t seem to be."

The Indian laughed.

"None but you has touched the cabinet, your Grace; none but you must touch it till the pearls return. They are there now; but not for mortal eyes to see."

Which, incidentally, was no more than the truth.

"Look, oh! sahibs, look; but do not touch. See that to your vision the box is empty...." He waited motionless, while the guests thronged round, with expressions of amazement; and Hugh, safe from view in the thick, sweet-smelling smoke, came even nearer in his excitement.

"It is enough," cried the Indian suddenly. "Shut the box, your Grace, and lock it as before. Now place it on the table whence it came. Is it there?"

"Yes." The Duchess’s voice came out of the green fog.

"Go not too near," he continued warningly. "The gods must have space—the gods must have space."

Again the harsh chant began, at times swelling to a shout, at times dying away to a whisper. And it was during one of these latter periods that a low laugh, instantly checked, disturbed the room. It was plainly audible, and someone irritably said, "Be quiet!" It was not repeated, which afforded Hugh, at any rate, no surprise. For it had been Irma Peterson who had laughed, and it might have been hilarity, or it might have been a signal.

The chanting grew frenzied and more frenzied; more and more powder was thrown on the brazier till dense clouds of the thick vapour were rolling through the room, completely obscuring everything save the small space round the brazier, and the Indian’s tense face poised above it.

"Bring the box, your Grace," he cried harshly, and once more the Duchess knelt in the circle of light, with a row of dimly seen faces above her.

"Open; but as you value your pearls—touch them not." Excitedly she threw back the lid, and a chorus of cries greeted the appearance of the gold and silver tissue at the bottom of the box.

"They’re here, Mr. Ram Bar."

In the green light the Indian’s sombre eyes stared round the group of dim faces.

"Did I not say," he answered, "that there was power in the box? But in the name of that power—unknown to you—I warn you: Do not touch those pearls till the light has burned low in the brazier. If you do they will disappear—never to return. Watch, but do not touch!"

Slowly he backed towards the window, unperceived in the general excitement; and Hugh dodged rapidly towards the car. It struck him that the _séance_ was over, and he just had time to see Lakington snatch something which appeared to have been let down by a string from above, before turning into the bushes and racing for the car. As it was he was only a second or two in front of the other, and the last vision he had through a break in the trees, before they were spinning smoothly down the deserted road, was an open window in Laidley Towers from which dense volumes of vapour poured steadily out. Of the house party behind, waiting for the light to burn low in the brazier, he could see no sign through the opaque wall of green fog.

It took five minutes, so he gathered afterwards from a member of the house party, before the light had burned sufficiently low for the Duchess to consider it safe to touch the pearls. In various stages of asphyxiation the assembled guests had peered at the box, while the cynical comments of the men were rightly treated by the ladies with the contempt they deserved. Was the necklace not there, wrapped in its gold and silver tissue, where a few minutes before there had been nothing?

"Some trick of that beastly light," remarked the Duke peevishly. "For heaven’s sake throw the dam’ thing out of the window."

"Don’t be a fool, John," retorted his spouse. "If you could do this sort of thing, the House of Lords might be some use to somebody."

And when two minutes later they stared horror-struck at a row of ordinary marbles laboriously unwrapped from a piece of gold and silver tissue, the Duke’s pungent agreement with his wife’s sentiment passed uncontradicted. In fact, it is to be understood that over the scene which followed it was best to draw a decent veil.

*III*

Drummond, hunched low over the wheel, in his endeavour to conceal his identity from the man behind, knew nothing of that at the time. Every nerve was centred on eluding the pursuit he thought was a certainty; for the thought of Lakington, when everything was prepared for his reception, being snatched from his clutches even by the majesty of the law was more than he could bear. And for much the same reason he did not want to have to deal with him until The Elms was reached; the staging there was so much more effective.

But Lakington was far too busy to bother with the chauffeur.

One snarling curse as they had started, for not having done as he had been told, was the total of their conversation during the trip. During the rest of the time the transformation to the normal kept Lakington busy, and Hugh could see him reflected in the wind-screen removing the make-up from his face, and changing his clothes.

Even now he was not quite clear how the trick had been worked. That there had been two cabinets, that was clear—one false, the other the real one. That they had been changed at the crucial moment by the girl Irma was also obvious. But how had the pearls disappeared in the first case, and then apparently reappeared again? For of one thing he was quite certain. Whatever was inside the parcel of gold and silver tissue which, for all he knew, they might be still staring at, it was not the historic necklace.

And he was still puzzling it over in his mind when the car swung into the drive at The Elms.

"Change the wheels as usual," snapped Lakington as he got out, and Hugh bent forward to conceal his face. "Then report to me in the central room."

And out of the corner of his eye Hugh watched him enter the house with one of the Chinese cabinets clasped in his hand....

"Toby," he remarked to that worthy, whom he found mournfully eating a ham sandwich in the garage, "I feel sort of sorry for our Henry. He’s just had the whole complete ducal outfit guessing, dressed up as an Indian; he’s come back here with a box containing the Duchess’s pearls or I’ll eat my hat, and feeling real good with himself; and now instead of enjoying life he’s got to have a little chat with me."

"Did you drive him back?" demanded Sinclair, producing a bottle of Bass.

"Owing to the sudden decease of his chauffeur I had to," murmured Hugh. "And he’s very angry over something. Let’s go on the roof."