Chapter IV: Part 4

Benstein was late. He had been detained so long that Isa was in the dining-room before he arrived breathlessly and full of apologies. With his fat, fair face, and heavy, pendulous lips, he made an almost repulsive contrast to his wife. His dress-suit was shabby and ill-fitting, suggesting that it had been bought second-hand like his large pumps. The red silk socks bore a pleasing resemblance to the cyclist's trousers when confined to the leg with those inevitable clips; they bulged over at the ankles. Benstein wore no diamonds; he had not even a large stud in his crumpled shirt. It was a great deprivation, and the financier mourned over the fact in secret. But Isa was inexorable on that point. The man was hideously common enough, without jewels. Besides, Isa's interference in the matter was by way of being a compliment. It showed at least that she took some sort of interest in the man she had married.

"Kept by business," Benstein wheezed. He raised his dyed eyebrows. He flattered himself that the dye took from his seventy years, whereas the deception merely added to them. "Nice you look! Lovely!"

His little eyes appraised her. Despite his many limitations, Benstein had a keen love of the beautiful--_qua_ beautiful. Isa stood before him a vision of loveliness in a dress of green touched here and there with gold. The shaded lights rendered her eyes all the more brilliant.

"Give me a kiss," Benstein said hoarsely. "When you look like that I can refuse you nothing. I am getting into my dotage, men say. Well, perhaps. Good thing some of them can't see me now."

The elaborate dinner proceeded in that perfect Tudor dining-room. Not a single article of furniture was there that lacked historic interest. The old oak and silver were priceless, and every bit of it had been collected under Isa Benstein's own eye. No dealer had ever succeeded in imposing on her.

The silk slips were drawn at length from the polished dark oak with the wonderful red tints in it, so that the nodding flowers were reflected from a lake of thin blood. Here and there the decanters gleamed, a Tudor model of a Spanish galleon mounted on wheels was pushed along the table, its various compartments filled with all kinds of cigarettes.

"No, a Virginian for me," Isa said, as the servants withdrew. The drawing-room was a dream of beauty, but she preferred the dining-room. For restfulness and form and artistic completeness there was no room like the Tudor hall, she declared. "Give me good, honest tobacco."

"How did you get on to-day?" Benstein asked.

"I didn't. I sat and watched the procession. Sir Clement Frobisher came and made himself agreeable to me, and so did his wife--under compulsion. But she asked me to her dance, and I am going."

"Hope that they won't ask me, too," Benstein said uneasily.

"You need not go, in any case; in fact, I'd rather you didn't. I've been scheming out my dress, Aaron; do you happen to be strong in rubies just now?"

Benstein nodded his huge head and smiled. More or less, he had the jewels of the great world in his possession. It was his whim to keep them at home. He trusted nobody, not even a bank. Besides, nearly every day brought something neat and ingenious in the way of a jewel fraud.

"I can rig you out in anything," he said. "Yes, I could pretty well cover you in rubies. They're all on diamonds just for the moment, so that they bring their emeralds and rubies to redeem the white stones. Wonder what some of those big swells would say if they knew you had got their jewels to wear, Isa?"

Isa smiled at some amusing recollection, but she held her peace. Humour was not Benstein's strong point. He puffed away to the library, followed by his wife, and once there locked the door. Here was a large iron sheet that, being opened, disclosed something in the nature of a strong-room. There were scores of tiny pigeon-holes, each filled with cases and bags all carefully noted and numbered, for method was Benstein's strong point.

"More papers," Isa exclaimed. "A fresh lot since yesterday. Is it some new business, Aaron?"

"Count Lefroy," Benstein wheezed. "Valuable concessions from the Shan of Koordstan. Shouldn't wonder if those papers don't become worth half a million. Queer-looking things. Like to see them?"

Isa expressed a proper curiosity on the point. The papers were in Hindustani and English, with some cramped-looking signature and the impression of a seal at the bottom.

"Those signatures are both forgeries," Mrs. Benstein said, after careful examination. "And that seal, I feel quite sure, is a clumsy imitation of something better."

"Doesn't matter if they are," Benstein said without emotion. "If they are real, I only get a finger in the pie; if they are forged I bag the whole of the pastry. Let me once get Lefroy under my thumb like that, and I'll make a pocket borough of Koordstan. Leave your Aaron alone for business, my dear. Now let us see what we can do in the way of rubies, though I am a great fool to----"

"It's too late in the day to think of that," Isa said sharply. "Turn them out."

The shabby cases began to yield their glittering contents. The electrics glowed upon the piled-up mass of rubies, bracelets, brooches, tiaras, armlets--the loot of the East, it seemed to be. Isa's slim fingers played with the shining strings lovingly.

"This is even better than I expected," she murmured. "I shall be able to trim my dress with them, I can have them all over my skirt, I can cover my bodice. I am going simply as 'rubies.' Give me that tiara."

She placed the glittering crown on her head, she draped her neck and arms with the beautiful stones. Benstein gasped, and his little eyes watered. Was there ever so lovely a woman before? he wondered. When Isa looked at him like that he could refuse her nothing. It was criminally weak, but----

"The thing is almost complete," Isa said. "Now haven't you got something out of the common, some black swan amongst rubies that I could attach to the centre of my forehead, something to blaze like the sun? Aaron, you've got it; you are concealing something from me."

The financier laughed weakly, still dazzled by that show of beauty. In a dazed way he unlocked a little compartment and took a huge stone from a leather bag. His hands trembled as he handed it to his wife.

"You can try it," he said hoarsely; "you can see how it goes. But you can't have that to wear, no, no. If anything happened to it, they would make an international business of it, my life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase. You are not to ask me for that, no, no."

He meandered on in a senile kind of way. With a low cry Isa fastened on the gem. She pressed it to her white forehead, where it blazed and sparkled. The effect was electric, wonderful. She stood before a mirror fascinated and entranced by her own beauty.

"I shall have it," she said. "I couldn't go without this, Aaron. You are going to have it set into the finest of gold wires for me. Come, I won't even ask you where you got it from. And from what you say, nobody in England is likely to recognise it. Aaron, do, do."

Her smile was subtle and pleading. Nobody could have withstood it. Benstein gabbled something, his cheeks shook.

"Oh, Lord," he groaned. "If anything does happen! Well, well, my darling! Unlock the door and stay here till I come back. What artful creatures you women are! My dear, my dear. Positively I must go into the dining-room and treat myself to a liqueur-brandy!"

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE QUEEN OF THE RUBIES.*

The faint sobbing of violins sounded from somewhere, giving the artistic suggestion of being far off, the dominant note of the leader hung high on the air. Now and then a door opened somewhere, letting in the splitting crack of Piccadilly, the raucous voices of news-boys more or less mendaciously. Sir Clement Frobisher stood before the glass in his smoking-room setting his white tie. Over his shoulder he could see the dark, smileless face of Lopez looking in.

"What do you want here to-night?" he asked. "What are you thinking about me?"

"I'd give a good round sum--if I had it--to know what you are thinking about," Lopez retorted.

"Money isn't worth it. I was wondering if I really looked like a waiter, after all."

"Well, you don't. There is something too infernally sardonic and devilish about your head for that. May I take a cigarette? I dare say you wonder how I got here to-night? I--well, I just walked in. That kind of audacity always pays. Also you wonder why I came."

"Indeed I don't. You want me to lend you one hundred pounds. What do you do with your money, friend Lopez? Not that it is any business of mine."

"That being so, you have answered your own question," Lopez said dryly. "Every man has his weakness, even the strongest chain has its breaking-point. Let me have one hundred pounds. And pay yourself ten times over, as you always do for your accommodation. Did I earn my last five hundred pounds?"

"Indeed you did," Frobisher said frankly. "A wonderful woman, Mrs. Benstein."

"About the most wonderful I ever met. None of your dark schemers about her, none of your flashing eyes and figures drawn up to their full height. But there is the rare mind in its beautiful setting. You are going to make use of that woman? We shall see."

Both men smiled meaningly. The plaintive wail of the violins rose and fell, from the great hall beyond came the murmur of voices. Lady Frobisher's great function had commenced. Frobisher glanced significantly at the clock. He was in no fancy-dress himself, presumedly he was disguised as an honest man, as Lopez suggested. He laughed heartily at the gibe, and pushed Lopez outside the door with a cheque in his pocket.

Quite a crowd of cloaked and dominoed women had gathered there. Lady Frobisher had reverted to the old idea of a masked ball and the uncovering after the last dance before supper. The masks appeared to be walking about as they generally did, for Shepherd strolled up to Chloe and Adonis to Aphrodite in a manner that might have suggested collusion to the sophisticated mind. One tall woman, closely draped, touched Frobisher on the arm as he threaded between the silken mysteries.

"I have no flowers," she said. "My man stupidly dropped mine and somebody trod on them. Take me to your conservatory, Sir Clement, and give me my choice."

Frobisher offered his arm; he did not need to ask who the speaker was. Those low, thrilling tones, with the touch of power in them, could only have belonged to Isa Benstein. There was nobody in the conservatory which was devoted to orchids, and nobody was likely to be, for that part of the house was forbidden ground. Mrs. Benstein looked out from under her cloud--only her eyes and nose could be seen.

"May I not be privileged to see your dress?" Frobisher pleaded.

"Certainly not," Isa Benstein laughed. "Why should you be specially favoured? Get me two long sprays of orchid. I shall be content with nothing less than the Cardinal Moth."

It was something in the nature of extracting a tooth, but Frobisher mounted the steps and tore down the two sprays asked for. Isa Benstein whipped them under the folds of her cloak. There was a subtle fragrance about her that a younger man than Frobisher would have found heady.

"I must fly to the dressing-room," she said. "And then to pay my respects to my hostess. Do you think that she is likely to recognise me?"

Frobisher thought not. He lingered over his cigarette, making not the slightest attempt to play the host, though the dance was in full swing now, and the house echoed to the thud of feet in motion. At the same time, Frobisher was looking forward to plenty of amusement presently, before supper, when everybody unmasked. He grew a little tired of his own company presently and strolled into the ballroom. There the electrics were festooned and garlanded with ropes of roses, the plaintive band could not be seen behind a jungle of feathery ferns, a bewildering kaleidoscope of colour looped and twisted and threaded in a perfect harmony.

A few of the younger and consequently more _blase_ men lined the walls. A cavalier of sorts with a long, thin scar on the side of his lean head was watching the proceedings. Frobisher touched him on the arm.

"Not dancing, Lefroy?" he said. "Are you past all those fleeting joys?"

"It's an old wound in my thigh," Lefroy explained. He was just a little chagrined to discover that his host had so easily detected him. Frobisher's superior cleverness always angered him. "It is my amusement to spot the various women, and I have located most of them. But there is one! Ciel!"

"One that even meets with your critical approval! Good. She must be a pearl among women. Point her out to me and let us see if our tastes agree."

Lefroy's eyes glittered behind their mask as they swept over the reeling crowd. A moment or two later and he just touched Frobisher on the arm.

"Here she comes," he whispered. "On the arm of General Marriott. No mistaking his limp, and his white hair like a file of soldiers on parade. What a costume and what a cost! That scarlet band across her brow over the mask is wonderfully effective. That woman is an artist, Frobisher. And she has the most perfect figure in Europe. Who is she?"

Frobisher made no reply; he was studying Isa Benstein's costume--lustrous black from head to foot, with white seams fairly covered with rubies. There were rubies all over her corsage, bands of them up her arm, a serpent necklace round the milky way of her throat. The whole thing was daring, bizarre, and yet artistic to a point. The scarlet band across the brows struck a strong and vivid note. The rubies were not so bright as the woman's eyes. As she came nearer the tangle of blossom across her bosom showed up clearly. Lefroy gasped.

"A mystery in a mystery," he said. "She is wearing the Cardinal Moth. Who is she?"

Frobisher laughed, and protested that each must solve the problem for himself. He liked to puzzle and bewilder Lefroy, and he was doing both effectively at the present moment. The Count would have liked to take the little man by the shoulders and shake him heartily.

"I believe you know who she is," he growled. "Come, Frobisher, gratify my curiosity."

"I will refresh it if you like," Frobisher said with one of his sudden grins. "I am not positively sure, but I fancy I can give a pretty shrewd guess as to the identity of Madame Incognita. But would it be fair to give her secret away before supper-time? Patience, my fire-eater."

The lady of the rubies passed along leaning on the arm of her companion. She gave one glance in Frobisher's direction, and Lefroy looked eagerly for some sign of recognition. But the dark eyes were absolutely blank so far as the master of the house was concerned.

Lefroy turned and followed the couple in front. As Frobisher lounged back to the smoking-room for another cigarette, he almost ran into his wife.

As hostess she was wearing no mask. Her beautiful face was just a little set and tired.

"Seems to be all right," Frobisher croaked. "They appear to be enjoying themselves. And yet half of them would like better to come to my funeral. Some pretty dresses here, but one head and shoulders over the others.

"You mean the ruby guise," Lady Frobisher exclaimed, with some animation. "Is it not superb! So daring, and yet in the best of taste. Everybody is asking who she is and nobody seems to know. I declare I feel quite proud of my mystery."

"An angel unawares," Frobisher laughed silently. "You never can tell. And you mean to say that you can't guess who it is that is exciting all this attention?"

Lady Frobisher looked swiftly down into the face of her husband. The corrugated grin, the impish mischief told her a story. It seemed very hard that the woman she most desired to keep in the background was actually creating the sensation of the evening.

"Mrs. Benstein," she whispered. "Clement, do you really think so?"

"My dear, I am absolutely certain of it. And why not? Isn't Mrs. Benstein as well-bred as a score of American women here to-night? Doesn't she carry a long pedigree in that lovely face of hers? Some folks here to-night suffer from a pedigree so old that even their grandfathers are lost in the mists of antiquity. What short-sighted creatures you women are! Can't you see that a creature so rich and daring and clever as Mrs. Benstein will be riding on the crest of the wave within a year? And you will gain kudos from the mere fact that your house saw her debut into 'society'--Heaven save the mark!"

Lady Frobisher had no more to say. There was a great deal of cynical truth in Frobisher's words. Mrs. Benstein was going to be a brilliant success as far as the men were concerned, therefore her presence at the assemblies of the smart set would become almost necessary. Lefroy came back at the same time, having learnt little or nothing in the refreshment room. Lady Frobisher might have gratified his curiosity if he had asked her, only she gave him no opportunity. She detested the man thoroughly; with her fine instinct she had detected the tiger under his handsome, swaggering exterior.

"No luck?" Frobisher laughed. "Well, it is nearly twelve o'clock, and then you will know. Come with me and smoke a cigarette till the clock strikes. It will soothe your nerves. A small soda and a drop of 1820 brandy, eh? Don't give my general run of guests that liqueur."

Lefroy nodded carelessly. He would have it appear that he had dismissed the matter from his mind. But he had finished his cigarette and brandy as the clock chimed the midnight hour, and then, with a fine assumption of indifference, he returned to the ballroom. The band was playing something weird from Greig, the guests stopped just where they stood, and each cast their masks upon the floor.

The swashbuckler was in luck, so it seemed to him, for the lady of the rubies stood smiling by the side of her military escort just opposite. The scarlet band had gone with the mask, revealing a fillet of rubies round the smooth white brow, a fillet with one huge ruby in the middle, so large and blazing that Lefroy stood aghast. He staggered back, and something like a stammering oath escaped him. The vulgarism was lost for the moment, and people congregated round the stranger. That many people there did not know who Mrs. Benstein was only gave piquancy to the situation.

"My God!" Lefroy muttered, "who is she? Where did she get it from? It's the real thing. I would swear to it amongst a million imitations. And I dare swear that, despite his air of mystery, Frobisher---- But he must not see it, I must prevent that, anyway."

Lefroy hastened back to the smoking-room. His limbs were trembling under him now, a little moisture broke out on his forehead and trickled down his face. He had made a discovery that wrenched even his iron nerves. And at any cost Frobisher must not know.

He was smoking and sipping brandy as Lefroy entered. If he saw anything strange or strained about the face of Count Lefroy, he did not betray the fact. He looked up gaily.

"Come to fetch me?" he asked. "Want me to see the lady of the rubies? Well, was the face worthy of the setting? Did you recognise her?"

"Never saw her in my life before," Lefroy said hoarsely. He stammered on, saying anything to gain time, anything to keep Frobisher where he was. "I've lost interest in the whole thing. Let's stay here and smoke, and talk about old times. What do you say?"

Frobisher said nothing. He studied Lefroy's white face intently. Outside was a babel of laughter and chatter and the swish of drapery. A clear, calm voice announced a late visitor.

"His Highness the Shan of Koordstan," the footman said.

Frobisher glanced at Lefroy's face. In itself it was a tragedy.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*"UNEASY LIES THE HEAD----"*

As a matter of fact, His Highness the Shan of Koordstan had not intended to go to Lady Frobisher's dance at all, though he had been graciously pleased to accept the invitation. His present intention was to go to bed early and be a little more careful for the future. There was a shakiness about the ruler of Koordstan that told its own tale, a shakiness that would not have conduced to his popularity with his subjects in the Far East.

An interview with a recently-arrived minister of his had changed his plans entirely. In place of bed he had a cold bath and a cup of strong coffee, and sat down, as far as his aching head would allow him, to review the situation. The final outcome was a fit of utter despair and an express letter to Harold Denvers, who fortunately was at home and ready to respond to the invitation.

The Eastern potentate was smoking moodily as he arrived. Harold significantly declined the offer of refreshment of a spirituous description.

"Meaning that I have had enough already," the Shan said moodily. "But I'm sober as a judge now, had enough to make me. The shocking luck I've had lately!"

He tossed a cigarette across to Denvers, and lighted a fresh one of his own.

"So I sent you to give me a leg up if you can. You are the only honest man of the lot. Denvers, I'm in a fine mess over the Blue Stone. If I don't produce it at once I'm done for. It would be madness for me to show my face at home again."

"Somebody has discovered that your Highness has parted with it?"

"That's it. Lefroy is the rogue in the play. The game is Koordstan; for years he has been trying to get rid of me and put my cousin in my place. Even my own ministers are against me. And now I feel positive that Lefroy has given me away. They don't ask me to show the stone, or accuse me of parting with it--they are too deep for that. A minister comes with a lot of literature which he calls important documents of State which require to be sealed immediately. That rascal has been in my cousin's pay for years. And the worst of it is, the whole thing looks so natural and straightforward that I can't refuse, especially as everything has my sanction."

"The document must be sealed with the Blue Stone?" Harold asked.

"Inevitably. It has been the custom for generations. Any deviation from this rule would do for me at once. Hamid Khan was here this afternoon, and I put him off this time by saying I was ill, which was no more than the truth. What shall I say when he comes back presently? If my confounded head did not ache so, I might find some way out of the difficulty, but as it is----"

The Shan smote his fist passionately on the table. Nothing was any good, nothing could save the situation but the immediate production of the twenty thousand pounds needed to recover the jewel from Benstein. At the present moment the Shan had no resources whatever; he had always mortgaged his income, and most of his personal property had been dissipated in his brilliant pursuit of pleasure.

"But that's more or less beyond the point," he groaned. "The stone must be redeemed at once. I could not possibly put Hamid Khan off after to-night, even if I can manage that."

"That will give us time to think," said Harold. "Let your man know that you don't keep so sacred a jewel at your hotel. You have heard of Chancery Lane Safe Deposit?"

The Shan's eyes twinkled. His subtle mind rose to the suggested deception. For the present, at any rate, he saw his way to a pleasing subterfuge. He was pondering over the matter when there came a timid knock at the door, and a slim brown figure came humbly in.

"Hamid Khan," the Shan explained. "Why do you worry me again to-night? Didn't I say I was too ill to be troubled with state business?"

Hamid prostrated himself at his master's feet. He was desolate and heart-broken; might any number of dogs defile his father's grave for his presumption, but the thing had to be done.

"I haven't got the stone," the Shan said, "I haven't been well enough to fetch it myself, and I dare not trust anybody else. Dog, do you suppose I should keep the jewel here? There is a place of vaults and steel chambers and strong rooms guarded night and day by warders, where the wealthy keep their valuables. The place is called the Safe Deposit, and is hard by where the learned lawyers argue. That is where the stone is, in proof of which I show you the key."

The Shan gravely held up a latch-key. Acting though he was, there was a dignity about him that quite impressed Denvers. Hamid was impressed also, or his face belied him. He was sorry to have offended his royal master, but he was only obeying orders. Should he come again on the morrow?

"Ay, at midday," the Shan said loftily. "Now take your miserable body from my presence."

The Shan's dignity collapsed as the door closed behind Hamid Khan. He looked to Harold for assistance. He had not more than fourteen hours or so--and most of them the hours of the night--to find salvation. All the time Harold was leisurely turning over matters in his mind. If he could manage this thing for the Shan his future was made. He had his finger on the centre of an international intrigue almost. The Shan had always been favourable to England, his tastes and inclinations, his very vices, were English, whereas the new aspect leant towards Russia. The British Government doubtless would have stood by the Shan at this juncture had they known.

"There's only one thing for it," Harold said after a long pause. "We must try and work on Benstein's cupidity. He knows you, he is well aware that your name is good for a large sum of money, only he will have to wait for it. And of your integrity there is no doubt."

"Your Foreign Secretary does not think so," the Shan groaned.

"I am not speaking of morals now, but stability. For the time you are hard up. If you will eschew champagne for a time, not to mention other things, you could make it worth Benstein's while to wait for a few weeks. Ask him to let you have the Blue Stone for a few days, after which it will be returned to him until it is properly redeemed. For this accommodation you are prepared to pay a further two thousand pounds."

The Shan nodded greedily. He was prepared to promise anything. His lips were twitching with excitement. He rose and put on his coat.

"Let us go at once," he said. "But stop, do you know where Benstein lives? And if we do find him it's long odds that stone is deposited with his bankers."

"Benstein lives in Berkeley Square," Denvers explained. "He is growing old and senile, he has come to that cunning stage when he does not trust anybody. He keeps all his valuables in a big strong-room at his house. That I know for certain. He is sure to be at home."

"Then we'll go at once. It's a forlorn hope, but still--come along." Denvers checked his impulsive companion. Common prudence must not be forgotten.

"Your Highness forgets that you are certain to be watched," he said. "Your friend Hamid or some of his spies are sure to be pretty close. I'll go away from the hotel and wait for you in Piccadilly. Then you steal out by the side door and meet me."

The Shan nodded approval. His head was too bad for him to think for himself. Harold stood on the steps of Gardner's Hotel, and hailed the first taxi that passed. The cabman was to drive to Piccadilly and there wait.

Progress in Piccadilly was slow in consequence of the block of carriages before Frobisher's house. The guests were arriving in a steady stream, and Denvers amused himself by identifying most of them. One of the last comers was Lord Rashburn, Foreign Secretary, and his wife. Harold smiled to himself as he wondered what his lordship would give for his own private information. It might be necessary to appeal to Rashburn presently, and it was a good thing to know where to find him. Only it would be useless for Denvers to try and obtain admission to Frobisher's house.

The Shan came up presently, and Berkeley Square was reached at length. Benstein was at home, and the footman had no doubt that he would see his visitors, late as it was. Many a bit of business with people who needed money in a desperate hurry had Benstein done between the dinner-hour and midnight. He was seated in his library now with a fat cigarette between his teeth and poring over a mass of accounts. To reckon up his money and to gloat over his many securities was the one pleasure of Benstein's life.

"Glad to see you, gentlemen--glad to see you," he said, rubbing his puffy hands together. "If there is anything that I can do for your Highness, it will be a pleasure."

"His Highness wants to put two thousand pounds into your pocket," Denvers said. "It is the matter of the Blue Stone of----"

A queer sound came from Benstein's lips, and his mottled face turned as pale as it was possible.

"You don't mean to say that you want the stone to-night?" he gasped.

"Why else are we here?" Harold demanded. The air was full of suspicion and he had caught some of it. "It is absolutely necessary that we should have it back, for a time at least. It was distinctly understood, I think, that the stone was to be returned at any hour of the day or night that we required it?"

Benstein's big head swayed backwards and forwards pendulously, his thick lips were wide apart, and showing the gaps in the yellow teeth beyond. Harold's suspicions became a certainty. Benstein had parted with the stone.

"Do you want it now?" Benstein said, as if the words had been dragged from him.

Harold intimated that he did want the stone immediately. Slowly Benstein was recovering. The rich red blood was creeping into his face again.

"It is impossible," he said. "Usually I keep most of my valuables here. But I recognised the political as well as the pecuniary value of the Blue Stone, and I did not dare. The stone is at the Bank of England, and I cannot get it before ten to-morrow. It is very unfortunate."

"Very," Harold said dryly. "But we must make the best of it. I have a pretty shrewd idea where the stone is, but my guess would not have been the Bank of England. We don't propose to redeem the gem; we suggest that you should let the Shan have it for two or three days on the understanding that when the business is completed your charge is increased by the sum of two thousand pounds."

"But this is not business," Benstein pleaded. "Under the peculiar circumstances----"

"Precisely," Harold interrupted dryly. "Under the peculiar circumstances you are going to accommodate us. Mr. Benstein, I fancy that you and I understand one another."

Benstein's eyes dropped, and the fat cigarette between his fingers trembled. He muttered the talisman word "business" again; but he was understood to agree to the terms offered. He was shakily eager to offer his distinguished guests refreshments of some kind, but Denvers dragged the Shan away. Once in the street, the latter stopped and demanded to know what the pantomime meant.

"It's pretty plain," Harold said. "Old Benstein hasn't got your jewel at this moment."

"Hasn't got it? Do you mean to say that he...? Preposterous! But in the morning----"

"In the morning it will be all right again. In the morning you will see quite another Benstein--a Benstein who has changed his mind, and will refuse to part with the Blue Stone so long as a single penny remains unpaid. I startled him to-night. I got astride of that figment of a conscience of his. But I am going to help you to clench the business. Come along."

"Where are you going to?" the Shan asked feebly.

"Back to your hotel. You are going to dress up in your State war-paint and proceed at once to Lady Frobisher's dress-ball. I suppose you've any amount of dresses and that kind of thing--I mean you could rig out a staff, if necessary?"

"I've got all the mummery for going to Court, if that is what you mean."

"Good," Harold cried. "I'll just step into this chemist's and get a few pigments necessary to the successful performance of my little comedy. You are going to the dance as the Shan of Koordstan, and I am going carefully disguised as Aben Abdullah, your suite."

*CHAPTER XV.*

*HUNT THE SLIPPER.*

A fine perspiration stood out on Lefroy's face, he swayed to and fro like one in an advanced stage of intoxication, the Count was utterly unmanned for the moment. As his brain and eye cleared presently, Frobisher came out of the mist in the semblance of a man who was manifestly enjoying himself.

"I pray you sit down," he said in his silkiest manner. "My dear Count, the heat has been too much for you. The hero of a thousand adventures succumbs to a high thermometer--it is possible to choke a Hercules with an orange pip. A little of the old brandy, eh?"

Frobisher's face was perfectly grave now, only the dilation of his pupils and the faint quivering of his lips denoted his amusement. Lefroy forced a smile in reply. He was conscious of the fact that that little demon opposite was reading his inmost thoughts.

"Just a little of the brandy," Frobisher said coaxingly. "The kind that I keep for my very dear friends. Ah, I am sure that is better. Now let us sit down and smoke, and forget the giddy side outside."

Lefroy nodded. The course suggested suited him admiringly. When he was best pleased Frobisher chatted most, and he seemed to be exceedingly pleased about something now. Lefroy would have time to recover his scattered thoughts and define some line of action.

"You have solved the problem of the lady of the rubies?" Sir Clement asked.

"I have," Lefroy replied carelessly. "From a romantic point of view the solution is disappointing. I expected to see a regal personage at the very least, whereas----"

The speaker shrugged his shoulders insolently. The other smiled expectantly.

"Go on, my dear Lefroy. I am all attention, I assure you. The lady of the rubies is----?"

It was on the tip of Lefroy's tongue to snarlingly reply that Frobisher knew perfectly well, but that was bad policy under the circumstances.

"You are typical of the spirit of the age," he said. "All the same, I hardly expected to see the wife of a moneylender under your roof. Lady Frobisher----"

"Has progressed rapidly of late in the cult of the proletariat. So Mrs. Benstein is the lady of the rubies. I half expected it from the first--only the wife of a moneylender could sport jewels like that. But she is a beautiful woman, Lefroy, and she is going to make a great social success."

Lefroy could only mutter something in reply. He had one great aim in view at the present moment--to get back to the ballroom and persuade Frobisher to remain where he was. Did the Count but know it, Frobisher was just as eager to reverse the order of the procedure. But no suggestion of this escaped him, he sat there smiling as if he and a double meaning were strangers.

"I am very partial to rubies myself," he said. "In a modest way I am a collector, and my uncut stones are worth an inspection. My wife also has the same weakness, which is another of the many strong bonds that bind us together. I'll show them to you."

"Don't trouble," Lefroy said hastily. "Any other time will do. If you have to fetch them----"

"Sit down. Positively you must have another drop of the brandy. Your nerves are better, but not what the nerves of a bold warrior should be."

So saying, Frobisher produced a case from a drawer and laid the contents before Lefroy's eyes. In spite of himself he could not but admire. He did not see the keen, alert look on the face of his host as he bent down to examine the gems. People were passing the open door; there was a light ripple of laughter and conversation. Frobisher darted into the hall.

"This way a moment," he whispered, as he caught his wife by the arm. "Come with me and do as I tell you. You are to keep Lefroy in yonder room for half an hour."

He was back again before Lefroy had missed him. Lady Frobisher's scornful eyes softened as they fell upon the tray of gems.

"We have a taste in common, then, Count," she said.

Lefroy replied suitably enough. He had a strong admiration for the white, cold beauty of this woman; he watched her slim fingers as she toyed with the gems. Some of them were unnamed, whilst others had histories of their own. Frobisher pitched his cigarette into the grate.

"You can amuse the Count, my dear," he said. "He has had some little touch of illness, and should be kept quiet. The gems will interest him. Meanwhile, I will endeavour to take your place."

It was all done so quickly and naturally that Lefroy could do or say nothing. Did Frobisher really know anything or not, he began to wonder. If there was any conspiracy Lady Frobisher knew nothing of it, it only needed a glance at that scornful, beautiful face to feel that. She was talking now easily and naturally enough with one of the stones in her pink palm, and Lefroy had perforce to listen. To leave the room now would have been an unpardonable rudeness--a _gaucherie_ Lefroy never allowed himself to commit.

Meanwhile Frobisher had mingled with his guests. He was in no hurry. Lefroy was safely out of the way for a time, and Frobisher always preferred to hunt his game leisurely. Besides, the crush of dancers and guests generally was so great that progression was a matter of some difficulty. He came across Angela presently attired in white and with a pair of gauze wings suggestive of Peace or something of that kind.

"Stop a bit," he said, "and tell me all about it. Upon my word, you are looking exceedingly nice. By common consent, who is the success of the evening?"

"Oh, Mrs. Benstein, without doubt," Angela replied, with sincere admiration. "She is lovely, and those rubies are simply superb. Everybody is talking about them."

"And the fortunate woman herself? How does she wear her blushing honours?"

"Very well indeed. You know, I rather like her. Everybody is asking for an introduction now, but at first people held aloof. I have had a long chat with Mrs. Benstein, and she quite fascinated me. She is going to be a great success."

"Of course she is with her cleverness and audacity, to say nothing of her beauty and her jewels, it could not be otherwise. I must go and pay my respects to her. Where is she?"

But Angela had not the slightest idea. Something like a thousand people were scattered about the long suite of rooms, and there were shady alcoves and dim corners for easy conversation _a deux_. Mingled with the brilliant throng of uniform and fancy dresses the jewelled turban of the Shan of Koordstan stood out. He came up with his companion similarly attired, and held out his hand.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, your Highness," said Frobisher. "I heard that you were not quite----"

"Sober," the Shan said frankly. "I have been leading a deuce of a life lately, Frobisher. My servant here, Aben Abdullah, insisted upon my putting in an appearance here to-night. He has been bullying me as he would never dare to do at home. When we get back I shall have to bowstring him gently. He is a very valuable servant, but he knows too much."

Aben Abdullah bowed and smiled. The Shan extended his patronage to Angela.

"My servant knows a little English," he said. "My dear young lady, would it be too great a trespass on your kindness to ask you to act as his cicerone for a time? I have a little business to discuss with Sir Clement. Aben is very intelligent, and he is a noble in his own country."

Angela expressed her pleasure. She was always ready to sacrifice herself to others; besides, she had rather taken a fancy to this handsome young foreigner, who reminded her somehow of Harold Denvers.

"What would you like to do?" she asked, as they strolled off together.

Aben murmured something about the flowers that he had heard so much about. Could he see them? Angela would be delighted. They stood in a large conservatory at length in the dim light, and then Aben smiled down into Angela's face.

"I feel sure of my disguise now, darling," he whispered. "If I could deceive you, I am not in the least afraid that Sir Clement will find me out."

"But what does it mean, Harold?" Angela asked. "You certainly reminded me of yourself; but I should never have penetrated your disguise. But the Shan must know all about it."

"Of course he does. It is a little scheme that we have hatched together. I have no time to tell you everything now; indeed, with so clever a man to deal with as Frobisher it is far better that you should not know. But the Shan has done a very foolish thing, and his very throne is in danger. Both Frobisher and Lefroy know this, and they will do all they can to keep him under their control. If I can defeat that plot and free the Shan, then I need not trouble about the future."

Angela's eyes lighted up eagerly. All her quick sympathies had been interested.

"You will let me help you?" she exclaimed. "Harold, I am quite sure that you want my assistance. I am a great deal stronger and braver than you imagine. Try me."

"I am going to try you, my dear little girl," Harold whispered. "I should like to kiss you at this moment, but I dare not take any risks. For the present your task is a very simple one. I want you to get a certain lady in here and sit under the shaded lamp yonder. You must get here and keep her talking till I come back. If I hold up my two hands your task is finished; if I come forward, you must know that I want to speak to the lady alone."

"It all sounds very mysterious, Harold. Who is the lady?"

"They have christened her the lady of the rubies here. I was very pleased just now to hear that you had, so to speak, made friends with her. Will you go at once?"

Angela made off hurriedly, and, for the time being, Harold returned to the ballroom. On the whole, he was not particularly enamoured of the part he was playing: the idea of forcing himself into a house where he had been forbidden by the host was repugnant to his finer feelings; but, on the other hand, any scheme was worthy which had for its end the defeat of a scoundrel. As the Shan caught Harold's warning eye he left Frobisher and moved towards his ally.

"So far there is not much the matter," Harold replied. "Miss Lyne knows exactly what she has to do, and she will do it well. You are going to have a pretty big surprise just now, but whether it will turn out a pleasant one or the reverse I cannot say as yet. Stand here and pretend to be interested in the pictures."

Angela had been more successful in her search than Frobisher. A prosy peer had buttonholed his host and the latter could not get away for the present without using actual violence. Angela had found the lady of the rubies sitting in a dim corner alone. She looked a little dazed and tired.

"I am not used to it," she said frankly. "And I can't stand all their silly folly. I sent my partner for an ice on purpose to get rid of him. My dear young lady, you are very kind, and I've taken a great fancy to you because you are the first person I have spoken to to-night who is honest and true. All the same, I really want that ice, and if you can find some quiet corner----"

"I know the very thing," Angela cried eagerly, delighted at the way fate was playing into her hands. "Come along. There, what do you think of that? Sit down near the light and I'll go and get the ice."

Mrs. Benstein protested, but Angela was already out of earshot. The Shan and his companion were deeply engrossed in a pair of Romneys as Angela passed them.

"I have secured your bird," she whispered. "She is exactly where you asked me to place her."

Harold touched his companion on the arm, and they strolled away leisurely in the direction of the great conservatory. It was fairly quiet here, with few people about. Under the lamp sat a rarely beautiful woman whose dress from head to foot was one mass of rubies. Another one flamed across her forehead.

"What do you think of her?" Harold whispered. "And what do you think of that big stone that is attached to her forehead by those thin gold wires?"

The Shan started violently. He rubbed his hands across his red bloodshot eyes.

"The Blue Stone of Ghan," he whispered hoarsely. "By Allah, she is wearing the sacred jewel!"

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*DIPLOMACY.*

As the Shan stood there watching the graceful, unconscious form of Mrs. Benstein, a great rage seized him. In one moment his thin veneer of Western civilisation had vanished. He was Baserk, savage, hard and cruel, from his glittering eyes and long fingers that crooked as if on the woman's throat. He swayed against Denvers with the passion that thrilled him.

"Close in on her," he hissed. "Drag the jewel away. If you steal behind her and hold her by the throat----" He could say no more for the present. There was safety and freedom close to his hand, and only a frail woman between himself and his desires.

"Oh, rubbish!" Harold said coolly. "My good sir, you will kindly forget that you are the Shan of Koordstan for a moment, and recollect that you are a guest here. I can give a pretty shrewd guess how the stone came here--indeed, I should have been disappointed had I not seen it. Benstein is old and feeble, and he dotes on his wife. But there is a better way than yours. Can I trust you?"

The Shan nodded. He was recovering himself slowly.

"Then stay here, but do not be seen. Miss Lyne will be back presently, and she is on our side. Ah, here she comes. I have a few words to say to her."

Angela came up at the same moment, her eyes shining blue interrogation points. Harold drew her aside a little way and rapidly whispered a few words in her ear.

"Questions presently," he smiled. "We have only time for action now. Ask Mrs. Benstein to remain where she is, and say you will be back in a moment. Meanwhile, I must get you to present me to Lord Rashburn, the Foreign Secretary. Can you manage this?"

Angela was under the impression that she could manage this quite well. Rashburn was a close connection of Lady Frobisher, and a great admirer of her own; indeed, the handsome, courtly Foreign Secretary was an avowed admirer of the sex generally. It was some little time before Angela contrived to get possession of the great man and it required all her fascination to induce him to listen to the handsome young man who represented the Shan's suite.

"I'll give him five minutes," he said. "Where is the intelligent young foreigner?"

Harold came up at a sign from Angela. Lord Rashburn was courtly as usual, but bored. He particularly disliked intelligent young foreigners. He hoped that Aben Abdullah knew some English.

"I am English, my lord," Harold said coolly. "I assure you that I shall not bore you; indeed, I propose to interest you extremely. I heard your lordship in a recent speech observe that you derived a lot of good from reading healthy fiction; indeed, you went on to say that, under altered circumstances, you would have been an author yourself. I should like to discuss a little plot with you."

Rashburn was unaffectedly interested. Mystery and intrigue of any kind appealed to him; he was fond of building up stories from conventional surroundings. And there was some mystery here.

"Go on," he said, courteously. "I feel I shall be interested. In the first place, is the plot a--er--murder one?"

"Eventually, my lord. We will begin here in this very room, describing the house and the occasion, not forgetting the host. Our host, my lord, should make a fascinating study of a character given to--shall we say--to diplomatic methods?"

"Why not stretch a point and make him an unscrupulous rascal?" Lord Rashburn said dryly.

"That is a most excellent suggestion, my lord. We will go on to say that he has designs against my master; that he desires certain concessions that my master has promised elsewhere, say to a young Englishman who knows the past, and who, under an assumed name, is part of his suite. Sir Clement has a hold on my master, and I want to save him. In virtue of his office my master has in his possession a precious jewel called--called anything you like."

"The Blue Stone of Ghan!" Rashburn cried incautiously. "I know all about that."

"Let us call it a magic diamond," Harold smiled. "We must not be too realistic. After all said and done, this is no more than the plot of a story."

"To be sure," Rashburn said hastily. "I had forgotten that. Pray go on."

"My master is extravagant, which is a mild way of putting it. At the risk of losing everything, his head included, he raises money on the--er, diamond, pledges it, in fact, with a miserly old moneylender, who has a wife that he fairly dotes on. My master's enemies, including Sir Clement, and another called Count Lefroy, find this out. They cook up some story to the effect that the sacred--er, diamond is wanted to seal certain State papers. There, for the present, we must leave my master in the dilemma into which he has got himself and go forward, merely premising that he has promised to produce the stone and seal those documents to-morrow morning."

"One of the most ingenious plots I have heard of for a long while," Rashburn murmured.

"I flatter myself that the best part is to come," Harold proceeded. "My suggestion is that the moneylender should be seen and asked to let us have the stone for an hour or two, and add two thousand pounds to his charges. We called for that purpose, and the old man thinks we want the gem back. He is in such a state of pitiable terror when we call, that instantly I know that he has parted with the stone. From what he says its recovery is only a question of a few hours. He says something about the stone and the Bank of England, but that is all nonsense. I guess what he has done. He has lent the stone to somebody, and I also have a shrewd guess who that somebody is. Then I suggest that we come here."

"Capital!" Rashburn cried. "You are interesting me exceedingly. Go on."