Chapter II: Part 2

"By Jove!" put in the Earl, "wouldn't old Vorenbeck, or rather Germany, give something for the contents of that wallet!"

"Vorenbeck, the old scoundrel," replied Winn, with a laugh, "would give anything up to twenty thousand pounds for the contents of that wallet, provided they were in his hands by to-morrow evening. But that contingency need not be entertained, for it will not leave my person until I hand it myself to Forster on Saturday."

Inside the library, the _Figaro_ had slipped quietly to the ground, and the Count was staring hard in front of him, a curious expression in his eyes, as he pulled thoughtfully with one hand at his moustache.

There was a clatter of feet on the terrace, and the children ran up to their uncle. They were followed by Lady Dorothy, who shot a playfully reproachful glance at Winn. She had been dismissed by old Lady Steele as an incompetent reader.

"Kafanga, _toujours_ Kafanga!" she said, with a smile.

"But it was really necessary," he replied; "there shall be no more of it to-day, on my word of honour."

She stooped and laid a hand on Jim's curly head.

"This is my little cousin, Jim," she said.

Master Jim was staring open-mouthed at Winn. Under his arm he held a book of some kind.

"Jim," continued Lady Dorothy, "this gentleman is----"

"I know," blurted out Jim, without waiting for the introduction to be finished. He hastily opened the book and turned over the leaves with feverish impatience. Finally he selected a page and held it out for Winn's inspection.

"I know," he went on, his finger pointing to a red daub at the bottom, "you're the man who did this."

Winn looked, and saw that a map of South Africa was before his eyes. He laughed as he grasped the compliment.

"Yes, it's British now, right enough," he said.

Jim nodded. His gaze was fixed wonderingly on the bronzed face of the tall man. Then a sudden eager look spread over his face.

"Well," asked Winn, with a smile, as he noticed the pleading glance, "what is it?"

Jim hesitated shyly for a moment, then burst out in his childish treble--

"I want to know how you did it?"

Winn laughed again, and caught the boy up and placed him on his shoulder.

"Come, that's not a fair question," he said; "it's a State secret."

"And, like most State secrets, everyone knows it, and is proud of it," put in Lady Dorothy, with a smile at Winn.

Her glance drifted up to Master Jim, who looked supremely happy in his lofty position.

"You'll understand one day, Jim," she added, "how these things are done, when you're grown up."

"When I'm grown up," retorted Master Jim, confidently, "I'm going to do the same myself."

"If we go on at our present rate, there won't be any of South Africa left for him by that time," said the Earl. "We shall have to discover a new field for him to operate upon. But there is no immediate hurry. What do you say to our visiting the kennels in the meantime?"

"Delighted," said Winn, and the whole party moved off slowly down the terrace.

As soon as they were out of earshot, the Count got up leisurely from his seat. Producing his case, he lighted a cigarette. He puffed at it reflectively.

"Twenty thousand pounds," he said, softly; "yes, Vorenbeck would certainly give that for the Vaarg Valley plans--" he paused--"and it happens that I am a poor man."

He moved across the room towards a heavily-curtained doorway.

"But how," he muttered, "how is it to be done?"

He pulled the drapery aside, then started back in surprise. Miss Grahame was standing in the space between the curtains and the door. In one hand she was holding a book.

He looked at her suspiciously. He noticed that the door was closed behind her. How long had she been there? What had she heard?

She returned his gaze almost defiantly.

"I came to replace this book," she said, simply, then stepped forward.

He bowed to her in silence, and passed out of the room. She stood for a moment with her eyes fixed on the door through which he had disappeared.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "if I could only warn him!"

She stood for some minutes staring absently out of the window. Suddenly the sound of voices caught her ear, and she turned her head. She drew back quickly behind the curtain, as round the corner of the terrace Lady Dorothy appeared with Winn. He was smiling, and she was laughing happily into his face. It would have been difficult to picture a more perfect pair.

Olive Grahame stood for a few moments immovable, her eyes fixed on Winn. Then, as they came to within a few feet of the library window, she turned with a quick movement and hurried away. She made her way upstairs, and, gaining her room, shut the door. On the opposite side by the window stood a table, on which was an old-fashioned leather-covered desk. She crossed to this, and, unlocking it, began to turn over some papers. Presently she came upon a photograph. She held this before her and gazed at it steadily for some seconds. Suddenly it dropped from her grasp, and, sinking into a chair by the table, she leant forward and buried her face between her hands. Miss Grahame was crying.

* * * * *

The day passed pleasantly enough for Earl Kenwell's guests. They lunched, played tennis, drove, and after dinner there had been some music. Lady Dorothy sang, and Julia Crofton whistled--she was an accomplished amateur _siffleuse_. The ladies having retired, Lord Bobbie volunteered to play billiards with the Count. After one game, however, Bobbie, who had been yawning a good deal, remarked that he was extremely tired, and suggested that they should go to bed. The Count assented, and together they made their way upstairs.

Winn and the Earl had repaired to the latter's study with the intention of talking business. For an hour they discussed the Vaarg Valley scheme in all its bearings.

"Well, we have done everything we can," said the Earl, as a concluding remark, "the rest we must leave to Providence."

There was silence for a few moments. Winn puffed at his cigar, his eyes idly following the rings of smoke. From the other side of the room the Earl was subjecting him to a close and critical observation. He had no son of his own; as he noted Winn's splendid proportions, the look of indomitable resolution in his face, he felt that had he been blessed with one, he would have wished him to be like this man.

Then he thought of his daughter, Dorothy. He was not blind, and had been quick to observe the state of her feelings. He loved his daughter, he liked Winn. He had given the matter his close consideration, and had arrived at a decision. It was this decision which prompted him to speak now. He intended to hint to Winn that his engagement with Lady Dorothy would be entirely to his satisfaction.

"You say you will be returning to Kafanga in September?" he began.

Winn roused himself from his reverie.

"That was my intention," he replied; "but I have something to accomplish first, something----" He paused.

The Earl had his keen eyes fixed on him.

"Forgive me, Winn," he said, quietly, "I am not asking out of sheer curiosity, but the 'something'--is it a question of marriage?"

Winn looked straight across at the Earl.

"Yes," he said, simply.

The Earl rose from his seat and stood with his back to the mantelpiece.

"My dear Winn," he said, "I think I am right in saying that there is no one who wishes more to see you happily married than myself." The Earl paused. "And surely," he added, "with your reputation there should be no difficulty in achieving this end."

Winn shook his head slowly. The Earl glanced across at him, and for a moment their eyes met.

"Why not tell me?" said the Earl, gently.

Winn appeared to hesitate for a moment.

"You are very kind," he said at length. "It began when we were boy and girl----" He stopped, for the Earl's cigar dropped through his fingers to the ground, and he stooped to pick it up.

"Yes?" said the Earl, in a low tone. He was thinking of the disappointment in store for his daughter.

"She was the daughter of a country vicar under whose care I had been placed," continued Winn. "Then, I was suddenly thrown on my own resources, and there came the chance of my going to South Africa. We parted, and I vowed that I would come back to claim her.

"The day after I returned," he went on, speaking slowly, "I made my way down to the old place. I found the vicar dead--and she gone. I have searched everywhere, but can find no trace of her."

He rose to his feet.

"But I shall find her, I shall find her!" he said, and his voice had the same confident ring as when he uttered the words that night at Winchmere.

The Earl did not speak for a moment or so; then he stepped forward and held out his hand.

"I sincerely hope you will," he said; "if ever a man deserved a good wife, you are he."

Winn grasped the proffered hand.

"Thank you," he replied, simply.

"By Jove," continued the Earl, with a glance at the clock, "I didn't notice that it was so late! Shall we be going to bed?"

Winn had turned to the window and drawn aside the curtains. He passed a hand restlessly over his forehead.

"I think, if you don't mind, I will smoke a last cigar on the terrace. I don't feel sleepy, and the air will do me good. But please go on yourself. I know my way about perfectly."

The Earl demurred.

"I insist," said Winn, smilingly. "If you do not go, I shall have to give up my stroll."

"Well, if you're determined, that settles it," said the Earl, with a good-humoured laugh. "I have my recollections of the firmness of your decisions. Good-night."

Left alone, Winn lighted another cigar, then unfastened the French windows and stepped on to the terrace. He walked to the end, and stood at the top of the steps leading to the front entrance. He descended these, and started to stroll down the avenue of trees that stretched for half a mile to the park gates.

He did not know that from a window he was being watched by a pair of eyes--eyes that were shining with the eagerness that proclaims but one feeling in a woman. Olive Grahame, fully dressed--she had not the slightest inclination for sleep--was sitting at an open window, her gaze riveted on the tall figure that was fast disappearing from her view. Suddenly she gave a slight start, then strained eagerly forward. There was a brilliant moon, and across a small piece of turf she had seen a dark shadow move quickly. She looked intently. There was no mistake. She saw the shadow move again, then finally vanish into the blackness of the trees.

She got up quickly, her hand trembling with excitement. Someone was following Winn, hiding from him behind the trees! She stood for a moment in the middle of the room, thinking. One fact was clear before her: Alan Winn was in danger, and she was the only person who knew of it. Without a second's hesitation, she crossed her room, opened the door, and crept along the passage until she reached a staircase. She was well acquainted with the house, and knew a way by which she could gain the terrace. She reached the library, and found the window half open. Someone else had evidently used this means of exit. She guessed who.

In another minute, she had crossed the terrace, run down the steps, and was speeding quickly down the avenue. She had gone barely a dozen paces when her eye caught sight of a tiny patch of white ahead of her. It grew bigger, and she realised that it was coming towards her. A few yards more and she almost ran into the arms of the Count. He was in evening dress, and in one hand held a short, heavy-looking stick. With the other he was attempting to slip something into his pocket as he ran. As he met Olive, he drew back with a nervous start, and it slipped through his fingers to the ground. She pounced on it; it was a leather wallet.

Recovering from his surprise, he caught hold of her wrist. His face grew livid with rage.

"Give that to me, you little fool," he said, breathing heavily.

"What have you done to Mr. Winn?" she panted; "tell me, else I'll scream for help."

He glared at her savagely. Then, letting go her wrist, he drew back a step and raised the stick, as if about to strike her.

"Will you give that----?" he began, threateningly, then broke off with an oath.

Olive had seen her opportunity, and darted off down the avenue. He did not dare to follow her. She ran on for some fifty yards, then caught sight of a dark heap lying on the ground. In a moment she was kneeling by his side, peering eagerly into his face.

Winn uttered a groan, then slowly opened his eyes. His head was tough, and it took a heavier blow than the one which the Count had dealt him to effectually lay him low.

"Where am I?" he said, in a dazed tone, raising himself on one elbow. His hand flew to his pocket. "The wallet?" he cried.

She pressed it into his hand. He clasped it, and his eyes travelled up to her face. For a moment he stared at her in absolute wonderment.

"Olive!" he gasped, "is it really you, my darling?"

She was trembling, but looked into his face with smiling eyes.

"Really me," she said.

Slowly and unsteadily he rose to his feet.

"It is bewildering," he said. "I am knocked on the head in some mysterious fashion, and the plans are stolen. I regain consciousness, and find you by my side with the wallet. What does it all mean?"

She told him what had happened.

"Wonderful!" he cried at the conclusion, catching hold of her hand, "to think that you, of all people, should come to my aid in this fashion! Do you know, Olive, I have thought of you every day during the last eight years; and now----" He paused and looked into her face.

"Ah! now," she said, falteringly, "our positions are so different. Remember, I am only a gov----"

"You are the woman I love," he interrupted; "and do you think I can let you go--after this? Olive, you cannot--you must not ask it of me! My dearest, you----?"

He stopped and looked into her eyes for the answer. Then, satisfied by what he saw there, he drew her gently to him.

* * * * *

At the breakfast table the next morning there was one absentee. The Count had been suddenly called away and had left by the early train.

"Extraordinary!" remarked Bobbie Scaife. "I wonder what was the reason?" he added, looking across at Winn.

Winn gave no reply. His thoughts at that moment were centred on a young person who, in the schoolroom, was continuing her lesson with Master Jim.

Jim had found something wanting in his lesson that morning. He looked up at his governess with a troubled expression.

"You don't seem to be thinking about my jogruffy at all, Miss Grahame," he said, at last, in rather an aggrieved tone.

Jim was a keen observer. Her thoughts had been far away from the consideration of the natural products of Canada. She turned to him now with a smile.

"We'll have to make up for it to-morrow, dear," she said. "See, it is your time for going out."

A few moments afterwards a servant appeared and took charge of the children.

As the door closed behind them, Olive Grahame strolled to the window and looked out across the park. The sun was shining and everything was tinged with its gold.

"It's wonderful," she murmured, "after all these years!"

There was a tap at the door. She turned and saw Earl Kenwell entering the room; with him was Winn.

The Earl crossed to the window and held out his hand.

"Miss Grahame," he said, with a smile, "will you please accept my congratulations? My friend Winn has been telling me how he has been hunting the country for you, and found you at last under my roof. He has also told me how you pluckily saved the Vaarg Valley plans from our rivals; and after hearing the story, I took the liberty of telling _him_ that he is an exceptionally lucky man to have gained such a woman for his wife."

"You are very kind," murmured Olive, with a blush.

The Earl pushed open the French windows and led the way on to the terrace. Winn linked his arm within Olive's and followed.

"If ever I meet that scoundrel Morlot," remarked the Earl, "I'll----"

There was a rustle of a dress on the terrace, and a second afterwards Lady Dorothy appeared in view. The Earl shot a half-nervous glance at Winn, then turned to meet his daughter.

"Dolly," he said, and his voice was more affectionate than usual, "we have some surprising news for you."

Lady Dorothy had come to a sudden stop, and her eyes were fixed on Olive and Winn, whose arms were still linked.

"It appears," continued the Earl, and his voice grew even softer, "that Miss Grahame and Mr. Winn are old friends--very old friends--" he paused awkwardly, "that is, they knew one another before he went to Africa." Again the Earl paused.

Lady Dorothy was still standing with her gaze riveted on the pair. She saw the whole affair at a glance, and her heart seemed to grow cold within her.

"Yes, Lady Dorothy," said Winn, coming to the Earl's rescue, "Olive and I have loved one another for ten years, although separated most of the time. We have met again, and she has promised to be my wife."

There was a moment's dead silence. Olive glanced up timidly, and her gaze met that of Lady Dorothy. Both women knew that the other loved Alan Winn; but one counted her love by years, the other by days. One had dreamed, hoped, counted on being his wife, and she had lost. The other knew all this, and her heart went out in sympathy to her rival.

Lady Dorothy looked at the pretty flushed face; the grey eyes seemed almost pleading in their wistfulness. She felt she could not hate this girl. With a sudden movement she stepped forward and held out her hands. Olive grasped them eagerly.

"I hope," said Lady Dorothy, and her voice had a slight tremor in it--"I hope you'll be very, very happy."

Then she released her hold of Olive, and, without another word, hurried away. The Earl turned his head and watched his daughter disappear. There was a suspicious moisture about his eyes as he faced Winn again.

"You two would perhaps like to be alone," he said, forcing a smile, "so I'll wish you _au revoir_ for the present," and he too hastened away.

The pair stood silent for a moment. Then she touched him lightly on the arm. He bent his head and looked at her inquiringly.

"What is it, dearest?" he asked.

"I hope," she said, softly, "that some day she will marry someone worthy of her--someone whom she will love as much--" she paused, and looked into his face--"as much as I love you."

He pressed her gently to him and kissed her lips.

"I hope so, too," he said; "she is a good woman."

Events happened as they wished; for, a year later, the engagement of Lady Dorothy to Lord Scaife was announced.

"Awfully glad, old chap," remarked Julia Crofton, as she tendered her congratulations; "you didn't go particularly strong at the start, but you picked up splendidly at the finish. I didn't think you had it in you," she added, candidly.

"Oh," replied Bobbie, with a happy laugh, "as with those successful fellows from South Africa, it's the 'grit' that tells."

THE HOME OF FOUR O'CLOCK TEA.

SOME GOSSIP NOT OFTEN HEARD.

Of the millions of people who drink tea, very few seem to know how it is grown or manufactured.

They would hardly believe that there are just on 800,000 acres of land planted under tea in India and Ceylon, employing over one million people--all British subjects. Just imagine employing a fifth of the population of London for the production of one article! Then, again, look at the thousands of people who are employed in the tea trade at home--merchants, dealers, brokers--all dependent on this one article of consumption for their bread-and-butter!

And yet hardly ten per cent. of these know anything about tea manufacture, or have ever given a thought to the one million of people employed in its production.

The duty paid to the Customs during the past twelve months on Indian and Ceylon tea amounted to £3,805,935, to say nothing of the revenue accruing to the Indian and Ceylon Governments in taxes and a hundred and one little charges, all helping to swell the coffers of State, and enabling hundreds of thousands of people to maintain a living.

Surely all these things should induce the patriotic British public to drink only British-grown tea, grown as it were by their own people--for are not India and Ceylon British? and are not the people of Great Britain and India and Ceylon one, under one Sovereign?

The plucking of the tea plant generally commences about the middle of March, and goes on till the end of November, except in Ceylon, where it goes on more or less throughout the twelve months, there being no cold weather to check the "flush" and allow the bushes to lie dormant.

A tea bush is not considered fully ripe for plucking until about five years of age, though a little "tipping" is done on low-lying gardens during the third and fourth years. It is generally carried on by the coolie women and children; the former are rapid and expert workers, and are paid so much for every pound of green leaf plucked. As the leaves are plucked they are thrown into baskets, the contents of which are taken to the factory twice a day for weighing.

There are many ideas as to how plucking should be carried out, and how many leaves should be taken off, but the most general system is to pluck two leaves and a bud, not separately but together.

Some planters, who prefer quantity to quality, pluck the half or whole of the third leaf as well.

It must be thoroughly understood that all the leaves are not "ripped" off the bushes, but only the young shoots. It is a very delicate operation, requiring great care and skill, and is usually carried out under the eye of the assistant manager.

It is usual to get round a plantation once in six to eight days, and woe be to him who cannot cope with the leaf, or lets it run away from him, as it will show the result both in the dry leaf and liquor.

The leaf, when plucked, is brought into the factory, weighed, and put through the following process of manufacture. The first process is called withering. The leaf is thinly spread on wire meshing, stretched from end to end of the loft or withering-house, the object being to allow a certain percentage of moisture to evaporate, and to get the leaf into a pliable condition for rolling, so that it will not break during this process. Properly withered leaf should be as flexible as a soft kid glove.

Then comes the rolling, the object of which is to break the cells of the leaf one into the other, so as to free the juice and to give a "twist" or "roll" to the leaf. Care has to be taken that too much juice is not expressed, which would be detrimental to the liquor when in the household pot.

The old and dirty method of rolling by hand, which is still carried out by our Chinese friends, is quite extinct in India and Ceylon, where rolling machines or tables are used.

The religion of the natives of India compels them to be cleaner in their habits than the Chinese, so it would not matter how much they handled the leaf.

The next process through which the unfortunate tea leaf has to go, and which is considered by many planters as the most critical in the whole manufacture, is fermentation, as good leaf can easily be spoiled.

After coming out of the rollers, the leaf is taken into a separate room, generally built off the factory, away from the heat, as it is essential to keep the fermenting leaf cool and moist. It is then spread in little heaps on the floor or trays, having to be constantly turned over to keep cool. It soon begins to oxidise, and change from a bright green to a bright coppery colour, the young leaves being as bright as a new penny.

Some planters sift these young leaves from the coarse directly after the rolling, so as to try and get a more even colour, but it is a most difficult task, as the leaves are sticky and cling together. It is usual, as soon as the desired copper colour is obtained, to give the leaves another roll just before firing.

The object to be obtained in the next process--firing--is to remove all the moisture, without losing any of the constituents which add to the commercial value of the tea. Most factories are equipped with modern firing machines, and these are of many kinds. Heated air drawn over the leaf by revolving fans is the method of most machines. The temperature used is different on nearly every estate, according to the ideas of the planters. Some men give two firings. First the leaf is fired 70% dry at a certain temperature, and then taken to another machine, where the final firing takes place.

Then comes the sorting of the dry leaf into the various grades, the names of which are pretty well known to most people, _i.e._ Pekoe, P. Souchong, etc. This is done, as the photograph shows, by revolving flat sieves of varying sizes, after which it is refired, weighed, and packed ready for despatch to market. It will be seen that the manufacture of tea is somewhat of an art, requiring all the skill of the planter. He sometimes has to turn out two or three times a night to see that nothing is overlooked. Climatic influence plays an important part both in the quality of leaf and during manufacture. Sometimes it is impossible to get your leaf to wither and ferment, flirt with it as you will; at others the change is so rapid that it is almost impossible to cope with it. Nothing is so disappointing as the manufacture of tea, for, having done all in your power, and watched each process carefully with untiring energy, under most unfavourable circumstances, you possibly receive a broker's report on the samples, with a polite letter from your agent telling you that the tea is unsatisfactory.

Our photographs are by Bourne and Shepherd, Calcutta.

STATISTICS GONE MAD.

WITH APOLOGIES TO THE STATISTICAL SOCIETY AND MR. HOLT SCHOOLING.

BY J. G. GRANT.

_Illustrated by the Author's diagrams._

Of late years our magazines have been overrun by the statistical fiend, and I propose to show how the thing is done.

I shall have the honour of laying before the reader a few startling statistics of facts and phenomena discovered by myself. These discoveries might have been made by anybody who would take the trouble, and the great point about them is what Mr. Jerome terms their hopeless veracity.

But let me plunge at once _in medias res_; and let me mention, before we proceed further, that my statistics will be illustrated by scientific diagrams, invented by myself without the assistance of any man, woman, or child whatsoever.

Any ordinary intelligent person must have observed that human beings differ in many things, and especially in personal appearance. This is an absolute fact. And here is a terrible field for the fiend aforementioned. I begin at once, and I herewith give a diagram, which I am able to produce after years of observation. The number of dots inside the circle in Fig. 1 represents, with great accuracy, the number of men--and women, for that matter--in every hundred, who are born bald. In order to spare the reader the trouble of counting the dots, I have counted them myself, and find there are one hundred. The reader can count them in Fig. 2 for himself, without any undue strain. This figure represents the percentage of men with green whiskers.

Talking of hair reminds me, and so in Fig. 3 I give another diagram, which shows at a glance the number per cent, of red-headed men who are thoroughly convinced that their hair--if any--is any colour under the sun _except_ red. I have counted the crosses in the hundred squares, and find there are ninety-eight; the ninety-ninth man is colour-blind as a rule, and the hundredth hasn't got any hair; so neither cares a rap.

From hair we pass, by an easy transition, to the average monthly magazine. Let us put down its average composition diagramatically. Let us represent by the first cube the size of the paper, the whole paper, and nothing but the paper. The other three cubes explain themselves and that, by the way, is what scientific diagrams are sometimes not very guilty of.

The size of its paper.

The comparative bulk of its advertisements.

The amount of its fiction.

Its maximum of truth. ]

Do any of you ever go to smoking concerts? Yes? Very well, you will appreciate the next scientific diagram for its mathematical exactness. I have a friend called Smith--he spells it Smythe, but that's nothing--and the diagram refers to certain events which (as the descriptive reporter would say) sometimes transpire.

Fig. 5 A shows the number of keyholes observed in the door by Smith (or Smythe) as he is about to operate with his latch-key on returning home from business at 5 p.m. Fig. 5 B shows the number he sometimes sees when he returns from his club about 11.30 p.m. As a rule he attempts, on this occasion, with great perseverance to put the right key in the wrong hole, or _vice versá_. Fig. 5 C shows the number he doesn't see when he returns home even later than 11.30 p.m.

Fig. 5 represents the number of keyholes seen by Smythe in the same door at different times of the day and night.]

Let us change the subject, my friends, as it must be very painful to you to read such things about my poor friend Smith (or Smythe). I can easily change it--it is all the same to me. I will now give you an "easy one"--so easy that it can be comprehended by a person of the meanest intelligence. Fig. 6 merely shows in a simple and unobtrusive manner how many beans make five. There is no answer to this.

We may now attempt something more difficult and elaborate. In point of fact, let us proceed to "trace a curve," as we say in the differential and integral trigonometry. The curve explains itself, and to those who are not acquainted with the Higher Mathematics the diagram may seem a bit mixed; but the same may be said of most things in this wicked world.

It is evident that diagrams such as Fig. 7 might be manufactured _ad infinitum_, also _ad nauseam_.

At this stage of the proceedings I may say that I challenge and defy the whole world to controvert, deny, or disprove any one of my statistics.

But, really, if anyone has any faculty for statistic-mongering, and wishes to exercise that faculty, let me cordially recommend him to try his hand on statistics taken from astronomy, and, if he emerges scatheless from the fray, he may thank his stars (no pun intended).

He might, for example, calculate how long a London Chatham and Dover train would take to travel from Capella to the Great Bear, supposing it ran(!) day and night. Or again, he might reckon how long it would take an average bargee to circumnavigate the canals of Mars.

Or yet again he might work out how many threepenny pieces it would require piled one above the other to reach from Whitechapel to the Moon.

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Number of hams in Tottenham Court Road X George Washington's "Record" X Number of Graces X Number of "Macs" X Number of fingers on the human hand X Total number in a half-dozen X Number of lives possessed by a cat X Number in an octave X Number of wet days in a week X Number of sides to a square X

Scientific diagrams of such things as these would be extremely interesting, and nearly as useful as those of the present article.

"A PRINCESS IN GREEN AND TAN."

THE STORY OF A BLOOMSBURY SENSATION.

BY ARTHUR PRESTON.

_Illustrated by A. Rackham._

Never did my prospects seem worse or more gloomy than in the winter of 188-.

I had returned to England from a five years' sojourn in the more unsettled parts of British Columbia, after an unsuccessful pursuit of fortune in that land of gold, mountains, and timber. It was at Felixstowe--that charming watering-place, where my people then had a house--that I first came into relation with those who were afterwards to exercise such influences for good or evil on my life.

I was walking round the place renewing my acquaintance with the English life, when I was confronted with the most beautiful face I have ever seen. It belonged to a young girl of eighteen or nineteen, quietly dressed in a green walking-skirt and tan jacket, while her blue eyes looked out from under a mass of golden hair, in turn surmounted by a sailor hat.

As her eyes for a moment met mine, I was conscious of that magnetic thrill which I was told afterwards my mistress exercised on all those with whom she came in contact. She was accompanied by a lady somewhat older than herself, and whom, from her likeness, I mentally set down as being, if not her sister, at any rate her near relative. As soon as I conveniently could, I turned round and followed them, and noticed them enter a house which--as a perusal of the Felixstowe visitors' list, hastily bought and perused, informed me--was at present occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Delaine.

I was both astonished and delighted at this, as this Mrs. Delaine was a person upon whom my mother had by mutual friends been asked to call.

That very afternoon, I determined, should obtain for me at least a bowing acquaintance with her. Alas for my dreams! Our ring at the bell produced a man-servant, who stated that Mrs. Delaine was away from home, and he did not know when she would return. From then on I haunted the walks about Felixstowe, meeting my divinity over and over again, but never once could I see that she betrayed the least knowledge that these frequent momentary meetings were anything but the results of accident.

At last a day came when I no longer saw her. In vain I walked up and down the promenade and through the town. Felixstowe was full indeed, but to me it was empty, for the golden hair, the blue eyes, the tan jacket, and the green skirt no longer greeted my longing and expectant gaze.

* * * * *

It was in Piccadilly--that world in miniature, and the scene of so many strange occurrences--that the first act of the drama took place, of which the foregoing was merely the prelude.

I was strolling down the thoroughfare, nearly a month after the disappearance of my lady (for so I called her to myself), and thinking, as indeed I always was, of her, when my own immediate affairs and embarrassments did not fill my mind, when I met her face to face. The thing was at once so natural and at the same time so coincident with my own thoughts, that I could do little more than stare blankly after her.

It was nearly noon, and the well-dressed crowd jostled and pushed me as I stood there. Mechanically I turned to follow after her, when she was joined by the lady who had been with her at Felixstowe, and the two, hailing a hansom, were driven away rapidly, leaving me staring stupidly after the fast disappearing vehicle.

As I was retracing my steps I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I perceived a tall man of about thirty-five or forty years of age, his keen grey eyes surmounted by heavy black eyebrows and lashes, while a big moustache almost hid his firm mouth, and drooped down to his heavy square chin.

"You know that lady?" he queried, more with the air of stating a fact than of asking a question.

"I know that I am not in the habit of answering lunatics, or impertinent strangers," I answered, hotly--for my temper is hasty, and the man's manner was abrupt.

"Nevertheless, you do know her," he answered, doggedly.

I turned, leaving the man there, and walked into Sackville Street. I had not gone twenty yards, when I heard his hurrying step behind me.

"She is in danger, Mr. Darcy," he hissed into my ear.

This time I turned round, amazed at the man's knowledge of my name.

"And she needs help," he said, looking me full in the face.

"You know my name," was all I could say, stupidly.

"It is my business to know things," he said, impatiently; "but will you help her?" he added.

"Help whom, man?" I replied, testily.

"The lady who was at Felixstowe, and ten minutes ago got into a cab," he answered.

"But there were two," I said.

"Only one needs help," he replied, grimly; "the other----" He broke off abruptly. "But come to my rooms where we can talk without interruption," he added.

I was so amazed that I followed the man unquestioningly to a quiet turning off Burlington Street.

"Now," he said, when he had waved me to a chair and seated himself--"now we can talk freely."

"You ask for my help," I said, "and on behalf of some lady who is in danger. You talk in riddles, man; I----"

"Is it possible you do not know who she is?" he interrupted.

"No," I said, "I do not, nor do I know you either. All I know of the lady I can tell you in a few words," and then and there I told him of my meeting her at Felixstowe, my call at the house, her disappearance, and my recognition of her again in Piccadilly, which he himself had witnessed. "But I have never spoken to her," I concluded.

"But of the lady with her?" he interrupted eagerly, "the lady who met her in the street, and accompanied her in the hansom--was she there all the time?"

"The lady with her?" I repeated, slowly. "I hardly noticed her." And in very truth I had indeed hardly done so, having no eyes for anyone but my lady, and beyond the fact that she was pretty (as indeed she must needs be to so closely resemble my lady) I had not paid any attention to her. "There was a lady closely resembling her with her all the time," I continued, "and at one time another woman, and once a man."

"Dark, and with a scar on one cheek?" interposed my companion.

"Yes," I answered, slowly, for now he mentioned it I clearly recalled noticing a scar on the fellow's cheek.

My companion mused for a few seconds, then--

"I had better give you the whole story," he said, and commenced as follows:--

"My name is Von Bieberstein, at one time equerry to Her Serene Highness the Princess Elsa, Hereditary Princess of Schwannenwald, but I was dismissed from her service through the machinations and false representations of her enemies and mine, though God knows Her Highness has no truer servant than I.

"She is the younger of the two ladies you have seen; the elder is Her Highness's first cousin, the Grand Duchess Hedwig, also of Schwannenwald, and heir after her cousin in the direct line to the throne of Schwannenwald. She is an ambitious woman, and a fiend incarnate, and as wicked as she is beautiful. The man with the scar was her equerry, Von Zahn, and the two combined are as unscrupulous and as dangerous a couple as you could find."

"But, man," I broke in, "we are in London, and in the nineteenth century. You cannot imagine Her Highness's life to be in danger."

"No, I don't," he answered, grimly, "I _know_ it. Do you suppose crowns are less valuable now than in the seventeenth century, or that when a throne is at stake our boasted civilisation does not peel off as easily as an old glove? It was a glimmering of this plot that cost me my place, and almost my life."

As he spoke he bared his chest, and showed me the small round white scar of a bullet wound. "Fired, if not by the Grand Duchess's finger, at least by her direction," he said, with a grim smile. "But the question is, will you help me?"

"I am a total stranger to you," I commenced, "and----"

"The affair at Eagle's Nest is not unknown even in Schwannenwald," he said, with a smile.

I started. The affair to which he alluded had happened during my third year in British Columbia, when a party of three white men (of which I was one) and a lady had been surrounded in a log cabin by hostile Indians. I was lucky enough at some little risk to escort the lady to a place of safety.

Von Bieberstein rang, and ordered his man to bring up a bottle of champagne and glasses.

"I have a health to give you," he said; "you can wait, John," he added to the man. When the glasses were filled, Von Bieberstein rose to his feet.

"To the health of Her Serene Highness the Princess Elsa," said he.

"And confusion to her enemies. May she never lack a plain English gentleman to do her bidding for the sake of his lady and her own bonny face!" I added, ecstatically.

Von Bieberstein looked at me for a moment, then--

"Spoken like the man of Eagle's Nest. Can you use a sword?" he said.

"I studied under Andretti at Milan in '84," I said, "but----"

"Let us try," he said, briefly, reaching a couple of foils from a corner.

We fought for some few minutes, when with a quick movement he disarmed me with a wrench.

"You are well enough," he said. "Nay, do not look so downfallen, man." He smiled, noticing my foolish look. "It was but a trick of the wrist, and better men than you have deemed it no shame for Von Bieberstein to disarm them. Now, listen," he continued, laying aside his foil. "To-night the Duchess Hedwig holds a council of the chief of her supporters in the house she and her sister the Princess have taken in Great Coram Square, Bloomsbury. The council will be held after the Princess Elsa has retired to her own apartments in a different wing of the house. It is there I must see her, and lay such proof of the plot before her as will persuade her to fly. You, for your part, will be an unobserved observer of the Duchess's council, for the double purpose of identifying the persons present, and of guarding me against possible interruption."

"But of the danger to the Princess," I began. "Is she not----"

"The fact of her being at liberty to-day is an indication that no immediate villainy is contemplated," broke in my companion.

"But how in the world can she be harmed here in London?" I exclaimed. "She cannot be poisoned or shot, without investigation exposing the whole dastardly plot."

"A very different medium will be employed," he replied. "I have good reason for believing that dynamite----"

"Dynamite!" I exclaimed, incredulously.

"Ay, dynamite, man!" he replied, grimly. "You have already told me we are not in the seventeenth century, and in a modern crime the perpetrators will undoubtedly use modern weapons."

"But how, man?" I commenced, by no means convinced.

"There are always the Anarchists," said my companion, "and London, thanks to the British Government, is known to be a hot-bed of them. Her Highness has several times received threatening letters, and for the rest the thing is easy. Come," he said, smiling, "you are on her side now, and she sorely needs help. Meet me in Great Coram Square to-night at ten, and bring a sword. A long cloak and a hansom will hide the incongruity of the weapon in modern London. There may be use for it, and for obvious reasons they will not use firearms."

"But----" I began, and paused, for I had a natural reluctance to confess to this comparative stranger that the state of my purse precluded the purchasing of swords and the taking of hansoms.

"Ah!" he said, smiling, and as usual divining my thoughts with great perspicacity. "Is that how it is? Well, thank God, Schwannenwald can always be sure that those that rally to her banner can at any rate go properly equipped to the fight. And a brave man is none the worse when he looks on his last florin, or takes the gold which he has earned," he said, pressing a roll of notes on me.

"But I have not earned it," I objected.

"At any rate I think I can promise that before to-morrow morning you will have done so." He smiled, and with a hearty grip of the hand he waved me to the door. "To-night at ten," he said.

After a light meal I went out to make my preparations. A light rain was falling as my hansom made its way through the crowded streets to the quieter parts of Bloomsbury. About a hundred yards from my destination I dismissed my cab, and walked to the square, which, owing to the rain and the hour, was completely deserted. It was a gloomy spot, and Von Bieberstein was nowhere to be seen. As I strolled up and down I wondered which house was our destination. A light touch on the arm recalled me, and turning I saw Von Bieberstein.

"I have a carriage at the corner waiting," he said, "and an hour, if all goes well, should see the Princess on her way to safety. That is the house yonder," he said, pointing to a gloomy-looking house on the opposite side of the square, standing between two others whose boards proclaimed them to be let. The house might have been as deserted as its fellows had it not been for a faint light which gleamed through the glass at the top of the front door. The rest of the house was in darkness.

"The apartments in use are at the back of the house," said Von Bieberstein at my elbow.

"How are we to get in?" I whispered.

"I have arranged all that," he said, softly. "One of Her Highness's women has left a basement window open. We shall make our way down the area, enter the window, and ascend the back stairs till we stand inside that front door. You will then make your way up the main staircase till you come to a passage; proceeding along this, you will come to a door on the right-hand side. Enter this, and you will see what you have to do.

"If in an hour you hear no alarm, make your way out as you came; but if you are attacked, guard the door you entered by until I can come to you or send assistance. There," he said, with a sigh, for he was no great lover of long speeches, "that is all, and should anything happen to us--well, good-bye, and remember Eagle's Nest"--this with a smile. He gave me a hearty grip of the hand, and we made our way towards the house.

Every thing came about as Von Bieberstein had said. Leaving our cloaks in the area, and with naked swords in our hands, we entered the window, and in a few minutes stood inside the door, the exterior of which I had seen from the square. A confused murmur came from above us, and a dim light hung from a chain above our heads. Von Bieberstein pointed with his sword to the staircase before us, and with a nod I made my way towards it, holding my sword tightly in my hand. It was thickly carpeted, and my ascent was made without noise, and I soon found myself in the passage mentioned.

The voices grew more distinct as I proceeded, until at last, when I reached the door on the right, I could hear a word here and there. The door itself was ajar, but no glimmer of light made its way out, so with my heart in my mouth I quietly pushed it open and entered. I found myself in a long narrow room with one window heavily curtained at one end, but my attention was riveted to what I saw immediately before me. Two heavy curtains, closely drawn together with here and there a bright chink of light penetrating where they met, divided the room I was in from a larger one.

Cautiously advancing towards these, I managed by applying my eye to one of the chinks to see into the room. Round a table, brilliantly lighted by a cluster of electric lights immediately above it, were seated half a dozen men in court dress and wearing swords; at the head of the table and on a seat slightly higher than the others was seated a lady, whom I at once recognised as the companion of my lady of Felixstowe. She was in evening dress, and a coronet of diamonds surrounded her head. She wore several sparkling orders, prominent among which I recognised the White Eagle of the reigning house of Schwannenwald. I looked through my chink long and curiously at her.

Standing beside her chair was the equerry Von Zahn, who at that moment was speaking.

"I think we are all agreed, gentlemen," he was saying, "that in the troublous times that must succeed the lamented demise of His present Majesty, the throne of Schwannenwald will have need of a clear head and a firm ruler. Beauty is of course to be respected, but the two do not always go together. When they are united"--and here he bowed with respect to the Duchess--"I for my part see no reason to look further."

His words seemed to have the assent of the men at the table, with the exception of one man who seemed about to speak. But the equerry, evidently divining this, went on quickly.

"Her Serene Highness," he said, "who has already deigned to give us many tokens that our humble counsels are not altogether unappreciated by her, has chosen to-night for a final attestation of this, and proposes to confer on the gentlemen here present the Royal Order of the Garter of Schwannenwald. Allow me, gentlemen, to be the first to congratulate you on this honour."

With this, he stepped to a side table and returned with a jeweller's box and a small velvet cushion, the former of which he handed to the Duchess. The Duchess placed her hand in the box and laid one of the glittering orders on the cushion, which the equerry immediately bore round to the first recipient, who, rising, fell on his knee at the Duchess's chair, murmuring his thanks and devotion as he kissed her hand. The same thing happened until it came to the turn of the man who had been inclined to speak at the first. Then I noticed a shade cross the Duchess's face, and--

"How is this, sir?" she cried angrily to the equerry. "Is Count Heindrich to receive no order, or is this some ill-timed pleasantry on your part?" and she held up the empty box.

"Your Highness misjudges me," answered the equerry; "the mistake is evidently a stupid one of the jeweller's, and if I have your Highness's permission, and that of Count Heindrich,"--and he glanced towards that gentleman, who was now scowling freely--"I will to-morrow----"

"Nay, if that be all," broke in the Duchess, gaily, "I think I can rectify it, at any rate for the time," and she rose from her seat and disappeared behind a large screen. A moment later she reappeared, holding something in her hand.