Kitabı oku: «The Cardinal Moth», sayfa 9
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."
"We come here. And here we find that a great sensation has been created by a lady who is dubbed the lady of the ru – I mean the queen of the diamonds. She is the wife of the great financier my master and I have been so recently interviewing. Remember he is old and senile, and dotes on her. It is inevitable that he has lent her the great diamond as a kind of glorious finish to her toilette."
"In fact, we may assume that you have seen it blazing on her – shall we say forehead?" Rashburn asked.
"You have guessed it exactly, my lord," Harold went on. "Here, then, is a beautiful complication – my master has to get the gem back, and incidentally is ready to commit murder to do so; here is the host who may come along at any time, and recognise the gem. That is as far as I have developed the story as yet, but I might at this point bring in yourself and your Government and make an international matter of it. If this thing leaks out, the Shan, who is favourable to England, goes, and his cousin, who is from Russia, steps on to the throne. Would it be fair to ask the Government to lend my master two hundred thousand pounds under the circumstances?"
Lord Rashburn glanced admiringly into the face of his companion, and shook his head.
"It would be a foolish thing to mention the affair directly to the Foreign Secretary at all. Officially I could not listen to you for a moment. I can only listen to you now because I am interested in stories of any light kind. But if you are asking my advice purely to get your local colour right – "
"That's it," Harold said eagerly. "If it were true, which is the proper course to pursue?"
"I see you are a born novelist," Rashburn smiled shrewdly. "Well, in these matters there are intermediaries, rich men who are ready to sacrifice their purse for their country. Most of these men have strong claims on the Government of the day. Some of them become Commissioners, of this, that, and the other, and have letters after their names. Some become baronets, or even members of the Upper House. There is Mr. Gerald Parkford, for instance. He is over there talking to the lady in the yellow satin. I understand that he is deeply interested in problems of this kind, and has frequently done the State some service, at a considerable loss to himself. Some day his wife will wear a coronet. Purely out of regard for your story I will introduce you to Parkford, and then you will be able to bring the tale to a logical conclusion. Of course you will see that if this were anything but fiction it would have been a gross impertinence of you to have mentioned it to me."
"Of course, my lord," Harold said humbly, and carefully avoiding Rashburn's eyes. "If your lordship will be so kind as to make me known to Mr. Parkford – "
"I will do that with the greatest possible pleasure. I shall catch his eye presently. Ah, I thought so."
The little keen, brown-faced man opposite looked up presently, and at a sign from Rashburn excused himself to his fair companion, and crossed the floor. Rashburn explained the situation in a few words.
"I understand you are fond of adventures of this kind," he said. "For the sake of my friend here, and for the sake of his book, you will give him the benefit of your advice. My dear young friend, I am quite fascinated by your interesting story. Good night."
Rashburn turned upon his heel in the most natural manner, and plunged at once into a flirtation with a pretty girl in pink. Nobody would have guessed that he had just listened to a thrilling piece of information that might mean a new move for him in his Eastern policy. The little keen-eyed man looked at Harold and nodded his head interrogatively.
"Of course, Rashburn has to play his game," he said. "It would never do for him to know anything about the thing officially, unless the Shan approached him personally, which is not in the least likely. Because, you see, we have got to get that ruby back – no reason to split hairs between you and I – and by fair means or foul. Personally, I should prefer to settle the business on prosaic business lines – go to Benstein very late, tell him we know everything, and tender him a cheque for the money and bring away the ruby on an authority from the Shan to do so."
"Not a written authority," Harold said hastily.
"Of course not. You could come along if you liked. That's one way of settling the business out of hand. A day or two after, Rashburn would ask me how the story was going on, and I should say that I had showed you a flaw in it, and that as the money had been forthcoming the affair was finished on much too matter-of-fact lines to give an interesting finish. He would understand."
"And his diplomacy would be unspotted," Harold smiled. "But I fancy we are not going to be allowed to finish quite in this light-hearted way. We have Frobisher to deal with – Frobisher who suggested that Mrs. Benstein should appear in the role of the Queen of the Rubies. He knew that Benstein had the Blue Stone; he knew that Mrs. Benstein is in the habit of borrowing gems left with her husband for security; and he calculated on her borrowing that pearl amongst rubies for to-night. Do you suppose, knowing Frobisher's character, that he means that stone to leave the house?"
"I know that he is an utterly unscrupulous scoundrel," Parkford said freely. "Oh, he is quite capable of this kind of thing. Do you happen to know anything of Miss Lyne?"
"I am engaged to be married to her," Harold said quietly.
The little brown-faced man whistled softly, but his features expressed no astonishment.
"I thought your English was uncommonly good for a native," he said. "Of course, I know all about you now. My wife, who knows the history of everybody in London, I believe, told me about Harold Denvers and Miss Lyne, and how you had been forbidden the house and all that kind of thing. I seem to remember, too, that at one time your father and Frobisher were by the way of being friends."
"To my father's cost," Harold said with some little bitterness. "He robbed and ruined my father, and he died a broken man. That was before Frobisher put money in his purse by so shamefully abusing his position in the diplomatic service. As to Miss Lyne – "
"Miss Lyne may be of the greatest possible service to us," Parkford said.
"She is of use at the present moment," Harold said. "Of course she knows I am here and why, though I should be kicked out of the house if discovered. Miss Lyne is keeping Mrs. Benstein out of the way for the moment – out of Frobisher's way, that is."
Parkford jerked his thumb over his right shoulder and nodded. As Harold looked up he saw the shifting figure of Frobisher passing through the crowd. His eyes were narrow and eager, he seemed to be looking furtively and greedily for some one.
"The bloodhound is astir," Parkford muttered. "We must cross his trail without delay."
CHAPTER XVII
A FRIEND IN NEED
Angela took her place by Mrs. Benstein's side as if they had been friends of standing. She had a game to play, and not too many instructions as to how it was to be played, but, at the same time, she was strangely moved to the financier's wife. In spite of her beauty and intelligence there was an atmosphere about her that was just a little pathetic. She reminded Angela of some white mountain-peak stretching away far above its fellows, solitary, beautiful and alone.
The light shimmered upon her jewels as they gently heaved upon her breast. Her fine eyes were just a little interrogative as they turned upon Angela.
"It is very good of you to interest yourself in me," she said. "I wonder why you do it?"
Angela coloured slightly; after all, her attentions were not quite disinterested.
"Perhaps it is because you fascinate me," Angela said frankly. "I have never seen any one like you before. I love character. And yet, you seem quite lonely, as if you were apart from the rest."
"Well, so I am," Isa Benstein replied. "The men on occasions like this count for nothing. I never see a lot of men crowded round a pretty woman without a strong temptation to laugh. They look so foolish. And yet your women here rather avoid me – they are not quite sure of my position. But I could lead the whole lot of them if I chose to do so."
Angela did not doubt it. She had only to look in that beautiful face and see that the boast was no idle one. The brilliant light died out of the speaker's eyes.
"But what is the good of it?" she said. "I don't believe there is any society worthy of the name to-day. Money seems to be everything. Your poor aristocrat sneers at the monied people. But ain't they just as ostentatious themselves! Don't they rob their creditors and neglect their bills to appear like other people? It seems such a dreadfully snobbish thing to do."
The fine eyes were looking round contemptuously, the breastplate of rubies heaved slowly. The words sounded strange from one so superbly attired, and Mrs. Benstein laughed as she caught Angela's smile.
"You are thinking that I am no better than the rest," she went on. "Well, perhaps not. But, then, my plumes are borrowed ones. You see my husband is what is called a money-lender. There are lots of great ladies here to-night who come to him for assistance, they bring their jewels and he lends them money. I am wearing nearly all borrowed plumes to-night."
Angela gave a little gasp at the audacity of the confession.
"Oh, of course it is wrong," Mrs. Benstein proceeded. "It's like a laundress who keeps back a silk blouse from somebody else's washing to wear on a Sunday. I've done that myself."
Angela listened in dazed fascination. Such a confession from one so stately and beautiful was amazing.
"You have learnt the art of jesting with a perfectly serious face," she suggested.
"My dear, I am telling you the exact truth. I suppose it is the impish spirit in my blood that prompts me to do such things. In the day of my early Sunday holidays things were different. But you can't expect a high morality in a little Shoreditch second-hand clothes shop."
"You will tell me that you served in one next," Angela laughed.
"My dear, I did," was the reply. "Do you know, I have not the slightest idea who my parents are. All I know is that I am not a Jewess, though I was brought up as one. I used to run about the streets. I grew up somehow. And then I drifted into that shop. I educated myself pretty well, for the simple reason that I cannot forget anything. My husband took me away and married me. I would have married any one to get away from that blighting desolation. I was going mad for the want of colour and brightness in my life. And – and there you are."
"Nobody could possibly tell that you have not been used to this life always," Angela said. "There have been jealous eyes round you to-night, but they found no flaw."
"I had no intention of them finding a flaw," Mrs. Benstein said coolly. "I have intuition and observation. And yet, till this very night, I have never sat and chatted with a lady before. I like you, Miss Lyne, and I would do anything for you. I like your kind face and those thoughtful eyes."
Angela was glad to hear it. The confession made her task all the easier.
"I am going to ask you to help me," she said. "I felt sure from the first that I could rely upon you. May I not be personal just for a little longer? You say your plumes are borrowed ones. Have you any idea of the identity of the ruby you are wearing on your forehead?"
"Not the least. My husband never mentions his clients by name – or, at least, very seldom. I took a fancy to this stone as a kind of climax to my costume, and with great reluctance my husband let me have it. Your eyes are telling me strange things, Miss Lyne."
"My tongue is going to tell you stranger," Angela whispered. "To think that you should be ignorant of the fact that you are wearing the sacred Blue Stone of Ghan."
"The Shan of Koordstan's Royal gem!" Mrs. Benstein exclaimed. "Oh, I know all about that. There is very little underground political history that I don't know. Koordstan and the Cardinal Moth and the – the rest of it. Our host to-night would give me something for the stone."
"Our host of to-night means to have it," Angela said under her breath.
"I see, I see. What an intellect the man has! It was he who persuaded me to come as Queen of the Rubies. For his own ends he got me invited here. He felt pretty sure that my husband would let me have the Blue Stone to wear. I am in danger."
"I don't think you are exactly in danger," Angela said.
"Oh, yes, I am. You don't know everything, I can see. The Shan of Koordstan is here to-night."
"He is here with one of his suite called Aben Abdullah, who, by the way, is my beloved one in disguise. He is Harold Denvers, who is aiding the Shan."
"A romance, a veritable romance, with danger and difficulties clinging to it like an aroma. So I am to play the part of one of Sir Clement's puppets! We shall see. Now tell me everything."
Angela proceeded to explain that she was going much beyond Harold Denvers' hurried instructions. But from the first her instinct had told her that she could make a friend of the woman. She concealed nothing, she spoke of the difficult position of the Shan, and what Harold had to gain by a recovery of the sacred jewel.
"I'm glad you told me," Mrs. Benstein said slowly. "Very glad. But there is more danger here than you anticipate, danger to me and to all of us. Sir Clement Frobisher is one of the greatest scoundrels on earth; he is cunning into the bargain, a perfect master of trickery and intrigue. Do you know anything of the Cardinal Moth?"
Angela shook her head. She was practically ignorant on that point. Mrs. Benstein indicated the nodding, trembling spray of blossom on her breast.
"These flowers are in it," she said. "The Cardinal Moth must play its part with the rest. There will be no rest until the Moth is back again over the altar in the temple of Ghan. You wonder perhaps how I know all these things, but the blood of all nations contrives to make the mystery that is called Isa Benstein. Now I want you to bring General Pearson to me; I want you to stay here whilst we go away for a dance together. Sir Clement, and perhaps another man, will be looking for me. Say that I shall be back here in ten minutes to see you. You need say no more than that."
Angela went away, wondering but obedient. The handsome old soldier would be delighted. He had been looking for his next partner for a long time. He was quite distracted by her absence. They walked away together, leaving Angela behind. Presently in the distance she could see the figure of Frobisher wandering in and out of the crowd. Angela walked smiling up to him.
"Hide-and-seek," she cried gaily. "You are looking for somebody?"
"Even the Queen of the Rubies," Frobisher responded in a similar strain. "A handsome reward will be paid to anybody giving information as to her present whereabouts."
"You may keep your beloved money," Angela said. "I am above such things. Mrs. Benstein is dancing with General Pearson, and in ten minutes she has asked me to meet her under the lamps yonder. And here comes Count Lefroy, as if he were looking for somebody, too."
Angela slipped away as Lefroy came up, showing his teeth in a queer, uneasy smile. He was trembling, too, as if he had run a long distance. Frobisher suppressed a disposition to snarl.
"You have finished, then?" he asked. "My rubies were worthy of a closer inspection."
"And would have had the closer inspection only Lady Frobisher was called away," Lefroy replied. "Her ladyship would have left me alone with them but I implored her not to place so fierce a temptation in my way. She does not know that I share your passion for those stones, especially large ones."
"Like the Blue Stone of Ghan, for instance?" said Frobisher, with a sharp indrawing of his breath. "It would be good to get hold of that, eh?"
Lefroy's eyes grew a trifle harder and more uneasy. He seemed to be miserably uncertain in his mind, divided in opinion as to whether he should stay where he was or go away on some errand of his own. The crowd became slightly more thick as the strains of music ceased and the dance came to an end. In spite of everything, the rooms were growing unpleasantly warm, and the guests were seeking cool corners. Mrs. Benstein came presently, leaning on the arm of her military escort. Her face was turned away, so that neither of the two men watching her could see her features.
Lefroy drew a deep, long breath. The time had come, he would have to stand up and fight Frobisher, the secret that he had half deemed his own was on the verge of exposure.
"Mrs. Benstein is going into the conservatory," he said meaningly. "I propose to follow her wise example and do the same thing. A sybarite like you does not care for robust air. I presume, therefore, that you are going to stay where you are."
Frobisher hooked his arm quite affectionately through that of his companion.
"On the contrary, I feel that a tonic would do me good," he said sweetly. "I am distressed for your sake. There is a nervousness about you to-night that alarms me; I could not enjoy myself thinking about it. What should I do, where should I be without my Lefroy? Orestes and Pylades, Damon and Pythias et hoc, where are you all alongside of Lefroy and Frobisher?"
He led the way into the conservatory close to where Mrs. Benstein and her companion were seated. By accident or design, Isa Benstein had her back to them. She seemed to be chatting gaily and without a trouble in the world to the General, who rose presently and proceeded back in the direction of the ballroom on ices bent. Then Mrs. Benstein rose and sauntered to the door of the conservatory. Both the men there watched her breathlessly – the time had come, and they both of them knew it.
She wheeled round suddenly as if conscious of their presence and smiled gloriously.
"I am admiring the flowers," she said. "They are exquisite. But I must have a word with Miss Lyne, whom I see in the distance. If my distracted General misses me, pray tell him that I shall be back at once. I trust you to do this for me, Sir Clement?"
Frobisher nodded with his mouth wide open, even he felt at a loss for words. There stood the lady of the rubies, her dress glistening with the gems, but her fair broad brow was clear as day, there was no vestige of a stone to mar its pure symmetry.
"It's a wonderfully warm night," Frobisher gasped.
"Sultry," Lefroy said meaningly, "very sultry. Deprives you of your wits, doesn't it? Weren't you saying something just now about the Blue Stone of Ghan? Or did I dream it? Come along."
"Where to?" Frobisher asked, like a man in a dream.
"Why, to the smoking-room, to be sure," Lefroy said with polite mockery. "As you told me just now with such tender consideration for others, you are not quite yourself. A little brandy, the brandy you know, and a small soda. You seem to want it badly."
"Egad," Frobisher burst out bitterly; "egad, I fancy we both do!"
