RED MASQUERADE

Being the Story of THE LONE WOLF'S DAUGHTER

BY

LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

1921

[Illustration: "_Prince Victor gave a gesture of pain and reluctance. 'MustI tell you?_'"]

TO J. PARKER READ, JR. , ESQ. THE CINEMA THAT WAS HIS

APOLOGY

This tale quite brazenly derives from the author's invention for motionpictures which Mr. J. Parker Read, Jr. , produced in the autumn of 1919under the title of "The Lone Wolf's Daughter. "

It is only fair to state, however, that the author has in this versiontaken as many high-handed liberties with the version used by the photoplaydirector as the latter took with the original. 

The chance to get even for once was too tempting.... 

Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Company in the first instance, and then Mr. Arthur T. Vance, editor of _The Pictorial Review_, in which the story waspublished as a serial, were equally guilty of the encouragement whichresults in its appearance in its present guise. 

L. J. V. 

Westport--31 December, 1920. 

Books by Louis Joseph Vance

CYNTHIA-OF-THE-MINUTE

JOAN THURSDAY

NOBODY

NO MAN'S LAND

POOL OF FLAME

PRIVATE WAR

SHEEP'S CLOTHING

THE BANDBOX

THE BLACK BAG

THE BRASS BOWL

THE BRONZE BELL

THE DARK MIRROR

THE DAY OF DAYS

THE DESTROYING ANGEL

THE FORTUNE HUNTER

THE ROMANCE OF TERENCE O'ROURKE

TREY O' HEARTS

_Stories About "The Lone Wolf"_

THE LONE WOLF

THE FALSE FACES

RED MASQUERADE

ALIAS THE LONE WOLF

CONTENTS

BOOK ONE: A CHAPTER FROM THE YOUTH OF MONSIEUR MICHAEL LANYARD

 I PLEBEIAN AND PRINCE

 II THE PRINCESS SOFIA

 III MONSIEUR QUIXOTE

 IV THE FOOL AND HIS MONEY

 V IMPOSTOR

 VI THÉRÈSE

 VII FAMILY REUNION

 VIII GREEK VS. GREEK

 IX PAID IN FULL

BOOK TWO: THE LONE WOLF'S DAUGHTER

 I THE GIRL SOFIA

 II MASKS AND FACES

 III THE AGONY COLUMN

 IV MUTINY

 V HOUSE OF THE WOLF

 VI THE MUMMER

 VII THE FANTASTICS

 VIII COUNCIL OF THE GODLESS

 IX MRS. WARING

 X VICTOR ET AL

 XI HEARTBREAK

 XII SUSPECT

 XIII THE TURNIP

 XIV CONFERENCE OF THE DAMNED

 XV INTUITION

 XVI THE CRYSTAL

 XVII THE RAISED CHEQUE

XVIII ORDEAL

 XIX UNMASKING

 XX THE DEVIL TO PAY

 XXI VENTRE À TERRE

 XXII THE SEVEN BRASS HINGES

BOOK I

A CHAPTER FROM THE YOUTH OF MONSIEUR MICHAEL LANYARD

RED MASQUERADE

I

PLEBEIAN AND PRINCE

The gentleman was not in the least bored who might have been and was seenon that wintry afternoon in Nineteen hundred, lounging with one shoulder toa wall of the dingy salesroom and idly thumbing a catalogue of effectsabout to be put up at auction; but his insouciance was so unaffected thatthe inevitable innocent bystander might have been pardoned for perceivingin him a pitiable victim of the utterest ennui. 

In point of fact, he was privately relishing life with enviable gusto. Inthose days he could and did: being alive was the most satisfying pastime hecould imagine, or cared to, who was a thundering success in his own conceitand in fact as well; since all the world for whose regard he cared atwopenny-bit admired, respected, and esteemed him in his public status, andadmired, respected, and feared him in his private capacity, and paid himheavy tribute to boot. 

More than that, he was young, still very young indeed, barely beyond thethreshold of his chosen career. To his eagerly exploring eye the futureunrolled itself in the likeness of an endless scroll illuminated withadventures all piquant, picturesque, and profitable. With the happyassurance of lucky young impudence he figured the world to himself as hisoyster; and if his method of helping himself to the succulent contents ofits stubborn shell might have been thought questionable (as unquestionablyit was) he was no more conscious of a conscience to give him qualms than hewas of pangs of indigestion. Whereas his digestive powers were superb.... 

This way of killing an empty afternoon, too, was much to his taste. The manadored auctions. To his mind a most delectable flavour of discreet scandalinhered in such collections of shabby properties from anonymous homes. Nothing so piqued his imagination as some well-worn piece of furniture--sayan ancient escritoire with ink stains on its green baize writing-bed (driedlife-blood of love letters long since dead!) and all its pigeon-holes andlittle drawers empty of everything but dust and the seductive smell ofsecrets; or a dressing-table whose bewildered mirror, to-day reflectingsurroundings cold and strange, had once been quick and warm to the beautyof eyes brilliant with delight or blurred with tears; or perchance abed.... 

And even aside from such stimuli to a lively and ingenious fancy, there wasalways the chance that one might pick up some priceless treasure at anauction sale, some rare work of art dim with desuetude and the disrespectof ignorance: jewellery of quaintest old-time artistry; a misprized bit ofbronze; a book, it might be an overlooked copy of a first edition inscribedby some immortal author to a forgotten love; or even--if one were in rareluck--a picture, its pristine brilliance faded, the signature of the artistillegible beneath the grime of years, evidence of its origin perceptibleonly to the discerning eye--to such an eye, for instance, as MichaelLanyard boasted. For paintings were his passion. 

Already, indeed, at this early age, he was by way of being something of acelebrity, in England and on the Continent, as a collector of the nicestdiscrimination. 

And then he found unfailing human interest in the attendance attracted byauction sales; in the dealers, gentlemen generally of pronouncedidiosyncrasies; in the auctioneers themselves, robust fellows, wielding asort of rugged wit singular to their calling, masters of deep guile, endowed with intuitions which enabled them at a glance or from the mereintonation of a voice to discriminate between the serious-minded and thosefrivolous souls who bid without meaning to buy, but as a rule for nothingmore than the curious satisfaction of being able to brag that they had beenoutbid. 

But it was in the ranks of the general public that one found mostamusement; seldom did a sale pass off undistinguished by at least oneincident uniquely revealing or provocative. And for such moments Lanyardwas always on the qui vive, but quietly, who knew that nothing so quicklystifles spontaneity as self-consciousness. So, if he studied his companyclosely, he was studious to do it covertly; as now, when he seemedaltogether engrossed in the catalogue, whereas his gaze was freely roving. 

Thus far to-day a mere handful of people other than dealers had drifted into wait for the sale to begin--something for which the weather was largelyto blame, for the day was dismal with a clammy drizzle settling from a lowand leaden sky--and with a solitary exception these few were commonplacefolk. 

This one Lanyard had marked down midway across the room, in the foremostrow of chairs beneath the salesman's pulpit: by his attire a person offashion (though his taste might have been thought a trace florid) whocarried himself with an air difficult of definition but distinctive enoughin its way. 

Whoever he was and what his quality, he was unmistakably somebody ofconsequence in his own reckoning, and sufficiently well-to-do to dress thepart he chose to play in life. Certainly he had a conscientious tailor anda busy valet, both saturate with British tradition. Yet the man they servedwas no Englishman. 

Aside from his clothing, everything about him had an exotic tang, thoughwhat precisely his racial antecedents might have been was rather a riddle;a habit so thoroughly European went oddly with the hints of Asiatic strainwhich one thought to detect in his lineaments. Nevertheless, it weredifficult otherwise to account for the faintly indicated slant of thoselittle black eyes, the blurred modelling of the nose, the high cheekbones, and the thin thatch of coarse black hair which was plastered down withabundant brilliantine above that mask of pallid features. 

The grayish pallor of the man, indeed, was startling, so that Lanyard forsome time sought an adjective to suit it, and was content only when he hiton the word _evil_. Indeed, evil seemed the inevitable and only word; noneother could possibly so well fit that strange personality. 

His interest thus fixed, he awaited confidently what could hardly fail tocome, a moment of self-betrayal. 

That fell more quickly than he had hoped. Of a sudden the decent quiet ofKing Street, thus far accentuated rather than disturbed by the routinegrind of hansoms and four-wheelers, was enlivened by spirited hoofs whoseclatter stilled abruptly in front of the auction room. 

Turning a speciously languid eye toward the weeping window, Lanyard had apartial view of a handsomely appointed private equipage, a pair of spankingbays, a liveried coachman on the box. 

The carriage door slammed with a hollow clap; a footman furled an umbrellaand climbed to his place beside the driver. As the vehicle drew away, onecaught a glimpse of a crest upon the panel. 

Two women entered the auction room. 

II

THE PRINCESS SOFIA

These ladies were young, neither much older than Lanyard, both were verymuch alive, openly betraying an infatuation with existence very like hisown, and both were lovely enough to excuse the exquisite insolence of theiryoung vitality. 

As is frequently the case in such associations, since a pretty woman seldomcourts comparison with another of her own colouring, one was dark, theother fair. 

With the first, Lanyard was, like all London, on terms of visualacquaintance. The reigning beauty of the hour, her portrait was enjoying avogue of its own in the public prints. Furthermore, Lady Diantha Mainwaringwas moderately the talk of the town, in those prim, remotely ante-bellumdays--thanks to high spirits and a whimsical tendency to flout the lateVictorian proprieties; something which, however, had yet to lead her intoany prank perilous to her good repute. 

The other, a girl whose hair of golden bronze was well set off by Russiansables, Lanyard did not know at all; but he knew at sight that she was fartoo charming a creature to be neglected if ever opportunity offered to bepresented to her. And though the first article of his creed proscribedwomen of such disastrous attractions as deadly dangerous to his kind, hechose without hesitation to forget all that, and at once began to cudgelhis wits for a way to scrape acquaintance with the companion of LadyDiantha. 

Their arrival created an interesting bustle, a buzz of comment, a craningof necks--flattery accepted by the young women with ostensible unconcern, acliché of their caste. As they had entered in a humour keyed to the highestpitch of gaiety consistent with good breeding, so with more half-stifledlaughter they settled into chairs well apart from all others but, as ithappened, in a direct line between Lanyard and the man whose repellent castof countenance had first taken his interest. 

Thus it was that Lanyard, after eyeing the young women unobserved as longas he liked, lifted his glance to discover upon that face a look thatamazed him. 

It wasn't too much to say (he thought) that the man was transfigured bymalevolence, so that he blazed with it, so that hatred fairly flowed, aninvisible yet manifest current of poisoned fire, between him and the girlwith the hair of burnished bronze. 

All the evil in him seemed to be concentrated in that glare. And yet itsobject remained unconscious of it or, if at all sensitive, dissembledsuperbly. The man was apparently no more present to her perceptions thanany other person there, except her companion. 

Presently, becoming sensible of Lanyard's intrigued regard, the man lookedup, caught him in a stare and, mortally affronted, rewarded him with a lookof virulent enmity. 

Not to be outdone, Lanyard gave a fleeting smile, a bare curving of lipstogether with an almost imperceptible narrowing of amused eyes--goading theother to the last stage of exasperation--then calmly ignored the fellow, returning indifferent attention to the progress of the sale. 

Since nothing was being offered at the moment to draw a bid from him, hemaintained a semblance of interest solely to cover his thoughts, meanwhilelending a civil ear to the garrulous tongue of a dealer of his acquaintancewho, having edged nearer to indulge a failing for gossip, found a readyauditor. For when Lanyard began to heed the sense of the other's words, their subject was the companion of Lady Diantha Mainwaring. 

"... Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, you know, the Russian beauty. "

Lanyard lifted his eyebrows the fraction of an inch, meaning to say hedidn't know but at the same time didn't object to enlightenment. 

"But you must have heard of her! For weeks all London has been talkingabout her jewels, her escapades, her unhappy marriage. "

"Married?" Lanyard made a sympathetic mouth. "And so young! Quel dommage!"

"But separated from her husband. "

"Ah!" Lanyard brightened up. "And who, may one ask, is the husband?"

"Why, he's here, too--over there in the front row--chap with the waxedmoustache and putty-coloured face, staring at her now. "

"Oh, that animal! And what right has he got to look like that?"

The buzz of the scandalmonger grew more confidential: "They say he's neverforgiven her for leaving him--though the Lord knows she had every reason, if half they tell is true. They say he's mad about her still, gives her norest, follows her everywhere, is all the time begging her to return tohim--"

"But who the deuce is the beast?" Lanyard interrupted, impatiently. "Youknow, I don't like his face. "

"Prince Victor, " the whisper pursued with relish--"by-blow, they say, of aRussian grand duke and a Manchu princess--half Russian, half Chinese, alldevil!"

Without looking, Lanyard felt that Prince Victor's stare had again shiftedfrom the women, and that the mongrel son of the alleged grand duke wasaware he had become a subject of comment. So the eminent collector of worksof art elected to dismiss the subject with a negligent lift of oneshoulder. 

"Ah, well! Daresay he can't help his ugly make-up. All the same, he'sspoiling my afternoon. Be a good fellow, do, and put him out. "

The Briton chuckled a deprecating chuckle; meaning to say, he hoped Lanyardwas spoofing; but since one couldn't be sure, one's only wise course was toplay safe. 

"Really, Monsieur Lanyard! I'm afraid one couldn't quite do _that_, youknow!"

III

MONSIEUR QUIXOTE

The sale dragged monotonously. The paintings offered were mostly ofmediocre value. The gathering was apathetic. 

Lanyard bid in two or three sketches, more out of idleness than because hewanted them, and succeeded admirably in seeming ignorant of the existenceof the Princess Sofia and the husband whose surface of a blackguard was soharmonious with his reputation. 

In time, however, a change was presaged by an abrupt muting of thatmurmured conversation between the beautiful Russian and the almost equallybeautiful Englishwoman. An inquisitive look discovered the princess sittingslightly forward and intently watching the auctioneer. 

The pose of an animated, delightful child, hanging breathlessly upon theprogress of some fascinating game: one's gaze lingered approvingly upon abewitching profile with half-parted lips, saw that excitement was faintlycolouring the cheeks beneath shadowy and enigmatic eyes, remarked the sweetspirit that poised that lovely head. 

And then one looked farther, and saw the prince, like the princess, absorbed in the business at the auction block, his slack elegance of theraffish aristocrat forgotten, all his being tense with purpose, strungtaut--as taut at least as that soft body, only half-masculine in mould andenervated by loose living, could ever be. One thought of a rather elderlyand unfit snake, stirred by the sting of some long-buried passion out ofthe lassitude of years of slothful self-indulgence, poising to strike.... 

At the elbow of the auctioneer an attendant was placing on exhibition alandscape that was either an excellent example of the work of Corot or animitation no less excellent. At that distance Lanyard felt inclined to dubit genuine, though he knew well that Europe was sown thick with spuriousCorots, and would never have risked his judgment without closer inspection. 

He was accordingly perplexed when, after a brief exhortation by theauctioneer, discreetly noncommittal as to the antecedents of thecanvas--"attributed to Corot"--Prince Victor, who had been strainingforward like a hound in leash, half rose in his eagerness to offer:

"One thousand guineas!"

The entire company stirred as one and sat up sharply. Even the auctioneerwas momentarily stricken dumb. And for the first time the Princess Sofiaacknowledged the presence of her husband, and got from him that look ofwhite hatred with a sneer of triumph thrown in for good measure. 

Though she affected indifference, Lanyard saw her slender body transientlyshaken by a shudder, it might have been of dread. But she was quick to pullherself together, and the auctioneer had scarcely found his tongue--"Onethousand guineas for this magnificent canvas attributed to Corot"--when herclear and youthful voice cut in:

"Two thousand guineas!"

This the prince capped with a monosyllable:

"Three!"

Stupefaction settled upon the audience. The auctioneer hesitated, blinkedastonished eyes, framed unspoken phrases with halting lips. Prince Victor, again gave his wife the full value of his vindictive snarl. She would notsee, but it was plain that she was cruelly dismayed, that it cost her aneffort to rise to the topping bid:

"Thirty-five hundred guineas!"

"Four thousand!"

"Four thousand I am offered ... "

The auctioneer faltered, a spasm of honesty shook him, he proceeded:

"It is only fair, ladies and gentlemen, that I should state that thiscanvas is not put up as an authentic Corot. It very possibly is such, infact"--the seizure was passing swiftly--"it bears every evidence of havingcome from the brush of the master. But we cannot guarantee it. There is, however, a gentleman present who is amply qualified to pass upon the meritsof this work. With his permission"--his eye sought Lanyard's--"I venture torequest the opinion of Monsieur Michael Lanyard, the noted connoisseur!"

Lanyard detached a deprecating smile from the pages of his catalogue, buthis contemplated response was cut short by Prince Victor. 

"I am not aware, " that one said, icily, "that the authenticity of thispainting is a material question. Nor have I any need of the opinion of thisgentleman, whatever his qualifications. I have bid four thousand guineas, and insist that the sale proceed. If there are no further bids, the canvasis mine. "

The auctioneer shrugged, and offered Lanyard an apologetic bow. "I amsorry--" he began. 

"Four thousand guineas!" snapped the prince. 

Resigned, the auctioneer resumed:

"Four thousand guineas offered. Are there any more bids? Going--"

"Forty-five hundred!"

Beyond reasonable doubt the princess had spurred herself mercilessly tofind sufficient courage to make this latest bid. Lanyard saw her in arigour of despair, hoping against hope. Only too surely something in thepicture, some association--heaven knew what!--was more precious to her, almost, than life, though she had gone already to the limit of her meansand perhaps a bit beyond. If this bid failed, she was lost. Her anxiety waspitiful. 

"Five thousand!"

In the princess something snapped: she recoiled upon herself, sat crushed, head drooping, white-gloved hands working in her lap. One detected anappealing quiver on her lips, and noted, or imagined, a suspiciousbrightness beneath the long dark lashes that swiftly screened her eyes. Heryoung bosom moved convulsively. She was beaten, near to tears. 

"Five thousand guineas ... Going ... Going ... "

The face of the prince was a mocking devil-mask in gray and black. Lanyardfound himself loathing it. Impossible to stand idle and see the creatureget the better of an unhappy girl ... 

"Five thousand one hundred guineas!"

With his wits in a blur of amaze, Lanyard knew the echo of his own voice. 

IV

THE FOOL AND HIS MONEY

One reflected rather bitterly on the many and obvious oversights of aputatively all-wise Providence, in especial on its failure so to fashionthe body of man as to enable him on occasion to discipline his own flesh inthe most ignominious manner imaginable. 

Lanyard could have kicked himself; that is to say, he wanted to, andthought it rather a pity he couldn't, and publicly, at that. For the freakhe had just indulged was rank quixotism, something which had as much placein the code of a man of his calling as milk of human kindness in themanagement of a pawnshop. 

On second thought, he wasn't so sure. It might have been that quixotism hadinspired his infatuate gesture, but it might quite as conceivably have beeneveryday vanity or plain cussedness: a noble impulse to serve a pretty ladyin distress, a spontaneous device to engage her interest, or a low desireto plague a personality as antipathetic to his own as that of arattlesnake. 

In point of simple fact (he decided), his impelling motive had been amixture of all three. 

In all three respects, furthermore, it proved notably successful; in thetwo last named without delay. 

The Princess Sofia at once took note of Lanyard, with wonder, somemisgivings, and a hint of admiration. For he was not only a personableperson in those days, with a suggestion of devil-may-care in his air thatmeasurably lifted the curse of his superficial foppishness, but he wasputting a spoke in Prince Victor's wheel. And whosoever did that, bychance, out of sheer voluptuousness, or with malice prepense, won immediatetitle to Sofia's favourable regard. If she couldn't thwart Victor herself, she would be much obliged to anybody who could and did; and she was nothingloath to betray her bias by looking kindly upon her self-appointedchampion. 

A whispered communication from Lady Diantha did nothing to abate her overtapprobation. 

As for Victor, his face of leaden gray took on a tinge of green; he quakedwith rage, and the glare he loosed on Lanyard made that young man wonder ifhe were mistaken in believing that the eyes of the prince shone in thatdusky room with something nearly akin to the phosphorescence to be seen inthe eyes of an animal at night. 

The notion was amusing: Lanyard paid it the tribute of a quiet smile, indirect acknowledgment of which Prince Victor snarled:

"Six thousand guineas!"

"And a hundred, " Lanyard added. 

Brief pause prefaced a bid designed to squelch him completely:

"Ten thousand!"

In a fatigued voice he uttered: "One hundred more. "

"Fifteen--!"

This time Lanyard contented himself with nodding to the auctioneer; and thelips of the latter had barely parted to parrot the bid when Victor sprangto his feet, his features working, his limbs shaking so that the legs ofthe chair beside him, whose back he seized, chattered on the floor, whilethe high-pitched voice broke into a screech:

"Twenty!"

And Lanyard said: "And one. "

"Twenty thousand one hundred guineas!" chanted the auctioneer. "Are thereany more bids? You, sir--?" He aimed a respectful bow at Prince Victor, whosnubbed him with a sign of fury. "Going--going--gone! Sold to MonsieurLanyard for twenty thousand and one hundred guineas!"

And Lanyard had the satisfaction of seeing Prince Victor, after a vaineffort to master his emotion, snatch up his topper, clap it on his head, and make for the door with footsteps whose stuttering haste was in pooraccord with the dignity of his exalted station. 

But it was debatable whether this satisfaction plus the possession of aquestionable Corot was worth its cost. And Lanyard wasn't in the humour, now that the heat of contest began to abate, to look to Princess Sofia forpromise of further reward. Even if he could have been guilty of suchimpertinence, indeed, he must have forborne for very shame. After all (hetold himself) he hadn't figured very creditably, permitting petty prejudiceto sway him as it had. He felt singularly sure he had played the gratuitousass in this affair, and he didn't in the least desire to see the reflectionof a like conviction in the eyes of a pretty young woman with a flair forthe ridiculous. 

He dissembled his diminished self-esteem, however, most successfully, as heproceeded to the desk of the auctioneer's clerk, filled in a cheque for theamount of his purchase, and gave instructions for its delivery. 

Whether by intention or inadvertence, he was followed from the auction roomby the Princess Sofia and Lady Diantha Mainwaring; and just outside theentrance he found Prince Victor waiting with all the air of a gentlemanimpatient for a cab to happen along and pick him up out of the drizzle. 

But in view of the fact that he made no overtures to a passing hansom, which swerved in to the curb in response to a signal of Lanyard's cane, this last concluded that the prince was up to his reputedly favourite gameof waylaying his rebel wife. 

If such were the case, Lanyard had no wish to witness a public wranglebetween the two. So he stepped briskly up on the carriage-block, and onlyhesitated when he saw that the prince, utterly ignoring the presence of theprincess and Lady Diantha, was edging forward and cocking an alert ear tocatch the address which Lanyard was on the point of giving the cabby. 

Hugely diverted, the adventurer looked round with a quirk of his brows, andamiably commented:

"Monsieur's interest is so flattering! If he really must know, I'm goinghome now, to my rooms in Halfmoon Street. Au revoir, monsieur le prince!"

He beamed benignly upon that convulsed countenance, and saw crestfallenPrince Victor slink away, to the music of smothered laughter from theladies in the doorway--toward which Lanyard was careful not to look. 

Then, in high feather with himself, he chirped to the driver and hoppedinto the hansom. 

V

IMPOSTOR

As Lanyard's cab swung away, the carriage wheeled in to take up thePrincess Sofia and Lady Diantha Mainwaring. Observing this, Lanyard pokedhis stick through the little trap in the roof of the hansom and suggestedthat the driver pull up, climb down, adjust some imaginary fault with theharness and, when the carriage had passed, follow it with discretion. 

Enchanted by sight of a half-sovereign in the palm of his fare, the cabbyexecuted this manoeuvre to admiration; with the upshot that Lanyard gothome half an hour later than he would have had he proceeded to his roomsdirect, but with information of value to recompense him. 

It wasn't his habit to lose time in those days of his youth. And lest hischaracter be misconstrued (which would be deplorable) it may as well bestated now that he had not laid down upward of twenty thousand good goldenguineas for a colourable Corot without having a tolerably clear notion ofhow he meant to reimburse himself if it should turn out that he had paidtoo dear for his whistle. 

The hint imparted by his garrulous acquaintance of the auction room--to theeffect that the Princess Sofia was famous, among other things, for themagnificence of her personal jewellery--had found a good home where itwasn't in danger of suffering for want of doting interest. 

And now one knew where their owner lived, and in what state ... 

Alighting at his own door, the adventurer surprised Prince Victor, moroselyambling by, in his vast fatuity no doubt imagining that his passage throughHalfmoon Street would go unremarked in the dusk of that early winterevening. He wasn't at all pleased to find himself mistaken; and thoughLanyard did his best with his blandest smile to make amends for havingdiscomfited the prince by getting home later than he had promised to, hisgood-natured effort was repaid only by a spiteful scowl. 

So he laughed aloud, and went indoors rejoicing. 

An hour or so later the painting was delivered by a porter from the auctionroom. But Lanyard was in his bath at the time and postponed examining hisdoubtful prize till he had dressed for dinner. For, though it was his whimto dine in his rooms alone, and though he had no fixed plans for theevening, Lanyard was too thoroughly cosmopolitan not to do in Cockaigne asthe Cockneys do. 

Besides, in this uncertain life one never knows what the next hour willbring forth; whereas if one is in evening dress after six o'clock, one isarmoured against every emergency. 

At seven he sat down to the morbid sort of a meal one gets in Londonlodgings: a calm soup; a segment of vague fish smothered painlessly in apale pink blanket of sauce; a cut from the joint, rare and lukewarm;potatoes boiled dead; sad sea-kale; nonconformist pudding; conservativebiscuit, and radical cheese. 

With the aid and abetment of a bottle of excellent Montrachet, however, onecontrived to worry through. 

Meanwhile, Lanyard inspected his recent purchase, which occupied a place ofhonour, propped up on the arms of the chair on his right. 

It was seldom that Lanyard entertained a guest of such equivocal character. Wagging a reproving head--"My friend, " he harangued the canvas, "you arelucky to have been sold. Sorry I can't say as much for myself. "

It was really too bad it wasn't a bit better. It wasn't often that oneencountered so genuine a counterfeit. The hand of an artist had painted it, but never the hand of Corot. Everything Corot was accustomed to put intohis painting was there, except himself. The abode had been prepared in allrespects as the master would have had it, but his spirit had not enteredinto it, it remained without life. 

Still, Lanyard concluded, surveying his prize through the illusioning fumesof his cigar, while the waiter cleared away, it wasn't so bad after all, itwouldn't be in the end a total loss. He could afford to cart the thing backto Paris with him and give it room in his private gallery; and some day, doubtless, some rich American would pay a handsome price for it on thestrength of its having found place in the collection of Michael Lanyard, even though it lacked the cachet of his guarantee. 

But what the devil had made it so precious to the soi-disant Prince Victorand his charming wife?

But for a single circumstance Lanyard would have been tempted to believe hehad been craftily rooked by an accomplished chevalier d'industrie and hisfemale confederate; but too much and too real passion had been betrayed inthe auction room to countenance that suspicion. 

No: he hadn't been rigged; at least, not by design. Something more than itsintrinsic value had rendered the canvas priceless in the esteem of thosetwo, something had been at stake more than mere possession of what theymight have believed to be a real Corot. 

But what?

Perplexed, Lanyard took the picture in his hands--it was not too unwieldy, even in its frame--and examined it with nose so close to the paintedsurface that he seemed to be smelling it. Then he turned it over andscowled at its reverse. And shook a baffled head. 

But when he tapped the face of the picture smartly with a finger-nail, hegave a slight start, passed a hand over it with the palm pressed flat, andsuddenly assumed the humanly intelligent expression of a hunting-dog thathas hit on a warm scent. 

Strong fingers and a fruit knife quickly extracted the painting from itsframe and loosened the canvas from its stretcher, proving that the latterheld in fact two canvases instead of one. Between these had been secretedseveral sheets of notepaper of two kinds, stamped with two crests, allblack with closely penned handwriting. 

Lanyard gathered them into a sheaf and scanned them cursorily, even withdistaste. True enough, it might be argued that he had bought and paid forthe right to pry into the secrets they betrayed; but it was not a right heenjoyed exercising. A fairly thoroughgoing state of sophistication, together with some innate instincts of delicacy, worked to render him to adegree immune to such gratification as others might derive from being madeprivy to an exotic affair of the heart. Revelation of human weakness was nospecial treat to him. And if his eyebrows mounted as he read, if thecorners of his mouth drew down, if once and again he uttered an "_Oh! oh!_"of shocked expostulation, he was (like most of us, incurably an actor inprivate as well as in public life) merely running through business whichconvention has designated as appropriate to such circumstances. At bottomhe was being stimulated to thought more than to derision. 

Putting the letters aside, he bowed his head upon a hand and reflectedsagely that love was the very deuce. 

He wondered if he could or ever would love or be loved so madly. 

He rather hoped not ... 

Here, if you please, was the scion of a reigning royal family risking aspretty a scandal as one could well imagine--and all for love! Given a fewmore days of life, and he would have jeopardized his right of successionand set half-a-dozen European chancelleries by the ears--and all for love!But for his untimely end, that poor, pretty creature would have joined herlife to his, consummating at one stroke her freedom from the intolerableconditions of existence with Victor and a diplomatic convulsion which mightonly too easily have precipitated all Europe into a great war--and all forlawless love!

So once more in history Death had served well the interests of publicmorality. 

After a year these letters alone survived ... 

How they had survived, what hands had collected and secreted them, and forwhat purpose, intrigued the imagination no end. Lanyard inclined to creditPrincess Sofia with the indiscretion of saving these souvenirs of a grandepassion that had almost made history. There was the sentimental motive toaccount for such action, and another: the satisfaction of knowing she hadconcrete proof of her intention to treat Victor as he had treated her. 

Then somehow the painting must have passed out of her possession; and inall likelihood she had made frantic and awkward efforts to regain it whichhad aroused the suspicions of Victor; with the sequel of that afternoon.... 

Lanyard's speculations were interrupted by the peremptory telephone. Without premonition he picked up the combination receiver and transmitter. But his memory was still so haunted by echoes of that delightful voicewhich he had heard in the auction room, he couldn't entertain any doubtthat he heard it now. 

"Are you there?" it said "Will you be good enough to put me through toMonsieur Lanyard?"

The inspiration to mischief was instantaneous: Lanyard replied promptly inaccents as much unlike his own as he could manage:

"Sorry, ma'am; Mister Lanyard dined hout to-night. Would there be anymessage, ma'am?"

"Oh, how annoying!"

"Sorry, ma'am. "

"Do you know when he will be home?"

"If this is the lidy 'e was expectin' to call this evenin'--"

"Yes?" the dulcet voice said, encouragingly. 

"--Mister Lanyard sed as 'ow 'e might be quite lite, but 'e'd 'urry all 'ecould, ma'am, and would the lidy please wite. "

"Thank you _so_ much. "

"'Nk-you, ma'am. "

Smiling, Lanyard replaced the receiver and rang for the waiter. 

When that one answered, the adventurer was hatted and coated and openinghis door. 

"I'm called out, " he said--"can't quite say when I'll be back. But I'mexpecting a lady to call. Will you tell the doorman to show her into myrooms, please, and ask her to wait. "

VI

THÉRÈSE

Posed in a blaze of lights, the Princess Sofia contemplated captiously thecharming image reflected in her cheval-glass. One little wrinkle, notprecisely of dissatisfaction, rather of enquiry, nestled between herdelicately arched brows. A look of misgiving clouded her wide eyes of awondering child. The bow of an exquisitely modelled mouth, whose singlefault lay in its being perhaps a trace too wide, described a shadowy pout. 

She was beautiful: yes. Nobody could question that. La beauté du diable, nodoubt, to Anglo-Saxon eyes, with that skin of incomparable texture andwhiteness relieved by a heavily coiled crown of living bronze, the crimsoninsolence of that matchless mouth, those luminous and changeable eyes solike the sea, whose green melted into blue with the swiftness of thought, whose blue at times as swiftly shaded into stormy purple-black: but howeverbizarre and barbaric, beauty none the less, and under the most meticulousexamination indisputable. 

But was she as radiant as she had been?

On this her birthday she was twenty-five. Appalling age! Five years henceshe would be thirty, in ten more--forty! And woman's beauty fades soswiftly: everybody said so. Was the shadow of to-morrow already dimming herloveliness? How could it be otherwise? She had lived so long and so fully, she had begun to live so young. Six years of marriage to Victor--that aloneshould have been enough, one would think, to metamorphose the fairest faceinto a blasted battlefield of passions. 

She had a little shiver of voluptuous horror, remembering what she hadendured and escaped. The sweet, true lines of her flawlessly made body weretransiently undulant within a sheath of shimmering sequins: a daring gown, by British standards of that day, but permissible because she was Russian;foreigners, you know, are so frightfully weird even when they're quite allright. 

And yet she was growing old, she was twenty-five! Though she didn't feel inthe least like one on the threshold of middle age. Indeed, she had neverfelt younger, more thrillingly instinct with the power and the will to liveextravagantly in one endless riot of youth unquenchable.... 

Reaction, of course: the swing of the pendulum to its farthest extreme. Itwas now two years since she had been forced to separate from Victor, finding herself unable longer to countenance and suffer his many-sidedbeastliness; and a year since the hand of Death had penned an inexorablefinis to the too-brief chapter of her one great romance. 

For there had never been love in her life with Victor. She had been tooyoung at first to appreciate what love and marriage meant, she had been ledto the altar and sacrificed upon it as an animal is led in sacrificialrites--without premonition or understanding, only wondering (perhaps) tofind itself so groomed and garlanded, so flattered and adored. She hadhardly known Victor before she was given to him in marriage by Imperialukase ... To get rid of her, probably, for some inscrutable reason relatedto the mysterious circumstances of her parentage. 

And now after six years of hell with her husband and one of mourning insolitude for her love that was lost, she was coming back to life again ... At last!

She lifted up arms that might have been a dream of Phidias chiselled inParian marble, and stretched them luxuriously. She was superbly alive, indeed--and henceforth she meant to live. Only she must be careful toretain her looks ... If Youth must surely go, Beauty must linger and reignlong in its stead. 

A maid, a comely creature, trim and smart in black and white, with thatvividly coloured prettiness which is too often the omen of prematuredecline into the fat and florid thirties, fetched a wrap and settled itupon Sofia's shoulders. 

Long and dark, it disguised her figure as completely as it covered hertoilette. She nodded her satisfaction, and accepted the veil which she haddesired to complete her disguise, a thing of Spanish lace, black and ample, like a mantilla. But before donning it she delayed one minute more beforethe mirror. 

"Thérèse! Am I still beautiful?"

"Madame la princesse is always beautiful. "

"As beautiful as I used to be?"

"But madame la princesse grows more lovely every day. "

"Beautiful enough to-night, to keep out of jail, do you think?"

To the mirth in the voice of her mistress the maid responded with a smiledemure and discreet. 

"Oh, madame!" was all she said; but the manner of her saying it was rarelyeloquent. 

Sofia laughed lightly, and affectionately pinched the cheek of the maid. 

"And you, my little one, " she said in liquid French--"you yourself are tooravishingly pretty to keep out of trouble. Do you know that?"

Her little one looked more than ever demure as she enquired after thehidden meaning of madame la princesse. 

"Because you will marry too soon, Thérèse--too soon some worthless man willpersuade you to dedicate all those charms to him alone. "

"Oh, madame!"

"Is it not so?"

"Who knows, madame?" said Thérèse, as who should say: "What must be, must. "

"Then there is a man! I suspected as much. "

"But, madame la princesse, is there not always a man?"

"Then beware!"

"Madame la princesse need not fear for me, " Thérèse replied. "Me, my headis not so easily turned. There is always some man, naturally--there are somany men!--but when I marry, rest assured, it will be for something more. "

With the compressed lips of self-approbation she deftly assisted hermistress to swathe her head in the mantilla-like veil. 

"Something more than a man?" Sofia enquired through its folds. "What then?"

"Independence, madame la princesse. "

"What an idea! Marriage and independence: how do you reconcile thatparadox?"

"Madame la princesse means love, I think, when she speaks of marriage. Butlove--that is all over and done with when one marries. One is then ready tosettle down; one has put by one's dot, and marries a worthy, industriousman with a little fortune of his own. With such a husband one collaboratesin the maintenance of the ménage and the management of a small business, something substantial if small. And so one ends one's days in comfortablecompanionship. That, madame la princesse, is the marriage for Thérèse! Itmay not sound romantic, madame, but it has this rare virtue--it lasts!"

VII

FAMILY REUNION

The London night was normal: that is to say, wet. Darkness had transformedthe streets into vast sheets of black satin shot with golden strands andstudded with lamp-posts like sturdy stems for ethereal blooms of goldenhaze. Within their areas of glow the air teemed with atoms of liquid gold. The ring of hoofs on wet pavements was at once disturbing and inspiriting. 

Alone in her hired hansom the Princess Sofia sat with the window raised, drinking deep of the soft damp air, finding it as heady as strange wine. Under cover of the veil her eyes were brilliant with awareness of heraudacity, her lips were parted with the promise of a smile. 

She loved it all, she adored this mood of London: its nights of rain weresheer enchantment, arabesque, nights of secrecy and stealth, mystery, andromance under the rose. On nights such as this lovers prospered, adventureswere to the venturesome, brave rewards to the bold. 

For herself she was unafraid, she foretasted entire success. How should itbe otherwise? Consider how famously chance had prospered her designs, playing into her hands the information that this Monsieur Lanyard was notat home, might not return till very late, and was expecting a call fromsomebody whom he desired to await his return in his rooms!

With such an open occasion, how could one fail?

Sofia asked only three minutes alone with the painting.... 

And if by any mishap she were caught, still she would not be dismayed. Theletters were hers, were they not? They had been stolen from her, he had noright title to them who had purchased only the picture which had served astheir hiding-place. By all means, let him keep that stupid canvas; he couldhardly refuse to let her have her letters, not if she pleaded herprettiest. And even if he should prove obtuse, ungenerous.... 

Her smile was definite and confident. She was beautiful--and MonsieurLanyard was aware of that. Had she not, that afternoon, in the auctionroom, without his knowledge detected admiration in his eyes, a look warmwith something more than admiration only?

He was impressionable, then. And it would be no distasteful task to playupon his susceptibilities. He was not only personally attractive("magnetic" was the catch-word of the period), but if half that LadyDiantha had hinted concerning him were true, to make a conquest of MichaelLanyard would be a feather in the cap of any woman, to attempt it atemptation all but irresistible to one--like Sofia--in whose veins ran theichor of progenitors to whom the scent of danger had been as breath of lifeitself. It was hardly conceivable; even now Sofia must smile at herfriend's amiable endeavours to identify this mysterious monsieur with acelebrated and preposterous criminal. 

It might be true that, as Lady Diantha had declared, wherever MichaelLanyard showed himself in open pursuit of his avowed avocation as acollector of rare works of art--in London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, orwhere-not--there in due sequence the Lone Wolf would consummate one of hisfantastic coups. 

And it was indisputable that Lanyard was at present living in London, wherefor some time past the Lone Wolf had been perniciously busy; or else hisbad name had been taken in vain by a baffled and exasperated Scotland Yard. 

Again: Diantha had insisted that the Lone Wolf was by every evidencecompletely woman-proof; and there might be something in her contention thatsuch an elusive yet spectacularly successful thief could hardly have wonthe high place he held in the annals of criminology and in the esteem ofthe sensation-loving public, if he were one who maintained normal relationswith his kind. 

Sooner or later (so ran Diantha's borrowed reasoning) the criminal who hasclose friends, a wife, a mistress, children, family ties of any sort, oreven body-servants, must willy-nilly repose confidence in one of these, andthen inevitably will be betrayed. Depend upon envy, jealousy, spite, orplain venal disloyalty, if accident or inadvertence fail, to lay thelaw-breaker by the heels. 

Therefore (Diantha argued) the Lone Wolf must be a confirmed solitary andmisogynist--very much like this Monsieur Lanyard, according to reportswhich declared the latter to be a man who kept to himself, had manyacquaintances and not one intimate, and was positively insulated againstwiles of woman. 

But--granting all this--it was none the less true that the utmostdiligence, spurred by the pique, ill-will, and ambition of the police ofall Europe, had failed as yet to forge any link between the supercriminalof the age and the distinguished connoisseur of art. Other than LadyDiantha and the gossips whose arguments she was retailing, never a soul (sofar as Sofia knew) had ventured to breathe a breath of suspicion upon thegood repute of Monsieur Lanyard. 

In short, Diantha's conjectures had been entirely second-hand, and not evenmeant to be taken seriously. 

And yet the suggestion had fastened firm hold upon the imagination of thePrincess Sofia. 

If it were true ... What an adventure!

There was unaccustomed light of daring in the eyes of the princess, unwonted colour tinted her cheeks. 

The hansom stopped, discharged the fairest fare it had ever carried, andrattled off, leaving Sofia just a trifle daunted and dubious, the animationof her anticipations something dashed by the uncompromising respectability, the self-conscious worthiness of Halfmoon Street. 

Enfolded in the very heart of Mayfair, its brief length bounded on thenorth by Curzon Street (its name alone sufficient voucher for itscharacter), on the south by Piccadilly (hereabouts somewhat oppressive withits hedge of stately clubs, membership in any one of which is equivalent totwo years' unchallenged credit) Halfmoon Street is largely given over tofurnished lodgings. But it doesn't advertise the fact, its landlords areapt to be retired butlers to the nobility and gentry, its lodgers Englishgentlemen who have brought home livers from India, or assorted disabilitiesfrom all known quarters of the globe, and who desire nothing better than tolead steady-paced lives within walking distance of their favourite clubs. So Halfmoon Street remains quietly estimable, a desirable address, andknows it, and doggedly means to hold fast to that repute. 

A strange environment (Sofia thought) for an adventurer like the Lone Wolf. 

But then--of course!--Diantha's innuendoes had been based on flimsiesthearsay. The chances were that Michael Lanyard was an utterly uninterestingperson of blameless life. 

So thinking, the Princess Sofia was sensible of a pang of regret, and triedto be prepared against bitter disappointment as she rang the bell. Eithershe would fail to obtain admittance (perhaps the lady whom he was reallyexpecting had forestalled her) or else Lanyard would fail to come home intime to catch her! Quite probably it would turn out to be a dull anddepressing evening, after all.... 

The servant who admitted her in manner and appearance lent colour to theseforebodings. A creature hopelessly commonplace, resigned, and unemotional, to her enquiry for Monsieur Lanyard he returned the discounted response:Mister Lanyard was hout, 'e might not be 'ome till quite lite, but 'ad leftword that if a lidy called she was to be awsked to wite. The princessindicating her desire to wite, the man turned to the nearest door(Lanyard's rooms were on the street level), opened it with a pass-key, stepped inside to make a light, and when Sofia entered silently bowedhimself out. 

Now when the latch clicked behind him, the Princess Sofia forgot that thesimplicity of her success thus far was almost discouraging. Her heart beganto beat more quickly, and a little tremor shook the hands that lifted andthrew back her veil. After all, she was committing an act of lawlesstrespass, she was on the errand of a thief; if caught the penalty mightprove most painful and humiliating. 

Of a sudden she lost appetite entirely for a piquant encounter with theprepossessing tenant of these rooms. Now she desired nothing so dearly asto consummate her business and escape with all possible expedition. 

A swift and searching survey of the living-room descried nothing thatseemed apt to hinder or detain her. A large room, unusually wide and deep, it had two windows overlooking the street, with a curtained doorway at theback that led (one surmised) to a bedchamber. It was furnished in suchexcellent taste that one suspected Monsieur Lanyard must have brought inhis own belongings on taking possession. The handsome rug, the well-chosendraperies, the several excellent pictures and bronzes, were little incharacter with the furnished lodgings of the London average, even withthose of the better sort. 

She had no time, however, to squander on appreciation of artisticatmosphere, however pleasing, and needed to waste none searching for theobject of her desires. It faced her, distant not six paces from thedoor--that shameless little "Corot"!--resting on the arms of astraight-backed chair. 

A low laugh of delight on her lips, she went swiftly to the chair and laidhold of the picture by its frame. In that act she checked, startled, transfixed, the laugh freezing into a gasp of alarm. 

Brass rings slithered on a pole supporting the portières at the back of theroom. These parted. Through them a man emerged. 

Her grasp on the picture relaxed. It struck a corner against the chair andclattered on the floor--the canvas on its stretcher simultaneously flyingout of the frame. 

"Victor!"

"Sweet of you to remember me!"

He advanced slowly with that noiseless, cat-like tread of his which she hadalways hated, perceiving in it a true index to his character: the prowl ofa beast of prey, furtive, cowardly, cruel. It was so: Victor was as felineand as vicious as a jungle-cat. Watching him with this thought in mind, onecould almost credit old tales of beasts bewitched and walking in humanguise. 

Near by he paused, alertly poised, prepared to spring. The slotted blackeyes glimmered malignantly. His lips drew back in mockery from his teeth. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his dinner-coat; but she couldguess how they were held, like claws, in that concealment, claws itchingfor her throat. She dared not stir lest she feel them there, digging deepinto her soft white flesh. 

Witless, in the extremity of her terror, she stammered: "What do you want?"

A nod indicated the picture that lay between them, at their feet. 

"My errand, " the man said in a silken tone that gloved grimmest menace, "ismuch the same as yours--quite naturally--but more fortunate; for I shallget not only what I came for, but something more. "

"What--?"

"The opportunity to plead with you, face to face. I think you will hardlyrefuse to listen to me now. "

"How--how did you get in?"

"Oh, secretly! By the window, if you must know; but quite unseen. You see, _I_ had no invitation. "

"I never thought you had--"

"Nor did I think you had--till now. "

Puzzled, she faltered: "I don't understand--"

"Surely you don't wish me to believe my pretty Sofia has turned thief?"

That stung her pride. She drew upon an unsuspected store of spirit, confronting him bravely. 

"What is it to me, what you choose to think?"

"I refuse to think that of you. My reason will not let me believe it. "

She saw that he was shaking with rage; so she shrugged and drawled: "Oh, your _reason_--!"

"It tells me you for one did not come here to-night uninvited. " He wasrapidly losing grip on his temper. "Oh, it's plain enough! I was a fool notto understand, there in the auction room, when my face was slapped withproof of your liaison with this Lanyard!"

She said in mild expostulation: "But you are quite mad. "

"Perhaps--but not so as to be blind to the truth. You had him there thisafternoon to bid that picture in for you if your own means failed. Why elseshould the man, who knows pictures as I know you, pay twenty thousandguineas for a footling copy of a Corot that wouldn't deceive a--a RoyalAcademician! Yes: he bid it in for you--the sorry fool!--bought with hisown money the evidence of your infatuation for his predecessor in youraffections--and expects you here to-night to receive it from him and--payhim _his_ price! Ah, don't try to deny it!"

He growled like a very animal, beside himself. "Why else should you beadmitted to these rooms without question in his absence?"

Without visible resentment, the Princess Sofia nodded thoughtfully intothose distorted features. 

"Yes, " she commented: "quite, quite mad. "

As if she had offered without warning to strike him, Victor recoiled andfor an instant stood gibbering. And she took advantage of this moment inone lithe bound to put the table between them. 

The manoeuvre sobered him. He did not move, but in two breaths forcedhimself to cease to tremble, and subdued every symptom of his passion. Onlyhis face remained sinister. 

"Graceful creature!" he observed, sardonic. "Such agility! But what goodwill that do you, do you think? Eh? Tell me that!"

It was her turn to shiver, and inwardly she did, who was never quite ableto combat the fear which Victor could inspire in her by such demonstrationsof the power of his will. The self-control which he had always at hiscommand was something that passed her understanding; it seemed inhuman, itterrified her. 

Nevertheless, so exigent was this strait, she continued to confront himwith a face of unflinching defiance. 

In a voice whose steadiness surprised her she declared: "The letters aremine. You shan't have them. "

"Undeceive yourself: I'll have them though you never leave this roomalive. "

More to give herself time to think than in any hope of moving him, shebegan to plead:

"Let me have them, Victor--let me go. "

Smiling darkly, he shook his head. 

"The letters mean nothing to you. What good--?"

He interrupted impatiently: "I shall publish them. "

"Impossible--!"

"But I shall. "

Aghast, she protested: "You can't mean that!"

"Why not? The world shall know your true reason for leaving me--that youwere the mistress of another man--and who that man was!"

Staring, she uttered in a low voice: "Never!"

"Or, " he amended, deliberately, "you may keep them, burn them, do what youwill with them--on fair terms--_my_ terms. "

She said nothing, but her dilate eyes held fixedly to his. He moved a paceor two nearer, his voice dropped to a lower key, the light she had learnedto loathe flickered in the depths of his eyes. 

"Come back to me, Sofia! I can't live without you ... "

Her lips moved to deny him, but made no sound. Now it was revealed to her, the way. 

"Come back to me, Sofia!"

His hand crept along the edge of the table and lifted, quivering, tocapture hers. She steeled herself to endure its touch, against sickeningrepulsion she fought to achieve a smile that would carry a suggestion of atleast forgetfulness. 

"And if I do--?" she murmured. 

He gave a violent start, blood suffused his face darkly, his arms leapt outto enfold her. She stepped back, evading him with a movement of coquetrythat served, as it was intended, to inflame him the more. 

"Wait!" she insisted. "Answer me first: If I return to you--then what?"

"Everything shall be as you wish--everything forgotten--I will think ofnothing but how to make you happy--"

"And I may have my letters?"

He nodded, swallowing hard, as if the concession well-nigh choked him. 

Under his gloating gaze her flesh crawled. Only by supreme effort did shesucceed in resisting a mad impulse to risk a rush for door or windows, andwhipped her will into maintaining what seemed to be frank response. 

"Very well, " she said; "I agree. "

Again he offered to touch her, again she moved slightly, eluding him. 

"No, " she stipulated with an arch glance--"not yet! First prove you mean tomake good your word. "

"How?"

"Let me go--with my letters--and call on me to-morrow. "

His look clouded. "Can I trust you?" He was putting the question to himselfmore than to her. "Dare I?" He added in a tone colourless and flat: "I'vehalf a mind to take you at your word. Only--forgive my doubts--appearancesare against you--you seem almost too keen for the bargain. How can Iknow--?"

"What proof do you want?"

"Something definite.... You pledge yourself to me?" A movement of her headassented. "You will give yourself back to me?" He came nearer, but shecontrived to repeat the sign of assent. "Wholly, without reserve?"

An invincible disgust shook her as the full sense of his insistence struckhome. Still she whipped herself to play out the scene--and win!

"As you say, Victor, as you will.... "

He moved still nearer. She became conscious of his nearness as if apalpable aura of vileness emanated from his person. 

"Then give me proof--here and now. "

"How?"

He laughed a throaty, evil laugh. "Need you ask? Not much, my Sofia ... Only a little ... Something on account... " Suddenly she could no more:memories unspeakable rose like disturbed dregs to the surface of herconsciousness. Involuntarily, not knowing what she did, she flung out anarm and struck down his hands. 

"You--leper!"

The epithet was like a knout cutting through the decayed fibre of the manand raising a livid welt on his diseased soul. Galled beyond endurance, hiscountenance convulsed with fury, he struck wickedly; and the vicious blowof his open palm across her mouth brought flecks of blood to the lips asher teeth cut into the tender flesh. 

It did far more, it shattered at one stroke the brittle casing ofself-command with which centuries of civilization had sought to veneer theSlav. In a trice a woman whose existence neither of them had suspected wasrevealed, a fury incarnate flew at the dismayed prince, clawing, tearing, raining blows upon his face and bosom. Overcome by surprise, blinded, dazed, staggered, he gave ground, stumbled, caught at a chair to steadyhimself. 

As abruptly as it had begun, the assault ceased. Panting and frantic, thegirl fell back, paused, renewed her grasp upon herself, gazed momentarilyin contempt on that dashed and quaking figure, then swiftly swooped down toretrieve the picture, and madly pelted toward the door. 

In an instant, Victor was after her. His clutching fingers barely missedher shoulder but caught a flying end of the veil that swathed her throatand head. With finger-tips touching the door-knob Sofia was checked andtwitched back so violently that she was all but thrown off her feet. 

She tried desperately to regain her balance, but the pressure round herthroat, tightening, bade fair to suffocate her; and reeling, while herhands tore ineffectually at the folds of the veil, she was drawn back andback, and tripped, falling half on, half off the table. 

Already her vision was darkening, her lungs were labouring painfully, herhead throbbed with the revolt of strangulated arteries as if sledge hammerswere seeking to smash through her skull. 

Through closing shadows she saw that savage mask which hovered over her, moping and mowing, as Victor twisted and drew ever more tight the murderousbindings round her throat. 

A groping hand encountered something on the table, a lump of metal, coldand heavy. She seized and dashed it brutally into that hateful face, sawhis head jerk back and heard him grunt with pain, and struck again, blindly, with all her might. 

Instantly the pressure upon her throat was eased. She heard a groan, afall ... 

VIII

GREEK VS. GREEK

She found herself standing, partly resting upon the table. Great, tearingsobs racked her slight young body--but at least she was breathing, therewas no more constriction of her windpipe; Her head still ached, however, her neck felt stiff and sore, and she remained somewhat giddy and confused. 

She eyed rather wildly her hands. One held torn and ragged folds of theveil ripped from her throat, the other the weapon with which she hadcheated death: a bronze paperweight, probably a miniature copy of a Barye, an elephant trumpeting. The up-flung trunk was darkly stained andsticky.... 

With a shudder she dropped the bronze, and looked down. Victor lay at herfeet, supine, grotesquely asprawl. His face was bruised and livid; thecheek laid open by the bronze was smeared with scarlet, accentuating theleaden colour of his skin. His mouth was ajar; his eyes, half closed, hideously revealed slender slits of white. More blood discoloured his righttemple, welling from under the matted, coarse black hair. 

He was terribly motionless. If he breathed, Sofia could detect no sign ofit. 

In panic she knelt beside the body, threw back Victor's dinner-coat, andlaid an ear above his heart. 

At first, in her mad anxiety, she could hear nothing. But presently abeating registered, slow and harsh but steady-paced. 

With a sob of relief she sat back on her heels, and after a little whilegot unsteadily to her feet. 

The house door closed with a dull bang, and from the entrance hallway camea sound of voices. She stood petrified in dread till the voices fell andshe heard stairs creak under an ascending tread. 

Thus reminded that Lanyard's return might occur at any moment, she made allhaste to patch up the disarray of veil and coiffure. Fortunately hercostume, protected by the cloak of heavy and sturdy stuff, was quiteundamaged. 

Not till on the point of leaving did she remember the painting. It layunharmed where it had fallen when Victor seized her veil. She was calmenough now to consider herself fortunate in finding it so poorly secured inits frame; without the latter it would be far easier to smuggle the canvasaway under her cloak. 

In the final glance she bent upon Victor's beaten and insensible body therewas no pity, no regret, no trace of compunction. What he had suffered hehad ten times--no, a hundred, a thousand--earned. Long before she left himSofia had lost count of the blows she had taken at his hands, the insultsworse than blows, the lesser indignities innumerable. 

But in those abolished days she had never once struck back, she had beenfaint of heart, cowed and terrified, and had lacked what two years ofseparation had given her, that spiritual independence which never beforehad been able to realize itself, lift up its head, and grow strong in theassurance of its own integrity. 

Two years ago she would not have dared to lift a hand to Victor, no matterhow sore the provocation. To-night--if she had one regret it was that shehad struck so feebly: not that she desired his death, but that she knew itwas now her life or his. She knew the man too well to flatter herself thathe would rest before he had compassed such revenge as the baseness of hisdegenerate soul would deem adequate. Half the world were not too much toput between them if she were now to sleep of nights in comfortableconsciousness of security from his quenchless hatred. 

Callously enough she switched off the lights and left him lying there, indarkness but for the ash-dimmed glimmer of a dying fire. 

In the entrance hallway she hesitated, coldly composed and alert. Butseemingly the noise of their struggle had not carried beyond the door. There was no one about. 

With neither haste nor faltering, without the least misadventure, she letherself quietly out into the empty, silent, rain-swept street, and scurriedtoward the lights of Piccadilly. 

Before long a cruising four-wheeler overhauled her. In its obscure andstuffy refuge she sat hugging her precious canvas and pondering her plight. 

It was borne in upon her that she would do well to leave London, yes, andEngland, too, before Victor recovered sufficiently to scheme and put awatch upon her movements. 

She had need henceforth to be swift and wary and shrewd.... 

A singular elation began to colour her temper, a quickening sense ofemancipation. Necessity at a stroke had set her free. Because she must flyand hide to save her life, society had no more hold upon her, she need nolonger fight to keep up appearances in spite of her status as a womanliving apart from her husband, little better than a divorcée--an estateanathema to the English of those days. 

She experienced, through the play of her imagination upon this new andstartling conception of life, an intoxicating prelibation of freedom suchas she had never dreamed to savour. 

That waywardness which was a legitimate inheritance from generations ofwilful forebears, impatient of all those restraints which a fixedenvironment imposes upon the individual, an impatience which had alwaysbeen hers though it slumbered in unsuspected latency, asserted itself of asudden, possessed her wholly, and warmed, her being like forbidden wine. 

In this humour she was set down at her door. 

None saw her enter. In a moment of vaguely prophetic foresight she hadbidden Thérèse not to wait up for her and to tell the other servants therewas no necessity for their doing so. She might be detained, Heaven aloneknew how late she might be; but she had her latch-key and was quitecompetent to undress and put herself to bed. 

And Thérèse had taken her at her word. 

She was glad of that. In event that anything should leak out and be printedby the newspapers concerning the theft of Monsieur Lanyard's famous "Corot"by a strange, closely veiled woman, it was just as well that none of theservants was about to see her come in with the canvas clumsily hidden underher cloak. 

So she exercised much circumspection in shutting and bolting the door, mounted the stairs without making any unnecessary stir, and at the door ofher boudoir waited, listening, for several moments, in the course of whichshe heard, or fancied she heard, a slight noise on the far side of the doorwhich made her suspect Thérèse might after all still be up and about. 

The sound was not repeated, but to make sure Sofia slipped out of her cloakand wrapped it round the canvas before she went in; which last she didsharply, with head up and eyes flashing ominously beneath scowlingbrows--prepared to give Thérèse a rare taste of temper if she found she hadbeen disobeyed. 

But though the maid had left the lights on, she was nowhere to be seen. Nordid she answer from the bedchamber when the princess called her. 

With a sigh of relief that ran into the chuckle of a child absorbed inmischief, Sofia threw the cloak across a chaise-longue, and bore her prizein triumph to the escritoire. 

It was her intention to rip the canvas off with a knife, to get at theletters; and a long, thin-bladed Spanish dagger that now did service as apaper-knife was actually in her hand when she noticed how slightly thepainting was tacked to its stretcher, and for the first time was visited bypremonition. 

Dropping the knife, she caught a loose edge of the canvas and with oneswift tug stripped it clear of the unpainted fabric beneath. 

The cry that disappointment wrung from her was bitter with protest andchagrin. 

Fortune had failed her, then, the jade had tricked her heartlessly. Withsuccess within her grasp, it had trickled like quicksilver through herfingers. Victor had been beforehand with her, had purloined the letters andrestored the canvas to its frame. She might have suspected as much if shehad only had the wit to draw a natural inference from the way the paintinghad parted company with its frame when she dropped it. 

So the letters for which she had risked and suffered so much must be backthere, in Lanyard's lodgings, in Victor's possession--lost irretrievably, since she would never find the courage to go back for them, even if shedared assume that Victor had not yet recovered and escaped or that Lanyardhad not yet come home. 

If only she had thought to rifle Victor's pockets ... 

"Too late, " she uttered in despair. 

"Ah, madame, never say that!"

She swung round but, shocked as she was to the verge of stupefaction, madeno outcry. 

The intruder stood within arm's-length, collected, amiable, debonair, nothing threatening in his attitude, merely an easy and at the same timequite respectful suggestion of interest. 

"Monsieur Lanyard!"

His bow was humorous without mockery: "Madame la princesse does me muchhonour. "

She was silent another instant, in a wide stare comprehending theincredible, the utterly impossible fact of his presence there. The oneconceivable explanation voiced itself without her volition:

"The Lone Wolf!"

"Oh, come now!" he remonstrated, indulgently--"that's downright flattery. "

She moved aside, lifting a hand toward the bell-cord. 

"Wait!"

Involuntarily she deferred, her arm dropped. Then, appreciating that shehad yielded where he had no right to command, she mutinied. 

"Why?" she demanded, resentfully. 

"Why ring?" he countered, smiling. 

"To call my servants--to have them call in the police. "

"But surely madame la princesse must appreciate the police might be at aloss to know which housebreaker to arrest. "

He cocked an eye of mocking significance toward the purloined "Corot, " andin sharp revulsion of feeling Sofia had need to bite her lip to keep fromlaughing. She hesitated. He was right and reasonable enough, this impudentand imperturbable young elegant. Yet she could not afford to concede somuch to him. She was quick to accept his gage. 

"Who knows, " she enquired, obliquely, "why Monsieur the Lone Wolf broughtwith him this counterfeit Corot when he broke in to steal--"

"The counterfeit jewels of a titled adventuress!"

An interruption brusque enough to silence her; or else it was its innuendothat struck the princess dumb with indignation. Lanyard's laugh offeredamends for the rudeness, as if he said: "Sorry--but you asked for it, youknow. " He stepped aside, caught up a handful of her jewels that had beenleft, a tempting heap, openly exposed on her dressing-table (as much herown carelessness as anybody's, Sofia admitted) and tossed them lightly uponthe face of the fraudulent canvas. 

"Birds of a feather, " was his comment, whimsical; "coals to Newcastle!"

"My jewels!" The princess gathered them up tenderly and faced him, blazingwith resentment. He returned a twisted smile, an apologetic shrug. 

"Madame la princesse didn't know? I'm so sorry. "

"How dare you say they're paste?"

"I'm sorry, " he repeated; "but somebody seems to have taken advantage ofmadame's confidence. Excellent imitations, I grant you, but articles deParis none the less. "

"It isn't true!" she stormed, near to tears. 

"But really, you must believe me. A knowledge of jewels is one of myhobbies: I _know!_"

She looked down in consternation at the exquisite trinkets he had condemnedso bluntly. Then in a fit of temper she flung them from her with all hermight, threw herself upon the chaise-longue, and wept passionately into itscushions. Then the young man proved himself tolerably instructed in theways of womankind. He said nothing more, made no offer to comfort her bythose futile and empty pats on the shoulder which are instinctive with manon such occasions, but simply sat him down and waited. 

In time the tempest passed, Sofia sat up and dabbled her eyes with a web oflace and linen. Then she looked round with a tentative smile that waswholly captivating. She was one of those rare women who can afford to cry. 

"It's so humiliating!" she protested with racial ingenuousness--one of hermost compelling charms. "But it's ridiculous, too. I was so sure no onewould ever know. "

"No one but an expert ever would, madame. "

"You see"--apparently she had forgotten that Lanyard was anything but alifelong friend--"I needed money so badly, I had them reproduced and soldthe originals. "

"Madame la princesse--if she will permit--commands my profound sympathy. "

"But, " she remembered, drying her eyes, "you called me an adventuress, too!"

"But, " he contended, gravely, "you had already called me the Lone Wolf. "

"But what do you expect, monsieur, when I find you in my rooms--?"

"But what does madame la princesse expect when I find she had been tomine--and brought something valuable away with her, too!"

"I had a reason--"

"So had I. "

"What was it?"

"Perhaps it was to see madame la princesse alone--secretly--withoutexciting the jealousy, which I understand is supernormal, of monsieur leprince. "

"But why should you wish to see me alone?" she demanded, with wideningeyes. 

"Perhaps to beg madame's permission to offer her what may possibly provesome slight consolation. "

She weighed his words in dark distrust. What was this consolation? What hisgame? His attitude remained consistently too deferential and punctiliousfor one to suspect that by consolation he meant love-making. 

"But how did you get in?"

"By the front door, madame. I find it ajar--one assumes, through oversighton the part of one of the servants--it opens to a touch, I walk in--etvoila!"

His levity was infectious. In spite of herself, she smiled in sympathy. 

"And what, pray, is this wonderful consolation you would offer me?"

He produced from a pocket a packet of papers. 

"I think madame la princesse is interested in these, " he said. "If she willbe so amiable as to accept them from me, with my compliments and one littleword of advice.... "

"Ah, monsieur!" Look and tone thanked him more than words could ever. "Youare too kind! And your advice--?"

"They tell too much, madame, those letters. And I see you have a fire inthe grate ... "

"Monsieur has reason.... "

She rose, went to the fireplace and, half kneeling, thrust the letters oneby one into the incandescent bed of coals. A ceremony of sentiment at anyother time, but not now: her thoughts were far from the man with whosememory these letters were linked, they were in fact not wholly articulate. Just what was passing through her mind she herself would have found it hardto define; she was mainly conscious of a flooding emotion of gratitudeto Lanyard; but there was something more, a feeling not unakin totenderness.... 

The reaction of her vital young body from a desperate physical conflict, the rapid play of her passions from anger and despair through triumph anddelight to gratification and content, from the bitterest sense offrustration and peril to one of security; the uprush of those strangeinstincts which had lain dormant till roused by the knowledge that she wasfree at length from the maddening stupidity of social life, together withher recent, implicit self-dedication to a life in all things its converse:these influences were working upon her so strongly as to render her moodmore dangerous than she guessed. 

Disturbed in her formless reverie, an aimless groping through a bewilderingmaze of emotions but vaguely apprehended, she started up, faced round andsaw Lanyard, topcoat over arm and hat in hand, about to open the door. 

"Monsieur!"

He looked back, coolly quizzical. "Madame?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking my unobtrusive departure, madame la princesse, by the way I came. "

"But--wait--come back!"

He shrugged agreeably, released the door-knob, and stood before her, orrather over her--for he was the taller by a good five inches--looking down, quietly at her service. 

"I haven't thanked you. "

"For what, madame? For treating myself to an amusing adventure?"

"It has cost you dear!"

"The fortunes of war ... "

Her hands rose unconsciously, with an uncertain movement. Her face was softwith an elusive bloom of unwonted feeling. Her eyes held a puzzled look, asif she did not quite understand what was moving her so deeply. 

"You are a strange man, monsieur.... "

"And what shall one say of madame la princesse?"

She could but laugh; and laughter rings the death-knell of constraint. 

But Lanyard remembered uneasily that somebody--Solomon or some other whomust have led an interesting life--had remarked that the lips of a strangewoman are smoother than oil. 

"None the less, monsieur, I am deeply in your debt. "

His smile of impersonal courtesy failed. He was becoming more sensitivethan he liked to her charm and the warm sentiment she was giving out tohim. This strange access in her of haunting loveliness, the gentle shadowsthat lay beneath her wide--yet languorous eyes, the almost imperceptibletremor of her sweetly fashioned lips, all troubled him profoundly. Heexerted himself to break the spell upon his senses which this woman, wittingly or not, was weaving. But the effort was at best half-hearted. 

"I am well repaid, " he said a bit stiffly, "by the knowledge that thehonour of madame la princesse is safe. "

Sofia laughed breathlessly. Somehow her hands had found the way to his. Herglance wavered and fell. 

"But is it?" she asked in a tone so intimate that it was barely audible. And she laughed once more. "I am not so sure ... As long as monsieur ishere. "

Lanyard's mouth twitched, slow colour mounted in his face, the light in hiseyes was lambent. He found himself looking deep into other eyes that werelike pools of violet shadow troubled by a deep surge and resurge of feelingfor which there was no name. Aware that they revealed more than he ought toknow, he sought to escape them by bending his lips to Sofia's hands. 

Sighing softly, she resigned them to his kisses. 

IX

PAID IN FULL

It was late when Lanyard got home, but not too late: when he entered hisliving-room enough life lingered in the embers in the grate to betray tohim a feline shape on all-fours creeping toward his bedchamber door. As heswitched up the lights it bounded to its feet and dived through theportières with such celerity that he saw little more of it than coat-tailslevel on the wind. 

Dropping hat and canvas, Lanyard gave chase and overhauled the marauder ashe was clambering out through the open window, where a firm hand on hiscollar checked his preparations to drop half a dozen feet to the flaggedcourt. 

Victor swore fretfully and lashed out a random fist, which struck Lanyard'scheek a glancing blow that carried just enough sting to kindle resentment. So the virtuous householder was rather more than unceremonious aboutyanking the princely housebreaker inside and lending him a foot toaccelerate his return to the living-room; where Victor brought up, onall-fours again, in almost precisely the spot from which he had risen. 

He bounced up, however, with a surprising amount of animation and ambition, and flew back to the offensive with flailing fists. In this his judgmentwas grievously in fault. Lanyard sidestepped, nipped a wrist, twitched itsmartly up between the man's shoulder-blades (with a wrench that won agrunt of agony), caught the other arm from behind by the hollow of itselbow, and held his victim helpless--though ill-advised enough to continueto hiss and spit and squirm and kick. 

A heel that struck Lanyard's shin earned Victor a shaking so thoroughgoingthat he felt the teeth rattle in his jaws. When it was suspended, he wasbreathless but thoughtful, and offered no objection to being searched. Lanyard relieved him of a revolver and a dirk, then with a push sent Victorreeling to the table, where he stood panting, quivering, and glaringmurder, while his captor put the dagger away and examined the firearm. 

"Wicked thing, " he commented--"loaded, too. Really, monsieur le princeshould be more careful. One of these fine days, if you don't stop playingwith such weapons, one of these will go off right in your hand--and thenext high-light in your history will be when the judge says: 'And may theLord have mercy on your soul!'"

Victor confided his sentiments to a handkerchief with which he was moppinghis face. Lanyard sat down and wagged a reproving head. 

"Didn't catch, " he said; "perhaps it's just as well, though; soundedlike bad words. Hope I'm mistaken, of course: princes ought to setimpressionable plebeians a better pattern. "

He cocked a critical eye. "You're a sight, if you don't mind my sayingso--look as if the sky had caved in on you. May one ask what happened? Didit stub its toe and fall?"

Victor suspended operations with the handkerchief to bend upon histormentor a louring, distrustful stare. His head was still heavy, hot, andpainful, his mental processes thick with lees of coma; but now he began toappreciate, what naturally seemed apparent, that Lanyard must beunacquainted with the cause of his injuries. 

A searching look round the room confirmed him in this error. The canvas laywhere Lanyard had dropped it on entering, not in the spot where Victorremembered seeing it last, but where conceivably an unheeded kick mighthave sent it in the course of his struggle with Sofia. She must haveforgotten it, then, when she fled from what she probably thought wasmurder, and what might well have been. 

He was much too sore and shaken to be subtle; and the general trend of hisconjectures was perfectly legible to Lanyard, who without delay set himselfto conjure away any lingering suspicion of his guilelessness. 

"Not squiffy, are you, by any chance?" he enquired with the kindliestinterest. "You look as if you'd wound up a spree by picking a fight with abobby. Your cheek's cut and all (shall we say, in deference to thewell-known prejudices of the dear B. P. ?) ensanguined. Sit down and pullyourself together before you try to explain to what I owe this honour--andso forth. "

He got up, clapped a hand on Prince Victor's shoulder, and steered him intoan easy chair. 

"Anything more I can do to put you at your ease? Would a brandy and sodahelp, do you think?"

The suggestion was acceptable: Victor signified as much with an ungraciousmumble. Lanyard fetched glasses, a decanter, a siphon-bottle, and suppliedhis guest with a liberal hand before helping himself. 

Victor took the drink without a word of thanks and gulped it down noisily. Lanyard drank sparingly, then crossed the room to a bell-push. Seeing hisfinger on it Prince Victor started from his chair, but Lanyard hospitablywaved him back. 

"Don't go yet, " he pleaded. "You've only just dropped in, we haven't hadhalf a chance to chat. Besides, you mustn't forget I've got your pistol andyour dirk and the upper hand and a sustaining sense of moral superiorityand no end of other advantages over you. "

"Why, " the prince demanded, nervously--"why did you ring?"

"To call a cab for you, of course. I don't imagine you want to walkhome--do you?--in your present state of shocking disrepair. Of course, ifyou'd rather ... But do sit down: compose yourself. "

"Let me be, " the other snapped as Lanyard offered good-naturedly to thrusthim back into the chair. "I am--quite composed. "

"That's good! Excellent! Hand steady enough to write me a cheque, do youthink?"

"What the devil!"

"Oh, come now! Don't go off your bat so easily. I'm only going to do you aservice--"

"Damn your impudence! I want no services of you!"

"Oh, yes you do!" Lanyard insisted, unabashed--"or you will when you learnwhat a kind heart I've got. Now do be nice and stop protesting! You see, you've touched my heart. I'd no idea you were so passionate about thatpainting. If I had for one instant imagined you cared enough about it toburglarize my rooms ... But now that I do understand, my dear fellow, Iwouldn't deny you for worlds; I make you a free present of it, at the priceI paid--twenty thousand and one hundred guineas--exacting no bonus orcommission whatever. You'll find blank cheques in the upper right-handdrawer of my desk there; fill in one to my order, and the Corot's yours. "

For a moment longer the prince stared, hate and perplexity in equal measuretincturing his regard. Then slowly the look of doubt gave way to the ghostof a crafty smile. 

What a blazing fool the fellow was (he thought) to accept a cheque on whichpayment could be stopped before banking hours in the morning--!

Such fatuity seemed incredible. Yet there it was, egregious, indisputable. Why not profit by it, turn it to his own advantage? To secure what he hadsought, the letters concealed between the canvases, and turn them againstSofia, and to play this Lanyard for a fool, all at one stroke--theopportunity was too rich to be slighted. 

He dissembled his exultation--or plumed himself on doing so. 

"Very well, " he mumbled, sulkily. "I'll draw the cheque. "

"That's the right spirit!" Lanyard declared, and escorted him to the desk. 

A knock sounded. Lanyard called: "Come in!" A sleepy manservant, half-dressed and warm from his bed, entered. 

"You rang, sir?"

"Yes, Harris. " Lanyard tossed him a sovereign. "Sorry to rout you out solate, but I need a cab. Whistle up a growler, will you?"

"'Nk-you, sir. "

The man retired cheerfully, rewarded for many a night of broken slumber. Prince Victor got up from the desk and proffered Lanyard the cheque. 

"I fancy, " he said with a leer, "you'll find that all right. "

Lanyard scrutinized the cheque minutely, nodded his satisfaction. 

"Thanks ever so ... No, not a word!" He forbade inflexibly a whollyimaginary interposition on the part of Prince Victor. "You don't know howto thank me--do you? Then why try? I know I'm too good, but I really can'thelp it, it's my nature--and there you are! So what's the good of bickeringabout it?... Now where did you leave your coat and hat? On my bed, as youcame in?"

He smiled charmingly and darted through the portières, returning with thearticles in question. "Do let me help you. "

The prince struggled into the coat and grunted an acknowledgment of theservice. Lanyard pressed the hat into his hand, picked up the canvas, replaced it in its frame, and tucked both under the princely arm. 

Another knock: Harris returned. 

"The four-wheeler is w'iting, sir. "

"Thanks, Harris. Half a moment: I want a word with you. You see thisgentleman?" Lanyard caught Victor's look of angry resentment andinterrupted himself. "Don't forget yourself, monsieur le prince. Remember ... "

He patted significantly the pocket which held the revolver, and turned backto Harris. 

"This gentleman, " he said, consulting the signature to the cheque, "isPrince Victor Vassilyevski. Please remember him. You may have to bearwitness against him in court. "

"What insolence is this?" Victor demanded, hotly. 

"Calm yourself, monsieur le prince. " Lanyard repeated the warning gesture. "He is a nobleman of Russia, or says he is, and--strangely enough, Harris!--a burglar. I caught him burglarizing my rooms when I came homejust now. You may judge from his appearance what difficulty I had insubduing him. "

"'E do seem fair used up, sir, " Harris admitted, eyeing Victor indignantly. "Would you wish me to call a bobby and give 'im in charge?"

"Thanks, no. Prince Victor and I have compromised. He doesn't relish goingto jail, and I've no particular desire to send him there. But he does wantwhat he broke in to steal--that painting you see under his arm--and I'veagreed to sell it to him. Here's the cheque he has just given me. Providingpayment is not stopped on it, Harris, you will hear no more of thisincident. But if by any chance the cheque should come back from his bank--Imay ask you to testify to what you have seen and heard here to-night. "

"It is a lie!" Prince Victor shrilled. "You brought me in with you, assaulted me, blackmailed that cheque out of me! Nobody saw us--"

"Sorry, " Lanyard cut in; "but it so happens, that the gentleman who has therooms immediately above came in when I did, and can testify that I wasalone. That's all, monsieur le prince. Your carriage waits. "

Harris opened the door. Choking with rage, the prince shuffled out, Lanyardpolitely escorting him to the curb. There, with a foot lifted to enter thefour-wheeler, Prince Victor turned, shaking an impassioned hand inLanyard's face. 

"You'll pay me for this!" he spluttered. "I'll square accounts with you, Lanyard, if I have to follow you to the gates of hell!"

"Better not, " Lanyard warned him fairly, "if you do, I'll push you in ... Bon soir, monsieur le prince!"

BOOK II

THE LONE WOLF'S DAUGHTER

I

THE GIRL SOFIA

She sat all day long--from noon, that is, till late at night--on a highstool behind the tall, pulpit-like desk of the caisse; flanked on one handby the swing door of green baize which communicated with the kitchen, onthe other by a hideous black walnut buffet on which fruits of the seasonwere displayed, more or less temptingly, to the taste of Mama Thérèse. 

But for these articles of furniture, the buffet, the desk, and the door tothe kitchen quarters, uninterrupted rows of tables, square, withcomposition-marble tops, lined three walls of the room. The fourth wasmainly plate-glass window, one on either side of the main entrance. 

Back of the tables were wall-seats upholstered in red plush, dusty andthreadbare; and, above, a frieze of mirrors. The floor of the restaurantwas a patternless mosaic of small hexagonal tiles, bare in warm weather, inthe winter covered by a thick but well-worn Brussels carpet of peculiarlyrepulsive design. The windows wore half-curtains of net which, afternightfall, were reinforced by ruffled draperies of rep silk. Through thenet curtains, by day, the name of the restaurant was shadowed in reverse byplain white-enamel letters glued to the glass:

CAFÉ DES EXILES

The girl stared so constantly at these letters, during the off hours of theday, that she sometimes wondered if they were not indelibly stamped uponher brain, like this:

[Reverse: CAFÉ DES EXILES]

She gazed in the direction of the windows as a matter of habit, becauseMama Thérèse objected to her reading at the desk (all the same, sometimesshe did it on the sly) because the glimpses she caught, above thehalf-curtains, of heads of passersby gave her idle imagination something toplay with, but mostly because it was difficult otherwise to seemunconscious of the stares that converged toward her from every tableoccupied by a masculine patron, whether regular or casual--unless thepatron happened to be accompanied by a lady, in which unhappy event he hadto content himself with furtive, sidelong glances, not always furtiveenough by half. 

The feminine patrons stared, too, but from quite another angle of view. 

Sofia knew why. If she hadn't, the mirror across the room would haveenlightened even a woman without vanity; which paradox this thoroughlyhuman young person was not. 

She was, indeed, healthily vain; and when she wasn't focussing dream-darkeyes upon the windows, or verifying additions and making change, she was aslikely as not to be stealing consultations with the mirror opposite, makingsure she hadn't, in the last few minutes, gone off in her looks. Not thather comeliness bade fair ever to prove the cause of any real excitement. Mama Thérèse made a first-rate dragon: she was very much on the job ofdiscouraging enterprising young men, and this without respect for unionhours or overtime. And when she wasn't functioning as the ubiquitouswet-blanket, Papa Dupont understudied for her, and did it most efficiently, too. If anything he was more vigilant and enthusiastic when it came toadministering the snub sufficient than even Mama Thérèse; in Sofia's sight, indeed, he betrayed some personal feeling in the business; he seemed toconsider alien admiration of his charge an encroachment upon his privateprerogatives, to be resented accordingly. 

Sofia understood. At eighteen--thanks to the comprehensive visual educationin the business of life which she could hardly have failed to assimilatefrom a coign of vantage overlooking every table of a Soho restaurant--therewere precious few things she didn't understand. But her insight into PapaDupont's mind in respect of herself was wholly devoid of sympathy. She wasjust a little bit afraid of him, and she despised him without measure. Andthis contempt was founded on something more than his weakness for takingnumerous and surreptitious nips (surreptitious, at least, until they becamenumerous) while presiding over the zinc in the pantry between therestaurant proper and the kitchen; and on something more than hisreluctance to let Mama Thérèse make an honest man of him, although thesetwo had squabbled openly for so many years that most of the house staffbelieved them to be married hard and fast enough. 

For the matter of that, Sofia herself might have been the dupe of thispopular delusion--which Mama Thérèse did her best to encourage by neverreferring to Dupont save as "mon mari"--had they been less imprudent inrecriminations which had passed between them in private when Sofia was ofan age so tender that she was presumed to be safely immature of mind. Whereas she had always been precocious, if rather a self-contained child. Almost from infancy she had been conversant with many things which she knewit wouldn't do to talk about. 

Such sympathy as Sofia wasted on the couple was all for Mama Thérèse. Whatwith keeping an eye on Papa Dupont that prevented his drinking himself todeath seven times per calendar week, and an eye on Sofia that was fondlycredited with being largely responsible for her failure to run away witheach and every presentable man who ogled her, and browbeating the waitersand frustrating their attempts to cheat the house out of its fair dues, andsupervising the marketing and the cuisine: believe it or not, Mama Thérèseled a tolerably busy life and deserved whatever gratification she got outof it, to say nothing of highest commendation for industry, fidelity, andfrugality. But that did nothing to prevent Sofia from not liking her. 

Her inability to play up to the relationship in which she stood to MamaThérèse in the manner prescribed by sentimentalists worried Sofia more thana little. She was as hungry to give affection as to receive it; and surelyshe ought to be fond of Mama Thérèse, who (Sofia was forever beingreminded) had in the goodness of her great heart adopted her as theorphaned offspring of a cousin far-removed, and had brought her up at herown expense, expecting no return (excepting humility, gratitude, unquestioning affection, and uncomplaining acceptance of a life ofincessant toil at tasks uncongenial when not downright unsavoury, withoutspending money or hours of untrammelled liberty in which to spend it). 

Surely such nobility ought to be requited with nothing less than love!

Nevertheless, the plain, and to Sofia disquieting, truth was: it wasn't. 

She was fond of Mama Thérèse after a fashion. No one was ever more ready toacknowledge the woman's good qualities. But her faults, which includedavarice, bad temper, gluttony, native cruelty of inclination, and simpleinability to give a damn for anybody but herself, forbade satisfaction ofSofia's yearnings to give her affections freely through bestowing them uponthe abundant and florid person of Mama Thérèse. 

Still, she made no murmur. There was more than a trace of fatalism in thecomposition of her spirit. As she conceived it, in this life either thingswere or they were not; and as a rule they uncompromisingly were not: onecouldn't have everything. 

She was not happy, it would be stretching the truth to say she was content, but she was resigned, she was patient, she waited not altogether withoutconfidence.... 

All the same, sometimes, as she sat, day in day out, on her high stool, looking down on familiar aspects of life's fermentation as it manifests inpublic restaurants, or peering out of the windows to catch tantalizingglimpses of its freer, ampler, and--alas!--more recondite phases--sometimesSofia wondered whether there were not grimly cynic innuendo in those threewords which the mystery of choice had affixed to the window-panes andgraven so deep into her soul. 

CAFÉ DES EXILES

For surely she was in exile there, an exile from all the fun and frolicand, fury of life, marooned in weary isolation, on a high stool, in afrowsty table d'hôte, in the living heart of London. 

II

MASKS AND FACES

Quite naturally she became acquainted with Faces.... 

She grew adept at a game which consisted mostly in keeping close watch uponthose who for this reason or that engaged her attention, without givingthem the slightest reason to suspect she was doing anything of the sort. 

One could not always be staring in abstraction at nothing in particular asit passed to and fro on the sidewalk in front of the Café des Exiles; onecould not often or for long at a time succeed in reading a book held openin one's lap, below the level of the cashier's desk, Mama Thérèse was toobrisk for that; one had to do something with one's mind; and it wassometimes diverting to watch and speculate about people who lookedinteresting. 

There were so many Faces, they came and went so constantly, like bubbles ina tideway, that to Sofia most of them seemed indistinguishable one fromanother, mere blurs of flesh colour studded with staring eyes and slittedby apertures which automatically and alternately gaped to receive gobbetsof food and goblets of drink and closed to gulp them down. A man needed tobe remarkable for something in his looks, not necessarily pulchritude, orfor uncommon individuality, for Sofia to favour him with more than one ofher seemingly casual glances or to remember him if he visited the café asecond time. 

But those there were who stood out from the rank and file, for whom shewatched, whom she missed if they failed to put in appearance at theiraccustomed hours, about whom her idle but able imagination wove wonderfulfantasies, enduing them with histories and environments as far removed fromfact as the drab dreams of the realists are from the picturesquecommonplaces of everyday. 

And there were others who came once and never again, but whom she neverforgot. But for some of these last, indeed, she would never have rememberedsome of the former. The brown-eyed youngster with the sentimentalexpression and the funny little moustache, for example, lurked in the rucka long time before the one and only visit of a bird of passage dignifiedhim in the sight of the girl on the high stool. 

On the occasion of his first appearance (but that was long ago, Sofiacouldn't remember how long) the slender young man with the soulful eyes andthe insignificant moustache had commended himself to her somewhat derisiveattention by seeming uncommonly exquisite for that atmosphere. 

The Café des Exiles was little haunted by the world of fashion; its diner áprix fixe (2/6), although excellent, surprisingly well done for the money, did not much seduce the clientèle of the Carlton and the Ritz. Now andagain its remoteness, promising freedom from embarrassing encounters savethrough unlikely mischance, would bring it the custom of a clandestinecouple from the West End, who would for a time make it an almost dailyrendezvous, meeting nervously, sitting if possible in the most shadowycorner, the farthest from the door, and holding hands when they mistakenlyassumed that nobody was looking--until the affair languished or somecontretemps frightened them away. 

Aside from such visitations, however, the great world coldly passed thecafé by; although it couldn't complain for lack of patronage, and in factprospered exceedingly if without ostentation on the half-crowns of loyalSoho and more fickle suburbia. 

The Sohobohemian on its native heath and the City clerk on the loose, however, were not prone to such vestments as young Mr. Karslake affected. It wasn't that he overdressed; even the ribald would have hesitated tolibel him with the name of a "nut"--which is Cockney for what the UnitedStates knows as a "fancy (or swell) dresser"; it was simply that he wasalways irreproachably turned out, whatever the form of dress he thoughtappropriate to the time of day; and that his wardrobe was so complete andvaried that he seldom appeared twice in the same suit of clothes--except, of course, after nightfall; though his visits to the Café des Exiles fordinner or afterward were so infrequent that each attained (after Sofiabegan to notice him at all) the importance of an occasion. Luncheon was histime, and those empty hours at the end of the afternoon which London fillsin with tea and Soho with drinks. 

He seemed to have a very wide and catholic acquaintance among people of allranks and stations in life; one could hardly call them friendships, for helunched or sipped an aperti not often with the same person twice in a bluemoon. And whether his companion were a curate or some ragged wastrel of thequarter; painted young person from the chorus of the newest revue or propermatron from Bayswater; keen adventurer from Fleet Street or solid merchantfrom the City, his attitude was much the same: easy, impersonal, unaffected, courteous, detached. He was as apt as not (going on his facialexpression) to be mooning about Sofia when his guest was gesticulatingwildly and uttering three hundred words a minute. When he spoke it wasmodestly, in a voice of agreeable cadences but pitched so low that Sofianever but twice heard anything he said; and his manner was notcharacterized by brisk decision. All the same, one noticed that he had, asa rule, the last word, that what he said left his hearer either satisfiedor pensive. 

He was unmistakably silly about Sofia; though that didn't impress her, toomany of the regulars were just as hard hit, one more or less didn't count. But he never stared to the point of rudeness, and it always seemed to makehim hugely uncomfortable if she appeared in the least aware of hisadoration; and Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont never even noticed him, socircumspect was he. Still, Sofia saw, and sometimes wondered, just as shewondered now and then about most of the possible men who seemed disposed tobe sentimental about her. 

For there were times when she felt she could do with a little morefirst-hand experience and a little less second-hand knowledge. 

Love (she supposed) must be a very agreeable frame of mind to be in, it wasso generally vogue.... 

What first led her to think that Mr. Karslake might be an interestingperson to know, entirely aside from his admiration, happened on anafternoon in June, a warm day for England, when a temperature of some 81degrees was responsible for "heat-wave" broadsides issued by the eveningpapers. 

At about tea time, Mr. Karslake, faultlessly arrayed, ambled in, selected atable diagonally across the room from the caisse, exchanged pleasantrieswith the waiter who served him a picon, and used a copy of The EveningStandard & St. James's Gazette as a cover for his wistful admiration ofSofia. 

Presently he was joined by a gentleman twice his age, if not older, whoseconservative smartness was such that one wondered if he hadn't strayed outof bounds through inadvertence. One would have thought his place was in theclubs of Piccadilly if not (at that particular hour) at a tea table on theriver terrace of the Houses of Parliament. On the other hand, there wasn'ta trace of self-importance in his habit, it achieved distinction solelythrough the unpretending dignity of a decent self-esteem. 

Sofia tried to fix what it was that made her think him the handsomest manshe had ever seen. She failed. He wasn't at all handsome in the smugfashion associated with the popular interpretation of that term; hisfeatures were engagingly irregular of conformation, but the impression theyconveyed was of a singular strength together with as rare a fineness ofspirit. A mobile and expressive face, stamped with a history of strangeordeals; but this must not be interpreted as meaning that it was haggard orprematurely aged; on the contrary, it had youthful colour and was butlightly scored with wrinkles, its sole confession of advancing years was inthe gray at either temple. The eyes, perhaps, told more than anything elseof trials endured and memories that would never rest. 

Once they had looked into hers (but that came later) Sofia was sure shewould never forget those eyes. And as she saw them then, she never didforget them. But the next time she saw them she did not know them at all. 

The newcomer hailed Mr. Karslake by his name (which was the first timeSofia had heard it), sat down on the wall-seat beside him and, when thewaiter came, desired an absinthe. 

He had used two languages already, English to Karslake, French to thewaiter; Sofia understood both and spoke them to perfection. So it wasrather exasperating when, his absinthe having been served and the customaryplatitudes passed on the weather and their respective states of health, theconversation was continued in a tongue with which Sofia was not onlyunacquainted but which sounded like none she had ever heard spoken. Thisseemed the more annoying because there were few people in the restaurant todrown with chatter the sound of those two voices and because, in spite oftheir guarded tones, their table was one so situated that some freak ofacoustics carried every syllable uttered at it, even though whispered, tothe quick ears at the cashier's desk. A circumstance which had treatedSofia to many a moment of covert entertainment and not a few thatthreatened to shatter what slender illusions had survived eighteen years ofMama Thérèse. But nobody else (with the possible exception of the last) wasacquainted with this secret of the restaurant, and Sofia was careful neverto mention it. 

Now it so happened that Mr. Karslake had never before sat at thatparticular table. 

The language spoken at it to-day intrigued Sofia extravagantly. It was richin labials, gutturals, and odd sibilances. She was positive it was not aEuropean tongue, though she thought it might possibly be Russian, becauseit sounded rather like Russian print looks; it might just as well have beenArabic or Choctaw, for all Sofia could say to the contrary. But his fluentease in it impressed her with the notion that young Mr. Karslake might not, after all, be as negligible a person as he looked and as she indifferentlyhad assumed. 

She determined to study him more attentively. 

It was rather a long confabulation, too, and one that both men seemed totake very seriously--though its upshot was apparently quite acceptable toboth--and terminated abruptly with Mr. Karslake announcing, in English, with every evidence of satisfaction:

"Good! Then that's settled. "

To this the older man dissented tolerantly. 

"Pardon: nothing is settled; it is proposed, merely. "

"Well, " said Karslake with a little laugh that to Sofia sounded empty, "atall events it ought to be amusing. "

The other lifted one eyebrow and smiled remotely. 

"You think so?"

"To be ordering you about, sir? I should say so!" But his companion wasn'tlistening or chose purposely to ignore that accent of respect. 

"You are right, my friend, " he said, abstractedly: "it will be amusing. Butwhat in life is not? I fancy that is why most of us go on, because we findthe play entertaining in spite of ourselves. And even when we think ofDeath ... There's the possibility that on the other side of the curtain, where the unseen audience sits, whose hisses and applause we never hear ... Over there it may be more entertaining still!"

Karslake was inquisitively watching his face. 

"You would say that, " he commented, deference and admiration in his voice. "By all accounts you've had a most amusing life. "

"I have found it so. " The other nodded with glimmering eyes. "Not always atthe time, of course. But when I look back, especially at my beginnings, atthe times that seemed hardest and most intolerable ... "

He was thoughtful for a moment, glancing interestedly round the room. 

"It takes one back. "

"What does?"

"This café, my friend. "

"To your beginnings, you mean?"

"Yes. It is very like the café at Troyon's, at this hour especially, whenthere are so few English about. "

"Troyon's?"

"A restaurant in Paris. Famous in its day. Several years ago--before thewar--it burned down one night, cremating many memories. While it stood Ihated it, now I miss it; Paris without it is no more the Paris that Iknew. "

"Why did you hate it, sir?"

"Because I suffered there. "

He indicated a weedy young Alsatian across the room, a depressed and pimplycreature in a waiter's jacket and apron, who was shambling from table totable and collecting used glasses and saucers. 

"You see that omnibus yonder? What he is to-day, that was I inmine--omnibus, scullion, valet-de-chambre, butt and scapegoat-in-general tothe establishment, scavenger of food that no one else would eat.... Isuffered there, at Troyon's. "

"You, sir?" Karslake exclaimed in astonishment. "Whoever would have thoughtthat you ... How did you escape?"

"It occurred to me, one day, I was less than half alive and never would bebetter while I stayed on in that servitude. So I walked out--into life. "

"I wish you'd tell me, sir, " Karslake ventured, eagerly. 

"Some day, perhaps, when I get back. But now"--he looked at hiswatch--"I've got just time enough to taxi to my hotel, pack, and catch theboat train. "

"Don't wait for me, " Karslake suggested, signalling the waiter. 

"Perhaps it would be as well if I didn't. "

They shook hands, and the older man got up, secured his hat and stick, andstarted out toward the door, moving leisurely, still looking about him withthe narrowed eyes and smile of reminiscence. 

Of a sudden that look was abolished utterly. He had caught sight of Sofia. 

Her interest had been so excited by the singular confidences she hadoverheard that the girl had quite forgotten herself and her professionalpose of blank neutrality. She was bending forward a little, forearmsresting on the desk, frankly staring. 

The man's stride checked, his smile faded, his eyes grew wide and cloudywith bewilderment. For a moment Sofia thought him on the point of bowing, as one might on unexpectedly encountering an acquaintance after many years:there was that hint of impulse hindered by uncertainty. And in that momentthe girl was conscious of a singular sensation of breathlessness, as ifsomething impended whose issue might change all the courses of her life. Afeeling quite insane and unaccountable, to be sure; and nothing came of itwhatever. With a readiness so instant that the break in his walk must havebeen imperceptible to anybody but Sofia, the man recollected himself, composed his face, and proceeded to the door. 

Confounded with inexplicable disappointment, Sofia sat unstirring. 

In the open doorway the man turned and looked back, not at her, but atKarslake, as if of half a mind to return and say something more to theyounger man. But he didn't. 

He never came back. 

III

THE AGONY COLUMN

Sofia dated from that afternoon the first stirrings of a discontent whichgrew in her throughout the summer till everything related to her lot seemedabominable in her sight. 

Even without this subjective inquietude it would have been an unpleasantsummer. All the world was at sixes and sevens, the social unrest stirred upby the war showed no signs of subsiding, but indeed, quite the contrary, there was trouble in the very air--ominous portents of a storm whose dull, grim growling down the horizon could be heard only too clearly by those whodid not wilfully close their ears, grin fatuous complacence, and bleat likebrainless sheep: "All's well!"

High-spirited youth and witless wealth a-lust for strange new pleasuresturned from the long strain of conflict to indulgence in endless orgies ofextravagance like nothing ever witnessed by a world long since surfeitedwith contemplation of weird excesses: daily that wild dance of deathattained wilder stages of saturnalia, the bands blaring ever louder todrown the mutter of savage elemental forces working underneath the crust. 

And ever and anon a lull would fall and the world would shudder to theiteration of a word that spelled calamity to all things fair and sweet andlovable in life, the word _Bolshevism_.... 

In the Café des Exiles there was endless discord and strife. 

For several reasons trade was not what it had been, even for the slackseason of summer it was poor. The cost of everything had gone up, waiterswere insubordinate and unreasonable in their demands, Mama Thérèse had beenconstrained to increase the fixed price of the dinner, old customers tookumbrage at this and their patronage elsewhere. 

Mama Thérèse cultivated a temper that grew day by day more vile, PapaDupont displayed new artfulness in the matter of sneaking his daily toll ofdrink and showed it; the two squabbled incessantly. 

One of the chefs, surmising the irregularity of their relations andforeseeing an imminent break, sought to turn it to his own profit by makingamorous overtures to Mama Thérèse, who for reasons of her own, probablyhoping to make Papa Dupont jealous, encouraged the idiot. And, as if thiswere not sickening enough, Papa Dupont, far from resenting this menace tothe pseudo-peace of the ménage, ignored if he did not welcome it, and dailydisplayed new tenderness for Sofia. He kept near her as constantly as hecould, he would even interrupt a wrangle with Mama Thérèse to favour thegirl with a languishing glance or a term of endearment; he was forevercaressing her disgustingly with his eyes. 

The swing door between the café and the pantry had warped on its hinges andwould not stay quite shut. Normally it stuck in a position which permittedwhoever was at the zinc an uninterrupted view of the desk of la dame ducomptoir. Instead of having it fixed, Papa Dupont put off that duty fromday to day and developed a fond attachment for the place at the zinc. Forhours on end Sofia, on her high stool, would be conscious of his gloatingregard, his glances that lingered on the sweet lines of her throat, theroundness of her pretty arms. 

She dared make no sign to show that she knew and resented, to do so wouldbe merely to draw upon herself the spite of Mama Thérèse. 

But she simmered with indignation, and contemplated futileplans--especially in the long, empty hours of the afternoon, betweenluncheon and the hour of the apertifs--countless vain plans for abolishingthese intolerable conditions. 

She thought a great deal of the strange man who had talked with young Mr. Karslake, and wondered about him. Somehow she seemed unable to forget him;never before had any one she didn't know made such a lasting impressionupon her imagination. 

Sometimes she wasted time trying to explain to herself why the man hadseemed, for that brief instant, to think he knew her, only to dismiss suchspeculations eventually with the assurance that she probably resembled inmoderate degree somebody whom he had once known. 

But mostly she was preoccupied with pondering the strangeness of it, thathe who seemed so brilliant and brave a figure of the great world should, according to his own confession, have risen from beginnings as lowly as herown. All that he had suffered in the days of his youth, in that place inParis which he called Troyon's, Sofia had suffered here and in large partcontinued to suffer without prospect of alleviation or hope of escape. Andremembering what he had said, that his own trials had come to an end onlywhen he awakened to the fact that he was, as he had put it, "less than halfalive" there at Troyon's, and had simply "walked out into life, " she waspersuaded that the cure for her own discomfort and discontent would neverbe found in any other way. But she lacked courage to adventure it. 

To say "walk out and make an end of it" was all very well; but assumingthat she ever should muster up spirit enough to do it--what then? Which wayshould she turn, once she had passed out through the doors? What could shedo? She had neither means nor friends, and she was much too thoroughlyconversant with the common way of the world with a woman alone to imaginethat, by taking her life in her own hands, she would accomplish much morethan exchange the irk of the frying pan for the fury of the fire. 

All the same, she knew that she must one day do it and chance theconsequences. Things couldn't go on as they were. 

And even granting that the outcome of any effort at self-assertion must beunhappy, she grew impatient. 

Meanwhile, she did nothing, she sat quietly on her perch, looked with stonycomposure over the heads of the multitude, indifferent alike to admirationand the uncharitable esteem of her own sex, and waited with a burningheart. 

Mr. Karslake ran true to form. He drifted in and out casually, always idleand dégagé and elegant, he continued his irregular conferences withill-assorted companions, he worshipped discreetly and evidently without thefaintest hope, he seemed more than ever a trifling and immaterial creature. Chance did not again lead him to the table where he had sat with the manwhom Sofia could not forget, and only the memory of that conversation heldany place for Karslake in the consideration of the girl. 

Even at that she didn't consider him seriously, she looked for him andmissed him when he didn't appear solely because of a secret hope that someday that other one would come back to meet him in the café. 

Why she held fast to that hope Sofia could not have said. 

Toward the middle of summer Mr. Karslake absented himself for severalweeks, and when he showed up again his visits were fewer and more widelyspaced. 

On an afternoon late in August, a hot and weary day, he sauntered in withhis habitual air of having in particular nothing to do and all the timethere was to do it in, and found a man waiting for him. 

This was a person whom Sofia had quite overlooked after one glance hadclassified and pigeon-holed him. A single glance had been enough. They dosome things better in England; a man cast for any particular rôle in life, for example, is apt to conform himself, mentally, physically, and even asto his outer habiliments, so nicely to the mould that he is foreverunmistakably what he is even to the most casual observer. So this man was abutler, he had been born and bred a butler, he lived by buttling, a butlerhe would die; not a pompous, turkeycock butler, such as the American stagewill offer you when it takes up English fashionable life in a serious way, but a mild-mannered, decent body, with plain side-whiskers, chopped shorton a line with the lobes of his ears, otherwise clean-shaven, his hairpathetically dyed, a colourless cast of countenance, eyes meek and mild. 

He was soberly dressed in black coat and waistcoat, the latter showing awhite triangle of hard-polished shirt and a black bow tie, with indefinitegray trousers and square-toed boots by no means new. His middle was crossedby a thick silver watch-chain, and curious, old-fashioned buttons of agateset in square frames of gold fastened his round stiff cuffs of yesterday. He carried a well-brushed bowler as unfashionable as unseasonable. 

When Mr. Karslake entered, the polished pattern of a young gentleman ofmeans, slenderly well set-up in an exquisitely tailored brown lounge suit, wearing a boater and carrying a slender malacca stick in one chamois-glovedhand, the butler stood up at his table, quietly acknowledged hisgreeting--"Ah, Nogam! you here already?"--and waited for the younger man tobe seated before resuming his own chair: a stoop-shouldered symbol ofself-respecting respectability, not too intelligent, subdued by definiteand unresentful acceptance of "his place. "

Their table was the one immediately beyond the buffet; and the café wasvery quiet, with only three other patrons, two of whom were playing chesswhile the third was reading an old issue of the Echo de Paris. So Sofiacould, if she had cared to eavesdrop, have overheard everything that passedbetween Mr. Karslake and the man Nogam. But she didn't; their first fewspeeches failed to excite her curiosity in the least. 

She heard Mr. Karslake, who was becomingly affable to one of inferiorstation, express the perfunctory hope that he hadn't kept Nogam waitinglong, and Nogam reply to the simple effect of "Oh, not at all, sir. " Tothis he added that he 'oped there had been no 'itch, he was most heager tobe installed in his new situation, and would do his best to givesatisfaction. Karslake replied airily that he was sure Nogam would dofamously, and Nogam said "Thank you, sir. " Then Karslake announced theymust bustle along, because they were expected by some person unnamed, butjust the same he meant to have a drink before he budged a foot. And hecalled a waiter and requested a whiskey and soda for himself and some beerfor Nogam.... And Sofia turned her attention to other things. 

The murmur of their talk meant nothing to her after that, and she forgotthem entirely till they got up to leave, and then wasted only a moment inwondering why Mr. Karslake, if he were, as he seemed to be, engaging abutler for some friend or employer, should have arranged to meet the man ina café of Soho. But it didn't matter, and she dismissed the incident fromher mind. 

What did matter was that she was to-day more than ever galled by the deadlycircumstances of her existence. If they were to continue to obtain, shefelt, life would grow simply unendurable, and she would to do somethingreckless to get a little relief from the tedium and the ugliness of it all. 

She was fed up with everything, the shrewishness of Mama Thérèse, thedrunkenness of Papa Dupont, the hideous dullness of the café, the smell offood, the fumes of tobacco, the reek of wines. 

She was fed up with the leers of Papa Dupont, the scowls of Mama Thérèse, the grimaces of waiters, the stares of customers, the very sight of herselfin the mirror across the room. 

She was fed up with being fed up, she wanted to do something lunatic, shewanted to kick and scream and drum on the floor with her heels. 

And all the while, beyond the threshold, life in the street was flowing by, a restless stream, and the voice of it was a siren call to her hungryheart, whispering of freedom, laughing low of love, roaring robustly ofbrave adventures. 

And she sat there with folded hands, mutinous yet impotent, afraid, auseless thing with sullen eyes ... Wasted ... 

As was her custom, between six and seven, before the busy hours of theevening, she had her dinner fetched to a table near by. 

Somebody had left a copy of a morning paper on the wall-seat. Sofia glancedthrough it without much interest. None the less, when she had finished, shetook the sheet back to the caisse with her and intermittently, as occasionoffered, read snatches of it quite openly, so bored that she didn't care ifMama Thérèse did catch her at this forbidden practice; a good row would bealmost welcome ... Anything to break the monotony.... 

When she had digested without edification every item of news, she devouredthe advertisements of the shops, then turned to the Agony Column, which shehad saved up for a savoury. 

She read the appeal of the widow of the English army officer who wantedsome kind-hearted and soft-headed person to finance her in setting up anestablishment for "paying guests. "

She read the card of the young gentleman of good family but impoverishedmeans who admitted that he had every grace and talent heart could desireand who, in frantic effort to escape going to work for his living, threwhimself bodily upon the generosity of an unknown, and as yet non-existent, benefactor, hinting darkly at suicide if nothing came of this last attemptto get himself luxuriously maintained in indolence. 

She read the advertisements of money-lenders who yearned to advancefabulous sums to the nobility and gentry on their simple notes of hand. 

She read the thinly disguised professional cards of lonely ladies whoseunhappy lot could be mitigated only by congenial male companionship. 

She read the ingenuous matrimonial bids. 

She read the announcement of the lady of (deleted) title who was willing, for a substantial consideration, to introduce gentlefolk of means and theirdaughters to the most exclusive social circles. 

She read the naïve solicitation of the alleged ex-officer of the B. E. F. , who had won through the war with every known decoration except the DoubleCross of the Order of St. Gall and with nothing of his anatomy left wholeexcept his cheek, begging some great-hearted soul to buy him a barrel organto play in the streets. 

And then her eye was arrested by the appearance of her own name in the textof a brief advertisement, which she read naturally, with heightenedinterest:

IF MICHAEL LANYARD will communicate privately he will hear news of Sofiahis daughter. Address Secretan & Sypher, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, W. C. 3

IV

MUTINY

Sofia had never heard the name of Michael Lanyard. Neither did the firmstyle of Messrs. Secretan & Sypher, Solicitors, mean anything to her. Notwithstanding, she wasted more time than she knew trying to picture toherself a man who looked like Michael Lanyard sounded, and wishing (nomatter what his looks might be) that she were his long-lost daughter Sofia, and that he would see the advertisement, and communicate privately asrequested, and hear news of her, and come speeding in a Rolls-Royce to theCafé des Exiles, and walk in and humble Papa Dupont with a look of hauteurand confound Mama Thérèse with a peremptory word, and take Sofia by thehand and lead her out and induct her into such an environment as suited herrightful station: said environment necessarily comprising a town house ifnot on Park Lane at least nearly adjacent to it, and a country housesitting, in the mellowed beauty of its Seventeenth Century architecture, amid lordly acres of velvet lawn and private park. 

She hoped the country house would be within sight of the sea, and that thefamily garage would run to a comfortable little town-car for her personaluse when she went shopping in Bond Street, or to pay calls or leave cards, or to concerts and matinees.... 

At about this stage her châteaux en Espagne began to rock upon theirfoundations; a seismic phenomenon due to the appearance of Mama Thérèse andPapa Dupont, coming from zinc and kitchen for their dinner, which meal theyhabitually consumed in the café when the evening rush was over, the tablesundressed, and the establishment had settled down to drowse away the dullhours till closing time. 

Thus reminded that it was nine o'clock or thereabouts of a stuffy eveningin a stodgy world where nothing ever happened that hadn't wearily happenedthe day before and the day before that and so back to the beginning ofTime, and wasn't scheduled tediously to continue happening to-morrow andthe day after and so on to the end of Eternity, Sofia sighed and shookherself and put away the vanity of dreams. 

But her beauty, as she sat brooding, was as sultry as the night. 

In the rear of the room Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont wrangled sourly overtheir food; not with impassioned rancour but in the natural order ofthings--as others might discuss the book of the moment or the play of theyear or scandal or Charlie Chaplin or the thundering fiasco ofVersailles--these two discussed each other's failings with utmost candourand freedom of expression: handling their subjects without gloves; neverhesitating to touch upon topics not commonly mentioned in civil intercourseor to use the apt, unprintable word; never dreaming of politely terming adamned old hoe a spade; tossing the ball of recrimination to and fro withmasterly ease. 

Their preoccupation with this pastime was so thoroughgoing that MamaThérèse even failed to notice the passage of the postman on his last roundof the day. Ordinarily, for reasons best known to herself and which Sofiahad never thought to question, Mama Thérèse preferred personally to receiveall letters and contrived to be on hand at the postman's customary hours ofcall. But to-night she only realized that he had come and gone when, happening to glance toward the caisse, she saw Sofia shuffling thehalf-dozen envelopes which had been left with her. 

Immediately Mama Thérèse pushed back the table and got up, wiping chin andmoustache with her napkin as she rolled toward the desk. 

But she was too late. Already Sofia had sorted out and was staring in blankwonder at an envelope addressed to Mama Thérèse and bearing in its upperleft-hand corner the imprint of its origin:

_Secretan & SypherSolicitorsLincoln's InnFields London, W. C. 3. _

As yet she was simply startled by the coincidence, her brain had not hadtime to absorb its full significance--that Mama Thérèse should receive acommunication from these distinctively named solicitors on the evening ofthe very day on which they advertised concerning a young woman namedSofia!--when the letter was snatched out of her hand, a torrent ofobjurgation was loosed upon her devoted head, and she looked into the blackscowl of the Frenchwoman. 

"Sneak! Spying little cat! How dare you pry into my letters?"

"But, Mama Thérèse--!"

"Be still, you! Has one asked you to speak? Give me those others"--MamaThérèse with a vast show of violence appropriated them from Sofia'sunresisting grasp--"and after this keep your nose of a mouchard out of whatdoesn't concern you!"

"But, Mama Thérèse!--"

"Hold your tongue. I wish to hear nothing from you, I hear too much--yes, and see too much, too! Oh, don't flatter yourself I am like that fat doltof a Dupont, to be taken in by a pair of round eyes and innocent ways. Iknow your sort, I know _you_, mam'selle, too well! Me, I am nobody's fool, least of all yours, young woman. What goes on under my nose, I see; and ifyou imagine otherwise you are a bigger simpleton that you take me for. "

She snapped her fingers viciously in Sofia's crimsoned face, uttered acontemptuous "_Zut_!" and waddled off, shaking her head and growling toherself. 

Sofia felt stunned. The offensive had been launched so swiftly, she wasconscious of having done so little to invite it, she had been takenunprepared, thrown into confusion, her feeble objections silenced andoverwhelmed by that deluge of abuse, publicly disgraced.... 

Her face was burning, and tears started in her eyes; but she winked themback, she would not let them fall. Conscious of the grins of the handful ofpatrons, and the leers of the waiters, she steeled herself to suppressevery betrayal of the mortification in which her soul was writhing, shemade no sign but stared on stonily at the blackness of the night thatpeered in at the open doors. 

Then indignation came to her rescue, the flaming colour ebbed from her faceand left it unnaturally white, the mists before her eyes dissipated andtheir look grew fixed and hard, even her lips took on a grim, unyieldingset. Beneath the desk her hands clenched into small fists. But she did notmove. 

The sensation stirred up by the outbreak of Mama Thérèse subsided, thedomino players resumed their game, the old gentleman reading Le Rire turneda page and read on with a knowing smile, lovers returned to theirlow-voiced love-making, waiters yawned behind their hands, all was as ithad been save that, at their table (Sofia could see by the mirror, withoutlooking directly) Mama Thérèse and Papa Dupont seemed to have declared anarmistice and were gobbling down the rest of their meal in silence andindecorous haste. 

Presently they got up and sought their living quarters. To do this they hadto pass the caisse and through the green baize door. Mama Thérèse marchedahead with forbidding frown and quivering chins, with the militant carriageof misprized and affronted rectitude. To her, it was obvious, Sofia for thetime being did not exist. At her heels Papa Dupont shambled uneasily, hanging the head of deep thoughtfulness, avoiding Sofia's gaze. It was hispart to pretend that all was well and always would be; only he lacked theeffrontery, just then, for his usual smirk. 

When they had disappeared Sofia began to think. 

There was something more in this affair than mere coincidence, there wasmystery, a sinister question. 

Her countenance grew as dark as the complexion of her reverie. Athwart thefield of her abstracted vision drifted the figure of young Mr. Karslake. She was barely conscious of it. 

He seated himself with plain premeditation directly opposite the caisse, staring openly. But Sofia did not heed him at all. An odd smile shadowedhis lips, an expression half eager, half apprehensive; there was a hint ofpuzzlement in his scrutiny. It was rather as if he had unexpectedly foundsome new reason for thinking the girl an exceptionally interestingpersonality. But she continued all unaware. 

Shortly after being served with a drink which he ordered but made no offerto taste, he moved as if minded to rise and cross to Sofia, sat up andedged forward on the wall-seat with a singular air of timidity andembarrassment. But whatever his intention, he reconsidered and sat back, glancing round the room to see if anybody were watching him. He could notsee that anybody was. Not even Sofia. Relieved, he settled back, found ahandsome gold case in the waistcoat of his dinner jacket, extracted acigarette, nipped it between his lips--and forgot to light it. 

Of a sudden Sofia had arrived at a decision; and with every expression ofit in her manner she slipped down from the high stool and left the caisseto take care of itself. Turning to the swing door she barged through with ahigh head and fire of determination illuminating her face. She had hadenough of riddles. 

Behind the zinc an elderly and trusted waiter was nodding. The kitchen wascold and dark for the night. Papa Dupont, then, would be upstairs, closetedwith the genius of the establishment. 

From the pantry a narrow staircase led up to the apartment above therestaurant. Sofia mounted rapidly, with a firm tread that was neverthelesspractically noiseless, thanks to the paper-thin soles of well-wornslippers. She could hear voices bickering above. 

At the top there was a short, dark corridor, with three doors. Two of thesewere closed on sleeping-rooms; the third door, to a sort of combinationoffice and living-room, stood open, letting out a stream of light. 

Sofia approached on tiptoe, though the altercation going on within hadreached a stage so acute that it was doubtful whether either of thedisputants would have heard had she stumped like a navvy. 

The point of dissension was not at first apparent, because Mama Thérèse wasspeaking, and what she said had exclusively to do with her estimate ofDupont's character, the mettle of his spirit, the stuff of his mentality, the authenticity of his pedigree (with especial reference to the virtue ofhis maternal ancestry) and the circumstances of his upbringing; whichestimate in sum was low but by no means so low as the terms in which MamaThérèse was inspired to couch it. 

Papa Dupont did not seem to be greatly interested. He had heard all thisbefore, many a time, with insignificant phraseological variations. Sofia, pausing unseen and unsuspected in the darkness just outside the doorway, could see him slouching deep in his chair, to one side of the table, hissoft fat hands deep in the pockets of his trousers, his chin sunken on hischest, something dogged in the louring frown which he was bending uponnothing, something of genuine indifference in his passive attitude towardthe blowsy virago who was leaning across the table the better to spitvituperation at him. 

And he waited with singular patience until she had to stop for want ofbreath. Then he shrugged and said heavily:

"Still, I don't see what else you propose to do, my old one. "

Apparently his old one was as poor in expedient as he. "It is for nothing, "she said, acidly, "that one looks to you!"

"I have said my say. If you have anything better to suggest.... " He made arhetorical pause for reply, but Mama Thérèse was well blown and sulky forthe moment. "I am not old, not so old as you, and I have reason to believethe girl is not indifferent to my person. "

"Drooling old pig, " Mama Thérèse observed with reason: "if you dream shewould trouble to look twice at you--!"

"That remains to be seen. And I, for one, fail to see how else we are tohold her. All this money that has been coming in, paid on the dot everyquarter--that means there is more, much more to come to her. Are you readyto give it up?"

"Never!" Mama Thérèse thumped the table vehemently. "It is mine by rights, I have earned it. Look at the way I have slaved for her, the tender care Ihave lavished upon her, ever since she was a little one in my arms. "

"By all means, " Papa Dupont agreed, "look at it, but don't talk about it toher. She might not understand you. Also, do not depend upon her to endorseany claim you might set up based upon such assertions. "

"She is an ungrateful baggage!"

"Possibly; but she is human, she has a memory--"

"Are you going to be sentimental about her again?" Mama Thérèse demanded. "Pitiful old goat!"

"But I am not in the least sentimental, " Papa Dupont disclaimed. "It israther I who am practical, you who are sentimental. I ask you: Is there anyway we can hold on to that money unless I marry Sofia? You do not answer. Why? Because there _is_ no other way. Then I am practical. But you will notadmit that. And why? Because we have lived together for a number of yearsthrough force of habit, because once, very long ago, we were lovers, youand I--so long ago that you have forgotten you ever had a softer name forme than pig or goat. Who is the sentimentalist now--eh?"

"Shut your face!" Mama Thérèse growled. "You annoy me. I have apresentiment I shall one day murder you. "

"You would have done that long ago, " Papa Dupont pointed out, "if you hadhad the courage. Enough! I am silent. But when you are tired trying tothink out another way, reflect on my solution. Meantime, let me haveanother look at that accursed letter. "

Mama Thérèse did not respond, she offered no objection when Dupont took upthe sheet of paper that lay between them, but ground the heels of her handsinto her fat cheeks and sat glowering vindictively while he read aloud, slowly, with the labour of one to whom reading is unaccustomed dissipation:

DEAR MADAM:

Herewith we beg to enclose our cheque to your order in the sum of twohundred and fifty pounds, being the quarterly payment in advance due youfrom the estate of our deceased client, the Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, for your care of her daughter. We further beg to advise that, pursuant tothe provisions of her will, we begin to-day, on the eighteenth birthday ofthe young Princess Sofia, a search for her father with the object ofapprising him of his daughter's existence. Therefore we would request youto make arrangements to have the young Princess Sofia brought to Englandforthwith from the convent in France where we understand she is finishingher education. We take leave, however, to advise that, pending the outcomeof our enquiries, the question of her father's existence be not discussedwith the young princess. In event of his death being established or offailure to find him within six months, the Princess Sofia is to enterwithout more delay or formality into possession of her mother's estate. 

Papa Dupont put down the letter. "It is plain enough, " he expounded: "ifthis father is found, we can whistle for our money; whereas if I weremarried to Sofia, as her husband I would control--"

He broke off sharply, and added in consternation: "One million thunders!"

Sofia stood between them. 

And yet she wasn't the Sofia they knew, but another person altogether, atransfigured and exalted Sofia, aflame with righteous wrath andcontemptuous with the pride of birth which had leaped into full being amoment since. 

A princess, born the daughter of a princess, now she knew and looked it. 

All thought of fear or deference was gone, she had nothing left but scornfor these two despicable creatures, the fat harpy and her crapulent consortwho had battened so long upon her misery, who had held her in bondage tothe most menial tasks of their wretched restaurant while they filched andhoarded the money paid them for giving her the care and the advantages thatwere her due. 

And something of this new-found dignity, to which her title was sounquestionable, which set her upon a level from which she could not butlook down on these two paltry frauds, so abashed the Frenchwoman that thephrases of invective and vilification which gushed instinctively from thefoul springs of her temper stuck in her throat, she couldn't utter them, and she well-nigh choked with impotent fury and fear as the girl spoke. 

"You swindlers!" Sofia said, deliberately. "You poor cheats! To pocket athousand pounds a year of my mother's money--and make me slave for you inyour wretched café! And for eighteen years! For eighteen years you havebeen robbing me of every right I had in the world, robbing me of everythingI've needed and longed and prayed for, everything you were paid to giveme--while I drudged for you and endured your ill-temper and your abuse andthe contamination of association with you!... Give me that letter. "

She possessed herself of it unopposed. But now Mama Thérèse found hertongue. 

"What--what do you mean?" she gasped, livid with fright. Was not a fortuneslipping through her avaricious fingers? "What are you going to do?"

"Do?" Sofia cried. "I don't know, more than this: I'm not going tostay another hour under this roof, I'm going to leave to-night--now--immediately! That's what I'm going to do!"

"Where are you going?"

The question halted Sofia in the doorway. 

"To find my father--wherever he is!"

She left the two staring at each other, dumbfounded and aghast. 

At the far end of the passage she flung open her bedchamber door, entered, turned up the light, and snatched her cloak and hat from pegs beneath thecurtained shelf that held her scanty wardrobe. 

Adjusting these before the mirror she could hear Thérèse bawling at Dupontto follow and stop her. Sofia had little fear he would find heart toattempt that, none the less she hurried. Once her hat was adjusted therewas nothing to detain her; the best she had she stood in; no sentimentalassociations invested that room, the tomb of her defrauded childhood, theprison of her maltreated youth, to make her linger there, but only hatefulones to speed her going. 

She turned and fled. 

Stumbling on the stairs, she heard Thérèse still screaming imprecations andcommands at Dupont, then the clumping of the man's feet as, yielding atlength, he started in pursuit. 

Through the green baize door she burst into the café like a young tornado. Every head turned her way with gaping mouths and protruding eyes ofastonishment as she stopped at the caisse and brazenly, in the face of themall, plundered the till. 

This was a matter of necessity. Sofia had not one shilling of her own. Butthose two had robbed her, what she took was not so much as a thousandthpart of the money of which they had despoiled her. Moreover, she dared notgo out penniless to face London. 

Snatching a handful of loose coin, she made for the door. But the delay hadbeen fatal. Dupont was now at her heels, and displaying extraordinaryagility in a man of his years of dissipation and sedentary habits. AndThérèse was not far behind. 

Seeing coins trickling through the fingers of the fugitive and falling toring and spin upon the floor, the Frenchwoman raised an anguished shriek of"_Thief! Stop thief!_"--and such part of the audience as had remained inits seats rose up as one man. 

In the same instant Dupont's fingers clamped down on Sofia's shoulder. Shescreamed, and he chuckled and dragged her back. Then his arm was struck upby a deft hand, the girl slipped from his hold and darted out through thedoors. 

Roaring with rage (now that his blood was up, his heart in the chase)Dupont turned upon the meddler. This was young Mr. Karslake. Dupont did notknow him except by sight, but that slender, boyish figure and thesemi-apologetic smile on Karslake's lips did not inspire respect. Blindlyand with all his might Dupont swung his right to the other's head, only tofind it wasn't there. 

The weight of the unexpended blow carried Dupont off his feet. He fell in aheap, and Mama Thérèse, charging wildly after Sofia, tripped on his bodyand deposited fourteen stone of solid flesh squarely in the small ofDupont's back with a force that drove the breath out of him in one agonizedblast. 

Karslake laughed aloud: it was all as good as a cinema. Then he followedSofia. 

It was a dark and silent street by night, little used, a mere link betweentwo main thoroughfares. Sofia, running for dear life, was still far fromthe nearest corner. Karslake doubled nimbly across the street to the onlyvehicle in sight, an impressive Rolls-Royce town-car. Jumping on therunning-board he pointed out the fleeing shadow to the chauffeur. 

"Lay alongside that young woman before she makes the corner, Albert!"

Without delay the car began to move. 

Meanwhile, the Café des Exiles was erupting antic shapes, waiters, customers, Dupont, Thérèse. The quiet hour was made hideous by their yells. 

"_Stop thief!" "À la voleuse!" "L'arrêtez!" "À la voleuse!" "Stop thief!_"

An entirely superfluous bobby weathered the corner, discovered Sofia inflight across the street, came about, and shaped a diagonal course to cutacross her bows. She saw him coming and stopped short with a gasp ofdismay. Simultaneously the Rolls-Royce slid smoothly in between them andKarslake hopped down. Sofia uttered a small cry, more of surprise thanfright, and hung back, trying to free the arm by which he was trying toguide her to the open door. 

"It's our only chance, " he warned her, coolly. "We're between two fires. Better not delay!"

She yielded and tumbled in. Karslake followed and slammed the door. The carshot away and rounded into the cross street before the bobby could collecthimself enough to look at its license plate. He made after it, but when hehad reached the corner it had turned another and was lost. 

At the second turning Karslake looked round from the window with areassuring laugh, and settled back beside Sofia. 

"So that ends that!"

She stared wide-eyed through the shadows. She knew him now, she was not inthe least afraid, but she was confused beyond measure. 

"Why--why--" she faltered--"what--who are you and where are you taking me?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" said the young man, contritely. "I forgot. Oneought to introduce one's self before rescuing ladies in distress--but therereally wasn't time, you know. If you'll overlook the informality, my name'sKarslake, Roger Karslake, Princess Sofia, and I'm taking you to yourfather. "

V

HOUSE OF THE WOLF

This startling announcement Sofia received without comment and with acomposure quite as surprising. The life which had made her what she was, ayoung woman singularly unillusioned, well-poised, and well-informed, hadbrought out in her nature a strong vein of scepticism. She was not easilyto be impressed. The more remarkable the circumstance in question, the lessinclined was she to exclaim about it, the stronger was her propensity tolook shrewdly into the matter and find out for herself just what it wasthat made it seem so odd. 

She didn't repose much faith in those striking synchronizations whichapparently unrelated influences sometimes effect with related events, andwhich we are accustomed to term coincidences. She distrusted their speciousseeming of spontaneity, she suspected a deep design behind them all. 

For example: Up to the moment of her flight from the Café des Exiles therehad been, as Sofia saw it, nothing extraordinary or inexplicable in thechapter of happenings which had made her acquainted, as abruptly astardily, with certain facts concerning her parentage. 

You might, if you felt like it, call it a strange coincidence that sheshould have read the advertisement of Messrs. Secretan & Sypher just beforetheir letter was delivered and Mama Thérèse by her intemperate conductwarmed Sofia's simmering suspicions to the boiling point. But then Sofiaread the Agony Column every time it came into her hands: she would havebeen more surprised had she missed noticing her given name in print, anddownright ashamed of herself if she had failed to associate the letter withthe advertisement. 

If you asked her, she called it Fate, the foreordained workings of occultforces charged with dominion over human affairs. Sooner or later she mustsomehow have learned the truth about her right place in the world; and toher way of thinking it was no more astonishing that she should have learnedit through accident supplemented by the acute inferences of a sharplystimulated imagination, rather than through being waited upon by adelegation of legal gentlemen commissioned with the duty of enlighteningher. And the colossal set-piece of the evening having been duly exploded, no sequel whatever could expect anything better than relegation to thecheerless limbo of anticlimax. 

Thus when young Mr. Karslake explained his uninvited if timely interventionby stating that he was conducting her to the parent of whose existence shehad so recently been informed, he succeeded--not to put too fine a pointupon it--only in making it all seem a bit thick. 

So for the time being Sofia contented herself with silent study of his faceas fitfully revealed by the passing lights of Shaftesbury Avenue. 

A nice face (she thought) open and naïve, perhaps a trace too much so; but, viewed at close quarters, by no means so child-like as she had thought it, and by no means wanting in evidences of quiet strength if one forgave thefunny little moustache which (now one came to, observe it seriously) wasprecisely what lent that possibly deceptive look of innocence andinconsequence, positively weakening the character of what might otherwisehave been a countenance to foster confidence. 

As for Mr. Karslake, he endured this candid scrutiny with a faintlyapprehensive smile, but volunteered nothing more; so that, when the silencein time acquired an accent of constraint, it was Sofia who had to break it, not Mr. Karslake. 

"I'm wondering about you, " she explained quite gravely. 

"One fancied as much, Princess Sofia. "

She liked his way of saying that; the title seemed to fall naturally fromhis lips, without a trace of irony. None the less, it wouldn't do to be tooreadily influenced in his favour. 

"Do you really know my father?"

"Rather!" said Mr. Karslake. "You see, I'm his secretary. "

"How long--"

"Upward of eighteen months now. "

"And how long have you known I was his daughter?"

Mr. Karslake, consulting a wrist-watch, permitted himself a quiet smile. 

"Thirty-eight minutes, " he announced--"say, thirty-nine. "

"But how did you find out--?"

"Your father called me up--can't say from where--said he'd just learned youwere acting as cashier at the Café des Exiles, and would I be good enoughto take you firmly by the hand and lead you home. "

"And how did he learn--?"

"That he didn't say. 'Fraid you'll have to ask him, Princess Sofia. "

Genuinely diverted by the cross-examination, he awaited with unruffled goodhumour the next question to be put by this amazingly collected and directyoung person. But Sofia hesitated. She didn't want to be rude, and Karslakeseemed to be telling a tolerably straight story; still, she couldn'taltogether believe in him as yet. She couldn't help it if his visit to therestaurant had been a shade too opportune, his account of himself tooconfoundedly pat. 

No: she wasn't in the least afraid. Even if she were being kidnapped, shewasn't afraid. She was so young, so absurdly confident in her ability totake care of herself. On the other hand, intuition kept admonishing herthat in real life things simply didn't happen like this, so smoothly, sofortunately; somehow, somewhere, in this curious affair, something must bewrong. 

"Please: what is my father's name?"

"Prince Victor Vassilyevski. "

"You're sure it isn't Michael Lanyard?"

Now Mr. Karslake was genuinely startled and showed it. Sofia remarked thathe eyed her uneasily. 

"My sainted aunt! Where did you get hold of that name?"

"Isn't it my father's?"

"Ye-es, " the young man admitted, reluctantly; at least with somethingstrongly resembling reluctance. "But he doesn't use it any more. "

"Why not?"

Mr. Karslake was silent, thoughtful. Sofia felt that she had scored andwith determination pressed her point. 

"Do you mind telling me why he doesn't use that name, if it's his?"

"See here, Princess Sofia"--Karslake slewed round to face her squarely withhis most earnest and persuasive manner--"I am merely Prince Victor'ssecretary, I'm not supposed to know all his secrets, and those I do knowI'm supposed not to talk about. I'd much rather you put that question toPrince Victor yourself. "

"I shall, " Sofia announced with decision. "When am I to see him? To-night?"

"Of course. That is, I presume you will. I mean to say, Prince Victorwasn't at home when I left, but if I know him he's sure to be when wearrive. And I'm taking you there as directly as a motor can travel in thisblessed town. "

Sofia looked out of the window. The car, having turned down Regent Streetfrom Piccadilly Circus, was now traversing sedate Pall Mall; and in anothermoment it swung into the passage between St. James's Palace and MarlboroughHouse Chapel; and then they were in The Mall, with the Victoria Memorialahead, glowing against the dingy backing of Buckingham Palace. 

Now, since all Sofia's reading had inculcated the belief that theenterprising kidnapper always made off with his victim by way of darkbystreets and unsavoury neighbourhoods, she felt somewhat reassured. 

"Have we very far to go?"

"We're almost there now--Queen Anne's Gate. "

A good enough address. Though that proved nothing. There was still plentyof time, anything might happen.... 

Sofia shrugged, and settled back to await developments. 

But there was nothing to warrant misgivings in the aspect of the dwellingbefore which the car presently drew up. If it wasn't the palace Sofia hadunconsciously been looking forward to, it owned a solid, dull-faced dignitythat suited well the town-house of a person of quality, it measured upquite acceptably to Sofia's notion of what was becoming to the condition ofa prince in exile--who naturally would live quietly, in view of the recentrevolution in Russia. 

Without augmented fears, then, though still on the alert for anything thatmight seem questionable, and more agitated with excitement than she let himsuspect, Sofia permitted Mr. Karslake to conduct her to the door. 

He had barely touched the bell-button when this door opened, revealing avista of spacious entrance-hall. 

To one side stood a manservant to whom Sofia paid no attention till thesound of his name on Karslake's tongue struck an echo from her memory. "Thanks, Nogam. Prince Victor home yet?"

"Not yet, sir. "

"Tell him, please, when he comes in, we're waiting in the study. "

"'Nk-you, sir. "

The servant was the man whom Karslake had met in the Café des Exiles only afew hours before. Catching Sofia's quick, questioning glance, Nogam pausedat respectful attention. And, even then, she was struck again with hisfidelity to the rôle in the social system for which Life had cast him. Inthe café, that afternoon, he had cut a mildly incongruous figure, unpretending but alien to that atmosphere; here, in the plain evening-dresslivery of his station, he blended perfectly into the picture. 

Karslake gave his hat and stick to the man, then opened one wing of a greatdouble doorway, and with a bow invited Sofia to precede him. She faltered, hazily conceiving that threshold in the guise of an inglorious Rubicon. Butshe had already gone too far into this adventure to draw back now withoutforfeiting her self-respect. With a deceptively firm step she entered aroom to wonder at. 

Sombre shadows masked much of its magnificent proportions, but what Sofiacould see suggested less the study of a man of everyday interests than theprivate museum of an Orientalist whose wealth knew no limits. 

The air was warm and close, aromatic with the ghosts of ten thousandperished perfumes. The quiet, when Karslake had closed the door, wasoppressive, as if some dark enchantment here had power to tame and silencethe growl of London that was never elsewhere in all the city for an instantstill. 

On a great table of black teakwood inlaid with mother of pearl burned asolitary lamp, a curious affair in filigree of brass, furnishing whatillumination there was. Its closely shaded rays made vaguely visible wallsdark with books, tier upon tier climbing to the ceiling; chairs of oddshape, screens of glowing lacquer; tables and stands supporting caskets ofburning cinnabar, of ivory, of gold, of kaleidoscopic cloisonné; traysheaped high with unset jewels; cabinets crowded with rare objects ofEastern art; squat shapes of neglected gods brandishing weird weapons;grotesque devil masks ferociously a-grin; chests of strange woods strangelyfashioned, strangely carved, and decorated with inlays of precious metals, banded with huge straps of black iron, from which gushed in rainbowprofusion silks and brocades stiff with barbaric embroideries in gold- andsilver-thread and precious stones. 

Confused by the impact upon her perceptions of so much that was unexpectedand bizarre, the girl looked round with an uncertain smile, and foundKarslake watching her with a manner of peculiar gravity and concern. 

"Prince Victor is an extraordinary man, " Karslake replied to her unspokencomment; "probably the most learned Orientalist alive. Sometimes I thinkthe East has never had a secret he doesn't know. "

He paused and drew nearer, with added earnestness in his regard. 

"Princess Sofia, " said he, diffidently, "if I may say something withoutmeaning to seem disrespectful--"

Perplexed, she encouraged him with one word: "Please. "

"I'm afraid, " Karslake ventured, "you will have many strange experiences inthis new life. Some of them, I fancy, you won't immediately understand, some things may seem wrong to you, you may find yourself confronted withconditions hard to accept ... "

He rested as if in doubt, and she fancied that he was listening intently, almost apprehensively, for some signal of warning. But on her part Sofiaheard no sound. 

Impressed and puzzled, she uttered a prompting "Yes?"

"I only want to say"--he employed a tone so low that she could barely hearhim--"if you don't mind--whatever happens--I'd be awf'ly glad if you'dthink of me as one who sincerely wants to be your friend. "

"Why, " she said in wonder--"thank you. I shall be glad--"

She checked in astonishment: a man was approaching from the generaldirection of the door by which they had entered. 

The effect was uncanny, as if the figure had materialized before her veryeyes, out of clear air, as if one of those many shadows had taken on shapeand substance while she looked. 

The man himself was nothing unusual in general aspect, of no remarkablestature, neither tall nor small, neither robust nor slender. His eveningclothes were without fault, but as much might be said of ten thousand menwho might be seen any night in the public rendezvous of leisured London. His carriage had special distinction only in that he moved with a sort offeline grace. Still, something elusive made him unlike any other man Sofiahad ever met, something arresting and not altogether prepossessing. 

As he drew nearer and his features became more clearly defined by thelight, she was sensible of gazing into a face of unique cast. Of an oddgrayish pallor accentuated by hair so black that it might have been paintedon his skull with india-ink, the skin seemed to be as soft and smooth as achild's, beardless and wholly without lustre. The mouth was sensuous yetfirm, with hard, full lips. Leaden pouches hung beneath heavy-lidded eyesset at a noticeable angle. The eyes themselves were as black as night andas lightless; the rays of the lamp struck no gleam from them; in spite ofthis they were compelling, masterful, and disconcerting. 

Karslake at once fell back, with a bow so low it was little less than anobeisance. 

"Prince Victor!"

The man nodded acknowledgment of this greeting without detaching attentionfrom the girl. His voice, slightly tremulous with emotion, uttered hername: "Sofia?"

She collected herself with an effort. "I am Sofia, " she replied almostmechanically. 

"And I, your father ... "

Prince Victor lifted hands of singular delicacy, slender and tapering, whose long fingers were dressed with many curious rings. 

A reluctance she could not understand hindered Sofia from going gladly intothose arms. She had to make herself yield. They tightened hungrily abouther. She closed her eyes and experienced a slight, invincible shudder. 

"My child!"

The lips that touched her forehead astonished her with their warmth. Instinctively she had expected them to be cool, as frigid as the effect ofthat strange mask of which they formed a part. 

Then, held at arm's-length, she submitted to an inspection whose sum wasenunciated with a strange smile of gratification:

"You are beautiful. "

In embarrassment she murmured: "I am glad you think so--father. "

"As beautiful as your mother--in her time the most beautiful creature inthe world--her image, a flawless reproduction, even to her colouring, theshade of the hair, the eyes--so like the sea!"

"I am glad, " the girl repeated, nervously. 

"And until to-night I did not know you lived!"

She mustered up courage enough to ask: "How--?"

The heavy lids drooped lower over the illegible eyes. "My attention wascalled to a newspaper advertisement signed by a firm of solicitors. I gotin touch with them--a matter of some difficulty, since it was afterbusiness hours--and found out where to look for you. Then, prevented fromacting as quickly as I wished, myself, I sent Karslake here to bring you tome. "

"But, according to their letter, the solicitors thought I was in France, ina convent!"

"When they advertised for me--yes. But by the time I enquired they werebetter informed. "

"But the advertisement was addressed to Michael Lanyard!"

The thin lips formed a faint smile. "That was once my name. I no longer useit. "

Against a feeling that she was adopting an attitude both undutiful andunbecoming, Sofia persisted. 

"Why?"

Prince Victor Vassilyevski gave a gesture of pain and reluctance. 

"Must I tell you? Why not? You must know some day, as well now as later, perhaps. Twenty years ago the name of Michael Lanyard was famous throughoutEurope--or shall I say infamous?--the name of the greatest thief of moderntimes, otherwise known as 'The Lone Wolf'. "

Involuntarily, Sofia stepped back, as if some shape of horror had beensuddenly thrust before her face. 

"The Lone Wolf!" she echoed in a voice of dismay. "A thief! You!"

The man who called himself her father replied with a series of slow, affirmative nods. 

"That startles you?" he said in an indulgent voice. "Naturally. But youwill soon grow accustomed to the thought, you will condone that chapter inmy history, remembering I am no longer that man, no longer a thief, thatfor many years now my record has been without reproach. You will rememberthat there is more joy in Heaven over the one sinner who repents ... Youwill forgive the father, if only for your mother's sake. "

"For my mother's sake--?"

"What the Lone Wolf was in his day, your mother was in hers--the mostbrilliant adventuress Europe ever knew. "

"Oh!" cried the girl in semi-hysterical protest. "Oh, no, no! Impossible!"

"I assure you, it is quite true. Some day I may tell you her history--andmine. For the present, you will do well to think no more about what I haveconfessed. Repining can never mend the past. It is to-day and to-morrow youmust think of: that you are restored to me, and that I have not only themeans but a great hunger to make you happy, to gratify your slightestwhim. "

"I want nothing!" Sofia insisted, wildly. 

"You want sleep, " Prince Victor corrected, fondly--"you want it badly. Youare nervous, overstrung, in no condition to understand the great goodfortune that has befallen you. But to-morrow you will see things in arosier light. "

Apparently he had manipulated some signal unremarked by Sofia. The dooropened, framing the figure of the man Nogam. Without looking round, butwith an inscrutable smile, Prince Victor took the girl in his arms againand held her close. 

"You rang, sir?"

"Oh, are you there, Nogam? Is the apartment ready for the Princess Sofia?"

"Quite ready, sir. "

"Be good enough to conduct her to it. " Again Prince Victor kissed Sofia'sforehead, then let her go. "Good-night, my child. "

Moving slowly toward the door, drooping, Sofia made inarticulate response. She felt suddenly stupefied with fatigue. To think meant an effort thatmocked her flagging powers. A vast lassitude was weighing upon her, bodyand spirit were faint in the enervation of an inexorable disconsolation. 

VI

THE MUMMER

Alone with his secretary, Prince Victor Vassilyevski dropped indifferentlythe guise of manner with which he had clothed himself for the benefit ofthe woman whom he claimed as his own child. That semblance of shy affectioncoloured by regrets for the past and modified by the native nobility of aprince in exile--so becoming in a parent to whose bosom a daughter whom hehad never seen was suddenly restored--being of no more service for thepresent, was incontinently discarded. In its stead Victor favoured Karslakewith a slow smile of understanding that broadened into an insuppressiblegrin of successful malice, a grimace of crude exultation through whichpeered out the impish savage mutinously imprisoned within a flimsy husk ofmodern manner. 

Suspecting this self-betrayal, he erased the grin swiftly, but not soswiftly that Karslake failed to note it. And the young man, smiling amiablyand respectfully in return, was sensible of a thrill: yet another glimpsehad been given him into the mystery that slept behind that countenancenormally so impenetrable. 

But he was studious to show nothing of his own emotion. It was his part tobe merely a mirror, to reflect rather than to feel, to be an instrumentinfinitely supple and unfailing, never an independent intelligence. Nototherwise could he count on holding his place in Victor's favour. 

"You were quicker than I hoped. "

"I had no trouble, sir, " Karslake returned, cheerfully. "Things ratherplayed into my hands. "

Victor dropped into a chair beside the table and lifted the lid of a smallgolden casket. Helping himself to one of its store of cigarettes, he madeKarslake free of the remainder with a gracious hand. The secretarydemurred, producing his pocket case. 

"If you don't mind, sir ... "

Victor moved a supercilious eyebrow. "Woodbines again?"

"Sorry, sir; I know they're pretty awful and all that, but they were all Icould get in France, and I contracted a taste for them I can't seem tocure. I remember, while I lay in a hospital, hardly a whole bone in mybody, thanks to the Boche and his flying circus--it was that lot sent mecrashing, you know--the nurses used to tempt me with the finest Turkish;but somehow I couldn't go them; I'd beg for Woodbines. "

Prince Victor dismissed the subject curtly. "I am waiting to hear aboutSofia. "

"Not much to tell, sir. There seemed to be a storm of sorts brewing when Igot there. The young woman was at her desk with a face like a thundercloud. While I was trying to make up my mind what would be my best approach, shejumped down, flew upstairs and, I gathered, kicked up a holy row. You see, she'd seen that advertisement of Secretan & Sypher's, and smelt a rat. "

"What did she say?"

"Nothing definite, sir: seemed to understand she was the daughter ofPrincess Sofia Vassilyevski, only she objected to her father being anybodybut Michael Lanyard. "

"Go on. "

"After a bit she stampeded downstairs again, with the old girl and thatswine of a Dupont at her heels. I blocked him and gave Sofia a chance toget outside. The whole establishment boiled out into the street after us, yelling like fun, but I got the girl into the car ... And here we are. "

But Prince Victor seemed to have lost interest. The glow ebbing from hisface, his lips tightening, the thick lids drooping low over his eyes, hesat in apparent abstraction, aping the impassivity of the graven idols thatgraced his study. 

"I don't mind owning, sir, " the younger man resumed, nervously, "she had mesparring for wind when she put it to me point-blank her father's name wasMichael Lanyard. "

Without moving Victor enquired in a dull voice: "What did you tell her?"

"That it was a name you had once used, sir, but.... Well, what you toldher, all except the Lone Wolf business. Don't mind telling you I was in arare funk till you capped my story so neatly. "

He laughed and ventured with a hesitation quite boyish: "I say, PrinceVictor--if it's not an impertinent question--was there any truth in that? Imean about your having been the Lone Wolf twenty years ago. "

"Not a syllable, " said Victor, dryly. 

"Then your name never was Michael Lanyard?"

"Never, but ... "

During a long pause the secretary fidgeted inwardly but had the wisdom torefrain from showing further inquisitiveness. He could see that strongpassions were working in Victor: a hand, extended upon the table, unclosedand closed with a peculiar clutching action; the muscles contracted roundmouth and eyes, moulding the face into a cast of disquieting malevolence. The voice, when at length it resumed, was bitter. 

"But Michael Lanyard was my enemy ... And is to-day.... He became a loverof Sofia's mother, he had a hand in overturning plans I had made, hehumiliated, mocked me.... And to-day he is interfering again.... But ... "

Victor sank back in his chair. Suddenly that unholy grin of his flashed andfaded. 

"But now his impertinence fails, his insolence over-reaches itself. Now Ihave the whip-hand and ... I shall use it!"

Vindictiveness that could find relief only in action mastered the man. 

"Be good enough to take this dictation. "

Karslake turned to the table and opened a portfolio of illuminated Spanishleather. 

"Ready, sir, " he said, with pencil poised. 

_"To Michael Lanyard, Intelligence Division, the War Office, Whitehall. Sir: Your daughter Sofia is now with me. Permit me to suggest that, inconsideration of this situation, you cease to meddle with my affairs. Yourown intelligence must tell you nothing could be more fatal than an attemptto communicate with her. _"

"Sign on the typewriter with the initial _V_. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Type it on plain paper, use a plain envelope, be sure that neither has awatermark, and get it off to-night without fail. Take a taxi to St. Pancrasstation and post it there. If you make haste you can get it in a pillar-boxbefore the last collection. "

"I shan't lose a minute, sir. "

Karslake straightened up, folding the paper, and made for the door. 

"One moment, Karslake.... This man, Nogam: where did you pick him up?"

"He used to buttle for my father, sir, but got into trouble--some domesticunpleasantness, I believe--needed money, and raised a cheque. The old boylet him off easy; but I've got the cheque, and Nogam knows it. The fellow'sperfectly trained and absolutely dependable, knows his place and his dutiesand not another blessed thing. I'll send him in if you like. "

Prince Victor uttered with dry accent: "Why?"

"Thought you might care to have a talk with him, sir. "

"I have. "

"Oh!" Mr. Karslake exclaimed--"I didn't know. "

"Quite so, " commented Prince Victor. "I shan't need you again to-night, Karslake. "

"Good-night, sir. "

When the secretary had gone, Victor sat motionless, so still that hisbreathing scarcely stirred his body, with a face absolutely imperturbable, steadfastly gazing into that darkness which shrouded the workings of hismind. 

On the doorstep a shrill whistle sounded: Nogam calling Karslake's taxi. Victor heard the vehicle roll in and stand panting at the curb, then theslam of its door, the diminishing rumble of its departure. 

The house door closed, and after a little the study door opened, and Nogamhalted on the threshold. 

Unstirring Victor enquired: "What is it, Nogam?"

"I wished to enquire would there be anything more to-night, sir. "

"Nothing. "

"'Nk you, sir. "

"But Nogam: in this house, regardless of the custom which may have obtainedin other establishments where you have served, you will always knock beforeentering a room, and never enter until you obtain permission. "

"But if I'm sure the room is empty, sir, and get no answer--?"

"Then you may enter any room but this. Never this, unless I am here--or Mr. Karslake is--and you get leave. "

"'Nk you, sir. "

"Good-night. "

As the door closed Victor extended a thin, effeminate hand to a casket ofivory, searched with sensitive finger-tips its exquisite tracery until acunningly hidden spring responded and the lid, splitting in two, sank downinto its walls. In the pocket thus revealed were many pills, apparentlyhand-moulded, of a grayish-brown substance, putty-soft. 

Slowly Victor selected three, placed one after another upon his tongue, andswallowed them. 

He shut the casket and sat waiting. 

Slowly the keenness of his countenance became blurred, as if the hand of anunseen sculptor were rubbing down its features, doing away the veneer withwhich Europe had overlaid the primitive Asiatic, which now showed on thesurface, in every detail of coarsely modelled nose, oblique eyes of animalcunning, pendulous lips cruel and sensual. 

By degrees a faint trace of colour began to flush Victor's cheeks, a smilemodified the set of his mouth, the heavy-lidded eyes lost their lustrelessopacity and glimmered with uncanny light. 

He breathed deeply, evenly, with an evident relish. The action of the opiumwas visibly renewing his powers. His expression, softening, became terriblewith brute tenderness and longing. Gazing into shadows in which he saw thatwhich he wished ardently to see, he stretched forth his arms, and his lipsmoved, shaping a name:

"Sofia!"

As those syllables, freighted with that undying passion which consumed theman, sounded upon the stillness, Victor turned sharply, with a gesture ofirritation, looking aside, listening. 

Instantaneously the Asiatic disappeared, thrust back into its habituallatency within the prison of European: Prince Victor was as he had been, asalways to the world, cool, composed, and crafty, master, never creature, ofhis emotions. 

A faint buzzing was audible, broken by muffled clicks. 

Rising, Victor approached a table in a corner and with a key from hispocket ring unlocked a heavy casket of bronze. As he raised its cover asmall electric bulb illuminated the interior, focussing on thepaper-covered face of a mechanical writing device, upon which a pencil witha broad flat lead operated by a metal arm was tracing characters resemblingthe hieroglyphics of the Chinese. 

When the clicking ceased and the pencil was at rest, Victor caught an endof the paper and pulled it forward until a blank surface again occupied thewriting-bed. Upon this with another pencil he inscribed a reply, thenclosed and relocked the casket. 

Back at the table with the lamp, the message just received became crispblack ash on a brazen tray. 

From a locked chest Victor produced an inverness and a soft hat of blackfelt. Wearing these he moved quietly out of the lamp's radius of light, andmade himself one with the shadows that crowded one another round the walls. He did not leave by the hall door; but of a sudden the room was untenanted. 

VII

THE FANTASTICS

Downstream from The Pool, a little way below Shadwell, an uncouth row ofdilapidated dwellings in those days stood--or, better, squatted, like amute company of draggletail crones--atop a river-wall whose ancient blocks, all ropy with the slime of centuries, peered dimly out through groups ofcrazy spiles at the restless pageant of Thames-life. 

Viewed by day, say from the deck of a river steamer, the spectacle theyoffered was, according to bias of mood and disposition, unlovely and drearor colourful and romantic: Whistler might have etched these houses, Dickenshave staged therein a lowly tragedy, Thomas Burke have made of one a framefor some vignette unforgettable of Limehouse life. 

Builded of stone or brick or both as to their landward faces, withoutexception they presented to the river false backs of wooden framework whichoverhung the water. Ordinarily, their windows were tight-shut, the panesopaque with accumulated grime--many were broken and boarded. Their look wasdismal, their squalor desperate. 

Below, by day, heavy wherries swung moored to the ooze-clad spiles or, whenthe tide was out, sprawled upon stinking mud-flats with a gesture ofpathetic helplessness peculiar to stranded watercraft. Seldom was oneobserved in use: to all seeming they existed for purposes of atmospherealone. 

More seldom still did any dwelling betray evidence of inhabitation beyondfaint wisps of smoke, like ghosts of famine, drifting from the chimneypots, or--perhaps--some unabashed exhibit of red flannel hung out to dry withwrist or ankle-bands nipped between a window-sash and sill. 

By night, however, a stir of furtive life was to be surmised from crypticlights that flared and faded behind the crusted window-glass or fellthrough opened floor-traps to the thick black element that swirled aboutthe spiles, and from guarded calls as well, inarticulate cries of hate andlove and pain, rumours of close and crude carousal. 

And ever and again the belated riverfarer would encounter one of thewherries, its long oars swung by brawny arms and backs, stealing secretlyacross the inky waters on some errand no less dark. 

On land the buildings lined a cobbled street, from dawn to dark athoroughfare for thundering lorries and, twice daily, in murk of earlymorning and gloom of early night, scoured by a nondescript rabble employedin the vast dockyards whose man-made forests of masts and cordage, funnelsand cranes, on either hand lifted angular black silhouettes against themisty silver of the sky. 

Black and white and yellow and brown, men of every race and skin, they cameand went, their brief hours loud with babel of strange tongues and ascuffling of countless feet like the sound of surf; and their goings leftthe street strangely hushed, a way of sinister reticences, its windinglength ill-lighted by infrequent corner-lamps, its mephitic gloomsenlivened by windows of public houses all saffron with specious promise ofpurchasable good-fellowship. 

One of these, the Red Moon, faced the row of waterfront houses, standing atthe intersection of a street which struck inland to the pulsing heart ofLimehouse. A retired bully of the prize-ring ruled with a high hand overits several bars and many patrons, yellow men and white girls, deck-handsand dock-workers, pugilistic and criminal celebrities of the quarter, andtheir sycophants. Its revels rendered the nights cacophonous, its portalssucked in streams of sweethearts and more impersonal lovers of life andlaughter, and spewed out sots close-locked in embraces of maudlin affectionor brutal combat. Bobbies kept an eye on the Red Moon, a respectful one:interference with the time-hallowed customs and prerogatives of itsclientèle was something to be adventured with extreme discretion. 

Out of the hinterland of Limehouse, a tall man came to the Red Moon thatnight, walking with long, loose-jointed strides, holding his head high andlooking over the heads of all he passed with a fixed, far gaze. He had ahatchet-face, sallow, with lantern jaws, a petulant mouth, hot eyes thatshowed too much white above their pupils. A lank black mane greased hiscollar. His garments, shoddy but whole, were stained and bleached in spots, apparently the work of acids, and so wrinkled and shapeless as to suggestthat their owner slept without undressing as a matter of habit. The pocketsof his coat bulged noticeably. 

Shouldering heedlessly into the saloon-bar, he found it deserted except fora chinless potman: the liveliest evening trade was always plied in thecheaper bars adjacent. 

One glance sufficed to identify him: with a surly nod the potman duckedbehind a partition to call the proprietor. Drinks were in order when thislast appeared; and a brief conference in undertones ended when, having madecareful reconnaissance, the publican nodded shortly to the patron, a jerkof his thumb designating a small door let into the wall to one side of thebar proper. 

Through this the tall man passed to find himself upon a dark stairway, atthe foot of which another door admitted to an underground chamber where anapparently exclusive social gathering was in session of Saturnalia. 

In one corner a long-suffering piano was taking cruel punishment at thehands of a flashily dressed, sharp-faced man of horsey type. Flanking him, two young women of the world, with that insouciance which appertains--inLimehouse--to sweet sixteen, were chanting shrilly to his accompaniment:both more than comfortably drunk. In the middle of the room assortedlawbreakers gathered round a table were playing fan-tan at the top of theirlungs. At smaller tables men and women sat consuming poisons of which theywere obviously in no crying need; while in bunks builded against one walldevotees of the pipe reclined in various stages of beatitude. The air washot, and foul with cigarette smoke, sickening fumes of sizzling opium, effluvia of beer and spirits, sour reek of sweating flesh. 

Incurious glances greeted the newcomer: none paid him more heed than anindifferent nod. On his part, brief but comprehensive survey havingdeepened the stamp of scorn upon his features, he ignored them all and, proceeding directly to a bunk of the lowermost tier, aroused its occupantwith a smart tap on the shoulder. 

The ostensible drug-addict looked up dreamily, then opened his eyes wide, with surprising docility rolled out and, uttering no word, lurched to thefan-tan table. The tall man took his place, lay down, and drew together theunclean curtains of sleazy stuff provided to afford privacy to shrinkingsouls. This done, he turned on his side and knuckled in peculiar rhythm theback of the bunk, a solid panel which slipped smoothly to one side, permitting the man to tumble out into still another room, a cheerlessplace, with floor of stone and the smell of a vault. 

When the panel had slipped back into place, closing out the bunk, the manstood in night absolute. But after a minute a slender beam of golden lightstruck suddenly athwart the darkness and found his face. This he enduredimpassively, only lifting a hand to describe an obscure sign. Immediatelythe light was shut off, a door opened in the wall opposite, dull light frombehind disclosed the silhouette of a man in Chinese robes, his headinclined in a bow of courteous dignity. 

In good English but with musical Eastern inflection a voice gave greeting:

"Good evening, Thirteen. You are awaited--and welcome!"

"Good evening, Shaik Tsin, " the European replied in heavy un-Englishaccents. "Number One is here, yes?"

"Not yet. But we have just received a telautographic message saying he ison his way. "

Nodding impatiently, Thirteen passed through the door, which the Chinamanquickly closed and barred. 

The chamber to which one gained admittance by ways so devious and fantasticwas large--exactly how large it was difficult to guess, since all its wallswere screened by black silk panels upon which golden dragons writhed andcrawled. A thick carpet of black covered every inch of visible floor space, a black silk canopy hid the ceiling, and all the room was in deep shadowsave the space immediately beneath a great lamp of opalescent glass, likewise draped in black. 

Here stood an octagonal table of black teakwood, on seven sides of whichseven chairs were placed. When Thirteen had taken his seat all these wereoccupied. On the eighth side an eighth chair stood empty on a low dais, theheavy carving of its high back, its massive arms and legs, picked out withgold. 

The six who had anticipated Thirteen at this bizarre rendezvous hailed himas a familiar, according to their several idiosyncrasies, brusquely, indifferently, or with some semblance of cordiality. They made a motleycrew. 

Two were Englishman in appearance, though the figure of languid elegance inevening dress that might have graced the lounge of a West End club had avoice soft with Celtic brogue. The other owned a gross body clothed in loudchecks and, with his mean blue eyes, his mottled complexion, and cunningleer, would not have seemed out of place in a betting-ring. 

Aside from these there were a moon-faced Bengali babu, a dark Italian withflashing eyes and teeth, and a stout person of bovine Teutonic cast--thetype that is sage, shrewd, easy-going when unopposed, but capable underprovocation of exhibiting the most conscienceless brutality. 

From this last Thirteen got his warmest welcome. 

"You are late, mine friend. "

"In good time, however, " Thirteen responded with a nod toward the vacantchair. "More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty minutes ago. "

"How was that?" the babu asked. "It was sent at six o'clock. "

"I was at work in the laboratory and had left orders I was not to bedisturbed. But for one thing"--the petulance of Thirteen's habitualexpression was lightened by a flash of self-gratulation, and his voiceshook a little with excitement--"I might not have received the summonsbefore morning. "

"And that one thing?"

"Success, comrades! At last--after months of experimentation--I have beensuccessful!"

"'Ow?" dryly demanded the man in the checked suit. 

"I have discovered a great secret--discovered, perfected, adapted it tocommon means at our command. Comrades, I tell you, to-night we hold allEngland in the hollow of our hands!"

With an incoherent exclamation and eyes afire the Russian sat forward. Unconsciously the others imitated his action. Only the man in evening dressmade a show of remaining unimpressed. 

"It's fine, fat words you're after using, " he commented. "'All England inthe hollow of our hands!' If they mean anything at all, comrade, theymean--"

"Everything!" Thirteen cut in with arrogant assertiveness; "all we've beenwaiting for, hoping for, praying for--the end of the ruling classes, extinction of the accursed aristocrats, subjugation of the thrice-damnedbourgeois, the triumph of the proletariat, all at a single stroke, swift, subtle, and sure! Freedom for Ireland, freedom for India, freedom forEngland, the speedy spreading of that red dawn which lights the Russianskies to-day, till all the wide world basks in its warm radiance andacclaims us, comrades, its redeemers!"

"Lieber Gott!" the German breathed. "Colossal!"

"'Ear, 'ear!" the Englishman applauded, perfunctory and skeptical. "Bli'meif you didn't mike me forget where I was--'ad me thinking I was in 'YdePark, you did, listening to a bloody horator on a box. "

"You may laugh, " Thirteen replied with a sour glance; "but when you haveheard, you will not laugh. I am not boasting--I am telling you. "

"Not a great deal, " the Irishman suggested. "Your mouth is full of soundsand fury, but till you tell us more you'll have told us nothing. "

The face of Thirteen grew darker still, and for a moment he seemed tomeditate an angry retort; but he thought better of it, contenting himselfwith an impatient movement and a mutter: "All in good time; Number One isnot here yet. "

"W'y wyste time w'itin' for 'im?" demanded the Englishman. "'E's no good, 'e's done. "

Thirteen's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"'E's done, Number One is--finished, counted out, napoo! 'E's 'ad 'is d'y, and a pretty mess 'e's mide of it--and it's 'igh time, I say, for 'im tostep down and let a better man tike 'old. "

Growls in chorus endorsed this declaration of mutiny; but suddenly werestilled by a voice, sonorous and calm, from outside the circle:

"You think so, Seven? Well--who knows?--perhaps you are right. "

VIII

COUNCIL OF THE GODLESS

Someone exclaimed in an accent of alarm: "Number One!"

With a concerted turning of startled heads, a hasty thrusting back ofchairs, the gathering rose in involuntary deference. That is, five rose asone; and, after a moment during which his spirit of insubordinationfaltered and failed, the Englishman got awkwardly to his feet and stoodabashed and sullen. 

The one to remain seated was the Irishman so well turned out by ConduitStreet; who made no move more than slightly to elevate supercilious browsand slouch a little lower in his chair, glancing from face to face of thecircle, then back to the cold countenance presented by the author of theabrupt interruption. 

This last stood quietly beside the eighth chair, a hand on its carved arm, one foot on the edge of the dais. A long robe of black silk enveloped him;on its bosom a Chinese unicorn was embroidered. His girdle clasp was ofImperial jade set with rubies. The girdle itself was yellow. A great rubybutton, nearly an inch in diameter, set in a mounting of worked gold, crowned a hat like an inverted round bowl. His black silk shoes were heavywith golden embroidery, and had white soles an inch thick. Authority lentinches to his stature, so that he seemed to dominate his company physicallyas well as spiritually. 

A pace or two in the rear Shaik Tsin, with impassive face and arms foldedin voluminous sleeves, waited as might a bodyguard. 

A sardonic glimmer in eyes half visible under heavy lids alone betrayedrelish of the situation, the homage commanded and the sensation created bythis inopportune and unheralded arrival: deliberately Number One mountedthe dais and posed himself in the throne-like chair. Then, as his look readface after face, he smiled with twitching and disdainful nostrils. 

"Gentlemen of the Council, " he said, slowly, "I bow to you all. Pray beseated. "

In confounded silence the six resumed their seats, while the seventh--whohad not moved--lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and through a veil ofsmoke continued to regard Number One with insolent eyes. 

"I fear my arrival was ill-timed, gentlemen. Seven had the floor, and Iconfess to finding what I happened to overhear extremely interesting. If hewill be good enough to continue ... "

The Irishman gave a light, derisive laugh. Shifting uneasily in his chair, the man in the checked suit flushed darkly, then stiffened his spine, hardened his eyes, set his jaw, and faced Number One defiantly. 

"You 'eard ... I 'olds by w'at I said. "

"I am to understand, then, you think it time for me to abdicate and letanother lead you in my stead?"

The Englishman assented with an inarticulate monosyllable and a surly nod. 

"And may one ask why?"

"Blue's plice in Pekin Street was r'ided this afternoon, " Seven announcedtruculently. "But per'aps you didn't know--"

"Not until some time before the news reached you, " One replied, pleasantly. "And what of it?"

"Three fycers in a week, Gov'ner--anybody'll tell you that's comin' it abit thick. "

"Granted. What then?"

"That's only part of it. Tike last week: Eighteen pinched, the queer plantin 'Igh Street pulled by the coppers--"

"I know, I know. To your point!"

Seven hesitated under that steely stare. "I leave it to you, Gov'ner, " hecontinued to stammer at length. "S'y you was me and I was Number One--w'atwould you think?"

"Why, quite naturally, that some superior intelligence has latterly beencollaborating with Scotland Yard. "

"Aren't you a bit behindhand in arriving at that conclusion?" the Irishmansuggested with an ill-dissembled sneer. 

"No, Eleven, " Number One replied, mildly, "since I arrived at it some timesince. "

"But took no measures--"

"You are in a position to state that as a fact?"

Eleven shrugged lightly. "Need I be? Does not our situation speak foritself?"

"Since you cannot be as thoroughly acquainted as I am with the situation, and since it seems I am required to account for my leadership or surrenderit to you, Eleven ... I believe you have selected yourself to replace me asNumber One, have you not?--that is to say, in the improbable event of myabdication. "

"Improbable?" repeated the Irishman. "I wouldn't call it that. "

"You are right, " Number One assented, gravely: "unthinkable is the word. But you haven't answered my question. "

"Oh, as for that, if the Council should see fit to appoint me Number One, I'd naturally do my best. "

"And most noble of you, I'm sure. But rather than bring down any suchdisaster upon this organization, I will say now that measures have alreadybeen taken, and I am to-night in a position to promise you that the newspirit in Scotland Yard will no longer be a factor in our calculations. "

"That wants proving, " Eleven contended. 

A spasm of anger shook the figure in the throne-like chair, but only foran instant; immediately the iron will of the man imposed rigidself-control; almost without pause he proceeded in level and civil accents:

"I think I can satisfy you and--this once--I consent to do so. But first, aquestion: Have you yourself formed any theory as to the identity of thishostile intelligence which has so hindered us of late?"

"I'd be a raw fool if I hadn't, " the Irishman retorted. "We know the LoneWolf has been hand-in-glove with the authorities ever since the BritishSecret Service used him during the war. "

"You think, then, it is Lanyard--?"

"It's a wise saying: 'Set a thief to catch a thief. ' I believe there's noman in England but Lanyard who has the wit and vision and audacity to fightus on our ground and win. "

"I agree entirely. Therefore, I have this day tied the hands of the LoneWolf; he will not again dare to contend against us. "

Eleven sat up with a startled gesture. 

"Are you meaning you've got the girl?"

Number One indulged a remote and chilly smile. 

"Then you, too, noticed the advertisement? Accept my compliments, Eleven. Decidedly you might prove a dangerous rival--were I in a temper tocountenance competition.... But it is true: I have the girl Sofia--the LoneWolf's daughter. "

"Where?"

The smile faded; the man on the dais looked down loftily. 

"It is enough for you to know I have proved far-sighted and unfailing in myfidelity to our common cause. "

"So _you_ say ... "

Though the Irishman winced and fell silent under the cold glare of theother's eyes, the voice that answered him was level and passionless. 

"I am not here to have my word challenged--or my authority. If any one ofyou imagines I am even thinking of surrendering the latter, under anyconceivable circumstances, he is mad. And if any one of you doubts my powerto enforce my will, I promise him ample proof of it before the night isended.... Let us now proceed to business, the question held over from ourlast meeting. If Comrade Four will consult his minutes"--a nod singled outthe babu, who, beaming with importance, produced a note-book--"they willshow we adjourned to consider overtures made by the Smolny Institute ofPetrograd, seeking our coöperation toward accelerating the socialrevolution in England. "

"Thatt, " the Bengali affirmed, "is true bill of factt. "

"If the temper in which you received those proposals is fair criterion, "Number One resumed, "there can be little doubt as to our decision. Speakingfor myself, I think it would be suicidal to reject the overtures of theSoviet Government in Russia. Let me state why. "

He bowed his forehead upon a hand and continued with thoughtful gazedowncast:

"England is ripe for revolution. The social discontent resulting from thewar has reached an acute stage. Only a spark is needed. It remains for usto decide whether to permit Russia to bring about the explosion or--bringit about ourselves. The soviet movement is irresistible, it will sweepEngland eventually as it has swept Russia, as it is now sweeping Germany, Hungary, Austria, Italy, as it must soon sweep France and Spain. Our powerin England is great; even so, we could hope to do no more than delay thesoviet movement were we to set ourselves against it--we could never hope tostop it. It would seem, then, self-preservation to set ourselves at thehead of it, seize with our own hands--in the name of the BritishSoviet--the symbols of power now held by an antiquated and dodderingGovernment. So shall we become to England what the Smolny Institute is toRussia. Otherwise, in the end, we must be crushed. "

"If we adopt the indicated course, there will be an end forever to thishole-and-corner business which so hampers us, we will be able to work inthe open, the police will become our tools rather than weapons in the handsof our enemies; our power will be without limits, Soviet Russia itself mustbow to our dictation. "

He paused and lifted his head, looking round the circle of intent faces. 

"If I am wrong or too sanguine, I am ready to be corrected. "

He heard only a murmur of admiration, never a note of dissent; and a smileof gratification, yet half satiric, curved his thin lips. 

"I take it, then, the Council endorses my decision to proceed with thenegotiations instituted by Soviet Russia; to accept its proposals andpledge our cooperation in every way?"

This time there was no mistaking the accuracy with which he had gauged theminds of his associates. 

"One thing remains to be decided: a plan of action, something which willdemand all that we have of imagination, ingenuity, common sense, and farprevision. We can afford to waste not a single ounce of strength: the blow, when we strike, must be sudden, sharp, merciless--irresistible. But ifThirteen is not over-confident of the discovery which he says he has to-dayperfected, the means to deal just such a blow is ready to our hands.... Thirteen?"

A nod and gracious smile invited that one to speak. He rose, trembling alittle with excitement, bowed to Number One and, delving into capaciouspockets, produced a number of small tin canisters together with threesealed bottles of brown glass. Surveying these, as he arranged them on theteakwood table before him, he smiled a little to himself: the stars, itseemed to him, were warring in their courses in his behalf; this was toprove his hour of hours. 

He began to speak in a quivering voice which soon grew more steady. 

"It is true, Excellency--it is true, comrades--I have perfected a discoverywhich I offer as a free gift to the cause, and by means of which, intelligently employed, we can, if we will, make all London a graveyard. Put the resources of this organization at my command, give me a week tomake the essential preparations, select a time of national crisis when theHouses of Parliament are sitting and the Cabinet meets in Downing Streetwith the King attending or in Buckingham Palace ... "

He paused and held the pause with a keen feeling for dramatic effect, hiseyes seeking in turn the faces of his fellow conspirators, aninsuppressible grin of malicious exultation twisting his scornful andmutinous mouth. 

"Let this be done, " he concluded, "and by means of these few tins andbottles which you see before you, in one brief hour the ruling classes willhave perished almost to a man, there will be no more government of atyrannical bourgeoisie to grind down the proletariat, a bloodlessrevolution will have made England the cradle of the new liberty!"

"Bloodless?" the man on the dais repeated; and even he was seen perceptiblyto shudder at the prospect unfolded to the vision of his mind. "Yes--butmore terrible than the massacre of the Huguenots, more savage than theFrench Revolution!"

"But I believe, " the inventor commented, "your Excellency said we requiredthe means to deal a 'blow sudden, sharp, merciless--irresistible'. "

"Surely now, " the Irishman suggested, mockingly--where a wiser man wouldhave held his tongue--"you'll not be sticking at a small matter likewholesale murder if it's to make us masters of England?"

"Of England?" the German echoed. "Herr Gott! Of the world!"

"And you, Excellency, our master, " the inventor added, shrewdly. 

A sign at once impatient and imperative demanded silence, and for a fewminutes it obtained unbroken, while the gathering, keyed to high tension, studied closely the face of their leader and found it altogether illegible. 

On his part he seemed forgetful of the existence of anybody but himself, forgetful almost of himself as well: sitting low in his great chair, hisbody as stirless as it were bound by some spell of black magic, his fargaze probing unfathomable remotenesses of thought. 

Slowly he recalled himself to his surroundings; with a suggestion ofweariness he sat up and reviewed the little company that hung sobreathlessly upon the issue of his judgment. The shadow of that satiricsmile returned. 

"If the thing be feasible, " he promised, "it shall be done. It remains forThirteen to be more explicit. "

With an extravagant flourish the inventor whipped from his breastpocket afolded paper, and spread it out face uppermost on the table. 

"A map of London, " he announced, "based on the latest Ordnance Survey andcoloured to show the districts supplied by the mains of each individual gasdepot. Thus you will observe"--what his long, bony finger indicated--"thedistrict supplied by the mains of the Westminster gas works, comprisingBuckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, the War Office, and theAdmiralty, Downing Street, the homes of hundreds of the aristocracy. Allthese we can at will turn into the deadliest of death traps. "

A tense voice interrupted with the demand: "How?"

"Quite easily, comrade: with the ramifications of our power throughoutLondon, all under the control of his Excellency"--the inventor bowed toNumber One--"it should be an easy matter to place a few trustworthy menwith the Westminster gas works. "

"It can readily be done, " Number One affirmed. "And then--?"

"While this is being done means must be found to smuggle other men, in theguise of servants, into the various buildings selected, or to corrupt thosealready so employed therein. At the designated hour--"

The words dried upon his lips as somewhere a hidden bell stabbed the quietwith short, sharp thrills of sound, a code that spelled a message ofterrifying significance. The inventor started violently, but no more sothan every man about the table. Even Number One, shocked out of hislounging pose, grasped the arms of his throne with convulsive hands. 

Quietly and without a hint of hurry, the Chinese, Shaik Tsin, moved backinto the shadows and, unnoticed, disappeared behind a screen. 

For a moment, when the bell had ceased, nobody spoke; but pallid faceconsulted face and eyes grown wide with dread sought eyes that winced interror. 

Then the Bengali leaped from his chair, jabbering with bloodless lips. 

"Police! Raid! We are betrayed!"

He made an uncertain turn, as if thinking to seek safety in flight butdoubting which way to choose; and the movement struck panic into the mindsand hearts of his fellows. In a twinkling all were on their feet. Butbefore one could move a step the lamp in the ceiling winked out, the roomwas left in darkness unrelieved, and the accents of Number One were heard, coldly imperative. 

"Gentlemen! be good enough to resume your places--let no one move beforethere is light again. We are in no immediate danger: Shaik Tsin will showyou out by a secret way long before the police can hope to find and breakinto this chamber. In the meantime--"

The infuriated voice of the Englishman interrupted:

"And 'oo're you to give us orders?--you 'oo talked so big about 'avin' tiedthe 'ands of the Lone Wolf and Scotland Yard! You blarsted blow'ard! Bli'meif I don't believe it's you 'oo--"

"Quietly, Seven! Have you forgotten you have a bad heart?--that excitementmay mean your sudden death?"

The rage of the Englishman ran out in a gasp and a whisper. 

"In the meantime, " Number One resumed as if there had been no break, "Ipromised that, before the night was out, you should have proof of myability to enforce my will. "

A groan of agony answered him, followed by an oath of witless fear. From adistance the voice, now thin but still sonorous, added:

"Thirteen will hold himself ready to wait on me when I send for himto-morrow. Gentlemen of the Council, I bow to you all. "

Again silence held for a long minute during which no man stirred or spoke. Then overhead the lamp burned bright again, discovering six frightened menupon their feet and one who, still seated, did not stir, and never wouldagain. 

His head fallen forward, chin resting on his chest, mouth ajar, inert armsdangling over the arms of the chair, heavy legs lax, the Englishman satquite dead, dead without a sign to show how death had come to him. 

Number One had disappeared. 

There was a remote rumour of cries and shouts, the muffled sound of axescrashing into woodwork.... 

IX

MRS. WARING

Late in the forenoon a pencil of golden light found a chink in jealouslydrawn draperies, and groped the rich dusk of the bedchamber till it came torest, as if happy that its search had found so lovely a reward, upon theface of a young girl who lay sleeping in a bed whose exquisite adornmentmust have flattered even the exalted person of a princess. 

With a swift but silent movement another girl, who had been sittingpatiently on a low stool near by, rose and put herself in the way of thesunbeam. But too late: already long lashes were a-flutter upon thedelicately modelled cheeks of the sleeper. 

A gentle sigh brushed parting lips; the sweet body stirred luxuriously;unclouded by any shadow of misgiving, the blue eyes of the Princess Sofialooked out upon the first day of her new world. 

Then they grew wide with wonder, comprehending the sleek, pretty face of aChinese girl of about her own age who, with eyes downcast, demure mouth andfolded hands, submissively awaited recognition. 

"Who are you?" Sofia demanded in a breath. 

A bob of courtesy, wholly charming, prefaced a reply pattered in Englishof quaintest accent:

"You' handmaiden--Chou Nu is my name. "

"My handmaiden!"

"Les, Plincess Sofia. "

"But I don't understand. How--when--?"

"Las' night Numbe' One he send for me, but when I come you go-sleep. "

"Number One?"

Surprise coloured faintly the explanation: "Plince Victo', honol'ble fathe'of Plincess Sofia. You like get up now, take bath, have blekfuss?"

The smile was irresistibly ingratiating: Sofia could not but return it. Delighted, Chou Nu ran to the windows, threw wide their draperies, anddarted into the bathroom. 

Autumnal sunlight kindled to burning beauty the golden-bronze tressescoiled upon the pillows where Sofia lay unstirring, like a princessenchanted--as indeed she was. Surely nothing less potent than magic hadwrought this metamorphosis in the fabric of her life! And whether the magicwere white or black--what matter? Its work was good. 

No more the Café des Exiles, no more the deadly tedium of daily service atthe desk of the caisse, no more the shrewish tongue of Mama Thérèse, theodious oglings of Papa Dupont, the ceaseless cark of discontent.... 

Incredible!

As one who moves in a dream, Sofia rose presently and bathed, then, robedin a ravishing negligée of rare brocade, breakfasted on melon, tea, andtoast from a service of eggshell china. 

In a long mirror she saw and watched but did not know herself. Like GoodyTwoshoes of nursery fame she could have cried: Lawkamercy! this is never I!

The presence of Chou Nu served merely to stress the sense of unreality:for, obviously, only the heroine of a true fairy tale could have brokenfrom a chrysalis stage of sordid Soho to the brilliant butterfly existenceof a Russian princess domiciled in the most aristocratic quarter of Londonand attended by a Chinese maid!

And Chou Nu proved a delight. Once satisfied she need fear neitherill-temper nor arrogance from her new mistress, she indulged an even andconstant flow of artless high spirits, her amusing, clipped Englishaffording Sofia considerable entertainment together with not a little foodfor thought. 

Thus one learned that the main body of the service staff was Chinese undera major domo named Shaik Tsin--Chou Nu's "second-uncle"--who enjoyed PrinceVictor's completest confidence and was, second to the latter only, the realhead of the establishment, its presiding genius. The front of the housealone was dressed with a handful of English servants nominally under theman Nogam, but actually, like him, answerable in the last instance to ShaikTsin. 

Why this should be Chou Nu couldn't say. Sofia supposed it was becausePrince Victor thought his Occidental guests would feel more at ease withEnglish servants; or perhaps he himself preferred them, when it came to thequestion of personal attendance. 

No success rewarded efforts to extract from Chou Nu her reason forreferring to Victor as "Number One. " She stated simply that all Chinamansin London called him that; and being pressed further added, with as near anapproach to impatience as her gentle nature could muster, that it wasobviously because Plince Victo' _was_ Numbe' One: ev'-body knew _that_. 

A knock at the door interrupted Sofia's questioning. Answering, Choubrought back word that the honourable father of Princess Sofia submittedhis august felicitations and solicited the immediate favour of her sereneattendance in his study. 

Hasty search failed to locate the garments discarded on going to bed and, in the indifference of depression and fatigue, left in a tumble on thefloor. All had vanished while Sofia slept; Chou Nu professed blankignorance of their fate; and apparently nothing had been provided in theirstead but Chinese robes, of sumptuous vestments well suited to one of highestate. With these, then, and with Chou Nu's guidance as to choice andceremonious arrangement, Sofia was obliged to make shift; and anything butunbecoming she found them--or truly it was a shape of dream that lookedout from her mirror. 

Yet it was with reluctant feet that she left her room, descended the broadstaircase to the entrance hall, and addressed herself to the study door. Ithad been so beautiful, that waking dream the sequel to her night ofdreamless sleep, too beautiful to be foregone without regret. 

For Sofia had not forgotten, she could never forget, she had merely beensuccessful temporarily in banishing from mind that bitter disillusionmentwhich had poisoned what should have been her time of greatest joy. 

To be told, by the father of whose dear existence one had only learnedwithin the hour, that one was the child of a notorious thief and anadventuress ... 

It needed more than common fortitude to face renewed reminder of thatshame. 

Oddly enough, it seemed to help a bit, somehow to lend her courage andassurance, to pass the man Nogam in the hall and acknowledge his bow andsmile. Sofia wondered vaguely what it was that made his smile seem so kind;it was entirely respectful, there was nothing more in it that she could fixon; and yet ... 

She was able to offer Victor a composed, almost a happy countenance, and toreturn cheerful assurances to punctilious enquiries after her well-beingand her comfort overnight. To the real affection in which he held her, thewarmth of his embrace, and the lingering pressure of his lips gaveconvincing testimony; and in time, no doubt, as she grew to know himbetter, her response would become more spontaneous and true. Indeed, sheinsisted, it must; she would school herself, if need be, to remember thatthis strange man was the author of her being, the natural object of heraffections--deserving all her love if only because of that nobility whichhad enabled him to renounce those evil ways of years long dead. 

But to-day--and this, of course, she couldn't understand--a slight butinvincible shiver, perceptible to herself alone, attended her submission topaternal caresses; and the eyes were too dispassionate with which she sawPrince Victor. Still, they found little to which fair exception might betaken. If Life had thus far been callously frank with Sofia as to itsbroader aspects, the niceties of its technique remained measurably amystery, she was insufficiently instructed to perceive that Victor'smorning coat (for example) had been cut a shade too cleverly, or that theensemble of his raiment was a trace ornate; and where a mind more mondainwould have marked ponderable constraint in his manner, she saw only dignityand reserve. But for all that she recognized intuitively a lack ofsomething in the man, the sum of this second impression of him was formlessdisappointment, she felt somehow cheated, disheartened, chilled. 

That she was able at all to dissemble this sense of dashed expectationswas thanks in the main to a third party, a stranger whose presence sheoverlooked on entering, when Prince Victor met her near the door, while theother remained aside, half hidden in the recess of a window. 

Directly, however, that Victor half turned away, saying "I have found afriend for you, my dear, " Sofia, following his glance, discovered a womanwhose every detail of dress and deportment was unmistakably of thefashionable world and whose face carried souvenirs of loveliness asunmistakable. 

Smiling and offering her hands, she approached, while Victor's voice ofheavy modulations uttered formally:

"Sybil, permit me to present my daughter. Sofia, Mrs. Waring has graciouslyoffered to sponsor your introduction to Society, to guide and instruct youand be in every way your mentor. "

"My dear!" the woman exclaimed, holding Sofia's hands and kissing hercheek. And then, looking aside to Victor, "But how very like!" she addedwith the air of tender reminiscence. 

"Oh!" Sofia cried, "you knew my mother?"

"Indeed--and loved her. " Sofia never dreamed to question the woman'ssincerity; and her charm of manner was irresistible. "You must try to likeme a little for her sake--"

"As if one could help liking you for your own, Mrs. Waring!"

"Prettily said, my dear. You have inherited more from your mother thanyour good looks alone. Is it not so, mon prince?"

"Much more. " Victor's enigmatic smile gave place to a look of regret anduneasiness. "Let us hope, however, not too much. Heredity, " he mused insombre mood, "is a force of such fatality in our lives.... "

He gave a gesture of solicitude and continued with characteristicdeliberation, and that preciseness of diction which he seemed never able toforget, even though deeply moved. 

"More than ever, now that Sofia is restored to me, I could wish the pastother than what it was, that she might start life with a handicap lesscruel of inherited tendencies. But when I reflect that both her parents--"

"Please!" Sofia begged, piteous. "Oh, please!"

"I am sorry, my dear. " Victor closed tender hands over those which the girlhad lifted in appeal. "It is for your own good only I give myself this painof warning you against your worst enemy, I mean yourself, the self that isso strange a compound of hereditary weaknesses.... Please remember alwaysthat, no matter what may happen, however far you may be led intotransgression of the social codes, I shall never reproach you, on thecontrary, you may count implicitly on my sympathetic understanding. Neverforget, I, too, have known, have suffered and fought myself--and in the endwon at a cost I am not yet finished paying, nor will be, I fear, this sidemy grave. "

He sighed from his heart, and bowing a stricken head, seemed to losehimself in disconsolate reverie--but not so far as to suffer theinterruption which Sofia made to offer and which he stayed with an eloquenthand. 

"You do not understand? But naturally. Let me explain. No: there is noreason why Sybil--Mrs. Waring--should not hear. She is a dear friend oflong years, she understands. "

With a quiet murmur--"Oh, quite!"--Mrs. Waring ran an affectionate armround Sofia's shoulders and gently held the girl to her. 

"When I determined to forsake the bad old ways, " Victor pursued--"this youmust know, my dear--I had friends--of a sort--who resented my defection, set themselves against my will and, when they found they could not swerveme from my purpose, became my enemies. That was long ago, but to this daysome of them persist in their enmity--I have to be constantly on my guard. "

"You mean there is danger?" Sofia asked in quick anxiety. "Your life--?"

"Always, " Victor assented, gravely. With a shrug he added: "It is nothing;for myself, I am used to it, I do not greatly care. But for you--that isanother matter altogether. I have a great fear for you, my child. That, indeed, is why I never tried to find you till yesterday--believing, as Imistakenly did, you were in good hands, well cared for, happy--lest myenemies seek to strike at me through you. But when I saw that unfortunateadvertisement I dared delay not another hour about bringing you within thecompass of my protection. Even now, untiring as my care for you shall everbe, I know my enemies will be as tireless in endeavours to rob me of you. You will be followed, hounded, importuned, lied to, threatened--all withoutrest. If they cannot take you from me bodily, they will seek to poison yourmind against me. Therefore, rather than keep you practically a prisoner inyour home, I feel obliged to require a promise of you. "

Deeply stirred by the melancholy gravity that informed his pose, the girlprotested earnestly: "Anything--I will promise anything, rather than be ananxiety to one who is so kind. "

"Kind? To my own daughter?" Victor smiled sadly. "But I love you, littleSofia. Nor is it much that I must ask of you: merely that you never go outalone, but only in the company of Mrs. Waring or Mr. Karslake or, preferably, both. "

"Oh, I promise that--"

"But there is more: If by any accident you should ever find yourself leftalone in public, do not let strangers speak to you, refuse to listen tothem. "

"I promise. "

"And finally: If anybody should ever seek to turn you against me, come tome instantly and tell me about it. "

"But naturally I would do that, father. "

"Good. I rely upon your discretion and loyalty. At another time I willexplain matters in more detail. For the present--enough of an unpleasantsubject. You have a busy day before you. At my request Mrs. Waring hasarranged to have various tradespeople wait upon you this morning to takeyour orders for the beginnings of a wardrobe. If you can find somethingready-made to wear you will want, no doubt, to spend the afternoonshopping. A car will be at your disposal, and I give you carte blanche. Iwish you never to know an unsatisfied need or desire. Still, I am selfishenough to reserve for myself the happiness of selecting your jewels. "

"Oh!" Sofia cried, breathlessly. Victor was holding his arms open; and howshould she deny him? "You are too good to me, " she murmured. "How can Iever show my gratitude?"

Holding her close, Victor smiled a singular smile. 

"Some day I may tell you. But to-day--no more. I am much preoccupied withaffairs; but Mrs. Waring will take care of you till evening, when I promisemyself the pleasure of dining with you both. "

At the sound of a knock he put Sofia gently from him, and said in a strongvoice:

"Enter. "

The door opened, Nogam announced:

"Mr. Sturm. "

Hard on the echo of his name a man swung into the room with an air at oncenervous and aggressive--a tall man shabbily dressed, holding his headhigh--and at sight of Sofia and Mrs. Waring, where he had doubtless thoughtto find Prince Victor alone, stopped short, betraying disconcertion in theway he instinctively assumed the stand of a soldier at attention, bringinghis heels together with an undeniable click, straightening his shoulders, stiffening both arms to rigidity at his sides. And for a bare thought hiseyes rolled almost wildly in their deep sockets. Then he bowed twice, fromthe hips, with mechanical precision, profoundly to Victor, with deeprespect to the women. 

Victor smothered an exclamation of annoyance. 

Unbidden, a word shaped in Sofia's consciousness, a French monosyllableinto which the war had packed every shade and gradation of hatred andcontempt, the epithet _Boche_. 

Immediately erasing every sign of irritation, Victor greeted the man withcasual suavity. "Oh, there you are, eh, Sturm?" Then, as Sofia and Mrs. Waring turned to go, he added quickly: "A moment, please. Since Mr. Sturmto-day becomes a member of the household, acting as my assistant in someresearch work which I am undertaking, I may as well present him now. Mrs. Waring, permit me: Mr. Sturm. And the Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, mydaughter ... "

Mumbling their names after Victor, the man Sturm executed two more bows. Atthe same time he seemed to remind himself that his soldierly carriage wasperhaps injudicious, and forthwith abandoned it for a studied slouch which, in Sofia's sight, was little less than insolent. And unmistakably there wassomething nearly resembling insolence in the eyes that boldly sought hers:a look equivocal at best and, intentionally or no, wholly offensive inessence; as if the fellow were asserting their partnership in some secretunderstanding; or as if he knew something by no means to Sofia's credit.... 

Her acknowledgment of his salute was accordingly cool, and she was gladwhen a nod from Prince Victor gave her leave to go. 

X

VICTOR ET AL

Those first few weeks of emancipation from the ennui of existence at theCafé des Exiles were so replete with wonders that Sofia lived largely in abeatific state of breathless excitement, devoting the best part of her daysto thoughtless flying from delight to new delight, and going nightly to herbed so healthily tired that she slept like a top and never once awakened tomemories of disturbing dreams. 

Perhaps her pleasure burned the brighter for its dark, ambiguousbackground--those many questions which Prince Victor persisted in leavingunanswered. Sofia knew bad times of perplexity and depression, when theprice of translation from drudge to princess seemed a sore price to pay. 

And yet, required to state the cost to her in terms explicit, she must havehesitated lest she appear ungrateful in complaining, who hardly needed toexpress a wish to have it granted, who indeed knew many a wish realized infact before she was fully aware of its inception in her private thoughts. 

All those lovely material things of life which her famished girlhood hadached for so hopelessly now were hers in abundant measure, and all the lesstangible things, too, so requisite to the happiness of women in a worldlyworld--or nearly all. Frocks she had, with furs and furbelows no end;flowers and flattery and frivolities; freedom within limitations as yet notirksome; jewels that would have graced an imperial diadem--everything butthe single essential without which everything is hollow nothing and lifeitself only the dreaming of a dream. 

The one lack known to the Sofia of those days was the lack of Love. 

She had gone so long longing to love, questing blindly and vainly for somehuman being to whom her affection would mean something vital and dear--itseemed cruel that her longing must be still denied. As it had been withMama Thérèse, it was now with the romantic father so newly self-declared. She wanted desperately and tried her best to love Victor as his daughtershould; and that he cared for her profoundly she knew and never questioned;yet when she searched her secret heart Sofia discovered no feeling for theman other than a singular form of fear. His look, his tone, his manner, hispresence altogether, inspired a nameless sort of shrinking, inarticulateapprehensions, and mistrust which the girl found at once utterlyunaccountable and dismally disappointing; so that, with every wish and willto do otherwise, she found herself involuntarily making excuse of trivialinterests to keep out of Victor's way and, when there was no escaping, sitting silent and ill at ease in his society, or seizing on some slenderpretext, it didn't matter what, to inveigle into their company a thirdsomebody, it didn't matter whom--Mrs. Waring, Karslake, even theunspeakable Sturm. 

Nevertheless, there were times, far too many of them, too, when of a suddenVictor would forsake his occult preoccupations and, unceremoniouslyupsetting whatever arrangements Sofia might have made with Mrs. Waring orKarslake, would find other pleasures of his own invention for her to sharewith him alone: long motor jaunts through the English countryside, apparently his favourite recreation; a box all to themselves at a theatre, where Victor would sit watching the girl with a fascination only rivalledby her fascination with the traffic of the boards; curiously constrainedlittle dinners à deux in fashionable restaurants; morning rides in RottenRow, where it oddly appeared that Victor knew everybody, whereas not one infive hundred seemed to know him--or to care to know him. 

Sofia, indeed, was often puzzled to account for what to her appeared to bean almost pathetic eagerness on the part of Victor, in strange accord withhis lofty pretensions, to claim acquaintanceship with and win therecognition even of persons of the utmost inconsequence. And she remarked, too, that his temper was apt to be raw in sequel to their excursions intothe haunts of the well-known. But it was for other reasons altogether thatshe came to dread them most. 

For one thing, Victor's conversation was ordinarily rather dull; at best, the reverse of exhilarating. And in spite of her unquestioning acceptanceof him as her father, he remained to Sofia actually a new acquaintance; ineffect, a strange man. And from strangers, more than from relatives withwhose minds one is presumably on terms of close intimacy, one is warrantedin expecting something in the way of mutual stimulation through the openingof new perspectives of experience, thought, and feeling. Whereas--withSofia, at least--Victor seemed unable to talk on more than two subjects, one or the other of which was constantly uppermost in his thoughts. 

He never wearied of warning Sofia against the dangers of those moralinfirmities which he asserted were hers by legitimate inheritance; andwhich, if Victor were right in his contentions, she could hardly hope toovercome without a desperate struggle. She would have to be forever onguard, he insisted, lest the temptation of some moment, not to be foreseen, prove too strong for her latent weakness of character, and commit her, through some unpremeditated act of defiance to the law--most probably anact of theft--to the life of a social outcast. 

To do her justice, the girl was consciously not much impressed by thisalleged peril. She had never been aware of any failing such as Victor wouldhave endowed her with; so far as she could remember she had never beentempted to commit more venial sins than inhered in lying to Mama Thérèsenow and then in order to escape unmerited disciplining at the heavy handsof that industrious virago; and as for thieving, the very thought ofanything of that sort was detestable to Sofia. 

But unconsciously, no doubt, the everlasting iteration of Victor'sadmonitions had its purposed effect upon that sensitive and impressionablespirit. 

Then, too, by degrees, but all too soon, it became manifest that the memoryof his passionate attachment for her mother possessed Victor to the pointof monomania. It was only with an effort that he could force himself totalk to Sofia on other subjects. He thought of nothing else while with her;if she read his eyes aright, often glimpses of weird light flickering intheir opaque depths, like heat lightning of a murky summer's night, fairlyfrightened her, and she knew a shuddering perception of the possibilitythat Victor was at times in danger of confusing the daughter with themother. 

"Never was there such resemblance, " he once uttered, in a stare. "You aremore like her than she herself!"

Sofia was pardonably puzzled, and looked it. 

"I mean, you re-create my vision of the woman I loved and lost--the woman Isaw in her, not the woman she was. "

"Lost?" the girl murmured. 

The gray countenance took on an added shade of sombre passion. "She neverunderstood me, she treated me badly. Once, in a fit of pique, she ran away. I did everything--everything, I tell you!--to win her back, but--"

He choked on bitter recollections--and Sofia was painfully reminded of theChinese devil-masks in Victor's study. But the likeness faded even as shesaw it, under her gaze the twisted features were ironed back into theiraccustomed cast of austerity. 

"Before I could persuade her, you were born.... Then she died. "

Sensible though she was of the ellipsis, and afraid it would never befilled in if she interrupted, Sofia could not help uttering a sound ofregret and pity for the lot of the mother she had never seen, whoseuntimely death had ended a life accounted unendurable as Victor's wife, forreasons unknown but none the less, to the daughter, vaguely and lamentablyunderstandable. 

For Sofia by now had passed the stage of pretending to herself that she wasnot happier away from her father. 

Victor mistook the nature of the feeling that swayed the girl--took tohimself the sympathy excited by his revelations. 

"But do not grieve on my account. Is not that which was lost restored againto me? In you my old love lives once more ... Little Sofia!"

He caught and pressed a hand that rested on the cloth between them. (Theyhappened that night to be dining at the Ritz. ) And Sofia re-experiencedthat inevitable, hateful flinching with which she was growing too familiar. 

She dropped her head that her eyes might not betray her. 

"People will see ... "

"What if they do? Those who know us will hardly see any wrong in mysqueezing the hand of my own daughter; and the others--not that theymatter--will only think me the luckiest dog alive--as I am!"

Chuckle and smirk both were indescribably odious, reminding Sofia of thecreature Sturm; _he_ had a laugh like that for her, on the rare occasionwhen chance propinquity encouraged the Boche to begin one of his uncouthessays in flirtation. 

Sturm's attitude, in truth, perplexed Sofia to exasperation; that is tosay, as much as it offended her. For Victor the man seemed to entertain anexaggerated yet deeply rooted respect, approaching actual awe, which hetried his best to carry off with a swagger; for to hold anybody in anydegree of deference was, one judged, somehow deplorable, even shameful, inthe code of Sturm; but in Victor's presence the fellow's bravado wouldquickly wilt into hopeless servility, he would cringe and crawl like a dogcurrying the favour of a harsh master. 

Nevertheless, Victor's daughter seemed to be no more than fair game, inSturm's understanding, and a source of supercilious amusement but thinlyveiled or not at all. Alone with the girl, Sturm put on the airs of aPrussianized pasha condescending to a new odalisque. 

Sofia held the animal in a deadly loathing which, betrayed in word or lookor gesture, animated in him only a spirit of derision. In the absence ofVictor, Sturm's eyes were ever ironic, his bows and leers mocking, hisspeeches flavoured with clumsy sarcasm; from which it resulted that thegirl never quite forgot the impression which he had managed to convey inthose few moments of their first encounter, that Sturm knew something sheought to know but didn't, and was meanly jeering at her in his sleeve. 

What virtues Victor Vassilyevski perceived in the man passed comprehension. But so did most of Victor's whims and ways. What riddle more obscure thanthat portentous business which permeated the atmosphere of theestablishment with the taint of stealth and terror?--the famous "researchwork" that kept Victor closeted with Sturm in his study daily for hours ata time, often in confabulation with others of like ilk, men of furtive andunprepossessing cast who came and went by appointment at all hours, but asa rule late at night!

Into these conferences, Sofia observed, Karslake was never summoned. Shewondered why. He was, as she saw him, so unquestionably the better man, everything that Sturm was not, open of countenance, fair of temper andtongue, well-bred and well-mannered, light of heart and high spirited, andat the same time dependable, with metal of sincerity and earnestness liketempered steel in his character--or Sofia misread him woefully. 

She had been quick to see the man behind the misleading little moustache. And already she was beginning to count that amusement tame which Karslakedid not share. 

Mrs. Waring was undeniably a dear. Sofia could hardly be grateful enough tothe happy chance which had cast that lady for the rôle of her chaperone;lacking her guidance the girl must have been innocently guilty of many agaucherie in ways new and strange to untried, faltering feet. And it was toher alone that Sofia owed the slow but constant widening of her socialhorizon. For Sybil Waring, it seemed, quite literally "knew everybody"; andSofia soon learned to count it an off day when Sybil failed to present herprotégée to the notice of somebody of position and influence. 

Most of these persons were women with sounding names and the solid backingof much money conspicuously in evidence--matrons of the younger and moregiddy generation which was just then so busily engaged in providingmaterial for the most hectic chapters of London's post-war social history. But Sofia was scarcely qualified to be critical or to guess that they wereclimbers equally with herself, and that if their footing had been of olderestablishment the name of Vassilyevski would have rung sinister echoes intheir memories, deafening them to the rich allure inherent in the title ofprincess. 

So she was fain to accept them all at their own valuation, and thought mostof them entirely charming. And though she had hardly had time as yet toprogress beyond the introductory stages of chance meetings and informallittle teas in public, she began clearly to descry enchanting vistas ofbetter days to come, when the Princess Sofia Vassilyevski would have notonly teas but dinners and dances given in her honour, and would be asked tospend gay week-ends in the country houses of the people with whom shecontracted the stronger friendships. 

But for the immediate present, and especially in the paramount business ofhaving a good time, Karslake was fairly a necessity. He thought ofeverything and forgot nothing, was ever fertile of fresh expedient if thepastime of a moment began to pall, and was capable of sustained fits ofirresponsible gaiety which enchanted Sofia, so well did they chime with herown eagerness for sheer fun. 

Decidedly she would have been lost without Sybil Waring; but withoutKarslake she would have been forlorn. 

XI

HEARTBREAK

Not yet prepared to admit it even to herself, in her heart Sofia knew sheprized the companionship of Karslake for something more than the mereamusement it afforded her: there was a deeper feeling she would not name. For all that, her times of solitude knew dreams quick and warm with thethought of Karslake, his words and ways, the gracious little attentions hehad accustomed her to expect of him and which his manner subtly investedwith a personal flavour inexpressibly delightful, indispensably sweet. 

Nor did she ever quite forget how long he had worshipped withunostentatious devotion at her lowly shrine of the caisse in the Café desExiles, and how shabbily she had rewarded his admiration--never once, inthose many months, with so much as a smile--and how unresentful had beenhis acceptance of her half-feigned, half-real indifference to hisexistence. 

But whenever her reflections took that back-turning she would recall theman who had talked to Karslake in the café, that day so long ago, of hisown humble past as a 'bus-boy in Troyon's in Paris, and who on leaving hadgiven Sofia herself that odd look of half-recognition tempered bybewilderment. 

She tried once to draw Karslake about this acquaintance of his, butKarslake's memory proved unusually sluggish. 

"No-o, " he drawled after a tolerably long pause for thought--"can't say Iplace the chap you mean, can't seem somehow to think back that far, youknow. One meets such a lot of people, first and last, they talk such a lotof tosh--"

"But it couldn't have been only tosh you were talking, " the girl persisted, "because--_I_ remember--you were so keen about keeping what you saidsecret, you spoke the strangest language together most of the time. I couldhear every word"--she had already explained about the freak acoustics ofthe Café des Exiles--"and not one meant anything to me. "

"Stupid of me, but I simply can't think what it could have been. "

"I can--now. "

Karslake looked askance at Sofia. 

"Since I've heard so much Chinese spoken by the servants--now I come tothink of it"--Sofia's eyes grew bright with triumph--"I'm sure it must havebeen Chinese you were speaking to the man I mean. "

"Impossible, " Karslake pronounced calmly. 

"But you do know Chinese, don't you?"

"Not a syllable. "

Sofia opened her lips to protest, but delayed to study Karslake's faceintently. He didn't try to escape her scrutiny, he even seemed to court it;but there was a curious, quizzical look in his eyes, those half-smilinglips had a whimsical droop. 

"Mr. Karslake!" Sofia announced, severely, "you're fibbing. "

"Nice thing to say to me. "

"You do speak Chinese--confess. "

"My dear Princess Sofia, " Karslake protested: "if I had known one word ofChinese I could never have landed my job with your father. "

"Why not?"

"He expressly stipulated that I should be ignorant of that language. "

"What a silly condition to make!"

"Still, I daresay Prince Victor had his reasons. "

"I can't imagine what ... "

"Possibly preferred a secretary who couldn't understand everything he saidto the servants. I've never pretended to know all Prince Victor's secrets, you know. "

After a little pause Sofia asked gently: "Did you really need the job sobadly, Mr. Karslake?"

"To get it meant more to me than I can tell you--almost as much as to holdon to it does to-day. "

Sofia turned her eyes away at this, and for the rest of the ride--they werehomeward bound from a matinée, having dropped Sybil Waring at her flat inMayfair--kept her thoughts to herself. 

Only the most perfunctory civilities passed between them, in fact, untilthey had been ushered into the study by Nogam, who advised them that PrinceVictor had ordered tea to be served there and had promised to be home ingood time for it. 

The tea service was already set out on a little table beside the fireplacein that room of secrets, whose normal atmosphere of brooding gloom was nowthe darker for the deepening dusk. Only the tea itself remained to beserved, a special rite never performed in that household by hands moreprofane than those of the major-domo, Shaik Tsin himself. And this lastcould be counted upon not to put in appearance until Nogam took him wordthat Victor was waiting. 

So, having laid aside her furs and satisfied herself, by a seeminglyaimless but in fact exacting survey, that the abominable Sturm was notskulking anywhere in the shadows, Sofia established herself on a loungethat faced the fireplace, while Karslake stood before the fire, lookingdown with an expectant smile of which she was but half aware. 

"Aren't you going to forgive me?" he asked, quietly, after a time. 

Sofia withdrew a pensive gaze from the ruddy bed of coals. 

"For what?"

"You were kind enough to call it merely fibbing. "

"I'm still thinking about that. "

In fact, she had been thinking of nothing else. There was so much to beconsidered. Imprimis, that Karslake had been guilty of practising adeception upon her father. Deceit in itself was one form of treachery. Andhow often had Victor stressed to her the dangers of his position, surrounded by nameless but implacable enemies who would stick at no infamyto compass his ruin!

But if she told him that Karslake understood Chinese she would lose herfriend forever--no question about that. Victor would not hesitate aninstant--indeed, Sofia felt sure he was only waiting for some such pretextto get rid of his secretary. She was anything but unobserving, this childof Soho, whose wits had been sharpened in the sophisticated atmosphere of aFrench restaurant; and more than once she had seen Victor's face duplicatethe expression Papa Dupont's had so often assumed on his discovering thatsome patron of the café was taking too personal an interest in the prettyyoung dame du comptoir. A look of insensate jealousy ... 

To risk forfeiting the comradeship that had grown to be so dear? Or to beconstructively derelict in her duty as a daughter?

A difficult choice to make; but Sofia made it honestly. In point of fact, she assured herself, coldly, there was no choice, there was only one thingshe could do under the circumstances. And she hardened her heart and eyesas she rose to face Karslake on more equal terms. 

But when she saw him waiting patiently, with that friendly smile of his sheknew so well, she hesitated long enough to permit his anticipating her witha quiet question:

"Well, Princess Sofia?"

And then, amazingly, her tongue betrayed her, the phrases she had framed socarefully vanished utterly from out her mind; and she heard herself sayingin rather tremulous accents:

"It's all right. I shan't tell. "

"About my understanding Chinese?"

"Yes--about that. "

"Then you do care--?"

She was panicky with knowledge that somehow her emotions had managed toslip their moorings and get beyond her handling. It didn't help or mendmatters much to hear her own voice stammering:

"Yes, of course, I--I don't want you to--to have to go away--"

Oh, the vanity of trying to hoodwink him who knew so well what she was nowfor the first time realizing!

"Because you like me a little, Princess Sofia?"

"Why--yes--of course I do--"

"Because you know I love you, dear. "

And then she found herself clinging to Karslake; and his lips were warmupon her hands ... 

So suddenly and at long last it came to Sofia, that Love for which all herdays had been one long weariness of waiting, Love that brimmed withraptures what had been only aching emptiness and made the desert places toblossom as the rose. And the joy of it proved overmastering, sweeping heroff her feet and dazing her, leaving her breathless and thoughtless but forthe all-obscuring thought--at length she loved, and the one whom she lovedloved her!

And for a space she existed in an iridescent dream of happiness, withoutsense of relation to a material world, forgetful of the flight of time, lost to everything but her lover's arms and voice and lips. 

It might have been five minutes, it might have been sixty, before shebecame aware that Karslake was gently disengaging her hands. "Dearest, dearest!" she heard him say. "We must be sensible. That was the front door, I'm afraid. "

The meaning in his insistence presently began to penetrate, if vaguely, andshe suffered him to go from her a pace or two. But, still a little blindwith the beauty of the revelation that had been granted unto her, nothingthat met her gaze seemed to be in true focus except her lover's face: eventhe countenance of Victor swam into her ken as if blurred by veils of mist, its dour, forbidding look had no significance to her intelligence. Victorhimself, for that matter, was a figure without real consequence other thanas a symbol of the old order, the tedious old ways of the world from whichshe had magically escaped. 

A ring of sarcastic apology provided the only clue she got to the importof Victor's words. Sobered a trifle, her mental processes somewhat lessincoherent, still she knew she would hardly regain her poise until she wasalone. And breathing an excuse, she left the room with such dignity as shecould muster. 

In the hall, with the closed door behind her, she paused to collectherself. Then she missed furs and gloves and handbag and, remembering thatshe had left them in the study, for some obscure reason imagined she musthave them before proceeding to her room. 

Much more mistress of herself by now, it never occurred to Sofia that therecould be any reason why she should hesitate about returning or feelembarrassed before Victor. True, he had surprised them, Sofia was not atall sure he hadn't actually seen her in Karslake's arms. But what of that?Love like hers was nothing to be ashamed of; and that Victor couldreasonably object to her giving her heart to one of his secretaries wassomething far from her thought just then. 

She put a hand to the knob, turned it, and swung the door open--all onimpulse--then faltered, transfixed by the tableau before the fireplace. 

The door was silent on its hinges, and Karslake's back was to her. Victor, on the other hand, facing both Karslake and the door, unquestionably sawSofia, but pretended not to, and had his say out with Karslake in a mannerbitterly cynical. 

"... Sadly in error if you flatter yourself I pay you a wage to make loveto Sofia behind my back. "

"Sorry, sir. " Karslake's tone was level, respectful but firm. "Yourinstructions were, I believe, to win her confidence. Well--I have alwaysfound love the one sure key to a woman's confidence. Of course, if I hadunderstood you cared one way or the other--"

Sofia heard no more: unconsciously she had closed the door, at one and thesame time shutting from her sight Victor's exultant sneer and from herhearing the words with which the man whom she loved had damned himselfirretrievably and dashed her spirit from radiant pinnacles of ecstasy intothe profoundest black abyss of shame and despair. 

Primitive instinct bade the stricken girl seek her room and hide hersuffering there; but the shock had stunned her to the point of physicalweakness. Already a hand was pressed above her heart, that ached cruelly;and as she moved to cross to the foot of the staircase her knees gave underher. She clutched the newel-post for support, waiting to find strength forthe ascent. 

From the shadowed back part of the hall the man Nogam moved hastily intoview, his features twisted in a grimace of concern as he recognized thebleak misery of Sofia's face. His voice sounded strangely thin and remote. 

"Is there anything the matter, miss?--anything I can do?"

She contrived to shake her head slightly and utter an inarticulate soundof negation, then began slowly to mount the stairs. 

Below, Nogam stood watching, in a pose of indecision, as if tempted tofollow and offer the support of an arm lest she fall, restrained only byfear of a rebuff. But Sofia's leaden limbs carried her safely to the upperlanding, then on to the blessed shelter of her room, where she collapsedupon a chaise-longue and there lay in a stirless huddle, dry of eye butdeaf to the plaintive entreaties of Chou Nu and numb to all sensation butthe anguish of her humiliated heart. 

XII

SUSPECT

Toward mid-evening the man Victor Vassilyevski and his creature Sturm satwhere the lamp of hand-wrought brass made the top of the teakwood table anoasis of light amid a waste of shadows, their heads together over a vastglut of books and papers--maps printed and sketched, curious diagrams, works of reference, documents all dark with columns of figures andcabalistic writings intelligible only to initiated eyes. 

They had the study all to themselves. Nevertheless, when they spoke it wasin the discreet pitch of those who deal in fatal secrets. At a distance oftwo paces only a lip-reader could have caught the substance of theircommunications, and even such a one must have failed unless equally at homein German and in English. 

Aside from these occasional and circumspect voices, and the busy rustle ofa steel pen in the hand of Sturm, the quiet of the room had a tolerablyconstant background of sound in a subdued whisper punctuated by muffledclicks, emanating from the bronze casket that housed the telautographicapparatus. 

From time to time, as this noise temporarily suspended, Victor would getup, read what the mechanical stylus had inscribed, tear off the paper, andreturn to his chair. 

Some of the messages thus received he made known to Sturm, who invariablyacknowledged this courtesy with effusive gratitude, sometimes adding a fewwords of contented comment. Other messages Victor chose to keep to himself, silently setting fire to them and adding their brittle ashes to those oftheir predecessors on the brazen tray provided for the purpose. At suchtimes Sturm would bend lower over his work. But Victor was well able toguess what resentment glimmered in the eyes so studiously averted; and hiscold, sardonic smile more than once commented, unknown to Sturm, upon theaccuracy with which he read the mean workings of his "secretary's" mind. 

The buzz of a muted bell presently interrupted the even tenor of theirindustry, causing Sturm to start sharply, drop his pen, and slue round inhis chair, turning to Victor a livid face in which his dark eyes of afanatic were live embers of excitement. 

Without a sign to show he shared or even was aware of Sturm's emotion, Victor deliberately fished from beneath the table a telephone instrument, unhooked the receiver, and pronounced a conventional phrase of greeting. Tothis he added a short "Yes, " and after listening quietly for some seconds, "Very good--in twenty minutes, then. " Wasting no more time on the authorof the call, he hung up, returned the telephone to its place ofconcealment, and helped himself to a cigarette before deigning toacknowledge Sturm's persistent stare. 

Then, elevating his eyebrows in mild impatience, he made the laconicannouncement:

"Eleven. "

Sturm's mouth twitched nervously, his eyes burned with a keener fire. 

"Coming here? To-night?"

"Yes. "

"Then"--a gaunt hand described a gesture of agitation--"the hour strikes!"

Victor looked bored. 

"Who knows?" he replied, as who should say: "Does it matter?"

"But--Gott in Himmel--!"

"Sturm, " Victor interposed, critically, "if you Bolsheviki were a triflemore consistent, one might repose greater faith in your sincerity. But whenone hears you deny the Deity in one breath and call on him by name in thenext--!"

"A mere mode of speech, " Sturm muttered. 

"If you must invoke a spiritual patron, why not Satan? Or don't you believein the Powers of Darkness, either?"

"I believe in you. "

"As temporal viceroy of Lucifer? Many thanks! But you were about to say--?"

"Nothing. That is--I was envying your poise, Excellency. You take thingsso coolly. "

"Why not?"

"With Eleven coming here to tell us when we are to strike?"

"Why not?" Victor repeated. "We are prepared to strike at any hour. Whatmatters whether to-night or a week from to-night--since we cannot fail?"

"If that were only certain!"

"It rests with you. "

"That's just it, " Sturm doubted moodily. "Suppose _I_ fail?"

"Why, then--I suppose--you will die. "

"I know. And so will all of us, Excellency. "

"Oh, no. Undeceive yourself, my friend. I shall survive. You will surelydie, and perhaps many others with you; but I would not be Number One if Ihad turned my hand to this scheme without discounting failure first of all. My way of escape is sure. "

"I believe you, " Sturm grumbled. 

With a languid hand Victor found and pressed a button embedded in the tablenear the edge. 

"You have reason. Whatever my shortcomings, my good Sturm, they do notinclude hypocrisy; I do not pretend, like your noble Bolsheviki, I am inthis business for the sake of humanity or anything but my own selfishends--power, plunder"--a slight wait prefaced one final word, spoken in akey of sombre passion--"revenge. "

"Revenge?" Sturm echoed, staring. 

"I have more than one score to pay out before I can cry even with life ... One above all!"

Studying intently that darkened face, and misled by its look ofabstraction, Sturm was guilty of the indiscretion of his malicious smile. 

"The Lone Wolf?"

Victor turned weary eyes his way, and under their black and lustrelessregard the smile merged swiftly into a grin of nervous apology. 

"You are shrewd, " Victor observed, thoughtfully. "Be careful: it is adangerous gift. "

The man Nogam gently opened the door and approached the table, stoppingjust outside the area of illumination shed by the shaded lamp. But sinceVictor continued to smoke absently, paying no attention, Nogam resignedhimself to wait with entire patience: the perfect pattern of a servanttempered by long servitude to the erratic winds of employers' whims;efficient, assiduous, mute unless required to speak, long-suffering. 

Victor addressed him suddenly, in a sharp voice that drew from Sturm aglitter of eager spite. 

"Nogam!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is the Princess Sofia?"

"In 'er apartment, sir. "

"And Mr. Karslake?"

"In 'is. "

"Then be good enough to send Shaik Tsin to me. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And, Nogam!"--the servant checked in the act of turning--"I shan't needyou again to-night. "

"'Nk you, sir. "

When Nogam had left the room, Sturm, remarking the slight frown thatknitted Victor's brows, ventured an impertinence couched in a form ofrespectful enquiry:

"Excellency, perhaps you trust that fellow too much, hein?"

"You think so?"

"He is too perfect, if you ask me--never makes a false move. "

"Either he is what he seems, in which event a false move would be againstnature; or he is not, and knows one slip would mean his death. "

"Still, I maintain you trust him too much. "

"With what?"

"The freedom of your house, the opportunity to spy, to get to know whocomes to see you and when, to listen at doors. "

"You have caught him listening at doors?"

"Not yet. But in time--"

"I think not. I don't think he has to. "

"You mean, " Sturm stammered, perturbed, "you think he knows--suspects?"

"I think he is one thing or the other: merely Nogam, or one of the greatestof living actors. In either case he is flawless--thus far. But if notmerely Nogam, he will have a subtler means of eavesdropping than bylistening at doors. "

"The dictograph?"

"Make your mind easy about that. This room is searched regularly by ShaikTsin. So is Nogam's. It is certain there is neither a dictograph installedhere nor any means at Nogam's disposal for connecting with a dictographinstallation. Indeed, so closely is Nogam watched, and by more cunning eyesthan mine--sometimes I begin to be afraid he is simply what he seems. "

"Then you do suspect him!"

"My good Sturm, I suspect everybody. "

Sturm pondered this before pressing his point again. 

"Karslake found the fellow for you, " he suggested at length. 

"True. "

"And Karslake--"

"Has been guilty of nothing more treacherous than falling in love withSofia. "

"Your daughter, Excellency!"

"The young woman seems content to call herself that.... Can't say I blameKarslake. "

"But do you forgive him?"

"Ah, that is another matter. Mine is not a forgiving nature, Sturm--noteven toward excessive shrewdness. "

Victor took up a docket of papers, and Sturm, mumbling an apology, gavehimself up to jealous brooding till he forgot the broad hint he hadreceived. 

"If I can satisfy you that Nogam is untrustworthy--" he began, meaning tocontinue: _Karslake will stand his proved accomplice_. 

But Victor would not let him finish. "Nothing could please me more, " heinterrupted. "Do so, by all means--if you can--and earn my everlastinggratitude. "

Sturm questioned him with puzzled eyes. 

"I ask no greater service of any man, " Victor elucidated with a smile thatmade Sturm shiver, "than proof that Nogam is what I suspect him of being. "A hand extended upon the table unclosed and closed slowly, with fingerstensed, like a murderous claw. "I want no greater favour of Heaven orHell--!"

He broke off abruptly. Having entered noiselessly in his padded shoes, Shaik Tsin now stood before Victor, offering a low obeisance. 

"You took your time, " Victor grumbled. And Shaik Tsin smiled serenely. "Iwant you to tend the door to-night, " Victor pursued. "Eleven is expected atany moment. You need not announce him, simply show him in. "

"Hearing is obedience. "

"Wait"--as the Chinaman began to bow himself out--"Karslake is still in hisroom, I suppose?"

"Yes, master. "

"And Nogam?"

"Has just gone to his. "

"When did you last search their quarters?"

"During dinner. "

"And of course found nothing?" Shaik Tsin bowed. "Make sure neither leaveshis room to-night. Set a watch outside each door. "

"I have done so. "

Victor gave a sign of dismissal. 

XIII

THE TURNIP

In a spacious chamber beneath the eaves, hideously papered and furnishedwith cheerless, massive relics of the early Victorian era, the man Nogampursued methodical preparations for bed. 

Spying eyes, had there been any--and for all Nogam knew, there were--wouldhave seen him follow step by step a programme from whose order he haddeparted by scarcely as much as a single gesture on any night since hisfirst installation in the house near Queen Anne's Gate. 

Loosening the waistcoat of his evening livery, he freed the heavy silverwatchchain from its buttonhole, drew from its pocket an old-fashionedsilver watch of that obese style which first earned the portable timepieceits nickname of "turnip, " and opening its back inserted a key attached tothe other end of the chain. Its winding was a laborious process, prodigiously noisy. Once finished, Nogam shut the back with a loud click, and reverently deposited the watch on the marble slab of the black walnutbureau. 

Then he hung coat and waistcoat over the back of a chair which stoodbetween the foot of his bed and the door. Sheer chance may have decreedselection of this chair for the purpose on Nogam's first night in the room;whether or no, it was not in character that, having established thisprecedent, Nogam should depart from it. And in any event, the coat-drapedchair effectually eclipsed a possible keyhole view of the room. 

Notwithstanding, Nogam pursued his bedtime rites with precisely the samedeliberation and absence of perceptible self-consciousness as before. Onenever knew: there might be other peepholes in the walls. 

His trousers, neatly folded, he laid out on the seat of the chair. Then hepulled off square-toed boots with elastic inserts in their uppers, put on apair of worn slippers, carried the boots to the door and set them outside, closed the door, and turned the key in its lock. 

If aware that, by so doing, he made his privacy just as secure as if he hadfastened the door with a bent hair-pin, he gave evidence of no uneasinessin the knowledge. A clear conscience is the best of nerve tonics. 

Throughout, his features preserved their mild, subdued, dull habit withwhich the household was familiar. Nogam off duty was in no way differentfrom the unthinking creature of habit who performed belowstairs theprescribed functions of his office. 

Having donned a nightshirt of coarse cotton, he knelt for several minutesin a devout attitude by the side of his bed, then rising opened the window, took the turnip from the bureau, and snuggled it beneath his pillow, inserted his bare shanks between the sheets, and opened at a marked place aBible bound in black cloth. 

On the table by his shoulder a battered electric standard with a frayedcord and a dingy shade remained alight long enough to permit Nogam to spellout a short chapter. Then he put the Bible aside, yawned wearily, andswitched out the lamp. 

Profound darkness now possessed the room, immaterially modified by thelight-struck sky beyond the windows. And in this grateful obscurity Nogampermitted himself the luxury of ceasing to be Nogam. A light suddenlyflashed upon his face would have discovered a keen and alert intelligencetransfiguring the apathetic mask of every day. Also, it would have renderedNogam's probable duration of life an interesting speculation. 

Under cover of the darkness, furthermore, he did a number of things whichNogam, qua Nogam, would never have dreamed of doing. 

His first act was to withdraw from under his pillow the turnip, his next tore-open the back of its silver case and then the inner lid--something whicha deft thumbnail accomplished without a sound. 

From the roomy interior of the case--whose bulky ancient works had beenreplaced by a wafer-thin modern movement, leaving much useful space backof the dial--sensitive fingers extracted a metal disk about the size andthickness of a silver dollar. One face of this disk was generouslyperforated, the other, solid, boasted a short blunt post round whichseveral feet of extremely fine wire had been coiled. 

Unwinding the wire and bending the free end into the form of a rude hook, the man attached this last to the cord of his bedside lamp at a point, located by sense of touch, where a minute section of electric light wirehad been left naked by defective insulation. 

Direct connection now being established with a microphone secreted in thebase of the brass lamp on the study table, three floors below, and theperforated side of the microphone detector serving as an earpiece, onecould hear every word uttered by the conspirators. 

The man in bed contributed a broad smile to the kind darkness--sheer luxuryto facial muscles cramped and constrained to the cast of Nogam for eighteenhours a day. He was now at last to reap the reward of three months ofpreparation and three weeks of ingenious, but necessarily spasmodic, and atall times desperately dangerous, tampering with the house wiring system. 

He lay very still for a long time, listening ... 

XIV

CONFERENCE OF THE DAMNED

An Irish voice was making the hush of the study musical with mellowcadences. 

"This week-end sure, your Excellency--within the next three nights--thelittle Welshman will be after summoning the Cabinet to sit in secret inDowning Street, with His Most Gracious Majesty attending in person; theemergency extraordinary being thoughtfully provided by this shindig meamiable but spirited fellow-countrymen are kicking up across theChannel--God bless the work!"

The speaker laughed lightly, flashing white teeth at Prince Victor acrossthe width of the paper-strewn table. 

"In more Parliamentary language, by the Irish Question. But we'll hear nomore of that, I'm thinking, once we've proclaimed the Soviet Government ofEngland. "

Victor bowed in grave assent. 

"You have my word as to that, " he said; and after a moment of thoughtfulconsideration: "You speak, no doubt, from the facts?"

"I do that. It's straight I've come from the House of Commons to bring youthe news without an hour's delay. There's more than one advantage in beingan Irish Member these days. "

"On the other hand, Eleven"--Victor stressed the numeral as if to remindthe Irishman that even a Member of Parliament for Ireland held no higherstanding in his esteem than any other underling in his association ofanonymous conspirators--"even so, it appears you are uncertain as to thenight. "

"I'm after telling you it'll be to-morrow night or more likelySaturday--Sunday at the latest. " A mildly impatient accent alone betrayedresentment of the snub. "I'll know in good time, long before the hourappointed; and that ought to do, providing you on your part are prepared. "

"An hour's notice will be ample, " Victor agreed. "We have been ready fordays, needing only the knowledge you bring us--or will, when you have itdefinitely. "

The Irishman chuckled. 

"It's hard to believe. Not that I'd dream of doubting your statement, sir--but yourself won't be denying you must have worked fast to organizeEngland for revolution in less than three weeks. "

"I have been busy, " Victor admitted. "But the work was not so difficult ... Seeds of revolution are easily sown in land thoroughly tilled by forces ofdiscontent. And what land has been better tilled? To vary the figure:England is all seething beneath a thin crust of custom and establishedhabit whose integrity a conservative and reactionary government has eversince the war been struggling desperately to preserve. The blow we shallstrike within three days will shatter that crust in a hundred places. "

"And let Hell loose!" the Irishman added with a nervous laugh. 

In a dry voice Victor commented: "Precisely. "

"Omelettes, " Sturm interjected, assertively, "are not made without breakingeggs. "

"And all rivers, no doubt, flow to the sea? What a lot you know, HerrSturm! Is it the Portfolio of the Minister of Education you've picked outfor your very own, after the explosion comes off--if it's a fair question?"

"You Irish are all mad, " the German complained, sourly--"mad aboutlaughing. Even me you will laugh at, while you trust your very life to me, while you trust to my genius to make Soviet England possible and Irelandfree. "

"Faith! you're away off there, me friend. If it was you and your genius Ihad to trust, it's meself would turn violent reactionary and advise Irelandto be a good dog and come to England's heel and lick England's hand andlive off England's leavings. I'll trust nobody in this black business buthimself--Number One. "

"You have changed your tune since that night at the Red Moon, " Sturmreminded him, angrily. 

"I had me lesson then and there, " Eleven agreed, cheerfully. "And I don'tmind telling you, the next time I'm taken with a fancy to call me soul meown, I'll be after asking himself first for a license. "

Victor put a period to the passage with a dispassionate "By your leave, gentlemen--that will do. " To the Irishman he added: "You understand thedanger, I believe, of remaining within the condemned area--that is to say, except in the open air?"

"Can't say I do, altogether. "

"It is simple: no person in any house supplied by the mains of theWestminster gas works will be safe for hours after the formula of Thirteenhas begun its work. My advice to you is to keep out of the districtentirely. "

"Faith, and I'll do that! But how about yourself in this house?"

"I shall spend the week-end outside of London, " Victor replied, "not toofar away, of course, and"--the shadow of his satiric smile was brieflyvisible--"prepared at any moment to answer the call of my strickencountry.... The few who remain here will be provided with the essentialsfor their protection. Furthermore, a general warning will be sent out toall who can be trusted. "

"And the others--?"

"With them it must be as Fate wills. "

"Women and children, potential sympathizers and supporters of all classes?"the Irishman persisted in incredulous horror--"all?"

"All, " Victor affirmed, coldly. "We who deal in the elemental passionsthat make revolutions, that is to say, in Life and Death, cannot affordqualms and scruples. What are a few lives more or less in London? TheseBritish breed like rabbits. "

"I see, " said Eleven, indistinctly. He stared a moment and swallowed hard, then glanced hastily at his watch. "I'll be after bidding you good-night, "he said, "and pleasant dreams. For meself, I'm a fool if I go to bed thisnight sober enough to dream at all, at all!"

Victor rang for Shaik Tsin to show him out. 

"One question more, if you won't take it amiss, " Eleven suggested, lingering. And Victor inclined a gracious head. "Have you thought offailure?"

"I have thought of everything. "

"Well, and if we do fail--?"

"How, for example?"

"How do I know what hellish accident may kick our plans into a cocked hat?Anything might happen. There's your friend, the Lone Wolf, forinstance ... "

"Have you not forgotten him yet?" Victor enquired in simulated surprise. "Have you neglected to remark that since the blunderer failed to find theCouncil Chamber that night, when his raid at the Red Moon netted him only ahandful of coolie gamblers and drug-addicts, he has left us to our owndevices?"

"That's what makes me wonder what the divvle's up to. His sort are never sodangerous as when apparently discouraged. " "Be reassured. I promised youthree weeks ago his interference would not continue beyond that night. Ithas not. Lanyard knows I have his daughter, that any blow aimed at me mustfirst strike her. "

"Doubtless yourself knows best.... "

With the Irishman gone, Prince Victor turned to Sturm. 

"You will want a good night's sleep, " he suggested with pointed solicitude. "Who knows but that to-morrow will bring your night of nights, my friend?"

He lapsed immediately into remote abstraction, sitting with chin bent tothe tips of his joined fingers, his eyes downcast, motionless. 

Disgruntled, but afraid to show it, the German cleared away the litter ofpapers, assorting them into huge portfolios, and took himself off. ShaikTsin replaced him, moving noiselessly about the room, restoring thereference books to the shelves and stowing the portfolios away in a massivesafe hidden behind a lacquered screen. This done, he stationed himselfbefore his master, awaiting his attention, a shape of affable placidity, intelligent, at ease; his attitude not entirely lacking a suggestion offamiliarity. 

Without changing his pose by so much as the lifting of an eyelash, Victorspoke in Chinese:

"To-morrow afternoon, late, I shall motor down into the country with thegirl Sofia. I shall be gone three days--perhaps. I will leave a telephonenumber with you, to be used only in emergency. As soon as I have left, youwill dismiss all the English servants, with a quarter's wage in advance inlieu of notice. Karslake will provide the money. "

"He does not accompany you?"

"No. "

"And the man Nogam?"

Victor appeared to hesitate. "What do you think?" he enquired at length. 

"What I have always thought. "

"That he is a spy?"

"Yes. "

"But with no tangible support for your suspicions?"

"None. "

"You have not failed to watch him closely?"

"As a cat watches a mouse. "

"But--nothing?"

"Nothing. "

"Yet I agree with you entirely, Shaik Tsin. I smell treachery. "

"And I. "

"Nogam shall go with me as my bodyservant. Thus I shall be able to keep aneye on him. Let Chou Nu be prepared to accompany us as maid to the girlSofia. In my absence you will be guided by such further instructions as Imay leave with you. These failing, consider the man Sturm, my personalrepresentative. In the contingency you know of, Sturm will warn you in timeto clear the house. "

"Of everybody?"

"Of all servants except those whom you may need to guard the man Karslake. These and yourself will be provided with means of self-protection bySturm. "

"And Karslake?"

"I have not yet made up my mind. "

"Hearing is obedience. "

Victor relapsed into another reverie which lasted so long that even thepatience of Shaik Tsin bade fair to fail. In the end the silence was brokenby two words:

"The crystal. "

From a cabinet at the end of the room Shaik Tsin brought a crystal ballsupported on the backs of three golden dragons standing tail to tail, superbly wrought examples of Chinese goldsmithing. This he placed carefullyon the black teakwood surface at Victor's elbow. 

"And now, inform the girl Sofia I wish to see her. "

"And if she again sends her excuses?"

"Say, in that event, I shall be obliged to come to her room. "

XV

INTUITION

She had not thought, of course, of going down to dinner; she had, instead, sent Victor word simply that she begged to be excused from joining him forthat meal. Then, unable longer to endure Chou Nu's efforts to comfort ordistract her, Sofia had stepped out of her street frock and into a négligéeand, dismissing the maid, returned to the chaise-longue upon which, in vainhope of being able to cry out the wretchedness of her heart, she had thrownherself on first gaining the sanctuary of her room. 

For hours, she did not guess how many, she scarcely stirred. Neither wasthe blessed boon of tears granted unto her. Alone with her immense andimmitigable misery, she lay in darkness tempered only by the dim skyshinethat filtered through the window draperies; hating life, that had no mercy;hating the duplicity that had led Karslake into making untrue love to her, but inexplicably not hating Karslake himself, or the enshrined image thatwore his name; hating herself for her facile readiness to give love whereall but the guise of love was lacking, and for knowing this deep hurtwhere she should have felt only scorn and anger; but hating, most of all, or rather for the first time discovering how well she hated, him to whomunerring intuition told her she owed this brimming measure of heartbreakand humiliation, the man who called himself her father. 

For if Karslake had done her a cruel wrong in winning her avowal of thelove that had been growing in her heart these many weeks, while he wasmerely amusing himself or serving a secret purpose--whose was the initialblame for that?

Who had egged Karslake on, as he had asserted, "to win her confidence, "leaving to him the choice of means to that end?

And--_why_?

The formulation of this question marked the turning point in Sofia'sdescent toward the nadir of shame and anguish; from the moment itssignificance was clearly apprehended (but it took her long to reach thisstage) the complexion of her thoughts took on another colour, and the smartof chagrin was soothed even as the irritation excited by criticalexamination of Victor's conduct grew more acute. 

Why should the self-styled author of her being have thought it necessary, or even wise or kind, to commission a paid employee to win his daughter'sconfidence?

What had rendered the conquest of her confidence so needful in his sight?

What had made him think Sofia would prove loath to resign it to him, ormore likely to give it to another?

Why had Victor hesitated to bid for her confidence with his own tongue, onhis own merits?

One would think that, if he were her father--

If!

_Was_ he?

Sofia sat up sharply, her young body as taut as her temper. Pulses andbreathing quickened, intent eyes probed the shadows as if she thought towrest from them a clue to the mystery of her status in the household ofVictor Vassilyevski. 

What proof had she that he was her father?

None but his word.... Well, and Karslake's.... None that would stand thetest of skepticism, none that either sentiment or reason could offer andsupport. Certainly she resembled Prince Victor in no respect that she couldthink of, not in person, not in mould of character, not in ways of thought. From the very first she had been perplexed, and indeed saddened, by herfailure, her sheer inability, to react emotionally to their allegedrelationship. And surely there must exist between parent and child somesort of spiritual bond or affinity, something to draw them together--evenif neither had never known the other. Whereas she on her part had neverbeen conscious of any sense of sympathy with Victor, but only of timidityand reluctance which had latterly manifested in unquestionable aversion. And then there was his attitude toward her, raising a question sorepugnant to her understanding that never before to-night had Sofiaadmitted its existence and given it the freedom of her thoughts. 

She had seen men, in the Café des Exiles, toast their mistresses with suchlooks as Victor Vassilyevski reserved for the girl whom he claimed as hischild. 

What, then, if he were not her father?

What if he had only pretended to paternal rights in furtherance of somedeep scheme of his?--perhaps thinking to use her as a pawn in that darkplot which he was forever brewing in his study (with canaille like Sturmfor collaborators!) that mysterious "research work" that flavoured theatmosphere of the house with a miasmatic reek of intrigue, stealth, andfear--perhaps (more simply and terribly) designing in his own time and wayto avenge himself upon the daughter for the admitted slights he hadsuffered at the hands of the mother, that poor dead woman whose fame henever ceased to blacken while still her memory was potent to kindle firesin those eyes otherwise so opaque, impenetrable, and lightless!

Now Sofia found herself unable to sit still; only through action of somesort could she hope to win any measure of ease for brain and nerves. Athought was shaping, claiming precedence over all others, the thought offlight; bred of the feeling that, as long as she remained in ignorance ofthe exact truth concerning their relationship, it was impossible for her toremain longer under Victor's roof, eating his bread and salt, schoolingherself to suffer his endearments whose good faith she could not helpchallenging, who inspired in her only antipathy, fear, and distrust. 

It seemed clear beyond dispute that she must leave his protection, thisvery night, before he could guess her mind and move to check her. 

Sofia swung her feet down to the floor. One of her silken mules had fallenoff. Semi-consciously she groped for it with stockinged toes. As theinanimate will, the mule eluded recapture with impish ease. But beneath herfoot something rustled and crackled lightly. She bent over and picked itup: a square white envelope, sealed. 

Switching on a lamp near by, she examined her find. It carried no address. How it could have got there she could not imagine ... Unless Chou Nu haddropped it by inadvertence, which seemed as far-fetched as to suppose shehad left it there by design; for that would mean Chou Nu had been bribed toconvey a surreptitious note to her mistress; and Sofia knew that theChinese girl was at once too loyal to her "second-uncle, " and too much inawe of "Number One, " to be corruptible. 

None the less, there the envelope was; and nobody but Chou Nu had enteredthe room since Sofia had come straight from the study to it, late in theafternoon. 

It was just possible, however--Sofia's eyes measured the distance--that adeft hand and a strong wrist might have slipped the envelope under thedoor and sent it skimming across the floor to the foot of thechaise-longue. 

But nobody would have dared do that without a powerful motive for wishingto communicate secretly with Sofia. 

She tore the flap and withdrew a single sheet of notepaper penned in a handshe knew too well. Her heart leapt.... 

I implore you, of your charity, do not condemn me without a hearing becauseof anything you may have overheard me say. After you left us in the study Isaw his eyes watching the door while we talked, and knew from his look thatsomething to please him had happened behind my back. And in the temper hewas in only one thing could possibly have pleased him. 

I said what I said to him, dear, because I had to--or lose the right, dearer to me than life, to be near you, to serve and protect you. I lied tohim because I loved you. But I have never lied to you about my love--andonly once, through necessity, about anything else. Perhaps you can guesswhat that lie was, somehow I rather think you do; at least, I am sure, youare beginning to wonder if I told the truth--or knew it, then. 

If this sound cryptic, I can only beg you to be patient and charitableuntil I find opportunity to clear away this one lie which stands betweenus--and which is, by comparison, almost immaterial, since all that mattersis the one great truth in my life, that I love you beyond all telling. 

R. K. 

If questions trouble your mind, I beg you do not let him know it. Your onlysafety now lies in his continuing to believe that you are unsuspicious. Above all, do your best to seem to fall in with his wishes, however strangeor unreasonable they may seem. It will be only a few days more before I canclaim you for my own, and laugh at his pretensions. 

A curious love-letter; yet it was Sofia's first. If it made herthoughtful, it made her illogically happy as well. If it put the issue toher squarely, of loyalty to Prince Victor or loyalty to Karslake, she wasunaware that she had any choice of courses. When Shaik Tsin thumped thepanels of her door, she crushed the note into the bosom of her négligéebefore answering. 

When one is of an age to love, it is never the parent who gets the benefitof a doubt. 

XVI

THE CRYSTAL

Like some shy, sad shade summoned up by the malign genius of a hauntedchamber, a slender shape of pallor in softly flowing draperies slippedthrough the silent door and, advancing a few reluctant steps into thesoundless gloom, paused and in apprehensive diffidence awaited the welcomethat was for a time withheld. 

For minutes Victor gave no sign or stir; and in all the room nothing movedbut ghostly whorls of smoke writhing slowly upward from a pungent censer ofbeaten gold. 

The great lamp of brass was dark, and there was no other light than asolitary bulb, whose hooded rays were concentrated upon the crystal ball, so that the latter shone with a dead-white glare, somehow baleful, like anelfin moon deeply lost in a sea of sombre enchantment. 

Bending forward in his chair, an elbow planted on the table, his foreheadresting upon the tips of long, white fingers, Victor's gaze was steadfastto the crystal. Refracted light sculptured with curious shadows thatsaturnine face intent to immobility. 

Too young, too inexperienced and sensitive to be insusceptible to thespell of the theatrical, the girl was conscious of a steady ebb of hernew-found store of fortitude, skepticism, and defiance, together with anequally steady inflow of timidity and uneasiness. That sinister figure atthe table, absorbed in study of the inscrutable sphere--what did he seethere, to hold his faculties in such deep eclipse? Adept in black arts ofthe Orient as he was said to be, what wizardry was he brewing with the aidof that traditional tool of the necromancer? What spectacle of divinationwas in those pellucid depths unfolding to his rapt vision? And what hadthis consultation of the occult to do with the man's mind concerningherself?

Sofia was shaken by a tremor of dread.... 

And as if her emotion were somehow communicated, arousing him to knowledgeof her presence, Victor started, sat back, and with a sigh passed a handacross his eyes. When the hand fell, his face wore its habitual look forSofia, modified by a slightly apologetic and weary smile. 

"My child!" he exclaimed in accents of contrite surprise, "have I kept youwaiting long?"

"Only a few minutes. It doesn't matter. "

But her voice seemed sadly small and thin in comparison with Victor'srotund and measured intonations. 

"Forgive me. " Victor rose, nodding to indicate the shining crystal. "I havebeen consulting my familiar, " he said with a light laugh. "You have heardof crystal-gazing? A fascinating art that languishes in undeserved neglect. The ancients were more wise, they knew there was more in Heaven andEarth.... You are incredulous? But I assure you, I myself, though far fromproficient, have caught strange glimpses of unborn events in the heart ofthat transparent enigma. "

He took her hands and cuddled them in his own. 

She quivered irrepressibly to his touch. 

"But you are trembling!" he protested, solicitous, looking down into herface--"you are wan and sad, my dear. Tell me you are not ill. "

"It is nothing, " Sofia replied--again in that faint, stifled voice. Sheadded in determined effort to subdue her trembling and turn their talk toessentials: "You sent for me--I am here. "

"I am so sorry. If I had guessed ... " Enlightenment seemed to dawn all atonce. "But surely it isn't because of that stupid business with Karslake?Surely you didn't take him seriously?"

"How should I--?"

"It is too absurd. The poor fool misconstrued my instructions to makehimself agreeable--I am so taken up with the gravest matters at present, Ididn't want you to feel lonely or neglected--and, it appears, felt itincumbent upon him to flirt with you as a matter of duty. I am out oftemper with him, but not unreasonable; I shan't dispense with his servicesaltogether, without more provocation, but will find other work to keep himbusy and out of your way. You need fear no more annoyance from thatquarter. "

"I was not annoyed, " Sofia found heart to contend. "I--like him. "

"Nonsense!" Victor's laugh was rich with derision. "Don't ask me to believeyou were actually touched by the fellow's play-acting. You--mydaughter--wasting emotion on a mere commoner! The thing is too ridiculous. Oblige me by thinking no more about it. I have better things in store foryou. "

"Better than--love?" the girl questioned with grave eyes. 

"When the time comes for that, you shall find a worthier parti than poorKarslake, well-meaning though he may be. Moreover, you heard--forgive mefor reminding you--there was not an ounce of sincerity in all hisphilandering for you to hold in sentimental recollection. So--forgetKarslake, please. It is a duty you owe your own pride and my dignity; itis, furthermore, my wish. "

She bowed her head, that he might not see the reflection in her face of theglow that warmed her bosom, where Karslake's letter nestled. But Victortook the nod for the word of submission, and patted her shoulder with anindulgent hand, guiding her to a chair close by his. 

"Sit down, my dear. I want to explain why I asked you to come to me at thislate hour--never dreaming my message would find you so overwrought.... Youquite see how needless it was to permit yourself to be upset by such atrifling matter, don't you?"

"Oh, quite, " Sofia murmured, with gaze fixed on the interlacing fingers inher lap. 

"That is sensible. " Offering her shoulder one last accolade of approbation, Victor moved toward his own chair. "And now that you are here, we may aswell have our little talk out, " he continued, but broke off to stipulate:"If, that is, you are sure you feel up to it?"

"Yes, " Sofia assented, but without moving. 

"I am not so sure. Perhaps a glass of wine might do you good. "

"Oh, no!" the girl protested--"I don't need it, really. "

But Victor wouldn't listen; and disappearing into shadowed distances, returned presently with a brimming goblet. 

"Drink this, dear. It will make you feel quite fit again. "

Obediently, Sofia raised the goblet to her lips. 

"You have never tasted a wine like that, " Victor insisted, smiling down ather. 

It was true enough, what he claimed; though it had something of characterof a sound old Madeira, this wine had more, a surpassing richness, afruitiness in no way cloying, a peculiarly aromatic taste and fragrance, elusive and provoking, with a hint of bitterness never to be analyzed bythe most experienced palate. 

"What is it?" Sofia asked after her first sip. 

"You like it, eh? An old wine of China, unknown to Western Europe. " Victorgave it a musical name in what Sofia took to be Chinese. "Outside mycellars, I'll wager there's not another bottle of it this side ofConstantinople. Drink it all. It will do you good. "

He seated himself. "And now my reason for wishing to talk with youto-night.... A note came by the last delivery from Lady Randolph West. Youmet her, I understand, through Sybil Waring, a few days ago. She wasapparently much taken with you. "

"She is very kind. "

Victor had found a sheet of notepaper and, bending to the light, wassearching its scrawled lines with narrowed eyes. 

"'Too lovely, ' she calls you--and quite justly, my dear. Yes; here it is:'Too lovely for words. ' And she wants me to bring my 'charming daughter'down to Frampton Court for this week-end. "

Sofia said nothing, but put her half-empty glass aside. The wine had doneher good, she thought. She felt better, stronger, mentally more alert, andat the same time curiously soothed. 

Victor refolded the note and tapped the table with it, holding Sofia withspeculative eyes. 

"It should be amusing, " he said, thoughtfully, "a new experience for you. Elaine--I mean Lady Randolph West, of course--is a charming hostess, andnever fails to fill Frampton Court with delightful people. "

"I'm sure I should love it. "

"I am sure you would. And yet ... I may have been a little premature, sinceI have already written accepting the invitation. " He indicated an addressedenvelope face up on the table. "But on second thoughts, it seemed perhapswiser to consult you first. "

"But if it is your wish, I must go, " Sofia replied, mindful of Karslake'sinjunction not to oppose Victor. "What have I to say--?"

"Everything about whether we accept or do not--or if not everything, atleast the final word. I must abide by your decision. "

"But I shall be only too glad--"

"Think a moment. It might be wiser not to go. You alone can say. "

"I don't quite understand ... "

Victor sighed. "It is a painful subject, " he said, slowly--"one I hesitateto reopen. But we can never profit by closing our minds to facts; I mean, to the reality of the danger which is always with us, since it is withinus. "

"What danger?" Sofia enquired, sullenly, knowing the answer too well beforeit was spoken. 

"The danger of sudden temptation to indulge the lawless appetites withwhich heredity has endued us--me from the nameless forebears whom I neverknew, you directly from parents both of whom boasted criminal records. "

"I don't believe it!" Sofia declared, passionately--"I can't believe it, Iwon't! Even if you are--"

She was going on to say "if you are my father, " but caught herself in time. Had not Karslake warned her in his note: "_Your only safety now lies in hiscontinuing to believe that you are unsuspicious. _" She continued in atempest of expostulation whose fury covered her break:

"Even if you were once a thief and my mother--my mother!--everything vile, as you persist in trying to make me believe--God knows why!--it is possibleI may still have failed to inherit your criminal tendencies; and not onlypossible, but true, if I know myself at all. For I have never felt thetemptation to steal that you insist I must have inherited from you--nor anyother inclination toward things as mean, contemptible, and dishonourable asthey are dishonest!"

With only his slow, forbearing smile by way of comment, Victor heard herout, but when she paused to reassort her thoughts, lifted a temporizinghand. 

"Not yet, perhaps, " he said, gently. "There is always the first time withevery rebel against man-made laws. But, where the predisposition soindubitably exists, it is inevitable, soon or late it must come to you, mydear--the time when the will is too weak, temptation too strong. Againstit we must be forever on our guard. "

"I am not afraid, " Sofia contended. 

"Naturally; you will not be before the hour of ordeal which shall proveyour strength or your weakness, your confidence in yourself, or my lovingfears for you. "

Sofia gave a gesture of weariness and confusion. What did it matter? If hewould have it so, let him: it couldn't affect the issue in any way, what hebelieved, or for his own purposes pretended to believe. Had not Karslakepromised ... 

She tried to recall precisely what it was that Karslake had promised, butfound her memory of a sudden singularly sluggish. In fact, her mind seemedto have lost its marvellous clarity of those first moments after tastingthe wine of China. Small wonder, when one remembered the emotional strainshe had experienced since early evening!

"Still, " she argued, stubbornly, "I don't see what all this has to do withLady Randolph West's invitation. "

"Only that to accept means to expose you to the greatest temptation one canwell imagine. "

Sofia stared blankly. Her wits were working even more slowly and heavilythan before. And the glare in her eyes from the luminous sphere of crystalwas irritating. Almost without thinking, she lifted her glass again; whenshe put it down it was empty. 

"The jewels of Lady Randolph West, " Victor went on to explain without herprompting, "are considered the most wonderful in England; always excepting, of course, the Crown jewels. "

"What is that to me?"

Resentment sounded in her tone. She was thinking more readily once more, thanks to that second magical draught, but was nevertheless conscious of ageneral failing of powers drained by her great fatigue. She wished devoutlythat Victor would have done and let her go.... 

"Elaine is very careless, leaves her jewels scattered about, hardlytroubles to put them away securely at night. If you should be tempted toappropriate anything, she might not discover her loss for days; and then, again, she might. And if you were caught--consider what shame anddisgrace!"

"I think I see, " the girl said, slowly, after some difficult thinking. "Youdon't want me to go. "

"To the contrary, I do--but I want more than anything else in the worldthat my daughter should be sure of herself and fall into no irreparableerror. "

"But I am sure of myself--I have told you that. "

"Then let us fret no more about it, but accept, and go prepared to enjoyourselves. I will send the letter. "

Victor rang, and Shaik Tsin presented himself so quickly that Sofiawondered dully where he could have been waiting. In the room with them, perhaps? It wasn't impossible. The Chinaman's thick soles of felt enabledhim to move about without making the least noise. 

"Have this posted immediately. "

Shaik Tsin bowed deeply, and backed away with the letter. Unless she turnedto watch him, Sofia could not say whether he left the room or not. 

She offered to rise. 

"If that is all ... "

"Not quite. There are certain details to be arranged; and I may not see youagain before we leave to-morrow afternoon. We will motor down to FramptonCourt--it's not far, little more than an hour by train--starting about halfafter four, if you can be ready. "

"Oh, yes. "

"Sybil Waring will tell you what to take, and Chou Nu will see to yourpacking. Both, by the way, will accompany us. Sybil's maid will follow bytrain. For myself, I am taking Nogam--having found that English servants donot take kindly to my Chinese valet. "

"Yes ... " Sofia uttered, listlessly, wondering why this information shouldbe considered of interest to her. 

"And one thing more: I am forgiven? You are not cross with me?"

"Why should I be?"

"Because of what happened this afternoon--when I scolded Karslake formaking love to you. "

"Oh, " said Sofia with a good show of indifference--she was sotired--"that!"

"Believe me, little Sofia"--Victor put out a hand to hers, and held hereyes with a compelling gaze--"boy-and-girl romance is all very well, butthere is a greater destiny reserved for you than marriage to a hiredsecretary, however amiable, personable, and well-meaning. You must prepareyourself to move in a world beyond and above the common hearthstone ofbourgeois domesticity. "

The girl shook a bewildered head. 

"It is a riddle?" she asked, wearily. 

"A riddle?" Victor echoed. "Why, one may safely term it that. Is not theFuture always a riddle? Nature knows the Future as the Past, but Natureholds it secret, lest man go mad with too much knowledge. Only to the few, the favoured, does she grant rare glimpses through media which she hasprovided for the use of the initiate--such as this crystal here, in which Iwas studying your future, when you came in, the high future I plan foryou. "

"And--you won't tell me?"

"I may not. It is forbidden. Nature deals unkindly with those who violateher confidence. But--who knows?"

He checked himself as if struck by a new turn of thought, and studied thegirl's face intently. 

"Who knows?" he repeated, as if to himself. 

"What--?"

"It is quite within the bounds of possibility, " Victor mused, "that youshould have inherited some of the psychic power which was born in me. Perhaps--who knows?--to you as well Nature will be supple and disclose hersecrets.... If you care to seek her favour?"

"But--how?"

"By consulting the crystal. "

Sofia's eyes sought that coldly burning stone. Her head was so heavy, shehesitated, oppressed by misgivings without shape that she could name, phases of formless timidity having rise in some source which she was tootired to search out. 

But she lingered and continued to stare at the crystal. 

"Why not?" Victor's accents were gently persuasive. "At worst, you can onlyfail. And if you do not fail, it will make me happy to think that you havebeen given a little insight into my dreams for you. "

"Yes, " Sofia assented in a whisper--"why not?"

Victor drew her forward by the hand. 

"Look, " he said "look deep! Divest your mind as nearly as you can of allthought--let the crystal give up its message to a mind devoid of prejudice, its receptiveness unimpaired. Think of nothing, if you can manageit--simply look and see. "

Automatically to a degree the girl obeyed, already in a phase ofcrepuscular hypnosis, her surface senses dulled by the potent "wine ofChina. " And watching her closely, Victor permitted himself a smile ofsatisfaction as he noted the rapidity with which she yielded to thehypnogenic spell of the translucent quartz; how her breathing quickened, then took on a measured tempo like that of a sleeper; how a faint flushwarmed the unnatural pallor of her cheeks, how her dilate eyes grew fixedin an unwinking stare, and slightly glassed.... 

Under her regard the goblin sphere took on with bewildering rapiditychanging guises. Its rotundity was first lost, it assumed the semblance ofa featureless disk of pallid light, which swiftly widened till it obscuredall else, then seemed to advance upon and envelope her bodily, so that shebecame spiritually a part of it, an atom of identity engulfed in a limpidworld of glareless light, light that had had no rays and issued from nosource but was circumambient and universal. Then in its remote heart aweird glow of rose began to burn and grow, pulsing through all the coloursof the spectrum and beyond. Toward this she felt herself being drawnswiftly, attracted by an irresistible magnetism, riding the wings of agreat wind, whose voice boomed without ceasing, like a heavy surfthunderously reiterating one syllable, "_Sleep!_" ... And in this flightthrough illimitable space toward a goal unattainable, consciousness grewfaint and flickered out like a candle in the wind. 

Behind her chair the placid yellow face of Shaik Tsin appeared, as ifmaterialized bodily out of the shadows. With folded arms he waited, dispassionately observant. Presently Prince Victor nodded to him over thehead of the girl. Immediately the Chinaman moved round her chair and, employing both hands, in one instant switched off the hooded bulb andreilluminated the lamp of brass. 

As the light died out in the crystal Sofia sighed heavily, and relaxed. Leaden eyelids closed down over her staring eyes, she sank back into thechair, simultaneously into plumbless depths.... 

Victor made a sound of gratification. Shaik Tsin enquired briefly:

"It is accomplished, then?"

Victor nodded. "She yielded more quickly than I had hoped--worn outemotionally, of course. "

"She sleeps--"

"In hypnosis, in absolute suspense of every faculty and function save thoseconcerned solely with the maintenance of existence--in a state, that is, comparable only to the pre-natal life of a child. "

"It is most interesting, " Shaik Tsin admitted. "But what is the use? Thatis what interests me. "

"Wait and see. "

Bending close to the girl, Victor called in a strong voice of command:"Sofia! Sofia! It is I, Prince Victor, your father. Waken and attend!"

A slight spasm shook the slender body, the lips parted, respiration becamehurried and broken, the long lashes fluttered on the cheeks. 

"Do you hear me? I, Victor, command you: Waken and attend!"

Another struggle, more brief and sharp, ended with the opening of theeyes, which sought and remained steadfast to Victor's, yet withoutintelligence or animation. 

"Do you hear me, Sofia?"

A voice like a sigh rustled on the parted lips, whose stir wasimperceptible:

"I hear you.... "

"Then heed what I say. My will is your law. You know that?"

Faintly the voice breathed: "Yes. "

"Tell me what it is you know. "

"Your will is my law. "

"You will not resist my will, you cannot. Tell me that. "

"I will not resist your will, I cannot. "

"Good. I, Prince Victor Vassilyevski, am your father. You believe that. Doyou understand? Tell me what you believe. "

"I believe that you, Prince Victor Vassilyevski, are my father. "

"You will not forget these things?"

"I shall not forget. "

"In all things. "

"I will obey you in all things. "

"Without question or faltering. "

"Without question or faltering. "

"You recall what arrangements we made this afternoon for to-morrow?"

"I remember. "

"Listen carefully. Memorize my wishes with respect to our visit toFrampton Court, remembering that I communicate my will, which you mustobey. "

The girl remained silent, waiting. Victor took a moment to marshall histhoughts, then proceeded:

"After arriving at Frampton Court, you will make occasion quietly to findout how your room is situated in relation to the boudoir of Lady RandolphWest. You will do this without knowing why you do it. You understand?"

"Yes. "

"At night, on going to bed, you will go promptly to sleep. After an houryou will wake up, put on a dressing gown and slippers, and proceed to LadyRandolph West's boudoir, taking care not to be observed. Is that clear?"

"Yes. "

"Once in the boudoir, you will proceed to the safe where Lady Randolph Westkeeps her jewels. It will not be locked, she is careless in such matters. Having found the safe, you will open it, take whatever jewels you findtherein, and return to your room. All this you will perform with utmostcircumspection, taking all pains not to make any noise. In your room youwill hide the jewels in your dressing-case. Then you will go back to bedand to sleep. Have you committed all this to memory?"

The sleeping girl answered in the affirmative. Then, to the injunction, "Tell me what you are to do to-morrow night?" she repeated in a tonelessvoice every item of the programme outlined for her, while Victor nodded inundisguised delight, and Shaik Tsin grinned blandly over her head. 

"On waking up to-morrow morning, you will remember nothing of myinstructions, but you will carry them precisely as memorized in yoursubconciousness, and you will carry them out without thought of oppositionto my will, understanding that you are without will of your own in thismatter. Finally, on waking up on the morning following your abstraction ofthe jewels, you will remember nothing of the affair until reminded of it byme, and then only this much: That in obedience to irresistible impulse, youstole the jewels. Is that clear? Repeat ... "

Without a mistake the woman in hypnosis iterated the commands imposed uponher. 

The impish grin of the latent savage broke through the habitual austerityof Victor's countenance. 

"There is no more, " he said, "but this: Sleep now, and do not waken beforenoon to-morrow--_sleep!_"

With a quavering sigh, the girl reclosed her eyes and instantly relapsedinto the sleep of trance which was insensibly in the course of the night tomerge into natural slumber. 

Victor ironed out his grimace, and signed to Shaik Tsin. 

"Bear her back to her room. Instruct Chou Nu to put her to bed and not towake her up before noon. "

"Hearing is obedience. "

The Chinaman bent over, gathered the inert body into his arms, and withoutperceptible effort stood erect. But in the act of turning away he pausedand, continuing to hold the girl as easily as if she weighed no more than achild, interrogated the man he served. 

"You believe she will do all you have ordered?"

"I know she will. "

"Without error?"

"Barring accidents, without flaw from beginning to end. "

"And in event of accidents--discovery--?"

"So much the better. "

"That would please you, to have her caught?"

"Excellently. "

Shaik Tsin nodded in grave yet humorous comprehension. "Now I begin tounderstand. If she is caught, that gives you a power over her?"

"Precisely. "

"And if she is not, when the robbery becomes known, your power over herwill be still more strong?"

"And over yet another stronger still. "

"The Lone Wolf?"

Victor inclined his head. "To what lengths will he not go to cover up hisdaughter's shame, if it threatens to become public that she is a thief? Ido nothing without purpose, Shaik Tsin. "

"That is to say, you have to-night taken out insurance against punishmentif this other business fails. "

"If it fail, others may suffer, but if necessary the Lone Wolf himselfwill arrange my escape from England. "

"To serve so wise a man is an honour my unworthiness can never hope tomerit. "

"As to that, Shaik Tsin, " Victor said without a smile, "our minds are one. Go now. Good-night. "

XVII

THE RAISED CHEQUE

While the Princess Sofia, Sybil Waring, and Prince Victor motored down fromLondon in the lilac dusk of that dim September day, and the maid Chou Nuaccompanied them, riding in front beside a newly engaged Chinese chauffeur, the man Nogam made the journey to Frampton Court by train, and alone. 

Alone, at least, in the finer shading of that adjective; aside from theusual assortment of self-contained fellow-travellers in the third-classcarriage, he had no company other than his thoughts; a gray and meagrecrew, if that pathetic face of middle-age furnished trustworthy reflectionof his mind.... So absolute was the submergence of that ardent adventurerwho, overnight, had lain awake for hours, a dictograph receiver glued tohis ear, eavesdropping upon the traffic of those malevolent intelligencesassembled in Prince Victor's study, and alternately chuckling and cursingbeneath his breath, aflame with indignation and chilled by inklings ofatrocities unspeakable abrew!

If he surmised that he travelled alone in appearance only, it was with noevident concern or astonishment. If his mind was uneasy, oppressed by anightmarish burden of half-knowledge, guesses, and premonition, it was notapparent to the general observer. His most eloquent gesture was when, fromtime to time, he tamped an ancient wooden pipe with a fingertip that wasn'tas calloused as he could have wished, philosophically sucked in stranglingfumes of rankest shag and, ignoring his company in the carriage as became aBritish-made manservant, returned jaded, gentle eyes to those darklingvistas of autumnal landscape that were forever radiating away from thewindow like spokes of a gigantic wheel. 

Alighting in the first dark of evening at the station for Frampton Court, he suffered himself to be herded, with a half-score more, into the omnibusprovided for other bodyservants to arriving guests. Even to these compeershe found little to say: a loud lot, imbued with the rowdy spirit of the newday; whereas Nogam was hopelessly of the old school--in the new word, hedated--though his form was admittedly unimpeachable. And if because of thishe was made fun of more or less openly, to an extent that added shades ofresignation to his countenance, secretly he commanded considerable respect. 

Neither was Victor, with all the ill-will in the world, able to find faultwith Nogam's services in his new office. The most finished of self-effacingvalets, he knew just what to do and did it without being told; and when hespoke it was only because he had been spoken to or commissioned to conveya message. 

Victor watched him from every angle, overt and covert, but had his troublefor his pains; Nogam, observed in a mirror, when Victor's back was turned, went about his business with no more betrayal of personal feeling orindependent mentality than when waiting upon his master face to face. Victor could have kicked him for sheer resentment of his pattern virtues. When all was said and done, it _was_ damned irritating. . . . 

In the servants' hall he religiously kept his ears open and his mouth shut. And, listening, he learned. For some things said in his hearing weredistinctly not pretty, and made one wonder if Prince Victor's deep-rootedconfidence in an England mortally cankered with social discontent were notgrounded in a surprising familiarity with backstairs morale. Otherobservations, again, were merely ribald, some were humorous, while all wereenlightening. 

Not a few of the company had seen domestic service in great houses beforethe war; they knew what was what and--more to the point--what wasn't. Onegathered that this pretentious country home fell within the latterclassification. Here, it was stated, anybody could buy his way into favour:the more bounding the bounder the brighter his chances of success atFrampton Court. 

War, the ironic, had caused this noble property to pass into the keeping ofa distant and degenerate branch of an old and honoured house; and itspresent lord and lady, having failed to win the social welcome they hadcounted on too confidently, were doing their silly, shabby best to squandera princely fortune and dedicate a great name to lasting disrepute byfraternizing with a motley riffraff of profiteering nouveaux riches. Otherthan bad manners and worse morals, the one genuine thing in the wholeestablishment was, it seemed, the historic collection of family jewels. 

This information explained away much of Nogam's perplexity on one score. 

After dinner, when the house party began to settle into its stride, he madeoccasion, aping the other servants, to peep in at a door of the greatballroom, where an impromptu dance had been organized; and was rewarded bysight of the Princess Sofia circling the floor in the arms of a boldlygood-looking young man whose taste was as poor in flirtation as inself-adornment. 

To Nogam the young girl looked wan and wistful--as if she were missingsomebody. And he wondered if Mr. Karslake knew what a lucky young devil hewas. 

He wondered still more about the present whereabouts and welfare of Mr. Karslake. Prince Victor must have contrived some devious errand to get theyoung man out and away early that day; for by the time Nogam had looked forhim in the morning, Karslake was nowhere to be found; neither had hereturned when the party left for Frampton Court--a circumstance whichNogam regretted most bitterly. Watched as he was, it hadn't been possible, that is to say it would have been fatally ill-advised, to have left anysort of message or to have attempted communication through secret channels;and all the while, hours heavy with, it might be, the destiny of Englandwere wasting swiftly into history. 

Perhaps it was nervousness bred of this anxiety that, in the end, madeNogam's hand slip. Or perhaps the impatient nature of the man who lay soclosely secret within the husk of Nogam decided him upon a desperategamble. In either event, this befell:

About the middle of the evening Prince Victor happened to look up from aninteresting tête-à-tête in the brilliant drawing-room with his handsome andliberal-minded hostess opportunely to espy Nogam staring at him from theremote recesses of the entrance hall. 

It was the merest of glimpses; for Victor's casual glance had barelyidentified the servant when Nogam started guiltily and in a twinklingdisappeared; but a glimpse was enough for eyes and a mind alike quick withdistrust, enough to assure Victor that Nogam's face had worn anindescribably furtive and hangdog expression, most unlike its ordinary lookof amiable stupidity, and widely incongruous with the veniality of hisfault. 

What the deuce, then, was the fellow up to, that he should glower and dodgelike a sleuth in a play?

Promptly Victor became deaf, blind, and numb to the fascinations sogenerously paraded by Lady Randolph West; and presently excusing himself, left her and sought his rooms. 

As he went up the stairs, he saw the door to his bedchamber cautiouslyopened far enough to permit one eye to spy out and discover his approach. Immediately then the door swung wide, and Nogam ambled into view with anenvelope on a salver and an air of childlike innocence, an assumption ofease so transparent, indeed, that only the vision of a child could havebeen cheated by it. 

"Just coming to look for you, sir, " he announced, glibly. "Telegram, sir--just harrived. "

"Thanks, " said Victor, shortly, taking the envelope and marching on intohis rooms. 

His manner toward his servants was always abrupt. No need to be alarmed bythis manifestation of it. Blinking mildly, Nogam trotted at his heels. 

Seating himself at an escritoire, Victor opened the envelope with a displayof languid interest. Curiosity about the contents of a telegram isordinarily acute. Victor, on the contrary, sat for a long moment staringthoughtfully at nothing and absently turning the envelope over and over inhis hands; while Nogam with specious nonchalance found somethingunimportant to do in another quarter of the room. 

The envelope was damp and warm to the touch. True: nightfall had broughtwith it a thick drizzle, and Frampton Court was more than a mile from thepost-office. On the other hand, the night was as cold as charity; and anenvelope recently steamed open might be expected to hold the heat for a fewminutes. 

Victor thumbed the flap. It lifted readily, without tearing, its gum waswet and more abundant than usual--in fact, it felt confoundedly likelibrary paste, a pot of which, in an ornamental holder, was among thefittings of the escritoire. On the desk pad of blotting paper, too, Victordetected marks of fresh paste defining the contour of the flap. 

With a countenance whose inscrutability alone was a threat, Victor took outand conned the telegraph form. 

"CONSULTATION SET FOR MIDNIGHT TO-NIGHT TAKING YOUR ADVICE SHALL NOT ATTENDBUT LEAVE FOR BRIGHTON ELEVEN P. M. "

A message ostensibly so open and aboveboard that it hadn't been thoughtworth while to hide its wording under the cloak of a code. 

There was no signature--unless one were clever or wise enough to transposethe two final letters and take them in relation to the word immediatelypreceding. "Eleven, M. P. ", however, could mean nothing to anybody butVictor--except a body clever enough to hide a dictograph detector in aturnip. So Victor saw no reason to believe that Nogam, althoughundoubtedly guilty of the sin of prying, had been able to read the meaningbelow the surface of this communication. 

Nevertheless, undue inquisitiveness on the part of a servant in the pay ofVictor Vassilyevski could have but one reward. 

"Nogam!"

"Sir?"

"Fetch me an A-B-C. "

"Very good, sir. "

With Nogam out of the way, Victor enclosed the telegram in a new envelopeand addressed it simply to _"Mr. Sturm--by hand. "_ Then he took a sheet ofthe stamped notepaper of Frampton Court, tore it roughly, at the fold, andon the unstamped half inscribed several characters in Chinese, using apencil with a fat, soft lead for this purpose. This message sealed into asecond envelope without superscription, he lighted a cigarette and satsmiling with anticipative relish through its smoke, a smile swiftlyabolished as the door re-opened; though Nogam found him in what seemed tobe a mood of rare sweet temper. 

Taking the railway guide, Victor ruffled its pages, and after brief studyof the proper table remarked:

"Afraid I must ask you to run up to town for me to-night, Nogam. If youdon't mind ... "

"Only too glad to oblige, sir. "

"I find I have left important papers behind. Give this to Shaik Tsin"--hehanded over the blank envelope--"and he will find them for you. You cancatch the ten-fifteen up, and return by the twelve-three from CharingCross. "

"Very good, sir. "

"Oh--and see that Mr. Sturm gets this, too, will you? If he isn't in, giveit to Shaik Tsin to hand to him. Say it's urgent. "

"Quite so, sir. "

"That is all. But don't fail to catch the twelve-three back. I must havethe papers to-night. "

"I shan't fail you, sir--D. V. "

"Deo volente? You are a religious man, Nogam?"

"I 'umbly 'ope so, sir, and do my best to be, accordin' to my lights. "

"Glad to hear it. Now cut along, or you'll miss the up train. "

Long after Nogam had left the memory of their talk continued to affordVictor an infinite amount of private entertainment. 

"A religious man!" he would jeer to himself. "Then--may your God help you, Nogam!"

Some thought of the same sort may well have troubled Nogam's mind as he satin an otherwise untenanted third-class compartment blinking owlishly overthe example of Victor's command of the intricacies of Chinese writing. 

He was happily free of surveillance for the first time in his waking hoursof many days. The Chinese chauffeur had driven him to the station, and hadfurthermore lingered to see that Nogam did not fail to board it. And Nogamfelt reasonably safe in assuming that he would not approach the house nearQueen Anne's Gate without seeing (for the mere trouble of looking) a secondand an entirely gratuitous shadow attach itself to him with the intentionof sticking as tenaciously as that which God had given him. But the nexthour was all his own. 

His study of the Chinese phonograms at length resulted in thetransformation of his careworn face by a slowly dawning smile, the gleefulsmile of a mischief-loving child. And when he had worked for a while on themessage, touching up the skillfully drawn characters with a pencil the mateto that which Victor had used, he sat back and laughed aloud over theresult of his labours, with some appreciation of the glow that warms thecockles of the artist's heart when his deft pen has raised a cheque fromtens to thousands, and he reviews a good job well done. 

The torn envelope which had held the message to Shaik Tsin lay at his feet. Nogam had not bothered to worry it open so carefully that it might beresealed without inviting comment; though that need not have been adifficult matter, thanks to the dampness of the night air. 

Of the envelope addressed to Sturm, however, he was more considerate; toviolate its integrity and seal it up again was an undertaking that requiredthe nicest handling. Nor was it accomplished much before the train drewinto Charing Cross. 

Outside the station taxis were few and drivers arrogant; and all the'buses were packed to the guards with law-abiding Londoners homeward boundfrom theatres and halls. So Nogam dived into the Underground, to come tothe surface again at St. James's Park station, whence he trotted all theway to Queen Anne's Gate, arriving at his destination in a phase ofsemi-prostration which a person of advancing years and doddering habitsmight have anticipated. 

Such fidelity in characterization deserved good reward, and had in it arare stroke of fortune; for as he drew up to it, the door opened, and Sturmcame out, saw Nogam, and stopped short. 

"Thank 'Eaven, sir, I got 'ere in time, " the butler panted. "If I'd missedyou, Prince Victor wouldn't 'ave been in 'arf a wax. 'E told me I must findyou to-night if I 'ad to turn all Lunnon inside out. "

Pressing the message into Sturm's hand, he rested wearily against thecasing of the door, his body shaken by laboured breathing, and--whileSturm, with an exclamation of excitement, ripped open theenvelope--surveyed the dark and rain-wet street out of the corners of hiseyes. 

Across the way a slinking shadow left the sidewalk and blendedindistinguishably with the crowded shadows of an areaway. 

In a voice more than commonly rich with accent, Sturm demanded sharply:

"What is this? I do not understand!"

He shook in Nogam's face the half-sheet of notepaper on which the Chinesephonograms were drawn. 

"Sorry, sir, but I 'aven't any hidea. Prince Victor didn't tell me anythingexcept there would be no answer, and I was to 'urry right back to FramptonCourt. " Nogam peered myopically at the paper. "It might be 'Ebrew, sir, " hehazarded, helpfully--"by the looks of it, I mean. I suppose some privatemessage, 'e thought you'd understand. "

"Hebrew, you fool! Damn your impudence! Do you take me for a Jew?"

"Beg pardon, sir--no 'arm meant. "

"No, " Sturm declared, "it's Chinese. "

"Then likely Prince Victor meant you to ask Shaik Tsin to translate it foryou, sir. "

"Probably, " Sturm muttered. "I'll see. "

"Yes, sir. Good-night, sir. "

Without acknowledging this civility, Sturm turned back into the house andslammed the door. Nogam lingered another moment, then shuffled wearily downthe steps and toward the nearest corner. 

Across the street the voluntary shadow detached itself from cover in theareaway, and skulked after him. He paid no heed. But when the shadowrounded the corner, it saw only a dark and empty street, and pulled up witha grunt of doubt. Simultaneously something not unlike a thunderbolt forforce and fury was launched, from the dark shelter of a doorway near by, atits devoted head. And as if by magic the shadow took on form and substanceto receive the onslaught. A fist, that carried twelve stone of bone andsinew jubilant with realization of the hour for action so long deferred, found shrewdly the heel of a jawbone, just beneath the ear. Its victimdropped without a cry, but the impact of the blow was loud in the nocturnalstillness of that bystreet, and was echoed in magnified volume by the crackof a skull in collision with a convenient lamppost. 

Followed a swift patter of fugitive feet. 

Tempered by veils of mist, the lamplight fell upon a face upturned from amurmurous gutter, a yellow face, wide and flat, with lips grinning backfrom locked teeth and eyes frozen in a staring question to which no livingman has ever known the answer. 

The pattering footsteps grew faint in distance and died away, the streetwas still once more, as still as Death.... 

In the study of Prince Victor Vassilyevski the man Sturm put an impatientquestion:

"Well? What you make of it--hein?"

Shaik Tsin looked up from a paper which he had been silently examining bythe light of the brazen lamp. 

"Number One says, " he reported, smiling sweetly, while his yellowforefinger moved from symbol to symbol of the picturesque writing: _'"Theblow falls to-night. Proceed at once to the gas works and do that which youknow is to be done. '"_

"At last!" The voice of the Prussian was full and vibrant with exultancy. He threw back his head with a loud laugh, and his arm described a wild, dramatic gesture. 

"At last--der Tag! To-night the Fatherland shall be avenged!"

Shaik Tsin beamed with friendliest sympathy Sturm turned to go, took threehurried steps toward the door, and felt himself jerked back by a silkencord which, descending from nowhere, looped his lean neck between chin andAdam's apple. His cry of protest was the last articulate sound he uttered. And the last sounds he heard, as he lay with face hideously congested andempurpled, eyeballs starting from their deep sockets, and swollen tongueprotruding, were words spoken by Shaik Tsin as that one knelt over him, onehand holding fast the ends of the bowstring that had cut off forever theblessed breath of life, the other flourishing a half-sheet of notepaper. 

"Fool! Look, fool, and read what vengeance visits a fool who is fool enoughto play the spy!"

He brandished the papers before those glazing eyeballs. 

In an eldritch cackle he translated:

_"'He who bears this message is a Prussian dog, police trained, a spy. Lethis death be a dog's, cruel and swift. --Number One. '"_

XVIII

ORDEAL

Reviewing the day, as she undressed and prepared for bed, Sofia toldherself she had never yet lived through one so wearing, and thought thehistory of its irksome hours all too legible in the lack-lustre face thatlooked back from the mirror when Chou Nu uncoifed her hair and brushed itsburnished tresses. 

Though she had slept late, in fact till noon and something after, her sleephad been queerly haunted and unhappy, she could not remember how or why, and she had awakened already ennuyé, with a mind incoherently oppressed, without relish for the promise of the day--in a mood altogether as drear asthe daylight that waited upon her unclosing eyes. 

Main strength of will had not availed to dispel these vapours, neither didtheir melancholy yield to the distraction provided by first acquaintancewith ways of a world unique alike in Sofia's esteem and her experience. 

She who had theretofore known only in day-dreams the life of lightfrivolity and fashion which found feverish and trumpery reflection atFrampton Court, was neither equipped nor disposed to be hypercritical inthe first hours of her début there; and at any other time, in any othertemper, she knew, she must have been swept off her feet by its excitingappeal to her innate love of luxury and sensation. But the sad truth was, it all seemed to her unillusioned vision an elaborate sham built up oftinsel, paste, and paint; and the warmth of her welcome at the hands, indeed in the very arms, of Lady Randolph West, and the success her youthand beauty scored for her--commanding in all envy, admiration, cupidity, orjealousy, according to age, sex, and temporal state of servitude--didnothing to mitigate the harshness of those first impressions. 

If anything her depression grew more perversely morbid the more she wascatered to, courted, flattered, and cajoled. Something had happened, shecould never guess what, perhaps some mysterious reaction effected throughthe chemistry of last night's slumber, to turn her vivid zest in life toashes in her mouth, so that nothing seemed to matter any more. 

Thoughts of Karslake as her lover, recollection of her first deep joy inhis avowal and her subsequent passion of shame and regret, re-perusal ofhis note, that last night had seemed so sweet a thing, precious beyondcompare--found her indifferent to-day, and left her so. Try as she would, she failed to recapture any sense of the reality of those first raptures. And yet, somehow, she didn't doubt he loved her or that, buried deepbeneath this inexplicable apathy, love for Karslake burned on in her heart;but she knew no sort of comfort in such confidence, their love seemed asremote and immaterial an issue as the menu for day after to-morrow'sdinner. Nothing mattered!

She was able even to meet Prince Victor without her customary shiver ofaversion; and when she recalled the persistence and enthusiasm with whichshe had reasoned herself into believing, last night, that he might beanother than her father, she came as near to mirth as she was to come thatday; but it was mirth bitter with self-derision. Of course he was herfather, she had been a ninny ever to dream contrariwise, or that itmattered. 

Nor had she met with more success in efforts to find a cause for this drabhumour; unless, indeed, it were simply the farthest swing of the pendulumfrom yesterday's emotional crises, a long swing out of sunlit spaces sweptby the brave winds of young romance into a gloomy zone of brooding torpor, whose calm was false, surcharged with unseizable disquiet, its atmosphereelectrical with formless apprehensions, its sad twilight shot with luridgleams no sooner glimpsed than gone. 

In this state Sofia's sensibilities were less benumbed than bound in apalsy of suspense not wholly destitute of dread; beneath the lethargicshallows of consciousness lay soundless deeps troubled by sinisterpremonitions.... 

Now, retracing stage by stage the record of the day, Sofia became awarethat its most poignant moment for her was actually the present, with itskeen wonder that she had contrived to survive such exquisite tedium. 

She perceived that she had moved throughout like an automaton swayed by awill outside its own; functioning rather than living; performing appointedbusiness, executing prescribed gestures, uttering foreordainedobservations, and making dictated responses, all without suggestion ofspontaneity, and all without meaning other than as means to bridge an emptyspace of waiting. 

Waiting for what?

Sofia could not guess.... 

She went to bed presently, hoping only to find surcease of boredom; and herhead no sooner touched the pillow than oblivion closed down upon herfaculties like a dense, dark cloud. 

Discreet and well-instructed, Chou Nu turned the night-light down to aglimmer, placed on and under a chair adjacent to the bed a robe of cashmerethat wouldn't rustle, and slippers of fine felt with soles of soft leather, in which footfalls must be inaudible--and glided gently from the room. 

For sixty minutes its deep hush was unbroken; the even respiration of thegirl made no sound, she rested without tossing, without moving a finger. 

Then, sleep having held her for precisely one hour by the clock, Sofiaopened her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and at once sat up on the side ofthe bed. 

The memory of that hour was not to leave the girl while life was in her;nor was the question it raised ever to be answered in a fashionsatisfactory to her intelligence. When later she heard it stated withauthority, by men reputed to be versed in psychic knowledge, that a subjectin hypnosis cannot be willed to act contrary to the instincts of his or herbetter nature, she held her peace, but wondered. Was Victor right, then, and the crime he had willed her to commit in final analysis not repugnantto her instincts? Or was it some secret faculty of the soul, telepathy orof its kin, that roused and sent her to keep her rendezvous with destiny?

A riddle never to be read: Sofia only knew that, finding herself awake, shegot up, donned négligée and slippers, and set her feet upon the wayappointed without its occurring to her that the way was strange, withoutstopping to question why or whether. 

If independent volition, sensible or subliminal, were absent, it couldhardly have been apparent. Sofia herself was not aware of its suspense orsupersession. She knew quite well what she was doing, her every action wasdirect and decided, the goal alone remained obscure. She only knew thatsomewhere, somehow, something was going wrong without her, and her presencewas required to set it right. 

Letting herself out into the corridor, she drew the door to behind her, butleft it unlatched; with what object, she did not know. But the lateness ofthe hour, the stillness of the sleeping household, made it seem quite inorder that she should pause to look cautiously this way and that and makesure that nobody else was astir to spy upon her or challenge the purpose ofthis as yet aimless nocturnal flitting. 

There was nobody that she could see. 

Down the corridor, then, never asking why that way, like a ghost in hasteshe sped, but as she drew near to a certain door found her pace faltering. Sofia knew that door; through it Lady Randolph West herself had introducedthe girl to her boudoir, not two hours since, when chance, or Fate, or thesmooth working out of malicious mortal machinations had moved the two womensimultaneously to seek their quarters for the night. And in the boudoirSofia had spent the quarter of an hour before going on to her own room andbed, civilly attending to vapid chatter and admiring as in duty bound theadmirable jewels of the family. 

Now she saw the door a few inches ajar with, beyond it, a dim glow. Thecircumstance seemed singular, because--now that she remembered--when Sofiahad expressed perfunctory curiosity concerning what precautions were takento safeguard the jewels, Lady Randolph West had airily informed her thatshe considered insurance to their appraised value plus a stout lock on theboudoir door better than any strong-box as yet devised by the ingenuity ofman. 

"There's the safe they're kept in, of course, " the lady haddeclared--"but, my dear, a cardboard box will do as well when any burglarwho knows his business makes up his mind to get at my trinkets. I nevereven trouble to lock the thing. I'd rather lose the jewels--and collect theinsurance money--than be frightened out of my wits by hearing it blownopen. No, thanks ever so: any cracksman skillful enough to pick the lock onthe door may bag his loot and go in peace for all of me!"

Impulse, at least she called it that, moved Sofia to approach andcautiously open the door still wider. 

Upon the antique writing-desk that housed the safe burned a single lamp oflow candle-power. A door that led to the adjoining bedchamber was tightlyshut. Sofia's mistrustful eyes reconnoitred every corner of the room, andreckoned it empty. Again obedient to undisputed impulse, she stepped insideand shut the door. The spring-latch of the American lock found its socketwith a soft click. Thereafter, silence, no sound in the boudoir, none fromthe room beyond. But to Sofia the hurried beating of her heart reverberatedon the stillness like the rolling of a drum. 

Without clear appreciation of how she had got there, she found herselfstanding over the writing-desk, and discovered what the indifferent lighthad till now kept hidden, that a false panel in the front of the desk hadbeen thrust back, exposing the face of the safe, and that this last was noteven closed. 

At the same time she grew conscious that her hands were shaking violently, that her every limb, her whole body indeed, was agitated by desperatetrembling. And dully asked herself why this should be ... But didn'thesitate. 

Her actions now more than ever resembled those of an unthinking puppet, although she knew quite well what she was doing; and her gestures mighthave been the fruit of long lessoning at the hands of some master of stagemelodrama, so true were they to theatrical convention. 

With furtive, frightened glances toward both doors, Sofia dropped to herknees before the safe.... 

When she stood up again her hands were filled with jewellery, her two handsheld a treasure of incalculable price in precious stones. 

She paused for a little, staring at them with dilate eyes dark in a pale, rapt face. Her lips were parted, but only her quickened breathing whisperedpast them. She was trembling more painfully than ever. But she seemedunable to think of anything but the jewels, her gaze was held infascination by their coruscant loveliness as revealed by the light of thelittle lamp. 

Hers for the taking!

Then, without warning, a tremendous convulsion laid hold on her body andsoul, and she was racked and shaken by it, and at its crisis heroutstretched hands opened and showered the top of the desk with jewels, then flew to her head and clutched her throbbing temples. 

She cried out in a low voice of suffering: _"No!"_

And of a sudden she was reeling back from the desk, toward the corridordoor, repeating over and over on an ascending scale: _"No! no! no! no!no!"_

Her quaking legs blundered against a chair, her knees gave, she tottered tofall; strong arms caught her, held her safe, a voice she knew yet didn'tknow in its guarded key muttered in her ear: "Thank God!"

She made no struggle, but her eyes of pain and terror sought the speaker'sface, and saw that he was the man Nogam. In extremity of amazement shespoke his name. He shook his head. 

"No longer Nogam, " he said in the same low accents, and smiled--"but yourfather, Michael Lanyard!"

XIX

UNMASKING

One more instant the girl rested passive in uncomprehending astonishment;then abruptly she exerted herself to break free from the supportingembrace, but found the effort wasted for lack of opposition, so that herown violence sent her reeling away half a dozen paces, to bring up againstthe desk; while Lanyard, making no move more than to drop his rejectedarms, remained where she had left him, and requited her indignant starewith a broken smile of understanding, a smile at once tender, tolerant, andsympathetic, with a little quirk of rueful humour for good measure. 

"My father!" Sofia repeated in a gasp of disdain--"_you!_"

He gave a slight shrug. 

"Such, it appears, is your sad fortune. "

"A servant!"

"And not the proud prince you were promised? Rather a come down, one mustadmit. " Lanyard laughed low, and moved nearer. "I'm sorry, I mean I mightbe (for myself, too) if Nogam were less a fraud than that pretentiousmountebank, Prince Victor--or for the matter of that, if you were as poorof spirit as you would seem on your own valuation, if you were not at heartyour mother's daughter, and mine, my child by a woman whom I loved well, and who long ago loved me!"

He paused deliberately to let her grasp the full sense of his words, thenpursued:

"It may help you get your bearings to know that I am truly the MichaelLanyard to whom Messieurs Secretan & Sypher addressed theiradvertisement--you remember--as this should prove. "

He offered a slip of paper, and after another moment of dumb staring, thegirl took it and read aloud the message which Victor had dictated followingSofia's flight to him from the Café des Exiles. 

_"'To Michael Lanyard, Intelligence Division, the War Office, Whitehall--'"_

"That is to say, " Lanyard interpreted, "of the British Secret Service. "

"You!"

He bowed in light irony. "One regrets one is at present unable to offerbetter social standing. To-morrow, it may be ... But who knows?"

Sofia shook her head impatiently, and in a murmur of deepening amazementresumed her reading of the note:

_"'Your daughter Sofia is now with me.. Your own intelligence must tell younothing could be more fatal than an attempt to communicate with her'"_

To the interrogation eloquent in her eyes Lanyard replied:

"Dictated by Victor to Karslake, who passed it on to me, the night hebrought you to the house from the Café des Exiles. "

"You knew--you, who claim to be my father--yet permitted him--?"

"You were in the house before I knew I had a daughter; Karslake had nochance to consult me before fetching you. Furthermore, if he had hesitatedto carry out Victor's orders just then, not only would he have nullifiedall our preparations to secure evidence enough to convict the man, or atleast run him out of England--"

"Prince Victor? What was he doing, that you should--?"

"Dabbling in all manner of infamy, from financing a thieves' fence toorganizing an association of common criminals to bring it business; frommaintaining a corps of agitators to foment social discontent to fosteringthis last, most imbecile scheme of all, which comes to naught to-night, anattempt to overthrow the British Empire and set up in its stead a SovietEngland, with Victor Vassilyevski in the dual rôle of Trotsky and Lenine!"

The girl made a sign of bewilderment and incredulity. 

"What are you telling me? Are you mad?"

"No--but Victor is, mad with lust for power, insane with illusions ofpersonal aggrandizement. You don't believe? Listen to me, then, appreciateto what demoniac lengths he was prepared to go to flatter his insaneambitions:"

"Sturm has invented a new poison gas, odourless, colourless, the mostdeadly known, and easily manufactured in vast quantities by adding simpleingredients to ordinary illuminating gas. Fanatic Bolshevist that he was, Sturm offered his formula to Victor, to be used to clear the way for socialrevolution; and Victor jumped at the offer--has spent vast sums preparingto employ it. His money paid for the recent strike at the Westminster worksof the Gas Light and Coke Company, by means of which Victor was able tosmuggle a round number of his creatures into its service. His money hascorrupted servants employed in Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, inthe homes of the nobility, even in Buckingham Palace itself, men ready at agiven signal secretly to turn on gas jets in remote corners and flood thebuildings with the very breath of Death itself. And that signal was to havebeen given to-night. Well, it will not be. "

"But could any scheme be more grotesquely diabolical? Do you ask more proofof the man's madness? Do you require more excuse for my permitting you tobe deceived by Victor for a few weeks, rather than wreck our plans tofrustrate his, when all the while Karslake and I were near you, watchingover you, learning to love you--he in his fashion, I as your father--andboth ready at all times to die in your protection, if it had ever come tothat?"

Lanyard had drawn so near that only a few inches separated them, and hadhis voice in such control that at three paces' distance a vague andinarticulate murmur at most might have been heard; but in Sofia's hearinghis accents rang with passionate sincerity, persuading her against thereason which would have rejected his indictment of Victor as too fantastic, too imaginative, and too hopelessly overdrawn to be given credence. Shebelieved him, knowing in her heart that he believed his statements to thelast word; and knowing more, that he was surely what he represented himselfto be, her father. 

Inscrutable the processes of human hearts: even as from the very firstSofia had instinctively yet unconsciously recognized the intrinsic falsityof Victor's pretensions, so now she perceived the integral honesty thatinformed Lanyard's every word and nuance of expression, and accepted himwithout further inquisition. 

To his insistent "Have I made you understand?" she returned a wan wraith ofa smile, pitiful with entreaty, while one of her hands found the way tohis. 

"I think so, " she replied in halting apology--"at least, I believe you. Butbe a little patient with me. It is all so new and strange, what you tellme, it's hard at first to grasp, there's so much I must accept on faithalone, so much I don't understand ... "

"I know. " Lanyard pressed her hand gently. 

"But try to have faith; I promise you it shall be fairly rewarded. Only alittle longer now, an hour or two at most, and Karslake will be here toprove the truth of all I have asserted. You will believe him, at least. "

"Of course, " the girl said, simply. "I love him. You knew that?"

"I guessed, and I am glad, glad for both of you. "

"But he is safe?" Sofia demanded in sudden access of alarm so strong thather voice rose above the pitch of discretion. 

"Quietly. Yes, he is safe enough. "

"You know that for a fact? How do you know--?"

"I've seen him to-night, talked with him--not two hours since. "

"You have been in London?" she questioned--"to-night?"

"Rather! Victor sent me. " Lanyard laughed lightly. "You didn't know, ofcourse, but--well, I gave him reason to suspect me, so he sent me up to beassassinated by Shaik Tsin. As it turned out, however, Herr Sturm mostobligingly understudied for me.... Before coming back, I looked Karslakeup. He'd been busy, playing a lone hand, ever since Victor trumped up anerrand to keep him out of your way all day. No need to go into tediousdetails; I found Karslake had matters well in hand: the gas workssurrounded by a cordon of troops, the house under close watch, and--bestof all--a sworn confession from an Irish Member of Parliament whom Victorhad managed to buy with a promise to free Ireland once Soviet England wasan accomplished fact. So I left Karslake to wind up loose ends in London, and posted back with my heart in my mouth for fear I'd be too late. "

"Too late?" Sofia queried with arching brows. 

"Need I remind you where we are?"

A sweep of Lanyard's hand indicated the boudoir; and Sofia started sharplyin perplexity and alarm. 

"Where we are!" she echoed in a frightened whisper. 

Of a sudden memory returned of what had passed in that room before Lanyardhad revealed himself to her, and knowledge of her peril so narrowly escapeddrove home like a knife to her heart. 

"What am I doing here?" she breathed in horror. "What have I done?"

"Nothing more dreadful than prove yourself as true as you are fine, byrevolting in the end against the most powerful force known to man, theforce of suggestion implanted in hypnotism. You couldn't know that it washypnotic not natural sleep you passed into last night, when Victor trickedyou with that damned crystal, or that, while you slept, he willed you to dohere to-night what, when it came to the final test, your nature would notlet you do. "

"But he so often told me I had the instincts of a thief--!"

"So often--_I_ know--that you were, against your will and reason, by dintof the very iteration of it, coming to accept that lie as a truth whosepower there was no contesting. That is why, that you might prove yourselfby your own acts, I had to let you undergo your ordeal here to-night, onlystanding by to make sure no ill came of it. Otherwise you might havecarried to your grave the fear instilled into your soul by that blackguard. But now you know he lied, and will never doubt again--or reproach yourfather for the dark record of his younger years. "

He checked, lifting hands of desolate appeal, then let them fall. 

"Dear, if you knew you would not judge me harshly. If only you could knowwhat I have fought up from, a foundling without a name abandoned in athird-rate Parisian hotel, reared a scullion, butt and scapegoat, withassociates only of the lowest, scullions, beggars, pickpockets, Apaches, and worse--!"

"As if that mattered!"

The girl turned a softly suffused face with shining eyes to Lanyard's. Nowat last she knew him, now the romance of her dreams of yesterday came true:through the mean masquerade of Nogam the man emerged, identifying himselfin her sight unmistakably with that splendid stranger whom she had neverquite forgotten since that old-time afternoon when he had met Karslake inthe Café des Exiles and talked so intimately of his antecedents, hintingat a history of youthful years strangely analogous with her own. 

Involuntarily her arms lifted and settled upon his shoulders. 

"I am so proud to think--"

A shrill scream drowned out her words, a woman's voice ranging swiftly thestaccato gamut of terror and cracking discordantly on its most piercingnote. 

Then with a bang that shook the flooring and must have been heard in thefarthest corners of the house, the bedchamber door was slammed behind theirbacks. But beyond it the screaming went on in volume imperceptibly muffledby its barrier, one ear-splitting caterwaul following another with suchcontinuity that the wonder was where Lady Randolph West found breath tokeep up that atrocious row, and whether any dozen women of averagelung-power could have rivalled it. 

In one sharp movement Lanyard and Sofia disengaged and fell apart, theireyes consulting, hers in dismay, his in mixed exasperation and remorse. 

"I ought to be shot, " he declared, bitterly--"who knew better!--to havedelayed here, exposing you to this danger--!"

"It couldn't be helped, " Sofia insisted; "you had to make me understand. Besides, if I hurry back--"

In quick strides Lanyard crossed to the corridor door, unlatched and openedit an inch, peered out, and gave the sum of what he saw in a gesture offinality, then leaving the door ajar turned swiftly back to the girl. 

"Too late, " he said: "they're swarming out into the hall like bees. Inanother minute ... "

Of a sudden he closed with Sofia, roughly clasping her body to him. 

"Struggle with me!" he pleaded--"get me by the throat, throw me back acrossthe desk--"

"What do you mean? Let me go!"

In answer to her efforts to wrench away, Lanyard only tightened his holdand swung her toward the desk. 

"Do as I bid you! It's the only way out. Let them think you heard a noise, got up to investigate, found me here, rifling the safe--"

"No, " she insisted--"no! Why should I save myself at your expense?--betrayyou--my father--!"

"Then give me the obedience of a daughter ... Or let Victor succeed inbranding you a thief, the daughter of a thief!"

He stilled the protest she would have uttered by placing fingers over herlips. 

"Listen!"

In the corridor an angry rumour of voices, alarmed calls and cries, withthumps and scuffles of hasty feet, in the bedchamber the shrieks persistingwithout the least hint of failing: as a damned soul might bawl upon its bedof coals ... 

"Sofia, I implore you!"

Still she hesitated. 

"But you--?"

"Never fear for me, remember that I am of the Secret Service: two minutesafter I see the inside of the nearest police station, I shall be free--andhappy in the assurance that your name is without stain. Then Karslake willcome for you, bring you to me ... Now!"

Lanyard caught the girl's two wrists together and, throwing himself bodilybackward across the desk, carried her hands to his throat. 

With a simultaneous crash the door was flung back to the wall. Led byVictor Vassilyevski a dozen men, guests and servants, in various stages ofdishabille, streamed into the room. 

XX

THE DEVIL TO PAY

When it was all over, when the gravelled drive no longer crunched to wheelsthat bore away the man Nogam to answer for his misdeeds, when the householdhad quieted down and the most indefatigable sensation-monger had wearied ofsinging the praises of the Princess Sofia and, tossing off a finalwhiskey-and-soda, had paddled sleepily back to bed, lights burned onbrightly in two parts only of Frampton Court, in the bedchambers tenantedrespectively by Prince Victor Vassilyevski and his reputed daughter. 

Alone, Prince Victor sat at the desk where he had, four hours earlier, inscribed those characters which should have hurried Nogam into a prematuregrave. That they had failed of their mission was something that frettedVictor Vassilyevski, his mind and nerves, to a pitch of exacerbation allbut unendurable. 

What had become of that sentence to death? And what of that other, thetelegram which, forwarded by Nogam's hand to Sturm, should long since haveset in motion the organized machinery of murder and demolition?

Had Nogam, as he had meekly insisted on being questioned subsequent to hissubjugation, truly delivered the two messages as directed and, miraculouslyescaping his fate decreed, returned to Frampton Court by the twelve-three, likewise in strict conformance with instructions?

This statement Nogam had neglected to amplify, and Victor had been chary oftoo close questioning, lest it elicit too much in the hearing of others. Once overpowered, Nogam had been philosophic about his bad luck; but theeyes in his face of a stoic had held a gleam that Victor didn't altogetherlike, a light that seemed suspiciously malicious, a suggestion of spiritedhumour deplorable to say the least in a self-confessed sneak-thief caughtin the very act, deplorable and disturbing; in Victor's sight a lookconstructively indicative of more knowledge than Nogam had any right topossess. Take it any way you pleased, something to think about ... 

Still more disquieting Victor thought the circumstance that nobody else hadseemed to notice that anomalous light in Nogam's eyes; which of coursemight mean merely that Victor had worked himself into such a state ofnerves that he was seeing things, but equally well that the look was onereserved for Victor alone, intentionally or not holding for him a message, if he had but had the wit to read it, of peculiarly personal import. 

It might have implied, for example, that Victor's half-hearted andpaltering distrust of Nogam had all along been only too well warranted. Inwhich case, the fat was already in the fire with a vengeance, and Victor'sprobable duration of life was dependent wholly upon the speed with which hecould quit Frampton Court and hurl his motor-car through the night to thelower reaches of the Thames. 

Envisagement of the worst at its blackest being part of the holy duty ofself-preservation, Victor sat fully dressed, with every other provisionmade for flight at the first flash of warning, only waiting to make sure, and with what impatience was apparent in the working of paste-colouredfeatures, the wincing and shifting of slotted eyes, the incessant shuttingand unclosing of tensed fingers. 

All rested with the telephone that stood mockingly mute at the man's elbow, callous alike to his anxiety and the rancorous regard in which he held it. His call for the house near Queen Anne's Gate had now been in for more thanforty minutes; in that interval he had no less than three times pleaded itsurgency to the trunk-line operator. And still the muffled bell beneath thedesk was dumb. 

And the worst of it was, fatal though the delay might prove, he dared notstir a hand to save himself until he _knew_.... 

In the taut torment of those long-drawn minutes a sound of circumspectscratching was enough to bring Victor to his feet in one startled bound. 

He stood for a moment, a-twitch, but intent upon the corridor door, thencomposed himself with indifferent success, approached and opened the door. The girl Chou Nu slipped in, offered a timid courtesy, and awaited hisleave to speak. 

"Well? What is it?"

"Excellency: the Princess Sofia refuses to let me stay in the room withher. "

"Why? Don't you know?"

"I think she means to run away. She would not go back to her bed, butwalked up and down, till I ventured to urge her to take rest, when sheturned on me in a rage and bade me be gone. Then I came to you. "

Victor took thought and finished with a dour nod. 

"You have done well. Return, keep watch, let me know if she leaves--"

"The door is locked, Excellency: she will not let me in. "

"Spy through the keyhole, then; or hide in one of the empty rooms acrossthe corridor, and watch--"

A muted mutter from the direction of the desk dried speech on Victor'slips. He started hastily toward the source of the sound, midway wheeled, and dismissed the maid with a brusque hand and monosyllable--"Go!"--thenfairly pounced upon the telephone. 

But all he heard, in the course of the ensuing five minutes, was the voiceof the trunk-line operator advising him, to begin with, that she was readyto put him through to Westminster, then maddeningly punctuating the buzzand whine of the empty wire with her call of a talking doll--"Are youtheah?... Are you theah?... Are you theah?"

At length, however, the connection was established; and Victor, hearing thefalsetto of Chou Nu's second-uncle cheerily respond to the operator'squery, unceremoniously broke in:

"Shaik Tsin? It is I, Number One. And the devil's own time I've had gettingthrough. Why didn't you answer more promptly? What's the matter? Hasanything gone wrong?"

"All is well, Excellency, as well as you could wish, knowing what youknow. "

Profound relief found voice in a sigh from Victor's heart. 

"You got my messages, then? Nogam delivered them?"

"So I understand. I myself did not see him, Excellency. The man Sturm--"

On that name the voice died away in what Victor fancied was a gasp thatmight have been of either fright or pain. 

"Hello!" he prompted. "Are you there, Shaik Tsin? I say! Are you there? Whydon't you answer?"

He paused: no sound for seconds that dragged like so many minutes, then ofa sudden a deadened noise like the slam of a door heard afar--or a pistolshot at some distance from the telephone in the study. 

Further and frantic importuning of the cold and unresponsive wirepresently was silenced by a new voice, little like that of Shaik Tsin. 

"Hello? Who's there? I say: that you, Prince Victor?"

Involuntarily Victor cried: "Karslake!" "What gorgeous luck! I've beenwanting a word with you all evening. "

"What has happened? Why did Shaik Tsin--?"

"Oh, most unfortunate about him--frightfully sorry, but it really couldn'tbe helped, if he hadn't fought back we wouldn't have had to shoot him. Yousee, the old devil murdered Sturm to-night, for some reason I daresay youunderstand better than I: we found a paper on the beggar, written inChinese, apparently an order for his assassination signed by you. Half amo': I'll read it to you ... "

But if Karslake translated Victor's message, as edited by the hand ofNogam, it was to a wire as deaf as it was dumb. 

XXI

VENTRE À TERRE

With exceeding care to avoid noise, Sofia unlocked the door and for thesecond time since midnight let herself stealthily out into the darkenedcorridor; but now with the difference that she did what she did in fullcommand of all her wits and faculties, with no subjective war of wills tohinder and confuse her, and with a definite object clearly visioned--a goalno less distant than the railway station. 

Lanyard had promised that Karslake should come for her within an hour ortwo and take her away with him, back to London and the arms of the fatherwhom, although so recently revealed and accepted, she had already begun tolove; if indeed it were not true that she had in filial sense fallen inlove with Lanyard at first sight, through intuition, that afternoon in theCafé des Exiles so long, so very long ago!

Well: she might as well await Karslake at the station. It would be simpler, she would be more at ease there, would breathe more freely once she turnedher back on Frampton Court and all its hateful associations. Where Victorwas, she could not rest. 

If she had feared the man before, now she hated him; but hatred had addedto her fear instead of replacing it, she remained afraid, desperatelyafraid, so that even the thought of continuing under the same roof with himwas enough to make her prefer to tramp unknown roads alone in the mirk ofthat storm-swept night. 

Though she went in trembling, she felt sure nobody spied upon her going;and in this confidence crept to the great staircase, down to the entrancehall, and on to the front doors; and a good omen it seemed to find thesenot locked, but simply on the latch. And if the night into which she peeredwas dark and loud with wind and rain, its countenance seemed kindlier, morefriendly far than that of the world she was putting behind her. Withoutmisgivings Sofia stepped out. 

It was like stepping over the edge of the universe into the eternal nightthat bides beyond the stars. Neither did waiting seem to habituate hervision to the lack of light. 

Still, the feel of gravel underfoot ought to guide her down the drive tothe great gateway; and once outside the park, clear of its overshadowingtrees, one would surely find mitigation of darkness sufficient to show thepublic road. 

She took one tentative step out of the recessed doorway and into Victor'sarms. 

That they were Victor's she knew instantly, as much by the crawling of herflesh as by the choking terror that stifled the scream in her throat andfroze body and limbs with its paralyzing touch. 

And then his ironic accents:

"So good of you to spare me the trouble of coming for you!"

Before she could reply or even think, other hands than his were busy withher. A folded cloth was whipped over the lower half of her face, sealingher lips, and knotted at the nape of her neck. Stout arms clipped her kneesand swung her off her feet, leaving her body helpless in Victor's tightembrace. And despite her tardy recovery and efforts to struggle, she wascarried swiftly away, a dozen paces or so, then tumbled bodily in upon thefloor of a motor-car. 

The door closed as she tried to pick herself up, the smooth purring of themotor became a leonine roar while she was still on her knees, gearsclashed, and the car leaped with a jerk that drove her headlong against thecushions of the seat. Then the dome light was switched on, and she sawVictor with a bleak face sitting over her, an automatic pistol naked in hishand. 

"Get up!" he said, grimly, "and if there's any thought of fight left inyou, think better of it, remember your mother paid with her life the priceof defying me, and yours means even less to me. Up with you and sit quietlybeside me--do you hear?"

He lent her a hand that wrenched her arm brutally and wrung a cry whichVictor mocked as Sofia fell upon the seat and cringed back into the corner. 

For perhaps thirty seconds, while the car raced away down the drive, hecontinued to hold her in the venom of her sneer; then his gaze veeredsharply, and leaning over he switched off the light. 

With the body of the car again the dwelling-place of darkness, objectsbeyond its rain-gemmed glass--the heads of the Chinese maid and chauffeur, the twin piers of the nearing gateway--attained dense relief against theblue-white glare of two broad headlight beams, that of the limousine boringthrough the gateway to intersect at right angles that of another carapproaching on the highroad but as yet hidden by the wall of the park. 

In one breath and the same the lights of the second car swerved in towardthe gateway, and consternation seized hold of Sofia's intelligence andwiped it clear of all coherence. 

Already the strange lamps were staring blankly in between the piers--andthe momentum of Victor's car was too great to be arrested within thedistance. The girl cried out, but didn't know it, and crouched low; thehorn added a squawk of frenzy to a wild clamour of yells; all prefatory toa scrunching, rending crash as, in the very mouth of the gateway, a frontfender of the incoming car ripped through the rear fender above which Sofiawas sitting. Thrown heavily against Victor, then instantly back to herplace, she felt the car, with brakes set fast, turn broadside to the road, skid crabwise, and lurch sickeningly into the ditch on the farther side. 

For an interminable time, while the ponderous fabric rocked and toppled, threatening very instant to crash upon its side, the rear wheels spun madlyand the chain-bound tires tore in vain at greasy road metal. 

Without clear comprehension of what was happening, Sofia heard shouts fromthe other car, now at a standstill, and an oddly syncopated popping. Thewindow in the door on Victor's side rang like a cracked bell, shivered, andfell inward, clashing. With a growl of rage, Victor bent forward andlevelled an arm through the opening. From his hand truncated tongues oforange flame, half a dozen of them, stabbed the gloom to an accompanimentof as many short and savage barks. 

Then the chains at last bit through to a purchase, the car scrambled to thecrown of the road and lunged precipitately away; and the lights of theother dropped astern in the space of a rest between heartbeats. 

Sitting back, Victor turned on the dome light again, and extracting anempty magazine clip from the butt of his automatic pistol, replaced it withanother, loaded. 

From this occupation he looked up with lips curling in contempt of Sofia'sterror. 

"Your friends, " he observed, "were a thought behindhand, eh? When you cometo know me better, my dear, you'll find they invariably are--with me. "

Aftermath of fright made her tongue inarticulate; and Victor's sneer tookon a colour of mean amusement. 

"Something on your mind?"

She twisted her hands together till the laced fingers hurt. 

"Wha-what are you go-going to do with me?"

"Make good use of you, dear child, " he laughed: "be sure of that!"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know ... "

"Really not? But there I think you do injustice to your admirableintelligence. "

The jeering laugh sounded as he put out the light again, in darkness thederisive voice pursued:

"If you must know in so many words--well, I mean to keep you by me till thefinal curtain falls. As long as it lasts, yours will be an interestinglife--I give my word. "

"And you call yourself my father!"

"Oh, no! No, indeed: that's all over and done with, the farce is playedout; and while I'm aware my rôle in it wasn't heroic, I shan't play thepurblind fool in the afterpiece--pure drama--upon which the curtain is nowrising. Neither need you. Oh, I'll be frank with you, if you wish, lay allmy cards on the table. "

A deliberate pause ended in a chuckle. 

"I have at present precisely two uses for my precious little Sofia: Shewill serve excellently as insurance against further persecution on the partof her accomplished and energetic father--with whom I shall deal in my goodleisure--and ... But need one be crudely explicit?"

Sofia answered nothing to that, for a long time she said nothing, but satpondering.... 

And Victor was speedily provided with another interest which engrossed himto the exclusion of further efforts to bait a victim defenseless againsthis insolence. 

When for the third time after that narrow scrape at the gates the manroused up to peer back through the rear window of the limousine, Sofiaheard a harshly sibilant intake of breath between shut teeth, and surmisedthe discovery that the car which had so narrowly missed blocking theirescape had picked up the trail, and was now in hot chase. 

Even youth, however, could distill but slender hope from this. The pace wastoo terrific at which Victor's car was thundering through the night-boundcountryside, it seemed idle to dream that another could overhaul it, eventhough driven with as much skill and maniacal recklessness. And Sofiareturned to thoughts to which Victor's innuendo had given definite shapeand colour, if with an effect far from that of his intention. Threatened, the spirit of the girl responded much as sane young flesh will to a coldplunge. She had forgotten to tremble, and though still tense-strung inevery fibre was able to sit still, look steadily into the face of peril, and calculate her chances of cheating it. 

Presently, in a tone so even it won begrudged admiration, she asked:

"Where are you taking me?"

"Do you really care?"

"Enough to ask. "

"But why should I tell you?"

"No reason. I presume it doesn't really matter, I'll know soon enough. "

"Then I don't mind enlightening you. We're bound for the Continent by wayof Limehouse. A launch is waiting for us in Limehouse Reach, a yacht offGravesend. Oh, I have forgotten nothing! By daybreak we'll be at sea. "

"We?"

"You and I. "

"You deceive yourself, Prince Victor. I shan't accompany you. "

"How amusing! And is it a secret, how you propose to stand against mywill?"

Sofia was silent for a little; then, "I can kill myself, " she said, quietly. 

"To be sure you can! And when I tire of you, perhaps I'll humour yourmorbid inclinations--if they still exist. "

"You are a fool, " Sofia returned, bluntly, "if you think I shall go aboardthat yacht alive. "

"Brava!" Victor laughed, and clapped his hands. "Brava! brava!"

He sat up for another look out of the rear window, sucked at his breatheven more sharply than before, and snatching up the speaking-tubepronounced urgent words in Chinese. 

The head of the chauffeur, in stark silhouette against the leading glow, bent toward the tube, and nodded rapidly. And to the deep-throated roar ofan unmuffled exhaust, the heavy car leaped, like a spirited animal stung bywhip and spur, and settled into a stride to which what had gone before wasas a preliminary canter to the heartbreaking drive down to thehome-stretch. 

Lights began to dot the roadside. Widely spaced at first, unbroken rankswere soon streaking past the tear-blind windows. Outskirts of London werebeing traversed; but neither driving sheets of rain against which humanvision failed, nor the chance of encountering belated traffic, worked anyslackening of the pace. Only when a corner had to be negotiated did the carslow down, and then never to the point of sanity; and the turn oncerounded, its flight would again become headlong, lunatic, suicidal. 

The stringed lamps wove a wavering luminous ribbon without end; a breezeladen with the wet fragrance of London drove great gusts of rain instringing showers through the broken window. Turns and twists grew morefrequent, apparently favouring the pursuit. 

Victor now knelt constantly on the back seat, his face in the fitful playof light and shadow uncannily resembling that of a hunted jungle cat. Onthe polished steel of his pistol sinister gleams winked and faded. From hissnarling lips foul oaths fell, a steady stream, black blasphemies spewed upfrom the darkest dives of the Orient--most of them happily couched in thetongues of their origin and so unintelligible to his one auditor. As itwas, she heard and understood enough, too much. 

Nevertheless, the man was not too completely absorbed in watching theshifting fortunes of the race to be unmindful of the girl. And when onceshe sat up to ease cramped limbs, he misread her intention and, catchingher viciously by an arm, threw her back into her corner and advised her notto play the giddy little fool. 

After that Sofia was at pains to stir as seldom as possible, and bided hertime quietly enough, but never for an instant relaxed her watchfulness orlost heart. 

The shouldering houses that hedged their course discovered a profile, ragged, black against a sky whose purple dimness held the first dullpresage of dawn. 

In the wild rush of a marauding tomcat the car crossed a broad publicsquare and sped up the graded approach to a bridge. The smell of the Thameswas unmistakable, the far-flung lamps of the Embankment were pearls aglowupon violet velvet. 

Leaving the bridge, the limousine took a turn on two wheels, andimmediately something happened, seemingly some attempt to stop it was made. Vociferous voices hailed it, only to induce an augmented bellow of theexhaust with an instantaneous acceleration of impetus. Then something wasstruck and tossed aside as a bull might toss a dog--a dark shape whirlingand flopping hideously; and an agonized screaming made the girl cower, sickwith horror, and cover her ears with her hands. 

Before she was able to forget those qualms many more minutes of franticdriving had flung to the rear many a mile of silent streets. 

Of a sudden she heard an inhuman cry and, looking up, saw Victor dash thebutt of his pistol through the glass, then reversing the weapon pourthrough the opening a fusillade whose effect was presumably gratifying, forhe laughed to himself when the pistol was empty, laughed briefly but withvicious glee. 

That laugh levelled the last barrier of doubt and fear and nerved Sofiafinally to test the forlorn hope she had been nursing ever since Victor hadlet her see a little way into his mind as to her fate. 

Until he could reload, only the tradition of the sexes lent him theoreticalsuperiority; whereas he was in fact a man well on the thither side ofmiddle-age, his virility sapped by long indulgence of unbridled appetites;while Sofia was a woman in the fullest flush of her first mature powers. 

Gathering herself together, she inched forward and made ready to spring, bear him down, overpower him--by some or any means put him hors de combatlong enough for her to fling a door open and herself out into thestreet.... 

With squealing brakes the car shaved an acute corner and slid on lockedwheels to a dead halt so unexpected that it was Sofia who plungedfloundering to the floor, while Victor only by a minor miracle escapedcatapulting through the front windows. 

The next instant, as Sofia struggled to her knees, the door behind her waswrenched open from without and, at a sign from Victor, rough hands laidhold of the girl and dragged her out bodily. 

In a passion of despair, she lost her senses for a time and like a madwomanfought, shrieking, biting, kicking, clawing, scratching.... 

With returning lucidity she found herself, panting and dishevelled, armspinned to her sides, struggling on for all that, being hustled by some halfa dozen men across a narrow sidewalk of uneven flagstones. 

Simultaneously the shutter of perceptions snapped, photographingpermanently upon the super-sensitized film of conscious memory the glimpsedvista of a grim, mean street whose repellent uglinesses grinned through theboding twilight like lineaments of some monstrous mask of evil. 

Then she tripped on a low stone step, stumbled, and was half-carried, half-thrown into a narrow and malodorous hallway. 

Between her and the sweet liberty of the rain-washed air a door crashedlike the crack of doom. 

XXII

THE SEVEN BRASS HINGES

Into a space perhaps four feet in width from wall to wall and seven deepfrom the front door to the foot of a cramped flight of crazy wooden stairs, some ten people were crowded, Sofia and the maid Chou Nu in a knot ofexcited men. 

In the saffron glow of an ill-trimmed paraffin lamp smoking in a wallbracket, desperate faces, yellow and brown and white, consulted one anotherwith rolling eyeballs and strange tongues clamorous. Sofia heard the brokenrustling of heavy respirations; she saw uncouth gesticulations carve theshadows; her nostrils were revolted by effluvia of unclean bodies, garmentssaturate with opium smoke and curious cookery, breaths sour with alcohol. 

Two were busy at the door, under the direction of Prince Victor, settingstout bars into iron sockets. When they had finished, Victor elbowed themout of his way and thrust back the slide of a narrow horizontal peephole, through which he reconnoitred. 

The tall, thin body stiffened as he looked, and without turning he flung anopen hand behind him and snapped a demand in Chinese. Somebody slipped arevolver into his palm. Levelling it he sent a volley crashing through thepeephole. Yells responded, and in the hush that fell upon the final shot anoise of fugitive feet scraping and stumbling on cobbles. A bullet struckthe door a sounding thump and all but penetrated, raising a bump on theinner face of its thick oaken panels; and Victor shut the slide and turnedback. 

Subservient silence saluted him. He spoke in Chinese, issuing (Sofiagathered) instructions for the defense of the house. One by one the mendesignated dropped out of the group about her. Three shuffled off into aroom adjoining the hallway. Two others ran briskly up the stairs. A sixthVictor directed to stand by the barred door. His chauffeur and anotherChinaman he told off for his personal attendance. 

The maid Chou Nu was left to shift for herself, and while Sofia could seeher she did not shift a finger from her pose of terror, flattened to thewall. When Sofia came back that way, the girl had vanished, however. Norwas she seen again alive. 

Her arms held fast, Sofia was partly led and partly dragged down the hall, Victor herding the group on past the staircase and into a bare room at theback of the house, where a solitary lamp burning on a deal table discoveredfor all other furnishing broken chairs, coils of tarred rope, a rack ofponderous oars and boat-hooks, a display of shapeless oilskins andsou'westers on pegs. The windows were boarded up from sills to lintels, the air was close and dank with the stale flavour of foul tidal waters. 

Here Victor took charge of Sofia, the chauffeur holding the lamp to lightthe other Chinaman at his labours with a trap-door in the floor, a slab ofwoodwork so massive that, when its iron bolts had been drawn, it neededevery whit of the man's strength to lift and throw it back upon its hinges;and its crashing fall made all the timbers quake and groan. 

Through the square opening thus discovered Sofia saw a ladder of severalslimy steps washed by black, oily waters that sucked and swirled sluggishlyround spiles green with weed and ooze. 

Down these steps the Chinaman crept gingerly, but halfway paused with acry, then cringed back to the head of the ladder, yellow face blanched, slant eyes piteous with fear, as he exhibited an end of stout mooring linewhose other end was made fast to a ring bolt in one of the joists. 

With a smothered oath Victor snatched the rope's end from the tremblinghand and examined it closely. Even Sofia could see that it had been cleanlysevered by a knife. 

Victor's countenance was ablaze as he dropped the rope. Before the tempestof his wrath the Chinaman bent like a reed, with faint, protesting bleatsand feebly weaving hands. 

But in full tide the tirade faltered, Victor seemed to forget his anger orelse to remind himself it was puerile in contrast with the mortal issuesthat now confronted him. 

He turned to Sofia eyes of cold fire in a wintry countenance. 

"So, " he pronounced, slowly, "it appears you are to have your way, afterall, and more speedily than either of us reckoned. You are to die, and soam I, this day--you in my arms. Well, it is time, I daresay, when I permitmyself to be duped and overreached by police spies like your perseveringfather and lover. Yes; I am ready to pay the price of my fatuity--but notuntil they had paid me for their victory--and dearly. Come!"

He motioned to the Chinese to reclose and fasten the trap-door, andgrasping Sofia's wrist with cruel fingers hurried her back through thehallway. 

Repeated breaks of pistol-fire guided them to the front room, a racketechoed in diminished volume from the street. 

In an atmosphere already thick with acrid fumes of smokeless powder two menheld the windows, firing through loopholes in iron-bound blinds of oak. Attheir feet a third squatted, reloading for them as occasion required. AsSofia and Victor entered one man dropped his weapon and, grunting, fellback from his window to nurse a shattered hand. Releasing the girl withoutanother word, Victor caught up the pistol and took the vacant post. 

Instantly, on peering out, he fired once, then again. Evidently missingboth shots, he settled to await a better target, eyes intent to theloophole. In the course of the next few minutes he changed position butonce, when, after firing several more shots, he tossed the empty weapon tothe man on the floor and received a loaded one in exchange. 

Seeing him thus employed, altogether forgetful, Sofia began to back towardthe hall, step by cautious step, keeping her attention fixed to Victorthroughout. But he seemed to be completely preoccupied with hismarkmanship, and paid her no heed. 

Nevertheless, when she at length found courage to swing and dart awaythrough the door, Victor flung three curt words to the fellow at his feet, who grunted, rose, and glided from the room in close chase. 

The guard at the front door was not so busy as Sofia had hoped to find him, not too interested in the progress of siege operations outside to note herapproach and look round from his peephole with a menacing grin of welcome;and his unmistakable readiness, as pistol in hand he took a single steptoward her, drove the girl back to the foot of the stairs. 

Then the other came swiftly after her, and Sofia swung in panic andstumbled up the steps. There were others up above, two to her certainknowledge, possibly many more of Victor's creatures; but if only she couldfind some sort of refuge in the uppermost fastnesses of the rookery, perhaps ... 

Like a shape of smoke wind-driven, she sped up the first flight, then thesecond, only pausing at the head of the third and last flight to throwhunted glances right, left, and behind her. 

Overhead a skylight with dingy panes diffused a dull blue glimmer whichdiscovered a yawning door at her elbow, a pocket of black mystery beyond, and on the uppermost steps of the staircase her patient yellow shadow, hisupturned eyes inscrutable but potentially revolting with their veryconcealment of the intent behind them. 

Impossible that a worse thing could await her beyond that darkthreshold.... 

She crossed it in one stride, swung the door to, and set her shouldersagainst it. 

Outside she heard the shuffling footfalls pause. The knob rattled. Butinstead of the inward thrust against which she stood braced, there came theleast of outward pulls, as if to make sure that the latch had caught; andafter a brief pause a key grated in the lock, was withdrawn, and theslippered feet withdrew in turn. 

When her lungs ceased to labour painfully, she took her courage in bothhands and began to explore, groping blindly through darkness, encounteringnothing till she blundered into a table which held a glass lamp forparaffin oil, like those in use below. 

Fumbling over the top of the table, she found matches, struck one, and setits fire to the wick. 

The flame waxed and grew steady in a crusted chimney, revealing a room witha slant ceiling and two dormer windows, boarded; in one corner a cot-bedwith tumbled blankets, near this a low wooden stand, with a pipe, spiritlamp, and other paraphernalia of an opium smoker--no chairs, not anotherstick of furniture of any kind. 

Removing the lamp, the girl set it on the floor, and pushed the table overagainst the door. By not so long as half a minute would its reinforcementdelay Victor when he made up his mind to get in. But in such emergenciesthe human kind is not impatient of the most futile expedients. 

There was nothing more she could do. She stood still, listening. The rattleof pistol fire three floors below continued in fits and starts, but thesound of it was oddly unreal, resembling more stammering explosions of astring of firecrackers than snaps of the whiplash of Death. 

She tried one of the windows without encouragement, but at the other founda board with a loose end, which she pried aside, till through begrimedglass she could see a ghastly, weeping sky of daybreak and, by craning herneck, peer down into the dark gully of the street. 

At first she thought it empty; but presently her straining vision made outtwo huddled shapes upon the farther sidewalk, close under the walls of apublic house whose sign she could just barely decipher: the Red Moon. 

Then, about to draw back from the window, she saw five men, oddlyforeshortened figures from that lofty coign of view, leave the Red Moon byone of its bar entrances, bearing between them a heavy beam of wood, andwith this improvised battering-ram aimed at the door to the besieged house, charge awkwardly across the cobbles. 

The house spat fire from door and windows, a withering blast. In the middleof the street the beam was abandoned, three of its fool-hardy bearers tookto their heels, each shaping an individual course, while one lay still uponthe wet black stones, and another, apparently wounded in the legs, soughtpitifully to drag himself by his arms, inch by inch, out of the zone offire. But presently his efforts grew feeble, then he, too, lay stirless, prone in the sluicing rain. 

The girl shrank back from the window, hiding her eyes as if to blot outthat picture. 

The light, that is to say the absence of it in true sense, the angle ofview, and the distance, all had conspired to prevent her from making surethat neither her father nor Karslake were of those four whose broken bodiescluttered the street. But the fear and uncertainty were maddening.... 

She wheeled suddenly toward the door: the ancient stairs were creakingbeneath a measured tread. She made an offer to add her weight to that ofthe table, but checked and fell back immediately, seeing the folly ofsacrificing her strength, the wisdom of saving it to serve her whenfinally.... 

The creaking ceased, the wards of the lock grated, the knob turned, thedoor was thrust open--the table offering little hindrance if any. From thethreshold Victor eyed the girl with a twitching grin. 

"The time is at hand, " he announced with a parody of punctilio. "We havebeaten them off in the street, but they have found the tunnel from thecellar of the Red Moon, and are attacking from the river besides. So, mydear, it ends for us.... "

In silence, shoulders to the wall farthest from the door, Sofia watched himunwinking. The lamp at her feet painted the tensely poised young body andbloodless face with quaint, stagey shadows. 

Victor's glance ranged the cheerless room. 

"I think you understand me, " he said. 

She might have been a waxwork dummy out of Madame Tussaud's. 

A white blaze of madness transfigured Victor's countenance. He took onestep toward Sofia. 

In movements so precisely coordinated that they seemed one andinstantaneous, the girl stooped, caught up the lamp, and threw it with allher might. Victor ducked his head. The lamp sailed on, described adescending curve through the open doorway into the well of the staircase, struck, and exploded. In the clutches of the maniac, Sofia was aware of thelurid glare, momentarily gaining strength, that filled the rectangle of thedoorway. 

In through this last, while iron hands tightened on her throat andconsciousness grew dark with closing shadows, a man's shape passed, thenanother.... 

The grip on her throat grew lax, the hands left it free. She reeled, butsomebody caught her up and bore her swiftly from the room, leaving two whofought together like beasts on the floor, locked in each other's arms, rolling and squirming, rearing and flopping.... 

The scorch of flames stung her cheek, but she forgot that when their brokenlight made visible the features of Karslake above the arms wherein she laycradled. 

Turning aside from the staircase, Karslake bore her to the ladder leadingto the skylight, whose broken glass crunched beneath his heels at everystep. 

In the open air he pulled up for a moment's rest, but continued to holdSofia in his arms. The wind raved about them, buffeted them, tore theirbreath away, rain pelted them like birdshot; but they clung to each otherand were unaware of reason for complaint. 

Presently, however, Karslake remembered, and anxiously endeavoured todisengage from these tenacious arms. 

"Let me go, dearest, " he muttered. "I must go back--I left your father totake care of Victor, and--"

As if evoked by his very solicitude Lanyard emerged from the skylighthatch, waved a hand in gay salute, then turned to stare down into theflaming pit from which he had climbed. 

After a little he fell back a pace. Then slowly, with the labouredmovements of exhaustion, Victor worked head and shoulders through theopening and dragged himself out upon the roof. 

On all fours he held in doubt, his head moving from side to side like thehead of a stricken beast, seeking his enemy with dazzled eyes. Then he madeLanyard out and, pulling himself together for the supreme effort, launchedat his throat with the pounce of a great cat. 

Lanyard met him halfway, caught him in the middle of his bound, wound wiryarms round the man and held him helpless. 

His voice rang clear above the crackle of flames:

"Victor! have you forgotten how you threatened one night, twenty years ago, to follow me to the very gates of Hell, and what I promised you--that, ifyou did, I'd push you inside? Or did you think I would forget?"

He cast the man from him, backward, down into the hungry maw of thatinferno....