 Number 1 of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustis. Death had summoned my friend Maurice Escott, and I was called to Paris at a moment's notice. I was thirty years of age and had led up to that date a lazy and in many respects a good-for-nothing existence. My name was Rupert Penaise. I came of an old family and had plenty of money for my needs. It was on the 5th of February, 1898, that I received the telegram, and little did I guess as I opened it that with one leap I was to spring into a totally new life. I, who had not the slightest experience of danger, whose blood had never been quickened by a single heartbeat into undue excitement, was henceforth to be the victim of a strange mystery. I was to know tragedy, pain, and the extreme of peril. I was standing in the bay window of my luxurious sitting-room in Half Moon Street when my servant brought me a telegram on a salver. I tore it open. It ran as follows. Dying, come at once, Escott. I had known Escott all my days. I was fond of him. He was a first-rate fellow in every sense of the word, handsome to look at, brave, and in all his actions straight as a die. Where I was lacking in energy he was full of go and spirit. Nevertheless, friends that we were, there was a secret in connection with his life, which I had never been able to discover. He was, I knew, a very busy man, but in what sort of manner he occupied his time, or in what way he earned his income, for he had no private means, was a secret he had never divulged. He was strangely remarkably sensitive on the point, and knowing that such was the case, I had long ceased to worry him. Such a telegram was immediately to be obeyed. I took the night mail to Paris, and early the following morning drove up in hot haste to Escott's apartments in the Rue de Rivoli. The door was opened by my friend's valet, who knew me well. How is your master, Valentine? I asked. The man shook his head. I am sorry to say he is very bad, sir. The doctor does not give the slightest hope. I am glad, Mr. Faneis, that you are in time. Pray let the nurse know that I have arrived, was my next remark. The man ushered me into his sitting-room. A moment later a tall young woman, dressed as a nurse, came in. You are in time, Mr. Faneis. Mr. Escott has been asking for you at intervals all night. He is very ill, but your presence will comfort him. What is the matter, I asked. The patient is in the last stage of double pneumonia. The doctor, Professor Thaisagar, who is attending him and who is an Englishman, gave up all hope a few hours ago. Will you follow me, sir? The nurse led the way into a darkened room. As soon as I got accustomed to the dim light, I looked on the face of my friend, and knew that both doctor and nurse were right. Escott was breathing with extreme difficulty, and there was a dusky hue under his eyes and round his lips. When I first bent over him, his eyes were shut, but the next instant he opened them with a restless movement, saw me, and a smile lit up his face. Thank God, Rupert, you have come! He said, I must speak to you at once, and alone. I have not a moment to lose. Please leave us, nurse. The woman withdrew from the room. When the door had closed behind her, Escott raised himself with some difficulty in bed. A flicker of strength came into his voice, and his eyes grew bright. I have come to the end, old man. He said, I am within a few moments of solving the great secret. Do not waste time condoling with me. There is something I must tell you quickly. You have often wondered what my life has been. I never told you, but it is necessary to tell you now. I am one of the agents of the British Secret Service. I listened to these words in astonishment. I had always heard of the Secret Service, and knew well that to belong to it meant danger and difficulty. You may thank heaven that up to the present you have known nothing of what I have lived through, continued Escott. Men in my profession have to obtain their strange knowledge at fearful risks. Yes, my life has been one of danger. And now, Fenace, I am about to transfer that danger to you. You must not shrink nor hesitate. There is no course in honor open to you but to accept the charge, which I am about to confide in you. When you know my secret, you too will be at the mercy of men without scruple and without conscience. But I put this burden on you, Fenace, because you are an Englishman, and for the sake of our country. His voice sank to a whisper. I gave him a spoonful of restorative, which stood near. It revived him, and he continued, his words coming out now in gasps. You will do what I want, Fenace? Yes, I replied. I spoke with earnestness, and my words comforted him. I knew I was right in appealing to you, he said. Now, listen. A fortnight ago it was my misfortune to obtain possession of a political secret of such gravity that if even a suspicion of its existence were breathed it would cause a European crisis. There is only one who knows that I know this secret. That man is a certain Mesur-la-Roch, a French chemist, a man of remarkable learning and power. He is altogether my friend in this matter. Immediately after my death you must go to my cabinet in my sitting-room. You will find a letter there addressed to him, take it to him, and act in concert with him over this grave matter. But what is the secret, I asked? Listen. I was present but unknown a fortnight back at a secret conference between the President of the French Republic and the Agent of the Tsar of Russia. The substance of what I heard was that in the event of war between England and the Transvaal, Russia and France would, but come closer. No, do not write anything, for heaven's sake. It would not be safe. Listen, and do not forget. There are three generals of the French Army. General Romville, General. There was a sudden movement at the door. A few words of entreaty and expostulation fell on our ears, and the next instant a tall girl, with evidences of great excitement on her face, burst into the room. The name of General Romville must have fallen on her ears. She rushed to the bedside, and the horror on her face was painful to witness. I am in time, she said. Send him away, Maurice, and tell me what you want. Tell me what has burdened your last moments. She fell on her knees by the dying man's side, and buried her face in her hands. Escott gave her a glance of despair. Then he looked at me, and then a sudden change came over his face. His lips made an effort to speak, but no words were audible. His breath came and hurried gasps, and then stopped. He was dead. You have killed him, I said, turning to the girl and speaking in hot anger. Why did you force yourself into the room? You do not know what you have done. I know perfectly well, she replied. She had risen to her feet. Her face was as white as the white face of my dead friend. I meant to be with him at the very end, she said. I had the right. I stared at her in consternation. He was telling you something important when I entered the room, she continued. It was a secret. Now listen. That secret was meant for me. I know what it was about, for I caught the words, General Romville. Will you tell it to me now? For it is my right to know. Her words were interrupted by the nurse who entered the room. Mr. Escott is dead, I said, turning to the woman. The entrance of this young lady was the final shock. You had no right to admit her. I told Madam Ozel what the consequences would be, said the nurse. She went to the sitting room first. What were you doing, Madam Ozel? How did you come by the key of my master's cabinet? I found it on the floor. Give it to me, I said eagerly. The nurse handed it to me without a word. As she did so, Madam Ozel regarded her with grave, white, open eyes. There was a half-despairing, half-indictive expression on her face. Notwithstanding the fact that I had just lost my dearest friend, it was the sort of look to haunt a man, to fill him with uneasiness. I left the room where Escott lay dead and went straight to his sitting-room. The first thing I did was to walk to the cabinet and open it. I meant to take out the letter which he had told me I should find there, the letter addressed to Monsieur Larocque. Search as I would, I could not see it anywhere. I opened drawer after drawer, had the strange girl whose name I did not even know taken it. This thought had scarcely come to me before the door was opened and she came in. Mr. Finesse, she said, I have come to ask your pardon. Please forgive me if I spoke with intemperance. The fact is I was very much upset at seeing you in the room with Maurice Escott. I wanted to be alone with him during his last moments. I had my reason. Whatever that reason was, Madam Ozel, I replied, I still very deeply regret your having burst into the room in the intemperate way you did, but however much we may deplore it we cannot call the dead back to life. Now I have a question to ask you. The nurse said she found the key of this cabinet on the floor. She further said that you had been in the room. Did you open the cabinet and take from thence a letter? If you did please return it to me immediately. It was entrusted to me by my friend and was addressed to a man he had business connections with. I took no letter, she answered haughtily. What do you take me for? You are a stranger to me, I answered. Your actions since you came into this house have astonished me. Forgive me if I am oversuspicious. You had better know at once who I am, she replied. My name is Francesca de la Courte. My father, who is dead, was a Frenchman, but my mother was English. I have known Mr. Escott for a long time. I can scarcely realize that he is dead. Whatever secret he told you was meant for me. May I share the confidence which he gave you on his deathbed? I have nothing whatever to tell you, I answered. I should be glad if you would leave me now, for I am upset and shocked. I will certainly go, she replied. As to your being shocked, if you know what I think you know you have reason for your emotion. She turned, walked to the door, went out and closed it behind her. I was alone and I tried to collect my troubled thoughts. Escott had died without having told me his secret. The letter which he had written to Monsieur La Rue could not be found. Mlle. de la Courte seemed to be mixed up in the affair. I distrusted her. I felt certain that, although she denied it, she had really stolen the letter which was addressed to Monsieur La Rue. What that letter contained God only knew. It was terrible to feel that my poor friend's most dangerous secret might have got into wrong hands. An agent of the British secret service is a man scarcely to be envied. He becomes acquainted with matters which touch big interests, often affecting the welfare of nations. Escott declared that his was a most dangerous secret. He was about to tell it to me when death, caused by Mlle. de la Courte's abrupt entrance, prevented him. I was musing on these thoughts when the doctor arrived. He was an Englishman with a clever face of about forty years of age. I told him that his patient was dead. I expected it, was his answer. Did you arrive in time, Mlle. de La Courte? Yes and no was my answer. He sent me a wire, as perhaps you know. He had something to confide in me, but died before his confidence was complete. Indeed, how sad! Where are you staying? I was going to the Continental. I must return to London immediately after the funeral. Pray, make my house your home, Mr. Finet's. I have apartments in the Rue Saint-Honoré. Bring your things, for we shall be quite quiet. After a moment's thought, I decided to accept this invitation. I went, therefore, that afternoon to the Zicker's rooms, and in the evening the doctor and I dined together. During the meal I asked him a few questions with regard to my dead friend. Did you know Escott well? Did you see much of him? Was my first query? A good deal, replied Dr. Thezicker. He was always a rather reserved sort of fellow. But he often came over here to smoke and have a chat. During the last few weeks he seemed to be seriously troubled, and to have something weighing on his mind. Indeed. Yes, and I think that something lessened his chance of recovery. When I told him yesterday that his illness was likely to take a serious turn, he immediately asked me to wire for you. I am sorry you were not in time to receive his confidence. Alas, I was not. Thezicker gave me a keen glance. His eyes met mine. I saw a gleam of curiosity in them. There was a great deal of mystery about him, poor fellow, he continued. He never even told me what his business was. Was he conscious at the end? Yes, I said slowly. And yet he did not relieve his mind. He was prevented. How? A girl forced her way into the room. Mr. Fenece? A girl? What girl? Madame Azeal Francesca Delacorte. Ah, I know Madame Azeal Delacorte. What do you mean? She rushed in uninvited. My friend was interrupted in an important confidence. Her entrance agitated him. He passed away a moment later. Thezicker's face looked grave and stern. Do you know this young lady? I asked. Yes, I think everyone does. She is a beautiful and clever woman. Her father belonged to one of the best old French families. She goes everywhere. Her beauty and position give her the entree, wherever she wills. Do you like her, doctor? Yes, he replied. But I noted a certain reserve in his tone. You mean no, Dr. Thezicker, I said boldly. You may take my answer then to mean both yes and no, was his reply. Please tell me exactly what you know about her. I should advise you, Fenece, to have nothing to do with her. She is said to have the power of arousing keen interest in most men to whom she accords her friendship. It is rumored that she has considerable political influence, and that her greatest friends belong to the diplomatic corps. The diplomatic corps, I replied. Yes. I sat silent, but a thrill of mingled pain and fear had run through me. Could Mademoiselle really know Escott's secret? Had she interrupted his confidence on purpose? At that moment a servant entered with a card on a salver. Thezicker glanced at it, and then, with a curious smile on his face, handed it to me. It bore the name of Mademoiselle Francesca Delacorte. This is curious, I said. I will go and see what she wants, said the doctor. If she should have learnt that you are here, Fenece, and asks to see you, what shall I say? I will see her, I replied. Thezicker was absent a minute or two. His face looked grave when he returned. Mademoiselle has managed to trace you here, he said. With what motive I am unable to say? She wishes to see you immediately. Will you give her an interview? You are, of course, at liberty to refuse. I will see her. I said. If you will take my advice, Fenece, you will be careful. I shall be very careful, I answered. End of No. 1, Part 1. Part 2 of No. 1 of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Mead and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Mademoiselle Delacorte continued. Thezicker now led the way to his library. He opened the door for me and I entered. Mademoiselle was standing in the shade of a lamp. She wore full dinner dress, covered with a long opera cloak, lined with rich silk of a rosy hue. Nothing but the utmost necessity, Mr. Fenece, would make me intrude myself on you at a moment like this. She began. Your business, I interrupted? I will tell you in as few words as possible. You were a great friend of Mr. Escott's, were you not? His greatest friend, Mademoiselle. May I ask if you had any idea as to the nature of his profession? As Mademoiselle uttered these words I watched her face closely, notwithstanding all her efforts to wear a mask of utter indifference, I noticed on her smooth young features an expression of anxiety joined to what might almost be called fear. I certainly knew about my friend, I answered. But pardon me, what a fear is it of yours? I will soon explain. Please listen. Mr. Escott was a member of the British Secret Service. You know that fact, so do I. Less than an hour before I reached his house I received an urgent message from him to come at once as he had a matter of the utmost importance to tell me. I came on the scene just too late. He was giving you his confidence. Did he say anything about me? He did not. Then did he tell you that secret of great importance? I declined to discuss the question, Mademoiselle. Her eyes flashed an angry fire and her face hardened. Mr. Feneze, she said earnestly, you are unknowingly putting yourself into danger. I used the word advisedly. It is my duty to warn you. The Secret Service requires much of its votaries. The communication Mr. Escott made to you was not a pleasant one for you to receive. He only told you because I was not present. Beyond doubt his instructions were that you were to deliver the message to me. You are mistaken, I answered. Those were not his instructions. As I spoke I walked to the door and held it wide open. I think Mademoiselle our conference has come to an end. To my amazement she changed color. The hard look left her face. Her eyes filled with tears which rolled over and ran down her cheeks. I spoke hastily, she exclaimed. I am always hasty, always excitable, unfit, most unfit for that which I have undertaken. But you are so cold, so suspicious. Why do you not trust me? Do you think I would injure him? I will be truthful with you, I replied. My friend was about to confide a secret to me, but your entrance prevented it ever reaching his lips. I shall never know what he wanted to say. It was your fault. He sought to relieve his mind, and the secret may have been of consequence. That I am unprepared to say. I have never heard it. It can therefore never be imparted to you. She smiled. Do you really think that I believe you? She answered. Did I not with my own ears hear words to convince me of the contrary? You will be sorry for this. Are you leaving Paris at once? After the funeral. She gave me a curious stare, but did not speak. Without offering her hand she left the room. On the day of the funeral I received a letter. It was directed in a strange hand, was enclosed in a black edged envelope, and bore the mark of a Paris suburb. The words in it were typewritten, and were in the French tongue. They ran as follows. We are well aware that your friend, before he died, told you his secret. Understand that if you divulge that secret to the British government, or if in any way it reaches their ears, you are a dead man. No human precautions and no human laws can possibly protect you. We shall know it at once, by the steps the British government will take on receipt of the intelligence, whether they have learnt the secret or not. Therefore, beware. I read this strange letter twice, at first with bewilderment, then with growing interest. One of two things had happened. Either I was the victim of a pitiable and labored jest, or I had received a threat of some seriousness. In either case, the letter, being anonymous, must be disregarded. My thoughts naturally flew to Mademoiselle de la Courte. Could she have written the letter? I dismissed the notion as impossible. But if she were not the author, who was, for who else knew that I was with Escott? Just then the words the poor fellow had said on his deathbed recurred to my memory. My life has been in great danger, and that danger I hand to you when I tell you my secret. A shudder ran through me. I must consult my London lawyer about this, I said to myself. And I rose from my chair in the ziggur setting room with the intention of packing my things. Just then a servant entered with a letter. By messenger, sir, he said briefly. I tore open the letter. It was in a handwriting quite unknown to me. Another anonymous communication, I said to myself. What does it mean? I turned quickly to the signature of the second letter, and then I gave a start of relief. The letter was headed Chateau la Roque. And at the end was the signature Edward la Roque. These were the contents of the letter. My dear sir, I have just heard to my infinite distress of my friend Escott's death. I received a letter from him a few days ago, telling me that he was about to send for you, in order to entrust a secret of great importance to your keeping. Now as I know all about the matter, I am anxious to see you at once. My house is situated four kilometers outside the village of Bévalon. A train leaves the Guerre du Nord for Bévalon at five o'clock this evening, arriving at the village at six o'clock. If you can make it convenient to come by that train, a carriage shall meet you and bring you at once to Machateau. Pray do not delay, as the matter is of great urgency. Yours faithfully, Edward la Roque. I gave a pleased exclamation. This letter was indeed a comfort. Just when I was despairing of ever being able to communicate with Monsieur la Roque, he gave me the opportunity I required. When Thisegur came in, I told him of la Roque's letter, at the same time mentioning that I intended to leave Paris that evening. He did not ask me for any particulars, but said that he would be pleased at any time to serve me and to put me up if I required to come back to the French capital. I reached the Guerre du Nord in good time, and my train set me down just about six o'clock at Bévalon. I found a brome waiting for me. I entered it and told the man to take me to the Chateau la Roque. The sun had just set and a watery moon was creeping up the sky. As I drove along I could see stretches of marsh and wasteland intersected by dykes. The air was damp and a rising mist rendered distant objects indistinct. Presently the road took a sharp turn, and the old Chateau burst into view. I can vividly recall my impressions as I first saw it. It was a well-preserved feudal fortress, lying in a hollow and with a wide moat surrounding it. The Chateau was of the typical Norman type, with round bastions at each corner and surrounded by battlements. As the carriage drew up at the drawbridge, I alighted, entered the courtyard, and was about to advance to the principal entrance when, to my amazement, my eyes fell upon the figure of mademoiselle Francesca de la Corte. She was talking to an elderly man, but when she saw me she came quietly forward, smiling as she did so. Ah, Mr. Feneze, she exclaimed. By all that is wonderful I could not help answering. How is it that I see you here? You see me here for a very natural reason, was her answer. I am staying in the house with my godfather. I have known him all my lifetime. You will like him, Mr. Feneze. He is a great chemist, and is making some investigations at the present time for me. For my hobby is also chemistry. The fact is I am proud to tell you I have made a small discovery which may be of use to the world. Monsieur La Roque is helping me to perfect it. But come, Mr. Feneze, I must not keep you talking any longer. Follow me, will you? Her manner was courteous and friendly, but a strange despondency came over me as I talked to her, and the comfort which I had hitherto experienced and the receipt of Mr. La Roque's letter gave place to a strange feeling of unaccountable distrust. Madam Azele led the way into the old house. We passed down several dark passages, and then paused outside a door covered with green bays. This she flung open, and going in before me invited me to follow. Seated by a log fire was an old man, whose bent back and long gray hair were all I could see. How do you do, Monsieur La Roque, I said, bending towards him? I have answered your letter in person. I am Mr. Feneze. As I spoke I noticed that Madam Azele had left the room. I looked at my host, expecting a word of welcome. He was silent for a moment, then he said gravely, This is Francesca's doing, but it is good of you, Mr. Feneze, to come. Madam Azele's doing? I could not help interrupting. Yes, she happened to be present when poor Escott died, and gave me to understand that he had imparted a somewhat serious matter to you. If so, we shall have something to discuss, and I hope you will forgive the liberty a complete stranger takes in summoning you here. But there is no liberty, I replied. On the contrary, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Poor Escott spoke to me of you on his deathbed, and asked me to communicate with you immediately. He said that he had left a letter addressed to you in his cabinet, I could not find it, and did not know your address, therefore was unable to write to you. Your letter today, therefore, makes all straight. I am much relieved. I presume, Mr. Feneze, you are now on your way to London, in order to hand on the communication which Escott made to you to the right quarter? I am returning to London, I answered, but an unfortunate thing happened. Poor Escott's secret was never confided to me. He was about to tell it when he was interrupted. How? Miss Delacorte, in what I consider an unwarrantable way, burst into the room. The shock killed him. Francesca was always impulsive, said the old man. He paused for a moment, and his face looked downcast. Is it really true, he then said, that you know nothing? Nothing, I replied. And yet someone must act, and at once continued Michel Arroque. The matter is of vital importance. If I were not a cripple, I could, but there I am powerless. God only knows what the consequences may be if those scoundrels. He broke off a faint streak of colour in his face. Well, sir, I am glad to see you. Your coming is opportune. You will, of course, remain for the night. I have come prepared to do so. That is well. After dinner I will tell you what I know. He rang the bell, which was close to his side. An old servant in faded livery appeared. He took me to a room on the second floor. I changed into my dinner dress and came downstairs. I found my host and mademoiselle in the room. The meal was announced. The old servant Paul gave his arm to my host and conducted him to the head of the table. During dinner Francesca Delacorte led the conversation. She spoke well in excellent French. My host now and then looked at her with an affectionate smile. She was, beyond doubt, a handsome and attractive woman. We dined simply, and when the meal came to an end, the roque turned to his goddaughter. Francesca, he said, Mr. Faneis and I are going to the laboratory. We are about to have an important conversation. Can you do without us for a time? Of course I can, she answered. But, godfather, the laboratory is too damp for you just now. I must go down first and see that it is comfortable. Very well, my dear, turn on the electric light. The room is thoroughly warm and your idea with regard to its being damp is, pardon my saying it, nonsense. She shook her head and her eyes met mine fully. There was something in their glance which again brought back that intense sensation of discomfort and uneasiness which her presence had before produced. She went as far as the door, then she turned and looked at me again. Her second glance caused a curious tingling in my spine. As I write these words I recall that queer look. There was a strange expression round her mouth, a slight narrowing for dark almond-shaped eyes, a peculiar smile which first lit up the gloomy depths of her eyes, hovered round her lips, and vanished. A moment later I had forgotten about her, being much entertained by my host's conversation. We chatted for a few minutes, then he turned to me. If you will walk down the passage outside this room, Mr. Fenace, and open a base door at the end, you will find some steps. Pray go down the stairs to the laboratory. I shall be with you in a moment or two. I immediately proceeded to carry out his instructions. I walked down the passage, opened the base door, and went downstairs. The whole of the castle was lit with electric light. It looked strangely out of place in this Norman fortress. But La Roque was nothing if not scientific, and the latest improvements in science were, he assured me, always to be found in his house. As I entered the laboratory I started to see that Madame Moselle de la Courte was there. She was bending over a cylinder. When I appeared she hastily pushed it behind a velvet curtain. Then she turned, looked at me, and smiled. I will leave you and my godfather to your business, she said, and she went away without waiting for me to speak to her. Curiosity impelled me to walk to the curtain and push it back in order to see what was behind it. Only two cylinders, which might have contained anything, but were now empty. I vaguely wondered why they were there and what Madame Moselle de la Courte was doing with them. A weight of gloom and nervousness overpowered me, but my host's footsteps caused me to pull myself together, and the next instant he entered the room. Ah, he said, sinking with a sigh into his easy chair. Do you know, Feneze, that this is one of the finest laboratories in the neighborhood of Paris? Here I do all my scientific work. I am quite quiet here and undisturbed. Anyone would think a place of this sort would be damp. For it is only just above the level of the moat. But in reality it is not. The air of the room is quite warm and dry, I answered. Yes, that is the case, he replied. Then he was silent for a minute. I am glad you have come, Mr. Feneze, he said then. For if that secret got into the wrong hands, it would do the most incalculable and awful mischief. Now, come nearer to me and I will tell you everything. Hello, what is that? He had scarcely spoken before we were plunged into darkness. The electric light had gone out. That infernal dynamo has broken down again, he said. It is really too bad. Please hand me the matches and we will light a lamp. You will find them just there on the bench. Run your hand along and you will touch the box. I rose to comply, guided by a streak of moonlight, which entered through a narrow window. I cannot find any matches, I said. Just wait a moment. I will go to the dining room and get some. I opened the door and began to climb the stairs. I had not gone up a dozen steps when I heard him call out. All right, here they are. Come back, please. I had just turned to do so when a sudden and terrific explosion occurred, an explosion of such awful violence that I felt myself hurled up against the stonework as if by an unseen arm. For a moment I was so stunned that I could scarcely understand what had happened. Then self-control returned to me and I went quickly back to the laboratory. A terrible sight met my gaze. The room was absolutely wrecked, the window panes and sashes blown out, and the floor strewn with shattered furniture. In one corner evidently propelled there by the violence of the explosion, lay the body of my poor host. I rushed to raise him up, but one glance was sufficient to show that he was quite dead. I was just about to go for assistance when Madame Iselle, followed by several servants, hurried in. Unseeing me she gave a sharp cry, and I shall never forget the curious look of horror and intense disappointment on her face. Then she seemed to recover herself. She stood by the door with both hands raised. Ah, she cried, I warned him, so it has happened at last. What do you mean, I said? Can you throw any light on this fearful thing? I can, she replied, I warned him, but he would never listen. Come upstairs and I will tell you. You shall tell me here, I answered. Bring a lamp at once, I continued, turning to the servant. He turned to obey. Miss Delacorte and I stood facing each other. The moonlight coming in through the shattered windows fell on both our faces. All the distrust I felt for her shone doubtless in my eyes. Just for a moment, her eyes quailed under my gaze. A man came down with a lamp. Now for your explanation, I said. Do you doubt my word, she asked. I doubt everything about you, I replied. I doubted you from the first moment I saw you. Now I doubt you terribly. And yet you are wrong, she said. But some men cannot help being suspicious. I await your explanation, I said. And I will give it, she said. Have you ever heard of marsh gas? Certainly. Then you will soon be at the bottom of this awful incident. Marsh gas is to be found in places where vegetation decomposes. It is the same thing as fire damp, which causes so many mining disasters. Its deadliness consists and it's not being detectable by any of the senses, as it has no color or smell. But when mixed with the air it forms one of the most explosive gaseous mixtures there is. Now I have often suspected that this gas found its way into Michiel Rook's laboratory from the moat. Of course, even if it did come in, he would be safe as long as only the electric light was burning. But any unguarded flame, even that caused by the lighting of a match, would bring on an explosion. But why were you not also present when the explosion took place? I went to find matches, I answered. The electric light went out suddenly. I could not find the matchbox and went upstairs to get some. Manamazel, why did the light go out? What were you doing when you bent over the cylinder? Why did you push it behind the curtain? I looked behind the curtain when you left the room and found two cylinders. They may have contained compressed air or anything. She turned white. You will be sorry for this, she said. Your suspicions are past enduring. She turned and left the room. How I spent the rest of that night I can scarcely tell. But towards morning I went to my bedroom and lay down without undressing. I had scarcely dropped to sleep before I was aroused by someone touching me. Looking up I saw the old servant, Paul. The carriage is at the door, sir. I train for Paris-Live's Bellevolant in less than an hour. I will drive you to the station. You are not safe in this house, Mr. Finet. In Heaven's name, what do you mean? I asked. He bent near and spoke in a whisper. May God forgive me if I am wrong, sir. But I must speak. There was nothing the matter with the dynamo. I saw Mademoiselle with her own hands turn off the current. I raised myself on my elbow and stared hard at the old servant. I will take your advice, Paul, I said, and get back to Paris at once. End of Part 2 of Mademoiselle Delacorte Number 2 of The Heart of a Mystery by L.T. Mead and Robert Eustis This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A Little Smoke Part 1 Looking back on my startling experience, I came to the conclusion that in the Hall of England there were probably very few men in a stranger position than I, Rupert Finais, when, on a certain dull February morning, I found myself, after my brief visit to Paris, once more back in London. In that visit all my life had been changed. I had gone to Paris to see my greatest friend, who, in struggling to tell me a terrible and important secret, had died. Agents of the French Secret Service believed me to be in possession of this great secret, and in consequence my life was in danger. Such was the state of affairs. Already I had been within an ace of being hurled into eternity. What further dangers were in store for me it was impossible to tell. When I arrived at my comfortable rooms in Half Moon Street, I owned to a momentary sensation of relief. But this was of short duration. My fears with regard to the future quickly returned, and I determined to put the whole matter before my lawyer, Mr. Charles Tempest, of Lincoln's infields, and take his advice. I called on Tempest soon after breakfast. He was within and saw me almost immediately. I told him of the curious position in which I found myself, and I could see that at first he was almost unable to take my communication seriously. It was not until I had driven home fact after fact that he assumed his normal professional attitude. Now for your advice, sir, I said. I do not know anyone in such a deplorable position as I find myself in. All the British government and Scotland Yard, combined, cannot prevent my assassination by desperados. Is it likely that the persecution will be continued? It is certainly possible, replied Tempest. The attempt already made on your life is sufficient to show you that these people are in earnest. Your position is I take it this. You are supposed, by the agents of the French Secret Service, to be in possession of a great secret, and nothing you can say will convince them to the contrary. That is so. In reality you have no secret whatever? Precisely. It is the lady you call Mlle. Delacorte whom you principally fear? Yes. You believe that she is one of the agents of the French Secret Service? Yes. There is little doubt that you are in danger, continued Tempest. The issues you see are considerable. They are international, and lives are cheap when these things hang in the balance. Well, you have two courses open to you. One, to take no notice at all, and go on with your usual life. The other, to disappear. The first offers the greatest danger to yourself, and the second may seem a trifle cowardly, but in your position and circumstances I should quietly drop out of sight. Go to some remote part of Europe, amuse yourself with your favourite occupation, sketching, and wait there until the thing blows over. I do not like the idea, I answered. I should be, to all intents and purposes, a sort of escaped criminal. Except that in my case the situation would be reversed, for the criminals would be hunting down the innocent man. Thank you for your advice, Tempest. But at present I like neither alternative which you have suggested, and yet I have no third plan to propose for myself. Is it possible that the law can do nothing to help me? Nothing, yours is probably a unique situation in the annals of circumstance. I could not help sighing in self-pity. I am only five and twenty, I said, and at any moment my life may be taken by some low brute. I pity you, my dear fellow, but what is to be done? I am like a man in a nightmare, I answered. The whole thing is horrible. Take my advice, Finace, and leave England. I can watch your case in this country, and would employ a good detective for the purpose. Now, think over what I have been saying, and let me know when you have made your plans. I left Tempest's office in a profound depression. It was something, at any rate, to know the exact, crude, legal opinion of my position, which briefly amounted to this. I was liable at any moment to be assassinated. Piccadilly and Palmol looked bright and cheerful as usual, but as I passed through the familiar crowd I shuddered more than once. My assassin might turn up at any corner. He might lay his hand on me at any moment, anywhere. The thought was enough to upset the stoutest nerves. I entered my club, ordered lunch, and sat down to eat. I had barely begun, when I heard a voice behind me exclaim, My dear Finace! A hand was laid on my shoulder. I swung round. Before me stood my old friend Jack Tracey, whom I had not seen for nearly four years. He was a civil engineer and had been abroad for some time in Ceylon, laying some electric tramways. Just the very man I want, he cried. I got home last week and found another billet waiting for me. This time it is in Portugal. I am looking out for a mate to come with me. I know that you are a lazy sort of dog, also that you have nothing special to do. Will you come? Lovely climate, beautiful scenery, and lots for you to paint, for my work will be in Cintra, about the most lovely spot in Europe. Just the place for you to sketch in. The Portuguese government are going to run a new road alongside one of the mountains, and the work has been given to our firm, to the honor and glory of Coopers Hill. Just lunching? I will join you. I miss Ravenous as a hawk. He took a seat at my table. His bronzed, honest face and breezy heartiness cheered me, and I was genuinely glad to see him again. When do you want to start? I asked. The day after tomorrow. Is that too early for you? If you really make up your mind to come, I dare say I can put off for a day or two to suit you. Give me a little time to consider, my dear fellow. I never saw such a chap as you, always just the same, bursting with energy, enthusiasm, and impatience. I do not care what you call me, provided you come, finets. I want a mate, and you and I have always got on well together. Now make up your mind and be sensible. I finished my lunch without further remark, but while I ate my thoughts were busy. Here indeed was a chance. Why should I not go? I should have just the companion I liked best. I should escape the east winds of the spring, and have a good excuse for that flitting which Tempest had advised me to undertake. As we chatted and talked together, Tracey recounted all his experiences, and while I listened to him I made up my mind. Yes, I would leave England the day after tomorrow, and, taking the royal mail to Lisbon, escape from my persecutors. They surely would not follow me into Portugal. It had always been one of my greatest wishes to see Cintra, and here was the opportunity. Two hours later I once more reached Tempest's office, and there told him that I had made my plans. The way of escape has come, and I have not sought for it, I remarked. Such an opportunity ought not to be missed. It is the very thing, he replied, and I am hardly glad for your stake, Finets. But now I will tell you what we had better do. It is most important that you and I should keep up a certain communication, one with the other. I have already put a detective on your affairs. He is a capital fellow, and will watch things from this side of the water. By tonight's post I will send you a key of a private cipher, in which I can communicate with you if important news reaches me. I agreed to this and went back to my rooms to make necessary arrangements for my departure. I had just settled down after dinner to write some letters when my servant entered. A lady to see you, sir, he said, handing me a card. I stared in surprise. What woman, unless indeed the terrible Mademoiselle Delacorte, took the slightest interest in me. I had neither mother nor sister, neither wife nor sweetheart. I glanced at the card which the man had given to me. The name I saw written upon it dispelled all thought of Mademoiselle. Miss Cecil Hamilton was a lady I had never heard of before. Show, Miss Hamilton, in, I said. The next moment a slightly built girl, with a dark face and beautiful eyes, entered the room. I rose and bowed. She bowed also to me. There was a deprecating, almost frightened look about her whole appearance, which disarmed my anger. I am speaking to Mr. Finet's? She said in a tentative voice. Yes, I answered. Will you sit down? I pushed a chair towards her, but she did not take it. She continued to stand, laying one slender hand lightly on the back of the chair. I have much to apologise for, she said. My errand is distasteful and unpleasant. I am the bearer of a message from a lady, Mademoiselle Delacorte, whom you met in Paris. I do not wish to have any further communication with that lady, I interrupted, speaking hotly. She held up her hand, as if to entreat my patience. I must deliver my message, she said. I am Miss Delacorte's greatest friend. I am an English girl by birth, but have spent most of my life in Paris. In order to prove my identity, it will be sufficient for me to say that I am fully acquainted with your position, as regards the secret entrusted to you by your late friend, Mr. Escott, and which secret should have been given to Mademoiselle Delacorte. Here she stopped speaking and looked earnestly at me. Her eyes were kindly and compassionate, her lips slightly trembled. I am sorry for you, she said. You are so young, and unless you accede to my request, your fate is so terrible. I can do without your pity, Miss Hamilton, I answered. Please tell me at once why Mademoiselle has presumed to send you to visit me. Because she also is sorry for you, Mr. Finais. Because it has occurred to us both, that although you have already refused to put yourself into a position of safety, yet on mature consideration you will be willing to discharge your duty to your friend's memory and so act as a man of honour. It was with difficulty I could restrain a burst of indignation. Mademoiselle wishes you to communicate your secret to me. Will you do so? I will not, I replied. Forgive me if I speak frankly, but you have intruded on me in what I consider an unwarrantable manner, and this is no moment for courtesy. Tell Mademoiselle that I possess no secret, and am therefore incapable of communicating what I do not know. Tell her also that I could, if necessary, throw light under recent occurrence in the neighbourhood of Paris, which would be by no means to her credit. Tell her further that at any instant I could put her within the arm of the law. And finally tell her that there is a law in England, if not in France, in which redress can be claimed for personal annoyance. At these words to my amazement and distress the girl fell on her knees. It is for your sake, believe me. It is for your sake, she pleaded. I can understand your indignation and forgive it. Please reconsider things. You will regret this. Oh, terribly, if you do not. Please change your mind. Do you think I like forcing myself upon you? I beg of you to tell me your secret, because I have your true interest at heart. It is unpleasant to be rude to a lady, I replied. But I must ask you, Miss Hamilton, to leave me. I have one answer to give to mademoiselle, and that is an emphatic no. I have no secret. And if I had, she is the last person on earth, to whom I would tell it. As I spoke I rang the bell. My servant entered. Show this lady downstairs, I said. She left me without a word. After she had gone I sent a line to Tempest to acquaint him with my interview. I received the following reply. Do nothing but get away, were his brief and emphatic words. All the next day I was busy packing and settling my affairs, and the following morning at eight o'clock Tracy and I, with my large newfoundland dog Zulu, had left Charing Cross en route for Portugal. It was only at the last moment that I decided to take Zulu with me. He was a splendid animal and had been my constant companion since his puppyhood. Our journey to Cintra took place without any adventure, and when we had put up at Lawrence's comfortable hotel I congratulated myself on having left England and France so far behind. I surely must be safe in this remote corner of the world. It was therefore with an elation of heart that I received my first impressions of the charming spot where Tracy's work lay. The little village was situated close to the base of a range of granite mountains, the extreme continuation of the Estrela. The mountains were clothed with verdure and trees of every variety and size. Towering above us on Twin Peaks stood an old ruined Moorish castle and the new royal castle of the Pina. We arrived at Cintra about midday and immediately after lunch we started out to climb to the Moorish castle in company with the Portuguese overseer who was anxious to show Tracy the sight of the projected new road. While they were talking business I had time to take in the romantic loveliness and exquisite richness of the coloring around me. The trees were just budding, birds were singing, and the air was full of the sweet scent of heliotrope that hung in clusters on the walls of the Quintas as we climbed past them. I felt light-hearted as I had not been since my terrible adventure in Paris. I saw before me months of undisturbed enjoyment, painting among these enchanting hills and dales. For surely the most inveterate enemy would scarcely follow an inoffensive and innocent man to this remote part of Portugal. I recall my sensations on this first day very vividly because of the darker recollections which were so soon to follow. The next morning Tracy and I started off again to the sight of his work. Already some Portuguese laborers were busy clearing timber and blasting rocks. The latter operation interested me considerably. A deep hole was drilled into the center of a boulder. Into this a handful of dynamite was poured, then a little moss was pushed in on the top and the fuse inserted. After it was lit we scrambled away to a safe spot. In a couple of minutes a terrific roar rent the air, and the great granite boulder lay split into half a dozen fragments. I had spent over a week at Lawrence's hotel, and a picture which I was painting was in full progress. My life was happy, my days fully occupied, when one evening at a single blow all sense of security was shattered. End of number two part one. Number two part two of Heart of a Mystery by L.T. Mead and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A little smoke continued. Tracy and I were returning home when we saw standing on the balcony of the little hotel the slight and graceful figure of Miss Hamilton. Good heavens! I could not help exclaiming. The blood rushed back to my heart, and I felt my face turning cold. My violent start and words of consternation caused Tracy to turn and glance at me in astonishment. What is the matter? he asked. Do you see that lady standing there? I see a remarkably pretty girl. Is she an old flame, Feneze? In the name of fortune what is the matter with you? I saw her once before, I gasped. I hoped never to meet her again. What has she come for? How can I tell you? I presume visitors are allowed to stay at the hotel without our being consulted. If you knew all, I began. But I had scarcely spoken the words before Miss Hamilton, having seen us both, waved her hand to me with a gesture of recognition. And the next instant was tripping down the steps of the hotel to meet us. Mr. Feneze, she exclaimed, by what good fortune do we meet? How do you do? Pray introduce me to your friend. Her manner was so frank and pleasant, the expression in her eyes so joyous and unshaded by embarrassment, that in spite of myself, I began to think at a hideous dream that this pretty girl had ever come to me to plead for Mademoiselle de la Corte. I replied to her stiffly, however, and when she glanced in Tracy's direction, gave the necessary introduction with marked unwillingness. Oh, what a lovely dog, she said as Zulu came up. The next moment she had dropped on her knees by the dog, clasped her arms around his neck, and printed a kiss on his broad forehead. To these blangestments, Zulu immediately succumbed, although as a rule he was extremely distant to strangers. He licked Miss Hamilton's hand, wagged his bushy tail, and when she slowly returned to the hotel to my still greater amazement, he left us to follow her. Your friend or your enemy, or whatever you like to call her, seems to have considerable power over the dog world, said Tracy. But what is up, Penace? You look as if you had a shock. So I have, and perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow. Perhaps I'll keep it to myself. God help me. I do not know what to do. Your nerves are unstrung. You had better have some dinner and forget your trepidations, said Tracy, with a dash of impatience. There was nothing for it but to follow his advice. At table d'hote Miss Hamilton dined with us. She said quite frankly that she had a passion for traveling, had come by sea to Lisbon, and was making a brief tour through Portugal en route for Spain. I shall stay here for two or three days, she remarked. Cintra is the most lovely spot I have ever seen in my life. Tracy was evidently much taken with her. He was quite enthusiastic when he and I paced up and down the terrace for our evening smoke. He now asked me in wonder what I knew about her. She visited me in London, I answered. The port of her visit I prefer not to talk about. He shrugged his shoulders. Keep your secret finace, he remarked. Whatever you may know about her, I protest that Miss Hamilton is as charming a girl as I have often seen. I have promised her that she shall accompany us tomorrow to see some of the blasting operations. She is much interested in them. Early the following morning I arose, and seeing Miss Hamilton up and walking in the direction of the shore, I resolved to follow her. Zulu, of course, accompanied me. Miss Hamilton, I cried as I drew near. She stopped, turned, and looked me full in the face. Oh, how do you do, Mr. Finace, she remarked. Oh, this lovely dog! Again all her attention was absorbed by the newfoundland, who pressed close to her, wagged his tail, and licked her small hand. I want to ask you a direct question, was my next remark. Why have you followed me here? How meaning at Lawrence's hotel is a coincidence, she said. Make what you like of it. Then you have not followed me? She glanced at me for a moment. No, she said. I do not believe you, I replied. You are telling me a lie. When I said this the color swept into her face. She had been looking at me, now she turned away. The action was significant. I was certain now of what I was almost sure of before. She had come to Cintra because I was there. For what ghastly purpose Heaven only knew. I would have questioned her further, but just then Tracy made his appearance. He was evidently more than attracted by Miss Hamilton. Her gentle words, her pretty well-trained voice, her graceful actions impressed this rough, good-hearted fellow, in a way which amazed me. What are our plans for today? he asked in a genial voice. I, of course, shall be busy with my work, but if you would really like to see the blasting Miss Hamilton, I will promise to look after you. You, Fenece, and I can lunch together, just on the spot where Fenece is painting his celebrated picture. Oh, you are an artist, Mr. Fenece? She asked, and she gave me a gentle and what looked like a beseeching glance. Your plan is delightful, Mr. Tracy. She continued, let us carried out to the letter. Tracy grew now almost boisterous. We interviewed our landlady with the result that we were provided with an excellent luncheon basket, and immediately after breakfast we started for our day's expedition. I went to my accustomed place, sat down, and made arrangements to continue my painting. I gazed right across the valley at the glorious scene which I was endeavouring to depict. My palette was in my hand. My brushes lay near. All of a sudden I missed the dog. Where was he? It was the habit of this faithful creature to lie at my feet during the long hours that I was employed over my work, and never for an instant to leave me. His absence puzzled me, until I remembered his extraordinary penchant for Ms. Hamilton. Could it be possible that he was with her? At lunchtime this turned out to be the case. For Ms. Hamilton, Tracy, and the dog appeared together. Ah, Zulu! I cried, pretending to be angry with the handsome creature. You have forsaken me for the first time in your life! As I said the words, I noticed a peculiar flash of satisfaction in Ms. Hamilton's eyes. She was in high spirits and insisted on opening the luncheon basket and acting as hostess. We too young men were as children in her hands. She was so gentle, bright, picturesque, and graceful, that even I forgot my alarms and enjoyed myself thoroughly. After lunch, Tracy rose. It is hard to tear myself away, but duty calls, he exclaimed. Are you coming back? He added, looking at Ms. Hamilton. Or will you watch Finesse for a time? I will follow you presently with Zulu, she answered. But just now I should like to watch Mr. Finesse. Tracy went off and Ms. Hamilton and I were alone. The dog lay at her feet. Now and then her pretty hand touched his black head. Now and then she looked at me without speaking. Her attitude was one of repose and contentment. How well you paint, she said suddenly. This is the hobby of my life, I answered. I should indeed think small beer of myself, if I did not do it fairly well. You are perhaps a professional artist, Mr. Finesse? No, I replied I am an amateur. I have never earned my bread, I have enough money to live on. Ah, lucky you, she replied. I do not agree with you, I answered shortly. The man who has enough money to live on is deprived of the most powerful stimulus that can animate the human race. He need not work to live, therefore he scarcely works at all. But there, I added, reading a curious expression in her eyes. I have done for today. I put down my palette, collected my brushes, and putting them back in their case, looked full at her. When are you going away? I asked. Do you not like to have me here? Frankly, no. That means you are afraid of me. I was silent. Mr. Finesse, she said gently, I did not mean to say a word, but your question and your attitude towards me forced me to speak. You dislike my presence at Cintra. You resent it. Cintra is your hiding place, and I have come to it. I shook my head when she said that Cintra was my hiding place. She gazed back at me and laughed. Then she said abruptly, You need not deny it. You say that I have followed you here. I say that you have come here to hide. That means that you are afraid. Now, Mr. Finesse, I am sorry for you. It is a pity that one so young and good-looking, and with enough money to live on, should needlessly endanger his life. Yes, I repeat the word, his life. I will go tomorrow morning if you will confide to me that small secret which you refuse to communicate to Mademoiselle Delacorte. I rose now and bent over Miss Hamilton, who was still seated on the ground. You think me a coward, I said, but I am not quite so bad as that. Listen, the subject to which you have alluded must be in the future a closed book between us. I decline to discuss it. You are not to allude to it. Now, what do you think of this view? Come and stand just here and see what I am making of it. She rose and entered into a critical and very intelligent dissertation with regard to my picture. Soon afterwards we both wended our way in the direction where Tracy was busy superintending the making of the new road. Notwithstanding my growing anxiety, the evening passed cheerfully. Miss Hamilton had brought her guitar, and she sang Spanish diddies to her own accompaniment, with excellent taste. Tracy was in greater raptures with our visitor than ever. I tell you what it is, old fellow. I could not help exclaiming when we found ourselves alone. You had better look before you leap. The next thing I shall hear is that you have fallen in love with Cecil Hamilton. Is Cecil her Christian name? Yes. How do you know? I saw it on her card. In this hotel? No, before I came to Portugal. Fenice, won't you explain this mystery? I hope I may never need to, was my answer. But, Tracy, one word of warning. Whoever you lose your heart to, do not let Cecil Hamilton be the girl. He laughed, then he sighed. I never intend to marry. I would not tie myself to a woman for all creation. But I may as well own that if I could see myself conducted to the altar for the sake of any woman, it would be for that of the pretty girl who is now at the hotel. A few days went by and my sketch progressed. Miss Hamilton did not leave Cintra, and Zulu became more and more attached to her. We two young men and this dark-eyed pretty girl now spent the greater part of our days together. In the evening she sang to us. Tracy was like a moth, coming ever nearer and nearer to the candle. Beyond these small facts, nothing happened in the least interesting. Another week went by, and a morning dawned with bright sunshine and cloudless sky. I had got up rather earlier than usual, intending to continue my picture before the sun got too hot. When the waiter entered the dining saloon and handed me a telegram, I tore it open, my heart quickened with a sense of alarm. It was in cipher and was signed Tempest. I quickly took out my copy of the key and translated the words, which ran as follows. You are in the utmost danger. Enemy has been close to you since you left England, Tempest. I sank into a chair and grasped the paper in my hand. It did not need Tempest's words to tell me where the danger lay. Even a pretty girl, if employed by your enemies, can be ruthless and desperate. I felt a sick sensation round my heart. The inability to know from what direction the blow would fall was the worst of my trial. Till now I had refrained from telling Tracy a word of my extraordinary position, but on the receipt of the telegram I determined to take him into my confidence. Perhaps he might help me. I sought his room and found him dressing. As piece by piece I communicated all the facts of my strange story, I observed a succession of changes passing over his face. First of all, surprise, then incredulity, and last, as I showed him the telegram, a grave expression. What am I to do? I cried. This is fact, remember? So it appears, he answered. You are a nice sort of companion to go about with. Here he laid his hand on my shoulder. Never mind, old man, he continued, I will stick to you through thick and thin, but do for heaven's sake get the idea that poor little Cecil Hamilton is mixed up in this affair out of your head. By her own showing she is in communication with the Miss Delacorte, I answered. That may be, but for any vulgar violence any danger to your life she would be the last person employed. If I were you I would try to keep up my pecker finace. We are not in fairyland or the realm of impossibilities. You cannot do any more than you are doing. Take my revolver with you this morning. I shall stay pretty near, and if there is the slightest sign of tricks we will make it warm for the individual whoever he may happen to be. Wait till I have had breakfast, and we will go up the mountain as usual. Of course, go on with your picture. It will help to take your mind off this nasty affair. And you have got Zulu, a bodyguard in himself. If it is any sort of vulgar violence he will account for somebody. After thinking for a moment or two I resolved to take Tracy's advice. There was, as he said, no help for the present situation and to sit still with my hands before me meant madness. Just as he and I were starting for the mountain Miss Hamilton came into the hall to meet us. She was fully dressed as if for a journey, and at that moment I saw the whole porter conveying her luggage downstairs. What, I exclaimed, are you off? Yes, she answered. I go to Lisbon by the next train. I have had a sudden message which obliges me to get to Paris as soon as possible. Here she gave me a full and very penetrating stare. Then we shall not meet again, I said. There was unmistakable relief in my tones. We are not likely to meet any more, she answered gravely, almost solemnly. She held out her hand. I just touched it. As I did so, I felt an extraordinary repugnance seizing me. I shall miss you both, she said, and in a special shall I miss Zulu, but goodbye, don't let me keep you. Au revoir, gentlemen. She waved her hand in the pretty way she had done when I had first seen her standing on the balcony, and the next instant Tracy, Zulu, and I started for our day's expedition. Well, that is a relief. I could not help muttering. Tracy shrugged his shoulders. I wish you would leave that unfortunate girl out of the thing, he said. She is not what you think her. Of that I am firmly convinced. I did not reply. We went up the mountain by our usual path, and I soon settled myself in my accustomed nook to continue my sketch. There you are, old chap! Said Tracy, paint away, and good luck to you. I shall be just above you, a hundred yards or so, and I will come down to have a smoke and a chat, now and then. I do not wonder you feel capsized, but there is really no possible danger. He started up the path and disappeared into a thicket of high laurels. I felt little inclined to work, and for half an hour scarcely touched my canvas, but by and by I became once more interested and then completely absorbed. Presently I rose from my stool and took a step back to view the picture, and then glanced up at the scenery. All nature seemed to be dozing in the bright midday sunshine. The still air was laden with the perfume of thousands of flowers. A bright yellow butterfly, the first I had seen, passed close to me. Just at that moment I glanced around and perceived for the first time that Zulu was missing. I slightly wondered at his absence. Miss Hamilton was no longer in the neighborhood to attract him. I resolved to give him a scolding when he reappeared, and then sat down to my work. I was busy just then trying exactly to fix the depth of the purple haze that hung on the distant mountains. I had just dipped my brush into my water can when I suddenly heard my name shouted from above in Tracy's deep tones. The voice came booming down over the rocks, and extreme excitement rang in the sharp-flung words. Finesse, run quick! For God's sake, get away from the dog! I started up, overturning my easel as I did so. What is it, I shouted back? As a chill fear of danger I could not see shook me. But I had scarcely uttered the words when, turning swiftly, I saw Zulu coming along the path at an even canter towards me. What on earth was the matter with him? There was something queer on his back that bulged up above his great head. Good God! It was something smoking. What I could not see, but it was enough. I knew what had happened. Ms. Hamilton's interest in the blasting operations was explained. Ms. Hamilton's visit to Cintra was made plain. The reason of her remarkable friendship for Zulu was all too manifest. The dog was to be the weapon used for my destruction. It was a fuse that towered above his big head. Any moment the fuse would reach the dynamite below, and a terrible explosion would scatter his life and mine. The very eminence of the peril cooled my blood. I crouched down on the ground, and as Zulu approached made an effort to snatch the fuse from his head. In vain he would not come near. He was excited and half mad with spirits. The poor brute gambled round me little knowing that there was but a step between him and a horrible death. Suddenly he made for me as though to caress me, and I, possessed by an impulse which I could not restrain nor fathom nor overcome, fled from him. I fled down the mountainside like one possessed. Even in that mad flight my reason told me I had little chance of escape. The faster I went the quicker did the dog pursue me. I could hear his hurried breath as he rushed after me. In less than a minute I had reached the top of a stony and steep descent to the little church of Santa Maria. On one side of the path was a stone wall, on the other a sheer drop of sixty feet. Scarcely knowing what I did, with one frantic leap I cleared the wall. I had hardly done so before an appalling explosion rent the air. The very earth seemed to shake. A huge fragment of stonework flew whistling by, and then the roar died away in echoes reverberating along the mountainside. Trembling and half stunned I looked back over the wall. Not a vestige of the dog was to be seen. Nothing but a huge ragged hole where the macadam had been torn up. I sank down sick and giddy. After a time I vaguely wondered why Tracey did not appear. It was nearly an hour before he came running down the path. When we met he grasped my hand, his ruddy face was white, and he was panting heavily. But I drew of old man. That was a near thing, he gasped. But how did it happen? Tell me what was done. What did you see? I asked. My teeth were chattering even in the hot sunshine. I looked at Tracey, who stood quiet now by my side. Why do you not speak? I asked. What do you want to know? he replied. The dog is dead, poor brute, and you have escaped by the skin of your teeth. But how did it happen? Tell me what you know. I will, he said then. I was standing close up alongside that tower under the pines, when I saw Zulu come round the corner, just where the wall is low. He passed within two feet of me, wagging his tail. I spoke to him. He looked round, but did not stop. Suddenly, to my amazement, I saw that he had something fastened to his collar, something from which a little smoke was rising. The next instant I perceived that it was a fuse, exactly like those my men use for blasting. Then the horror of the thing struck me. I remembered your telegram, and I knew what it meant. I grabbed at the dog to tear it off, but he slipped by, making down to you, as was natural. Then I shouted, for I saw your danger. Thank God, you just escaped! But it was a near thing, a matter of seconds. As he said the last words, I saw he was trembling horribly. Something in his attitude and manner aroused my suspicions. The explosion took place nearly an hour ago, I said. Why did you not come to me sooner? You are concealing something. What is the matter? He did not speak. You are concealing something? Yes, oh my God, yes. What, Tracy, speak in Heaven's name! It was not that girl. Tell me, Miss Hamilton had nothing to do with it? Yes, said Tracy again. Yes. He spoke in gasps, as though his breath failed him. I will tell you, he said. You must know, and the sooner it is over, the better. When the dog rushed to you, I saw a girl crouching behind a boulder of rock. She was Miss Hamilton. She was straining her neck and bending forward to watch the movement of the dog. She never saw me. When the report came, she clapped her hands to her ears, looked again as though her eyes would start from her head, uttered a shriek, and flew down the mountain in the opposite direction. I followed her like a madman. I called to her to stop. A sort of instinct told me what she was going to do. I knew that she was making for the cliff, just where there is a drop of five hundred feet. She had an advantage of me, and she ran like the wind. She got to the edge of the cliff, while I was still a good way behind her. How she stopped herself, I do not know, but she did. She stood as rigid as a statue, pressed her hand to her heart, turned and shouted to me, your friend is alive, were her words. I have failed. Those who belong to the French Secret Service die when they fail. With that, she was over the precipice, finace. Old man, I am sick. The great Burley Fellow felt like a lump of lead at my feet. Tracy came to himself, and I brought him back to the hotel. In that evening, I went with some workmen to discover the body of the miserable girl whose mission it had been to take my life. I found it mangled out of recognition. The next day we buried her on the side of the mountain. That evening, Tracy spoke to me. I cannot stay here, finace. It is no use. I have wired to Cooper's Hill. They must send out another man to complete this job. I leave Cintra tomorrow morning. And I will go with you, was my answer. End of A Little Smoke, Part 2 Number 3 Of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Number 3 The Tiger's Claw, Part 1 Mademoiselle Delacorte had now twice attempted my life. From the manner, the words, and the actions of the unfortunate girl who had committed suicide in the moment of failure, this was abundantly evident. I shall put the matter into the hands of the authorities, I said to myself. And when my friend Jack hurried to England, I remained behind at Lisbon. On the afternoon of the day of my arrival, I called upon the British consul. He received me courteously, and I need scarcely describe his amazement when I explained my position. I am a witness to all that occurred, I said to him. And my friend Tracy is prepared to return to Portugal at any time to bear me out. I trust, sir, I added, that you will give me your advice and assistance, for truly I am in a position of grave danger. There is no doubt whatever with regard to that was his reply. I had a letter this morning from Monsieur Ayres, the French consul, informing me that mademoiselle de la Courte was here. Here, I cried, starting to my feet, and a cold sensation running through my frame. Yes, Mr. Finise, she is staying with the Duchess of Almeida now. That terrible woman has friends everywhere in the highest positions, and I may as well tell you, you would find it extremely difficult to substantiate the charge of conspiracy against a lady in her position. Her influence, too, is very great. And although the authorities are civility itself to the English, you know, my dear sir, they are very slow, phenomenally slow. Position and court influence can do anything here when backed by money. Mademoiselle de la Courte is known. You are unknown. I think it is most unwise of you to have come to Portugal. Why, I asked. Well, in the first instance there is no capital punishment here. And in the next, money will do practically everything. You are, believe me, far safer on English soil. This is a very serious matter, and I am sorry for you. But can you help me? I asked with some impatience. He paused, silent for a moment, evidently thinking deeply. I can do nothing, he said then. It is out of my power to work in the dark, and against such a foe as Mademoiselle de la Courte. But there is one man who might render you assistance. He is a Portuguese, and a personal friend of mine, and he is engaged by the government in many secret international inquiries. You might trust him absolutely. He is a very smart man and speaks almost every European language. In short, you will find him an excellent fellow. This is his name and address. I should go and see him at once. I took the slip of paper he gave me. On it was written José da Fandéca Pinheiro, Avenida da Liberde, 32A. Thanking the British consul, I went at once to the address. I found myself standing before one of the finest houses in the beautiful avenue. It was set back from the road and surrounded by a garden, in which many magnificent palms were growing. A liveryed servant answered my ring, and ushered me into the presence of his master. The Portuguese are noted for their excellent dress, but I had rarely seen anyone so perfectly attired. Senor Pinheiro was refinement personified, from his white almond-shaped nails and jeweled fingers to his pointed and polished boots. On explaining who I was, he handed me a chair and seated himself at a desk, upon which lay a heap of official-looking papers and a large revolver. As he laid his left hand on the table, I noticed with astonishment that two of the fingers were wanting. I was almost expecting you, Mr. Fenice, he said, speaking in perfect English, and stroking his pointed beard. She is a clever woman, isn't she? Whom do you mean, I exclaimed in astonishment. I mean, Mademoiselle de la Courte, of course, he replied. I know something of your case, sir. What, you know Mademoiselle de la Courte? I know her well. I have met her in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg, and I was dining with her at the Duchess of Almeidas, last night. And you know about my special case? I know of the attempt made on your life a few days ago at Sintra. I was at Government House when the police telegraphed the news. There will be an inquiry, of course. But apart from that, I can astonish you by telling you that I knew of your escape from the Chateau Lavroque. The affair was communicated to all the European Detective Agencies. You astound me, I cried, but at the same time a pleasant feeling of security stole over me. I felt that here indeed I had a good friend. Of course you are mad to have left England, continued Pinheiro. But do you know, Mr. Finace, I am glad that you have come. He spoke in a curious tone and looked me full in the face. Why, I asked. Because, he said, bending towards me, and with the fist of his crippled hand tightly clenched, because it is the one desire of my life to see that woman in chains. The sudden transformation in the man's face was extraordinary. All the passion of his hot Latin blood, which only boils at some personal wrong, showed now in his voice, his eyes, and his features. Nothing, he continued, would give me greater pleasure than to see Mademoiselle Delacorte exposed in her true character, than to see her driven in disgrace from the European courts. But if that is affected, it means also her imprisonment. I can't help admiring her. Sometimes, he continued, a grim smile playing round his lips. She is, I think, mad. No one who was not mad could be so devilish clever. You have some personal animosity against her, I presume, I continued. He held up his crippled hand. I owe that to her, he said, in a low voice. Someday I will tell you how it happened. Well, I said, what can you do for me? I can bring valuable witness to testify to the truth of my story. The suicide of Miss Hamilton is a fact well authenticated at Cintra. How can you protect me in future? I am young, innocent, I love life, and I don't want to follow victim to the knife of the assassin. You are right, he replied. As he spoke, he rose and drew himself up to his full height. Mr. Finace, he said, this arrival of yours means a complete change in my own life. You are in difficulty, and I will not deny it in extreme danger. Now you will not object to my joining you in this matter. It will cost nothing. And you will have the advantage of my experience and knowledge in the hunting down of this woman. You, the hunted, shall turn hunter, and we will rid Europe of a pestilential and powerful malefactor. I grasped his hand. You mean this, senor Pinheiro? I asked. I was never more serious in my life. The whole of my energy shall be directed to this object. Madame Azele, I know, has gone from Lisbon, therefore, for the time you are perfectly safe. In fact, you are safer here than anywhere else. Stay on for the present, and enjoy yourself, while I mature my scheme. With delight, I murmured, and a vast burden seemed lifted from my mind at the thought of having this shrewd and clever man to work with me, to protect me from dangers that I should never see, and still more, to help me to deliver Madame Azele Delacorte into the hands of justice. It seemed almost too good to be believed. Well, he said, having made our decision, we will enjoy ourselves until the time for action arrives. You shall see all that Lisbon has to show to the stranger, and you will meet all the people worth meeting. Tomorrow we will combine business with pleasure, and I will take you to call upon the Duchess of Almeida at her castle at Esturil, a lovely spot at the mouth of the river on the seashore. I am dining out tonight, or I would ask you to come here. Where are you staying? At Durand's Hotel, I said. Very good, I will expect you at eleven tomorrow morning, and I will drive you over to the castle to breakfast. It was many days since I had enjoyed a meal as I did my solitary dinner that night at my hotel. A great light had broken. I had found a friend of evident ability, a man in touch with all the European police, au courant with diplomatic affairs, and moving in the best Portuguese society. There had been no acting in his sudden outburst of passionate hatred against Madame Azele Delacorte. I felt sure that if ever a time came when he was in a position to pay off his debt to her, she would receive little mercy. No race can be kinder, more sympathetic and gentle than the Portuguese. But none can be more devilishly cruel and vindictive when they avenge a personal wrong. Madame Azele would soon see that Signor Pinheiro was working on my side, and this fact would in itself prevent molestation. I went round early the next morning to Signor Pinheiro's house, for I was impatient to see him again and assure myself of the fact that he was altogether on my side. He was standing on the steps of his handsome house, evidently waiting for me. Just ready, he said gaily, come along the dog cart is coming round. By the way, he added as we got in and he took the reins and drove off at a spanking pace. The Duchess does not speak English and as you do not know Portuguese well, you had better talk to her in French. I can do that, I answered. We were now going down the Rua Auguste and out by the Boa Vista embankment, our way lay along the Tagus, which was covered with numerous craft and abounding with life and animation. Picturesque mountains lined the opposite banks. In less than an hour we reached Almeida Castle, a grand old building still retaining its Moorish architecture. The castle was surrounded in front by magnificent gardens of palms and pines, while the back of the building ran down onto the sand by the seashore, in which the buttresses were deeply embedded. As we drove out, Signor Pinheiro gave me a short account of the old place. The castle had been a Moorish fortress until 1147, when Alfonso Anjíques, the first king of Portugal, assisted by other crusaders bound for Palestine, surrounded Lisbon, then in the hands of the Moors, and after five months hard fighting, he entered the city in triumph. After this the house was given by him to his valiant lieutenant, the first Duke of Almeida, in whose family it has remained ever since. Pinheiro informed me that the house was full of treasures presented to the family by the celebrated Vasco de Gama on his return from India in 1499. Remember, he said as we stopped at the house, I am introducing you as a friend of Mademoiselle de la Courts. But why, I interrupted in great surprise. Because, he answered, in no other way can you get information about her. She is, as I have already said, one of the cleverest women in Europe. My friends here also believe her to be an impersonification of all the virtues, and if they think that you are a friend of hers, they can talk freely. We were shown into a magnificent sala, overlooking the Sunlit Sea, where we were received by the Duchess and her daughter, their Marquesa Farras. Both ladies welcomed Pinheiro with effusion, and me with kindly warmth. Portuguese girls are, as a rule, not good looking, but the young Marquesa was an exception of the most striking kind. She was tall and slender, with the extreme bloom of youth on her softly rounded cheeks, with dark, lustrous eyes, and grace in her every movement. But the extraordinary thing about her was this. She had a remarkable likeness to Mademoiselle de la Courts. So striking was this likeness, that I caught myself looking at her again and again. A sensation almost of repulsion came over me as I did so, although the likeness between the Marquesa and Mademoiselle de la Courts only applied to features, and not at all to expression, for the young girl had a frank and lovely face, full of kindness and good nature. While Senor Pinheiro talked to the Duchess, the Marquesa came and took a seat near to me. So you know Mademoiselle de la Courts, Monsieur Fénès, she said, speaking with a most charming French accent, and using that tongue. Mademoiselle is one of my greatest friends. Mother and I have often stayed with her in Paris. Certainly she is one of the cleverest women I have ever met. Did you happen to see her on her flying visit to Lisbon? No, I answered. Was her visit a very short one? Of course it was, answered the Marquesa. That gay Mademoiselle never stays long in one place. She thinks nothing of visiting half the European capitals in less than three weeks. On pleasure or business, I asked. Pleasure, of course, just to visit her numerous friends, but she certainly always talks about business. Mother and I quite laugh at her about it. Such a speech is so like a Parisian. Why, one of those dear creatures will go half over Europe to buy a new tea-gown. But how do you like the Portuguese, Monsieur Fénès? Signor Pinheiro tells me this is your first visit. Yes, my first. I answered. I do not know Lisbon well, but Cintra is very beautiful. As I mentioned the latter place, I could not help, giving an involuntary shutter. Oh yes, beautiful, but so dull. No one ever goes there now. By the way, are you interested in old curios? We have a wonderful collection from India. Shall I show them to you before we go to breakfast? I should like nothing better, I replied. Then we shall leave Mother and Signor Pinheiro to discuss the latest Lisbon scandals. The Signor knows everyone and everything, and is so awfully clever. Between ourselves, I am a little afraid of him. The true charm of Portuguese society lies in the power the host has to make his visitors at home. In a few minutes, the Marquesa was showing me all over the beautiful house. And chatting about the treasures, her face full of animation and her eyes bright. Presently we entered the drawing room, where the Vasco da Gama curios were kept. They were of great rarity and value. Carved ivories, elephant goats, rare gold ornaments set with jewels, and magnificent jade bowls. One piece in a special attracted my attention. It was a Hindu headdress of great magnificence. It was chiefly made of finely woven silks of various shades, the color strengthened by plates of gold thread, and surmounted by four of the most enormous tiger's claws I had ever seen. These were set, but with their sharp points outwards, like four horns. Ah, you are admiring that headdress, said the Marquesa, coming over to where I was standing. Is it not curious and wonderful? It was the first thing Francesca pounced on when she came to examine the curios. She was quite thrilled with it, and examined it most carefully. It looks rather a dangerous sort of headdress, if you wanted to kiss the lady. I could not help remarking. Those claw points are sharp as needles. That was the very point remarked by Francesca. There is an old legend attached to this headdress. It was worn by the favorite lady in the Nizams Zanana, who in resisting the embraces of a young prince, scratched him with one of the claws, and the young prince died. I long to wear that headdress, and intend to do so very soon. Indeed, I said, yes, I'm going to wear the headdress, and in this very house, she said, merriment dancing in her eyes. Have you not heard, has not Signor Pinheiro told you, that next week is our great fancy dress, masked ball? We always give one before the carnival. It is the greatest possible fun. Would you like to come? You should see one Portuguese masked ball before you go away. I should be delighted, I replied, only I'm afraid I should have some difficulty in getting a suitable dress. Not at all. Signor Pinheiro is sure to have plenty. Yes, you must come, and then you will see me in this wonderful headdress. I shall look so quaint with that in the mask. We presently returned to the room where we had left the duchess and Signor Pinheiro, and breakfast being ready, we sat down to it on the terrace. My spirits rose. The excellence of the meal and the conversation of our brilliant and witty hostess, the charming ways and pretty speeches of her daughter, the warm and soft air, the waving palms and the sparkling sea banished all dark memories. I am so glad to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Finais, said the duchess. Come down here and see us whenever you are tired of Lisbon and want a few hours of fresh air. In any case, we shall expect you both at the ball on Tuesday night. Well, said Pinheiro, as we took our seats in the trap, they are charming people, are they not? Did you make any judicious inquiries concerning Mademoiselle? I talked about her a great deal, I replied, but learned very little beyond the self-evident fact that she is a great friend of the Marquesas. She paid them a flying visit, so the Marquesa told me, and for apparently no reason. That is so like her, answered Pinheiro. That pretty girl seems deeply attached to her, I continued. By the way, Pinheiro, have you ever noticed the extraordinary likeness between them? A curious change came over the face of the Portuguese, and when I spoke, he suddenly clapped his hand on his knee. No, did you mention it? I do see it, he replied. When looking at the Marquesa, I was often puzzled by an intangible likeness. Her face was familiar to me, not on its own account alone. You have solved the mystery. My dear Finais, we must be on our guard. It is exactly the sort of thing that Mademoiselle would take advantage of. What do you mean? I asked. Ah, I wish I could tell you what I mean. The craftiness and cleverness of that woman baffles all description. There is no clue she will not seize, and no possible accident she will not avail herself of. One thing at least is evident, I said. The Duchess and her daughter have not the slightest suspicion of her. I told you so, and therein also lies danger. Mademoiselle's great power lies in the fact that she can turn men and women too round her finger. But never mind, added Pinheiro, glancing at me, and doubtless perceiving the anxiety on my face, you and I together will be more than a match for her. I cheered up at these few words, and the next few days were passed in the most enjoyable manner. The Signor introduced me to many charming people, and took me to all the sights of Lisbon. He seldom referred to Mademoiselle Delacorte, and once, when I spoke of her, he replied shortly, Don't worry, leave the thing to me. I will tell you one thing. Although I don't speak of that fair lady, she has seldom absent from my thoughts. I am laying my plan slowly and cautiously, and when the moment comes to act, I will let you know. End of No. 3, Part 1 No. 3, Part 2 of The Heart of a Mystery by Elti Mead and Robert Eustis This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Tiger's Claw, Part 2 So the days passed pleasantly enough, and at last the night of the fancy ball at Almeida Castle arrived. Pinheiro had helped me to design the fancy dress which I was to wear, and in which I prided myself my best friend would not recognize me. I had just finished dinner on this special evening when the waiter handed me a note from Sr. Pinheiro. Please come round at once. I want to see you, it ran. In five minutes' time I was in his room. I found him standing by the open window, a letter in his hand. When he saw me he turned round slowly and gave it to me to read without a remark. Not from Mademoiselle, I cried. He nodded but did not speak. My hand began to tremble and a sick sensation visited me. Read it, said Pinheiro, now showing some impatience. She has heard that I am at work, and the bluster and bounce show that she is afraid. These, as far as they go, are good signs. The letter was dated from the Hotel Bellevue Taramina, Sicily, and the envelope bore the Sicilian postmark. Dear Sr. Pinheiro, it ran. It was such a pleasure to meet you again at Castile Almeida. I always lament that our interest should be so at variance, but it is entirely your own fault. Don't be silly now, or you will bitterly regret it. Remember that I know everything, and remember that I am still the same. Francesca. P.S., I have just arrived here. The climate is divine. Why don't you come? What has she gone to Sicily for? I could not help exclaiming as I folded the letter and returned it to my host. I suppose, because there is no extradition, she is not in Sicily and has never been there, was the senor's reply. I stared at Pinheiro. That is her writing and signature, I said, and the postmark is Sicilian, of the correct date. True, but I had reason to suspect the genuineness of that letter. I have just cabled to Bellevue at Taramina, and she is not there. The letter was written and sent to a friend to post there. At present, I have no information as to her whereabouts. There is one feature in the letter which I do not like. Beyond doubt, it was sent with a purpose. What that purpose is, I don't quite know. As far as we are concerned, it means doubtless that we must be more on our guard than ever. He gave a little shudder. I tell you, Finace, I don't like it. You mean that we are in some unknown danger? He shrugged his shoulders. Possibly. Nay, I should add probably. But whether or no, I mean to enjoy myself tonight. Go back and dress and come round here, and we will forget Mademoiselle in the mazes of the Catillion. Though I had expected some gay sights at the castle Almeida, I was certainly not prepared for the magnificent display that awaited us on our arrival. The beautiful gardens and terraces were hung with festoons of Japanese lanterns, and were already astirred with revelers and fantastic dresses, and all masked. Upon the polished inlaid floor of the great ballroom, many couples were waltzing to the strains of a military band in the gallery. According to our English notions of society, a Portuguese masked ball would seem unaccountable and strange, for all introductions were dispensed with, and as the features of men and women alike were hidden under the mask, it was impossible to tell with whom one was dancing. But there was one lady at any rate, whom I had no difficulty in recognizing, and that was the young Marquesa Faraz. I had not been in the ballroom two minutes before I recognized her. She was dressed as Queen Margarita of Spain, with a large lace ruffle and the most magnificent black Spanish lace arranged round her slender form that I had ever seen. Upon her head she wore the curious Indian headdress, with its four tiger claws. The effect was marvelous. It gave a strange feline look to the head and face, though the latter was closely hidden by a black mask. I made my way across to her. You look magnificent in your beautiful headdress, Marquesa Faraz, I said. I only hope you will be merciful to your partners, for you are armed against any unfavorable advances. Yes, I am armed, Mishur Fanez. She replied in so low a voice that, with the noise of the music, I could scarcely catch the words. She gave me a flashing glance with her lovely eyes, and again I could not help likening her to Mademoiselle de la Courte. Has Signora Pinheiro come with you tonight? She asked. Yes, of course. There he is, close to us. Don't you see him? He is dressed as Vasco de Gama, to whom your family owes your headdress. But will you give me the pleasure of a dance, Marquesa? Later I shall be delighted. Again she spoke in a whisper, and making me a low bow she moved off among the throng. It crossed my mind, just at that moment, that there was something strange and a little unaccountable in her manner. But I had forgotten it the next minute in waltzing with an unknown but magnificent dancer. Several times during the evening I caught sight of the Marquesa, waltzing with her many partners. There was a gay abandon about all her movements. Her dancing was the perfection of charming and exquisite movements, and I looked forward with pleasure to the moment when I should encircle her slim waist with my arm and conduct her through the mazes of the waltz. From time to time my other partners spoke of the Marquesa, and each and all, when they alluded to her, mentioned her headdress with a degree of envy. It is our great ambition, said one slender girl, looking into my face as she spoke, and flashing at me a pair of magnificent Spanish eyes. It is our great ambition at our fancy bowls to wear something ultra, strange and unconventional. You can judge for yourself, monsieur, she said, speaking in excellent French. That such an ambition becomes more and more difficult to gratify as time goes on, all ideas being used up in advance. Now the Marquesa has exceeded herself tonight. She can be recognized anywhere. Hers is the most distinguished figure at the ball. I made some suitable reply, and as the hour was midnight, and the time had come when I might claim the fulfillment of the Portuguese girl's promise, I went to seek for her. I wandered into the gardens and was just passing a fountain, which sent its cool spray full of rosy light up into the night air, when I heard a light laugh almost in my ear. I turned quickly, but no one was visible, but the next moment the following words were distinctly audible. Doesn't she do it well? And the best of the fun is that everyone takes her for me. The voice was exactly like that of the Marquesa. What did she mean? I called her name, but receiving no answer, wandered down further into the grounds. It would not be difficult to find her on account of her characteristic and towering headdress. I had sauntered down one of the pathways towards the sea, when suddenly, by the light of a Chinese lantern, I caught sight of her, moving swiftly in an opposite direction, along a parallel pathway which separated her from me by a low hedge of loristine. She was alone, and I stopped and called to her. Marquesa, I cried, I have come to claim your promise. She stopped abruptly, and waited for me to go up to her. Miss your finesse, she said in courteous tones? Yes, I answered. I did not recognize you beneath your mask, was her next remark. You have the advantage of me, Marquesa, I answered. You are easily distinguishable, owing to your headdress. Yes, she answered, and her voice was very low. I had noticed this peculiarity early in the evening, and now, bending towards her, I said, You will give me the promise dance? Yes, she replied. Yes, with pleasure. But you are tired, I continued. You think so, because I speak low, was her reply. Sometimes I suffer from a curious affection of the throat, and at times I am too indescribably tired to raise my voice. She stopped in the middle of her sentence, and burst into a peel of ringing laughter. That laugh sounded almost offensive. I started away from her side, displeased. I knew not why. Come, she said, laying her hand light as a feather on my arm. I am sorry I laughed, but I am subject to uncontrollable mirth at the most inconvenient times. Let us return to the ballroom, where we will enjoy ourselves in the waltz. We re-entered the magnificent room side by side. A moment later, we were whirling gaily through the waltz. Did I say gaily? That was the maddest time of my life. The blood coursed through my veins with the joyousness of youth. The shadow in which I dwelt sped away from me, and sunlight, gay and joyous, filled my soul. Was there ever such a dancer? She seemed to sweep me up and carry me forward with the gaiety of her movements. We paused, breathless. I have met no one who could dance like you, was my remark, when I could speak. Such music, such a floor, and such a partner, make the thing divine, was her answer. Shall we take another turn, monsieur? Again my arm encircled her waist, and again we whirled in a giddy round. The room was now much more crowded than it had been when we danced a few moments earlier. Couples had arrived in haste from the gardens. The music played in inspiriting waltz. The time of the band was so brisk as to be almost maddening. Lighter and quicker were our movements. Suddenly we found ourselves in a dense mass of people. Our way was blocked. The other end of the room is nearly empty. I whisper to my partner, let us go there. We can dance without being disturbed. Yes, she replied, and to my astonishment she moved towards the doorway through which numerous dancers were pressing. The next instant we were jammed in the doorway. A burly man pushed rudely against us. The marquesa uttered a cry and fell against my breast. One of the tiger claws scratched my neck very slightly. But the next moment we were dancing as briskly as ever. Why, suddenly cried the marquesa, what is the matter with you, monsieur? Your neck is bleeding. I took a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. You scratched it, I replied, with one of the claws of your formidable headdress. Did I not say that I was dangerous? She answered. There was a peculiar ring in her voice. It was no longer low and guarded. It reminded me, good God, of whom. I felt my head reel with a sudden fear. And the next moment a sense of chill faintness crept over me. You are not dancing well, monsieur, said the voice of the marquesa. You are tired. For that matter, so am I. Take me to an enter-room and leave me. I will stay with you until your next partner arrives, I answered. You must leave me, she said in a peremptory tone. I wish it. Take me here. A little boudoir draped in the palest green silk stood invitingly open. We entered and the marquesa flung herself on a couch. After all, this headdress worries me, she said. I should like to take it off. Shall I assist you, I asked. Not now, she answered. Go into the open air. You look faint. We danced too fast. But all the same it was divine. Was it not? Marquesa, I answered, I have just lived through the most blissful moment of my life. Her laughter rang out clear. And did I hear a rite? It seemed to mock me. She motioned me to go, and I went. A moment later I was seated on a bench in the deep shade of a palm tree. Hello, Fanez, is that you, called Pinheiro? Yes, I answered. I was dancing with the marquesa, and we both felt faint. As I spoke I took out my handkerchief and pressed it to my neck. Where is the marquesa? asked Pinheiro. In one of the enter-rooms I replied. She asked me to leave her. Again I pressed the handkerchief to my neck. I will go and look for her, said Pinheiro. She promised me this dance. But whatever is the matter? Nothing much, I answered. Only one of the tiger's claws on that curious headdress gave me a sharp scratch. But it is not worth talking about. What possessed the girl to put on that infernal headdress? She must be out of her mind to do such a thing, cried Pinheiro. Now that I come to think over the matter, I would sooner dance with a cat. I won't trouble to find her. The scratch was a mere accident, I replied. Some thundering idiot canned into her. I daresay. Only one doesn't come to a ball to be torn to pieces by tiger's claws. I wish I could see the young lady to tell her what I think of her. Well, and here she is, cried a silvery voice, and the marquesa, unmasked and with a look of merriment on her face, stood before us. Oh, so you have taken it off, said Pinheiro. You will not be quite such a dangerous partner now, and I don't mind claiming your promise. This is our dance, is it not? You have not asked me for a dance this evening, Mishur. Indeed I did, he replied. See, here is your name on my programme. But, hello, you have made a complete change. Why is that? As he spoke, I saw the marquesa was no longer in black Spanish lace, but was clothed from head to foot in some gossamery stuff of shimmering white. You have been very quick in changing your dress, I said. Once again she laughed. You don't know the joke we have played upon you, she said. It is almost too good. I have a great mind to let you find it out for yourselves. No, no, said Pinheiro. You must tell. What joke do you allude to? Oh, I have had such fun, she exclaimed. I have been watching you both, and especially you, Mishur Fenice, for the last half hour. It was not I who wore the headdress, but Mademoiselle de la Courte. I leapt to my feet, and a violent oath passed my lips. Pinheiro stood silent. May I ask the reason of this joke, he asked presently? You are not really angry, cried the girl. It was only fun. Francesca was at Madrid. And I mentioned to her that you were both going to the ball, and said that I intended to wear the headdress. She so much admired. And that you, Mishur Fenice, knew that I was going to. Then she wrote to me, asking me to let her take my place, and begged me not to say a word to anyone. I am so sorry that the cloth scratched you, Mishur Fenice. It is not serious, is it? Time will prove, said Pinheiro. His face was deadly white. You don't know what mischief you, in all innocence, have done, Marquesa. But now, don't keep us. If anything can save my friend, there is not an instant to lose. As Pinheiro spoke, he put his arm round my waist, and raised me from the seat into which I had sunk. Come at once, and quietly, he said. We will get back to Lisbon without a moment's delay. Without doubt you have been poisoned. But there may be hope if we take the matter in time. While he was whispering to me, he was dragging me, for I was now incapable of walking, in the direction of the house. The Marquesa startled and alarmed, walked by our side. I wish you would explain, she said. You have made me so terribly unhappy. What a—what is wrong? Find the headdress, Marquesa, said Pinheiro, and if possible, and if you have the nerve. Detain Marmazel de la Corte. Fenice, I will leave you for an instant, on this seat close to the house, while I fetch the carriage, and give instructions to the police, to watch everyone who leaves the castle. A sudden shiver of intense cold passed over me. Pinheiro disappeared round the corner of the brilliantly lighted house, and the young Marquesa seated herself by my side. I am so sorry, and so terrified, she whispered. What a—what can be wrong? Pinheiro will tell you tomorrow, I answered in a whisper. But do not blame yourself, please. It was my own fault for not being more careful. Just then, Pinheiro appeared. The carriage is waiting, he said. I will call early tomorrow, and explain everything to your mother, Marquesa. Now, Fenice, I was helped into the carriage, and soon afterwards, Pinheiro and I arrived at my hotel in Lisbon. The doctor had been summoned. He examined my wound, and told Pinheiro that I had, without doubt, been inoculated with some deadly microorganisms. Will it be fatal? I whispered. You are in danger, was his slow reply, but you look strong, and must be healthy. There ought to be hope. You should have a good nurse, however, as your symptoms will require careful watching. I will sit up with Mischa Fenice tonight, said Pinheiro. I got him into this trouble, and have made up my mind to pull him through at any cost. Through the long hours of that night, Pinheiro never left my side. At short intervals he administered stimulant after stimulant, and by doing so kept the dread enemy death at bay. In the morning I was still alive, but through the days and weeks that followed, my life hung in the balance. How I did recover in the end will always appear to me little short of a miracle. When I was well enough for Pinheiro to leave me, he went back to Almeida Castle and told Mademoiselle Delacorte's true story to the Duchess and the Marquesa. The distress of both was beyond description. The headdress was examined, and even now traces of the deadly poison in which the tiger claws had been dipped were found upon them. But alas, Mademoiselle herself was gone. From the moment I left her in the green enter room she had not been seen or heard of at Castle Almeida. End of The Tiger's Claw, Part 2.