 CHAPTER III. THE SWING OF THE PENGELUM. PART II. On the following Thursday morning I awoke from a disturbed sleep, to find London enveloped in one of the thickest fogs that had been known for some years. The limit of my vision scarcely extended beyond the area railings round which the sootladen mist clung in a breathless calm. In the course of the morning I received a telegram from the Brett. Meet me at the bank, not later than a quarter past four, were the few words which it contained. Soon after three o'clock I started for my destination, avoiding omnibuses and preferring to walk the greater part of the way. I arrived at St. Mark's Court at the time named, and was just approaching the bank when two men knocked violently against me in the thick fog. One of them apologized, but before I could make any reply vanished into the surrounding gloom. I had caught a glimpse of his features, however. He was the Duke of Friedek. Across the narrow court at the opposite side of the bank I saw a stream of light from an open door making a blurred gleam in the surrounding darkness. I crossed the court to see what this indicated. I then discovered that the light came from an old-fashioned eating-house, something in the style of the celebrated cock in Fleet Street. As I stood in the shadow the two men who had knocked against me entered the eating-house. I returned now to the bank. As soon as I arrived the manager came up to me. Mr. de Brett was called out about a half an hour ago, he said, but he has asked you to wait for him here, Mr. Head. He expects to be back, not later than half past four. I seated myself accordingly. A clerk brought me the times, and I drew up my chair in front of a bright fire. Now and then someone made a desultory remark about the fog which was thickening in intensity each moment. The time flew by. The bank, of course, closed at four o'clock, but the clerks were busy finishing accounts and putting the place in order for the night. The different tills were emptied of their contents, and the money was taken down to the great vaults where the different safes were kept. The hands of the clock over the mantelpiece pointed to a quarter to five when the sound of wheels was heard distinctly outside, and the next moment I saw a splendidly equipped brome and a pair draw up outside the bank, a footman dismounted and handed the commissioner a note. This was brought into the office. It was for me. A clerk gave it to me. I glanced at the writing and saw that the letter was from DeBret. I tore open the envelope and read as follows. Dear Head, I have been unexpectedly detained at Linn's bank in Broad Street, so have sent the brome for you. Will you come on at once and pick me up at Linn's? Please ask Derbyshire the manager for the keys of the small safe. He will give them to you after he has locked up the strong room, yours, Harry DeBret. I turned to the manager. He was an elderly man with grizzled hair and an anxious expression of face. Mr. DeBret wants me to bring the keys of the small safe, I said. I saw the man raise his brows in surprise. That is an unusual request, he answered. But, of course, it must be as Mr. DeBret wishes. As a rule either Mr. Fromm or I keep the keys, as Mr. DeBret never cares to be troubled with them. Here is his letter, I replied, handing it to the manager. He read it, retaining it in his hand. Do you object to my keeping this, Mr. Head? The request is so unusual that I should like to have this note as my authority. You can certainly keep the note, I said. Very well, sir. I shall have to detain you for a few moments, as we have not quite cleared the tills. The keys of all the other safes are kept in the small one. I will bring you the keys of the small safe in a moment or two. The clerks bustled about, the work of the night was quickly accomplished, and shortly after five o'clock I was seated in DeBret's luxurious brome with the keys of the small safe in my pocket. We went along very slowly, as the thog seemed to grow thicker each moment. Suddenly, as the coachman piloted his way in the direction of Broad Street, I began to feel a peculiar sensation. My head was giddy, an unusual weakness trembled through my nerves, and for the first time I noticed that the brome was full of a faint, sweet odor. Doubtless the smell of the fog had prevented my observing this at first. The sensation of faintness grew worse, and I now made an effort to attract the coachman's attention. This I altogether failed to do, and becoming seriously alarmed I tried to open the door, but it resisted all my efforts, as also did the windows, which were securely fixed. The horrible feeling that I was the victim of some dastardly plot came over me with force. I shouted and struggled to attract attention, and finally tried to break the windows. All in vain. The sense of giddyness grew worse. Everything seemed to whirl before my mental vision. The bank, DeBret, the keys of the safe which I had in my pocket, the thought of Geraldine and her danger, were mixed up in a hideous phantasmagoria. The next moment I had lost consciousness. When I came to myself I found that I was lying on a piece of waste-ground, which I afterwards found to be in the neighborhood of Putney. For one or two moments I could not in the least recall what had happened. Then my memory came back with a quick flash. The Duke of Freedeck, the bank, Geraldine, I said to myself. I sprang to my feet and began a hasty examination of my pockets. Yes, my worst conjectures were confirmed, for the keys of the small safe were gone. My watch and money were intact. The keys alone were stolen. I stood still for a moment, half days from the anesthetic fumes which by some means had been liberated in the brome. Then the need of immediate action came over me, and I made my way at once to the nearest railway station. I found to my relief that it was only a little past eleven o'clock. Beyond doubt I had recovered consciousness much sooner than the villains who had planned this terrible plot intended. I took the next train to town, and on my way resolved up my line of action. To warn de Bret was impracticable, for the simple reason that he was out of town. To waste time visiting de Freire was also not to be thought of. Without the least doubt the bank was an imminent danger, and I must not lose an unnecessary moment in getting to St. Mark's Court. As I thought over matters I felt more and more certain that the eating-house facing the bank was a rendezvous for Madame's agents. I hastily resolved, therefore, to disguise myself and go there. Once I had belonged to the infamous Brotherhood. I knew their password. By this means, if my suspicions were true, I could doubtless gain admission. As for the rest, I must leave it to chance. As soon as I reached town I drove off at once to a theatrical agent whose acquaintance I had already made. He remembered me, and I explained enough of the situation to induce him to render me assistance. In a very short time I was metamorphosed. By a few judicious touches twenty years were added to my age, a wig of dark hair completely covered my own, my complexion was dyed to a dark olive, and in a thick traveling coat with a high fur collar I scarcely knew myself. My final act was to slip a loaded revolver into my pocket, and then, feeling that I was prepared for the worst, I hurried forth. It was now between twelve and one in the morning, and the fog was denser than ever. Few men knew London better than I do, but once or twice in that perilous journey I lost my way. At last, however, I found myself in St. Mark's Court. I was now breathing with difficulty. The fog was piercing my lungs and hurting my throat, my eyes watered. When I got into the court I heard the steady tramp of the policeman whose duty it was to guard the place at night. Taking no notice of him I went across the Court in the direction of the eating-house. The light within still burned, but dimly. There was a blur visible, nothing more. This came through one of the windows, for the door was shut. I tapped at the door. A man came immediately and opened it. He asked me what my business was. I repeated the password of the society. A change came over his face. My conjectures were verified. I was instantly admitted. Are you expecting to see a friend here tonight? Said the man, it is rather late and we are just closing. As he uttered the words like a flash of lightning an old memory returned to me. I have said that when I first saw the Duke at De Brett's house I was puzzled by an intangible likeness. Now I knew who the man really was. In the old days in Naples an English boy of the name of Drake was often seen in Madame Salon's. Drake and the Duke of Freedick were one and the same. I have come here to see Mr. Drake, I said stoutly. The man nodded. My chance shot had found its belay. Mr. Drake is upstairs. He said, will you find your own way up or shall I announce you? I will find my own way, I said. He is in the— Room to the front, third floor, answered the man. He returned to the dining saloon and I heard the swing door close behind him. Without a moment's hesitation I ascended the stairs. The stairs and passage were in complete darkness. I went up, passed the first and second stories and on to the third. As I approached the landing of the third story I saw an open door and a gleam of light in a small room which faced the court. The light was caused by a lamp which stood on a deal-table, the wick of which was turned down very low. Except the lamp and table there was no other furniture in the room. I went in and looked around me. The Duke was not present. I was just considering what my next step should be when I heard voices in several steps ascending the stairs. I saw an empty cupboard, the door of which stood ajar. I made for it and closed the door softly behind me. As the men approached I slipped the revolver from my pocket and held it in my hand. It was probable that Friedek had been told of my arrival. If so, he would search for me, and in all probability look in the cupboard. Three or four men at least were coming up the stairs, and I knew that my life was scarcely worth a moment's purchase. I had a wild feeling of regret that I had not summoned the policeman in the court to my aid, and then the men entered the room. When they did so I breathed a sigh of relief. They talked to one another as if I did not exist. Evidently the waiter downstairs had thought that my knowledge of the password was all sufficient and had not troubled himself to mention my appearance on the scene. One of the men went up to the lamp, turned it on to a full blaze, and then placed it in the window. That will be sufficient for our purpose, he said with a laugh, otherwise with the fog as thick as it is now the bolt might miss its mark. The thicker the fog the better, said another voice, which I recognized as that of the Duke. I am quite ready, gentlemen, if you are. All right, said the man who had first spoken, I will go across to Bell's house and fix the rope from the bar outside the window. As the bob of the pendulum you will swing true drake, no fear of that. You will swing straight to the balcony, as sure as mathematics. Have you anything else to ask? No, answered Friedek, I am ready. Get your part of the work through as quickly as you can. You cannot fail to see this window with the bright light in it. I will have the lower sash open and be ready to receive the bolt from the crossbow with the light string attached. That will do the business, answered his confederate. When the bolt reaches you, pull in as hard as you can, for the rope will be attached to the light string. The crossbar is here. You have only to attach it to the rope and swing across. Well, all right, I'm off. The man whose mission it was to send the bolt into the open window now left the room, and I heard his footsteps going softly downstairs. I opened the cupboard door about half an inch and was able to watch the proceedings of the other three men who remained on the scene. The window was softly opened. They spoke in whispers. I could judge by their attitudes that all three were in the highest state of nervous excitement. Presently, a low cry of satisfaction from Friedek reached my ears, and something shot into the room and struck against the opposite wall. The next moment the men were pulling in a silken string to which a wire rope was attached. I then saw the duke remove his coat. A wooden crossbar was securely fastened to the end of the stout rope. The rope was held outside the window by the two confederates, and the duke got upon the windowsill, slipped his legs over the crossbar, and the next instant had disappeared into space. Where he had gone, what he was doing, were mysteries yet to be solved. The men remained for a moment longer beside the window, then they softly closed the sash and putting out the lamp left the room. I heard their steps descending the stairs. The sounds died away into utter stillness. I listened intently, and then softly leaving the cupboard approached the window. In the intense darkness caused by the fog, I could not see a yard in front of me. De Brett's bank was in danger. The duke of Friedek and his accomplices were burglars. But what the crossbow, the rope, the bolt, the crossbar of wood, and the sudden disappearance of the duke himself through the open window portended, I could not fathom. My duty, however, was clear. I must immediately give the alarm to the policeman in the court, whose tramp I even now heard coming up to me through the fog. I waited for a few moments longer, and then determined to make my exit. I ran downstairs, treading as softly as I could. I had just reached the little hall and put my hand on the latch of the door when I was accosted. Who is there? said a voice. I replied glibly. I'm going in search of Drake. You cannot see him, he is engaged, said the same voice, and now a man came forward. He held a dark lantern in his hand and suddenly threw its bullseye full on my face. Perhaps he saw through my disguise. Anyhow, he must have observed my face was unfamiliar to him. The expression on his own changed to one of alarm. He suddenly made a low and peculiar whistle, and two or three other men entered the hall. The first man said something, the words of which I could not catch, and all four made a rush for me. But the door was on the latch. I burst it open and escaped into the court. The thick fog favored me, and I hoped that I had escaped the gang when a heavy blow on the back of my head rendered me, for the second time, within that ominous twenty-four hours, unconscious. When I awoke I found myself in the ward of a London hospital, and the kind face of a house surgeon was bending over me. Ah, you'll do, I heard him say. You are coming too nicely. You had a nasty blow on your head, though. Don't talk at present. You'll be all right in a couple of hours. I lay still, feeling bewildered. Figures were moving about the room and the daylight was streaming in at the windows. I saw a nurse come up and look at me. She bent down. You feel better? You are not suffering? She said. I am not, I replied. But how did I get here? What has happened? A policeman heard you cry and picked you up unconscious in a place called St. Mark's Court. Someone gave you a bad blow on your head. It is a wonder your skull was not cracked. But you are better. Have you a message to give any one? I must get up immediately, I said. I have not a moment to lose. Something dreadful has happened, and I must see to it. I must leave the hospital at once. Not without the surgeon's permission, said the nurse. Have you any friend you would like to be sent to you? I mentioned to Frayer's name. The nurse said she would dispatch a messenger immediately to his house and ask him to come to me. I waited with what patience I could. The severe blow had fortunately only stunned me. I was not seriously hurt, and all the events of the preceding night, previous to the blow, presented themselves clearly before my memory. In a little over an hour, to Frayer arrived. His eyes were blazing with excitement. He came up to me, full of consternation. What has happened, head? He asked. Oh, I am all right. Don't bother about me, I said. But listen to Frayer. I must go to St. Mark's Court immediately. There is mischief. St. Mark's Court, are you mad? Have you heard anything? Heard what? I asked. They have done it. That's all, cried to Frayer. What? I exclaimed. Well, there's the very devil to pay in the city this morning. DeBrette's bank was broken into last night. The night watchman seriously injured, and securities and cash to the tune of one hundred thousand pounds taken from the strongroom, and the man has got clean away. Your messenger from here followed me to the bank. Tyler is there, and DeBrette, the daring of the robbery, is unparalleled. I can throw light on this matter, I said. Get the surgeon to give me leave to go, DeFrayer. There is not a moment to lose if we are to catch the scoundrel. I must accompany you to the bank. Well, you seem all right, old chap, and if you have anything to say. I have, I cried impatiently. See the surgeon. I must get off immediately. DeFrayer did as I requested him. The surgeon shook his head over what he called my imprudence, but said he could not detain me against my will. DeFrayer and I stepped into a handsome, and on my way to the bank I repeated my strange adventures of the previous night. Did ever anyone hear of another man doing such a foolhardy thing? cried DeFrayer. What possessed you to enter that hell alone beats my comprehension. Never mind that now, I replied. Remember, I knew the brotherhood. My one chance consisted in going alone. Thank goodness the fog has risen. A light breeze was blowing over the city, and as we entered St. Mark's Court, a ray of sunshine cast a watery gleam over the old smoke-progrined buildings. We entered the bank and found DeBrette, his manager, two police inspectors, and Tyler's agent awaiting us. DeBrette exclaimed when he saw sight of me. Ah, head, here's a pretty business. I'm a ruined man. The bank cannot stand a blow of this kind. Courage, I replied. We may be able to put things right yet. I have a story to tell. Mr. DeBrayer, you have doubtless kept the note which Mr. DeBrette wrote to me last night. The note I wrote to you, cried DeBrette, what do you mean? Well, you produced the note, I said to the manager. The man brought it and put it into his chief's hand. DeBrette read it with increasing amazement. But I never put pen to paper on such a fool's errand, he cried. Why? I never take the keys of the small safe. DeBrayer and Fromm have charge of them. Head, this note is a forgery. What in the name of heaven does it mean? It meant for me a brome which was a death-trap, I replied, and it also meant the most dastardly scheme to rob you and perhaps murder me, which has ever been conceived. But listen, let me tell you my story. I did so, amidst the breathless silence of the spectators. And now, I continued, the best thing we can do, gentlemen, is to go across to the house from which the bolt was shot. It is possible that we may see something in that upper room which will explain the manner in which the burglar entered the bank. I am at your service, Mr. Head, said Inspector Brown, in a cheerful tone. A mystery of this sort is quite to my mind. All the same, sir. He continued. As he and I took the lead of the little procession which crossed St. Mark's Court, I cannot imagine how any man got into that window of the bank on the second floor without wings. There is a constable on patrol in the court all night. So ladders are out of the question. The annihilation of gravity is a new departure in the burglar's art. We had now reached the building which faced the court, and which was between the bank and the eating-house. It was composed entirely of offices. We went up at once to the top floor. The door of the room which faced the court was locked. The inspector took a step back, and flinging his shoulders against it, it flew open. The room was bare and unoccupied, but as we entered, Inspector Brown uttered a cry. Here is the confirmation of your story, Mr. Head. As he spoke, he lifted up a coil of strong rope which lay in a corner of the room. Attached to it was a cross-bar of wood, a strong iron bar with a hook at one end, and a cross-bow also lay in the neighborhood of the rope. The thing is as clear as daylight, I exclaimed. I could not put two and two together last night, for the fog fairly bewildered me, but now I see the whole scheme. Let me explain. This rope was sent by means of the cross-bow across to the window in the eating-house. To the bolt of the cross-bow was attached a silken cord, to which again the rope was fastened. The man who swung himself out of the window by the rope last night acted as the bob of the pendulum, and so reached the window of the bank. Swinging through the eating-house window and rising to the balcony opposite the bank window, he then doubtless seized the handle of the outside frame and, settling on the balcony, cut out the glass with a diamond. We will go at once and see the room in the eating-house, said the inspector. We did so, and found to our amazement that the door of the eating-house was locked and the place empty. After some slight difficulty we got the door burst open and went upstairs. Here we found the final confirmation of my words, the silken string which had been attached to the rope, and cut from it before the Duke made his aerial flight. What, who did it? cried DeBrette. We must secure the scoundrel without a moment's delay, for amongst other things he has stolen the Duke of Freedeck's priceless securities, the diamonds. By the way, continued the banker, where is the Duke? I sent him a telegram and expected him here before now. An ominous silence fell upon everyone. DeBrette's face grew white. He looked at me. For God's sake, speak, he cried. Have you anything else to confide? You must be prepared for bad news, DeBrette, I said. I went up and laid my hand on my old friend's shoulders. Thank God I was in time. Your little girl is saved from the most awful faith which could overtake any woman. The man who committed the burglary was known to you as the Duke of Freedeck. DeBrette stepped back. His face changed from white to purple. Then that accounts for the telegrams, he said. I received two yesterday, one from you telling me to expect you by a late train at Fars Manor. The other from that scoundrel. In it he said he was unexpectedly detained in town. Doubtless, both telegrams were sent by the same man. Without doubt, I replied. The whole thing was carefully planned and not a stone left unturned to secure the success of this most dastardly scheme. But DeBrette, I have one more thing to say. There is no Duke of Freedeck. It was an assumed name. I am prepared to swear to the man's real identity when the police have secured him. The remainder of this story can be told in a few words. The Ruffian who had posed as the Duke of Freedeck was captured a few days later, but the greater part of the securities and money which he had stolen were never recovered. Doubtless, Madame Colucci had them in her possession. The man passed through his trial and received his sentence, but that has nothing to do with the story. By the energetic aid of his many friends, DeBrette escaped ruin, and his bank still exists and prospers. He is a sadder and a wiser man. As the days and weeks went on, Madame Colucci became more than ever the talk of London. The medical world agitated itself about her to an extraordinary degree. It was useless to gain say the fact that she performed marvelous cures. Under her influence and treatment, weak people became strong again. Those who stood at the door of the shadow of death returned to their intercourse with the busy world. Beneath her spell, pain vanished. What she did and how she did it remained more than ever a secret. She dispensed her own prescriptions, but although some of her medicines were analyzed by experts, nothing in the least extraordinary could be discovered in their composition. The cure did not therefore lie in drugs, and what did it consist? Doctors asked this question one of another, and could find no satisfactory answer. The rage to consult Madame became stronger and stronger. Her patients adored her. The magnetic influence which she exercised was felt by each person with whom she came in contact. Meanwhile, Dufreyer and I watched and waited. The detective officers in Scotland Yard knew of some of our views with regard to this woman. Led by Dufreyer, they were ceaselessly on the alert. But try as the most able of their staff did. They could learn nothing of Madame Colucci, which was not to her credit. She was spoken of as a universal benefactress. Taking it is true, large fees from those who could afford to pay, but, on the other hand, giving her services freely to the people to whom money was scarce. This woman could scarcely walk down the street, without heads being turned to look after her. And this was not only on account of her remarkable beauty, but still more because of her genius and goodness. As she passed by, blessings were showered upon her, and if the person who called down these benedictions was rewarded by even one glance from those lovely and brilliant eyes, he counted himself happy. About the middle of January, the attention of London was diverted from Madame Colucci to a murder of a particularly mysterious character. A member of the cabinet of the name of Delacour was found dead in St. James Park. His body was discovered in the early morning in the neighborhood of Marlborough House, with a wound straight through the heart. Death must have been instantaneous. He was stabbed from behind which showed the cowardly nature of the attack. I knew Delacour, and for many reasons was appalled when the tidings reached me. As far as anyone could tell, he had no enemies. He was a man in the prime of life, of singular power of mind and strength of character, and the only possible motive for the murder seemed to be to rest some important state secrets from his possession. He had been attending a cabinet meeting in Downing Street, and was on his way home when the dastardly deed was committed. Certain memoranda respecting a loan to a foreign government were abstracted from his person, but his watch, a valuable ring, and some money were left intact. The police immediately put measures in active train to secure the murderer, but no clue could be obtained. Delacour's wife and only daughter were broken-hearted. His position as a cabinet minister was so well known that not only his family, but the whole country rang with horror at the dastardly crime, and it was fervently hoped that before long the murderer would be arrested and receive the punishment which he so justly merited. On a certain evening about a fortnight after this event, as I was walking slowly down Wellbeck Street, and was just about to pass the door of Madame Calucci's splendid mansion, I saw a young girl come down the steps. She was dressed in deep mourning and glanced around from right to left, evidently searching for a passing handsome. Her face arrested me, her eyes met mind, and with a slight cry she took a step forward. You are Mr. Head, she exclaimed. And you are Vivian Delacour, I replied. I am glad to meet you again. Don't you remember the Hotel Belleview at Brussels? When I spoke her name she colored perceptively and began to tremble. Suddenly, putting out one of her hands, she laid it on my arm. I am glad to see you again, she said in a whisper. You know of our most terrible tragedy? I do, I replied. Mother is completely prostrated from the shock. The murder was so sudden and mysterious. If it were not for Madame— Madame Calucci, I queried. Yes, Mr. Head, Madame Calucci, the best and dearest friend we have in the world. She was attending mother professionally at the time of the murder, and since then has been with her daily. On that first terrible day she scarcely left us. I don't know what we should have done were it not for her great tact and kindness. She is full of suggestions, too, for the capture of the wretch who took my dear father's life. You look shaken yourself, I said. Want you to be out alone at this hour? I have just seen Madame with a message from Mother, and am waiting here for a handsome. If you would be so kind as to call one I should be much indebted to you. Can I do anything to help you, Vivian? I said. You know you only have to command me. A handsome drew up at the pavement as I spoke. Vivian's sad gray eyes were fixed on my face. Find the man who killed my father, she said. We shall never rest until we know who took his life. May I call at your house, tomorrow morning? I asked suddenly. If you will be satisfied with seeing me, Mother will admit no one to her presence but Madame Calucci. I will come to see you then. Expect me at eleven. I helped Miss Delacour into her handsome, gave directions to the driver, and she was quickly bold out of sight. On my way home many thoughts coursed through my brain. A year ago the Delacours, a family of the name of Pizzi, and I, made friends while traveling through Belgium. The Pizzi's of old Italian origin owned a magnificent place not far from Tunbridge Wells. The Pizzi's and the Delacours were distant cousins. Vivian at that time was only sixteen, and she and I became special chums. She used to tell me all about her ambitions and hopes, and in particular, discounted on the museum of rare curios which her cousins, the Pizzi's, possessed at their splendid place, Pizzi Hall. I had a standing invitation to visit the Hall at any time, when I happened to have leisure, but up to the present had not availed myself of it. Memories of that gay time thronged upon me as I hurry to my own house, but mixed with the old reminiscences was an inconceivable sensation of horror. Why was Madame Colucci a friend of the Delacours? My mind had gotten to such a disorderous state that I, more or less, associated her with any crime which was committed. Hating myself for what I considered pure morbidness, I arrived at my own house. There I was told that Dufres was waiting to see me. I hurried into my study to greet him. He came eagerly forward. Have you any news? I cried. If you allude to Delacours' murder, I have," he answered. Then pray, speak quickly, I said. Well, he continued, a curious development, and one which may have the most profoundly important bearing on the murder, has just taken place. It is in connection with it that I have come to see you. Dufres stood up as he spoke. He never liked to be interrupted, and I listened attentively without uttering a syllable. Yesterday, he continued, a man was arrested on suspicion. He was examined this morning before the magistrate at Dow Street. His name is Walter Hunt. He is the keeper of a small marine store at Hounstich. For several nights he has been found hovering in a suspicious manner round the Delacours' house. On being questioned, he could give no straightforward account of himself, and the police thought it best to arrest him. On his person was discovered an envelope addressed to himself, bearing the city postmark and the date of the day the murder was committed. Inside the envelope was an absolutely blank sheet of paper. Thinking this might be a communication of importance, it was submitted to George Lambert, the government expert at Scotland Yard, for examination. He subjected it to every known test in order to see if it contained any writing on sympathetic ink or some other secret cipher principles. The result is absolutely negative, and Lambert firmly declares that it is a blank sheet of paper and of no value. I heard all these particulars from Ford, the superintendent in charge of the case, and knowing of your knowledge of chemistry and the quantity of odds and ends of curious information you possess on these matters, I obtained leave that you should come with me to Scotland Yard and submit the paper to any further test you know of. I felt sure you would be willing to do this. Certainly, I replied, shall I come with you now? I wish you would. If the paper contains any hidden cipher, the sooner it is known, the better. One moment first, I said, I have just met Vivienne Delacour. She was coming out of Madame Colucci's house. It is strange how that woman gets to know all one's friends and acquaintances. I forgot that you knew the Delacours, said de Freire. A year ago, I replied, I seemed to know them well. When we were in Brussels we were great friends. Vivienne looked ill and in great trouble. I would give the world to help her. But I earnestly wished she did not know Madame. It may be morbidness on my part, but lately I never hear of any crime being committed in London without instantly associating Madame Colucci with it. She has got that girl more or less under her spell, and Vivienne herself informed me that she visits her mother daily. Be assured of this, de Freire. The woman is after no good. As I spoke I saw the lawyer's face darken, and the cold, hard expression I knew so well came into it, but he did not speak a word. I am at your service now, I said. Just let me go to my laboratory first. I have some valuable notes on these ciphers which I will take with me. A moment later de Freire and I found ourselves in a handsome on our way to Scotland Yard. There we were met by Superintendent Ford and also by George Lambert, a particularly intelligent looking man who favored me with a keen glance from under shaggy brows. I have heard of you, Mr. Head, he said courteously, and shall be only too pleased if you can discover what I have failed to do. The sheet of paper in question is the sort on which ciphers are often written, but all my reagents have failed to produce the slightest effect. My fear is that they may possibly have destroyed the cipher should such a thing exist. That is certainly possible, I said, but if you will take me to your laboratory I will submit the paper to some rather delicate tests of my own. The expert at once led the way, and de Freire, Superintendent Ford, and I followed him. When we reached the laboratory, Lambert put all possible tests at my disposal. A glance at the stain on the paper before me showed that cobalt, copper, etc., had been already applied. These tests had in all probability nullified any further chemical tests I might try, and had destroyed the result even if there were some secret writing on the paper. I spent some time trying the more delicate and less known tests with no success. Presently I rose to my feet. It is useless, I said. I can do nothing with this paper. It is rather a presumption on my part to attempt it after you, Mr. Lambert, have given your ultimatum. I am inclined to agree with you that the paper is valueless. Lambert bowed, and a look of satisfaction crept over his face. de Freire and I soon afterwards took our leave. As we did so, I heard my friend utter a quick sigh. We are only beating the air as yet, he said. We must trust that justice and right will win the day at last. He parted from me at the corner of the street, and I returned to my own house. On the following day at the appointed hour I went to see Vivy in Delacour. She received me in her mother's boudoir. Here the blinds were partly down, and the whole room had a desolate aspect. The young girl herself looked pale and sad, years older than she had done in the happy days at Brussels. Mother was pleased when I told her that I met you yesterday, she exclaimed. Sit down, won't you, Mr. Head? You and my father were great friends during that happy time at the Bellevue. Yes, I feel certain of your sympathy. You may be assured of it, I said, and I earnestly wish I could give you more than sympathy. Would it be too painful to give me some particulars in connection with the murder? She shuddered quite perceptively. You must have read all there is to know in the newspapers, she said. I can tell you nothing more. My father left us on that dreadful day to attend a cabinet meeting at Downing Street. He never returned home. The police look in vain for the murderer. There seems no motive for the horrible crime. Father had no enemies. Here the poor girl sobbed without restraint. I allowed her grief to have its way for a few moments, then I spoke. Listen, Vivian, I said. I promise you that I will not leave a stone unturned to discover the man or woman who killed your father. But you must help me by being calm and self-collected. Grief like this is quite natural, but it does no good to anyone. Try, my dear girl, to compose yourself. You say there was no motive for the crime, but surely some important memoranda were stolen from your father? His pocket-book in which he often made notes was removed, but nothing more. Neither his watch nor his money. Surely no one would murder him for the sake of securing that pocket-book, Mr. Head. It is possible, I answered gloomily. The memoranda contained in the book may have held clues to government secrets, remember? Vivian looked as if she scarcely understood. Once more, my thoughts traveled to Madam Kaluchi. She was a strange woman. She dealt in colossal crimes. Her influence permeated society through and through. With her a life more or less was not of the slightest consequence. And this terrible woman, whom, up to the present, the laws of England could not touch, was the intimate friend of the young girl by my side. Vivian moved uneasily and presently rose. I am glad you are going to help us, she said, looking at me earnestly. Madam does all she can, but we cannot have too many friends on our side, and we are all aware of your wisdom, Mr. Head. Why do you not consult Madam? I shook my head. But you are friends, are you not? I told her only this morning how I had met you. We are acquaintances, but not friends, I replied. Indeed, you astonish me. You cannot imagine how useful she is, and how many suggestions she throws out. By the way, Mother and I leave London today. Where are you going? I asked. Away from here. It is quite too painful to remain any longer in this house. The shock has completely shattered Mother's nerves, and she is now under Madam Kaluchi's care. Madam has just taken a house in the country, called Fromm Manor. It is not far from our cousins, the Pitzies. You remember them? You met them in Brussels. I nodded. We are going there to-day, continued Vivian. Of course, we shall see no one, but Mother will be under the same roof with Madam, and thus will have the benefit of her treatment day and night. Soon afterwards I took my leave. All was suspicion and uncertainty, and no definite clue had been obtained. About this time I began to be haunted by an air which had sprung like a mushroom into popularity. It was called the Queen Waltz, and it was scarcely possible to pick up a dance program without seeing it. There was something fascinating about its swinging measure, its almost dreamy refrain, and its graceful alternations of harmony and unison. No one knew who had really composed it, and still left that anyone for a moment dreamed that its pleasant chords contained a dark or subtle meaning. As I listened to it on more than one occasion, at more than one concert, for I am a passionate lover of music, and seldom spend an afternoon without listening to it, I little guessed all that the Queen Waltz would bring forth. I was waiting for a clue. How could I tell that all too late, and by such unlikely means, it would be put into my hands? A month and even six weeks went by, and although the police were unceasing in their endeavours to gain a trace of the murderer, they were absolutely unsuccessful. Once or twice during this interval I had letters from Vivienne Delacour. She wrote with the passion and impetuosity of a very young girl. She was anxious about her mother, who was growing steadily weaker, and was losing her self-restraint more and more as the long weeks glided by. Madam Calucci was anxious about her. Madam's medicines, her treatment, her soothing powers were on this occasion destitute of results. Nothing will rest her, said Vivienne in conclusion, until the murderer is discovered. She dreams of him night and day, during the daytime she is absolutely silent, or she paces the room in violent agitation, crying out to God to help her to discover him. Oh, Mr. Head, what is to be done? The child's letters appealed to me strongly. I was obliged to answer her with extreme care, as I knew that Madam would see what I wrote, but nonetheless were all my faculties at work on her behalf. From time to time I thought of the mysterious blank sheet of paper. Was it possible that it contained a cipher? Was one of those old, incomparable, magnificent, undiscovered ciphers which belonged to the ancient brotherhood really concealed beneath its blank surface? That blank sheet of paper mingled with my dreams, and worried me during my wakeful hours. I became nearly as restless as Vivienne herself, and when a letter of a more despairing nature than usual arrived on a certain morning towards the end of February, I felt that I could no longer remain inactive. I would answer Vivienne's letter in person. To do so I had but to accept my standing invitation to Pizzi Hall. I wrote therefore to my friend, Leonardo Pizzi, suggesting that if it were convenient to him and his wife, I should like to go to Pizzi Hall on the following Saturday. The next afternoon Pizzi himself called to see me. I received your letter this morning, and having to come to town today, thought I would look you up, he cried. I have to catch a train at five thirty, so cannot stay a minute. We shall be delighted to welcome you at the hall. My wife and I have never forgotten your head. You will be, I assure you, a most welcome guest. By the way, have you heard of our burglary? No, I answered. You do not read your paper then. It is an extraordinary affair. Crime seems to be in the air just now. The hall was attacked by burglars last week, a most daring and cunningly planned affair. Some plate was stolen, but the plate chest built on the newest principles was untampered with. There was a desperate attempt made, however, to get into the large drawing-room, where all our valuable curios are kept. Druko, the mastiff who is loose about the house at night, was found poisoned outside the drawing-room door. Luckily the butler awoke in time, gave the alarm, and the rascals bolted. The country police have been after them, and in despair I have come up to Scotland Yard and engaged a couple of their best detectives. They come down with me tonight, and I trust we shall soon get the necessary clue to the capture of the burglars. My fear is that if they are not arrested they will try again, for I assure you the old place is worth robbing. But there I ought not to worry you about my domestic concerns. We shall have a gay party on Saturday. For my oldest boy, Atavio, comes of age next week, and the event is to be celebrated by a great Paul in his honour. How are the Delacours? I interrupted. Vivian keeps fairly well, but her mother is a source of great anxiety. Madame Calucci and Vivian are constant guests at the hall. The Delacours returned to town before the ball, but Madame will attend it. It will be an honour and a great attraction to have such a lioness for the occasion. Do you know her head? She is quite charming. I have met her, I replied. Ah, that is capital. You and she are just a sort to hit it off. It's all right then, and we shall expect you. A good train leaves Charing Cross at 4.30. I will send the trap to meet you. Thank you, I answered. I shall be glad to come to Pizzi Hall, but I do not know that I can stay as long as the night of the ball. Once we get you in our clutch's head, we won't let you go. My young people are all anxious to renew their acquaintance with you. Don't you remember little Antonia, my pretty songstress, as I call her? Vivian, too, talks of you as one of her greatest friends. Poor child, I pity her from my heart. She is a sweet, gentle girl, but such a shock as she has sustained may leave its mark for life. Poor Delacour, the very best of men. The fact is, I should like to postpone the ball on account of the Delacours, although they are very distant cousins, but a tevio only comes of age once in his life, and under the circumstances we feel that we must go through with it. Pond my word-head, when I think of that poor child and her mother, I have little heart for festivities. However, that is neither here nor there. We shall expect you on Saturday. As Pizzi spoke, he took up his hat. I must be off now, he said, for I have to meet the two detectives at Charing Cross by appointment. CHAPTER IV. THE LUCK OF PITZI HALL. PART II. On the following Saturday, the twenty-seventh, I arrived at Pizzi Hall, where a warm welcome awaited me. The ball was to be on the following Tuesday, the second of March. There was a large house party, and the late burglary was still the topic of conversation. After dinner, when the ladies had left the dining-room, Pizzi and I drew our chairs together, and presently the conversation drifted to Mrs. Delacour, the mysterious murder, and Madame Colucci. The police are completely nonplussed, said Pizzi. I doubt if the men who committed that rascally crime will ever be brought to justice. I was speaking to Madame on the subject today, and although she was very hopeful when she first arrived at Fromm Manor, she is now almost inclined to agree with me. By the way, Mrs. Delacour's state is most alarming. She loses strength hour by hour. I can quite understand that, I replied. If the murderer were discovered it would be an immense relief to her. So, Madame says. I know she is terribly anxious about her patience. By the way, knowing that she was an acquaintance of yours, I asked her here tonight, but unfortunately she had another engagement which she could not postpone. What a wonderfully well-informed woman she is. She spent hours at the hall this morning examining my curios. She gave me information about some of them which was news to me. But she has been many times now around my collection. It is a positive treat to talk with anyone so intelligent, and if she were not so keen about my Venetian goblet. What? I interrupted. The goblet you spoke to me about in Brussels? The one which has been in your family since 1500? The same, he answered, nodding his head, and lowering his voice a trifle. It has been in the family, as you say, since 1500. Madame has shown bad taste in the matter, and I am surprised at her. Pray, explain yourself, I said. She first saw it last November when she came here with the Delacour's. I shall never forget her stare of astonishment. She stood perfectly still for at least two minutes, gazing at it without speaking. When she turned round at last she was white as a ghost, and asked me where I got it from. I told her, and she offered me ten thousand pounds for it on the spot. A large figure, I remarked, I was much annoyed, continued Pitsy, and told her I would not sell it at any price. Did she give any reason for wishing to obtain it? Yes, she said she had a goblet very like it in her own collection, and wished to purchase this one in order to complete one of the most unique collections of old Venetian glass in England. The woman must be fabulously rich, or even her passion for curios would not induce her to offer so preposterous a sum. Since her residence at Fromm Manor she has been constantly here, and still takes, I can see, the deepest interest in the goblet, often remarking about it. She says it has got quite a remarkably pure musical note, very clear and distinct. But come ahead, you would like to see it. We will go into the drawing-room, and I will show it to you. As Pitsy spoke, he rose, and led me through the great central hall into the inner drawing-room, a colossal apartment supported by Corinthian pillars, and magnificently decorated. As you know, the goblet has been in our family for many centuries, he went on. And we call it, from Eulen's ballot of the old Cumberland tradition, the luck of Pitsy Hall. You know Longfellow's translation, of course. Here it is, head. Is it not a wonderful piece of work? Have a close look at it. It is worth examining. The goblet, in question, stood about six feet from the ground on a pedestal of solid malachite, which was placed in a niche in the wall. One glance was sufficient to show me that it was a gem of art. The cup, which was eight inches in diameter, was made of thin glass of a pale ruby color. Some mystical letters were etched on the outside of the glass, small portions of which could be seen, but screening them from any closer interpretation was some twisted fancy work often to be observed on old Venetian goblets. If by any chance this fancy work were chipped off, the letters would be plainly visible. The cup itself was supported on an openwork stem, richly gilt and enameled, with colored filigree work. The hole supported again on a base set with opal, agate, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and pearl. From the center of the cup and in reality supporting it was a central column of pale green glass, which bore what was apparently some heraldic design. Stepping up close, I tapped the cup gently with my finger. It gave out, as Pizzi had described, a note of music singularly sweet and clear. I then proceeded to examine the stem, and saw at once that the design formed a row of separate crowns. Scarcely knowing why, I counted them. There were seven. A queer suspicion crept over me. The sequence of late events passed rapidly through my mind, and a strange relationship between circumstances apparently having no connection began to appear. I turned to Pizzi. Can you tell me how this goblet came into your possession? I asked. Certainly, he replied, the legend which is attached to this goblet is this. We are, as you know, descended from an old Italian family, the Pizzi's, our present name being merely an anglicized corruption of the Italian. My children and I still bear Italian Christian names, as you know, and our love of the old country amounts almost to a passion. The Pizzi's were great people in Venice in the 16th century. At that time the city had an immense fame for its beautiful glass, the manufacturers forming a guild and the secret being jealously kept. It was during this time that Catherine de Medici by her arbitrary and tyrannical administration roused the opposition of a Catholic party, at whose head was the Duke of Alonsoin, her own fourth son. Among the Duke's followers was my ancestor, Giovanni Pizzi. It was discovered that an order had been sent by Catherine de Medici to one of the manufacturers at Venice to construct that very goblet which you see there. After its construction it was for some secret purpose sent to the laboratory of an alchemist in Venice, where it was seized by Giovanni Pizzi and has been handed down in our family ever since. But what is the meaning of the seven crowns on the stem? I asked. That I cannot tell. They probably have no special significance. I thought otherwise, but kept my ideas to myself. We turned away. A beautiful young voice was filling the drawing-room with sweetness. I went up to the piano to listen to Antonia Pizzi while she sang an Italian song as only one who had Italian blood in her veins could. Antonia was a beautiful girl, dark with luminous eyes and an air of distinction about her. I wish you would tell me something about your friend Vivian, I said, as she rose from the piano. Oh, Mr. Head, I am so unhappy about her, was the low reply. I see her very often. She is altogether changed, and as to Mrs. Delacour, the shock has been so sudden, so terrible, that I doubt she will ever recover. Mr. Head, I am so glad you have come. Vivian constantly speaks of you. She wants to see you tomorrow. Is she coming here? No, but you can meet her in the park. She has sent you a message. Tomorrow is Sunday. Vivian is not going to church. May I take you to the rendezvous? I promised, and soon afterwards the evening came to an end. That night I was haunted by three main thoughts, the old Italian legend of the goblet, the seven crowns, symbolic of the brotherhood of the seven kings, and finally, madam's emotion when she first saw it and her strong desire to obtain it. I wondered had the burglary been committed by her instigation. Sleep I could not. My brain was too active and busy. I was certain there was mischief ahead, but try as I would I could only lose myself in strange conjectures. The following day I met Miss Delacour as arranged in the park. Antonia brought me to her and then left us together. The young girl's worn face, the pathetic expression in her large gray eyes, her evident nervousness and want of self-control all appealed to me to a terrible degree. She asked me eagerly if any fresh clue had been obtained with regard to the murderer. I shook my head. If something is not done soon, mother will lose her senses, she remarked. Even madam Calucci is in despair about her. All her ordinary modes of treatment fail in mother's case, and the strangest thing is, is that mother has begun to take a most queer and unaccountable dislike to madam herself. She says that madam's presence in the room gives her an uncontrollable feeling of nervousness. This has become so bad that mother and I return to town to-morrow. My cousin's house is too gay for us at present, and mother refuses to stay any longer under madam Calucci's roof. But why? I asked. That I cannot explain to you. For my part, I think madam one of the best women on earth. She has been kindness itself to us, and I do not know what we should have done without her. I did not speak, and Vivian continued after a pause. Mother's conduct makes madam strangely unhappy. She told me so, and I pity her from my heart. We had a long talk on the subject yesterday. That was just before she began to speak of the goblet, and before Mr. Louisham arrived. Mr. Louisham, who is he, I asked. A great friend of madam's. He comes to see her almost daily. He is very handsome, and I like him. But I did not know she was expecting him yesterday. She and I were in the drawing room. She spoke of mother, and then alluded to the goblet, the one at the hall. You have seen it, of course, Mr. Head? I nodded. I was too much interested to interrupt the girl by words. My cousin's called the luck of Pizzi Hall. Well, madam has set her heart on obtaining it, and she has gone to the length of offering cousin Leonardo ten thousand pounds for it. Mr. Pizzi told me last night that madam had offered an enormous sum for the vase, I said. But it is useless, as he has no intention of selling. I told madam so, replied Vivian. I know well what value my cousin's place upon the old glass. I believe they think their luck would really go if anything happened to it. Heaven forbid, I replied involuntarily. It is a perfect gem of its kind. I know, I know. I never saw madam so excited and unreasonable about anything. She begged of me to use my influence, to try and get my cousin to let her have it. When I assured her that it was useless, she looked more annoyed than I had ever seen her. She took up a book and pretended to read. I went and sat behind one of the curtains near a window. The next moment, Mr. Lewisham was announced. He came eagerly up to madam. I don't think he saw me. Well, he cried. Any success? Have you secured it yet? If you have, we are absolutely safe. Has that child helped you? I guessed that they were talking about me, and started up and disclosed myself. Madam did not take the slightest notice, but she motioned to Mr. Lewisham to come into another room. What could it all mean, Mr. Head? That I cannot tell you, Vivian, but may I ask you one thing? Certainly you may. Will you promise me to keep what you have just told me a secret from anybody else? I allude to madam's anxiety to obtain the old goblet. There may be nothing in what I ask, or there may be much. Will you do this? Of course I will. How queer you look! I made no remark, and soon afterwards took my leave of her. Late that same evening, Antonia Pizzi received a note from Vivian, in which she said that Madam Calucci, her mother and herself, were returning to town by an early train the following morning. The Delacours did not intend to come back to Fromm Manor, but Madam would do so on Tuesday in order to be in time for the great ball. She was going to town now in order to be present at an early performance of For the Crown at the Lyceum, having secured a box on the grand tier for the occasion. This note was commented on without any special interest being attached to it, but restless already I now quickly made up my mind. I would also go up to town on the following day. I also would return to Pizzi Hall in time for the ball. Accordingly, at an early hour on the following day I found myself in Defrager's office. I tell you what it is, I said, there is some plot deeper than we think brewing. Madam took Fromm Manor after the murder of Delacour. She would not do so without a purpose. She is willing to spend ten thousand pounds in order to secure a goblet of olvination glass, which is one of the curios at Pizzi Hall. A man called Luisham, who doubtless bears another alias, is in her confidence. Madam returns to town tonight with a definite motive. I have not the slightest doubt. This is all very well, Norman, replied Defrager, but what we want are facts. You will lose your senses if you go on building up fantastic ideas. Madam comes up to town and is going to the Lyceum, at least, so you tell me. Yes. And you mean to follow her to see if she has any designs on Forbes Robertson or Mrs. Patrick Campbell? I mean to follow her, I replied gravely. I mean to see what sort of man Luisham is. It is possible that I may have seen him before. Defrager shrugged his shoulders and turned away somewhat impatiently. As he did so, a wild thought suddenly struck me. What would you say, I cried, if I suggested an idea to force Madam to divulge some clue to us? My dear Norman, I should say that your fancies are getting the better of your reason. That is all. Now listen to me, I said. I sat down beside Defrager. I have an idea which may serve us well. It is, of course, a bear chance, and if you like you may call it the conception of a madman. Madam goes to the Lyceum tonight. She occupies a box on the grand tier. In all probability, Luisham will accompany her. Defrager, you and I will also be at the theatre, and if possible, we will take a box on the second tier, exactly opposite to hers. I will bring Robertson, the principal, and the trainer of the new deaf and dumb college with me. I happen to know him well. Defrager stared at me with some alarm in his face. Don't you see, I went on excitedly, Robertson is a master of the art of lip language. We will keep him in the back of the box. About the middle of the play, and in one of the intervals when the electric light is full on, we will send a note to Madam's box, saying that the cipher on the blank sheet of paper has been read. The note will pretend to be an anonymous warning to her. We shall watch her, and by means of Robertson, hear. Yes, hear what she says. Robertson will watch her through opera glasses, and he will be able to understand every word she speaks, just as you or I could if we were in her box beside her. The whole thing is a bare chance, I know, but we may learn something by taking her unsuspecting and unawares. Defrager thought for a minute, then he sprang to his feet. Magnificent, he cried, head, you are an extraordinary man. It is a unique idea. I will go off to the box office at once, and take a box if possible opposite Madam, or failing that, the best seats we can get. I only hope you can secure Robertson. Go to his house at once, and offer him any fee he wants. This is detection carried to a fine art with a vengeance. If successful, I shall class you as the smartest criminal agent of the day. We both meet at the lyceum at the quarter to eight. Now there is not a moment to lose. I drove down to Robertson's house in Brompton, found him at home, and told him my wish. I strongly impressed upon him that if he would help he would be aiding in the cause of justice. He became keenly interested, entered fully into the situation, and refused to accept any fee. At the appointed hour we met Defrager at the theatre door, and learned that he had secured a box on the second tier directly opposite Madam Calucci's box on the grand tier. I had arranged to have my letter sent by a messenger at ten o'clock. We took our seats, and a few moments later, Madam Calucci, in rose-coloured velvet and blazing with diamonds, accompanied by a tall, dark, clean-shaven man, entered her box. I drew back into the shadow of my own box, and watched her. She bowed to one or two acquaintances in the stalls, then sat down, leaning her arm on the plush-covered edge of her box. Robertson never took his eyes off her, and I felt reassured as he repeated to us the chance bits of conversation that he could catch between her and her companion. The play began, and a few minutes past ten in one of the intervals I saw Madam turn and receive my note, with a slight gesture of surprise. She tore it open, and her face paled perceptively. Robertson, as I had instructed him, stood in front of me. His opera glasses were fixed on the faces of Madam and her companion. I watched Madam as she read the note. She then handed it to Louis Chum, who read it also. They looked at each other, and I saw Madam's lips moving. Simultaneously, Robertson began to make the following report verbatim. Impossible. Some trick. Quite safe. Goblet key to cipher to-morrow night. Then followed a pause. Life and death to us. Signed. My name. There was another long pause, and I saw Madam twist the paper nervously in her fingers. I looked at to frayer. Our eyes met. My heart was beating. His face had become drawn and gray. The ghastly truth and the explanation were slowly sealing their impress upon our brains. The darkness of doubt had lifted. The stunning truth was clear. The paper which had defied us was a cipher written by Madam in her own name, and doubtless implicated her with Delacour's murder. Her anxiety to secure the goblet was very obvious. In some subtle way, handed down doubtless through generations, the goblet, once in the possession of the ancient brotherhood, had held the key of the secret cipher. But to-morrow night. To-morrow night was the night of the ball, and Madam was to be there. The reasoning was so obvious that the chain of evidence struck to frayer and me simultaneously. We immediately left the theatre. There was one thing to be done, and that without delay. I must catch the first train in the morning to Pitsey Hall, examine the goblet afresh, and tell Pitsey everything, and thus secure and protect the goblet from harm. If possible, I would myself discover the key to the cipher, which, if our reasoning was true, would place Madam in a felon's dock and see the end of the brotherhood. At ten o'clock the following morning I reached Pitsey Hall. When I arrived I found, as I expected, the house in more or less confusion. Pitsey was busily engaged superintending arrangements and directing the servants in their work. It was some little time before I could see him alone. What is the matter, my dear fellow? He said, I am very busy now. Come into the library, and I will tell you, I replied. As soon as ever we were alone I unfolded my story. Hardened by years of contact with the world it was difficult to startle or shake the composure of Leonardo Pitsey, and before I had finished my strange tale I could see from his expression the difficulty I should have in convincing him of the truth. I have had my suspicions for a long time, I said in conclusion. These are not the first dealings I have had with Madam Colucci. Hitherto she has eluded all my efforts to get her within the arm of the law. But I believe her time is near. Pitsey, your goblet is in danger. You will remove it to some place of safety. Remove the luck of Pitsey Hall on the night when my boy comes of age, replied Pitsey, frowning as he spoke. It is good of you to be interested head, but really. Well, I never knew you were such an imaginative man, as to any accident taking place tonight that is quite outside the realms of probability. The band will be placed in front of the goblet, and it is impossible for anything to happen to it, as none of the dancers can come near it. Now, have you anything more to say? I beg of you to be guided by me, and to put the goblet into a place of safety, I repeat it. You don't suppose I would try to scare you with a cock and bolt story. There is reason in what I say. I know that woman. My uneasiness is far more than due to mere imagination. To please you, head, I will place two of my footmen beside the goblet during the ball, in order to prevent the slightest chance of anyone approaching it. There, will that satisfy you? I was obliged to bow my acquiescence, and Pitsey soon left me, in order to attend to his multifarious duties. I spent nearly an hour that morning examining the goblet afresh. The mystical writing on the cup, concealed by the openwork design, engrossed my most careful attention, but so well were the principal letters concealed by the outside ornaments, that I could make nothing of them. Was I, after all, entirely mistaken, or did this beautiful work of art contain hidden within itself, the power for which I longed, the strange key to the mysterious paper which would convict Madame Colucci of a capital charge? The evening came at last, and about nine the guests began to arrive. The first dance had hardly come to an end before Madame Colucci appeared on the scene. She wore a dress of cloth of silver, and her appearance caused an almost imperceptible lull in the dancing in conversation. As she walked slowly up the great ballroom on the arm of a country magnet, all eyes turned to look at her. She passed me with a hardening about the corners of her mouth, as she acknowledged my bow, and I fancy I saw her eyes wander in the direction of the goblet at the other end of the room. Soon afterwards Antonia Pizzi came to my side. How beautiful everything is, she said. Did you ever see anyone look quite so lovely as Madame? Her dress tonight gives her a regal appearance. Have you seen our dance program? The Queen Waltz will be played just after supper. So you have fallen a victim to the popular taste, I answered. I hear that Waltz everywhere. But you don't know who has composed it? said the girl with an arch look. Now I don't mind confiding in you. It is Madame Colucci. I could not help starting. I was unaware that she was a musician, I remark. She is, and a most accomplished one. We have included the Waltz in our program by her special request. I am so glad. It is the most lively and inspiring air I ever danced to. Antonia was called away, and I lent against the wall. Two illuddies to dance or take any active part in the revels of the hour. The moments flew by, and at last the festive and brilliant notes of the Queen Waltz sounded on my ears. Couples came thronging into the ballroom as soon as this most fascinating melody was heard. To listen to its seductive measures was enough to make your feet tingle and your heart beat. Once again I watched Madame Colucci as she moved through the throng. Atavio Pizzi, the hero of the evening, was now her partner. There was a slight color in her usually pale cheeks, and I had never seen her look more beautiful. I was standing not far from the band, and could not help noticing how the dominant note repeated in two bars when all the instruments played together in harmony rang out with a peculiar and almost passionate insistence. Suddenly, without a moment's warning, and with a clap that struck the dancers motionless, a loud crash rang through the room. The music instantly ceased, and the priceless heirloom of the Pizzi's lay in a thousand silvered splinters on the polished floor. There was a moment's pause of absolute silence, followed by a sharp cry from our host, and then a hum of voices as the dancers hurried toward the scene of the disaster. The consternation and dismay were indescribable. Pizzi, with a face like death, was gazing horror-struck at the base and stem of the vase which still kept their place on the malachite stand, the cup alone being shivered to fragments. The two footmen who had been standing under the pedestal looked as if they had been struck by an unseen hand, pushing my way almost roughly through the crowded throng I reached the spot. Nothing remained but the stem and the jeweled base of the goblet. Silent and gazing at the throng as one in a dream, stood Madame Calucci. Antonia had crept up close to her father, her face as white as her dress. The luck of Pizzi Hall, she murmured, and on this night, of all nights. As for me, I felt my brain almost reeling with excitement. For the moment the thoughts which surged through it numbed my capacity for speech. I saw a servant gathering up the fragments. The evening was ended, and the party gradually broke up. To go on dancing would have been impossible. It was not till some hours afterwards that the whole satanic scheme burst upon me. The catastrophe admitted of but one explanation. The dominant note, repeated in two bars when all the instruments played together in harmony, must have been the note accordant with that of the cup of the goblet, and by the well-known laws of acoustics, when so played it shattered the goblet. Next day there was an effort made to piece together the shattered fragments, but some were missing, how removed, by whom taken, no one could ever tell. Beyond doubt the characters cunningly concealed by the openwork pattern contained the key to the cipher, but once again Madame had escaped. The ingenuity, the genius of the woman, placed her beyond the ordinary consequences of crime. Dela Cours' murder still remains unevented. Will the truth ever come to light? CHAPTER V. TWENTY DEGREES. A hot and sultry day towards the end of June was drawing to a close. I had just finished dinner, and returned to my laboratory to continue some spectroscopic work, when Defrayer, whom I had not seen for more than a week, walked in. Noticing that I was busy, he took a cigar from a box which lay on the table, and sank into an easy chair without speaking. What is it to-night, Norman? he asked at last, as I descended from my stool. Is it the elixir of life, or the philosopher's stone? Neither, I replied, I have received some interesting specimens of reduced hemoglobin, and am experimenting on them. By the way, where have you been all this week? At Eastbourne. The Assizes begin at the old Bailey, as you know, on Thursday, and I am conducting the defense in the case of the Disney murder. However, I have not come here to talk shop. I had a small adventure in Eastbourne, and have come to tell you about it. More developments, I asked, slightly startled by his tone, which was unusually grave. Come into the garden. We will have coffee there. We went through the open French windows and ensconced ourselves in wicker chairs. Does it ever occur to you, said Defrayer, taking his cigar from his mouth as he spoke, that you and I are in personal danger? It is absurd to lull ourselves into security by saying that such things do not happen in our day. But my only surprise is that Madame Colucci has not yet struck a blow at either of us. The thought of her haunts me. She fights with almost omnipotent powers, and we cannot foresee from what quarter the shaft may come. You have a reason for saying this, I interrupted. Has it anything to do with your visit to the sea side? There is a possibility that it may have something to do with it. But of that I am not certain. In all likelihood, head, there are no two men in London in such a strange position as ours. It is a self-elected one at any rate, I replied. True, he answered. Well, I will tell you what happened, and the further sequel which occurred this evening. I had been feeling rather done, and as I had a few days to spare, thought I would spend them geologizing along the cliffs at Eastbourne. On Tuesday last I went out for the whole day on a long expedition under the cliffs towards the Berlin Gap. I was so engrossed in my discovery of some very curious pieces of iron pyrites, for which that part of the coast is noted, that I forgot the time, and darkness set in before I turned for home. The tide was luckily low, so I had nothing to fear. I had just rounded the point on which the lighthouse stands when, to my amazement, I heard a shrill, clear voice call my name. I stopped and turned round, but at first could see nothing. In a moment, however, I observed a figure approaching me. It sprang lightly from rock to rock. As it came nearer, it resolved itself into a boy, dressed in a light gray suit and a cloth cap. I was just going to address him, when he raised his hands as if in warning, and said quickly in a low voice, Don't return to London. Stay here. You are in danger. What do you mean? I asked. He made no reply, and before I could repeat my question had left me, and was continuing his rapid course toward the promontory. I shouted after him, Stop! Who are you? But in another moment I completely lost sight of him in the dark shadow of the cliffs. I ran forward, but not a trace of him could I see. I shouted. There was no answer. I then made up my mind that pursuit was useless and returned to the town. Have you seen or heard anything since of the mysterious youth? I asked. Nothing whatever. What do you think of his warning? Is it possible that I am really in danger? Is Madam Calucci mixed up in this affair? I paused before replying. Then I said slowly, As Madam is in existence and as the youth whoever he was happened to know your name, there is just the possibility that the adventure may wear an ugly aspect. Two conclusions may be arrived at with regard to it. One, that this warning was intended to keep you at Eastbourne for some dangerous object. The other, that it was a friendly warning given for some reason in this strange manner. You arrived precisely at my own views on the subject, replied Defraer. I am not a nervous man, and can defend my life if necessary, but that small incident has struck me in a curious way. Of course, it is quite impossible for me to leave town. The Disney murder trial comes on this week, and as there are many complications it will occupy some days, but, head, try as I will, the impression of that boy's warning will not wear off, and now, listen, there is a sequel. See, this came by the last post. As Defraer spoke, he drew a letter from his pocket and thrust it into my hands. I took it to the window where, by the light of a lamp inside the room, I read the following lines. Meet me inside Gates, Marble Arch, at ten to night. Do not fail. You have disregarded my advice, but I may still be able to do something. Your correspondent makes a strange rendezvous, I remarked, as I handed it back to him. What do you mean to do? What would you do in my place? asked Defraer, shifting the question. He gazed at me earnestly, and with veiled anxiety in his face. Take no notice, I said. The letter is anonymous, and as likely as not may be a trap to lead you into danger. I do not see anything for it, but for you to pursue the even tenor of your way, just as if there were no Madam Kaluchi in the world. It was half past nine o'clock, the moon was rising, and Defraer's gray face with his dark brows knit confronted mine. After a time he rose. I believe you are right, he said. I shall disregard that letter as I disregarded the warning of the youth in the sands. My unknown correspondent must keep his rendezvous in vain. I won't stay any longer this evening. I am terribly busy getting up my case for Thursday. Good night. When he was gone I sat out of doors a little longer, pondering much over the two warnings which he had received, and which I had thought best to make little of to him. It was, as he said, impossible for him to leave town, but all the same I by no means like the aspect of the affairs. Whatever the warnings meant, they were at least significant of grave danger ahead, and knowing Madam Kaluchi as I did, I felt certain that no depths of treachery were beyond her powers. I returned to the house, but felt little inclination to resume my experiments in the laboratory. The night grew more and more sultry and a thunderstorm threatened. Between eleven and twelve o'clock I was just preparing to retire for the night when there came a loud ring at my front door. The servants had all gone to bed. In some surprise I went to open the door. A woman in a voluminous cloak, an old-fashioned bonnet, was standing on the threshold. The moment the door was opened and before I could say a word she had stepped into the hall. Don't keep me out! she said in a breathless voice. I am followed and there is danger. Mr. Dufres has failed to keep his appointment and I was forced to come here. I know you, Mr. Head. I know all about you and also about Mr. Dufres. Let me speak at once. I have something most important to say. Do get over your astonishment and close the door. I tell you I am closely watched. The figure of the woman was old, but the voice was young. Without a word I shut the whole door. As I did so she removed her bonnet and dropped her cloak. She now stood revealed to me as a slight, handsome, dark-eyed girl. Her skin was of a clear olive and her eyes black. My name is Elsie Fancourt, she said. My home is at Henley. My mother is the widow of a barrister. Our address is five Gloucester Gardens, Albert Road, Henley. Will you remember it? I nodded. Will you make a note of it? I can remember it without that, I said. Very good. You may need that address later on. Now, Mr. Head, you are thinking strange things of me, but I am not in the ordinary sense of the word and adventurous. I am a lady, one in sore, sore straits. I have come to you in my desperate need, because I believe you can help me and because you and also Mr. Dufres are in the gravest danger. Will you trust me? As she spoke she raised her eyes and looked me full in the face. I read an expression of truth in the depths of her fine eyes. My suspicion vanished. I held up my hand. You are a strange girl and have come here at a strange hour, I said, but I do trust you. Only extreme circumstances could make you act as you are doing. What is the matter? Take me into one of your sitting-rooms and I will explain. I opened the door of my study and asked her to walk in. The matter is one of life and death, she began, speaking in a hurried voice. Mr. Dufres has twice disregarded my warning. I warned him at the risk of my liberty, if not my life, and when he failed to keep the appointment, which I made for him this evening, I felt there was nothing whatever for it but to come to you and to cast myself on your mercy. Mr. Head, there is not a moment to lose. Our common enemy—here she lowered her voice—is Madame Colucci. She has done me a great and awful wrong. She has done that which no woman with a woman's wit and intuition can ever forgive. I will avenge myself on her or die. Is it possible that you are the person who gave Mr. Dufres that strange warning on the beach at Eastbourne? I asked. I am. I dressed myself as a boy for greater safety, but that night I was followed to my lodgings. Had Mr. Dufres heated my advice, I should not be here now. Mr. Head, your friend is an imminent danger of his life. I cannot tell you how the blow will fall, for I do not know, but I am certain of what I am saying. Out of London he might have a chance. In London he has practically none. Listen, you are both marked by the brotherhood, and Mr. Dufres is to be the first victim. No human laws can protect him. Even here, in this great and guarded city, he cannot possibly escape. The person who strikes the blow may be caught, may suffer. Here a look of agony crossed her face. But what is the good of that? she continued, when the blow has done its work. No one outside the brotherhood knows its immense resources. I repeat, Mr. Dufres has no chance whatever if he remains in London. He must leave immediately. That I fear is impossible, I replied gravely. My friend is no coward. He is conducting the defence in an important case at the criminal courts. The life of an accused man hangs on his remaining in town. Need I say more? She turned white to her lips. I know all that, she answered. Have I not followed a thing step by step? Madam also knows how Mr. Dufres is placed and what he has to do this week. She has made her plans accordingly. Oh, Mr. Head, would I risk my life as I am doing for him your nothing? Can you not believe in the reality of the danger? I can, I answered. I am certain from your manner that you are speaking the truth, and I know enough of Madam Colucci to be sure of the gravity of the situation. Of course I will tell Mr. Dufres what you say, and suggest that he get a substitute to carry on his work in the courts. Will you see him tonight? She asked eagerly. Yes, thank you. He is certain to refuse to go, I said. It is right to give him your warning, but he will disregard it. Ah, you think so? I am positive. In that case, something else must be done, and I must know immediately. If your friend refuses, send a letter to EF, General Post Office, marked Post-Restente. I will go to Saint Martin's Legrand early tomorrow morning to obtain it. Put nothing within the letter, but the word no. Don't sign your name. In case my friend decides not to leave town, you shall have such a letter, I replied. Under those circumstances I must see you again, continued Miss Fancourt. I made no reply. It is better for me not to communicate with you. Even a telegram would be scarcely safe. I have, I believe, managed elude vigilance in coming here. I feel that I am watched day and night. I dare not risk the chance of meeting you in the ordinary way. Let me think for a moment. She stood still, leaning her hand against her cheek. Are you musical? She asked suddenly. Fairly so, I replied. Do you know enough of music to, she paused and half smiled, to tune a piano, for instance? What do you mean, I asked. I will soon explain myself. The piano tuner is expected at our house tomorrow. Will you come in his place? I will send him a line the moment I get home, telling him to postpone his visit, but will let our servant think that he is coming. She has never seen our piano tuner, and will suppose that you are the man we usually employ for the purpose. Do you mind assuming this role? I am perfectly willing to try my hand on your piano, I said. Thank you. Then in case you have to write that letter, come to our house tomorrow about two o'clock. The servant will admit you, believing you to be the tuner, and will show you into our drawing-room. I will join you there in a few moments. You can leave the rest to me. I promised to do as Miss Fancourt required, and soon afterwards she took her leave. A few moments later I was on my way to Defraer's flat. He kept late hours, and I was relieved to see light still burning in his windows. I was quickly admitted by my host himself. Come in, Norman, he cried. That will do, North. He continued, turning to a young man whom I recognized as one of his managing clerks. You have taken down all those instructions? Merchantson and James Watts must be subpoenaed as witnesses. I shall be at the office early tomorrow morning. The young man in question, who had a pale, dark face and gray, sensitive eyes, quickly gathered up several papers, and bowing to Defraer and myself, took his leave. One of the best managing clerks I have ever had, said Defraer as he left the room. I have been in great luck to secure him. He is a wonderfully well-educated fellow and knows several languages. He has been with me for the past three months. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have a clerk who really possesses a head on his shoulders, but you have news, Norman. What is it? I have, I answered, strange news. After all, Defraer, I am inclined to believe your anonymous correspondent. The youth on the east-born beach has merged into a girl. Finding that you would not keep the appointment she made for you, she came straight to me, and has in fact only just left me. Strange as it all seems, I believe in that girl. May I tell you what occurred during our interview? Defraer pulled a chair forward for me without saying a word. He stood facing me while I told my story. When I had finished, he gave his shoulders a slight shrug and then said, But, after all, Miss Fancourt has revealed nothing. Because at present, she only suspects, I replied, and she coolly asked you to come to me to request me to throw my client over at the eleventh hour and to leave town. She certainly believes that your danger is real, I answered. Well, real or not, I cannot possibly act on her warning, replied Defraer. As he spoke, he walked to the window and looked out. Things have come to a pretty pass when a man is hunted in this fashion, he continued. A respectable London solicitor is converted into a modern Damocles, with the sword of Madame Colucci suspended above his head. The thing is preposterous. It cannot go on. My work keeps me here, and here I must stay. I will trust the criminal investigation department against Madame's worst machinations. I shall go to Scotland Yard early to-morrow morning and see Ford. The thing is a perfect nightmare. I told Miss Fancourt you would not leave town, I replied, and you did right, he said. Nevertheless, I believe in her, I continued. Defraer gave me one of those slow, inscrutable smiles which now and then flitted across his strong face. You were always a bit of an enthusiast, head, he replied. But the fact is, I have no time to worry over this matter now. All my energies of mind and body must be exerted on behalf of that unfortunate man the conduct of whose trial has been placed in my hands. I left Defraer, and before I resumed home, wrote the single word No on a sheet of blank paper, folded it up, and put it into an envelope and addressed it to E.F. Post-Restaurant Saint-Martin Legrand. To think over the enigma which Miss Fancourt had presented to me seemed worse than useless, but try as I would, I could not banish it from my thoughts, and I even owned to a sense of relief when, on the following day, about two o'clock, I presented myself as the supposed piano tuner at five Gloucester Gardens, Albert Road, Henley. The house was a small one, and a neatly dressed little servant opened the door. She evidently expected the piano tuner, for she smiled when she saw me, and showed me at once into the drawing-room. She supplied me with the necessary dusters and opened the piano. I had just struck some chords on the somewhat ancient instrument when Miss Fancourt came hastily in. I am sorry, she said, speaking in a rather loud voice, but mother has a very bad headache and has asked me to request you to postpone tuning the instrument to-day, but you must not go before you have had some lunch. I have asked the servant to bring it in. She had left the door open, and now the girl who had admitted me followed, bearing a tray which contains some light refreshment. Put it down on that table, Susan, said Miss Fancourt, and then please go at once for the medicine for your mistress. I can open the door in case anyone calls. The girl, quite unsuspicious, departed, and Miss Fancourt and I found ourselves alone. Susan will be absent for over half an hour, said the girl, and I have told mother enough to ensure her not coming into the room. She has feigned that headache. It was necessary to do so, in order to get an excuse for sending our little servant out for some medicine, and so keeping her out of the way. A man was here questioning her only this morning. Oh! you make a first-class piano tuner, Mr. Head, she continued, looking at me with a smile, which vanished almost as soon as it came, but now to business. So your friend refuses to leave town. He does, I replied. I told you that it was quite impossible for him to do so. I know you said so. Now I am going to give you my full confidence. But before I do so, will you give me your word that what I am about to say will never, under any circumstances, pass your lips? I cannot do that, I replied, but if I find that you are a friend to me, I will be one to you. She looked at me steadily. That will not do, she said. Mr. Dufrayer is an old acquaintance of yours, is he not? My greatest friend, I said. Her brow cleared, and her dark eyes lightened. His life is in danger, she said. By this time to-morrow he may— She paused, trembling. Her very lips turned white. For heaven's sake, speak out, I cried. Yes, I will explain myself. I am certain that when you know all, you will give me the promise, which is absolutely necessary for my own salvation, and the salvation of one dearer to me than myself. Six months ago I became engaged to a man of the name of John North. North, I said. North? I felt puzzled by a memory. The girl proceeded without noticing my interruption. I love John North, she said slowly. If necessary, I would die for him. I would go to any risk to save him from his present, most perilous position. As she spoke her dark brows were knit, she clasped her hands tightly together and bent her head. There is a managing clerk of the name of North in Defrayer's office, I said slowly. There is, she replied, he is the man about whom I am speaking. Now please follow me closely. Mr. North, who was educated abroad and spent all his early years in Italy, was artichaled while still quite a youth to a large firm of solicitors in the city. Early in the spring Mr. Defrayer engaged him as one of his managing clerks at a salary of four guineas a week. I met North last night, I said. He looked an intelligent fellow, and my friend spoke very highly of him. I have not the least idea, Miss Fancor, what this is leading up to. But as far as I can tell, North seems all right. Please let me continue, said the girl. You will soon see how complicated matters are. Almost immediately after our engagement John North got into madam's set. I do not know how he first had an introduction to her, although I sometimes think he must have met her long ago in Italy. She evidently holds the deepest fascination over him, for he was never tired of talking of her, her wonderful house, her fame, her beauty, and the strange power she had over each person with whom she came in contact. One day he told me through her agency, although her name did not appear in the matter, she had got him an excellent appointment as managing clerk in the office of your friend. I started. My attention was now keenly aroused. This, continued Miss Fancor, was three months ago. Mr. Head, during those three months everything has altered. The sun has got behind clouds. The sky is black. I am the most miserable girl on earth. You have doubtless a reason for your misery, I said. I have. Mr. Head, you tell me you have seen John North? Last night for the first time, I answered, and you liked his appearance? I was attracted by his face. I cannot exactly say that I liked it. It seemed clever. He looked intelligent. He is wonderfully so. Six months ago, when first we were engaged, his face used to wear the brightest, keenest expression. Now it is haggard, restless. Each day something of good leaves it, and something of evil takes its place. Something, yes, something is eating into his youth, his manhood, and his beauty. He has changed to me. I believe he has almost lost the capacity of loving any one. My love, however, is unaltered, for I know there is a spell over him. When it is removed he will be his own old self again. Three weeks ago, Mr. Head, I swore I would discover what was wrong. Unknown to any one, I followed John North to a house in Mayfair. He went there with a large party of whom Madam was one. I have found out what that house is. It is an opium den, though few except its frequenters are aware of that fact. It was easy for me, then, to put two and two together and to know what was wrecking the life of the man I loved. You are a scientist, and understand what the opium vice means. It has ruined my lover, both in body and soul. This is terribly sad, I answered, but I cannot quite understand what it has to do with Defraer. I am coming to that part, she replied. After I had seen him entering the opium saloon I began to watch John North more closely than ever, and soon I had strong reason to suspect that he was burdened by a great and very terrible secret. I seemed to read this fact in his eyes, in his manner. He avoided my glance, his gayity left him. He became more gloomy and depressed, hour by hour. My mother lives here and has done so for years, but my journalistic work keeps me in town during the greater part of the week. I have a small room in Soho, where I sleep whenever necessary. But I always spend from Saturday to Monday at home. I was careful not to give Mr. North the slightest clue that I had guessed his secret, and on the special Sunday evening about which I am going to tell you, I asked him to come and visit me at our house. He had neglected me terribly of late, leaving my letters unanswered, seeming indifferent to my presence. He had ceased altogether to speak of our marriage, and the only things which really interested him were his law work and his evenings in Madam's set. When I pressed him, however, he promised faithfully to come to see me on that special Sunday, and I sat for a long time in this room waiting for him. He did not arrive, and I grew restless. I put on my hat and went along the road to meet him. He did not appear. I felt desperate then, and determined to do a bold thing. I took the next train to town. I arrived in London between six and seven o'clock and took a handsome straight to his rooms. The landlady, whom I had already seen once or twice, told me that he was in. I went upstairs and knocked at his sitting-room door. I heard his voice say, come in, and I entered. He was sitting on the sofa and did not show the least surprise at seeing me. He asked me in a low, languid voice what I had come about. I replied that, as he had failed to keep his appointment with me, I had come to him. As I spoke I looked round the room. I noticed that he had in his hand a long pipe, and that there was a peculiar, sickly odor in the air. A small spirit-lamp of uncommon shape stood burning on the table. I immediately guessed what was happening. When I interrupted him, he was indulging in opium smoke. He was drawing in the pernicious, the awful drug, and did not care that I should interfere with him. I was determined, however, to probe this matter to the bitter end. I resolved at any risk to save him. I knew that there was only one way to do this. I must learn the truth. I must find out what that thing was, which was casting its awful shadow over him. Like a flash it occurred to me that in his present condition it would be easy to rest secrets from his lips. I would therefore encourage him to smoke, instead of blaming him, therefore, for smoking the opium I sat down by him, and asked some questions with regard to it. I requested him to continue the pleasure which I had interrupted, and showed him that I was very much interested in the effects of opium. Low as he had fallen he evidently did not like to indulge in the horrible habit in my presence, but I would not hear of his denying himself. I even helped him to put some more of the prepared opium into the bowl of the pipe. I smiled gently at him as the heavy aromatic smoke curled up round his nostrils, soothing and calming him. He began to enter into the fun of the thing, as he called it, and asked me to seat myself by his side. I felt sick and trembling, but never for a moment did my resolution fail me. As he got more and more under the influence of the opium and I noticed the pinpoint pupils of his eyes, I began to question him. My questions were asked with extreme care, and deliberately, step by step, I wormed his secrets from him. A ghastly plot was revealed to me, a plot so horrible, so certain in its issues, that I could scarcely restrain myself while I listened. It had to do with you, Mr. Head, with Mr. Dufreyer, and in a special with my lover himself, John North. Just as he murmured the last words of his awful secret, he fell back into complete insensibility. I immediately hurried from the room. I knew enough of the effects of opium to be certain that John would have no remembrance of what he had said to me when he awoke in the morning. I saw the landlady, told her enough of my strange position to ensure her secrecy, and hurried away. That night I spent in town, but I had no rest. Since that dreadful moment I have not had an hour's quiet. The man I love is to be the instrument used by Madame Colucci for her terrible purpose. A blow is to be struck, and John North is to strike it. What the blow is in itself, how the fatal deed is to be committed, I have not the slightest idea, but your friend is doomed. Can you not understand my awful position? John North is to execute Madame's vengeance. It matters little to her if eventually he hangs for his crime. For, with her usual cunning, she has so arranged matters that she herself will not be implicated. Mr. Head, you now see what I want to do. I want to save John North. Your friend I should also wish to save. But John North comes first. Don't you understand? I understand, I replied, and I pity you from my heart. Then if you pity me you will help me. Undoubtedly I will. That is good, that is what I hoped. But what is to be done? At present it seems to me that you and I are in the terrible position of knowing that there are rocks ahead without having the slightest idea where they are. I know this much at least, she replied. The fatal deed will be committed in London, hence my entreaty to your friend not to leave Eastbourne. I might have guessed that he would not heed an anonymous warning of that sort. Then I tried what a letter would do, begging him to meet me at the Marble Arch. Little I cared what he thought of me if only I could save John North. Mr. Dufreyer did not come, and as a last resource I fled to you. I am glad you did so, I answered. Have you any plan in your head on which I can immediately act? I have, but first of all I want your promise. You must not only save your friend, but you must save Mr. North. I want your word of honour that you will never give your testimony against him. I can only say that I will not be the one to hand him over to the police, I replied. More it is impossible to promise. Will that content you? She hesitated and looked thoughtful. I suppose it must, she said at last. Will Mr. Dufreyer make a similar promise? I think I can answer for him, I said. Very well. Now then, Mr. Head, it is just possible that we may be victorious yet. I have discovered that from time to time Mr. North receives communications from Madame Colucci. If we could get hold of some of these we might reach the heart of this ghastly plot. But how is that to be done? I asked. I have acquainted myself with all Mr. North's movements, continued the girl. He goes to his lodgings every evening, between ten and eleven o'clock, not leaving them again until the morning. Dateless, night after night, he has recourse to the solace of the opium pipe. It is impossible for me to visit him again, for I am too closely watched. But will you go to him? Will you go to him tonight? Do you really mean this? I asked. I do, she replied. It is the only thing to be done. You can take a message from Mr. Dufreyer. You are Mr. Dufreyer's friend, so a message from him will be natural. When you have gotten to Mr. North's presence, you will know yourself what to do. Your own judgment will guide you. In all probability he will be under the effect of opium, and you can get further secrets from him. At the worst, you may be able to find some of Madam's communications. I stood still, considering. I will go, I said, but success seems more than doubtful. I do not agree with you. I am certain that, with your tact, you will succeed. If you can only get hold of some of Madam's letters, all may yet be well. By the way, can you read cipher? I understand many ciphers, I replied. I have discovered that Madam Kaluchi always writes in cipher. Go to-night. Do not fail. This is Mr. North's address. Do not try to communicate with me again. I shall know if you succeed, and if, but I dare not think of the other alternative. She held out her hand, her face was white, her lips trembled. You are a brave man, she said. I feel somehow that you will succeed. Go. You must be out of this house before our little servant returns. That evening, between ten and eleven o'clock, I found myself at North's lodging. The landlady herself opened the door. I inquired if North was in, said that I had come with an urgent message from Defraer, and asked to see him at once. I do not know whether he is in, replied the woman, but if he will go upstairs to the sitting-room on the third floor just facing the landing you can see for yourself. I nodded to her and ran upstairs. A moment later I was knocking at the door which the landlady had indicated. There was no reply. I turned the handle and went in. One glance round the room caused my heart to beat with apprehension. The bird had evidently flown. Signs of a speedy departure were all too evident. Some paper partly torn and partly burnt was lying in the grate, and some more papers completely charred to ashes were near it. The door which opened into the bedroom was flung back on its hinges. I went there to see drawers and wardrobe open and empty. My next business was to go to the grate, secure the half-burnt paper, thrust it into my pocket, and go downstairs again. The landlady was nowhere in sight, so I let myself out. About midnight I returned home. Now, for one last forlorn hope, I said to myself, the man has evidently got a fright and has gone off. But like many another clever scoundrel he did not quite complete his work before his departure. This paper is only half-burnt. Can it be possible that it contains the hidden cipher which may yet save my friend? I went straight to my laboratory, and opening the crumbled torn piece of paper spread it out before me. To my dismay, I saw that it was only an ordinary sheet of a morning daily. I was about to fling it away when suddenly an old memory returned to me. I knew of a method employed once by a great criminal who communicated with his confederates in the following manner. They received from time to time newspapers, certain of the printed letters of which were pricked with a needle. These prickings, when the paper was held up to the light, could be clearly seen, and the pricked letters, when taken down in consecutive order, formed certain words. Could the torn paper in my hands have been used for a similar purpose? I held it up to the light, but no sign of any pricking appeared. Pacing to and fro in my laboratory I formed every conceivable hypothesis that might throw light on the terrible problem. What was to be done? At last, weary with anxiety, I went to bed, and exhausted as I was, sank into a heavy sleep. I was roused by my servant calling me at the usual hour the next morning, and almost at once my thoughts flew to our terrible position. I dressed and went again to my laboratory to examine once more the fragment of paper. Without having any definite reason for doing so I got out my camera, and placing the paper in a strong light exposed it to one of my rapid plates. Then, going to my dark room, I proceeded to develop it. As I bent over the dish and rolled the solution to and fro in the plate, I suddenly started, and my heart beat quickly. Was it only imagination, or was something coming out, something beyond and above the mere printed words of the newspaper? In the dim red light I could almost swear that I detected separate dots on the plate, which the paper itself did not show. Could there be a flaw in the negative? Rapidly fixing it, I took it out and brought it to the light. A cry of joy burst from my lips. Over some of the printed letters something had been put which showed up in the negative as whiter than the paper, something which would reflect the ultraviolet rays of the spectrum, something fluorescent. Perhaps a solution of quinine was the agent employed. This would, I knew, be quite invisible to the naked eye. Scarcely able to contain the excitement which consumed me, I dried the plate rapidly, and printed off a copy, and without waiting to tone it, took it to the light and examined it with my lens. Great heavens! The awful plot was about to be unveiled. A cipher had really been sent to north in this subtle way. The letters which had been touched with the quinine stood out clearly. As the newspaper was torn and a great part of it burnt, I could not read the full details of the ghastly plot in consecutive order, but the following fragments left little doubt of what the result was meant to be. Aneroid substituted. Themometer explodes at twenty degrees riemure, leave London to-night. My brain swam. Quick as lightning, my thoughts flew to defrayer. Themometer explodes at twenty degrees, I found myself repeating. Twenty degrees on the riemure scale in Russia means seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit on our English scale. For the last few days the thermometer in London had daily recorded as high a temperature as this. Had it done so yet to-day? Defrayer had an aneroid barometer hanging in his private room at his office. In it I knew it was a thermometer. This was enough. I bolted from the house, and in another moment a handsome was taking me at a hand-gallop to Chancery Lane. In half an hour I was at my friend's door. I jumped out of the handsome and dashed through the clerk's office into his private room. Defrayer had evidently just come in and was seated at his desk. "'Is that you, North? How late you are. I want you to go at once,' he began. Then he caught sight of my face and sprang from his chair. "'Norman,' he exclaimed, "'what in the world is the matter?' "'Get out of this,' I shouted. "'You will never see that ruffy in North again, but no matter. You must save yourself now.' As I spoke I pushed Defrayer roughly to the farther end of the room. My eyes were fixed upon the thermometer in the aneroid which hung on the wall over his desk. The mercury stood at seventy-six degrees. Seizing a jug of cold water which stood on a table near, I dashed the contents over the instrument. The mercury sank. I was right. I could see it. I was only just in time. "'What in heaven's name is the matter? Are you mad?' said Defrayer, gazing at me in astonishment. "'Matter,' I echoed, that devils the matter. This thing is an infernal machine. "'That aneroid, an infernal machine? My dear head, you must have lost your senses. I have had it for years.' "'This is not the aneroid you have had for years,' I answered. "'Get a bucket of cold water. Don't stand staring like that. Can you not understand that we may be blown to pieces any moment?' He paused just to take in the meaning of my words. Then the color left his face, and he rushed from the room. "'There,' I said, as I unhooked the instrument and lowered it gently into the bucket which he had got from the housekeeper's kitchen. We are safe for the present. But look here. We bent down and examined the aneroid closely. Fused into the glass bore at the line which marks seventy-seven degrees was the tiniest metallic projection. "'But what does it mean? Explain yourself for heaven's sake,' he said excitedly. "'I will, in a moment,' I answered, drawing out my heavy knife. With the screwdriver I unscrewed the back and levered it open. "'Good heavens, look here,' I said. The space in the hollow woodwork was literally packed with masses of gun-cotton, and below it lay a small accumulator with its fine-connecting wires. I cut the wires and emptied the cotton into the water. "'Don't you see now?' I cried. "'This is the most devilishly clever infernal machine that could be contrived. When the mercury rose to seventy-seven degrees, the circuit would be completed, the gun-cotton fired, and you and your office blown to kingdom come. "'But who has done it?' said Dufrayer. "'Who, in the name of heaven, could have changed the aneroid?' "'Your clerk, North. I have a story to tell you, but I must do so in confidence. "'Let us go at once to Scotland Yardhead. This is unbearable!' "'We cannot do so at present,' I replied. I am under a promise to hold back information.' Dufrayer stared at me, as though once more he thought me possessed. "'I will explain matters to-night,' I said. "'Come now. Let us turn the key in the door and go out.' Dufrayer suddenly glanced at his watch. In the excitement of this infernal affair I had almost forgotten my unfortunate client,' he cried. "'His case must be coming on at the Old Bailey about now. I must start at once.' "'I will walk with you there,' I said. "'A moment later we found ourselves in Fleet Street. We passed an opticians. In the window was a thermometer. We stood and looked at it without speaking. The mercury was standing at eighty degrees. That evening the strange story which Elsie Fancourt had confided to me was told to Dufrayer. "'Once again, madam has scored,' was his remark when I had finished, and that scoundrel North gets off scot-free. "'Madam has not quite scored, for your life has been spared,' I said with feeling. "'The whole thing was planned with the most infernal cunning,' said Dufrayer. Yesterday North came into my office, pointed out that the aneroid was not working properly, and asked me if he might take it to an opticians in Fleet Street. I very naturally gave him permission. He brought it back in the evening and put it into its place. Yes. The whole plot was timed with the most consummate skill. The thermometer has been daily rising for the last few days, and madam guessed only too well that it would reach seventy-seven degrees before I went to court this morning. Doubtless North had informed her that the Disney trial was to come on second in the list and that I should not be required at the Old Bailey before half past eleven. Well, I have escaped, and I owe it to you, Head, and to Ms. Fancourt. I pity that poor girl. She is too good to be thrown away on a scoundrel like North. "'I wonder what her future history will be,' I said. "'There is no doubt that North is fast in madam's toils. Ms. Fancourt believes, however, that her mission in life is to reclaim him. The ways of some good women are inexplicable."