 Number four of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Number four, a conjuring trick, part one. Rather, a strange game is this of ours, said Pinheiro to me one afternoon. I was better again, although still quite the wreck of my former self. I was lying on the balcony in his house and enjoying the delicious air. The tone of his voice, as he now spoke, startled me. His eyes were gloomy and full of trouble. Of course, Vanessa, you clearly understand that we are both playing for the same steak, he continued. Madame Azaldela Court is the steak, and we shall get her yet. I smiled. I wish I could agree with you, I answered. But the more I think of that woman, the more she overpowers me, and the more I feel that she will always elude us. No, he answered. Not forever. We shall have her yet. He had scarcely uttered the words before the servant entered the room bearing a letter, which was addressed to me and had an English postmark on it. I opened it hastily and in some fear, had my lawyer in London bad news to convey. One glance, however, reassured me. The letter was from an old friend of my father's, a certain Sir James Noell of the War Office. It ran as follows. My dear Fenace, I am wondering if you are home again. I want to see you very particularly, so I write this on the chance that it will be forwarded to your present address, wherever it happens to be. You will be surprised to learn that your old friend Evelyn is engaged. The wedding is to take place in less than a month. She is about to marry my private secretary, Mr. Monk, a very clever fellow who has been in my employment for some time. Monk has lately come in for a considerable property and will leave me immediately after the wedding. I want someone to take his place and it has occurred to me that you might like the post. It is essential that I should have a man with me, on whom I can absolutely rely. We cannot shut our eyes to the fact that hostilities between this country and the Transvaal are more than likely. Will you wire me your answer on receipt of this? I beg you to come, if possible. There is more in my request than meets the eye. It is odd, I said, handing the letter across to my friend. I seemed destined to be mixed up in this infernal war. Read the letter, Pinheiro, and tell me what I should do. Pinheiro read Sir James Knowles' communication very quietly. When he came to the end, a grim smile played round the corners of his lips. That God's fight for us at last, he said, this is magnificent. What do you mean? I cried. Dear fellow, if we had arranged the thing, it could not have been better. Let me send a foyer for you at once, accepting the offer. A sudden animation lit up his face and gleamed in his eyes. You are thinking of the last sentence, Sir James Knowles' letter, I remarked. Possibly I am, he answered, but do you not see for yourself the immense advantage we shall gain by being once more in touch with the enemy? But how shall we be in touch, I failed to understand. Being from the information received, I shall be much surprised if Mademoiselle Delacorte is not poking her delicate little thumb into the war-office secrets. You must accept and at once finesse. But am I justified? Remember I am wanted by the French Secret Service in connection with supposed war secrets, although of course I possess none. You must tell, Sir James, everything was his answer. What you know may be of the greatest service to the war-office. Now my dear fellow, do not, I implore you, throw away this great chance of silencing that dreadful woman, perhaps forever. Remember what it means, your freedom from further persecution and his voice hardened, I shall have squared my account. Finesse, you must be the mouse to lure the cat in the direction of the trap. Thank you, what a cheerful situation. But suppose I get a scratch from her claws? If you trust me, you will run no risks. Now are you going to accept? I suppose so, I answered after a moment, during which I was thinking hard. It seems preposterous and unreasonable and a little mad, but no doubt you are right. Will you send a wire for me? Will I, he replied, with a thousand congratulations, my good friend. Before heaven, this fires me with new life. He rushed from the room. A few hours later I had Sir James's reply. He begged me to take the first possible train to London. The suit expressed left Lisbon the next day, and Pinheiro and I arranged to go by it. We sat long into the night discussing our plans, and four days later we found ourselves, once again, on English soil, embarked in one of the strangest games two men were ever destined to play. I wired to Sir James to say that I should be in London at midday, and on our arrival at my chambers, to my surprise and delight, I found the good baronet waiting for me. Delighted to see you, my boy, he said, coming forward and grasping my hand. It is most good of you to come so promptly. Your arrival is the greatest relief to me. May I introduce my friend, Senor Pinheiro, I said. Pinheiro bowed and began to talk at once in his excellent and fluent English. I will leave you both, he said, after a moment or two. I want to secure rooms at the Berkeley. When he was gone Sir James began to speak in a serious tone. My dear Frenese, he said, I regard this acceptance of yours as most lucky. You, of course, appreciate the responsibility of the appointment you have agreed to take. But I may as well tell you at once it is due to a very special reason that I have chosen you. There are some extraordinary things happening, and it is not only our mission, but our duty to find out what they are. I do not understand you, Sir, I answered, but, I continued, before we proceed further, it is only right that you should know the strange and terrible position in which I myself am placed. Can you listen? I cannot accept this appointment until you know the whole truth. Tell me, Frenese, and be quick, was his answer. He sank into his seat near the window, and turning his back on the outside world listened with attention while I gave him a rapid and precise resume of the strange events which had come into my life during the last few months. Before I reached the end, I could see that he was much excited, and as I finished, he leapt to his feet. So, Mlle. Delacorte has been hunting you down, he said. She is under the supposition that you possess one of the French Secret Service secrets? Precisely, and she has, on three occasions, very nearly succeeded in her designs, I answered with a shudder. That scratch from the tiger's claw was a near thing, touch and go, in fact. By Jove, he exclaimed, she may be the mysterious and powerful center from which all my present troubles arise. What you have told me is of the greatest importance to us. As a matter of fact, we are just now in a fine mess. The emissaries and spies of our enemies in the transvaal are ever on the watch. The best detectives are hard at work to discover their whereabouts and modes of operation, but can do nothing. Listen, this is what has just happened. It is worrying me to my grave. On two occasions lately, we have discovered that some of our most private secrets in connection with our armaments and reserves have found their way to the transvaal through French channels, and the horror of the whole thing is that they are secrets for which I alone am responsible. Everything conceivable has been done to discover the traitor, but the man to do so has yet to be found. Then I can name him, I cried. The man of all men for your work, you have just seen him, Signor Pinheiro. Political intrigue is his specialty. He speaks almost every European language, and it's well known to the police in all the capitals of Europe. He is a Portuguese by birth, but I know for certain that he will be ready and willing to throw himself into the work of this business immediately. He is also implicitly trustworthy. If Mademoiselle Delacorte should be at the bottom of all your trouble, rest assured, Signor Pinheiro will not fail to discover her. Has he, too, fallen into the trap of that woman? asked Sir James. Yes, I answered, lowering my voice to a whisper. The object of his life is to revenge himself. Did you notice that one of his hands lacks two fingers? He owes that to Mademoiselle, but how she did it and when I know not, for he will not reveal his secret. Sir James rubbed his hands with pleasure. The arrival of your friend is most opportune, he said, but we must move rapidly. Now, listen, in affairs of such immense importance, I cannot employ Pinheiro without getting permission from Scotland Yard. This is a mere form, of course, and I will go there immediately. Fenice, you and Pinheiro must come down to Warley Court tonight and dine and sleep. You will be glad to see Evelyn and my wife again, and I want to introduce you both to Monk, my present secretary. He is as troubled over this matter as I am. Now, I will leave you, for there is much to be done. Sir James went off at once, and I strolled across to the Berkeley. I found Pinheiro enjoying an excellent lunch, and I immediately told him the news. This is capital! was his reply. I shall have some business on my own account to transact this afternoon, and we'll meet you and Sir James at Baker Street at 610. You know London well, I remarked. He smiled. I lived in London for many years, he said, after a pause. In those days I was light-hearted and happy. But that was before. His face grew dark, and a frown knit his forehead. I looked at him with admiration. To the outward eye he was only a very thin, hollow-cheeked, dark-looking man, in apparently bad health. It was difficult to realize that he was, in reality, one of the keenest detectives in Europe, a man to be trusted as men trust those they care most for. We arrived at Worley Court just in time to dress for dinner. I was down before Pinheiro and had scarcely spoken to Lady Noel and Evelyn before Monk appeared. I was naturally interested in the man who was to marry Evelyn and whose place I was to take as Noel's private secretary. He was tall, good-looking, and self-possessed. His manner was that of one used to society. He had a low voice and a pleasant accent. On the whole he was the sort of person to impress one favorably. But as I looked at him I wondered if he was worthy of Evelyn, whom I had known from a child and had always regarded with special affection. She was a very beautiful and spirited girl, barely nineteen years of age. I thought her far too young to be Monk's wife and wondered why Sir James consented to the marriage. She was, to all appearance, in high spirits, and laughed and chatted volubly. But I could not help an uneasy fear that her mirth was a little forced, and once again I looked at Monk to discover the cause. As I glanced at him our eyes met. His eyes were peculiar, very light gray in color with black rims round the irises and thick black lashes, handsome eyes in themselves, but I did not care for their expression. Distinctively I drew nearer to Evelyn as if I would protect her, and then ashamed of myself entered into an animated conversation with Lady Noel. During dinner Pinheiro made himself agreeable. He talked on the varied subjects of the day with ease and distinction. It was only when the possible war with the Transfall was mentioned that he remained silent. As soon as the ladies had withdrawn, Sir James lowered his voice and began to speak on the subject that was uppermost in all our minds. It has been a great pleasure to welcome you here as a guest," he said turning to Pinheiro. It is even a greater pleasure to make your acquaintance in your professional capacity. I have been to Scotland Yard today and have secured your services in connection with a very serious official question. Inspector Scott welcomes your cooperation and authorizes me to give you my fullest confidence. You can depend on my doing my best, answered Pinheiro, and now, he added, I have something to say on my own account. I also called on Inspector Scott this afternoon, and have heard from him most of the details of this extremely interesting case. The last instance of treachery relates to armaments, which were to be immediately dispatched to South Africa. The particulars were mentioned by you, Sir James, in a sealed dispatch to the Colonial Office and were known only to you and to your secretary, Mr. Monk. Now one thing is evident. We are face-to-face with some entirely new criminal method, of which there has been no previous experience in the annals of crime. Otherwise, such information could not have been obtained by a spy. There is no doubt whatever that it was through Paris that this information was forwarded to President Krueger. Of course, I can speak freely in the presence of Mr. Monk. Certainly," cried Sir James, Monk is my private secretary. Then I shall betray no confidence when I make a remark. Mr. Finace has already told you how by an extraordinary coincidence he and I are both in touch with that most dreadful gang of spies at the head of which is Mademoiselle Delacorte. At these words Monk got up slowly, went to the door, and turned the key in the lock. What is the matter, Monk? asked Sir James, irritation in his voice. Nothing, Sir James. As we are talking on such very private matters, I thought it best to secure our not being interrupted. Pinheiro gave the private secretary a keen glance, then looked at Sir James. I know all about your adventures in Portugal, said the baronet, but now to return once more to my own affairs. The day after tomorrow I shall be sending in my communication to the foreign office in reference to shell ammunition. Of course, the usual secrecy will be exercised, but should this matter leak out, as other matters have done, the result will be most disastrous. I shall, of course, have to give up my appointment at the war office. My reputation will be damaged. I shall be a ruined man. But why should I talk of my private affairs? The disaster to the country at large is what one has to guard against. Your position is a very grave one, said Pinheiro, and you will have to use the utmost caution, remembering the system of espionage to which you are doubtless subjected. Now, I am taking up this matter, and shall work with Inspector Scott, and will not trouble you with any further discussion. I by no means despair of solving the riddle. Perhaps before your wedding day, sir. Here Pinheiro bowed to Monk. I shall leave here early in the morning and return to town, he added. By the way, Mr. Monk, I must add my trifle to Miss Noel's wedding presents. Can you tell me the name of a good jeweler? Monk mentioned the name of a West End firm and then added, But you must not think of giving us a present, senor. Pray, scribble the name down, said Pinheiro, passing him an old envelope. He did so, and returned it to the Portuguese. When we joined the ladies, Evelyn came to my side. I have been waiting to talk to you, she said, coming to the conservatory. Oh, do be quick. I don't want father to ask me to sing. The girl's face was grave, and even old for her years. I wondered at its expression, and my heart beat for a moment a little quicker than usual, while a strange sensation of apprehension swept like a cold wind through my frame. We strolled into the conservatory. Evelyn paused by a magnolia tree in full flower, and plucking one of the blossoms began to pull it to pieces. Now tell me, she said quickly, what is the matter? What is wrong? How do you know there's anything wrong? I asked. She stamped her foot. Am I a child? She asked. My mother notices nothing, but I am not blind. My father is in trouble. There is a burden on his heart. Has he confided it to you? He has, I said, after a pause. There is something the matter. It relates to his work at the war-office. I must not tell you more. I cannot betray his confidence, can I? You have told me all I want to know, she replied. She stood still, looking straight before her. Her beautiful eyes were full of intense trouble. She lost despair. Suddenly they filled to the brim with large drops which rolled down her cheeks. She bent towards me, her voice low and troubled. My father's unhappiness has something to do with Reginald Monk. What do you mean I could not help exclaiming? You are engaged to Monk. I know, I know. And you are happy? It cannot be otherwise. I have known you, Evelyn, from a child. Tell me that you are happy. You love the man whom you are about to marry? No, she said in a low voice, but I am marrying him because it is the only way in which I can save my father. Evelyn, what can I do for you? This is terrible. We had reached the farther end of the conservatory. There was a door here which led onto the lawn. Evelyn opened it and we both stepped out. I can no more confide in you than you can confide in me, she said. But I will give you one commission for the sake of old times. Discover the truth. If I only could, I exclaimed, you must go back. I am suspected. I feel as if the air were full of spies. You cannot guess what I am enduring, Mr. Finace, for the sake of our old friendship. Discover the truth. I will, I said, and she left me. End of No. 4, Part 1 No. 4, Part 2 of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Mead and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. No. 4, A Conjuring Trick, Part 2 That night I followed Pinheiro into his bedroom. What do you think of matters, I asked. Can Madame Iselle Delacorte be at the bottom of this mystery? Ask me no questions, answered Pinheiro. I have hope, and it points in a certain direction. But I may be wrong, of course. If there is one person more than another, whom I pity in this unfortunate affair, it is Ms. Noll. She is little more than a child. The man is double her age. What could have induced her father to be sent to the engagement? Why, the girl is not even happy. What eyes you have, my friend, I could not help remarking. He smiled. Practice, he said, shrugging his shoulders. I left him and went to my own room. But although very tired after my long journey I could not sleep, Evelyn's words haunted me. Discover the truth, she had said. How was I to do so? The next day Sir James Pinheiro and Monk went up to town. But I remained at Worley Court. I felt tempted to take advantage of the opportunity to draw some further confidences from Evelyn, but she avoided me, devoting herself absolutely to her mother, from whose side she never stirred. The man returned in time for dinner, and just before dressing, Pinheiro drew me aside. I intend to do some conjuring tricks tonight, Finace. He said, back me up, will you? Really, but what a strange idea. Oh, I just want to amuse the company. I am rather clever at sleight of hand. We entered the drawing-room. After dinner, Pinheiro proposed to act magician for the occasion. His proposition was hailed with pleasure, and Evelyn in particular expressed her approval. Fancy being the presence of a real-life conjurer once more, she said, a man who draws ribbons out of hats and makes coin spin as if they were alive. This will be a return to my childish days. Be sure of one thing, senor. Whenever you score a trick, I shall clap you. Pinheiro laughed, and Monk drew near and stood by her side. They made a handsome couple, and a cursory observer would have argued well for the proposed match. In a few moments, Pinheiro was busy with cards, coins, hats, and handkerchiefs, delighting us all with his cleverness and sleight of hand. As I watched his deft, white fingers, and the eager expression on his face, while he made his passes, rattling off a patter with each new trick, I could not help thinking of the great conjuring trick, involving tremendous issues in which he was himself engaged. And now, he said, after he had amused us with his clever performances for about a quarter of an hour, I mean to give you my last, and I hope, my most remarkable trick. Will someone in the room write a sentence? Any sentence will do. Perhaps, Miss Noel, you will oblige me. When you have written your sentence, fold up the paper, do not show it to anyone, but put it into that hat. Meanwhile, I will leave the room and write the same sentence outside. But how can you, cried Lady Noel, when you won't know anything about Evelyn's choice? Have you never heard of thought-reading, dear madam? asked Pinheiro, bowing in his most graceful manner. Anne tripped eagerly across the room, took a piece of paper, wrote something on it, carefully folded the paper, and placed it inside the magician's hat. She then placed it on the piano, where no one could possibly disturb it. And Pinheiro, taking up another sheet of paper, prepared to leave the room. I have left my pen upstairs, he suddenly exclaimed. Will you lend me your stylographic pen, Mr. Monk? Monk immediately gave him the pen, and Pinheiro left the room. He returned in a few moments, holding a folded piece of paper in his hand. Now, Miss Noel, he said, will you read your sentence aloud? Evelyn took the piece of paper out of the hat, and read in a clear voice, so that everyone in the room could hear her the well-known proverb, still waters run deep. Pinheiro smiled. He then unfolded his paper, and read, with the calm assurance of a man, certain of having scored his trick, the equally well-known proverb, honesty is the best policy. There was a moment's pause of dead silence in the room. Then I exclaimed, you have not done the trick. Yes, he answered gravely, and I have scored well. There was something very peculiar and almost uncanny in his words. His eyes danced with triumph. Finally, they rested on Monk. I have scored, he repeated. I will explain, I hope, before your wedding, Miss Evelyn. Everyone looked surprised and disappointed, and Lady Noel said in a cold voice, I fail to understand. When we went to our rooms, I said to Pinheiro, you really are an enigma. How can you pretend that you guessed Evelyn's sentence? Pinheiro rubbed his hands. I admit that I gave you all a hard nut to crack, he said, but the riddle will be explained, all being well, before the wedding, finace. Cheer up, things are progressing favorably. Pinheiro, I said, I would give almost anything in the world to prevent this marriage. His eyes twinkled. How strange, he said, those are precisely my sentiments. As he spoke, he left the room. The next morning my friend and I both left Warley Court, promising to return the following Tuesday for the wedding. Sir James and Monk traveled up to town with us, and when we got to St. John's Wood, Inspector Scott met us at the station. I thought Pinheiro would have gone off with him, but to my surprise, he expressed his intention of returning to my rooms with me. What are you going to do? I asked. I thought you would spend today at the War Office. No, he replied, I shall spend today in your room, finace. Dear, dear, this is a wicked world. I could not get any information out of him, and gave way to a sense of annoyance. When time was so short and so much hung in the balance, how could he be content to sit down with his hands before him? Nevertheless, strange or not, this was precisely what Pinheiro did intend to do. He looked morose and disagreeable, and as far as I could tell, did not move a finger to elucidate the mystery. At last the all-important day arrived. The wedding was fixed for twelve o'clock, but soon after ten Pinheiro and I arrived at Warley Court. Already some forty other guests had assembled. I went to seek Sir James in his study. His face wore a very perturbed expression. Has Pinheiro come? He asked. Yes, I answered. While I must see him at once, the worst has happened. I am almost mad. Once more my secret information has leaked out. This sort of thing cannot go on, and I must of course resign my position at the War Office. I am bitterly sorry for you, I answered. Poor Evelyn, what a sad wedding day for her. Her attitude puzzles me also, said Noel, raising his anxious face to mine. I doubt if the child is happy. Her mother tells me that she cried herself to sleep last night. For heaven's sake, I could not help exclaiming. Do not let this marriage go on if there is any doubt on that point. Though it is the eleventh hour, there is still time to stop it. No, no, he said, after a moment of deep thought. Most girls are nervous on occasions like the present, and Evelyn always knew her own mind. Beyond doubt, she is deeply attached to Monk. She has had good opportunities of studying his character, for he has been my secretary for over two years. You would like to see, Sr. Pigneto, I said after a pause. Shall I fetch him for you? He had sunk into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Now he started up. My thoughts are in a whirl, he exclaimed. What with the wedding and this fearful, this disgraceful business, I do not know what I am doing. To tell the truth, Fenice, I am disappointed in your friend. He seems to have done nothing to help us. Neither can I understand him, I answered. But here he comes to answer for himself. The door opened and Pinheiro entered. A complete change had come over him. During the last few days he had been languid and even lethargic. Now a queer excitement filled him. He carried a small bag in his hand and also a long blue envelope. Sir James, he said, speaking with rapidity, I hold in this bag the wedding present which I mean to give to your son-in-law. In this envelope I hold something else, but to business. I am grieved to have to perform a most disagreeable duty at once. What do you mean, cried Sir James, springing to his feet. Have you found a clue? It looks like it, answered Pinheiro, opening the bag. But we will soon tell. Inspector Scott is here. He is in plain clothes. Do not alarm Miss Knoll. The matter won't take five minutes. Can I see Monk? My heart began to beat. What on earth was going to happen? Sir James rang the bell. Ask Mr. Monk to be good enough to step here. He said to the servant who entered. The man withdrew, and in another moment Monk, dressed for his wedding and looking particularly handsome, entered the room, accompanied by Inspector Scott. This must mean good news, senor Pinheiro, he exclaimed. You would not bring Inspector Scott down here for nothing. I hope that you are going to put all our doubts to rest. With a way of answer, Pinheiro drew a small sheet of paper from the envelope. This paper was signed yesterday in Paris, he said. It was written by someone in England, and conveyed to someone in Paris. The full particulars of a private dispatch, written by Sir James Knoll, last Thursday. It is in the form of a letter, which is apparently written to a friend, but that is of no consequence. Is anything the matter, Mr. Monk? Nothing. Excuse me. I have forgotten a certain matter. I will be back in a moment. You must not leave the room just at present, sir. Here interrupted Inspector Scott. You must hear the rest of what this gentleman has to say. Monk leaned against the frame of the window. I saw that his face was white and that his lips trembled. Without taking any further notice of him, Pinheiro now produced some chemical apparatus from his bag. He proceeded to arrange it. When everything was in order, he looked straight up at Monk and said in a short, jerky voice. I propose, sir, to give you this as your wedding present. Now, pray, listen. I must crave your earnest attention, gentlemen. I have here in this little glass vessel some zinc trimmings. Observe that I add some diluted sulfuric acid to the trimmings. Hydrogen gas is now evolved. This I will set a light to. As he spoke, he struck a match. And applying it to the opening of the little glass tube, a pale flame began to burn. So far so good, gentlemen, continued Pinheiro. I now proceed to the next part of my interesting work. I will moisten a portion of this letter. Here he tore off a piece from the letter which he had taken from the blue envelope and dipped it into water. I add this paper to the contents of the glass vessel. If now this pale blue flame is changed to lilac color and gives me a black deposit at the bottom of this plate that I hold over the flame, he raised an ordinary dinner plate in his hand as he spoke. Arsenic is proved to be present in the ink with which it is written. We all gazed at him in utter amazement. Not one word was spoken. I had not the slightest notion of what it meant, but I noticed that Pinheiro's long fingers trembled as he added the moistened paper to the vessel. Almost instantly the flame changed to a distinct lilac color. He then applied the plate to the flame, and a black sooty deposit was at once formed. When this happened he looked up and nodded to Inspector Scott. Before any of us could move or utter a sound, the latter laid his hand on Monk's shoulder. I arrest you, Reginald James Monk, on the charge of high treason to Her Majesty's government. If a thunderbolt had fallen in the room, the sensation could not have been more profound. Sir James uttered a sharp cry and reeled back against the mantelpiece. His face was the color of clay. What does it mean? he exclaimed. You prove that there is arsenic in the ink of certain writing. What has that got to do with my friend? Monk, speak, man, speak. You look as if the devil had struck you. What is wrong? Why, you were just about to become my child's husband. Pinheiro explained matters, or I shall go raving mad. Pinheiro glanced at me, nodded emphatically, and then stepped forward. My explanation is quickly given, he said. It scarcely needed a wise man to be sure that you had a traitor in the camp, Sir James. The question was, who? Why did I suspect Monk? I will tell you. He has lately come into a good deal of money, into sufficient money to enable him to be a suitor for your daughter's hand. I found an inquiry that he had lately received a legacy from an uncle, but this legacy, instead of amounting to 50,000 pounds, as he gave you to understand, was only worth 2,000 pounds. As I discovered that he had 50,000 pounds in his possession, my wonder was naturally raised as to how he had obtained it. The diamond ring which he gave to your daughter cost 500 pounds. I asked him the name of his jeweler the first night at dinner with the express object of making this inquiry. He wrote the address of the men with his stylographic pen, and at that instant I saw my opportunity of a possible proof. I went to town, thought matters out, and arranged my little performance. You may remember, Sir James, that I did some simple conjuring tricks in your drawing room last week. You will doubtless recall the fact that my last so-called trick turned out a failure. I told you then that I had scored. I mean now to explain how. I asked Monk to lend me his stylographic pen in order to write a sentence, which was supposed to be the same as the one your daughter wrote in the hall. While there I opened the pen and inserted a grain of arsenious acid, such a small amount as would make no difference in the use of the pen. This happened the night before the next attempt at obtaining government secrets would be attempted. Everything now depended on whether the paper which was sent to Paris, and there seized by our man, had arsenic on it or not. I put the police on the watch and an agent of Mademoiselle Delacorte was arrested yesterday with this letter on his person. The handwriting would have afforded no proof, but the arsenic test is absolute. Marsh's test is so delicate that there was plenty of arsenic in the ink to give a reaction as you saw. Pinheiro had scarcely finished speaking before the bride in all her bridal finery entered the room. Go away, Evelyn, go away! This is not the place for you, cried her father. I will see you presently," he continued in a voice of agony. I want to hear what you are talking about," she replied gently, and her eyes traveled round the room. Tell your story to me, Signore Pinheiro. Nay, Miss Noel, he answered, the story is told. Go, Evelyn, go, I pray of you," said Sir James again. She did not seem to hear him. For the first time she noticed something unusual about Monk. He was standing near the wall. Inspector Scott's hand still rested on his shoulder. His eyes were fixed on the ground. His face was cadaverous. Into the girl's eyes now there leapt a curious light. A sort of unholy joy filled them. She went up to Monk and almost hissed her words into his ear. Have you broken your word? Have you been doing it again, traitor? And has he—she flung out her arm in the direction of Pinheiro—found you out? Then I am saved. She tottered up against the table. Her breath came fast, her lips trembled, but her eyes were bright and tearless. We all clustered round her. Pinheiro took her hand. This man has been arrested on a charge of high treason, he said. If you have anything to tell, tell it now. Silence is no longer possible. Then I will speak, she said. She rose and stood before us. Think of me as you like, she said, but this is my story, my terrible story. Two years ago I met Mademoiselle de la Courte in Paris. I was a child, only seventeen. She fascinated me and got me into her power. Without intending it I told her much about our life and my father's work. I was unconscious of having done wrong. Soon after we returned home, that man, here she motioned in the direction of Monk, applied for the post of private secretary to my father. I saw him first, for he came here, and he gave me, when no one was by, a letter from Mademoiselle. You are in my power, she wrote. Use your influence to get the post, he covets, for Reginald Monk. I read the letter in his presence and looked my astonishment, and he explained horribly. I was frightened, terrified, I fell into the trap. From that moment my life was hell. I was in his power as well as hers. For a time he was careful, and nothing apparently happened. But this year the work of treachery began. I knew that my father's secrets were betrayed, and I knew that he was the traitor. In my awful agony I cried to him for mercy. Then he made a compromise. If I would consent to marry him he believed my father's employment, and from the hour I promised to be his wife he would never betray another secret. I promised, in order to save my father, to-day was to be the day of my marriage, but he has broken his word. He has sold us again. She paused uttering a cry. In an instant her father's arms were round her. My darling, my poor darling," I heard him say. In absolute silence Inspector Scott conveyed Monk from the room. Pignereau and I followed. End of Number Four A Conjuring Trick, Part Two Number Five, Part One of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Number Five A Gallop with the Storm, Part One It was a couple of months since the events took place which I mentioned in my last story. Evelyn Knowle had recovered her spirits. As I looked at her bright face and slim upright figure and listened once again to her merry laugh I could scarcely believe she was the same girl who had stood in Sir James's study and told her terrible story, how very nearly her whole young life had been wrecked. But also how quickly she had recovered. I wondered if all girls were made alike, if a girl's nature was such that she could be reduced to the last gasp of despair one moment and the next could sing about the house and be radiant and happy its sunbeam and source of rejoicing once more. Sir James and Lady Knowle begged of me never to mention the hated name of Reginald Monk in the girl's presence and when his trial came on which it did about that time it was my duty to keep the newspapers as much as possible from her sight. I was collecting them one morning to take into Sir James's study when she came into the hall and stopped me with a smile. What are you doing, Mr. Finace? She asked. Sir James wants the papers, I said. He likes to look over them when he returns in the evening. My father is not at home. He will not be home until five o'clock. That is true, I answered, but I may as well attend to his wishes now. I know why you do it, she said suddenly. Mr. Finace, I want to tell you something. I have read all the particulars with regard to Mr. Monk's trial already this morning. I am not fretting, she added. I am too thankful, but you may tell my father and mother that it is useless to keep things from my knowledge. I am no longer a child and cannot be treated as such. Tears filled her eyes. What should I have done but for you and Sir Pinheiro? She continued. I can never, never be sufficiently thankful that you, Mr. Finace, returned to England when you did, and also that you brought your Portuguese friend with you. She stretched out her hand and took mine as she spoke. The tears overflowed her lovely eyes. But the next moment she had flown across the hall and was singing in the garden. As I listened to her voice and remembered the look on her face a moment before, I could not help saying to myself, What a wonderful creature is woman. The next day was Sunday. I have good cause to remember that day. It was the 10th of June, 1899. For the past week the weather had been sultry in the extreme. Day after day the forecast prophesied storms and thunder. But the storms did not come, and the sky, as far as rain was concerned, was like brass. The great heat made us all languid, and on this special afternoon Sir James and I were taking shelter under a wide-spreading cedar tree just at one end of the smoothly kept lawn. The tea-table was standing near, Evelyn had poured out tea for us both, and had then gone into the house. I am going to sit with mother and read to her, she said, turning her bright face towards Sir James. She has a headache. She says there's so much electricity in the air. There is little doubt of that, was my comment, and I raised my eyes to look at the sky. It was blue, with the intense blue of perfect summer, but towards the horizon were suspicious looking banks of clouds piled one above the other. I wondered if the storm which had so long tarried would be on us that night. Sir James uttered lazy, disconnected sentences at intervals. The heat and considerable fatigue owing to a long week of hard work had rendered him sleepy. Presently, he remarked, I wonder when Pinheiro will pay us another visit. Senior Pinheiro will not come until he brings us news, was my answer, and I could not help sighing as I spoke. What is the matter, Finace, said my employer, turning and gazing at me? It is impossible that you can feel apprehension now. You have lived, it is true, on the brink of a catastrophe. But even that dreadful woman, Mademoiselle de la Courte, must have played and lost her last trick when Reginald Monk failed in his mission. I do not believe so for a moment, was my answer. You must remember, Sir James, that three times before the affair with your late secretary, Mademoiselle attempted my life. What she has done three times, she will do again. She is a terrible woman, although I ought to be a happy man with such genial employment and so kind and considerate a friend as yourself, yet I live always on the brink of a precipice. At any moment, night or day, my life may be required of me, and my great foe spring to fresh existence. Sir James suddenly lost his sleepy manner. He started forward and spoke with emphasis. I do not mean to trouble you, he said. As a matter of fact, I left you here during the whole of last week, solely with the view of sparing you anxiety. But we are all very anxious at headquarters, and there is the feeling with more than one that the spy element has not been eliminated. This war, and I see no possible solution of the transvol question without it, must be unlike any previous one. Science, our friend in the construction of weapons and tactics and balloons in wireless telegraphy is equally our enemy when we approach the field of secret service. Our spies now have a competent knowledge of our preparations and movements by methods altogether unknown in the days of the peninsular and Crimean wars. A thousand eyes are watching us, and a thousand ears listen for our faintest footfalls. If these eyes and ears are invisible, that makes the danger all the greater, as Macbeth said, even the ground prates of our whereabouts. There is danger everywhere. You know it. Alas, I cried, I know it far too well. And the woman who I so greatly fear is beyond doubt in the pay of the enemy. She is a fiend in human shape. So far as we are concerned, she is the great center. She is the spider that sits in the web to which all lines lead. There is only one man in Europe who can lay her by the heels. You have seen something of his methods in the case of your late secretary. I certainly have. Pinheiro is one in a thousand. If anyone will succeed in capturing Mademoiselle, he is the man, I said. I have absolute faith in him. As I spoke, the boughs of the cedar tree just behind rustled. And before Sir James could say another word, the gaunt figure of Pinheiro presented itself. He stepped silently into our little circle, bowed to Sir James, nodded to me, then took the nearest chair. You look like a ghost, Pinheiro, said Sir James. Did you come through the drive? I did not see you. I came by the shrubbery at the back of the house, Sir James. He answered. I eyed him narrowly as he accepted a cup of tea, which I poured out for him. He took it from my hand and lent back in his seat. You got my wire this morning, Sir James. He asked after a moment, I would not trouble you on Sunday, but for very special business, business that concerns us three personally and Her Majesty's government in particular. As he spoke, he gave a curious, automatic glance behind him into the shadow of some laurel shrubs. I have come with news indeed, he continued, and I will give it at once. Mademoiselle Delacorte is in England. What? I cried. It is a fact, Finnece, and I must confess that I am on the whole glad. I think it possible to weave a web round her now, from which, with all her subtlety, she will not be able to escape. We do not know her whereabouts yet. Neither is it known why she has been so mad as to set foot on the shores of the land where her greatest enemies are. I need not say that since I heard the news, I have been busy, and I have now come here to tell you that, owing to certain inquiries, I have come to a fairly definite conclusion. What is that? asked Sir James. In spite of all Mademoiselle's cleverness, she has been unable to keep from her employers, the TransVal Secret Service agents, some of the recent performances of which you and I, Finnece, were the victims. And the affair with Monk has anything but redounded to her credit. Monk has given away one or two secrets which have further put Mademoiselle into hot water with her employers. Her object now in visiting England is to restore herself to their good favor, and she hopes to do this by a double coup. What do you mean? I asked. She wants to secure a considerable sum of money, and she has another and more dangerous object. Our lives, I said gloomily. Not only our lives, but the lives of others, was Pinheiro's terrible answer. Sir James watched him narrowly. Can you give us your reasons for coming to these conclusions? He asked after a pause. I can give you a very definite reason with regard to the money point. Here he drew his chair closer to ours and dropped his voice to a whisper. When you were in Lisbon with me, Finnece, did you ever happen to hear of the revered crucifix of the Hermits of St. Augustine? Never, I answered, wondering what on earth crucifixes had to do with Mademoiselle. It is a queer story in itself, continued Pinheiro, and the fact of its in any way coming into our province is still queerer. First, let me give you the original history of the crucifix. The Church of Santo André in Lisbon belonged originally to the Hermits of St. Augustine. It was their own convent and was founded in 1271. The convent was injured by an earthquake and restored by the reformer of the order Friar Luis de Montoya. The great earthquake of 1755 also injured it, but it was again rebuilt and is now one of the largest temples in Lisbon. The Brotherhood of St. Augustine possessed much gold plate and jewels of great value, but their most treasured possession is, or rather was, a gold and silver crucifix, which was believed to have been given by the angels to Father Montoya. This crucifix was carried through the streets in procession every second Thursday in Lent until, in a Jesuitical riot seven years ago, it was stolen by someone unknown and has never since been seen. An enormous reward representing in English money about 16,000 pounds was offered for its recovery by the Brotherhood of St. Augustine, who are very rich. But, great as the sum was, the crucifix was never restored. I was employed in the matter as detective. I did everything in my power, but failed utterly. My suspicion was that it had found its way to England. The real intrinsic value of the crucifix is small, not perhaps more than 40 pounds. Now, here is the extraordinary point where our threads join. I have just heard that the Brotherhood have received a letter asking if the reward for the crucifix is still open. This letter emanates from Mademoiselle de la Corte and it is evident from its contents that her visit to England is for the purpose of securing the crucifix and obtaining the money. No doubt, she will try to get the treasure by fraudulent means. Where it is hidden, I do not yet know, but it is through this link that I believe our next great move will be played. By it, I trust we shall run her down and by doing so obtain information as to the gang and possibly capture the papers relating to this great European conspiracy and to her various plots in the Secret Service. The capture will, I know, be attended with difficulty and danger and I want you, Finace, to hold yourself in readiness to come to me at a moment's notice anywhere if I wire to you. I am fully aware, Sir James, he added that this seems like taking a great liberty with you, but you will agree that in your own and the war office's interest, no pains must be spared to arrest this woman. I quite agree with you, replied the baronet with eagerness. Do exactly as you think best, Pinheiro. If you succeed, you will deserve great recognition from the country. Though I have never seen the woman, her presence seems to haunt me. I know nothing, of course, continued Pinheiro, but I feel that I ought to say you have every reason to fear her. I cannot impress upon you sufficiently the extreme necessity for caution. Blind, malice, and revenge are parts of her nature. She may strike another blow. I hate to think I am alarming you unnecessarily, but I frankly tell you that we three are in danger, in personal danger, and there may be others, officials in power, I mean, in a similar plight. There was no mistaking the senor's serious tone. As he spoke, he took out his watch, looked at the hour, and sprang to his feet. I must be off again, he said. Time is everything just now. You will be ready, Finace? Yes, was my answer. He disappeared again through the thick shrubbery as quickly and silently as he had come. We live in queer times, said Sir James. I wish we were all well out of the coming week, was my answer. It behoves us to be watchful, said Sir James. I can't say what a sense of relief I have in knowing that our affairs are in the hands of a man like Pinheiro. The rest of the day passed quietly. The heat seemed to increase. Towards evening, the wind dropped utterly, but the banks of clouds had vanished from the horizon and had faded away into the mist. The sky was cloudless. Sir James retired into his study and I walked up and down with Evelyn. So, Señor Pinheiro was here today, she said suddenly. Yes, I answered, but how did you know? I saw him talking to you and father on the lawn. Has he brought any fresh news? I hesitated. Has he, she continued, stamping her foot impatiently? What he told us was in confidence, was my answer. Yes, she said in a gentle tone, but that confidence may surely be shared by me. Tell me at once what he came about. If you don't, I shall go and ask father. Madam Ozil is in England, I said then in a gloomy voice. Pinheiro thinks we are in danger. It behoves us to be careful. Mr. Finace, does that danger extend to my father? Alas, oh, you have answered me. You need not say anything further. Her face turned very white. There is no one I love as I do my father, she said then. Personally, I have no fear. Do you think that I could be afraid of a mere woman? No, I interrupted, but this woman is scarcely human. She's a fiend, not a woman. She would stop short at nothing. She uses as her weapon the most deadly scientific knowledge. It requires genius to follow her methods. Evelyn was silent for a minute or two. Then she said, you know, I suppose, that tomorrow night nearly half the officials of the war office are coming to dine here and some half dozen will spend the night at Worley Court. We are to have a dance after dinner, an impromptu affair at which several of my friends are to be present. And what has that to say to Madam Azaldala Court? I interrupted. I don't know. I feel very depressed about it. I wish we might postpone our guests. Oh, surely you are over-nervous, I was about to say. But then I remembered the ball, the famous masked ball at Lisbon, and was silent. That night I slept badly and towards morning was awakened by Tokson, Sir James's big mastiff. The dog was barking furiously. I lay and listened, wondering whether I should get up and make investigations. As the animal ceased, however, before long, I dropped off into a doze. In the morning, I arose early. There were some lovely pinks in a bed at one side of the house. Now pinks are my favorite flowers, and I went to pick a buttonhole. This special bed lay just along the south side of the house. I was somewhat startled when I went up to the bed to see that part of it looked as if it had been freshly dug, and one or two plants, plucked by their roots, were lying in a half-withered condition on the ground. I concluded that the gardener had been hoeing up weeds in the bed, but how carelessly he had done his work. I thought no more of the matter, but went to breakfast. There I was greeted with the information that Tokson, the watchdog, had been found dead just outside his kennel. Poisoned, of course, said Sir James, in a very gloomy tone. I looked at him. Our eyes met. He conveyed a warning not to say anything to alarm Lady Knoll. I remembered how the dog had barked the night before and wished heartily that I had got up to look into the cause. Next moment the letter that lay on my plate absorbed all my attention. It was from Pinheiro and ran as follows. My dear Fenice, come up by the ten-thirty. I wish to see you at Baker Street. Important. Yours, P. I passed the letter over to Sir James. He made no comment at the time, but after breakfast he drew me into his study. That sounds good, he said, and of course you must go. The affair of the dog is a little suspicious, Fenice. You might mention it to Pinheiro when you see him. I do hardly hope that that dreadful woman will soon be arrested. We shall have no peace of mind while she is at large. It is a pity that you will be absent tonight, on account of the dinner and the dance afterwards, but it cannot be helped. I felt very sorry myself at having to miss the big dinner, to which I had been looking forward for some time. Round Sir James's table that night would meet some of the keenest intellects in Europe, but Pinheiro's letter admitted of no postponement. I bade Sir James a hasty goodbye, little guessing under what strange circumstances I was destined to return to Warley Court. End of No. 5 A Gallop with the Storm, Part 1 No. 5 Part 2 of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. No. 5 A Gallop with the Storm, Part 2 The day which had just begun promised to be even hotter than the previous one. A dull sultriness hung in the air, and the papers prophesied a storm. When I reached Baker Street, I saw Sir Pinheiro waiting for me on the platform. Well, I cried eagerly. What is the news? I will tell you as we go along, was his answer. We are in for a big thing, and I want, if not your help, Fenice, at least your company. You may be required by and by as a witness. There is no saying. Phew! This heat is dreadful. We want a good storm to clear the air, and I expect we are in for one. Here he smiled grimly. When we got outside the station, Pinheiro hailed a handsome, and told the man to drive to Westminster Abbey. We are going sightseeing, Fenice, he said, but not to the Abbey. All the same, the Abbey is near enough so far as our cabman is concerned. We will dismiss him there, and walk the rest of the way. Now, listen, I have come at the truth in regard to the whereabouts of the crucifix. Impossible! I could not help exclaiming. It is true, he said, nodding his head. And when I tell you that I have no less than sixteen agents at work day and night in this cause, you must suppose that if success was possible, it was to be obtained. Success was possible, and we have won, so far as that discovery is concerned. Listen, the crucifix for which such a great reward is offered reposes now in a small curiosity shop full of rubbish in a street near Victoria Station. It is still there, and is being watched night and day. It is in that shop we shall pick up the real secret of Mademoiselle's whereabouts, but how soon, I cannot say. Then you have not found out where she is hiding? No, but whenever that crucifix leaves the shop, it will be followed, and at the end of that line we shall find her. I greatly hope, also, that we shall be able to lay our hands on the papers which will give away her conspiracy and her gang. My great object in having you here is because there is a possibility that in the chase we may be separated. I must have another person to identify her, should anything happen to me. What do you mean? I asked. He shrugged his lean shoulders. My life will be cheap if I gain my end, he answered. He did not say any more until our cab set us down close to the Royal Aquarium. We walked quickly westwards. Presently we turned into a small, badly-smelling alley, and I noticed, leaning against a lamppost, a dissipated-looking wave, half in rags. Pinheiro nodded to him. One of my men, he whispered. The next moment we had entered the tiny shop, in the windows of which was displayed a miscellaneous collection of cracked china, lusters, and old prints. Behind the counter stood a girl of about eighteen years of age, dressed in rusty black, and looking ill and nervous. What can I do for you, sir? She asked, as Pinheiro leaned against the counter. We have come to take a look at your things, he replied in a kindly tone. Once he spoke he turned over some dowdy-looking pastebuckles and then began to examine massive chains in a cracked china dish. Finally, he purchased some hideous white enamel buttons. While he was so engaged, I observed that his keen eyes were wandering over everything in the little shop. Up and down they looked, and from side to side. Suddenly he made a quick movement, stepped across the floor, and stretched out his hand. My heart beat fast, for I saw that he laid the tips of his thin white fingers upon a small gold and silver crucifix, dulled and tarnished with time. Ah, sir! cried the girl. That is not for sale! Indeed, he replied, taking it from the shelf, and holding it in the palm of his hand. He turned to me as he spoke, and held out the crucifix for me to examine. My first sensation was one of surprise at its smallness. It was barely eight inches long, and the cross piece but four inches. Was it possible that this tiny symbol of the eternal tragedy had such a strange history, and perhaps foreshadowed a stranger one? I have a fancy for this, said Pinheiro, why is it not for sale? I should like to buy it. It is already sold, sir. Indeed, I am sorry. I would give a good price for it. The girl's eyes brightened, and then grew dull again. And I want money very badly, she said after a pause, but the lady is giving me a good price, too. She told me to put it away, and I put it on that back shelf. I didn't think anybody would notice it. She means to call for it this afternoon. I could see the hand that held the crucifix tremble, in spite of its owner's songfra. How much are you going to get for it? said Pinheiro suddenly. Thirty pounds, sir. You will scarcely believe it. Give it to me, and you shall have fifty pounds. Oh, sir, I must not go back on my bargain. I wish you had seen it yesterday. But the lady was very anxious, and she is kind. I would not do anything shabby about it, sir, on any account. Pinheiro gave her back the crucifix. Take it, my dear, he said. You are a good girl, and I won't tempt you. I am very poor and alone in the world, said the girl slowly. My father had this crucifix for some time. He got it in a strange way. Some men slept here six or seven years ago. They were Portuguese, and my mother was a Portuguese. So my father was good to them. In the morning one of these men gave father the crucifix to keep. Keep it safely, he said, and I will call again for it. Don't show it to anyone. It is of great value, greater than you have the least idea of. But what do you think, sir? Father waited day after day and week after week for the man to return to claim the crucifix. But he never came back, and at last one day we saw an account of his death in one of the papers. He had been killed in a street row. So from that day father considered that the crucifix was his, but he never seemed inclined to sell it. He said the man might have left relations who would claim it. They did not, and on his deathbed father told me that I might consider it mine. It is of value, he said. Don't sell it unless you can help it. And you have sold it at last, said Priñero. Why is that? Because I am dreadfully poor. Things have been going from bad to worse in my little shop. And my landlord meets to sell me up for the rent, which has been owing now for two quarters. A gleam of pure pleasure came into Priñero's eyes. His whole face seemed to alter and become soft and human. I had never seen him look the least like this before. You will hear from me again, he said, emphasis in his voice. But before we go now, may I ask you one more question? You speak of a kind lady who has bought this crucifix. Why did she not take it away with her? Because she hadn't got enough money. She wanted me to trust her, and I would have, for she looks so very kind. But father made me promise that I would never on any account do that sort of thing. She said she would bring the money today. May I put it back now in its place? Please, sir? Do, said Priñero. When did you say the lady would call? Sometime late this afternoon. Priñero picked up his little parcel of buttons, then he suddenly held out his hand. You have Portuguese blood, he said to the girl, and therefore I claim you as a sister in a strange land. Perhaps I will come again, and perhaps when I do I shall bring you more luck than you think. When we got into the street he turned to me. Fortune is favouring us, he said. The fact of Mademoiselle wanting money is certainly on our side. Had she had the money about her last night, our quest would have been in vain. But it has been a near thing. What a surprise is in store for the pretty little girl in the shop. It is really quite a romance. Sixteen thousand pounds will set her up for life. If I can secure the crucifix, I shall take good care that La Petite gets her reward. Then you really mean to let Mademoiselle take the crucifix? It is the only means of tracing her to her den, so it is necessary. You will see some tracking worth looking at tonight, Fenice. She shan't escape me this time. Chauve! The heat gets worse and worse. Let's come into this restaurant and have some lunch. I was far too excited to eat anything, and while Pinheiro refreshed himself, I paced up and down outside. We had strolled as far as Westminster, and we went for a time into the Abbey where it was both still and cool. As the evening approached we went back to continue our watch. The dusk arrived and the heat grew yet greater. Not a breath of wind stirred. There was not a sign of Mademoiselle. She is certain to come soon. Pinheiro once or twice remarked to me. But won't she see us if we stand here? I asked. Not before I know that she is coming. This street is all eyes, although you can't see them. I have been talking for the last half hour with my men. Dear, dear, don't you know the walking stick language of detectives? We use it in all big capitals. And here he stopped short, seized my arm, and we withdrew into the shadow of an open door. She is coming," he whispered. The entrance to the little shop was quite hidden from us, but he was reading off the signs from a man standing about fifty yards away. Now, he said, as a private handsome with silent tires and no bell shut up, in with you. Darkness had fallen and all the lamps were lit as we sped down Victoria Street. It was past nine o'clock. Where are we going? I asked. I don't know. Don't talk to me, please," he said, curtly. It was a weird drive. Away and away we went through endless streets. Northwards, ever-northwards, did our cab take us. I had no idea what part of London we were going to. I only knew it was as strange a quest as I had ever been on. The heat increased, and a low growl of thunder showed us that the storm was approaching. Even the elements seemed uneasy. We must have been going for more than an hour when I suddenly perceived that we had approached the borders of a great common. There were no houses or lights visible, but we were driving rapidly beneath a belt of dark trees which edged the common. All of a sudden the cab drew up at a little gate that barred the entrance to a narrow walk. The darkness was now so intense that I could not see three feet before my face. A voice spoke in quick tones beside us. From where did it spring? Pinheiro answered in a whisper. The gate was opened, there was a sudden rush in the darkness, followed by a shout. Pinheiro had vanished. I leapt from the cab and rushed after Pinheiro through the gate. The next instant I was hurled back by someone unseen. A voice exclaimed in a foreign tongue. There were two sharp reports of a pistol somewhere at a little distance in the darkness. Then all was still. A moment later Pinheiro himself caught my arm and led me up the path into a small house. The door of the house was open and there was a light in the room to the left. In this room sat a man whom I immediately recognized as Inspector Scott. He was holding a candle in his hand and was bending over an open tin box. Perspiration streamed from Pinheiro's face. He began to swear softly in Portuguese. A big haul and smartly done, sir, said the Inspector, the papers are here, but the rats are gone. It was a near thing. They won't get far, said Pinheiro, and it is worth losing the gang to secure the papers. And also, look, Venice, as he spoke he held a little gold and silver crucifix between himself and the light. The next instant he took off his hat and handed it to me. There was a haul cleaned through the crown. I shuddered. For heaven's sake, explain these things, I said. Where are we? And what has happened? How can you talk of having managed things neatly when Mademoiselle has escaped? We have made a success and a great one, although had we secured Mademoiselle it would have been perfect, said Pinheiro. Our success in this instance is altogether due to our cab driver, Inspector Scott, who has the eyes of a cat. You don't seem to realize that we are now in possession of the headquarters of the enemy. We have recovered the crucifix, and here lie papers of the most profound importance to the British government. This house is on the outskirts of Hampstead Heath. We will just go cursorily through the paper, Scott, before we remove them for closer examination. The inspector renewed his search in the tin box. How did you get the crucifix? I asked Pinheiro. She had it in her hand when she bolted. I snatched it in the dark, and she returned the compliment by perforating my hat. But why didn't you follow her? Her time is close at hand. These papers are much more important. If we had continued to chase her and her followers in the dark all over Hampstead Heath, one of them would have returned to destroy everything. Better let her go for the time. Here lie our proofs. She cannot do much more mischief now. Well, I answered, the temptation to follow her would have been beyond my power to resist. Exactly, and it would have been just what she would have wished us to do. That I secured the crucifix, though, for the sake of our little friend in a curiosity shop. Inspector Scott now began to make a systematic search of the room, and Pinheiro seated himself by a deal table to examine the papers. A glance showed me that the house was a very small one, and the room in which we found ourselves was badly furnished. So this is what the woman has come to, who consorted with princes, and was known to most of the crowned heads of Europe, I said to myself. Pinheiro is right. One of her objects in coming to England is to make money. Are these papers of value, I asked Pinheiro presently, for a constant succession of exclamations of astonishment were bursting from his lips as he turned them over. Yes, he answered, we have matter enough here to destroy one of the cleverest combinations in Europe. Madame Azeal's own capture will only be a matter of days. He continued to read, opening letter after letter, turning page after page. I stood idly by. The room was only lit by a couple of candles, but outside the lightning played continually. The thunder rattled louder and nearer. The storm was coming up quickly. The scene in the small room was, to all appearances, peaceful, but in a moment everything was changed. Pinheiro had taken out his tobacco pouch, and was rolling a cigarette. His eyes were still fixed on the papers which he was reading. Suddenly I saw a line deep in round his eyes, and the white finger ceased to roll the cigarette paper. The next instant with a bound, he leapt to his feet and was pushing me from the room. Never had I seen fear written so terribly on a man's face before. Gaunt and forbidding always, it was now that of a satyr. As we both left the room he shouted back over his shoulder, read that letter, Scott, secure all the papers. In with you, finace. He pushed me into the cab and sprang himself onto the box. We were off at a gallop into the night. Presently he shouted down the trap in staccato accents. We're going to Worley Court to cut the lightning conductor. There's a half-hundred weight of explosive at the end of it. The storm is on us. What fools you must have been to notice nothing. I warned you. Was there ever such a scheme? It is a hundred to one that we're too late. It is a race with the storm. Who is stopping there tonight? Off the war-office officials are dining there and many of them stopping. And they are to have a dance after dinner, I shouted back. Do you know your way? Yes, he answered. We shall be there before any wire could reach them. Sit tight. Amidst the clatter of the horse's hooves my memory came back to me. The bark of the mastiff last night, the disarranging of the bed of pinks, the death of the dog, yes, I recalled everything, and the pinks were disturbed just when the lightning conductor entered the ground. I could have screamed aloud. Just then a brighter flash cleft the darkness, and the thunder crashed immediately after it. Rain began to fall in torrents. At last the cab swerved through the gates, and a moment later we were there. Once more Pinheiro shouted to me, Get an axe. You know the way better than I do. I sprang out. A girl was standing under the deep porch. She saw me and flew down the steps. It was Evelyn. What is wrong? She said, Help me to get an axe. Don't lose a moment, I panted. She seemed to understand. Not another word passed her lips. She flew in the direction of the gardener's shed right across the lawn. I went after her. The rain was like a waterspout, and the darkness black as pitch. This way, I said, I led her to the side of the house where the lightning conductor went into the ground. Pinheiro was already there. Here is the conductor, I said, feel. The wall of the house was close by. I gave him the axe. Stand out of the way, Miss Knoll, he said. He swung the axe round. It crashed against the wall, and I then saw him tearing with his hands like a maniac, as a blinding flash lit the sky. In time he cried, and he seized Evelyn by both her hands. Venace, take the cab to the stable. Take me to your father, Miss Evelyn. What a wet night. The sound of music filled the house. Over a half-open door, we could see the gay dancers as they waltzed round and round. Evelyn took us to the library. There Sir James Pinheiro, Evelyn, and I met. The clock pointed to eleven-fifteen. Miss Evelyn, you have pluck enough to listen, said Pinheiro. I have met you under difficult circumstances before now. This Sir James is the new development. He then rapidly recounted the details of our day's adventure. If you will allow me, I should like to examine the flower bed at once, said Pinheiro, when his story had come to an end. But we shall want a lantern and a spade. A very short investigation resulted in our finding a metal box of nitroglycerin buried barely a foot below the bed. To this case was connected the lower end of the conductor. Having made our examination, which we did silently, we returned to the house. It was a matter of seconds, Sir James remarked Pinheiro, as he drained off a long brandy and soda. The fact is, I expected to find Worley Court in the next county when I arrived. There was enough nitroglycerin to do it, too. How any man could jest at such a time seemed incredible, but Pinheiro was not human. Just at that moment, however, a wonderfully soft expression came into his eyes. He turned to me and said in a whisper, How happy our little friend in the curiosity shop will be tomorrow. End of number five, A Gallop with the Storm, part two. Number six of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Mead and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Number six, The Lost Square, part one. Just about this time, I lost a considerable sum of money, and from being a man with abundant means, I became a comparatively poor one. This misfortune was doubtless a blessing in disguise, for it aroused me from concentrating all my thoughts on my own miserable condition. In the future I must work hard to live, and must no longer play with work. My post as secretary to Sir James Null was no longer, for many reasons, to my taste. I liked Sir James, but both he and I agreed that he would do better with a secretary who was less hampered, in short, a total stranger, who knew nothing about either Mademoiselle or Señor Pinheiro, would be more to his purpose. I accordingly left him and took lodgings in an unfashionable part of Kensington. Pinheiro returned to Lisbon, to his work there, and Mademoiselle was, to all appearance, lost to us both. We concluded that she must, in some marvelous way, have contrived to escape from England, and I sincerely hoped that I should never be troubled by her again. Hard and honest and unceasing work brought back my lost nerve. I was no longer harrowed by the terror of secret assassination. As a poor man I was delightfully unimportant, and I turned all my attention and all my thoughts to the one thing for which I had a special talent. We most of us possess one ability to a sufficient degree to make a living by means of it if necessary, and my talent was an extraordinary one. I could, for my very earliest years, solve almost any acrostic or enigma that was put before me. Even as a child I remember giving the solutions to all the acrostics which appeared in the magazines, and also making quite a nice income by securing the prizes which were offered for the right answers. Six months, therefore, after I had lost my money and resigned my post as Sir James Knoll Secretary, I became one of the constructors of codes and ciphers for the government, and also received employment from several large commercial firms. I was busy and well paid. My life was practically a new one. I resolved to live it with enthusiasm and contentment, and if possible, to forget the past. But, alas, the past in cases like mine is seldom really forgotten, and seldom safely buried. I was once again to be subjected to the cruel machinations of a deadly foe. On a certain evening in January I was just finishing my early tea when a servant entered the room to say that a foreign gentleman had called and wished to see me at once. Wondering who my visitor was, I told the man to show him in and rose from the tea table to receive him. The next moment there entered a short but well-built man of swarthy complexion. He made a lobal when he saw me and held his silk hat in his hand. I must ask your pardon, S. F. for calling upon you at this hour, but my business happens to be of great importance. I bring you a letter from S. José da Fondica Pinqueiro. He asked me to call upon you as soon as ever I got to town. The man spoke perfect English but with a marked foreign pronunciation and with a curious movement of the lips. Indeed, I answered with eagerness. I shall always be pleased to welcome any friend of Pinqueiro's. Have you the letter with you? Yes, S. F. here it is. He handed me a letter written in the well-known characters of my friend. It ran as follows. My dear Fenice, the bearer S. da Costa, a native of Lisbon and a friend of mine, has just been to see me in connection with a document and diagram which he believes to be of great value. I have translated the Old Portuguese for him and it refers to the diagram. Both document and diagram are of undoubted antiquity and seem to be a sort of old cipher or puzzle. I know nothing about such matters and it occurred to me that as this is very much in your line, I would send him to you. Even if you cannot do anything with the diagram, you will be entitled to charge a fee for your trouble. In the Old Portuguese writing occur the words Casa dos Diamantes, which literally means the House of Diamonds. Da Costa has told me, however, that the expression has nothing to do with diamonds. For the stone masons in Portugal, call a stone cut into a four-sided pyramid, Diamante. I find an inquiry that this is the case. If you can do anything to help Da Costa, you will oblige me. Trust in you are well, my dear Fenice. Believe me, you're sincerely Jose da Fandeica Pinheiro. I shall be willing to do all of my power to help you, senor da Costa, I said. But I fear the foreign cipher will be outside my range of observation. I sincerely hope not, senor. Senor Pinheiro asked me to come to you as the best man for the purpose in the whole of London. Let me see your diagram, was my answer to this. I have not got it with me, he replied, and before I subject it to your examination, I must ask you to swear that if you succeed in deciphering it, you will not divulge the solution to a single soul. I believe it to be of extreme importance, and it is only because I cannot solve it myself that I am bound to run the risk of entrusting it to the confidence of a stranger. Your secret shall be respected by me, I answered, provided, of course, that it is a harmless one. It is absolutely harmless, Mr. Fenice. Where am I to see the cipher? In my rooms, I have apartments in a house in Bloomsbury. Can you come now? Certainly. Come along, then. My cab is at the door. We shall be there in less than half an hour. He spoke little as we drove along, and presently the cab stopped at one of the large old houses in a street leading out of Bloomsbury Square. Senor da Costa paid the driver and opened the door with a latch key. He ushered me into a dimly lit and dingy hall, the floor of which was bare of mat or carpet. The staircase was also bare, and sloped up in naked ugliness into the darkness above. Our footsteps rang loud on the uncarpeted stairs. When we reached the first floor, da Costa threw open the door of a big room. Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Fenice, he said. I will fetch the document and join you. As soon as I was alone, I glanced round the room. It was badly and scantily furnished. A faded carpet covered the floor, and cheap prints hung upon the walls. The only light was from a kerosene lamp, which stood on the table in the middle of the room. This lamp smelled horribly, and added to the sense of depression which stole over me. A thousand unanswered questions floated through my brain. Who was da Costa, and what was this mysterious cipher? What was this mystery of mysteries which I was asked to unravel? Had it not been for Pinheiro's letter, I should have had nothing whatever to do with the Portuguese. But Pinheiro had said that he was a friend of his, and had asked me to help him. I had no doubt for a moment of the genuineness of the letter which had been handed to me as coming from my friend. The handwriting was the same, the heading to the paper that which I so well remembered. Yes, I need not be alarmed. Pinheiro was the last man on earth to lead me into a dangerous or unworthy adventure. Da Costa came briskly in, produced an old tin box, and proceeded to open it. From the box he drew a parchment, yellow and stained with age. This he unfolded and carefully smoothed out. I bent over it with much curiosity. Upon it, in the form of a square, was some faded manuscript, of which not a single word was legible to me. The writing was enclosed in a number of dots or points. These points were joined by connecting lines, forming small squares. In some cases, however, the lines were missing, giving an irregular appearance to the whole. But whether this was owing to age having erased them, or to the whim of the original designer, it was impossible to say. Now, said Da Costa, I will read the translation of the writing by Senor Pinheiro. He assures me that it is quite literal and true. Listen. He read aloud in a sonorous voice. They say that I am mad, that my wealth has made me mad. I am prevented thus from following the desire of my heart. You, my dearest friend, whom I love, shall receive all. I am dying, yet I fear to write where they are, lest this paper should fall into the hands of strangers and those who hate me. Therefore, I show here how you may receive all. You remember our secret studies. You and you alone can read this map, so it is thus safe. They lie at the sixty-fifth square of the House of Pyramids. Dear beloved friend, pray for my soul. This is very interesting, I said. It sounds like some letter or dying instructions to the person addressed. Oh, it strikes you like that, does it? He answered, Kindly say what you think of the cipher, and if you see any possibility of the solution. I examined it very carefully, and then, asking for a pair of compasses and some paper, I systematically set to work to apply to the diagram every process that I knew relating to such class of enigma. Both diagrammatical and mathematical. I covered several sheets of paper with my figures. The Portuguese watched my every movement with almost embarrassing attention. I could arrive at no result, and at the end of an hour I lent back in my chair, and had to confess that for the present I was baffled. Am I at liberty to inquire how the document came into your possession? I asked. You are not, was his short reply. I mean this, I said hotly, for his manner began to irritate me. You ask me here to solve what is an extremely obstruous conundrum, and which for all I know may have no solution. I cannot tell whether you are hiding anything from me that would help me to a solution. It may be necessary for your purpose to do this. If so, and if you cannot give me any further help, I am afraid I shall never succeed in discovering this mysterious sixty-fifth square, for this is evidently the key to the problem. And then you think it is insoluble? I do not say that at all. There are very few ciphers which the ingenuity of man has constructed, that the ingenuity of man in time cannot solve, provided, of course, that there is a solution. You have solved a good many in your life, Mr. Frenace, I take it? Yes, I replied, I have, and constructed a good many, too. Suppose you solved the real thing. Say the surface of the building or the room to which this might apply. Would you have a better chance? Very much better. Indeed, I think I might almost guarantee to discover the solution, but I should not like to swear. He sat biting his fingers, regarding me fixedly for a few minutes. Are you a busy man, Mr. Frenace? He asked at last. Yes, I am, why? I mean, could you get away for about a week now? No, that would be impossible, I said, remembering my work. But, if I make it worth your while, I looked at him in astonishment. I am afraid I don't understand you, Senor Dacosta, was my answer, and I must confess that the whole of tonight's business is extremely mysterious to me. I don't know if Senor Pinheiro told you that I am a man with a great deal of business to transact. I am employed, not only by several firms, but also by the government, on matters of great importance. Were I to throw up my present employment, I should lose a position which it is essential to me to retain. To put it shortly, I should lose my livelihood. Will an absence of a week mean this? He asked. It would be very inconvenient to leave home at present, was my reply. Then may I ask what some would make it convenient? I did not answer for a moment. I was short of funds, and a debt which owing to my recent losses, I had been unable to meet, loomed unpleasantly on the horizon. The present opportunity was therefore not to be despised. Senor Pinheiro mentioned that you were the sort of man to give valuable assistance in an emergency like this, said the Portuguese, speaking slowly and with many pauses. He was much interested in this matter. You may help him by coming to our aid. Will you do it? I should require the sum of eight hundred pounds, I said at last. If you will agree to this, and if you will let me have the money down before I leave England, I shall be at your service. A long silence followed my words. My strange companion regarded me fixedly. The cheap or molu-clock on the mantelpiece ticked away incessantly. That was the only sound in the room. Suppose I worked to consent to give you that sum, Mr. Finace. He said at last, What guarantee will you give me that you will not at the last moment cry off and desert me? I will give you the word of an English gentleman, I answered, and I only make one reservation. If I find, in what I am about to do, anything underhand or criminal or against the laws of my own country, I return to England at once. He gave a short laugh. Poo! You, Englishmen, are all alike, always suspicious. But would you not be content to receive the money at the conclusion of the business? No, I shall require it in the Bank of England notes before I go. Again there was silence. I cannot do that. He said at last, Slowly. I have not so much money with me. You must consider my position and the risk I am running. Your solution may, after all, be incorrect, and if correct, it may lead to nothing. Come, I will make you a fair offer. I will hand you three hundred pounds before we start. Where do we go? I asked. To Lisbon. Then I shall see Pinheiro again, I said. You will. Your friend will be waiting to receive you. You see for yourself that you are very largely paid for a matter which is not dangerous to you, and does not occupy many days of your time. Very well, I answered, I will go with you. I will be satisfied to receive three hundred pounds in advance, and the remaining five hundred pounds on the completion of this business. That is, I added, provided your explanation of this affair is satisfactory to me. Is that also an indispensable condition? He asked. I do not agree without it, I replied. Then I will tell you. Give me your hand and word of honour. I held out my hand. You have already had my word, I said. An Englishman does not repeat himself. Very well, he said. Now listen. He bent eagerly forward, his swarthy face was flushed, and his eyes glistened. Do you know Lisbon? Yes, I said. He looked startled for a moment, then he said slowly. I forgot. You are a friend of Pinheiros. Lisbon is that great detective's headquarters. Knowing our city, you will understand the better the description I am about to give you. He bent forward, lowering his voice, and fixing his somewhat prominent black eyes on my face. In Lisbon, said Dacasta, there is a certain house. It is the oldest in the city, and it is called Dacasa dos Bicos. It was built about fourteen ninety by a very rich and eccentric man. Indeed, there is little doubt that he was mad. Now Bico, in Portuguese, means a point, and it derives its name from the fact that the front is bristling with quadrangular pyramids of stone, each terminating in a point. Upon each point, and there are over seven hundred, this man intended to set a diamond. But the work was stopped by the government, as there would then have been a richer house in Lisbon than the Royal Palace. Lisbon was at that time a great commercial emporium, full of wealthy merchants living in great luxury, excess, and extravagance. The man in question was one of these. The house had withstood no less than six great earthquakes. The great one of fifteen thirty-one, which lasted for fifty days, four more earthquakes in that terrible century, and finally the greatest of all in seventeen fifty-five, which destroyed half the city. The strange story of the diamond craze had been little credited, and was indeed almost forgotten when this document was discovered by Senhora Leilo Mendez, the present owner and the direct descendant of the builder of the house. It is on her behalf I am now employed. There are documents and receipts proving conclusively that this man had in the house over seven hundred Brazilian diamonds of the finest water, and when he died their whereabouts could never be traced. I believe this paper to be the key. With your aid we might read the cipher contained therein, and if so, if. His voice trembled audibly, that Senhora Leilo Mendez will be the richest woman in Europe, and I know her well she will not forget us. I gave a gasp as he ceased speaking. Your story astonishes me, Senhora Dacosta, I said. When the diamonds are found, what do you reckon their value will be? He shrugged his shoulders, anything you like. I don't suppose less than half a million sterling. And where is this lady now? In Lisbon. Does Senor Pinheiro know her? Very well indeed. In fact, he is working in this matter in her behalf. Really? I had a passing moment of wonder that my friend had not written straight to me through the post. Dacosta seemed to read my thoughts. I saw Pinheiro just before I started, he said. I traveled day and night. The mail could not come quicker. When he spoke of you, I recognized at once that you were the very man for our purpose. Raised up, so to speak, by providence. What Pinheiro suggests, we his followers always act upon. Oh, he is a great man, sir. A wonderful man, the greatest detective of his time. I sank back in my chair. My heart was beating fast. I had in very truth recovered my nerve and was in the mood for adventures. I needed money, and here was a way of getting it. I longed to see my friend again, that wish could also be gratified. In a moment I rose from my seat and told the Portuguese that, provided he would hand me a check for three hundred pounds, I should be ready to start on my journey at eleven o'clock on the following morning. He jumped up in extraordinary excitement, produced a checkbook, filled in a check for the required amount, and handed it to me. I saw that it was payable at the city bank, shook hands with him, and went away. I spent a busy night arranging a hundred details and writing many letters. Finally as soon as the bank was opened, I took my check there and received in exchange six crisp Bank of England notes for fifty pounds each. I lodged five of the notes to my private account at my own bank, and changed the remaining one for gold and five pound Bank of England notes. At half past ten, I drove up to the house in Bloomsbury. The costa was waiting on the steps to receive me. His luggage was already on the roof of a cab. Come, he said, uneasiness in his tone, we have not a moment to lose. We shall just catch the express to Paris. I jumped into the cab, and the Portuguese followed me. The door was slammed, and we were off. The journey itself was uneventful. We left Paris by the suede express, and passing through Bordeaux and Villar-Famosa on the Portuguese frontier rumbled into Rocquio station at Lisbon at eleven thirty on Saturday night. Just as we were doing so, I turned to the Portuguese. I shall take a cab, I said, and drive straight to Signor Pinheiro's house. He had been sullen not to say morose during our journey. Now he was all alive and evidently full of great excitement. No, my friend, he said, your time is mine. You come with me, straight with me, to business now, now. We meet Pinheiro at the house where your services are required. We waste no time going to his palace in the suburbs. As I had no answer to make to this, and no possible objection to offer, I followed the Portuguese out of the station. He almost pushed me into a pair horse vehicle, followed himself, and without waiting for any luggage except my small handbag, desired the driver to hurry forward. We immediately dashed off at a great pace, rattling and bumping over the cobblestones. We went down queer, narrow, low-built streets, full of strange sights and sounds. Again we went up inclines so steep that the windows were right above us, then down slopes on which, had the brakes given way, we must have gone to instant destruction. At last we stopped at a small house in a deserted lane. My companion paid the driver, opened the door with a latch key, and bade me bring my bag inside. We entered a room on the ground floor. The house appeared to be quite deserted, and was absolutely quiet. Now, said the Costa, speaking with great eagerness, we must make haste. We have delayed too long already, and time is short, very short. There are others after the treasure. They want to rob the rightful owner. Watch what you want quickly. I opened my bag, took out my measuring tape, foot rule, and designing case, and announced that I was ready. When we got outside the house, I paused. Did you really say that Pinheiro would meet us at the house to which we are going? I asked. Certainly. He knows of our arrival. He is only too anxious to see you. Come, come! We lose everything by this delay. We started forward at a smart pace. Although I supposed myself to know Lisbon fairly well, I had not the slightest notion in what direction we were going. Twice the Costa halted, and glanced behind him, and once, seizing my arm, he drew me into the shadow of a dark archway. There we waited for a few moments, and then resumed our journey. My distrust of the man and of the whole expedition grew at every step, and had he not been very much stronger than I, I should have refused to go on. I determined, however, to keep my reason and all my wits in active play, and I did not allow anything to escape my attention. I observed that we trended our way for the most part downhill, till at length after innumerable turnings and twistings, I saw, lying before me, the broad expanse of the Tagus, dotted with the twinkling lights of the crowded shipping. A few moments more, and we were down on the riverside, threading our way among the wharves, alongside of which were moored innumerable craft, their masts and spars sticking up in fantastic crisscross designs. Though it was now past midnight, the key was alive with noise and bustle, and was thronged with foreign sailors, who were loading an outward bound steamer. Still on we went, past great gaunt factories which shut out half the sky, and tall chimneys that loomed black against the stars. Now through dark and squalid streets, redolent of foul odours. From the lighted interiors of the wine-shops came shouts of coarse laughter and brawling. From the time we started my companion had not spoken a single word, and when he suddenly halted before the most extraordinary looking house I had ever seen, and said, Now, Mr. Finace, I started as if a cannon report had gone off in my ear. The house was very low, and wedged in between taller ones on either side. The entire front was, as Dacasta had described it, bristling with pointed stones, set in regular rows. Upon a door under a low archway, Dacasta now gave one or two peculiar knocks. It was immediately opened by a man, dressed only in a shirt and trousers, with a queer sort of stocking cap on his head. As soon as we were inside, he closed and bolted the door, and then lit a lantern. A few words of conversation, in very low tones, passed between him and Dacasta, of which I was evidently the subject. Meanwhile I looked around me. We were in a long, low room, with a stone floor covered with mats. The ceiling was supported by thick wooden joists. There was nothing whatever in this room but some barrels, a pair of large weighing scales, and piles of split and dried codfish which smelt horribly. Following me to follow them, the two men went down some steps to a tiny room containing a small table and three wooden chairs. The floor and walls were square stones. Holding up the lantern, Dacasta turned to me and said, I had hoped to find Pinguero here, but he has not come. We cannot wait for him. Now, Mr. Faneis, this is the room. Start your work at once. What do you think of it? Here is the cipher. As he spoke he handed me the parchment. I was on my metal now and flung the whole of my mental energy into the problem before me. I forgot Pinguero. I forgot everything but my own work. First I measured the walls. They were exactly eight feet each way. Then I found the area of the floor, but where the sixty-fifth square could be it was impossible to conceive. Was this a mere juggling of words? Or had it a latent and very obvious meaning? On my way from London I had been puzzling over it, and somewhere at the back of my brain had been moving an old memory of a sixty-fifth square. But when, where, and how I had heard about it, I had not been able to recall. Now suddenly, as if in a flash, the possible solution burst upon me. Was it? Could it be, based upon the classic conundrum of the lost square? End of number six, part one. Number six, part two, of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustis. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Number six, the lost square, part two. My fingers trembled as I took up my compass and measured the place. The thing was evident. It must be that. What are you doing?" cried DeCosta suddenly. Both men had noticed my excitement. I think I have got it, I answered. What! he exclaimed, grasping my arm. How? What? Where is it? It is here, and yet it is not here, was my ambiguous answer. The square? Yes, the square. You can find it? I think so. Let me alone for a minute. The two men sprang to their feet, both in such a state of excitement that I felt really alarmed. They seemed perfectly frenzied. They strode to and fro, uttering low nasal Portuguese expletives, and casting glances at me with wild, staring eyes. I mean this, I said. My opinion is that this cipher is founded on a very old classical conundrum called the Lost Square, and I will show you how. In a few minutes I had cut out a square of paper measuring eight inches by eight inches, and I had shown the men that when cut in a certain way it would be made into a parallelogram, thirteen inches by five inches, apparently containing sixty-five squares. But the fallacy lay in the fact that the latter figure was not full, but that the spaces between the pieces made up the missing square. But then where is it burst from the costa's lips? I pushed back the table and fell on my knees. If there were a sixty-fifth square it must mean that the floor was not level, for to contain an extra square a surface must be raised at some point. I passed the lantern over the floor and in a moment found some of the square stones perceptibly raised. I should say it was here I said with a bold plunge. With no word of eulogy for my skill they fell to work upon the stones with pick and crowbar, and I remember as they did so a very disturbing thought flashed across me. It was this. Why on earth, if the lady owned this house, should she want to have all this done, when if there were the slightest chance of such treasure being hidden within its walls, it would be worth her while to pull the whole house down to find it? But these thoughts were instantly dispelled by the fact that I had evidently read the cipher aright. The men talked in Portuguese, and it irritated my already overstrung nerves not to be able to understand a word they said. The removal of four stones discovered the entrance to a low passage. The costa grasped my hand. Come along, he said, his voice choking with excitement, which almost amounted to madness. You and I will go first. We owe you. Oh! What do we not owe you, Mr. Finise? When Signora Lelo-Mendez knows what you have done, her gratitude will be unbounded, and she is one of those who never forgets. Ah! Here she comes! The rustling of a silk dress was heard along the passage. The door of the small room was flung wide, and the stately figure of Mademoiselle de la Courte herself appeared on the threshold. The horror which surged up in my heart prevented my uttering a word. Outwardly I was stunned. Within my pulses beat madly. I knew at once that I was the victim of a fresh conspiracy, and that of the most dangerous type to which I had yet been subjected. Mademoiselle wore a loose robe of black silk which covered her from head to foot. On her head she had no covering beyond her light and beautiful hair. I backed slowly against the wall. She entered a foot or two, and her eyes met mine. Have you got the clue to the treasure, the key to the conundrum? She asked. Know that I am Signora Lelo-Mendez, and that the treasure within this house belongs to me. For years, for centuries, it has been lost. Have you, my enemy, found it for me, the greatest treasure in Lisbon? She came very close to me now, and her full dark eyes glittered into my face. Have you discovered the treasure, Mr. Finace? She repeated. I nodded. I could not speak. Then you will find that even your enemies are grateful. Come! You and I will lead the way. I hated you and planned your death. You also hated me, and would have ruined me had you been able. But this atones for all. Come! She took the hand which hung limp at my side. I could no more have resisted her than the paralyzed bird resists the cobra. She led the way to the narrow opening. We went down the passage. It widened as we progressed. At last we reached the other end. Mademoiselle's small hand held mine in a grip of iron. When we came to the end of the passage, Dacosta raised his lantern and uttered a cry which echoed and reverberated oddly. There were four of us in the opening, which my discovery had led to. Mademoiselle, Dacosta, his assistant, and myself. We found ourselves standing on the edge of a deep well some four feet in diameter. As we approached, Dacosta lowered the lantern into the well. The air was foul, but not sufficiently tainted to put out the light. Mademoiselle was from fifteen to sixteen feet in depth. Its walls were smooth and glistening. I noticed that about half way down, bulging into the wall, was an old piece of piping. Before I had time to say anything about this, the man who had helped Dacosta brought forward a rope, put it round the waist of the Portuguese, and lowered him into the well. He reached the bottom, fumbled about there, and presently I heard him utter a shout. Mademoiselle, bending forward, asked him if he had found it. Yes, he cried, yes, enough treasure to keep us rich for the remainder of our lives. I'll take some with me, and we'll return for the rest. Then come at once, she said, take enough, but come at once. There is not a moment to lose. The assistant holed Dacosta up. When he reached the surface, he slapped his pocket. It rattled. Ah, Mademoiselle, he said, we are rich now. And we owe it to Mr. Finace, she replied. She turned towards me, her face white as death, her eyes gleaming with excitement. I was just about to reply to her when a terrific crash at the back of my head caused thousands of Catherine wheels to dance before my eyes, and I remembered no more. When I came to myself I was in pitch darkness. For a time I could recall nothing. Then memory returned. I knew where I was. I had been flung to the bottom of the well. I shouted for all I was worth, but without the least hope of anyone hearing me. I realized, when too late, that I had been the victim of the worst conspiracy Mademoiselle had yet formed against me. She had at last absolutely and completely succeeded in accomplishing my ruin. She had already, to all intents and purposes, committed murder. For there was nothing before me, but death by slow starvation. By my death I should be the means of her salvation. She who knew everything had heard of my latent talent and of its strange development. She had seized her opportunity to lure my secret from me for her own purpose. Senyora Leilomandez was a name adopted for her own purposes by this extraordinary and awful woman. She meant to steal the treasure from the old house, and in making me her tool she would also compass the long desired event of my death. Nero's name had been only used to trap, to lure me into the net. But how Mademoiselle had contrived to extract a letter from him was beyond my wildest endeavors to discover. I paced round and round my narrow and dreadful prison. Suddenly I remembered that I had a box of matches with me. I struck one and tried to examine my place of confinement. Many feet above me loomed the black circle of the mouth of the well. The sides were smooth and slippery, and offered not the slightest help for fingers or feet. I could just trace the piece of piping at one of the junctions. That was all. I was trapped like a rat in a hole. Here I was buried beneath a cellar in a strange house in a foreign city. No one would miss me. No one could possibly guess where I was. I remembered also that it was Sunday morning, and if the house was used as a codfish store it would not be entered till Monday morning. Even then it was a thousand to one against my being found, for my shouts would scarcely penetrate the thick walls which choked down my voice as with a blanket. When the first shock of terror passed there came that wild desire for life which God has implanted in the breasts of men. It is in a certain sense one of the most terrible of our passions. I only hope that I may never feel it again. I was young to die. I did not want to die, to die thus in the dark and alone of hunger and starvation. What fate could be more horrible? To die unmoorned, unmist, with that one terrible woman that fiend in human shape triumphing over my early doom. I struck another match, but the flame died out. For hours and hours I sat crouched at the bottom of the well until at last came that merciful stupor which visits men in such situations. Then again that passed I became wide awake, alert, and full of the most desperate resolution. All my thoughts centered on Pinheiro. I thought of him so earnestly, so long, with such passion that I forgot that there was another human being in the world. It seemed to me that when I thought of him I saw a light, and that light went far, penetrating beyond the gloom of my dungeon through the walls of the old house, shining on and on till it reached his palace in the fashionable part of Lisbon. At the end of that long time of whiteness I saw Pinheiro himself. He was in his study. He was thinking hard. He was seated by his huge writing desk. He took up a paper and examined it. He started and looked at it more fully. His face became agitated. He paced the room, then a look of resolution filled it. He hurried from the room, closing the door after him. In his footsteps I seemed to see eagerness and a wild desire to obtain an object and at once. When he disappeared the light also faded. I leapt to my feet and began to pray earnestly. Had I seen a vision? Was my brain going? I prayed once, twice, many times. I think I must have been partly delirious, for after my prayer I opened my knife and began with all my force to stab the walls above my head. They were hard and the point of the blade snapped at once. Again I prayed for deliverance. Again I stabbed the walls with the stump of my broken knife. Suddenly I felt myself drenched with a gush of water. It poured into the well in a cascade. It increased every moment. I uttered a cry of despair, for I thought I should be drowned in this ghastly hole. In and in the water poured with increasing force. It smelt fowly as it splashed and eddied around me. In five minutes it was up to my waist, and another five it reached my chin. And then the most marvelous thing happened. I was floated gently to the mouth of the well. If that was not providence I don't know what was. I had evidently cut through the junction of the pipe in my blind fury and had liberated the water from the river. I scrambled out of the well and stood for a minute or two, drenched and trembling on the edge. It was just then that I heard sounds in the room above me. A scuffling noise, men's voices, then a woman's loud and despairing shriek. These sounds were followed by silence. Two minutes later a light, not fancied but real, penetrated my gloom. Footsteps came hastily down the narrow passage and Pinheiro, with blood on his shirt and cuffs, stood before me. Fanace! He said, I thought I should find you here, by all that is wonderful. What brought you back to Lisbon? Your letter, I gasped. The letter you wrote to me and sent by Dacasta. Then I understand the marks on the blotting paper. He answered, Come! I looked him in the face and tried to speak, but consciousness for the second time that day forsook me. When I came to myself I was lying on a sofa in Pinheiro's house. He was standing close to me, holding a glass of strong stimulant in his hand. Here, he said, Drink this. You are an unlucky beggar. But tell me quite quietly what has happened. Take your own time. There is no hurry. Whatever your perils they are now at an end. Take your time. I gasped out my miserable story as best I could. But why did you write to me, I said in conclusion. I should never have come but for your letter. The letter was a forgery, he replied. I remember my servant telling me one day that a lady had called to see me on business, had asked to wait for me, but in the end had gone away before I returned. She gave her name as Signora Leila Mendez. Now I knew that there was such a lady, although she does not live in Lisbon, to whom the old house Casa Dos Picos belongs, and thought nothing about the visit, hoping to see the Signora later on. How could I suppose that another terrible plot with a double object was on foot? But now, listen, I have good news for you, we have at last, and in very truth secured our enemy, Mademoiselle Delacorte, is lying under arrest in this city, and clever as she is, she cannot escape from her prison walls. But pardon me, I interrupted. How was it that you thought of coming to the rescue? The most extraordinary thing. I was in my study, busily engaged, but I could not set to work for my thoughts reverted to the past. I told you once, Fenice, that I would give you the history of these lost fingers. He held up his mutilated hand as he spoke. There was a woman who I loved, ah, madly. She got into the power of that fiend. I was too late to save her life, but in rescuing her body I lost these fingers. Enough. I will tell you more later on. The thought brings madness even now. A Portuguese never loses sight of the object of his vengeance. Old memories drove me wild this morning. I could not work. I idly turned the pages of my blotter. There I saw traces of a letter which I knew I had not written. It is true it was to all appearance in my handwriting, but the words were not mine. This is what I read. My dear Fenice, the bear of Senor Dacosta, a native of Lisbon and a friend of mine, has just been to see me in connection with a document and diagram which he believes to be of great value. Lower down I read the words. As this is very much in your line, I would send him to you. And then again, if you can do anything to help Dacosta, you will oblige me. This was enough. I happen to know Dacosta as a scoundrel of the deepest dye, a diagram in connection with the treasure in the Casa dos Bicos has long been puzzling all our antiquaries. And a feeling of overmastering fear came upon me that you had been deluded into coming to Lisbon, that you were now in that infernal house. I rushed there, as it turned out, just in time. Mademoiselle had passed herself off as Signora de la Lomandés. She had secured a portion of the celebrated treasure, and all would have gone well for her, but for the fact that she and her assistants began to quarrel as to the division of the spoils. I took the precaution not to go to that house alone. I had some emissaries of the police with me. We quickly secured Mademoiselle, who had long been prevented. The men in their desperation fought like furies, but they too were secured and handcuffed. In their terror they gave themselves away, describing your hiding place and where they had found the treasure. Well, I saved your life and captured our enemy, and the treasure will find its way eventually to the old lady who is the real Signora de la Lomandés and who lives in a remote part of the country. Piniero ceased speaking. I sat still with thoughts too deep for words. Thus ended the strange mysteries, the inexplicable horrors which dogged my steps for the greater part of one year. Mademoiselle de la Corte will never trouble me again. As to the diamonds, the real Signora de la Lomandés, having heard the entire story, presented me with one to set in a ring, and I always wear it on my finger. When the well was pumped out, three hundred more Brazilian diamonds were found. Thus came to an end the worst of all my adventures, that which found me at the bottom of the well in the old house Casa Dos Bicos. End of No. 6 The Lost Square, Part 2 End of The Heart of a Mystery by L. T. Mead and Robert Eustis