 CHAPTER VI The Star-Shaped Marks, Part I On a certain Sunday in the spring of 1897, as Dufreyer and I were walking in the park, we came across one of his friends, a man of the name of Loftus Durum. Durum was a rising artist, whose portrait paintings had lately attracted notice. He invited us both to his studio on the following Sunday, where he was to receive a party of friends to see his latest work, an historical picture for the coming academy. "'The picture is an order from a lady, who has herself sat for the principal figure,' said Durum. "'I hope you may meet her also on Sunday. My impression is that the picture will do well, but if so, it will be on account of the remarkable beauty of my model. But I must not add more. You will see what I mean for yourselves.' He walked briskly away. "'Poor Durum,' said Dufreyer, when he had left us. I am glad that he is beginning to get over the dreadful catastrophe which threatened to ruin him, body and soul, a year back. "'What do you mean?' I asked. "'I allude to the tragic death of his young wife,' said Dufreyer. They were only married two years. She was thrown from her horse on the hunting field, broke her back, and died a few hours afterwards. There was a child, a boy of about four months old at the time of the mother's death. Durum was so frightfully prostrated from the shock that some of his friends feared for his reason, but I now see that he is regaining his usual calibre. I trust his new picture will be a success, but notwithstanding his remarkable talent, I own I have my doubts. It takes a man in ten thousand to do a good historical picture.' On the following Sunday, about four o'clock, Dufreyer and I found ourselves at Durum's house in Lanchester Gardens. A number of well-known artists and their wives had already assembled in his studio. We found the visitors all gazing at a life-size picture in a heavy frame which stood on an easel facing the window. Dufreyer and I took our places in the background and looked at the group represented on the canvas in silence. Any doubt of Durum's ultimate success must have immediately vanished from Dufreyer's mind. The picture was a magnificent work of art, and the subject was worthy of an artist's best efforts. It was taken from the Lady of the Lake, and represented Ellen Douglas in the guard room of Stirling Castle, surrounded by the rough soldiers of James V of Scotland. It was named Soldiers Attend. Ellen's first words as she flung off her plaid and revealed herself in all her dark, proud beauty to the wonder of the soldiers. The pose and attitude were superb, and did credit both to Durum and the rare beauty of his model. I was just turning round to congratulate him warmly on his splendid production, when I saw standing beside him Ellen Douglas herself, not in the rough garb of a Scotch lassie, but in the simple and yet picturesque dress of a well-bred English girl, her large black velvet hat, with its plume of ostrich feathers, contrasted well with a face of dark and striking beauty. But I noticed even in that first glance a peculiar expression lingering round the curves of her beautiful lips and filling the big brown eyes. A secret care, an anxiety artfully concealed, and yet all too apparent to a real judge of character, spoke to me from her face. All the same, that very look of reserve and sorrow but strengthened her beauty, and gave that final touch of genius to the lovely figure on the canvas. Just then Durum touched me on the shoulder. What do you think of it? He asked, pointing to the picture. I congratulate you most heartily, I responded. I owe any success which I may have achieved to this lady, he continued. It has done me the honour to sit, as Ellen Douglas. Mr. Head, may I introduce Lady Faulkner? I bowed an acknowledgment to which Lady Faulkner gravely responded. She stepped a little aside, and seemed to invite me to follow her. I am also glad you like the picture, she said eagerly. For years I have longed to have that special subject painted. I asked Mr. Durum to do it for me, on condition that I should be the model for Ellen Douglas. The picture is meant as a present for my husband. Has he seen it yet? I asked. No, he is in India. It is to greet him as a surprise on his return. It has always been one of his longings, to have a really great picture painted on that magnificent subject, and it was also one of his fancies, that I should take the part of Ellen Douglas. Thanks to Mr. Durum's genius I have succeeded, and am much pleased. A new arrival came up to speak to her. I turned aside, but her face continued to attract me, and I glanced at her from time to time. Finally I noticed that she held up her hand as if to arrest attention, and then flew to the door of the studio. Outside was distinctly audible the patter of small feet, and also the sound of a woman's voice raised in expostulation. This was followed by the half-satisfied coo, half-cry of a young child, and the next instant Lady Faulkner reappeared, carrying Durum's baby boy in her arms. He was a splendid little fellow, and handsome enough in himself to evoke unlimited admiration. A mass of thick golden curls shattered his brow, his eyes were large, and of a deep and heavenly blue. He had the round limbs and perfect proportions of a happy, healthy baby. The child had clasped his arms round Lady Faulkner's neck. Seeing a great many visitors in the room, he started in some slight trepidation, but turning again to Lady Faulkner smiled in her face. Ah! There you are, Robin! said Durum, glancing at the child with the lighting up of his own, somewhat somber face. But, Lady Faulkner, please, don't let the little chap worry you. You are too good to him. The fact is, you spoil him dreadfully. That is a libel! For no one could spoil you could, they, Robin, said Lady Faulkner, kissing the boy on his brow. She seated herself on the windowsill. I went up and took a place beside her. She was so altogether absorbed by the boy that she did not at first see me. She bent over him and allowed him to clasp and unclasp a heavy gold chain of antique pattern which she wore round her neck. From time to time she kissed him. Suddenly, glancing up, her eyes met mine. Is he not a splendid little fellow? She said. I don't know how I could have lived through the last few months, but for this little one I have been kept in London unnecessary business, and consequently away from my own child. But little Robin has comforted me. We are great friends, are we not, Robin? The child certainly seems to take to you, I said. Take to me? She cried. It doors me, don't you, baby? The boy looked up as she addressed him, opened his lips, as if to utter some baby word, then with a coy, sweet smile hit his face against her breast. You have a child of your own? I said. Yes, Mr. Head, a boy. Now I am going to confide in you. My boy is the image of this little one. He is the same age as Robin, and Robin and he are so alike in every feature that the resemblance is both uncommon and extraordinary. But stay, you shall see for yourself. She produced a locket, touched a spring, and showed me a painted photograph of a young child. It might have been taken from little Robin Durham. The likeness was certainly beyond dispute. DuPrayer came near, and I pointed it out to him. Is it not remarkable? I said. This locket contains a picture of Lady Faulkner's own little boy. You would not know it from little Robin Durham, would you? DuPrayer glanced from the picture to the child, then to the face of Lady Faulkner. To my surprise, she coloured under his gaze, which was so fixed and staring, as to seem almost rude. Remarking that the picture might assuredly be taken from Durham's boy, he gravely handed back the locket to Lady Faulkner, and immediately afterwards, without waiting for me, took his leave. Lady Faulkner looked after his retreating form, and I noticed that a new expression came into her eyes. A defiant, hard, even desperate look, it came and quickly went. She clasped her arms more tightly round the boy, kissing him again. I took my own leave soon afterwards, but during the days which immediately followed, I often thought with some perplexity of Lady Faulkner and also of Durham's boy. I had received a card for the private view of the academy, and remembering Durham's picture, determined to go there on the afternoon of the great day. I strolled through the rooms which were crowded, so much so indeed that it was almost impossible to get a good view of the pictures, but by and by I caught a sight of Durham's masterpiece. It occupied a place of honour on the line. Beyond doubt, therefore, his success was assured. I had taken a fancy to him, and was glad of this, and now pushed my way into the midst of a knot of admirers, who, arrested by the striking scene which the picture portrayed, and the rare grace and beauty of the central figure, were making audible and flattering remarks. Presently just behind me, two voices which I could not fail to recognise fell on my ears. I started, and then remained motionless. The voices belonged to Lady Faulkner and to Madame Calucci. They were together, and were talking eagerly. They could not have seen me, for I heard Lady Faulkner's voice, high and eager. The following words fell on my ears. I shall do it to-morrow or next day. My husband returned sooner than I thought, and there is no time to lose. You have arranged about the nurse, have you not? Yes, and you can confidently leave the matter in my hands, was Madame's reply. And am I safe? There is not the slightest danger of— They were pushed on by the increasing crowd, and I could not catch the end of the last sentence, but I had heard enough. The pictures no longer attracted me. I made my way herriedly from the room. As I descended the stairs, my heart beat fast. What had Lady Faulkner to do with Madame Calucci? Were the words which unwittingly had fallen on my ears, full of sinister meaning? Madame seldom attached herself to anyone without a strong reason. Beyond doubt the beautiful young scotch woman was an acquaintance of more than ordinary standing. She was in trouble, and Madame was helping her. Once more I was certain that in a new and startling manner Madame was about to make a fresh move in her extraordinary game. I went straight off to Defrayer's office, found him in, and told him what had occurred. Beyond doubt Lady Faulkner's manner was that of a woman in trouble, I continued. From her tone she knows Madame well. There was that in her voice which might dare anything, however desperate. What do you think of it, Defrayer? Is Durham by any possible chance in danger? That is more than I can tell you, replied Defrayer. Madame Calucci's machinations are beyond my powers to cope with, but as you ask me, I should say that it is quite possible that there is some new witchery brewing in her cauldron. By the way, Head, I saw that you were attracted by Lady Faulkner when you met her at Durham's studio. Were not you, I asked? To a certain extent, yes, but I was also repelled. I did not like her expression as she sat with a child in her arms. What do you mean? I can scarcely explain myself, but my belief is that she has been subjected by Madame to a queer temptation. What, of course, it is impossible to guess. When you notice the likeness between Durham's child and her own, I saw a look in her eyes which told me that she was capable of almost any crime to achieve her object. I hope you are mistaken, I answered, rising as I spoke. At least Durham has made a great success with that picture, and he largely owes it to Lady Faulkner. I must call round to see him in order to congratulate him. I did so a few days later. I found the artist busy in his studio working at a portrait of a city magnet. Here you are, Head. I am delighted to welcome you, he said when I arrived. Pray, take that chair. You will forgive me if I go on working. My big picture having sold so well, I am overpowered with orders. It has taken on. Your views, have you not? I have, and I also witness the crowds who collected round it on the opening day, I replied. It is a magnificent work of art, Durham. You will be one of our foremost historical painters from this day out." He smiled, and brush in hand, continued to paint in rapidly the background of his picture. By the way, I said abruptly, I am much interested in that beautiful Scotch model who sat for your Ellen Douglas. I have seldom seen a more lovely face. Durham glanced up at me, and then resumed his work. It is a curious story altogether, he said. Lady Faulkner came to see me in November of last year. She said that she had met my little boy in Regent's Park, and was struck by the likeness between her child and mine. On account of this asked the name of the child and discovered that I was his father. It seems that my fame as a portrait painter had already reached her ears. And she ventured to visit me to know if I would care to undertake a historical picture. I had done nothing so ambitious before, and I hesitated. She pressed the matter, volunteered to sit for the central figure, and offered me two thousand pounds for the picture when completed. I am not too well off, and could not afford to refuse such a sum. I begged of her to employ other and better well-known men, but she would not hear of it. She wanted my work, and mine alone. She was convinced that the picture would be a great success. In the end her enthusiasm prevailed. I consented to paint the picture, and said to work at once. After such a large canvas the time was short. And Lady Faulkner came to sit to me three or four times a week. She made one proviso. The child was to be allowed to come freely in and out of the room. She attracted little Robin from the first, and was more than good to him. The boy became fond of her, and she never looked better nor more at her ease than when she held him in her arms. She has certainly done me a good service, and for her sake alone I cannot be too pleased that the picture is appreciated. Is Lady Faulkner still in town? I asked. No. She left for Scotland only this morning. Her husband's place, Bram Castle in Inverness, is a splendid old historical estate, dating from the Middle Ages. How is your boy? I asked. You keep him in town, I see. But you have good air in this part of London. Yes, capital. He spends most of his time in Regent's Park. The little chap is quite well, thank you. By the way, he ought to be in now. He generally joins me at tea. Would it worry you if he came in as usual, head? Not at all. On the contrary, I should like to see him, I said. Durham rang the bell. A servant entered. You can get tea, Collier," said his master. By the way, is baby home yet? No, sir, was the reply. I cannot understand it. Out of the man. Jane is generally back, long before now. Durham made no answer. He returned to his interrupted work. The servant withdrew. Tea was brought in, but there was no sign of the child. Durham handed me a cup, then stood abstracted for a moment, looking straight before him. Suddenly he went to the bell and rang it. Tell Nurse to bring Master Robin in," he said. But Nurse and baby have not returned home yet, sir. Durham glanced at the clock. It is just six," he exclaimed. Could anything be wrong? I had better go out and look for them. Let me go with you," I said. If you are going into Regent's Park, it is on my way home. Nurse gently takes the child to the broad walk, said Durham. We will go in that direction. We entered the park. No sign of nurse or child could we see, though we made several inquiries of the parkkeepers who could tell us nothing. I have no right to worry you with all this," said Durham suddenly. I glanced at him. He had expressed no alarm in words, but I saw now that he was troubled and anxious, and his face wore a stern expression. A nameless suspicion suddenly visited my heart. Why as I would, I could not shake it off. We had better go back, I said. In all probability you will find the little fellow safe at home. I used cheerful words, which I did not feel. Durham looked at me again. The child is not to me as an ordinary child," he said, dropping his voice. You know the tragedy through which I have lived? Dufrayer has told me," I replied. My whole life is wrapped up in the little fellow," he continued. Well, I hope we shall find him all right on our return. Are you really coming back with me? Certainly, if you will have me, I shall not rest easy myself until I know that the boy is safe. We turned in the direction of Durham's house. We ran up the steps. Have you seen them, sir?" asked the butler as he opened the door. No. Are they not back yet? asked Durham. No, sir. We have heard nor seen nothing of either of them. This is quite unprecedented, said the artist. Jane knows well that I never allow the boy to be out after five o'clock. It is nearly seven now. You are quite certain," he added, turning to the man, that no message has come to account for the child's delay. No, sir. Nothing. What do you think of it, head? He looked at me inquirily. It is impossible to tell you, I replied. A thousand things may keep the nurse out. Let us wait for another hour. If the child has not returned by then, we ought certainly to take some action. I avoided looking at Durham as I spoke, for Lady Faulkner's words to Madame Colucci returned unpleasantly to my memory. I shall do it, to-morrow or next day. You have arranged about the nurse?" We went into the studio, and Durham offered me a cigarette. As he did so, I suddenly heard a commotion in a distant part of the house. There was the sound of hurrying feet and the noise of more than one voice raised an agitation and alarm. Durham's face turned ghastly. There has been an accident, he said. I felt that there was something wrong. God help me! He rushed to the door. I followed him. Just as he reached it, it was flung open, and the nurse, a comely-looking woman of between thirty and forty years of age, ran in and flung herself at Durham's feet. You'll never forgive me, sir, she gasped. I feel fit to kill myself. Get up, Jane, at once, and tell me what has happened. Speak! Is anything wrong with the child? Oh, sir, he is gone. He is lost. I don't know where he is. Oh, I know you'll never forgive me. I could scarcely ring myself to come home to tell you. That was folly. Now tell the whole story at once. Durham's manner had changed. Now that the blow had really fallen, he was himself once again, a man of keen action, resolute, resolved. The woman stared at him. Then she staggered to her feet, a good deal of her own self-control, restored by his manner. It was this way, sir. She began, baby and I went out as usual early this afternoon. You know how fond the baby has always been of Lady Faulkner? Lady Faulkner has nothing to do with this matter, interrupted Durham. Proceed with your story. Her ladyship is in Scotland. At least it is supposed, sir, sir, continued the woman. She came here late last night, and made us all good-bye. I was undressing the baby when she entered the nursery. She took him in her arms and kissed him many times. Baby loves her so very much. He always called her pity lady. He began to cry when she left the room. Go on, go on, said Durham. Well, sir, baby and I went into the park. You know how active the child is, as Mary has a lark, and always anxious to be down on his legs. It was a beautiful day, and I sat in one of the seats, and baby ran about. He was very fond of playing hide-and-seek around the shrubs, and I used to humor him. He asked for his usual game. Suddenly I heard him cry out, pity lady, pity lady, and run as fast as ever he could, round to the other side of a big clump of rooted endurance. He was within a few feet of me, and I was just about to follow him. For half the game, sir, was for me to peep round the opposite side of the trees and try to catch him. When a gentleman, whose acquaintance I had made during the last two days, came up and began to speak to me. He was a Mr. Ravenho, and a very gentlemanly person, sir. We talked for a minute or two, and alone I forgot baby. The moment I remembered him, I ran round the rooted endurance to look for him. But from that hour to now, sir, I have seen nothing of the child. I don't know where he is. I don't know what has happened to him. Someone must have stolen him, but who? The Lord only knows. He must have fancied that he saw a likeness to Lady Faulkner, and someone else in the park, for he did cry out, pity lady, just as if his whole heart was going out to someone, and away he trotted as fast as his feet could carry him. That is the whole story, sir. I had come back sooner, but I have been searched in the place, like one distracted. You did very wrong not to return at once. Did you by any chance happen to see the person the child ran to? I saw no one, sir. Only the cry of the child still rings in my ears, and delighted his voice. Pity lady, he said, and off he went like a flash. You should have followed him. I know it, sir, and I am afraid to kill myself, but the gentleman was that nice and civil, and alone I forgot everything else in the pleasure of having a chat with him. The man who spoke to you called himself Ivanhoe? Yes, sir. I should like you to give me some particulars with regard to this man's appearance, I said, interrupting the conversation for the first time. The woman stared at me. I doubt if she had ever seen me before. He was a dark, handsome man, she said then, slowly, but with something peculiar about him, and he spoke like a foreigner. I glanced at Durham. His eyes met mine in the most hopeless perplexity. I looked away. A thousand wild fears were rushing through my brain. There is no good in wasting time over unimportant matters, said the poor father, impatiently. The thing to do is to find baby at once. Control yourself, please, Jane. You do not make matters any better by giving way to undue emotion. Did you mention the child's loss to the police? Yes, sir. Two hours back. Durham, I said suddenly. You and I had better go at once to defray her. He will advise us exactly what is to be done. Durham glanced at me. Then without a word, went into the hall and put on his hat. We both left the house. What do you think of it, head, he said presently, as we were bowling away in a handsome to Defrayer's flat. I cannot help telling you that I fear there is grave danger ahead, I replied, but do not ask me any more until we have consulted Defrayer. The lawyer was in, and the whole story of the child's disappearance was told to him. He listened gravely. When Durham had finished speaking, Defrayer said slowly. There is little doubt what has happened. What do you mean, cried Durham? Is it possible that you have got a solution already? I have, my poor fellow, and a grave one. I fear that you are one of the many victims of the greatest criminal in London. I allude to Madame Colucci. Madame Colucci, said Durham, glancing from one of us to the other. What can you mean? Are you dreaming? Madame Colucci! What can she have to do with my little boy? Is it possible that you allude to the great lady doctor? The same, cried Defrayer. The fact is, Durham, head and I have been watching this woman for months past. We have learned some grave things about her. I will not take up your time now relating them, but you must take our word for it that she is not to be trusted, that to know her is to be in danger, to be her friend is to be in touch with some monstrous and terrible crime. For some reason she has made a friend of Lady Faulkner. You had saw them standing together under your picture. Head, will you tell Durham the exact words you overheard Lady Faulkner say? I repeated them. Durham, who had been listening attentively, now shook his head. We are only wasting time following a clue of that sort, he said. Nothing would induce me to doubt Lady Faulkner. What object could she possibly have in stealing my child? She has a child of her own, exactly like Robin. Head, you are on a wrong track. You waste time by these conjectures. Someone has stolen the child, hoping to reap a large reward. Let's go to the police immediately, and have wire sent to every station round London. I will accompany you, Durham, if you like, to Scotland Yard," said Defrayer. And I will go back to Regent's Park to find out if the keepers have learned anything, I said. We went our separate ways. The next few days were spent in fruitless endeavors to recover the missing child. No stone was left unturned. The police were active in the search. Large rewards were freely offered. Durham, accompanied by a private detective, spent his entire time rushing from place to place. His face grew drawn and anxious. His work was altogether neglected. He slept badly, and morning after morning awoke feeling so ill that his friends became alarmed about him. If this fearful strain continues much longer, I shall fear for his life," said Defrayer one evening to me. This was at the end of the first week. End of Chapter 6 Part 1 Chapter 6 Part 2 of The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustis. Chapter 6 The Star-Shaped Marks. Part 2 On the next morning there was a fresh development in the unaccountable mystery. The nurse Jane Cleaver, who had been unfanily grieving for the child ever since his disappearance, had gone out and had not returned. Inquiries were immediately sent on foot with regard to what had become of her, but not a clue could be obtained as to her whereabouts. On the evening of that day I called to see Durham and found the poor fellow absolutely distracted. If this suspense continues much longer I believe I shall lose my reason," he said, I cannot think what has come to me. It is not only the absence of the child. I feel as if I were under the weight of some terrible illness. I cannot explain to you what my nights are like. I have horrible nightmares. I suffer from a sensation as if I were being scorched by fire. In the morning I awake more dead than alive. During the day I get a little better, but the following night the same is repeated. The image of the child is always before my eyes. I see him everywhere. I hear his voice crying to me to come and rescue him. He turned aside, so overcome by emotion that he could hardly speak. Durham, I said suddenly, I have come here this evening to tell you that I have made up my mind. To do what? He asked. I am going to Scotland tomorrow. I mean to visit Lady Faulkner at Bram Castle. It is quite possible that she knows something of the fate of the child. One thing at least is certain, that a person who has a strong likeness to her beguiled a little fellow round the Rotor Dendrum Club. Durham smiled faintly. I cannot agree with you, he said, I would stake my life on the honour of Lady Faulkner. At least you must allow me to make inquiries, I replied. I shall be away for a few days. I may return with tidings. Keep up your heart until you see me again. On the following evening I found myself in Invernessshire. I put up at a small village just outside the estate of Bram. The castle towering on its beatling cliffs hung over the rushing waters of the river Bramley. I slept at the little inn, and early on the following morning made my way to the castle. Lady Faulkner was at home, and showed considerable surprise at seeing me. I noticed that her colour changed, and a look of consternation visited her large, beautiful eyes. You startled me, Mr. Head, she said. Is anything wrong? Wrong? Yes, I answered. Is it possible you have not heard the news? What news? She inquired. She immediately regained her self-control, sat down on the nearest chair, and looked me full in the face. I have news which will cause you sorrow, Lady Faulkner. You were fond of Durham's boy, were you not? Mr. Durham's boy, sweet little Robin? She cried. Of course. Has anything happened to him? Is it possible that you have not heard? The child is lost. I then related all that had occurred. Lady Faulkner looked at me gravely, with just the right expression of distress, coming and going on her face. When I had finished my narrative, there were tears in her eyes. This will almost send Mr. Durham to his grave, she cried. But surely, surely the child will be found? The child must be found, I said. As I spoke, I looked at her steadily. Immediately my suspicions were strengthened. She gazed at me with that wonderful calm which I do not believe any man could adopt. It occurred to me that she was overdoing it. But the slight hardening which I had noticed before around her lovely lips became again perceptible, in spite of all her efforts, an expression the reverse of beautiful filled her eyes. Oh! This is terrible! She said, suddenly springing to her feet. I can feel for Mr. Durham from my very heart. My own little Keith is so like Robin. He would like to see my boy. Would you not, Mr. Head? I shall be glad to see him, I answered. You have spoken before of the extraordinary likeness between the children. It is marvellous, she cried. He would scarcely know one from the other. She rang the bell. A servant appeared. Tell the nurse to bring baby here, said Lady Faulkner. A moment later the door was opened. The nurse herself did not appear, but a little boy dressed in white rushed into the room. She ran up to Lady Faulkner, clasping his arms ecstatically round her knees. Mother's own little boy, she said. She lifted him into her arms. Her fingers were loaded with rings, and I noticed that she held the child against her heart that they were trembling. Was all this excessive emotion for Durham's miserable fate? Lady Faulkner, I said, jumping to my feet and speaking sternly, I will tell you the truth. I have come here in a vain hope. The loss of the child is killing the poor father. Can you do anything for his relief? I, she said, what do you mean? My words were unexpected, and they startled her. Can you do anything for his relief? I repeated. Let me look at that boy. He is exactly like the child who is lost. I always told you there was an extraordinary likeness, she answered. Look round, baby. Look at that gentleman. Tell him you are Mother's own, own little boy. Love me, boy, list the baby. He looked full up into my face, the blue eyes, the mass of golden hair, the slow, lovely smile. Surely I had seen them before. Lady Faulkner unfastened her locket, opened it, and gave it to me. Feature for feature, she said, feature for feature the same. Mr. Head, this is my child. Is it possible? She let the child drop from her arms and stood up confronting me. Her attitude reminded me of Ellen Douglas. Is it possible that you suspect me? She cried. I will be frank with you, Lady Faulkner, I answered. I do suspect you. She seated herself with a perceptible effort. This is too grave a matter to be merely angry about, she said. But do you realize what you are saying? You suspect me? Me of having stolen Robin Durham from his father? God help me, I do, I answered. Your reasons? She took the child again on her knee. He turned towards her and caught hold of her heavy gold chain. As he did so, I remembered that I had seen Durham's boy playing with that chain in the studio at Lanchester Gardens. I briefly repeated the reasons for my fears. I told Lady Faulkner what I had overheard at the Academy. I said a few strong words with regard to Madame Colucci. To be a friend of that woman is to condemn you, I said at last. Do you know what she really is? Lady Faulkner made no answer. During the entire narrative she had not uttered a syllable. When my husband returns home, she said at last faintly, he will protect me from this cruel charge. Are you prepared to swear that the boy sitting on your knee is your own boy? I asked. She hesitated, then said boldly, I am. Will you take an oath on the Bible that he is your child? Her face grew white. Surely that is not necessary, she said. But will you do it? I repeated. She looked down again at the boy. The boy looked up at her. Pity, lady, he said all of a sudden. The moment he uttered the words I noticed a queer change on her face. She got up and rang the bell. A grave-looking, middle-aged woman entered the room. Take the baby nurse, said Lady Faulkner. The woman lifted the boy in her arms and conveyed him from the room. I will swear, Mr. Head, said Lady Faulkner. There is a Bible on that table. I will swear on the Bible. She took the book in her hands, repeated the usual words of oath, and kissed the book. It was clear that that boy is my own son, born of my body, she said, slowly and distinctly. Thank you, I answered. I laid the Bible down on the table. What else do you want me to do? She said. There is one test, I replied, which, in my opinion, will settle the matter finally. The test is this. If the boy I have just seen is indeed your son, he will not recognize Durham, for he has never seen him. If, on the other hand, he is Durham's boy, he cannot fail to know his father, and to show that he knows him when he is taken into his presence. Will you return with me to town to-morrow, bringing the child with you? If Little Robin's father appears as a stranger to the boy, I will believe that you have spoken the truth. Before Lady Faulkner could reply, a servant entered the room, bearing a letter on a salver. She took it eagerly and tore it open, glanced at the contents, and a look of relief crossed her face as her eyes met mine. They were bright now, and full of a curious defiance. I am willing to stand the test, she said. I will come with you to-morrow. With the boy? Yes, I will bring the boy. You must allow him to enter Durham's presence without you. He shall do so. Good, I answered. We can leave here by the earliest train in the morning. I left the castle a few minutes later, and wired to Defrayer, telling him that Lady Faulkner and I would come up to town early on the following day, bringing Lady Faulkner's supposed boy with us. I asked Defrayer not to repair Durham in any way. Late in the evening I received a reply to my telegram. Come, by first train, were its contents. Durham is seriously ill. I thought it best to say nothing of the illness to Lady Faulkner, and at an early hour on the following day we started on our journey. No nurse accompanied the child. He slept a good part of the day. Lady Faulkner herself was almost silent. She scarcely addressed me. Now and then I saw her eyes light upon the child with a curious expression. Once as I was attending to her comfort she looked me full in the face. You doubt me, Mr. Head, she said. It is impossible for me to feel friendly towards you until your doubts are removed. I am more grieved than I can say, I answered. But I must, God helping me, at any cost, see justice done. She shivered. At seven p.m. we steamed into King's Cross. Defrayer was on the platform and at the carriage door in a second. From the grave expression on his face I saw that there was bad news. Was it possible that the worst had happened to Durham and that now there would never be any means of proving whether the child were Lady Faulkner's child or not? Be quick, he exclaimed when he saw me. Durham is sinking fast. I am afraid we shall be too late as it is. What is the matter with him? I asked. That is what no one can make out. Langley Chaston, the great nerve specialist, has been to see him this afternoon. Chaston is completely nonplussed, but he attributes the illness to the shock and strain caused by the loss of the child. Defrayer said these words eagerly, and as he imagined into my ear alone a hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned and confronted Lady Faulkner. What are you saying? She exclaimed. Is it possible that Mr. Durham is in danger, in danger of his life? He is dying, said Defrayer brusquely. Lady Faulkner stepped back as though someone had shot her. She quivered all over. Take the child, she said to me in a faint voice. I lifted the boy in my arms. A brome awaited us. We got in. The child weary with the journey lay fast asleep. In another moment we were rattling along the Marleybone Road toward Lanchester Gardens. As we entered the house, Dr. Curzon, Durham's own physician, received us in the hall. You are too late, he said. The poor fellow is unconscious. It is the beginning of the end. I doubt if he will live through the night. The doctor's words were interrupted by a low cry. Looking round, I saw that Lady Faulkner had flung off her cloak, had lifted her veil, and was staring at Dr. Curzon as though she were about to take leave of her senses. Say those words again, she cried. My dear madam, I am sorry to startle you. Durham is very ill, quite unconscious, sinking fast. I must see him, she said eagerly. Which is his room? The bedroom facing you on the first landing, was the doctor's reply. She rushed upstairs, not waiting for anyone. We followed her slowly. As we were about to enter the room, the child being still in my arms, Lady Faulkner came out, and confronted me. I have seen him, she said. One glance at his face was sufficient. Mr. Head, I must speak to you, and alone, at once, at once. Take me where I can see you all alone. I opened the door of another room on the same landing, and switched on the electric light. Put the child down, she said, or take him away. This is too horrible. It is past-bearing. I never meant things to go as far as this. Lady Faulkner, do you quite realize what you are saying? I realize everything. Oh, Mr. Head, you are right. Madam, is the most terrible woman in all the world. She told me that I might bring the boy to London in safety, that she had arranged matters, so that his father should not recognize him, so that he would not recognize his father. I was to bring him straight here, and trust to her to put things right. I never knew she meant this. I have just looked at his face, and he has changed. He is horrible to look at now. Oh, my God! This will kill me. You must tell me all, Lady Faulkner, I said. You have committed yourself now. You have as good as confessed the truth. Then the child, this child, is indeed Durham's son. That child is Loftus Durham's son. Yes, I am the most miserable woman in the universe. Do what you will with me. Oh, yes, I could bring myself to steal the boy, but not. Not to go to this last extreme step. This is murder, Mr. Head. If Mr. Durham dies, I am guilty of murder. Is there no chance of his life? The only chance is for you to tell me everything as quickly as you can," I answered. I will," she replied. She pulled herself together and began to speak hurriedly. I will tell you all in as few words as possible, but in order that you should understand why I committed this awful crime, you must know something of my early history. My father and mother died from shock after the death of three baby brothers in succession. Each of these children lived to be a year old and then each succumbed to the same dreadful malady and sank into an early grave. I was brought up by an aunt, who treated me sternly, suppressing all affection for me, and doing her utmost to get me married off her hands as quickly as possible. Sir John Faulkner fell in love with me when I was eighteen, and asked me to be his wife. I loved him, and eagerly consented. On the day when I gave my consent I met our family doctor. I told him of my engagement and of the unlooked-for happiness which had suddenly dawned on my path. To my astonishment all Dr. McPherson told me that I did wrong to marry. There is a terrible disease in your family," he said. You have no right to marry. He then told me an extraordinary and terrible thing. He said that in my family on the mother's side was a disease which is called pseudo-hypertrophic muscular paralysis. This strange disease is hereditary, but only attacks the male members of the house, all the females absolutely escaping. You have doubtless heard of it?" I bowed. It is one of the most terrible hereditary diseases known," I replied. Her eyes began to dilate. Dr. McPherson told me about it that dreadful day," she continued. He said my three brothers had died of it, that they had inherited it on the mother's side, that my mother's brothers had also died of it, and that she, although escaping it herself, had communicated it to her male children, he told me that if I married, any boys who were born to me would in all probability die of this disease. I listened to him, shocked. I went back and told my aunt. She laughed at my fears, told me that the doctor was deceiving me, assured me that I should do very wrong to refuse such an excellent husband as Sir John, and warned me never to repeat a word of what I had heard with regard to my own family to him. In short, she forced on the marriage. I cannot altogether blame her, for I also was only too anxious to escape from my miserable life, and but half believe the doctor's story. I married to find alas, that I had not entered into paradise. My husband, although he loved me, told me frankly a week after our marriage that his chief reason for marrying me was to have a healthy heir to his house. He said that I looked strong, and he believed my children would be healthy. He was quite morbid on this subject. We were married nearly three years before our child was born. My husband was almost beside himself with rejoicing when this took place. It was not until the baby lay in my arms that I suddenly remembered what I had almost forgotten, old Dr. McPherson's warning. The child, however, looked perfectly strong, and I trusted that the dreadful disease would not appear in him. When the baby was four months old, my husband was suddenly obliged to leave home in order to visit India. He was to be absent about a year, until little Keith was a year old. He remained perfectly healthy. Then strained symptoms began. The disease commenced in the muscles of the calves of the legs, which became much enlarged. The child suffered from great weakness. He could only walk by throwing his body from side to side at each step. In terror I watched his symptoms. I took him then to see Dr. McPherson. He told me that I had neglected his warning, and that my punishment had begun. He said there was not the slightest hope for the child, that he might live for a few months, but would in the end die. I returned home, mad with misery. I dare not let my husband know the truth. I knew that if he did, he would render my life a hell, for the fate which had overtaken my first child would be the fate of every other boy born to me. My misery was beyond any words. Last winter, when baby's illness had just begun, I came up to town. I brought the child with me. He grew worse daily. When in town I heard of the great fame of Madam Kaluchi and her wonderful cures, I went to see her and told her my pitiful story. She shook her head when I described the features of the case, and said that no medicine had ever been discovered for this form of muscular paralysis, but said she would think over the case and ask me to call upon her again. The next day, when in Regent's Park, I saw loft of storms, little boy. I was startled at the likeness, and ran forward with a cry, thinking that I was about to embrace my own little Keith. The child had the same eyes, the same build. The child was Keith, to all intents and purposes. Only he was healthy, a splendid little lad. I made friends with him on the spot. I went straight then to Madam Kaluchi, and told her that I had seen a child the very same as my own child. She then thought out the scheme, which has ended so disastrously. She assured me it only needed courage on my part to carry it through. We discovered that the child was the only son of a widower, a rising artist of the name of Durham. Mr. Head, you know the rest. I determined to get acquainted with Mr. Durham, and in order to do so gave him a commission to paint the picture called Soldiers Attend. You can scarcely understand how I lived through the past winter. Madam had persuaded me to send my dying child to her. A month ago I saw my boy breathe his last. I smothered my agony, and devoted every energy to the kidnapping of Little Robin. I took him away as planned, the nurse's attention being completely engrossed by a confederate of Madam Kaluchi's. It was arranged that in a week's time the nurse was also to be kidnapped and removed from the country. She is now, I believe, on her way to New Zealand. Having removed the nurse, the one person we had to dread in the recognizing of the child was the father himself. With great pains I taught the boy to call me Mummy, and I believed he had learned the name and had forgotten his old title of Pity Lady. But he said the words yesterday in your presence, and I have not the slightest doubt by so doing confirmed your suspicions. When I had taken the dreadful oath that the child was my own and so perjured my soul, a letter from Madam Kaluchi arrived. She had discovered that you had gone to Scotland, and guessed that your suspicions were aroused. She said that you were her most terrible enemy, and that more than once you had circumvented her in the moment of victory, but she believed that on this occasion we should win, and she further suggested that the very test which you demanded should be acceded to by me. She said that she had arranged matters in such a way that the father would not recognize the child, nor would the child know him, that I was to trust her, and boldly go up to London and bring the boy into his father's presence. The Butler Collier, who of course also knew the child, had, owing to Madam's secret intervention, been sent on a fruitless errand into the country, and so got out of the way. I now see what Madam really meant. She would kill Mr. Durham, and so ensure his silence forever, but oh! Mr. Head! Bad as I am! I cannot commit murder! Mr. Head! You must save Mr. Durham's life. I will do what I can, I answered. There is no doubt from your confession that Durham is being subjected to some slow poison. What we have to discover. I must leave you now, Lady Faulkner. I went into the next room where Dufrayer and Dr. Curzon were waiting for me. It was darkened. At the far end in a bed against the wall lay Durham. Bidding the nurse bring the lamp I went across and bent over him. I started back at his strange appearance. I scarcely recognized him. He was lying quite still, breathing so lightly that at first I thought he must be already dead. The skin of the face and neck had a very strange appearance. It was inflamed and much reddened. I called the poor fellow by name, very gently. He made no sign of recognition. What is all this curious information due to? I asked of Dr. Curzon, who was standing by my side. That is the mystery, he replied. It is unlike anything I have seen before. I took up my lens and examined it closely. It was certainly curious. Whatever the cause the inflammation seemed to have started from many different centers of disturbance. I was at once struck by the curious shape of the markings. They were star-shaped and radiated as if from different centers. As I still examined them I could not help thinking that I had seen similar markings somewhere else not long ago, but when and connected with what I could not recall. This was, however, a detail of no importance. The terrible truth which confronted me absorbed every other consideration. Durham was dying before my eyes, and from Lady Faulkner's confession Madame Calucci was doubtless killing him by means unknown. It was indeed a weird situation. I beckoned to the doctor and went out with him onto the landing. I have no time to tell you all, I said. You noticed Lady Faulkner's agitation? She has made a strange and terrible confession. The child who has just been brought back to the house is Durham's own son. He was stolen by Lady Faulkner for reasons of her own. The woman who helped her kidnap the child was the quack doctor, Madame Calucci. Madame Calucci, said Dr. Curzon. The same, I answered, the cleverest and the most wicked woman in London, a past master in every shade of crime. Beyond doubt, Madame is at the bottom of Durham's illness. She is poisoning him. We have got to discover how. I thought it necessary to tell you as much, Dr. Curzon. Now will you come back with me again to the sick room? The doctor followed me without a word. Once more I bent over Durham, and as I did so, the memory of where I had seen similar markings returned to me. I had seen them on photographic plates, which had been exposed to the induction action of a brush discharge of high electromotive force from the positive terminal of a plant rheostatic machine. An eminent electrician had drawn my attention to these markings at the time, had shown me the plates, and remarked upon the strange effects. Would there be any relationship of cause and effect here? Has any kind of electric treatment been tried? I asked, turning to Dr. Curzon. None, he answered, why do you ask? Because, I said, I have seen similar effects produced on the skin by prolonged exposure to powerful x-rays, and the appearance of Durham's face suggests that the skin might have been subjected to a powerful discharge from a focus tube. There has been no electricity employed, nor has any stranger been near the patient. He was about to proceed, when I suddenly raised my hand. Hush! I cried. Stay quiet a moment. There was immediately a dead silence in the room. The dying man breathed more and more shibbly. His face beneath the dreadful star-like markings looked as if he were already dead. Was I a victim to my own fancies? Or did I hear, muffled, distant, and faint, the sound I somehow expected to hear, the sound of a low hum, a long way off? An ungovernable excitement seized me. Do you hear? Do you hear? I asked, grasping Curzon's arm. I hear nothing. What do you expect me to hear? He said, fear dawning in his eyes. Who is in the next room through there? I asked, bending over the sick man and touching the wall behind his head. That room belongs to the next house, sir, said the nurse. Then, if that is so, we may have got the solution, I said. Curzon, Defraer, come with me at once. We hurried out of the room. We must get into the next house without a moment's delay, I said. Into the next house you must be mad, said the doctor. I am not. I have already told you that there is foul play in this extraordinary case, and a fearful explanation of Durham's illness has suddenly occurred to me. I have given a great deal of time lately to the study of the effect of powerful cathode and X-rays. The appearance of the markings on Durham's face are suspicious. Will you send a messenger at once to my house for my fluorescent screen? I will fetch it, said Defraer. He hurried off. The next thing to be done is to move the bed on which the sick man lies to the opposite side of the room, I said. Curzon watched me as I spoke, with a queer expression on his face. It shall be done, he said briefly. We return to the sick room. In less than an hour my fluorescent screen was in my hand. I held it up to the wall just where Durham's bed had been. It immediately became fluorescent, but we could make nothing out. This fact, however, converted my suspicions into certainties. I thought so, I said. Who owns the next house? I rushed downstairs to question the servants. They could only tell me that it had been unoccupied for some time, but that the board, too led, had a month ago been removed. They did not believe that the new occupants had yet taken possession. Defraer and I went into the street and looked up at the windows. The house was to all appearance the counterpart of the one in which Durham lived. Defraer, who was now as much excited as I was, rushed off to the nearest fire engine station and quickly returned with an escape ladder. This was put up to one of the upper windows, and we managed to get in. The next instant we were inside the house, and the low hum of a make-and-break fell on our ears. We entered a room answering to the one where Durham's bedroom was situated, and there immediately discovered the key to the diabolical mystery. Close against the wall, within a few feet of where the sick man's bed had been, was an enormous focus tube. The platinum electrode turned so as to direct the rays through the wall. The machine was clamped in a holder and stood on a square deal table upon which also stood the most enormous induction coil I had ever seen. This was supplied from the main through wires coming from the electric lights supplied to the house. This induction coil gave a spark of at least 24 inches. Insulated wires from it ran across the room to a hole in the farther wall into the next room where the make-and-break was worrying. This had evidently been done in order that the noise of the hum should be as far away as possible. Constant powerful discharges of cathode and x-rays, such as must have been playing upon Durham for days and nights continuously, are now proved to be so injurious to life that he would in all probability have been dead before the morning, I cried. As it is, we may save him. I then turned and grasped Dufrayer by the arm. I believe that at last we have evidence to convict Madam Kaloochee," I exclaimed, what with Lady Faulkner's confession and, let us go back at once, and speak to Lady Faulkner, said Dufrayer. We returned at once to the next house, but the woman whom we sought had already vanished, how she had gone and when no one knew. The next day we learned that Madam Kaloochee had also left London, and that it was not certain when she would return. Doubtless Lady Faulkner, having confessed in a moment of terrible agitation, had then flown to Madam Kaloochee for protection. From that hour to now we have heard nothing more of the unfortunate young woman. Her husband is moving heaven and earth to find her but in vain. Moved from the fatal influence of the rays, Durham has recovered, and the joy of having his little son restored to him has doubtless been his best medicine. CHAPTER VII OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE SEVEN KINGS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings by L. T. Meade and Robert Eustis. CHAPTER VII THE IRON CIRCLET Madam had left London, and my first wild hope was that she might not return. But this was quickly doomed to disappointment, for two months after the events related in the last story, as I was walking down Wellbeck Street, I noticed that the blinds in her house were up, that there were fresh curtains to the windows, and that the place bore all the usual marks of habitation. With a sinking heart I was just commenting on this fact when I saw the whole door open, and a slender, dark-eyed young woman run down the steps. She glanced at me, raised her brows very slightly as if she recognized me, half paused as if about to speak, then changed her mind and walked rapidly just a few paces in front of me down the street. I had certainly never seen her before, and pitying her as an all-probability one of Madam's victims went on my own way. In the course of the same afternoon I visited Dufreyr at his office. A glance at his face showed me that he had something to say. He drew me aside with a certain eagerness and began to speak. I really believe, he cried, that the tide has turned at last. Madam is so emboldened by her success that she is certain to do something foolish. She is back in town, I interrupted, I passed her house this morning, and she returned about a fortnight ago, interrupted Dufreyr. Now listen, head, I have something to tell you. You know that for a long time Tyler's agents have been following Madam Kaluci? It was only yesterday morning that Tyler drew my attention to a matter which looks uncommonly suspicious. But read this advertisement for yourself. As he spoke, Dufreyr handed me the times of a week back. Under the heading, situations vacant, he pointed to the following words. Wanted, a first-rate bacteriologist to advise on a matter of a very private nature, handsome remuneration to anyone possessing the necessary knowledge, apply in strict privacy by letter only, to K.K., 350, Times Office, E.C. I put the paper down. What is there suspicious about that? I asked. At first sight one would think nothing, was the answer. But Tyler is so alert that not a single thing escapes him now. The K.K. first aroused his sense of inquiry. Catherine Kaluci, I cried, surely if this were an advertisement put in by Madam, she would not, knowing how she has wanted, use her own initials? It seems scarcely likely, he answered. But I will tell you exactly what has happened. On seeing the advertisement, Tyler at once posted a man in the Times Advertisement Office, explaining his business to the clerks. Tyler's man was instructed how to proceed. About eleven o'clock on the morning after the advertisement was first published, a person arrived, received two letters, and went away. Tyler's clerk immediately followed this man, who went straight to Madam Kaluci's house. It was a lucky shot of Tyler's, and they are following up the saint closely. He has further discovered that they have engaged no less a person than the well-known bacteriologist James Lockhart to undertake this very mysterious business. His private laboratory is in Devonshire Street. The question now arises, what steps are we to take? I see that you have an idea, I replied. Well, I have, or rather it is Tyler's. He suggests a bold step. He thinks that you and I ought to call on Lockhart. There is no question with regard to his position and knowledge. He has done more original work during the last two years in bacteriology than anyone else in the country, and if this terrible brotherhood should worm some secret out of him on a plausible pretext, they may use it to deadly effect, making him the unsuspecting agent of a terrible crime. Knowing all that we do head, I think we are bound to see him. I thought over to Frayer's suggestion. I am puzzled to know what to say, was my reply. Lockhart may not like our interfering. Very possibly, but nevertheless the duty of warning him remains the same. If you feel so, to Frayer, I have no doubt you are right, I said. When will you go to see Lockhart? I shall, of course, be willing to accompany you. I cannot look him up to-day, for I am unfortunately busy at the course to the last moment, but I suggest that you and I go to his house tomorrow morning at ten. Very well, I answered. I will meet you outside his door at that hour. A few minutes later I left to Frayer. Absorbed an anxious thought, I presently found myself in Piccadilly, and then in Bond Street. I walked on slowly. My thoughts were so anxious that they seemed to impede my movements. Madam had returned. Once again she was at work on some hideous machination. Once again to Frayer and I held our lives in our hands. Knowing the woman as I did, I could scarcely agree with to Frayer that, emboldened by success, she was becoming less cautious. Ever yet was she known to allow her vigilance to sleep, and not even in the hour of victory would it fail her. On the face of it this very open advertisement looked queer, but surely there was more behind. Yes, we must warn Lockhart. He would resent our interfering, but what matter. He was a strong man in every sense of the word, and I rather wondered at Madam selecting him to do her deadly work. I had seen him more than once during the last couple of years. His remarkable genius and the brilliancy of some of his lectures, before the Royal Society, returned vividly to my memory. The hour was now between four and five. I suddenly remembered that I had promised to meet a man in some tea-rooms, which had lately been opened in Bond Street. I found the right place and walked down a long narrow passage, which opened into a small courtyard surrounded by coffee and tea-rooms of different descriptions. The seclusion and unexpected quiet of the place were refreshing. The soft notes of distant music took my steps upstairs to the first floor, and the next instant I had entered a tea-room, as still and peaceful as if London were miles away. Some girls, tastefully dressed and looking like ladies, were waiting on the visitors. I seated myself at a small table and waited for my friend. I looked at my watch. He was late. I resolved to wait for him for a few moments. But before many had passed one of the young waitresses approached me with a telegram, asking if my name was Head. I replied in the affirmative and tore it open. It was from my friend. He had suddenly been called out of town and could not keep his appointment. I ordered tea for myself and, leaning back in my chair, looked around me. The room was tastefully decorated, with a certain aiming after simplicity, which produced a most inviting effect. My tea was brought on a small tray, and at the same time a girl, very quietly dressed, took the place opposite to mine. My first glance caused me to look at her again. She was the dark-eyed girl whom I had seen that morning coming down Madame Colucci's steps. I observed that her eyes, larger than those of most English women, were a strained expression, otherwise she was fresh and young-looking. I poured a cup of tea and was just raising it to my lips when she suddenly bent forward. I am addressing Mr. Norman Head, am I not? She said in a low, hurried voice. I bowed coldly in acknowledgment. Forgive me! She said again, I know that you are very much surprised at my address in you. But I must tell you the simple truth. I meant to speak to you this morning outside Madame Colucci's house, but I could not summon the courage. I happened to be in Bond Street just now and saw you passing. You entered here and I followed you. I know I have taken a very bold step, but I cannot rest until I tell you something. It is not a message of any sort, but it is a word of warning. I made an impatient exclamation. If you have anything to say, I must, of course, listen," I replied. But remember, you are a total stranger to me. I will tell you my name," she said eagerly. Valencia Ward, I am Mr. Lockhart's secretary. You know Mr. Lockhart of 205 Devonshire Street, do you not? By name, well, you allude to the great bacteriologist? Yes," she answered. I have been his secretary for over a year. I work with him every morning in his laboratory. It is about him, and also about you, Mr. Head, that I want to speak. Well, say what you have to say as quickly as possible," I replied. I will do so. Hand forward a little so that others may not overhear. She poured herself out a cup of tea as she uttered the last words. Her hand shook slightly. It was a delicate and very small white hand, the blue veins showing under the skin. I happened to know, she continued, no matter how or why, that you, Mr. Head, and a certain Mr. Dufres, a well-known criminal solicitor, intend to follow up an advertisement which appeared in the times of this day week. The advertisement was to the effect that a first-rate bacteriologist was required to advise on a matter of a private nature. Mr. Dufres has learned, no matter how, that Mr. James Lockhart of 205 Devonshire Street has been appointed to undertake the work. It is your intention, and also Mr. Dufres, to call upon him in order to warn him with regard to some hidden danger. Am I not right? You must forgive me, but I cannot reply to your question. She smiled very faintly. You are a wise man to guard your lips, but your face is my answer. She said, Now I will tell you why I have venture to speak to you. I want you to give up your intention of calling on Mr. Lockhart. And by what right do you, a complete stranger, interfere with my movements? By the right of my superior knowledge, she answered at once, My reasons I cannot explain, but they are of the gravest character. You and your friend will implicate yourselves most seriously if you do what you intend to do. I am not into danger if you meddle in this matter. In giving you this warning I risk much myself, and I earnestly beseech of you to believe me and to attend to my words. Do not see Mr. Lockhart. Let the advertisement alone. By doing so you will circumvent, you will circumvent. Her lips trembled, fire shone in her big eyes. She rose to her feet. I can do no more, she said. If you fail to understand me, I am sorry, but I have at least performed a very painful and necessary duty. She drew down her veil, went to a little table near the door where an accountant sat, paid for her tea, and left the room. I sat on where she had left me, feeling puzzled and shaken. The girls' face bore the impress of truth, and yet it seemed hard not to believe that she was one of Madam's agents. Had I not actually seen her coming down the steps of Madam's house? She seemed troubled when she spoke, when she pleaded with me, her voice shook with the extreme and passionate eagerness of her words. But all these signs might only be put on in order to prevent an interference which Madam, from long experience, had learned to dread. When I met DeFrayer on the following morning outside Lockhart's house I took his arm and walked with him for a moment or two up and down the street. I then related briefly the incident of the day before. He listened to my words with marked attention. What do you think, I said, when I had concluded, that beyond doubt the girl has been employed to warn you, was his reply. Perhaps danger is even greater than I was at first inclined to suspect. If he is not very careful, he will find himself in a hornet's nest. Yes, we must warn him immediately. It is past ten. Let us ring the bell. He will probably be at home. In reply to our summons we were told that Mr. Lockhart was within, and were shown at once, into a private room next to his laboratory. He joined us almost immediately. His appearance was already well known to me, but when he entered the room I was struck once again by his remarkable personality. He was a tall and very heavily built man, standing quite six feet, with broad shoulders and a jovial red face, as unlike the typical scientist as man could be. His manner was bluff and hearty, and he had a merry smile, suggestive more of a country squire than of one who spent most of his time over culture-plates. What can I do for you, sir? He said genially, extending his hand to me. Your name, Mr. Head, is not unfamiliar to me, and if I remember, right? We were once antagonists in print, in a discussion on nitrifying bacteria. I am afraid in the end I had to yield to your superior knowledge. But I should like now to show you a little thing which may change your views. Thank you, I answered, but I have not called to discuss your work. May I introduce my friend, Mr. Defrayer? He and I have come here this morning on a matter which we believe to be of utmost importance. It is of a strictly private nature, and when you have heard what we have both got to say, you will, I am sure, pardon what must seem an unwarrantable espionage. He raised his eyebrows, and looked from Defrayer to me in some astonishment. I drew a copy of The Times from my pocket, and pointed to the advertisement. As I did so, I noticed for the first time that the door between this room and the next was open, and at the same time the distinct noise of breaking glass came to my ears. Pardon me a moment, said Lockhart. My secretary is in the next room, and you would rather that no one overheard us. I will just go to her and ask her to do some work in my study. Still retaining the copy of The Times in his hand, he entered a large laboratory, where doubtless his own important discoveries were made. Ah! Miss Ward! he exclaimed. So you have broken that culture-tube. Well, never mind now. Don't wait to pick up the fragments. I am particularly engaged. There are letters which I want you to copy in my study. You can go there until I send for you. The light steps of a young woman were heard leaving the room. A door was opened at the farther end and closed again softly. Lockhart returned to us. I am fortunate, he said, in having secured as my secretary a most intelligent and clever girl, one in a thousand, at one time she thought of embracing the medical profession and, as studied bacteriology, a little herself. But what possessed her to break a valuable culture-tube just now is more than I can understand. For girl she was quite white and trembling when I went into the room, and yet I am never harsh to her. Her name is Valencia Ward, a pretty creature, and a better secretary than any man I have ever come across. But there, gentlemen, you must pardon my alluding to my own private affairs. The loss of that culture-tube has upset me a trifle, but I shall soon put matters right, and Miss Ward need not have looked so stricken. Now, let us attend to business. You speak of an advertisement in this paper. Where is it? Is it today's edition? No, the edition of a week back, I replied. I have reason to know, Mr. Lockhart, that you have answered this advertisement. Pray glance your eye over it again. It is in your own interest that my friend and I have come here to-day. I fail to understand, said Lockhart a trifle coldly. I will gladly explain, I said. We have the strongest reasons for suspecting that these words were inserted by a well-known lady doctor called Madame Colucci. Still, I do not perceive your meaning, he replied. And granted, that such is the case. May I ask what business this is of yours? You certainly may. Our business is to warn you against any dealings with that woman. Indeed. But the lady in question is well known, and her scientific attainments are respected by every scientist in the kingdom. I think we must either close our present interview, or I must beg of you to give me a further explanation. As honorable men, we can speak quite plainly, I replied. However impossible it may seem to you, I am now prepared to tell you, that Madame Colucci is the head of a gang, or secret society, whose headquarters are at present in London. This society is perpetrating some of the most terrible crimes the century has known. I could mention half a dozen which would be familiar to you. Up till now, Madame has alluded justice with a most remarkable ingenuity, but she cannot do so much longer. All my friend and I beg of you is to have nothing to do with her, and beyond all other things, not to put into her hands or into the hands of any of her confederates. One or more of the great secrets of bacteriology. You know, as well as I do, how omnipotent such powers would be in the hands of the unscrupulous. While I was speaking, Lockhart's red face became troubled. He wrinkled his forehead and knit his brows. What you have told me sounds almost incredible, he said at last. I suppose I ought to be obliged to you, but I scarcely know that I am. You have upset my confidence and sown doubt, where I must frankly say I had absolute faith. Since however you have spoken to me so frankly, it is but fair that I should tell you what I know of this matter. It is true that I did see an advertisement in the Times and reply to it, famous spectriologist as I doubtless am. I am also a poor man. Pure science as you know, Mr. Head, brings riches to none. I answered the advertisement and received almost immediately afterwards a letter from Madame Colucci, asking me to call upon her at her house in Wellbeck Street. She received me in her consulting room and put a few questions to me. I found her frank and agreeable, and there was nothing in the least sinister, either in her manner or in the disclosures which she was obliged to make to me. She soon perceived that I was adamantly adapted to carry out her requirements, said that she would give me the work if I care to undertake it, and on my promising to do so, proceeded at once to business. I cannot divulge the nature of the research which I am about to make on her behalf, as I am under a solemn vow not to do so, but I can at least assure you that it is a perfectly honorable matter. And the pay, well, the pay is so good that I cannot afford to lose it, but I'm Colucci is prepared to give me what may mean a small fortune. But I will tell you this, Mr. Head, if I find out that what you have just said is really the case, and I see the smallest likelihood of my information being used for dishonorable purposes, I shall withdraw. You cannot do more, I answered, and I am much obliged to you for listening to us so patiently. I respect the honesty of your purpose, he said. May I also beg that you will regard what I have just said as strictly confidential? The ghost of a smile flitted across his face. It passed almost immediately. I will, he replied. It seems hard to press you still further, said Defraher, but, short of abusing any confidence you may have made with Madam Colucci, would it be possible for you to keep us posted in what goes on? I think I may promise that also, and as a preliminary, I may as well say that I expect to leave town at a moment's notice on this very business. I do not know where I am going, for I have not yet received full instructions. It occurs to me, that if matters are really as serious as you think them to be, it would be as well for me to go, in order to make Madam Colucci show her hand. Yes, replied Defraher, you are right there, Mr. Lockhart. The interest involved are so enormous that we shall only be able to defeat our enemies on their own ground, but if you happen to be going to a lonely part of the country, do not, I beg of you, go unarmed, and also communicate freely with Mr. Head or myself. You need have no fear, as our agents and detectives will be ready and alert, and will follow you anywhere. Again that almost imperceptible smile passed across his face. Certainly to look at him, he did not appear to be a man to want much protection in case of a personal encounter. His huge frame towered above Defraher and myself, as he rose and conducted us to the door. Well, said Defraher, when we got outside, what do you think of it all? My own opinion is, he added, without waiting for me to speak, that we shall have them this time. Madam has not conducted this matter with half of her usual acumen. Her successes have rendered her thoroughly contemptuous of us. Depend upon it. She will soon learn her lesson. And what about Ms. Valencia Ward, I cried. From Lockhart's manner he seems to place absolute trust in her, and yet either there is grave mischief ahead of which we know nothing, or the girl is in Madam's pay. I have not the slightest doubt which way the balance lies, said Defraher, but Lockhart has been warned by us, and he is quite capable of looking after himself. We could not well betray Ms. Ward. Having neglected her advice, we show her very plainly that we do not believe the cock-and-bull story she tried to tempt you with. And yet the girl looked as if she spoke the truth, I answered. Ah, head! You were always influenced by a pretty face, said Defraher. Had Ms. Ward been old and wrinkled, you would have treated her cool attempt to impose upon you with the harshness it deserves. She was agitated and upset today at any rate, I replied. Beyond doubt it was nervousness at suddenly hearing our voices, which caused her to break that culture tube. Defraher said nothing further, and I went to my own house. All during the day which followed I could not get either Lockhart or his secretary out of my head, and more than once I congratulated myself upon having acted so promptly under Defraher's advice. Being opened Lockhart's eyes it was scarcely likely that he would be hoodwinked now, and if Madam herself did not fall into our hands in all probability some of her gang would. Between four and five on the afternoon of that same day, to my great astonishment Lockhart was shown into my laboratory. His fat face was redder than ever, and he was panting with excitement. Ah! he said when he saw me. I hope I am in time. Get ready quickly, Mr. Head!" He took out his handkerchief and began to mop his face. I have suddenly received orders to go down from Waterloo by the Five-Ten to Limington in Hampshire and to bring three broth-cultures of a certain bacillus with me. I am to be met at Limington by a boat. Beyond this I know nothing. During the day which has passed I have thought more than once of what you have told me, and I will confess that my suspicions are aroused. On receiving this sudden summons it occurred to me that if you were to accompany me we could see for ourselves what the matter really means, and perhaps be able to frustrate madam's plans. Can you manage to come? If so, we have not a single moment to lose. My cab is waiting at the door. By Jove, this looks really like business, I said, but I ought to let DeFrayer know. You have no time to do so now. We can barely manage to get the train by going straight off. If we reach Waterloo in time we can send your friend a telegram from there. True, I answered, I will go with you at once." Lockhart glanced impatiently at his watch. It is more than half-past four, he said. It will be a gallop to the station as it is. I considered for a moment. There was no time to pack anything, and I dared not lose what might be the opportunity that I had so long to meet. I ran upstairs, put on a Norfolk suit and travelling cap, and thrust a revolver into my pocket. I then joined my companion. Is there any chance of your being watched to see if you come down alone? I said, as our cab dashed along the Marleybone Road. Lockhart turned and stared at me without replying. I have not thought of that, he said at last. It is a possible contingency, I answered. I know the wariness of my enemy. Had we not better go down to Limington in separate carriages, when we get there it will be dark, and we can start off together without being observed. That would be a good plan, he replied. I will go third class. You can go first. The clock pointed to eight minutes past five as we dashed up the incline to Waterloo. We rushed for our tickets, and just as the doors were being closed we were running up the platform towards the train. As I flew past the third class compartments to my own more luxurious carriage, I fancied I saw in one, marked, ladies only, a face pressed against the window and watching me. It was the face of a woman with dark eyes. It appeared for a flash, and then disappeared behind a curtain. My heart sank with sick apprehension. If Valencia Ward were indeed following us to Limington there was no doubt whatever that she was one of Madame's accomplices. She knew that I had met Lockhart contrary to her warning, and was now doubtless, hurrying to Yarmouth to reveal the truth to Madame. The train sped on, and my thoughts continued to be both busy and anxious. The face with its dark eyes pursued me, turn where I would. I now regretted that a certain sense of honour had forbade my telling Lockhart of my suspicions that morning, and I determined to do so when we reached Limington. There was no change at Brockenhurst, and at half-past eight we drew up at Limington Pier. Pulling the collar of my Norfolk jacket well up, and drawing down my cap over my eyes, I stepped out. Lockhart passed me, pushed slightly against me in doing so, and slipped a note into my hand. I glanced at this at once. Go in the boat to Yarmouth, and then on to Freshwater. I am coming over in a private boat," he wrote. I looked up quickly. Already he was lost in the throng of passengers who had left the train. I had no opportunity to give him any warning. There was nothing for it but to obey his directions. Take a ticket to Yarmouth and hasten on board. In a few moments I found myself steaming down the river and out into the Solon. The sun had set, and the moon would not rise for an hour or two. I stood on deck looking back at the lights of Limington as they were reflected in the water. Suddenly I felt someone touch me. I looked round, and Miss Ward was by my side. "'You have disregarded my advice,' she said. "'You are in great danger. Don't land at Yarmouth. Take the return boat to Limington.' Her voice was so earnest, and there was such a ring of real distress in it, that try as I would I could scarcely treat her with the harshness which I thought her conduct deserved. You are a woman,' I began, but—' "'Oh, I know all that you think of me,' she answered. But the risk is too terrible, and my duty too plain, for any harsh judgment of yours to influence me. Go back. Go back while there is still time.' "'I cannot understand you,' I said. You warn me of some vague danger, and yet you allow Lockhart, the man who employs you, to run into what, according to your own showing, is a trap for his destruction. How can I respect you or believe your words when you act in such a manner?' "'I dare not tell you the whole truth,' she answered. I wish I had courage, but it means too much. Mr. Lockhart is in no danger. You are. Won't you go back? Won't you be guided by me?' "'No,' I said. Where he goes, I will go. His danger is mine also. Ms. Ward, you are implicating yourself in the queerest way. You are showing me all too plainly that you are on the side of—' "'You think that I am Madame Calucci's agent?' she answered. "'Well, there is only one way of saving you. I tried yesterday to do what I could. You would not be warned. When I heard your voice and that of your friend in Mr. Lockhart's dining-room this morning, my agitation was so great that I almost betrayed myself. On your behalf I have listened and watched and acted the spy all day. You can scarcely realize what my awful position is. But if you will not yield to my entreaties, I must tell you everything.' Just then a friend whom I happened to know and who lived at Yarmouth came up, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and drew me aside. He invited me to spend the night with him. But knowing that Lockhart expected me at Freshwater I declined his invitation. I was glad of the interruption, and kept by his side until we reached the pier at Yarmouth. I then looked around for Miss Ward, but she had disappeared. CHAPTER VII THE IRON CIRCLET I now hoped that I had escaped her altogether. I took a carriage and drove to the hotel at Freshwater, where I intended staying, until Lockhart communicated with me. I knew the place well, having spent many a summer holiday there in my young days. The hotel was nearly empty, the season not having yet begun, and I found myself the only occupant of the coffee-room. I ordered a hasty meal and was just beginning to eat when a lady dressed in black entered the room and sat down at a distant table. A waiter came up and asked if she wanted anything. She ordered a cup of coffee, which was presently brought to her. I do not think she touched it. I saw her slowly stirring it with her teaspoon. She raised her eyes and encountered mine. She was Miss Ward. I perceived she had followed me. My dinner became instantly distasteful. I took up a paper and pretended to read. In a few moments a waiter brought me a note. I tore it open. It ran as follows. I am staying here at a big house called the Towers, where the work is to be done. Come up path by cliff toward the gulf-links, we'll meet you there. We can talk alone and arrange our plans. This is a matter of life and death. I thrust the note into my coat-pocket and, raising my eyes, saw that Miss Ward had left her seat and come up to my table. You are to meet Mr. Lockhart on the path by the cliff toward the gulf-links? She said in an interrogative voice. I made no reply. If you go, I shall go also, she continued. By so doing I put myself into the most deadly peril. Will not the thought of my danger influence you? It is not necessary for you to go. It is for me," I replied. Miss Ward, I cannot understand your motive, nor why you persist in harassing me as you are doing, but I can only act on my own judgment and as I think best. Leave me now to my fate, whatever it is. I have my work to do and must do it. Then it will be as I said," she answered, you are imperiling your life and mine, but I have spoken, I can add no more. She left the room, closing the door after her. Making a great effort I tried to banish her words and her strange persistency from my mind. I put on my hat and started off. I went down the lawn, crossed the little front parade, and began to ascend the pathway. I walked on for about half a mile, along the edge of the cliff, looking to right and left for Lockhart. My mind was torn with conflicting thoughts. Should I tell Lockhart about Miss Ward, or should I forbear? Was there by any possibility some truth in the wild words of this girl who had followed me down to this lonely place on a quest of such evident peril? I had always prided myself on reading character well, and the straight glance of those dark and troubled eyes added now to my perplexity. She looked like one who was speaking the truth. Still, to believe her was impossible, for to believe her was to doubt Lockhart. I walked on, wondering that he had not yet put in an appearance. I was now close to the golf-links. Only I heard to my right, and not a long way off, the sharp cry of a woman. It came on the night breeze, once, twice. Then there was no further sound. I rushed in the direction from which the cry had come, and the next moment stumbled up against Lockhart. He spoke in an eager voice, but there was a tremble in it. They have got me down here on some cock-and-ball idea of analyzing the water supply," he exclaimed. But I interrupted. Did you not hear that cry, a woman in some sort of trouble? Did you not hear it? No. I can't say that I did," he answered. What is the matter with you, head? You look quite overcome. There was a sound just beyond you, as if a woman was in trouble. I continued. She cried out twice. Are you certain you did not hear her? Quite certain," he replied. But let us listen for a moment. If we hear it again, we must of course go to the rescue. We both stood still. The huge form of the bacteriologist was between me and the sea. Not a sound broke the stillness. The night was dark, but quite calm. The moon had not yet risen. Only the distant roar of the waves came up to us, as we listened. You mistook the cry of one of the numerous sea-birds about here for that of a woman," said Lockhart. But, be it woman or not, I am afraid we have no time to attend to it any longer. Do you know that the tubes I brought with me have been stolen? But I was too clever for my foes, whoever they are. I suspected mischief, and threw the real culture away while we were crossing the solent, and substituted plain broth in its stead. Now what are we to do? This is a very ill-protected place, and I believe there is only one policeman. We must stay quiet until the morning," I answered, and then get help from Newport. With our evidence they have not the ghost of a chance. But Lockhart, I have something painful to tell you. Your secretary. Valencia Ward? What do you mean? Oh, don't worry about her now. She is safe in London. We shall catch the whole gang by the first light, if we are wary. We continue to walk on and to talk in low voices. Now and then I observe that Lockhart glanced behind him. It was evident to me that he was in a state of extreme nervous tension. As for me, I could not get that startled and anguished cry out of my ears. I wish now that I had insisted on making a more thorough search when I had first heard it. Suddenly as we walked I caught sight of a low shed in a hollow. It was partly surrounded by broken trees. Let us make for that old golf-house," said Lockhart. It has been long unoccupied. We shall be safe from any observation there, and can discuss our plans in quiet. I instantly acquiesced. I had made up my mind to tell Lockhart all about Miss Ward. I thought that I could do so best there. We entered the dark shadow of the trees, and as we did so I detected a light between the chinks and the walls. I started back. Look! I whispered. The house is not unoccupied. They suspect us already. Let us go back. No time for that now! He answered, barely breathing the words. They were uttered so low. It is true. There is someone there—someone you would like to meet. Before I could move a step or utter a single cry he had flung me on the grass. His great hands clutched at my throat like a vice, and with all the weight of his huge body he knelt upon my chest and pinned me to the ground. The sudden violence of the attack, the awful conviction that Valencia Ward had indeed warned me of a terrible danger, and that I myself was the duped victim of some hideous plot, completely stunned me and paralyzed resistance. The cruel hands crushed my throat and light swam before my eyes. I felt dimly, without comprehending it, that my last hour had come. The earth seemed to recede away, and I remembered no more. When I returned to consciousness, I was lying on a rough deal-table inside the shed. I tried to move, but quickly discovered that I was both gagged and bound. By the dim light I could further see that I was surrounded by four men. They were all masked. Yes, at last I was in the clutch of the brotherhood. As I watched, too stunned to realize all the awful meaning of the scene in which I found myself. Another figure, also masked, slowly entered the room. It came forward and stood over me. My blood froze, for a pair of eyes of terrible power and satanic beauty looked into mine. I had seen them before, and even through the disguise of the mask I knew them. It was the voice of Madame Colucci herself that spoke. The words which now fell upon my ears I had heard from those same lips years ago in Naples. For a traitor to this brotherhood there is but one penalty, death. Then followed clear and concise words of the sentence. They were spoken in Italian, but the last words were English. And neither earth nor sea shall hold his body, but it shall be rent asunder between them. A dead silence followed the uttering of this sentence. Without a word two of the men lifted me in their arms and carried me out. One of them I felt certain by his size and bulk must be Lockhart himself. The little procession moved slowly down the path to Compton Bay just below. I now abandoned all hope. Madame Colucci had won and I had lost. I had indeed been the victim of the cruelest and most astute foe in the world, but Lockhart, Lockhart whom I had trusted, his name was well known in the scientific world. All men sang his praises. For was he not by his recent discoveries one of the benefactors of the race, and yet, and yet my dizzy brain almost turned at the thought, he was in reality one of Madame's own satellites, a member of the Brotherhood of the Seven Kings. I saw, when too late, the whole deadly trap into which I had walked. The advertisement had been meant to arouse my attention. I had been inveigled down to fresh water by means which only Madame Colucci could devise. Lockhart was my decoy. Why had I not listened to the words of the brave girl who had truly risked her life for me? That twice-repreated cry must have come from her lips. Without a doubt, in trying to follow me, she had been captured by our deadly enemy. Lockhart himself, in all probability, had done the deed. Had I not met him coming up the path, in the direction from which the cry had sounded, what ghastly doom was even now hanging over her head. While my heart beat wildly in my ears and my brain swam and my eyes were dizzy, wild thoughts such as the above came and flashed before me. Then there came a dizzying moment when all was blank, and then again the cloud was lifted, and Madame's sentence as she bent over me filled the entire horizon. Neither earth nor sea shall hold his body, but it shall be rent asunder between them, she had said. Death awaited me beyond doubt, but I had yet to learn what a lingering death was to be mine. We reached the sands, and I perceived lying at anchor within half a mile of the shore a small steam-yacht. So this was the way Madame and her satellites had come here, doubtless, when they had sealed the doom of their victims. They would sail away and never return. But where was the girl? She was certainly not in the old golf-house. What had they done with her? I was lifted into a boat. Four men took the oars, and Madame Calucci, still wearing her mask, sat in the stern and steered. Were we going to the yacht? No. The men pulled the boat rapidly along, beneath the white chalk cliffs that towered above us. It was high tide, and the water rose in crested waves against the face of the cliffs. Suddenly we headed sharply round, and the men, shipping their oars, shot the boat beneath an overhanging lip into one of the chalk caverns that abound along the coast. I knew that I was entering my tomb. One of the oarsmen now lit a torch, and I at once saw something floating on the water, which looked like some heavy box of lumber lashed together to form a sort of raft. From the roof of the cave a chain was dangling, at the end of the chain was an iron-circlet. Suddenly and without a word the ruffian seized me and placed me standing upright on the raft. They quickly lashed my feet to the heavy block of wood with a strong rope. Another man snapped the iron ring round my neck, and the next instant they had pushed the boat back out of the cave. As they did so I distinctly heard Lockhart's voice address Madame Calucci. The other boat is ready, he said. How long will it float? asked Madame. From two to three hours was the reply. We shall lasher to the bottom and— The boat turned the corner, and I lost the remainder of the sentence. For a moment or two I thought of it, but the awful scene through which I had just passed confused my thoughts, and soon all feeling was concentrated on my own awful position. My neck was fixed to the chain above, my feet to the timber in the sea below. The words of my terrible sentence burst upon me now with all their fiendish meaning. As the tide went down the whole weight of the raft would gradually drag my body from my head. The horror of such a fearful doom almost benumbed my faculties, and I stood as one already dead, being swayed up and down by the light swell that found its way into the cave. The moon rose presently, and its pale beam struck across my dungeon with a weird light. The moon that ruled the tide was to be a witness of her own work that night. I wondered vaguely how long I had to live, but Lockhart must have given me a violent blow when he felled me to the ground, and I was still more or less stunned. Slowly however, the cool air which blew into the cave revived me, and I was able more thoroughly to realize the position. I now perceived that the chain had at least two feet of slack. Thus the brotherhood had arranged to prolong my tortures. Was there the most remote possibility of escape? I laughed to myself, a horrible laugh, as the hopelessness of the whole thing rushed over me. And yet there was a mad, passionate desire to make up to Miss Ward for my want of faith in her, which brought sudden fire to my heart and awoke each intellectual faculty to its fullest. She also was doomed. In what way and how I had but the vaguest idea, but that her death was certain, I felt sure. If I could escape myself, I might yet save her. To rescue her now seemed to be the one important thing left to me in the world. I could only manage it by setting myself free. My hands were lashed behind me, but not I noticed very tightly. This was, my conquerors knew, unnecessary. For even with them free I could neither, on account of the ring of iron which held my neck, bend down sufficiently far to release my feet, nor drag myself up by the chain as my feet were secure to the raft, and the effort would be too tremendous. I should soon have to let go. I determined, however, to free my hands if I could, and at last with great pain and difficulty worked off the cords that bound my wrists. I then instantly removed the gag from my lips and felt a momentary sense of freedom. I stretched my hands impotently. Could they not in some way help me? My long scientific training enabled me now to think clearly and consecutively. The knowledge that on my life another and all probability depended spurred each endeavor to the highest point. This much at least was obvious. I could not stop the tide, nor release the iron ring from my neck, nor free my feet from the raft. But there was one thing just possible. Could it by any means be done? I grew cold with excitement as the thought struck me. Could I by any known means connect the raft with the slack of the chain above my head, and so let this connection instead of my body take the strain as the tide sank? If I could manage this, it might give time for possible relief to come. Surely it seemed a hopeless task, for I could not reach down my hands to the raft, but still I determined to make the effort, Herculean though it was. It would at any rate be better than the inaction of slowly waiting my doom. Each second the tide was sinking, each second therefore would render my task harder as it would diminish the slack of the chain. I rapidly unbuckled a strong leather belt from my waist, and tried to stoop down sufficiently far to slip the end of the belt beneath the ropes that bound my feet. It was useless. At my utmost stretch I could not reach the ropes. But stay, if only a big swell would come I might just slip the belt through the rope. I crouched as low as I could, waiting and ready. The precious time sped on. Suddenly I felt the raft dip deeply. I rose up to save my neck, and as the next wave lifted the raft high I crouched quickly down again and just managed to slip the strap under the rope and through the buckle before the swell subsided. It was touch and go, but I had done it. To connect the belt to the chain above my head was the next thing to try. I still had the cord that had bound my hands. One end of this I now lashed securely to the slack of the chain, but when I had done so I found that it was not quite long enough to reach the belt. I tore my strong silk scar from my neck and fastened it to the cord, and thus managed at last to bind the cord and belt together. As I looked at the extraordinary rope which I had made for my deliverance my hope sank within me, for I felt certain that it was far too flimsy. The strain on it would become greater and greater each moment, as the weight of the raft was thrown upon it. I seized the chain above my head with my hands. But I knew well that directly the connection gave way I should not be able to bear the strain on my arms for more than a moment, and when I released them I would be instantly strangled. The terrible time dragged on and the tide sank steadily lower and lower. I saw the silk scarf stretch and could hear the belt below creaking with the weight at each full of the swell. In a few seconds I knew it must go, and then all would be over. I closed my eyes. My hour had come. Madam had indeed won and I had lost. But what was that? What had happened? There was a loud crack and I was sprawling on the raft. One glance showed me what had taken place. The iron ring in the rock, which would have been amply strong enough to bear the strain of strangling me, had yielded to the combined weight of myself and the raft, which had been half-drawn out of the water. The ring had been suddenly torn from the rock. It was indeed a miraculous deliverance. For I did not believe the extemporary rope would have held another second. Yes, the worst danger was over, but I was still in an evil plight. I quickly unlashed my feet and then, with the ring of iron round my neck and the chain attached, sprang onto a projecting ledge of rock at the mouth of the cave. I saw to my joy that the fall of the tide was now on my side, for it had left me a means of regaining the sandy bay. Plunging and stumbling, sometimes neck-deep in water, I at last reached the sand and fell down, trembling with exhaustion. A dark bank of clouds had crept up and blotted out the moon. I struggled to my feet and looked out to sea. Where was Miss Ward? To go to her rescue now was my first and only duty. I gathered the long chain in my hand, and ran up the winding pathway to the summit of the cliff. My intention was to make my way with all possible speed across the downs to fresh water. I had gone but two hundred yards on the top of the cliff, when I saw a man coming to meet me. I hurried up to him, and saw to my joy that he was one of the Coast Guards. I quickly told him my story, pointing as I spoke to my dripping clothes and to the chain about my neck. The man was aghast, and stared at me with absolute amazement and horror. "'Well, sir,' he replied, and you think the young lady is in a similar plight?' I told him what I had overheard Madam Kaluci and Lockhart say. "'Then they have her in a boat and allowed her to drift with the tide,' said the man. The tide is running out, and what wind there is is from the east. I have been a Coast Guard here for more than twenty years, but I'm blessed if ever I heard such a tale as this before. "'We must save her,' I said. "'What is the quickest way in which we can get a boat? If anything is to be done, there is not a moment to lose.' The man considered for a moment without speaking. "'There is a jump down here for the summer,' he said. "'His name is Captain Oldham, and there is his yacht lying out yonder in the bay. Maybe he could let her go out again for such a thing as this. It's no use trying with a rowing boat. Captain Oldham has a searchlight on board, too.' "'Is he on the yacht now?' I asked. "'Yes, sir. He's sleeping on board tonight, for he has only just come in from a cruise. The luck is on your side now.' "'The very thing,' I cried, "'don't let us lose a single moment.' We ran down the road to the bay, and a few moments later my new friend and I were pulling rapidly out to Captain Oldham's yacht. As we approached, my companion hailed the man on watch, and the owner himself appeared as we scrambled up the ladder. In the presence of the Coast Guard I repeated my extraordinary story, the emphasis of my words and the iron ring round my neck carried conviction. "'And the girl missed her life for you?' said the old seaman, his eyes almost starting from his head in excitement. "'That she did,' I replied, and I treated her brutally. I refused to believe in her. "'And you have good cause to think they settled a drift in a leaky boat?' "'I fear so, and I want to search these waters without an instance delay.' "'It shall be done,' he cried. "'My God! I never heard of such devilish cruelty!' He turned and shouted his orders to the astonished engineer and crew. All possible haste was made, and I tried to control my own growing impatience in getting the search-light ready. I saw with satisfaction that it was one of the latest admiralty pattern, such as the steamers used in the Suez Canal. There was a powerful arc-light supplied from an accumulator. The moon had sunk, and it was quite dark now, but with this light not a speck on the sea would escape us within a radius of a mile. I went forward holding the light in its projecting apparatus, and in about ten minutes we were steaming out to sea. Regulating the apparatus with the handgear I began to play the great light to and fro in front of us. Two of the crew stood beside me sharply on the lookout. We had already passed the needles, but still there was nothing to be seen. Captain Oldham was at the wheel, and he now turned the yacht's head more determinedly out to sea. Mile after mile we went, without success. A hopeless despair began to creep over me. If that girl died I felt that I could never hold up my head again. Suddenly one of the men beside me sang out, Skiff on the port beam sir, hard, a starboard. The engine bell rang to full speed, and in a short time I saw that we were quickly bearing down on what appeared to be an empty boat, aimlessly drifting with its gunnail nearly down to the waterline. What did it mean? Was the girl really in the boat? Were we in time to save her? The yacht stopped, a boat was lowered, and the coast guard and I and two of the men pulled for all we were worth towards her. Lying at the bottom of the boat was the motionless form of a woman. Her head was just above water, her eyes were shut, and she looked like one dead. One glance at her face was sufficient to show me who she was. Was I in time to save her? We quickly released the thongs which bound the poor girl and lifted her into our boat. From there we brought her quickly to the yacht. Take the boat in tow, I cried to one of the men. We may get some evidence from her that will help us. This was quickly done, and we were soon steaming back to Freshwater Bay. Alas, however, my worst fears were confirmed. I was too late. All that was possible was done, but Valencia Ward never recovered. The shock and exposure had killed her. Thus my efforts on her behalf had proved unavailing. She had risked and lost her life for mine. I telegraphed to De Freyre early on the following morning, and he arrived at Freshwater at noon. To him I told my extraordinary and awful adventure. One of our first cares was to examine the boat. We then perceived what Madame's fiendish cruelty really meant. A hole had been made in the bottom, in such a way that the boat would take several hours to sink. Thus Valencia was also to be the victim of a lingering death. The name of the yacht to which the boat belonged had been carefully scraped off the side, thus obliterating any chance of obtaining evidence against Madame. End of Chapter 7.