It was nearing dawn when Vera came to herself out of an uneasy slumber. The darkest hour that precedes the faint flush in the eastern sky was moving away. There was a light in the room.

Vera rubbed her eyes wondering. It was one of her fancies to have no light in her room. Better to lie with horrors she could not see than have the glimmer from a nightlight filling every corner with threatening shadows.

Vera sat up in bed, forgetting for the moment that she had a racking headache. Something had happened while she slept. Something was always happening in that house of fears, so that Vera was conscious of no new alarm. In a big easy chair at the foot of the bed Marion reclined, fast asleep.

Vera checked an impulse to wake her. In that miserable household sleep was the most blessed of all luxuries. Why, then, should Marion be disturbed? Doubtless she had come there to protect and, doubtless the girl would know all about it in the morning.

"I will not wake her," Vera murmured.

But she could not sleep herself. The splitting, blinding headache was very much in evidence just now. Vera felt that she would give anything for a glass of cold spring water. She poured out that in her own bottle, but it was flat and tepid.

She would go down into the stone-flagged outer kitchen, where the pump was, and get some fresh. In any case, she had not the least idea of going to bed again. Vera partly dressed herself, doing up her hair in a big shining knot, and then, in slippered feet, crept down to the kitchen. She had no need of a light – there was already enough to show the way.

How cool and refreshing the water was! She drank a glass and then laved her face in the crystal fluid. All headache was gone by this time, though Vera had a curious trembling of her lower limbs that she could not account for.

She opened a side door leading into a green quadrangle, and from there made her way to the terrace. For a few minutes she stood in a dark angle facing the house, just picked out, as it was, from the gloom. Along the dim corridor some one was advancing with a light.

What could it mean? What was going on? Vera crouched close into the dark corner. She had an idea that she was going to witness something.

The light in the corridor stopped and grew brighter. From the black shadow of the house a human figure crept out and slid along the terrace to a spot where it was just possible for a man of strong courage and cool head to make his way down to the beach at low tide. At high water the sea swept the foot of the cliff.

Vera strained her eyes to make out the figure. It passed so close to her that she might have touched the hem of the white diaphanous garment about it; a faint, sour kind of perfume was in the air. These swiftly flying feet made not the slightest noise. Vera guessed at once that this was one of the Orientals whom she and Geoffrey had seen along the cliffs on a memorable occasion.

She was not far wrong. If not the same, they belonged to the same noisome band. Almost before Vera could recover from her surprise another figure followed.

Vera watched with intense eagerness. Slight and frail though she was, she was not in the least afraid. She came from the wrong race for that. She had made up her mind to know what was going on even if she ran some danger in obtaining the knowledge. And what did that light mean?

She was soon to know. Presently another figure came along, a tall figure which in the gloom bore a strong resemblance to Tchigorsky. The figure wore boots and a European dress and did not seek concealment. By its side was yet another figure also clad in European dress.

"You say this is the place?" the latter man whispered in indifferent English.

"Yes, yes," was the reply, in still more indifferent English. "It is to this place that my master, Dr. Tchigorsky, bade me bring you. And there is the signal."

The light in the corridor waved again.

"I am not satisfied," the stranger muttered. "I am in great danger."

"But not here," the other said eagerly. "Nobody knows you are here. The princess has not the least idea of your presence. And Dr. Tchigorsky, my master, bade me hunt for you until I found you. And I have done it."

"Oh, yes, you have done it right enough. And Dr. Tchigorsky would not have sent for me unless there had been danger. But why not meet him in daylight in a proper and natural manner?"

The other spat gravely on the pavement.

"The doctor is a great man," he said. "He knows. Would you have your enemies to guess that you have seen my master? That is why I bring you here at night. That is why there is the great secret."

The tall man muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgment of the force and cogency of this reasoning.

"I dare say it is all right," he said. "Fetch your master."

The servant salaamed and departed in the direction of the house. He returned presently with the information that Tchigorsky had gone along the terrace. There was a summer house a little way off, where Tchigorsky waited.

Vera felt her heart beating faster. There was no summer house along the terrace – nothing but a broken balustrade that Rupert Ravenspur was always going to have mended. Over this there was a sheer drop to the sea below.

As the pair moved on, Vera followed. Then what followed seemed to happen in the twinkling of an eye. A white-robed figure emerged and flung himself upon the stranger. At the same time the other miscreant, who had acted as Tchigorsky's servant, attacked him from behind.

"You rascals," the stranger cried, speaking this time in French. "So I have been deceived. You are going to throw me over the cliff. There is no escape for me. Well, I don't much mind. The agony of suspense has taken all the sweetness out of life for me. I knew that sooner or later this was bound to come. But I am going to take a toll."

The stranger's breath was coming rapidly between his teeth. Vera tried to scream, but no sound emerged from her lips. She stood rooted to the spot, watching what seemed to her a long one-sided struggle. As a matter of fact, it had not lasted more than ten seconds. Gradually the stranger was forced back.

Back and back they forced him to the very edge of the cliff. There was no escape for him now. He reached out two long and swinging hands; he grasped two arms, one for each of his would-be assassins, and then he jumped backwards. Two fearful wailing yells rent the air; there was a mocking laugh, and silence.

Had she really seen this thing or had she dreamed it? Vera was not sure. Just for a brief moment her senses left her. When she came to herself again she crept along to the house and thence to her bedroom. She locked the door and flung herself upon the bed, pressing her hands to her eyes.

"How long will it last?" she murmured. "How long can one endure this and live? Oh, Heaven! is there no mercy for us?"

Then the blessed mantle of oblivion fell again.

CHAPTER XXXIV
EXIT TCHIGORSKY

It seemed to have been tacitly agreed by Geoffrey and Marion that nothing could be gained by telling Vera of the danger that she had escaped. Nothing could be gained by a recital of the dastardly attempt on the previous evening, and only another terror would be added to the girl's life. And, Heaven knows, they all had terrors enough.

On the other hand, Vera had made up her mind to say nothing to the family generally as to her startling adventures. Of course, Geoffrey and Ralph Ravenspur would have to know, but the rest were to be kept in the dark.

Vera's white face and serious air were accounted for by the headache from which she was palpably suffering. Some of the others understood, and they were full of silent sympathy.

"It is nothing," said Vera. "A walk along the cliffs will soon set me right." As she spoke she looked at Geoffrey significantly. He knew immediately that the girl had something important to say to him. He slipped outside and Vera followed him. Not till they were out of sight of the house did she speak.

"Dr. Tchigorsky is still about?" she asked.

"Yes, dear," Geoffrey replied. "As a matter of fact, he is hiding in Uncle Ralph's room. He has his own reasons for so doing, but the reasons are to remain a profound secret. I ought not to have told you. You are not to tell any one."

Vera gave a sigh of relief.

"I promise that," she said. "And I am exceedingly glad to hear that Dr. Tchigorsky is safe. I was not sure whether I had not seen his murder."

Geoffrey regarded Vera in amazement.

"Why, you were in your room all night," he cried. "You were – "

He was going to say "drugged," but he pulled himself up just in time. Vera told her story without further preamble. It was a thrilling story and none the less so because simply told.

"I don't profess to understand it," Vera concluded. "I tell it to you just as it happened. On the whole, I thought it as well to keep the information to myself. I dare say that Dr. Tchigorsky can solve the problem."

"He shall have a chance," said Geoffrey. "I'll tell him after luncheon. But I should not tell a soul else this, Vera."

"I had no intention, Geoffrey. And now, hadn't we better go back and say good-bye to Mrs. May. She is leaving the house directly."

Mrs. May did leave the house in the course of the morning, all smiles and blandishments. She had a particularly tender word and squeeze of the hand for Geoffrey, whom she pressed in a whisper to come and see her before long.

"I will," Geoffrey replied. "You may rely upon that."

It was with a feeling of intense relief that he was rid of her. It seemed hard to believe that the smiling polished woman of the world, the dernière cri of Western civilization, should be one and the same with the fanatic princess of the fanatical East.

There was something wild and bizarre about the very suggestion. There was one last smile for every one but Marion, who had not appeared, and Mrs. May was gone.

Geoffrey made his way up to his uncle's room. There he found the two friends smoking. Tchigorsky looked at him from behind a cloud of thin smoke.

"You have news, my young friend," said Tchigorsky. "I see it in your eyes."

"I have the most important news," said Geoffrey, "only it does not convey any impression to me. It is a discovery of Vera's. She had a fine adventure last night. She was not sure whether or not she had seen your murder, Tchigorsky."

"Say on," Tchigorsky said calmly. "Say on, my boy."

Geoffrey said on accordingly. He fully expected to surprise his hearers, and he was not disappointed. Every word he said was followed with rapt attention.

"And now can you explain it?" Geoffrey asked eagerly.

"To me the explanation is perfectly clear," Tchigorsky replied. "Last night I told you that there were two other parties to the vendetta now in England, and that it was necessary to get them into the net before we close it. That is no longer necessary, for the simple reason that these two men are dead – drowned."

"Do you mean that they perished with that stranger last night?"

"Certainly, I do. A fine determined fellow, whose death I cannot sufficiently deplore. And he had his vengeance upon his foes. If he perished, they perished also."

"But who was he, Tchigorsky?"

"The other man – my fellow-countryman, Voski. Don't you remember my telling you how the princess spoke of him? He has been hunted down at last. They lured him here and destroyed him under the pretence that I wanted to see him. My presumed servant had only to mention my name, and the thing was done."

"But why bring him here?"

"Because the place is so quiet. Because they wanted to give their mistress, the princess, a pleasant surprise. I don't suppose she knew they were coming."

"But the light in the corridor?"

"That was a curious and useless coincidence. The light in the corridor was mine. I was looking for something. Neither of those miscreants was ever in the house at all. At the same time they had naturally been informed where I was. To-day they would have gone to their mistress with the pleasing news that they had despatched Voski. I am certain they were saving the news for her."

"What shall you do about it?" asked Geoffrey.

"I shall not do anything at present," Tchigorsky replied. "I have a little idea that may work out to our advantage later. Meanwhile nobody knows of the tragedy and nobody is to know. This afternoon you are going out fishing in a boat, but in reality you are going to look for their bodies. If you can find them all – "

"We are certain to find them all," Ralph interrupted. "They will be carried round Gull Reef on the spit of sand under the caves and deposited on the beach, whence the tide ebbs at four o'clock to-day. I have not lived here all my life for nothing. We shall find those bodies within a yard of where I say."

"And bring them up the cliff," Geoffrey shuddered. "Ugh!"

"You will do nothing of the kind," Tchigorsky said coolly. "Bring Voski, of course, but you are to bury the two ruffians in the sand. It will be easy to do so, and pile some rocks over them afterwards."

Geoffrey ventured to suggest that such a course might end disastrously, the officers of the law not to know of it. Tchigorsky waved the suggestion aside contemptuously. It was no time for nice points like these.

"Those foul creatures are dead, and there is an end of it," he said. "What can it matter whether there is an inquest held on them or not? If it is, then there will be an end of my scheme. I say you must do this. The future happiness of the family depends upon it. It is also of the utmost importance that Princess Zara does not know of the death of her miscreants."

Geoffrey nodded. He began to see daylight. And, after all, the concealment of these bodies was no crime.

"What do you say, Uncle Ralph?" he asked.

"Say that Tchigorsky is right," Ralph croaked; "Tchigorsky is always right. When we get Voski's body, what shall we do with it?"

"Lay it out in the corridor, where I can get a look at it," said Tchigorsky. "For the present I do not exist – at least, so far as this house is concerned. All you have to do is to follow my directions."

The strange pair set out on their excursion in the afternoon. It was a long pull from the village to the cliffs, but it was accomplished at length. The boat was run aground at the least dangerous spot and Ralph and Geoffrey set out along the sands. The former's step was as free and assured as that of his younger companion.

"Ah," Geoffrey cried, "you are right. There they are."

"I knew it," Ralph replied. "See if they are injured."

Geoffrey steeled himself to his gruesome task. The three men lay side by side as if they had been placed so by human hands.

As far as Geoffrey could judge, there were no signs of violence on the bodies of either of the natives. They lay by each other, their faces transfixed with rage and horror.

Beyond doubt, these men had been drowned, sucked down by the strong current and then cast up again by the sea as if in cruel sport.

"No hurts on either," Geoffrey muttered.

"It is possible. Look at the other one."

Geoffrey did so. He saw a face fixed with a grim smile, the smile of the man who can meet death and knows how to punish those who injure them. The face was seared and criss-crossed just like Tchigorsky's and Ralph Ravenspur's; indeed, with its strange disfigurement the dead Russian would have passed for Tchigorsky.

The face was black and swollen from an ugly bruise in the forehead. Had not he known the truth, and had any one told Geoffrey that Tchigorsky lay there, he would have believed it.

A spade had been placed in the bottom of the boat, and with it two deep graves were dug in the sand. Into them the bodies of the Orientals were cast; the sand was made smooth again, and a layer of heavy rocks laid on the top. The body of the Russian was conveyed to the boat and thence to the house.

There was nobody to see the mournful entry. All the family were on the terrace. A startled servant or two came forward and gave the necessary assistance to convey the body to the dimly lighted corridor.

"Go to the village and fetch the constable," said Geoffrey. "We have found a dead body on the beach."

The servant went off; the gallery was deserted. In a few minutes the family would be in the house again, and the story would have to be told. Tchigorsky looked cautiously from his hiding place.

"Is the coast clear?" he asked.

"Perfectly clear," said Geoffrey.

Tchigorsky came forward. For a long time he examined the body. The regret on his face was tempered by a gleam of grim satisfaction.

"It is very like you," said Geoffrey.

"It is me," Tchigorsky whispered. "You are to recognize it as me. The idea is that I fell over the cliffs in the darkness and was drowned. I will explain later. Somebody comes."

Tchigorsky darted off as Marion appeared. She looked white and agitated.

"Another horror," she said. "Sims just told me. Who is it?"

"I regret to say it is Dr. Tchigorsky," said Ralph. "He must have walked over the cliff in the darkness. See here."

Marion bent over the body with a shudder.

"Poor fellow," she said tenderly. "Tchigorsky beyond a doubt."

Ralph turned away, as if in grief. But the grin on his face was the grin of Mephistopheles.

CHAPTER XXXV
MRS. MAY IS PLEASED

Geoffrey was fain to confess that he couldn't quite follow. He turned to Ralph, who once more had recovered his old expression – an expression tinged with profound regret. From the hall below came the tones of Rupert Ravenspur demanding to know what it was all about.

"Go and tell your grandfather," Ralph said quietly. "Everybody who comes near us is fated, it seems. Poor Tchigorsky is no more. He was a mysterious man, and wonderfully reticent as to his past life, but he was the most interesting man I ever met. But I shall never hear anything more about Tibet."

"He was a very old friend of yours?" Marion asked.

"Not so very old," Ralph replied. "And I should hardly call him a friend. We were mutually interested in certain scientific matters. But as to the marvelous side of things he told me nothing."

Speaking by the letter this was perfectly true. Tchigorsky had told Ralph nothing, for the simple reason that they had learned and suffered together.

"Then why did he come here?" Marion demanded.

"To try to solve the mystery. He declared that Orientalism was at the bottom of it. But we shall never know now. Tchigorsky is no more, and such knowledge as he may have possessed has gone down to the sea with him."

Marion turned away with a sigh. Slight as their acquaintance had been, she had been drawn to Tchigorsky, she said. Strange that whoever tried to help the house of Ravenspur should come under the ban.

"But Tchigorsky was drowned," said Ralph.

"No, indeed," Marion replied. "Oh, I know there are no signs of violence on the body. I know how dangerous the broken balustrade is; but I have my opinions all the same."

"You are wrong in this case," Ralph said, as he walked away.

Presently other people began to arrive. For the first time for many years Ravenspur was invaded by strangers – a policeman or two, a fussily polite inspector, a journalist with a colleague, pushing everywhere. They would have interviewed Rupert Ravenspur, but the cold glitter of his eye awed even them.

The police let Ralph alone, but Geoffrey was subjected to severe questioning. On the whole he came out of the ordeal better than Ralph had anticipated.

"You managed that very well," he said.

"I feel horribly mean and guilty. All these prevarications – "

"Call them lies, if you like," Ralph put in coolly. "It doesn't matter. Think of the good cause. If ever the end may justify the means it is here. You are deceiving only our enemies; you are injuring nobody. And you are giving Tchigorsky a heaven-sent opportunity."

"I doubt it, uncle. Clever as Tchigorsky is, well as he may disguise himself, he will fail. Did not Princess Zaza pick you both out at Lassa?"

"That was not quite the same thing. Remember she knew beforehand that we were going to make the attempt to reach the holy city. She allowed us to go so far because she is naturally a cruel woman. Moreover, all the time her spies had been dogging our footsteps.

"Before nightfall she will firmly believe Tchigorsky to be dead, which is a great point in his favor. She does not know that her other two miscreants have met with a deserved fate. Tchigorsky will go to her, passing as one of them, and will tell her a wonderful tale as to how he and his ally compassed Voski's death. He will tell how that death entailed the death of his companion."

"It is a fearfully dangerous position."

"Oh, it is. But Tchigorsky will not mind that. He loves danger for its own sake. And he will be able to act the character to the life. He speaks the language perfectly; he is up to all the rites and ceremonies. Tchigorsky will not fail."

The inquest was appointed for the afternoon. It was not likely to last long, and the verdict in the minds of most people was a foregone conclusion. Tchigorsky had walked out into the darkness, he had stumbled over the cliffs, and there was an end of the matter.

Meanwhile the police seemed to have taken possession of the house. And all the time Tchigorsky was seated in a comfortable lounge in Ralph's room, smoking cigarettes and making plans for the future.

Geoffrey had gone out after luncheon. He would not be wanted for a full hour and resented the vulgar curiosity of these strangers. Already some of the jury had arrived, and were critically examining the broken balustrades with an owl-like wisdom which, in other circumstances, would have been amusing.

Geoffrey walked along up the slope toward Jessop's farm. He met a small governess cart drawn by a donkey coming down the hill. In it was Mrs. May driving slowly along. She pulled up as she saw Geoffrey and held out her hand. Her face was very clear and bright to-day.

"You see, I have already adapted myself to circumstances," she said when Geoffrey had asked politely and feelingly after the injured foot. "The donkey and I are old friends and Jessop got the cart for me. So I am all right. By the way, what is it I hear about your finding a body down on the sands?"

"It is quite true," Geoffrey said gravely. "The body of Dr. Tchigorsky."

"Tchigorsky! Dr. Tchigorsky! Do you really mean that?"

The smooth, velvety voice had risen to a hoarse scream. Disappointment, joy, relief danced across the woman's gleaming eyes. For the moment she seemed to forget that she had a companion.

"What a dreadful thing!" she said, catching her natural voice again. "How did it happen?"

Geoffrey gave her the details without flinching.

"It was a bit of shock for us," he said, "but we are accustomed to them. Of course it will be brought in that the poor fellow met with an accident, but there is not the slightest doubt that the poor fellow was murdered."

"Murdered! Why should you say that?"

"I don't know. Of course I have no evidence. But Tchigorsky chose to interest himself in our affairs, and he has paid the penalty. That was exactly what Marion said when she saw the body."

"So that poor child actually saw the corpse! How terrible!"

"Marion did not seem to mind. She is small and slender, but has courage and resolution."

Mrs. May nodded. She had received information that was a long way from being distasteful to her. She plied Geoffrey with questions as to what Tchigorsky had said and done, but Geoffrey evaded them all. Tchigorsky had said nothing; he had hinted vaguely at what he was going to do.

"I knew him years ago," said Mrs. May.

"Oh, indeed!" Geoffrey replied. "He never mentioned that."

Mrs. May drew a long breath. Evidently she had nothing to fear. Her arch-enemy had gone to his account, leaving no mischief behind. Sooner or later the man would have had to be removed; now he had gone away, saving all the trouble. Really, it was very considerate of Tchigorsky.

"You might come to the inquest and say he was a friend of yours," said Geoffrey.

Mrs. May looked at him sharply. Had she said too much or did he suspect? But Geoffrey's eyes were clear and innocent of meaning. Mrs. May shuddered. These kind of horrors made her ill, she said.

"Pray do not mention that fact," she implored. "It can do no good and it may cause a great deal of harm."

Geoffrey disclaimed every intention of making mischief. Besides, as Mrs. May pointed out, there was his uncle Ralph. Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders.

"It is a hard thing to say," he murmured, "but my poor uncle's testimony would not carry much weight. That accident he had some years ago injured his brain. But he is harmless."

Mrs. May exchanged a few more or less banal remarks with her companion and drove on. She had got nothing out of Geoffrey, but he had baffled her and, what was more, had succeeded in lulling a set of lively suspicious to sleep.

The inquest turned out as he had anticipated. The suggestion of foul play was never raised. A surgeon testified to the fact that the deceased met his death by drowning, and that the injury to the face was doubtless caused by a fall on the rocks. Beyond that the condition of the body was normal.

Geoffrey's evidence was plain and to the point. He had little to say. He repudiated the suggestion that the family enemy had had anything to do with the thing. Dr. Tchigorsky was merely a passing visitor; he had met with an accident, and there was an end of the matter. It was impossible to say more than that.

Then, to the manifest disappointment of those who had come prepared to be thrilled with sensational details, the inquest was over almost before it had begun. Directed by the coroner, the jury brought in a verdict of "Found Drowned, but how the deceased came by his death there was no evidence to show." Rupert Ravenspur rose from his seat and ordered the servants to clear the house.

"See that they are all out at once," he said. "Half an hour ago I found two women – ladies, I suppose they call themselves – in the picture gallery with guide books in the hands. Really, there is no sense of decency nowadays."

The curious crowd were forced back and once more Ravenspur resumed its normal aspect.

"I will see to the burial," Ravenspur said. "The poor man seems to have no friends. And I feel to a certain extent guilty. Geoffrey, you will see that all proper arrangements are made for the funeral?"

Geoffrey bowed his head gravely.

"Yes, sir," he said. "I will see to that."