Mrs. May sat among her flowers after dinner. She had dined well and was on the very best of terms with herself. It had been a source of satisfaction to see the body of her worst enemy laid to rest in the village churchyard that afternoon.

For years she had planned for the death of that man and for years he had eluded her. To strike him down foully had been too dangerous, for had he not told her that he was prepared for that kind of death? Had he not arranged it so that a score of savants in Europe should learn the truth within a month of his decease?

"And kindly fate has removed him for me," she said as she puffed with infinite content at one of her scented cigarettes. "There is no longer any danger. What have I to fear now from those wise men of the East? Nothing. They will see that Tchigorsky has died a natural death and will destroy those packets. I can act freely now."

A strange look came over the lovely face, a look that boded ill for somebody. Then the whole expression changed as Geoffrey entered. She had seen him that afternoon; she had asked him to come and he had half promised to do so. That Mrs. May hated the young man and all his race with a fanatical hatred was no reason why, for the present, she should not enjoy his society.

She was a strange woman, this Eastern, with a full knowledge of Western ways and civilization. She could be two distinct beings in as many minutes.

A moment ago she was a priestess thirsting for the blood of those who had defiled her creed, for the blood of those to the third or fourth generation, and almost instantly she was the charming hostess she would have been in a country mansion or a West End drawing room. She waved Geoffrey to a seat.

"I hardly dared hope you would come," she said. "But now you are here, make yourself at home. There are some of the cigarettes you liked so well and the claret purchased for me by a connoisseur. I never touch wine myself, but I know you men appreciate it after dinner."

Geoffrey took a cigarette and poured himself out a glass of the superb claret. The bouquet of it seemed to mingle with the flowers and scent the room. Geoffrey mentally likened himself to an Italian gallant upon whom Lucretia Borgia smiled before doing him to death.

Not that he had any fear of the wine. Mrs. May was a criminal, but she was not a clumsy one. She would never permit herself to take risks like that.

Nevertheless, it was very pleasant, for when Mrs. May chose to exercise her fascinations there was no more delightful woman. And there was always the chance of picking up useful information.

Mrs. May touched lightly on Tchigorsky, to which Geoffrey responded with proper gravity. Had Mrs. May known that Tchigorsky himself was not more than a mile away she would have been less easy in her mind.

"No more visions lately?" she asked.

"No more," Geoffrey replied. "But they will come again. We are hopelessly and utterly doomed; nothing can save us. It is to be my turn next."

Mrs. May started. There was an expression on her face that was not all sympathy.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

Geoffrey slowly extracted from his pocket a sheet of paper. He had discovered it in his plate that morning at breakfast time. Long and earnestly it had been discussed by himself and Ralph and Tchigorsky, and it had been the suggestion of the last-named that Geoffrey should find some pretext for mentioning it to Mrs. May.

"This was by my plate this morning," he said. "I don't mind showing it to you, because you are a good friend of mine. It is a warning."

It was a plain half sheet of note-paper, the sort sold in general shops at so many sheets a penny. The envelope was to match. Just a few lines had been laboriously printed on the paper.

"Take care," it ran. "You are marked down for the next victim; and they are not likely to fail. You are not to go on the sea till you hear from me once more; you are not to venture along the cliffs. If you show this to anybody I shall not be able to warn you again, and your doom will be sealed. – One who loves you."

That was all there was; nothing at the top or the bottom. Mrs. May turned this over with a puzzled face and a hand that shook slightly. Under her smile was another expression, the look of one who has been betrayed and is in a position to lay her hand upon the guilty person.

"You are fortunate to have friends with the enemy," she said. "But do you think you were wise to show this to me?"

She was playing with him as the cat plays with the mouse. It was a temptation she could not resist, feeling sure that Geoffrey would not understand. But he did, though he did not show it on his face.

"Why not?" he asked innocently. "Are you not my friend? Personally I believe it is a hoax to frighten me. You can keep that paper if you please."

"Then you are not going to take any notice of the warning?" asked Mrs. May.

There was a note of curiosity, sharp, eager curiosity, in the question. Geoffrey did not fail to notice it, though he shook his head carelessly.

"I am going to ignore it, as one should ignore all anonymous letters," he said. "If the writer of that letter thinks to frighten me, then he or she is sadly mistaken. I shall go on with my life as if I had never received it."

Mrs. May's lips framed the sentence, "The more fool you," but she did not utter it. It filled her with satisfaction to find that the warning had been ignored, as it had filled her with anger to know that a warning had been received. And Mrs. May knew full well who was the author of that letter.

"I don't think that I should ignore it," she said. "It may be a cruel piece of mischief; and, on the other hand, it may be dictated by a generous desire to help you. So the moral is that you are to keep clear of the cliffs and the sea."

Geoffrey flicked the ash off his cigarette and laughed. He poured himself out a second glass of the amazing claret.

"It is an unusual thing for me to do," he said, "but your claret is wonderful. You speak of the moral, I speak of the things as they are going to be. To-morrow I shall go out fishing alone as if nothing had happened."

"Ah, but you have not spoken of this?"

Mrs. May indicated the letter lying on the table. Geoffrey looked at her reproachfully.

"Have we not trouble and misery enough in our house without making more?" he asked. "Now, I put it to you as a lady of brains and courage, if you had been in my position, would you have shown that to your family?"

Geoffrey lay back in his chair with the air of a man who has put a poser. At the same time he had ingeniously parried Mrs. May's question.

As a matter of fact, nobody but Ralph and Tchigorsky had seen the paper. And the latter point-blank refused to give his reasons why the letter was to be disclosed to Mrs. May.

She looked at Geoffrey with real admiration.

"I shouldn't," she said. "Of course, you are right and I am wrong. And I dare say you will be able to take care of yourself."

He was going to disregard the warning; he was going out alone; and nobody knew what was hanging over his head! Here was a fool of fools, a pretty fellow to assist. Much good that warning had done.

Geoffrey rose to his feet.

"And now I must go," he said. "Still, I hope to come again."

The door closed, and she was alone. Hardly had he departed before a dark figure in a white robe crept out of the gloom of the garden into the room. Mrs. May looked at the ragged looking stranger fixedly.

"Who are you, and whence do you come?" she asked in her native tongue.

The man salaamed almost to the ground.

"I am Ben Heer, your slave," he said, "and I bring you great news."

"Oh!" Mrs. May said slowly; "and so you have come at last."

CHAPTER XXXVII
DIPLOMACY

Mrs. May crossed rapidly and noiselessly to the door and closed it. Not that there was any need for caution, seeing that the primitive household had been abed long ago. But precaution is never wasted.

There was coffee in the grate kept hot by means of a spirit lamp. Mrs. May poured out a cup and handed it to her guest.

She lay back in her chair watching him with a keen glance and the easy, natural insolence, the cruel cutting superiority of the great over the small.

The man stood, his hands thrust into the folds of his loose sleeves, a picture of patient resignation.

"How did you get here?" the princess asked.

"At the great house in London I asked, O mistress," Ben Heer replied. "I came over, as thou knowest, to do certain work. There was yet another one with me. And when my work was done I came on to tell what thy slave had accomplished."

"You have proofs of what you say?"

"Else I had not been here. For two years we have followed up the track of the victim. It was as if we had searched for one single perch in the whole of a great lake of water. But we never tired and never slept both at the same time. Then at last we got near, and it came to the knowledge of the prey that we were upon him. That was long before the last cold weather that nearly starved us."

The man paused and shivered. The princess nodded with careless sympathy. She had never tried a winter in England, but she could imagine what it was.

"He knew us at last," Ben Heer resumed. "He met us face to face in the public street, and he knew that his hour had come. A night later he was in Paris. At the same time we were in Paris also. He tried Rome, Vienna, Berlin. So did we. Then he came back to London again. When he did so we knew that he had bowed his face before the All-seeing, and prayed that the end might come speedily."

The princess followed all this with impatience. But the man was speaking after the manner of his kind and could not be hurried.

He would go on to the end without omitting a single detail and the princess was forced to listen. Despite the Western garb and the evidences of Western life and custom about her, she was no longer Mrs. May, but Princess Zara.

She had only to close her eyes and the droning intonation and passionless voice of the speaker took her back to Lassa again. And the day was near, ah! the day was near, when the goal would be reached.

"Once we had him and once he escaped," Ben Heer went on. "He was a brave man was Voski, and nothing could break down those nerves of iron. He knew that the end was near. It was in a big house – a house near to London – that we found him.

"There were servants, and they were glad to have their fortunes told. It was their evening meal on the table when we got there, and the man Voski Sahib was out. Then, behold, after that evening meal the servants slept till the dawn, and at midnight the master returned. He came into his study and the bright flash of the lightning came at the touch of his fingers."

"Electric light," the princess said impatiently. "Go on."

"Then he saw us. We knew that he had no weapon. The door we barred. Then Voski, he sit down and light a cigar, smiling, smiling all the time. When we look at him we see that he moves not so much as a little finger. There was no sign of fear, except that he look at a little box on the table now and then."

"Ah," the princess cried. "You got it, eh?"

Ben Heer made no direct reply. He was not to be hurried. He meant to describe a sordid murder in his own cold-blooded way. Probably he did not regard the thing as a crime at all; he had been acting under the blessing of the priests.

"'You have come for it?' he asked.

"We bowed low with respect, saying that we had come for it. He lay back in his chair, making a sign for me to approach. Previously we had told him that it was useless for him to call out to the servants."

"You did not tell those servants their fortunes in your present garb?"

"No, no, my mistress. We no such pigs as that… Sahib Voski bid me approach. My friend had the 'pi' ready on the cloth… It was held to the head of the other. And so he died peacefully in his chair."

"Ah, so you say. Where are your proofs?"

Ben Heer slowly withdrew a white packet from the folds of his dress.

"What better proof could the slave of my illustrious mistress have?" he asked. "It is here – the precious stone with the secrets of the gods written on it. Behold!"

With a slightly dramatic gesture a glittering fragment of something that looked like green jade was held on high. The princess grasped it eagerly and devoured it with her eyes. Words were pouring in a liquid stream from her lips; she was transformed almost beyond recognition.

"At last," she murmured, "at last! But the other one – your companion. How did he die? You say he is dead. How?"

Ben Heer shook his head sadly.

"I cannot say," he replied. "It might have been some scheme on the part of Sahib Voski. When we got back to our room in London we were both dreadfully ill. For days I lie, and when I get better they tell me my poor friend is dead and buried.

"Then I understood why Voski Sahib smile and smile in that strange way. It was witchcraft, perhaps, or some devil we do not know in the East – but there is the stone."

The princess was regarding the shining stone with a besotted enthusiasm that seemed grotesquely out of place with her dress and surroundings. Perhaps this suddenly flashed upon her, for she carefully locked up the stone.

"You have done well, Ben Heer," she said, "and shall not go unrewarded. The worst part of our task is over, the rest is easy."

"Then the princess goes not back to Lassa?" Ben Heer asked.

"Oh, not yet, not yet. Not till they are destroyed, root and branch to the smallest twig on the tree. I have not spared myself and I am not going to spare others. Yet there remain those of the accursed race yonder, the Ravenspurs. They know too much, they have that which I require. I will kill them off – they shall die – "

"As my mistress slew her husband when his life was of no more value to her?"

"Ah, so you know that. You would not reproach me, Ben Heer?"

"Does the slave reproach the master who keeps his carcass from the kennel?" Ben Heer asked, as he bowed low. "My mistress was right; her hands were washed whiter than the snow in the blood of the Christian. It was well; it was just."

"Then you shall help me, for there is much to be done. Take this ring. Place it on your finger and go to the others. They are outside waiting. Give them the call, thus."

The princess made a faint noise like the drowsy call of a bird and Ben Heer caught it up at once. He had heard it many times before. Then he slipped out like a cat in the darkness, and presently the call came from the gloom. A moment later it was answered and then all was still again.

Mrs. May, who had discarded the princess for a moment, closed her window, drew the blinds and lighted a cigarette. It was a glad night for her.

"So those two are out of the way," she murmured. "The road is clear at last – clear to the vengeance that must be mine. And with the vengeance comes the wealth that should make me a feared and dreaded power in the East. Give me but the wealth and Lassa shall be my footstool."

CHAPTER XXXVIII
GEOFFREY GETS A SHOCK

Ralph Ravenspur had wandered along the cliffs and Geoffrey had followed him. The latter came up to the blind man at the loneliest part of the rugged granite, and there for a time they sat. Ralph was graver and more taciturn than usual, till presently his head was raised and he seemed to be listening to something intently.

"What is the matter?" Geoffrey asked.

"Somebody is close to us," Ralph explained. "Somebody is creeping up to us in the gorse. Nay, you need not move. We are safe here on this bare ledge. There is one thing there is no cause to fear in dealing with these miscreants, and that is firearms. Weapons of that description make a noise and your Oriental hates noise when he is out on the kill. Ah, what did I tell you? Somebody is close by."

A figure rose out of the gorse, a slender figure with a ragged beard and brown face. The stranger crept along and dropped by Geoffrey's side.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "It is only I – Tchigorsky."

Geoffrey was astonished, though he had no occasion to be. Ralph took the matter coolly. "I expected something like this," he said. "I knew you would desire to see me, and that is why we came along the rocks."

Tchigorsky lay on his back puffing at a cigarette.

"Keep your eyes open," he said to Geoffrey. "One can't be too particular. Not that there is any danger, for I've sent those two wretches off on a wild-goose chase for an hour or two, and the she-devil is down with one of her blinding headaches. You wouldn't think she was a woman whose heart is in a weak state, eh?"

"I shouldn't have supposed she had one," said Geoffrey. "Have you seen her?"

"I was in her company for a long time last night," Tchigorsky explained. "I posed as one of the murderers of Voski; I gave her proofs of my success."

"The forged Garuda stone," Ralph chuckled.

"The same," Tchigorsky said gravely. "It was a magnificent forgery, and calculated to deceive those pious murderous old rascals at Lassa. At any rate, I am now deep in the confidence of the princess, and attached to her subordinates, who are pledged to assist in wiping out the Ravenspur family."

Geoffrey sighed involuntarily. He would have liked to know why this vendetta aimed at his family, but he knew that the question would be useless. Still, he felt that a great deal had been gained during the last few hours.

"Have you learned what the latest villainy is?" Ralph asked.

"Not yet. There is much uneasiness and alarm felt over the recent failures, and my dusky allies are getting a little frightened. For the next day or two I expect we shall lie low and plan some big coup.

"What I want to secure now are the princess' private papers. I know she has them and is in regular communication with the priests at Lassa. Give me these and I can expose the whole plot. Let me wipe these three people out, and then Lassa shall get a hint that will save further trouble from that quarter.

"A hint from the India Office that any more rascality will mean an expedition to Lassa and the destruction of their temples will suffice. But first I must have my proofs. Without proofs I am helpless."

"Find them," Ralph croaked; "find them. Never mind the scandal, never heed what people may say. Bring the matter home, hang those wretches, and we shall never more be troubled by this plague from the East. If I had my way I should shoot the whole lot."

"And be hanged for your pains," Tchigorsky replied. "Ah, my friend, there are serious flaws in the criminal laws of this fine country of yours. Patience, patience. I shall find out everything in time."

"There is one thing I am curious to know," said Geoffrey. "I want to know who was the girl on the cliff with Mrs. May that afternoon, the girl who has such an amazing likeness to Marion. Have you discovered that, Tchigorsky?"

"That is what I am trying to get at myself," Tchigorsky replied with great gravity. "It is one of the mysteries of the campaign."

Geoffrey said no more on the point, chiefly because he had no more to say. Yet it was haunting him now as it had done for some time past. It filled his mind as he made his way down the cliffs after luncheon. And then, to his surprise, as he gained the sands he saw a figure rise from the rocks and flit along the beach until it flashed round a distant point.

It was the girl who bore that surprising resemblance to Marion. She was dressed, as before, in a blue skirt and red tam-o'-shanter.

With a sudden impulse Geoffrey followed. His feet flew over the heavy sands, making no noise. As he turned the rocky point he saw no signs of the girl, but there on the beach with her sketch-book on her knee was Marion herself, so deeply interested in manipulating her water colors that she did not see Geoffrey till he hailed her.

"Did you see her?" Geoffrey gasped.

Marion smiled at his excited face.

"See whom?" she asked. "Oh, yes, some girl did pass me; but I was so busily engaged that I did not look up. How do you think my sketch is progressing? I have been at it all the morning. Vera made me a small bet that I should not finish it to day, so I am going to win my bet, or perish in the attempt."

Geoffrey was hardly listening. He recollected that there had been some little chaff at luncheon over some sketch, but he had paid little heed to the subject.

"It was the same girl," he said. "The girl so like you. Oh, Marion, how unfortunate you did not look up!"

"It was indeed," Marion replied. She appeared to be deeply interested. "I would have given anything to see her. But it is not too late. Put my materials in your boat, Geoff, and I will follow up the cliffs. I can't be very much use – I'm afraid – but at any rate I may solve this much of the mystery."

Geoffrey returned to his boat. It seemed very strange to him that Marion should not have seen the girl, and also that on each occasion these two should have been so close together without meeting.

Geoffrey pushed his boat out, got his sails up, and then stood out for the bay. It was very quiet, and no other boats were to be seen. One or two of the upper windows of the castle were visible from there, but no other signs of habitation.

The breeze freshened as Geoffrey reached the open sea. Some distance from him a pile of wreckage covered with a mass of seaweed floated on the water.

"I'll anchor here and get my lines out," said Geoffrey.

He luffed and as he did so a puff of wind filled the sail. The mast gave an ominous crack, and the whole thing snapped and went by the board. Geoffrey stared with widely open eyes. The wind was as nothing, barely enough to belly the sail. Then he looked down and saw that the mast had been almost sawn away. Somebody had cut it nearly through, so that the first puff would suffice.

Geoffrey felt vaguely alarmed and uneasy. He was a good four miles from shore and was an indifferent swimmer. The sea was too dangerous and rough for bathing. There might be further treachery. He sat down and pulled hard at the oars with the idea of returning to the beach again.

As he bent his back to the work, he toppled over the seat with two short stumps in his hands. The oars, too, had been sawed through and Geoffrey was helpless, four miles from land in an open boat, with no means of progress and nobody in sight.

The position was alarming. There would be nothing for it but to wait until some passing craft came along and picked him up. But the time went by without any sign of a boat and starvation might be the result. Nor was the position improved when it began to dawn upon Geoffrey that the boat was filling fast.

He saw that a large hole had been bored in the bottom and filled with some kind of substance that slowly dissolved in the water. With a tin dipper Geoffrey worked away with all his might, but he could only keep the water from rising higher, and knew that the exertion would soon tell upon him.

"Help!" he cried. "Help! help! help!"

He ceased to call as suddenly as he had begun. What was the use of calling so long as nobody could hear him? And why waste the breath that would be so precious to him later? He could not see that the mass of wreckage and seaweed had drifted close to the boat. He saw nothing till a line thrown into the boat struck him smartly on the face. He looked up.

"Can you manage to keep her afloat?" a hoarse voice came from the wreckage.

"For an hour, perhaps," Geoffrey replied. "Why?"

"That will do," said the other. "I've got a paddle here. Hitch the rope on to the nose of the boat and bail out for all you are worth. This is another of the princess's little tricks. I expected it. Only it hasn't turned out quite in the way that I anticipated. Now, bail away."

"Tchigorsky," Geoffrey gasped. "Tchigorsky!"

"Very much at your service. I rigged up this contrivance this morning and pushed off with it, not long before you came down. But never mind me. Stick to your dipper, and I'll tell you all about it when we are ashore."

It was hard and weary work for both of them, but it was accomplished at last. Geoffrey was utterly exhausted when the boat was safely beached, and Tchigorsky, too, felt the effect of his exertions. He lifted himself cautiously off his raft and made a dart for one of the caves.

Inside he had dry clothing, long flowing robes, wig, and hair for his face, pigments that changed the hue of one hemisphere to that of another. Geoffrey, limp and exhausted, watched the artistic transformation with admiration.

"It's wonderful," he said, "but then you are a wonderful man, Tchigorsky. How did it all happen? Who did it?"

Tchigorsky smiled as he touched up his face.

"It was inspired by a woman and carried out by a woman," he said. "I dared not warn you before you started, and indeed I expected further developments. But a woman doctored your boat for you."

Geoffrey started as an idea came to him.

"Was she young and good looking?" he asked "Dressed in – "

"Dressed," Tchigorsky smiled, "in a blue serge dress and a red tam-o'-shanter. I need not ask if you have met the lady before."