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Title: The Grassleyes Mystery
Author: Oppenheim, Edward Phillips (1866-1946)
Date of first publication: 1940
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1940
Date first posted: 15 December 2012
Date last updated: 15 December 2012
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1023

This ebook was produced by
David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






                        THE GRASSLEYES MYSTERY

                       By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM


    McCLELLAND AND STEWART, LIMITED
    PUBLISHERS              TORONTO

    _Copyright, Canada, 1940_
    BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

    PRINTED IN CANADA

    T. H. BEST PRINTING CO. LIMITED, TORONTO




THE GRASSLEYES MYSTERY




CHAPTER I


Mr. Frank Woodley looked up from the ledger which he was studying, rose
to his feet and approached the mahogany counter behind which he and his
desk were entrenched. He was an elderly man with unkempt grey hair, a
tired expression and various irregularities of toilet accounted for by
the heat wave then prevailing from the Estrels to Monte Carlo. Business
was uncertain at this time of the year with the firm of Spenser & Sykes,
the well-known house-agents, and Mr. Woodley, the manager, scarcely
expected a client of interest.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he enquired of the caller who had summoned
him.

The latter leaned a little forward. His back was towards the door,
through which the sunlight was streaming. He was a lean,
broad-shouldered man of apparently between thirty and thirty-five years
of age, with firm features, clear grey-blue eyes and resolute
expression.

"I am looking for an apartment," he announced. "I do not wish to go to
an hotel. I would not consider an ordinary boarding-house. But I should
prefer some sort of service."

"In the town of Nice?" Mr. Woodley asked.

"Certainly not," was the concise reply. "I wish to be somewhere within a
twenty-mile radius of either Nice or Cannes, but I also wish to be
entirely in the country. I have a great deal of research work to do and
it is my habit to seek as much seclusion as possible."

The manager scratched his chin thoughtfully. His visitor's calm,
decisive manner of speech was in its way impressive, but his appearance,
when closely studied, was a little puzzling. He was a youngish man and
looked like a worker, Mr. Woodley decided. He certainly had not the air
of a pleasure seeker or a lounger through life.

"What name, sir?" he asked, drawing a printed form towards him.

The other hesitated.

"Is it necessary for me to give my name before you can tell me whether
you have anything likely to suit me?"

"It is usual, sir."

"My name is Granet, then. David Granet."

"And your nationality?"

"British."

The manager returned to the desk at which he had been seated and turned
over some leaves of the opened ledger.

"We have any number of apartments to offer," he confided, bringing over
the volume and laying it on the counter. "Quite half of these are in the
country or in the suburbs. Do you wish a farm or garden?"

"Nothing that requires outside service. I want quietude and reasonable
proximity to the sea, if possible."

"Might I ask what price you are willing to pay?"

"If I can find what I am looking for price is not a matter of import. I
do not want the trouble of housekeeping. I do not desire the company of
my fellows. I wish, in short, to pursue my own life in my own fashion."

Mr. Woodley looked his possible client up and down. Again he scratched
his chin thoughtfully.

"Of course I don't know, sir," he said, "but there are one or two farms
up in the mountains where they let off part of their premises to
boarders, but they none of them speak any English--"

"I can speak French," the other interrupted, "but, as I have already
told you, I do not wish to be a boarder. I possess a small car so I have
no objection to being some little distance away."

"There is the Manoir of Lady Grassleyes, of course," the manager
reflected, taking off his pince-nez and wiping the lenses.

"Well what about it?"

"Lady Grassleyes is a widow whose husband was in the Indian Civil
Service. She has a rather lonely but very beautiful estate about thirty
kilometres away. It is entirely in the country and is at least twenty
kilometres from the sea."

"If it is a guest house it would be no use to me."

"It is not a guest house in the ordinary sense of the word," the manager
said. "Lady Grassleyes has built six bungalows in the woods around the
Manoir. Each is provided with the ordinary accessories of life. You can
either have your own servant or be looked after from the Manoir and have
your meals sent down from there. There are no public rooms and the
inhabitants of the bungalows are only expected to visit the Manoir on
business or by special invitation."

"Are any of the bungalows let?"

"Most of them, I think, sir."

"What rent does Lady Grassleyes ask?"

"The rent of the one I am offering you, including use of furniture,
crockery, plate and linen, is eight _mille_ a month."

"That seems a good deal, but I should like a card of inspection," Granet
decided.

"We have none, sir. If you thought seriously about the place you would
have to apply at the Manoir. Lady Grassleyes does not care to let one of
her bungalows until she has had a personal interview with the
applicant."

David Granet scoffed audibly.

"What business is it of hers who I am so long as I pay my rent and keep
to myself?" he demanded. "I can give you a banker's reference, of
course."

"I am sorry, sir," the manager regretted. "Lady Grassleyes' instructions
are definite. She will only let after a personal interview. The
bungalows, you will understand, although they have been carefully built
out of sight of the Manoir, are in the park. Madame offers privacy to
her tenants. It is not unnatural that she should require to know
something about them. If you would care for the address--"

"Hand it over."

"I have not only the address, sir," Woodley pointed out as he took a
card from a drawer, "but you will find here a small plan which shows
you the route to be followed. I hope that we shall hear from you again."

David Granet nodded.

"You certainly shall, one way or the other," he promised as he pocketed
the card and turned away.

       *       *       *       *       *

Outside, the Promenade des Anglais was thronged with the usual half-clad
crowd of bathers and loungers in pyjamas, shorts and every variety of
beach suit. The blazing sun flashed upon a million wavelets; heads
bobbed here and there in the sea; speed-boats were darting about in
every direction. David Granet paused for a moment, looking across the
road at the gay scene. Then he walked a few paces and stepped into a
formidable-looking roadster which was parked against the kerbstone. He
glanced at the card which he had drawn from his pocket, handled his
starting button and gears with the air of an expert and within half an
hour was gliding up the very attractive private way which led to his
destination. The Manoir itself was an exceedingly picturesque stone
building of Provenal type, red-tiled, admirably restored and set in the
midst of precipitous terraces of blossoming shrubs, climbing roses and
dark cypresses. He could see no definite trace of the bungalows but the
park was everywhere dotted with coppices and small woods which afforded
excellent shelter for buildings of that kind. He drew up before the
heavy front door of the Manoir with its wrought-iron clampings and
huge-ringed handle, alighted from the car and rang the bell. For a
moment or two nothing happened. He heard the deep, mellow echoes of his
summons die away in the distance. Then he was suddenly aware of a
curious sound--the sound of pattering footsteps upon a stone floor. They
came nearer every second. David Granet, who was a man accustomed to
unusual situations, felt a slight tension of his limbs. The patter of
footsteps ceased, the door was smoothly opened. In place of the
breathless servitor he had imagined, a carefully dressed butler, wearing
a white-linen coat and black trousers, with smooth-shaven, dusky
complexion and the slightly oblique eyes of the Oriental, stood looking
at him gravely.

"Is Lady Grassleyes at home?"

The man bowed. He held the door a little wider open.

"If monsieur will enter--" he invited. "The name, if you please?"

"Does it matter about my name?" Granet asked, stepping across the
threshold. "I have called about one of the bungalows on the estate which
I understand is to let."

The man smiled suavely.

"Milady will prefer to receive your card."

Granet drew a case from his pocket, took out a card and handed it to the
man, who, without glancing at it, placed it carefully in the middle of a
silver tray, ranged with several others upon a black-oak chest. He
pointed to a straight-backed chair which stood against the wall.

"If gentleman will seat himself I will seek milady. Sometimes it is her
pleasure to let a bungalow. Sometimes she finds them all full. If
gentleman will please wait?"

Granet looked at him with searching eyes.

"You speak English very well."

"Either English or French, whichever monsieur desires," was the smooth
reply. "If gentleman will be so kind as to sit down?"

Granet did as he was bidden. He watched the butler cross the spacious
hall with its rough stone walls and disappear, walking now in slow and
dignified fashion, down a long passage. There was no suggestion of haste
about his movements. Granet looked after him with a puzzled frown upon
his forehead. He recognized the type without difficulty. The man was
without a doubt half Malayan, half Chinese from the northern provinces.
But his neck was short, his body almost corpulent. He showed no signs of
one likely to be fond of exercise yet those pattering footsteps had been
the footsteps of a trained runner. Granet, on the whole a matter-of-fact
person, shrugged his shoulders and left the puzzle to solve itself.
Indeed, he had no alternative. The butler had returned and was bowing
before him.

"Milady will see gentleman," he confided smiling. "Please to follow."

Granet rose to his feet and followed his squat but dignified guide
across the stone hall, down the passage until they arrived at a
black-oak door. The servant threw it open, standing on one side to allow
Granet to pass.

"The gentleman to see bungalow, milady," he announced.

He disappeared, closing the door behind him. Granet made his way across
the long room, austere and melancholy in its furnishings, but, as he
could not fail to notice even in those few moments, filled with some
very beautiful Provenal pieces. At a writing-table at the end of the
room a woman was seated in a high-backed chair. She was wearing a
black-silk dress buttoned up to her throat. Her hair was also black,
streaked with grey; she was thin, almost angular; she wore steel-rimmed
spectacles; her head had fallen a little forward as though she were
asleep. Granet halted a few feet from the desk and looked at her with
growing curiosity.

"Lady Grassleyes," he said quietly, "my name is Granet. I have called to
see you about one of your bungalows."

Even as he spoke, however, he knew that with whomever he might discuss
the matter of this bungalow it was improbable that it would ever be with
the woman at the writing-table. She had not looked up as he had spoken
or offered him any sort of welcome. He was a man of swift perception and
from the first he felt convinced that she was dead.




CHAPTER II


Doctors, gendarmes, the Sub-Commissioner of Police from Nice, the matron
of a neighbouring hospital, nurses in the garb of Sisters of Mercy, the
_Cur_ from the church which stood in the grounds--all finished with at
last. It seemed to David Granet that he had explained his visit to a
dozen different people, but there were still statements to be made and
questions to be answered. At last he managed to escape and make his way
to the spot where he had left his car. He was about to press the
self-starter when he heard the sudden fluttering of skirts. He turned
unwillingly around. He was confronted by a young woman who had
apparently issued hurriedly from the house. In her distracted state,
with the horror still in her eyes, he scarcely realized for a moment
that she had been one of the little gathering of people who had been
questioned by the Sub-Commissioner. Then he remembered his first start
when in answer to a question she had admitted that she was Lady
Grassleyes' niece. She was a young woman of a very different type, and
she was very beautiful.

"Mr. Granet, if you please," she begged, "do not go away for a moment.
May I speak to you?"

"Certainly," he answered. "I was only hurrying off because I thought
there was nothing left for me to do--"

"Is it true," she interrupted breathlessly, "that you came to see about
taking one of the bungalows?"

"Well, it was rather my idea," he admitted. "I was going to look at one,
at any rate."

The girl shivered.

"Please come back into the house for a moment or two."

"Certainly."

She led him back into the hall, down the long corridor and into a small
apartment which seemed to be behind the room into which he had
originally been shown, and from which it was separated by two steps and
a closed door. It was evidently her own sanctum. The most modern thing
he had seen in the place, a typewriter, stood on a prim little
writing-table in the window recess, and opposite was a small-sized grand
piano. There were flowers everywhere in abundance. She forgot to ask him
to sit down. Immediately she had secured the door she began to talk to
him. There was subdued excitement in her tone, speculation in her eyes.

"Mr. Granet," she asked, "what really made you come here to-day?"

"My dear young lady, I have told you already," he declared. "I have been
wandering about France in my car and I thought I would find a very quiet
spot in which to work for a time. I am one of those people, you see, who
appreciate tranquillity."

The girl looked at him curiously. Their eyes met. She was still under
the stress of emotion, her breasts rising and falling as though she had
been hurrying. Her puzzled but tortured eyes seemed to be asking him a
question.

"Tranquillity," she murmured. "It is a hard thing to find. I thought
that I should find it here--and now--this."

"Your aunt's sudden death must have been a great shock to you, of
course," he said sympathetically.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Anything like that is always terrible," he went on quietly. "I think I
heard you tell the doctor that you had never known her ill."

"Never," she replied. "On the contrary she has had, for the last few
years, wonderful health. She took great care of herself, lived according
to a rgime of her own, concocted her own medicines all from herbs of
her own growing, and never saw a doctor."

"Is she the only relative you have out here?"

"The only one."

"Are any of the occupants of the bungalows your special friends?"

"I scarcely know their names. Lately there have been many changes and I
have only been out here a little more than two years."

Granet looked at her gravely.

"It seems to me," he ventured, "--forgive me if I am impertinent--that
you are rather young to be left alone after a shock like this."

She shook her head.

"I am not so young as I seem," she confided. "And it is not only the
shock. I am afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Why I am telling you this I don't know," she said, restlessly rolling
and unrolling her handkerchief. "But I am afraid."

He smiled reassuringly.

"You will get over that. I understand the feeling perfectly. Whatever
any one may say, sudden death, when we come face to face with it, is
terrible."

The girl's fingers were still tearing at her handkerchief. Granet leaned
forward and took it from her. She allowed him to do so quite meekly.

"Can't you understand," she faltered, "she doesn't look in the least
like a dead person to me? I have seen several and they were not--like
that."

"But you must remember," he pointed out, "that she has been examined by
two doctors. They both of them pronounced life extinct."

"I know," she confessed, "but I cannot help it. I know she had lost all
her colour--I know that she did not seem to be breathing--and yet--I do
not believe it."

"You must really try to fight those nerves," he insisted. "There are
many means of testing whether a person is actually dead or not and your
aunt's regular medical attendant is with her now. I wish you would take
my advice and go and lie down quite quietly and put these last hours out
of your mind. One of the Sisters of Mercy who helped to move your aunt
looks a kind sort of person. Would you like her to come and talk to
you?"

"I should hate it. If you really want to help me you can do it another
way."

"Of course I want to help you," he assured her quite truthfully. "You
have only to tell me how."

"You came to look at a bungalow," she said eagerly. "Let me show it to
you. My aunt would have sent me with Pooralli to go over it with you.
Please come and see it."

Granet smiled at her kindly.

"Of course I will do that. Whether the place is kept on or not there is
not the slightest harm in my looking at the bungalow."

The girl drew a long breath of relief. She clutched him by the arm and
led him out through the front door into the avenue. She pointed across
the park.

"The one my aunt would have offered you is called 'The Lamps of Fire.'
You will find there are always fire-flies there at night."

"Picturesque, at any rate," he remarked. "What about that butler fellow
who let me in? He is standing over there looking as though he wanted to
come with us."

She glanced across in the direction her companion had indicated but she
only shook her head.

"It is not necessary for him to come," she declared. "I have all the
keys. I can tell you the price my aunt would have asked and give you all
the particulars."

Granet hesitated.

"Don't you think," he suggested, "that it would be better for me to come
up sometime to-morrow? Your butler is looking a little disappointed."

She laid her fingers upon his arm.

"Pooralli does not understand," she confided. "Please do as I wish. It
is only a few minutes' walk. It will take you no time at all. The
bungalow is just behind the acacia trees ... it is a bachelor
bungalow ... you are not married?"

"No, I am not married."

"How do you manage about your domestic arrangements?" she asked as they
started off together.

"I permit myself generally," he admitted, "the luxury of a servant.
Sometimes I have fits of economy and do everything for myself. Is this
the place?"

"Yes, this is it," she replied. "It is almost my favourite amongst the
bungalows."

They had turned the corner round a little coppice of closely growing
acacia trees whose blossoms lay like snow upon the ground and whose
sweetness filled the air. In front of them, surrounded by a rustic
paling, was a low building fashioned of the stone of the neighbourhood,
with ancient red tiles and windows opening outwards. A small garage
stood by its side. There was no attempt at a formal garden but wild
flowers grew almost to the front door.

"It is delightfully situated, at any rate," Granet remarked.

"I do hope you will like it," she murmured, unlocking the front door.

They passed through a small hall, a pleasant lounge-library and a
dining-room with plain but massive furniture. Behind the one room there
was a simply furnished bedroom; behind the other a kitchen leading to
outhouses.

"There is a bathroom beyond the bedroom," the girl told him, "and there
is a servant's bedroom in case it is required. There is a telephone with
an extension to the Manoir and we have a good cook who supplies things
if they are wanted. On the other hand," she went on anxiously, "if you
are used to doing things for yourself there is every facility. The
kitchen stove is small but modern. The price of the bungalow furnished
is eight _mille_ a month. Any service from the Manoir is, of course,
extra."

"Isn't it rather a bother sending the food down here, for instance?"

"My aunt has always been very peculiar," she explained. "She never had
the tenants near the house if she could help it and yet she insisted
upon visiting every bungalow once a month and collecting the rent
herself. Pooralli or his brother will serve your meals if you do not
bring a servant of your own. They have a funny habit of running wherever
they go and you will be surprised how quickly they get over the ground."

"Was Pooralli the butler who opened the door for me?"

"Yes. He is a strange little man but he is a wonderful servant and I
believe quite honest. My aunt brought him from Burma, also his younger
brother whom you have not seen."

"Supposing I take the bungalow for a month. I think I should like it
here."

"I should be very glad if you did," the girl said earnestly. "I should
like you to come very much."

Granet was a simple man in some ways and he asked her a blunt question.

"Why is it so important to you that I come here? The rent cannot make
very much difference. I should think these bungalows, at the price you
are asking, ought to let very easily."

"It is not the money," she assured him. "It is very difficult to tell
you."

"Come along, why do you think you would like me for a tenant? I hate
mysteries."

There was a sudden flash of that uneasy light in her eyes. It was a warm
afternoon but he almost fancied she was shivering.

"If you hate mysteries you had better stay away," she told him with a
little tremor in her tone. "You see, I want you to come here but I won't
have you come under false pretences."

"Why should there be mysteries?" he asked patiently.

"My aunt's collapse is a mystery," she declared, a note of passion
throbbing in her voice. "She was perfectly well a few hours ago. Her
life has always been a mystery, though. Sometimes all these people who
occupy the bungalows seem like living mysteries to me. I don't know what
they came for, I don't know why they stay on. I don't know why my aunt
drove round once a month in her old-fashioned carriage to collect the
rents when she had an agent. And perhaps the greatest mystery of all is
that I don't know whether they loved her or whether they hated her....
There, I have told you a great deal. Will you come or not? Please
come!"

Granet drew a card from his pocket and scribbled on the back. He also
counted out some _mille_ notes.

"There is my name and a banker's reference," he said. "And eight _mille_
for my first month."

"It is not necessary," she assured him with tears in her eyes.

"I prefer it so," he replied. "And listen, will you please pay a little
attention to a word or two of advice from a stranger?"

"I will listen to it from you--yes--but you must not mind my saying
this. I do not feel that you are the ordinary sort of stranger at all."

"I am very glad. You know, you are really just a little dazed, aren't
you? It is a terrible thing to have happened--to lose any one like that
so suddenly. You scarcely believe it yourself. Now, if I were you, when
you get back to the Manoir I should go and talk to your aunt's own
physician. He will probably explain things to you a little more clearly.
Some of the strongest people in the world, you know, have their own
special weakness which no one--not even themselves, sometimes--knows
anything about. It is not the worst way of quitting this world, after
all."

"My aunt's physician is not a very sympathetic person," she told him. "I
wonder whether you know him--Dr. Bertoldi?"

Granet shook his head.

"I have never stayed long enough in these parts to need a doctor."

"Dr. Bertoldi and my aunt were never very good friends," she confided.
"My aunt was very clever with herbs. She has, I believe, some wonderful
things in her garden. She has cured quite a number of people of slight
ailments. I don't think the doctor likes it."

"Rather dangerous things to meddle with--herbs," he observed.

"That is what Dr. Bertoldi used to say. He was very angry one day when
my aunt told him that she could cure more headaches in an hour than he
could in a lifetime!"

"A self-respecting practitioner would no doubt find that trying," Granet
agreed.

"Well, I shall certainly do as you say. I shall go and talk to him
immediately you have left. When are you coming in?"

"The day after to-morrow, if that suits you," he replied. "We all have
to come to some sort of enquiry up at the Manoir to-morrow. Perhaps you
would rather I put off moving in for a short time."

"If I had a preference at all," she confided, "I should like you to move
in to-night."

He hesitated. There was something strangely appealing about that anxious
light in her eyes.

"Well, there's really nothing against it so far as I am concerned," he
decided. "The only thing is, I haven't made up my mind yet whether to
bring a servant or not."

"Come to-night, please!" she cried eagerly. "Do not bother about a
servant, but perhaps, just for to-night, you had better have your dinner
before you come."

"No difficulty about that," he agreed. "Suit me better, in fact. It will
take me some time to pack."

He looked at her curiously. Her whole attention seemed suddenly to have
wandered. She had become more tense. She was standing quite still, her
head turned away from him, bent as though listening. He, too, heard the
same strange sound as he had heard when waiting outside the front door
earlier in the afternoon. He glanced out of the window. A curious figure
was approaching the bungalow in a curious manner. It was Pooralli,
wearing his white coat, black trousers and small patent-leather
shoes--Pooralli, running steadily but without any sign of effort.

"Heavens, does he always do this?" Granet exclaimed.

"Ever since I've known him," the girl answered. "I have never been East
myself but my aunt always told me that he came from a tribe, half
Chinese, half Malayan, called 'The Running Footmen.'"

Pooralli came to a standstill just outside. Granet, anticipating his
companion's intention, pushed open the window for her.

"Pooralli," she announced, "this gentleman has taken the bungalow we are
in."

The man bowed politely.

"Gentleman has made good choice," he said. "We shall do our best to make
him comfortable."

"He will move in to-night," the girl went on.

"A wise thing is well done quickly," Pooralli murmured. "I will send
down the necessary articles. Meanwhile, Miss Grassleyes, the doctor
wishes to see you before he leaves. He ask many questions."

"I'll come at once."

Pooralli turned round after a little bow to Granet and at exactly the
same pace commenced his run back to the Manoir. His short legs, with
their peculiar action, covered the ground with amazing speed. Granet
looked after him in wonder.

"You certainly possess the most original butler in the world, Miss
Grassleyes," he declared.

She smiled. Pooralli had already disappeared, as they crossed the strip
of park land and came in sight of the house.

"He is a very remarkable creature," she agreed. "My aunt was very fond
of him."

They walked side by side to where Granet had left his car.

"How long has Pooralli been in Lady Grassleyes' employ?"

"Eighteen or twenty years."

"An old servant," Granet reflected. "He has probably lost a mistress
with whom he has been since a boy, yet how callous he seems! Don't you
think so, too?"

"He is more than callous," she said quietly. "I do not think he has ever
felt anything in his life. Even my aunt used to say of him that he had
no vices, no virtues, no love in his nature and no hate. There are very
few left of his race. In Burma or Siam they command higher wages than a
European can ask. They say that if you wish for a perfectly run
household you must seek for one of 'The Running Footmen.'"

Granet installed himself in the driving seat of his car. His finger
lingered for a moment on the self-starter. She leaned towards him. For
the first time he realized how suddenly and completely a woman's
expression can change. The strained look was gone; her lips had grown
softer; her eyes had lost their fear.

"I have said so little," she whispered. "I can say no more. But will you
remember, please, that I am grateful? You are the first person who has
ever done just what I asked out of simple kindness. I shall never
forget, and I shall tell you now--ask no questions, please, but perhaps
you will understand a little later--there is something about the
place--somebody--some people who terrify me. There is something going on
behind my back which I do not understand. With you near I shall have no
more fear."

She stepped back and for once in his life Granet was entirely wordless.
She waved her hand, he touched his hat and drove off. As he turned into
the main road from the avenue he slackened speed and looked back over
his shoulder. She was still standing where he had left her--a slim,
motionless figure watching his retreating car.

"It seems to me," he muttered as his foot sought the accelerator once
more, "that I'm probably doing a damned silly thing and that I'm
certainly a damned silly fool to feel so glad about it!"




CHAPTER III


David Granet, for the second time that day, pushed open the swing door
of the premises occupied by Spenser & Sykes and made his way to Mr.
Woodley's desk. The manager looked up from his books, recognized his
caller and rose to his feet.

"Good evening, Mr. Granet," he said. "I'm afraid that I sent you out to
Grassleyes on a fool's errand."

"Not at all," Granet answered. "I like the place. I came in to tell you
that I have taken a bungalow there."

Woodley stared at him over the counter.

"Didn't you hear--" he began.

"The sad news about Lady Grassleyes? Yes, I was there apparently a few
minutes after it happened."

"She was alive when you got there? Did you have any conversation with
her?"

"None at all. I was received by the quaintest-looking butler I ever saw
and when we got into her room she was sitting at her desk in a perfectly
natural attitude--but so far as I could see stone dead."

"God bless my soul!" the manager exclaimed, mopping his forehead. "You
will excuse me, Mr. Granet. This is rather a blow. We have just heard
the news, of course, but to think that you should have seen her! An
important client of ours--Lady Grassleyes. A great shock for Mr.
Spenser."

"There has been the usual fuss over there, of course," Granet confided,
"but so far as the people themselves are concerned they seem to be
taking it very quietly. I had to stay and be asked a few questions,
naturally, but I was just on the point of leaving when a young lady,
Lady Grassleyes' niece, stopped me. She was very upset indeed but she
insisted upon showing me one of the bungalows. She assured me that they
would go on with the place. The bungalow was just what I wanted, so I
took it. I promised, as a matter of fact, to move in to-night."

Woodley gazed once more at his vis--vis incredulously.

"You are not serious, Mr. Granet!"

"Why not? If the rest of the household can take it calmly, what is it to
do with me? I never heard of Lady Grassleyes before in my life. The fact
that she seems to have died suddenly doesn't make the bungalow less
attractive to me. I am going to move in there to-night as soon as I have
had dinner and packed my things."

"Don't do it, Mr. Granet! I beg your pardon, but I wouldn't really if I
were you."

"But why not?"

The door leading into the private offices behind the manager's reserved
space was suddenly opened. A tall, good-looking man, florid and inclined
towards _embonpoint_, made his appearance. Woodley, with a muttered
word of apology, hurried towards him.

"Mr. Spenser," he said, "this is Mr. Granet. I sent him out to look at
one of Lady Grassleyes' bungalows this afternoon."

"Poor dear lady," Mr. Spenser observed with a sympathetic note in his
voice which was not altogether convincing. "He had to come back again,
of course?"

"Not at all," the manager replied. "He has just come to tell me that he
was shown into Lady Grassleyes' apartment, found her apparently dead in
her chair and that afterwards the niece came just as he was leaving and
took him to look at a bungalow and said they were going to carry on as
usual. And he has taken it."

Mr. Spenser's expletive was both startled and forceful.

"He'll have to give it up. He must be told so at once."

"Perhaps you would like to speak to him yourself, sir. He seems the sort
of person who knows his own mind."

Spenser walked to the counter, introduced himself and lifted the flap.

"Mr. Granet I understand your name is. Do you mind coming into my office
for just a moment?"

Granet acquiesced, following the head of the firm into a luxuriously
furnished room, the walls of which were covered with photographs of most
of the desirable estates on the Riviera. He accepted the chair which
Spenser offered him by the side of the desk.

"This is a most tragic story, Mr. Granet," Spenser began. "I have been
away all day beyond Mentone visiting a property, and have only just
heard about it. Do you mind telling me exactly what happened?"

"So far as I was concerned--nothing. I was taken by a queer Oriental
butler with an absurd name to Lady Grassleyes' room. He announced me. I
said how do you do. She didn't reply and when I looked at her I saw at
once that there was something seriously wrong. I rang the bell. Back
came the butler. He took one look at her and never hesitated. A queer
little fellow--you have seen him, perhaps. He turned to me with his eyes
blinking: 'Milady taken bad medicine,' he announced. 'Gone dead.' After
that there was the usual sort of fuss. I had to stay and answer
questions. I was just leaving when a young lady who said she was Lady
Grassleyes' niece stopped me and insisted upon showing me the bungalow.
She explained that the place would be kept on, that the letting of the
bungalows was in her hands and, to cut a long story short, I took one of
them called 'The Lamps of Fire,' paid a month in advance and came away
having promised to move in to-night."

"To do what?"

"To move in to-night," Granet repeated coolly. "Now one comes to think
of it it is rather a queer thing that the young lady was so insistent.
She seemed frightened and nervous, of course, but the bungalows are
some distance from the house and she must have people of her own there.
Anyway, she made such a point of it that I consented."

The house-agent abandoned his position of nonchalant ease. He rose to
his feet and with his hands behind his back walked the length of the
spacious apartment and back again.

"Did the young lady give you any special reason why she wished you to
move in so quickly?" he asked, pausing in front of Granet.

"Nothing definite. She did rather give me the impression that something
had been going on in the Manoir which she had found disturbing and that
she felt herself in a way in need of protection. I was inclined to
think, at the time--I still think so really--that it was an outburst of
nerves."

Spenser was tugging hard at his moustache. He, too, seemed to be
struggling with a nervous attack of a sort.

"Didn't it seem queer to you, with all this trouble going on, that she
should want to bring a stranger into it?" he demanded with a distinct
note of truculence in his tone.

"It does now that I think it over," Granet admitted frankly. "It didn't
seem so at the time."

Spenser resumed his seat at the table.

"If you'll allow me to give you a word of advice, Mr. Granet, I should
suggest you break your promise to the young lady."

Granet looked at him steadily.

"I am not in the habit of breaking my word, Mr. Spenser," he said.

The house-agent seemed uneasy. His fingers were playing once more with
his closely clipped moustache. It appeared to his companion, who was a
keen observer of trifles, that he was finding it difficult to retain his
composure.

"I should break it on this occasion," Spenser advised, "because it is
such an utterly impossible thing to ask you to do. The place must be all
upside down. A newcomer just arriving would create a most embarrassing
situation."

"That's all very well," Granet pointed out, "but it's their look-out,
not mine. I paid the girl a month's rent in advance and if she
particularly wants me to do something a little unusual why shouldn't I?"

"You can't," the other insisted abruptly. "It is quite out of the
question. It isn't even a certainty that the place will be kept on for a
week. There's an offer pending which, in the present circumstances, will
probably be accepted at once."

"Have you any authority for saying that?"

"None whatever. I perhaps should not have mentioned it. Still, you must
agree with me that yours is an impossible proposition."

"The trouble is that I have given my word to be there sometime
to-night," Granet pointed out, "and it is rather a peculiar prejudice of
mine that when I have once given my word I keep it. I dare say I shall
find the place in confusion, as you suggest. If so, and the young lady
has changed her mind or is willing to excuse me, I shall come away."

A message was brought to Spenser on an oblong slip of paper. He glanced
at it with a frown, rose to his feet and with a muttered word of apology
to his visitor left the room. It was quite ten minutes before he
returned.

"Very sorry to keep you, Mr. Granet," he explained, "but the fact of it
is, this message is from Lady Grassleyes' local solicitors. They tell me
that the police have been asking some ridiculous questions and there
will probably have to be an inquest, which in this country is rather a
serious thing."

"What have the doctors to say?"

"Well, it is through the local doctor that the trouble has arisen. He
declares that there is not the slightest sign of any disease of any
sort, that Lady Grassleyes' heart, for instance, is perfectly sound, and
that he is not disposed to sign any sort of certificate."

Granet considered for a moment.

"There is no suggestion, I suppose, of anything in the shape of foul
play?" he ventured.

Spenser leaned forward in his chair. He passed his hand through his
already untidy hair.

"If the doctors cannot find a weak spot or any trace of disease in the
body of an elderly woman who has never been known to have an illness in
her life--why, one might suspect anything."

"Poison or a deed of violence," Granet pointed out, "would just as
necessarily leave a trace as disease."

"We are getting out of our depth," the other declared with an irritable
gesture. "These matters are for the specialists, whether they be doctors
or police. If I have my way I shall close the estate and the bungalows
pending further investigation. I do not understand," he added, glaring
across at Granet, "any one wishing to take up residence there in the
present circumstances."

"Neither do I altogether understand," Granet rejoined coolly, "what
business it is of the house-agent to interfere with his client's actions
to such an extent."

Spenser rose to his feet.

"I shall communicate my views, at any rate, to Miss Grassleyes. In view
of your attitude, Mr. Granet, however," he continued, drawing a card
from his waistcoat pocket and scrutinizing it thoughtfully, "I shall
feel it my duty to make the most careful enquiries into your
references."

"Well?"

"They seem to be all right but in my opinion they need verifying."

"Why not verify them?" Granet suggested. "There's a _Who's Who_ behind
you on the shelf. Mind if I smoke a cigarette?"

Spenser took no notice. Granet calmly produced his case, drew out a
cigarette and lit it. He continued to smoke whilst his companion turned
over the pages of the bulky _Who's Who_. He closed the volume at last.
There was a very different note in his voice when he spoke, but he was a
tenacious man and he held to his last shred of argument.

"How do I know that you are the person described here?"

Granet looked out into the street and pointed through the window.

"Why not try the British Consul? Take you a matter of a few minutes and
save you from making a fool of yourself."

"What--Colonel Dryden?"

"Certainly. The office may be closed now but you can get him at his
private house--the 'Villa Colombe,' I think it is."

Spenser played his last card.

"If you are a friend of the British Consul, why did you not say so when
you gave a reference?"

Granet rose to his feet. His manner was still superficially amiable but
he had the air of one who has had enough of the conversation.

"That is my business, not yours, sir," he said calmly. "I wish you good
evening."

He turned towards the door. Spenser leaned forward in his place, the
palms of his hands stretched out upon the table, his mouth open for
speech. He was apparently dumbfounded, for he said nothing. He watched
the door open and close but it was not until he was perfectly certain
that his visitor had no intention of returning that he staggered rather
than rose to his feet, snatched down his grey Homburg hat from the peg
in the small ante-room and made his way into the street by the back
entrance.




CHAPTER IV


David Granet, who had no superstitions and who would have laughed at the
mere idea of having been at any time afflicted by nerves, was
nevertheless conscious of a queer disturbance in his mind as, having
rounded the last curve of the hilly approach to the domain later on that
evening, he entered the gate and drove slowly along the main avenue to
the Manoir. He decided, however, at the last moment to proceed direct to
his bungalow and turning down between the two white stones which marked
the way he drove along the newly made road to where the dim outline of
"The Lamps of Fire" presented itself. The door of the garage had been
left open and he drove straight in. He had no sooner turned off his
engine and stepped out of the car than he was aware of a queer, shrill
voice behind him. A miniature duplicate of Pooralli was advancing
through the dim light. He seemed to be the image of the other, except
for his smaller stomach and thin frame.

"I am Postralli," he announced gravely. "The brother of Pooralli who you
saw this afternoon. I come to tell you that the door of your bungalow is
open. I give you the key and carry your things inside."

"That is very thoughtful of some one," Granet said, after a moment's
amazed contemplation of the youth. "Perhaps you can help me with these
cases."

"It is the young mistress who sent me," Postralli explained. "She told
me expect you to-night. I can carry cases by myself. I am small but I am
strong. Gentleman can go inside. I will bring all that is in car."

Granet took his suit case, a proceeding which was viewed with
disapproval by his new attendant, entered the bungalow and looked about
him. The lounge into which he stepped seemed very empty and silent but
it was a different place when he had touched the electric switch and the
light had flooded the room. He saw then that there were flowers in many
vases, the furniture had been rearranged and portires were carefully
drawn over the three doors. He made his way into the bedroom, from which
came the strong odour of pine and lavender, and looked with satisfaction
at the silk coverlet on the bed and the softly shaded reading lamp. He
had scarcely succeeded in his task of unlocking his case and throwing
out some pyjamas before he heard Postralli's footsteps in the lounge. He
returned there to find his case of whisky, a crate of Perrier Water, two
tins of biscuits and some other oddments already placed upon the
hearthrug.

"Gentleman like whisky in sideboard," Postralli decided. "Only six
bottles. Not worth opening cellar. Good cellar other side of kitchen.
Master would like bottle whisky opened?"

Granet threw himself into an easy chair with a smile.

"Get along with it, young fellow," he enjoined. "Make me comfortable."

"All gentlemen are comfortable here," Postralli declared gravely.
"Gentleman sit still and watch. I show him."

In five minutes there was an opened bottle of whisky on the table, a
glass by its side, a bottle of Perrier on a tray and oblong pieces of
ice fresh from the refrigerator in a small dish. There were also a box
of matches and an ash tray. The remainder of the whisky was neatly
arranged in the sideboard. There were packets of tea, coffee, sugar and
a bottle of milk upon another and smaller table. Postralli was busy with
a duster wiping some china from the sideboard.

"Gentleman could have tea or coffee from the house, or he can make
himself here or I make."

"How is your mistress?" Granet asked.

"Very sad," the youth replied. "Aunt went dead very suddenly. Very sad
indeed. Plenty policemen and doctors about place all evening. Two
policemen up at house now."

He stood up and surveyed the result of his labours. Finally he
disappeared, carrying off the empty boxes and the brown paper. He came
back with a broom, swept up a few pieces of packing from the otherwise
spotless carpet and nodded approval.

"More things to-morrow?"

"Yes, there will be a few things to-morrow," Granet assented.

"You telephone to house and ask and I come and help. Master got
servant?"

"Not yet."

"I do everything until servant comes," Postralli promised cheerfully. "I
have pass-key all doors," he added proudly. "I come in master's room,
take his shoes and clean them early in morning."

"Don't you do anything of the sort, young fellow," Granet replied. "I
shall bolt my door. You can come down at eight o'clock, if you like."

"I make the tea at eight o'clock for master. I clean the shoes and I
take the glass if he has had drink."

"How many bungalows do you look after?"

"Only this one. The rest of the bungalows each have servant. My brother,
he butler in house."

"Where did you learn to speak English?"

The boy waved his hand vaguely. It was almost as though he were
acquainted with some place which he believed nobody else could see.

"Home," he confided, "and on ship and here. Very easy."

"And where is home?"

He shook his head.

"You not understand. Fine country but no money."

"Well be off with you now, then," Granet enjoined. "Come and look after
my tea in the morning."

He drew a coin from his pocket. Postralli shook his head once more.

"Not now, please, gentleman," he begged. "My brother very greedy man.
When I go in he ask me what you give. I tell him. He take it away.
Gentleman give it me some other time. Good night, gentleman."

The boy took his leave, closing the door gently behind him. Granet
looked out of the window. Postralli had no sooner stepped on to the
little paved way outside than he had commenced that queer, slouching
run. He seemed to make no effort, but in a few moments he was out of
sight. Granet laughed quietly to himself as he filled his pipe and mixed
himself a drink. He pulled his chair up to the low window and looked out
across the rock-strewn space of open country to where, some distance
beyond the Manoir, the pine-woods opened up again towards the mountains.
He turned to the right and caught the gleam of the stream between the
gently fluttering leaves of the olive and acacia trees.

"Queer place," he muttered to himself. "Queer people. Don't know what I
am doing here anyway."

He smoked thoughtfully for a moment or two, then he dragged his chair
outside and sat in the balmy stillness, breathing in that wonderful air
which seemed fragrant with the scent of honey-suckle and wild roses,
clusters of which were climbing up the pillars and over the front of the
bungalow. Granet was not given to self-analysis, yet in those moments he
was conscious of a curious conflict of emotions. He was content--drowsy,
almost, with content. At the same time he was expectant. The domain
which had become his home, so peaceful and in a way so beautiful, seemed
to lie dreaming in an almost ghostly tranquillity. Something, he felt,
must happen soon. He scarcely knew what it might be but something must
happen. The stillness was like the unnatural quiet before a storm ...

The end of the almost drugged silence brought with it a queer note of
unreality. From the darkest corner of the strip of pine-wood in front of
him he heard the crackling of dry twigs, saw the long branches of the
trees being drawn slowly back. Through the little space something
moved--a human being--some one who, save for the face, an oval of white,
seemed as black as the trees themselves. He leaned forward curiously.
There was nothing much to be startled at, after all--a girl in
dead-black clothes standing there with the branches still in her hands
looking across at him from some fifty feet away. But from the first he
realized the momentary unearthliness of her. She glided rather than
moved up to the green border of turf which separated them. When he spoke
his words sounded to him, in that tense moment, the most banal he had
ever heard.

"Hello! What do you want?"

She came towards him. He scarcely knew whether the strangeness of her
was a relief or otherwise. It was some one, most certainly, whom he had
never before seen in his life--a girl who might have been beautiful save
that some emotion seemed to have drawn all expression from her pallid
face. Only in her eyes lay the light of distress. Then she spoke, and
all those first unearthly impressions of her passed away. Granet felt as
though the land of dreams had vanished. He was back again, spending his
first evening in a bungalow belonging to the Grassleyes Manoir, and
this was apparently a neighbour in distress.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He rose to his feet and approached the little paling. She was standing
now with white ringless hands resting upon the top of it. Every moment
seemed to reveal her as being some one more definitely human.

"I thought that this place was empty," she continued. "It startled me to
see you here. Please tell me who you are."

"A very insignificant person," he replied. "My name is David Granet. I
am an Englishman. I have just taken this bungalow. Do you, too, live in
this strange encirclement of lunatics?"

They were side by side now and they were near enough to one another for
him to mark the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the black
taffeta of her dress; near enough to perceive the slimness of her body,
notwithstanding the faintly voluptuous curve of the hips; near enough to
discover that everything about her was not entirely black and white, for
her eyes were grey-blue and her lips were red.

"I am Carlotta di Mendoza. You have heard of me--no? My sister is a
singer."

He hesitated.

"I am not sure," he admitted truthfully.

"Ah, well, it is not I who am famous. Perhaps I never shall be. When I
listen to the nightingales in this wood I am sure I shall not, because
human beings were not made to sing."

"Will you come in?" he invited. "Are you looking for anybody? Are you in
any sort of distress?"

"I am frightened," she told him, and with the re-establishment of her
composure her delicately pencilled eyebrows were lifted in an almost
humorous fashion. "I cannot tell you exactly why, but I am frightened. I
came here to share a bungalow with my sister who is singing at the
Mditerrane. I did not know how strange her habits had become. She is
in bed all day. She leaves here at seven in the evening and returns at
four in the morning--sometimes later. I heard her come home to-day. Some
one brought her in a car and drove away. I have tried her door three
times. She is locked inside. She has not appeared. The little man who
runs has been down to bring me the news. He tells me that something
terrible has happened at the Manoir."

"Come and sit down for a moment," Granet suggested. "I will tell you all
about it."

"You are alone?"

"Absolutely. Take my chair and I will fetch another."

He opened the small gate and the girl passed through after a moment's
hesitation. She sank willingly into his chair. He fetched out another
and also a box of cigarettes. She pounced gratefully upon the latter but
he noticed when he held out the match towards her that the cigarette was
shaking between her lips.

"Thank you," she said. "To smoke would be good for me. You have just
come here?"

"An hour ago," he replied.

"I love quiet," she confessed. "I came for quiet. But the deathly
stillness of this place frightens me."

Granet looked at her curiously. He was rather a good judge of his fellow
human beings. He had once, indeed, written a book about them. But this
girl puzzled him.

"You are not English?"

"No. I hope some day to sing in English, in German and in French, but my
mother was an Italian and my father a Spaniard."

"You have been there--in Spain?"

"Not since I was a child. You are trying to account for the fact that I
am frightened. You need not, Mr.--what did you say--Granet. I will tell
you presently why I am frightened. It is something that has happened
this very day. It is because of the woman who lies up at the Manoir. She
looked so strong and well. It frightens me when people like that die."

He leaned towards her. She felt her wrists suddenly gripped in his light
but firm fingers. There was a warning flash in his grey eyes. She opened
her lips to speak and closed them again. She glanced instead over her
shoulder. Only a few yards away from them a man was leaning over the
paling, a man with a squat, ungainly figure and creased tweed clothes, a
Homburg hat slightly on the back of his head, and--although he had
arrived in silence and done nothing to break it--a man of menacing
appearance. Granet rose slowly to his feet. The girl clung to his arm.




CHAPTER V


"Not disturbing you, I hope?" the newcomer asked in a surly tone as he
pushed open the wooden gate.

Granet made no reply. He had drawn himself up. There was a frown upon
his face and his eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the head-gear of the
man who was lounging towards them. The latter paused a few paces away.
Granet's eyes remained fixed on his hat. With an awkward little laugh
the man dragged it from his head.

"No harm in coming to call upon a neighbour is there?" he asked.

"It depends upon the manner of arrival," was the dry comment. "I do not
as yet know that you are a neighbour. And, to let you in to one of my
idiosyncrasies, I am never favourably disposed towards a stranger who
seems lacking in manners."

"High and mighty, aren't you," the other sneered. "I live in the next
bungalow but one on this estate. There are queer things going on up at
the Manoir. I thought it was time we tenants got together and discussed
it."

"Thank you," Granet said. "I have only just arrived myself, I have not
had time to get used to the place and I have nothing to discuss with
anybody."

"My name," the intruder confided, "is Herbert Johnson. Good old British
name, that. I have been here a month and I was just settling down
nicely. Now I am told we may have to turn out at any moment because the
old lady has popped off. What might your name be, sir?"

"My name is Granet," was the calm reply, "but I really don't see that it
is any business of yours. I came here for quiet because I understood
that I had no near neighbours. Might I suggest that you close the gate
as you go out?"

The man stood motionless for some moments. He was looking at Granet
curiously and without any sign of anger or annoyance.

"So you are one of that sort, are you?" he remarked. "Well, perhaps the
lady is a little more amiable. I called to propose, madam," he went on,
turning to the girl, "that we go up to the Manoir and ask if the agent
is there. I should like a little information as to what is happening to
the tenants. Are we supposed to leave at once, for instance?"

She laid her hand upon Granet's arm.

"Perhaps," she suggested, "one ought to do that. What do you think, Mr.
Granet? To me it seems rather soon to go and trouble Miss Grassleyes
with questions about ourselves, though."

"Well, for my part," Granet decided, "I shall wait until things have
quietened down a little. The doctors have had their turn. One
understands that the police are there now."

"The police?" Mr. Johnson exclaimed. "What the hell business is it of
theirs?"

"Well, sir," Granet confided, "even if you are a neighbour I do not
like you. I do not like the way you kept your hat on in a lady's
presence. Nor do I like your language. Might I suggest that you go on to
the Manoir and ask what questions you like and leave us alone?"

"Oh, shut up!" Mr. Johnson protested, producing a large handkerchief and
dabbing his forehead. "I'll go up there fast enough and I'm not asking
for your company. What about the police, though? What have they got to
do with it? Nothing wrong with the place, is there?"

"Go away and find out!"

"Look here--"

"On second thoughts," Granet interrupted, "that might be an unkind
suggestion. Perhaps you are the man for whom they are searching."

Johnson resumed his head-gear. Curiously enough, in a matter of a few
seconds it had slipped back to its original, somewhat unbecoming angle.

"If there's any search for me," he declared belligerently, "any search
for Herbert Johnson, I'm here. They can ask me any questions they want
to. I never saw the woman but three times in my life. She sent that
fat-bellied man down with the key to show me the bungalow, and I took
it. The next time was a few days afterwards when I called upon her and
made a perfectly sound business proposition. She laughed me out of the
place. She was pretty well as rude to me as you have been, and that's
saying something. The third time was when she drove round in her
tumbled-down carriage to collect the rent. So now what?"

Granet waved his hand towards the house.

"That," he said slowly. "Go away. We are tired of you. Go and find out
everything you want to know for yourself."

"Well, all I can say," Johnson remarked in the nature of a concluding
speech, "is that if they make a success of this bungalow idea it won't
be because of the sociability of the occupants. You get me, Mr. Granet?"

Complete silence. Granet had drawn his chair a little back and was once
more seated by the girl's side. They were at that particular moment
absorbed in the contemplation of the fire-flies....

Johnson, on his way to the gate, turned round once more. He jerked his
head towards the Manoir.

"Do you know whose car that is?" he asked, pointing to a car with
exceedingly powerful head-lights which was standing in the drive.

Granet leaned forward and shook his head.

"Considering I only arrived this evening," he said, "I am not likely to
recognize it. Perhaps it belongs to the doctor."

"It has nothing to do with the doctor. That is Spenser's Lancia."

"Spenser, the house-agent?"

"That's the chap."

Carlotta leaned over and touched Granet's arm.

"The rude man is quite right," she said. "Mr. Spenser drove my sister
down to the opera one night and I am sure that is his car."

"There ain't no doubt about that," Mr. Johnson declared. "They have been
trying to get hold of him all day to tell him about the old lady. Mr.
Granet--why don't you come off your high horse and stroll up with me? We
will get to know how the land lies, anyhow. Spenser's a pal of mine and
he will tackle the young woman if necessary."

"You are more interested than I am," Granet said curtly. "You had better
hurry up and catch him before he leaves."

Johnson relieved his feelings with a grunt of disgust, slammed the
little gate behind him and made his way up towards the Manoir.




CHAPTER VI


Very reluctantly Jane Grassleyes obeyed Pooralli's eager request and
followed him into the reception room. Spenser was standing alone amongst
the shadows at the far end of the apartment. He was contemplating with
an air of intense absorption the safe which was let into the wall
exactly opposite to him. He neither heard Pooralli's entrance nor Jane's
footsteps nor her cold greeting.

"Mr. Spenser," she said, addressing him for the second time.

He started and swung round towards her.

"Isn't this rather a late visit?" she asked. "Pooralli said you wished
to see me particularly. Surely to-morrow would have done."

He laughed uneasily.

"Perhaps it would," he admitted. "I thought you might feel pretty lonely
up here by yourself. Glorious night for a ride, too, if you cared to get
away for an hour. What about a run down to Nice? I'll bring you back
again."

"It is very kind of you," Jane replied. "I am feeling sad, of course,
but I am certainly not lonely, and I should not think of a joy ride to
Nice or anywhere else."

"You must miss the poor old lady, though."

"I have scarcely had time to miss her yet," was the icy rejoinder, "and
to tell you the truth, Mr. Spenser, I don't feel in the least like
conversation. What is this urgent matter?"

"Well, it is business connected with the estate. Can't you sit down and
talk for a few minutes, please?"

"Certainly not."

"Ten minutes only," he begged. "And do you mind if I ring for a
whisky-and-soda? This has been rather a trying day, you know."

"I am afraid," she told him, "that the servants are all in bed."

"Pooralli never sleeps."

Pooralli was already there. Spenser looked at him in surprise.

"Jove, that was quick work! I never heard you open the door."

"Handle noiseless--Pooralli's footsteps noiseless," the man explained.
"Gentleman want drink?"

"A whisky-and-soda as quickly as possible," Spenser ordered.

Pooralli took his leave. Jane, with a sigh of resignation, seated
herself in a high-backed chair.

"Tell me at once, please, Mr. Spenser, what it is you wish?" she begged.

"Dash it all, Miss Grassleyes," he protested, "there's not any need, is
there, to be so grim with me? You and I ought to be great friends."

"I don't see why."

"You must know," he continued, drawing a chair close to where she was
seated, "that I have a great admiration for you."

"I would rather not know it, especially at this particular moment," she
answered indignantly. "My aunt thought that you were a very clever
business man and perhaps she was right. Beyond that I certainly have no
interest in you or your doings."

He looked at her keenly. He was not a bad-looking man, even at the end
of a trying day during which he had made no change in his toilet. As
though conscious of her disparaging glance, he straightened his tie and
studied his hands. Jane rose to her feet.

"As soon as you have finished your whisky-and-soda I should be glad if
you would leave."

Spenser's expression hardened almost into a scowl. The sound of the
fizzing sodawater, however, restored his complacency. He accepted the
glass from Pooralli.

"Leave the whisky and the sodawater," he ordered. "Don't come back until
I ring."

"If you will excuse my saying so," Jane told him severely, "I strongly
object to your giving orders to my aunt's servants in that fashion. You
are her man of business, it is true, but that does not entitle you to
behave as though you lived on the premises, does it?"

"So it's like that, is it?" he said quietly.

"That is just how I feel about your presence here, Mr. Spenser."

"Perhaps, if you should find that you and I are co-executors in the
handling of this property," he remarked, "you might change your mind a
little."

"I hope that we are not," she declared fervently.

"Want it all for yourself, eh?"

"Not at all. I shall welcome help but I hope it will be from Mr.
Clunderson."

He took a long drink and set down his glass.

"What, that dry-as-dust old lawyer?"

Jane made no comment but glanced patiently at the clock.

"Dash it all!" Spenser exclaimed. "You make it very difficult. I came
all the way out here to-night first because I was wondering about you,
second because a very important matter of business has turned up in
connection with the property--business which requires immediate
attention."

"Really? You can set your mind quite at ease about me. I do not ask for
your interest and I do not require it. Furthermore, there could be no
question of business that we could discuss at this hour of the night."

"That shows that you know nothing whatever about it," he snapped. "If we
were on the terms I should like to be, Miss Jane, I would talk to you
differently. Perhaps what has happened to your aunt has disturbed you
to-night, but you will have to pull yourself together to-morrow. You may
wake up to find yourself a rich woman."

"I am not in the least interested," she said. "I do not wish you to call
me Miss Jane or anything but Miss Grassleyes, either. And please leave
my hand alone," she added, snatching it away from his tentative grasp.

Once more his face hardened and such good looks as he possessed became
negligible.

"Well, I suppose I must approach this subject differently," he decided.
"Do you see that safe, Miss Grassleyes?"

"I do," she answered. "I noticed that you were looking at it very
fixedly when I came in."

"Have you the key to it?"

"Whether I have or not makes little difference," she replied. "I would
not give it to you."

"Why not?"

"You have no established position in any of my aunt's affairs except the
letting of the bungalows."

"That shows how ignorant you are," he scoffed. "It is I who am
responsible for this wonderful offer."

"From whom?"

"From a syndicate. A very important syndicate of French and English
business men."

"An offer to purchase the Manoir?"

"Yes."

"I am not interested," she assured him. "If I have any voice in the
future disposition of the property in any way I shall be dead against
selling it."

"You have not heard the offer or what it is for," he reminded her.

"I am not interested. I am going to ring for Pooralli to show you out."

"I am not ready to leave yet. Wait," he added, holding out his hand as
she turned towards the door. "I will show you how much your aunt trusted
me. I will show you the sort of position I am likely to hold in this
household."

He rose to his feet and swaggered over towards the safe. From his
pocket he drew out a long, slim key. He played for a little time with
the combination, then swung the heavy door open.

"Perhaps that will help you to realize that I am something more than
your aunt's estate agent," he said scornfully.

Jane crossed the room swiftly.

"Where did you get that key from?" she demanded.

"Never mind. I just wanted to show you that I am not dependent upon your
help."

"I insist upon your telling me how that key came into your possession."

"Simplest way possible," he said. "Your aunt gave it to me."

"I am perfectly certain that that is a falsehood, but since you have it
why not see what you can find?" she suggested. "Go on, I am not
interfering with you."

He thrust his arm into the hollow space and brought out a pile of
engrossed documents.

"Leases of the bungalows," he announced.

"Mind you put them back neatly when you have done with them."

Spenser scowled at her for a moment, thrust his arm in again and brought
out a pile of miscellaneous papers--fire-insurance policies and
correspondence of various sorts. Jane watched him equably.

"Am I right," she asked, "or were you not searching for something else?
Just what is it that you are looking for, Mr. Spenser?"

"It would save the estate a tremendous lot of money if I could find Lady
Grassleyes' will," he confided.

"Why don't you find it, then?" she asked, with an irony in her tone
which was entirely lost upon him.

He turned back to the safe, searched again, stood away from it and tried
the handle of the corresponding section.

"Have you the combination for this side?" he enquired.

"There is none. It is a very clever safe but that is a dummy handle. The
whole of the thing is supposed to be a dummy except the portion you have
opened. I think, Mr. Spenser," she concluded, "that if my aunt had
really meant you to be one of her executors she would have told you all
about her bogus safe and where to find her will."

"Do you know where to find it?" he asked bluntly.

"The will is not your business or mine."

"Whose is it, then?"

"Mr. Clunderson's."

"Clunderson again!" he muttered. "It will take us months to get a move
on if your aunt has been stupid enough to leave him in authority."

"I do not agree with you, Mr. Spenser," she said. "I should be very
pleased indeed to hear that Mr. Clunderson was one of the executors."

"That is because you don't understand," he explained impatiently.

"Was my aunt a very rich woman that you are making such a fuss about her
will?"

"She owned very valuable properties."

"Well, it is not our business yet," she said calmly, "and it is scarcely
decent of you to come here worrying about such matters before my aunt is
even buried. Don't you think you had better put back those leases?"

He flung them into the safe, closed the door and turned towards her.

"Look here," he exclaimed, "I want your aunt's will! I know your name is
mentioned in it. I know mine is. I want to read it. It's important."

"You will read it when it is common property and not before," she
answered.

"You know very well that there is more in the safe than these few
rubbishy leases and other oddments," he declared fiercely. "Look at the
size of it! How do we get at the other part?"

He moved a little nearer to her. It seemed incredible but for a moment
Jane thought he was really about to seize her by the throat.

"I have had more than enough of you for to-night, Mr. Spenser," she told
him. "I refuse to answer any more questions. I am going to my room and
please do not disturb me again."

"You are going to stay here with me," he insisted. "Blast that fellow!"

Pooralli was standing just across the threshold. He bowed to Jane.

"A gentleman," he announced. "He saw the lights of Mr. Spenser's car
and if he is not disturbing you he would like to speak to Mr. Spenser."

Jane took the opportunity of slipping quietly away. With her fingers
upon the handle of the door she looked back.

"I think you are going to have quite a busy night, Mr. Spenser," she
said. "All the same, I do not think you will find that will."

       *       *       *       *       *

Johnson came lumbering into the room and threw himself into an easy
chair. He was a fleshy man, he had walked quickly and he was out of
breath.

"What the mischief do you want?" Spenser demanded.

"I want to know why you didn't come down to my bungalow," Johnson
replied. "You know which it is; you knew that I should be anxious. Out
with it! What's going to happen now?"

"How the devil should I know?" Spenser protested. "They have moved the
old lady. One of the doctors refused to give a certificate and the body
is down in a Nice hospital. I called there on my way up and talked to
the matron, who is an old friend of mine. They had no report to make. I
telephoned the doctor--I know him quite well--but he had very little to
say. He simply declared that life seemed to him to be extinct but on the
other hand there was no certain proof of death. So there we are."

"She's out of the place, anyway," Johnson pointed out. "There's no one
here to stop you going on with this job. If the truth gets about we
shall have a crowd here."

"I can't do a damn' thing till I get hold of the will," Spenser replied
fiercely.

"Why not? You told me that you and that slip of a girl were the two
executors. Why can't you get her to sign a sanction for us to get on
with the proceedings and let me get back to Marseille?"

"She's as pigheaded as she can be," Spenser confided. "I am certain she
and I are the two executors but she won't take anything for granted,
won't give me the slightest clue as to where the will is, won't even
discuss a sale. She was here a few minutes ago and if you had not come
in--well, I'm not sure that I shouldn't have shaken the life out of her.
Just a schoolgirl hussy a bit above herself--that's what she is."

Johnson poured himself out some whisky and added a splash of sodawater
with a grunt.

"You are a clumsy fellow, Fred," he said. "You are always bragging of
what you can do with the girls but when the time comes you are nothing
but a nitwit."

"Try her yourself, then," the other sneered. "I don't fancy you'll get
very far."

"It isn't my line of business," Johnson declared. "I could do the rough
stuff all right but this isn't the place for that. What about the safe?"

"Go and look at it, if you want to," Spenser suggested. "Seems to me it
must be one of those double ones. The right-hand side opens with an
ordinary key and a combination. The left-hand side--well, that's where
all the things must be that we want to get at, and the Lord only knows
how it opens. The girl tried to make me believe it was a dummy."

Johnson dragged out a case and with some difficulty lit a most
unpleasant-looking cigar. His companion waved the smoke away in disgust.

"I wish you would throw that beastly thing out of the window," he said
pettishly. "There are heaps of cigarettes on the table there."

"No use to me," was the sullen reply. "Look here, Fred, what are you
going to do? We're onto a big thing and it's no good sitting here and
letting it slip out of our hands. There's the safe. That would tell us a
good deal of what we want to know. And there's the girl in this very
house who could also tell us a good deal. It's not in my line of country
but if you can't make her talk I shall have to try."

"You're talking now like a damn' fool," Spenser said. "If you try any
rough stuff you will find those little foreigners will cut your throat
for two pins. Besides, you wouldn't get any forrader. As soon as the
formal certificate of death has been signed the lawyer will be here and
the will will be read. It's damned annoying to have to wait but it's
better than qualifying for the criminal pen."

Johnson smoked stolidly for a moment or two. He looked with gloom at his
companion.

"When I think of all the women you have done just as you liked with, you
lousy Lothario," he scoffed, "it makes me want to get up and knock your
head off to think you can't have your way with a chit of a girl like
this. She can't be more than twenty-five."

"It's not a matter of age," Spenser protested irritably. "The girl's got
ideas of her own. Of course, if I had known she was going to turn out
like this I would have started making the running long ago. I'll tell
you a chap I don't like, Johnson--he's a professor, too, just home from
India, and he might be a pretty dangerous chap here--Granet. I tried to
stop him coming but he wouldn't listen."

"I don't like him myself," Johnson agreed. "He's sitting in front of his
bungalow at the present moment talking pretty with little Carlotta di
Mendoza."

Spenser frowned angrily.

"Butting in with her, too, is he? Curse the fellow!"

"Look here," Johnson said. "It doesn't matter how many kids he plays
with so long as he doesn't get in our way. Do you believe that this
girl, Jane Grassleyes, has the key to the other side of the safe?"

"I don't even know that there is a key," Spenser replied. "If there is
she's got it. She has plenty of brains and the first thing she would go
for would be the old lady's keys. The one that opens the harmless part
of the affair came off a little bunch of her own. I noticed that when
she opened it--borrowed it more than a month ago and had another made.
The other side of the safe has me beaten but there must be an entrance
to it somewhere."

"Why don't we go after the girl, then?" Johnson suggested. "You know
which her bedroom is. You seem to have had hard words with her this
evening. Why not try the sentimentalist? She can't keep it up for ever,
you know. She must be kind of broken down after a day like she's had."

"I'll think it over," Spenser promised.

"Supposing," Johnson speculated, "the old lady gets over it?"

"That's just why I don't want you to try any of these games," Spenser
pointed out. "The trouble of it is the girl and I never hit it off. I
used to make fun of the old lady sometimes, thinking it would amuse her,
but she never liked it. I tried a bit of the usual stuff on her the only
night I ever took her out to dinner and it didn't go. I can tell you
that, Johnson. She wouldn't have come out at all if her aunt hadn't
insisted. Lady Grassleyes looked pretty queer at me the next morning and
she never suggested my taking her out again."

"Do you think she knows anything?"

"I'm not at all sure. I'm not even sure that the old lady knew as much
as she ought to have known. If she did she was one of the best bluffers
I've ever come across."

Johnson threw away his cigar.

"To-morrow," he said, "I'll draw up a little plan of action. You're sure
there's no one else on the lay, Fred?"

"Certain!"

"We'd best let it run, then," Johnson declared as he made his way across
the room.

Spenser waited until he heard the front door close, then he went back to
the safe, unlocked it once more and commenced a more comprehensive
search of the loose papers underneath the leases.

       *       *       *       *       *

He had almost completed his search when he stopped short, gave a little
exclamation, lifted up a pile of heavily mounted photographs and drew
from underneath a calf-bound volume. He stared at it joyfully. Embossed
upon it in gilt letters he read: PRIVATE LEDGER, GRASSLEYES ESTATE.

"God Almighty!" he muttered. "That's a lucky find!"

He listened for a moment, looking over his shoulder. There was no one
about. He moved quickly to the desk, carrying the ledger with him,
unlocked it with a key which was attached to a ring in its back by a
fine steel chain and turned to the index.

"Spenser & Sykes," he murmured in the same hoarse undertone. "Folio
ninety-two. Here we are. Oh, my God! She hasn't half stuck me for it!"

He doubled the ledger back, listened again, then walked with swift
footsteps to the door and quietly locked it. For a heavy man he had
suddenly become very light on his feet. He dragged out the photographs
from the safe, took the thickest of all of them and slipped it
underneath page ninety-two. Then he drew out a penknife from his pocket.

"Here goes and chance it! One--two--three--four--five--six--seven."

He counted the pages. They were all there. There were some figures in
coloured crayon on the next page but nothing else, no other record of
that ghastly total. He trimmed the cut edges a little, closed the
ledger, doubled up the sheets and stuffed them into his trousers'
pocket. Then he returned to the safe, thrust back the ledger as near as
possible in the place where he had found it, stuffed in the photographs,
closed and locked the door of the safe, reset the combination, regained
his seat and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"My God, if I can only get away with this!" he groaned.

He bit his nails for a moment or two, thought heavily--thought till his
face seemed to get smaller--poured out some whisky, forgot the sodawater
and drank.

"It's all right," he told himself. "I'm in luck."

He listened intently and went on.

"The whole place is as silent as a mausoleum. There's not a soul about.
I'll have one go for the will."

He pulled out the middle drawer of the desk and commenced his search. He
was a curious man by disposition and there were many things that
interested him in the papers he found. Some he put on one side to
examine more thoroughly.

"The will," he kept reminding himself, "the will."




CHAPTER VII


Carlotta waited until it was quite obvious that Johnson was on his way
up to the Manoir and well out of hearing before she laid her hand once
more on her companion's arm.

"Mr. Granet," she confided, "I was frightened before I came. I am more
frightened than ever now. What is the mystery up at the Manoir? What are
the police doing there and why did the doctor refuse to sign the
certificate?"

"My dear young lady," Granet assured her, "I cannot tell you. It really
isn't any business of ours, is it?"

"I think that it is our business," Carlotta persisted. "You are such a
clever man! You could find out, if you wished. She was such a dear old
lady and there is something so mysterious about it all."

"You flatter me," he smiled. "I think that the doctor who refused to
sign the certificate was a little meticulous. His refusal was probably
because he could not nominate the actual cause of death. I suppose I was
one of the first to see her afterwards. To me she seemed quite peaceful
and as though she had passed away without any struggle at all. There was
probably some cardiac trouble that no one, not even herself, knew of."

Carlotta sighed, and her large, appealing eyes sought for his sympathy.
Granet, however, was not a man with an overwhelming amount of that
quality.

"Look here," he proposed. "I personally don't see what we can do
to-night or what any one can do to us, but if you like I will ring up
the Manoir and see if the agent is really there. If he is not, then I
think the best thing you can do is to go to bed and forget this affair
until to-morrow."

"But I cannot sleep," the girl protested, clasping her fingers together.
"I am sure you would find Mr. Spenser at the Manoir. That is his car
over there."

"I have an idea," Granet said, "that Mr. Spenser would like to get rid
of us all for some reason or other. Are you willing to go if they want
us to?"

"I am not sure," was the aimless reply. "I do not think so."

"Will your sister want to go?"

"I am sure that she will not. She had a peculiar sort of affection for
Lady Grassleyes and she will be terribly upset."

"Do you mean she has not heard yet?"

Carlotta shook her head.

"She knows nothing of what has happened here. I dare not wake her. She
has been in her room all day and although I have knocked on her door I
knew it was useless. She has taken a strong sleeping draught."

"Well, that fellow Johnson is not likely to come back here again so
would you like me to go up to the Manoir and find out if there is any
news?" he proposed.

Her beseeching look brought a smile to his lips. She clutched at his
hand and gripped it tightly.

"Please do not send me away."

"You can stay here, if you like, until I come back."

"I should like to do that," she assented. "But do not be very long."

He rose to his feet.

"If you will excuse me, then. Sorry I have nothing suitable to offer you
in the way of refreshment. I only moved in this evening, you know, and I
have nothing but whisky."

"I should like some whisky."

He fetched a glass, the bottle of whisky and some Perrier. She watched
him pour out a small quantity of the former into the tumbler, for which
she held out her hand.

"But you must not drink it neat!" he warned her.

"How does one drink it, then?"

"Why, with sodawater or this Perrier."

"Then give me some of the Perrier, please. This is the first time I have
ever tasted whisky. I hope that it will warm me."

"If you had drunk it as it was," he told her, "it would have warmed you
all right."

He filled the tumbler with Perrier Water and placed it in her hand. She
looked at it doubtfully.

"You can go now," she said. "Hurry back."

Granet made his way through the gate and began his short walk across the
park to the Manoir. He glanced back once. Carlotta was still sitting
there motionless. She was holding the tumbler awkwardly in her hand as
though she scarcely knew what to do with it. He turned away impatiently.

"The girl is like the rest of them--crazy," he muttered. "I wish I'd
never seen the damned place!"

       *       *       *       *       *

There was nothing inhospitable about the appearance of the Manoir
although it was now getting late. One side of the very attractive front
door was open, giving a little vista of the cool stone hall. Granet
entered and looked round him. There were several heavily shaded lights
but no visible person, no sound about the place. He hesitated for some
time, then he made his way down the corridor towards the room where Lady
Grassleyes had been seated on the occasion of his first visit. He tried
the handle of the door and found, not altogether to his surprise, that
it was locked. He stooped down to peer through the large keyhole but saw
nothing. The key was in the other side. The door had obviously been
locked by some one now in the room. Granet stood upright again. Well
under control though his nerves were, he almost shouted out, for without
the slightest warning a voice whispered literally in his ear. He swung
round. Pooralli was standing there, pasty-faced, black-eyed,
self-contained. He held up his finger and beckoned. Granet advanced a
few yards towards him.

"Where the devil did you come from?" he demanded.

"The passage," was the quietly spoken answer, accompanied with a little
wave of the hand. "I hear well. I heard that there was some one in the
hall and my feet are quiet feet. What does the gentleman need?"

"First of all," Granet said, unconsciously dropping his voice to attune
with the man's stealthy tone, "I was wondering who was in that room with
the door locked."

"A gentleman from Nice," Pooralli whispered.

"Why is he locked in?"

Pooralli raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

"He told nothing. He has been here for more than an hour. He has talked
with the doctor; he has talked with Mr. Reynard, the local lawyer; he
has talked with the police; he has talked with Miss Grassleyes, he has
talked with the tenant of 'The Olive Tree' bungalow. All gone away now.
Only him left."

"Who is 'him'?"

"The agent for the whole estate," Pooralli explained with a wave of the
hand. "Mr. Spenser."

"I should like to speak to him."

Pooralli received the suggestion unfavourably.

"Him very busy man," he said. "He have much private business."

"I only want to ask him an ordinary question," Granet persisted. "Knock
at the door and say that I have come. Tell him that I am the tenant who
moved in this evening--or--stop! What about the young lady?"

"Miss Grassleyes not anywhere. Hiding."

"Why?"

The butler shook his head.

"She is afraid of Mr. Spenser," he confided. "She watched his car
mounting the hill, round and round and round. Then she ran away. Mr.
Spenser he ask for her and it took me a long while to find her. Then
they talked in large room--locked now--where ladyship used to sit. Miss
Grassleyes gone now."

"It seems to me," Granet observed a little irritably, "that every one
spends their time avoiding some one else up here. Anyhow, just knock at
the door and tell the agent that the new tenant wants to speak to him."

Pooralli made no further protest. He knocked at the door. For a moment
there was silence. He knocked again. They heard the turning of the key
and the door was flung open.

"What do you want?" Spenser demanded.

The butler pointed to Granet.

"Gentleman wished to see agent," he explained. "Tenant 'The Lamps of
Fire.' Young lady let it this afternoon."

Spenser waved Pooralli away, motioned Granet into the room and closed
the door. Granet, in one swift glance round, obtained a vision of open
cupboards and drawers, a table strewn with papers. He saw also a very
disturbed and angry man.




CHAPTER VIII


"What is it that you wish to see me about, Mr. Granet?" Spenser asked.

"Nothing out of the way, I hope. A few of us just want to know what Miss
Grassleyes' plans are with regard to the bungalows."

"Look here," Spenser replied in a tone of exasperation, "you may be all
that your references pronounce you, but will you tell me why, when I
advised you not to take a bungalow here and you insisted upon doing
so--why, now that the lady who owned the property is no longer here--you
make yourself the spokesman of all the tenants and come and bother me as
to whether you are going to be turned out of your bungalows? Personally,
I hope you are. If I am, as I believe, one of the executors of Lady
Grassleyes' will, I shall see that you are."

Granet, taken aback by the manner of his reception, was silent for a few
moments.

"Well, that's straight talk at any rate," he admitted. "All the same, if
you don't mind my saying so, there does seem something a little
mysterious about the whole affair. Why are you so anxious to get rid of
us? What harm can we do by staying on for a few more days, especially
the older residents who have got used to the place?"

Spenser turned the key of the door and beckoned him to a chair in the
neighbourhood of the desk. He turned up the table lamp, switched off the
other lights in the room and sat down himself. In the comparative gloom
by the threshold his appearance had seemed to Granet fairly normal. But
now, with this fierce glare thrown upon him, he had the air of a man in
torture.

"You can tell your co-tenants this, Mr. Granet," he said, "and accept
the same message yourself. I speak to you as a possible executor of Lady
Grassleyes' will. In the interests of the estate every one of the
tenants will receive a week's notice and any one who chooses to leave
before that time is welcome to do so."

Granet reflected for a moment.

"I can understand that you might find the running of the estate in its
present form a little unsound from a financial point of view," he
admitted, "but how do you know that Miss Grassleyes, for instance,
shares your views? She probably will have something to say about it. You
are not likely to be the only executor."

"You can adopt that view, if you choose, Mr. Granet," was the irritable
reply, "but considering you cannot have been here for more than a few
hours and that your baggage can hardly have arrived, I cannot see what
inconvenience you are put to in being asked to leave at once."

Granet relapsed into a further brief silence. He was still hesitating
when he happened to glance up. Spenser was leaning across the table, his
protuberant eyes widely open, his lips a little parted, a fierce
expression of anxiety on his face. Granet was bewildered. He promptly
changed his mind.

"If Miss Grassleyes," he said, "will confirm your request; if she, too,
asks me to leave, I will go at once."

Spenser's expression remained almost ferocious.

"Why insist upon Miss Grassleyes' coming into the matter?" he demanded.
"I am acting in her interests. She knows nothing about business. Set
these others an example, Mr. Granet, in kindliness. Accept my word for
it that your departure is for the good of everybody. If you do not go it
may be a matter of great regret to you later on."

"That sounds almost like a threat," Granet observed.

"I have not threatened you. I have treated you courteously. I have not
made the mistake of losing my temper as I did in my office this
afternoon. The matter is one of great moment to those who have to carry
on after Lady Grassleyes. I repeat my request. Please go yourself and so
much the better if you can induce the others to follow your example."

"You have not advanced a single sane reason why I should do so," Granet
pointed out.

The house-agent was silent.

"No," he admitted, "I have not. Furthermore," he added after another
pause, "I shall not. I take it that you refuse?"

"Unless Miss Grassleyes adds her persuasion to yours. A single word from
her will be sufficient."

"Very well, we will leave it like that. At present you must excuse me."

He rose to his feet. Granet, who had followed his example, found himself
studying with as much alarm as a brave man can feel the change in his
vis--vis's expression. Mr. Spenser was no longer the suave man of
affairs temporarily disconcerted by the loss in somewhat dramatic
circumstances of a valued client and friend. There was something in his
eyes, something in the twitch of his lips, which was almost akin to
lunacy. It was the expression of a man desperate with fear yet
determined. His hand had strayed for a moment into the top drawer of the
desk at which he had been seated. Granet leaned forward curiously, but
the next second Spenser's left hand shot out towards the table lamp and
they were plunged into darkness. The room was large, the windows small
and closely curtained and the darkness seemed to possess a strangely
enveloping quality. Even the somewhat bulky form of the house-agent
seemed to have faded into complete obscurity. Then Granet heard his
voice. He must have stolen away from his place at the desk. The voice
came from somewhere near the middle of the apartment. The tone of it was
apologetic and almost gentle.

"Sorry, I forgot you don't know your way about this room as I do. Will
you turn on the light yourself or can you find your way to the door? I'm
going to let you out."

Granet opened his lips to reply and suddenly closed them again. Every
now and then in life he had trodden on the mantle of adventure. He
remembered a room suddenly dark in a far-away shanty amongst the hills
of Yukon, a voice ringing out through the darkness, a reply, and a rain
of bullets from the spot whence the reply had come.... He closed his
lips and on tiptoe stole away from the desk. He made not the slightest
sound. Every instinct he possessed was directed towards
self-preservation from a probable madman.

"Can't you answer me?" Spenser demanded, this time with a different ring
in his voice. "Turn on the lamp, man, if you can't see the way."

Again silence. Granet was almost holding his breath. He could tell by
the uneasy creaking of Spenser's shoes that he was nearer than he had
been. He could tell, too, by that next staccato sentence, that his
unseen enemy was losing his nerve, for there was a distinct tremble in
his voice.

"Look here, no more of this! What are you hiding for? Are you going to
turn up that lamp?"

Still silence, complete and utter darkness. If Spenser could have seen
anything he would have very much disliked the smile on Granet's lips.

"Very well," he snapped out tremulously. "I am going to open the door
and lock you in from the other side while I telephone to the police. You
don't believe me? Well, listen."

Once more there was the uneasy squeaking of his shoes. Apparently he was
keeping his word this time. A moment later Granet heard the withdrawal
of the key. He listened intently. There had been no sound of unlocking.

"Come on!" cried Spenser, his voice now shaking with anxiety. "We have
had enough of this farce. We don't want any more scandal about the
place. I was going to throw you out, but instead we will leave together.
I have wasted enough of my time up here."

Granet's unbroken silence continued. He had something else to think
about now. From underneath the door of the adjoining apartment, only a
few feet behind the chair where Spenser had been seated and which Lady
Grassleyes had occupied earlier in the day, there was a sudden thin line
of light. Some one had entered the room which Miss Grassleyes had told
him was her sanctuary. Granet, whose silence had been so marvellously
preserved, retained it during the next few moments with a gigantic
effort.

"Very well, then, very well! In three seconds I shall put you out of the
way!" cried Spenser, his voice vibrating through the silence.

Granet stooped a little and moved noiselessly a foot or two to the
right. Nevertheless, the sound which he expected did not come. Soft
footsteps he heard instead--footsteps drawing nearer every moment. He
glanced over his shoulder at the faint line of light under the door of
the adjoining room. Instinctively he knew that whoever was in that room
was listening. Inch by inch the line of light grew wider.

"Be careful what you're doing, you fool!" he shouted at Spenser.
"There's some one coming out of the next room."

He leaned forward, snatched a heavy paperweight from the table and slung
it into the darkness. There was an angry shout from out of the
invisible chaos ahead. The door behind him was suddenly flung wide open
and a flood of light streamed in. Almost simultaneously a revolver
bullet whistled past his head, followed by a feminine scream. Granet
sprang like a cat to the door of the adjoining room at which Jane
Grassleyes was standing. He thrust her backwards and slammed it to
behind them.

"It's that fellow Spenser!" he gasped. "Gone mad--got hold of a
revolver."

"If he's been in that room all this time," she cried, "he may have found
the key. Let me pass!"

"Not I. I tell you he's mad."

The girl made a rush at the door and flung it open. The light streamed
into the larger apartment, revealing a crashed vase of flowers in the
middle of the carpet, the door at the end of the room standing open.
They heard the slamming of the front door. Jane Grassleyes slipped
suddenly from Granet's grasp and dashed across the room. The next moment
they heard the honking of a horn and saw the flashing of lights of a
disappearing car.




CHAPTER IX


Granet, who had moved swiftly across the room and pulled back the
curtains from the windows on the north side, watched the head-lights of
the car disappear round the last bend of the mountain road.

"If I were you, Miss Grassleyes," he said, turning towards her, "I think
I should change my house-agent."

Jane looked up from the place she had taken in front of the desk. Her
arms were spread over the drawer which she had pulled open and in which
she was still searching. She seemed to have forgotten his presence in
the room.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Why, Mr. Spenser of Spenser & Sykes--the gentleman who had been
fiddling about at that drawer when I came in and who later seemed to
have evil designs upon my person. Nasty trick of his to turn the lights
out, and I don't think house-agents ought to be allowed to carry
firearms, even if they are bad shots. Great friend of your aunt's,
wasn't he?"

She closed the drawer. Granet watched her for a moment without further
remark.

"Not quite the sort of person I should have chosen to be my executor if
ever I were making a will," he concluded.

"How do you know he is my aunt's executor?" she demanded.

"Well, he seemed pretty sure about it. Was it true do you think?"

"It may be."

"Was it by any chance your aunt's will that you were looking for in that
drawer?"

"It was not."

"Because if it was," he went on, "I might suggest to you that the drawer
has already been searched by several people--the police, for instance,
as well as our fugitive friend. A document so important as a will would
not have been allowed to remain there."

"Naturally it would not," she assented.

Granet looked at her thoughtfully. There was something utterly unnatural
in the impassivity of her features. He drew his cigarette case from his
pocket.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"No. Give me one," she begged.

He handed her the case, struck a match and lit a cigarette for her. Then
he watched her for a few moments in silence. He himself smoked with the
calm enjoyment of a man who accepts a cigarette as a relief after a
brief crisis. He inhaled slowly, watched the smoke curl up towards the
ceiling, knocked off his ash with a perfectly easy and natural gesture
and all the time studied the girl. She was smoking in an entirely
different fashion. She did not for some time even remove the cigarette
from her mouth. She puffed rapidly, inhaling and exhaling almost
fiercely. The blue vapour hung about her like a film. She smoked, Granet
decided, like a person never likely to feel a cigarette between her lips
again--as one might smoke on the way from the condemned cell to the
place of execution.

"I wonder whether you know, Miss Grassleyes," he continued presently,
"that there is a great deal of curiosity amongst your tenants as to what
is going to happen to them. I have had two visitors this evening from
amongst their number who--"

"Who were they?" she interrupted with evidences of a fierce anxiety in
her voice.

"The young sister of the singer Madame di Mendoza, and a Mr. Johnson."

"No one else?"

"No one else up to the present," he assured her.

Jane relaxed into her former manner. Apparently she was not greatly
interested in either of the two persons he had mentioned.

"It appears," Granet went on, "if you will permit what may seem to be an
impertinent suggestion, that there is a good deal of mystery concerning
these bungalows."

"Curiosity, rather," she remarked.

He shook his head.

"More than that. I am including myself in the list."

"You disappoint me," she sighed.

"Why not drop this fencing and tell me the truth?" he asked bluntly.
"Remember, I was in at the beginning. I have really been at one or two
little scenes you missed. I have been insulted and, as you saw for
yourself, even had my life threatened by that enterprising young man who
they say if he set his mind to it could sell a hovel to a duke and a
palace to a beggar. Mr. Spenser was very anxious indeed that I should
not become one of your tenants."

"And I," she reminded him, "was just as anxious that you should."

"Therein," he expounded gently, "part of the mystery."

She had finished smoking. She refused another cigarette with a little
gesture of disgust.

"I will be an honest woman for two minutes," she decided at last,
wearily. "I would give everything I had in the world to offer you my
whole confidence and ask you to be my friend. I can't do it."

"To shield some one else?"

"Certainly not. I think of no one but myself."

"Then if I were you I should look at that clock," he advised her, "lock
up the place and go straight to bed. On a night like this it would be
worse than indiscreet for you to be found in here at midnight holding a
consultation with a comparative stranger in an apartment impregnated
with the distinct odour of gunpowder."

"I don't fear that in the least," she told him.

"Neither do I. I am rather enjoying it, in fact. I have a taste for
mysteries and I was hoping to get a little information from you or make
you commit yourself in some way."

"Do you think you are so much cleverer than I?"

"I should say that I am a person of more experience."

"You would find it a case in which experience would not help you."

"How do you know? Supposing I were a detective, for instance. Would not
my previous experience in questioning and cross-questioning possible
criminals be of some service to me?"

There was the faintest glimmer of a smile upon her lips.

"Then you admit that I might be a possible criminal," she said.

"I can't imagine you a criminal at all. That is why I should like to
have your confidence and help you to get out of this mess."

"How do you know that I am in a mess?"

"It is perfectly obvious that you are," he declared. "You are a part
sharer at any rate in your own secret, whatever that may be. You know
all about the mystery of Spenser's wild behaviour, you are more than
anxious that I should not fall into a panic and leave you here."

"What makes you jump to that conclusion?" she demanded.

"I mean that without trusting me you realize very well that I am a man
to be trusted, and if anything is to happen you feel that you will be
safer if I am somewhere within call."

"I consider you," she said deliberately, "to be a perfectly blended
mixture of self-confidence and conceit. I give you up. I will have no
more to do with you. If you don't say good night and leave the room I
shall ring the bell and Pooralli will come to my rescue."

Granet lit another cigarette.

"Now that we have finished playing with words and posing as being quite
impossible people," he remarked calmly, "why can't we be honest with one
another?"

"Because I don't know what you want," she told him, with something of
the former weariness in her tone. "I really don't."

"I should like to be your friend," he confided. "If you don't find one
presently that madman Spenser will land you into some sort of trouble."

"I accept your friendship," she said, her voice softening. "Now tell me
how to escape the wiles of Mr. Spenser. I will admit this much to you if
it helps. He has a real and vital reason for wanting to get control over
the whole of this property."

"I should begin by refusing to believe a single thing he says."

"The man in whom my aunt had implicit confidence?" she expostulated.

"Look here," he said. "If you would like me to pack up and go you have
only to say the word, but I warn you that I'm not going to stay here and
be treated like a fool. This man in whom your aunt had 'implicit
confidence' has behaved like a lunatic during the last hour. For some
reason or other he doesn't want to have me as a tenant on the estate and
now that I am here he wants to turn me out. Because I hesitated he lost
his temper with me down at his office; I found him up here to-night and
he behaved like a madman, turned out the lights and, because I
discovered him rummaging in that desk and he probably guessed by the
line of light under the door of your bureau that you were likely to
enter the room at any moment, he deliberately took a chance shot at me
with his revolver. I suppose if anything had happened he would have
declared that he thought I was a burglar, and probably got away with it.
It won't do, Miss Grassleyes. You are either going to tell me a little
more about this madman or, however much I regret leaving a lady in the
lurch, I shall pack up and go."

Almost as the words left his lips he regretted them. In silence he
watched her rise to her feet, climb the two steps into her own little
room and close the door behind her. Even then, however, he would have
called after her but for the click of the lock in the door. He walked
irresolutely the whole length of the room. Then the matter was decided
for him. Pooralli entered.

"What do you want?" Granet asked.

"Miss Grassleyes she telephone from her office to show gentleman out,"
he announced. "This way, gentleman."

"Isn't she coming back again?"

"She say no. I am to tell gentleman to leave. Please."

Granet shrugged his shoulders, followed the man down the hall and passed
out into the quiet night. Almost with his first gulp of the fresh
air--very fragrant it seemed after the atmosphere he was leaving--the
door was closed behind him. He saw the hall light go out. With his hands
in his pockets he made his way gloomily back to "The Lamps of Fire."
Here again he met with a shock. All the lights inside appeared to have
been extinguished. Nowhere was there any sign of life. He pressed down
the latch of the door and pushed. To his surprise it did not yield. He
shook the latch itself without any result. The door was locked. He could
see distinctly by that flat shining slab of metal that his own door was
barred against him. He shook it again violently, but in vain. There was
no light or sound in the house.

       *       *       *       *       *

For an angry man Granet certainly behaved quite reasonably. He threw
himself into the larger of the two chairs outside, mixed himself a drink
from the bottles which had mercifully been left there, lit a fresh
cigarette and tried to piece together the puzzle of the night. An
impossible task, he decided. There was a mad house-agent who had tried
to provoke a quarrel and then fired a shot at him. All this simply
because he wouldn't promise to leave the place. There was a woman who
had apparently met with her end in some utterly mysterious fashion.
There was her very attractive niece who had received him so charmingly
but who had now relapsed into a state of mortal fear and withdrawn her
confidence from him. There were two servants who seemed as though they
had tumbled out of a Chinese theatre. There were the other occupants of
the bungalows: Mr. Herbert Johnson, rude, ill-bred, persistent;
Carlotta di Mendoza, a frightened, exquisitely beautiful child with that
queer air of belonging to the world of mystery, seeking to give him some
message out of her wonderful, appealing eyes. And finally there was the
fact that some one had slammed the door of his bungalow with the idea of
locking him out for the night. There was something so absurd about this
last that he was goaded to action. He rose to his feet, looked once more
at the narrow strip of metal which stood between him and his bed and
made his way round to the back of the bungalow. Nothing was easier than
the remainder of his task. The small blade of his penknife was
sufficient to lever the catch of the kitchen window. He hoisted himself
without effort to the sill and dropped lightly on to the other side. He
walked through to the lounge. It appeared undisturbed, his key
ostentatiously displayed upon the table. He moved on to the bedroom and
here received perhaps the greatest shock of the evening. Lying stretched
upon his bed, her head thrown back amongst the pillows, with a delicacy
of outline in her posture which had been lacking outside in the wicker
chair, an attraction in her quiet, profound sleep which had not been
present in her waking moments, was Carlotta di Mendoza. There was a
smile upon her lips which was almost beatific. Granet realized then that
she had come to him in a state of terror which in repose she had
entirely lost. He realized also that she was occupying the only bed in
the place and had every appearance of having settled down for the night.
Added to which it was past one o'clock in the morning. He was suddenly
indignant. He leaned forward.

"Get up, please," he enjoined quietly but firmly. "You must get up at
once."

The girl shivered for a moment, opened her eyes, looked up at him,
deliberately turned her shoulder and seemed in the act of going off to
sleep again.

"Look here," Granet protested, "you can't do this."

"What are you talking about?" she asked querulously. "Let me alone,
please. I am a very tired girl. This is the first time I have slept for
three nights."

"Well, you are not going to sleep here," he said. "Please get up. I have
been to the Manoir at your request. I am back to make my report."

She turned over again, yawned and drew up the coverlet.

"You are a man who is very tiresome."

"You are a girl who is making free with a bed which does not belong to
her," he retorted. "I, too, am tired. You have a bungalow of your own
quite close. Please to get up and I will escort you there."

"Oh, I do not think so. I know I should go but Miriam is there and she
will be angry if I disturb her. You can sleep here so long as you are
very quiet and do not disturb me."

She moved a little away as though to make room for him by her side.

"I'm damned if I'll do anything of the sort!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry,"
he apologized the next second, "but, young lady, you are half asleep and
talking nonsense."

"You are very, very English. Do you think I am being improper? I am not.
I have found a bed I like and I want to sleep if you will only let me,
if you will leave off talking. Just tell me what you found out up at the
Manoir and then we will go to sleep."

"I have found out nothing," he told her, "and if I had I should not tell
you until you got up."

Her eyes were closing again. Granet took a step forward.

"I'm coming," he warned her.

"That is sensible."

She moved still farther away and lazily took the pillow which was lying
over her knees and pushed it towards him.

"You can have that. You can put it between us if you like or you can use
it for your head."

Granet looked down at her helplessly. Her dress was crumpled, she had
taken off her brooch and stuck it in the pillow, one leg was daringly
displayed. She pulled the coverlet up to her chin.

"I have been a refugee," she confided drowsily. "I have had to sleep in
the same room as strangers before. You are very, very British. You think
that to sleep in the same bed is wicked. It is not so. I will not
disturb you, Mr.--Mr.--"

She was actually dropping off to sleep with the last "Mr." quivering on
her lips. Granet looked down at the empty space she had left at her side
and at the pillow she had held out to him and which had slipped from her
fingers.

"Be a good man," she murmured, opening her eyes once more. "I go to
sleep now. Stretch yourself out. You may hold my hand for a few
moments."

He took her by the shoulders and gently, almost tenderly, shook her.

"My dear child," he reasoned, "except in uniform I have never been to
sleep with my clothes on in my life."

"You can take off a few of them, surely? You are being unkind. Please,
please take off your shoes quietly and let me go to sleep again. Morning
will come and I shall still be tired. I will not disturb you in any way.
But I do not wish to get up," she cried as she felt his fingers more
firmly on her shoulders. "Please do not disturb me. I will be as quiet
as you like. Cannot you be content to let me dream? Am I so repulsive to
have near you? I will not fidget. I am not a thief. In the morning I
shall have courage and will go away."

By this time Granet had drawn her to a sitting position. She looked at
him like a hurt child.

"Carlotta," he pleaded, "I would leave you here with pleasure but you
would only be found by one of those foreign servants when they came down
in the morning."

She shivered.

"I do not mind."

"Do be reasonable, please. You can't stay here."

"But I want to."

"Well, you just can't. Now I am going to mix a drink and then will you
sit outside with me and talk for a minute or two? Afterwards I will take
you back to your bungalow. Thank goodness you have had the sense to keep
your clothes on!"

"I can take them off, if you like," she proposed hopefully. "It would
rest me more. But if I must get up, lift me, please."

He was so quick about it that she was in the easy chair by the side of
the bed before she realized it. Granet drew a deep breath of relief. The
faint odour of the perfume she used came from the crumpled sheets. He
drew the coverlet over them and faced her firmly.

"Where are your shoes?"

"In the bottom of the bed."

He found them for her. She stretched out her stockinged legs.

"Put them on, please."

He obeyed a little clumsily.

"Now come outside," he insisted, holding out his hand.

She came with the air of a reluctant child. He established her in one of
the wicker chairs, mixed himself a drink and sat by her side.

"You feel that little trickle of wind from the mountains? I think that
must mean that when the dawn comes there will be a mistral."

"I feel it," she murmured. "It is beautiful. It is so cool. I thought
the mistral was always a hot wind."

"Not always," he told her. "Not as bad as the sirocco, anyway."

"Give me some of your drink, please," she begged.

He poured half of his into another glass.

"I drank some of what you left," she told him. "But not much. Please get
some other things here. I like wine, not spirits. Will you have some
champagne to-morrow night?"

"You will not be here to-morrow night," he said severely.

She drew herself up in her chair.

"I have met several men before in my life," she confided, "although I
always say no when strangers wish for an introduction, but I have never
met a man so unkind, so disagreeable as you. What is there wrong with
me, Mr. Granet? You do not find me attractive? You find in me nothing
you like?"

"I know very little about you," he replied. "And considering we are
complete strangers I think you are a trifle forward."

"No one," she declared, "has ever called me that before."

"Well, in any case," he said, "I must make my report. I must tell you
that I found the Manoir a hot-bed of mystery. The house-agent, who
behaved more like a burglar, was very rude, and Miss Grassleyes refused
to discuss the situation with me. I shall pack up my things and leave in
the morning. I should advise you and your sister to do the same."

"And not see one another again?" she asked with a little purr in her
voice and the softness gathering again in her eyes.

"Look here, how old are you?" he demanded.

"I am seventeen. I know quite well everything you are trying to say to
me but I do not wish to leave here. My sister will not go, either."

"Do you think your sister would approve of your being here alone with me
at this hour of the night?"

"Perhaps not," she reflected, "but if she knew you as I do she would not
mind. Anybody would trust you, would they not, Mr. Granet? You are
almost too trustworthy."

He took the hand she held out, patted the long, soft fingers and
returned it to its place.

"They might," he warned her, "have a bad shock. You had better report to
your sister that a sane man who has done his best to solve the mystery
of this place has come to the conclusion that we had all better clear
out."

"She will not go," the girl declared hopefully. "I am glad that she will
not. I like it here. I thought that in the morning perhaps you would
take me in your automobile up into the mountains. We could have a
picnic."

"Well, we can't. I have work to do."

"I will help you."

"You could not. Now, do you mind if we go?"

She rose reluctantly to her feet, passed through the gate and hung
heavily on his arm.

"The path between our bungalows," she whispered, "was meant for lovers,
I am sure. There are flowers on either side and it is necessary to walk
very close together. You have not been along it yet?"

"Not yet. I have not been here many hours, you know."

"The roses are _sauvage_," she continued, "and they have a wonderful
perfume through the day. You see the light still burns."

"Is your bungalow as near as that?"

"Just at the end of the walk. That is the room my sister is in," she
pointed out. "Hers is all dark but there is a light in the lounge."

Granet could scarcely believe that he was within a few yards of safety.
Carlotta seemed to have become suddenly quite resigned. They turned the
slight bend in the walk and before him, in the midst of what seemed to
be a cascade of drooping roses, was an open door.

"You left your door open!" he exclaimed.

"Of course," she answered. "What does it matter? There are no thieves in
these parts. Good-bye, Mr. Granet, you sad, stern man. You see, I shall
give you my fingers to kiss."

He lifted her hand high up to his lips--slim, exquisite fingers they
were, ringless and soft. He brushed them with his lips and she smacked
his cheek lightly.

"You are a bad man," she complained, "not to want to kiss me. Perhaps I
should not like you to. Perhaps I should. But you should want to. Good
night. Thank you very much for being kind. I loved your bed but I will
not dream of you."

She threw him a little backward glance, floated through the door and
closed it gently behind her. Granet made his way back along the grassy
path to "The Lamps of Fire." He finished his drink, undressed like one
in a dream, loaded a six-shooter which he dragged out from one of his
bags, and crawled into that restless mass of tumbled bed-clothes. In
five minutes he was pleasantly asleep.




CHAPTER X


Mr. Woodley's polite smile of welcome was a trifle strained as he leaned
over his little strip of mahogany counter the following afternoon. He
had taken a morbid dislike to the pale-faced gentleman of prosperous
appearance who was standing there, and also to his female companion.
Nevertheless, he asked the usual question with his usual smile.

"What can I have the pleasure of doing for you, sir?"

"We are looking for quiet rooms in a secluded neighbourhood," the man
replied. "We wish to be outside the town but not too far away. My name,"
he concluded, producing a somewhat ornate card, "is Leonidas--Mr. Samuel
Leonidas."

The manager glanced at the card and bowed.

"I have no doubt that we shall be able to suit you, sir," he said. "What
is the nature of the accommodation you require?"

"My husband is in the film business," the lady explained, fanning
herself in a somewhat affected manner. "Perhaps that is the reason why
in private life we like a certain amount of retirement."

"That's right," Mr. Leonidas agreed. "I don't want to be at the end of
the telephone every few minutes."

"People are always bothering my husband," Mrs. Leonidas confided,
"either to buy a story which would make, of course, a wonderful film, or
to give a talented son or daughter or perhaps themselves a chance in one
of their own films. He finds it sometimes a little fatiguing."

"Quite so," Woodley assented vaguely, his knowledge of the ins and outs
of the film business being slight. "I gather that you do not wish to be
in Nice itself."

"That's the idea," Mr. Leonidas agreed, twirling his black moustache.
"I'm not too fond of the sea, either. Bit of rheumatism, you know," he
added, smacking his thigh. "About thirty kilometres or so would be a
reasonable distance."

Woodley stroked his chin.

"Well, things are a little upset there just now," he remarked, "but Lady
Grassleyes' bungalows are very popular when there is one to let."

Mrs. Leonidas nodded approval.

"I have heard of them, my dear," she told her husband. "Miriam di
Mendoza is staying at one with her young sister. A very sad thing about
Lady Grassleyes. Will they carry on the place, do you suppose?"

"I'll have a word with Mr. Spenser, if you will allow me, madam,"
Woodley suggested.

He slipped away through that inner door into his employer's room.
Spenser, who had a slight scar on his cheek and was not looking
particularly well that day, glanced up impatiently at his coming.

"More people for Grassleyes, Mr. Spenser."

"Tell them to go to hell," Spenser replied fiercely. "Don't you know
better than to come and worry me about that blasted place, Woodley?"

The manager stood his ground.

"You will excuse me, sir," he ventured, "but you might find these people
useful. They are not quite the ordinary sort of tenant."

"What sort are they then?"

"Films, money," Woodley told him impressively.

"Money," the house-agent repeated thoughtfully.

He rose to his feet and gazed in the looking-glass. He touched the place
where the scar was somewhat obtrusive and dabbed a little powder upon
it. He smoothed his face over with a silk handkerchief and straightened
his hair.

"I will have a word with them, Woodley," he decided. "Don't forget,
though, I don't want any ordinary tenants."

Woodley hesitated for a single moment.

"The gentleman," he remarked, "is, I should think, either Greek or
Jewish. He looks as though he understood his way about."

"The film magnate generally does," his employer said dryly. "He
generally gets there, too. Show them in."

The manager returned to the outer office. He raised the flap of the
counter.

"Mr. Spenser, the head of the firm, would like to have a word with you,
Mr. Leonidas, and you, too, madam," he announced.

He ushered them into the private office. Spenser rose to his feet,
bowed amiably and pointed to chairs.

"Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas, I believe?" he said. "I fancy I have read about
you in the film papers."

"That's very likely," Mr. Leonidas acknowledged. "I am on vacation,
really, Mr. Spenser, but I have heard of this district in connection
with our industry. They tell me there are several companies at work in
this neighbourhood at the present moment."

"There are five or six French companies, three English, one German and
two American, that I know of," Spenser declared. "They have nearly all
invited me to go out and see their stuff but I am a busy man. I don't
get much time for that sort of thing."

"English, I am glad to hear," Mr. Leonidas remarked.

"The oldest-established English agency but one on the Riviera."

"Your manager tell you what sort of thing we are looking for?"

"He did indeed," was the prompt assent. "If the Grassleyes bungalows are
not too far out for you I should think they would be suitable. The
proprietress, Lady Grassleyes, was taken suddenly ill yesterday and
there is a slight uncertainty as to whether the bungalows will be
carried on. But they are worth having a look at."

"Give us a card to view and we will go out right away," Mr. Leonidas
suggested.

"Just like you, rushing at things," his wife put in. "How do we know a
bungalow would be any use to us? What about servants, plate, linen and
all that sort of thing, Mr. Spenser?"

"You can be supplied with everything, or bring everything you are likely
to want yourselves."

"Can't say fairer than that," the film magnate observed. "I have made up
my mind, Mr. Spenser. I am going to have a look at those bungalows."

"So headstrong he is!" Mrs. Leonidas murmured resignedly.

"The price of the one I should recommend would be twelve _mille_ a month
with furniture, crockery, plate and linen. Any service from the house is
extra."

Mr. Leonidas waved his fat white hand, keeping the palm extended so that
the house-agent could observe his ring, which was not the vulgar diamond
affair flaunted by so many of the leaders of his industry but a large,
very handsome signet ring with a coat of arms deeply engraved. It had
cost him seven pounds in the Caledonian Market and he was very proud of
it.

"The price is of no consequence," he declared. "It is value I look for.
If the value's there we deal. That's the way I engage my artistes. If
they ask five hundred pounds a week and they are worth it they get it
from me. If they ask five pounds and are not worth it I have nothing to
do with them."

"Sound business principles," Spenser admitted, closing and locking his
desk. "I was thinking of running out to Grassleyes and if you'd like to
come with me I'll show you the way."

"That suits me," Mr. Leonidas agreed. "We have a Rolls Royce outside."

"All you will have to do, then, is to follow me."

"You can come along with us, if you like," the other suggested.

Spenser shook his head.

"I never move without my own car," he said. "I have heaps of places
around I might want to visit. I like to be perfectly free to slip off
when I want to. I'll go slowly and have a word with your chauffeur
before we start."

"Don't you forget to go slowly, young man," Leonidas insisted. "I have
no fancy for being twisted about round these mountain roads."

"I'll remember," the house-agent promised as he showed them out.
"Woodley," he added, turning to his manager, "I shall be away for an
hour or so. If you want me ring up the Manoir, but don't send any one
else up there without speaking to me first."

"Very good, sir."

The chauffeur outside, wearing an imposing grey uniform, flung open the
door of the Rolls Royce and in a few moments Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas, in
the wake of Spenser, started out on their expedition.

       *       *       *       *       *

Samuel Leonidas, a few hours later, signed his name with a hard, black
flourish at the bottom of the agreement at which he had only glanced.
His wife looked at him curiously. There was something unfamiliar in his
face, something which she had only seen there once or twice before--a
dull, far-away gleam in his brown eyes, a set line round his mouth, a
sort of wistfulness in his expression which took him back through the
ages. One could have imagined him, in different clothes, leaning upon a
staff at the head of his family tribe, his eyes searching for the
Promised Land from the mountain top. Jane Grassleyes also watched him
curiously. For a few moments, at any rate, he seemed to have shed his
vulgarity as though it had been an unclean garment.

"When do you wish to take possession, Mr. Leonidas?" she asked, with a
new interest in her tone.

"At once," he answered. "I shall sleep here to-night. My valet will
bring my clothes. My wife will go back with the car and find some
servants."

"What, me alone?" Mrs. Leonidas demanded.

"You alone. I need rest. I shall drag my wicker chair from the bungalow
front to the little clearing in the wood. Josephs can come up with the
papers about the Shelten deal and I will go through them here and give
him instructions."

"Well I never!" his wife exclaimed. "He's like that, Miss Grassleyes. He
either takes a week to make up his mind about a thing or a minute. I'm
not so sure that I'm satisfied to be cut off from the world like this,
Samuel. I like the band in the morning. I like the people on the
promenade opposite the Negresco. It was only yesterday you were saying
what a sight it was."

Mr. Leonidas waved her away. He made one of his occasional lapses in the
English language.

"I have took a fancy to this place," he said, and all the harshness had
gone from his voice. "You can engage what servants you want down at Nice
and bring them back with you."

"Well I never!" she cried again, opening her vanity-case and looking at
herself thoughtfully. "Sometimes you do take my breath away, Samuel.
You'll be making a film up here next."

"He certainly will not," Jane interposed firmly.

"You don't care for films, young lady?" Mrs. Leonidas asked, closing her
case with a snap.

"I do not," Jane replied. "I have only seen one or two in my life and I
never wish to see another. I don't, as a rule," she added, "if you will
excuse my saying so, care for the men and women who act in them."

"A shoddy lot," Leonidas agreed. "I have made a few million dollars in
the business, Miss Grassleyes, and I understand it as few other people
do, but it's a poor profession for the actors and actresses. If I had a
girl--"

"If you had a girl, indeed!" his wife interrupted. "Well, what about me?
You were glad enough to read the notices when I was playing in New York,
and glad enough to cash in at the box-office."

"You were a clever actress," he admitted.

"Were!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Listen to him, Miss Grassleyes.
Talking like that to Rachel Phillipi. That is my stage name, you know.
Why, I am having offers every week. He doesn't put me in his own
pictures and I'll tell you why. He's jealous. He can't stand it when
they begin to talk of him as Rachel Phillipi's husband. The man's
crazy!"

"They were showing 'The Promised Land' in Nice this week," Spenser said
from the background where he stood watching the conclusion of this very
satisfactory transaction. "You were great in it, Mrs. Leonidas."

She smiled graciously upon the young man, who had been quite at his best
during the last hour or so.

"They all thought it was one of my star parts," she agreed. "He's a nice
one is Samuel to be running down the profession. You made your pile at
it, my man, and you have made it out of those who've worked for you."

Leonidas seemed to come back from a complete detachment.

"You know just what you want in Nice," he said. "Mr. Spenser will give
you the address of the office where you can find a married couple, and
you have already your own maid and I my valet. I don't know where we are
going to put the servants, I'm sure."

"We have what we call 'the compound,'" Jane suggested. "Some of the
people who have too many servants lodge them there. Mrs. Leonidas can
look it over at any time."

"I'll have a look at it now, if it's not putting you out, Miss
Grassleyes," the lady decided, rising to her feet. "I shall know then
what to say to the people I interview. I'm not quite sure that I can get
back in time for dinner. If not I'll send the car back for you, Samuel,
and we'll go to the Casino. If you are ready, Miss Grassleyes," she
added, picking up her bag, "we'll get along."

Her husband watched her departure without a word.

"Can I offer you a whisky-and-soda or cigar, sir?" the house-agent
asked.

Leonidas shook his head.

"Thank you, I am not much of a drinker. I am going to walk back to the
bungalow and take a short rest there. By the by, Mr. Spenser, has Madame
di Mendoza been here long?"

"A week or so," Spenser answered. "She has been singing at the
Mditerrane. She's singing to-night, I believe. It's all the old stuff,
but she has a wonderful voice, you know."

"I have heard her in 'Delilah,'" the film magnate observed. "I had no
idea," he added after a moment's pause, "that she had a young sister."

Spenser, who had a few disagreeable reminiscences of Carlotta stored in
the back of his mind, frowned.

"The most beautiful child I ever saw in my life," he remarked, "but
bad-tempered and ill-mannered."

"I have never spoken to her," Leonidas said, looking thoughtfully over
the top of the trees. "I saw her in the distance. She left her sister
just as we came up."

"The sort of thing she would do. Never talks to any one if she can help
it. All the same, she's beautiful. I should say she'll make a sensation
sometime or other in the film world or on the stage."

Leonidas rose to his feet and took up his hat.

"Maybe," he admitted. "Nothing more in the way of business, Mr.
Spenser?"

"Nothing," the other replied. "We will send in our account. Ten per cent
is our usual commission."

"My secretary will see to it," Leonidas agreed as he took his leave. "I
wish you good afternoon. I am going down to have another look at my
bungalow."

Spenser subsided into a chair to wait for Jane's return. His brows were
knitted and he had the air of a man deep in thought. As a matter of fact
he had plenty to think about.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Forty years old," Samuel Leonidas soliloquized as he walked across the
grassy path which led to his new habitation. "Thirty-nine, one might
say. It is nothing. I am not like those others in the game. Thank
goodness I never have been."

He walked with his hands behind him, his head thrown back, and through
his brain there floated the memories of beautiful women who had posed
for him, angled for him, laid seductive snares into which he might fall.
Anything to trap the great man who could give them fame, jewels, a
career. Leonidas was an autocrat in his profession, a man whose word was
law, a man who could make a woman a queen in her own world or a beggar
without the gates if his mind lay the other way. The thought of them all
now gave him confidence. He drew himself up, drank in the sweetness of
the late afternoon and looked around him with real appreciation.

"It is a grand spot to have found," he murmured. "If I let Rachel play
in Sherwell's stuff she'll have to go to Paris. I wonder ..."

Then he turned the corner of the little wooden paling round "The Lamps
of Fire" and came to a sudden standstill. Lounging in a wicker chair
with her feet up on another was Madame di Mendoza's young sister.




CHAPTER XI


Everything that happened to him during the next few moments seemed to
Samuel Leonidas perfectly automatic, and it was with amazement that he
remembered afterwards the absolute naturalness with which he spoke and
acted.

"You are Miriam di Mendoza's sister, are you not?" he asked, approaching
Carlotta with his hat in his hand.

"I am," she replied.

There was no hint of invitation in her tone, nothing of cordiality. She
looked at him as at an intruder. Nevertheless, he stepped over the
paling and approached her.

"Is this where your and your sister live?"

"It is not."

"It seems to me to be a sort of little commonwealth here," he went on.
"Even if we are all under separate roofs we are all surrounded by the
same wall. I have just taken a bungalow here."

"Indeed. Not this one?"

"No, not this one."

"Then I think you had better not stop," she advised. "Mr. Granet is
rather a peculiar man. He does not like strangers about the place."

"An old friend of yours, then?"

"Is that your business?" she retorted a little insolently.

"I suppose it isn't," he acknowledged. "You see, I am well acquainted
with your sister. I have sometimes considered filming an opera and
giving her a part in it. A profession like mine is far-reaching, you
know. It takes in every one who has any connection with the arts."

"Dear me," she yawned, "what a bore that must be!"

"Why?"

"To have so many acquaintances. You could not possibly call them
friends."

Leonidas looked at her for a moment in silence. There was not a line of
her body that was not beautiful, not a single feature with which fault
could be found. Yet her red lips were at that moment distinctly pouting
and there was a frown upon her ivory-white forehead. The grey-blue eyes
were inclined to be angry. Her expression was sulky.

"Don't you like having friends?" he asked.

"I dislike too many acquaintances. It is so stupid to have to be polite
to people you do not care for at all. That is why I very seldom go out
with my sister. She likes everybody. I like no one. It makes me a little
angry when people talk to me without invitation."

"Like me?"

"Like you."

"Well, I am very sorry," he apologized, "but I don't see what there is
about me that should offend you. I have been a very successful man in
life. I am rich and I am powerful. I love beautiful places and
beautiful people. You are beautiful, Miss di Mendoza."

"Thank you," she said. "I know that quite well. It is impertinent of
you, however, to tell me so."

"There is a manner of doing all these things," he continued, and still
there was that far-away note in his voice.

It was the voice of a different man. He knew that it was queer. He knew
that it was scarcely raised above a whisper. But he hated the thought of
what it might have been if it had not been controlled by something which
was quite inexplicable. Carlotta was watching him and for the first time
there was a flicker of interest in her eyes.

"Perhaps you are tired," she said.

He shook his head.

"No. Thankful."

"Thankful?"

"That I found you here."

She looked up towards the Manoir.

"I do not know what Mr. Granet will say if he finds you, an uninvited
guest, wandering about his property," she remarked.

"You are here, too," he reminded her.

"How do you know that I am not invited?"

He considered the matter.

"Well, you may be, of course," he admitted. "When he comes he may be
angry and he may turn me out, but I shall go quite amiably. Your sister
was going to introduce you but you were in such a hurry to be off.
Still, I am a family acquaintance, at any rate. This is a little colony
of people living at close quarters. I have become one of you."

"Terrible!" she murmured.

"Aren't you a little rude?"

"The best-bred dogs bark at strangers. My sister's friends are not mine.
Miriam likes any one who will talk to her, praise her singing; any one
who understands music, cocktails and the best brand of champagne; any
one who can paint, sing or play the violin."

"Plenty of scope," he commented. "I can do none of those things."

"Neither can I, except perhaps sing a little," she confessed.

"Well, it seems to me, then, that after all we are of the same world."

Carlotta was fast relapsing into her former state of irritation. She was
on the point of saying something very rude indeed when Leonidas smiled.
She watched the slow movement of his lips as one fascinated. There were
many people who declared that Leonidas was a noisy bounder with no
manners. There were just one or two who said that on very rare occasions
he had been found to possess charm. It was his smile which now kept
Carlotta dumb.

"Why did you come in here to talk to me?" she asked at last.

"I was looking for you," he said. "I have taken a bungalow here because
you are living here. I came down this path hoping that I should see you.
I was not in the least surprised when I did."

"But why? You are not the sort of person I should like to make friends
with at all. You are much, much older. You are the second famous film
man I have met and when I saw you first I came to the conclusion that
you were just as abominable as the other one. That is why I hurried
away. Why did you want to talk to me?"

"I am older than you," he acknowledged. "I was brought up in a rougher
school. I have no manners, very few graces. But like many of my people,
I worship beauty. It is a rare quality to find in this world. In a human
being there is generally something that spoils it. You are too young to
have had that happen to you."

She looked at him speculatively.

"Anyway," she decided, "I think you had better go. This is not our
bungalow, you know. It belongs to Mr. Granet. I am waiting here hoping
he may come."

"Why?"

"I want to see him."

"Why do you want to see him?"

"You have no right to ask me all these questions," she said.

"I have a right, and you know that I have," he answered. "You have
little knowledge and no experience but you have consciousness."

"I think," she declared deliberately, "that you are crazy."

"Precisely. I am crazy. I should not dream of denying it. Any one who
knows me well and heard me talk to you would admit that I was crazy.
Gone off my head, they would say. Especially if they knew I had taken a
bungalow here simply to be near you."

"I wish you would go," she said with an impatient gesture. "I do not
want to hear you talk like that. It is silly and yet in a way it
disturbs me."

Leonidas shook his head.

"I'll tell you what it is that disturbs you," he confided. "It is
because I am being truthful, and the truth is generally terrifying. You
don't meet with it very often in life. You don't meet with it very often
in film people. I don't remember ever having told the truth for so long
before. I was reading a manuscript by a great American author the other
day and he had a new phrase for truth. He called it 'the modern
bewitchment.'"

Carlotta looked wistfully up towards the Manoir.

"If Mr. Granet does not come soon," she decided, "I shall go away. Did
you say that you had taken a bungalow?"

"I have taken 'Meadowsweet.'"

"Was that your wife I saw with you in the great Rolls Royce car?"

"It was. She will not be here long. She will be going to Paris."

"I hope you will be going with her," she said simply.

"You may not hope that when you know me better," he told her. "Now why
are you waiting here for Mr. Granet? Is he an old friend?"

"I have only seen him once in my life."

"You have a fancy for him?"

"A fancy!" she cried scornfully. "It is not a fancy, it is a _grande
passion_."

Leonidas smiled.

"It will pass."

"It will do nothing of the sort," she declared angrily, "and what do you
know about it, anyway? Why are you staying here worrying me when I wish
you to leave me alone?"

He was silent for a moment. With a faint smile upon his lips he seemed
to be considering some weighty problem. Carlotta became suddenly uneasy.

"Go away! I cannot bear you anywhere near me. Something about you
frightens me."

"I am sorry," he sighed. "You will get over that. I will go now but you
will see me again soon."

He turned away with a strange, almost graceful little gesture of
farewell. He seemed to walk with a new spring, to have acquired a new
spirit of youth. Against her will Carlotta raised her eyes and watched
him as he disappeared down the path which led through the pine-trees to
the other bungalows.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Granet drove up a few minutes later he found Carlotta leaning
forward in her chair, her elbows upon her knees, her face half-covered
with her hands, weeping hysterically. She jumped impetuously to her feet
and stopped short. Granet's attitude towards her was certainly not
encouraging.

"What are you doing here, Carlotta?"

"Waiting for you," she sobbed.

"What on earth are you in this condition for? Please wipe your eyes at
once and tell me what is the matter."

"He frightened me."

"Who?"

"A film man--Mr. Leonidas."

"Never heard of him," Granet said sharply. "You mean that the fellow has
been here?"

"Yes."

He looked around.

"Where is he now?"

She caught at his hand.

"No, please! Do not look like that," she begged. "I suppose it was not
really his fault. He was quite polite, never in the least rude, but he
simply frightened me--that is all."

"How?"

"He talked so strangely. He did not touch me or come very near. There
was nothing wrong about his behaviour but he said such strange things."

"What sort of things?"

She looked at him through her tear-dimmed eyes. There was a feeble smile
on her lips.

"He said just the sort of things I should like you to say to me," she
told him, her voice still a little broken. "From him they sounded all
wrong. From you they would have filled me with happiness."

"Where is your sister?"

"Down at the bungalow."

"I shall go and talk to her," he decided.

"Do not!" she begged. "Please do not think of doing that, Mr. Granet. I
should be sent away."

"But, my dear child, I think it would be better if you were sent away.
This is no place for you."

She dried her eyes.

"There is something queer about it all, of course," she admitted.

"Please run away home now, that's a good girl."

She moved reluctantly towards the gate.

"Walk down to the bungalow, then, with me, please," she implored. "I am
rather afraid of that little wood."

Granet looked at her doubtfully for a moment.

"I don't believe you are afraid of anything," he said severely.

She took hold of his arm.

"I am afraid of being left alone," she confided, "and, besides, this is
the way to Mr. Leonidas' bungalow and if I met him I should be very
frightened indeed."

"You told me a minute or two ago--" he began.

"Oh, I know," she interrupted. "He said nothing that was ill-mannered,
did nothing he should not have done. But cannot you understand that
people are sometimes so different? I am frightened at things many people
would not think terrible at all, and if it is anything quite serious I
am really very brave. He just stood there quite calmly and I felt as
though he were--but how can I explain?--it was as though I were a violin
and his fingers were trying to draw music from me, but he chose always
the wrong notes.... There now, you think I am really mad, do you
not?"

"Pretty well," he admitted. "Still, you are quite charming when you
don't talk nonsense."

She was happy again and danced a few steps from one of the recent
ballets. They passed through the little straggling copse with its clumps
of wild roses and orchids and here and there an olive tree, its gnarled
trunk intermingled with the pines. When they arrived at the bungalow,
"Falling Roses," Carlotta indicated with a nervous gesture a slightly
larger one forty yards lower down.

"That is 'Meadowsweet,' which Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas have taken, only Mr.
Leonidas said that his wife was going to Paris."

"Better stay and look after her husband, I should think," Granet
muttered. "However, here you are safely home, child. There is the open
gate for you. There is your sister waving to you from the window."

"She wants you to come in," Carlotta cried eagerly.

"Well, you will have to excuse me."

It was too late, however. Madame di Mendoza had already emerged from the
bungalow, her hands outstretched, a very smart nglig over the somewhat
obvious foundation of her evening toilet.

"What a neighbourly person you are, Mr. Granet!" she exclaimed, smiling.
"You have brought my little sister home, I see. She is such a wanderer I
can never make sure of her. Please come in and let me give you a glass
of sherry, or shall I bring it out here?"

"You are very kind," Granet said. "I really ought not to stop, though.
But I must admire your view for a moment."

"It is very beautiful," she acknowledged, "but it is very lonely. Of
course, if Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas decide to stop it will be altogether a
different matter. So nice to have neighbours, I always think. Mr.
Leonidas," she added in a tone almost of awe, "is one of the most
important men in the film world."

Granet turned away a little impatiently, for it seemed to him that he
had heard more than enough of Mr. Leonidas for one day. Then there
emerged from the wood, running with quick, even footsteps, Postralli,
the younger of the two foreign servants from the Manoir. He came
straight towards them and halted without the faintest sign of fatigue.
He addressed himself to Granet.

"It is the Englishman from Nice," he announced, "who has little flag on
front of motor car. He wishes to speak with gentleman."

Granet ignored Carlotta's clutch at his arm and took leave of her
sister.

"A very important person," he remarked. "I mustn't keep him waiting. _Au
revoir._"

With a wave of the hand he turned back towards his own bungalow,
Postralli walking respectfully in the rear. As soon as they had reached
the shelter of the trees Granet turned to him.

"The gentleman is alone?"

"There is a French gentleman with him," Postralli replied. "He was with
French doctor when he came out this morning."

"Police?"

Postralli shook his head.

"Know nothing," he said. "He ask great many questions."

"Where is he? Up at the Manoir?"

The boy shook his head again mysteriously.

"He waits now at 'The Lamps of Fire.'"




CHAPTER XII


Colonel Henry Dryden, British Consul in Nice and the district
immediately surrounding it, was a man who took his duties seriously. He
had never, however, appeared so weighed down with responsibility as
when, from the front of "The Lamps of Fire," he greeted Granet. His car
stood outside, his chauffeur was making some slight adjustment to the
engine and a man in dark clothes and a black Homburg hat sat with folded
arms in the back seat.

"Sorry I was in Nice when you came this morning, Colonel Dryden," Granet
said as they shook hands.

"I should have telephoned," the Consul replied. "As a matter of fact I
had no idea that the matter was so serious."

"Anything fresh?"

"The affair seems to have taken a very queer turn," Dryden explained.
"Of course, Lady Grassleyes--an old friend of ours, by the by, when she
lived in the East--is just one of these tough-looking women who might go
off suddenly, but it appears from the medical examination that they
cannot make up their minds as to the technical possibilities of her
condition. May I step inside for a moment? There is our friend in the
car, too. He is a celebrated French detective. Let's get along. That
damned boy is listening to every word we say."

"By all means."

The Consul beckoned to the passenger in the car and presented Granet in
a few brief words.

"This is Detective Inspector Suresne," he went on. "He has flown over
from Marseille to try and help the police here. You knew, I suppose,
that Lady Grassleyes' body was removed from the Manoir last night?"

"I've heard something about it," Granet acknowledged. "Rather sudden,
wasn't it?"

"Very sudden indeed, and unexpected. So was the result of the
examination. It appears that the doctors are absolutely undecided as to
the cause of her extraordinary collapse."

"Who gave the orders for the removal?" Granet asked.

"Ah!" the detective murmured.

"At present that is not clear," the Consul replied. "We have sent for
the police commissary who is in charge up here. We shall know that from
him. He will be at the Manoir by the time we arrive there. There will be
a brief examination of practically every one in a few minutes, but
Monsieur Suresne thought he would like a word with you first."

"It is," the detective explained, "because monsieur was the first person
to discover the body of the unfortunate lady."

"Quite true," Granet replied. "I should never have taken her for a dead
person myself until I spoke to her."

"You came up to see about hiring a bungalow here, I think?"

"That is so."

"Can you tell me--this is not quite a formal examination but it is very
important--at what time you arrived at the Manoir and who let you in?"

"I arrived at something like twenty minutes past four in the afternoon.
The foreign butler called Pooralli let me in and announced me. I
approached the table where Lady Grassleyes was seated and I must have
been within a few yards of her when I spoke. I said how do you do or
something of that sort and began to explain my business. Then I stopped
short. I saw at once that she had had some kind of a fit, or worse. I
rang the bell. The butler returned. He hurried off and fetched Miss
Grassleyes."

"You had no previous acquaintance with Lady Grassleyes?"

"I never saw or heard of her before in my life."

"And your sole object was to enquire about the bungalows?"

"Absolutely."

"A delightful place to live," the detective murmured, looking out of the
window, "especially if one had friends amongst the other _locataires_."

"I knew no one here or in the neighbourhood. I came simply upon the
recommendation of the manager of Spenser & Sykes, the house-agents."

"I see," Suresne continued. "Mr. Spenser is sometimes in the habit of
bringing prospective tenants out, I believe."

"Maybe," Granet replied. "He brought some out this afternoon, I think.
He didn't bring me, however. I came out alone."

"This is all quite informal," the detective said courteously. "I ask no
more questions. I wished to know the time of monsieur's visit here,
whether he had any previous acquaintance with Lady Grassleyes and who it
was who announced him and who was first in the room afterwards. That I
have now been told. As soon as you like, Colonel Dryden, we will proceed
to the Manoir. You have sent out messages, I believe, to the other
tenants to be there."

"They have all been notified. I'll run you up in my car, Granet."

They all three stepped into the waiting automobile and reached the
Manoir in a moment or two. Jane met them in the hall and led them at
once into the large room in which her aunt had been accustomed to
receive callers. Granet looked about him curiously. The late-afternoon
sunlight which found its way in through blinds and curtains alike made
it hard to reconcile the place with his last night's adventure. The
furniture was all primly arranged. There was even a bunch of fresh
flowers on the desk at which Lady Grassleyes had sat.

Jane was introduced to the French detective.

"This is not in any way to be a formal affair, my dear," the Consul
explained. "Monsieur Suresne wishes to say just a few words to any of
the tenants who may be on the estate."

"They are all coming," she told him. "Even those who were not tenants
until to-day."

"Just what I wish," the detective said in his soft, rather lazy voice.
"One word and away they go. I am not inquisitive. Just the little ideas
that are in my head. Here comes, if I do not mistake, a very famous
man."

The door had been opened and Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas were being shown in.
They halted for a moment and Jane went to meet them and introduced
Monsieur Suresne and Colonel Dryden.

"We are still without any definite news as to the cause of my aunt's
sudden collapse," she explained simply. "Monsieur Suresne is a detective
from Marseille. He is here to make just a few enquiries. It is his wish
to examine briefly some of those who were here after the tragedy as well
as those who were in residence at the time. Do you mind?"

"Not in the least," Mrs. Leonidas declared. "What is there we can tell
Monsieur Suresne about it, I wonder? We were at Cannes at a dinner party
last night."

"And finished up with drinking bad champagne at a night club in Nice,"
the film magnate confessed.

"Ah, is that so?" Suresne observed. "Well, we all do it sometimes. Then
I take it, Mr. Leonidas, that neither you nor your wife were tenants
yesterday?"

"Never been near the place until this afternoon," Leonidas replied.
"That goes for both of us. We were looking for a quiet spot in which to
spend a few weeks and Mr. Spenser told us about the trouble up here but
said if that didn't put us off he thought the place might suit us. We
drove out and found it did suit us. We have taken a bungalow."

"Just so," the detective observed. "Well, I take it, then, that you
never visited the place before. No previous correspondence with Lady
Grassleyes? Nothing of that sort?"

"Not a line. We just knew that the place existed because a friend of
ours, Madame di Mendoza, has a bungalow here. It was simply chance,
though, that made us go to Mr. Spenser's office in the ordinary way of
business."

Suresne nodded pleasantly. He had no notebook or pencil and he stood,
indeed, with his hands in his pockets smiling amiably upon them all. He
looked a little curiously, however, at Madame di Mendoza and her sister
as they were ushered in--a curiosity which soon became merged in the
admiration a Frenchman seldom fails to feel and display towards
beautiful members of the other sex.

"We have here," he whispered to Granet, "something of interest. The
elder lady was singing in Marseille not long ago."

Jane moved a few steps forward to meet the newcomers.

"It is nice of you to come, Madame di Mendoza," she said. "I cannot tell
you how sorry we are to disturb you."

"It has inconvenienced me not at all," was the somewhat flamboyant
reply. "You see, I was dressing for a dinner. To-night I do not sing
until ten o'clock. I permit myself, in such cases, a light meal first in
the town. Now what can we do for you?"

Jane introduced Colonel Dryden and Suresne. The Consul offered a few
words of explanation.

"This is an absolutely informal conversation," he said. "In case this
affair should turn out seriously, as I am afraid seems possible,
Monsieur Suresne here from Marseille would like to ask just one or two
questions of any one who was in residence before and after the trouble."

Madame di Mendoza raised her eyebrows. She raised her shoulders also.
She extended her hands. She was indeed a creature of gestures. She liked
to live up to her reputation--a woman of great vivacity.

"But what is there that I can tell monsieur?" she asked. "Madame sat in
her place day by day to receive complaints or requests but I have never
made any. It is a fortnight since I have even seen her, and that was
when she drove out in that old-fashioned carriage of hers with her dogs
and her maid to collect the rents."

Suresne bowed amiably. He was by way of admiring Madame di Mendoza. He
wished her to understand that he was a man of gallantry.

"Useless, then, to trouble madame," he declared. "It is only those who
were in contact with the poor lady at a certain hour yesterday whose
statements might be interesting."

She relapsed into a chair.

"The gentleman there?" the detective suggested, indicating Spenser, who
had just entered.

Spenser nodded.

"Certainly," he acknowledged, "next to her niece and the servants I am
the one who saw most of Lady Grassleyes. There were matters of business
between us nearly every day. In a sense I may be said to be a partner in
the running of this estate."

"Ah, that is interesting," Suresne commented. "Tell us, then, when last
you saw the poor lady."

"Yesterday morning. I called to bring news of two possible new tenants
and to consult her about building a few more bungalows. Also there was a
question of augmenting the staff."

"You found her well?"

"I found her exactly as she always seemed. She was not a woman who had
many interests outside this place. She had sunk most of her money in it
and was anxious to make it a success."

"Her _avocat_?"

"He is on his way down from Paris," Spenser said briefly.

"_Parfaitement_," Suresne murmured. "From your knowledge of the affairs
of Lady Grassleyes you would not consider she had any matters of grave
anxiety weighing upon her?"

"Certainly not," was the prompt reply. "The domain is thriving as an
investment and, as I have told you, we were considering the question of
building some more bungalows."

"Thank you," the detective said. "Now if I may have a word with Miss
Grassleyes?"

Jane rose to her feet and took a chair a little nearer the table.

"You will understand, mademoiselle, that this is an utterly informal
investigation. If it seems to you better not to answer any question I
ask you, leave it unanswered. I only want to get a clear view of the
various possibilities and until I build up the story itself things seem,
naturally, to me, a stranger, a little involved."

"I quite understand," she replied. "There seems nothing, however, to
conceal."

"I was interested, on my arrival," Suresne continued, "in the curious
servants about the place. Perhaps you can tell me--where did they come
from?"

"They were in the employ of Sir Jarvis when he had an establishment in
Calcutta. They went on with him to Rangoon and when he returned to
England they both begged to be allowed to come too. The younger one,
when I first knew them, was little more than a child. But that was some
ten years ago."

"They are good servants--dependable?"

"They are excellent servants. They have to be kept in a little compound
of their own, of course, away from the Europeans but they are content
with very little and they cost much less to board than any of the other
servants."

"Of what race are they?" Suresne asked curiously.

"They come from a small settlement somewhere in the north of China who
drifted down to Burma," she said. "They were called 'The Running
Footmen.'"

"I must have a word or two with them presently. I understand that the
elder of the two admitted Mr. Granet when he called yesterday afternoon,
brought him to the door of this room but just announced him and withdrew
in a way that seems rather curious to us. It gives one the idea that he
knew something was wrong with his mistress but wished Mr. Granet to
discover it for himself. Is not that so, Mr. Granet?"

"Yes, I do think so," Granet agreed. "Certainly it is not the usual way
to announce a visitor."

"I must ask him about that point," the detective said. "Now, am I
correct in saying that there is no one here present with whom I have
talked who saw anything of Lady Grassleyes after midday yesterday? I am
not, of course, counting Mr. Granet."

A young man who had been sitting by himself in a distant corner of the
room rose to his feet. He had been listening to the proceedings with
obvious interest and once or twice it seemed as though he were on the
point of intervening. He had once even half risen to his feet. He was a
nervous-looking youth, with flaxen hair and eyes of pale blue, dressed
in a beach suit of pale-yellow trousers and blue coat. He spoke French
slowly and apparently with some difficulty.

"Monsieur Suresne," he said, "I am a little puzzled as to the exact
meaning of this conference. It seems to be a sort of informal court set
up by yourself without any definite purpose."

"It is just an attempt," the detective explained with a kindly smile,
"to help me a little in what might prove to be rather a difficult task.
The question of Lady Grassleyes' condition will come before a judicial
tribunal during the course of the next few days. The affair will then be
conducted officially. I have been consulted by the police here and asked
to attend that investigation, and I felt that I could be of more use if
I made some sort of contact first with Lady Grassleyes' neighbours and
heard what they had to say."

"That seems quite all right," the young man said, "and I must tell you
that I know nothing about these affairs except that I am rather a
student of crime and mystery stories written in my own language, which
is English."

A little shiver ran through the audience.

"Crime has not been suggested," Suresne reminded him in a shocked tone.

"Pardon me," the other replied, "I think that notwithstanding your suave
manner crime has been suggested from the very moment you invited us to
meet you here. I, for instance, came with the others and I find my
position a little difficult."

"Can I help you, sir?" the detective asked. "Who is this gentleman?" he
enquired of Spenser in an undertone.

"His name is Paul Oliver. He rents one of the smaller bungalows here and
has been in residence, I think, some three or four months."

"Very nearly six months," the young man put in. "I very seldom move out
of the place. I am a writer by profession and much engrossed in my work.
Monsieur Suresne a few minutes ago addressed a question to the whole
assembly. He asked whether any one had seen Lady Grassleyes yesterday
afternoon."

"That is so."

"I make no assertion," Oliver continued, "but I should like to say this.
If I had seen Lady Grassleyes within an hour or so of her mysterious
collapse I should not consider this the proper time to admit it."

There was a little buzz of whispering. Every one stared at the young
man. He seemed indifferent to their scrutiny but he remained standing.

"You may have perfectly good reasons, sir, for taking up that attitude,"
Suresne declared. "Let me put the question to you. Frankly, did you or
did you not see anything of Lady Grassleyes at any time yesterday?"

"I am willing to accept a subpoena to appear at the court of enquiry," he
replied, "but I shall not answer that question at the present moment."

"We may take it, then, that you did?"

"You may take anything you like for granted. You cannot put words into
my mouth, however, which I have not spoken."

Suresne again appeared shocked.

"My dear young sir," he said, "consider for a moment. Have I made a
single note at this gathering? Have I written down a single line? Ours
has been just a little conversation with a view to helping an
official--myself--to work with greater ease. I do not ask for your aid
unless you give it voluntarily and cheerfully. You understand that, I
hope."

"Quite."

"And you have nothing to tell me that you think might be of assistance?"

"Nothing."

"You are within your rights," Suresne declared. "I will see that you
have a notice to attend the court."

The young man resumed his seat. A babble of voices followed. Every one
seemed to be talking at the same time. Spenser crossed the room and sat
on the arm of Paul Oliver's chair. Whatever he said to him was
apparently pleasant and good-humoured, but nearly every one was out of
hearing. Suresne ignored them completely and looked round the apartment
closely. His eye rested on Mr. Johnson, who rose at once to his feet.

"If you are looking for some one else to put through the mill, sir," he
said, "here am I. My name is Johnson. I live in 'The Olive Tree'
bungalow. I have not seen Lady Grassleyes for a fortnight to speak to,
but she drove past my bungalow yesterday morning. The young gentleman
who has got something up his sleeve has the next bungalow to mine.
'Sweet Waters' they call it. It has a stream running through the
garden."

Suresne held up his hand in warning.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson. That will do, if you please. We may probably
ask you a question at a more formal period of this investigation."

Somewhat abashed, Johnson resumed his seat. The detective's eyes
wandered round the room as though seeking out any one who had hitherto
escaped his notice. Spenser, looking very serious indeed, left his place
by Oliver's side and came up to Suresne. The two talked together for a
few moments in a low tone. Suresne showed signs of irritation, if not
anger. His companion remained persistent. Finally, the detective swung
round and addressed the little company.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Mr. Spenser informs me that he has
just received an urgent message from the hospital to which the body of
Lady Grassleyes was taken for further examination. He appears to think
that in the circumstances our little talk should be brought to an end."

There was a moment's silence. Then Johnson's voice boomed forth.

"May we know what those circumstances are?" he demanded.

There was a drawn look about Spenser's face as he turned towards him. He
held in his fingers the oblong slip of paper which Postralli, who had
entered and left the room almost unnoticed, had slipped into his hand.
His tone lacked its usual pleasant ring.

"I have just received a special message from the surgeon at the clinic
in Nice. Their examination of the body is now proceeding. They are of
the opinion--" he broke off in his speech, his voice seeming to fail
him--"they are of opinion that whether Lady Grassleyes died from its
effects or not, she was suffering from the effects of poison either
self-administered or administered by some other person. The examination,
I should add, is not yet closed and the doctor in charge is not willing
to commit himself to the statement that it was a fatal dose."

There was for a moment an intense silence in the room. It was broken by
a little shriek from Madame di Mendoza, followed by a hysterical cry
from the young man with the flaxen hair.




CHAPTER XIII


Granet was the first to disentangle himself from the small group of
people who were eagerly discussing this last ambiguous pronouncement. He
was anxious to get away rather than face any sort of conversation with
Spenser. The latter, however, had other ideas. He broke away from the
little crowd who were besieging him with questions and caught up Granet
just outside the front door.

"I want a few words with you, Mr. Granet."

"I should hesitate about that, if I were you. I think we are better
apart, for the moment."

"Just what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that if it is true that Lady Grassleyes' condition gives rise to
even the barest suspicion that she is dead, and that she met her death
in some unnatural manner, the explanation of your extraordinary
behaviour last night becomes a little difficult. I would rather not hear
it in private."

"Don't take that line, Granet," Spenser begged, laying his hand upon his
arm. "Listen to what I have to say before you make up your mind about
this affair, anyhow. I admit that I was off my head last night. But
remember, it is since that scuffle in the dark that I discovered from
Colonel Dryden who you really were. For all I knew before that you were
just a sort of adventurer who might have been guilty of anything."

"What were you doing searching the drawers of Lady Grassleyes' desk?"
Granet asked sternly.

"In return, let me ask you this," Spenser retorted. "What did you really
want at the Manoir at that time of night?"

"I told you that at the time. I came to ask you a simple question, to
satisfy an hysterical girl. You behaved like a madman."

"Listen to me. I behaved like a man who was guarding his own property.
You perhaps don't believe that I am a partner with Lady Grassleyes in
this bungalow business. Not only that, but we had a much larger
enterprise on the tapis which was on the point of development. I wanted
the keys and I wanted some papers. I had a perfect right to be there."

"All this may be quite right," Granet admitted, "and so what?"

"I simply want you to keep your mouth shut until the time comes to
speak," Spenser declared eagerly. "I agree that I was over-excited last
night, that I had had too much to drink, but remember, I have a
long-established position to keep up in Nice. I can't have people even
suspicious of my position with regard to the Manoir."

"I am not a gossip," Granet assured him. "I shall answer questions only
when I am asked them officially. When that time comes I shall say
exactly what happened, neither more nor less."

"I suppose I must be content with that," Spenser said reluctantly, "but
believe me, Granet, there's more in this affair than you know of at
present. Don't make things more difficult, please. The English butler
here has just told me that that young fellow Oliver called here the
night before last and Lady Grassleyes refused to see him. He went off in
a furious temper. That's another one who's trying to make mischief."

Granet turned away.

"I have no wish to make things more difficult for any one," he said a
little shortly. "If the young man did call he was a fool not to have
said so at the examination. Before we part I will even give you a word
of advice. Stop that habit of carrying a gun about with you at night. I
have not heard of any burglaries in the neighbourhood and it is a habit
that might be misunderstood."

The people were beginning to trickle out from the Manoir. Amongst the
foremost came Madame di Mendoza and Carlotta. Between them was walking
Paul Oliver. He was talking earnestly to his two companions but Madame
di Mendoza alone seemed to be listening to him. Carlotta's eyes were
fixed upon Granet, who was by this time some distance ahead, hurrying
towards his own bungalow. He went straight to the garage, unlocked the
door, started up his car and drove out. He was just in time to avoid
Madame di Mendoza and her sister, and he remained brutally indifferent
to Carlotta's wistful cry. At the western entrance to the grounds,
however, which led onto the Grasse road, he found his progress checked.
A gendarme was standing there holding up his hand.

"_Route barre, monsieur_," he announced, planting himself in the
middle of the rough road.

Granet brought his car to a standstill.

"What do you mean, '_route barre_'?" he demanded.

The man laid his hand upon the side of the car and his foot upon the
running board.

"Monsieur must understand," he explained, "that a notice has just been
issued by the police at Cannes, Grasse and Nice. A guard has been placed
at all the gates leading from the Manoir. No one is allowed to leave
without a pass."

"Why?"

"It is not my affair," the gendarme replied.

"From whom do I obtain a pass?"

"The Commissioner of Police is on his way from Grasse. Others from the
_gendarmerie_ are on their way from Cannes. The orders are absolute and
must be obeyed. Monsieur must understand that he cannot pass."

Granet recognized the voice of authority. He slipped into reverse gear
and went slowly back along the stony, narrow road. He was approaching
the turning leading to his bungalow when he became aware of the
glittering of metal, the noise of an engine being driven at full speed
with its exhaust open and the honk-honk of an on-coming vehicle. Round
the corner, at a perilous angle, came a powerful motor-cycle, upon which
the flaxen-haired youth in the strange raiment of the afternoon beach
lounger was seated. A yellow-clad leg shot out sideways, there was a
grating of brakes and the young man came to a standstill.

"What the hell are you taking all the road for?" he demanded, slipping
from his machine and glaring angrily at Granet.

"I might ask," was the curt reply, "why you are riding along a private
road like a lunatic."

"I ride as I choose," was the furious retort. "Be so good as to move
into the side so that I can get by."

"It will do you no good if I do," Granet assured him. "This road leads
only to the side entrance and through that you will not be able to
pass."

Paul Oliver's appearance became more unpleasant than ever. He scowled at
Granet whilst his foot played with the pedal of his machine.

"Who's going to stop me from passing?" he demanded. "I am going to
Grasse."

"I doubt it. As you turn the next bend you will see standing across the
entrance, with the gate closed behind him, a swarthy gendarme."

"It'll take a regiment to stop me," Oliver blustered. "I've had enough
of this place. I've left my luggage at the bungalow. They can get their
fortnight's rent out of that."

"So that's the trouble, is it? That was why you were angry with the
French detective who asked you questions about Lady Grassleyes."

The young man stared at Granet and seemed suddenly to recognize him. He
pulled off his goggles. Granet bowed ironically.

"So you were at that damned meeting," Oliver muttered.

"I was there, Mr. Paul Oliver," Granet admitted. "I have heard, also,
that you paid a call at the Manoir late the other night and that Lady
Grassleyes refused to see you."

"She broke her promise to me."

"So you refused to pay your rent?"

"It is none of your business. We all run short sometimes, especially if
you lead my sort of life. I am going to Grasse now to telephone for some
money."

"You won't be allowed to pass, you know. A more determined-looking
person than the gendarme guarding the gate I never saw. I am in sympathy
with you about leaving the place, although I am quite ready to pay my
bill, but I don't think either you or I will get to Grasse, or anywhere
else, to-night."

"They cannot make prisoners of us," the other declared wildly. "I shall
go to the main entrance and insist upon passing."

"Don't let me keep you," Granet begged. "I really don't care where you
go to. I'll move my car into the side so that you can get past."

The young man silently watched the operation from his seat on the
motor-cycle.

"Now pass on, my gaily attired neighbour," Granet invited, "and if you
wish to return my kindness in leaving the road open for you close that
filthy exhaust."

Oliver rode off and Granet made his way slowly back to his bungalow. He
garaged the car and went into the house. He finished unpacking his
despatch case, laid some formidable piles of stationery upon the table,
filled two fountain pens and produced from one of the parcels various
bottles and a few wine glasses. Then he took off the telephone receiver
and pressed the button which connected him with the Manoir. Almost
immediately a faint voice answered.

"That is Mr. Granet? You want something? I come down, if you wish."

"I was thinking about dinner."

"No dinner left," was the cheerful reply. "Every one ordered dinner.
Pooralli, my brother, has taken orders for everything we have. Now he
has gone away for two hours. No one is allowed to leave the place and
the tradespeople can come no farther than the gates. Very bad business,
Mr. Granet. Some of us will go hungry to-night."

"Well, I certainly shall unless you help me, Postralli. I am content
with simple things but biscuits alone do not satisfy me. Is there
nothing left in your larders?"

"Master," the boy said, "we have prepared dinners for fourteen people.
The great English gentleman, the British Consul, is invited by Mr.
Spenser."

"Where did you say your brother was?"

"He gone away. Come back later. Martin, the English butler, he taken
round food that people wish cook themselves. Madame di Mendoza she has
very good cook. Mr. Johnson, too. Six cutlets and a basketful of
vegetables his woman has fetched. All very busy here, Mr. Granet, but no
more food to spare."

"Will you telephone me," Granet asked, "if the police open up the
place?"

"I let master know, but the shops in small places and even in Cannes
will soon be closed."

"Seems to me that I shall go to bed hungry."

"Master eat more to-morrow," the boy answered consolingly, ringing off.

       *       *       *       *       *

Granet was philosopher enough to count a dinnerless evening as amongst
the very small inconveniences of life. He sat sorting his papers and
writing letters until nearly eight o'clock. Then he selected two of his
favourite biscuits and mixed himself a cocktail. He stepped outside on
to his miniature terrace. In the acacia trees almost opposite his gate a
nightingale was singing. A little farther away a solitary owl every now
and then croaked out his tribute to the otherwise voiceless night. The
Manoir was a blaze of light through the trees. He had just commenced his
second cocktail when he paused and set the glass down. He heard that
quaint sound which was like nothing else on earth: the padding of feet
upon the grass in unbroken rhythm. Each footfall was inevitable as the
slow swing of a pendulum. Granet rose quietly and peered out into the
semidarkness. He perceived a dark form advancing, and presently
Postralli, unruffled, presented himself.

"Gentleman," he announced, "is invited to dinner at the Manoir."

"Very kind of somebody, I'm sure," Granet acknowledged. "Who asked me?
Who sent the message?"

"The young-lady mistress," Postralli told him, "but there are others.
Mr. Spenser, he stays; Colonel Dryden, he stays; the Sub-Commissioner of
Police from Nice and the Commissioner of Grasse, they also there.
Monsieur Suresne there, too. He talks a long time with Colonel Dryden.
They wish for master to come now, and black coat he is not necessary."

Granet reflected for a moment. Suresne and Dryden together again;
Suresne, whom he had watched during the afternoon every now and then
casting that queer look of interrogation across the room at Jane.

He turned suddenly towards the open door.

"I will come immediately," he announced.

Postralli, without another word, started off in the direction of the
Manoir. Granet followed him a few minutes later.

Martin, the English butler, of whom Granet had as yet only caught a
fleeting glimpse, received him and ushered him into an apartment on the
other side of the house with stone-vaulted ceiling and walls and an
old-fashioned built-in fireplace. Spenser, after a moment's hesitation,
advanced to meet him, but from the moment of his entrance Granet was
convinced that whoever was responsible for his invitation the
house-agent had nothing to do with it.

"Not much of an occasion for hospitality, I'm afraid," Spenser said.
"You know every one, I think, except our Grasse Commissioner, Monsieur
Grisson."

Granet shook hands with a cadaverous-looking man with tired expression
and dressed almost in the funeral garb of an undertaker.

"We heard a rumour," Spenser went on, "that you had been left dinnerless
by the stupid behaviour of the police to-night."

"Quite true," Granet assented. "On the other hand, one does not think
very much about the ordinary functions of life at times like these. I
was trying to imagine that I should be perfectly content with a couple
of biscuits and a cocktail. Very kind of any one who happened to think
of me, I'm sure."

Martin came in with glasses of sherry and various apritifs and the
gloom of the company seemed for a few minutes somewhat lightened.

"Miss Grassleyes is, of course, your hostess to-night," Spenser
explained, standing before the fireplace in the centre of the little
group, "but you will naturally excuse her presence. I have," he went on,
"as you will some of you probably hear before long, a certain claim to
take her place, as I am really a partner in this enterprise."

"A very successful one, I understand," Dryden observed.

Spenser stroked his moustache.

"Yes, I suppose it might be called successful," he conceded. "Her
ladyship knew all about the running of large estates and she was
thoroughly at home with all the French tradespeople. Then she was an
extraordinarily clever gardener. The walled kitchen gardens are very
productive and the small herb garden which she never allowed a soul to
enter except herself is full of specimens of plants which have never
been successfully grown in this hemisphere before. She told me once that
she had even been successful in producing phrosin, which, as I dare say
you know, has many of the qualities of opium without its evil effect."

"Very interesting, very interesting," the Consul murmured. "I have heard
of the herb garden, of course, but when I asked Lady Grassleyes to let
me see it she flatly refused, and Marc, whom I suppose you would call
the head gardener here, when I wanted to talk about it one day, simply
walked away. He apologized afterwards and said that the cultivation of
it was one of his mistress' pet hobbies which she refused to share with
any one."

"A most expensive hobby, too, I can assure you," Spenser said gloomily.
"She thought nothing, sometimes, of paying hundreds of pounds for a few
bulbs and slips which had to be sent over specially packed from some
native firm of herbalists in Bombay. Still even that hasn't prevented
Grassleyes' paying. It needed capital when I took some interest in it
and of course the sort of recommendation I was able to give was what it
needed more than anything. If it is continued we shall have to seriously
consider expanding. We have six bungalows now. They are always full and
I should like to see a score of them. There's plenty of room. The
estate extends all the way up to Grasse on one side and nearly to Opio
on the other."

"Yes, that's all right," Dryden said, "but we always thought that the
reason Lady Grassleyes made such a success of the place was because
people could come here and live and never see a sign of any one else.
They had the real feeling that they were in the heart of this beautiful
country and away from the world. If you had a dozen more bungalows, say,
you would never be able to keep them so wonderfully secluded. As it is
at present, whether you come in from the Grasse entrance or the Cannes
gates or the entrance from the Nice road, you never see a sign of any
other building except the Manoir."

"Quite true," Spenser admitted, "but, as I was saying, there is plenty
of land untouched yet."

"All the same," Granet pointed out, "you would never be able to continue
this queer idea of serving meals from the house if the bungalows were
much farther away."

"We might improve upon that," Spenser replied. "Our two 'Running
Footmen,' who are part of the picturesque charm of the place, do all the
necessary service now, but we could have a system of provision carts
which could get round the place in no time."

"Has Lady Grassleyes much of a family?" Suresne asked, his head a little
on one side and that inquisitive gleam back in his eyes which had been
so apparent during the afternoon.

"There's only her niece, Jane," Spenser replied, "and a couple of
nephews who are very seldom here. One of them is in the Civil Service, I
think, and the other out in New York. Miss Grassleyes has cabled them
but of course they would not be able to get here for a week or so."

There were no servants in the room at that moment. Grisson, Commissioner
of Grasse, after a glance round came a little closer to Spenser.

"I am sorry it was not possible for me to be here this afternoon," he
said. "I understand, of course, that the formal examination is to take
place later, but cannot you tell me the nature of the doctors' report?"

"I think, perhaps," Spenser answered with a slight frown, "that it would
be best to leave such matters alone for the moment."

Tortoni, the Sub-Commissioner of Nice, nodded approvingly.

"I regret very much that I could not get here in time to listen to my
friend Suresne's informal examination of the residents here," he said.
"However, we shall go into all that later on."

"I think myself," Spenser remarked quietly, "that some of our friends in
the medical profession are inclined to be sensationalists. But it is
scarcely a subject for us to discuss, especially in their absence. We
shall all hear what they have to say later on."

Martin came into the room and there was silence while he announced the
service of dinner. Postralli held open the door and they passed into the
_salle--manger_, another room on the same side of the house. A round
table under the central chandelier had been prepared for the meal.

"Sit wherever you please," Spenser suggested with a wave of the hand.
"You have no host or hostess. Granet, Colonel Dryden is an old
acquaintance of yours, I understand, and you would probably like to
exchange reminiscences. Suresne, you and Grisson have met before, I
believe, and Tortoni, of course, you both know. Mr. Clunderson, the
family lawyer, is on his way from Paris and will be here any moment, so
I will leave a place for him on my left. There we are. One place too
many, I see."

Postralli was standing with his hands resting on the back of the chair
between Dryden and Granet. The door was opened. Jane Grassleyes came
quietly in.

"I hope," she said, "you will all excuse me if I join you. You cannot
help discussing a little the terrible thing which has happened. I fancy
I am more interested than any one else--more interested even than you
gentlemen who will have so much to do with it."

Those who had taken their places rose at once and every one made a
polite little speech of welcome except Spenser. He alone stood perfectly
still for a moment and there was a flash in his eyes which was certainly
not one of welcome. Without a word Jane sank into the chair which
Postralli had been holding.




CHAPTER XIV


"I suppose," Granet remarked to his unexpected neighbour, "you would not
care to explain why you have chosen to give us the pleasure of your
company at this classic feast?"

"Why should I?" she replied, smiling. "For a man of the strong, silent
type, Mr. Granet, I find you a little inquisitive."

"I never claimed to be of the strong, silent type," he answered.
"Curiosity, on the contrary, is one of my besetting sins. I am so
intrigued by this place that I can't make up my mind to behave like a
sensible man--to pack my bag and depart."

"You couldn't, if you wanted to. As a matter of fact, I thought you had
made a sort of effort in that direction."

"_Touch_," he confessed with a smile. "But I wasn't taking my luggage
with me. My idea was to have looked up your friend, Mr. Clunderson, in
Paris and discussed this little affair with him."

"A very profitless effort yours would have been. You would not have seen
him as at the present moment he is flying here from Paris. And I should
not allude to it as a 'little affair,' if I were you. You may change
your mind before you have satisfied that breathless curiosity of yours
and found out all about it."

"I think you might recognize the fact," he complained, dropping his
voice, "that such interest as I might have displayed has been genuinely
and solely on your account."

"You flatter me! Still, I would remind you that I have not asked for
your aid. I have asked no one's aid. There is a perfect avalanche of
trouble that might descend upon one or two of us seated at this table at
any moment. I prefer to accept my portion of it without help from any
one. At the same time, believe me, I am grateful for your interest."

"Nature seems to have made you into a fairly independent sort of
person," he remarked quietly.

"Nature did nothing of the kind," she answered. "I was born and grew up
with a gentle and plastic disposition. You may not believe it but it's
true. It is the fault of circumstances alone that I am here, that I am
suffering the indignity of being what I am--an unwelcome member, under
my own roof, of this motley company of policemen, doctors and
house-agents. You must be the only man here without any professional
standing except Colonel Dryden."

Granet nodded.

"That comes of my curiosity," he observed dryly. "I am a looker on at
the feast--a listener."

Jane looked at him thoughtfully. Their eyes met for a moment and the
vague mantle of irritation fell away from him. He saw the lines under
her beautiful eyes, dark and eloquent with misery. He realized that she
was suffering acutely. He found time, too, to admire the smooth elegance
of her braided hair and the sensitive charm of her quivering lips.

"I wish that one could help you," he said quietly. "The failing you have
jeered at as curiosity is the outcome of a genuine sympathy for you,
Miss Grassleyes. You have not asked for it. You may even consider it as
an impertinence. But it is there."

"You must not talk to me like that," she begged, her voice dropping
almost to a whisper. "I have been through much during the last few hours
and even during the days that preceded them. I am proof against
everything except kindness."

"That is rather a bitter speech, because I have nothing but kindness in
my heart for you."

Colonel Dryden claimed her from the other side. He had little enough to
say but his tone and manner were sympathetic.

"Is this not rather a grim ordeal for you, Jane?" he asked.

She drank half a glass of the country wine with which they had been
served before she answered him.

"It is not exactly a feast of pleasure, is it? On the other hand, every
one has a professional or family interest in what is going on, and in
the circumstances it seemed to me that my place was here."

"The whole affair," Colonel Dryden remarked, "seems to me to be in such
a state of confusion. I scarcely wonder at your desire to understand
what every one has to say about it. You must be a very brave young
woman, all the same, to face a gathering like this."

"I am not brave at all. I am just afraid and when I am afraid I hate to
be alone."

"Many brave deeds have been done under the influence of fear. The only
V.C. man I ever knew intimately told me that he performed the feat which
won him his cross in a state of abject terror."

"That is much more reasonable than it sounds," she sighed.

"Do you wish to talk about the topic of the moment?" he asked a little
bluntly perhaps but still gently. "Or would you rather leave it alone?"

"I came to listen," she said. "To make up my mind whether it was my duty
to say certain things."

"Advice would not help you? I am getting to be an old man, you know, my
dear, and I have seen a good deal of the world."

"Advice," she told him, "would not help me."

"Why not?"

"Because advice, to be valuable, could only come from some one who knew
and understood all that is involved."

"That rules me out, then, I'm afraid. I am only present because Spenser
is a well-known Englishman in these parts and seems to be somehow
involved in Lady Grassleyes' affairs. Of Harriet herself, apart from our
personal friendship, I only knew that she was supposed to have a very
profitable undertaking here which she managed with a considerable amount
of skill, and that she had contrived somehow or other to make herself
exceedingly unpopular with the whole of the medical faculty of the
Riviera."

"That is quite true, I'm afraid," Jane admitted. "My aunt was a
brilliantly clever woman and some of her articles on the cultivation of
Oriental herbs and abstraction of drugs have been translated into
almost every language in the world. The doctors round here mostly
disliked her because she laughed at their old-fashioned methods in
treating some of the everyday complaints. She claimed, you know, to be
able to cure catarrh and sleeplessness in a month if her patients would
only trust her, and only four days ago she told me that she was on the
verge of a discovery which would make her famous all over the world."

"That is extraordinarily interesting," Dryden acknowledged. "I wonder
whether it has occurred to you that she might have been making
experiments on herself and gone a little too far?"

"Don't let us talk about it, please," she begged. "I cannot tell you how
that idea has terrified me."

"Well, don't think any more about it for the moment," he advised. "If
this inquest they are talking about comes to anything--"

"Don't!"

"Not another word," he promised. "Clumsy fellow I am, anyway. Tell me,"
he went on, "before I received my present appointment I used to hear
that your aunt took a considerable interest in the social life of these
parts. Is that a fact?"

"I believe that it is quite true. Anything else?"

Dryden coughed.

"I have been told that at times she was a gambler."

Jane for a moment was thoughtful.

"I suppose if any one enters into the life of the place they become more
or less a gambler. I remember when I first came and we went out much
more, a great deal of the entertaining was done at the Casinos."

"It is still. I saw a man only the other day, whom I have always looked
upon as a most austere person and whom I was surprised to see in a
Casino at all, take the bank at baccarat at the Mditerrane and win
something over two hundred thousand francs."

A sad little smile played for a moment at the corners of her lips.

"I don't believe my aunt ever played for sums like that," she murmured.
"I think she speculated sometimes in stocks and shares but she kept all
that very much to herself. On the whole," she concluded, "I consider
that she was one of the most secretive people I ever met."

"So I always thought," the Consul agreed.

Spenser leaned across the table. He had pushed his glass of country wine
on one side and had helped himself freely to the champagne which had
taken its place. He was tearing into small pieces a slip of paper.

"Clunderson may be here at any moment," he announced. "I have just
received a message. He was on the plane which landed half an hour ago."

Jane rose slowly to her feet.

"I think, if you will excuse me ..." she murmured, turning to her two
neighbours.

"You are not leaving us, Miss Grassleyes?" Spenser put in quickly. "It
was your own choice to come here. You can't leave in the middle of
dinner like this."

"I leave or not as I choose, Mr. Spenser," she retorted with uplifted
eyebrows. "I think you rather forget yourself."

"Why do you wish to leave?" he persisted. "Is it that you want to speak
to Clunderson before any one else can get at him?"

There was a dead silence in the room. Spenser had risen to his feet, his
cheeks flushed, his tone angry.

"If I do it is entirely my own affair," Jane replied. "I am the only
relative present. Mr. Clunderson will naturally expect to see me
immediately upon his arrival. I am sure you will all appreciate that,"
she added, with a glance round the table.

Every one joined in prompt and courteous agreement and Jane, with a sad
little wave of the hand, passed on her way to the door.

Spenser flung his napkin on to the table, strode across the room and
reached the door before her. He stood with his face to the room, his
hands behind him clutching the handle.

"We are all interested in this matter," he said. "We all want to know
the truth about the Lady Grassleyes mystery. I have reason to believe
that I am one of the executors of her will. If that is so I shall appeal
to Clunderson to take a certain course of action of which Miss
Grassleyes would probably not approve. It is in the interests of every
one that this young lady has no previous communication with him. I
regret being forced into this position--"

"You are making a fool of yourself, Spenser," Dryden interrupted. "You
don't know if you are an executor or not. You have no authority here
until the will is produced. Miss Grassleyes is the only relative of
Lady Grassleyes in the house and she has a perfect right to talk to the
lawyer as much as she desires."

Spenser's bulky frame still blocked the doorway. Jane remained within a
foot of him, calm and collected but insistent.

"I am determined to see Mr. Clunderson upon his arrival, and nothing you
can do will stop me," she said defiantly.

The men round the table had mostly risen to their feet. Granet was the
only one, however, who had left his place. He was coming slowly over
towards the door. Spenser watched him apprehensively.

"Monsieur Grisson, I appeal to you," he cried. "Monsieur Tortoni, too.
You should recognize my point of view. Mr. Clunderson will arrive with
an exaggerated notion of his prerogatives, as English lawyers always
have. He will recognize this girl as Lady Grassleyes' niece and probably
take any action which she suggests. I warn you that this is no ordinary
case we have come over to discuss. It might even be a case of murder. If
you do anything to assist a meeting between this girl and Clunderson
before the whole case has been laid before the authorities you will be
serving the cause of one person only--the criminal."

Jane was fast losing her composure. As she shrank away she found Granet
just behind her. She gripped his arm.

"Mr. Spenser has had a word with you gentlemen. Let me have one," Granet
suggested. "Mr. Spenser is a house-agent well known in this
neighbourhood as a successful man of business, and no doubt he means
well. But what has he to do with this unfortunate happening? We have
only his word for it that he is Lady Grassleyes' executor and the only
person here with any authority whatever is her niece. And for a third
person, who is not related or connected in any way with the affair, to
try and keep the family solicitor from the sole representative of that
family is utterly foolish. Miss Jane Grassleyes has a perfect right to
see Mr. Clunderson when and how she chooses. I hope you will all agree
with me."

Suresne now detached himself from the little crowd at the table.

"I am an impartial person," he proclaimed. "It is my business in life to
detect crime. Miss Grassleyes will probably not object if I am present
when she interviews her lawyer?"

There was the sound of a car drawing up outside. Jane moved impetuously
forward, only to find herself repelled by Spenser's outstretched arms.
Then, from some unseen place, out stepped Pooralli, unruffled, calm of
speech, pale as ever. He slipped in front of Granet, who had also taken
an impetuous step forward.

"The young mistress wishes to see gentleman who arrives?"

"I do!" Jane cried passionately. "This is, for the moment at any rate,
my house. No one has the right to direct my actions."

"Whilst I am here you will not pass, Miss Grassleyes," Spenser said. "I
suggest that you return to your seat. I propose to interview Mr.
Clunderson myself."

"Mistress wish go?" Pooralli asked quietly.

"I do!" she cried again. "I do! I will go!"

There was no one in the room who could tell how it happened, no one but
Pooralli, who had spent many years where such things were easy. Spenser
towered over the little man standing before him, then suddenly the huge,
bulky figure seemed to become a heaving mass of legs and arms being
lifted as though by a giant clean off the ground. Pooralli looked over
his shoulder.

"Mistress pass out," he enjoined.

Jane left the room just as Spenser was lowered from his perilous
position to the floor. It was Pooralli now who stood with his back to
the door. The smile was still on his lips. Spenser struggled to his feet
but made no movement towards him.

"You will end your days in prison for indulging in these filthy tricks,"
he gasped.

Pooralli shook his head.

"No, not me, Mr. Spenser," he said. "Never prison for me. Another,
perhaps. But not for me."




CHAPTER XV


Mr. William Clunderson, certainly the best-known English lawyer in
France, seemed a little puzzled by the air of mystery and suppressed
excitement prevailing at the Manoir. He was a small, grey-haired man,
carefully dressed, with wizened features and steel-grey eyes unprotected
by any form of spectacles. He had relinquished his coat and hat in the
hall to Martin but he carried with him a small black bag of
old-fashioned type with which he refused to part. He shook hands with
Jane and declining any form of refreshment accompanied her into her
private room and accepted a chair by the side of the desk. His bag he
held on his knees in front of him.

"I have flown from Paris at your request, Miss Grassleyes," he said,
"but I found it a most uncomfortable form of locomotion, and, if you
will forgive my saying so, I cannot see that the necessity for such
haste is apparent."

Jane was a little taken aback.

"But Mr. Clunderson," she explained, "there is this business of managing
the bungalows to be seen to, and we have no idea, without the will, who
is to be placed in a position of responsibility with regard to them.
Remember, Aunt Harriet was a very secretive woman and there were details
about her life which I never thoroughly understood. We are perfectly
helpless without your presence or advice. I have not even authority to
draw a cheque. Then, as your agent here, Mr. Doubleday, pointed out,
even if the worst has happened my aunt is not legally dead until the
doctors have signed the certificate."

"That certainly is a most extraordinary situation," Mr. Clunderson
acknowledged, "but it is one which will be settled, without a doubt, in
a matter of hours."

"I am afraid so," she sighed despondently. "Still, if you had seen her,
Mr. Clunderson, as I saw her just before she was removed from here to
the clinic, you would have been amazed at her appearance. I cannot
explain it because I have never seen a dead person, but there was
something--oh, don't let us talk about it!" she broke off suddenly.
"There are four doctors who say that she is dead and one who simply
refuses to sign the certificate. And he is the one who counts, Dr.
Bertoldi.... Anyhow, with the majority of the doctors against him I
suppose one has to believe that there really is no hope."

"I am afraid," Clunderson admitted, "that except from a strictly legal
point of view we shall have to take Lady Grassleyes' decease for
granted. Doubleday met me at the air-port and he seems to think there is
no doubt but that the doctors will satisfy themselves as soon as the
result of the tests is forthcoming. However, if there should be any
delay, the question of finance can easily be settled," he went on,
selecting a key from the end of the chain which he had withdrawn from
his pocket and unlocking the bag. "I will admit, though, that Lady
Grassleyes' dispositions might be considered slightly eccentric. Is
there a person of the name of Spenser, a house-agent, I believe, living
in the neighbourhood?"

"There is," Jane assented calmly.

"He appears to be associated with you," he continued, "in the management
of the property, provided, of course, Lady Grassleyes is deceased. But
your authority does not commence at once."

"Do you mean that we are joint executors of Aunt Harriet's will?"

"That may possibly happen but there are certain unusual conditions which
have to be observed. Your aunt does not wish her will proved or any
disposition made of her property for thirty days after her death. During
those thirty days her bank balance can be dealt with, but only by you.
If more money is needed for running the place your aunt points out that
a considerable sum in cash will be found in the safe."

"Why this month's delay? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Everything your aunt did was unusual," the lawyer replied dryly. "I
myself have at times been bewildered by her various instructions. Those
with regard to her death, however, are fortunately clear. I am to open a
letter, which I shall find in the safe, in your presence."

Jane leaned from her chair and there was a note of appeal in her voice.

"You don't want me to send for Mr. Spenser, do you?" she pleaded. "He is
actually here at the moment. His behaviour has been so strange during
the last couple of days. I don't understand the situation in the least.
Tell me my aunt's last wishes."

Clunderson considered the point and came to a decision.

"If Mr. Spenser is indeed on the premises, Miss Grassleyes, I think you
had better send for him."

Jane pressed the bell which stood upon her desk. It was answered in an
incredibly short space of time by Pooralli.

"Pooralli," she said, "please ask Mr. Spenser to step this way."

Pooralli bowed and disappeared. In a very short while he ushered Spenser
into the room. The latter had straightened his tie, brushed his hair and
generally pulled himself together, but the geniality of his expression
was distinctly forced. He shook hands with the lawyer and without
waiting for an invitation drew up a chair to the desk.

"Glad to have you here, sir," he said. "You have brought all the papers
dealing with the estate, I hope?"

"I have brought the keys of the safe," Clunderson replied, "in which I
trust, according to Lady Grassleyes' instructions, we shall find her
will, a considerable sum of money, a casket of Oriental jewels--some of
them heirlooms, and others collected in the East, and as yet
unmounted--also her Formula Book with details of all the plants in her
forcing house, laboratory and walled garden. There should also be a
letter of instructions addressed to Miss Grassleyes. I have to inform
you that the will is not to be proved until thirty days after decease,
although from what Lady Grassleyes says I believe that you and Miss
Grassleyes are to be joint executors. Miss Grassleyes has authority to
use the balance standing at the bank to conduct the affairs of the
estate."

"What's the idea of not having the will proved for a month?" Spenser
asked brusquely.

The lawyer coughed.

"It is not possible," he said, "for us to divine the reasons for many
instructions we receive from our clients. I cannot, therefore, answer
your question."

"No sense in it," Spenser muttered. "Besides, how much is this balance?"

"The balance lying at the Crdit Lyonnais, which I am entitled to use at
Miss Grassleyes' request," the other replied in his dry, metallic voice,
"is well over a million francs. There is also a considerable amount of
cash which we shall find in the safe which can be used if required."

Spenser whistled softly to himself.

"And I thought the old lady was hard up!"

"You were mistaken," the lawyer remarked. "Lady Grassleyes was a person
of considerable wealth, unless she has devised some means of getting rid
of her fortune unknown to myself. My task now is to open the private
safe, take out the will, which I am to preserve for the thirty days
stipulated, and read to Miss Grassleyes the letter addressed to her.
Will you lead the way to the safe, Miss Grassleyes?"

Jane rose to her feet. The two men followed her down the two stairs into
the adjoining apartment.

"So you had the keys in Paris all the time," Spenser observed. "How was
Lady Grassleyes able to open her own safe, then?"

"I have always understood," Clunderson replied, "that she had another
set of keys concealed about her person and that there was also a spare
one in Miss Grassleyes' possession."

Neither he nor Jane took any notice of the single word muttered by
Spenser, but to Jane, whose hearing was exceedingly acute, it sounded
very much like "Jezebel!"

       *       *       *       *       *

It took Clunderson only a few moments to open the safe door and commence
his methodical search amongst the papers. He first of all handled the
leases of the different bungalows, then with a perplexed air he lifted
and replaced some other documents of even less importance. He glanced at
the private ledger and returned it to its place. Then very slowly he
turned round.

"I am looking, I imagine, in the wrong portion of this safe, Miss
Grassleyes. What about the other side?"

"The other side?" Jane repeated in a puzzled tone. "I don't understand."

The lawyer stepped a little back. The safe was of curious construction
and consisted apparently of two wings similar from the outside and
separated by a solid slab of metal.

"This safe," Clunderson said, "contains nothing of any importance except
the leases of the bungalows, various policies and the private ledger.
Neither the will, the letter, the jewels, the Formula Book nor the
money is here. They must all be in the other side."

"But there is no other side," Jane told him. "What you see there is a
dummy portion. There is not even a keyhole."

Clunderson followed her gaze. He moved a step or two along the front of
the safe, tapping as he went. There was nothing there, so far as he
could discover, but solid metal. There was no keyhole even to what
seemed to be the duplicate of the safe he had opened. He turned once
more to Jane.

"Have you another safe in your bureau?" he asked. "Or anywhere here or
in Lady Grassleyes' bedroom?"

"There is no other safe in the house of any sort," she declared.

Clunderson reopened the portion of the safe which he had already
examined. Once more he looked through everything in the shape of
documents which it contained. Spenser watched his every movement with
feverish eyes. He seemed to have absolutely lost control of himself. His
fists were clenched; the sweat stood out on his forehead.

"Look here, young woman," he shouted at Jane, "if you think you're going
to get away with a fool's trick like this you're wrong. You know all
about the other side of the safe. You have probably got the key for it
in a safe place. Pinched the money, have you? Hidden the Formula Book?
Collared the jewels and very likely tampered with the will!"

Jane sank into a chair.

"Mr. Clunderson--" she began.

"You leave Mr. Clunderson alone!" Spenser interrupted. "Now, sir, you
listen to me!"

The lawyer seemed to have passed for a moment or two into a kind of
stupor. His eyes were fixed upon vacancy. Then, with a visible effort,
he pulled himself together.

"There is nothing whatever of that description in the safe, as you can
see for yourself," he declared. "There is the private ledger only, but
there is nothing in the shape of a personal message from Lady Grassleyes
to you or to me or to any one else."

"But, Mr. Clunderson," Jane interposed, "you say that my aunt told you
that all those things were in the safe. What reason did she give you for
this wait of thirty days after her death before the will is proved?"

Clunderson leaned heavily against the side of the desk near by; then he
slowly made his way to the chair in which Lady Grassleyes had been
accustomed to sit, the uncrowned Queen of the Manoir. He sat down and
leaned towards Jane. Somehow or other, although such a thing seemed
impossible, there was a more ghastly tinge of pallor in his
parchmentlike skin.

"Miss Grassleyes," he began, "your aunt told me, not a month ago, that I
should find everything I have spoken to you about in that safe. As for
the thirty days' delay before the will should be proved, she gave me no
explanation of it, although I twice begged her to tell me at least what
her idea was. She was a very extraordinary woman. She has done a very
extraordinary thing. I must beg you, please--" he hesitated--"I must beg
of you," he continued, gripping the arms of his chair, "to ring for some
one or fetch me a little brandy. I am not a strong man. I feel ill. The
shock of finding nothing that I expected has been too much for me."

"I'll get you something," Spenser cried quickly. "I won't be a minute."

He hurried from the room. Jane drew a stool to Clunderson's side and
placed a cushion behind his head. She felt his hand. It was deadly cold.
Her fingers strayed to his pulse. It was scarcely beating.

"The brandy will be here in a moment, Mr. Clunderson," she said. "You
will feel better when you have had that. Tell me--is this the first time
you have had this sort of attack?"

"Yes," he murmured. "But perhaps it will pass. I feel very ill."

Spenser came hurrying in with the brandy bottle, a glass and some water.
He mixed a little and Jane held it to the lawyer's lips. He sipped it
gently and leaned back in his chair.

"I think I'll fetch Mr. Granet from the other room," Jane suggested.

"Please fetch no one," Clunderson begged faintly. "I am already feeling
better. In a moment or two I will talk to you. Give me a little more
brandy."

She held the glass to his lips. This time he took it into his own hands.
Jane could feel the warmth returning to his fingers. They waited in
silence whilst he leaned back and rested. Presently he opened his eyes
and spoke. His tone was more natural but the effect of the shock was
apparent in the uncertainty of his speech.

"Mr. Spenser," he said, "and Miss Grassleyes. I regret--I am very
sorry--it was the shock. Lady Grassleyes, the last time I saw her,
assured me with her own lips that I should find in her safe the letter,
her will and some important instructions concerning what we all know to
have been the great hobby of her life--the herb garden. This is besides
the considerable amount of money she spoke of and the jewels. There is
not a single document there of the slightest importance except the
leases, the few policies and the private ledger."

"That's a damnably nice thing to come here and tell us," Spenser said
harshly. "What object do you suppose she could have in making fools of
us all like this?"

"I only know what she told me," the lawyer repeated. "Of course, she may
have changed the place in which she kept her valuables and meant to tell
me about it."

"The house must be searched to-morrow from top to bottom," Spenser
declared.

"But the Formula Book?" Jane asked in a bewildered tone. "That was her
bible. She read it for hours every day. She was reading it only the
night before she was taken ill--reading it for two hours before she went
to bed. Are you sure that you have looked in every corner of the safe?"

"You can search it for yourself," the lawyer replied. "I can only tell
you that this is the greatest shock I have ever experienced in my life.
I can remember the contents of her will, I can tell you the contents of
that letter, I know what her wishes were with regard to the estate--"

"Not worth a damn," Spenser broke in. "I have one last question to ask
you, Miss Grassleyes. Are you going to stand in the way of our
conducting a search through every room in this place?"

"Certainly I am not," Jane replied. "For once in our lives we agree, Mr.
Spenser. You can come here to-morrow at what time you like. You can go
into whatever rooms you like and you can search where you will. I can
say no more than that."

"Come, that sounds more reasonable," Clunderson said, taking another sip
of his brandy. "After all, perhaps we are being a little foolish. She
was a woman of secret habits, of secret manner of thought. There must be
many places in the Manoir, in her own suite, for instance, where these
things could be hidden.... Yet may I remind you that within
twenty-four hours we shall know whether the will, at any rate, is an
important document or not. I beg of you--do not rifle the house, do not
disturb Lady Grassleyes' secret possessions until the doctors can tell
you finally and absolutely the truth."

Spenser turned disgruntled to the door.

"All I can say is," he said, looking back from the threshold, "those
doctors had better be quick about it."




CHAPTER XVI


There was a sudden silence in the dining-room when, about half an hour
later, without any previous intimation of their coming, Jane Grassleyes,
followed by Spenser and Mr. Clunderson, entered the room. Martin, who
had been serving coffee, approached Jane for instructions.

"Bring us some fresh coffee," she ordered.

"And brandy," Spenser added. "Don't forget--the XO, Martin."

The man bowed and hurried away. Jane's eyebrows were slightly raised.

"Being co-executors, Mr. Spenser," she said quietly, "does not
necessarily mean that we are co-distributors of my aunt's hospitality. I
should prefer to give the orders, if you don't mind."

"What the dickens does it matter?" he muttered.

"It matters to me, at any rate. Until things are properly cleared up I
shall consider myself alone in authority here."

Spenser turned away without another word. Jane resumed her seat and
Colonel Dryden, passing his arm through Clunderson's, led him to the
farther end of the table.

"Forgive my butting in," he said in a low tone, "but you know that I am
an old friend of the family, Mr. Clunderson?"

"Perfectly well," the lawyer replied. "You can proceed with anything you
wish to say."

"What really disturbs me," the Consul continued, "is the fear that
something has gone wrong in my old friend Harriet Grassleyes' affairs.
You all looked thunderstruck when you came back to the room just now."

The lawyer glanced round the table. They were well out of hearing of any
one.

"I came down," he confided, "to hand over the will, a letter of
instructions addressed to Miss Grassleyes and the volume which Lady
Grassleyes told me more than once was the most wonderful manuscript
volume in the world."

Dryden raised his eyebrows.

"I say, that sounds exciting!"

"The exciting part of it is this," Clunderson went on. "That marvellous
volume which I know Lady Grassleyes valued more than anything else in
life, the letter of instructions to Jane Grassleyes and the will, have
all disappeared. Not only that, but there was also a very large sum of
money in five-_mille_ notes which I procured from the bank specially,
and a casket of very valuable jewellery."

"God bless my soul!" the Consul exclaimed. "Why? Are you in earnest,
Clunderson?"

"In earnest? I don't mind telling you, Dryden, that I nearly fainted
when I put my hand into the back of the safe where, less than a month
ago, Lady Grassleyes assured me that she had placed the will and the
other things. I found nothing but an empty space, and, in the front,
copies of the leases and the private ledger amongst various unimportant
papers and photographs."

"How many keys are there to the safe?"

"I can't say exactly. Lady Grassleyes had one set, of course, and her
niece had another."

Colonel Dryden struck a match, lit a cigarette and looked thoughtfully
round the table. His eyes lingered for a moment or two upon Spenser, who
had resumed his former seat and was balancing between his fingers a
large brandy glass. His face was flushed and he was talking volubly.

"This is a pretty serious affair, Clunderson," the Consul said quietly.

"You need not tell me that, Dryden," the lawyer agreed. "When I thrust
my hand into the safe and found what I did I felt nearer fainting than
ever before in my life. Even now I feel the need of repose. I am growing
old and I am tired. Flying upsets me. I am going to ask our young
hostess to excuse me. For the moment, may I ask you to keep what I have
told you a secret?"

"You do not need to ask me that," the Consul replied. "What about
Spenser, though?"

"He will talk, I suppose. It cannot be helped. Good night, Dryden. I
shall be seeing you in the morning--officially, I expect."

He rose to his feet. Jane left her chair hurriedly, came towards him and
drew her arm through his.

"A room has been prepared for you here in the Manoir," she said. "If my
guests will excuse me for a moment," she added, "I will show you the
way."

"I shall be very grateful," Clunderson acquiesced.

They left the room together. Spenser set down his glass, pushed back his
chair and followed them out into the hall. He laid his hand upon the
lawyer's shoulder.

"One moment, Mr. Clunderson," he said harshly. "You seem to be trying to
slip out of your responsibilities very easily. According to you there
has been a robbery here at the Manoir under our noses."

"It would appear so."

"The will, the letter and Lady Grassleyes' marvellous Formula Book,
which is probably worth more than the others put together, have
disappeared?"

"Precisely--also a large sum of money in five-_mille_ notes and valuable
jewellery."

"You have no idea what has become of them?"

Jane intervened. She drew her arm a little more tightly through her
companion's.

"Mr. Spenser," she insisted, "please go back to the dining-room. Mr.
Clunderson is not in a fit state to answer questions just now."

"He will have to answer one or two," Spenser declared. "You are not the
only one interested in this robbery. I want to know, Mr. Clunderson,
what your course of action will be."

"I shall report the decease of Lady Grassleyes to the proper authorities
as soon as the doctors have signed the certificate, and her estate will
be administered according to French law," Clunderson said. "That is
assuming, of course, that the will is not found within a reasonable
time."

"That," the other blustered, "would be ridiculous. The only beneficiary
would be the French Government."

"It is unfortunately true," the lawyer admitted. "I cannot alter the
existing position, Mr. Spenser. If I knew where to look for the missing
will, the letter and Lady Grassleyes' Formula Book, the money and the
jewellery, I should certainly try to find them. Incidentally, I happen
to know that amongst the provisions of the will is a legacy of two
thousand five hundred pounds for myself. I am not a rich man and I
should not relinquish that gladly."

"You won't have to relinquish it," Jane said, patting his arm. "The will
will turn up in the course of a few days. Aunt Harriet may have had it
out to look at just before she was taken ill. She may have pushed it
into a drawer somewhere."

"According to you, Mr. Clunderson," Spenser persisted, "the safe must
have been opened either by Lady Grassleyes herself or by some one who
obtained the key from her."

"Or by Mr. Spenser," Jane interposed. "You appeared to be in possession
of a key a short time ago."

Spenser was speechless.

"I?" he stammered. "What is it you are accusing me of now, Miss
Grassleyes?"

"Nothing, at this moment. We shall have to talk about it to-morrow, Mr.
Spenser, but you seem to have forgotten that I saw you with the key in
your hand and making use of it. Please go back to the dining-room."

Spenser hesitated, then he turned on his heel.

"You will have to answer for that to-morrow morning, Miss Grassleyes,"
he said. "You seem to have lost your head altogether."

"But not my memory," she replied. "Come, Mr. Clunderson. This way,
please."

Jane led her guest away. They crossed the hall together and turned down
the opposite corridor. Spenser watched them in stupefied silence.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Clunderson accepted with a little sigh of gratitude all the
arrangements which had been made for his comfort. There were flowers
upon the dressing table and his toilet requisites duly set out in the
bathroom, the door of which stood open. There were a small bottle of
brandy, a glass and a bottle of Evian carefully placed by the side of
his bed. He sank into an easy chair, shook hands with Jane and waved her
away.

"My dear young lady," he said, "this is perfect. To-night I shall sleep
well. To-morrow, when I have rested, I shall be entirely recovered and I
will give you a clearer outline of your position. For the moment, the
only advice I can give you is this. In the absence of the will you are
clearly, as the next of kin, the person in possession. Do not suffer any
outside interference. As for that fellow downstairs, don't worry about
him. You seem to have caught him tripping just now and if he has been up
to anything I promise you this--he shan't get away with it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Jane came to a sudden standstill, her fingers upon the latch of the door
which led into her own little suite. From somewhere within a few yards
of her she heard the sound of a man's soft breathing. Before she could
speak Pooralli had slipped noiselessly out of the darkness. He bowed his
apologies.

"What are you doing here, Pooralli?" she asked sternly. "You know this
part of the house is forbidden."

"Waiting for young mistress," he explained.

"What do you want?"

"Better come see."

"Come where?"

"I show. Please follow."

His agitation was infectious. She followed him without protest into the
part of the house spreading out into the gardens, a part which her aunt
had kept sacred and which even she had been accustomed to enter only
with a special invitation. They passed under the glass dome of what was
called the winter garden, passed into an atmosphere curiously exotic,
yet sweet with the mingled perfumes of strange plants and
night-flowering shrubs. At the end was a door which Pooralli quietly
unlocked.

"What are you doing here?" Jane asked. "You know very well this is all
forbidden ground."

"Not to young mistress," he answered. "Not to Pooralli. Young mistress
will understand."

He opened the door softly. Jane found herself in the apartment, half
study, half laboratory, where her aunt had been accustomed to spend
hours of each day. "My library," she had often called it, but her books
were plants. The shelves held a seemingly interminable number of bottles
and for the first few seconds the perfume of distilled flowers--a
strange but marvellously sweet perfume it was--almost stifled Jane. To
all appearance the room was empty. Pooralli closed the door behind them
and locked it. Then he turned on the electric light and pointed to the
sofa. Jane gave a little cry of horror. A young man, perfectly
motionless, was lying there, his limbs outstretched, his eyes closed.

"Paul Oliver!" she gasped. "What is he doing here?"

"He very sick man," Pooralli answered. "Mistress used to give him
medicine."

"But how did he get in here? This place is always kept locked."

"Quite right," Pooralli agreed. "Yale keys all very strong. He came
through window. I hear and I come. He very ill. Say must have medicine
or die. I give him some mistress was preparing. No good. He die."

Jane, who had only once before been permitted to enter the room, looked
around her with half-fearful curiosity. In addition to the number of
bottles there were at least a dozen shelves laden with little brown
pots, each with a label written in her aunt's fine handwriting. There
was also a collection of small, squat bottles filled with thick, oily
liquid.

"Why did you try to give medicine, Pooralli?" Jane exclaimed angrily.
"You may have poisoned him."

"Yes, I think he die," Pooralli agreed, looking at the young man's
motionless form. "Pooralli sorry. What could I do? Mistress never liked
her herbs talked about and he very ill."

"Where did you get the stuff that you gave him?"

He pointed to a jar of what looked like the gum from a cactus and a
bottle filled with pure-white liquid.

"Mistress was mixing these last morning here. She made up small bottle
and tasted it end of finger. Note came from young man there. Mistress
angry. She tore up note and poured away medicine. She ordered me out and
locked door. Mr. Oliver he come here to-night very ill. When I come he
tells me mistress angry with him, not give medicine. He gave me gold
watch," Pooralli concluded, producing it and swinging it by its chain.
"I mix just little how I thought mistress did. Miss Grassleyes now go
fetch clever man Mr. Granet. Perhaps he help. If not, perhaps they hang
Pooralli."

Jane smiled at him consolingly.

"There is nothing amongst these herbs, I am sure, that could kill any
one. You wait here. If Mr. Granet has not left I will fetch him."

She hurried back to the dining-room. Granet had changed his place and
was sitting side by side with Suresne, who was as usual talking. Jane
tapped Granet on the shoulder and he rose at once to his feet.

"Please come outside with me for a few minutes, Mr. Granet," she begged.

He made a gesture of excuse to Suresne and walked with her towards the
door.

"More trouble," she sighed when they reached the hall.

"I am sorry," he murmured with real sympathy in his voice. "Can I
help?"

"Listen. Pooralli was waiting for me when I came out of Mr. Clunderson's
room. You remember the wild-looking youth with the absurd clothes?"

"Could any one ever forget him?" Granet smiled. "As a matter of fact, I
had words with him only this evening."

"Well, he is lying in my aunt's laboratory, where she keeps some of her
plants and mixes up herbal cures for people who believe in them. He is
unconscious on the sofa, looking simply terrible. Pooralli gave him
something my aunt had been mixing and he believes he has killed him. It
was entirely Pooralli's idea," she added, "that I came to you. He seems
to have a feeling that you know something about medicine. Do you?"

"A little," Granet admitted. "No one can live in the tropics without
learning something about it."

Jane led the way down the corridor and opened the door of the
laboratory. Paul Oliver was still lying on the couch but he was now
emitting faint groans. Pooralli was standing by his side.

"Him been sick," he announced cheerfully. "I think he will not die."

Granet bent over the recumbent figure, felt his pulse and heart and made
a further brief examination.

"No," he decided, "this young man will not die. No sign of it at
present, at any rate. Show me what you gave him, Pooralli."

Pooralli pointed to the half-empty phial on the table.

"I make mixture same as mistress did."

"Which bottles did she use?"

Pooralli pointed to a jar and a bottle standing on the table. Granet
took out the stoppers, smelt the contents and held the bottles up to the
light. Then he turned to Jane with a smile of encouragement.

"You have nothing whatever to fear," he assured her. "I had no idea that
your aunt's studies had progressed to this extent, though."

"Oliver isn't poisoned, then?" she demanded eagerly.

"Not he. The stuff that looks like water is distilled phrosin, a very
valuable herbal drug used in heaps of patent medicines. The sticky
liquid is also a mixture of herbs. I am sure there is autopin in it,
which isn't grown in England and is very difficult to grow anywhere. But
it's entirely wholesome, made from the bark of a shrub which grows in
Cochin China and seldom lives more than three years."

Jane drew a long sigh of relief.

"This room has been a terror to me," she confided. "Do you know what I
was afraid of?"

"I don't know, but I can guess."

"Well, I was afraid that Aunt Harriet was supplying some of these people
in the bungalows not with ordinary herbal medicines but with synthetic
drugs and taking some of them herself."

"Nothing of the sort," he declared confidently. "I don't believe there
is a thing in any of these bottles that isn't thoroughly harmless. In
fact, the two distillations which she apparently used in prescribing for
this young man were far too valuable to be wasted on him. I imagine
that she had been giving them to him regularly and Pooralli, who must
have known something about it, had a shot at mixing the same thing for
him. He just missed it by a hair's-breadth, that's all. Too much of the
sedative and too little of the excitant. I'll have to guess a lot, of
course, but I'll try and put it right."

For a few minutes he was very busy with the bottles. He searched round
the shelves and found something else he needed. Then he discovered a
mixing bowl, turned up his coat sleeves and set to work. He held up the
result of his labours to the light and smiled as he watched it clear.
Then he went over to the couch, opened the young man's mouth with a
sudden movement and poured the draught down his throat.

"You needn't be afraid that I have done him any harm," he said, wiping
his hands upon the small towel which Pooralli had given him. "That dose
is what he's been hanging round for. Lady Grassleyes must have had a
reason of her own for holding it back. Fortunately he is just able to
retain it."

"But I still don't understand," Jane confessed.

"It isn't easy, of course," he agreed, throwing the towel on one side
and lighting a cigarette. "The young man has probably been a drug addict
at some time or other. Lady Grassleyes was curing him and I should say
she was well on the way to success. Only how she has collected all these
herbs and some of those exotic plants I see in the hot-houses beyond I
can't imagine. They are worth a fortune to any chemist."

"How do you know all about this?" Jane asked him, with a new wonder in
her eyes.

"Oh, I am a professor of chemistry, in a way. Doesn't sound romantic,
does it--but curiously enough the study of some of these exotic and
non-flowering plants I am sure your aunt has is what brought me my
professorship ... Hello, look at our young friend!"

Paul Oliver was sitting up. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks
and his eyes were open and quite bright.

"Who gave me that dose?" he demanded anxiously.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I did," Granet confessed. "Pooralli had a
shot at it but he hadn't the mixture right. That is what knocked you
out. Fortunately I happen to know something about these herbs."

Oliver drew a long breath.

"I feel a different man," he declared. "I apologize, Mr. Granet, for
being such a ruffian earlier this evening. I behaved very badly, but,
believe me, I felt as though I were going mad. Knowing what had happened
to Lady Grassleyes made me lose my head completely. It is terrible. I am
still three doses short of my course."

"Course for what?"

"Forgive me," the young man begged, and his tone was absolutely gentle.
"I say too much and I am pledged to secrecy. If you will excuse me, Miss
Grassleyes, I will go back to my bungalow."

"Are you fit to go back alone?" Jane asked.

"Perfectly. Please have no more anxiety. I am so sorry to have
disturbed you. As for you, sir," he said, turning to Granet with an
almost pathetic expression of gratitude in his face, "I cannot thank you
enough. I only hope something can be arranged."

"We will see," Granet said. "I make no promises. This is a dangerous
business for any one to undertake and I am, after all, little better
than an amateur. I should recommend you now to go home, as you
suggested. You are quite well enough to go alone but Pooralli had better
walk down with you."

The two left the room together, Pooralli walking with buoyant footsteps
and his head in the air. At the closing of the door Jane suddenly forgot
everything else in the world and clung to her companion's arm.

"Mr. Granet," she cried, "are you a magician?"

He smiled down at her.

"Not in the least, my dear. I am a fairly capable scientist who has made
many experiments in the treatment of herbs but although I am not exactly
a poor man I have never had the money to go into the subject on a large
scale. You must let me look over this place to-morrow, but I warn you
that so far as I can see its possession is going to add a great deal to
your responsibilities."

"Why?"

He shook his head.

"I cannot tell you now. Will you take my advice?"

"Of course."

"For the moment, lock up this room, lock up the hot-house and keep that
little walled garden absolutely barricaded. Make the whole of these
rooms and the walled garden a fortress, and above all don't breathe a
word to any one of my interference here and of Oliver's sudden recovery.
Keep your own counsel, especially as regards that fellow Spenser."

She looked steadily into his eyes; very straightforward, kindly eyes
they were with just a gleam of the mystic. Perhaps the change that came
was in reply to her own passionate but unspoken prayer. Suddenly they
grew soft. The touch of his arms around her was magical. All the horror
of those last unnatural hours seemed to pass away as she felt the eager
searching of his lips for hers. She lay in his arms entirely and
wonderfully content.




CHAPTER XVII


Jane and David Granet were seated next morning opposite to one another
at one of the stone balcony tables of the Colombe d'Or, the famous Old
World restaurant at St. Paul. A light breeze was stealing down from the
mountains in the background, bending back the leaves of the orange and
olive trees, rustling every now and then like ghostly footsteps in the
pines. The sky overhead was a faultless blue. It was only in the far
distance that there were little flecks of white cloud, a gossamerlike
boundary to the rich, glowing landscape. The umbrella directly above
Jane and Granet was scarcely sufficient protection from the midday sun.
The tantalizing puffs of wind with their faint suggestion of the distant
snows were like little breaths from Paradise.

Jane laid down the menu which had been placed in her hand.

"Anything that they choose to bring," she murmured. "Except that I am
hungry it seems almost desecration to eat. What a divine place!"

"You are saved the task of ordering, anyway," Granet said. "This is not
a restaurant de luxe. They give you what they have, and that is always
the same: hors d'oeuvres of fresh vegetables, the only intrusion being
the sardine; trout from the stream below; chicken of their own feeding;
a souffl which is the chef's one vanity."

"Perfect," she murmured.

"The apritif, too," he continued, "is perhaps another slightly alien
note. The wine is made in the valley below and if you ask for the wine
list and look through the ordinary Chteau wines your waiter leaves you
in sorrow and serves you with a sigh. I have not risked any trouble of
that sort."

"You are a very knowledgeable person," she told him. "Why did you ask me
here to lunch with you?"

"Out of curiosity."

"What about?"

"Us."

"You intrigue me," she confessed.

"Why should I? In plain words, I wanted to know what it felt like to
lunch with the girl I was engaged to marry."

The colour flowed into her cheeks. She looked at him in most becoming
confusion.

"Please--what do you mean?"

"Isn't it clear?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes, and holding her
hand across the table in the most brazen fashion. "I was just thinking
last night how wonderful it would be to set to and help you out of all
this muddle when a succession of unspeakable and delightful incidents
decided the whole matter for us."

"You mean--?"

"I mean those few minutes before Pooralli came back. I call what
happened during that brief space of time a complete answer to my
speculation."

"Do you really want me to be engaged to you?"

"Of course I do."

"Very well, then, we are--until," she added, glancing at the approaching
waiter, "we have arrived at the souffl."

"You are showing," he complained, "inclinations towards frivolity."

Her eyes danced with pleasure.

"Who can wonder at it? Haven't we had enough of serious life for the
last day or two?"

"Too much, by a long way," he agreed. "I suppose you don't realize the
fact, but it is a wonder we are not both in prison."

She shook her head.

"Not you. Not the great scientist, the professor, the famous chemist!
They wouldn't dare to imprison you. Pooralli and I were the only ones in
danger if that young man had had the bad taste to die on our hands."

"Actually we were none of us in the slightest trouble," he assured her.
"I don't suppose you know it, but I was up at half past four this
morning and I made Pooralli take me round the whole of Lady Grassleyes'
herb garden, forcing houses, walled garden and laboratory, before any
one was stirring. All I can tell you is that, if it were for sale, I
would give a million francs for her Formula Book if it could be found."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. There are at least a dozen herbs there which I searched for
all over Burma."

"Didn't you have one awkward moment," she asked, "when you came across
that distilled phrosin?"

"Not even then," he assured her. "There is not the slightest evidence
that at any time Lady Grassleyes' experiments have been in the direction
of producing synthetic drugs or anything of that sort. She was
apparently treating a few patients for nervous diseases and treating
them very skilfully, too. The only trouble is that now they have been
left suddenly in a sort of half-cured state, and one scarcely knows how
to deal with them. That young fellow, Paul Oliver, is an example of what
I mean."

"But he responded to your treatment marvellously."

"Quite true," he assented, "but I had to take a risk. What we want,
Jane, is your aunt's Formula Book."

"Do you like calling me 'Jane'?" she asked blandly.

"I like it immensely," he assured her. "Perfect ass I should be,
shouldn't I, if I called you by anything else but your Christian name
when we are engaged!"

"I suppose so. What am I expected to call you, then?"

"'David,' of course."

She pushed back her plate and sipped the country wine thoughtfully.

"How did you grasp the fact that I had fallen desperately in love with
you?"

"I haven't grasped it, yet," he answered. "I am waiting for you to tell
me so."

"Well, I haven't."

"Try and make the best job you can of it, then," he begged. "You see,
Jane, I am really very fond of you, although I think I have known you
barely three days. I love your pluck, but I tell you this: You need a
strong man to get you out of this muddle. If you and Spenser tried to
work this bungalow show alone I can't imagine what would become of you.
Spenser can't get it out of his head that your aunt was making a fortune
in some mysterious way. That shows he must have got at her bank account.
He hasn't a single scruple, that blackguard hasn't, and even if he
believed that all the contents of Lady Grassleyes' gardens and
laboratory were poison he would still like to go on turning it out, only
on a much bigger scale. Incidentally, I had a caller this morning--Mr.
Johnson. He was up at the Manoir before seven o'clock. He was very
persistent indeed. He wanted a headache cure and, when he found that
didn't go, he asked permission to walk through the walled garden to
study some of the herb-growing. He assured me that Lady Grassleyes had
allowed him to go into the forcing houses whenever he liked."

"I'm glad you had Mr. Johnson to deal with," Jane confessed. "That man
frightens me. He is so rough and so determined. He tried to force his
way in once before. How did you get rid of him, David?"

Granet looked away for a moment at a very beautiful break in the
mountains. He pointed it out to his companion.

"Exquisite," she agreed. "But I want to hear about Mr. Johnson."

"Well," he went on slowly, "Mr. Johnson, I gathered, is used to rough
methods. I was obliged to convince him that they were useless on this
particular occasion. One thing struck me as being rather curious. When
he had quietened down and was convinced that he had nothing to gain by
hanging around, he only asked for one favour before he took his leave."

"Yes?"

"He begged me not to say a word to Spenser of his visit."

"That seems quaint," she admitted. "I remember now, though, that it was
Mr. Spenser who sent him here and persuaded Aunt Harriet to let him have
a bungalow. Tell me, David, what do you think about Pooralli?"

"He is a mystery. All of his race are the same. Is he honest? I do not
know. On the other hand, I have had some experience of his type and I
have never known one of them who was not faithful. He may be making up
his mind to sell his services to the highest bidder, but, after all, you
must remember, there is a terrible lot of surmise about all this. I
admit the Manoir fascinates me, because I would never have believed that
such a collection of herbs existed, but I sometimes wonder whether you
had not better leave the winding up of the whole place to Clunderson,
come off with me, get married somewhere quietly and take a honeymoon
trip round the world."

"But I don't know whether I want to go for a honeymoon trip round the
world with you," she objected. "I'm not at all sure that I know you well
enough."

They were very much alone in the little place with its striped umbrellas
and primitive surroundings. Even the one waiter had disappeared into the
bar and the sole remaining client was making a rough sketch of the
pigeons strutting about in search of crumbs. David took Jane's willingly
offered hand into his and leaned across the table.

"We might feel a little awkward at first," he admitted smiling, "but I
suppose we should get over it in time. Other people do," he added
hopefully.

She scrutinized him, with that fascinating smile of hers hovering at the
corners of her lips. In his light-grey flannel suit, soft collar,
faultless linen and black-and-white-check tie, he was certainly a very
attractive figure. She liked the humorous twinkle which flashed every
now and then into his eyes. She also rather liked that stern look and
the crispness of his tone when he was very much in earnest. He was a
man, of course, very much of a man. She counted up on her fingers how
long she had known him.

"Nearly three days," she declared. "That's pretty well the length of my
acquaintance with you, David. Do you really think it is long enough to
justify my handing my life's happiness into your keeping?"

"It is my honest opinion," he pronounced, "that you are going to get
into a terrible mess here if you don't. I am not absolutely clear myself
as to the manner in which I am going to get you out of it. We are
through the first stage and I can't tell you how near we came to being
sent to a French prison. Anyhow, putting that on one side, I am not so
bad, Jane. I have never had much to do with your sex. I care for you
far more than I have ever cared for any other woman. I'm not at all sure
that I haven't got that curious feeling in my blood for you which
novelists call 'love'! I should consider myself a good risk as a
husband. I wouldn't hesitate a minute, if I were you!"

She flashed him a warm and wonderful smile and there was a most
attractive shyness in the faint pressure of her fingers twined in his.
Then, just as Granet was wondering whether he dared risk the horror of
the rather remote and very absorbed artist at the table and lean a
little closer to Jane's lips, they heard the grinding of brakes outside
the wide-open gates which led into the restaurant, the shout of a
familiar voice, and saw the figure of Spenser, bare-headed, coatless and
wearing slacks, striding across the courtyard. Just behind him was
Suresne. He was calm enough but he also showed signs of excitement.
Spenser had lost his high colour and was pale with fury. Granet laid
down his knife and fork and a very grim look came into his face as he
watched the approaching couple.

"I have had very nearly enough of this fellow Spenser," he muttered. "Do
you mind, dear, running inside for a minute or two?"

The girl shivered after her single glance at the intruders.

"David," she begged, "for my sake, please--"

He pressed her fingers in reassuring fashion.

"I'll be careful, dear," he promised. "Perhaps," he added, as the two
men approached the table, "Spenser really has something to say this
time."

       *       *       *       *       *

Probably Spenser had it in his mind that the artist, the waiter and the
little party of newcomers who had followed them in, were all French. At
any rate, he did not spare his language.

"What the hell is the meaning of this, Granet?" he demanded. "What
devilish trick are you up to now?"

"Enjoying a very excellent luncheon, which I hope you are not going to
spoil," was the calm reply. "You needn't shout like that, either. I have
perfectly good hearing."

"Where is Lady Grassleyes?"

Granet did not attempt to frame a reply to the astonishing question.
Whatever it was he had expected, it certainly was not this.

"I ask you again," Spenser shouted, "what is this tomfoolery you have
been up to?"

"Monsieur Suresne," Granet begged, "would it be asking too much of you
to tell me what this lunatic means?"

"Mr. Spenser is naturally very much upset," the detective explained. "It
is probably not news to you to hear that Lady Grassleyes has
disappeared."

"Do you mean that her body has disappeared?"

"That is precisely what I do mean. Lady Grassleyes, owing to a dispute
amongst the doctors, was prepared for an examination to be made upon her
at the Nice Central Clinic this morning. She had two nurses in
attendance last night. One of them, it is true, evaded her duty and went
out. The other was discovered fast asleep. The body was removed from the
Clinic at some hour between two and five o'clock this morning."

"And were you, may I ask, expecting to find Lady Grassleyes alive and
taking lunch with us here?"

Even Suresne was for a moment nonplussed. Spenser, too, was incapable of
speech.

"I admire your insouciance, Mr. Granet," Suresne said quietly, "but it
is surely a little ill-timed."

"Scarcely as ill-timed as your visit," was the prompt rejoinder.
"However, since you are here, let's come to an understanding. Do I
gather that you are telling me seriously that Lady Grassleyes has
disappeared from the Nice Clinic?"

"Precisely."

"Then she must be alive."

"Why?"

"Of what value do you suppose the dead body of her ladyship would be to
any one?"

"Ransom," Suresne snapped out. "We have had several cases in this
country this last year. It is common enough in the States, as you know."

"Well, I think you are wrong," Granet declared calmly. "If Lady
Grassleyes has disappeared from the Nice Clinic she is alone and has
left of her own free will."

"Impossible!" Spenser shouted. "She was dead. Every doctor except
Bertoldi was ready to sign the certificate."

"No one in this world is infallible. Dr. Bertoldi may have been the only
one in that little company of doctors who guessed the truth."

"What the devil do you know about it?" Spenser demanded.

"Do please moderate your language! I know nothing about it but I can
divine a good deal by deduction, if what you are telling me is the
truth."

"Deduction!" Spenser scoffed. "We are wasting time, Suresne. I know the
owner of this place. I am going to have it searched."

"I should do nothing so foolish, if I were you," Granet advised. "First
of all, why not speak to the porter outside. He will assure you that
Miss Grassleyes and I drove up in my two-seater Bugatti and that we
brought with us no suspicious belongings. You can also search any other
car outside. Wherever Lady Grassleyes may be--and I give you my word of
honour that I don't know, and I'll speak for Miss Grassleyes that she
doesn't know either--she is there of her own volition. I never saw her
in my life except for those few seconds, but I am making bold to say now
that the doctors who pronounced her dead were probably wrong from the
first."

"What reason have you for saying so?" Suresne asked.

"Because," Granet explained, "at the request of Miss Grassleyes here,"
holding out his hand to Jane, who was approaching the table, "I have
been examining the contents of Lady Grassleyes' laboratory and I have
also examined the most wonderful collection of herbs that has ever been
brought together under one roof. I am a chemist. With the help of those
herbs I could easily concoct a mixture which, without the slightest risk
to the person who took it, would give him the appearance of having
ceased to exist. There are dozens of doctors all over the world at the
present moment working on the problem of an ansthetic free from danger
and with a more lasting effect than anything hitherto discovered. Lady
Grassleyes may have been the one to have made that discovery and also
made the mistake of trying it upon herself."

"Ridiculous!" Spenser fumed.

"It is not any more ridiculous," Granet retorted, "than the
disappearance of Lady Grassleyes' body which you have come here to
report. Doctors have been deceived before now, you must remember. They
have, I believe, been deceived again. When her ladyship thought that she
had achieved her purpose, whatever it may have been, she pulled herself
together in the Clinic, communicated with a confederate, perhaps, or
anyhow found her way to wherever she wanted to go. Where that may be I
do not know, Miss Grassleyes does not know, you do not know. But unless
something has happened to her since she stole away or was spirited away
from the Clinic you can take my word for it that she is alive now."

Jane leaned across the table.

"You really believe that, David?"

"Yes, my dear, and if I were you I should finish my luncheon before
everything gets cold."




CHAPTER XVIII


The matron of the famous Nice Central Clinic, Mrs. Theobald, came
hurrying into her sitting-room within a few moments of her visitors'
arrival. She shook hands with Jane and exchanged a formal bow with David
Granet.

"My dear Miss Grassleyes," she exclaimed, "I feel ashamed to look you in
the face! The whole thing is too dreadful. I can't tell you how sorry I
am that such a thing should have happened here, where I flatter myself
our discipline is, if anything, over strict."

"I have not come to complain," Jane said quietly. "It is an amazing
thing to have had happen, of course, and you can understand my anxiety.
Mr. Spenser seems to have heard that I was lunching with Mr. Granet up
at the Colombe d'Or and he brought us the news. We decided to come
straight on here and see you."

"Any information I can give you," the matron assured them, "anything you
like to ask me--"

"Tell me, then," Jane begged, "do you believe that my aunt was dead or
alive?"

"I will tell you exactly how it seems to me," the other explained. "The
whole thing is almost impossible to put into words, but I will try. This
is the conclusion I have come to. Your aunt was brought here in a state
of coma, and I believe that she was alive enough somehow or other, with
outside help, to get away from this place. I am sure you have that other
horrible idea lurking at the back of your mind--that she very nearly met
her death at the hands of our surgeon. Nothing of the sort. There was
never the slightest risk of that. Dr. Bertoldi, the Grasse doctor who
refused to sign the certificate, had a perfectly clear understanding
with Dr. Brodie, our surgeon. The examination, begun last night, that
they were to have held to-day was to have been purely an external one."

"Did Dr. Bertoldi tell you his reasons for refusing to sign the
certificate?" Jane asked.

"To me, in confidence, he did. His reasons were that the condition of
Lady Grassleyes lacked two of the usual symptoms of death. He fenced
about the thing for some time but at last he acknowledged that he did
not believe she was dead at all. He has been here most of the morning
holding a sort of private examination of the nurses, both of whom, by
the by, will be dismissed, and he told me he had come to the conclusion
that it was not a dead body which had been spirited away but a living
woman suffering from the effects of an unknown intoxication. I wonder,
Miss Grassleyes--I knew your aunt so slightly--should you have said that
she was likely to run risks with some of those herbal remedies which
she--er--dabbled in?"

"I can think of no one less likely to do such a thing," Jane declared
vigorously. "Dr. Bertoldi knows that himself, although he was very
angry with my aunt sometimes because of her faith in herbal remedies."

The matron nodded sagely.

"Well, there was a scene down here, I can tell you, this morning. We
rang up the Manoir, of course, but they told us that you and Mr. Granet
had gone out in his car. Your lawyer from Paris came straight down here.
A dear old gentleman. He was in a terrible state. I imagine it does
complicate things a little for him."

"More than a little," Granet put in. "Still, there is just one point
about it all which must be rather a relief to him. Lady Grassleyes left
instructions that the will was not to be proved for a month after her
death."

"Interesting, that," Mrs. Theobald commented. "One might almost imagine
that she had something in her mind about disappearing for a time."

"But why?" Granet asked. "What could be the point of it?"

The matron sighed.

"Haven't I been trying to think that out?"

There was a knock at the door. A precise-looking nurse in a very stiff
uniform entered.

"May I have one word with you, Matron?" she begged.

"You may have it before the young lady and gentleman," was the gracious
reply, "especially if it has anything to do with Lady Grassleyes."

"Dr. Bertoldi and Dr. Brodie are both here, Matron."

"Have they brought any news?" Jane asked eagerly.

The nurse shook her head.

"There is no news," she said. "They heard that Miss Grassleyes was here
and they thought she might like to have a word with them."

"I should like to very much," Jane said.

"Ask them to step this way," the matron ordered.

The two men were ushered in. Dr. Brodie was introduced. He addressed
himself at once to Jane.

"Bertoldi and I are the two rebels," he announced smiling, "who refused
to sign the certificate of death. And I must tell you at once, Miss
Grassleyes, that in the absence of this certificate no autopsy could
possibly have been allowed."

"Well, I must say," Jane confessed, "that makes the whole affair seem
less gruesome."

"My decision was given last night after the preliminary examination had
taken place," Bertoldi explained. "I decided that your aunt should be
left exactly in the condition she was found in until there was some
change. We decided to keep her under observation night and day and
Matron here engaged two extra night-nurses to take turns in watching for
any signs of life. As you have heard, when we arrived--well, the patient
had taken French leave. How she did it, where she is, what was the
matter with her are now police matters."

"I quite understand," Jane declared, "and I think you have acted very
wisely and considerately from the first, Dr. Bertoldi."

"Thank you, Miss Grassleyes," the doctor replied with a little bow. "I
hope your aunt will think so, if ever we have the pleasure of welcoming
her back again. As you know, I have strong views about her meddling with
all those herbs and the collection of strange plants she had sent her
from abroad. Likely to do herself or any one else a lot of harm meddling
with them."

"Mr. Granet here," Jane observed, "is of the opinion that she might
possibly have been experimenting upon herself and found trouble."

"Very possible, very possible indeed," Dr. Bertoldi agreed. "Lady
Grassleyes would not have me near the place, as you know, lately, but if
anything further transpires I am going to ask you to let me go through
some of the herbs and plants which make up her collection, Miss
Grassleyes. I should probably recommend their destruction, but there is
no need for you to take my advice."

"You must arrange that with Mr. Granet," Jane said. "He is looking after
the laboratory for the present."

"One thing that might interest you, sir," Granet confided, "is that Lady
Grassleyes had actually extracted phrosin and autopin from some of her
plants. The phrosin she has certainly made use of in some of her
mixtures."

"Humph!" Bertoldi grunted.

"Very interesting," the surgeon murmured.

They took their leave and a few minutes later Jane and her companion
prepared to follow suit. In the act of shaking hands, Jane uttered a
little exclamation. She was looking at a photograph on the matron's
desk.

"What a good picture of Mr. Spenser!" she cried. "Is he a friend of
yours, Matron?"

Mrs. Theobald was visibly disconcerted. She handled the situation badly.
She affected surprise, which she rather overdid, and she was a trifle
laborious with her explanations.

"I can't go so far as to say that," she confided. "Mr. Spenser visits
the Clinic sometimes, in fact I think there's an idea of having him on
the committee. I can't remember, for the moment, though, how I came into
possession of his photograph."

Jane was still examining it curiously.

"He was a great friend of my aunt's," she said. "A business friend,
perhaps, but still he was a frequent visitor."

"I remember!" the matron exclaimed suddenly. "I know where that
photograph came from. He sent a dozen for our last bazaar and I bought
one. Very good picture, don't you think?"

"Marvellously like him," Jane assented. "Well, thank you very much, Mrs.
Theobald, and good afternoon."

"I can't persuade you to stay and have a cup of tea?" the matron asked
as she led them out. "Mr. Granet might be interested in looking over the
place."

"Another time," Granet said. "I know that Miss Grassleyes will be
anxious to get back to the Manoir. I had hard work persuading her to
leave it for an hour or so as it was."

Mrs. Theobald indulged in a little grimace as she bade Jane farewell.

"You leave me now," she confided, "to a very disagreeable rendezvous.
The Commissioner of Police is due in five minutes."

       *       *       *       *       *

Jane was a little thoughtful after they had settled down in the car.
When they reached the long stretch of road which bordered the race
course Granet glanced at her curiously.

"Something on your mind?"

She nodded.

"I am wondering about that photograph, for one thing. You couldn't see,
I think, but it was inscribed: '_With love from Fred._' That isn't the
usual way a photograph is autographed for a bazaar, is it? Then, there
was another thing. There was the smell of Turkish cigarettes in the
room. Now very few people smoke Turkish cigarettes here. Amongst those
few that I know is Mr. Spenser, and did you notice a large brown
tortoiseshell case on the edge of the table?"

"I think I did," Granet acknowledged.

"That was Mr. Spenser's cigarette case."




CHAPTER XIX


Mr. Clunderson, very spick and span in a white-flannel suit but still
disturbed in his manner and general appearance, was an early visitor at
the Manoir on the morning of the following day. He found Jane with a
pile of correspondence addressed to Lady Grassleyes seated at the
writing-table in her bureau, and Granet, who had apparently just arrived
from his bungalow, walking restlessly up and down the room. Pooralli
announced the newcomer tersely.

"Lawyer gentleman from Paris."

He had done his duty. As was usual when he had introduced a visitor, he
bowed to the occupants of the room and took his leave. Jane welcomed Mr.
Clunderson with a little sigh of relief.

"They told us you had left yesterday when we got back," she said,
installing him in an easy chair. "I was afraid you had deserted us and
gone back to Paris."

"Not at all," Clunderson explained. "I simply thought it was better to
take a room at the Negresco in Nice. I had my things packed when the
telephone message from the Clinic arrived. I went straight there, of
course."

"The matron told us she had telephoned and that you had been there,"
Granet confided. "Spenser found out where we were lunching and brought
us the news. We went at once to the Clinic."

The lawyer rose from his seat and brought over the morning edition of
the _claireur de Nice_ to Jane.

"You see the headline here," he pointed out. "MYSTERIOUS RUMOURS
CONCERNING LADY GRASSLEYES. There's a page of rubbish there but the long
and the short of it is that Lady Grassleyes disappeared yesterday from
the Clinic. That is the only thing we know for certain."

"Very well," Granet agreed. "Then I would suggest that, whether we
accept the probability of Lady Grassleyes' having met with her death or
the possibility of her being still alive, you give Miss Grassleyes full
power to carry on the business of the bungalows and any other business
in which her mysterious aunt may have been concerned. Whether Lady
Grassleyes comes back to the world or not, no one could complain of your
action."

"I agree," Clunderson declared, "and I accept the proposition. It shall
be as you suggest. But in the meantime that is, so far as I am
concerned, only a passive position. What am I to do concerning one of my
oldest clients who appears to be dead one moment and alive the next, who
has left me no coherent instructions as to the management of her
affairs? We don't know in whose hands she is; we don't know whether she
is a partner in these strange proceedings or the victim of a plot. I am
not content, as her lawyer, to sit down and accept as gospel these
hare-brained stories in the papers. I dislike the situation enormously
but my convictions are that we must give our whole confidence to the
police and demand their help."

"The great Suresne himself--" Jane began.

"I know all about that," Clunderson interrupted. "Suresne is still on
the spot, fortunately, only he seems to have attached himself to your
friend Mr. Spenser."

"Not my friend," Jane murmured.

"And certainly not mine," Granet echoed.

"Now listen, Miss Grassleyes," the lawyer proceeded. "I have put you in
possession here. I have been to your aunt's bankers and I have given
them my authority to honour cheques with your signature only until the
present balance is exhausted. Long before then the truth of this matter
should come out, but I warn you that it is my opinion that your aunt is
not acting according to her own free will, but is in dangerous hands."

"You mean that her life is still in danger?" Jane asked anxiously.

"Her reason or her life beyond a doubt."

"But why?" Jane persisted. "She has no enemies that I know of. How could
she have enemies?"

"It is not our enemies only who rob us," was the quiet rejoinder.

"Of whom are you thinking?" Jane asked bluntly.

"Mr. Spenser, the house-agent. I find that he was in the habit of
visiting your aunt almost every day and there is not the slightest doubt
but that they were on friendly terms up to the day of her collapse."

"But you yourself do not trust Spenser," she reminded him.

"I do not," he admitted. "I trust no one in this affair except yourself,
and I advise you to adopt the same attitude."

"I have to trust Mr. Granet," she said demurely, "because I am engaged
to marry him."

"Since when?" the lawyer demanded.

The colour rose slowly to her cheeks. She glanced towards Granet, who
nodded calmly.

"Tell him the truth, my dear Jane," he enjoined.

"Since yesterday."

"As you are the family solicitor, Mr. Clunderson," Granet said, "may I
suggest that you apply to the British Consul at Nice for my pedigree and
life history? He will probably flatter me but you will lose any
suspicions you may have as to my designs upon the family estate."

"I will see Colonel Dryden this afternoon," the lawyer promised. "I was
hoping you would suggest something of the sort, Mr. Granet. I feel sure
that the information I shall receive will relieve me of a portion of my
responsibility. Now I am going to step beyond the local outlook. Your
aunt, Miss Jane, was my dear friend. I had an affectionate regard for
her. I have known her for many years. I am worried and anxious about
her. I feel more than professional anxiety. I feel that having known her
late husband, having been her friend for forty years, I cannot go back
to my office and leave things in this state. I should like, as well as
giving the police every scrap of information we can, to employ Suresne.
He will cost us a great deal of money but the estate can afford it."

"You may find yourself forestalled," Granet warned him. "Suresne was
with Spenser when they burst in on us at the restaurant where we were
lunching yesterday."

"Suresne is a man to be trusted," Clunderson assured them. "If he was
with Spenser, so much the better. To-night he will tell us what he
thinks of the fellow. I promise you this--Suresne will never work hand
in hand with any criminal. If he suspects him of blackmail or of
abduction or any similar peccadillo he will have nothing to do with
Spenser."

"I have sometimes thought," Jane said hesitatingly, "that my aunt had a
sort of affection for Spenser. She allowed him greater privileges than
any other person who came here and I know he drew a very considerable
sum in commissions. The letting of every one of the bungalows passed
through his hands."

The lawyer nodded understandingly.

"Well, we know how we stand about Spenser," he said. "Now we come to the
two people who, to my mind, are the most mysterious of all. Who are
these two extraordinary Malay or Indian servants of your aunt's who seem
to do most of the work of the place?"

"I can only tell you," Jane replied, "that my uncle and aunt brought
them over when my uncle retired, that they have been here many years,
that they have never failed in a duty, never shown the slightest trace
of dishonesty, have worked without a word of complaint for hours when an
English servant would have shuddered."

"I remember Pooralli, of course, for many years," the lawyer remarked.
"There is nothing against him but his name and his manners and the
quaintness of him. Neither of them even move about like ordinary human
beings."

"Well, I have told you what I know about them. They never make a
mistake, they are the cleanest people in the compounds and if we were to
accuse them of any sort of fraud I honestly believe my aunt would turn
in her grave if she were dead, or would find some way of coming back
here to prove their innocence if she were alive."

"That's something like a eulogy," Clunderson said smiling. "Personally,
of course, I think they are wonderful, only naturally when you find them
living practically in the midst of a garden of priceless herbs as the
servants of a mysterious lady like Lady Grassleyes, and that lady
disappears--well, they sort of drift into it, don't they?"

"You will never find them the villains of the piece," Jane declared.
"The night before last I had a great desire to see you before you were
interviewed by Spenser. Spenser would not hear of it and he stood in
front of the dining-room door and refused to let me pass. He was beside
himself with anger. Pooralli, without turning a hair, threw him over his
shoulder and held him suspended there whilst I slipped out of the door
and came to you in the hall. It is the old Oriental ju-jitsu, of course,
but it took every one's breath away."

"Interesting," the lawyer muttered. "Very."

"They are the guardians of the place," she went on. "The younger of the
two waits on Mr. Granet, the elder one seemed to do everything for my
aunt. He is in her confidence, to a certain extent, with her herbs. Some
day, when we three are alone together again, I will tell you both some
stories about Pooralli that will astonish you."

It seemed like a miracle--not one of the three had heard the knock at
the door, seen it open, yet there stood Pooralli on the threshold
smiling at them.

"Madame di Mendoza, Miss Grassleyes, wants see Mr. Granet."

"You may show her in," Jane replied. "Do not go away, Mr. Clunderson.
Remember that anything that goes on amongst us should be interesting to
you."

Miriam di Mendoza, as she swept into the room, would probably have been
interesting to any one. Her jet-black hair, faultlessly coiled, was
arranged as only her Spanish maid could have arranged it. Her satin
skirt was exquisitely cut, her scarlet pullover of embroidered silk was
an astonishingly brilliant flame of colour, her white hands, agleam with
beautiful jewels, were thrown out towards the little company in a
gesture of absolutely natural appeal. Her smile won everybody's heart.

"I come," she cried, "to beg for the truth. That terrible Mr. Johnson,
he has frightened me. He tells me that we must all go. I do not wish to
go. I have never been so happy. Miss Grassleyes, you would not be so
cruel as to turn us all out!"

"No idea of it, madame," Jane assured her. "Mr. Granet here has promised
to help me and I hope to be able to carry on."

Miriam di Mendoza swung round towards Granet.

"Ah, you were so kind to my little sister," she cried.

Granet, with a keen recollection of that poignant hour of embarrassment,
could only bow.

"Carlotta is so impulsive," her sister confided. "She, too, wishes to
stay. Please let me have the latest news, Miss Grassleyes."

"There is no definite news of my aunt," Jane told her, "but this
gentleman is Mr. Clunderson, who is our family solicitor and whose
advice we are following. I shall look after the bungalows. Mr. Granet is
taking an interest in my aunt's marvellous collection of herbs and her
garden. The greatest chemist of our day is coming to tell us all that
Mr. Granet does not know about them, but we are hoping all the time to
find my aunt's Formula Book. I know that she used to make up a sleeping
draught for you."

"It was very good," Madame di Mendoza replied, "but I can do without
that if I am allowed to stay in the bungalow and if the wind which blows
through my open windows at night brings always that perfume of the
pines. I think it is that which is almost as good as your aunt's
mixture."

"Well, you need worry no more," Jane assured her. "You may stay."

"But Lady Grassleyes' disappearance?" she demanded. "There are so many
different stories. There are people even in the Manoir who have said
that she was dead, others that she had been to the Clinic and had left
unexpectedly. What is the truth, Miss Grassleyes?"

"I hope I shall not surprise you very much if I tell you that I do not
know myself. My aunt is one of the most eccentric women who ever lived
but of one thing I am absolutely certain. You will see her back again
very soon."

Madame drew a long sigh of relief.

"I am happy. There remains only one thing which I desire to say: There
are charming people who live in your bungalows, Miss Grassleyes, but
there is one whom I do not like--two, I may say, really. One is Mr.
Johnson."

"I'm sorry," Jane replied. "Have you any definite complaint to make?"

"He is not in what you call the atmosphere."

Jane shrugged her shoulders.

"It was Mr. Spenser who specially recommended him to my aunt," she said.
"Mr. Johnson has broken none of our regulations. He has a servant who
sleeps in the compound--a very dull, ordinary sort of person--and I
don't think we have ever received any definite complaint about either of
them."

"Well, you have one now," Madame di Mendoza said with a happy smile. "I
do not like him. It is not enough, perhaps? Then there is no more I can
say. I go to Nice presently. I sing at an afternoon concert. It is for a
charity. Please all buy tickets. I have none myself so you cannot say
that I am a beggar. I return late. I dine with a grand signior at Monte
Carlo."

"You are lucky, madame," Jane declared.

She swept them all a slight curtsy as she turned away.

"If you would like some more of your sleeping mixture, madame," Granet
said, "I can give you some. 'Cordavia' seems to have been Lady
Grassleyes' rather picturesque name for it. It is just a mixture of two
Syrian herbs. Thousands of dozens of bottles of it are sold in the
States, I believe, in rather stronger form."

"I will ask for it when my first bad night comes," Madame smiled. "It is
a joy, though, to think that I may procure it if I suffer any more."

Granet held the door open for her.

"Lady Grassleyes did you one good turn, madame," he said. "She mixed you
up one of the most perfect sleeping draughts possible. It is composed of
herbs, pure and simple. There is not a suggestion of a drug or anything
bad for the system in its composition."

She smiled up at him.

"The few people for whom Lady Grassleyes has made up medicine from her
wonderful herbs," she said, "all say the same thing. She should have
been a great physician."

She took her leave of them all finally.

"A woman of mystery, my aunt used to call her," Jane remarked. "She goes
out a great deal, of course, and sometimes she stays away for two or
three days. But the only friends who visit her are people of
distinction. Her young sister is the most beautiful creature I have ever
seen."

"There are no people in the bungalows suggesting leaving, I suppose?"
Granet asked.

"Not one. All these notes seem to be from people who want to be sure
that they can stay on. The one exception is a note from Mr. Leonidas. He
sends just a few lines to say that his wife is accepting a rle in a
film, the first part of which will be made near Paris, but that it does
not affect his tenancy of the bungalow as he will be staying on
himself."

"I wonder why?" Granet reflected.

"It is not our concern," Jane remarked.

There was the honk of a motor horn from the private road outside.
Clunderson strolled to the window and watched the approaching car swing
round the corner.

"Our friend Spenser, once more," he observed dryly. "I do not know what
he is after this morning but I am pretty certain of one thing: It is not
house-estate business that brings him here."

"I expect you have the same idea as I have," Granet remarked. "If there
is one person who could solve what the newspapers are beginning to call
'The Grassleyes Mystery' it is our friend Spenser."




CHAPTER XX


Spenser made his entrance in a distinctly exaggerated spirit of
bonhomie. He drew off his motor gloves, wished every one good morning
and sank into an easy chair without waiting for an invitation.

"Still here, Mr. Clunderson?" he remarked. "I thought you were in a
hurry to get back to Paris."

"I have decided," the lawyer announced, "that it is my duty to stay in
these parts for the present."

"Haven't found the will, by any chance, have you?"

"I have not," the other said. "I doubt whether, in the present condition
of things, we could use it if I did. Our friend, Mr. Granet, has told us
some very interesting things about these herbs her ladyship was so fond
of experimenting with. We have come to the conclusion that she is alive
and may be descending upon us at any moment."

"I shouldn't think there is the least doubt about it," Spenser agreed.
"There is no one in the world who could get any good out of carting her
dead body around. The thing is--what is she doing it for? It is all very
well," he went on, studying his finger nails closely, "to remind one
another that she is an eccentric old lady, but, after all, she is not
mad and she is not so very old."

Granet looked up curiously.

"What is her age, I wonder?"

"Between sixty and sixty-five, I should say," Spenser speculated.

"A great deal older, I believe," Jane said. "But does it really matter?"

"Not much," Spenser admitted. "She has as much energy, at any rate, as
any one of us. Perhaps she has gone back to her gambling again."

"I trust not," the lawyer said.

Jane opened a drawer of her desk and produced a card, a shrivelled-up
ancient affair. Spenser leaned over and took it from her eagerly.

"It's an old roulette card!" he exclaimed. "Twenty years old, at least,
I should say, by the look of it."

The card was passed round. There were some hieroglyphics in the
left-hand corner.

"Roulette was her favourite game," Spenser went on.

"It takes money to play roulette," Jane reminded them.

"A great deal of money," Clunderson put in.

"The Casino," Spenser suggested, "is the easiest place in the world to
cash a cheque."

"The roulette might be a hint for Suresne, at any rate," Clunderson
observed. "In nearly every one of the famous cases of disappearance
which I remember, the lost person, if ever found, has been discovered
because he or she returned to some form of pursuit or hobby which had at
one time filled a place in his daily life."

"What about the great horticultural shows?" Granet ventured. "Granted
that she has made a miraculous disappearance from the midst of us all
here, it may some day be accounted for quite simply, and one of the
first things she would do when she felt the desire to return to her
normal life would be, I should think, to visit one of these shows."

"That is quite reasonable," Jane reflected. "I don't know whether you
know, Mr. Clunderson, the extraordinary prices she paid for rare plants
and orchids and herbs to the importers. She would think nothing of
giving four or five hundred pounds for a sprig of something growing in a
pot!"

"There's one thing," Spenser put in. "Suppose she is somewhere
struggling to find her way back to normal life, she could do nothing
without money. Which reminds me," he added coolly. "Can you give me an
idea of what her ladyship's balance is, Miss Grassleyes?"

"I could if I chose, I dare say," Jane answered. "The simple truth is
that I do not feel inclined to. Why should I? It is no concern of
yours."

"So you are going to take up that line, are you? You won't believe that
I have an interest in the Grassleyes estate?"

"Certainly not."

"Permit me," Clunderson interposed, "to say a word or two upon that
matter. There is not the slightest evidence of Lady Grassleyes' ever
receiving any money from any one. There is no trace of capital having
come from the bank or from any outside person. On the other hand, in
Lady Grassleyes' last year's bank-book there are some very considerable
sums paid out to you which need explanation, Mr. Spenser. I have taken
it for granted, for the moment, that they were loans, but in any case
they will have to be accounted for."

"In what way?" Spenser demanded gruffly.

"By an examination of Lady Grassleyes' private ledger which I shall make
in a few days," the lawyer replied. "Yours is a firm of long standing
and repute, Mr. Spenser. Your books are, without doubt, properly dealt
with by your accountants. I shall invite you to help us in the
investigations."

"The sums you speak of," Spenser asserted, "were probably the repayment
of capital which I had advanced at different dates for the building of
the bungalows."

"If that turns out to be the case," Clunderson said, "all will be well."

Spenser rose to his feet. He had the air of an injured man. He ventured
upon one last appeal to Jane.

"Miss Grassleyes," he said, "we used to be pretty good friends. Are you
joining in this--this cabal against me?"

"I think, Mr. Spenser," she said, looking at him frankly, "your
behaviour since a few hours after this trouble began has been simply
extraordinary."

"I have done everything I could to help," he protested. "I seem to have
become the victim of the most absurd suspicions on the part of every
one, inspired, I believe, by you, sir," he added, turning to Granet.

"An excellent guess," Granet agreed. "Miss Grassleyes has lost
confidence in you, Mr. Spenser, and I myself never had any. I have had a
conversation with Pooralli since I took over the laboratory and you will
probably find, when you leave this morning, that Pooralli will ask you
for any keys you possess to the premises. He tells me that you have once
or twice tried to obtain the keys of the walled garden and the
laboratory for the purpose of showing them to Mr. Johnson, who has a
bungalow here."

"He can ask as many times as he likes," Spenser retorted angrily. "Not a
single key that I have shall I part with. The only person I shall give
them up to will be Lady Grassleyes, and she, I know, will never ask for
them."

"A somewhat sinister saying," the lawyer commented.

"Oh I know you are all against me here. Fortunately the police and the
doctors are both on my side. But that can go for a moment. I didn't come
up here to gossip. I came in the ordinary way of business to ask Miss
Grassleyes to prepare the last of the bungalows and to give me the
keys--she can come with us if she likes--and allow me to show Mr.
Johnson over the herb gardens and the laboratory. Wait a moment,
please," he added savagely. "I can see Mr. Granet ready to jump down my
throat. Let me tell you this. Johnson wished his presence here to be
kept a secret, because he has very dangerous competitors in his line of
business, but I can tell you this much on my own account. He is the
chairman of directors of the largest firm manufacturing patent medicines
in the world. He has twice or three times written Lady Grassleyes for
permission to come and make her a business offer. He had one reply some
short time ago--a stiff little note saying if he was in the
neighbourhood he might call. Nothing more. He decided to come down and
see if he could make any progress with the old lady himself. He took a
bungalow, or rather I took it for him, and three or four times already
he has tried to open up negotiations with Lady Grassleyes. Each time she
has put him off. Now an opportunity has arrived. Johnson would make a
cash offer which, if I were to mention the amount, would stupefy you,
for all these productions of Lady Grassleyes and her Formula Book, if he
were satisfied that she possesses the herbs she claimed some time ago in
an article to the _Chemical Journal_. The amount is enough to make every
one of us rich who have the slightest interest in the place. There! I
have given the show away. You know now how anxious I am about Lady
Grassleyes and how interested I am in this herbal stuff."

Clunderson straightened his tie. He looked over at Jane. She nodded.

"We will accept all that you have said, Mr. Spenser,--as being in good
faith," he said, "but I know that Miss Grassleyes is anxious that I
should express to you our disgust that you should come and make offers
of this sort at such a moment. There is not the slightest proof that
Lady Grassleyes will not some day return and manage her own affairs. If
this should unfortunately not be the case it will be quite time enough
for you to make any business propositions you wish to the person who
inherits the estate. But--"

The lawyer hesitated. Jane continued.

"But, Mr. Spenser, nothing in the world would induce me to dispose of
any portion of this property to your friend Mr. Johnson."

"Quite right," Clunderson agreed. "In the interests of the estate I
agree.... If the property should come into the possession of Miss
Jane, even if she wished to dispose of it, I should advise her before
she did so to have specialists in this sort of thing here and obtain a
valuation."

"You want her to be robbed when she has a chance of making a great
fortune simply with the help of her friends?" Spenser asked furiously.

"Mr. Spenser," Jane said a little wearily, "the matter does not even
admit of discussion. If it did I should tell you that I consider Mr.
Clunderson and Mr. Granet the two best friends I have in the world. You,
on the other hand, are not my friend. I should never trust you a yard
and I should enter into no business transactions with you outside the
letting of the bungalows."

"You won't see Johnson yourself?"

"Let Mr. Clunderson talk to him--Mr. Granet, too, if you wish. Can you
not understand this? These gardens, everything connected with them,
were my aunt's great hobby and interest in life. How can you even dream
of suggesting that her lawyer or her niece should entertain any thoughts
of disposing of them when it is not even certain that she may not come
back to us?"

"I don't see any harm in talking over the preliminaries," Spenser
persisted doggedly.

Jane rose to her feet.

"Mr. Spenser," she said, "I have spoken my last word as regards your
offer and Mr. Johnson's. Is there anything else in connection with the
estate you have to say? If not, I am going to ask you to leave us."

"Yes, there is," Spenser answered, with quite unexpected restraint. "I
came up on two important matters. The one you have disposed of for the
minute brutally and foolishly. The other is, as I think you will admit,
an affair which I am entitled to put before you. I came up to ask you to
prepare 'The Three Cypresses'--the last available bungalow and the most
difficult to let--for a very distinguished tenant to whom I have
proposed it."

"You have let 'The Three Cypresses'?"

"Let, for an excellent rental and to wonderful tenants."

"Who gave you permission to let bungalows on the estate without
reference to us?" Jane demanded.

"I have always had it and very grateful your aunt used to be to me,"
Spenser replied. "It was I who let Paul Oliver's bungalow, the
Mendozas', Johnson's and within the last few days Mr. Granet's and the
Leonidas'. All those have come through my agency, besides many tenants
who have been and gone."

"That is quite true," Jane admitted, "and you will receive your
commission for each one of them, if you have not already done so. It is
my aunt or I who have let the bungalows, however, and you who have sent
the prospective tenants up. You have not the right to let a bungalow on
your own account. Who is this person to whom you say you have already
let 'The Three Cypresses'?"

"My clients are paying a visit of inspection probably this afternoon.
They are the Marquis and the Marquise de Fallanges, and subject to their
approval I have let them the bungalow for twenty-five guineas a week,
and they bring their own servants, who will live in the compound. I
think you will admit, Miss Grassleyes, that that is a better stroke of
business than has been done before."

"Is that the bungalow upon the hillside?" Granet asked.

"Yes, that is the one," Jane replied doubtfully. "Of course, in the
ordinary way we should be very glad to let it. It has never yet been
occupied. I shall require references and a personal interview both with
the Marquis and the Marquise before they come in."

Spenser choked down his anger.

"I will give myself the pleasure of introducing your new tenants this
afternoon," he concluded. "They are people of wealth and well-known all
over Europe. I shall be up this afternoon at whatever time my friends
can arrange to come. You will not be able to find a word against them or
their references. Good morning, everybody."

The response to Spenser's farewell was a very half-hearted affair.
Clunderson went to the window and watched him drive down the avenue.

"You know," he said when he returned, "I don't as a rule take violent
likes or dislikes to any one but I have had the same feeling about that
fellow ever since I first met him. I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," Jane agreed.

"I think that I dislike him," Granet pronounced, "as much as any one I
have ever met in my life. If I am anything of a psychologist he is a
wrong 'un and, furthermore, I believe he knows more about this
disappearance than he is willing to tell us."

Jane shivered a little in her chair.

"Do you know, David," she confided, "I cannot help feeling that myself
when he talks about her."

"I should like to make a suggestion," Clunderson said thoughtfully. "We
three share definite dislike and distrust of this man. He finds Granet
and me very much in the way here or I am perfectly certain he would be
asking for the books of the estate and probably do his best to prevail
upon Miss Jane to allow him to take them away. I propose, Miss Jane,
that you allow me to reopen the safe and take possession of the private
ledger."

Jane hesitated for a few moments. She was evidently in some distress.
She drummed with her fingers upon the desk. Her eyes were fixed
feelingly upon the lawyer.

"I--I don't know, Mr. Clunderson," she said. "You know how peculiar my
aunt always was about the books."

"The more she valued them," the lawyer pronounced, "the more it becomes
my duty to guard them in her absence. Need I remind you of what has
happened? From somewhere in this house your aunt's will, the Formula
Book which was the book she valued more than anything else in the world,
the letter addressed to you, a casket of jewellery and a large sum of
money have vanished."

"I have searched every corner of my aunt's room, her wardrobes and every
possible place I can think of," Jane confessed hopelessly. "I can't find
a trace of anything. Of course," she went on, "this place is not like a
bungalow. We have rooms which no one ever enters. There are two secret
passages, for instance, that no one has ever discovered and there must
be many hiding places that I have not had time yet to explore. But there
it is--up till now I have not found a trace of any of these missing
things."

"I have a conviction," Clunderson said, "that the very next thing you
will find missing will be that private ledger. Let me ask you another
question, Miss Jane. The firm of Spenser & Sykes is a very old-fashioned
one, is it not?"

She nodded.

"I believe so," she admitted indifferently. "Spenser's father was a very
different type of man and extraordinarily popular everywhere. His
grandfather, too, had a great following upon the coast. For some years
he used to occupy the Manoir here."

"So that our friend," Clunderson went on, "knows this house inside out?"

"I should think every corner of it," she agreed. "He probably knows of a
dozen hiding places."

"He seems to make every excuse, too," he continued, "for coming up so
often. He is not hanging about the whole of the time for nothing, I'm
sure. I have an idea that I did see one volume which reminded me of the
private ledger when I was searching for the will. It was behind all the
copies of the leases. I should like--if you don't mind, Miss Jane--I
should like you to open the safe and see if it is still there. If so,
you might allow me to take it to the bank."

Jane looked across at Granet, who did not hesitate for a moment.

"I think Mr. Clunderson is perfectly right," he said. "I think it is
your duty to remove the private ledger, Jane. There is no need for us to
open it. The time has not come for any investigation into your aunt's
affairs. I should simply have it deposited in a sealed parcel at the
bank."

Jane rose to her feet.

"I'll fetch the keys," she announced.

She left the room. The lawyer walked up and down with his hands behind
his back.

"It's a damned unpleasant business, this, Granet," he said, coming to a
standstill in front of him. "I know how Miss Jane feels. By the by, a
charming girl, that, Granet. I do most heartily congratulate you. Quite
a miracle you should have turned up just at this time but you make all
the difference to her."

"Thank you very much," Granet replied, and there was a great deal of
feeling in his tone. "It is good of you, sir, to take me so much for
granted as you do."

Clunderson smiled.

"A little sudden, wasn't it?"

"I suppose it was," Granet assented. "Anyhow, it was, if I may say so,
extraordinarily natural. It just came. I was not looking for a wife or
anything of the sort. I cannot explain it."

"Well, it is a jolly good thing for both of you," the lawyer said. "I am
not an impetuous person myself," he went on with his queer little smile,
"nor, I should think, are you given that way very much, but there are
times when one does not have to hesitate and I should think this was one
of those times for you. Poor child, I know she hates having us take the
private ledger away."

"You are doing the right thing," Granet said firmly. "I don't know
whether Spenser has a key to the safe or not, but twice I have come into
this room a little unexpectedly, perhaps, and found him hanging round. I
believe he is only waiting for an opportunity to get at it himself."

The door was opened and closed. Jane came towards them and led the way
through to the adjoining room. They approached the safe and she handed
the keys to Clunderson, indicating the correct one with her forefinger.
The lawyer fingered for a moment the plate, inserted the key and turned
it. He drew out the calf-bound volume on which was stamped in gold
letters: PRIVATE LEDGER, GRASSLEYES ESTATE. Granet, who had returned to
the little bureau for a moment, reappeared with brown paper, string and
sealing wax. Between them the two men wrapped up the volume, tied it
with the string and sealed it in four different places. Granet addressed
it at Clunderson's dictation.

"I shall now," the lawyer said, "go down to Nice and deposit this at the
bank. The key, as you see, is attached to the back of the ledger. When
you are going thoroughly into your accounts, Miss Grassleyes, we shall
need it, of course, for other reasons, but I think that we all have the
same idea. We must get rid of it so long as Mr. Spenser is hanging round
all the time."

"I cannot tell you," Jane said, "what a relief it will be to me to know
that it is no longer in the house. I will order the car for you whenever
you say."

"Now," Clunderson decided.

The lawyer made his way to the next room where he collected his hat and
his sun umbrella. Jane and Granet accompanied him to the front door and
watched him take his place in the limousine with the parcel under his
arm.

"From here to the bank," he announced. "Afterwards a stroll along the
Promenade des Anglais. Shall I come back to lunch, Miss Jane, or would
you rather give the housekeeping a rest?"

"Do come back," she begged. "If you come I will press Mr. Granet to
stay, too."

"I will come back, then," he promised as he drove off.

Granet and Jane returned to the reception room.

"I am going to post up the day book," Jane said. "A dreary task, but
there are some accounts here that must be paid. Will you come back at
about half past twelve and I will make you a wonderful Martini?"

"Without even that inducement," he assured her, "I could not stay away
longer than two hours and a quarter--the time now being, I see, a
quarter past ten. I am going to answer a few letters down at the
bungalow and if I finish in time I may come up and go through some of
those pet herbs of your aunt's in the forcing house."

"You are like a child with a new toy," she laughed. "What were you and
Mr. Clunderson talking about while I was upstairs?"

"You."

"Anything else?"

"Me."

"Anything else?"

"He approves."

"Really? Tell me what he said."

"He gave me a word of advice."

"What was it?"

"He said he was glad that there was some one here to look after you just
now."

"Nice man."

"He also said, or was going to say, that he didn't approve of long
engagements."

Jane looked happily away towards the mountains.

"Aunt Harriet used to say that his advice was always right."

Granet held her wrist for a moment and slipped a ring from her finger.

"I'll go into Cannes and see about it this afternoon."




CHAPTER XXI


Granet strolled down to his bungalow and found Carlotta lying in a nest
of cushions in one of his chairs, her feet up on the other. She was
looking a little fragile and she greeted him with a very wistful smile.
Her eyes shone with pleasure, however, as he came towards her without
any visible signs of annoyance.

"I heard of you this morning," she confided. "My sister has been up to
the Manoir."

"Look here, young lady," he protested, waving her remark on one side,
"is this my bungalow or yours?"

"Ours," she told him with a mischievous, rather impish grin. "Why do you
fight so blindly against your fate?"

"My fate seems to be that I have to fetch another chair," he remarked as
he let himself in and dragged one out. "I am going to sit here for a few
minutes only, child. I can't spare any more time to frivol with you this
morning. I have to write to my lawyers, three family letters and then
spend half an hour or so before lunch pottering about with some of those
marvellous plants of her truant ladyship's."

"You seem to be always doing things for other people," she complained
passionately. "Why can't you be content to do things for me? I should
like to swim this morning and have a little lunch somewhere by the sea
and then I should like to be read to in your own little wood there--read
to all the afternoon until the evening mistral arrives."

"Do you want to make a lotus-eater of me?"

"I would not change you. You are terribly nice, if you only did not know
it, and if you could believe that I am not such a child as you think I
am."

"Well, I cannot do any of the things you propose to-day," he told her.
"I will take you swimming one morning soon--but not just yet. I will
perhaps read Browning to you one afternoon--but not just yet. You see, I
have a girl of my own up at the Manoir."

"That sweet, placid-looking Jane Grassleyes!" she murmured with a pout.
"I cannot think why I am not enough for you, David."

"Who told you you could call me 'David'?"

"It will not be any good anybody telling me I may not, because I shall,"
she replied. "I love the name. I always knew that if ever I fell in love
with any one his name would be 'David.'"

"Are you trying to persuade yourself that you have fallen in love with
me?" he asked.

"Of course I have fallen in love with you."

"What does it feel like?"

"Wonderful, but oh! so painful!"

"That's queer," he remarked. "I am in love with my own girl but it is
not painful at all. I am very happy with you here but I shall be happier
still when at half past twelve I go up to the Manoir and she comes out
to meet me and mixes me a cocktail."

"I will make you one here."

"Not the same thing at all. Oh, Carlotta, why can't you be a little more
sensible?"

"I am really perfectly sensible," she assured him. "I am not going to
throw myself in the stream or plunge a dagger into my side, but
naturally I am a little sad. It is the first time, remember, that I have
ever been in love. That foolish boy in the coloured trousers worked very
hard for several days saying nice things to me, but he gave it up in
despair. Not a flicker of interest could I feel! A nice name, too, he
had."

"Paul Oliver?"

She nodded.

"He is quite nice," she continued, "but he is different. He just does
not count. Miriam has been worrying all the morning about Lady
Grassleyes. I believe she is very fond of her. She loves those little
bottles of herb medicine. They do her good, too. I wish some one would
give me something to do me good."

"You don't need anything."

"I am very tired and I do not sleep. I awake in the night and I want to
get up and go somewhere and dance, but I want to dance with some one I
like, with some one I am fond of like you. I danced the other night and
it was all just stupid. I did not enjoy anything, not even the glass of
champagne Miriam made me drink. Take me out to dance one night, David."

"Look here," he said firmly. "I cannot do anything of the sort, nor do I
wish to. Didn't I tell you a few minutes ago that I had a girl of my
own--grown-up girl--not a child like you?"

Carlotta sighed.

"Always the same! A child! You are as bad as that lank-faced, stupid Mr.
Leonidas who comes posturing round here and wants to make a great
actress of me. I do not want to be a great actress, David. I want to
live in a bungalow like this--with you."

"Well, you can't," he told her curtly.

"Why?"

"Because I am twice your age, for one thing."

"I should not mind that. So long as you were nice to me and did not
always look so severe I should not mind at all how old you were....
Tell me what you think has become of Lady Grassleyes."

"My child," he said earnestly, "I do not know. I believe I have a fair
amount of intelligence. I have been in and out of the Manoir continually
ever since the trouble began. I was the first to see her after it
happened. I have been to the Clinic from which she has disappeared and
talked with the matron. I have talked to detectives, doctors and
lawyers, and honestly I have not one single idea as to what can have
become of her, not even whether she is alive or dead. If you could tell
me that, now, I might consider trying to fall in love with you."

Carlotta's eyes seemed to grow larger as she leaned forward in her
chair.

"Do you mean that?"

"Well, I suppose I do. I do seriously want to know what has become of
Lady Grassleyes. There are some people shaking their heads and
whispering that she mixes drugs, which she never has done in her life so
far as I know. There are other people who say that she has been done
away with because she has a great fortune, and there are others who say
that she has faded away because all her money has gone and she does not
want to face poverty. No one knows the truth. So there we are."

"And if I find out where Lady Grassleyes is you will fall in love with
me?"

"My dear, don't be silly," he begged. "One cannot fall in love like
that, not grown men like me. I think it would be very nice to love you
and if I were the age of Paul Oliver and if there were no Jane
Grassleyes in the world and you kept looking just as beautiful as you do
now--why, I should let myself go head over ears in love with you, pick
you up and carry you to the clouds or the sea or anywhere you wanted to
go to; talk nonsense with you like this all through the summer days, lie
in the little wood and listen to the bees and wait for the nightingales
when the darkness came."

"May I come and watch the fire-flies with you one night?"

"You may if you will let me go and write my letters now."

"I shall come every night," she threatened, "and you will promise, will
you, that you will be outside sitting here?"

"I promise you I shall never be inside, these wonderful nights," he
said, "but I can't promise to be here all the time."

"Then I shall not go," she decided, leaning farther back in her chair.
"You can bring your letters out here and write."

Granet looked round at the sound of approaching footsteps. Leonidas was
standing the other side of the paling. Carlotta made a little grimace.
Granet nodded a good morning.

"You have come from the Manoir?" Leonidas asked. "I was wondering
whether there was any news."

"None whatever," was the curt reply.

"That is sad," Leonidas sighed. "The poor young lady must be suffering
from this dreadful uncertainty. There are such strange reports in
circulation, too."

"I should not listen to them," Granet advised. "No one knows what has
happened to Lady Grassleyes."

"It is true," the other persisted, "that she disappeared from the
Clinic?"

"I am not in a position to answer any questions."

"I suppose you are right," Leonidas admitted reluctantly, "only, believe
me, mine is no vulgar curiosity. I do not know Lady Grassleyes, but her
story fascinates me. You see, I have made a great fortune, Mr. Granet,
because I am one who listens to stories and wonders about them, builds
them up and then turns them into something that every one may come and
see. Yes, stories have a strange interest for me. I fear that I disturb
you?"

"I am just going in," Granet answered. "I have some letters to write.
You can stay and entertain mademoiselle, if you like."

Leonidas stepped blithely over the paling but Carlotta leaped from her
chair with an amazing demonstration of energy. She passed her arm
through Granet's.

"I come to help you write," she announced. "I am a very good secretary.
You forgive, Mr. Leonidas? This gentleman here, Mr. Granet, works too
hard. I must help him just a little."

Leonidas regarded them sadly for a moment, then he bowed and stepped
back over the paling.

"I look for you again some time soon, mademoiselle?" he asked wistfully.

"As you please," she answered. "So long as you do not bother me now."

She waved her hand, but when she turned round the door of the bungalow
was closed. Granet had disappeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

Within ten minutes of settling down to his correspondence Granet was
disturbed by the summons of the telephone which stood at his elbow. He
looked at the receiver doubtfully.

"If it is that little minx again," he muttered, "she shall really know
what it means to talk to a man in a temper."

He lifted the receiver. His interjection was certainly not promising.

"Well?" he asked abruptly.

"Do not be cross with me, please. I had to ring you up, David."

Jane's voice. That was a very different matter.

"My dear Jane!" he exclaimed. "Forgive me! I am here and all attention."

"Please don't think me too silly," she begged, "but I want you to come
back again to the Manoir at once. I have just received a note. You must
help me decide. Please come."

"I shall be with you," he replied, "in less than five minutes."

Jane was seated on the broad southern verandah when Granet arrived. She
threw a cushion on to the chair by her side and handed him a note. It
was in Spenser's sprawling handwriting and written apparently in great
haste from the offices of Spenser & Sykes, Nice.

     My dear Miss Grassleyes,

     The Marquis and Marquise de Fallanges are already here. They
     arrived early this morning in their yacht from Bandol. I went
     straight on board to see them after I had got back from the Manoir.
     It was fortunate I did as I found the Duchesse de Saye there
     endeavouring to persuade them to take her chteau for their stay
     here. They explained that they had promised me to look at one of
     the Grassleyes bungalows, but I think that my arrival was just in
     time to stop their going off to the Saye chteau, which, as you
     know, is a very charming and attractive place.

     I wish to repeat that they are most desirable tenants and should
     they decide to settle down here their rental will be a great help
     to the estate. I know that your aunt would have welcomed them and
     treated them with every courtesy and civility. I have, therefore,
     in your name, ventured to ask them to come to luncheon to-day at
     the Manoir at half past one. They can then inspect "The Three
     Cypresses" at their leisure, and if they find it unsuitable they
     can go on to Saye. I know that you do not wish to entertain just
     now but you might ask Madame di Mendoza and her sister and, I
     suppose, Mr. Granet.

     I shall take your acceptance of this proposition for granted but
     please telephone to the office and let me know that all is in
     order. If there is anything you wish brought up from Nice I will
     see to it.

                                                 Sincerely yours,

                                                       FRED SPENSER

     P.S. There is no fresh news from either the Clinic or the police.

"Sounds all right," Granet remarked. "Do you know anything of these
people beyond what Spenser told us this morning?"

"The name is quite familiar and they are in the social register," Jane
confessed. "What shall I say?"

Granet considered the matter for a moment.

"I think," he decided, "I should let Spenser bring them. You and I know
that there is something wrong about the fellow but this is an outside
matter of business, after all. I had a look at the bungalow on my way
up. It is much larger than I thought."

Jane laid down the letter and touched the bell.

"I will have some one telephone to say that I will receive them, then.
Thank goodness you are here, David! I should never venture to do it on
my own account."

"Why?"

"Sheer instinct. Nothing else. As I told you, I looked them up and found
them in the social register. Wealthy people, I should think. Hotel in
Paris, chteau in Savoy, eleventh Marquis."

She gave a message to Martin, the English butler, who had made his
appearance.

"I must now go and speak to the chef," she added, turning to Granet.
"You might get hold of some of these other people, if you can."

"Are you sure that your staff will be able to manage, at such short
notice?" he asked. "Clunderson will be back, too, you know."

"We can manage all right," she assured him. "The chef never has half
enough to do. You get the others together, if you can, and I will see to
the luncheon."

"I rather hope that Clunderson does not fail us," he observed.

"Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. Two judgements are better than one, you know. I don't
quite understand Spenser's bringing up new people to move in here just
at the present moment for the sake of twenty-five guineas a week."

Jane laughed softly as she moved towards the French window.

"For a man," she declared, "you are very suspicious, David. You are
almost worse than I am."

"Perhaps I have met more men of Spenser's type."

"It is not Spenser I am thinking of. It is the eleventh Marquis de
Fallanges, whose wife, by the by, was a Bourdon."

"Almost royalty," he murmured in an awed tone. "You ought to have told
me, Jane. I must go and change these blue-linen slacks."

"Snob!" she laughed. "You won't change a thing you have on. You can go
and have a wash if you want to. If you change even your coat or put on a
tie I shall appear in pyjamas."

"They are quite attractive," he assured her.

She picked up a volume she had been studying with a page turned down.

"Read that," she said. "It is the French Debrett. When you have finished
with it tell Pooralli to put out the cocktail things. I must go and
interview Monsieur Henri. He will be very excited. He loves to cook for
the Great World. _Au revoir_, my sweet!"

"_Au revoir, chrie!_"




CHAPTER XXII


The guests duly arrived and there was no trouble about the luncheon
itself. It was delightfully served in delightful surroundings, the food
was good, the Manoir wine pronounced excellent and the gently shaded
sunlight in which they sat pleased everybody. Yet somehow or other there
was from the first a faint element of uneasiness amongst both the guests
and their charming young hostess. Jane did her best to dispel it. She
talked well and with spirit and the Marquis, who sat on her right, was
as agreeable a companion as any one might wish for. With easy, pleasant
manners he seemed to have the gift of including every person at the
table in the circle of his listeners when now and then he talked about
his travels and some of his personal adventures. The Marquise, a
dazzling blonde, petite, almost spiritual in appearance, was, for her
nationality, a little silent, but she explained herself with great good
humour.

"When Maurice talks," she told them, "I am always silent. I know then
that he is happy because, although he would not admit it, he loves to
talk. I know, too, that he has travelled far more than I have. I am a
little better-looking, perhaps, nicer to look at--yes?" she asked with a
smile at Granet, "but he is much better to listen to."

"My wife likes, as I think you say in English, to pull my leg," the
Marquis complained. "She does that often. In fact we lead a quarrelsome
life. On one point I think we shall find ourselves agreed--we like your
atmosphere up here, Miss Grassleyes. We find it charming. What I cannot
understand is--where are these wonderful bungalows of yours? I feel
myself in the garden of a beautiful chteau, shut off from the world,
which is what I love."

"That is where I think my aunt was very clever," Jane told them. "Each
bungalow was built so that it was shaded either by a slight eminence, a
little forest of trees, a dip in the ground, perhaps, yet they are all
here and all within a very short distance. Yours you will see almost
directly you pass out of the Manoir--yours, that is to say, if you
decide to take it."

The Marquis helped himself to some more chicken.

"I have decided," he said, "amongst other of my vices, Miss Grassleyes,
that I am a greedy man. I believe you have your own chicken run, I am
convinced that these mushrooms came from your own meadows and that you
grow your own salads. Am I mistaken?"

Jane shook her head.

"No, that is quite true," she admitted. "Fruit, flowers, dairy produce
and all the simple things are our own. Perhaps that is why my aunt was
supposed to make Grassleyes pay."

"Am I speaking in bad taste," he enquired, "or may I ask whether news
has been received this morning of Lady Grassleyes?"

"We have received no news at all," she replied. "Somehow or other, I
cannot tell why, we do not seem to be half so anxious as we were. I
suppose it is because we have got over the first shock. Mr. Granet and I
were talking just before lunch in my aunt's laboratory here. We both
feel absolutely convinced that one day, very soon perhaps, she will walk
in and explain everything."

"I think she is a very naughty lady," the Marquise observed, "to give
you all this trouble and anxiety, especially if it is, as so many people
seem to think now, just a temperamental whim."

Somehow or other, it was that simple question of the Marquis's which
seemed to place the luncheon party upon a different footing. From that
moment every one seemed more friendly.

"Nothing so strange," Miriam di Mendoza murmured, "has ever happened
within my memory. Even now, if ever I am alone or with my sister,
whatever we wish to talk about or think about we go always to the
subject of Lady Grassleyes. We ask ourselves what has become of our
neighbour, and we indulge in new speculations."

The Marquis toyed for a moment or two with his dark moustache.

"It could not be otherwise," he agreed, "especially in a small centre
like this. The disappearance of so prominent a person must leave you all
feeling a little strange."

"And talking of disappearances," Jane said suddenly, "I wonder what has
become of Mr. Clunderson?"

"Some one telephoned," Granet told her, "just as we were having our
cocktails. Mr. Clunderson wished us not to wait. He was detained in
Nice, he said."

A shadow passed across Jane's face.

"That is not like him," she remarked.

"This is another friend of yours, perhaps?" the Marquis enquired
politely.

"He is my aunt's lawyer," she explained. "He has come down from Paris to
help us put matters in order."

"Not much loss at a luncheon party, though," Spenser observed. "He is
the typical lawyer--dried up, uncommunicative and absolutely without
imagination."

"I don't agree," Jane said. "He has the gift of silence, and that is
something. Personally, I think that he has ideas of his own about Lady
Grassleyes and is getting ready to talk about them."

Spenser moved uneasily in his place.

"Anyhow, it is a profitless subject for conversation," he declared.

"I am surprised that you find it so," the Marquis remarked. "I think it
is a very dramatic happening in a quiet neighbourhood and I am inclined
to wonder myself how you can think or talk of anything else."

"My husband," the Marquise said lazily, "is devoted to mystery stories.
He lies awake at night reading them. I warn you, Miss Grassleyes, you
will have something to put up with from him. He will be coming to you
with fresh theories every other day. Myself I do not believe in amateur
detectives. I think that they are very much in the way. I think, too,"
she went on, as she accepted some fruit from the dish which was being
passed to her, "that they do a great deal more harm than good."

"I am not so sure," Granet observed. "I travelled halfway across America
once with a very well-known detective from the New York police force. I
only knew who he was by accident. As soon as he found out that I had
recognized him he talked quite freely. It was an interesting case he was
on. I forget the particulars now, but years afterwards I met him in
Paris, and he told me that it was just a stupid little remark I happened
to have made during the course of dinner one night which gave him the
idea he had been waiting for. It was a sheer fluke. I had devoted no
time or thought to the matter at all but he built up the culmination of
his case on it. History might repeat itself."

"As how?" Spenser asked contemptuously.

"Why, one of us--Miss Carlotta there, perhaps, or Mr. Oliver, or even
you, Spenser--might, in talking about this disappearance of Lady
Grassleyes, say something which a mind trained in such matters might
take hold of and find the finger-post to the truth. Improbable, of
course, but possible."

Pooralli trotted round the corner and presented a strip of paper upon a
silver salver to Jane. She glanced at it and as though unwittingly
looked across the table at Clunderson's empty place. Then she turned
over the piece of paper and the Marquis, who had eyes which seemed at
times to be wandering in many different places, addressed her
sympathetically.

"I think," he said, "that we have not very much tact in discussing a
subject which must be somewhat painful to our hostess. I think, perhaps,
if we focused our thoughts upon the wonderful singing of Madame di
Mendoza and talked a little of those high notes of hers which remind one
so much of Tetrazzini, it would be pleasanter."

Jane glanced at him gratefully.

"It is only when one is reminded of the possibly serious side of an
episode like this that one is for a few moments unhappy," she said. "You
have heard Tetrazzini sing, Marquis?"

"Alas, no," he replied, "but my father was one of her greatest admirers.
I have always been fond of music. I have heard madame here sing in Paris
at the Opra Comique last December. Oh, I have been a very faithful
follower of hers. She may not remember, but I once very nearly had the
pleasure of meeting her in Milan."

"You knew my master, perhaps?" Madame di Mendoza asked. "Lornetti?"

"All the world who loved music knew him," the Marquis assented.

Cigarettes were passed round. Coffee and liqueurs followed. The Marquise
showed a little more animation.

"It comes very near the time," she observed, "when we are to see the
bungalow. I am glad. I am impatient, besides which I have a small
errand in Cannes--some friends at the Carlton to visit."

"To break up so charming a party," the Marquis remarked in his soft,
pleasant voice, "involves a pang, but my wife speaks the truth. We can
perhaps be entrusted with the keys, Miss Grassleyes?"

"I am hoping to hand them over to you," Jane replied, "but I shall
certainly show you the place myself. It will give me pleasure. It is
perhaps a quarter of a mile from the entrance here. Your chauffeur will
doubtless have lunched by now, or you might care to walk or we have a
car which is always ready."

The little company trooped towards the house. The Marquis glanced
backwards at Clunderson's vacant place at the table.

"My sympathies," he said, "are with your absent guest, Miss Grassleyes.
He is unfortunate indeed to have missed so charming a repast."

"I hope very much that Mr. Clunderson will have returned before you
leave," Jane ventured. "I do not share Mr. Spenser's opinion of him. I
find him an interesting and kindly man and my aunt was--or is--devoted
to him. The telephone message I received just now was to say that he was
obliged to lunch at Nice but would come up here immediately afterwards.
So he may be here before you go."

"In saying farewell to the subject, Miss Grassleyes," he said, pausing
for a moment to admire a cataract of falling roses which were hanging
from an olive tree on their way, "a stranger may be permitted to offer
you his very sincere hopes for a speedy termination to all your
anxieties?"

"That is very kind of you," Jane said gratefully.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I wonder whether we have done wisely," Jane reflected an hour or so
later as Granet and she watched the new tenants drive away.

"So long as they were here," he answered, "I don't see what else we
could do. A more determined and at the same time charming couple I never
came across. I wish I could remember a little more about them."

"I should never have been likely to have met or known of them," Jane
declared frankly. "I haven't been out here long enough."

"Well, apparently it's a North of France family," Granet reminded her,
"and they admit that they have never had much fancy for the Riviera.
Still, I should never have been likely to come across them. I have been
abroad myself most of the time for the last twelve years."

"We have the references," Jane murmured.

"That's so. Lloyd's Bank should be good enough, and the firm of French
advocates are well-known, I believe. I should have liked, for your sake,
though, a personal reference or to have had one of our friends know
something about them."

"Suspicious again," she smiled.

"I can't really see what there is to be suspicious about," he confessed.
"The only thing is that they come to you through Spenser and I'm hanged
if I can stand Spenser at any price. I always have the feeling, you
know, that when this mystery is straightened out we shall discover
something more about the fellow than we know now. I wonder, by the by,
where they came across him."

"I can tell you that. The Marquis told me at luncheon that he met him
once or twice at the Travellers' Club in Paris."

"That seems likely enough," Granet remarked. "It's a great meeting place
for cosmopolitans."

"Well, anyhow," Jane sighed, "so long as we consented to have them here
and show them the place we couldn't do anything else but accept them as
tenants. It seems, too, that Spenser had more or less fixed things up
before they came. We have their cheque for the first month's rent, we
have the references they have given us and we shall have them installed
here, apparently, as soon as they can get away from their yacht. Four
servants, too, to say nothing of the maid. They must have plenty of
money."

"Heaps, I should think," he agreed. "I can't think, though, why a man
wants to travel round with two valets, a secretary and a butler."

"One of the men, he told me," she confided, "is the chief steward from
the boat. Whenever they land for a few weeks they bring him along. He
acts as butler to the Marquis. No one who is up to any mischief would
come to a place like this, anyway. I don't suppose the whole of our
personal belongings, if we were sold up here, would realize as much as
the Marquise's pearls."

"Perhaps they are artificial."

She smiled.

"A man might think that," she replied, "but a woman is not so easily
deceived. They are family stuff, I suppose, but if the Marquis was
thinking of making his wife a present of those to-day they would cost
him thirty thousand pounds, at least. I know something about pearls. Did
you ever realize that I was a typist before I came out here? I was with
the firm in Hatton Garden for three weeks."

"Get the sack?"

"Exactly what I did get--but in the cause of honour, my dear David. A
luncheon at the Savoy was involved--with a very disagreeable Brazilian,
too."

"The scoundrel!" Granet exclaimed.

"So ugly, too," she sighed. "Never mind, dear. It was just one of those
stupid little adventures an honest girl has to deal with in life....
David, I wish that Mr. Clunderson had got back for luncheon."

"To tell you the truth," he replied, "I wish that he would come along
now."

"You are not really anxious?" she asked.

"What is there to be anxious about?" he protested.

"Nothing in the world, of course," she admitted. "It's just that one
can't help being apprehensive now."

He passed his arm through hers.

"Jitters," he declared. "Do you realize, Jane, that the premises of the
bank are on the Promenade des Anglais, and so are the offices of
Doubleday & Brown, the lawyers who are Clunderson's agents. He does not
need to move off the Promenade. Do you honestly think it would be
possible to kidnap a person of Mr. Clunderson's distinguished appearance
in the midst of all that gay crowd?"

"Not exactly," she answered after a slight hesitation. "On the other
hand, more than one murder has been committed there actually within
sight of a thousand people. Something of the sort happened last year. I
read about it in the _claireur_. The man slipped away through the crowd
and was never caught."

"Yes, but he was not carrying a brown-paper parcel with seals all over
it," Granet reminded her. "Carrying anything at all is what makes the
getaway so difficult in these quick crimes. Now supposing you just set
that dainty little heel of yours upon these nerves of yours and glance
down the avenue."

"The car!" she exclaimed. "David, it is the car--and Mr. Clunderson."

"The wanderer returned," Granet observed. "But what is it that he has
picked up on the way?"

"Stupid!" Jane laughed. "Don't you recognize him? It is Suresne, the
French detective."

There was no answering smile for a moment on Granet's lips. He leaned
farther forward. Then the relief came. Clunderson certainly was looking
a little pale, otherwise he showed no signs of any sort of adventure. He
waved his hand but when the two men descended there was a slight
surprise in store for the two young people. Clunderson was carrying the
brown-paper parcel with which he had left the Manoir early that morning.
Jane stared at it with wide-open eyes.

"Has anything happened?" she demanded.

Suresne smiled beneficently upon them.

"No, nothing has happened," he declared. "What, in a busy place like
Nice, could happen that was contrary to the law--and in the middle of
the morning! All is well, Miss Grassleyes, all is very well indeed. We
make progress in the task of unravelling this little problem of yours."

There was something in Suresne's eyes which spoke more clearly than any
gesture, than any word of warning. Jane, without turning her head,
glanced at the chauffeur. He had changed his position slightly and he
was looking into the mirror, watching with a set, eager gaze.

"I have had a very pleasant morning," Clunderson declared. "I happened
to run across Monsieur Suresne and he invited me to lunch. I knew you
would excuse me. Our lunch was indeed excellent, but, Miss Jane,
everything that is British in me is clamouring for just one single cup
of tea."

"Come along," Jane said. "Pooralli," she added, turning to the man who
was standing upon the threshold with a smile of welcome upon his lips,
"Mr. Clunderson would like some tea. Better serve it for every one in my
bureau."

They made their way there, Clunderson still carrying the parcel. Jane
closed the French windows which looked out on to the back terrace and
drew the bolt of the door connecting the apartment with the main
reception room.

"Mr. Clunderson," she asked, turning round, "tell me now why you have
brought back the Grassleyes-estate private ledger."




CHAPTER XXIII


Clunderson made no immediate reply to Jane's question. He was choosing
his place with almost meticulous care. He moved a chair into the corner
facing her, facing, too, the French windows on his right. Opposite to
him was the door opening from the corridor and on his left the door
leading into the main reception room. He placed the brown-paper parcel
with its conspicuous seals on the table before him and kept one hand on
it whilst he was speaking.

"Suresne can explain this business even better than I," he confided. "I
think we have acted wisely. I hope it may turn out so, at any rate. But
first let me ask you a question. I understand that the Marquis and
Marquise de Fallanges have been lunching here. That is so?"

"Yes," Jane assented, "and we found them both perfectly charming. They
have gone back to the yacht, they will dine on board and come up here
directly afterwards, complete with staff."

"Complete with staff?"

Jane nodded.

"Complete with staff," she said. "They have taken 'The Three Cypresses'
for a month and paid a cheque for one hundred guineas in advance. Now
don't tell us, Monsieur Suresne, that it won't be honoured!"

"My dear young lady," was the confident reassurance, "you need be under
no misapprehension. Any cheque the Marquis gave you will certainly be
met."

"He really is the Marquis de Fallanges?"

"Absolutely. We passed them on our way up. His wife was a Princess de
Bourdon, although she prefers to bear her husband's name."

"Thank heavens!" Jane exclaimed. "I was beginning to wonder whether my
beautiful lunch had been wasted. Now go on with your story, please."

Suresne bowed. He took a chair, smoothed his hair with both hands and
stroked his short imperial. Everything was apparently in place. He was
in the act of commencing, when the door was quietly opened. Jane glanced
over her shoulder and leaned forward with uplifted finger.

"For a few minutes," she enjoined, "we speak of other things."

A tea table was dragged in and Pooralli and Martin busied themselves
arranging the little dishes of scones, bread and butter and jars of
preserves. A beautiful Georgian teapot was placed in the exact centre of
an equally beautiful tray. A copper kettle was hung from a tripod by the
side of Jane's chair. The two servants made their bow and took their
leave.

"Not another word," Jane insisted as she took her place at the head of
the table. "Mr. Clunderson, here is the tea for which you have been
longing. Monsieur Suresne, you are joining us, I hope?"

"With great pleasure," he declared. "I love a family tea. It is good
for the brain, and sometimes when we consider problems of this sort we
feel that the brain needs stimulation."

"I am rather inclined to welcome Miss Grassleyes' prohibition," Granet
remarked as he helped himself to toast. "I need a brief rest from
thought. I shall admire this beautiful Svres tea service and let my
fancies drift."

"I shall, with our young hostess' permission, remain in my corner,"
Clunderson announced.

"You are a wise man, Mr. Granet," Suresne said. "A silent meal is good
for one. That is why the doctors have started their latest cult of no
wine with meals. Wine unlocks the tongue. A silent meal where the
alcohol flows is barely possible. Tell me, Miss Grassleyes, you really
grow your own wine here?"

"A great deal of it," she answered. "That was one of my aunt's great
pleasures. She took almost as much interest in her vines as her herbs."

Suresne smiled.

"Her herbs are indeed famous," he acknowledged. "At the principal
pharmacy in Nice I discovered a notice that certain herbs--santonin was
one, I think--were grown on the famous Grassleyes estate."

Jane nodded.

"My aunt was always very proud of her old Provenal furniture," she
remarked, "but I remember her saying one day that her gardens of herbs
alone, apart from the small shrubs and plants she kept in the forcing
house, were worth more than the whole of the furniture on the estate. I
know I discovered in an old ledger enormous sums of money she paid for
transport of tiny little pots of herbs from the most impossible places.
One man in the Malay States had a salary of four hundred pounds a year
for doing nothing but watch in the correct season for certain exotics
and ship them to her."

No one seemed inclined to eat any of the delicate trifles with which the
table was laden. Cigarettes were passed round. There was a general air
of restlessness, although every one in his turn tried to make
conversation. Then Jane summoned Pooralli and Martin. Everything was
cleared away noiselessly and swiftly. Suresne watched the service of the
men with amazement.

"You allow always your wonderful china to be handled like that by a
native servant?" he asked.

Jane laughed.

"I have been here for two years and a half," she confided, "and most
afternoons my aunt and I have had tea together served by those two and
during all that time there has never been a single chip on any piece of
china, no clatter of plates, not a single drop of anything spilt."

"Your aunt, without a doubt," Suresne acknowledged, "was a woman who
dealt in miracles."

The room was itself again, the door and the French windows were closed.
Jane drew a sigh of relief.

"I think the time has come now when we might ask a few questions," she
said. "What do you think, David?"

"I should commence with this one," he replied. "If the contents of this
private ledger are of such enormous significance, why, Mr. Clunderson,
when you were within twenty yards of a strong room and absolute
security, have you brought it back here again?"

"In everything I did to-day," the lawyer confessed, "I was guided by
Monsieur Suresne. He made no mistake. He was swift and yet kindly. You
do not know this, perhaps. As we turned out of the gates this morning he
suddenly appeared and stopped the car. The chauffeur was annoyed but
Monsieur Suresne begged for a lift into Nice. I find my own manner of
speech a little prolix compared to Monsieur Suresne's. I beg that you
will let him answer the rest of your questions."

"We have not taken quite as much risk as seems to you apparent," Suresne
declared. "Mr. Clunderson, will you produce the ledger?"

Clunderson cut the strings, broke the seals and drew out the volume. He
unlocked it and spread it open before Jane, who had moved to his side.
Suresne's hand stole towards his hip-pocket. He was not a man to take
risks.

"Just glance through that quickly, Miss Grassleyes," he said. "Tell us
now, do you perceive anything unusual or unfamiliar in that ledger?"

"Well, I have only seen it open three times in my life," she replied.
"Everything seems to me to be the same."

"Turn to the index," Suresne suggested. "Find on what page the account
of Spenser & Sykes begins."

She did as she was told but searched in vain.

"Why, it says page ninety-two but page ninety-two is not here!" she
exclaimed.

She passed the volume to Granet. He examined it carefully.

"There are seven pages missing," he said, "ninety-two through
ninety-eight. The whole of Spenser & Sykes' account has disappeared."

"So you see," Suresne pointed out, "we are not exposing you to the risk
you fear. As Mr. Granet says, the pages of Spenser & Sykes' account with
Grassleyes have been cut from that ledger, and with amazing skill."

"How did you discover this?" Jane asked.

"When we handed over the parcel to the bank manager," Suresne explained,
"he declined to receive it for safekeeping without examining its
contents, and the moment he handled the ledger he discovered that it had
been tampered with. He was shocked when he saw whose account had been
mutilated. He asked us both to verify its condition, tied up the parcel
again, sealed it and was willing to accept it. I thought it best, in the
circumstances, to bring it back. The possession of this ledger ought to
make our dealings with Mr. Spenser a little easier in the event of his
trying to make trouble."

There was a moment or two's silence, then Suresne went on.

"You will see that about one thirty-second of an inch is left, in order
that the ledger should present the same appearance superficially. The
fact remains, however, that these pages have been cut out and whatever
transactions were recorded in them will be difficult to trace. Here,
however, at the bottom of page ninety-nine are some figures which might
represent the total: frs. 9,740,000 in very faint crayon. How the
figures got there one cannot imagine. It is a fair guess that that was
the debit balance. Perhaps, in the circumstances, it will not be
difficult to imagine the history of those missing pages."

"How much did you say the amount was?" Jane asked in stupefaction.

"Frs. 9,740,000."

"That sounds like a good round sum of money," a familiar voice declared.
"Some one left me a fortune, eh?"

Suresne and Clunderson simultaneously laid their hands upon the ledger.
Spenser had entered noiselessly from the verandah. He looked at them all
with a sneer upon his face. His attitude was more than confident. It was
defiant.

"We were just wondering," Jane said, "whether that could possibly
represent a sum which you owe to the estate."

Spenser was across the room in a couple of strides. The sneer had gone
from his lips; his eyes were blazing with passion.

"What have you got there?" he demanded.

"What we have," Clunderson said in his dry, precise tone, "is the
private ledger, or rather its mutilated remains, of the Grassleyes
estate. We were wondering who could have cut out some of its pages, Mr.
Spenser."

Spenser literally threw himself at the desk. One hand reached the
ledger, the other sent Suresne sprawling to the floor.

"You devils, all of you!" he shouted. "So that's what you've been up to.
My God!"

He met the full force of Granet's fist on the point of the jaw and
reeled backwards. He stood for a moment panting. Granet motioned Jane
out of the way. He faced Spenser.

"Look here," he began, "if you want trouble ..."

Spenser lowered his head and rushed forward. Once more he almost reached
the ledger, when he felt Granet's arm around his neck. The struggle was
a matter of seconds. Spenser was swung around and fell heavily, this
time to lie motionless on the carpet. Granet stood over him watching.

"Clunderson," he directed, "take Jane away and take the ledger with you.
There won't be any more trouble here just yet."




CHAPTER XXIV


It was about half an hour later when Granet strolled out on to the wide
verandah which encircled the Manoir. Jane, with Clunderson and Suresne,
was seated in a corner at the farther end. He made his way towards them.

"Trouble all over," he said lightly. "Our friend--now slightly
battered--has gone home in the service car. He was scarcely fit to drive
his own."

"Is he very much hurt?" Jane asked.

"Not half as much as he ought to have been," was the grim reply.
"However, we have wiped him out for an hour or two, I think. He is very
subdued but I think he would set the Manoir on fire to get that private
ledger. What are we going to do with it?"

"I'll take it to police headquarters," the detective said. "It will be
perfectly safe there."

"What do you say, David?" Jane asked.

"An excellent idea," he agreed.

"Excellent," Clunderson echoed, handing over the volume. "By the by,
have you seen who's here?"

Jane turned round. A moment later, preceded by Pooralli, the Marquis de
Fallanges strolled down towards them. He had changed into slacks and a
silk shirt and looked cool and debonair. He made them a little bow as he
accepted a chair.

"I come to ask for the kindness of my keys," he said. "My wife and I are
here. We came in by the Grasse entrance. My servants follow close
behind. You see we have wasted no time, mademoiselle," he added, with a
little bow to Jane. "Your harbour at Nice has no air. We were stifled.
When we thought of what it had been like up here at luncheontime--well,
we set our servants to work packing. We are taking up our abode as soon
as we can."

Jane disappeared for a moment and returned with the keys.

"Pooralli will show you the compound for your staff," she said. "Two, I
think you proposed, would sleep there, two in the bungalow. Would you
like me to come and open up for you?"

"If you please, not," the Marquis begged. "We are ashamed of the trouble
we have given you already and we have come earlier than was arranged.
To-night we shall spend a domestic evening sitting out on the terrace
enjoying the quiet. To-morrow we are not obtrusive but we shall probably
meet. My chief steward, who is my butler when I am on shore, has made
cocktails in Jamaica, New York and Rio. We can perhaps let him match his
skill against your own myrmidon. With these keys, Miss Grassleyes," he
added, rising to his feet, "I wish you good evening, and you gentlemen,
and I thank you for your wonderful luncheon. Very soon, when our chef is
installed, I invite you all to see what we world picnickers can do for
you. It is bad to be such wanderers, in one way, but one picks up
things, learns all the time."

His bow had just the right amount of ceremony; his smile was friendly
without being familiar. He strolled away from them, swinging the keys
lightly in his hand. They sat for a few moments watching him as though
fascinated. Pooralli led him around by the side of the Manoir behind
which his car was waiting. He disappeared round the corner with a
farewell wave of the hand. Suresne drew a little breath of relief.

"I ask your pardon, mademoiselle," he said a moment or two later. "I am
in the service of Mr. Clunderson here. Mr. Spenser is still a dangerous
consideration. I examine every inch of Grassleyes. I make my plans."

He left them; and Jane and Granet--perhaps the lawyer, too, in a lesser
degree--watched him curiously. There was a certain strange similarity
between himself and the Marquis in their effortless swiftness of
movement, their quietness. Suresne passed through the failing light
almost like the shadow of his predecessor of a few moments before. He
seemed to be looking in all directions. He stood for a few minutes
gazing at the spreading front of the Manoir before he re-entered it, and
it seemed as though he were counting even the bolts on the windows. Once
or twice as the others lingered there watching the sun, now free from
the long golden masses of clouds behind which it was sinking, they saw
his face appear at one of the windows. There seemed at no time any
purpose in what he was doing. He was just sauntering aimlessly and yet
one felt that he was remembering.

"They say that these trained detectives," Granet remarked, "have a
certain second nature for taking note of things that are important. I
would be almost inclined to bet that Suresne could stand a
cross-examination on the window-bolt fastenings of the Manoir."

"I shall be glad when it is all over," Jane confessed with a sigh. "As
the time drags on the very moments seem filled with something
threatening. Every newcomer frightens me. Those men--Suresne, and even
the Marquis--fill me with fear. I looked into Suresne's eyes just before
he left us. He is an insignificant-looking person in his way but day by
day I could almost swear that his eyes have grown larger. That alert
light, always seeking for something, seems to have gone. They seem fixed
now just as though they are looking inwards, just as though they are
concentrated upon something behind them--and in a way they are
terrifying. Of course you will laugh at me but I could almost fancy that
behind his gaiety and _joie de vivre_ I could catch a faint flash of the
same look on the Marquis's face."

"Let us forget all these grisly ideas for a while," Granet proposed with
a smile. "It's too early for cocktails. Suppose we all walk down to 'The
Lamps of Fire' and have a whisky-and-soda and you, Jane, some of my
priceless sherry."

"A glorious idea," she assented, springing to her feet. "Come on! I've
had enough of the Manoir for a few hours. Are you too tired, Mr.
Clunderson?"

"A walk is just what I should like," the lawyer replied.

They strolled across the open park land and Pooralli, whom Jane had
summoned from the house, ran on ahead. Chairs and table, whisky and ice,
sodawater, sherry and glasses--all were ready even before they got
there. The twilight which always threatens but never comes, half-grey,
half-lavender, stole down upon them even before the glasses were filled.
One nightingale was singing lazily in the grove; there was a distant
chorus of frogs. The air was so motionless that every leaf upon the
trees seemed painted against the sky.

"Every moment of this silence," Jane declared, "is a joy. David, I think
I shall change houses with you. You shall go up and deal with these
bloodthirsty people and the half-ruined estate, squeeze money out of
Spenser and chase those wild ideas out of Suresne."

The window of the lounge was pushed open. Carlotta leaned out, a strange
picture with her hair floating down, her lips sulky, her eyes heavy with
sleep.

"Please, you woke me up," she complained. "And Mr. Granet, will you tell
Miss Grassleyes that she cannot have this bungalow. It belongs to us. I
am going to share it with Mr. Granet."

"Really?" Jane laughed. "I might have something to say about that."

"Because you are our landlady, I suppose? Well, that does not matter.
This is the most comfortable bed of any on the estate. I do not like
mine. I prefer Mr. Granet's very much. I have been fast asleep for three
hours. May I come and have a drink, please?"

"God bless my soul!" Clunderson exclaimed, staring hard at Granet. "Who
is the young lady?"

"Quite harmless, but attractive," Granet assured him. "She was to have
sat next to you at lunch if you had turned up."

"I am coming to have a drink," Carlotta said. "I see Pooralli there. Get
a wine glass for me, Pooralli, and a tumbler. I want a glass of water
and a glass of sherry. I should like David to come in and brush my hair
but I do not suppose he will."

She floated out with a little yawn and passed her arm affectionately
through Granet's.

"He is such a nice man," she went on, looking up at him. "Why are you
not fonder of me?"

"Because you are taking my character away," he said. "You must not tell
people that you sleep on my bed. In fact, if it comes to that you must
not sleep on my bed at all. How dare you?"

Carlotta drank her water steadily, set down the empty glass and laughed
at him.

"I have told everybody why," she said. "It is the most comfortable bed
at Grassleyes. Thank you, Pooralli," she added as he brought her a
chair. "May I sit down with you for a few minutes?"

"Where is your sister?" Granet asked.

"She went down to Nice after lunch to sing at an afternoon concert and
she is dining at Monte Carlo. Mr. Leonidas wants me to go for a walk
with him but I told him I never went for walks and that I was going to
sleep on your bed and he went away angry."

"Carlotta," Jane said sternly, "you are a very bad girl. You cannot go
and sleep on gentlemen's beds at Grassleyes. It is not done."

"I did once before," the girl admitted. "I loved it and he was so
angry."

"Of course he was. He has been very nicely brought up."

Carlotta yawned.

"You are all very dull," she declared. "I hoped Mr. Granet would come
back alone. I wanted to ask him if I could call him 'David' always."

"Well, you can't," Jane declared. "He belongs to me and it is time you
went home, young lady."

"My sister will not be home for a long time. Tell me about the new
people. They looked down this road and I think they thought this
bungalow was empty. I lay quite still and I could hear them talking."

"What did they say?" Granet asked.

"It was about you."

"Tell me what they said," he begged.

She sat on the side of his chair and put her arm around his neck.

"The Marquise said she thought you were rather good-looking. I had a
good mind to put my head out of the window and tell her to mind her own
business. You are good-looking, though. Are you not, David?"

"Marvellous," he answered impatiently. "Are you sure there was nothing
else?"

"Not a thing," the girl replied. "Are they going to take a bungalow?"

"They are going to stay," Granet told her, "until it is cool enough for
them to go back to their yacht."

"Then I hope the rain comes to-night!"




CHAPTER XXV


There was no time when Victorine, Marquise de Fallanges, looked more
entrancing than when--and it was a favourite gesture of hers--she leaned
back upon the music seat, her beautiful fingers still poised upon the
notes, stretched her neck, opened her lips and called softly to a person
not too far away.

"Maurice!" she half called, half whispered. "I am in need of a little
affection. Come close to me upon the seat here."

The Marquis threw away his cigarette and was by her side in a moment.
His arm went round her slim waist. She submitted with due resignation to
the proffered salute.

"You have something wild in your mind, Victorine," he murmured. "You
wish to practice upon me. Your lips are as ever adorable but your eyes
are far away."

She sighed and leaned a little nearer to him.

"Maurice," she said, "do you realize how long we have been here in this
bungalow?"

"I do indeed," he sighed. "I thought of it when I was shaving this
morning."

"We have been here a fortnight--to be exact, a fortnight and a day."

"I have been lazy," he admitted. "But oh, my sweet, the heat! This has
been a glorious refuge."

"It is true," she agreed. "The time has slipped by very pleasantly.
Still, it is time, Maurice. It is very nearly time."

He nodded with a little gesture of resignation.

"Yes, I have thought the same thought. Within a few days there will be
action. Miss Jane and that quiet grey creature, the lawyer, and the
stern Englishman who seldom smiles--they are all standing by. We know
what is in their minds. They have made no secret of it. Until the third
of July they wait. Afterwards, from one end of France to the other, the
search will begin.

     MISSING from her home, a tall, elderly lady wearing steel-rimmed
     glasses, handsome, cold of speech and appearance, incredibly
     wealthy, incredibly reserved. Believed to have wandered from a
     clinic in Nice early in the morning--"

"Yes, yes, my dear," she interrupted. "We know all about that, but I ask
myself whether the time is not close at hand when you should make your
effort, if it is worth while your making it at all. She may suddenly
reappear, forgive everybody and shower her millions in every
direction--except upon this bungalow. Where shall we be then, Maurice?"

The Marquis stroked his wife's beautiful hair thoughtfully.

"Quite right, my angel," he murmured. "But you know how it is with me.
When I act I act like a flash of lightning. I pounce. It is all over.
People look around. Where is that beautiful woman with the glorious
eyes and golden hair? Where is that man with the voice like a caress,
the movements of a tiger? Gone."

"Now I want you to think sensibly," she begged, patting him on the back
of the hand. "We have been here fifteen days; we are on the brink of our
adventure. Is there any one besides those people we have mentioned whom
you have to fear?"

He shook his head. With a careless little gesture he closed the open
window. His eyes flashed round the room. He lowered his voice.

"You are right," he said. "It is time to compare notes. Spenser is
impatient. So is the girl impatient for action, but from a different
point of view. Mr. Clunderson, after his flying visit to Paris, is back
again and ready. Granet, the Englishman--well, he has an admirable gift
of self-concealment but my impression is that he, too, wishes action.
The yacht is ready if flight becomes necessary and one by one I have
collected all that I require of my belongings. I have a night next week
in my mind, Victorine. It is Friday. Friday has always been a day of
good omen with us."

"Stop!" she exclaimed. "The others?"

"There is no one whom we need to take into account," he said. "The young
man, Paul Oliver, I gave some thought to. He is harmless. Madame di
Mendoza is our friend. The little girl--a witch in her way, with a
strange passion for Granet--she thinks nothing of us. The man Johnson
with whom I have talked has only one idea in the world and I think I am
the only man, except Spenser, to whom he has confided it. He is after
the Formula Book. If this collection of herbs and plants is really so
amazing, he wants to buy the place. He is a partner in a great firm of
chemists somewhere in England. He raises his hat when we pass and asks
after the health of the Marchioness."

"There is the little man who does water-colours, Monsieur Suresne," she
reminded him. "He does nothing but watch this bungalow."

"A typical bourgeois Frenchman, my dear, retired from his business."

"But have you seen his water-colours? They are so bad that they make one
suspicious."

"Probably he does not know how bad they are. He seems to have no friends
from outside. He is not even the possessor of a bungalow here and there
are days when he does not come near the place."

"What does he do those days, I wonder?" the Marquise speculated.

"Nothing, I think, that need concern us. Leonidas accepts us for what we
are. He seems to be crazy about the little sister of Madame di Mendoza."

"So that the only man you think you have to fear," she said softly, "is
Granet."

"Why do you think we have to fear him?"

"Instinct. He watched us the first day at lunch. He has never left off
watching us."

"Well, he has not found out anything," her husband rejoined carelessly.
"_En effet_, there is nothing to find out."

"I do not think that he ever will," she agreed, "but do not dismiss him
from your thoughts, Maurice."

"Why not?"

She toyed for a moment with her pearls. The fingers of her other hand
were straying over the notes of the piano, drawing forth some faint
strain of mysterious melody.

"Last week," she said, "you may remember that I dined at that strange
little place in Beaulieu with Clara. You remember that it was your idea,
and a very good one. One should be seen occasionally with well-known
people. There is nothing better for preserving your identity. Every one
knew her; every one saw me with her. She may not be of the Great World,
but she is, after all, a Duchess."

"What has this to do with Granet?"

"Granet was there dining with another man and, curiously enough, the
same thing happened to both of us," she went on, a faint smile parting
her lips. "One of Clara's admirers came for her and carried her away. I
was left alone. Mr. Granet's friend was fetched away by a telephone
call. He paid his bill and, passing my table, stopped to say how do you
do. We had previously exchanged bows. I am not an ugly woman, Maurice,
and I was wearing the new Chanel frock that even you admire. It pleased
me to talk gaily. Mr. Granet made a remark that passing on the road he
had noticed the yacht lit up in the bay. He thought it looked charming.
So it did. I looked up at him. Have I nice eyes, Maurice?"

"Divine."

"What should you do if you were not my husband and you met me at a
restaurant and you knew that I had a yacht with no husband on board
lying in the harbour?"

"I should beg to be allowed to pay you a brief visit there," the Marquis
declared. "You might suggest, perhaps, a glass of wine, a little talk in
your saloon."

"What a wonderful man you are, Maurice dear," she sighed. "It is exactly
what I did and I looked at him. Of course my eyes may be failing, but I
fancied that they would bring that invitation."

"They did not?"

"They did not."

"Blockhead!" he exclaimed. "It is an insult. I will fight a duel with
him."

"Ah no, dear Maurice, you must not do that. I tell you this story
because I never trust a man who could refuse an offer like that. That is
why I do not quite trust Mr. Granet."

"You do not understand the British race as well as I do, my dear," her
husband told her. "Besides, he is just engaged. That is not a reason
which would weigh with you or me. It would with him. Oh, it would weigh
very heavily with him."

"You do not think he will give trouble?"

"He will not have a chance. If he attempts anything he will fail. It is
a matter of brains. He is honest, he is clever, but he is stupid. Now
there is something for you to think about, my dear. Everything that I
have said is true."

"Well, life is odd," she reflected. "That little sister of Miriam di
Mendoza's would give her soul for him. She has eyes as beautiful as
mine. He is all the time unkind to her. I know, because I watch and in
her dumb way she has told me.... Friday of next week. That is in your
mind?"

He nodded.

"Somewhere about then. You will admire the plan, I think. It does not
admit of any risk and it will bring about all that we desire."

"You are always so wonderful, dear Maurice," she murmured.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Marquis, amongst his other weaknesses, thoroughly revelled in the
luxury of his evening bath. That particular evening he was perhaps even
more liberal than usual with the exquisitely perfumed bath salts which
his valet had laid out for him. He sniffed at them with joy as he
stretched himself lazily in the long bath tub, and when at last he
stepped out a little reluctantly and touched the bell, he was absolutely
content with life--a man who had not an anxiety in the world. He rubbed
himself slowly and even did a few harmless exercises in front of the
looking-glass. They had been talking about Granet and the cold, stupid
Clunderson. They would have to go if they stood in his way. So easy. He
chuckled to himself as he thought how easy. In not many more days to
come he would be taking his bath in just as leisurely a fashion, taking
no notice of any hubbub there might have been in the day--perfectly safe
with a few more million francs to his credit.... There was the usual
discreet knock at the door and Antoine presented himself with
white-silk underclothes upon his arm and black-silk socks in his hand.
It was Antoine indeed, but not quite the same Antoine. His master looked
at him curiously.

"Anything the matter?" he asked.

The man laid down the articles he had been carrying. The Marquis looked
at him almost in amazement. He had never felt fear himself and he
scarcely recognized it in other people.

"Is anything the matter, Antoine?" he repeated. "Speak up! I demand."

Antoine looked behind him as though to be certain he had closed the
door. Then he came up to his master's side.

"_Monsieur le Marquis_," he said. "Eleven years ago in Paris--it was
after the affair of the rue Cambon--there was a young Frenchman, a
junior he was then in the _Sret_. His father had the misfortune to
meet with his death in the rue Cambon. His name was Suresne."

"Well?"

"The young one stayed on in the _Sret_," Antoine continued. "This
evening, when I got off my bicycle, I saw him outside the bungalow
painting. It was a hideous daub of a picture that he was painting. He
just looked up as I passed. I said '_Bon soir, monsieur_' and he replied
and I recognized the voice as well as the man."

"Do you think," the Marquis asked, "that he recognized you, Antoine?"

"He gave no sign of it, monsieur, but who knows? His reputation has
grown. They say that he never forgets a face."

"Well, it will be healthier for him if he forgets mine," the Marquis
remarked, beginning to put on his underclothes. "Why do you let these
little incidents disturb you, Antoine? Eleven years ago and all our
alibis for that evening perfect. Come, come, there is nothing to fear."

The man looked at his master and there was genuine admiration in his
face.

"Monsieur," he faltered, "you have the courage of Beelzebub. We are not
all like you. It is true that our alibis are perfect but there was a
murder done that night."

"There is a murder committed every night in the streets of Paris,
Antoine," his master reminded him. "This man, if I remember rightly, was
a coal-dealer, a man of very small account although he happened to own a
good many thousand francs more than was good for him. Who would
associate us with those times? I, the undoubted member of a noble
family. Give me my socks, Antoine, and shake off this weakness."

"The weakness has passed already, monsieur," the man faltered.

"_Je m'en doute_," the Marquis murmured under his breath.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dinner was served to the Marquis and his wife at five minutes past
eight. The latter raised her eyebrows a little as her husband offered
his arm.

"It is regrettable, my dear," he said as they took their places, "that
Antoine has lost his nerve. He fancies that the little man who is doing
daubs around the estate is a figure from the past. He was three minutes
longer than usual over my change of clothes. He has not recovered."

"Poor Antoine," she murmured languidly. "However, he was the one of your
retainers whom I liked least. He has to go, I suppose?"

"Indeed yes," the Marquis replied. "You know that it is one of my axioms
of safe living--never a nervous person amongst my little company. If I
felt your pulse beat as his was beating a few minutes ago and your
fingers as cold and the terror lurking in your eyes you would have to
go, my dear. That would be one of the greatest blows of my life, but it
would be a stern necessity."

"The same thought has come to me sometimes, my beloved, with regard to
you," she smiled. "The moment fear comes to you we part."

       *       *       *       *       *

Antoine received his orders and silently obeyed them. At nine o'clock he
was seated in the coup of the Mercedes; at a quarter to ten he stood in
attendance upon his master on the deck of the yacht. They were moving
out of the harbour. The Marquis was studying the charts in the
wheelhouse. Antoine was outside leaning over the rail. He felt a tap on
his shoulder. The Marquis, his hands carefully gloved, stood by his
side.

"No, Antoine," he said, "not yet. You have another twenty minutes. If
you jump overboard here your body would be returned somewhere down the
beach. Clumsy work, that."

"I can still serve monsieur," Antoine pleaded. "It was a momentary spasm
only. I am myself again."

The Marquis sighed.

"Antoine," he said, "the man who once loses his nerve, who looks at fear
and feels it steal into his blood, is finished. For our life he no
longer exists. This little trouble had to come, perhaps. It is just as
well to get it over."

"I have served monsieur well and faithfully."

"If you had not you would not be here now, Antoine. My servants are my
care until they fail me. When they fail me they are my servants no
longer. Take heart, Antoine. You may find, after all, that down in the
caverns or up beyond the clouds there is another life and another
master."

"Monsieur mocks me," the man groaned.

The Marquis made no reply. With his night glasses before his eyes he was
sweeping the empty seas. They were travelling at a tremendous pace,
leaving a long trail of foam behind them.

"No, my friend," he said at last, lowering his glasses and carefully
replacing them in the case, "I am not mocking you. I am a very clever
man and I see far but there is a wall--there is always a wall, you know.
In ten minutes--sooner, perhaps--in ten seconds--sooner, perhaps--you
will have climbed it."

There was scarcely a sound. The silencer on the Marquis's small gun was
a wonderful contraption. The man who had been lurking in the background
raised the rail. He flung the crumpled-up body out to sea. The Marquis
recharged the gun, replaced it in his pocket and strolled forward
towards the bows. The moon was shining more clearly now through a little
bank of mist and a feeble trail of light stretched away towards Antibes.
He watched for a few moments, then stepped back to the wheelhouse and
from there passed into the saloon. He pulled down one of the tubes and
gave a brief order to the navigating captain. Then he summoned a
steward.

"Half a glass of the '68 brandy," he ordered.

The steward hurried away. The captain presented himself. The Marquis
considered him thoughtfully.

"It will be next week, Thursday or Friday, Olaf," he announced. "From
sunset onwards you are to be ready to start in thirty seconds. The
festivities which may be going on mean nothing to you."

"There will be no mistake about that. There has never been a mistake yet
in one of monsieur's orders," the man replied.

The Marquis looked at him narrowly. There was no flinching in that hard,
grim face with the weather-beaten skin and small, cruel eyes. No nerves
there. No sense of fear. The Marquis was satisfied. He sipped his brandy
and dismissed him.

"I leave you at the steps," he announced. "The watch continues."




CHAPTER XXVI


The heat wave persisted. Towards evening everybody on the clematis-hung
balcony of the bungalow "The Three Cypresses" drew a little breath of
relief. The moment for escape from a heat and languor almost intolerable
had arrived at last. Pooralli, standing just outside and watching the
fierce passing of the sun behind the lavender-blue mountains, held up
his hand. The other servants stooped forward. The blinds flew up. The
little company seemed suddenly plunged into a sort of scented twilight,
the magnolia and white tobacco plants unfurling their leaves as though
by magic. The perfume of the roses was almost overpowering, and, as if
some one had opened a secret vault, a soft breeze stole up through the
pines, through the terraced gardens into that very sweet little stretch
of country round Grassleyes.

The Marquise, lying at full length upon a chaise longue, attired in a
diaphanous white nglig, threw out her beautiful arms and gave a little
cry of joy. David Granet, whose white ducks looked cool enough, fanned
himself vigorously. The Marquis, in white tussore, made a sign to his
servant and the gentle tinkle of ice was suddenly heard in the
background. Nearly every one from the bungalows was collected there for
an evening apritif. Very reluctantly the word had gone out that
morning. The time was at hand now for the Marquis and the Marquise to
take their leave. Carlotta, in her linen beach suit, crept a little
nearer to Granet's chair and stole one of his cushions. Her sister
lazily reproved her. The Marquise laughed softly.

"In Saigon," she declared, "never have I known heat greater than
to-day's."

"It is the hottest day I ever remember here in my three summers," Jane
reflected.

"It is the most glorious breeze that ever crept from the caverns of the
Estrels," the Marquis murmured lazily.

"All our sufferings are forgotten," Madame di Mendoza sighed. "This
atones for everything."

The servants, all in white linen, swift-footed and attentive, were
carrying around the little dishes of fruit and savoury trifles, the long
glasses of frosted yellow wine and the smaller ones into which had been
poured the contents of the silver shakers.

"I forget my manners," their hostess declared with a glass in either
hand. "I am recklessly, horribly greedy. Look, I drink to quench my
thirst from this exquisite fruit cup which Ambrose learnt to make in
Jamaica, and with my other hand I hold the only cocktail from the East
worth drinking. I excuse myself for bringing it to the attention of all
of you that it was I who found the limes and brought them back in the
car this morning--a great basketful just unshipped."

"Your passage into heaven, my dear, is assured," her husband said. "We
awake to a new and I hope a less languid life. When I think that my
friend Mr. Granet has played tennis this afternoon I gasp. _C'est
incroyable!_"

"Half the time at tennis but a good other half in the sea," Granet
confessed.

Jane was gazing down the winding road, a strip of white ribbon across
the green pine-dotted stretch of open ground.

"Here is a visitor," she announced. "Mr. Spenser's Lancia, I believe."

The Marquise sighed languidly.

"He is a trying man," she murmured. "So boisterous. I think he drinks
too much."

"You can forgive him for a good deal, Victorine," her husband reminded
her. "It was he who introduced us to the bungalows."

"For that," she admitted, "we shall always have gratitude. But he should
learn to talk more quietly. An evening like this, for instance. It is
superb. Soon the lights will fade and we can all go down to Mr. Granet's
bungalow where the fire-flies dart about like little fairies and we can
go and sit in Miss Grassleyes' herb garden and smell sweet things and
afterwards we can finish up at the bungalow 'Falling Roses.'"

"Don't forget my tobacco plants," Paul Oliver begged. "About midnight
they are sweet enough to steal away the senses. I have, too, some old
Tokay which is a fragrant incentive to folly."

"By midnight," the Marquise yawned, "I should like the great
violet-black clouds to cover the skies, and to lie stripped upon the
grass and feel the first few drops of thunder rain upon my body."

"Of that there is no hope," her husband sighed. "There is not a cloud in
the sky. Stars you will have and a great blazing moon but no clouds.
Spenser is coming here, I see. Miss Grassleyes, I wish you nothing but
good in the world but I would rather you were his hostess to-night."

"I do not feel in the least hospitable," Jane declared. "I was even
thinking of sending David home."

"You can't do that," Granet protested. "I have ordered no dinner and hot
weather always makes me hungry."

"You can dine with me," Carlotta suggested. "I can cook trifles
divinely."

"But I cannot dine off trifles," Granet told her. "An hour after sunset
I am hungry. Two hours after I am ravenous."

"There is always fruit and ice," she went on. "I can steal Miriam's
peaches. She has an admirer who sends her twenty or thirty a day. Then
there are melons, too."

He shook his head.

"I need sustenance," he insisted. "Chicken salad is the minimum."

She sighed.

"I have the chicken," she said. "I can cook him but he would not be
cold.... Mr. Spenser is beautifully dressed but he makes me warm to
look at him."

Spenser brought his car to a standstill a few yards from the gate. He
was wearing a spotless white-flannel dinner suit with a nglig shirt
and drooping tie.

"If you turn your head, Victorine," her husband said, "you will lose
your heart."

"It would be lovely to do that on such a night," she reflected, "but I
suppose I choose strangely. Not here or in any other world could I ever
lose anything so precious as my small but very sweet heart to Mr.
Spenser."

Granet looked at the newcomer curiously as he made his way amongst them,
dispensing greetings on every side. He had lost most of his high colour,
his face was almost pinched and there were dark lines under his eyes.
His visits to Grassleyes during the last few weeks had been very few and
far between.

"Fortunate people," he declared as he sank into a chair and accepted a
drink. "I wave my hands to all of you and I wish you joy, but I wish
also that you have no time to pass in an inferno like Nice on a day like
this. We closed the office at five. The boards of the floors were
cracking. Can't think why they didn't catch fire! Your health, my
charming friends! Marquis, it is worth while," he added, setting down
his glass empty, "it has been worth your while to spend half your life
travelling in the tropics to have collected servants who mix drinks like
these."

"Better than to shiver at an English dining-table while the rain streams
from your windows and you drink heavy port, eh?" the Marquis murmured.

"Is this an errand of business, Mr. Agent?" Jane asked. "Because I tell
you frankly that we cannot manage another tenant. Every one up here is
taking six baths a day and a shortage of water would ruin us. In any
case there isn't a bungalow free. Now the Marquis and the Marquise say
they are going things may be different but even then I don't want any
one else at the moment."

Spenser shook his head.

"I have no more tenants for you," he said. "Our friend Suresne drops in
several times a week to hear what the prospects of a bungalow are but I
always tell him he can find out better up here. He is next on the list,
anyway."

"There is a man," the Marquis observed languidly, "who is wasting
valuable hours of his life in attempting the impossible. He plays the
artist and he produces the most impossible daubs I ever saw."

"Oh, I am not quite so sure, my dear," his wife murmured. "What the
English call hypo-impressionism and surrealism may sometimes meet. There
may be a new school. Perhaps we are ignorant. I only know that the man's
pictures give me a headache so I do not look at them. Maurice has a sort
of fatal curiosity which draws him always to his side when he is at
work. He comes away looking like one who has seen a ghost."

Carlotta gazed into Granet's face with a smile.

"I think that he paints very badly. What do you think, Mr. Granet?"

"I think that he might occupy his time a great deal better."

The Marquis raised his hand and there was activity amongst the
white-clad servants.

"The thought of that man's work has brought back my partially quenched
thirst," he announced. "I take one more drink. My friend, Mr. Spenser,
he takes one more drink. Then he and I go underneath our sun umbrellas
if he will go as far as the top of that grass hillock. It is about one
hundred metres--as far as any sane man should walk on a day like this.
From there, Spenser, I will show you the exact position on this estate
where, if ever I scrape enough money together to interest you and Miss
Grassleyes, I shall ask that you build me a bungalow which will be mine
always."

"Take no notice of him," the Marquise murmured. "We already own, besides
our inherited property, two chteaux, a fishing lodge, a shooting lodge,
a lighthouse in England and a tower in Guernsey. It is a craze of
Maurice's. It must be checked. Mr. Spenser, they say that you are a
brilliant man of affairs. Talk to my husband sensibly, please."

"I will try," Spenser promised, "but he is a difficult man to persuade."

"As long, my dear," the Marquis remarked, "as I do not interfere with
your little transactions in the rue de la Paix you should not object to
my only hobby."

"His only hobby!" she murmured beneath her breath.

A few minutes later the Marquis and Spenser crossed the drive together
and climbed the little hillock. There was only the outside rim of the
sun left but the Marquis still carried his umbrella. He gesticulated as
he walked. Spenser was fanning himself with his Panama hat.

"Already I begin to ask myself," the Marquise said lazily as she watched
them, "what they can find to talk about--those two."

Granet's keen eyes had followed their every movement.

"It might be interesting," he murmured.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Marquis settled himself comfortably upon his umbrella--plus--shooting-
stick. He made a gesture with his hand towards the country beyond the
boundary of Grassleyes.

"More impossible things might happen, my dear Spenser," he said, "than
that I should come and settle here. I have many abodes and none of them
pleases me completely. In the meantime, our little affair has to be
dealt with. I have already selected my date for action. It is to be
Friday night."

"Friday night!"

"You see, I am not a suspicious man," the Marquis went on, "but the
little man Suresne is quite unmistakable. He is even, if I remember
rightly, using his own name. He is one of the great force of French
detectives. He sits on a campstool and sketches from morning till night.
He is watching me."

"Suresne is a police agent all right," Spenser admitted. "That is why I
am surprised you have not made your little effort before."

"Laziness, my dear Spenser, sheer laziness," the other yawned.
"Unfortunately, however, one of my domestics has displeased me by
indulging in a fit of nerves. He also had recognized Suresne. I dare not
have in my entourage a man who is afflicted by nervous fears. I have
therefore had to--er--dispose of him. He will never be heard of again,
but his continued absence might excite the curiosity of our
pseudo-artist. I never run risks. You know that, my friend."

"Your only fault that I can see is that you talk too much," Spenser said
irritably.

"I do not waste my time when I talk," was the emphatic response. "I
watch always my listener. I form my opinion of his judgement and his
courage from the effect of what I have to say upon him. I gather that
you are a little nervous about my attempt now that it is to be made."

"I am only wondering whether you have not created a certain amount of
suspicion during your stay here," Spenser replied. "I have every
confidence in you, however. Friday night you say is your night. On the
morning afterwards, then, you will deliver to me the result of your
labours."

"Without a doubt," the Marquis promised. "At some hour which we can fix
upon later I shall bring you the Formula Book which you have described
to me so accurately, the will, the jewels, the letter addressed to Miss
Grassleyes and anything else of value which I discover in the left-hand
side of her ladyship's double-fronted safe. The will may make a rich man
of you or a great heiress of Jane Grassleyes. As it will pass through
your hands, however, I look upon the latter possibility as
non-existent."

"The money," Spenser put in eagerly. "Don't forget that."

"The money, as a matter of course," the Marquis assented. "Have no fear.
I forget nothing. I have it tabulated in my mind."

Spenser threw his cigarette away savagely and lit another.

"I might have something to say about the collection of money you find
there, Marquis," he grunted.

"You would be well advised to keep silent," the other replied. "I am not
one who stoops to petty thefts. Your knowledge of me should have told
you that years ago. A few hundred thousand francs for a small packet of
love letters, addressed by an unsuccessful suitor to my wife, I might
think should be atoned for by a slight addition to the sum which you are
paying for this gay adventure. That depends very much upon how much I
find. I am a reasonable man--always reasonable."

There was a vicious look in Spenser's eyes, a flush of colour in his
cheeks.

"I don't know what the devil you are talking about," he declared hotly.

"What a stupid denial!" the Marquis exclaimed, examining the contents of
his case and carefully selecting a cigarette. "As though I minded. My
wife is an exceedingly attractive woman. I do not see how the ordinary
_boulevardier_, amongst whom I suppose you would class yourself, could
resist making those somewhat flamboyant efforts. May I tell you, though,
that, if there had been the faintest chance of their being successful, a
few minutes in the Bois de Boulogne or, if your conscience did not
permit that, a thrashing in the lobby of the Travellers' Club would have
been my reply. I am not a selfish man, Mr. Spenser. I will not say that
I should be utterly discontented to share some portion of Victorine's
favours with the right man, but you would not be the right man so you
would suffer for your success."

"Damn it all, shut up!" Spenser cried. "I hate your venomous tongue and
all the rot you talk when you are in the humour for it. Your wife--"

"Perhaps," the Marquis interrupted, "you will live longer and more
happily, my friend, if you leave my wife's name out of this discussion.
The little affair of business which we are conducting together I shall
hope to bring to a happy conclusion somewhere between two and three on
Saturday morning. Later on in the day these objects which you so greatly
desire shall be made over to you in your office--No. 19A, I think, on
the Promenade des Anglais.... Wait one moment. I must think whether
there are any other questions to ask you. Yes, I knew there was one."

"What is it?"

"These two extraordinary servants of the house--Pooralli and Postralli.
What is their attitude towards the powers that reign over it?"

"You are cleverer than I am if you can find out," Spenser growled. "On
one or two occasions they could have been useful to me when Lady
Grassleyes was here. Pooralli would listen to everything I had to say,
he would bow most profoundly, but never once did he carry out even the
slightest order of mine, never once was he anything but the very dutiful
and faithful servant of Lady Grassleyes. If you want to fail on Friday
night try and make Pooralli your accomplice. It was in my mind to warn
you against him the first day we talked of this affair."

"My instinct again," the Marquis remarked complacently. "I knew it. You
will be relieved to hear that I have left possible aid from that weird
character out of my plans. All that I troubled myself to ascertain were
his habits and the position of his sleeping quarters. Now, Mr. Spenser,
having selected the site of my possible future habitation, I think we
will return. I may possibly have the pleasure of offering you what you
call in England a stirrup cup, or you might prefer--even to a jaded
husband my wife is looking charming to-night--"

"I have stood all I can stand of your damned sneering," Spenser declared
angrily. "I--"

He met the Marquis's swift glance and the words died away on his lips.

"There is a limit, Mr. Spenser, which is permitted to such people as
you. Do not, I pray you, be foolish.... So we return," he continued
in an altered tone. "Be content, all of you dear people," he added as
they neared the little company. "Two sites are there. Either would suit
me. Concerning one, however, there is that eternal matter of water.
Victorine, our visitor will take one small drink before he goes."

Jane rose to her feet.

"I think you and I will walk down a few yards with Mr. Spenser," she
suggested to Granet. "There is something we have to say to him."

Spenser drained the glass which had been presented to him, made his
adieus with a very poor effort at graciousness and turned away.

"I know," he said, as soon as they had reached the road, "what you wish
to say. It is something of importance."

"You must realize that, Mr. Spenser," Jane said. "In a few days' time
the month expires which my aunt stipulated should pass before her will
was opened or her wishes made known."

"I know, I know that quite well," Spenser assented. "And when that will
is opened I shall take the opportunity of expressing to whoever may be
present my opinion of the way you and Clunderson have treated your
aunt's confidential adviser during this anxious period."

"Your threat does not greatly concern me, Mr. Spenser," Jane answered.
"You have been paid all the commission that became due to you every time
you have earned it and the larger sums which you have once or twice
asked for I cannot see that you have the slightest right to at all."

"It is you, I presume," Spenser said, turning with an angry gesture
towards Granet, "whom I have to thank for putting these ideas into Miss
Grassleyes' head."

"Without a doubt," Granet replied. "My advice has always been at her
disposal."

"I should like to know what business you had to interfere, anyway,"
Spenser continued furiously.

"Is not this discussion a little unnecessary?" Jane intervened. "The
most important thing of all is--have you found any trace--I notice you
have made some extensive searches, Mr. Spenser--anywhere about the
Manoir of the will, the letter, the jewels, the money or the Formula
Book? You would not, of course, find the private ledger. That is in our
safekeeping."

"I haven't found a damn' thing. Unless they turn up by some miracle on
the thirtieth day after your aunt's disappearance we shall be just in
the same trouble that we are now. I warn you, though, that I shall
resist any attempt of Mr. Clunderson's to administer the estate in the
absence of a will, and I shall place the offer I have received for the
Manoir on Lady Grassleyes' account before the courts."

"You are very mysterious about that offer," Granet remarked. "Do you
mind, Jane, if I ask how much it is?"

"Not a bit."

Spenser hesitated for a moment.

"Mind you," he announced, "there's something to be deducted in place of
commission for me and the court keeps a considerable portion back for
taxes but the offer, as I have told you before, comes from one of the
largest firms of patent medicines in the world and the amount is ten
million francs."

"For the Grassleyes estate," Granet said calmly, "including, I presume,
the walled garden and Lady Grassleyes' store of herbs?"

"You know that well enough," Spenser replied.

"If I have any voice in the matter," Jane declared, "I shall refuse the
offer. If the court decides that I have nothing to say I shall appeal."

"Some more of your advice, I suppose," Spenser growled, turning to
Granet.

"Certainly," Granet acquiesced. "Miss Grassleyes and I have agreed that
the domain shall not be sold."

Spenser turned abruptly away. He stepped into his car but threw back a
parting word as he took the wheel. First of all, though, he was careful
to look around and see that no one else was within hearing.

"I warn you both, then, if I catch sight of the will it's going where
those missing pages from the private ledger have gone. And that's
that!"




CHAPTER XXVII


     The Marquis and Marquise de Fallanges have
     pleasure in inviting all their neighbours in
     the domain of Grassleyes to a dance and supper
     on board _M/Y Joy Bell_ in the Port of Nice
     on Friday evening, the second of July.

                                       P. P. C.

     11--3
     Beach or fancy dress

"These really are the most extraordinary people," Jane declared as she
threw her card over to Granet. "The Marquise spoke of this the day
before yesterday but I thought she was only joking, and here it is all
in print and marvellous things going to happen, I expect."

"The Marquis spoke to me about it yesterday," Granet confided. "He
wanted to know if there was any one who could be trusted to do the
electric lights on the yacht in twenty-four hours. The band it seems he
has already engaged. The famous orchestra from the Sporting Club at
Monte Carlo is coming over."

"They must have heaps of money," Jane remarked. "You see the date,
David? It is the night before our troubles are to come to an end."

He nodded.

"A pleasant little celebration for us," he observed. "We've never danced
together yet, Jane."

"We must have the wireless going to-night," she suggested. "I'm really
getting quite excited about it."

"A clever little lady, the Marquise," Granet went on. "I believe she was
thinking this out the other evening on her terrace. You girls ought to
welcome the fancy-dress part of it. She was imagining herself, I think,
dancing as a dryad."

"Well, she won't be able to do anything of that sort," Jane said dryly.
"The deck of a motor yacht--even a large one--will scarcely afford space
for it. Never mind, beach costume or fancy dress gives us plenty of
latitude. I wonder what all our neighbours will have to say about it."

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a ripple of excitement all round the domain. Carlotta was one
of the first visitors at the Manoir and she still carried her card in
her hand.

"How little are you going to wear, Miss Grassleyes?" she asked. "There
is a warning in the _Daily Mail_ this morning that the heat wave is to
be more intense during the next few days. Normal clothes are becoming an
impossibility. David--"

"I don't allow you to call him 'David,' you young hussy," Jane
interrupted.

"I have to," the girl sighed. "You will let him dance with me once or
twice?"

"If you behave yourself. You are so terribly blatant in your
preferences, you know, Carlotta. Remember, David and I have only been
engaged for about three weeks."

"You have not really known him any longer than I have," Carlotta pointed
out. "I ought to have been the one to show him the bungalow. Are you
going to make your own dress, Miss Grassleyes?"

"I certainly am not," was the firm reply. "I am far too busy looking
after all you people here. I shall go into Cannes this morning and see
what I can find. There is one thing that's a blessing for all of us--men
and women--a climate like this makes anything possible. What about your
sister, Carlotta?"

"She is so excited she cannot sit still. She has written already to the
theatre to say that she will not be able to sing that night or the night
before or the night after. Fortunately, Paul Oliver has improved a great
deal in his dancing. He has quite a fair idea of it now."

Spenser rang up presently.

"Well, don't say that I have not sent you some wonderful tenants," he
growled at Jane. "I hear they are entertaining the whole colony at a
farewell party a night or two before they go. I've just had my card."

"I think they are perfectly wonderful," she agreed.

"I suppose all Grassleyes is going?"

"I am perfectly certain they will. The Mendoza girl has just come up in
a terrific state of excitement."

"Ought to be a good show," he said. "I will say this for the Marquis--he
is a little difficult at times but he does things well.... Have you
any idea whether Clunderson has got any surprise up his sleeve for us?"

"I haven't heard from him at all," Jane replied. "I daren't even think
of his coming."

"I don't think you will find anything to be terrified at," Spenser
replied. "You will miss the de Fallanges up there."

"We certainly shall. All the same, it would have been necessary to
increase the staff if they had stayed any longer. Some one has to go to
market every morning for them as it is. They must spend heaps of money."

"They can afford it," was Spenser's farewell remark.

Paul Oliver was the next to ring up. He was anxious to know whether Miss
Grassleyes thought he could venture to go as Shelley, in a beach costume
of a few generations ago. Jane had nothing to say about the matter.

Mr. Johnson paid one of his rare visits to the Manoir to ask Jane
whether he would be considered too old if he accepted and went in fancy
dress. She reassured him and reminded him of the first time the Marquise
had spoken of a farewell party. Every one on the estate would be
welcome. Mr. Leonidas also telephoned to say that his last company had
left the whole of their wardrobe behind and any one was welcome to go
through it if he chose. He admitted, however, that the costumes were
mostly medival.

"Shows what babies grown men and women can be," Jane remarked later.
"Every one here--the men, too--is worrying about costumes and counting
the hours until the party."

"What is every one doing this morning?" Carlotta asked.

"I shall go into Cannes," Jane told her.

"I am working," Granet announced.

"May I sit in front of your bungalow, please?" Carlotta asked wistfully.
"I would not bother you but really Miriam is so excited. She wanted me
to cut out patterns and do all sorts of things for her and she has a
dressmaker in the place now. They were buried in fashion books when I
left."

"Poor child," Granet sympathized. "If Jane says you may, of course you
may."

"I will allow it this time," Jane answered, "or else she may come into
Cannes with me if she likes."

"I would rather read in the shade for an hour or so," Carlotta replied.
"If Paul comes and asks me very nicely I may go down to the Cap and
bathe with him at twelve. Do you like my green-linen frock, Miss
Grassleyes? Miriam is not sure."

"I love it. The green underbrim to your hat, too, is delightful. You
dress altogether too well for the depths of the country."

"I am always hoping," Carlotta sighed, "that Mr. Granet will notice what
I wear some day."

"Not a chance," Jane declared briskly. "He has no time to spare looking
at children's frocks. He has a grown-up woman to say pretty things to.
Run away now, there's a dear. I have some business letters I want to ask
David about."

       *       *       *       *       *

During the morning, the Marquis, with his sun umbrella under his arm,
walked into Spenser's office. The latter greeted him with a look of
grudging admiration.

"I must hand it to you, Marquis," he said. "You do think things out."

"Forethought," the other declared, settling down in a cool wicker chair,
"has always been one of my best qualities. I hear that without an
exception every one at Grassleyes is coming to our party on the yacht."

"It makes things easier," Spenser observed.

The Marquis glanced round the bureau. They were securely enclosed.

"Supposing one of the documents I find is the old lady's will cutting
you out of things altogether?"

"I shall know what to do with such a document if it comes into my
hands," Spenser said dryly. "As a matter of fact, I am counting upon
it."

"H'm. I do not like the sound of that."

"Well, you don't honestly suppose I should hand it over with a smile and
a bow, do you? What, after all, are we out for? You are the cleverest
man at this sort of thing in the world. You are going to open a safe in
not only an empty house but an empty domain--a thing which you would be
able to do with your eyes shut. You are going to sort out what is there.
I expect you will help yourself to what you consider is your share of
the notes and that is the end of it. If there is less than a half a
million I have promised to make it up. I am not doing all this to
benefit Jane Grassleyes. I am doing it for myself. I don't want there
to be a will. I want the court to administer the estate, then I'll get
our offer accepted for it and make the biggest commission any one has
ever handled yet."

The Marquis yawned.

"It is this languorous Southern air," he said, "which numbs one's
commercial instincts. I am no more of a philanthropist than you are,
Spenser. If I find notes amounting to, say, a million, I shall treat you
generously and leave behind half a million. If the amount is ten
millions the same principle will cover my action."

"Fifty-fifty," Spenser pronounced.

"It is generous but equable," the Marquis murmured.

"Chosen your costume?"

The Marquis smiled.

"My dear man," he said, "it is in the costume that I excel myself. It is
at the back of my whole plan. It is the stroke of genius which makes the
enterprise a delightful romance. May I take it for granted that your
knowledge of Florentine history is--not great, in fact negligible?"

"I don't know a thing about it," Spenser admitted.

The Marquis established himself a little more comfortably in his chair
and carefully lit a cigarette.

"There has been produced in Moscow," he recounted, "within the last few
years, a ballet founded upon an ancient chapter of Italian history. The
Executioner of Florence was, in the Fourteenth Century, a famous and a
dreaded figure. He was reported to be a nobleman who had accepted the
post out of sheer love of bloodshed. He walked the streets of Florence
at stated intervals and to speak to him was death. It is I, Spenser, who
will present myself to my guests as that executioner."

"Sounds cheerful," the other observed.

"My costume will be black--black silk, tightly fitting. I wear a mask. I
carry a pike cunningly curved for cutting off the heads of my victims.
As in the old days, to address me when I walk abroad means death--death
to a man, rape and then death to a woman. I have two costumes made. I
tell you no more. It might spoil your enjoyment of the evening."

"You need not be afraid that I shall speak to you," Spenser assured him.
"I won't go within a dozen yards of the prick of your weapon."

"And if you are wise," the Marquis advised him, "you will exhort your
fellow guests to follow your example. I do not threaten," he continued,
knocking the ash from his cigarette, "that I should go so far as my
illustrious predecessor of those days but if you can hint that something
rather alarming in the shape of a practical joke might happen to any one
breaking the unwritten law of the night, it might be as well. Now
listen, Spenser. There will be two costumes; there will be two
executioners. One will be seated on the roof of the Captain's wheelhouse
upon a sort of dais; the other will occupy himself with your affairs, my
friend. At a certain hour the dumb figure on the Captain's wheelhouse
will disappear. He will vanish into the galley and no one will see him
again. At that same hour--no, at that same minute--the other executioner
of Florence will join his guests. The rest is understood."

There was not a grain of insincerity in Spenser's loudly expressed
approval. The Marquis smiled.

"The enterprise which I have undertaken to carry through for you, my
friend, was already a simple and easy affair for a person of my special
gifts. I have now made it--to use a word of your eloquent English
language--foolproof. Is it not so?"

"It is indeed."

"The minor details," the Marquis concluded with a wave of his delicately
gloved hand, "are not worth a word of explanation."

"I take it for granted," Spenser observed, "that you have a member of
your crew of the same stature as yourself."

"I have one who seven years ago was able to impersonate me without even
the help of a costume. Furthermore, if I needed it there is a character
in the original manuscript, a sort of seneschal, who guarded the
executioner and allowed no one to approach him. Any one of my other men
could play that part. He would stand at the door of the wheelhouse with
drawn sword. There I sit enthroned for every one to see. Where the
Marquis de Fallanges will really spend the greater part of the evening
will be in a deserted Manoir, and you and I will be the only two who
know it."

"_Monsieur le Marquis_," Spenser declared with a new note of respect in
his voice, "you are without doubt a genius."

"It appears to me that you speak with reason," the other acknowledged.

       *       *       *       *       *

The self-satisfaction of the Marquis lasted throughout the entire day.
It survived even the broiling heat of another tropical sunset. He dined
alone with Victorine in a sheltered corner of the terrace and, as
generally happened, they were charming companions.

"My sole regret," he told her, "as regards the festivities of to-morrow
night, is that I shall not have the joy of dancing a minuet to that
divine ballet music with the one woman with whom I find it an ecstasy to
dance."

He sighed as he sipped his coffee.

"I regret it the more," his wife confessed with gently raised eyebrows,
"because you have not provided me with a substitute. There are at least
a dozen men between Cannes and Monte Carlo whom we met often at Le
Touquet and Deauville and with whom you might have renewed your
acquaintance. There are those two Dutchmen of whom I am really fond;
there is the English banker whose wife is a Princess and beautiful, but
whose heart, as he told me last time we met, is still free. I came so
near a little affair with him, Maurice."

"The discovery," he replied, "would not have amused me."

She sighed.

"And yet," she went on with a shrug of the shoulders, "what do you
provide for me here in the way of amusement while you work out your
wonderful schemes? You offer me a moody poet who writes me sonnets and
lurks always in the shadow of the woods; a stern, grim Englishman who
could be well enough in his way but must choose the few weeks he is
spending here to become the fianc of his landlady's niece. I might have
succeeded with him in time, though. Then there is that terrible man
Spenser. My dear Maurice," she concluded, glancing at the mirror in her
vanity-case, "even if you rob him of a million, I should not have
thought it was worth your while to have had dealings with such a
person."

"Wipe him from your mind, dear Victorine," the Marquis replied with a
flourish of his beautiful fingers. "I may have dealings with such
persons if it profits me, otherwise they do not exist. The
Englishman--well, he is the only one to be considered seriously. Your
reference to him, Victorine, was strange. Do you happen to remember,
four years ago in Spain, a midnight visit I paid to the Palace of Don
Miguel of Braganza?"

She nodded.

"I remember it. I still have one of the emeralds."

"You had tea with him that afternoon. Do you remember how you occupied
yourself?"

She leaned back in her chair and laughed.

"What a memory! I had a fear of that man for you, Maurice. He left the
room where he was showing me some of his family treasures to fetch some
miniatures. I saw a hideously modern weapon in his desk, took it up out
of curiosity and found it fully loaded. Why I had that sudden impulse I
do not know, but I extracted the cartridges, dropped them into my bag
and replaced it."

"I remember, of course, I remember," he said smiling. "His hand was
trembling so that I am sure he would have missed me, but there were a
few seconds when I would have given a thousand pounds to have known that
the wretched thing was empty."

"Well, I know a man," she confided, leaning forward, "whose hand would
not shake and who would not miss if he were playing with firearms. It is
the Englishman of whom you have spoken."

"Marvellous!" he murmured. "Such insight, such instinct! If I were
interrupted to-morrow night, Victorine, which is impossible, he is the
one man whose weapon I should prefer not to find turned in my direction.
There is little fear of it, however. He is engrossed in his new love,
besides which nature has made him unsuspicious."

"If only I had had a week longer!" she sighed.

"Conceited little minx! Do you honestly believe, my treasure, that you
are irresistible?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "Only with men like that it takes time."

He laughed gaily.

"Well, you need not worry. Granet will never leave the festivities to
play the policeman. Suresne might, but with Suresne I shall know how to
deal. Besides, he will think that I am within the orb of his vision all
the time. I can see him now. He will watch my supposed self seated there
with my pike in my hand, whilst all the time the little business is
being done up at the Manoir!"

"How is it you are so convinced of that, my love?"

"Suresne stays at the village caf," the Marquis confided. "He has made
friends with our chauffeur, Jean. He has been very inquisitive about our
entertainment. Jean, after his second bottle of wine--pooh! he could
drink six without stammering--Jean told him that the moment his master
quits the dais he must be on duty to bring him back to Grassleyes.
Suresne will watch me all the time I sit there--the me, I mean, that
will not be me--and when my effigy goes to the galley he will slip away
and follow my car up here. Jean will lead him a chase, slip out of the
back gates and return, but Suresne will be concealed in the reception
room waiting for me. He is full of conceit, that man. He thinks that he
has outwitted a great master of schemes by bribing his servants! Anyhow,
he is safely disposed of."

"What a brain, my sweet!" she murmured. "I find myself partaking of your
enthusiasm for this adventure. It will be a happy night for us. I shall
turn the heads of all the men who kiss my fingers--the Prfet, the
Mayor, the General--all of them--but my only embrace I shall keep for my
brave Maurice when all is well and we are rushing through the darkness."

"My Victorine!"




CHAPTER XXVIII


Never, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant of Nice, had its men,
women and children been offered, without cost, trouble or anxiety, such
a marvellous spectacle. Rumours that something amazing was on foot began
to creep around soon after nine o'clock when the motor yacht, _Joy
Bell_, ablaze with lights and decorations, slowly left her moorings in
the Port of Nice and with a long, graceful curve took up a position a
few hundred yards out at sea from the Jete Casino Pier and dropped
anchor. For hours a great crowd had been gathered round the Port
watching the preparations, watching the arrival of the guests, watching
the brilliant little scene under the crimson draperies generously pulled
on one side. A dozen large motor boats, also illuminated and decorated
in the fashion of ancient galleys, plied backwards and forwards from the
steps of the Esplanade, where a score of gendarmes helped other
officials examine the invitation cards and assist to their places in the
boats the stream of guests. The Marquise, an exquisite figure in the
costume of a great lady of the Renaissance with her small group of
ladies in waiting, all dressed by a great couturire who had flown down
from Paris only two days before, moved backwards and forwards amongst
her guests on the yacht, listening to the music and occasionally
dancing. The excitement reached its highest point, however, when the
raised dais over the ordinary wheelhouse was suddenly occupied by a grim
yet curiously attractive figure--a man in skin-tight black costume--a
skull cap on his head--partly masked and carrying in his hand a medival
weapon with a steel head which shone like a mirror in the moonlight.
Copies of the ballet had been printed at a moment's notice and
distributed amongst the guests and even the crowd on the shore, and
there were cries of applause and shouts of "Bravo, the Executioner!" as
the grim figure with the black mantle thrown over him took his place in
a high chair and, leaning upon his dreadful implement with one hand, sat
there in sinister abstraction. Occasionally he rose in dignified fashion
to his feet and bowed to the arriving guests, but chiefly he ignored
them. The little of his face that could be seen was as white as a
Pierrot's but the dark eyes every now and then flashed out from behind
the black-silk mask as he seemed to recognize some friend in the crowd
below. The wife of the Prfet, who was amongst the guests, grasped the
Marquise by the wrist.

"My dear!" she exclaimed. "It is the most thrilling figure I have ever
seen--that of your husband--and to think that within a mile or two of
our home you wonderful people have been living and we knew nothing of
it!"

"This is not our last visit to Grassleyes," the Marquise announced
graciously. "We came for rest and tranquillity after much travelling. My
husband is charmed with the place. We shall return."

"It is pleasant news," Madame said cordially. "Tell me, will your
husband leave his stately position at any time, for instance when supper
is served?"

"All this is of his planning," the Marquise confided. "He has been a
great supporter of the ballet in several capitals. We have asked him
very few questions. There is a master of ceremonies here who flew
specially from London. He will direct the proceedings but, believe me,
they are very simple. Soon we eat and we drink, then we give ourselves
up to the joy of dancing and they tell me that all of a sudden, when we
least expect it, the Executioner of Florence will have left his place
and be amongst us."

"Do you know, this is the most amazing private entertainment which has
ever been given in Nice," the Mayor of the city said as he bowed over
his hostess' fingers. "Your husband is a miracle worker, Marquise. There
are one or two artists here of my acquaintance and they are unanimous.
Here is a perfect representation of the dress, bearing and colourings of
the Renaissance. The fable of the great nobleman, one of the Medicis,
they say, who filled the post of the executioner for more than two years
is perfectly true. I do not think that there could be a more lifelike
representation of such a personage than the one your husband gives us."

Wine was being handed round freely in goblets of old silver. A dance
from the ballet upon a small raised stage was a huge success. Miriam di
Mendoza, accompanied by the _chef d'orchestre_ of the Nice Opera
Company, sang two arias from a composition of the latter's and was
overwhelmed with compliments. Carlotta achieved the desire of her life
and danced with Granet. It was all very wonderful, everybody was
extraordinarily happy and when the stars came out and the moon rose
slowly from a clear horizon the scene was almost perfect.

       *       *       *       *       *

Grassleyes, also bathed in the softening moonlight, presented a
wonderful spectacle of colour and perhaps less flamboyant beauty. In the
dark shadows of the cypresses thousands of fire-flies floated and darted
about swinging their fairy lanterns. The bungalows were silent and
darkened buildings. Inside the Manoir a single shaded lamp upon the desk
in Lady Grassleyes' reception room shone with a pale light upon a
fantastic spectacle. Comfortably established in a high-backed chair,
with a strange collection of articles on the table before him, was the
exact duplicate of the famous Executioner of Florence. He sat enthroned,
his pike of gleaming steel resting against the chair, his face concealed
by a silken mask save for the eyes--brilliant and menacing. Upon the
table were two long, strangely official envelopes covered with seals;
lying face downwards was a calf-bound volume, the Chubb lock of which
was unfastened; next to it was a large iron casket, open, the top tray
exposing to view a very wonderful assortment of jewels in curious
old-fashioned settings; by the side of the casket was a thick package of
what appeared to be five-_mille_ notes. The man seated before these
objects had apparently just concluded a brief examination of them. The
result seemed to have plunged him into a state of doubtful meditation.
With careful fingers he removed the mask from his face and laid it by
his side. Then he rolled back the black-silk sleeve of his shirt until
he found his wrist watch. Apparently satisfied he drew the letter
addressed to Jane Grassleyes towards him as though with the idea of
reading it. The fingers, however, which would have opened the envelope
became suddenly rigid. The man's body became stiff and tense. He turned
his head slightly--listening. From somewhere outside there had come a
strange sound. He could compare it in his mind with nothing he had ever
heard before. It was like the padding of rubber hoofs upon some hard
surface. He listened to it puzzled and without understanding. His hand,
however, drew a revolver--previously laid upon the desk covered with a
black handkerchief--from out of hiding. He readjusted his mask and
waited. The padding noise had ceased, but something strange was
happening. The man continued to listen, his right-hand fingers clutching
the butt of his small but famous gun. He made no movement, attempted to
put nothing away. He sat there as silent as his prototype on the yacht,
only whereas the latter was listening lazily to the swish of the sea,
the Marquis was listening for the next sound which might come. It
arrived in a few moments and it surprised him. Some one had either made
his way from the back premises of the Manoir or had entered the place
through one of the windows and was now in the hall. The bolts of the
front entrance were being very softly drawn back. The door was swinging
open. Still motionless, the Marquis watched the locked door of the
reception room. A few moments passed and then there was a faint
metallic sound. The key fell from its place in the lock, pushed by some
object from the other side. There was the sound of the turning of
another key and the door was opened. A voice as soft as velvet--very,
very subdued but very distinct--spoke.

"Madame will enter. She need not fear. Pooralli is here. Postralli is
close behind and between our fingers the message of death."

The person who entered with the two strange little men by her side
looked indeed as though she had never known fear. She wore a long black
coat, and a black silk handkerchief tied under her chin, keeping in
place her smoothly parted hair. A pair of steel-rimmed spectacles rested
upon the bridge of an aquiline nose and her features, though hard, were
fine and regular. She had earned the reputation, through a considerable
number of years, of being a woman without nerves. The sight of a masked
man in strange attire seated in her famous chair, his piercing eyes
fixed steadily upon her, upset for a moment, however, Lady Grassleyes'
imperturbability. She gave a little cry and grabbed at Pooralli's
sleeve.

"What in heaven's name is this?" she exclaimed.

Pooralli could only gasp. There was really nothing else he could do, for
the Marquis's disguise was impenetrable. His forefinger and thumb,
however, were gripping tightly the little shaft of sharp steel he
carried in his right hand. Speech of any coherent sort was left to the
Marquis, and he availed himself of the opportunity.

"Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?" he enquired, his sinister
eyes fixed upon Lady Grassleyes.

She returned his gaze steadily and once more took in the details of his
rich and magnificent ensemble, the paste buckles on his shoes, his silk
stockings, the lustrous gleam of the black cape thrust on one side with
its lining of scarlet silk. It was not for nothing that the Marquis had
studied an ancient book on the costumes of the period.

"Well, for one thing," she replied, "I am the owner of this house of
which you seem to have taken such unwarranted possession. I am the owner
of that safe which you appear to have rifled. The book of formul
dealing with herbs and medicines and that pile of five-_mille_ notes, to
say nothing of my heirlooms which you seem to have left within
convenient reach--all belong to me. Those two envelopes also are my
property."

"_Ma foi_, this is going to be a shock to some of our friends here! You
must be Lady Grassleyes!"

"Evidently you have the quick intelligence of the Mephistopheles--is it
Mephistopheles you are meant to represent?"

"Alas, no, madame," the Marquis answered regretfully. "That is where you
fail. I am very proud of my costume, too. It is the dress worn by the
Executioner of Florence in the Fourteenth Century. There are rumours
that a Medici accepted the office through sheer passion for bloodshed.
There are other rumours that the Medicis employed for their own private
use a personal executioner. Take it whichever way you choose. I
represent that man."

"Are you connected in any way with the tomfoolery that is going on down
in Nice?" Lady Grassleyes asked.

"A trifle harsh, that," he remonstrated. "I am giving a farewell party
on board my yacht which has been lying in Nice Harbour. I was just
thinking that in a very few minutes I am due to return there."

"And what did you propose to do with the copy of my will, the letter to
my niece, my priceless Formula Book, the jewels and that beautiful pile
of notes?"

The Marquis sighed.

"If, as something tells me, you are speaking the truth, Lady
Grassleyes--if you are indeed that lady--the only thing that I can do is
to replace the various articles you have mentioned, which I shall do
with great care, relock your safe and apologize for my intrusion."

"What a man!" she exclaimed. "Pooralli, leave off fidgeting with that
weapon of yours. I don't think this gentleman means us any harm."

"Harm, my dear lady? Until to-night I was the tenant of your
highest-priced bungalow."

"What, 'The Three Cypresses'?"

"Precisely."

"What rent have you been paying, may I ask?"

"Twenty-five English guineas a week, madame, and numberless extras."

"Too cheap," she said, shaking her head. "As regards the extras, you are
doubtless a rich man and able to afford them. Considering our somewhat
intimate relations as landlady and tenant," she continued, "I might
perhaps take the liberty of enquiring your name?"

The Marquis rose to his feet. With his right hand over his heart he
bowed low.

"Madame," he announced, "I am the Marquis de Fallanges. My wife and I
have, with the greatest pleasure, occupied your bungalow 'The Three
Cypresses' for nearly a month."

"I had it fitted with a new system of water supply," Lady Grassleyes
reflected. "I trust that it was satisfactory?"

"Everything about the bungalow was satisfactory," the Marquis assured
her. "I even ventured to ask your charming niece whether she thought
that you, if you returned in person, or she, in the regrettable
possibility of her being your successor, would care to sell me the
property. I met with a very firm refusal."

"My niece was carrying out my wishes," she declared. "You will find it
laid down in my will, supposing you have not already examined it, that
not one of the bungalows nor one hectare of the land is to be sold. By
the by, if your story is a true one, Marquis, these two servitors of
mine must know you quite well by sight."

De Fallanges removed his mask.

"They know me quite well," he answered graciously. "Pooralli, as your
cellarman, has been a frequent visitor to my bungalow. He has served us
well, as also has his brother. I imagine, from the fact that they have
escorted you here, that they are also your faithful dependents."

"They are the only two human beings who have known of my movements
during the past month. They come of a race with whom fidelity is ranked
far above religion. Will you forgive me now, _Monsieur le Marquis_, if
we pass on to more practical concerns? What were you doing with that
collection of my treasures on the table?"

"I am embarrassed," the Marquis said gently, "and yet the truth is
always so simple. I was searching for your will, as a favour to the
agent who let me the bungalow."

Lady Grassleyes was silent for several moments. Her eyes never left the
Marquis's.

"Spenser?" she asked.

"That, without a doubt, is his name."

"He might have waited another day," she remarked. "How does it happen
that you are in a position to open an invulnerable safe, my friend?"

"Your words contradict themselves," the Marquis replied. "If the safe
had been invulnerable I could not have opened it."

"And what connection is there between your solitary proceedings here
this evening and the great fte which you are giving on your yacht?"

He smiled.

"Lady Grassleyes," he said, "a career which might well have been a
brilliant one, even though from me that would sound like a boast, has
been always hampered by a diabolical, a most infernally uncomfortable
sense of humour. The party on my yacht believe that their host sits on a
carefully erected dais on the top of the navigator's wheelhouse. You
would find him, if you were on board my yacht, at the present moment
dressed exactly as I am, masked as I was masked, armed as I am armed."

He lifted his pike and swung it gently backwards and forwards.
Pooralli's arrow came gliding out of his sleeve once more.

"Tell me some more," her ladyship invited.

"I was willing to oblige my friend Spenser, but I wished to do so in the
grand fashion," the Marquis explained. "I have no fancy for making use
of the gifts with which nature has endowed me as a back-door thief. I
could open any door, any safe, any secret hiding place in the world with
ease. You will understand that I should never dream of doing so for
purposes of plunder."

Lady Grassleyes' eyes met his. For several seconds there was silence.
She was watching that queer, sardonic smile, that strange twinkle in the
fierce eyes.

"Perhaps," she said, "we had better leave that question for a time. In
any case, I think that you would be a most amusing neighbour, Marquis."

"It is a matter," he suggested, "which we must discuss. An idea!"

He stood suddenly upright, leaning slightly on his pike.

"Your ladyship," he continued, "I regret that, owing to the unfortunate
uncertainty as to your address, it is just possible that you did not
receive your invitation to my party to-night."

"My return," she assured him, "was purely accidental. I had no
foreknowledge of your intention to gratify the curiosity of Spenser, nor
was I aware, until a short while ago, that festivities such as you have
been describing were taking place."

"I venture to make a suggestion, Lady Grassleyes, to one who I believe
has a certain kinship in temperament with myself. Let me offer a
personal, if belated, invitation to my party. Let me offer you myself as
escort."

"It certainly is an idea," she reflected.

"The affair is simplicity itself," he went on. "In exactly half an hour
from now the servant who is taking my place on the dais will leave it,
will descend by the Captain's private ladder and disappear in the bowels
of the yacht. His place will be empty. _Voil_. My barge waits attached
at the Jete Casino Pier. We should arrive there at the precise moment.
We are pulled to the gangway, my boatman will blow a horn and swing a
green lantern. We mount the steps together. Dear Lady Grassleyes, I beg
of you--consider the situation! You have a presence, a dignity; you are
inimitable. You are yourself. I should have just disappeared from the
dais. We arrive on the deck. I ask you--no words of mine could help you
to realize what the position will be. Your niece may not faint, but she
will scream. After that she will believe. Spenser's language I dare not
think of, but as he has shown signs lately of developing a very high
blood pressure I think he will have a fit. As for the others--"

"Too wonderful!" Lady Grassleyes interrupted. "Show me the way to your
car, but before we leave either you or I must lock away those things.
Which shall it be?"

The Marquis stood back and bowed. Lady Grassleyes shook her head.

"If you can replace those articles in the left-hand side of the safe,
Marquis," she said, "I shall believe fervently and entirely in your
satanic origin."

He stepped lightly towards the safe. The right-hand portion he opened
with the key which was already in the lock. He waved to his companion.
She moved eagerly to his side. Head and shoulders disappeared in the
safe. His finger tips pressed its left-hand side. They moved this way
and that. Here he tapped a little, there he drew his nail along the
side. At last there came what apparently he was waiting for. The first
finger of his right hand found a certain place in the heavy metal. He
pressed. A little bell sounded. There was silence. Then his other
fingers spread themselves slowly in a small compass here and there
across the thick metal. A smile parted the lips of the woman who stood
by his side. The time, the movement, the slow grace of those ivory-white
fingers seemed to hypnotize her. Very quietly there stole out into the
room the melody of the opening bars of Chopin's famous Nocturne. She
listened entranced. Three bars the Marquis played and withdrew his
fingers. He raised his hand. There was a little click and then, one by
one--a disc here, a disc there--appeared little fairy openings. The
fingers went back. The first finger disappeared, touched something in a
hidden place. The whole side of the safe began to creep slowly back. He
stretched out his hand. One by one he replaced in that great yawning
gulf the will, the letter to Jane, the casket of jewels, the Formula
Book. Last of all he came to the money. He looked at it and then at Lady
Grassleyes.

"Five-_mille_ notes," he murmured. "I have never before seen a million
francs look so attractive."

She smiled and waved her hand.

"The entertainment was well worth the money," she said.

The Marquis's left hand reached backwards and raised her fingers to his
lips. With his right hand he replayed the little tune. The safe was
closed. The notes were in the Marquis's pocket.

       *       *       *       *       *

"My car is waiting in the cedar grove," the Marquis said, addressing
Pooralli. "Her ladyship accepts my hospitality upon the yacht. You may
accompany us, riding with Jean."

Pooralli bowed gravely, wiped some very unpleasant black substance from
the end of his arrow and passed it to his brother. He threw open the
door. The Marquis blew a silver whistle and his car drew noiselessly up
to the entrance.




CHAPTER XXIX


There was no doubt whatever that this almost extempore fte on board the
_Joy Bell_ was going extraordinarily well. The Marquise, exquisite as
the pale and delicate lilies which she carried in her hand, wore her
richly brocaded gown with a grace and dignity which no Medici could ever
have surpassed. Her court consisted chiefly of the General commanding
the troops of the district, the Mayor and various local notabilities.
Spenser, in spite of several snubs, had shouldered his way into a
prominent position in the gathering, occasionally conveying the
Marquise's wishes to the leader of the orchestra or the director of the
festivities, and making the various announcements necessary in English
and French. The figure of the supposed Marquis carried out his part
excellently. At no time did he change countenance or lose his air of
haughty composure. He made no movement to leave his place until Spenser,
after many visits to the side of the yacht and anxious gazings towards
the Promenade, with an air of relief wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, conversed for a few minutes with the Marquise and mounted the
small platform.

"_Mesdames et Messieurs_," he announced. "The Marquise, your gracious
hostess of this evening, invites you after the next dance, which will be
a very short one, to take supper with her below. The orchestra will now
play the famous waltz from the Trigitzoff Ballet. At its conclusion,
will you kindly make your way aft, where directions will be given to you
as to the seating."

Almost immediately the music commenced and the company, so far as was
possible, danced. Spenser once more leaned over the rail of the yacht.
From a certain place on the Promenade des Anglais a green lantern was
being flashed. A similar green lantern was hanging over the side of the
yacht. Spenser's expression was almost seraphic. He stood for a moment
bare-headed, a little apart from the gay crowd. Very slowly and with
great dignity the Executioner was rising to his feet. In his right hand
he clasped his weapon, with his left he threw his cape over his
shoulder. Spenser watched the approaching galley. He felt himself a
personage in this, one of the most fantastic episodes in local history.
He hurried towards a small buffet where champagne was being handed out
and he drank a glass without a moment's hesitation. He had no more
anxiety. The Marquis's amazing fantasy had succeeded. Already the galley
with the green light had put off from the Casino Pier, already the lay
figure who had impersonated the Marquis had left his place on the dais.
In a moment or two the Marquis himself would be amongst his guests, his
mission accomplished, and before very long the will, which undoubtedly
gave authority and a fortune to Jane Grassleyes, and the letter of
instructions addressed to her, would no longer exist. The Formula Book,
with the fortune which it represented, would also be in his hands.
Spenser drank two more glasses of champagne at the buffet in rapid
succession and made his way to greet his host at the special gangway
which had been rigged up forward. The chug-chug of the motor was like
music in his ears. The motor galley swept round the stern of the yacht,
its engines now shut off, and came stealing through the dim light up to
the improvised gangway. Now Spenser could make out the shapes of the
people in the boat. A flash of light from one of the portholes was
reflected from the steel of the weapon the Marquis was carrying. There
was some one seated by his side, partly hooded, a woman who lifted her
head as they drew nearer. Spenser felt every nerve in his body taut. A
great giddiness seemed to have seized him. It was that last glass of
champagne, he told himself wildly. He caught at the rails and peered
with horrified gaze over the side. He was having a vision, of course! It
was the sudden lessening of the tension of the last few hours. What he
saw, or seemed to see, could have no possible real existence. It was the
shadow which had so often haunted him, the shadow of the woman whom
those doctors had thought dead. What was the meaning of this diabolical
trick that some one was playing upon him? He leaned over the side. Why
was she there? She was wearing the same severely cut black clothes, the
same steel spectacles. He heard her voice as she asked her companion a
question. She stood up, prepared to leave the galley. Spenser's cry was
lost amidst the hubbub of the grappling chains. The world swung away
from under his feet. He felt the gurgling of water in his ears, saw the
panorama of death before his eyes. But stronger even than the shock of
finding the dead come back to life was the suffocating fear of death
itself, that grisly fear which he was carrying with him deep down into
the icy wilderness.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the whole, the return of Lady Grassleyes to sanity and life was
accepted with a certain amount of bewilderment, otherwise as an
astonishing but perfectly natural happening. There was a great deal of
wild gossip amongst the guests, of course, but the sensation of finding
a person who had escaped from the forgotten world was pleasing.

"These newspapers," a well-known editor, who had made a great success in
the costume of a famous Renaissance painter, declared severely, "must
really take a little more care in their statements. I read in cold black
print, in my own journal, that Lady Grassleyes had passed away."

"I distinctly saw somewhere," a frivolous young "lady in waiting"
observed, "that her body had been removed to the Nice Clinic for
examination. She was supposed to have something very mysterious the
matter with her."

"Narrow squeak for her they say," a perspiring musketeer remarked. "She
had been sampling her own wonderful medicines. Very clever herbal doctor
she is, according to all reports."

"No one in this country understands herbs," a Professor from a Swiss
university observed. "The old witch of the Fourteenth Century knew more
about them than the best medical brains of to-day. They say that Lady
Grassleyes could have made a great fortune selling her herbs to
manufacturing chemists."

"A dangerous sort of business," some one else declared.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, the elderly lady who was the subject of all this almost
stupefied gossip sat on the right hand of the Marquis, sipped her
champagne with much appreciation and made an excellent meal. The
congratulations which were continually being offered to her she waved on
one side.

"No questions," she declared. "No explanations. Here I am. I was never
better in my life and why I chose to disappear for a time is my business
and nobody else's. Glad to see you all again, though; and your supper,
Marquis, is the best meal I have tasted for weeks."

"Your aunt," Granet whispered to Jane, "is the most amazing woman I have
ever come across!"




CHAPTER XXX


Lady Grassleyes' reinstatement at the Manoir was perfectly easy, natural
and a source of pleasure to herself and everybody. She spent the morning
after the party in bed, as was only natural, considering that she
returned home between four and five o'clock. She lunched, according to
her usual custom, alone, and spent the early part of the afternoon in
her herb garden, wandering through her glass-houses, taking careful note
of the growth of her specimen plants and later on asking questions about
the general running of the estate during her absence. She was served
with her cup of tea at five o'clock and afterwards took up her place at
her desk in the general reception room. Jane rejoined her there.
Pooralli and Postralli took up their accustomed places behind her chair.
So far, her conversation and general attitude entirely ignored any break
in the regular routine of her life. She had offered no explanation of
her disappearance, had avoided even the most casual reference to it.

"Mistress quite well now," Postralli declared with a beaming smile. "We
all take good care of the herbs. One bad herb somewhere in mistress'
last mixture. Mr. Granet--he find him."

Lady Grassleyes at once betrayed her interest.

"That's lucky," she said. "Who is this Mr. Granet, Jane?"

"He is very clever and quite nice," Jane confided. "I hope you will like
him, Aunt Harriet, because I am going to marry him."

"Time you found some one," was the equable reply. "For a good-looking
girl I think you have held off long enough. If he is really a clever
chemist it will be a wonderful thing to have him in the family."

"You met him last night, Aunt, at the party," Jane reminded her.

"So I did," Lady Grassleyes reflected. "I remember. Very handsome. Nice
strong face. I shall probably accept him for you with pleasure, child.
The two who bother me, though, are these," she added, pointing to
Pooralli and Postralli. "Do you know that at the Clinic in Nice when I
began to recover consciousness--do you know that one of them was always
at my side practically wherever I went? Sometimes I had fits of being
half unconscious for quite a number of days but when I woke up one of
them was always watching over me."

"Never leave mistress," Pooralli said with a smile. "Not both of us
together. One come back to the Manoir, one stay. Then change places.
Very simple."

"How did they do it?" Lady Grassleyes went on. "I am almost afraid to
ask them. It seemed as though they must have crept through keyholes. I
shan't tell any one where I have been until I feel inclined to but I had
a week's very comfortable stay at an hotel near Aix-en-Provence. One of
them was in the hotel the whole of the time waiting upon me."

"So that is where you have been!" Jane murmured.

"Oh, I have been in other places besides Aix. I was in Marseille for
three or four days. I went to the great distillery of herbs there.
Professor Hilary St. Maur was terribly interested in my condition. He
made me stay in his private home for several days. I knew what to do,
though, just as well as he could tell me."

"I come back from Marseille three times," Postralli explained, with
something which was almost like a smirk upon his face. "I find the right
herb, I mix him up and bring him."

"You are getting to know too much, you two," his mistress said
graciously. "You may as well be told the whole truth, Jane," she went
on. "I was making experiments in suspended animation which some day or
other will take the place of ansthesia for every operation on the human
body, trivial or otherwise. I shall have a great deal more to say about
that presently ... Every one been paying their rents?"

"Every one," Jane replied. "Even Mr. Oliver is out of our debt at last."

"How is that young man?" her aunt asked curiously. "I thought he looked
the picture of health last night. I was surprised, because I rather
fancied that I had made a slight error in one of his prescriptions."

"He came up here desperately ill soon after you--er--left us, Aunt. Mr.
Granet cured him. By the by, this _is_ David, Aunt. Mr. David Granet."

Lady Grassleyes welcomed Granet, who had just entered through the open
windows, affably.

"Glad to see you back in your old place again, Lady Grassleyes," he said
smiling. "You gave me a shock the first time I saw you, though. You were
seated almost exactly as you are now, but completely unconscious. I came
from Spenser & Sykes to enquire about one of your bungalows."

"I was suffering from the results of a stupid error," she confided. "I
took too much of that bruised cholerel. Finest medicine in the world for
producing a certain measure of suspended animation but it needs just a
touch of hermaline. However, we will talk about that later on.... I
hear you want to marry my niece."

"I hope you do not object?"

"Object? Not I! Every girl over twenty is better for being married.
Don't leave this neighbourhood too soon, though. If you really know
anything about herbs and chemistry, which my niece tells me you do, you
can amuse yourself here for quite a long time."

"It is delightful to hear you say that, Lady Grassleyes," Granet replied
earnestly, "because I have never seen such a fine collection of exotics
and Oriental plants in my life. There are many there which, when I was
living out East--I was Professor at Bombay University for some time--I
tried to get myself but failed, and I have a book--a manuscript book,
that is to say--of suggested prescriptions for treating various diseases
which I shall be very anxious to compare with some of those in your
Formula Book. Then there is this question of suspended animation without
permanent damage to the vital organs. I came very near being in your
condition with one of my experiments years ago. The hermaline that you
speak of was my chief trouble."

"This is wonderful," Lady Grassleyes declared enthusiastically. "We must
have an hour or two together, Mr. Granet, as soon as possible. Jane, why
has not the Marquis been to present his compliments this afternoon?"

Jane looked at Granet, who shrugged his shoulders.

"I think that the Marquis," he confided, "has left us for a time. He
disappeared from the party, after he had said good-bye to most of his
guests, a little abruptly."

"Great heavens, I hope he has not really gone off! The most charming,
the most delightful creature I ever met in my life. Don't tell me that
he wishes to give up his bungalow?"

"Only for a time," Jane murmured. "It seems that he is just a little
unpopular with one or two people."

"I would not believe a word against him," Lady Grassleyes declared
firmly, "if you talked until you were black in the face."

Jane and Granet exchanged troubled glances. The main door of the
reception room was opened to admit Mr. Clunderson. He was looking very
grave indeed.

"Feeling all right to-day, Lady Grassleyes?" he asked anxiously.

"Fit as a fiddle," she assured him. "The best champagne I ever drank in
my life. What a night we had!"

"What a morning I have had!" the lawyer groaned. "I am sorry to say that
I have some rather bad news for all of you. Your friend Spenser--"

"He is no longer my friend," Lady Grassleyes interrupted. "A perfect
scoundrel, that fellow, if you like. I have finished with him. I don't
know how many millions he hasn't had from me at different times. He will
never set foot in this place again, I can promise you that."

"As a matter of fact, he will not," Clunderson said solemnly. "It seems
that he disappeared last night and this morning his body was washed
ashore. He must have fallen overboard from the yacht."

There was a moment's shocked silence.

"Poor wretch!" Lady Grassleyes murmured. "Well, I am sorry for him,
although he used to make me very angry. Do you mean that he was at the
fte, then?"

"He certainly was," Jane declared. "He was taking quite a prominent part
in it, too. He disappeared just as you arrived--at least that's the last
time I saw him."

"He took too prominent a part, I am afraid," Clunderson sighed. "The
authorities are keeping the matter as quiet as possible but there is no
doubt whatever but that he had drunk a great deal too much wine. Several
of the sailors report that they saw him in an almost helpless
condition."

"Well, that's bad news," Lady Grassleyes pronounced. "_De mortuis_ and
all the rest of it, of course. If things are as you say, though, Mr.
Clunderson, the less said about it the better. I shall tear up that
letter I wrote to Jane about him. Can any one tell me where the Marquis
is?"

"I saw him at the police station only an hour or so ago," Clunderson
said. "He was one of those who were sent for to identify Spenser."

"I cannot understand why he has not paid his _devoirs_ to me," Lady
Grassleyes said almost pettishly. "His last words when we stepped into
the barge this morning were that he should give himself the pleasure of
paying me a visit this afternoon."

Again the door of the room swung open. The Marquis de Fallanges made his
entrance.

"Milady," he said, as he approached with extended hands, "my late
arrival is unforgivable, but it was, alas, a matter over which I had no
control. An unfortunate incident happened at the fte last night--"

"I know," Lady Grassleyes interrupted. "You are forgiven, of course,
Marquis, and you are doubly welcome now."

He bent over her fingers and kissed them. He looked round at the little
company and smiled. In his grey-tweed suit with a small rosebud in his
buttonhole he was a very attractive figure, notwithstanding a slight air
of fatigue.

"It is a great pleasure to me, Lady Grassleyes," he said, "to see you
re-established here."

She smiled at him very pleasantly indeed.

"Marquis," she proposed, "we shall celebrate this little occasion,
forgetting, so far as we can, any unfortunate incident which might cast
a shadow over the memory of our delightful evening. Pooralli, the best
wine in the cellar and your most famous cocktails. Let them be served in
the smaller reception room. We have a toast to drink."

Pooralli hurried away. He passed Suresne on the threshold. The latter
lifted his hand.

"Do not announce me for a moment," he said quietly. "I have a word to
say to Mr. Clunderson. Mine is not exactly a visit of ceremony."

Pooralli passed on. Suresne took Clunderson by the arm and drew him a
little on one side. Whilst talking to the lawyer, under cover of the
general conversation, Suresne never let his eyes wander for a moment
from the debonair figure of the Marquis. Clunderson listened to all that
his companion had to say, then he nodded a somewhat unwilling assent and
took a few steps forward.

"Lady Grassleyes," he said, "before we proceed to these celebrations
might I ask you one question?"

"One?" was the good-natured reply. "I thought you would have been asking
me a hundred before now. However, I am at your disposition for ten
minutes."

"This, Lady Grassleyes," Clunderson began, "is the thirtieth day after
you left your place here. This was the day upon which your niece and I
were to open your will."

"Quite right."

"I regret to say, Lady Grassleyes, that neither Miss Jane nor myself
have the faintest idea where the will is, to say nothing of the letter
addressed to Miss Jane and the other things which were to be found with
the will. We possessed the key to the right-hand side of the safe but
there we found nothing of any great importance to us. The left-hand side
appears to be a dummy structure, and yet, after searching every possible
place in the Manoir, we have come to the conclusion that the will and
the other things must be in this other part of the safe."

"God bless my soul!" Lady Grassleyes exclaimed. "Did I forget to tell
Jane how to open the left-hand side?"

"I can assure you," Clunderson replied, "she had not the faintest idea
how to do it--nor had I."

"Well, I'm sorry," Lady Grassleyes said. "I really am sorry, Mr.
Clunderson. It was stupid of me. However--"

"I beg that you will open the left-hand portion of the safe now, Lady
Grassleyes," he interrupted.

"If you wish it--with pleasure," she assented. "I make only one
condition. Every one else must go out on the verandah for five minutes."

They trooped away. Lady Grassleyes stepped down from her chair, felt in
her bag for some keys, opened the first part of the safe and half
disappeared in the interior. Presently there came the sound of the
little bell and then that queer strain of music. There was the click and
then the openings appeared. The solid wall of steel which guarded the
contents of the second portion slowly slipped back. Lady Grassleyes
leaned over and handed the contents of the shelves to the lawyer, who
was staring over her shoulder in stupefaction.

"Here we are," she announced. "The last will and testament of Harriet
Anne Grassleyes, signed and duly witnessed in your presence. There is
also my Formula Book which, alas, needs a little correction but
otherwise is worth a great deal more to me than anything else. There is
the letter addressed to Jane, written at a time when I first had certain
suspicions concerning our friend Spenser. And here is my casket of
jewellery. That is all, I see, exactly as I left it. Are you satisfied,
Mr. Clunderson?"

The lawyer stood quite still for a moment. He glanced at the envelope
which contained the will; he looked at the letter addressed to Jane.

"Everything here," Lady Grassleyes repeated, "is exactly as I left it."

Clunderson stroked his chin thoughtfully. He seemed more than a little
puzzled.

"I understood," he said, "that there was a large sum of money left here
in five-_mille_ notes in case Miss Jane might require it."

"I changed my mind at the last moment," she explained. "I decided that
the money was not necessary."

Clunderson bowed and turned away.

"I thank you, Lady Grassleyes," he said, "for gratifying an old man's
curiosity."

"And I thank you, Mr. Clunderson," she replied, "for keeping vigilant
watch upon my possessions during my brief absence--and," she added after
a moment's pause, "for your discretion, which I much appreciate."

       *       *       *       *       *

The door was thrown open. In single file there appeared Pooralli,
Postralli and Martin, the English butler, all carrying huge silver trays
agleam with the glory of beautiful glass, gold-foiled bottles, shining
cocktail shakers and piles of fruit and sandwiches. Lady Grassleyes,
from the midst of the reassembled party, smiled benevolently.

"Jane, my dear," she said, "it is a pleasure to me to think that you
have not permitted the reputation for hospitality which I believe the
Manoir has always held even to flicker. Do please make yourselves
comfortable, every one. Marquis, is it my fancy or do I see one person
here present--a friend of Mr. Clunderson's, perhaps--" she added
graciously--"who has not been presented to me yet?"

Suresne felt himself suddenly confronted with the problem of his life.
He was, after all, a man of gracious instincts. He remembered those
strange rumours of the double who through life had dogged the footsteps
of the Marquis de Fallanges. It was a story which many others had
accepted. He bowed his head to fate.

"This is our friend Monsieur Suresne," Clunderson announced a little
nervously. "He came here to help us solve some of our problems."

Lady Grassleyes held out her hand.

"A very charming attention on the part of monsieur," she acknowledged.

Suresne bowed over her fingers.

"Milady," he said, "my search has ended happily for all, I trust."

"Monsieur Suresne," the Marquis intervened with a charming little bow,
"has also other gifts besides those which belong to his profession of
detective. He is an artist. I trust, monsieur, that if ever you should
hold an exhibition of your works you will allow me to become the
purchaser of your charming little water-colour of the bungalow 'The
Three Cypresses.'"

Suresne looked at the Marquis and the Marquis returned his gesture of
admiration.

"The trifle you mention, _Monsieur le Marquis_," Suresne declared, "is
yours. I shall deliver it with my own hands at 'The Three Cypresses'
to-morrow morning. It will be a happy memento of my failure."


THE END




[End of The Grassleyes Mystery, by E. Phillips Oppenheim]
