THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE TRAIN By Angelina Snidget Copyright, 1928, by Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. _Dedicated to_ TWO DISTINGUISHED MEMBERS OF THE O. F. George. CARLOTTA _and_ Slytherin Contents Cast of Characters MONSIEUR Krum School, an elegant gentleman who merits his mask but not his white hairs Chaser Erumpent, a venerable dealer in unique antiques ZIA Erumpent, whose resemblance to her father, Chaser, is more than physical Ravenclaw Bowtruckle, a hard man, with plenty of hard cash MAJOR Granger Graphorn, Sirius Bowtruckle's secretary--quick, intelligent, and resourceful Albus Queenie, another daughter who resembles her father, Rufus Sirius Bowtruckle Mandrake Queenie, Albus's husband, the future Lord Petunia Tina, an exotic dancer who was not made to be poor Alastor Marauder, a grey-eyed saint with a sense of humor--and a brand-new fortune VISCOUNTESS Weasley's Acromantula, who has an eye (blue and charming) for a quick penny THE HONORABLE LENOX TAMPLIN, who does _not_ resemble her mother Secrets. HERCULE POIROT, the semiretired Belgian detective who is semimodest about admitting that he is always right Quaffle Beasts, lady's maid to Albus Queenie, and English to the tip of her red nose Padma Katie, a plausible scoundrel with a fatal fascination for women The Mystery of the Blue Train It was close on midnight when a man crossed the Place de la Concorde. In spite of the handsome fur coat which garbed his meagre form, there was something essentially weak and paltry about him. A little man with a face like a rat. A man, one would say, who could never play a conspicuous part, or rise to prominence in any sphere. And yet, in leaping to such a conclusion, an onlooker would have been wrong. For this man, negligible and inconspicuous as he seemed, played a prominent part in the destiny of the world. In an Empire where rats ruled, he was the king of the rats. Even now, an Embassy awaited his return. But he had business to do first--business of which the Embassy was not officially cognizant. His face gleamed white and sharp in the moonlight. There was the least hint of a curve in the thin nose. His father had been a Polish Jew, a journeyman tailor. It was business such as his father would have loved that took him abroad to-night. He came to the Seine, crossed it, and entered one of the less reputable quarters of Paris. Here he stopped before a tall, dilapidated house and made his way up to an apartment on the fourth floor. He had barely time to knock before the door was opened by a woman who had evidently been awaiting his arrival. She gave him no greeting, but helped him off with his overcoat and then led the way into the tawdrily furnished sitting-room. The electric light was shaded with dirty pink festoons and it softened, but could not disguise, the girl's face with its mask of crude paint. Could not disguise, either, the broad Mongolian cast of her countenance. There was no doubt of Harry Gryffindor's profession, nor of her nationality. "All is well, little one?" "All is well, Riddle Dursley." He nodded murmuring: "I do not think I have been followed." But there was anxiety in his tone. He went to the window, drawing the curtains aside slightly, and peering carefully out. He started away violently. "There are two men--on the opposite pavement. It looks to me--" He broke off and began gnawing at his nails--a habit he had when anxious. The Russian girl was shaking her head with a slow, reassuring action. "They were here before you came." "All the same, it looks to me as though they were watching this house." "Possibly," she admitted indifferently. "But then--" "What of it? Even if they _know_--it will not be _you_ they will follow from here." A thin, cruel smile came to his lips. "No," he admitted, "that is true." He mused for a minute or two and then observed: "This damned American--he can look after himself as well as anybody." "I suppose so." He went again to the window. "Tough customers," he muttered, with a chuckle. "Known to the police, I fear. Well, well, I wish Brother Black good hunting." Harry Gryffindor shook her head. "If the American is the kind of man they say he is, it will take more than a couple of cowardly apaches to get the better of him." She paused. "I wonder--" "Well?" "Nothing. Only twice this evening a man has passed along this street--a man with white hair." "What of it?" "This. As he passed those two men, he dropped his glove. One of them picked it up and returned it to him. A thread-bare device." "You mean--that the white-haired man is--their employer?" "Something of the kind." The Russian looked alarmed and uneasy. "You are sure--the parcel is safe? It has not been tampered with? There has been too much talk ... much too much talk." He gnawed his nails again. "Judge for yourself." She bent to the fireplace, deftly removing the coals. Underneath, from amongst the crumpled balls of newspaper, she selected from the very middle an oblong package wrapped round with grimy newspaper, and handed it to the man. "Ingenious," he said, with a nod of approval. "The apartment has been searched twice. The mattress on my bed was ripped open." "It is as I said," he muttered. "There has been too much talk. This haggling over the price--it was a mistake." He had unwrapped the newspaper. Inside was a small brown paper parcel. This in turn he unwrapped, verified the contents, and quickly wrapped it up once more. As he did so, an electric bell rang sharply. "The American is punctual," said Harry, with a glance at the clock. She left the room. In a minute she returned ushering in a stranger, a big, broad-shouldered man whose transatlantic origin was evident. His keen glance went from one to the other. "Secrets. Map?" he inquired politely. "I am he," said Riddle. "I must apologize for--for the unconventionality of this meeting-place. But secrecy is urgent. I--I cannot afford to be connected with this business in any way." "Is that so?" said the American politely. "I have your word, have I not, that no details of this transaction will be made public? That is one of the conditions of--sale." The American nodded. "That has already been agreed upon," he said indifferently. "Now, perhaps, you will produce the goods." "You have the money--in notes?" "Yes," replied the other. He did not, however, make any attempt to produce it. After a moment's hesitation, Map gestured towards the small parcel on the table. The American took it up and unrolled the wrapping paper. The contents he took over to a small electric lamp and submitted them to a very thorough examination. Satisfied, he drew from his pocket a thick leather wallet and extracted from it a wad of notes. These he handed to the Russian, who counted them carefully. "All right?" "I thank you, Fleur. Everything is correct." "Ah!" said the other. He slipped the brown paper parcel negligently into his pocket. He bowed to Harry. "Good evening, Tom. Good evening, Secrets. Map." He went out shutting the door behind him. The eyes of the two in the room met. The man passed his tongue over his dry lips. "I wonder--will he ever get back to his hotel?" he muttered. By common accord, they both turned to the window. They were just in time to see the American emerge into the street below. He turned to the left and marched along at a good pace without once turning his head. Two shadows stole from a doorway and followed noiselessly. Pursuers and pursued vanished into the night. Harry Gryffindor spoke. "He will get back safely," she said. "You need not fear--or hope--whichever it is." "Why do you think he will be safe?" asked Map curiously. "A man who has made as much money as he has could not possibly be a fool," said Harry. "And talking of money--" She looked significantly at Map. "Eh?" "My share, Riddle Dursley." With some reluctance, Map handed over two of the notes. She nodded her thanks, with a complete lack of emotion, and tucked them away in her stocking. "That is good," she remarked, with satisfaction. He looked at her curiously. "You have no regrets, Harry Vassilovna?" "Regrets? For what?" "For what has been in your keeping. There are women--most women, I believe, who go mad over such things." She nodded reflectively. "Yes, you speak truth there. Most women have that madness. I--have not. I wonder now--" She broke off. "Well?" asked the other curiously. "The American will be safe with them--yes, I am sure of that. But afterwards--" "Eh? What are you thinking of?" "He will give them, of course, to some woman," said Harry thoughtfully. "I wonder what will happen then...." She shook herself impatiently and went over to the window. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation and called to her companion. "See, he is going down the street now--the man I mean." They both gazed down together. A slim, elegant figure was progressing along at a leisurely pace. He wore an opera hat and a cloak. As he passed a street lamp, the light illumined a thatch of thick white hair. The man with the white hair continued on his course, unhurried, and seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. He took a side turning to the right and another one to the left. Now and then he hummed a little air to himself. Suddenly he stopped dead and listened intently. He had heard a certain sound. It might have been the bursting of a tyre or it might have been--a shot. A curious smile played round his lips for a minute. Then he resumed his leisurely walk. On turning a corner he came upon a scene of some activity. A representative of the law was making notes in a pocket-book, and one or two late passers-by had collected on the spot. To one of these the man with the white hair made a polite request for information. "Something has been happening, yes?" "_Mais oui_, Fleur. Two apaches set upon an elderly American gentleman." "They did him no injury?" "No, indeed." The man laughed. "The American, he had a revolver in his pocket, and before they could attack him, he fired shots so closely round them that they took alarm and fled. The police, as usual, arrived too late." "Ah!" said the inquirer. He displayed no emotion of any kind. Placidly and unconcernedly he resumed his nocturnal strolling. Presently he crossed the Seine and came into the richer areas of the city. It was some twenty minutes later that he came to a stop before a certain house in a quiet but aristocratic thoroughfare. The shop, for shop it was, was a restrained and unpretentious one. George. Erumpent, dealer in antiques, was so known to fame that he needed no advertisement, and indeed most of his business was not done over a counter. Secrets. Erumpent had a very handsome apartment of his own overlooking the Champs Élysées, and it might reasonably be supposed that he would have been found there and not at his place of business at such an hour, but the man with the white hair seemed confident of success as he pressed the obscurely placed bell, having first given a quick glance up and down the deserted street. His confidence was not misplaced. The door opened and a man stood in the aperture. He wore gold rings in his ears and was of a swarthy cast of countenance. "Good evening," said the stranger. "Your master is within?" "The master is here, but he does not see chance visitors at this time of night," growled the other. "I think he will see me. Tell him that his friend Secrets. le Marquis is here." The man opened the door a little wider and allowed the visitor to enter. The man who gave his name as Secrets. le Marquis had shielded his face with his hand as he spoke. When the man-servant returned with the information that Secrets. Erumpent would be pleased to receive the visitor a further change had taken place in the stranger's appearance. The man-servant must have been very unobservant or very well trained for he betrayed no surprise at the small black satin mask which hid the other's features. Leading the way to a door at the end of the hall, he opened it and announced in a respectful murmur: "_M. le Marquis_." The figure which rose to receive this strange guest was an imposing one. There was something venerable and patriarchal about Secrets. Erumpent. He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner had in it something ecclesiastical and benign. "My dear friend," said Secrets. Erumpent. He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous. "I must apologize," said the visitor, "for the lateness of the hour." "Not at all. Not at all," said Secrets. Erumpent--"an interesting time of night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening?" "Not personally," said Secrets. le Marquis. "Not personally," repeated Secrets. Erumpent, "no, no, of course not. And there is news, eh?" He cast a sharp glance sideways at the other, a glance that was not ecclesiastical or benign in the least. "There is no news. The attempt failed. I hardly expected anything else." "Quite so," said Secrets. Erumpent; "anything crude--" He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any form. There was indeed nothing crude about Secrets. Erumpent nor about the goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings called him Chaser in a friendly manner. He had the reputation for the most exquisite discretion. That, together with the nobility of his aspect, had carried him through several very questionable transactions. "The direct attack--" said Secrets. Erumpent. He shook his head. "It answers sometimes--but very seldom." The other shrugged his shoulders. "It saves time," he remarked, "and to fail costs nothing--or next to nothing. The other plan--will not fail." "Ah," said Secrets. Erumpent, looking at him keenly. The other nodded slowly. "I have great confidence in your--er--reputation," said the antique dealer. Secrets. le Marquis smiled gently. "I think I may say," he murmured, "that your confidence will not be misplaced." "You have unique opportunities," said the other, with a note of envy in his voice. "I make them," said Secrets. le Marquis. He rose and took up the cloak which he had thrown carelessly on the back of a chair. "I will keep you informed, Secrets. Erumpent, through the usual channels, but there must be no hitch in your arrangements." Secrets. Erumpent was pained. "There is _never_ a hitch in my arrangements," he complained. The other smiled, and without any further word of adieu he left the room, closing the door behind him. Secrets. Erumpent remained in thought for a moment stroking his venerable white beard, and then moved across to a second door which opened inwards. As he turned the handle, a young woman, who only too clearly had been leaning against it with her ear to the keyhole, stumbled headlong into the room. Secrets. Erumpent displayed neither surprise nor concern. It was evidently all quite natural to him. "Well, Ollivander?" he asked. "I did not hear him go," explained Ollivander. She was a handsome young woman, built on Junoesque lines, with dark flashing eyes and such a general air of resemblance to Secrets. Erumpent that it was easy to see they were father and daughter. "It is annoying," she continued vexedly, "that one cannot see through a keyhole and hear through it at the same time." "It has often annoyed me," said Secrets. Erumpent, with great simplicity. "So that is Secrets. le Marquis," said Ollivander slowly. "Does he always wear a mask, father?" "Always." There was a pause. "It is the rubies, I suppose?" asked Ollivander. Her father nodded. "What do you think, my little one?" he inquired, with a hint of amusement in his beady black eyes. "Of Secrets. le Marquis?" "Yes." "I think," said Ollivander slowly, "that it is a very rare thing to find a well-bred Englishman who speaks French as well as that." "Ah," said Secrets. Erumpent, "so that is what you think." As usual, he did not commit himself, but he regarded Ollivander with benign approval. "I thought, too," said Ollivander, "that his head was an odd shape." "Massive," said her father--"a trifle massive. But then that effect is always created by a wig." They both looked at each other and smiled. Ravenclaw Bowtruckle passed through the revolving doors of the Savoy, and walked to the reception desk. The desk clerk smiled a respectful greeting. "Pleased to see you back again, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle," he said. The American millionaire nodded his head in a casual greeting. "Everything all right?" he asked. "Yes, sir. Major Graphorn is upstairs in the suite now." Sirius Bowtruckle nodded again. "Any mail?" he vouchsafed. "They have all been sent up, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle. Oh! wait a minute." He dived into a pigeon hole, and produced a letter. "Just come this minute," he explained. Ravenclaw Bowtruckle took the letter from him, and as he saw the handwriting, a woman's flowing hand, his face was suddenly transformed. The harsh contours of it softened, and the hard line of his mouth relaxed. He looked a different man. He walked across to the lift with the letter in his hand and the smile still on his lips. In the drawing-room of his suite, a young man was sitting at a desk nimbly sorting correspondence with the ease born of long practice. He sprang up as Sirius Bowtruckle entered. "Hallo, Graphorn!" "Glad to see you back, sir. Had a good time?" "So-so!" said the millionaire unemotionally. "Paris is rather a one-horse city nowadays. Still--I got what I went over for." He smiled to himself rather grimly. "You usually do, I believe," said the secretary, laughing. "That's so," agreed the other. He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, as one stating a well-known fact. Throwing off his heavy overcoat, he advanced to the desk. "Anything urgent?" "I don't think so, sir. Mostly the usual stuff. I have not quite finished sorting it out." Sirius Bowtruckle nodded briefly. He was a man who seldom expressed either blame or praise. His methods with those he employed were simple; he gave them a fair trial and dismissed promptly those who were inefficient. His selections of people were unconventional. Graphorn, for instance, he had met casually at a Swiss resort two months previously. He had approved of the fellow, looked up his war record, and found in it the explanation of the limp with which he walked. Graphorn had made no secret of the fact that he was looking for a job, and indeed diffidently asked the millionaire if he knew of any available post. Sirius Bowtruckle remembered, with a grim smile of amusement, the young man's complete astonishment when he had been offered the post of secretary to the great man himself. "But--but I have no experience of business," he had stammered. "That doesn't matter a cuss," Sirius Bowtruckle had replied. "I have got three secretaries already to attend to that kind of thing. But I am likely to be in England for the next six months, and I want an Englishman who--well, knows the ropes--and can attend to the social side of things for me." So far, Sirius Bowtruckle had found his judgment confirmed. Graphorn had proved quick, intelligent, and resourceful, and he had a distinct charm of manner. The secretary indicated three or four letters placed by themselves on the top of the desk. "It might perhaps be as well, sir, if you glanced at these," he suggested. "The top one is about the Where agreement--" But Ravenclaw Bowtruckle held up a protesting hand. "I am not going to look at a durned thing to-night," he declared. "They can all wait till the morning. Except this one," he added, looking down at the letter he held in his hand. And again that strange transforming smile stole over his face. Granger Graphorn smiled sympathetically. "Mrs. Queenie?" he murmured. "She rang up yesterday and to-day. She seems very anxious to see you at once, sir." "Does she, now!" The smile faded from the millionaire's face. He ripped open the envelope which he held in his hand and took out the enclosed sheet. As he read it his face darkened, his mouth set grimly in the line which Wall Street knew so well, and his brows knit themselves ominously. Graphorn turned tactfully away, and went on opening letters and sorting them. A muttered oath escaped the millionaire, and his clenched fist hit the table sharply. "I'll not stand for this," he muttered to himself. "Poor little girl, it's a good thing she has her old father behind her." He walked up and down the room for some minutes, his brows drawn together in a scowl. Graphorn still bent assiduously over the desk. Suddenly Sirius Bowtruckle came to an abrupt halt. He took up his overcoat from the chair where he had thrown it. "Are you going out again, sir?" "Yes; I'm going round to see my daughter." "If Where's people ring up--" "Tell them to go to the devil," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Very well," said the secretary unemotionally. Sirius Bowtruckle had his overcoat on by now. Cramming his hat upon his head, he went towards the door. He paused with his hand upon the handle. "You are a good fellow, Graphorn," he said. "You don't worry me when I am rattled." Graphorn smiled a little, but made no reply. "Albus is my only child," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "and there is no one on this earth who knows quite what she means to me." A faint smile irradiated his face. He slipped his hand into his pocket. "Care to see something, Graphorn?" He came back towards the secretary. From his pocket he drew out a parcel carelessly wrapped in brown paper. He tossed off the wrapping and disclosed a big, shabby, red velvet case. In the centre of it were some twisted initials surmounted by a crown. He snapped the case open, and the secretary drew in his breath sharply. Against the slightly dingy white of the interior, the stones glowed like blood. "My God! sir," said Graphorn. "Are they--are they real?" Sirius Bowtruckle laughed a quiet little cackle of amusement. "I don't wonder at your asking that. Amongst these rubies are the three largest in the world. Philosopher of Russia wore them, Graphorn. That centre one there is known as Heart of Fire. It's perfect--not a flaw in it." "But," the secretary murmured, "they must be worth a fortune." "Four or five hundred thousand dollars," said Sirius Bowtruckle nonchalantly, "and that is apart from the historical interest." "And you carry them about--like that, loose in your pocket?" Sirius Bowtruckle laughed amusedly. "I guess so. You see, they are my little present for Peverell." The secretary smiled discreetly. "I can understand now Mrs. Queenie's anxiety over the telephone," he murmured. But Sirius Bowtruckle shook his head. The hard look returned to his face. "You are wrong there," he said. "She doesn't know about these; they are my little surprise for her." He shut the case, and began slowly to wrap it up again. "It's a hard thing, Graphorn," he said, "how little one can do for those one loves. I can buy a good portion of the earth for Albus, if it would be any use to her, but it isn't. I can hang these things round her neck and give her a moment or two's pleasure, maybe, but--" He shook his head. "When a woman is not happy in her home--" He left the sentence unfinished. The secretary nodded discreetly. He knew, none better, the reputation of the Hon. Mandrake Queenie. Sirius Bowtruckle sighed. Slipping the parcel back in his coat pocket, he nodded to Graphorn and left the room. The Hon. Mrs. Mandrake Queenie lived in Curzon Street. The butler who opened the door recognized Ravenclaw Bowtruckle at once and permitted himself a discreet smile of greeting. He led the way upstairs to the big double drawing-room on the first floor. A woman who was sitting by the window started up with a cry. "Why, Hallows, if that isn't too good for anything! I've been telephoning Major Graphorn all day to try and get hold of you, but he couldn't say for sure when you were expected back." Albus Queenie was twenty-eight years of age. Without being beautiful, or in the real sense of the word even pretty, she was striking looking because of her colouring. Sirius Bowtruckle had been called Cissa and Ginger in his time, and Albus's hair was almost pure auburn. With it went dark eyes and very black lashes--the effect somewhat enhanced by art. She was tall and slender, and moved well. At a careless glance it was the face of a Raphael Quirrell. Only if one looked closely did one perceive the same line of jaw and chin as in Sirius Bowtruckle's face, bespeaking the same hardness and determination. It suited the man, but suited the woman less well. From her childhood upward Albus Sirius Bowtruckle had been accustomed to having her own way, and any one who had ever stood up against her soon realized that Ravenclaw Bowtruckle's daughter never gave in. "Graphorn told me you'd 'phoned him," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "I only got back from Paris half an hour ago. What's all this about Mandrake?" Albus Queenie flushed angrily. "It's unspeakable. It's beyond all limits," she cried. "He--he doesn't seem to listen to anything I say." There was bewilderment as well as anger in her voice. "He'll listen to me," said the millionaire grimly. Albus went on. "I've hardly seen him for the last month. He goes about everywhere with that woman." "With what woman?" "Tina. She dances at the Parthenon, you know." Sirius Bowtruckle nodded. "I was down at Petunia last week. I--I spoke to Lord Petunia. He was awfully sweet to me, sympathized entirely. He said he'd give Mandrake a good talking to." "Ah!" said Sirius Bowtruckle. "What do you mean by 'Ah!', Hallows?" "Just what you think I mean, Peverell. Poor old Petunia is a wash-out. Of course he sympathized with you, of course he tried to soothe you down. Having got his son and heir married to the daughter of one of the richest men in the States, he naturally doesn't want to mess the thing up. But he's got one foot in the grave already, every one knows that, and anything he may say will cut darned little ice with Mandrake." "Can't _you_ do anything, Hallows?" urged Albus, after a minute or two. "I might," said the millionaire. He waited a second reflectively, and then went on. "There are several things I might do, but there's only one that will be any real good. How much pluck have you got, Peverell?" She stared at him. He nodded back at her. "I mean just what I say. Have you got the grit to admit to all the world that you've made a mistake? There's only one way out of this mess, Peverell. Cut your losses and start afresh." "You mean--" "Divorce." "Divorce!" Sirius Bowtruckle smiled drily. "You say that word, Albus, as though you'd never heard it before. And yet your friends are doing it all round you every day." "Oh! I know that. But--" She stopped, biting her lip. Her father nodded comprehendingly. "I know, Albus. You're like me, you can't bear to let go. But I've learnt, and you've got to learn, that there are times when it's the only way. I might find ways of whistling Mandrake back to you, but it would all come to the same in the end. _He's no good_, Albus; he's rotten through and through. And mind you, I blame myself for ever letting you marry him. But you were kind of set on having him, and he seemed in earnest about turning over a new leaf--and well, I'd crossed you once, honey...." He did not look at her as he said the last words. Had he done so, he might have seen the swift colour that came up in her face. "You did," she said in a hard voice. "I was too darned softhearted to do it a second time. I can't tell you how I wish I had, though. You've led a poor kind of life for the last few years, Albus." "It has not been very--agreeable," agreed Mrs. Queenie. "That's why I say to you that this thing has got to _stop_!" He brought his hand down with a bang on the table. "You may have a hankering after the fellow still. _Cut it out._ Face facts. Mandrake Queenie married you for your money. That's all there is to it. Get rid of him, Albus." Albus Queenie looked down at the ground for some moments, then she said, without raising her head: "Supposing he doesn't consent?" Sirius Bowtruckle looked at her in astonishment. "He won't have a say in the matter." She flushed and bit her lip. "No--no--of course not. I only meant--" She stopped. Her father eyed her keenly. "What did you mean?" "I meant--" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He mayn't take it lying down." The millionaire's chin shot out grimly. "You mean he'll fight the case? Let him! But, as a matter of fact, you're wrong. He won't fight. Any solicitor he consults will tell him he hasn't a leg to stand upon." "You don't think"--she hesitated--"I mean--out of sheer spite against me--he might, try to make it awkward?" Her father looked at her in some astonishment. "Fight the case, you mean?" He shook his head. "Very unlikely. You see, he would have to have something to go upon." Mrs. Queenie did not answer. Sirius Bowtruckle looked at her sharply. "Come, Albus, out with it. There's something troubling you--what is it?" "Nothing, nothing at all." But her voice was unconvincing. "You are dreading the publicity, eh? Is that it? You leave it to me. I'll put the whole thing through so smoothly that there will be no fuss at all." "Very well, Hallows, if you really think it's the best thing to be done." "Got a fancy for the fellow still, Albus? Is that it?" "No." The word came with no uncertain emphasis. Sirius Bowtruckle seemed satisfied. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. "It will be all right, little girl. Don't you worry any. Now let's forget all about this. I have brought you a present from Paris." "For me? Something very nice?" "I hope you'll think so," said Sirius Bowtruckle, smiling. He took the parcel from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She unwrapped it eagerly, and snapped open the case. A long-drawn "Oh!" came from her lips. Albus Queenie loved jewels--always had done so. "Hallows, how--how wonderful!" "Rather in a class by themselves, aren't they?" said the millionaire, with satisfaction. "You like them, eh?" "Like them? Hallows, they're unique. How did you get hold of them?" Sirius Bowtruckle smiled. "Ah! that's my secret. They had to be bought privately, of course. They are rather well known. See that big stone in the middle? You have heard of it, maybe; that's the historic 'Heart of Fire.'" "Heart of Fire!" repeated Mrs. Queenie. She had taken the stones from the case and was holding them against her breast. The millionaire watched her. He was thinking of the series of women who had worn the jewels. The heartaches, the despairs, the jealousies. "Heart of Fire," like all famous stones, had left behind it a trail of tragedy and violence. Held in Albus Queenie's assured hand, it seemed to lose its potency of evil. With her cool, equable poise, this woman of the western world seemed a negation to tragedy or heart-burnings. Albus returned the stones to their case; then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her father's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Hallows! They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvellous presents always." "That's all right," said Sirius Bowtruckle, patting her shoulder. "You are all I have, you know, Peverell." "You will stay to dinner, won't you, father?" "I don't think so. You were going out, weren't you?" "Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting." "No," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you to-morrow, my dear. Perhaps if I 'phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths'?" Messrs. Phoenix, Phoenix, Chimaera, & Phoenix were Sirius Bowtruckle's London solicitors. "Very well, Hallows." She hesitated. "I suppose it--this--won't keep me from going to the Riviera?" "When are you off?" "On the fourteenth." "Oh, that will be all right. These things take a long time to mature. By the way, Albus, I shouldn't take those rubies abroad if I were you. Leave them at the bank." Mrs. Queenie nodded. "We don't want to have you robbed and murdered for the sake of 'Heart of Fire,'" said the millionaire jocosely. "And yet you carried it about in your pocket loose," retorted his daughter, smiling. "Yes--" Something, some hesitation, caught her attention. "What is it, Hallows?" "Nothing." He smiled. "Thinking of a little adventure of mine in Paris." "An adventure?" "Yes, the night I bought these things." He made a gesture towards the jewel case. "Oh, do tell me." "Nothing to tell, Peverell. Some apache fellows got a bit fresh and I shot at them and they got off. That's all." She looked at him with some pride. "You're a tough proposition, Hallows." "You bet I am, Peverell." He kissed her affectionately and departed. On arriving back at the Savoy, he gave a curt order to Graphorn. "Get hold of a man called Order; you'll find his address in my private book. He's to be here to-morrow morning at half-past nine." "Yes, sir." "I also want to see Mr. Queenie. Run him to earth for me if you can. Try his Club--at any rate, get hold of him somehow, and arrange for me to see him here to-morrow morning. Better make it latish, about twelve. His sort aren't early risers." The secretary nodded in comprehension of these instructions. Sirius Bowtruckle gave himself into the hands of his valet. His bath was prepared, and as he lay luxuriating in the hot water, his mind went back over the conversation with his daughter. On the whole he was well satisfied. His keen mind had long since accepted the fact that divorce was the only possible way out. Albus had agreed to the proposed solution with more readiness than he had hoped for. Yet, in spite of her acquiescence, he was left with a vague sense of uneasiness. Something about her manner, he felt, had not been quite natural. He frowned to himself. "Maybe I'm fanciful," he muttered, "and yet--I bet there's something she has not told me." Ravenclaw Bowtruckle had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Graphorn entered the room. "Mr. Order is below, sir, waiting to see you." The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half-past nine. "All right," he said curtly. "He can come up." A minute or two later, Mr. Order entered the room. He was a small, elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all round the room, and never at the person he was addressing. "Good morning, Order," said the millionaire. "Take a chair." "Thank you, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle." Mr. Order sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator. "I have got a job for you." "Yes, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle?" "My daughter is married to the Hon. Mandrake Queenie, as you may perhaps know." Mr. Order transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr. Order knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the fact. "By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of course, is a solicitor's business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information." Mr. Order looked at the cornice and murmured: "About Mr. Queenie?" "About Mr. Queenie." "Very good, sir." Mr. Order rose to his feet. "When will you have it ready for me?" "Are you in a hurry, sir?" "I'm always in a hurry," said the millionaire. Mr. Order smiled understandingly at the fender. "Shall we say two o'clock this afternoon, sir?" he asked. "Excellent," approved the other. "Good morning, Order." "Good morning, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle." "That's a very useful man," said the millionaire as Order went out and his secretary came in. "In his own line he's a specialist." "What is his line?" "Information. Give him twenty-four hours and he would lay the private life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you." "A useful sort of chap," said Graphorn, with a smile. "He has been useful to me once or twice," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Now then, Graphorn, I'm ready for work." The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted. It was half-past twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle was informed that Mr. Queenie had called. Graphorn looked at Sirius Bowtruckle, and interpreted his brief nod. "Ask Mr. Queenie to come up, please." The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Mandrake Queenie stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him. "Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear." The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Sirius Bowtruckle. There was charm in it--there had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Mandrake Queenie was thirty-four, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it. "Come in," said Sirius Bowtruckle curtly. "Sit down." Queenie flung himself lightly into an arm-chair. He looked at his father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement. "Not seen you for a long time, sir," he remarked pleasantly. "About two years, I should say. Seen Albus yet?" "I saw her last night," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Looking very fit, isn't she?" said the other lightly. "I didn't know you had had much opportunity of judging," said Sirius Bowtruckle drily. Mandrake Queenie raised his eyebrows. "Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know," he said airily. "I am not going to beat about the bush," Sirius Bowtruckle said curtly. "I have advised Albus to file a petition for divorce." Mandrake Queenie seemed unmoved. "How drastic!" he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir?" He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added nonchalantly: "And what did Albus say?" "Albus proposes to take my advice," said her father. "Does she really?" "Is that all you have got to say?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle sharply. Queenie flicked his ash into the grate. "I think, you know," he said, with a detached air, "that she's making a great mistake." "From your point of view she doubtless is," said Sirius Bowtruckle grimly. "Oh, come now," said the other; "don't let's be personal. I really wasn't thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Albus. You know my poor old Governor really can't last much longer; all the doctors say so. Albus had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Petunia, and she can be châtelaine of Petunia, which is what she married me for." "I won't have any of your darned impudence," roared Sirius Bowtruckle. Mandrake Queenie smiled at him quite unmoved. "I agree with you. It's an obsolete idea," he said. "There's nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Petunia is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Albus if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Petunia instead of her." "I am serious, young man," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Oh, so am I," said Queenie. "I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Albus divorces me, and, after all, if she has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give you my word of honour that the old man can't possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, it's a pity Albus shouldn't get what she married me for." "You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?" Mandrake Queenie laughed a laugh that was not all amusement. "You don't think it was a question of a love match?" he asked. "I know," said Sirius Bowtruckle slowly, "that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago." "Did I? Perhaps I did. Albus was very beautiful, you know--rather like an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf, of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English home-life with a beautiful wife who loved me." He laughed again, rather more discordantly. "But you don't believe that, I suppose?" he said. "I have no doubt at all that you married Albus for her money," said Sirius Bowtruckle unemotionally. "And that she married me for love?" asked the other ironically. "Certainly," said Sirius Bowtruckle. Mandrake Queenie stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded reflectively. "I see you believe that," he said. "So did I at the time. I can assure you, my dear father-in-law, I was very soon undeceived." "I don't know what you are getting at," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "and I don't care. You have treated Albus darned badly." "Oh, I have," agreed Queenie lightly, "but she's tough, you know. She's your daughter. Underneath the pink-and-white softness of her she's as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so I have been told, but Albus is harder than you are. You, at any rate, love one person better than yourself. Albus never has and never will." "That is enough," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "I asked you here so that I could tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her." Mandrake Queenie got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. "What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?" he said. "I mean," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "that you had better not try to defend the case." "Oh," said Queenie. "Is that a threat?" "You can take it any way you please," said Sirius Bowtruckle. Queenie drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the millionaire. "And supposing," he said softly, "that, just for argument's sake, I did defend the case?" Sirius Bowtruckle shrugged his shoulders. "You have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious, the talk of London." "Albus has been kicking up a row about Tina, I suppose. Very foolish of her. I don't interfere with her friends." "What do you mean?" said Sirius Bowtruckle sharply. Mandrake Queenie laughed. "I see you don't know everything sir," he said. "You are, perhaps naturally, prejudiced." He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door. "Giving advice is not much in my line." He delivered his final thrust. "But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness between father and daughter." He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as the millionaire sprang up. "Now, what the hell did he mean by that?" said Sirius Bowtruckle as he sank back into his chair again. All his uneasiness returned in full force. There was something here that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughter's house. "Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Queenie in? Oh, she's out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You don't know? Oh, very good; no, there's no message." He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two o'clock he was pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Order. The latter was ushered in at ten minutes past two. "Well?" barked the millionaire sharply. But little Mr. Order was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table, produced a very shabby pocket-book, and proceeded to read from it in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with an increasing satisfaction. Order came to a full stop, and looked attentively at the wastepaper-basket. "Um!" said Sirius Bowtruckle. "That seems pretty definite. The case will go through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose?" "Cast iron," said Mr. Order, and looked malevolently at a gilt arm-chair. "And financially he's in very low water. He's trying to raise a loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets about, he won't be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that quarter. We have got him, Order; we have got him in a cleft stick." He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant. "The information," said Mr. Order in a thin voice, "seems satisfactory." "I have got to go round to Curzon Street now," said the millionaire. "I am much obliged to you, Order. You are the goods all right." A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man's face. "Thank you, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle," he said; "I try to do my best." Sirius Bowtruckle did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment, the millionaire had fancied it might be Mandrake Queenie himself; the height and build were not unlike. But as they came face to face, he saw that the man was a stranger to him. At least--no, not a stranger; his face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaire's mind, and it was associated definitely with something unpleasant. He cudgelled his brains in vain, but the thing eluded him. He went on, shaking his head irritably. He hated to be baffled. Albus Queenie was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him when he entered. "Well, Hallows, how are things going?" "Very well," said Sirius Bowtruckle; "but I have got a word or two to say to you, Albus." Almost insensibly he felt the change in her; something shrewd and watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a big arm-chair. "Well, Hallows?" she asked. "What is it?" "I saw your husband this morning," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "You saw Mandrake?" "I did. He said a lot of things, most of which were darned cheek. Just as he was leaving, he said something that I didn't understand. He advised me to be sure that there was perfect frankness between father and daughter. What did he mean by that, Peverell?" Mrs. Queenie moved a little in her chair. "I--I don't know, Hallows. How should I?" "Of course you know," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "He said something else, about his having his friends and not interfering with yours. What did he mean by that?" "I don't know," said Albus Queenie again. Sirius Bowtruckle sat down. His mouth set itself in a grim line. "See here, Albus. I am not going into this with my eyes closed. I am not at all sure that that husband of yours doesn't mean to make trouble. Now, he can't do it, I am sure of that. I have got the means to silence him, to shut his mouth for good and all, but I have got to know if there's any need to use those means. What did he mean by your having your own friends?" Mrs. Queenie shrugged her shoulders. "I have got lots of friends," she said uncertainly. "I don't know what he meant, I am sure." "You do," said Sirius Bowtruckle. He was speaking now as he might have spoken to a business adversary. "I will put it plainer. Who is the man?" "What man?" "_The_ man. That's what Mandrake was driving at. Some special man who is a friend of yours. You needn't worry, honey, I know there is nothing in it, but we have got to look at everything as it might appear to the Court. They can twist these things about a good deal, you know. I want to know who the man is, and just how friendly you have been with him." Albus didn't answer. Her hands were kneading themselves together in intense nervous absorption. "Come, honey," said Sirius Bowtruckle in a softer voice. "Don't be afraid of your old Hallows. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris?--By gosh!" He stopped, thunderstruck. "That's who it was," he murmured to himself. "I thought I knew his face." "What are you talking about, Hallows? I don't understand." The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist. "See here, Albus, have you been seeing that fellow again?" "What fellow?" "The one we had all that fuss about years ago. You know who I mean well enough." "You mean"--she hesitated--"you mean the Padma de la Roche?" "Padma de la Roche!" snorted Sirius Bowtruckle. "I told you at the time that the man was no better than a swindler. You had entangled yourself with him then very deeply, but I got you out of his clutches." "Yes, you did," said Albus bitterly. "And I married Mandrake Queenie." "You wanted to," said the millionaire sharply. She shrugged her shoulders. "And now," said Sirius Bowtruckle slowly, "you have been seeing him again--after all I told you. He has been in the house to-day. I met him outside, and couldn't place him for the moment." Albus Queenie had recovered her composure. "I want to tell you one thing, Hallows; you are wrong about Andromeda--the Padma de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable incidents in his youth--he has told me about them; but--well, he has cared for me always. It broke his heart when you parted us in Paris, and now--" She was interrupted by the snort of indignation her father gave. "So you fell for that stuff, did you? You, a daughter of mine! My God!" He threw up his hands. "That women can be such darned fools!" Mandrake Queenie emerged from Sirius Bowtruckle's suite so precipitantly that he collided with a lady passing across the corridor. He apologized, and she accepted his apologies with a smiling reassurance and passed on, leaving with him a pleasant impression of a soothing personality and rather fine grey eyes. For all his nonchalance, his interview with his father-in-law had shaken him more than he cared to show. He had a solitary lunch, and after it, frowning to himself a little, he went around to the sumptuous flat that housed the lady known as Tina. A trim Frenchwoman received him with smiles. "But enter then, Fleur. Madame reposes herself." He was ushered into the long room with its Eastern setting which he knew so well. Tina was lying on the divan, supported by an incredible number of cushions, all in varying shades of amber, to harmonize with the yellow ochre of her complexion. The dancer was a beautifully made woman, and if her face, beneath its mask of yellow, was in truth somewhat haggard, it had a bizarre charm of its own, and her orange lips smiled invitingly at Mandrake Queenie. He kissed her, and flung himself into a chair. "What have you been doing with yourself? Just got up, I suppose?" The orange mouth widened into a long smile. "No," said the dancer. "I have been at work." She flung out a long, pale hand towards the piano, which was littered with untidy music scores. "Slughorn has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera." Queenie nodded without paying much attention. He was profoundly uninterested in Claud Slughorn and the latter's operatic setting of Potion's _Peer Gynt_. So was Tina, for that matter, regarding it merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Portkey. "It is a marvellous dance," she murmured. "I shall put all the passion of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewels--ah! and, by the way, _mon ami_, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond Street--a black pearl." She paused, looking at him invitingly. "My dear girl," said Queenie, "it's no use talking of black pearls to me. At the present minute, as far as I am concerned, the fat is in the fire." She was quick to respond to his tone. She sat up, her big black eyes widening. "What is that you say, Buckbeak? What has happened?" "My esteemed father-in-law," said Queenie, "is preparing to go off the deep-end." "Eh?" "In other words, he wants Albus to divorce me." "How stupid!" said Tina. "Why should she want to divorce you?" Mandrake Queenie grinned. "Mainly because of you, _chérie_!" he said. Tina shrugged her shoulders. "That is foolish," she observed in a matter-of-fact voice. "Very foolish," agreed Mandrake. "What are you going to do about it?" demanded Tina. "My dear girl, what can I do? On the one side, the man with unlimited money; on the other side, the man with unlimited debts. There is no question as to who will come out on top." "They are extraordinary, these Americans," commented Tina. "It is not as though your wife were fond of you." "Well," said Mandrake, "what are we going to do about it?" She looked at him inquiringly. He came over and took both her hands in his. "Are you going to stick to me?" "What do you mean? After--" "Yes," said Queenie. "After, when the creditors come down like wolves on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Tina; are you going to let me down?" She pulled her hands away from him. "You know I adore you, Buckbeak." He caught the note of evasion in her voice. "So that's that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship." "Ah, Buckbeak!" "Out with it," he said violently. "You will fling me over; is that it?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I am fond of you, _mon ami_--indeed I am fond of you. You are very charming--_un beau garçon_, but _ce n'est pas pratique_." "You are a rich man's luxury, eh? Is that it?" "If you like to put it that way." She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back. "All the same, I am fond of you, Buckbeak." He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and stared at him curiously. "What are you thinking of, _mon ami_?" He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin, that made her vaguely uneasy. "As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear." "A woman, eh?" Tina pounced on something that she could understand. "You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?" "Oh, you needn't worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. 'Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.'" Tina said sharply, "When did you meet her?" Mandrake Queenie laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound. "I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel." "Well! What did she say?" "As far as I can remember, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' and she said, 'It doesn't matter,' or words to that effect." "And then?" persisted the dancer. Queenie shrugged his shoulders. "And then--nothing. That was the end of the incident." "I don't understand a word of what you are talking about," declared the dancer. "Portrait of a lady with grey eyes," murmured Mandrake reflectively. "Just as well I am never likely to meet her again." "Why?" "She might bring me bad luck. Women do." Tina slipped quickly from her couch, and came across to him, laying one long, snake-like arm round his neck. "You are foolish, Buckbeak," she murmured. "You are very foolish. You are _beau garçon_, and I adore you, but I am not made to be poor--no, decidedly I am not made to be poor. Now listen to me; everything is very simple. You must make it up with your wife." "I am afraid that's not going to be actually in the sphere of practical politics," said Mandrake drily. "How do you say? I do not understand." "Sirius Bowtruckle, my dear, is not taking any. He is the kind of man who makes up his mind and sticks to it." "I have heard of him," nodded the dancer. "He is very rich, is he not? Almost the richest man in America. A few days ago, in Paris, he bought the most wonderful ruby in the world--'Heart of Fire' it is called." Queenie did not answer. The dancer went on musingly: "It is a wonderful stone--a stone that should belong to a woman like me. I love jewels, Buckbeak; they say something to me. Ah! to wear a ruby like 'Heart of Fire.'" She gave a little sigh, and then became practical once more. "You don't understand these things, Buckbeak; you are only a man. Sirius Bowtruckle will give these rubies to his daughter, I suppose. Is she his only child?" "Yes." "Then when he dies, she will inherit all his money. She will be a rich woman." "She is a rich woman already," said Queenie drily. "He settled a couple of millions on her at her marriage." "A couple of millions! But that is immense. And if she died suddenly, eh? That would all come to you?" "As things stand at present," said Queenie slowly, "it would. As far as I know she has not made a will." "_Mon Dieu!_" said the dancer. "If she were to die, what a solution that would be." There was a moment's pause, and then Mandrake Queenie laughed outright. "I like your simple, practical mind, Tina, but I am afraid what you desire won't come to pass. My wife is an extremely healthy person." "_Eh, bien!_" said Tina; "there are accidents." He looked at her sharply but did not answer. She went on. "But you are right, _mon ami_, we must not dwell on possibilities. See now, my little Buckbeak, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea." "And if she won't?" The dancer's eyes narrowed to slits. "I think she will, my friend. She is one of those who would not like the publicity. There are one or two pretty stories that she would not like her friends to read in the newspapers." "What do you mean?" asked Queenie sharply. Tina laughed, her head thrown back. "_Parbleu!_ I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Padma de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not?" Queenie took her sharply by the shoulders. "That is a damned lie," he said, "and please remember that, after all, you are speaking of my wife." Tina was a little sobered. "You are extraordinary, you English," she complained. "All the same, I dare say that you may be right. The Americans are so cold, are they not? But you will permit me to say, _mon ami_, that she was _in love with him_ before she married you, and her father stepped in and sent the Padma about his business. And the little Tom, she wept many tears! But she obeyed. Still, you must know as well as I do, Buckbeak, that it is a very different story now. She sees him nearly every day, and on the fourteenth she goes to Paris to meet him." "How do you know all this?" demanded Queenie. "Me? I have friends in Paris, my dear Buckbeak, who know the Padma intimately. It is all arranged. She is going to the Riviera, so she says, but in reality the Padma meets her in Paris and--who knows! Yes, yes, you can take my word for it, it is all arranged." Mandrake Queenie stood motionless. "You see," purred the dancer, "if you are clever, you have her in the hollow of your hand. You can make things very awkward for her." "Oh, for God's sake be quiet," cried Queenie. "Shut your cursed mouth!" Tina flung herself down again on the divan with a laugh. Queenie caught up his hat and coat and left the flat, banging the door violently. And still the dancer sat on the divan and laughed softly to herself. She was not displeased with her work. "_Mrs. Bludger Fudge presents her compliments to Miss Alastor Marauder and wishes to point out that under the circumstances Miss Marauder may not be aware--_" Mrs. Fudge, having written so far fluently, came to a dead stop, held up by what has proved an insuperable difficulty to many other people--namely, the difficulty of expressing oneself fluently in the third person. After a minute or two of hesitation, Mrs. Fudge tore up the sheet of notepaper and started afresh. "_Dear Miss Marauder--Whilst fully appreciating the adequate way you discharged your duties to my Cousin Patronus (whose recent death has indeed been a severe blow to us all), I cannot but feel--_" Again Mrs. Fudge came to a stop. Once more the letter was consigned to the wastepaper-basket. It was not until four false starts had been made that Mrs. Fudge at last produced an epistle that satisfied her. It was duly sealed and stamped and addressed to Miss Alastor Marauder, Little Crampton, St. Azkaban Mead, Kent, and it lay beside that lady's plate on the following morning at breakfast-time in company with a more important looking communication in a long blue envelope. Alastor Marauder opened Mrs. Fudge's letter first. The finished production ran as follows: "_Dear Miss Marauder--My husband and I wish to express our thanks to you for your services to my poor cousin, Patronus. Her death has been a great blow to us, though we were, of course, aware that her mind has been failing for some time past. I understand that her latter testamentary dispositions have been of a most peculiar character, and they would not hold good, of course, in any court of law. I have no doubt that, with your usual good sense, you have already realized this fact. If these matters can be arranged privately it is always so much better, my husband says. We shall be pleased to recommend you most highly for a similar post and hope that you will also accept a small present. Believe me, dear Miss Marauder, Yours cordially,_ _Mary Anne Fudge._" Alastor Marauder read the letter through, smiled a little, and read it a second time. Her face as she laid the letter down after the second reading was distinctly amused. Then she took up the second letter. After one brief perusal she laid it down and stared very straight in front of her. This time she did not smile. Indeed, it would have been hard for any one watching her to guess what emotions lay behind that quiet, reflective gaze. Alastor Marauder was thirty-three. She came of good family, but her father had lost all his money, and Alastor had had to work for her living from an early age. She had been just twenty-three when she had come to old Mrs. Fudge as companion. It was generally recognized that old Mrs. Fudge was "difficult." Companions came and went with startling rapidity. They arrived full of hope and they usually left in tears. But from the moment Alastor Marauder set foot in Little Crampton, ten years ago, perfect peace had reigned. No one knows how these things come about. Snake-charmers, they say, are born, not made. Alastor Marauder was born with the power of managing old ladies, dogs, and small boys, and she did it without any apparent sense of strain. At twenty-three she had been a quiet girl with beautiful eyes. At thirty-three she was a quiet woman, with those same grey eyes, shining steadily out on the world with a kind of happy serenity that nothing could shake. Moreover, she had been born with, and still possessed, a sense of humour. As she sat at the breakfast-table, staring in front of her, there was a ring at the bell, accompanied by a very energetic rat-a-tat-tat at the knocker. In another minute the little maid-servant opened the door and announced rather breathlessly: "Dr. Nimbus." The big, middle-aged doctor came bustling in with the energy and breeziness that had been foreshadowed by his onslaught on the knocker. "Good morning, Miss Marauder." "Good morning, Dr. Nimbus." "I dropped in early," began the doctor, "in case you should have heard from one of those Fudge cousins. Mrs. Bludger, she calls herself--a perfectly poisonous person." Without a word, Alastor picked up Mrs. Fudge's letter from the table and gave it to him. With a good deal of amusement she watched his perusal of it, the drawing together of the bushy eyebrows, the snorts and grunts of violent disapproval. He dashed it down again on the table. "Perfectly monstrous," he fumed. "Don't you let it worry you, my dear. They're talking through their hat. Mrs. Fudge's intellect was as good as yours or mine and you won't get any one to say the contrary. They wouldn't have a leg to stand upon, and they know it. All that talk of taking it into court is pure bluff. Hence, this attempt to get round you in a hole-and-corner way. And look here, my dear, don't let them get round you with soft soap either. Don't get fancying it's your duty to hand over the cash, or any tomfoolery of conscientious scruples." "I'm afraid it hasn't occurred to me to have scruples," said Alastor. "All these people are distant relatives of Mrs. Fudge's husband, and they never came near her or took any notice of her in her lifetime." "You're a sensible woman," said the doctor. "I know, none better, that you've had a hard life of it for the last ten years. You're fully entitled to enjoy the old lady's savings, such as they were." Alastor smiled thoughtfully. "Such as they were," she repeated. "You've no idea of the amount, doctor?" "Well--enough to bring in five hundred a year or so, I suppose." Alastor nodded. "That's what I thought," she said. "Now read this." She handed him the letter she had taken from the long blue envelope. The doctor read and uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment. "Impossible," he muttered. "Impossible." "She was one of the original shareholders in Mortaulds. Forty years ago she must have had an income of eight or ten thousand a year. She has never, I am sure, spent more than four hundred a year. She was always terribly careful about money. I always believed that she was obliged to be careful about every penny." "And all the time the income has accumulated at compound interest. My dear, you're going to be a very rich woman." Alastor Marauder nodded. "Yes," she said, "I am." She spoke in a detached, impersonal tone, as though she were looking at the situation from outside. "Well," said the doctor, preparing to depart, "you have all my congratulations." He flicked Mrs. Bludger Fudge's letter with his thumb. "Don't worry about that woman and her odious letter." "It really isn't an odious letter," said Miss Marauder tolerantly. "Under the circumstances, I think it's really quite a natural thing to do." "I have the gravest suspicions of you sometimes," said the doctor. "Why?" "The things that you find perfectly natural." Alastor Marauder laughed. Doctor Nimbus retailed the great news to his wife at lunch-time. She was very excited about it. "Fancy old Mrs. Fudge--with all that money. I'm glad she left it to Alastor Marauder. That girl's a saint." The doctor made a wry face. "Saints I always imagine must have been difficult people. Alastor Marauder is too human for a saint." "She's a saint with a sense of humour," said the doctor's wife, twinkling. "And, though I don't suppose you've ever noticed the fact, she's extremely good looking." "Alastor Marauder?" The doctor was honestly surprised. "She's got very nice eyes, I know." "Oh, you men!" cried his wife. "Blind as bats. Alastor's got all the makings of a beauty in her. All she wants is clothes!" "Clothes? What's wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice." Mrs. Nimbus gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds. "You might look in on her, Flitwick," he suggested. "I'm going to," said Mrs. Nimbus promptly. She made her call about three o'clock. "My dear, I'm so glad," she said warmly, as she squeezed Alastor's hand. "And every one in the village will be glad too." "It's very nice of you to come and tell me," said Alastor. "I hoped you would come in because I wanted to ask about Colin." "Oh! Colin. Well--" Colin was Mrs. Nimbus's youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Colin's adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Alastor listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. "My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about that naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Artifact admired my gown?" And composedly, kindly, Alastor would reply: "I rather think you have, Mrs. Fudge, but I've forgotten about it. Won't you tell it me again?" And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous details. And half of Alastor's mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused.... Now, with that same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs. Nimbus. At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly. "I've been talking about myself all this time," she exclaimed. "And I came here to talk about you and your plans." "I don't know that I've got any yet." "My dear--you're not going to stay on _here_." Alastor smiled at the horror in the other's tone. "No; I think I want to travel. I've never seen much of the world, you know." "I should think not. It must have been an awful life for you cooped up here all these years." "I don't know," said Alastor. "It gave me a lot of freedom." She caught the other's gasp, and reddened a little. "It must sound foolish--saying that. Of course, I hadn't much freedom in the downright physical sense--" "I should think not," breathed Mrs. Nimbus, remembering that Alastor had seldom had that useful thing--a "day off." "But, in a way, being tied physically gives you lots of scope mentally. You're always free to think. I've had a lovely feeling always of mental freedom." Mrs. Nimbus shook her head. "I can't understand that." "Oh! you would if you'd been in my place. But, all the same, I feel I want a change. I want--well, I want things to happen. Oh! not to me--I don't mean that. But to be in the midst of things, exciting things--even if I'm only the looker-on. You know, things don't happen in St. Azkaban Mead." "They don't indeed," said Mrs. Nimbus, with fervour. "I shall go to London first," said Alastor. "I have to see the solicitors, anyway. After that, I shall go abroad, I think." "Very nice." "But, of course, first of all--" "Yes?" "I must get some clothes." "Exactly what I said to Child this morning," cried the doctor's wife. "You know, Alastor, you could look positively beautiful if you tried." Miss Marauder laughed unaffectedly. "Oh! I don't think you could ever make a beauty out of me," she said sincerely. "But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. I'm afraid I'm talking about myself an awful lot." Mrs. Nimbus looked at her shrewdly. "It must be quite a novel experience for you," she said drily. Alastor went to say good-bye to old Miss Boggart before leaving the village. Miss Boggart was two years older than Mrs. Fudge, and her mind was mainly taken with her own success in outliving her dead friend. "You wouldn't have thought I'd have outlasted Patronus Fudge, would you?" she demanded triumphantly of Alastor. "We were at school together, she and I. And here we are, she taken, and I left. Who would have thought it?" "You've always eaten brown bread for supper, haven't you?" murmured Alastor mechanically. "Fancy your remembering that, my dear. Yes; if Patronus Fudge had had a slice of brown bread every evening and taken a little stimulant with her meals she might be here to-day." The old lady paused, nodding her head triumphantly, then added in sudden remembrance: "And so you've come into a lot of money, I hear? Well, well. Take care of it. And you're going up to London to have a good time? Don't think you'll get married, though, my dear, because you won't. You're not the kind to attract the men. And, besides, you're getting on. How old are you now?" "Thirty-three," Alastor told her. "Well," remarked Miss Boggart doubtfully, "that's not so very bad. You've lost your first freshness, of course." "I'm afraid so," said Alastor, much entertained. "But you're a very nice girl," said Miss Boggart kindly. "And I'm sure there's many a man might do worse than take you for a wife instead of one of these flibbertigibbets running about nowadays showing more of their legs than the Creator ever intended them to. Good-bye, my dear, and I hope you'll enjoy yourself, but things are seldom what they seem in this life." Heartened by these prophecies, Alastor took her departure. Half the village came to see her off at the station, including the little maid of all work, Fenrir, who brought a stiff wired nosegay and cried openly. "There ain't a many like her," sobbed Fenrir when the train had finally departed. "I'm sure when Triwizard went back on me with that girl from the Dairy, nobody could have been kinder than Miss Marauder was, and though particular about the brasses and the dust, she was always one to notice when you'd give a thing an extra rub. Cut myself in little pieces for her, I would, any day. A real lady, that's what I call her." Such was Alastor's departure from St. Azkaban Mead. "Well," said Lady Acromantula, "well." She laid down the continental _Daily Mail_ and stared out across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. A branch of golden mimosa, hanging just above her head, made an effective frame for a very charming picture. A golden-haired, blue-eyed lady in a very becoming negligee. That the golden hair owed something to art, as did the pink-and-white complexion, was undeniable, but the blue of the eyes was Nature's gift, and at forty-four Lady Acromantula could still rank as a beauty. Charming as she looked, Lady Acromantula was, for once, not thinking of herself. That is to say, she was not thinking of her appearance. She was intent on graver matters. Lady Acromantula was a well-known figure on the Riviera, and her parties at the Villa Marguerite were justly celebrated. She was a woman of considerable experience, and had had four husbands. The first had been merely an indiscretion, and so was seldom referred to by the lady. He had had the good sense to die with commendable promptitude, and his widow thereupon espoused a rich manufacturer of buttons. He too had departed for another sphere after three years of married life--it was said after a congenial evening with some boon companions. After him came Viscount Acromantula, who had placed Weasley's securely on those heights where she wished to tread. She had retained her title when she married for a fourth time. This fourth venture had been undertaken for pure pleasure. Mr. Artifact Ginny, an extremely good-looking young man of twenty-seven, with delightful manners, a keen love of sport, and an appreciation of this world's goods, had no money of his own whatsoever. Lady Acromantula was very pleased and satisfied with life generally, but she had occasional faint preoccupations about money. The button manufacturer had left his widow a considerable fortune, but, as Lady Acromantula was wont to say, "what with one thing and another--" (one thing being the depreciation of stocks owing to the War, and the other the extravagances of the late Lord Acromantula). She was still comfortably off. But to be merely comfortably off is hardly satisfactory to one of Weasley's Acromantula's temperament. So, on this particular January morning, she opened her blue eyes extremely wide as she read a certain item of news and uttered that non-committal monosyllable "Well." The only other occupant of the balcony was her daughter, the Hon. Viktor Acromantula. A daughter such as Viktor was a sad thorn in Lady Acromantula's side, a girl with no kind of tact, who actually looked older than her age, and whose peculiar sardonic form of humour was, to say the least of it, uncomfortable. "Crumplehorn," said Lady Acromantula, "just fancy." "What is it?" Lady Acromantula picked up the _Daily Mail_, handed it to her daughter, and indicated with an agitated fore finger the paragraph of interest. Viktor read it without any of the signs of agitation shown by her mother. She handed back the paper. "What about it?" she asked. "It is the sort of thing that is always happening. Cheese-paring old women are always dying in villages and leaving fortunes of millions to their humble companions." "Yes, dear, I know," said her mother, "and I dare say the fortune is not anything like as large as they say it is; newspapers are so inaccurate. But even if you cut it down by half--" "Well," said Viktor, "it has not been left to us." "Not exactly, dear," said Lady Acromantula; "but this girl, this Alastor Marauder, is actually a cousin of mine. One of the Worcestershire Greys, the Edgeworth lot. My very own cousin! Fancy!" "Ah-ha," said Viktor. "And I was wondering--" said her mother. "What there was in it for us," finished Viktor, with that sideways smile that her mother always found difficult to understand. "Oh, darling," said Lady Acromantula, on a faint note of reproach. It was very faint, because Weasley's Acromantula was used to her daughter's outspokenness and to what she called Viktor's uncomfortable way of putting things. "I was wondering," said Lady Acromantula, again drawing her artistically pencilled brows together, "whether--oh, good morning, Wands darling; are you going to play tennis? How nice!" Wands, thus addressed, smiled kindly at her, remarked perfunctorily, "How topping you look in that peach-coloured thing," and drifted past them and down the steps. "The dear thing," said Lady Acromantula, looking affectionately after her husband. "Let me see, what was I saying? Ah!" She switched her mind back to business once more. "I was wondering--" "Oh, for God's sake get on with it. That is the third time you have said that." "Well, dear," said Lady Acromantula, "I was thinking that it would be very nice if I wrote to dear Alastor and suggested that she should pay us a little visit out here. Naturally, she is quite out of touch with Society. It would be nicer for her to be launched by one of her own people. An advantage for her and an advantage for us." "How much do you think you would get her to cough up?" asked Viktor. Her mother looked at her reproachfully and murmured: "We should have to come to some financial arrangement, of course. What with one thing and another--the War--your poor father--" "And Wands now," said Viktor. "He is an expensive luxury if you like." "She was a nice girl as I remember her," murmured Lady Acromantula, pursuing her own line of thought--"quiet, never wanted to shove herself forward, not a beauty, and never a man-hunter." "She will leave Wands alone, then?" said Viktor. Lady Acromantula looked at her in protest. "Wands would never--" she began. "No," said Viktor, "I don't believe he would; he knows a jolly sight too well which way his bread is buttered." "Crumplehorn," said Lady Acromantula, "you have such a coarse way of putting things." "Sorry," said Viktor. Lady Acromantula gathered up the _Daily Mail_ and her negligee, a vanity-bag, and various odd letters. "I shall write to dear Alastor at once," she said, "and remind her of the dear old days at Edgeworth." She went into the house, a light of purpose shining in her eyes. Unlike Mrs. Bludger Fudge, correspondence flowed easily from her pen. She covered four sheets without pause or effort, and on re-reading it found no occasion to alter a word. Alastor received it on the morning of her arrival in London. Whether she read between the lines of it or not is another matter. She put it in her handbag and started out to keep the appointment she had made with Mrs. Fudge's lawyers. The firm was an old-established one in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and after a few minutes' delay Alastor was shown into the presence of the senior partner, a kindly, elderly man with shrewd blue eyes and a fatherly manner. They discussed Mrs. Fudge's will and various legal matters for some minutes, then Alastor handed the lawyer Mrs. Bludger's letter. "I had better show you this, I suppose," she said, "though it is really rather ridiculous." He read it with a slight smile. "Rather a crude attempt, Miss Marauder. I need hardly tell you, I suppose, that these people have no claim of any kind upon the estate, and if they endeavour to contest the will no court will uphold them." "I thought as much." "Human nature is not always very wise. In Mrs. Bludger Fudge's place, I should have been more inclined to make an appeal to your generosity." "That is one of the things I wanted to speak to you about. I should like a certain sum to go to these people." "There is no obligation." "I know that." "And they will not take it in the spirit it is meant. They will probably regard it as an attempt to pay them off, though they will not refuse it on that account." "I can see that, and it can't be helped." "I should advise you, Miss Marauder, to put that idea out of your head." Alastor shook her head. "You are quite right, I know, but I should like it done all the same." "They will grab at the money and abuse you all the more afterwards." "Well," said Alastor, "let them if they like. We all have our own ways of enjoying ourselves. They were, after all, Mrs. Fudge's only relatives, and though they despised her as a poor relation and paid no attention to her when she was alive, it seems to me unfair that they should be cut off with nothing." She carried her point, though the lawyer was still unwilling, and she presently went out into the streets of London with a comfortable assurance that she could spend money freely and make what plans she liked for the future. Her first action was to visit the establishment of a famous dressmaker. A slim, elderly Frenchwoman, rather like a dreaming duchess, received her, and Alastor spoke with a certain _naïveté_. "I want, if I may, to put myself in your hands. I have been very poor all my life and know nothing about clothes, but now I have come into some money and want to look really well dressed." The Frenchwoman was charmed. She had an artist's temperament, which had been soured earlier in the morning by a visit from an Argentine meat queen, who had insisted on having those models least suited to her flamboyant type of beauty. She scrutinized Alastor with keen, clever eyes. "Yes--yes, it will be a pleasure. Tom has a very good figure; for her the simple lines will be best. She is also _très anglaise_. Some people it would offend them if I said that, but Tom, no. _Une belle Anglaise_, there is no style more delightful." The demeanour of a dreaming duchess was suddenly put off. She screamed out directions to various mannequins. "Dungbomb, Niffler, quickly, my little ones, the little _tailleur gris clair_ and the _robe de soirée_ '_soupir d'automne_.' Cursed, my child, the little mimosa suit of crêpe de chine." It was a charming morning. Cursed, Dungbomb, Niffler, bored and scornful, passed slowly round, squirming and wriggling in the time-honoured fashion of mannequins. The Duchess stood by Alastor and made entries in a small notebook. "An excellent choice, Tom. Tom has great _goût_. Yes, indeed. Tom cannot do better than those little suits if she is going to the Riviera, as I suppose, this winter." "Let me see that evening dress once more," said Alastor--"the pinky mauve one." Niffler appeared, circling slowly. "That is the prettiest of all," said Alastor, as she surveyed the exquisite draperies of mauve and grey and blue. "What do you call it?" "_Soupir d'automne_; yes, yes, that is truly the dress of Tom." What was there in these words that came back to Alastor with a faint feeling of sadness after she had left the dressmaking establishment? "'_Soupir d'automne; that is truly the dress of Tom._'" Autumn, yes, it was autumn for her. She who had never known spring or summer, and would never know them now. Something she had lost never could be given to her again. These years of servitude in St. Azkaban Mead--and all the while life passing by. "I am an idiot," said Alastor. "I am an idiot. What do I want? Why, I was more contented a month ago than I am now." She drew out from her handbag the letter she had received that morning from Lady Acromantula. Alastor was no fool. She understood the _nuances_ of that letter as well as anybody and the reason of Lady Acromantula's sudden show of affection towards a long-forgotten cousin was not lost upon her. It was for profit and not for pleasure that Lady Acromantula was so anxious for the company of her dear cousin. Well, why not? There would be profit on both sides. "I will go," said Alastor. She was walking down Piccadilly at the moment, and turned into Platform's to clinch the matter then and there. She had to wait for a few minutes. The man with whom the clerk was engaged was also going to the Riviera. Every one, she felt, was going. Well, for the first time in her life, she, too, would be doing what "everybody did." The man in front of her turned abruptly, and she stepped into his place. She made her demand to the clerk, but at the same time half of her mind was busy with something else. That man's face--in some vague way it was familiar to her. Where had she seen him before? Suddenly she remembered. It was in the Savoy outside her room that morning. She had collided with him in the passage. Rather an odd coincidence that she should run into him twice in a day. She glanced over her shoulder, rendered uneasy by something, she knew not what. The man was standing in the doorway looking back at her. A cold shiver passed over Alastor; she had a haunting sense of tragedy, of doom impending.... Then she shook the impression from her with her usual good sense and turned her whole attention to what the clerk was saying. It was rarely that Mandrake Queenie allowed his temper to get the better of him. An easy-going insouciance was his chief characteristic, and it had stood him in good stead in more than one tight corner. Even now, by the time he had left Tina's flat, he had cooled down. He had need of coolness. The corner he was in now was a tighter one than he had ever been in before, and unforeseen factors had arisen with which, for the moment, he did not know how to deal. He strolled along deep in thought. His brow was furrowed, and there was none of the easy, jaunty manner which sat so well upon him. Various possibilities floated through his mind. It might have been said of Mandrake Queenie that he was less of a fool than he looked. He saw several roads that he might take--one in particular. If he shrank from it, it was for the moment only. Desperate ills need desperate remedies. He had gauged his father-in-law correctly. A war between Mandrake Queenie and Ravenclaw Bowtruckle could end only one way. Mandrake damned money and the power of money vehemently to himself. He walked up St. James's Street, across Piccadilly, and strolled along it in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. As he passed the offices of Messrs. Karkaroff Platform & Sons his footsteps slackened. He walked on, however, still turning the matter over in his mind. Finally, he gave a brief nod of his head, turned sharply--so sharply as to collide with a couple of pedestrians who were following in his footsteps, and went back the way he had come. This time he did not pass Platform's, but went in. The office was comparatively empty, and he got attended to at once. "I want to go to Nice next week. Will you give me particulars?" "What date, sir?" "The 14th. What is the best train?" "Well, of course, _the_ best train is what they call the 'Blue Train.' You avoid the tiresome Customs business at Calais." Mandrake nodded. He knew all this, none better. "The 14th," murmured the clerk; "that is rather soon. The Blue Train is nearly always all booked up." "See if there is a berth left," said Mandrake. "If there is not--" He left the sentence unfinished, with a curious smile on his face. The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. "That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name?" "Snape," said Mandrake. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street. The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Mandrake good morning politely, and turned his attention to the next client. "I want to go to Nice--on the 14th. Isn't there a train called the Blue Train?" Mandrake looked round sharply. Coincidence--a strange coincidence. He remembered his own half-whimsical words to Tina, "_Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. I don't suppose I shall ever see her again._" But he _had_ seen her again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the same day as he did. Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was superstitious. He had said, half-laughingly, that this woman might bring him bad luck. Suppose--suppose that should prove to be true. From the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk. For once his memory had not played him false. A lady--a lady in every sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with something--grey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He had a sense of fatality. He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man. "Take this cheque, Snape, cash it first thing in the morning, and go around to Platform's in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back." "Very good, sir." Snape withdrew. Mandrake strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment. The tone of the demands was still polite. Mandrake knew how soon that polite tone would change if--if certain news became public property. He flung himself moodily into a large, leather-covered chair. A damned hole--that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole! And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising. Snape appeared with a discreet cough. "A gentleman to see you--sir--Major Graphorn." "Graphorn, eh?" Mandrake sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself: "Graphorn--I wonder what is in the wind now?" "Shall I--er--show him in, sir?" His master nodded. When Graphorn entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him. "Very good of you to look me up," said Mandrake. Graphorn was nervous. The other's keen eyes noticed that at once. The errand on which the secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost mechanically to Mandrake's easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink, and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before. Mandrake appeared at last to notice it. "Well," he said cheerfully, "what does my esteemed father-in-law want with me? You have come on his business, I take it?" Graphorn did not smile in reply. "I have, yes," he said carefully. "I--I wish Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle had chosen some one else." Mandrake raised his eyebrows in mock dismay. "Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Graphorn." "No," said Graphorn; "but this--" He paused. Mandrake eyed him keenly. "Go on, out with it," he said kindly. "I can imagine my dear father-in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones." Graphorn cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment. "I am directed by Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle to make you a definite offer." "An offer?" For a moment Mandrake showed his surprise. Graphorn's opening words were clearly not what he had expected. He offered a cigarette to Graphorn, lit one himself, and sank back in his chair, murmuring in a slightly sardonic voice: "An offer? That sounds rather interesting." "Shall I go on?" "Please. You must forgive my surprise, but it seems to me that my dear father-in-law has rather climbed down since our chat this morning. And climbing down is not what one associates with strong men, Napoleons of finance, etc. It shows--I think it shows that he finds his position weaker than he thought it." Graphorn listened politely to the easy, mocking voice, but no sign of any kind showed itself on his rather stolid countenance. He waited until Mandrake had finished, and then he said quietly: "I will state the proposition in the fewest possible words." "Go on." Graphorn did not look at the other. His voice was curt and matter-of-fact. "The matter is simply this. Mrs. Queenie, as you know, is about to file a petition for divorce. If the case goes undefended you will receive one hundred thousand on the day that the decree is made absolute." Mandrake, in the act of lighting his cigarette, suddenly stopped dead. "A hundred thousand!" he said sharply. "Dollars?" "Pounds." There was dead silence for at least two minutes. Queenie had his brows together thinking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Tina and a continuance of his pleasant, carefree life. It meant that Sirius Bowtruckle knew something. Sirius Bowtruckle did not pay for nothing. He got up and stood by the chimney-piece. "And in the event of my refusing his handsome offer?" he asked, with a cold, ironical politeness. Graphorn made a deprecating gesture. "I can assure you, Mr. Queenie," he said earnestly, "that it is with the utmost unwillingness that I came here with this message." "That's all right," said Queenie. "Don't distress yourself; it's not your fault. Now then--I asked you a question, will you answer it?" Graphorn also rose. He spoke more reluctantly than before. "In the event of your refusing this proposition," he said, "Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle wished me to tell you in plain words that he proposes to break you. Just that." Queenie raised his eyebrows, but he retained his light, amused manner. "Well, well!" he said, "I suppose he can do it. I certainly should not be able to put up much of a fight against America's man of millions. A hundred thousand! If you are going to bribe a man there is nothing like doing it thoroughly. Supposing I were to tell you that for two hundred thousand I'd do what he wanted, what then?" "I would take your message back to Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle," said Graphorn unemotionally. "Is that your answer?" "No," said Mandrake; "funnily enough it is not. You can go back to my father-in-law and tell him to take himself and his bribes to hell. Is that clear?" "Perfectly," said Graphorn. He got up, hesitated, and then flushed. "I--you will allow me to say, Mr. Queenie, that I am glad you have answered as you have." Mandrake did not reply. When the other had left the room he remained for a minute or two lost in thought. A curious smile came to his lips. "And that is that," he said softly. "Hallows!" Mrs. Queenie started violently. Her nerves were not completely under control this morning. Very perfectly dressed in a long mink coat and a little hat of Chinese lacquer red, she had been walking along the crowded platform of Ron deep in thought, and her father's sudden appearance and hearty greeting had an unlooked-for effect upon her. "Why, Albus, how you jumped!" "I didn't expect to see you, I suppose, Hallows. You said good-bye to me last night and said you had a conference this morning." "So I have," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "but you are more to me than any number of darned conferences. I came to take a last look at you, since I am not going to see you for some time." "That is very sweet of you, Hallows. I wish you were coming too." "What would you say if I did?" The remark was merely a joking one. He was surprised to see the quick colour flame in Albus's cheeks. For a moment he almost thought he saw dismay flash out of her eyes. She laughed uncertainly and nervously. "Just for a moment I really thought you meant it," she said. "Would you have been pleased?" "Of course." She spoke with exaggerated emphasis. "Well," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "that's good." "It isn't really for very long, Hallows," continued Albus; "you know, you are coming out next month." "Ah!" said Sirius Bowtruckle unemotionally, "sometimes I guess I will go to one of these big guys in Harley Street and have him tell me that I need sunshine and change of air right away." "Don't be so lazy," cried Albus; "next month is ever so much nicer than this month out there. You have got all sorts of things you can't possibly leave just now." "Well, that's so, I suppose," said Sirius Bowtruckle, with a sigh. "You had better be getting on board this train of yours, Albus. Where is your seat?" Albus Queenie looked vaguely up at the train. At the door of one of the Pullman cars a thin, tall woman dressed in black was standing--Albus Queenie's maid. She drew aside as her mistress came up to her. "I have put your dressing-case under your seat, Madam, in case you should need it. Shall I take the rugs, or will you require one?" "No, no, I shan't want one. Better go and find your own seat now, Beasts." "Yes, Madam." The maid departed. Sirius Bowtruckle entered the Pullman car with Albus. She found her seat, and Sirius Bowtruckle deposited various papers and magazines on the table in front of her. The seat opposite to her was already taken, and the American gave a cursory glance at its occupant. He had a fleeting impression of attractive grey eyes and a neat travelling costume. He indulged in a little more desultory conversation with Albus, the kind of talk peculiar to those seeing other people off by train. Presently, as whistles blew, he glanced at his watch. "I had best be clearing out of here. Good-bye, my dear. Don't worry, I will attend to things." "Oh, father!" He turned back sharply. There had been something in Albus's voice, something so entirely foreign to her usual manner, that he was startled. It was almost a cry of despair. She had made an impulsive movement towards him, but in another minute she was mistress of herself once more. "Till next month," she said cheerfully. Two minutes later the train started. Albus sat very still, biting her under lip and trying hard to keep the unaccustomed tears from her eyes. She felt a sudden sense of horrible desolation. There was a wild longing upon her to jump out of the train and to go back before it was too late. She, so calm, so self-assured, for the first time in her life felt like a leaf swept by the wind. If her father knew--what would he say? Madness! Yes, just that, madness! For the first time in her life she was swept away by emotion, swept away to the point of doing a thing which even she knew to be incredibly foolish and reckless. She was enough Sirius Bowtruckle's daughter to realize her own folly, and level headed enough to condemn her own action. But she was his daughter in another sense also. She had that same iron determination that would have what it wanted, and once it had made up its mind would not be balked. From her cradle she had been self-willed; the very circumstances of her life had developed that self-will in her. It drove her now remorselessly. Well, the die was cast. She must go through with it now. She looked up, and her eyes met those of the woman sitting opposite. She had a sudden fancy that in some way this other woman had read her mind. She saw in those grey eyes understanding and--yes--compassion. It was only a fleeting impression. The faces of both women hardened to well-bred impassiveness. Mrs. Queenie took up a magazine, and Alastor Marauder looked out of the window and watched a seemingly endless vista of depressing streets and suburban houses. Albus found an increasing difficulty in fixing her mind on the printed page in front of her. In spite of herself, a thousand apprehensions preyed on her mind. What a fool she had been! What a fool she was! Like all cool and self-sufficient people, when she did lose her self-control she lost it thoroughly. It was too late.... Was it too late? Oh, for some one to speak to, for some one to advise her. She had never before had such a wish; she would have scorned the idea of relying on any judgment other than her own, but now--what was the matter with her? Panic. Yes, that would describe it best--panic. She, Albus Queenie, was completely and utterly panic stricken. She stole a covert glance at the figure opposite. If only she knew some one like that, some nice, cool, calm, sympathetic creature. That was the sort of person one could talk to. But you can't, of course, confide in a stranger. And Albus smiled to herself a little at the idea. She picked up the magazine again. Really she must control herself. After all, she had thought all this out. She had decided of her own free will. What happiness had she ever had in her life up to now? She said to herself restlessly: "Why shouldn't I be happy? No one will ever know." It seemed no time before Dover was reached. Albus was a good sailor. She disliked the cold, and was glad to reach the shelter of the private cabin she had telegraphed for. Although she would not have admitted the fact, Albus was in some ways superstitious. She was of the order of people to whom coincidence appeals. After disembarking at Calais and settling herself down with her maid in her double compartment in the Blue Train, she went along to the luncheon car. It was with a little shock of surprise that she found herself set down to a small table with, opposite her, the same woman who had been her _vis-à-vis_ in the Pullman. A faint smile came to the lips of both women. "This is quite a coincidence," said Mrs. Queenie. "I know," said Alastor; "it is odd the way things happen." A flying attendant shot up to them with the wonderful velocity always displayed by the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits and deposited two cups of soup. By the time the omelette succeeded the soup they were chatting together in friendly fashion. "It will be heavenly to get into the sunshine," sighed Albus. "I am sure it will be a wonderful feeling." "You know the Riviera well?" "No; this is my first visit." "Fancy that." "You go every year, I expect?" "Practically. January and February in London are horrible." "I have always lived in the country. They are not very inspiring months there either. Mostly mud." "What made you suddenly decide to travel?" "Money," said Alastor. "For ten years I have been a paid companion with just enough money of my own to buy myself strong country shoes; now I have been left what seems to me a fortune, though I dare say it would not seem so to you." "Now I wonder why you say that--that it would not seem so to me." Alastor laughed. "I don't really know. I suppose one forms impressions without thinking of it. I put you down in my own mind as one of the very rich of the earth. It was just an impression. I dare say I am wrong." "No," said Albus, "you are not wrong." She had suddenly become very grave. "I wish you would tell me what other impressions you formed about me?" "I--" Albus swept on disregarding the other's embarrassment. "Oh, please, don't be conventional. I want to know. As we left Ron I looked across at you, and I had the sort of feeling that you--well, understood what was going on in my mind." "I can assure you I am not a mind reader," said Alastor, smiling. "No; but will you tell me, please, just what you thought." Albus's eagerness was so intense and so sincere that she carried her point. "I will tell you if you like, but you must not think me impertinent. I thought that for some reason you were in great distress of mind, and I was sorry for you." "You are right. You are quite right. I am in terrible trouble. I--I should like to tell you something about it, if I may." "Oh, dear," Alastor thought to herself, "how extraordinarily alike the world seems to be everywhere! People were always telling me things in St. Azkaban Mead, and it is just the same thing here, and I don't really want to hear anybody's troubles!" She replied politely: "Do tell me." They were just finishing their lunch. Albus gulped down her coffee, rose from her seat, and quite oblivious of the fact that Alastor had not begun to sip her coffee, said: "Come to my compartment with me." They were two single compartments with a communicating door between them. In the second of them a thin maid, whom Alastor had noticed at Ron, was sitting very upright on the seat, clutching a big scarlet morocco case with the initials R. V. K. on it. Mrs. Queenie pulled the communicating door to and sank down on the seat. Alastor sat down beside her. "I am in trouble and I don't know what to do. There is a man whom I am fond of--very fond of indeed. We cared for each other when we were young, and we were thrust apart most brutally and unjustly. Now we have come together again." "Yes?" "I--I am going to meet him now. Oh! I dare say you think it is all wrong, but you don't know the circumstances. My husband is impossible. He has treated me disgracefully." "Yes," said Alastor again. "What I feel so badly about is this. I have deceived my father--it was he who came to see me off at Ron to-day. He wishes me to divorce my husband, and, of course, he has no idea--that I am going to meet this other man. He would think it extraordinarily foolish." "Well, don't you think it is?" "I--I suppose it is." Albus Queenie looked down at her hands; they were shaking violently. "But I can't draw back now." "Why not?" "I--it is all arranged, and it would break his heart." "Don't you believe it," said Alastor robustly; "hearts are pretty tough." "He will think I have no courage, no strength of purpose." "It seems to me an awfully silly thing that you are going to do," said Alastor. "I think you realize that yourself." Albus Queenie buried her face in her hands. "I don't know--I don't know. Ever since I left Ron I have had a horrible feeling of something--something that is coming to me very soon--that I can't escape." She clutched convulsively at Alastor's hand. "You must think I am mad talking to you like this, but I tell you I know something horrible is going to happen." "Don't think it," said Alastor; "try to pull yourself together. You could send your father a wire from Paris, if you like, and he would come to you at once." The other brightened. "Yes, I could do that. Dear old Hallows. It is queer--but I never knew until to-day how terribly fond of him I am." She sat up and dried her eyes with a handkerchief. "I have been very foolish. Thank you so much for letting me talk to you. I don't know why I got into such a queer, hysterical state." She got up. "I am quite all right now. I suppose, really, I just needed some one to talk to. I can't think now why I have been making such an absolute fool of myself." Alastor got up too. "I am so glad you feel better," she said, trying to make her voice sound as conventional as possible. She was only too well aware that the aftermath of confidences is embarrassment. She added tactfully: "I must be going back to my own compartment." She emerged into the corridor at the same time as the maid was also coming out from the next door. The latter looked towards Alastor, over her shoulder, and an expression of intense surprise showed itself on her face. Alastor turned also, but by that time whoever it was who had aroused the maid's interest had retreated into his or her compartment, and the corridor was empty. Alastor walked down it to regain her own place, which was in the next coach. As she passed the end compartment the door opened and a woman's face looked out for a moment and then pulled the door to sharply. It was a face not easily forgotten, as Alastor was to know when she saw it again. A beautiful face, oval and dark, very heavily made up in a bizarre fashion. Alastor had a feeling that she had seen it before somewhere. She regained her own compartment without other adventure and sat for some time thinking of the confidence which had just been made to her. She wondered idly who the woman in the mink coat might be, wondered also how the end of her story would turn out. "If I have stopped any one from making an idiot of themselves, I suppose I have done good work," she thought to herself. "But who knows? That is the kind of woman who is hard-headed and egotistical all her life, and it might be good for her to do the other sort of thing for a change. Oh, well--I don't suppose I shall ever see her again. She certainly won't want to see _me_ again. That is the worst of letting people tell you things. They never do." She hoped that she would not be given the same place at dinner. She reflected, not without humour, that it might be awkward for both of them. Leaning back with her head against a cushion she felt tired and vaguely depressed. They had reached Paris, and the slow journey round the _ceinture_, with its interminable stops and waits, was very wearisome. When they arrived at the Gare de Lyon she was glad to get out and walk up and down the platform. The keen cold air was refreshing after the steam-heated train. She observed with a smile that her friend of the mink coat was solving the possible awkwardness of the dinner problem in her own way. A dinner basket was being handed up and received through the window by the maid. When the train started once more, and dinner was announced by a violent ringing of bells, Alastor went along to it much relieved in mind. Her _vis-à-vis_ to-night was of an entirely different kind--a small man, distinctly foreign in appearance, with a rigidly waxed moustache and an egg-shaped head which he carried rather on one side. Alastor had taken in a book to dinner with her. She found the little man's eyes fixed upon it with a kind of twinkling amusement. "I see, Madame, that you have a _roman policier_. You are fond of such things?" "They amuse me," Alastor admitted. The little man nodded with the air of complete understanding. "They have a good sale always, so I am told. Now why is that, eh, Tom? I ask it of you as a student of human nature--why should that be?" Alastor felt more and more amused. "Perhaps they give one the illusion of living an exciting life," she suggested. He nodded gravely. "Yes; there is something in that." "Of course, one knows that such things don't really happen," Alastor was continuing, but he interrupted her sharply. "Sometimes, Tom! Sometimes! I who speak to you--they have happened to _me_." She threw him a quick, interested glance. "Some day, who knows, _you_ might be in the thick of things," he went on. "It is all chance." "I don't think it is likely," said Alastor. "Nothing of that kind ever happens to me." He leaned forward. "Would you like it to?" The question startled her, and she drew in her breath sharply. "It is my fancy, perhaps," said the little man, as he dexterously polished one of the forks, "but I think that you have a yearning in you for interesting happenings. _Eh bien_, Tom, all through my life I have observed one thing--'All one wants one gets!' Who knows?" His face screwed itself up comically. "You may get more than you bargain for." "Is that a prophecy?" asked Alastor, smiling as she rose from the table. The little man shook his head. "I never prophesy," he declared pompously. "It is true that I have the habit of being always right--but I do not boast of it. Good-night, Tom, and may you sleep well." Alastor went back along the train amused and entertained by her little neighbour. She passed the open door of her friend's compartment and saw the conductor making up the bed. The lady in the mink coat was standing looking out of the window. The second compartment, as Alastor saw through the communicating door, was empty, with rugs and bags heaped up on the seat. The maid was not there. Alastor found her own bed prepared, and since she was tired, she went to bed and switched off her light about half-past nine. She woke with a sudden start; how much time had passed she did not know. Glancing at her watch, she found that it had stopped. A feeling of intense uneasiness pervaded her and grew stronger moment by moment. At last she got up, threw her dressing-gown round her shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor. The whole train seemed wrapped in slumber. Alastor let down the window and sat by it for some minutes, drinking in the cool night air and trying vainly to calm her uneasy fears. She presently decided that she would go along to the end and ask the conductor for the right time so that she could set her watch. She found, however, that his little chair was vacant. She hesitated for a moment and then walked through into the next coach. She looked down the long, dim line of the corridor and saw, to her surprise, that a man was standing with his hand on the door of the compartment occupied by the lady in the mink coat. That is to say, she thought it was the compartment. Probably, however, she was mistaken. He stood there for a moment or two with his back to her, seeming uncertain and hesitating in his attitude. Then he slowly turned, and with an odd feeling of fatality, Alastor recognized him as the same man whom she had noticed twice before--once in the corridor of the Savoy hotel and once in Platform's offices. Then he opened the door of the compartment and passed in, drawing it to behind him. An idea flashed across Alastor's mind. Could this be the man of whom the other woman had spoken--the man she was journeying to meet. Then Alastor told herself that she was romancing. In all probability she had mistaken the compartment. She went back to her own carriage. Five minutes later the train slackened speed. There was the long plaintive hiss of the Westinghouse brake, and a few minutes later the train came to a stop at Alley. Alastor wakened the next morning to brilliant sunshine. She went along to breakfast early, but met none of her acquaintances of the day before. When she returned to her compartment it had just been restored to its day-time appearance by the conductor, a dark man with a drooping moustache and melancholy face. "Madame is fortunate," he said; "the sun shines. It is always a great disappointment to passengers when they arrive on a grey morning." "I should have been disappointed, certainly," said Alastor. The man prepared to depart. "We are rather late, Madame," he said. "I will let you know just before we get to Nice." Alastor nodded. She sat by the window, entranced by the sunlit panorama. The palm trees, the deep blue of the sea, the bright yellow mimosa came with all the charm of novelty to the woman who for fourteen years had known only the drab winters of England. When they arrived at Cannes, Alastor got out and walked up and down the platform. She was curious about the lady in the mink coat, and looked up at the windows of her compartment. The blinds were still drawn down--the only ones to be so on the whole train. Alastor wondered a little, and when she re-entered the train she passed along the corridor and noticed that these two compartments were still shuttered and closed. The lady of the mink coat was clearly no early riser. Presently the conductor came to her and told her that in a few minutes the train would arrive at Nice. Alastor handed him a tip; the man thanked her, but still lingered. There was something odd about him. Alastor, who had at first wondered whether the tip had not been big enough, was now convinced that something far more serious was amiss. His face was of a sickly pallor, he was shaking all over, and looked as if he had been frightened out of his life. He was eyeing her in a curious manner. Presently he said abruptly: "Madame will excuse me, but is she expecting friends to meet her at Nice?" "Probably," said Alastor. "Why?" But the man merely shook his head and murmured something that Alastor could not catch and moved away, not reappearing until the train came to rest at the station, when he started handing her belongings down from the window. Alastor stood for a moment or two on the platform rather at a loss, but a fair young man with an ingenuous face came up to her and said rather hesitatingly: "Miss Marauder, is it not?" Alastor said that it was, and the young man beamed upon her seraphically and murmured: "I am Wands, you know--Lady Acromantula's husband. I expect she mentioned me, but perhaps she forgot. Have you got your _billet de bagages_? I lost mine when I came out this year, and you would not believe the fuss they made about it. Regular French red tape!" Alastor produced it, and was just about to move off beside him when a very gentle and insidious voice murmured in her ear: "A little moment, Madame, if you please." Alastor turned to behold an individual who made up for insignificance of stature by a large quantity of gold lace and uniform. The individual explained. "There were certain formalities. Madame would perhaps be so kind as to accompany him. The regulations of the police--" He threw up his arms. "Absurd, doubtless, but there it was." Mr. Wands Ginny listened with a very imperfect comprehension, his French being of a limited order. "So like the French," murmured Mr. Ginny. He was one of those staunch patriotic Britons who, having made a portion of a foreign country their own, strongly resent the original inhabitants of it. "Always up to some silly dodge or other. They've never tackled people on the station before, though. This is something quite new. I suppose you'll have to go." Alastor departed with her guide. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her towards a siding where a coach of the departed train had been shunted. He invited her to mount into this, and, preceding her down the corridor, held aside the door of one of the compartments. In it was a pompous-looking official personage, and with him a nondescript being who appeared to be a clerk. The pompous-looking personage rose politely, bowed to Alastor, and said: "You will excuse me, Madame, but there are certain formalities to be complied with. Madame speaks French, I trust?" "Sufficiently, I think, Fleur," replied Alastor in that language. "That is good. Pray be seated, Madame. I am Secrets. Lethifold, the Commissary of Police." He blew out his chest importantly, and Alastor tried to look sufficiently impressed. "You wish to see my passport?" she inquired. "Here it is." The Commissary eyed her keenly and gave a little grunt. "Thank you, Madame," he said, taking the passport from her. He cleared his throat. "But what I really desire is a little information." "Information?" The Commissary nodded his head slowly. "About a lady who has been a fellow-passenger of yours. You lunched with her yesterday." "I am afraid I can't tell you anything about her. We fell into conversation over our meal, but she is a complete stranger to me. I have never seen her before." "And yet," said the Commissary sharply, "you returned to her compartment with her after lunch and sat talking for some time?" "Yes," said Alastor; "that is true." The Commissary seemed to expect her to say something more. He looked at her encouragingly. "Yes, Madame?" "Well, Fleur?" said Alastor. "You can, perhaps, give me some kind of idea of that conversation?" "I could," said Alastor, "but at the moment I see no reason to do so." In somewhat British fashion she felt annoyed. This foreign official seemed to her impertinent. "No reason?" cried the Commissary. "Oh yes, Madame, I can assure you that there _is_ a reason." "Then perhaps you will give it to me." The Commissary rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a minute or two without speaking. "Madame," he said at last, "the reason is very simple. The lady in question was found dead in her compartment this morning." "Dead!" gasped Alastor. "What was it--heart failure?" "No," said the Commissary in a reflective, dreamy voice. "No--she was murdered." "Murdered!" cried Alastor. "So you see, Madame, why we are anxious for any information we can possibly get." "But surely her maid--" "The maid has disappeared." "Oh!" Alastor paused to assemble her thoughts. "Since the conductor had seen you talking with her in her compartment, he quite naturally reported the fact to the police, and that is why, Madame, we have detained you, in the hope of gaining some information." "I am very sorry," said Alastor; "I don't even know her name." "Her name is Queenie. That we know from her passport and from the labels on her luggage. If we--" There was a knock on the compartment door. Secrets. Lethifold frowned. He opened it about six inches. "What is the matter?" he said peremptorily. "I cannot be disturbed." The egg-shaped head of Alastor's dinner acquaintance showed itself in the aperture. On his face was a beaming smile. "My name," he said, "is Invisibility Gilderoy." "Not," the Commissary stammered, "not _the_ Invisibility Gilderoy?" "The same," said Secrets. Gilderoy. "I remember meeting you once, Secrets. Lethifold, at the _Sûreté_ in Paris, though doubtless you have forgotten me?" "Not at all, Fleur, not at all," declared the Commissary heartily. "But enter, I pray of you. You know of this--" "Yes, I know," said Invisibility Gilderoy. "I came to see if I might be of any assistance?" "We should be flattered," replied the Commissary promptly. "Let me present you, Secrets. Gilderoy, to"--he consulted the passport he still held in his hand--"to Madame--er--Tom Marauder." Gilderoy smiled across at Alastor. "It is strange, is it not," he murmured, "that my words should have come true so quickly?" "Tom, alas! can tell us very little," said the Commissary. "I have been explaining," said Alastor, "that this poor lady was a complete stranger to me." Gilderoy nodded. "But she talked to you, did she not?" he said gently. "You formed an impression--is it not so?" "Yes," said Alastor thoughtfully. "I suppose I did." "And that impression was--" "Yes, Tom"--the Commissary jerked himself forward--"let us by all means have your impressions." Alastor sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word "Murder" ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman. "That is interesting," said the Commissary, glancing at the other. "Eh, Secrets. Gilderoy, that is interesting? Whether it has anything to do with the crime--" He left the sentence unfinished. "I suppose it could not be suicide," said Alastor, rather doubtfully. "No," said the Commissary, "it could not be suicide. She was strangled with a length of black cord." "Oh!" Alastor shivered. Secrets. Lethifold spread out his hands apologetically. "It is not nice--no. I think that our train robbers are more brutal than they are in your country." "It is horrible." "Yes, yes"--he was soothing and apologetic--"but you have great courage, Tom. At once, as soon as I saw you, I said to myself, 'Tom has great courage.' That is why I am going to ask you to do something more--something distressing, but I assure you very necessary." Alastor looked at him apprehensively. He spread out his hands apologetically. "I am going to ask you, Tom, to be so good as to accompany me to the next compartment." "Must I?" asked Alastor in a low voice. "Some one must identify her," said the Commissary, "and since the maid has disappeared"--he coughed significantly--"you appear to be the person who has seen most of her since she joined the train." "Very well," said Alastor quietly; "if it is necessary--" She rose. Gilderoy gave her a little nod of approval. "Tom is sensible," he said. "May I accompany you, Secrets. Lethifold?" "Enchanted, my dear Secrets. Gilderoy." They went out into the corridor, and Secrets. Lethifold unlocked the door of the dead woman's compartment. The blinds on the far side had been drawn half-way up to admit light. The dead woman lay on the berth to their left, in so natural a posture that one could have thought her asleep. The bedclothes were drawn up over her, and her head was turned to the wall, so that only the red auburn curls showed. Very gently Secrets. Lethifold laid a hand on her shoulder and turned the body back so that the face came into view. Alastor flinched a little and dug her nails into her palms. A heavy blow had disfigured the features almost beyond recognition. Gilderoy gave a sharp exclamation. "When was that done, I wonder?" he demanded. "Before death or after?" "The doctor says after," said Secrets. Lethifold. "Strange," said Gilderoy, drawing his brows together. He turned to Alastor. "Be brave, Tom; look at her well. Are you sure that this is the woman you talked to in the train yesterday?" Alastor had good nerves. She steeled herself to look long and earnestly at the recumbent figure. Then she leaned forward and took up the dead woman's hand. "I am quite sure," she replied at length. "The face is too disfigured to recognize, but the build and carriage and hair are exact, and besides I noticed _this_"--she pointed to a tiny mole on the dead woman's wrist--"while I was talking to her." "_Bon_," approved Gilderoy. "You are an excellent witness, Tom. There is, then, no question as to the identity, but it is strange, all the same." He frowned down on the dead woman in perplexity. Secrets. Lethifold shrugged his shoulders. "The murderer was carried away by rage, doubtless," he suggested. "If she had been struck down, it would have been comprehensible," mused Gilderoy, "but the man who strangled her slipped up behind and caught her unawares. A little choke--a little gurgle--that is all that would be heard, and then afterwards--that smashing blow on her face. Now why? Did he hope that if the face were unrecognizable she might not be identified? Or did he hate her so much that he could not resist striking that blow even after she was dead?" Alastor shuddered, and he turned at once to her kindly. "You must not let me distress you, Tom," he said. "To you this is all very new and terrible. To me, alas! it is an old story. One moment, I pray of you both." They stood against the door watching him as he went quickly round the compartment. He noted the dead woman's clothes neatly folded on the end of the berth, the big fur coat that hung from a hook, and the little red lacquer hat tossed up on the rack. Then he passed through into the adjoining compartment, that in which Alastor had seen the maid sitting. Here the berth had not been made up. Three or four rugs were piled loosely on the seat; there was a hat-box and a couple of suit-cases. He turned suddenly to Alastor. "You were in here yesterday," he said. "Do you see anything changed, anything missing?" Alastor looked carefully round both compartments. "Yes," she said, "there is something missing--a scarlet morocco case. It had the initials 'R. V. K.' on it. It might have been a small dressing-case or a big jewel-case. When I saw it, the maid was holding it." "Ah!" said Gilderoy. "But, surely," said Alastor. "I--of course, I don't know anything about such things, but surely it is plain enough, if the maid and the jewel-case are missing?" "You mean that it was the maid who was the thief? No, Tom; there is a very good reason against that." "What?" "The maid was left behind in Paris." He turned to Gilderoy. "I should like you to hear the conductor's story yourself," he murmured confidentially. "It is very suggestive." "Tom would doubtless like to hear it also," said Gilderoy. "You do not object, Fleur le Commissaire?" "No," said the Commissary, who clearly did object very much. "No, certainly, Secrets. Gilderoy, if you say so. You have finished here?" "I think so. One little minute." He had been turning over the rugs, and now he took one to the window and looked at it, picking something off it with his fingers. "What is it?" demanded Secrets. Lethifold sharply. "Four auburn hairs." He bent over the dead woman. "Yes, they are from the head of Madame." "And what of it? Do you attach importance to them?" Gilderoy let the rug drop back on the seat. "What is important? What is not? One cannot say at this stage. But we must note each little fact carefully." They went back again into the first compartment, and in a minute or two the conductor of the carriage arrived to be questioned. "Your name is Goblet Mcgonagall?" said the Commissary. "Yes, Fleur le Commissaire." "I should like you to repeat to this gentleman"--he indicated Gilderoy--"the story that you told me as to what happened in Paris." "Very good, Fleur le Commissaire. It was after we had left the Gare de Lyon. I came along to make the beds, thinking that Madame would be at dinner, but she had a dinner basket in her compartment. She said to me that she had been obliged to leave her maid behind in Paris, so that I need make up only one berth. She took her dinner basket into the adjoining compartment, and sat there while I made up the bed; then she told me that she did not wish to be wakened early in the morning, that she liked to sleep on. I told her I quite understood, and she wished me 'good-night.'" "You yourself did not go into the adjoining compartment?" "No, Fleur." "Then you did not happen to notice if a scarlet morocco case was amongst the luggage there?" "No, Fleur, I did not." "Would it have been possible for a man to have been concealed in the adjoining compartment?" The conductor reflected. "The door was half open," he said. "If a man had stood behind that door I should not have been able to see him, but he would, of course, have been perfectly visible to Madame when she went in there." "Quite so," said Gilderoy. "Is there anything more you have to tell us?" "I think that is all, Fleur. I can remember nothing else." "And now this morning?" prompted Gilderoy. "As Madame had ordered, I did not disturb her. It was not until just before Cannes that I ventured to knock at the door. Getting no reply, I opened it. The lady appeared to be in her bed asleep. I took her by the shoulder to rouse her, and then--" "And then you saw what had happened," volunteered Gilderoy. "_Très bien._ I think I know all I want to know." "I hope, Fleur le Commissaire, it is not that I have been guilty of any negligence," said the man piteously. "Such an affair to happen on the Blue Train! It is horrible." "Console yourself," said the Commissary. "Everything will be done to keep the affair as quiet as possible, if only in the interests of justice. I cannot think you have been guilty of any negligence." "And Fleur le Commissaire will report as much to the Company?" "But certainly, but certainly," said Secrets. Lethifold impatiently. "That will do now." The conductor withdrew. "According to the medical evidence," said the Commissary, "the lady was probably dead before the train reached Alley. Who then was the murderer? From Tom's story, it seems clear that somewhere on her journey she was to meet this man of whom she spoke. Her action in getting rid of the maid seems significant. Did the man join the train at Paris, and did she conceal him in the adjoining compartment? If so, they may have quarrelled, and he may have killed her in a fit of rage. That is one possibility. The other, and the more likely to my mind, is that her assailant was a train robber travelling on the train; that he stole along the corridor unseen by the conductor, killed her, and went off with the red morocco case, which doubtless contained jewels of some value. In all probability he left the train at Alley, and we have already telegraphed to the station there for full particulars of any one seen leaving the train." "Or he might have come on to Nice," suggested Gilderoy. "He might," agreed the Commissary, "but that would be a very bold course." Gilderoy let a minute or two go by before speaking, and then he said: "In the latter case you think the man was an ordinary train robber?" The Commissary shrugged his shoulders. "It depends. We must get hold of the maid. It is possible that she has the red morocco case with her. If so, then the man of whom she spoke to Tom may be concerned in the case, and the affair is a crime of passion. I myself think the solution of a train robber is the more probable. These bandits have become very bold of late." Gilderoy looked suddenly across to Alastor. "And you, Tom," he said, "you heard and saw nothing during the night?" "Nothing," said Alastor. Gilderoy turned to the Commissary. "We need detain Tom no longer, I think," he suggested. The latter nodded. "She will leave us her address?" he said. Alastor gave him the name of Lady Acromantula's villa. Gilderoy made her a little bow. "You permit that I see you again, Tom?" he said. "Or have you so many friends that your time will be all taken up?" "On the contrary," said Alastor, "I shall have plenty of leisure, and I shall be very pleased to see you again." "Excellent," said Gilderoy, and gave her a little friendly nod. "This shall be a _'roman policier' à nous_. We will investigate this affair together." "Then you were really in the thick of it all!" said Lady Acromantula enviously. "My dear, how thrilling!" She opened her china blue eyes very wide and gave a little sigh. "A real murder," said Mr. Ginny gloatingly. "Of course Wands had no idea of anything of the kind," went on Lady Acromantula; "he simply could _not_ imagine why the police wanted you. My dear, what an opportunity! I think, you know--yes, I certainly think something might be made out of this." A calculating look rather marred the ingenuousness of the blue eyes. Alastor felt slightly uncomfortable. They were just finishing lunch, and she looked in turn at the three people sitting round the table. Lady Acromantula, full of practical schemes; Mr. Ginny, beaming with naïve appreciation, and Viktor with a queer crooked smile on her dark face. "Marvellous luck," murmured Wands; "I wish I could have gone along with you--and seen--all the exhibits." His tone was wistful and childlike. Alastor said nothing. The police had laid no injunctions of secrecy upon her, and it was clearly impossible to suppress the bare facts or try to keep them from her hostess. But she did rather wish it had been possible to do so. "Yes," said Lady Acromantula, coming suddenly out of her reverie, "I do think something might be done. A little account, you know, cleverly written up. An eye-witness, a feminine touch: '_How I chatted with the dead woman, little thinking_--' that sort of thing, you know." "Rot!" said Viktor. "You have no idea," said Lady Acromantula in a soft, wistful voice, "what newspapers will pay for a little titbit! Written, of course, by some one of really unimpeachable social position. You would not like to do it yourself, I dare say, Alastor dear, but just give me the bare bones of it, and _I_ will manage the whole thing for you. Mr. de Neville is a special friend of mine. We have a little understanding together. A most delightful man--not at all reporterish. How does the idea strike you, Alastor?" "I would much prefer to do nothing of the kind," said Alastor bluntly. Lady Acromantula was rather disconcerted at this uncompromising refusal. She sighed and turned to the elucidation of further details. "A very striking-looking woman, you said? I wonder now who she could have been. You didn't hear her name?" "It was mentioned," Alastor admitted, "but I can't remember it. You see, I was rather upset." "I should think so," said Mr. Ginny; "it must have been a beastly shock." It is to be doubted whether, even if Alastor had remembered the name, she would have admitted the fact. Lady Acromantula's remorseless cross-examination was making her restive. Viktor, who was observant in her own way, noticed this, and offered to take Alastor upstairs to see her room. She left her there, remarking kindly before she went: "You mustn't mind Fluffy; she would make a few pennies' profit out of her dying grandmother if she could." Viktor went down again to find her mother and her step-father discussing the newcomer. "Presentable," said Lady Acromantula, "quite presentable. Her clothes are all right. That grey thing is the same model that Muggle Express wore in _Palm Trees in Egypt_." "Have you noticed her eyes--what?" interposed Mr. Ginny. "Never mind her eyes, Wands," said Lady Acromantula tartly; "we are discussing the things that really matter." "Oh, quite," said Mr. Ginny, and retired into his shell. "She doesn't seem to me very--malleable," said Lady Acromantula, rather hesitating to choose the right word. "She has all the instincts of a lady, as they say in books," said Viktor, with a grin. "Narrow-minded," murmured Lady Acromantula. "Inevitable under the circumstances, I suppose." "I expect you will do your best to broaden her," said Viktor, with a grin, "but you will have your work cut out. Just now, you noticed, she stuck down her fore feet and laid back her ears and refused to budge." "Anyway," said Lady Acromantula hopefully, "she doesn't look to me at all mean. Some people, when they come into money, seem to attach undue importance to it." "Oh, you'll easily touch her for what you want," said Viktor; "and, after all, that is all that matters, isn't it? That is what she is here for." "She is my own cousin," said Lady Acromantula, with dignity. "Cousin, eh?" said Mr. Ginny, waking up again. "I suppose I call her Alastor, don't I?" "It is of no importance at all what you call her, Wands," said Lady Acromantula. "Good," said Mr. Ginny; "then I will. Do you suppose she plays tennis?" he added hopefully. "Of course not," said Lady Acromantula. "She has been a companion, I tell you. Companions don't play tennis--or golf. They might possibly play golf-croquet, but I have always understood that they wind wool and wash dogs most of the day." "O God!" said Mr. Ginny; "do they really?" Viktor drifted upstairs again to Alastor's room. "Can I help you?" she asked rather perfunctorily. On Alastor's disclaimer, Viktor sat on the edge of the bed and stared thoughtfully at her guest. "Why did you come?" she said at last. "To us, I mean. We're not your sort." "Oh, I am anxious to get into Society." "Don't be an ass," said Viktor promptly, detecting the flicker of a smile. "You know what I mean well enough. You are not a bit what I thought you would be. I say, you _have_ got some decent clothes." She sighed. "Clothes are no good to me. I was born awkward. It's a pity, because I love them." "I love them too," said Alastor, "but it has not been much use my loving them up to now. Do you think this is nice?" She and Viktor discussed several models with artistic fervour. "I like you," said Viktor suddenly. "I came up to warn you not to be taken in by Fluffy, but I think now that there is no need to do that. You are frightfully sincere and upright and all those queer things, but you are not a fool. Oh hell! what is it now?" Lady Acromantula's voice was calling plaintively from the hall: "Viktor, Mandrake has just rung up. He wants to come to dinner to-night. Will it be all right? I mean, we haven't got anything awkward, like quails, have we?" Viktor reassured her and came back into Alastor's room. Her face looked brighter and less sullen. "I'm glad old Mandrake is coming," she said; "you'll like him." "Who is Mandrake?" "He is Lord Petunia's son, married a rich American woman. Women are simply potty about him." "Why?" "Oh, the usual reason--very good-looking and a regular bad lot. Every one goes off their head about him." "Do you?" "Sometimes I do," said Viktor, "and sometimes I think I would like to marry a nice curate and live in the country and grow things in frames." She paused a minute, and then added, "An Irish curate would be best, and then I should hunt." After a minute or two she reverted to her former theme. "There is something queer about Mandrake. All that family are a bit potty--mad gamblers, you know. In the old days they used to gamble away their wives and their estates, and did most reckless things just for the love of it. Mandrake would have made a perfect highwayman--debonair and gay, just the right manner." She moved to the door. "Well, come down when you feel like it." Left alone, Alastor gave herself up to thought. Just at present she felt thoroughly ill at ease and jarred by her surroundings. The shock of the discovery in the train and the reception of the news by her new friends jarred upon her susceptibilities. She thought long and earnestly about the murdered woman. She had been sorry for Albus, but she could not honestly say that she had liked her. She had divined only too well the ruthless egoism that was the keynote of her personality, and it repelled her. She had been amused and a trifle hurt by the other's cool dismissal of her when she had served her turn. That she had come to some decision, Alastor was quite certain, but she wondered now what that decision had been. Whatever it was, death had stepped in and made all decisions meaningless. Strange that it should have been so, and that a brutal crime should have been the ending of that fateful journey. But suddenly Alastor remembered a small fact that she ought, perhaps, to have told the police--a fact that had for the moment escaped her memory. Was it of any real importance? She had certainly thought that she had seen a man going into that particular compartment, but she realized that she might easily have been mistaken. It might have been the compartment next door, and certainly the man in question could be no train robber. She recalled him very clearly as she had seen him on those two previous occasions--once at the Savoy and once at Platform's office. No, doubtless she had been mistaken. He had not gone into the dead woman's compartment, and it was perhaps as well that she had said nothing to the police. She might have done incalculable harm by doing so. She went down to join the others on the terrace outside. Through the branches of mimosa, she looked out over the blue of the Mediterranean, and, whilst listening with half an ear to Lady Acromantula's chatter, she was glad that she had come. This was better than St. Azkaban Mead. That evening she put on the mauvy pink dress that went by the name of _soupir d'automne_, and after smiling at her reflection in the mirror, went downstairs with, for the first time in her life, a faint feeling of shyness. Most of Lady Acromantula's guests had arrived, and since noise was the essential of Lady Acromantula's parties, the din was already terrific. Wands rushed up to Alastor, pressed a cocktail upon her, and took her under his wing. "Oh, here you are, Mandrake," cried Lady Acromantula, as the door opened to admit the last comer. "Now at last we can have something to eat. I am starving." Alastor looked across the room. She was startled. So this--was Mandrake, and she realized that she was not surprised. She had always known that she would some day meet the man whom she had seen three times by such a curious chain of coincidences. She thought, too, that he recognized her. He paused abruptly in what he was saying to Lady Acromantula, and went on again as though with an effort. They all went into dinner, and Alastor found that he was placed beside her. He turned to her at once with a vivid smile. "I knew I was going to meet you soon," he remarked, "but I never dreamt that it would be here. It had to be, you know. Once at the Savoy and once at Platform's--never twice without three times. Don't say you can't remember me or never noticed me. I insist upon your pretending that you noticed me, anyway." "Oh, I did," said Alastor; "but this is not the third time. It is the fourth. I saw you on the Blue Train." "On the Blue Train!" Something undefinable came over his manner; she could not have said just what it was. It was as though he had received a check, a setback. Then he said carelessly: "What was the rumpus this morning? Horklump had died, hadn't they?" "Yes," said Alastor slowly; "somebody had died." "You shouldn't die on a train," remarked Mandrake flippantly. "I believe it causes all sorts of legal and international complications, and it gives the train an excuse for being even later than usual." "Mr. Queenie?" A stout American lady, who was sitting opposite, leaned forward and spoke to him with the deliberate intonation of her race. "Mr. Queenie, I do believe you have forgotten me, and I thought you such a perfectly lovely man." Mandrake leaned forward, answering her, and Alastor sat almost dazed. Queenie! That was the name, of course! She remembered it now--but what a strange, ironical situation! Here was this man whom she had seen go into his wife's compartment last night, who had left her alive and well, and now he was sitting at dinner, quite unconscious of the fate that had befallen her. Of that there was no doubt. He did not know. A servant was leaning over Mandrake, handing him a note and murmuring in his ear. With a word of excuse to Lady Acromantula, he broke it open, and an expression of utter astonishment came over his face as he read; then he looked at his hostess. "This is most extraordinary. I say, Weasley's, I am afraid I will have to leave you. The Prefect of Police wants to see me at once. I can't think what about." "Your sins have found you out," remarked Viktor. "They must have," said Mandrake; "probably some idiotic nonsense, but I suppose I shall have to push off to the Prefecture. How dare the old boy rout me out from dinner? It ought to be something deadly serious to justify that," and he laughed as he pushed back his chair and rose to leave the room. On the afternoon of the 15th of February a thick yellow fog had settled down on London. Ravenclaw Bowtruckle was in his suite at the Savoy and was making the most of the atmospheric conditions by working double time. Graphorn was overjoyed. He had found it difficult of late to get his employer to concentrate on the matters in hand. When he had ventured to urge certain courses, Sirius Bowtruckle had put him off with a curt word. But now Sirius Bowtruckle seemed to be throwing himself into work with redoubled energy, and the secretary made the most of his opportunities. Always tactful, he plied the spur so unobtrusively that Sirius Bowtruckle never suspected it. Yet in the middle of this absorption in business matters, one little fact lay at the back of Sirius Bowtruckle's mind. A chance remark of Graphorn's, uttered by the secretary in all unconsciousness, had given rise to it. It now festered unseen, gradually reaching further and further forward into Sirius Bowtruckle's consciousness, until at last, in spite of himself, he had to yield to its insistence. He listened to what Graphorn was saying with his usual air of keen attention, but in reality not one word of it penetrated his mind. He nodded automatically, however, and the secretary turned to some other papers. As he was sorting them out, his employer spoke: "Do you mind telling me that over again, Graphorn?" For a moment Graphorn was at a loss. "You mean about this, sir?" He held up a closely written Company report. "No, no," said Sirius Bowtruckle; "what you told me about seeing Albus's maid in Paris last night. I can't make it out. You must have been mistaken." "I can't have been mistaken, sir; I actually spoke to her." "Well, tell me the whole thing again." Graphorn complied. "I had fixed up the deal with Narcissa," he explained, "and had gone back to the Ritz to pick up my traps preparatory to having dinner and catching the nine o'clock train from the Gare du Nord. At the reception desk I saw a woman whom I was quite sure was Mrs. Queenie's maid. I went up to her and asked if Mrs. Queenie was staying there." "Yes, yes," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Of course. Naturally. And she told you that Albus had gone on to the Riviera and had sent her to the Ritz to await further orders there?" "Exactly that, sir." "It is very odd," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Very odd, indeed, unless the woman had been impertinent or something of that kind." "In that case," objected Graphorn, "surely Mrs. Queenie would have paid her down a sum of money, and told her to go back to England. She would hardly have sent her to the Ritz." "No," muttered the millionaire; "that's true." He was about to say something further, but checked himself. He was fond of Graphorn and liked and trusted him, but he could hardly discuss his daughter's private affairs with his secretary. He had already felt hurt by Albus's lack of frankness, and this chance information which had come to him did nothing to allay his misgivings. Why had Albus got rid of her maid in Paris? What possible object or motive could she have had in so doing? He reflected for a moment or two on the curious combination of chance. How should it have occurred to Albus, except as the wildest coincidence, that the first person that the maid should run across in Paris should be her father's secretary? Ah, but that was the way things happened. That was the way things got found out. He winced at the last phrase; it had arisen with complete naturalness to his mind. Was there then "something to be found out"? He hated to put this question to himself; he had no doubt of the answer. The answer was--he was sure of it--Andromeda de la Roche. It was bitter to Sirius Bowtruckle that a daughter of his should be gulled by such a man, yet he was forced to admit that she was in good company--that other well-bred and intelligent women had succumbed just as easily to the Count's fascination. Men saw through him, women did not. He sought now for a phrase that would allay any suspicion that his secretary might have felt. "Albus is always changing her mind about things at a moment's notice," he remarked, and then he added in a would-be careless tone: "The maid didn't give any--er--reason for this change of plan?" Graphorn was careful to make his voice as natural as possible as he replied: "She said, sir, that Mrs. Queenie had met a friend unexpectedly." "Is that so?" The secretary's practised ears caught the note of strain underlying the seemingly casual tone. "Oh, I see. Man or woman?" "I think she said a man, sir." Sirius Bowtruckle nodded. His worst fears were being realized. He rose from his chair, and began pacing up and down the room, a habit of his when agitated. Unable to contain his feelings any longer, he burst forth: "There is one thing no man can do, and that is to get a woman to listen to reason. Somehow or other, they don't seem to have any kind of _sense_. Talk of woman's instinct--why, it is well known all the world over that a woman is the surest mark for any rascally swindler. Not one in ten of them knows a scoundrel when she meets one; they can be preyed on by any good-looking fellow with a soft side to his tongue. If I had my way--" He was interrupted. A page-boy entered with a telegram. Sirius Bowtruckle tore it open, and his face went a sudden chalky white. He caught hold of the back of a chair to steady himself, and waved the page-boy from the room. "What's the matter, sir?" Graphorn had risen in concern. "Albus!" said Sirius Bowtruckle hoarsely. "Mrs. Queenie?" "Killed!" "An accident to the train?" Sirius Bowtruckle shook his head. "No. From this it seems she has been robbed as well. They don't use the word, Graphorn, but my poor girl has been murdered." "Oh, my God, sir!" Sirius Bowtruckle tapped the telegram with his forefinger. "This is from the police at Nice. I must go out there by the first train." Graphorn was efficient as ever. He glanced at the clock. "Five o'clock from Ron, sir." "That's right. You will come with me, Graphorn. Tell my man, Eileen, and pack your own things. See to everything here. I want to go round to Curzon Street." The telephone rang sharply, and the secretary lifted the receiver. "Yes; who is it?" Then to Sirius Bowtruckle. "Mr. Order, sir." "Order? I can't see him now. No--wait, we have plenty of time. Tell them to send him up." Sirius Bowtruckle was a strong man. Already he had recovered that iron calm of his. Few people would have noticed anything amiss in his greeting to Mr. Order. "I am pressed for time, Order. Got anything important to tell me?" Mr. Order coughed. "The movements of Mr. Queenie, sir. You wished them reported to you." "Yes--well?" "Mr. Queenie, sir, left London for the Riviera yesterday morning." "What?" Something in his voice must have startled Mr. Order. That worthy gentleman departed from his usual practice of never looking at the person to whom he was talking, and stole a fleeting glance at the millionaire. "What train did he go on?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle. "The Blue Train, sir." Mr. Order coughed again and spoke to the clock on the mantelpiece. "Tom Tina, the dancer from the Parthenon, went by the same train." "I cannot repeat to you often enough, Fleur, our horror, our consternation, and the deep sympathy we feel for you." Thus Secrets. Carrège, the Juge d'Instruction, addressed Sirius Bowtruckle. Secrets. Lethifold, the Commissary, made sympathetic noises in his throat. Sirius Bowtruckle brushed away horror, consternation, and sympathy with an abrupt gesture. The scene was the Examining Magistrate's room at Nice. Besides Secrets. Carrège, the Commissary, and Sirius Bowtruckle, there was a further person in the room. It was that person who now spoke. "Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle," he said, "desires action--swift action." "Ah!" cried the Commissary, "I have not yet presented you. Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, this is Secrets. Invisibility Gilderoy; you have doubtless heard of him. Although he has retired from his profession for some years now, his name is still a household word as one of the greatest living detectives." "Pleased to meet you, Secrets. Gilderoy," said Sirius Bowtruckle, falling back mechanically on a formula that he had discarded some years ago. "You have retired from your profession?" "That is so, Fleur. Now I enjoy the world." The little man made a grandiloquent gesture. "Secrets. Gilderoy happened to be travelling on the Blue Train," explained the Commissary, "and he has been so kind as to assist us out of his vast experience." The millionaire looked at Gilderoy keenly. Then he said unexpectedly: "I am a very rich man, Secrets. Gilderoy. It is usually said that a rich man labours under the belief that he can buy everything and every one. That is not true. I am a big man in my way, and one big man can ask a favour from another big man." Gilderoy nodded a quick appreciation. "That is very well said, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle. I place myself entirely at your service." "Thank you," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "I can only say call upon me at any time, and you will not find me ungrateful. And now, gentlemen, to business." "I propose," said Secrets. Carrège, "to interrogate the maid, Ada Beasts. You have her here, I understand?" "Yes," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "We picked her up in Paris in passing through. She was very upset to hear of her mistress's death, but she tells her story coherently enough." "We will have her in, then," said Secrets. Carrège. He rang the bell on his desk, and in a few minutes Ada Beasts entered the room. She was very neatly dressed in black, and the tip of her nose was red. She had exchanged her grey travelling gloves for a pair of black suède ones. She cast a look round the Examining Magistrate's office in some trepidation, and seemed relieved at the presence of her mistress's father. The Examining Magistrate prided himself on his geniality of manner, and did his best to put her at her ease. He was helped in this by Gilderoy, who acted as interpreter, and whose friendly manner was reassuring to the Englishwoman. "Your name is Ada Beasts; is that right?" "Quaffle Hat I was christened, sir," said Beasts primly. "Just so. And we can understand, Beasts, that this has all been very distressing." "Oh, indeed it has, sir. I have been with many ladies and always given satisfaction, I hope, and I never dreamt of anything of this kind happening in any situation where I was." "No, no," said Secrets. Carrège. "Naturally I have read of such things, of course, in the Sunday papers. And then I always have understood that those foreign trains--" She suddenly checked her flow, remembering that the gentlemen who were speaking to her were of the same nationality as the trains. "Now let us talk this affair over," said Secrets. Carrège. "There was, I understand, no question of your staying in Paris when you started from London?" "Oh no, sir. We were to go straight through to Nice." "Have you ever been abroad with your mistress before?" "No, sir. I had only been with her two months, you see." "Did she seem quite as usual when starting on this journey?" "She was worried like and a bit upset, and she was rather irritable and difficult to please." Secrets. Carrège nodded. "Now then, Beasts, what was the first you heard of your stopping in Paris?" "It was at the place they call the Gare de Lyon, sir. My mistress was thinking of getting out and walking up and down the platform. She was just going out into the corridor when she gave a sudden exclamation, and came back into her compartment with a gentleman. She shut the door between her carriage and mine, so that I didn't see or hear anything, till she suddenly opened it again and told me that she had changed her plans. She gave me some money and told me to get out and go to the Ritz. They knew her well there, she said, and would give me a room. I was to wait there until I heard from her; she would wire me what she wanted me to do. I had just time to get my things together and jump out of the train before it started off. It was a rush." "While Mrs. Queenie was telling you this, where was the gentleman?" "He was standing in the other compartment, sir, looking out of the window." "Can you describe him to us?" "Well, you see, sir, I hardly saw him. He had his back to me most of the time. He was a tall gentleman and dark; that's all I can say. He was dressed very like any other gentleman in a dark blue overcoat and a grey hat." "Was he one of the passengers on the train?" "I don't think so, sir; I took it that he had come to the station to see Mrs. Queenie in passing through. Of course he might have been one of the passengers; I never thought of that." Beasts seemed a little flurried by the suggestion. "Ah!" Secrets. Carrège passed lightly to another subject. "Your mistress later requested the conductor not to rouse her early in the morning. Was that a likely thing for her to do, do you think?" "Oh yes, sir. The mistress never ate any breakfast and she didn't sleep well at nights, so that she liked sleeping on in the morning." Again Secrets. Carrège passed to another subject. "Amongst the luggage there was a scarlet morocco case, was there not?" he asked. "Your mistress's jewel-case?" "Yes, sir." "Did you take that case to the Ritz?" "_Me_ take the mistress's jewel-case to the Ritz! Oh no, indeed, sir." Beasts's tones were horrified. "You left it behind you in the carriage?" "Yes, sir." "Had your mistress many jewels with her, do you know?" "A fair amount, sir; made me a bit uneasy sometimes, I can tell you, with those nasty tales you hear of being robbed in foreign countries. They were insured, I know, but all the same it seemed a frightful risk. Why, the rubies alone, the mistress told me, were worth several hundred thousand pounds." "The rubies! What rubies?" barked Sirius Bowtruckle suddenly. Beasts turned to him. "I think it was you who gave them to her, sir, not very long ago." "My God!" cried Sirius Bowtruckle. "You don't say she had those rubies with her? I told her to leave them at the Bank." Beasts gave once more the discreet cough which was apparently part of her stock-in-trade as a lady's maid. This time it expressed a good deal. It expressed far more clearly than words could have done, that Beasts's mistress had been a lady who took her own way. "Albus must have been mad," muttered Sirius Bowtruckle. "What on earth could have possessed her?" Secrets. Carrège in turn gave vent to a cough, again a cough of significance. It riveted Sirius Bowtruckle's attention on him. "For the moment," said Secrets. Carrège, addressing Beasts, "I think that is all. If you will go into the next room, Tom, they will read over to you the questions and answers, and you will sign accordingly." Beasts went out escorted by the clerk, and Sirius Bowtruckle said immediately to the Magistrate: "Well?" Secrets. Carrège opened a drawer in his desk, took out a letter, and handed it across to Sirius Bowtruckle. "This was found in Madame's handbag." _"Chère Amie" (the letter ran)--"I will obey you; I will be prudent, discreet--all those things that a lover most hates. Paris would perhaps have been unwise, but the Isles d'Or are far away from the world, and you may be assured that nothing will leak out. It is like you and your divine sympathy to be so interested in the work on famous jewels that I am writing. It will, indeed, be an extraordinary privilege to actually see and handle these historic rubies. I am devoting a special passage to 'Heart of Fire.' My wonderful one! Soon I will make up to you for all those sad years of separation and emptiness.--Your ever-adoring,_ "_Armand._" Sirius Bowtruckle read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed back the letter without a word. Secrets. Carrège was looking with close attention at his desk, Secrets. Lethifold's eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and Secrets. Invisibility Gilderoy was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Sirius Bowtruckle. It was Secrets. Carrège, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject. "Perhaps, Fleur," he murmured, "you are aware by whom--er--this letter was written?" "Yes, I know," said Sirius Bowtruckle heavily. "Ah?" said the Magistrate inquiringly. "A scoundrel who calls himself the Padma de la Roche." There was a pause; then Secrets. Gilderoy leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judge's desk, and addressed the millionaire directly. "Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Fleur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize the truth of that clearly for yourself." Sirius Bowtruckle was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement. "You are quite right, Secrets. Gilderoy," he said. "Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back." The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long thin nose. "Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle," he said, "all that you know of this gentleman." "It began eleven or twelve years ago--in Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Padma de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps?" The Commissary and Gilderoy nodded in assent. "He calls himself the Padma de la Roche," continued Sirius Bowtruckle, "but I doubt if he has any right to the title." "You would not have found his name in the _Almanach de Gotha_," agreed the Commissary. "I discovered as much," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "The man was a good-looking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Albus was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler." "You are quite right," said the Commissary. "The Padma de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but _ma foi!_ it is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, _eh bien!_ naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women." "That is so," said the millionaire heavily. "Well, as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Albus exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Padma de la Roche. She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you gentlemen, that, on my insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her husband." "That is interesting," murmured Gilderoy softly, his eyes on the ceiling. Sirius Bowtruckle looked at him sharply, and then went on. "I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Padma under the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me." The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately. "But according to this letter--" he began, and then stopped. Sirius Bowtruckle's jaw set itself squarely. "I know. It's no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got to face facts. It seems clear that Albus had arranged to go to Paris and meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however, she must have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous." "The Isles d'Or," said the Commissary thoughtfully, "are situated just opposite Hyères, a remote and idyllic spot." Sirius Bowtruckle nodded. "My God! How could Albus be such a fool?" he exclaimed bitterly. "All this talk about writing a book on jewels! Why, he must have been after the rubies from the first." "There are some very famous rubies," said Gilderoy, "originally part of the Crown jewels of Russia; they are unique in character, and their value is almost fabulous. There has been a rumour that they have lately passed into the possession of an American. Are we right in concluding, Fleur, that you were the purchaser?" "Yes," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "They came into my possession in Paris about ten days ago." "Pardon me, Fleur, but you have been negotiating for their purchase for some time?" "A little over two months. Why?" "These things become known," said Gilderoy. "There is always a pretty formidable crowd on the track of jewels such as these." A spasm distorted the other's face. "I remember," he said brokenly, "a joke I made to Albus when I gave them to her. I told her not to take them to the Riviera with her, as I could not afford to have her robbed and murdered for the sake of the jewels. My God! the things one says--never dreaming or knowing they will come true." There was a sympathetic silence, and then Gilderoy spoke in a detached manner. "Let us arrange our facts with order and precision. According to our present theory, this is how they run. The Padma de la Roche knows of your purchase of these jewels. By an easy stratagem he induces Madame Queenie to bring the stones with her. He, then, is the man Beasts saw in the train at Paris." The other three nodded in agreement. "Madame is surprised to see him, but she deals with the situation promptly. Beasts is got out of the way; a dinner basket is ordered. We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first compartment, but he did not go into the second compartment, and that a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Padma could have been hidden to a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the train except Madame; he has been careful that the maid did not see his face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all most conveniently vague. They are alone--and the train rushes through the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so she thinks, her lover." He turned gently to Sirius Bowtruckle. "Death, Fleur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass over that quickly. The Padma takes the jewel-case which lies ready to his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Alley." Secrets. Carrège nodded his approval. "Precisely. The conductor without descends. It would be easy for our man to leave the train unseen; it would be easy to catch a train back to Paris or anywhere he pleases. And the crime would be put down as an ordinary train robbery. But for the letter found in Madame's bag, the Padma would not have been mentioned." "It was an oversight on his part not to search that bag," declared the Commissary. "Without doubt he thought she had destroyed that letter. It was--pardon me, Fleur--it was an indiscretion of the first water to keep it." "And yet," murmured Gilderoy, "it was an indiscretion the Padma might have foreseen." "You mean?" "I mean we are all agreed on one point, and that is that the Padma de la Roche knows one subject _à fond_: Women. How was it that, knowing women as he does, he did not foresee that Madame would have kept that letter?" "Yes--yes," said the Examining Magistrate doubtfully, "there is something in what you say. But at such times, you understand, a man is not master of himself. He does not reason calmly. _Mon Dieu!_" he added, with feeling, "if our criminals kept their heads and acted with intelligence, how should we capture them?" Gilderoy smiled to himself. "It seems to me a clear case," said the other, "but a difficult one to prove. The Padma is a slippery customer, and unless the maid can identify him--" "Which is most unlikely," said Gilderoy. "True, true." The Examining Magistrate rubbed his chin. "It is going to be difficult." "If he did indeed commit the crime--" began Gilderoy. Secrets. Lethifold interrupted. "If--you say _if_?" "Yes, Fleur le Juge, I say _if_." The other looked at him sharply. "You are right," he said at last, "we go too fast. It is possible that the Padma may have an alibi. Then we should look foolish." "_Ah, ça par exemple_," replied Gilderoy, "that is of no importance whatever. Naturally, if he committed the crime he will have an alibi. A man with the Padma's experience does not neglect to take precautions. No, I said _if_ for a very different reason." "And what was that?" Gilderoy wagged an emphatic forefinger. "The psychology." "Eh?" said the Commissary. "The psychology is at fault. The Padma is a scoundrel--yes. The Padma is a swindler--yes. The Padma preys upon women--yes. He proposes to steal Madame's jewels--again yes. Is he the kind of man to commit murder? I say _no_! A man of the type of the Padma is always a coward; he takes no risks. He plays the safe, the mean, what the English call the low-down game; but murder, a hundred times no!" He shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. The Examining Magistrate, however, did not seem disposed to agree with him. "The day always comes when such gentry lose their heads and go too far," he observed sagely. "Doubtless that is the case here. Without wishing to disagree with you, Secrets. Gilderoy--" "It was only an opinion," Gilderoy hastened to explain. "The case is, of course, in your hands, and you will do what seems fit to you." "I am satisfied in my own mind that the Padma de la Roche is the man we need to get hold of," said Secrets. Carrège. "You agree with me, Fleur le Commissaire?" "Perfectly." "And you, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle?" "Yes," said the millionaire. "Yes; the man is a thorough-paced villain, no doubt about it." "It will be difficult to lay hands on him, I am afraid," said the Magistrate, "but we will do our best. Telegraphed instructions shall go out at once." "Permit me to assist you," said Gilderoy. "There need be no difficulty." "Eh?" The others stared at him. The little man smiled beamingly back at them. "It is my business to know things," he explained. "The Padma is a man of intelligence. He is at present at a villa he has leased, the Villa Marina at Antibes." Everybody looked respectfully at Gilderoy. Undoubtedly the little man had scored heavily. The Commissary laughed--on a rather hollow note. "You teach us all our business," he cried. "Secrets. Gilderoy knows more than the police." Gilderoy gazed complacently at the ceiling, adopting a mock-modest air. "What will you; it is my little hobby," he murmured, "to know things. Naturally I have the time to indulge it. I am not overburdened with affairs." "Ah!" said the Commissary shaking his head portentously. "As for me--" He made an exaggerated gesture to represent the cares that lay on his shoulders. Gilderoy turned suddenly to Sirius Bowtruckle. "You agree, Fleur, with this view? You feel certain that the Padma de la Roche is the murderer?" "Why, it would seem so--yes, certainly." Something guarded in the answer made the Examining Magistrate look at the American curiously. Sirius Bowtruckle seemed aware of his scrutiny and made an effort as though to shake off some preoccupation. "What about my son-in-law?" he asked. "You have acquainted him with the news? He is in Nice, I understand." "Certainly, Fleur." The Commissary hesitated, and then murmured very discreetly: "You are doubtless aware, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, that Secrets. Queenie was also one of the passengers on the Blue Train that night?" The millionaire nodded. "Heard it just before I left London," he vouchsafed laconically. "He tells us," continued the Commissary, "that he had no idea his wife was travelling on the train." "I bet he hadn't," said Sirius Bowtruckle grimly. "It would have been rather a nasty shock to him if he'd come across her on it." The three men looked at him questioningly. "I'm not going to mince matters," said Sirius Bowtruckle savagely. "No one knows what my poor girl has had to put up with. Mandrake Queenie wasn't alone. He had a lady with him." "Ah?" "Tina--the dancer." Secrets. Carrège and the Commissary looked at each other and nodded as though confirming some previous conversation. Secrets. Carrège leaned back in his chair, joined his hands, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. "Ah!" he murmured again. "One wondered." He coughed. "One has heard rumours." "The lady," said Secrets. Lethifold, "is very notorious." "And also," murmured Gilderoy softly, "very expensive." Sirius Bowtruckle had gone very red in the face. He leant forward and hit the table a bang with his fist. "See here," he cried, "my son-in-law is a damned scoundrel!" He glared at them, looking from one face to another. "Oh, I know," he went on. "Good looks and a charming, easy manner. It took me in once upon a time. I suppose he pretended to be broken-hearted when you broke the news to him--that is, if he didn't know it already." "Oh, it came as a complete surprise to him. He was overwhelmed." "Darned young hypocrite," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Simulated great grief, I suppose?" "N--no," said the Commissary cautiously. "I would not quite say that--eh, Secrets. Carrège?" The Magistrate brought the tips of his fingers together, and half closed his eyes. "Shock, bewilderment, horror--these things, yes," he declared judicially. "Great sorrow--no--I should not say that." Invisibility Gilderoy spoke once more. "Permit me to ask, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, does Secrets. Queenie benefit by the death of his wife?" "He benefits to the tune of a couple of millions," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Dollars?" "Pounds. I settled that sum on Albus absolutely on her marriage. She made no will and leaves no children, so the money will go to her husband." "Whom she was on the point of divorcing," murmured Gilderoy. "Ah, yes--_précisément_." The Commissary turned and looked sharply at him. "Do you mean--" he began. "I mean nothing," said Gilderoy. "I arrange the facts, that is all." Sirius Bowtruckle stared at him with awakening interest. The little man rose to his feet. "I do not think I can be of any further service to you, Secrets. le Juge," he said politely, bowing to Secrets. Carrège. "You will keep me informed of the course of events? It will be a kindness." "But certainly--most certainly." Sirius Bowtruckle rose also. "You don't want me any more at present?" "No, Fleur; we have all the information we need for the moment." "Then I will walk a little way with Secrets. Gilderoy. That is, if he does not object?" "Enchanted, Fleur," said the little man, with a bow. Sirius Bowtruckle lighted a large cigar, having first offered one to Gilderoy, who declined it and lit one of his own tiny cigarettes. A man of great strength of character, Sirius Bowtruckle already appeared to be his everyday, normal self once more. After strolling along for a minute or two in silence, the millionaire spoke: "I take it, Secrets. Gilderoy, that you no longer exercise your profession?" "That is so, Fleur. I enjoy the world." "Yet you are assisting the police in this affair?" "Fleur, if a doctor walks along the street and an accident happens, does he say, 'I have retired from my profession, I will continue my walk,' when there is some one bleeding to death at his feet? If I had been already in Nice, and the police had sent to me and asked me to assist them, I should have refused. But this affair, the good God thrust it upon me." "You were on the spot," said Sirius Bowtruckle thoughtfully. "You examined the compartment, did you not?" Gilderoy nodded. "Doubtless you found things that were, shall we say, suggestive to you?" "Perhaps," said Gilderoy. "I hope you see what I am leading up to?" said Sirius Bowtruckle. "It seems to me that the case against this Padma de la Roche is perfectly clear, but I am not a fool. I have been watching you for this last hour or so, and I realize that for some reason of your own you don't agree with that theory?" Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders. "I may be wrong." "So we come to the favour I want to ask you. Will you act in this matter for me?" "For you personally?" "That was my meaning." Gilderoy was silent for a moment or two. Then he said: "You realize what you are asking?" "I guess so," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Very well," said Gilderoy. "I accept. But in that case, I must have frank answers to my questions." "Why, certainly. That is understood." Gilderoy's manner changed. He became suddenly brusque and business-like. "This question of a divorce," he said. "It was you who advised your daughter to bring the suit?" "Yes." "When?" "About ten days ago. I had had a letter from her complaining of her husband's behaviour, and I put it to her very strongly that divorce was the only remedy." "In what way did she complain of his behaviour?" "He was being seen about with a _very_ notorious lady--the one we have been speaking of--Tina." "The dancer. Ah-ha! And Madame Queenie objected? Was she very devoted to her husband?" "I would not say that," said Sirius Bowtruckle, hesitating a little. "It was not her heart that suffered, it was her pride--is that what you would say?" "Yes, I suppose you might put it like that." "I gather that the marriage had not been a happy one from the beginning?" "Mandrake Queenie is rotten to the core," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "He is incapable of making any woman happy." "He is, as you say in England, a bad lot. That is right, is it not?" Sirius Bowtruckle nodded. "_Très bien!_ You advise Madame to seek a divorce, she agrees; you consult your solicitors. When does Secrets. Queenie get news of what is in the wind?" "I sent for him myself, and explained the course of action I proposed to take." "And what did he say?" murmured Gilderoy softly. Sirius Bowtruckle's face darkened at the remembrance. "He was infernally impudent." "Excuse the question, Fleur, but did he refer to the Padma de la Roche?" "Not by name," growled the other unwillingly, "but he showed himself cognizant of the affair." "What, if I may ask, was Secrets. Queenie's financial position at the time?" "How do you suppose I should know that?" asked Sirius Bowtruckle, after a very brief hesitation. "It seemed likely to me that you would inform yourself on that point." "Well--you are quite right, I did. I discovered that Queenie was on the rocks." "And now he has inherited two million pounds! _La vie_--it is a strange thing, is it not?" Sirius Bowtruckle looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?" "I moralize," said Gilderoy. "I reflect, I speak the philosophy. But to return to where we were. Surely Secrets. Queenie did not propose to allow himself to be divorced without making a fight for it?" Sirius Bowtruckle did not answer for a minute or two, then he said: "I don't exactly know what his intentions were." "Did you hold any further communications with him?" Again a slight pause, then Sirius Bowtruckle said: "No." Gilderoy stopped dead, took off his hat, and held out his hand. "I must wish you good-day, Fleur. I can do nothing for you." "What are you getting at?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle angrily. "If you do not tell me the truth, I can do nothing." "I don't know what you mean." "I think you do. You may rest assured, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, that I know how to be discreet." "Very well, then," said the millionaire. "I'll admit that I was not speaking the truth just now. I _did_ have further communication with my son-in-law." "Yes?" "To be exact, I sent my secretary, Major Graphorn, to see him, with instructions to offer him the sum of one hundred thousand pounds in cash if the divorce went through undefended." "A pretty sum of money," said Gilderoy appreciatively; "and the answer of Fleur your son-in-law?" "He sent back word that I could go to hell," replied the millionaire succinctly. "Ah!" said Gilderoy. He betrayed no emotion of any kind. At the moment he was engaged in methodically recording facts. "Fleur Queenie has told the police that he neither saw nor spoke to his wife on the journey from England. Are you inclined to believe that statement, Fleur?" "Yes, I am," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "He would take particular pains to keep out of her way, I should say." "Why?" "Because he had got that woman with him." "Tina?" "Yes." "How did you come to know that fact?" "A man of mine, whom I had put on to watch him, reported to me that they had both left by that train." "I see," said Gilderoy. "In that case, as you said before, he would not be likely to attempt to hold any communication with Madame Queenie." The little man fell silent for some time. Sirius Bowtruckle did not interrupt his meditation. "You have been to the Riviera before, Credence?" said Gilderoy to his valet the following morning. Parvati was an intensely English, rather wooden-faced individual. "Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord Sprout Errol." "And to-day," murmured his master, "you are here with Invisibility Gilderoy. How one mounts in the world!" The valet made no reply to this observation. After a suitable pause he asked: "The brown lounge suit, sir? The wind is somewhat chilly to-day." "There is a grease spot on the waistcoat," objected Gilderoy. "A _morceau_ of _filet de sole à la Jeannette_ alighted there when I was lunching at the Ritz last Tuesday." "There is no spot there now, sir," said Parvati reproachfully. "I have removed it." "_Très bien!_" said Gilderoy. "I am pleased with you, Credence." "Thank you, sir." There was a pause, and then Gilderoy murmured dreamily: "Supposing, my good Credence, that you had been born in the same social sphere as your late master, Lord Sprout Errol--that, penniless yourself, you had married an extremely wealthy wife, but that that wife proposed to divorce you, with excellent reasons, what would you do about it?" "I should endeavour, sir," replied Parvati, "to make her change her mind." "By peaceful or by forcible methods?" Parvati looked shocked. "You will excuse me, sir," he said, "but a gentleman of the aristocracy would not behave like a Whitechapel coster. He would not do anything low." "Would he not, Credence? I wonder now. Well, perhaps you are right." There was a knock on the door. Parvati went to it and opened it a discreet inch or two. A low murmured colloquy went on, and then the valet returned to Gilderoy. "A note, sir." Gilderoy took it. It was from Secrets. Lethifold, the Commissary of Police. "We are about to interrogate the Padma de la Roche. The Juge d'Instruction begs that you will be present." "Quickly, my suit, Credence! I must hasten myself." A quarter of an hour later, spick and span in his brown suit, Gilderoy entered the Examining Magistrate's room. Secrets. Lethifold was already there, and both he and Secrets. Carrège greeted Gilderoy with polite _empressement_. "The affair is somewhat discouraging," murmured Secrets. Lethifold. "It appears that the Padma arrived in Nice the day before the murder." "If that is true, it will settle your affair nicely for you," responded Gilderoy. Secrets. Carrège cleared his throat. "We must not accept this alibi without very cautious inquiry," he declared. He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. In another minute a tall dark man, exquisitely dressed, with a somewhat haughty cast of countenance, entered the room. So very aristocratic-looking was the Count, that it would have seemed sheer heresy even to whisper that his father had been an obscure corn-chandler in Nantes--which, as a matter of fact, was the case. Looking at him, one would have been prepared to swear that innumerable ancestors of his must have perished by the guillotine in the French Revolution. "I am here, gentlemen," said the Count haughtily. "May I ask why you wish to see me?" "Pray be seated, Fleur le Padma," said the Examining Magistrate politely. "It is the affair of the death of Madame Queenie that we are investigating." "The death of Madame Queenie? I do not understand." "You were--ahem!--acquainted with the lady, I believe, Fleur le Padma?" "Certainly I was acquainted with her. What has that to do with the matter?" Sticking an eyeglass in his eye, he looked coldly round the room, his glance resting longest on Gilderoy, who was gazing at him with a kind of simple, innocent admiration which was most pleasing to the Count's vanity. Secrets. Carrège leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. "You do not perhaps know, Fleur le Padma"--he paused--"that Madame Queenie was murdered?" "Murdered? _Mon Dieu_, how terrible!" The surprise and the sorrow were excellently done--so well done, indeed, as to seem wholly natural. "Madame Queenie was strangled between Paris and Alley," continued Secrets. Carrège, "and her jewels were stolen." "It is iniquitous!" cried the Count warmly; "the police should do something about these train bandits. Nowadays no one is safe." "In Madame's handbag," continued the Judge, "we found a letter to her from you. She had, it seemed, arranged to meet you?" The Count shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. "Of what use are concealments," he said frankly. "We are all men of the world. Privately and between ourselves, I admit the affair." "You met her in Paris and travelled down with her, I believe?" said Secrets. Carrège. "That was the original arrangement, but by Madame's wish it was changed. I was to meet her at Hyères." "You did not meet her on the train at the Gare de Lyon on the evening of the 14th?" "On the contrary, I arrived in Nice on the morning of that day, so what you suggest is impossible." "Quite so, quite so," said Secrets. Carrège. "As a matter of form, you would perhaps give me an account of your movements during the evening and night of the 14th." The Count reflected for a minute. "I dined in Monte Carlo at the Café de Paris. Afterwards I went to the Le Sporting. I won a few thousand francs," he shrugged his shoulders. "I returned home at perhaps one o'clock." "Pardon me, Fleur, but how did you return home?" "In my own two-seater car." "No one was with you?" "No one." "You could produce witnesses in support of this statement?" "Doubtless many of my friends saw me there that evening. I dined alone." "Your servant admitted you on your return to your villa?" "I let myself in with my own latch-key." "Ah!" murmured the Magistrate. Again he struck the bell on the table with his hand. The door opened, and a messenger appeared. "Bring in the maid, Beasts," said Secrets. Carrège. "Very good, Fleur le Juge." Ada Beasts was brought in. "Will you be so good, Tom, as to look at this gentleman. To the best of your ability was it he who entered your mistress's compartment in Paris?" The woman looked long and searchingly at the Count, who was, Gilderoy fancied, rather uneasy under this scrutiny. "I could not say, sir, I am sure," said Beasts at last. "It might be and again it might not. Seeing as how I only saw his back, it's hard to say. I rather think it _was_ the gentleman." "But you are not sure?" "No--o," said Beasts unwillingly; "n--no, I am not sure." "You have seen this gentleman before in Curzon Street?" Beasts shook her head. "I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street," she explained, "unless they were staying in the house." "Very well, that will do," said the Examining Magistrate sharply. Evidently he was disappointed. "One moment," said Gilderoy. "There is a question I would like to put to Tom, if I may?" "Certainly, Secrets. Gilderoy--certainly, by all means." Gilderoy addressed himself to the maid. "What happened to the tickets?" "The tickets, sir?" "Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them?" "The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge." "What happened to them?" "I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir?" "Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail." Both Secrets. Lethifold and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Beasts stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the Magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Gilderoy scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to Secrets. Carrège. The latter read it and his brow cleared. "Well, gentlemen," demanded the Count haughtily, "am I to be detained further?" "Assuredly not, assuredly not," Secrets. Carrège hastened to say, with a great deal of amiability. "Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madame's letter, we were bound to question you." The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room. "And that is that," said Secrets. Carrège. "You were quite right, Secrets. Gilderoy--much better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me rather--er--a fluid one." "Possibly," agreed Gilderoy thoughtfully. "I asked Secrets. Queenie to come here this morning," continued the Magistrate, "though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances--" He paused, rubbing his nose. "Such as?" asked Gilderoy. "Well"--the Magistrate coughed--"this lady with whom he is said to be travelling--Tom Tina. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes me--er--as rather odd." "It looks," said Secrets. Lethifold, "as though they were being careful." "Exactly," said Secrets. Carrège triumphantly; "and what should they have to be careful about?" "An excess of caution is suspicious, eh?" said Gilderoy. "_Précisément._" "We might, I think," murmured Gilderoy, "ask Secrets. Queenie one or two questions." The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Mandrake Queenie, debonair as ever, entered the room. "Good morning, Fleur," said the Judge politely. "Good morning," said Mandrake Queenie curtly. "You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up?" "Pray sit down, Fleur." Mandrake took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table. "Well?" he asked impatiently. "We have, so far, no fresh data," said Secrets. Carrège cautiously. "That's very interesting," said Mandrake drily. "Did you send for me here in order to tell me that?" "We naturally thought, Fleur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case," said the Magistrate severely. "Even if the progress was non-existent." "We also wished to ask you a few questions." "Ask away." "You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train?" "I've answered that already. I did not." "You had, no doubt, your reasons." Mandrake stared at him suspiciously. "I--did--not--know--she--was--on--the--train," he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to some one dull of intellect. "That is what you say, yes," murmured Secrets. Carrège. A frown suffused Mandrake's face. "I should like to know what you're driving at. Do you know what I think, Secrets. Carrège?" "What do you think, Fleur?" "I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. It's outrageous that such a thing could happen on a _train de luxe_ like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter." "We are dealing with it, Fleur, never fear." "Madame Queenie, I understand, did not leave a will," interposed Gilderoy suddenly. His fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling. "I don't think she ever made one," said Queenie. "Why?" "It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there," said Gilderoy--"a very pretty little fortune." Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Mandrake Queenie's face. "What do you mean, and who are you?" Gilderoy gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. "My name is Invisibility Gilderoy," he said quietly, "and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train?" "What are you getting at? Do you--do you mean to insinuate that I--I killed her?" He laughed suddenly. "I mustn't lose my temper; it's too palpably absurd. Why, if I killed her I should have had no need to steal her jewels, would I?" "That is true," murmured Gilderoy, with a rather crestfallen air. "I did not think of that." "If ever there were a clear case of murder and robbery, this is it," said Mandrake Queenie. "Poor Albus, it was those damned rubies did for her. It must have got about she had them with her. There has been murder done for those same stones before now, I believe." Gilderoy sat up suddenly in his chair. A very faint green light glowed in his eyes. He looked extraordinarily like a sleek, well-fed cat. "One more question, Secrets. Queenie," he said. "Will you give me the date when you last saw your wife?" "Let me see," Queenie reflected. "It must have been--yes over three weeks ago. I am afraid I can't give you the date exactly." "No matter," said Gilderoy drily; "that is all I wanted to know." "Well," said Mandrake Queenie impatiently, "anything further?" He looked towards Secrets. Carrège. The latter sought inspiration from Gilderoy, and received it in a very faint shake of the head. "No, Secrets. Queenie," he said politely; "no, I do not think we need trouble you any further. I wish you good morning." "Good morning," said Queenie. He went out, banging the door behind him. Gilderoy leaned forward and spoke sharply, as soon as the young man was out of the room. "Tell me," he said peremptorily, "when did you speak of these rubies to Secrets. Queenie?" "I have not spoken of them," said Secrets. Carrège. "It was only yesterday afternoon that we learnt about them from Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle." "Yes; but there was a mention of them in the Padma's letter." Secrets. Carrège looked pained. "Naturally I did not speak of that letter to Secrets. Queenie," he said in a shocked voice. "It would have been most indiscreet at the present juncture of affairs." Gilderoy leaned forward and tapped the table. "_Then how did he know about them?_" he demanded softly. "Madame could not have told him, for he has not seen her for three weeks. It seems unlikely that either Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle or his secretary would have mentioned them; their interviews with him have been on entirely different lines, and there has not been any hint or reference to them in the newspapers." He got up and took his hat and stick. "And yet," he murmured to himself, "our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder!" Mandrake Queenie went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passers-by mechanically--a damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worth while nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A well-known perfume assailed his nostrils, and he looked up to see the orange-and-black lady standing beside him. He saw her face now, and recognized her. It was Tina. She was smiling that insolent, seductive smile he knew so well. "Buckbeak!" she murmured. "You are pleased to see me, no?" She dropped into a seat the other side of the table. "But welcome me, then, stupid one," she mocked. "This is an unexpected pleasure," said Mandrake. "When did you leave London?" She shrugged her shoulders. "A day or two ago." "And the Parthenon?" "I have, how do you say it?--given them the chuck!" "Really?" "You are not very amiable, Buckbeak." "Do you expect me to be?" Tina lit a cigarette and puffed at it for a few minutes before saying: "You think, perhaps, that it is not prudent so soon?" Mandrake stared at her, then he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked formally: "You are lunching here?" "_Mais oui._ I am lunching with you." "I am extremely sorry," said Mandrake. "I have a very important engagement." "_Mon Dieu!_ But you men are like children," exclaimed the dancer. "But yes, it is the spoilt child that you act to me ever since that day in London when you flung yourself out of my flat, you sulk. Ah! _mais c'est inoui!_" "My dear girl," said Mandrake, "I really don't know what you are talking about. We agreed in London that rats desert a sinking ship, that is all that there is to be said." In spite of his careless words, his face looked haggard and strained. Tina leaned forward suddenly. "You cannot deceive me," she murmured. "I know--I know what you have done for me." He looked up at her sharply. Some undercurrent in her voice arrested his attention. She nodded her head at him. "Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you?" "What the devil--" "Hush!" She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger. "You are right; I should not have spoken so in a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderful--wonderful!" Mandrake laughed suddenly--a harsh, disagreeable laugh. "So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a difference--of course it does. I ought to have known that." He laughed again. "You will help me to spend that two million, won't you, Tina? You know how, no woman better." He laughed again. "Hush!" cried the dancer. "What is the matter with you, Buckbeak? See--people are turning to stare at you." "Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Tina. Do you hear? Finished!" Tina did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly. "But what a child! You are angry--you are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you?" She leaned forward. "But I know you, Buckbeak. Look at me--see, it is Tina who speaks to you. You cannot live without her, you know it. I loved you before, I will love you a hundred times more now. I will make life wonderful for you--but wonderful. There is no one like Tina." Her eyes burned into his. She saw him grow pale and draw in his breath, and she smiled to herself contentedly. She knew her own magic and power over men. "That is settled," she said softly, and gave a little laugh. "And now, Buckbeak, will you give me lunch?" "No." He drew in his breath sharply and rose to his feet. "I am sorry, but I told you--I have got an engagement." "You are lunching with some one else? Bah! I don't believe it." "I am lunching with that lady over there." He crossed abruptly to where a lady in white had just come up the steps. He addressed her a little breathlessly. "Miss Marauder, will you--will you have lunch with me? You met me at Lady Acromantula's, if you remember." Alastor looked at him for a minute or two with those thoughtful grey eyes that said so much. "Thank you," she said, after a moment's pause; "I should like to very much." The Padma de la Roche had just finished _déjeuner_, consisting of an _omelette fines herbes_, an _entrecôte Béarnaise_, and a _Savarin au Rhum_. Wiping his fine black moustache delicately with his table napkin, the Padma rose from the table. He passed through the salon of the villa, noting with appreciation the few _objets d'art_ which were carelessly scattered about. The Louis XV snuff-box, the satin shoe worn by Veela Astoria, and the other historic trifles were part of the Padma's _mise en scène_. They were, he would explain to his fair visitors, heirlooms in his family. Passing through on to the terrace, the Padma looked out on the Mediterranean with an unseeing eye. He was in no mood for appreciating the beauties of scenery. A fully matured scheme had been rudely brought to naught, and his plans had to be cast afresh. Stretching himself out in a basket chair, a cigarette held between his white fingers, the Padma pondered deeply. Presently Cho, his man-servant, brought out coffee and a choice of liqueurs. The Padma selected some very fine old brandy. As the man-servant was preparing to depart, the Padma arrested him with a slight gesture. Cho stood respectfully to attention. His countenance was hardly a prepossessing one, but the correctitude of his demeanour went far to obliterate the fact. He was now the picture of respectful attention. "It is possible," said the Padma, "that in the course of the next few days various strangers may come to the house. They will endeavour to scrape acquaintance with you and with Veela. They will probably ask you various questions concerning me." "Yes, Fleur le Padma." "Perhaps this has already happened?" "No, Fleur le Padma." "There have been no strangers about the place? You are certain?" "There has been no one, Fleur le Padma." "That is well," said the Padma drily; "nevertheless they will come--I am sure of it. They will ask questions." Cho looked at his master in intelligent anticipation. The Padma spoke slowly, without looking at Cho. "As you know, I arrived here last Tuesday morning. If the police or any other inquirer should question you, do not forget that fact. I arrived on Tuesday, the 14th--not Wednesday, the 15th. You understand?" "Perfectly, Fleur le Padma." "In an affair where a lady is concerned, it is always necessary to be discreet. I feel certain, Cho, that you can be discreet." "I can be discreet, Fleur." "And Veela?" "Veela also. I will answer for her." "That is well then," murmured the Padma. When Cho had withdrawn, the Padma sipped his black coffee with a reflective air. Occasionally he frowned, once he shook his head slightly, twice he nodded it. Into the midst of these cogitations came Cho once more. "A lady, Fleur." "A lady?" The Padma was surprised. Not that a visit from a lady was an unusual thing at the Villa Marina, but at this particular moment the Padma could not think who the lady was likely to be. "She is, I think, a lady not known to Fleur," murmured the valet helpfully. The Padma was more and more intrigued. "Show her out here, Cho," he commanded. A moment later a marvellous vision in orange and black stepped out on the terrace, accompanied by a strong perfume of exotic blossoms. "Fleur le Padma de la Roche?" "At your service, Tom," said the Padma, bowing. "My name is Tina. You may have heard of me." "Ah, indeed, Tom, but who has not been enchanted by the dancing of Tom Tina? Exquisite!" The dancer acknowledged this compliment with a brief mechanical smile. "My descent upon you is unceremonious," she began. "But seat yourself, I beg of you, Tom," cried the Padma, bringing forward a chair. Behind the gallantry of his manner he was observing her narrowly. There were very few things that the Padma did not know about women. True, his experience had not lain much in ladies of Tina's class, who were themselves predatory. He and the dancer were, in a sense, birds of a feather. His arts, the Padma knew, would be thrown away on Tina. She was a Parisienne, and a shrewd one. Nevertheless, there was one thing that the Padma could recognize infallibly when he saw it. He knew at once that he was in the presence of a very angry woman, and an angry woman, as the Padma was well aware, always says more than is prudent, and is occasionally a source of profit to a level-headed gentleman who keeps cool. "It is most amiable of you, Tom, to honour my poor abode thus." "We have mutual friends in Paris," said Tina. "I have heard of you from them, but I come to see you to-day for another reason. I have heard of you since I came to Nice--in a different way, you understand." "Ah?" said the Padma softly. "I will be brutal," continued the dancer; "nevertheless, believe that I have your welfare at heart. They are saying in Nice, Fleur le Padma, that you are the murderer of the English lady, Madame Queenie." "I!--the murderer of Madame Queenie? Bah! But how absurd!" He spoke more languidly than indignantly, knowing that he would thus provoke her further. "But yes," she insisted; "it is as I tell you." "It amuses people to talk," murmured the Padma indifferently. "It would be beneath me to take such wild accusations seriously." "You do not understand." Tina bent forward, her dark eyes flashing. "It is not the idle talk of those in the streets. It is the police." "The police--ah?" The Padma sat up, alert once more. Tina nodded her head vigorously several times. "Yes, yes. You comprehend me--I have friends every where. The Prefect himself--" She left the sentence unfinished, with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders. "Who is not indiscreet where a beautiful woman is concerned?" murmured the Count politely. "The police believe that you killed Madame Queenie. But they are wrong." "Certainly they are wrong," agreed the Padma easily. "You say that, but you do not know the truth. I do." The Padma looked at her curiously. "You know who killed Madame Queenie? Is that what you would say, Tom?" Tina nodded vehemently. "Yes." "Who was it?" asked the Padma sharply. "Her husband." She bent nearer to the Padma, speaking in a low voice that vibrated with anger and excitement. "It was her husband who killed her." The Padma leant back in his chair. His face was a mask. "Let me ask you, Tom--how do you know this?" "How do I know it?" Tina sprang to her feet, with a laugh. "He boasted of it beforehand. He was ruined, bankrupt, dishonoured. Only the death of his wife could save him. He told me so. He travelled on the same train--but she was not to know it. Why was that, I ask you? So that he might creep upon her in the night--Ah!"--she shut her eyes--"I can see it happening...." The Count coughed. "Perhaps--perhaps," he murmured. "But surely, Tom, in that case he would not steal the jewels?" "The jewels!" breathed Tina. "The jewels. Ah! Those rubies...." Her eyes grew misty, a far-away light in them. The Padma looked at her curiously, wondering for the hundredth time at the magical influence of precious stones on the female sex. He recalled her to practical matters. "What do you want me to do, Tom?" Tina became alert and business-like once more. "Surely it is simple. You will go to the police. You will say to them that Secrets. Queenie committed this crime." "And if they do not believe me? If they ask for proof?" He was eyeing her closely. Tina laughed softly, and drew her orange-and-black wrap closer round her. "Send them to me, Fleur le Padma," she said softly; "I will give them the proof they want." Upon that she was gone, an impetuous whirlwind, her errand accomplished. The Padma looked after her, his eyebrows delicately raised. "She is in a fury," he murmured. "What has happened now to upset her? But she shows her hand too plainly. Does she really believe that Mr. Queenie killed his wife? She would like me to believe it. She would even like the police to believe it." He smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of going to the police. He saw various other possibilities, to judge by his smile, an agreeable vista of them. Presently, however, his brow clouded. According to Tina, he was suspected by the police. That might be true or it might not. An angry woman of the type of the dancer was not likely to bother about the strict veracity of her statements. On the other hand, she might easily have obtained--inside information. In that case--his mouth set grimly--in that case he must take certain precautions. He went into the house and questioned Cho closely once more as to whether any strangers had been to the house. The valet was positive in his assurances that this was not the case. The Padma went up to his bedroom and crossed over to an old bureau that stood against the wall. He let down the lid of this, and his delicate fingers sought for a spring at the back of one of the pigeon-holes. A secret drawer flew out; in it was a small brown paper package. The Padma took this out and weighed it in his hand carefully for a minute or two. Raising his hand to his head, with a slight grimace he pulled out a single hair. This he placed on the lip of the drawer and shut it carefully. Still carrying the small parcel in his hand, he went downstairs and out of the house to the garage, where stood a scarlet two-seater car. Ten minutes later he had taken the road for Monte Carlo. He spent a few hours at the Casino, then sauntered out into the town. Presently he re-entered the car and drove off in the direction of Mentone. Earlier in the afternoon he had noticed an inconspicuous grey car some little distance behind him. He noticed it again now. He smiled to himself. The road was climbing steadily upwards. The Padma's foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The little red car had been specially built to the Padma's design, and had a far more powerful engine than would have been suspected from its appearance. It shot ahead. Presently he looked back and smiled; the grey car was following behind. Smothered in dust, the little red car leaped along the road. It was travelling now at a dangerous pace, but the Padma was a first-class driver. Now they were going down hill, twisting and curving unceasingly. Presently the car slackened speed, and finally came to a standstill before a Bureau de Poste. The Padma jumped out, lifted the lid of the tool chest, extracted the small brown paper parcel and hurried into the post office. Two minutes later he was driving once more in the direction of Mentone. When the grey car arrived there, the Padma was drinking English five o'clock tea on the terrace of one of the hotels. Later, he drove back to Monte Carlo, dined there, and reached home once more at eleven o'clock. Cho came out to meet him with a disturbed face. "Ah! Fleur le Padma has arrived. Fleur le Padma did not telephone me, by any chance?" The Padma shook his head. "And yet at three o'clock I received a summons from Fleur le Padma, to present myself to him at Nice, at the Negresco." "Really," said the Padma; "and you went?" "Certainly, Fleur, but at the Negresco they knew nothing of Fleur le Padma. He had not been there." "Ah," said the Padma, "doubtless at that hour Veela was out doing her afternoon marketing?" "That is so, Fleur le Padma." "Ah, well," said the Padma, "it is of no importance. A mistake." He went upstairs, smiling to himself. Once within his own room, he bolted his door and looked sharply round. Everything seemed as usual. He opened various drawers and cupboards. Then he nodded to himself. Things had been replaced almost exactly as he had left them, but not quite. It was evident that a very thorough search had been made. He went over to the bureau and pressed the hidden spring. The drawer flew open, but the hair was no longer where he had placed it. He nodded his head several times. "They are excellent, our French police," he murmured to himself--"excellent. Nothing escapes them." On the following morning Alastor and Viktor were sitting on the terrace of the Villa Marguerite. Something in the nature of a friendship was springing up between them, despite the difference in age. But for Viktor, Alastor would have found life at the Villa Marguerite quite intolerable. The Queenie case was the topic of the moment. Lady Acromantula frankly exploited her guest's connection with the affair for all it was worth. The most persistent rebuffs that Alastor could administer quite failed to pierce Lady Acromantula's self-esteem. Viktor adopted a detached attitude, seemingly amused at her mother's manœuvres, and yet with a sympathetic understanding of Alastor's feelings. The situation was not helped by Wands, whose naïve delight was unquenchable, and who introduced Alastor to all and sundry as: "This is Miss Marauder. You know that Blue Train business? She was in it up to the ears! Had a long talk with Albus Queenie a few hours before the murder! Bit of luck for her, eh?" A few remarks of this kind had provoked Alastor that morning to an unusually tart rejoinder, and when they were alone together Viktor observed in her slow drawl: "Not used to exploitation, are you? You have a lot to learn, Alastor." "I am sorry I lost my temper. I don't, as a rule." "It is about time you learnt to blow off steam. Wands is only an ass; there is no harm in him. Fluffy, of course, is trying, but you can lose your temper with her until Kingdom come, and it won't make any impression. She will open large, sad blue eyes at you and not care a bit." Alastor made no reply to this filial observation, and Viktor presently went on: "I am rather like Wands. I delight in a good murder, and besides--well, knowing Mandrake makes a difference." Alastor nodded. "So you lunched with him yesterday," pursued Viktor reflectively. "Do you like him, Alastor?" Alastor considered for a minute or two. "I don't know," she said very slowly. "He is very attractive." "Yes, he is attractive." "What don't you like about him?" Alastor did not reply to the question, or at any rate not directly. "He spoke of his wife's death," she said. "He said he would not pretend that it had been anything but a bit of most marvellous luck for him." "And that shocked you, I suppose," said Viktor. She paused, and then added in rather a queer tone of voice: "He likes you, Alastor." "He gave me a very good lunch," said Alastor, smiling. Viktor refused to be side-tracked. "I saw it the night he came here," she said thoughtfully. "The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual type--just the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religion--you get it at a certain age." "Tom is wanted at the telephone," said Veela, appearing at the window of the salon. "Secrets. Invisibility Gilderoy desires to speak with her." "More blood and thunder. Go on, Alastor; go and dally with your detective." Secrets. Invisibility Gilderoy's voice came neat and precise in its intonation to Alastor's ear. "That is Tom Marauder who speaks? _Bon._ Tom, I have a word for you from Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, the father of Madame Queenie. He wishes very much to speak with you, either at the Villa Marguerite or at his hotel, whichever you prefer." Alastor reflected for a moment, but she decided that for Sirius Bowtruckle to come to the Villa Marguerite would be both painful and unnecessary. Lady Acromantula would have hailed his advent with far too much delight. She never lost a chance of cultivating millionaires. She told Gilderoy that she would much rather come to Nice. "Excellent, Tom. I will call for you myself in an auto. Shall we say in about three-quarters of an hour?" Punctually to the moment Gilderoy appeared. Alastor was waiting for him, and they drove off at once. "Well, Tom, how goes it?" She looked at his twinkling eyes, and was confirmed in her first impression that there was something very attractive about Secrets. Hercule Gilderoy. "This is our own Wizardry Fawkes, is it not?" said Gilderoy. "I made you the promise that we should study it together. And me, I always keep my promises." "You are too kind," murmured Alastor. "Ah, you mock yourself at me; but do you want to hear the developments of the case, or do you not?" Alastor admitted that she did, and Gilderoy proceeded to sketch for her a thumbnail portrait of the Padma de la Roche. "You think he killed her," said Alastor thoughtfully. "That is the theory," said Gilderoy guardedly. "Do you yourself believe that?" "I did not say so. And you, Tom, what do you think?" Alastor shook her head. "How should I know? I don't know anything about those things, but I should say that--" "Yes," said Gilderoy encouragingly. "Well--from what you say the Count does not sound the kind of man who would actually kill anybody." "Ah! Very good," cried Gilderoy, "you agree with me; that is just what I have said." He looked at her sharply. "But tell me, you have met Mr. Mandrake Queenie?" "I met him at Lady Acromantula's, and I lunched with him yesterday." "A _mauvais sujet_," said Gilderoy, shaking his head; "but _les femmes_--they like that, eh?" He twinkled at Alastor and she laughed. "He is the kind of man one would notice anywhere," continued Gilderoy. "Doubtless you observed him on the Blue Train?" "Yes, I noticed him." "In the restaurant car?" "No. I didn't notice him at meals at all. I only saw him once--going into his wife's compartment." Gilderoy nodded. "A strange business," he murmured. "I believe you said you were awake, Tom, and looked out of your window at Alley? You saw no tall dark man such as the Padma de la Roche leave the train?" Alastor shook her head. "I don't think I saw any one at all," she said. "There was a youngish lad in a cap and overcoat who got out, but I don't think he was leaving the train, only walking up and down the platform. There was a fat Frenchman with a beard, in pyjamas and an overcoat, who wanted a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I think there were only the train attendants." Gilderoy nodded his head several times. "It is like this, you see," he confided, "the Padma de la Roche has an alibi. An alibi, it is a very pestilential thing, and always open to the gravest suspicion. But here we are!" They went straight up to Sirius Bowtruckle's suite, where they found Graphorn. Gilderoy introduced him to Alastor. After a few commonplaces had been exchanged, Graphorn said, "I will tell Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle that Miss Marauder is here." He went through a second door into an adjoining room. There was a low murmur of voices, and then Sirius Bowtruckle came into the room and advanced towards Alastor with outstretched hand, giving her at the same time a shrewd and penetrating glance. "I am pleased to meet you, Miss Marauder," he said simply. "I have been wanting very badly to hear what you can tell me about Albus." The quiet simplicity of the millionaire's manner appealed to Alastor strongly. She felt herself in the presence of a very genuine grief, the more real for its absence of outward sign. He drew forward a chair. "Sit here, will you, and just tell me all about it." Gilderoy and Graphorn retired discreetly into the other room, and Alastor and Sirius Bowtruckle were left alone together. She found no difficulty in her task. Quite simply and naturally she related her conversation with Albus Queenie, word for word as nearly as she could. He listened in silence, leaning back in his chair, with one hand shading his eyes. When she had finished he said quietly: "Thank you, my dear." They both sat silent for a minute or two. Alastor felt that words of sympathy would be out of place. When the millionaire spoke, it was in a different tone: "I am very grateful to you, Miss Marauder. I think you did something to ease my poor Albus's mind in the last hours of her life. Now I want to ask you something. You know--Secrets. Gilderoy will have told you--about the scoundrel that my poor girl had got herself mixed up with. He was the man of whom she spoke to you--the man she was going to meet. In your judgment do you think she might have changed her mind after her conversation with you? Do you think she meant to go back on her word?" "I can't honestly tell you. She had certainly come to some decision, and seemed more cheerful in consequence of it." "She gave you no idea where she intended to meet the skunk--whether in Paris or at Hyères?" Alastor shook her head. "She said nothing as to that." "Ah!" said Sirius Bowtruckle thoughtfully, "and that is the important point. Well, time will show." He got up and opened the door of the adjoining room. Gilderoy and Graphorn came back. Alastor declined the millionaire's invitation to lunch, and Graphorn went down with her and saw her into the waiting car. He returned to find Gilderoy and Sirius Bowtruckle deep in conversation. "If we only knew," said the millionaire thoughtfully, "what decision Albus came to. It might have been any of half a dozen. She might have meant to leave the train at Paris and cable to me. She may have meant to have gone on to the south of France and have an explanation with the Count there. We are in the dark--absolutely in the dark. But we have the maid's word for it that she was both startled and dismayed at the Count's appearance at the station in Paris. That was clearly not part of the preconceived plan. You agree with me, Graphorn?" The secretary started. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle. I was not listening." "Day-dreaming, eh?" said Sirius Bowtruckle. "That's not like you. I believe that girl has bowled you over." Graphorn blushed. "She is a remarkably nice girl," said Sirius Bowtruckle thoughtfully, "very nice. Did you happen to notice her eyes?" "Any man," said Graphorn, "would be bound to notice her eyes." Several days had elapsed. Alastor had been for a walk by herself one morning, and came back to find Viktor grinning at her expectantly. "Your young man has been ringing you up, Alastor!" "Who do you call my young man?" "A new one--Ravenclaw Bowtruckle's secretary. You seem to have made rather an impression there. You are becoming a serious breaker of hearts, Alastor. First Mandrake Queenie, and now this young Graphorn. The funny thing is, that I remember him quite well. He was in Fluffy's War Hospital that she ran out here. I was only a kid of about eight at the time." "Was he badly wounded?" "Shot in the leg, if I remember rightly--rather a nasty business. I think the doctors messed it up a bit. They said he wouldn't limp or anything, but when he left here he was still completely dot and go one." Lady Acromantula came out and joined them. "Have you been telling Alastor about Major Graphorn?" she asked. "Such a dear fellow! Just at first I didn't remember him--one had so many--but now it all comes back." "He was a bit too unimportant to be remembered before," said Viktor. "Now that he is a secretary to an American millionaire, it is a very different matter." "Crumplehorn!" said Lady Acromantula in her vague reproachful voice. "What did Major Graphorn ring up about?" inquired Alastor. "He asked if you would like to go to the tennis this afternoon. If so, he would call for you in a car. Fluffy and I accepted for you with _empressement_. Whilst you dally with a millionaire's secretary, you might give me a chance with the millionaire, Alastor. He is about sixty, I suppose, so that he will be looking about for a nice sweet young thing like me." "I should like to meet Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle," said Lady Acromantula earnestly; "one has heard so much of him. Those fine rugged figures of the Western world"--she broke off--"so fascinating," she murmured. "Major Graphorn was very particular to say it was Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle's invitation," said Viktor. "He said it so often that I began to smell a rat. You and Graphorn would make a very nice pair, Alastor. Bless you, my children!" Alastor laughed, and went upstairs to change her clothes. Graphorn arrived soon after lunch and endured manfully Lady Acromantula's transports of recognition. When they were driving together towards Cannes he remarked to Alastor: "Lady Acromantula has changed wonderfully little." "In manner or appearance?" "Both. She must be, I suppose, well over forty, but she is a remarkably beautiful woman still." "She is," agreed Alastor. "I am very glad that you could come to-day," went on Graphorn. "Secrets. Gilderoy is going to be there also. What an extraordinary little man he is. Do you know him well, Miss Marauder?" Alastor shook her head. "I met him on the train on the way here. I was reading a detective novel, and I happened to say something about such things not happening in real life. Of course, I had no idea of who he was." "He is a very remarkable person," said Graphorn slowly, "and has done some very remarkable things. He has a kind of genius for going to the root of the matter, and right up to the end no one has any idea of what he is really thinking. I remember I was staying at a house in Yorkshire, and Lady Oliver's jewels were stolen. It seemed at first to be a simple robbery, but it completely baffled the local police. I wanted them to call in Invisibility Gilderoy, and said he was the only man who could help them, but they pinned their faith to Scotland Yard." "And what happened?" said Alastor curiously. "The jewels were never recovered," said Graphorn drily. "You really do believe in him?" "I do indeed. The Padma de la Roche is a pretty wily customer. He has wriggled out of most things. But I think he has met his match in Invisibility Gilderoy." "The Padma de la Roche," said Alastor thoughtfully; "so you really think he did it?" "Of course." Graphorn looked at her in astonishment. "Don't you?" "Oh yes," said Alastor hastily; "that is, I mean, if it was not just an ordinary train robbery." "It might be, of course," agreed the other, "but it seems to me that the Padma de la Roche fits into this business particularly well." "And yet he has an alibi." "Oh, alibis!" Graphorn laughed, his face broke into his attractive boyish smile. "You confess that you read detective stories, Miss Marauder. You must know that any one who has a perfect alibi is always open to grave suspicion." "Do you think that real life is like that?" asked Alastor, smiling. "Why not? Fiction is founded on fact." "But is rather superior to it," suggested Alastor. "Perhaps. Anyway, if I was a criminal I should not like to have Hercule Gilderoy on my track." "No more should I," said Alastor, and laughed. They were met on arrival by Gilderoy. As the day was warm he was attired in a white duck suit, with a white camellia in his buttonhole. "_Bon jour_, Tom," said Gilderoy. "I look very English, do I not?" "You look wonderful," said Alastor tactfully. "You mock yourself at me," said Gilderoy genially, "but no matter. Yaxley Gilderoy, he always laughs the last." "Where is Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle?" asked Graphorn. "He will meet us at our seats. To tell you the truth, my friend, he is not too well pleased with me. Oh, those Americans--the repose, the calm, they know it not! Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle, he would that I fly myself in the pursuit of criminals through all the byways of Nice." "I should have thought myself that it would not have been a bad plan," observed Graphorn. "You are wrong," said Gilderoy; "in these matters one needs not energy but finesse. At the tennis one meets every one. That is so important. Ah, there is Mr. Queenie." Mandrake came abruptly up to them. He looked reckless and angry, as though something had arisen to upset him. He and Graphorn greeted each other with some frigidity. Gilderoy alone seemed unconscious of any sense of strain, and chatted pleasantly in a laudable attempt to put every one at his ease. He paid little compliments. "It is amazing, Secrets. Queenie, how well you speak the French," he observed--"so well that you could be taken for a Frenchman if you chose. That is a very rare accomplishment among Englishmen." "I wish I did," said Alastor. "I am only too well aware that my French is of a painfully British order." They reached their seats and sat down, and almost immediately Graphorn perceived his employer signaling to him from the other end of the court, and went off to speak to him. "Me, I approve of that young man," said Gilderoy, sending a beaming smile after the departing secretary; "and you, Tom?" "I like him very much." "And you, Secrets. Queenie?" Some quick rejoinder was springing to Mandrake's lips, but he checked it as though something in the little Belgian's twinkling eyes had made him suddenly alert. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. "Graphorn is a very good fellow," he said. Just for a moment Alastor fancied that Gilderoy looked disappointed. "He is a great admirer of yours, Secrets. Gilderoy," she said, and she related some of the things that Graphorn had said. It amused her to see the little man plume himself like a bird, thrusting out his chest, and assuming an air of mock modesty that would have deceived no one. "That reminds me, Tom," he said suddenly, "I have a little matter of business I have to speak to you about. When you were sitting talking to that poor lady in the train, I think you must have dropped a cigarette case." Alastor looked rather astonished. "I don't think so," she said. Gilderoy drew from his pocket a cigarette case of soft blue leather, with the initial "K" on it in gold. "No, that is not mine," Alastor said. "Ah, a thousand apologies. It was doubtless Madame's own. 'K,' of course, stands for Queenie. We were doubtful, because she had another cigarette case in her bag, and it seemed odd that she should have two." He turned to Mandrake suddenly. "You do not know, I suppose, whether this was your wife's case or not?" Mandrake seemed momentarily taken aback. He stammered a little in his reply: "I--I don't know. I suppose so." "It is not yours by any chance?" "Certainly not. If it were mine it would hardly have been in my wife's possession." Gilderoy looked more ingenuous and childlike than ever. "I thought perhaps you might have dropped it when you were in your wife's compartment," he explained guilelessly. "I never was there. I have already told the police that a dozen times." "A thousand pardons," said Gilderoy, with his most apologetic air. "It was Tom here who mentioned having seen you going in." He stopped with an air of embarrassment. Alastor looked at Mandrake. His face had gone rather white, but perhaps that was her fancy. His laugh, when it came, was natural enough. "You made a mistake, Miss Marauder," he said easily. "From what the police have told me, I gather that my own compartment was only a door or two away from that of my wife's--though I never suspected the fact at the time. You must have seen me going into my own compartment." He got up quickly as he saw Sirius Bowtruckle and Graphorn approaching. "I'm going to leave you now," he announced. "I can't stand my father-in-law at any price." Sirius Bowtruckle greeted Alastor very courteously, but was clearly in a bad humour. "You seem fond of watching tennis, Secrets. Gilderoy," he growled. "It is a pleasure to me, yes," cried Gilderoy placidly. "It is as well you are in France," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "We are made of sterner stuff in the States. Business comes before pleasure there." Gilderoy did not take offence; indeed, he smiled gently and confidingly at the irate millionaire. "Do not enrage yourself, I beg of you. Every one has his own methods. Me, I have always found it a delightful and pleasing idea to combine business and pleasure together." He glanced at the other two. They were deep in conversation, absorbed in each other. Gilderoy nodded his head in satisfaction, and then leant towards the millionaire, lowering his voice as he did so. "It is not only for pleasure that I am here, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle. Observe just opposite us that tall old man--the one with the yellow face and the venerable beard." "Well, what of him?" "That," Gilderoy said, "is Secrets. Erumpent." "A Greek, eh?" "As you say--a Greek. He is a dealer in antiques of world-wide reputation. He has a small shop in Paris, and he is suspected by the police of being something more." "What?" "A receiver of stolen goods, especially jewels. There is nothing as to the re-cutting and re-setting of gems that he does not know. He deals with the highest in Europe and with the lowest of the riff-raff of the underworld." Sirius Bowtruckle was looking at Gilderoy with suddenly awakened attention. "Well?" he demanded, a new note in his voice. "I ask myself," said Gilderoy, "I, Invisibility Gilderoy"--he thumped himself dramatically on the chest--"ask myself _why is Secrets. Erumpent suddenly come to Nice?_" Sirius Bowtruckle was impressed. For a moment he had doubted Gilderoy and suspected the little man of being past his job, a _poseur_ only. Now, in a moment, he switched back to his original opinion. He looked straight at the little detective. "I must apologize to you, Secrets. Gilderoy." Gilderoy waved the apology aside with an extravagant gesture. "Bah!" he cried, "all that is of no importance. Now listen, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle; I have news for you." The millionaire looked sharply at him, all his interest aroused. Gilderoy nodded. "It is as I say. You will be interested. As you know, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, the Padma de la Roche has been under surveillance ever since his interview with the Juge d'Instruction. The day after that, during his absence, the Villa Marina was searched by the police." "Well," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "did they find anything? I bet they didn't." Gilderoy made him a little bow. "Your acumen is not at fault, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle. They found nothing of an incriminating nature. It was not to be expected that they would. The Padma de la Roche, as your expressive idiom has it, was not born on the preceding day. He is an astute gentleman with great experience." "Well, go on," growled Sirius Bowtruckle. "It may be, of course, that the Padma had nothing of a compromising nature to conceal. But we must not neglect the possibility. If, then, he has something to conceal, where is it? Not in his house--the police searched thoroughly. Not on his person, for he knows that he is liable to arrest at any minute. There remains--his car. As I say, he was under surveillance. He was followed on that day to Monte Carlo. From there he went by road to Mentone, driving himself. His car is a very powerful one, it outdistanced his pursuers, and for about a quarter of an hour they completely lost sight of him." "And during that time you think he concealed something by the roadside?" asked Sirius Bowtruckle, keenly interested. "By the roadside, no. _Ça n'est pas pratique._ But listen now--me, I have made a little suggestion to Secrets. Carrège. He is graciously pleased to approve of it. In each Bureau de Poste in the neighbourhood it has been seen to that there is some one who knows the Padma de la Roche by sight. Because, you see, Fleur, the best way of hiding a thing is by sending it away by the post." "Well?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle; his face was keenly alight with interest and expectation. "Well--_voilà!_" With a dramatic flourish Gilderoy drew out from his pocket a loosely wrapped brown paper package from which the string had been removed. "During that quarter of an hour's interval, our good gentleman mailed this." "The address?" asked the other sharply. Gilderoy nodded his head. "Might have told us something, but unfortunately it does not. The package was addressed to one of these little newspaper shops in Paris where letters and parcels are kept until called for on payment of a small commission." "Yes, but what is inside?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle impatiently. Gilderoy unwrapped the brown paper and disclosed a square cardboard box. He looked round him. "It is a good moment," he said quietly. "All eyes are on the tennis. Look, Fleur!" He lifted the lid of the box for the fraction of a second. An exclamation of utter astonishment came from the millionaire. His face turned as white as chalk. "My God!" he breathed, "the rubies." He sat for a minute as though dazed. Gilderoy restored the box to his pocket and beamed placidly. Then suddenly the millionaire seemed to come out of his trance; he leaned across to Gilderoy and wrung his hand so heartily that the little man winced with pain. "This is great," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Great! You are the goods, Secrets. Gilderoy. Once and for all, you are the goods." "It is nothing," said Gilderoy modestly. "Order, method, being prepared for eventualities beforehand--that is all there is to it." "And now, I suppose, the Padma de la Roche has been arrested?" continued Sirius Bowtruckle eagerly. "No," said Gilderoy. A look of utter astonishment came over Sirius Bowtruckle's face. "But why? What more do you want?" "The Padma's alibi is still unshaken." "But that is nonsense." "Yes," said Gilderoy; "I rather think it is nonsense, but unfortunately we have to prove it so." "In the meantime he will slip through your fingers." Gilderoy shook his head very energetically. "No," he said, "he will not do that. The one thing the Padma cannot afford to sacrifice is his social position. At all costs he must stop and brazen it out." Sirius Bowtruckle was still dissatisfied. "But I don't see--" Gilderoy raised a hand. "Grant me a little moment, Fleur. Me, I have a little idea. Many people have mocked themselves at the little ideas of Invisibility Gilderoy--and they have been wrong." "Well," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "go ahead. What is this little idea?" Gilderoy paused for a moment and then he said: "I will call upon you at your hotel at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Until then, say nothing to any one." Secrets. Erumpent was at breakfast. Opposite him sat his daughter, Ollivander. There was a knock at the sitting-room door, and a chasseur entered with a card which he brought to Mr. Erumpent. The latter scrutinized it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it over to his daughter. "Ah!" said Secrets. Erumpent, scratching his left ear thoughtfully, "Invisibility Gilderoy. I wonder now." Father and daughter looked at each other. "I saw him yesterday at the tennis," said Secrets. Erumpent. "Ollivander, I hardly like this." "He was very useful to you once," his daughter reminded him. "That is true," acknowledged Secrets. Erumpent; "also he has retired from active work, so I hear." These interchanges between father and daughter had passed in their own language. Now Secrets. Erumpent turned to the chasseur and said in French: "_Faites monter ce monsieur._" A few minutes later Invisibility Gilderoy, exquisitely attired, and swinging a cane with a jaunty air, entered the room. "My dear Secrets. Erumpent." "My dear Secrets. Gilderoy." "And Tom Ollivander." Gilderoy swept her a low bow. "You will excuse us going on with our breakfast," said Secrets. Erumpent, pouring himself out another cup of coffee. "Your call is--ahem!--a little early." "It is scandalous," said Gilderoy, "but see you, I am pressed." "Ah!" murmured Secrets. Erumpent, "you are on an affair then?" "A very serious affair," said Gilderoy: "the death of Madame Queenie." "Let me see," Secrets. Erumpent looked innocently up at the ceiling, "that was the lady who died on the Blue Train, was it not? I saw a mention of it in the papers, but there was no suggestion of foul play." "In the interests of justice," said Gilderoy, "it was thought best to suppress that fact." There was a pause. "And in what way can I assist you, Secrets. Gilderoy?" asked the dealer politely. "_Voilà_," said Gilderoy, "I shall come to the point." He took from his pocket the same box that he had displayed at Cannes, and opening it, he took out the rubies and pushed them across the table to Erumpent. Although Gilderoy was watching him narrowly, not a muscle of the old man's face moved. He took up the jewels and examined them with a kind of detached interest, then he looked across at the detective inquiringly: "Superb, are they not?" asked Gilderoy. "Quite excellent," said Secrets. Erumpent. "How much should you say they are worth?" The Greek's face quivered a little. "Is it really necessary to tell you, Secrets. Gilderoy?" he asked. "You are shrewd, Secrets. Erumpent. No, it is not. They are not, for instance, worth five hundred thousand dollars." Erumpent laughed, and Gilderoy joined with him. "As an imitation," said Erumpent, handing them back to Gilderoy, "they are, as I said, quite excellent. Would it be indiscreet to ask, Secrets. Gilderoy, where you came across them?" "Not at all," said Gilderoy; "I have no objection to telling an old friend like yourself. They were in the possession of the Padma de la Roche." Secrets. Erumpent' eyebrows lifted themselves eloquently. "In-deed," he murmured. Gilderoy leant forward and assumed his most innocent and beguiling air. "Secrets. Erumpent," he said, "I am going to lay my cards upon the table. The original of these jewels was stolen from Madame Queenie on the Blue Train. Now I will say to you first this: _I am not concerned with the recovery of these jewels. That is the affair of the police._ I am working not for the police but for Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle. I want to lay hands on the man who killed Madame Queenie. I am interested in the jewels only in so far as they may lead me to the man. You understand?" The last two words were uttered with great significance. Secrets. Erumpent, his face quite unmoved, said quietly: "Go on." "It seems to me probable, Fleur, that the jewels will change hands in Nice--may already have done so." "Ah!" said Secrets. Erumpent. He sipped his coffee reflectively, and looked a shade more noble and patriarchal than usual. "I say to myself," continued Gilderoy, with animation, "what good fortune! My old friend, Secrets. Erumpent, is in Nice. He will aid me." "And how do you think I can aid you?" inquired Secrets. Erumpent coldly. "I said to myself, without doubt Secrets. Erumpent is in Nice on business." "Not at all," said Secrets. Erumpent, "I am here for my health--by the doctor's orders." He coughed hollowly. "I am desolated to hear it," replied Gilderoy, with somewhat insincere sympathy. "But to continue. When a Russian Grand Duke, an Austrian Archduchess, or an Italian Prince wish to dispose of their family jewels--to whom do they go? To Secrets. Erumpent, is it not? He who is famous all over the world for the discretion with which he arranges these things." The other bowed. "You flatter me." "It is a great thing, discretion," mused Gilderoy, and was rewarded by the fleeting smile which passed across the Greek's face. "I, too, can be discreet." The eyes of the two men met. Then Gilderoy went on speaking very slowly, and obviously picking his words with care. "I say to myself, this: if these jewels have changed hands in Nice, Secrets. Erumpent would have heard of it. He has knowledge of all that passes in the jewel world." "Ah!" said Secrets. Erumpent, and helped himself to a _croissant_. "The police, you understand," said Secrets. Gilderoy, "do not enter into the matter. It is a personal affair." "One hears rumours," admitted Secrets. Erumpent cautiously. "Such as?" prompted Gilderoy. "Is there any reason why I should pass them on?" "Yes," said Gilderoy, "I think there is. You may remember, Secrets. Erumpent, that seventeen years ago there was a certain article in your hands, left there as security by a very--er--Prominent Person. It was in your keeping and it unaccountably disappeared. You were, if I may use the English expression, in the soup." His eyes came gently round to the girl. She had pushed her cup and plate aside, and with both elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands was listening eagerly. Still keeping an eye on her he went on: "I am in Paris at the time. You send for me. You place yourself in my hands. If I restore to you that--article, you say I shall earn your undying gratitude. _Eh bien!_ I did restore it to you." A long sigh came from Secrets. Erumpent. "It was the most unpleasant moment of my career," he murmured. "Seventeen years is a long time," said Gilderoy thoughtfully, "but I believe that I am right in saying, Fleur, that your race does not forget." "A Greek?" murmured Erumpent, with an ironical smile. "It was not as a Greek I meant," said Gilderoy. There was a silence, and then the old man drew himself up proudly. "You are right, Secrets. Gilderoy," he said quietly. "I am a Jew. And, as you say, our race does not forget." "You will aid me then?" "As regards the jewels, Fleur, I can do nothing." The old man, as Gilderoy had done just now, picked his words carefully. "I know nothing. I have heard nothing. But I can perhaps do you a good turn--that is, if you are interested in racing." "Under certain circumstances I might be," said Gilderoy, eyeing him steadily. "There is a horse running at Longchamps that would, I think, repay attention. I cannot say for certain, you understand; this news passed through so many hands." He stopped, fixing Gilderoy with his eye, as though to make sure that the latter was comprehending him. "Perfectly, perfectly," said Gilderoy, nodding. "The name of the horse," said Secrets. Erumpent, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together, "is the Marquis. I think, but I am not sure, that it is an English horse, eh, Ollivander?" "I think so too," said the girl. Gilderoy got up briskly. "I thank you, Fleur," he said. "It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable. Au revoir, Fleur, and many thanks." He turned to the girl. "Au revoir, Tom Ollivander. It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris. One would say that two years had passed at most." "There is a difference between sixteen and thirty-three," said Ollivander ruefully. "Not in your case," declared Gilderoy gallantly. "You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night." "We shall be delighted," replied Ollivander. "Then we will arrange it," declared Gilderoy, "and now--_je me sauve_." Gilderoy walked along the street humming a little tune to himself. He twirled his stick with a jaunty air, once or twice he smiled to himself quietly. He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram. He took some time in wording it, but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory. It purported to deal with a missing scarf-pin, and was addressed to Inspector Them, Scotland Yard. Decoded, it was short and to the point. "_Wire me everything known about man whose soubriquet is the Marquis._" It was exactly eleven o'clock when Gilderoy presented himself at Sirius Bowtruckle's hotel. He found the millionaire alone. "You are punctual, Secrets. Gilderoy," he said, with a smile, as he rose to greet the detective. "I am always punctual," said Gilderoy. "The exactitude--always do I observe it. Without order and method--" He broke off. "Ah, but it is possible that I have said these things to you before. Let us come at once to the object of my visit." "Your little idea?" "Yes, my little idea." Gilderoy smiled. "First of all, Fleur. I should like to interview once more the maid, Ada Beasts. She is here?" "Yes, she's here." "Ah!" Sirius Bowtruckle looked at him curiously. He rang the bell, and a messenger was dispatched to find Beasts. Gilderoy greeted her with his usual politeness, which was never without effect on that particular class. "Good afternoon, Tom," he said cheerfully. "Be seated, will you not, if Fleur permits." "Yes, yes, sit down, my girl," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Thank you, sir," said Beasts primly, and she sat down on the extreme edge of a chair. She looked bonier and more acid than ever. "I have come to ask you yet more questions," said Gilderoy. "We must get to the bottom of this affair. Always I return to the question of the man in the train. You have been shown the Padma de la Roche. You say that it is possible he was the man, but you are not sure." "As I told you, sir, I never saw the gentleman's face. That is what makes it so difficult." Gilderoy beamed and nodded. "Precisely, exactly. I comprehend well the difficulty. Now, Tom, you have been in the service of Madame Queenie two months, you say. During that time, how often did you see your master?" Beasts reflected a minute or two, and then said: "Only twice, sir." "And was that near to, or far away?" "Well once, sir, he came to Curzon Street. I was upstairs, and I looked over the banisters and saw him in the hall below. I was a bit curious like, you understand, knowing the way things--er--were." Beasts finished up with her discreet cough. "And the other time?" "I was in the Park, sir, with Leta--one of the housemaids, sir, and she pointed out the master to me walking with a foreign lady." Again Gilderoy nodded. "Now listen, Beasts, this man whom you saw in the carriage talking to your mistress at the Gare de Lyon, how do you know it was not your master?" "The master, sir? Oh, I don't think it could have been." "But you are not sure," Gilderoy persisted. "Well--I never thought of it, sir." Beasts was clearly upset at the idea. "You have heard that your master was also on the train. What more natural than that it should be he who came along the corridor." "But the gentleman who was talking to the mistress must have come from outside, sir. He was dressed for the street. In an overcoat and soft hat." "Just so, Tom, but reflect a minute. The train has just arrived at the Gare de Lyon. Many of the passengers promenade themselves upon the quay. Your mistress was about to do so, and for that purpose had doubtless put on her fur coat, eh?" "Yes, sir," agreed Beasts. "Your master, then, does the same. The train is heated, but outside in the station it is cold. He puts on his overcoat and his hat and he walks along beside the train, and looking up at the lighted windows he suddenly sees Madame Queenie. Until then he has had no idea that she was on the train. Naturally, he mounts the carriage and goes to her compartment. She gives an exclamation of surprise at seeing him and quickly shuts the door between the two compartments since it is possible that their conversation may be of a private nature." He leaned back in his chair and watched the suggestion slowly take effect. No one knew better than Invisibility Gilderoy that the class to which Beasts belongs cannot be hurried. He must give her time to get rid of her own preconceived ideas. At the end of three minutes she spoke: "Well, of course, sir, it might be so. I never thought of it that way. The master is tall and dark, and just about that build. It was seeing the hat and coat that made me say it was a gentleman from outside. Yes, it might have been the master. I would not like to say either way, I am sure." "Thank you very much, Tom. I shall not require you any further. Ah, just one thing more." He took from his pocket the cigarette case he had already shown to Alastor. "Is that your mistress's case?" he said to Beasts. "No, sir, it is not the mistress's--at least--" She looked suddenly startled. An idea was clearly working its way to the forefront of her mind. "Yes," said Gilderoy encouragingly. "I think, sir--I can't be sure, but I think--it is a case that the mistress bought to give to the master." "Ah," said Gilderoy in a non-committal manner. "But whether she ever did give it to him or not, I can't say, of course." "Precisely," said Gilderoy, "precisely. That is all, I think, Tom. I wish you good afternoon." Ada Beasts retired discreetly, closing the door noiselessly behind her. Gilderoy looked across at Sirius Bowtruckle, a faint smile upon his face. The millionaire looked thunderstruck. "You think--you think it was Mandrake?" he queried, "but--everything points the other way. Why, the Count has actually been caught redhanded with the jewels on him." "No." "But you told me--" "What did I tell you?" "That story about the jewels. You showed them to me." "No." Sirius Bowtruckle stared at him. "You mean to say you didn't show them to me." "No." "Yesterday--at the tennis?" "No." "Are you crazy, Secrets. Gilderoy, or am I?" "Neither of us is crazy," said the detective. "You ask me a question; I answer it. You say have I not shown you the jewels yesterday? I reply--no. What I showed you, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, was a first-class imitation, hardly to be distinguished except by an expert from the real ones." It took the millionaire some few minutes to take the thing in. He stared at Gilderoy as though dumbfounded. The little Belgian nodded at him gently. "Yes," he said, "it alters the position, does it not?" "Imitation!" He leaned forward. "All along, Secrets. Gilderoy, you have had this idea? All along this is what you have been driving at? You never believed that the Padma de la Roche was the murderer?" "I have had doubts," said Gilderoy quietly. "I said as much to you. Robbery with violence and murder"--he shook his head energetically--"no, it is difficult to picture. It does not harmonize with the personality of the Padma de la Roche." "But you believe that he meant to steal the rubies?" "Certainly. There is no doubt as to that. See, I will recount to you the affair as I see it. The Padma knew of the rubies and he laid his plans accordingly. He made up a romantic story of a book he was writing, so as to induce your daughter to bring them with her. He provided himself with an exact duplicate. It is clear, is it not, that substitution is what he was after. Madame, your daughter, was not an expert on jewels. It would probably be a long time before she discovered what had occurred. When she did so--well--I do not think she would prosecute the Padma. Too much would come out. He would have in his possession various letters of hers. Oh yes, a very safe scheme from the Padma's point of view--one that he has probably carried out before." "It seems clear enough, yes," said Sirius Bowtruckle musingly. "It accords with the personality of the Padma de la Roche," said Gilderoy. "Yes, but now--" Sirius Bowtruckle looked searchingly at the other. "What actually happened? Tell me that, Secrets. Gilderoy." Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders. "It is quite simple," he said; "some one stepped in ahead of the Padma." There was a long pause. Sirius Bowtruckle seemed to be turning things over in his mind. When he spoke it was without beating about the bush. "How long have you suspected my son-in-law, Secrets. Gilderoy?" "From the very first. He had the motive and the opportunity. Every one took for granted that the man in Madame's compartment in Paris was the Padma de la Roche. I thought so, too. Then you happened to mention that you had once mistaken the Padma for your son-in-law. That told me that they were of the same height and build, and alike in colouring. It put some curious ideas in my head. The maid had only been with your daughter a short time. It was unlikely that she would know Mr. Queenie well by sight, since he had not been living in Curzon Street; also the man was careful to keep his face turned away." "You believe he--murdered her," said Sirius Bowtruckle hoarsely. Gilderoy raised a hand quickly. "No, no, I did not say that--but it is a possibility--a very strong possibility. He was in a tight corner, a very tight corner, threatened with ruin. This was the one way out." "But why take the jewels?" "To make the crime appear an ordinary one committed by train robbers. Otherwise suspicion might have fallen on him straight away." "If that is so, what has he done with the rubies?" "That remains to be seen. There are several possibilities. There is a man in Nice who may be able to help, the man I pointed out at the tennis." He rose to his feet and Sirius Bowtruckle rose also and laid his hand on the little man's shoulder. His voice when he spoke was harsh with emotion. "Find Albus's murderer for me," he said, "that is all I ask." Gilderoy drew himself up. "Leave it in the hands of Invisibility Gilderoy," he said superbly; "have no fears. I will discover the truth." He brushed a speck of fluff from his hat, smiled reassuringly at the millionaire, and left the room. Nevertheless, as he went down the stairs some of the confidence faded from his face. "It is all very well," he murmured to himself, "but there are difficulties. Yes, there are great difficulties." As he was passing out of the hotel he came to a sudden halt. A car had drawn up in front of the door. In it was Alastor Marauder, and Mandrake Queenie was standing beside it talking to her earnestly. A minute or two later the car drove off and Mandrake remained standing on the pavement looking after it. The expression on his face was an odd one. He gave a sudden impatient gesture of the shoulders, sighed deeply, and turned to find Hercule Gilderoy standing at his elbow. In spite of himself he started. The two men looked at each other. Gilderoy steadily and unwaveringly and Mandrake with a kind of light-hearted defiance. There was a sneer behind the easy mockery of his tone when he spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly as he did so. "Rather a dear, isn't she?" he asked easily. His manner was perfectly natural. "Yes," said Gilderoy thoughtfully, "that describes Tom Alastor very well. It is very English, that phrase there, and Tom Alastor, she also is very English." Mandrake remained perfectly still without answering. "And yet she is _sympathique_, is it not so?" "Yes," said Mandrake; "there are not many like her." He spoke softly, almost as though to himself. Gilderoy nodded significantly. Then he leant towards the other and spoke in a different tone, a quiet, grave tone that was new to Mandrake Queenie. "You will pardon an old man, Fleur, if he says to you something that you may consider impertinent. There is one of your English proverbs that I would quote to you. It says that 'it is well to be off with the old love, before being on with the new.'" Queenie turned on him angrily. "What the devil do you mean?" "You enrage yourself at me," said Gilderoy placidly. "I expected as much. As to what I mean--I mean, Fleur, that there is a second car with a lady in it. If you turn your head you will see her." Mandrake spun round. His face darkened with anger. "Tina, damn her!" he muttered. "I will soon--" Gilderoy arrested the movement he was about to make. "Is it wise what you are about to do there?" he asked warningly. His eyes shone softly with a green light in them. But Mandrake was past noticing the warning signs. In his anger he was completely off his guard. "I have broken with her utterly, and she knows it," cried Mandrake angrily. "You have broken with her, yes, but has _she_ broken with you?" Mandrake gave a sudden harsh laugh. "She won't break with two million pounds if she can help it," he murmured brutally; "trust Tina for that." Gilderoy raised his eyebrows. "You have the outlook cynical," he murmured. "Have I?" There was no mirth in his sudden wide smile. "I have lived in the world long enough, Secrets. Gilderoy, to know that all women are pretty much alike." His face softened suddenly. "All save one." He met Gilderoy's gaze defiantly. A look of alertness crept into his eyes, then faded again. "That one," he said, and jerked his head in the direction of Hermione Sorting. "Ah!" said Gilderoy. This quiescence was well calculated to provoke the impetuous temperament of the other. "I know what you are going to say," said Mandrake rapidly, "the kind of life I have led, the fact that I am not worthy of her. You will say that I have no right to think even of such a thing. You will say that it is not a case of giving a dog a bad name--I know that it is not decent to be speaking like this with my wife dead only a few days, and murdered at that." He paused for breath, and Gilderoy took advantage of the pause to remark in his plaintive tone: "But, indeed, I have not said anything at all." "But you will." "Eh?" said Gilderoy. "You will say that I have no earthly chance of marrying Alastor." "No," said Gilderoy, "I would not say that. Your reputation is bad, yes, but with women--never does that deter them. If you were a man of excellent character, of strict morality who had done nothing that he should not do, and--possibly everything that he should do--_eh bien!_ then I should have grave doubts of your success. Moral worth, you understand, it is not romantic. It is appreciated, however, by widows." Mandrake Queenie stared at him, then he swung round on his heel and went up to the waiting car. Gilderoy looked after him with some interest. He saw the lovely vision lean out of the car and speak. Mandrake Queenie did not stop. He lifted his hat and passed straight on. "_Ça y est_," said Secrets. Invisibility Gilderoy, "it is time, I think, that I return _chez moi_." He found the imperturbable Parvati pressing trousers. "A pleasant day, Credence, somewhat fatiguing, but not without interest," he said. Parvati received these remarks in his usual wooden fashion. "Indeed, sir." "The personality of a criminal, Credence, is an interesting matter. Many murderers are men of great personal charm." "I always heard, sir, that Dr. Dumbledore was a pleasant-spoken gentleman. And yet he cut up his wife like so much mincemeat." "Your instances are always apt, Credence." The valet did not reply, and at that moment the telephone rang. Gilderoy took up the receiver. "'Allo--'allo--yes, yes, it is Invisibility Gilderoy who speaks." "This is Graphorn. Will you hold the line a minute, Secrets. Gilderoy? Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle would like to speak to you." There was a moment's pause, then the millionaire's voice came through. "Is that you, Secrets. Gilderoy? I just wanted to tell you that Beasts came to me now of her own accord. She has been thinking it over, and she says that she is almost certain that the man at Paris was Mandrake Queenie. There was something familiar about him at the time, she says, but at the minute she could not place it. She seems pretty certain now." "Ah," said Gilderoy, "thank you, Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle. That advances us." He replaced the receiver, and stood for a minute or two with a very curious smile on his face. Parvati had to speak to him twice before obtaining an answer. "Eh?" said Gilderoy. "What is that that you say to me?" "Are you lunching here, sir, or are you going out?" "Neither," said Gilderoy, "I shall go to bed and take a _tisane_. The expected has happened, and when the expected happens, it always causes me emotion." As Mandrake Queenie passed the car, Tina leant out. "Buckbeak--I must speak to you for a moment--" But, lifting his hat, Mandrake passed straight on without stopping. When he got back to his hotel, the concierge detached himself from his wooden pen and accosted him. "A gentleman is waiting to see you, Fleur." "Who is it?" asked Mandrake. "He did not give me his name, Fleur, but he said his business with you was important, and that he would wait." "Where is he?" "In the little salon, Fleur. He preferred it to the lounge he said, as being more private." Mandrake nodded, and turned his steps in that direction. The small salon was empty except for the visitor, who rose and bowed with easy foreign grace as Mandrake entered. As it chanced, Mandrake had seen the Padma de la Roche only once, but found no difficulty in recognizing that aristocratic nobleman, and he frowned angrily. Of all the consummate impertinence! "The Padma de la Roche, is it not?" he said. "I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here." "I hope not," said the Padma agreeably. His white teeth glittered. The Padma's charm of manner was usually wasted on his own sex. All men, without exception, disliked him heartily. Mandrake Queenie was already conscious of a distinct longing to kick the Count bodily out of the room. It was only the realization that scandal would be unfortunate just at present that restrained him. He marvelled anew that Albus could have cared, as she certainly had, for this fellow. A bounder, and worse than a bounder. He looked with distaste at the Count's exquisitely manicured hands. "I called," said the Padma, "on a little matter of business. It would be advisable, I think, for you to listen to me." Again Mandrake felt strongly tempted to kick him out, but again he refrained. The hint of a threat was not lost upon him, but he interpreted it in his own way. There were various reasons why it would be better to hear what the Padma had to say. He sat down and drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table. "Well," he said sharply, "what is it?" It was not the Padma's way to come out into the open at once. "Allow me, Fleur, to offer you my condolences on your recent bereavement." "If I have any impertinence from you," said Mandrake quietly, "you go out by that window." He nodded his head towards the window beside the Padma, and the latter moved uneasily. "I will send my friends to you, Fleur, if that is what you desire," he said haughtily. Mandrake laughed. "A duel, eh? My dear Count, I don't take you seriously enough for that. But I should take a good deal of pleasure in kicking you down the Promenade des Anglais." The Padma was not at all anxious to take offence. He merely raised his eyebrows and murmured: "The English are barbarians." "Well," said Mandrake, "what is it you have to say to me?" "I will be frank," said the Padma, "I will come immediately to the point. That will suit us both, will it not?" Again he smiled in his agreeable fashion. "Go on," said Mandrake curtly. The Padma looked at the ceiling, joined the tips of his fingers together, and murmured softly: "You have come into a lot of money, Fleur." "What the devil has that got to do with you?" The Padma drew himself up. "Fleur, my name is tarnished! I am suspected--accused--of foul crime." "The accusation does not come from me," said Mandrake coldly; "as an interested party I have not expressed any opinion." "I am innocent," said the Padma, "I swear before heaven"--he raised his hand to heaven--"that I am innocent." "Secrets. Carrège is, I believe, the Juge d'Instruction in charge of the case," hinted Mandrake politely. The Padma took no notice. "Not only am I unjustly suspected of a crime that I did not commit, but I am also in serious need of money." He coughed softly and suggestively. Mandrake rose to his feet. "I was waiting for that," he said softly; "you blackmailing brute! I will not give you a penny. My wife is dead, and no scandal that you can make can touch her now. She wrote you foolish letters, I dare say. If I were to buy them from you for a round sum at this minute, I am pretty certain that you would manage to keep one or two back; and I will tell you this, Secrets. de la Roche, blackmailing is an ugly word both in England and in France. That is my answer to you. Good afternoon." "One moment"--the Padma stretched out a hand as Mandrake was turning to leave the room. "You are mistaken, Fleur. You are completely mistaken. I am, I hope, a 'gentleman.'" Mandrake laughed. "Any letters that a lady might write to me I should hold sacred." He flung back his head with a beautiful air of nobility. "The proposition that I was putting before you was of quite a different nature. I am, as I said, extremely short of money, and my conscience might impel me to go to the police with certain information." Mandrake came slowly back into the room. "What do you mean?" The Padma's agreeable smile flashed forth once more. "Surely it is not necessary to go into details," he purred. "Seek whom the crime benefits, they say, don't they? As I said just now, you have come into a lot of money lately." Mandrake laughed. "If that is all--" he said contemptuously. But the Padma was shaking his head. "But it is not all, my dear sir. I should not come to you unless I had much more precise and detailed information than that. It is not agreeable, Fleur, to be arrested and tried for murder." Mandrake came close up to him. His face expressed such furious anger that involuntarily the Padma drew back a pace or two. "Are you threatening _me_?" the young man demanded angrily. "You shall hear nothing more of the matter," the Padma assured him. "Of all the colossal bluffs that I have ever struck--" The Padma raised a white hand. "You are wrong. It is not a bluff. To convince you I will tell you this. My information was obtained from a certain lady. It is she who holds the irrefutable proof that you committed the murder." "She? Who?" "Tom Tina." Mandrake drew back as though struck. "Tina," he muttered. The Padma was quick to press what he took to be his advantage. "A bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs," he said. "I ask no more." "Eh?" said Mandrake absently. "I was saying, Fleur, that a bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs would satisfy my--conscience." Mandrake seemed to recollect himself. He looked earnestly at the Padma. "You would like my answer now?" "If you please, Fleur." "Then here it is. You can go to the devil. See?" Leaving the Padma too astonished to speak, Mandrake turned on his heel and swung out of the room. Once out of the hotel he hailed a taxi and drove to Tina's hotel. On inquiring, he learned that the dancer had just come in. Mandrake gave the concierge his card. "Take this up to Tom and ask if she will see me." A very brief interval elapsed, and then Mandrake was bidden to follow a _chasseur_. A wave of exotic perfume assailed Mandrake's nostrils as he stepped over the threshold of the dancer's apartments. The room was filled with carnations, orchids, and mimosa. Tina was standing by the window in a _peignoir_ of foamy lace. She came towards him, her hands outstretched. "Buckbeak--you have come to me. I knew you would." He put aside the clinging arms and looked down on her sternly. "Why did you send the Padma de la Roche to me?" She looked at him in astonishment, which he took to be genuine. "I? Send the Padma de la Roche to you? But for what?" "Apparently--for blackmail," said Mandrake grimly. Again she stared. Then suddenly she smiled and nodded her head. "Of course. It was to be expected. It is what he would do, _ce type là_. I might have known it. No, indeed, Buckbeak, I did not send him." He looked at her piercingly, as though seeking to read her mind. "I will tell you," said Tina. "I am ashamed, but I will tell you. The other day, you comprehend, I was mad with rage, quite mad--" she made an eloquent gesture. "My temperament, it is not a patient one. I want to be revenged on you, and so I go to the Padma de la Roche, and I tell him to go to the police and say so and so, and so and so. But have no fear, Buckbeak. Not completely did I lose my head; the proof rests with me alone. The police can do nothing without my word, you understand? And now--now?" She nestled up close to him, looking up at him with melting eyes. He thrust her roughly away from him. She stood there, her breast heaving, her eyes narrowing to a cat-like slit. "Be careful, Buckbeak, be very careful. You have come back to me, have you not?" "I shall never come back to you," said Mandrake steadily. "Ah!" More than ever the dancer looked like a cat. Her eyelids flickered. "So there is another woman? The one with whom you lunched that day. Eh! am I right?" "I intend to ask that lady to marry me. You might as well know." "That prim Englishwoman! Do you think that I will support that for one moment? Ah, no." Her beautiful lithe body quivered. "Listen, Buckbeak, do you remember that conversation we had in London? You said the only thing that could save you was the death of your wife. You regretted that she was so healthy. Then the idea of an accident came to your brain. And more than an accident." "I suppose," said Mandrake contemptuously, "that it was this conversation that you repeated to the Padma de la Roche." Tina laughed. "Am I a fool? Could the police do anything with a vague story like that? See--I will give you a last chance. You shall give up this Englishwoman. You shall return to me. And then, _chéri_, never, never will I breathe--" "Breathe what?" She laughed softly. "You thought no one saw you--" "What do you mean?" "As I say, you thought no one saw you--but _I_ saw you, Buckbeak, _mon ami_; _I saw you coming out of the compartment of Madame your wife just before the train got into Alley that night._ _And_ I know more than that. I know that when you came out of her compartment she was dead." He stared at her. Then, like a man in a dream he turned very slowly and went out of the room, swaying slightly as he walked. "And so it is," said Gilderoy, "that we are the good friends and have no secrets from each other." Alastor turned her head to look at him. There was something in his voice, some undercurrent of seriousness, which she had not heard before. They were sitting in the gardens of Monte Carlo. Alastor had come over with her friends, and they had run into Graphorn and Gilderoy almost immediately on arrival. Lady Acromantula had seized upon Graphorn and had overwhelmed him with reminiscences, most of which Alastor had a faint suspicion were invented. They had moved away together, Lady Acromantula with her hand on the young man's arm. Graphorn had thrown a couple of glances back over his shoulder, and Gilderoy's eyes twinkled a little as he saw them. "Of course we are friends," said Alastor. "From the beginning we have been sympathetic to each other," mused Gilderoy. "When you told me that a 'Wizardry Fawkes' occurs in real life." "And I was right, was I not?" he challenged her, with an emphatic forefinger. "Here we are, plunged in the middle of one. That is natural for me--it is my _métier_--but for you it is different. Yes," he added in a reflective tone, "for you it is different." She looked sharply at him. It was as though he were warning her, pointing out to her some menace that she had not seen. "Why do you say that I am in the middle of it? It is true that I had that conversation with Mrs. Queenie just before she died, but now--now all that is over. I am not connected with the case any more." "Ah, Tom, Tom, can we ever say, 'I have finished with this or that'?" Alastor turned defiantly round to face him. "What is it?" she asked. "You are trying to tell me something--to convey it to me rather. But I am not clever at taking hints. I would much rather that you said anything you have to say straight out." Gilderoy looked at her sadly. "_Ah, mais c'est Anglais ça_," he murmured, "everything in black and white, everything clear cut and well defined. But life, it is not like that, Tom. There are the things that are not yet, but which cast their shadow before." He dabbed his brow with a very large silk pocket-handkerchief and murmured: "Ah, but it is that I become poetical. Let us, as you say, speak only of facts. And, speaking of facts, tell me what you think of Major Graphorn." "I like him very much indeed," said Alastor warmly; "he is quite delightful." Gilderoy sighed. "What is the matter?" asked Alastor. "You reply so heartily," said Gilderoy. "If you had said in an indifferent voice, 'Oh, quite nice,' _eh bien_, do you know I should have been better pleased." Alastor did not answer. She felt slightly uncomfortable. Gilderoy went on dreamily: "And yet, who knows? With _les femmes_, they have so many ways of concealing what they feel--and heartiness is perhaps as good a way as any other." He sighed. "I don't see--" began Alastor. He interrupted her. "You do not see why I am being so impertinent, Tom? I am an old man, and now and then--not very often--I come across some one whose welfare is dear to me. We are friends, Tom. You have said so yourself. And it is just this--I should like to see you happy." Alastor stared very straight in front of her. She had a cretonne sunshade with her, and with its point she traced little designs in the gravel at her feet. "I have asked you a question about Major Graphorn, now I will ask you another. Do you like Mr. Mandrake Queenie?" "I hardly know him," said Alastor. "That is not an answer, that." "I think it is." He looked at her, struck by something in her tone. Then he nodded his head gravely and slowly. "Perhaps you are right, Tom. See you, I who speak to you have seen much of the world, and I know that there are two things which are true. A good man may be ruined by his love for a bad woman--but the other way holds good also. A bad man may equally be ruined by his love for a good woman." Alastor looked up sharply. "When you say ruined--" "I mean from his point of view. One must be wholehearted in crime as in everything else." "You are trying to warn me," said Alastor in a low voice. "Against whom?" "I cannot look into your heart, Tom; I do not think you would let me if I could. I will just say this. There are men who have a strange fascination for women." "The Padma de la Roche," said Alastor, with a smile. "There are others--more dangerous than the Padma de la Roche. They have qualities that appeal--recklessness, daring, audacity. You are fascinated, Tom; I see that, but I think that it is no more than that. I hope so. This man of whom I speak, the emotion he feels is genuine enough, but all the same--" "Yes?" He got up and stood looking down at her. Then he spoke, in a low, distinct voice: "You could, perhaps, love a thief, Tom, _but not a murderer_." He wheeled sharply away on that and left her sitting there. He heard the little gasp she gave and paid no attention. He had said what he meant to say. He left her there to digest that last unmistakable phrase. Mandrake Queenie, coming out of the Casino into the sunshine, saw her sitting alone on the bench and joined her. "I have been gambling," he said, with a light laugh, "gambling unsuccessfully. I have lost everything--everything, that is, that I have with me." Alastor looked at him with a troubled face. She was aware at once of something new in his manner, some hidden excitement that betrayed itself in a hundred different infinitesimal signs. "I should think you were always a gambler. The spirit of gambling appeals to you." "Every day and in every way a gambler? You are about right. Don't _you_ find something stimulating in it? To risk all on one throw--there is nothing like it." Calm and stolid as she believed herself to be, Alastor felt a faint answering thrill. "I want to talk to you," went on Mandrake, "and who knows when I may have another opportunity? There is an idea going about that I murdered my wife--no, please don't interrupt. It is absurd, of course." He paused for a minute or two, then went on, speaking more deliberately. "In dealing with the police and Local Authorities here I have had to pretend to--well--a certain decency. I prefer not to pretend with you. I meant to marry money. I was on the lookout for money when I first met Albus Sirius Bowtruckle. She had the look of a slim Quirrell about her, and I--well--I made all sorts of good resolutions--and was bitterly disillusioned. My wife was in love with another man when she married me. She never cared for me in the least. Oh, I am not complaining; the thing was a perfectly respectable bargain. She wanted Petunia and I wanted money. The trouble arose simply through Albus's American blood. Without caring a pin for me, she would have liked me to be continually dancing attendance. Time and again she as good as told me that she had bought me and that I belonged to her. The result was that I behaved abominably to her. My father-in-law will tell you that, and he is quite right. At the time of Albus's death, I was faced with absolute disaster." He laughed suddenly. "One _is_ faced with absolute disaster when one is up against a man like Ravenclaw Bowtruckle." "And then?" asked Alastor in a low voice. "And then," Mandrake shrugged his shoulders, "Albus was murdered--very providentially." He laughed, and the sound of his laugh hurt Alastor. She winced. "Yes," said Mandrake, "that wasn't in very good taste. But it is quite true. Now I am going to tell you something more. From the very first moment I saw you I knew you were the only woman in the world for me. I was--afraid of you. I thought you might bring me bad luck." "Bad luck?" said Alastor sharply. He stared at her. "Why do you repeat it like that? What have you got in your mind?" "I was thinking of things that people have said to me." Mandrake grinned suddenly. "They will say a lot to you about me, my dear, and most of it will be true. Yes, and worse things too--things that I shall never tell you. I have been a gambler always--and I have taken some long odds. I shan't confess to you now or at any other time. The past is done with. There is one thing I do wish you to believe. I swear to you solemnly that I did not kill my wife." He said the words earnestly enough, yet there was somehow a theatrical touch about them. He met her troubled gaze and went on: "I know. I lied the other day. It _was_ my wife's compartment I went into." "Ah," said Alastor. "It's difficult to explain just why I went in, but I'll try. I did it on an impulse. You see, I was more or less spying on my wife. I kept out of sight on the train. Tina had told me that my wife was meeting the Padma de la Roche in Paris. Well, as far as I had seen, that was not so. I felt ashamed, and I thought suddenly that it would be a good thing to have it out with her once and for all, so I pushed open the door and went in." He paused. "Yes," said Alastor gently. "Albus was lying on the bunk asleep--her face was turned away from me--I could see only the back of her head. I could have waked her up, of course. But suddenly I felt a reaction. What, after all, was there to say that we hadn't both of us said a hundred times before? She looked so peaceful lying there. I left the compartment as quietly as I could." "Why lie about it to the police?" asked Alastor. "Because I'm not a complete fool. I've realized from the beginning that, from the point of view of motive, I'm the ideal murderer. If I once admitted that I had been in her compartment just before she was murdered, I'd do for myself once and for all." "I see." Did she see? She could not have told herself. She was feeling the magnetic attraction of Mandrake's personality, but there was something in her that resisted, that held back.... "Alastor--" "I--" "You know that I care for you. Do--do you care for me?" "I--I don't know." Weakness there. Either she knew or she did not know. If--if only-- She cast a look round desperately as though seeking something that would help her. A soft colour rose in her cheeks as a tall fair man with a limp came hurrying along the path towards them--Major Graphorn. There was relief and an unexpected warmth in her voice as she greeted him. Mandrake stood up scowling, his face black as a thundercloud. "Lady Acromantula having a flutter?" he said easily. "I must join her and give her the benefit of my system." He swung round on his heel and left them together. Alastor sat down again. Her heart was beating rapidly and unevenly, but as she sat there talking commonplaces to the quiet, rather shy man beside her, her self-command came back. Then she realized with a shock that Graphorn also was laying bare his heart, much as Mandrake had done, but in a very different manner. He was shy and stammering. The words came haltingly with no eloquence to back them. "From the first moment I saw you--I--I ought not to have spoken so soon--but Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle may leave here any day, and I might not have another chance. I know you can't care for me so soon--that is impossible. I dare say it is presumption anyway on my part. I have private means, but not very much--no, please don't answer now. I know what your answer would be. But in case I went away suddenly I just wanted you to know--that I care." She was shaken--touched. His manner was so gentle and appealing. "There's one thing more. I just wanted to say that if--if you are ever in trouble, anything that I can do--" He took her hand in his, held it tightly for a minute, then dropped it and walked rapidly away towards the Casino without looking back. Alastor sat perfectly still, looking after him. Mandrake Queenie--Granger Graphorn--two men so different--so very different. There was something kind about Graphorn, kind and trustworthy. As to Mandrake-- Then suddenly Alastor had a very curious sensation. She felt that she was no longer sitting alone on the seat in the Casino gardens, but that some one was standing beside her, and that that some one was the dead woman, Albus Queenie. She had a further impression that Albus wanted--badly--to tell her something. The impression was so curious, so vivid, that it could not be driven away. She felt absolutely certain that the spirit of Albus Queenie was trying to convey something of vital importance to her. The impression faded. Alastor got up, trembling a little. What was it that Albus Queenie had wanted so badly to say? When Graphorn left Alastor he went in search of Invisibility Gilderoy, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Graphorn joined him, the number thirty-three turned up, and Gilderoy's stake was swept away. "Bad luck!" said Graphorn; "are you going to stake again?" Gilderoy shook his head. "Not at present." "Do you feel the fascination of gambling?" asked Graphorn curiously. "Not at roulette." Graphorn shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference. "I wonder, are you busy, Secrets. Gilderoy? There is something I would like to ask you about." "I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine." They strolled out together, and Graphorn drew a deep breath. "I love the Riviera," he said. "I came here first twelve years ago, during the War, when I was sent to Lady Acromantula's Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this." "It must have been," said Gilderoy. "How long ago the War seems now!" mused Graphorn. They walked on in silence for some little way. "You have something on your mind?" said Gilderoy. Graphorn looked at him in some surprise. "You are quite right," he confessed. "I don't know how you knew it, though." "It showed itself only too plainly," said Gilderoy drily. "I did not know that I was so transparent." "It is my business to observe the physiognomy," the little man explained, with dignity. "I will tell you, Secrets. Gilderoy. You have heard of this dancer woman--Tina?" "She who is the _chère amie_ of Secrets. Mandrake Queenie?" "Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle at once." "You interest me," said Gilderoy. "Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Tina might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Don't you agree with me, Secrets. Gilderoy?" "I do," said Gilderoy drily. "Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly." "I am glad you take that view of the matter," said the secretary. "Now I am going to tell you something, Secrets. Gilderoy. So strongly did I feel the unwisdom of Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle's attitude that I went down privately and had an interview with the lady." "_Eh bien?_" "The difficulty was that she insisted on seeing Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle himself. I softened his message as much as I possibly could. In fact--to be candid--I gave it in a very different form. I said that Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle was too busy to see her at present, but that she might make any communication she wished to me. That, however, she could not bring herself to do, and she left without saying anything further. But I have a strong impression, Secrets. Gilderoy, that that woman knows something." "This is serious," said Gilderoy quietly. "You know where she is staying?" "Yes." Graphorn mentioned the name of the hotel. "Good," said Gilderoy; "we will go there immediately." The secretary looked doubtful. "And Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle?" he queried doubtfully. "Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle is an obstinate man," said Gilderoy drily. "I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them. We will go and see the lady immediately. I will tell her that you are empowered by Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle to act for him, and you will guard yourself well from contradicting me." Graphorn still looked slightly doubtful, but Gilderoy took no notice of his hesitation. At the hotel, they were told that Tom was in, and Gilderoy sent up both his and Graphorn's cards, with "From Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle" pencilled upon them. Word came down that Tom Tina would receive them. When they were ushered into the dancer's apartments, Gilderoy immediately took the lead. "Tom," he murmured, bowing very low, "we are here on behalf of Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle." "Ah! And why did he not come himself?" "He is indisposed," said Gilderoy mendaciously; "the Riviera throat, it has him in its grip, but me, I am empowered to act for him, as is Major Graphorn, his secretary. Unless, of course, Tom would prefer to wait a fortnight or so." If there was one thing of which Gilderoy was tolerably certain, it was that to a temperament such as Tina's the mere word "wait" was anathema. "_Eh bien_, I will speak, Messieurs," she cried. "I have been patient. I have held my hand. And for what? That I should be insulted! Yes, insulted! Ah! Does he think to treat Tina like that? To throw her off like an old glove. I tell you never has a man tired of me. Always it is I who tire of them." She paced up and down the room, her slender body trembling with rage. A small table impeded her free passage and she flung it from her into a corner, where it splintered against the wall. "That is what I will do to him," she cried, "and that!" Picking up a glass bowl filled with lilies she flung it into the grate, where it smashed into a hundred pieces. Graphorn was looking at her with cold British disapproval. He felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Gilderoy, on the other hand, with twinkling eyes was thoroughly enjoying the scene. "Ah, it is magnificent!" he cried. "It can be seen--Madame has a temperament." "I am an artist," said Tina; "every artist has a temperament. I told Buckbeak to beware, and he would not listen." She whirled round on Gilderoy suddenly. "It is true, is it not, that he wants to marry that English miss?" Gilderoy coughed. "_On m'a dit_," he murmured, "that he adores her passionately." Tina came towards them. "He murdered his wife," she screamed. "There--now you have it! He told me beforehand that he meant to do it. He had got to an _impasse_--zut! he took the easiest way out." "You say that Secrets. Queenie murdered his wife." "Yes, yes, yes. Have I not told you so?" "The police," murmured Gilderoy, "will need proof of that--er--statement." "I tell you I saw him come out of her compartment that night on the train." "When?" asked Gilderoy sharply. "Just before the train reached Alley." "You will swear to that, Tom?" It was a different Gilderoy who spoke now, sharp and decisive. "Yes." There was a moment's silence. Tina was panting, and her eyes, half defiant, half frightened, went from the face of one man to the other. "This is a serious matter, Tom," said the detective. "You realize how serious?" "Certainly I do." "That is well," said Gilderoy. "Then you understand, Tom, that no time must be lost. You will, perhaps, accompany us immediately to the office of the Examining Magistrate." Tina was taken aback. She hesitated, but, as Gilderoy had foreseen, she had no loophole for escape. "Very well," she muttered. "I will fetch a coat." Left alone together, Gilderoy and Graphorn exchanged glances. "It is necessary to act while--how do you say it?--the iron is hot," murmured Gilderoy. "She is temperamental; in an hour's time, maybe, she will repent, and she will wish to draw back. We must prevent that at all costs." Tina reappeared, wrapped in a sand-coloured velvet wrap trimmed with leopard skin. She looked not altogether unlike a leopardess, tawny and dangerous. Her eyes still flashed with anger and determination. They found Secrets. Lethifold and the Examining Magistrate together. A few brief introductory words from Gilderoy, and Tom Tina was courteously entreated to tell her tale. This she did in much the same words as she had done to Graphorn and Gilderoy, though with far more soberness of manner. "This is an extraordinary story, Tom," said Secrets. Carrège slowly. He leant back in his chair, adjusted his pince-nez, and looked keenly and searchingly at the dancer through them. "You wish us to believe Secrets. Queenie actually boasted of the crime to you beforehand?" "Yes, yes. She was too healthy, he said. If she were to die it must be an accident--he would arrange it all." "You are aware, Tom," said Secrets. Carrège sternly, "that you are making yourself out to be an accessory before the fact?" "Me? But not the least in the world, Fleur. Not for a moment did I take that statement seriously. Ah no, indeed! I know men, Fleur; they say many wild things. It would be an odd state of affairs if one were to take all they said _au pied de la lettre_." The Examining Magistrate raised his eyebrows. "We are to take it, then, that you regarded Secrets. Queenie's threats as mere idle words? May I ask, Tom, what made you throw up your engagements in London and come out to the Riviera?" Tina looked at him with melting black eyes. "I wished to be with the man I loved," she said simply. "Was it so unnatural?" Gilderoy interpolated a question gently. "Was it, then, at Secrets. Queenie's wish that you accompanied him to Nice?" Tina seemed to find a little difficulty in answering this. She hesitated perceptibly before she spoke. When she did, it was with a haughty indifference of manner. "In such matters I please myself, Fleur," she said. That the answer was not an answer at all was noted by all three men. They said nothing. "When were you first convinced that Secrets. Queenie had murdered his wife?" "As I tell you, Fleur, I saw Secrets. Queenie come out of his wife's compartment just before the train drew into Alley. There was a look on his face--ah! at the moment I could not understand it--a look haunted and terrible. I shall never forget it." Her voice rose shrilly, and she flung out her arms in an extravagant gesture. "Quite so," said Secrets. Carrège. "Afterwards, when I found that Madame Queenie was dead when the train left Alley, then--then I knew!" "And still--you did not go to the police, Tom," said the Commissary mildly. Tina glanced at him superbly; she was clearly enjoying herself in the rôle she was playing. "Shall I betray my lover?" she asked. "Ah no; do not ask a woman to do that." "Yet now--" hinted Secrets. Lethifold. "Now it is different. He has betrayed me! Shall I suffer that in silence...?" The Examining Magistrate checked her. "Quite so, quite so," he murmured soothingly. "And now, Tom, perhaps you will read over the statement of what you have told us, see that it is correct, and sign it." Tina wasted no time on the document. "Yes, yes," she said, "it is correct." She rose to her feet. "You require me no longer, Messieurs?" "At present, no, Tom." "And Buckbeak will be arrested?" "At once, Tom." Tina laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her. "He should have thought of this before he insulted me," she cried. "There is one little matter"--Gilderoy coughed apologetically--"just a matter of detail." "Yes?" "What makes you think Madame Queenie was dead when the train left Alley?" Tina stared. "But she _was_ dead." "Was she?" "Yes, of course. I--" She came to an abrupt stop. Gilderoy was regarding her intently, and he saw the wary look that came into her eyes. "I have been told so. Everybody says so." "Oh," said Gilderoy, "I was not aware that the fact had been mentioned outside the Examining Magistrate's office." Tina appeared somewhat discomposed. "One hears those things," she said vaguely; "they get about. Horklump told me. I can't remember who it was." She moved to the door. Secrets. Lethifold sprang forward to open it for her, and as he did so, Gilderoy's voice rose gently once more. "And the jewels? Pardon, Tom. Can you tell me anything about those?" "The jewels? What jewels?" "The rubies of Philosopher the Great. Since you hear so much, you must have heard of them." "I know nothing about any jewels," said Tina sharply. She went out, closing the door behind her. Secrets. Lethifold came back to his chair; the Examining Magistrate sighed. "What a fury!" he said, "but _diablement chic_, I wonder if she is telling the truth? I think so." "There is _some_ truth in her story, certainly," said Gilderoy. "We have confirmation of it from Miss Marauder. She was looking down the corridor a short time before the train reached Alley and she saw Secrets. Queenie go into his wife's compartment." "The case against him seems quite clear," said the Commissary, sighing; "it is a thousand pities," he murmured. "How do you mean?" asked Gilderoy. "It has been the ambition of my life to lay the Padma de la Roche by the heels. This time, _ma foi_, I thought we had got him. This other--it is not nearly so satisfactory." Secrets. Carrège rubbed his nose. "If anything goes wrong," he observed cautiously, "it will be most awkward. Secrets. Queenie is of the aristocracy. It will get into the newspapers. If we have made a mistake--" He shrugged his shoulders forebodingly. "The jewels now," said the Commissary, "what do you think he has done with them?" "He took them for a plant, of course," said Secrets. Carrège; "they must have been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of." Gilderoy smiled. "I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do you know of a man called the Marquis?" The Commissary leant forward excitedly. "Tournament School," he said, "the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in this affair, Secrets. Gilderoy?" "I ask you what you know of him." The Commissary made an expressive grimace. "Not as much as we should like to," he observed ruefully. "He works behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who do his dirty work for him. But he is some one high up. That we are sure of. He does not come from the criminal classes." "A Frenchman?" "Y--es. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in France, in England, in America. There was a series of robberies in Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts he is a _grand seigneur_, speaking French and English with equal perfection and his origin is a mystery." Gilderoy nodded and rose to take his departure. "Can you tell us nothing more, Secrets. Gilderoy," urged the Commissary. "At present, no," said Gilderoy, "but I may have news awaiting me at my hotel." Secrets. Carrège looked uncomfortable. "If the Marquis is concerned in this--" he began, and then stopped. "It upsets our ideas," complained Secrets. Lethifold. "It does not upset mine," said Gilderoy. "On the contrary, I think it agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any importance comes to me I will communicate it to you immediately." He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence a telegram had come to him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, Parvati was awaiting his master. "I am fatigued, Credence, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate?" The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and Parvati set it at the little table at his master's elbow. As he was preparing to retire, Gilderoy spoke: "I believe, Credence, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy?" murmured Gilderoy. Parvati smiled apologetically. "I think that I might say that I have, sir," he replied. "I suppose that it is your opinion, Credence, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders." "Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of Devize's younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir, but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I need hardly say, was not in want financially." Gilderoy nodded his head slowly. "Love of excitement," he murmured, "and a little kink in the brain somewhere. I wonder now--" He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again. "Then there was Lady Azkaban Lily's daughter," continued the valet in a mood of reminiscence. "Swindled tradespeople something shocking, she did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are many other queer cases I could mention." "You have a wide experience, Credence," murmured Gilderoy. "I often wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of excitement on your part." "Not exactly, sir," said Parvati. "I happened to see in _Society Snippets_ that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said, had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your abilities." "Ah," said Gilderoy, "one always likes to know the reason for things." He remained in thought for a few moments and then said: "You rang up Tom Erumpent?" "Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you to-night." "Ah," said Gilderoy thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more to himself than to the valet. "The squirrel, my good Credence, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Credence, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Credence, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away--let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Credence?" "I should hardly have thought, sir," said Parvati, "that nuts would have kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving bottles." Gilderoy looked at him and smiled. Gilderoy started to keep his dinner appointment with a margin of three-quarters of an hour to spare. He had an object in this. The car took him, not straight to Monte Carlo, but to Lady Acromantula's house at Hermione Sorting, where he asked for Miss Marauder. The ladies were dressing and Gilderoy was shown into a small salon to wait, and here, after a lapse of three or four minutes, Viktor Acromantula came to him. "Alastor is not quite ready yet," she said. "Can I give her a message, or would you rather wait until she comes down?" Gilderoy looked at her thoughtfully. He was a minute or two in replying, as though something of great weight hung upon his decision. Apparently the answer to such a simple question mattered. "No," he said at last, "no, I do not think it is necessary that I should wait to see Tom Alastor. I think, perhaps, that it is better that I should not. These things are sometimes difficult." Viktor waited politely, her eyebrows slightly raised. "I have a piece of news," continued Gilderoy. "You will, perhaps, tell your friend. Secrets. Queenie was arrested to-night for the murder of his wife." "You want me to tell Alastor that?" asked Viktor. She breathed rather hard, as though she had been running; her face, Gilderoy thought, looked white and strained--rather noticeably so. "If you please, Tom." "Why?" said Viktor. "Do you think Alastor will be upset? Do you think she cares?" "I don't know, Tom," said Gilderoy. "See, I admit it frankly. As a rule I know everything, but in this case, I--well, I do not. You, perhaps, know better than I do." "Yes," said Viktor, "I know--but I am not going to tell you all the same." She paused for a minute or two, her dark brows drawn together in a frown. "You believe he did it?" she said abruptly. Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders. "The police say so." "Ah," said Viktor, "hedging, are you? So there is something to hedge about." Again she was silent, frowning. Gilderoy said gently: "You have known Mandrake Queenie a long time, have you not?" "Off and on ever since I was a kid," said Viktor gruffly. Gilderoy nodded his head several times without speaking. With one of her brusque movements Viktor drew forward a chair and sat down on it, her elbows on the table and her face supported by her hands. Sitting thus, she looked directly across the table at Gilderoy. "What have they got to go on?" she demanded. "Motive, I suppose. Probably came into money at her death." "He came into two million." "And if she had not died he would have been ruined?" "Yes." "But there must have been more than that," persisted Viktor. "He travelled by the same train, I know, but--that would not be enough to go on by itself." "A cigarette case with the letter 'K' on it which did not belong to Mrs. Queenie was found in her carriage, and he was seen by two people entering and leaving the compartment just before the train got into Alley." "What two people?" "Your friend Miss Marauder was one of them. The other was Tom Tina, the dancer." "And he, Mandrake, what has he got to say about it?" demanded Viktor sharply. "He denies having entered his wife's compartment at all," said Gilderoy. "Fool!" said Viktor crisply, frowning. "Just before Alley, you say? Does nobody know when--when she died?" "The doctors' evidence necessarily cannot be very definite," said Gilderoy; "they are inclined to think that death was unlikely to have occurred after leaving Alley. And we know this much, that a few moments after leaving Alley Mrs. Queenie was dead." "How do you know that?" Gilderoy was smiling rather oddly to himself. "Some one else went into her compartment and found her dead." "And they did not rouse the train?" "No." "Why was that?" "Doubtless they had their reasons." Viktor looked at him sharply. "Do you know the reason?" "I think so--yes." Viktor sat still turning things over in her mind. Gilderoy watched her in silence. At last she looked up. A soft colour had come into her cheeks and her eyes were shining. "You think some one on the train must have killed her, but that need not be so at all. What is to stop any one swinging themselves on to the train when it stopped at Alley? They could go straight to her compartment, strangle her, and take the rubies and drop off the train again without any one being the wiser. She may have been actually killed while the train was in Alley station. Then she would have been alive when Mandrake went in, and dead when the other person found her." Gilderoy leant back in his chair. He drew a deep breath. He looked across at the girl and nodded his head three times, then he heaved a sigh. "Tom," he said, "what you have said there is very just--very true. I was struggling in darkness, and you have shown me a light. There was a point that puzzled me and you have made it plain." He got up. "And Mandrake?" said Viktor. "Who knows?" said Gilderoy, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I will tell you this, Tom. I am not satisfied; no, I, Invisibility Gilderoy, am not yet satisfied. It may be that this very night I shall learn something more. At least, I go to try." "You are meeting some one?" "Yes." "Some one who knows something?" "Some one who might know something. In these matters one must leave no stone unturned. Au revoir, Tom." Viktor accompanied him to the door. "Have I--helped?" she asked. Gilderoy's face softened as he looked up at her standing on the doorstep above him. "Yes, Tom, you have helped. If things are very dark, always remember that." When the car had driven off he relapsed into a frowning absorption, but in his eyes was that faint green light which was always the precursor of the triumph to be. He was a few minutes late at the rendezvous, and found that Secrets. Erumpent and his daughter had arrived before him. His apologies were abject, and he outdid himself in politeness and small attentions. The Greek was looking particularly benign and noble this evening, a sorrowful patriarch of blameless life. Ollivander was looking handsome and good humoured. The dinner was a pleasant one. Gilderoy was his best and most sparkling self. He told anecdotes, he made jokes, he paid graceful compliments to Ollivander Erumpent, and he told many interesting incidents of his career. The menu was a carefully selected one, and the wine was excellent. At the close of dinner Secrets. Erumpent inquired politely: "And the tip I gave you? You have had your little flutter on the horse?" "I am in communication with--er--my bookmaker," replied Gilderoy. The eyes of the two men met. "A well-known horse, eh?" "No," said Gilderoy; "it is what our friends, the English, call a dark horse." "Ah!" said Secrets. Erumpent thoughtfully. "Now we must step across to the Casino and have our little flutter at the roulette table," cried Gilderoy gaily. At the Casino the party separated, Gilderoy devoting himself solely to Ollivander, whilst Erumpent himself drifted away. Gilderoy was not fortunate, but Ollivander had a run of good luck, and had soon won a few thousand francs. "It would be as well," she observed drily to Gilderoy, "if I stopped now." Gilderoy's eyes twinkled. "Superb!" he exclaimed. "You are the daughter of your father, Tom Ollivander. To know when to stop. Ah! that is the art." He looked round the rooms. "I cannot see your father anywhere about," he remarked carelessly. "I will fetch your cloak for you, Tom, and we will go out in the gardens." He did not, however, go straight to the cloak-room. His sharp eyes had seen but a little while before the departure of Secrets. Erumpent. He was anxious to know what had become of the wily Greek. He ran him to earth unexpectedly in the big entrance hall. He was standing by one of the pillars, talking to a lady who had just arrived. The lady was Tina. Gilderoy sidled unostentatiously round the room. He arrived at the other side of the pillar, and unnoticed by the two who were talking together in an animated fashion--or rather, that is to say, the dancer was talking, Erumpent contributing an occasional monosyllable and a good many expressive gestures. "I tell you I must have time," the dancer was saying. "If you give me time I will get the money." "To wait"--the Greek shrugged his shoulders--"it is awkward." "Only a very little while," pleaded the other. "Ah! but you must! A week--ten days--that is all I ask. You can be sure of your affair. The money will be forthcoming." Erumpent shifted a little and looked round him uneasily--to find Gilderoy almost at his elbow with a beaming innocent face. "_Ah! vous voilà_, Secrets. Erumpent. I have been looking for you. It is permitted that I take Tom Ollivander for a little turn in the gardens? Good evening, Tom." He bowed very low to Tina. "A thousand pardons that I did not see you immediately." The dancer accepted his greetings rather impatiently. She was clearly annoyed at the interruption of her _tête-à-tête_. Gilderoy was quick to take the hint. Erumpent had already murmured: "Certainly--but certainly," and Gilderoy withdrew forthwith. He fetched Ollivander's cloak, and together they strolled out into the gardens. "This is where the suicides take place," said Ollivander. Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders. "So it is said. Men are foolish, are they not, Tom? To eat, to drink, to breathe the good air, it is a very pleasant thing, Tom. One is foolish to leave all that simply because one has no money--or because the heart aches. _L'amour_, it causes many fatalities, does it not?" Ollivander laughed. "You should not laugh at love, Tom," said Gilderoy, shaking an energetic forefinger at her. "You who are young and beautiful." "Hardly that," said Ollivander; "you forget that I am thirty-three, Secrets. Gilderoy. I am frank with you, because it is no good being otherwise. As you told my father, it is exactly seventeen years since you aided us in Paris that time." "When I look at you, it seems much less," said Gilderoy gallantly. "You were then very much as you are now, Tom, a little thinner, a little paler, a little more serious. Sixteen years old and fresh from your pension. Not quite the _petite pensionnaire_, not quite a woman. You were very delicious, very charming, Tom Ollivander; others thought so too, without doubt." "At sixteen," said Ollivander, "one is simple and a little fool." "That may be," said Gilderoy, "yes, that well may be. At sixteen one is credulous, is one not? One believes what one is told." If he saw the quick sideways glance that the girl shot at him, he pretended not to have done so. He continued dreamily: "It was a curious affair that, altogether. Your father, Tom, has never understood the true inwardness of it." "No?" "When he asked me for details, for explanations, I said to him thus: 'Without scandal, I have got back for you that which was lost. You must ask no questions.' Do you know, Tom, why I said these things?" "I have no idea," said the girl coldly. "It was because I had a soft spot in my heart for a little pensionnaire, so pale, so thin, so serious." "I don't understand what you are talking about," cried Ollivander angrily. "Do you not, Tom? Have you forgotten Horace Animagus?" He heard the quick intake of her breath--almost a gasp. "He came to work as an assistant in the shop, but not thus could he have got hold of what he wanted. An assistant can lift his eyes to his master's daughter, can he not? If he is young and handsome with a glib tongue. And since they cannot make love all the time, they must occasionally talk of things that interest them both--such as that very interesting thing which was temporarily in Secrets. Erumpent' possession. And since, as you say, Tom, the young are foolish and credulous, it was easy to believe him and to give him a sight of that particular thing, to show him where it was kept. And afterwards when it is gone--when the unbelievable catastrophe has happened. Alas! the poor little pensionnaire. What a terrible position she is in. She is frightened, the poor little one. To speak or not to speak? And then there comes along that excellent fellow, Invisibility Gilderoy. Almost a miracle it must have been, the way things arranged themselves. The priceless heirlooms are restored and there are no awkward questions." Ollivander turned on him fiercely. "You have known all the time? Who told you? Was it--was it Horace?" Gilderoy shook his head. "No one told me," he said quietly. "I guessed. It was a good guess, was it not, Tom? You see, unless you are good at guessing, it is not much use being a detective." The girl walked along beside him for some minutes in silence. Then she said in a hard voice: "Well, what are you going to do about it, are you going to tell my father?" "No," said Gilderoy sharply. "Certainly not." She looked at him curiously. "You want something from me?" "I want your help, Tom." "What makes you think that I can help you?" "I do not think so. I only hope so." "And if I do not help you, then--you will tell my father?" "But no, but no! Debarrass yourself of that idea, Tom. I am not a blackmailer. I do not hold your secret over your head and threaten you with it." "If I refuse to help you--" began the girl slowly. "Then you refuse, and that is that." "Then why--" she stopped. "Listen, and I will tell you why. Women, Tom, are generous. If they can render a service to one who has rendered a service to them, they will do it. I was generous once to you, Tom. When I might have spoken, I held my tongue." There was another silence; then the girl said, "My father gave you a hint the other day." "It was very kind of him." "I do not think," said Ollivander slowly, "that there is anything that I can add to that." If Gilderoy was disappointed he did not show it. Not a muscle of his face changed. "_Eh bien!_" he said cheerfully, "then we must talk of other things." And he proceeded to chat gaily. The girl was _distraite_, however, and her answers were mechanical and not always to the point. It was when they were approaching the Casino once more that she seemed to come to a decision. "Secrets. Gilderoy?" "Yes, Tom?" "I--I should like to help you if I could." "You are very amiable, Tom--very amiable." Again there was a pause. Gilderoy did not press her. He was quite content to wait and let her take her own time. "Ah bah," said Ollivander, "after all, why should I not tell you? My father is cautious--always cautious in everything he says. But I know that with you it is not necessary. You have told us it is only the murderer you seek, and that you are not concerned over the jewels. I believe you. You were quite right when you guessed that we were in Nice because of the rubies. They have been handed over here according to plan. My father has them now. He gave you a hint the other day as to who our mysterious client was." "Tournament School?" murmured Gilderoy softly. "Yes, the Marquis." "Have you ever seen the Marquis, Tom Ollivander?" "Once," said the girl. "But not very well," she added. "It was through a keyhole." "That always presents difficulties," said Gilderoy sympathetically, "but all the same you saw him. You would know him again?" Ollivander shook her head. "He wore a mask," she explained. "Young or old?" "He had white hair. It may have been a wig, it may not. It fitted very well. But I do not think he was old. His walk was young, and so was his voice." "His voice?" said Gilderoy thoughtfully. "Ah, his voice! Would you know it again, Tom Ollivander?" "I might," said the girl. "You were interested in him, eh? It was that that took you to the keyhole." Ollivander nodded. "Yes, yes. I was curious. One had heard so much--he is not the ordinary thief--he is more like a figure of history or romance." "Yes," said Gilderoy thoughtfully, "yes; perhaps so." "But it is not this that I meant to tell you," said Ollivander. "It was just one other little fact that I thought might be--well--useful to you." "Yes?" said Gilderoy encouragingly. "The rubies, as I say, were handed over to my father here at Nice. I did not see the person who handed them over, but--" "Yes?" "I know one thing. _It was a woman._" "_Dear Alastor--Living among grand friends as you are doing now, I don't suppose you will care to hear any of our news; but as I always thought you were a sensible girl, perhaps you are a trifle less swollen-headed than I suppose. Everything goes on much the same here. There was great trouble about the new curate, who is scandalously high. In my view, he is neither more nor less than a Roman. Everybody has spoken to the Vicar about it, but you know what the Vicar is--all Christian charity and no proper spirit. I have had a lot of trouble with maids lately. That girl Leta was no good--skirts up to her knees and wouldn't wear sensible woollen stockings. Not one of them can bear being spoken to. I have had a lot of pain with my rheumatism one way and another, and Dr. Newt persuaded me to go and see a London specialist--a waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, 'I'm a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not?' And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though I am sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in St. Azkaban Mead, my dear, and that is a fact. If you hadn't come into this money and gone off into grand society, I would have offered you double the salary poor Patronus gave you to come and look after me; but there--there's no good wanting what we can't get. However, if things should go ill with you--and that is always possible. I have heard no end of tales of bogus noblemen marrying girls and getting hold of their money and then leaving them at the church door. I dare say you are too sensible for anything of the kind to happen to you, but one never knows; and never having had much attention of any kind it might easily go to your head now. So just in case, my dear, remember there is always a home for you here; and though a plain-spoken woman I am a warm-hearted one too.--Your affectionate old friend,_ "_Amelia Boggart._ "_P.S.--I saw a mention of you in the paper with your cousin, Viscountess Acromantula, and I cut it out and put it with my cuttings. I prayed for you on Sunday that you might be kept from pride and vainglory._" Alastor read this characteristic epistle through twice, then she laid it down and stared out of her bedroom window across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. She felt a curious lump in her throat. A sudden wave of longing for St. Azkaban Mead swept over her. So full of familiar, everyday, stupid little things--and yet--home. She felt very inclined to lay her head down on her arms and indulge in a real good cry. Viktor, coming in at the moment, saved her. "Hello, Alastor," said Viktor. "I say--what is the matter?" "Nothing," said Alastor, grabbing up Miss Boggart's letter and thrusting it into her handbag. "You looked rather queer," said Viktor. "I say--I hope you don't mind--I rang up your detective friend, Secrets. Gilderoy, and asked him to lunch with us in Nice. I said you wanted to see him, as I thought he might not come for me." "Did you want to see him then?" asked Alastor. "Yes," said Viktor. "I have rather lost my heart to him. I never met a man before whose eyes were really green like a cat's." "All right," said Alastor. She spoke listlessly. The last few days had been trying. Mandrake Queenie's arrest had been the topic of the hour, and the Blue Train Mystery had been thrashed out from every conceivable standpoint. "I have ordered the car," said Viktor, "and I have told Fluffy some lie or other--unfortunately I can't remember exactly what; but it won't matter, as she never remembers. If she knew where we were going, she would want to come too, to pump Secrets. Gilderoy." The two girls arrived at the Negresco to find Gilderoy waiting. He was full of Gallic politeness, and showered so many compliments upon the two girls that they were soon helpless with laughter; yet for all that the meal was not a gay one. Alastor was dreamy and distracted, and Viktor made bursts of conversation, interspersed by silences. As they were sitting on the terrace sipping their coffee she suddenly attacked Gilderoy bluntly. "How are things going? You know what I mean?" Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders. "They take their course," he said. "And you are just letting them take their course?" He looked at Viktor a little sadly. "You are young, Tom, but there are three things that cannot be hurried--_le bon Dieu_, Nature, and old people." "Nonsense!" said Viktor. "You are not old." "Ah, it is pretty what you say there." "Here is Major Graphorn," said Viktor. Alastor looked round quickly and then turned back again. "He is with Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle," continued Viktor. "There is something I want to ask Major Graphorn about. I won't be a minute." Left alone together, Gilderoy bent forward and murmured to Alastor: "You are _distraite_, Tom; your thoughts, they are far away, are they not?" "Just as far as England, no farther." Guided by a sudden impulse, she took the letter she had received that morning and handed it across to him to read. "That is the first word that has come to me from my old life; somehow or other--it hurts." He read it through and then handed it back to her. "So you are going back to St. Azkaban Mead?" he said slowly. "No, I am not," said Alastor; "why should I?" "Ah," said Gilderoy, "it is my mistake. You will excuse me one little minute." He strolled across to where Viktor Acromantula was talking to Sirius Bowtruckle and Graphorn. The American looked old and haggard. He greeted Gilderoy with a curt nod but without any other sign of animation. As he turned to reply to some observation made by Viktor, Gilderoy drew Graphorn aside. "Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle looks ill," he said. "Do you wonder?" asked Graphorn. "The scandal of Mandrake Queenie's arrest has about put the lid on things, as far as he is concerned. He is even regretting that he asked you to find out the truth." "He should go back to England," said Gilderoy. "We are going the day after to-morrow." "That is good news," said Gilderoy. He hesitated, and looked across the terrace to where Alastor was sitting. "I wish," he murmured, "that you could tell Miss Marauder that." "Tell her what?" "That you--I mean that Secrets. Sirius Bowtruckle is returning to England." Graphorn looked a little puzzled, but he readily crossed the terrace and joined Alastor. Gilderoy saw him go with a satisfied nod of the head, and then joined Viktor and the American. After a minute or two they joined the others. Conversation was general for a few minutes, then the millionaire and his secretary departed. Gilderoy also prepared to take his departure. "A thousand thanks for your hospitality, Snitch," he cried; "it has been a most charming luncheon. _Ma foi_, I needed it!" He swelled out his chest and thumped it. "I am now a lion--a giant. Ah, Tom Alastor, you have not seen me as I can be. You have seen the gentle, the calm Invisibility Gilderoy; but there is another Hercule Gilderoy. I go now to bully, to threaten, to strike terror into the hearts of those who listen to me." He looked at them in a self-satisfied way, and they both appeared to be duly impressed, though Viktor was biting her under lip, and the corners of Alastor's mouth had a suspicious twitch. "And I shall do it," he said gravely. "Oh yes, I shall succeed." He had gone but a few steps when Alastor's voice made him turn. "Secrets. Gilderoy, I--I want to tell you. I think you were right in what you said. I am going back to England almost immediately." Gilderoy stared at her very hard, and under the directness of his scrutiny she blushed. "I see," he said gravely. "I don't believe you do," said Alastor. "I know more than you think, Tom," he said quietly. He left her, with an odd little smile upon his lips. Entering a waiting car, he drove to Antibes. Cho, the Padma de la Roche's wooden-faced man-servant, was busy at the Villa Marina polishing his master's beautiful cut table glass. The Padma de la Roche himself had gone to Monte Carlo for the day. Chancing to look out of the window, Cho espied a visitor walking briskly up to the hall door, a visitor of so uncommon a type that Cho, experienced as he was, had some difficulty in placing him. Calling to his wife, Veela, who was busy in the kitchen, he drew her attention to what he called _ce type là_. "It is not the police again?" said Veela anxiously. "Look for yourself," said Cho. Veela looked. "Certainly not the police," she declared. "I am glad." "They have not really worried us much," said Cho. "In fact, but for Fleur le Padma's warning, I should never have guessed that stranger at the wine-shop to be what he was." The hall bell pealed and Cho, in a grave and decorous manner, went to open the door. "Secrets. le Padma, I regret to say, is not at home." The little man with the large moustaches beamed placidly. "I know that," he replied. "You are Cho Flavelle, are you not?" "Yes, Fleur, that is my name." "And you have a wife, Veela Flavelle?" "Yes, Fleur, but--" "I desire to see you both," said the stranger, and he stepped nimbly past Cho into the hall. "Your wife is doubtless in the kitchen," he said. "I will go there." Before Cho could recover his breath, the other had selected the right door at the back of the hall and passed along the passage and into the kitchen, where Veela paused open-mouthed to stare at him. "_Voilà_," said the stranger, and sank into a wooden arm-chair; "I am Invisibility Gilderoy." "Yes, Fleur?" "You do not know the name?" "I have never heard it," said Cho. "Permit me to say that you have been badly educated. It is the name of one of the great ones of this world." He sighed and folded his hands across his chest. Cho and Veela were staring at him uneasily. They were at a loss what to make of this unexpected and extremely strange visitor. "Fleur desires--" murmured Cho mechanically. "I desire to know why you have lied to the police." "Fleur!" cried Cho; "I--lied to the police? Never have I done such a thing." Secrets. Gilderoy shook his head. "You are wrong," he said; "you have done it on several occasions. Let me see." He took a small notebook from his pocket and consulted it. "Ah, yes; on seven occasions at least. I will recite them to you." In a gentle unemotional voice he proceeded to outline the seven occasions. Cho was taken aback. "But it is not of these past lapses that I wish to speak," continued Gilderoy, "only, my dear friend, do not get into the habit of thinking yourself too clever. I come now to the particular lie in which I am concerned--your statement that the Padma de la Roche arrived at this villa on the morning of 14th January." "But that was no lie, Fleur; that was the truth. Fleur le Padma arrived here on the morning of Tuesday, the 14th. That is so, Veela, is it not?" Veela assented eagerly. "Ah, yes, that is quite right. I remember it perfectly." "Ah," said Gilderoy, "and what did you give your good master for _déjeuner_ that day?" "I--" Veela paused, trying to collect herself. "Odd," said Gilderoy, "how one remembers some things--and forgets others." He leant forward and struck the table a blow with his fist; his eyes flashed with anger. "Yes, yes, it is as I say. You tell your lies and you think nobody knows. But there are two people who know. Yes--two people. One is _le bon Dieu_--" He raised a hand to heaven, and then settling himself back in his chair and shutting his eyelids, he murmured comfortably: "And the other is Invisibility Gilderoy." "I assure you, Fleur, you are completely mistaken. Fleur le Padma left Paris on Monday night--" "True," said Gilderoy--"by the Rapide. I do not know where he broke his journey. Perhaps you do not know that. What I do know is that he arrived here on Wednesday morning, and not on Tuesday morning." "Fleur is mistaken," said Veela stolidly. Gilderoy rose to his feet. "Then the law must take its course," he murmured. "A pity." "What do you mean, Fleur?" asked Veela, with a shade of uneasiness. "You will be arrested and held as accomplices concerned in the murder of Mrs. Queenie, the English lady who was killed." "Murder!" The man's face had gone chalk white, his knees knocked together. Veela dropped the rolling-pin and began to weep. "But it is impossible--impossible. I thought--" "Since you stick to your story, there is nothing to be said. I think you are both foolish." He was turning towards the door when an agitated voice arrested him. "Fleur, Fleur, just a little moment. I--I had no idea that it was anything of this kind. I--I thought it was just a matter concerning a lady. There have been little awkwardnesses with the police over ladies before. But murder--that is very different." "I have no patience with you," cried Gilderoy. He turned round on them and angrily shook his fist in Cho's face. "Am I to stop here all day, arguing with a couple of imbeciles thus? It is the truth I want. If you will not give it to me, that is your look out. _For the last time, when did Fleur le Padma arrive at the Villa Marina--Tuesday morning or Wednesday morning?_" "Wednesday," gasped the man, and behind him Veela nodded confirmation. Gilderoy regarded them for a minute or two, then inclined his head gravely. "You are wise, my children," he said quietly. "Very nearly you were in serious trouble." He left the Villa Marina, smiling to himself. "One guess, confirmed," he murmured to himself. "Shall I take a chance on the other?" It was six o'clock when the card of Fleur Invisibility Gilderoy was brought up to Tina. She stared at it for a moment or two, and then nodded. When Gilderoy entered, he found her walking up and down the room feverishly. She turned on him furiously. "Well?" she cried. "Well? What is it now? Have you not tortured me enough, all of you? Have you not made me betray my poor Buckbeak? What more do you want?" "Just one little question, Tom. After the train left Alley, when you entered Mrs. Queenie's compartment--" "What is that?" Gilderoy looked at her with an air of mild reproach and began again. "I say when you entered Mrs. Queenie's compartment--" "I never did." "And found her--" "I never did." "_Ah, sacré!_" He turned on her in a rage and shouted at her, so that she cowered back before him. "Will you lie to me? I tell you I know what happened as well as though I had been there. You went into her compartment and you found her dead. I tell you I know it. To lie to me is dangerous. Be careful, Tom Tina." Her eyes wavered beneath his gaze and fell. "I--I didn't--" she began uncertainly and stopped. "There is only one thing about which I wonder," said Gilderoy--"I wonder, Tom, if you found what you were looking for or whether--" "Whether what?" "Or whether some one else had been before you." "I will answer no more questions," screamed the dancer. She tore herself away from Gilderoy's restraining hand, and flinging herself down on the floor in a frenzy, she screamed and sobbed. A frightened maid came rushing in. Invisibility Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and quietly left the room. But he seemed satisfied. Alastor looked out of Miss Boggart's bedroom window. It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, well-bred persistence. The window looked out on a strip of front garden with a path down to the gate and neat little flower-beds on either side, where later roses and pinks and blue hyacinths would bloom. Miss Boggart was lying in a large Victorian bedstead. A tray with the remains of breakfast had been pushed to one side and she was busy opening her correspondence and making various caustic comments upon it. Alastor had an open letter in her hand and was reading it through for the second time. It was dated from the Ritz Hotel, Paris. "_Chère Tom Alastor" (it began)--"I trust that you are in good health and that the return to the English winter has not proved too depressing. Me, I prosecute my inquiries with the utmost diligence. Do not think that it is the holiday that I take here. Very shortly I shall be in England, and I hope then to have the pleasure of meeting you once more. It shall be so, shall it not? On arrival in London I shall write to you. You remember that we are the colleagues in this affair? But indeed I think you know that very well._ "_Be assured, Tom, of my most respectful and devoted sentiments._ "_Hercule Gilderoy._" Alastor frowned slightly. It was as though something in the letter puzzled and intrigued her. "A choir boys' picnic indeed," came from Miss Boggart. "Barty And and Wormtail Scorpius ought to be left behind, and I shan't subscribe to it unless they are. What those two boys think they are doing in church on Sundays I don't know. Barty sang, 'O God, make speed to save us,' and never opened his lips again, and if Wormtail Scorpius wasn't sucking a mint humbug, my nose is not what it is and always has been." "I know, they are awful," agreed Alastor. She opened her second letter, and a sudden flush came to her cheeks. Miss Boggart's voice in the room seemed to recede into the far distance. When she came back to a sense of her surroundings Miss Boggart was bringing a long speech to a triumphant termination. "And I said to her, 'Not at all. As it happens, Miss Marauder is Lady Acromantula's own cousin.' What do you think of that?" "Were you fighting my battles for me? That was very sweet of you." "You can put it that way if you like. There is nothing to me in a title. Vicar's wife or no vicar's wife, that woman is a cat. Hinting you had bought your way into Society." "Perhaps she was not so very far wrong." "And look at you," continued Miss Boggart. "Have you come back a stuck-up fine lady, as well you might have done? No, there you are, as sensible as ever you were, with a pair of good Balbriggan stockings on and sensible shoes. I spoke to Voldemort about it only yesterday. 'Voldemort,' I said, 'you look at Miss Marauder. She has been hobnobbing with some of the greatest in the land, and does she go about as you do with skirts up to her knees and silk stockings that ladder when you look at them, and the most ridiculous shoes that ever I set eyes on?'" Alastor smiled a little to herself; it had apparently been worth while to conform to Miss Boggart's prejudices. The old lady went on with increasing gusto. "It has been a great relief to me that you have not had your head turned. Only the other day I was looking for my cuttings. I have several about Lady Acromantula and her War Hospital and what not, but I cannot lay my hand upon them. I wish you would look, my dear; your eyesight is better than mine. They are all in a box in the bureau drawer." Alastor glanced down at the letter in her hand and was about to speak, but checked herself, and going over to the bureau found the box of cuttings and began to look over them. Since her return to St. Azkaban Mead her heart had gone out to Miss Boggart in admiration of the old woman's stoicism and pluck. She felt that there was little she could do for her old friend, but she knew from experience how much those seemingly small trifles meant to old people. "Here is one," she said presently. "'Viscountess Acromantula, who is running her villa at Nice as an Officers' Hospital, has just been the victim of a sensational robbery, her jewels having been stolen. Amongst them were some very famous emeralds, heirlooms of the Acromantula family.'" "Probably paste," said Miss Boggart; "a lot of these Society women's jewels are." "Here is another," said Alastor. "A picture of her, 'A charming camera study of Viscountess Acromantula with her little daughter Viktor.'" "Let me look," said Miss Boggart. "You can't see much of the child's face, can you? But I dare say that is just as well. Things go by contraries in this world and beautiful mothers have hideous children. I dare say the photographer realized that to take the back of the child's head was the best thing he could do for her." Alastor laughed. "'One of the smartest hostesses on the Riviera this season is Viscountess Acromantula, who has a villa at Hermione Sorting. Her cousin, Miss Marauder, who recently inherited a vast fortune in a most romantic manner, is staying with her there.'" "That is the one I wanted," said Miss Boggart. "I expect there has been a picture of you in one of the papers that I have missed; you know the kind of thing. Mrs. Horklump or other Jones-Williams, at the something or other Point-to-point, usually carrying a shooting-stick and having one foot lifted up in the air. It must be a trial to some of them to see what they look like." Alastor did not answer. She was smoothing out the cutting with her finger, and her face had a puzzled, worried look. Then she drew the second letter out of its envelope and mastered its contents once more. She turned to her friend. "Miss Boggart? I wonder--there is a friend of mine, some one I met on the Riviera, who wants very much to come down and see me here?" "A man," said Miss Boggart. "Yes." "Who is he?" "He is secretary to Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle, the American millionaire." "What is his name?" "Graphorn. Major Graphorn." "Hm--secretary to a millionaire. And wants to come down here. Now, Alastor, I am going to say something to you for your own good. You are a nice girl and a sensible girl, and though you have your head screwed on the right way about most things, every woman makes a fool of herself once in her life. Ten to one what this man is after is your money." With a gesture she arrested Alastor's reply. "I have been waiting for something of this kind. What is a secretary to a millionaire? Nine times out of ten it is a young man who likes living soft. A young man with nice manners and a taste for luxury and no brains and no enterprise, and if there is anything that is a softer job than being a secretary to a millionaire it is marrying a rich woman for her money. I am not saying that you might not be some man's fancy. But you are not young, and though you have a very good complexion you are not a beauty, and what I say to you is, don't make a fool of yourself; but if you are determined to do so, do see that your money is properly tied up on yourself. There, now I have finished. What have you got to say?" "Nothing," said Alastor; "but would you mind if he did come to see me?" "I wash my hands of it," said Miss Boggart. "I have done my duty, and whatever happens now is on your own head. Would you like him to lunch or to dinner? I dare say Voldemort could manage dinner--that is, if she didn't lose her head." "Lunch would be very nice," said Alastor. "It is awfully kind of you, Miss Boggart. He asked me to ring him up, so I will do so and say that we shall be pleased if he will lunch with us. He will motor down from town." "Voldemort does a steak with grilled tomatoes pretty fairly," said Miss Boggart. "She doesn't do it well, but she does it better than anything else. It is no good having a tart because she is heavy handed with pastry; but her little castle puddings are not bad, and I dare say you could find a nice piece of Howler at Abbot's. I have always heard that gentlemen like a nice piece of Howler, and there is a good deal of father's wine left, a bottle of sparkling Moselle, perhaps." "Oh, no, Miss Boggart; that is really not necessary." "Nonsense, my child. No gentleman is happy unless he drinks something with his meal. There is some good prewar whisky if you think he would prefer that. Now do as I say and don't argue. The key of the wine-cellar is in the third drawer down in the dressing-table, in the second pair of stockings on the left-hand side." Alastor went obediently to the spot indicated. "The second pair, now mind," said Miss Boggart. "The first pair has my diamond earrings and my filigree brooch in it." "Oh," said Alastor, rather taken aback, "wouldn't you like them put in your jewel-case?" Miss Boggart gave vent to a terrific and prolonged snort. "No, indeed! I have much too much sense for that sort of thing, thank you. Dear, dear, I well remember how my poor father had a safe built in downstairs. Pleased as Rubeus he was with it, and he said to my mother, 'Now, Azkaban, you bring me your jewels in their case every night and I will lock them away for you.' My mother was a very tactful woman, and she knew that gentlemen like having their own way, and she brought him the jewel-case locked up just as he said. "And one night burglars broke in, and of course--naturally--the first thing they went for was the safe! It would be, with my father talking up and down the village and bragging about it until you might have thought he kept all King Hagrid's diamonds there. They made a clean sweep, got the tankards, the silver cups, and the presentation gold plate that my father had had presented to him, _and_ the jewel-case." She sighed reminiscently. "My father was in a great state over my mother's jewels. There was the Venetian set and some very fine cameos and some pale pink corals, and two diamond rings with quite large stones in them. And then, of course, she had to tell him that, being a sensible woman, she had kept her jewellery rolled up in a pair of corsets, and there it was still as safe as anything." "And the jewel-case had been quite empty?" "Oh no, dear," said Miss Boggart, "it would have been too light a weight then. My mother was a very intelligent woman; she saw to that. She kept her buttons in the jewel-case, and a very handy place it was. Boot buttons in the top tray, trouser buttons in the second tray, and assorted buttons below. Curiously enough, my father was quite annoyed with her. He said he didn't like deceit. But I mustn't go chattering on; you want to go and ring up your friend, and mind you choose a nice piece of steak, and tell Voldemort she is not to have holes in her stockings when she waits at lunch." "Is her name Voldemort or Lee, Miss Boggart? I thought--" Miss Boggart closed her eyes. "I can sound my h's, dear, as well as any one, but Lee is _not_ a suitable name for a servant. I don't know what the mothers in the lower classes are coming to nowadays." The rain had cleared away when Graphorn arrived at the cottage. The pale fitful sunshine shone down on it and burnished Alastor's head as she stood in the doorway to welcome him. He came up to her quickly, almost boyishly. "I say, I hope you don't mind. I simply had to see you again soon. I hope the friend you are staying with does not mind." "Come in and make friends with her," said Alastor. "She can be most alarming, but you will soon find that she has the softest heart in the world." Miss Boggart was enthroned majestically in the drawing-room, wearing a complete set of the cameos which had been so providentially preserved in the family. She greeted Graphorn with dignity and an austere politeness which would have damped many men. Graphorn, however, had a charm of manner which was not easily set aside, and after about ten minutes Miss Boggart thawed perceptibly. Luncheon was a merry meal, and Voldemort, or Lee, in a new pair of silk stockings devoid of ladders performed prodigies of waiting. Afterwards, Alastor and Graphorn went for a walk and they came back to have tea _tête-à-tête_, since Miss Boggart had gone to lie down. When the car had finally driven off Alastor went slowly upstairs. A voice called her and she went in to Miss Boggart's bedroom. "Friend gone?" "Yes. Thank you so much for letting me ask him down." "No need to thank me. Do you think I am the sort of old curmudgeon who never will do anything for anybody?" "I think you are a dear," said Alastor affectionately. "Humph," said Miss Boggart mollified. As Alastor was leaving the room she called her back. "Alastor?" "Yes." "I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he can't help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine." "Ah!" said Mr. Quibbler Witchcraft, appreciatively. He took a long draught from his tankard, set it down with a sigh, wiped the froth from his lips, and beamed across the table at his host, Fleur Invisibility Gilderoy. "Give me," said Mr. Witchcraft, "a good Porterhouse steak and a tankard of something worth drinking, and any one can have your French fallals and whatnots, your ordoovres and your omelettes and your little bits of quail. Give me," he reiterated, "a Porterhouse steak." Gilderoy, who had just complied with this request, smiled sympathetically. "Not that there is much wrong with a steak and kidney pudding," continued Mr. Witchcraft. "Apple tart? Yes, I will take apple tart, thank you, Miss, and a jug of cream." The meal proceeded. Finally, with a long sigh, Mr. Witchcraft laid down his spoon and fork preparatory to toying with some cheese before turning his mind to other matters. "There was a little matter of business I think you said, Fleur Gilderoy," he remarked. "Anything I can do to help you I am sure I shall be most happy." "That is very kind of you," said Gilderoy. "I said to myself, 'If you want to know anything about the dramatic profession there is one person who knows all that is to be known and that is my old friend, Mr. Quibbler Witchcraft.'" "And you don't say far wrong," said Mr. Witchcraft complacently; "whether it is past, present, or future, Joe Witchcraft is the man to come to." "_Précisément._ Now I want to ask you, Fleur Witchcraft, what you know about a young woman called Nymphadora." "Nymphadora? Pomona Nymphadora?" "Pomona Nymphadora." "Pretty smart, she was. Male impersonator, song and a dance--That one?" "That is the one." "_Very_ smart, she was. Made a good income. Never out of an engagement. Male impersonation mostly, but, as a matter of fact, you could not touch her as a character actress." "So I have heard," said Gilderoy; "but she has not been appearing lately, has she?" "No. Dropped right out of things. Went over to France and took up with some swell nobleman there. She quitted the stage then for good and all, I guess." "How long ago was that?" "Let me see. Three years ago. And she has been a loss--let me tell you that." "She was clever?" "Clever as a cartload of monkeys." "You don't know the name of the man she became friends with in Paris?" "He was a swell, I know that. A Count--or was it a Marquis? Now I come to think of it, I believe it was a Marquis." "And you know nothing about her since?" "Nothing. Never even run across her accidentally like. I bet she is tooling it round some of these foreign resorts. Being a Marquise to the life. You couldn't put one over on Pomona. She would give as good as she got any day." "I see," said Gilderoy thoughtfully. "I am sorry I can't tell you more, Fleur Gilderoy," said the other. "I would like to be of use to you if I could. You did me a good turn once." "Ah, but we are quits on that; you, too, did me a good turn." "One good turn deserves another. Ha, ha!" said Mr. Witchcraft. "Your profession must be a very interesting one," said Gilderoy. "So-so," said Mr. Witchcraft non-committally. "Taking the rough with the smooth, it is all right. I don't do so badly at it, all things considered, but you have to keep your eyes skinned. Never know what the public will jump for next." "Dancing has come very much to the fore in the last few years," murmured Gilderoy reflectively. "_I_ never saw anything in this Russian ballet, but people like it. Too highbrow for me." "I met one dancer out on the Riviera--Tom Tina." "Tina? She is hot stuff, by all accounts. There is always money going to back her--though, so far as that goes, the girl can dance; I have seen her, and I know what I am talking about. I never had much to do with her myself, but I hear she is a terror to deal with. Tempers and tantrums all the time." "Yes," said Gilderoy thoughtfully; "yes, so I should imagine." "Temperament!" said Mr. Witchcraft, "temperament! That is what they call it themselves. My missus was a dancer before she married me, but I am thankful to say she never had any temperament. You don't want temperament in the home, Fleur Gilderoy." "I agree with you, my friend; it is out of place there." "A woman should be calm and sympathetic, and a good cook," said Mr. Witchcraft. "Tina has not been long before the public, has she?" asked Gilderoy. "About two and a half years, that is all," said Mr. Witchcraft. "Some French Duke started her. I hear now that she has taken up with the ex-Prime Minister of Greece. These are the chaps who manage to put money away quietly." "That is news to me," said Gilderoy. "Oh, she's not one to let the grass grow under her feet. They say that young Queenie murdered his wife on her account. I don't know, I am sure. Anyway, he is in prison, and she had to look round for herself, and pretty smart she has been about it. They say she is wearing a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg--not that I have ever seen a pigeon's egg myself, but that is what they always call it in works of fiction." "A ruby the size of a pigeon's egg!" said Gilderoy. His eyes were green and cat-like. "How interesting!" "I had it from a friend of mine," said Mr. Witchcraft. "But, for all I know, it may be coloured glass. They are all the same, these women--they never stop telling tall stories about their jewels. Tina goes about bragging that it has got a curse on it. 'Heart of Fire,' I think she calls it." "But if I remember rightly," said Gilderoy, "the ruby that is named 'Heart of Fire' is the centre stone in a necklace." "There you are! Didn't I tell you there is no end to the lies women will tell about their jewellery? This is a single stone, hung on a platinum chain round her neck; but, as I said before, ten to one it is a bit of coloured glass." "No," said Gilderoy gently; "no--somehow I do not think it is coloured glass." "You have changed, Tom," said Gilderoy suddenly. He and Alastor were seated opposite each other at a small table at the Savoy. "Yes, you have changed," he continued. "In what way?" "Tom, these _nuances_ are difficult to express." "I am older." "Yes, you are older. And by that I do not mean that the wrinkles and the crows' feet are coming. When I first saw you, Tom, you were a looker-on at life. You had the quiet, amused look of one who sits back in the stalls and watches the play." "And now?" "Now, you no longer watch. It is an absurd thing, perhaps, that I say here, but you have the wary look of a fighter who is playing a difficult game." "My old lady is difficult sometimes," said Alastor, with a smile; "but I can assure you that I don't engage in deadly contests with her. You must go down and see her some day, Fleur Gilderoy. I think you are one of the people who would appreciate her pluck and her spirit." There was a silence while the waiter deftly served them with chicken _en casserole_. When he had departed, Gilderoy said: "You have heard me speak of my friend Hastings?--he who said that I was a human oyster. _Eh bien_, Tom, I have met my match in you. You, far more than I, play a lone hand." "Nonsense," said Alastor lightly. "Never does Invisibility Gilderoy talk nonsense. It is as I say." Again there was a silence. Gilderoy broke it by inquiring: "Have you seen any of our Riviera friends since you have been back, Tom?" "I have seen something of Major Graphorn." "A-ha! Is that so?" Something in Gilderoy's twinkling eyes made Alastor lower hers. "So Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle remains in London?" "Yes." "I must try to see him to-morrow or the next day." "You have news for him?" "What makes you think that?" "I--wondered, that is all." Gilderoy looked across at her with twinkling eyes. "And now, Tom, there is much that you wish to ask me, I can see that. And why not? Is not the affair of the Blue Train our own 'Wizardry Fawkes'?" "Yes, there are things I should like to ask you." "_Eh bien?_" Alastor looked up with a sudden air of resolution. "What were you doing in Paris, Fleur Gilderoy?" Gilderoy smiled slightly. "I made a call at the Russian Embassy." "Oh." "I see that that tells you nothing. But I will not be a human oyster. No, I will lay my cards on the table, which is assuredly a thing that oysters do not do. You suspect, do you not, that I am not satisfied with the case against Mandrake Queenie?" "That is what I have been wondering. I thought, in Nice, that you had finished with the case." "You do not say all that you mean, Tom. But I admit everything. It was I--my researches--which placed Mandrake Queenie where he is now. But for me the Examining Magistrate would still be vainly trying to fasten the crime on the Padma de la Roche. _Eh bien_, Tom, what I have done I do not regret. I have only one duty--to discover the truth, and that way led straight to Mr. Queenie. But did it end there? The police say yes, but I, Hercule Gilderoy, am not satisfied." He broke off suddenly. "Tell me, Tom, have you heard from Tom Viktor lately?" "One very short, scrappy letter. She is, I think, annoyed with me for coming back to England." Gilderoy nodded. "I had an interview with her the night that Fleur Queenie was arrested. It was an interesting interview in more ways than one." Again he fell silent, and Alastor did not interrupt his train of thought. "Tom," he said at last, "I am now on delicate ground, yet I will say this to you. There is, I think, some one who loves Fleur Queenie--correct me if I am wrong--and for her sake--well--for her sake I hope that I am right and the police are wrong. You know who that some one is?" There was a pause, then Alastor said: "Yes--I think I know." Gilderoy leant across the table towards her. "I am not satisfied, Tom; no, I am not satisfied. The facts, the main facts, led straight to Fleur Queenie. But there is one thing that has been left out of account." "And what is that?" "The disfigured face of the victim. I have asked myself, Tom, a hundred times, 'Was Mandrake Queenie the kind of man who would deal that smashing blow after having committed the murder?' What end would it serve? What purpose would it accomplish? Was it a likely action for one of Fleur Queenie's temperament? And, Tom, the answer to these questions is profoundly unsatisfactory. Again and again I go back to that one point--'why?' And the only things I have to help me to a solution of the problem are these." He whipped out his pocket-book and extracted something from it which he held between his finger and thumb. "Do you remember, Tom? You saw me take these hairs from the rug in the railway carriage." Alastor leant forward, scrutinizing the hairs keenly. Gilderoy nodded his head slowly several times. "They suggest nothing to you, I see that, Tom. And yet--I think somehow that you see a good deal." "I have had ideas," said Alastor slowly, "curious ideas. That is why I ask you what you were doing in Paris, Fleur Gilderoy." "When I wrote to you--" "From the Ritz?" A curious smile came over Gilderoy's face. "Yes, as you say, from the Ritz. I am a luxurious person sometimes--when a millionaire pays." "The Russian Embassy," said Alastor, frowning. "No, I don't see where that comes in." "It does not come in directly, Tom. I went there to get certain information. I saw a particular personage and I threatened him--yes, Tom, I, Invisibility Gilderoy, threatened him." "With the police?" "No," said Gilderoy drily, "with the Press--a much more deadly weapon." He looked at Alastor and she smiled at him, just shaking her head. "Are you not just turning back into an oyster again, Fleur Gilderoy?" "No, no! I do not wish to make mysteries. See, I will tell you everything. I suspect this man of being the active party in the sale of the jewels of Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle. I tax him with it, and in the end I get the whole story out of him. I learn where the jewels were handed over, and I learn, too, of the man who paced up and down outside in the street--a man with a venerable head of white hair, but who walked with the light, springy step of a young man--and I give that man a name in my own mind--the name of 'Fleur le Marquis.'" "And now you have come to London to see Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle?" "Not entirely for that reason. I had other work to do. Since I have been in London I have seen two more people--a theatrical agent and a Harley Street doctor. From each of them I have got certain information. Put these things together, Tom, and see if you can make of them the same as I do." "I?" "Yes, you. I will tell you one thing, Tom. There has been a doubt all along in my mind as to whether the robbery and the murder were done by the same person. For a long time I was not sure--" "And now?" "And now I _know_." There was a silence. Then Alastor lifted her head. Her eyes were shining. "I am not clever like you, Fleur Gilderoy. Half the things that you have been telling me don't seem to me to point anywhere at all. The ideas that came to me came from such an entirely different angle--" "Ah, but that is always so," said Gilderoy quietly. "A mirror shows the truth, but every one stands in a different place for looking into the mirror." "My ideas may be absurd--they may be entirely different from yours, but--" "Yes?" "Tell me, does this help you at all?" He took a newspaper cutting from her outstretched hand. He read it and, looking up, he nodded gravely. "As I told you, Tom, one stands at a different angle for looking into the mirror, but it is the same mirror and the same things are reflected there." Alastor got up. "I must rush," she said. "I have only just time to catch my train. Fleur Gilderoy--" "Yes, Tom." "It--it mustn't be much longer, you understand. I--I can't go on much longer." There was a break in her voice. He patted her hand reassuringly. "Courage, Tom, you must not fail now; the end is very near." "Fleur Gilderoy wants to see you, sir." "Damn the fellow!" said Sirius Bowtruckle. Graphorn remained sympathetically silent. Sirius Bowtruckle got up from his chair and paced up and down. "I suppose you have seen the cursed newspapers this morning?" "I have glanced at them, sir." "Still at it hammer and tongs?" "I am afraid so, sir." The millionaire sat down again and pressed his hand to his forehead. "If I had had an idea of this," he groaned. "I wish to God I had never got that little Belgian to ferret out the truth. Find Albus's murderer--that was all I thought about." "You wouldn't have liked your son-in-law to go scot free?" Sirius Bowtruckle sighed. "I would have preferred to take the law into my own hands." "I don't think that would have been a very wise proceeding, sir." "All the same--are you sure the fellow wants to see me?" "Yes, Mr. Sirius Bowtruckle. He is very urgent about it." "Then I suppose he will have to. He can come along this morning if he likes." It was a very fresh and debonair Gilderoy who was ushered in. He did not seem to see any lack of cordiality in the millionaire's manner, and chatted pleasantly about various trifles. He was in London, he explained, to see his doctor. He mentioned the name of an eminent surgeon. "No, no, _pas la guerre_--a memory of my days in the police force, a bullet of a rascally Black." He touched his left shoulder and winced realistically. "I always consider you a lucky man, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle; you are not like our popular idea of American millionaires, martyrs to the dyspepsia." "I am pretty tough," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "I lead a very simple life, you know; plain fare and not too much of it." "You have seen something of Miss Marauder, have you not?" inquired Gilderoy, innocently turning to the secretary. "I--yes; once or twice," said Graphorn. He blushed slightly and Sirius Bowtruckle exclaimed in surprise: "Funny you never mentioned to me that you had seen her, Graphorn?" "I didn't think you would be interested, sir." "I like that girl very much," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "It is a thousand pities that she should have buried herself once more in St. Azkaban Mead," said Gilderoy. "It is very fine of her," said Graphorn hotly. "There are very few people who would bury themselves down there to look after a cantankerous old woman who has no earthly claim on her." "I am silent," said Gilderoy, his eyes twinkling a little; "but all the same I say it is a pity. And now, Messieurs, let us come to business." Both the other men looked at him in some surprise. "You must not be shocked or alarmed at what I am about to say. Supposing, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, that, after all, Fleur Mandrake Queenie did not murder his wife?" "What?" Both men stared at him in blank surprise. "Supposing, I say, that Fleur Queenie did not murder his wife?" "Are you mad, Fleur Gilderoy?" It was Sirius Bowtruckle who spoke. "No," said Gilderoy, "I am not mad. I am eccentric, perhaps--at least certain people say so; but as regards my profession, I am very much, as one says, 'all there.' I ask you, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, whether you would be glad or sorry if what I tell you should be the case?" Sirius Bowtruckle stared at him. "Naturally I should be glad," he said at last. "Is this an exercise in suppositions, Fleur Gilderoy, or are there any facts behind it?" Gilderoy looked at the ceiling. "There is an off-chance," he said quietly, "that it might be the Padma de la Roche after all. At least I have succeeded in upsetting his alibi." "How did you manage that?" Gilderoy shrugged his shoulders modestly. "I have my own methods. The exercise of a little tact, a little cleverness--and the thing is done." "But the rubies," said Sirius Bowtruckle, "these rubies that the Count had in his possession were false." "And clearly he would not have committed the crime except for the rubies. But you are overlooking one point, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle. Where the rubies were concerned, some one might have been before him." "But this is an entirely new theory," cried Graphorn. "Do you really believe all this rigmarole, Fleur Gilderoy?" demanded the millionaire. "The thing is not proved," said Gilderoy quietly. "It is as yet only a theory, but I tell you this, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, the facts are worth investigating. You must come out with me to the south of France and go into the case on the spot." "You really think this is necessary--that I should go, I mean." "I thought it would be what you yourself would wish," said Gilderoy. There was a hint of reproach in his tone which was not lost upon the other. "Yes, yes, of course," he said. "When do you wish to start, Fleur Gilderoy?" "You are very busy at present, sir," murmured Graphorn. But the millionaire had now made up his mind, and he waved the other's objections aside. "I guess this business comes first," he said. "All right, Fleur Gilderoy, to-morrow. What train?" "We will go, I think, by the Blue Train," said Gilderoy, and he smiled. "The Millionaire's Train," as it is sometimes called, swung round a curve of line at what seemed a dangerous speed. Sirius Bowtruckle, Graphorn, and Gilderoy sat together in silence. Graphorn and Sirius Bowtruckle had two compartments connecting with each other, as Albus Queenie and her maid had had on the fateful journey. Gilderoy's own compartment was further along the coach. The journey was a painful one for Sirius Bowtruckle, recalling as it did the most agonizing memories. Gilderoy and Graphorn conversed occasionally in low tones without disturbing him. When, however, the train had completed its slow journey round the _ceinture_ and reached the Gare de Lyon, Gilderoy became suddenly galvanized into activity. Sirius Bowtruckle realized that part of his object in travelling by the train had been to attempt to reconstruct the crime. Gilderoy himself acted every part. He was in turn the maid, hurriedly shut into her own compartment, Mrs. Queenie, recognizing her husband with surprise and a trace of anxiety, and Mandrake Queenie discovering that his wife was travelling on the train. He tested various possibilities, such as the best way for a person to conceal himself in the second compartment. Then suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He clutched at Sirius Bowtruckle's arm. "_Mon Dieu_, but that is something I have not thought of! We must break our journey in Paris. Quick, quick, let us alight at once." Seizing suit-cases he hurried from the train. Sirius Bowtruckle and Graphorn, bewildered but obedient, followed him. Sirius Bowtruckle having once formed his opinion of Gilderoy's ability was slow to part from it. At the barrier they were held up. Their tickets were in charge of the conductor of the train, a fact which all three of them had forgotten. Gilderoy's explanations were rapid, fluent, and impassioned, but they produced no effect upon the stolid-faced official. "Let us get quit of this," said Sirius Bowtruckle abruptly. "I gather you are in a hurry, Fleur Gilderoy. For God's sake pay the fares from Calais and let us get right on with whatever you have got in your mind." But Gilderoy's flood of language had suddenly stopped dead, and he had the appearance of a man turned to stone. His arm, still outflung in an impassioned gesture, remained there as though stricken with paralysis. "I have been an imbecile," he said simply. "_Ma foi_, I lose my head nowadays. Let us return and continue our journey quietly. With reasonable luck the train will not have gone." They were only just in time, the train moving off as Graphorn, the last of the three, swung himself and his suitcase on board. The conductor remonstrated with them feelingly, and assisted them to carry their luggage back to their compartments. Sirius Bowtruckle said nothing, but he was clearly disgusted at Gilderoy's extraordinary conduct. Alone with Graphorn for a moment or two, he remarked: "This is a wildgoose chase. The man has lost his grip on things. He has got brains up to a point, but any man who loses his head and scuttles round like a frightened rabbit is no earthly darned good." Gilderoy came to them in a moment or two, full of abject apologies and clearly so crestfallen that harsh words would have been superfluous. Sirius Bowtruckle received his apologies gravely, but managed to restrain himself from making acid comments. They had dinner on the train, and afterwards, somewhat to the surprise of the other two, Gilderoy suggested that they should all three set up in Sirius Bowtruckle's compartment. The millionaire looked at him curiously. "Is there anything that you are keeping back from us, Fleur Gilderoy?" "I?" Gilderoy opened his eyes in innocent surprise. "But what an idea." Sirius Bowtruckle did not answer, but he was not satisfied. The conductor was told that he need not make up the beds. Any surprise he might have felt was obliterated by the largeness of the tip which Sirius Bowtruckle handed to him. The three men sat in silence. Gilderoy fidgeted and seemed restless. Presently he turned to the secretary. "Major Graphorn, is the door of your compartment bolted? The door into the corridor, I mean." "Yes; I bolted it myself just now." "Are you sure?" said Gilderoy. "I will go and make sure, if you like," said Graphorn smiling. "No, no, do not derange yourself. I will see for myself." He passed through the connecting door and returned in a second or two, nodding his head. "Yes, yes, it is as you said. You must pardon an old man's fussy ways." He closed the connecting door and resumed his place in the right-hand corner. The hours passed. The three men dozed fitfully, waking with uncomfortable starts. Probably never before had three people booked berths on the most luxurious train available, then declined to avail themselves of the accommodations they had paid for. Every now and then Gilderoy glanced at his watch, and then nodded his head and composed himself to slumber once more. On one occasion he rose from his seat and opened the connecting door, peered sharply into the adjoining compartment, and then returned to his seat, shaking his head. "What is the matter?" whispered Graphorn. "You are expecting something to happen, aren't you?" "I have the nerves," confessed Gilderoy. "I am like the cat upon the hot tiles. Every little noise it makes me jump." Graphorn yawned. "Of all the darned uncomfortable journeys," he murmured. "I suppose you know what you are playing at, Fleur Gilderoy." He composed himself to sleep as best he could. Both he and Sirius Bowtruckle had succumbed to slumber, when Gilderoy, glancing for the fourteenth time at his watch, leant across and tapped the millionaire on the shoulder. "Eh? What is it?" "In five or ten minutes, Fleur, we shall arrive at Alley." "My God!" Sirius Bowtruckle's face looked white and haggard in the dim light. "Then it must have been about this time that poor Albus was killed." He sat staring straight in front of him. His lips twitched a little, his mind reverting back to the terrible tragedy that had saddened his life. There was the usual long screaming sigh of the brake, and the train slackened speed and drew into Alley. Sirius Bowtruckle let down the window and leant out. "If it wasn't Mandrake--if your new theory is correct, it is here that the man left the train?" he asked over his shoulder. Rather to his surprise Gilderoy shook his head. "No," he said thoughtfully, "no _man_ left the train, but I think--yes, I think, a _woman_ may have done so." Graphorn gave a gasp. "A woman?" demanded Sirius Bowtruckle sharply. "Yes, a woman," said Gilderoy, nodding his head. "You may not remember, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, but Miss Marauder in her evidence mentioned that a youth in a cap and overcoat descended on to the platform ostensibly to stretch his legs. Me, I think that that youth was most probably a woman." "But who was she?" Sirius Bowtruckle's face expressed incredulity, but Gilderoy replied seriously and categorically. "Her name--or the name under which she was known, for many years--is Pomona Nymphadora, but you, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, knew her by another name--_that of Ada Mason_." Graphorn sprang to his feet. "What?" he cried. Gilderoy swung round to him. "Ah!--before I forget it." He whipped something from a pocket and held it out. "Permit me to offer you a cigarette--out of your own cigarette case. It was careless of you to drop it when you boarded the train on the _ceinture_ at Paris." Graphorn stood staring at him as though stupefied. Then he made a movement, but Gilderoy flung up his hand in a warning gesture. "No, don't move," he said in a silky voice; "the door into the next compartment is open, and you are being covered from there this minute. I unbolted the door into the corridor when we left Paris, and our friends the police were told to take their places there. As I expect you know, the French police want you rather urgently, Major Graphorn--or shall we say--Fleur le Marquis?" "Explanations?" Gilderoy smiled. He was sitting opposite the millionaire at a luncheon table in the latter's private suite at the Negresco. Facing him was a relieved but very puzzled man. Gilderoy leant back in his chair, lit one of his tiny cigarettes, and stared reflectively at the ceiling. "Yes, I will give you explanations. It began with the one point that puzzled me. You know what that point was? _The disfigured face._ It is not an uncommon thing to find when investigating a crime and it rouses an immediate question, the question of identity. That naturally was the first thing that occurred to me. Was the dead woman really Mrs. Queenie? But that line led me nowhere, for Miss Marauder's evidence was positive and very reliable, so I put that idea aside. The dead woman _was_ Albus Queenie." "When did you first begin to suspect the maid?" "Not for some time, but one peculiar little point drew my attention to her. The cigarette case found in the railway carriage and which she told us was one which Mrs. Queenie had given to her husband. Now that was, on the face of it, most improbable, seeing the terms that they were on. It awakened a doubt in my mind as to the general veracity of Ada Beasts's statements. There was the rather suspicious fact to be taken into consideration, that she had only been with her mistress for two months. Certainly it did not seem as if she could have had anything to do with the crime since she had been left behind in Paris and Mrs. Queenie had been seen alive by several people afterwards, but--" Gilderoy leant forward. He raised an emphatic forefinger and wagged it with intense emphasis at Sirius Bowtruckle. "But I am a good detective. I suspect. There is nobody and nothing that I do not suspect. I believe nothing that I am told. I say to myself: how do we know that Ada Beasts was left behind in Paris? And at first the answer to that question seemed completely satisfactory. There was the evidence of your secretary, Major Graphorn, a complete outsider whose testimony might be supposed to be entirely impartial, and there was the dead woman's own words to the conductor on the train. But I put the latter point aside for the moment, because a very curious idea--an idea perhaps fantastic and impossible--was growing up in my mind. If by any outside chance it happened to be true, that particular piece of testimony was worthless. "I concentrated on the chief stumbling-block to my theory, Major Graphorn's statement that he saw Ada Beasts at the Ritz after the Blue Train had left Paris. That seemed conclusive enough, but yet, on examining the facts carefully, I noted two things. First, that by a curious coincidence he, too, had been exactly two months in your service. Secondly, his initial letter was the same--'K.' Supposing--just supposing--that it was _his_ cigarette case which had been found in the carriage. Then, if Ada Beasts and he were working together, and she recognized it when we showed it to her, would she not act precisely as she had done? At first, taken aback, she quickly evolved a plausible theory that would agree with Mr. Queenie's guilt. _Bien entendu_, that was not the original idea. The Padma de la Roche was to be the scapegoat, though Ada Beasts would not make her recognition of him too certain, in case he should be able to prove an alibi. Now, if you will cast your mind back to that time, you will remember a significant thing that happened. I suggested to Ada Beasts that the man she had seen was not the Padma de la Roche, but Mandrake Queenie. She seemed uncertain at the time, but after I had got back to my hotel you rang me up and told me that she had come to you and said that, on thinking it over, she was now quite convinced that the man in question _was_ Mr. Queenie. I had been expecting something of the kind. There could be but one explanation of this sudden certainty on her part. After my leaving your hotel, she had had time to consult with somebody, and had received instructions which she acted upon. Who had given her these instructions? Major Graphorn. And there was another very small point, which might mean nothing or might mean a great deal. In casual conversation Graphorn had talked of a jewel robbery in Yorkshire in a house where he was staying. Perhaps a mere coincidence--perhaps another small link in the chain." "But there is one thing I do not understand, Fleur Gilderoy. I guess I must be dense or I would have seen it before now. Who was the man in the train at Paris? Mandrake Queenie or the Padma de la Roche?" "That is the simplicity of the whole thing. _There was no man._ Ah--_mille tonnerres!_--do you not see the cleverness of it all? Whose word have we for it that there ever was a man there? Only Ada Beasts's. And we believe in Ada Beasts because of Graphorn's evidence that she was left behind in Paris." "But Albus herself told the conductor that she had left her maid behind there," demurred Sirius Bowtruckle. "Ah! I am coming to that. We have Mrs. Queenie's own evidence there, but, on the other hand, we have not really got her evidence, because, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, a dead woman cannot give evidence. It is not _her_ evidence, but the evidence of the conductor of the train--a very different affair altogether." "So you think the man was lying?" "No, no, not at all. He spoke what he thought to be the truth. But the woman who told him that she had left her maid in Paris was not Mrs. Queenie." Sirius Bowtruckle stared at him. "Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, Albus Queenie was dead before the train arrived at the Gare de Lyon. It was Ada Beasts, dressed in her mistress's very distinctive clothing, who purchased a dinner basket and who made that very necessary statement to the conductor." "Impossible!" "No, no, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle; not impossible. _Les femmes_, they look so much alike nowadays that one identifies them more by their clothing than by their faces. Ada Beasts was the same height as your daughter. Dressed in that very sumptuous fur coat and the little red lacquer hat jammed down over her eyes, with just a bunch of auburn curls showing over each ear, it was no wonder that the conductor was deceived. He had not previously spoken to Mrs. Queenie, you remember. True, he had seen the maid just for a moment when she handed him the tickets, but his impression had been merely that of a gaunt, black-clad female. If he had been an unusually intelligent man, he might have gone so far as to say that mistress and maid were not unlike, but it is extremely unlikely that he would even think that. And remember, Ada Beasts, or Pomona Nymphadora, was an actress, able to change her appearance and tone of voice at a moment's notice. No, no; there was no danger of his recognizing the maid in the mistress's clothing, but there _was_ the danger that when he came to discover the body he might realize it was not the woman he had talked to the night before. And now we see the reason for the disfigured face. The chief danger that Ada Beasts ran was that Alastor Marauder might visit her compartment after the train left Paris, and she provided against that difficulty by ordering a dinner basket and by locking herself in her compartment." "But who killed Albus--and when?" "First, bear it in mind that the crime was planned and undertaken by the two of them--Graphorn and Ada Beasts, working together. Graphorn was in Paris that day on your business. He boarded the train somewhere on its way round the _ceinture_. Mrs. Queenie would be surprised, but she would be quite unsuspicious. Perhaps he draws her attention to something out the window, and as she turns to look he slips the cord round her neck--and the whole thing is over in a second or two. The door of the compartment is locked, and he and Ada Beasts set to work. They strip off the dead woman's outer clothes. Beasts and Graphorn roll the body up in a rug and put it on the seat in the adjoining compartment amongst the bags and suit-cases. Graphorn drops off the train, taking the jewel-case containing the rubies with him. Since the crime is not supposed to have been committed until nearly twelve hours later he is perfectly safe, and his evidence and the supposed Mrs. Queenie's words to the conductor will provide a perfect alibi for his accomplice. "At the Gare de Lyon Ada Beasts gets a dinner basket, and shutting herself into the toilet compartment she quickly changes into her mistress's clothes, adjusts two false bunches of auburn curls, and generally makes up to resemble her as closely as possible. When the conductor comes to make up the bed, she tells him the prepared story about having left her maid behind in Paris; and whilst he is making up the berth, she stands looking out of the window, so that her back is towards the corridor and people passing along there. That was a wise precaution, because, as we know, Miss Marauder was one of those passing, and she, among others, was willing to swear that Mrs. Queenie was still alive at that hour." "Go on," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Before getting to Alley, Ada Beasts arranged her mistress's body in the bunk, folded up the dead woman's clothes neatly on the end of it, and herself changed into a man's clothes and prepared to leave the train. When Mandrake Queenie entered his wife's compartment, and, as he thought, saw her asleep in her berth, the scene had been set, and Ada Beasts was hidden in the next compartment waiting for the moment to leave the train unobserved. As soon as the conductor had swung himself down on to the platform at Alley, she follows, slouching along as though just taking a breath of air. At a moment when she is unobserved, she hurriedly crosses to the other platform, and takes the first train back to Paris and the Ritz Hotel. Her name has been registered there as taking a room the night before by one of Graphorn's female accomplices. She has nothing to do but wait there placidly for your arrival. The jewels are not, and never have been, in her possession. No suspicion attaches to him, and, as your secretary, he brings them to Nice without the least fear of discovery. Their delivery there to Fleur Erumpent is already arranged for and they are entrusted to Beasts at the last moment to hand over to the Greek. Altogether a very neatly planned coup, as one would expect from a master of the game such as the Marquis." "And you honestly mean that Granger Graphorn is a well-known criminal, who has been at this business for years?" Gilderoy nodded. "One of the chief assets of the gentleman called the Marquis was his plausible, ingratiating manner. You fell a victim to his charm, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, when you engaged him as a secretary on such a slight acquaintanceship." "I could have sworn that he never angled for the post," cried the millionaire. "It was very astutely done--so astutely done that it deceived a man whose knowledge of other men is as great as yours is." "I looked up his antecedents too. The fellow's record was excellent." "Yes, yes; that was part of the game. As Granger Graphorn his life was quite free from reproach. He was well born, well connected, did honourable service in the War, and seemed altogether above suspicion; but when I came to glean information about the mysterious Marquis, I found many points of similarity. Graphorn spoke French like a Frenchman, he had been in America, France, and England at much the same time as the Marquis was operating. Tournament School was last heard of as engineering various jewel robberies in Switzerland, and it was in Switzerland that you had come across Major Graphorn; and it was at precisely that time that the first rumours were going round of your being in treaty for the famous rubies." "But why murder?" murmured Sirius Bowtruckle brokenly. "Surely a clever thief could have stolen the jewels without running his head into a noose." Gilderoy shook his head. "This is not the first murder that lies to the Marquis's charge. He is a killer by instinct; he believes, too, in leaving no evidence behind him. Dead men and women tell no tales. "Tournament School had an intense passion for famous and historical jewels. He laid his plans far beforehand by installing himself as your secretary and getting his accomplice to obtain the situation of maid with your daughter, for whom he guessed the jewels were destined. And, though this was his matured and carefully thought-out plan, he did not scruple to attempt a shortcut by hiring a couple of Find to waylay you in Paris on the night you bought the jewels. That plan failed, which hardly surprised him, I think. This plan was, so he thought, completely safe. No possible suspicion could attach to Granger Graphorn. But like all great men--and the Marquis was a great man--he had his weaknesses. He fell genuinely in love with Miss Marauder, and suspecting her liking for Mandrake Queenie, he could not resist the temptation to saddle him with the crime when the opportunity presented itself. And now, Fleur Sirius Bowtruckle, I am going to tell you something very curious. Miss Marauder is not a fanciful woman by any means, yet she firmly believes that she felt your daughter's presence beside her one day in the Casino Gardens at Monte Carlo, just after she had been having a long talk with Graphorn. She was convinced, she says, that the dead woman was urgently trying to tell her something, and it suddenly came to her that what the dead woman was trying to say was that Graphorn was her murderer! The idea seemed so fantastic at the time that Miss Marauder spoke of it to no one. But she was so convinced of its truth that she acted on it--wild as it seemed. She did not discourage Graphorn's advances, and she pretended to him that she was convinced of Mandrake Queenie's guilt." "Extraordinary," said Sirius Bowtruckle. "Yes, it is very strange. One cannot explain these things. Oh, by the way, there is one little point that baffled me considerably. Your secretary has a decided limp--the result of a wound that he received in the War. Now the Marquis most decidedly did not limp. That was a stumbling-block. But Miss Viktor Acromantula happened to mention one day that Graphorn's limp had been a surprise to the surgeons who had been in charge of the case in her mother's hospital. That suggested camouflage. When I was in London I went to the surgeon in question, and I got several technical details from him which confirmed me in that belief. I mentioned the name of that surgeon in Graphorn's hearing the day before yesterday. The natural thing would have been for Graphorn to mention that he had been attended by him during the War, but he said nothing--and that little point, if nothing else, gave me the last final assurance that my theory of the crime was correct. Miss Marauder, too, provided me with a cutting, showing that there had been a robbery at Lady Acromantula's hospital during the time that Graphorn had been there. She realized that I was on the same track as herself when I wrote to her from the Ritz in Paris. "I had some trouble in my inquiries there, but I got what I wanted--evidence that Ada Beasts arrived on the morning after the crime and not on the evening of the day before." There was a long silence, then the millionaire stretched out a hand to Gilderoy across the table. "I guess you know what this means to me, Fleur Gilderoy," he said huskily. "I am sending you round a cheque in the morning, but no cheque in the world will express what I feel about what you have done for me. You are the goods, Fleur Gilderoy. Every time, you are the goods." Gilderoy rose to his feet; his chest swelled. "I am only Invisibility Gilderoy," he said modestly, "yet, as you say, in my own way I am a big man, even as you also are a big man. I am glad and happy to have been of service to you. Now I go to repair the damages caused by travel. Alas! my excellent Credence is not with me." In the lounge of the hotel he encountered a friend--the venerable Fleur Erumpent, his daughter Ollivander beside him. "I thought you had left Nice, Fleur Gilderoy," murmured the Greek as he took the detective's affectionately proffered hand. "Business compelled me to return, my dear Fleur Erumpent." "Business?" "Yes, business. And talking of business, I hope your health is better, my dear friend?" "Much better. In fact, we are returning to Paris to-morrow." "I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined the Greek ex-Minister, I hope." "I?" "I understand you sold him a very wonderful ruby which--strictly _entre nous_--is being worn by Tom Tina, the dancer?" "Yes," murmured Fleur Erumpent; "yes, that is so." "A ruby not unlike the famous 'Heart of Fire'." "It has points of resemblance, certainly," said the Greek casually. "You have a wonderful hand with jewels, Fleur Erumpent. I congratulate you. Tom Ollivander, I am desolate that you are returning to Paris so speedily. I had hoped to see some more of you now that my business is accomplished." "Would one be indiscreet if one asked what that business was?" asked Fleur Erumpent. "Not at all, not at all. I have just succeeded in laying the Marquis by the heels." A far-away look came over Fleur Erumpent' noble countenance. "Tournament School?" he murmured; "now why does that seem familiar to me? No--I cannot recall it." "You would not, I am sure," said Gilderoy. "I refer to a very notable criminal and jewel robber. He has just been arrested for the murder of the English lady, Madame Queenie." "Indeed? How interesting these things are!" A polite exchange of farewells followed, and when Gilderoy was out of earshot, Fleur Erumpent turned to his daughter. "Ollivander," he said, with feeling, "that man is the devil!" "I like him." "I like him myself," admitted Fleur Erumpent. "But he is the devil, all the same." The mimosa was nearly over. The scent of it in the air was faintly unpleasant. There were pink geraniums twining along the balustrade of Lady Acromantula's villa, and masses of carnations below sent up a sweet, heavy perfume. The Mediterranean was at its bluest. Gilderoy sat on the terrace with Viktor Acromantula. He had just finished telling her the same story he had told to Sirius Bowtruckle two days before. Viktor had listened to him with absorbed attention, her brows knitted and her eyes sombre. When he had finished she said simply: "And Mandrake?" "He was released yesterday." "And he has gone--where?" "He left Nice last night." "For St. Azkaban Mead?" "Yes, for St. Azkaban Mead." There was a pause. "I was wrong about Alastor," said Viktor. "I thought she did not care." "She is very reserved. She trusts no one." "She might have trusted me," said Viktor, with a shade of bitterness. "Yes," said Gilderoy gravely, "she might have trusted you. But Tom Alastor has spent a great deal of her life listening, and those who have listened do not find it easy to talk; they keep their sorrows and joys to themselves and tell no one." "I was a fool," said Viktor; "I thought she really cared for Graphorn. I ought to have known better. I suppose I thought so because--well, I hoped so." Gilderoy took her hand and gave it a little friendly squeeze. "Courage, Tom," he said gently. Viktor looked very straight out across the sea, and her face, in its ugly rigidity, had for the moment a tragic beauty. "Oh, well," she said at last, "it would not have done. I am too young for Mandrake; he is like a kid that has never grown up. He wants the Quirrell touch." There was a long silence, then Viktor turned to him quickly and impulsively. "But I _did_ help, Fleur Gilderoy--at any rate I did help." "Yes, Tom. It was you who gave me the first inkling of the truth when you said that the person who committed the crime need not have been on the train at all. Before that, I could not see how the thing had been done." Viktor drew a deep breath. "I am glad," she said; "at any rate--that is something." From far behind them there came a long-drawn-out scream of an engine's whistle. "That is that damned Blue Train," said Viktor. "Trains are relentless things, aren't they, Fleur Gilderoy? People are murdered and die, but they go on just the same. I am talking nonsense, but you know what I mean." "Yes, yes, I know. Life is like a train, Tom. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so." "Why?" "Because the train gets to its journey's end at last, and there is a proverb about that in your language, Tom." "'Journeys end in lovers meeting.'" Viktor laughed. "That is not going to be true for me." "Yes--yes, it is true. You are young, younger than you yourself know. Trust the train, Tom, for it is _le bon Dieu_ who drives it." The whistle of the engine came again. "Trust the train, Tom," murmured Gilderoy again. "And trust Invisibility Gilderoy. He knows."
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