And the trousseau was to be bought in Paris! Suzanne enjoyed planning all these details enormously. So did I. And yet the future seemed curiously unreal. And sometimes, without knowing why, I felt absolutely stifledas though I couldnt breathe. It was the night before we were to sail. I couldnt sleep. I was miserable, and I didnt know why. I hated leaving Africa. When I came back to it, would it be the same thing? Would it ever be the same thing again? And then I was startled by an authoritative rap on the shutter. I sprang up. Harry was on the stoep outside. Put some clothes on, Anne, and come out. I want to speak to you. I huddled on a few garments, and stepped out into the cool night airstill and scented, with its velvety feel. Harry beckoned me out of earshot of the house. His face looked pale and determined and his eyes were blazing. Anne, do you remember saying to me once that women enjoyed doing the things they disliked for the sake of someone they liked? Yes, I said, wondering what was coming. He caught me in his arms. Anne, come away with menowtonight. Back to Rhodesiaback to the island. I cant stand all this tomfoolery. I cant wait for you any longer. I disengaged myself a minute. And what about my French frocks? I lamented mockingly. To this day Harry never knows when Im in earnest and when Im only teasing him. Damn your French frocks. Do you think I want to put frocks on you? Im a damned sight more likely to want to tear them off you. Im not going to let you go, do you hear? Youre my woman. If I let you go away, I may lose you. Im never sure of you. Youre coming with me nowtonightand damn everybody. He held me to him, kissing me until I could hardly breathe. I cant do without you any longer, Anne. I cant indeed. I hate all this money. Let Race have it. Come on. Lets go. My toothbrush? I demurred. You can buy one. I know Im a lunatic, but for Gods sake, come! He stalked off at a furious pace. I followed him as meekly as the Barotsi woman I had observed at the falls. Only I wasnt carrying a frying pan on my head. He walked so fast that it was very difficult to keep up with him. Harry, I said at last, in a meek voice, are we going to walk all the way to Rhodesia? He turned suddenly and with a great shout of laughter gathered me up in his arms. Im mad, sweetheart, I know it. But I do love you so. Were a couple of lunatics. And, oh, Harry, you never asked me, but Im not making a sacrifice at all! I wanted to come! XXXVI That was two years ago. We still live on the island. Before me, on the rough wooden table, is the letter that Suzanne wrote me. Dear Babes in the WoodDear Lunatics in Love, Im not surprisednot at all. All the time weve been talking Paris and frocks I felt that it wasnt a bit realthat youd vanish into the blue some day to be married over the tongs in the good old gipsy fashion. But you are a couple of lunatics! This idea of renouncing a vast fortune is absurd. Colonel Race wanted to argue the matter, but I have persuaded him to leave the argument to time. He can administer the estate for Harryand none better. Because, after all, honeymoons dont last foreveryoure not here, Anne, so I can safely say that without having you fly out at me like a little wildcatLove in the wilderness will last a good while, but one day you will suddenly begin to dream of houses in Park Lane, sumptuous furs, Paris frocks, the largest thing in motors and the latest thing in perambulators, French maids and Norland nurses! Oh, yes, you will! But have your honeymoon, dear lunatics, and let it be a long one. And think of me sometimes, comfortably putting on weight amidst the fleshpots! Your loving friend, Suzanne Blair. P.S.I am sending you an assortment of frying pans as a wedding present, and an enormous terrine of pt de foie gras to remind you of me. There is another letter that I sometimes read. It came a good while after the other and was accompanied by a bulky packet. It appeared to be written from somewhere in Bolivia. My dear Anne Beddingfeld, I cant resist writing to you, not so much for the pleasure it gives me to write, as for the enormous pleasure I know it will give you to hear from me. Our friend Race wasnt quite as clever as he thought himself, was he? I think I shall appoint you my literary executor. Im sending you my diary. Theres nothing in it that would interest Race and his crowd, but I fancy that there are passages in it which may amuse you. Make use of it in any way you like. I suggest an article for the Daily Budget, Criminals I have met. I only stipulate that I shall be the central figure. By this time I have no doubt that you are no longer Anne Beddingfeld, but Lady Eardsley, queening it in Park Lane. I should just like to say that I bear you no malice whatever. It is hard, of course, to have to begin all over again at my time of life, but, entre nous, I had a little reserve fund carefully put aside for such a contingency. It has come in very usefully and I am getting together a nice little connection. By the way, if you ever come across that funny friend of yours, Arthur Minks, just tell him that I havent forgotten him, will you? That will give him a nasty jar. On the whole I think I have displayed a most Christian and forgiving spirit. Even to Pagett. I happened to hear that heor rather Mrs. Pagetthad brought a sixth child into the world the other day. England will be entirely populated by Pagetts soon. I sent the child a silver mug, and, on a post card, declared my willingness to act as godfather. I can see Pagett taking both mug and post card straight to Scotland Yard without a smile on his face! Bless you, liquid eyes. Some day you will see what a mistake you have made in not marrying me. Yours ever, Eustace Pedler. Harry was furious. It is the one point on which he and I do not see eye to eye. To him, Sir Eustace was the man who tried to murder me and whom he regards as responsible for the death of his friend. Sir Eustaces attempts on my life have always puzzled me. They are not in the picture, so to speak. For I am sure that he always had a genuinely kindly feeling towards me. Then why did he twice attempt to take my life? Harry says because hes a damned scoundrel, and seems to think that settles the matter. Suzanne was more discriminating. I talked it over with her, and she put it down to a fear complex. Suzanne goes in rather for psychoanalysis. She pointed out to me that Sir Eustaces whole life was actuated by a desire to be safe and comfortable. He had an acute sense of selfpreservation. And the murder of Nadina removed certain inhibitions. His actions did not represent the state of his feeling towards me, but were the result of his acute fears for his own safety. I think Suzanne is right. As for Nadina, she was the kind of woman who deserved to die. Men do all sorts of questionable things in order to get rich, but women shouldnt pretend to be in love when they arent for ulterior motives. I can forgive Sir Eustace easily enough, but I shall never forgive Nadina. Never, never, never! The other day I was unpacking some tins that were wrapped in bits of an old Daily Budget, and I suddenly came upon the words, the man in the brown suit. How long ago it seemed! I had, of course, severed my connection with the Daily Budget long agoI had done with it sooner than it had done with me. My Romantic Wedding was given a halo of publicity. My son is lying in the sun, kicking his legs. Theres a man in a brown suit if you like. Hes wearing as little as possible, which is the best costume for Africa, and is as brown as a berry. Hes always burrowing in the earth. I think he takes after Papa. Hell have that same mania for Pleiocene clay. Suzanne sent me a cable when he was born Congratulations and love to the latest arrival on Lunatics Island. Is his head dolichocephalic or brachycephalic? I wasnt going to stand that from Suzanne. I sent her a reply of one word, economical and to the point Platycephalic! Colophon The Man in the Brown Suit was published in 1924 by Agatha Christie. This ebook was produced for Standard Ebooks by Peter Atwood, and is based on a transcription produced in 2020 by An Anonymous Volunteer and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The cover page is adapted from Victor Hugo descendant de son cabinet de travail  Hauteville House, a painting completed in 1880 by GeorgesVictor Hugo. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 7, 2024, 855 p.m. and is based on revision cdb7b67. The first edition of this ebook was released on July 21, 2020, 613 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksagathachristiethemaninthebrownsuit. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. To E. A. B. In memory of a journey, some lion stories and a request that I should some day write the Mystery of the Mill House The Man in the Brown Suit Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. List of Illustrations Indistinct cursive script which appears to say something like 1 7 . 1 2 2 Kilmorden Castle. Prologue Nadina, the Russian dancer who had taken Paris by storm, swayed to the sound of the applause, bowed and bowed again. Her narrow black eyes narrowed themselves still more, the long line of her scarlet mouth curved faintly upwards. Enthusiastic Frenchmen continued to beat the ground appreciatively as the curtain fell with a swish, hiding the reds and blues and magentas of the bizarre decor. In a swirl of blue and orange draperies the dancer left the stage. A bearded gentleman received her enthusiastically in his arms. It was the manager. Magnificent, petite, magnificent, he cried. Tonight you have surpassed yourself. He kissed her gallantly on both cheeks in a somewhat matteroffact manner. Madame Nadina accepted the tribute with the ease of long habit and passed on to her dressing room, where bouquets were heaped carelessly everywhere, marvellous garments of futuristic design hung on pegs, and the air was hot and sweet with the scent of the massed blossoms and with more sophisticated perfumes and essences. Jeanne, the dresser, ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly and pouring out a stream of fulsome compliment. A knock at the door interrupted the flow. Jeanne went to answer it, and returned with a card in her hand. Madame will receive? Let me see. The dancer stretched out a languid hand, but at the sight of the name on the card, Count Sergius Paulovitch, a sudden flicker of interest came into her eyes. I will see him. The maize peignoir, Jeanne, and quickly. And when the count comes you may go. Bien, Madame. Jeanne brought the peignoir, an exquisite wisp of corncoloured chiffon and ermine. Nadina slipped into it, and sat smiling to herself, whilst one long white hand beat a slow tattoo on the glass of the dressing table. The count was prompt to avail himself of the privilege accorded to hima man of medium height, very slim, very elegant, very pale, extraordinarily weary. In feature, little to take hold of, a man difficult to recognize again if one left his mannerisms out of account. He bowed over the dancers hand with exaggerated courtliness. Madame, this is a pleasure indeed. So much Jeanne heard before she went out closing the door behind her. Alone with her visitor, a subtle change came over Nadinas smile. Compatriots though we are, we will not speak Russian, I think, she observed. Since we neither of us know a word of the language, it might be as well, agreed her guest. By common consent, they dropped into English, and nobody, now that the counts mannerisms had dropped from him, could doubt that it was his native language. He had, indeed, started life as a quickchange musichall artiste in London. You had a great success tonight, he remarked. I congratulate you. All the same, said the woman, I am disturbed. My position is not what it was. The suspicions aroused during the war have never died down. I am continually watched and spied upon. But no charge of espionage was ever brought against you? Our chief lays his plans too carefully for that. Long life to the Colonel, said the count, smiling. Amazing news, is it not, that he means to retire? To retire! Just like a doctor, or a butcher, or a plumber Or any other business man, finished Nadina. It should not surprise us. That is what the Colonel has always beenan excellent man of business. He has organized crime as another man might organize a boot factory. Without committing himself, he has planned and directed a series of stupendous coups, embracing every branch of what we might call his profession. Jewel robberies, forgery, espionage (the latter very profitable in wartime), sabotage, discreet assassination, there is hardly anything he has not touched. Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The game begins to be dangerous?he retires gracefullywith an enormous fortune! Hm! said the count doubtfully. It is ratherupsetting for all of us. We are at a loose end, as it were. But we are being paid offon a most generous scale! Something, some undercurrent of mockery in her tone, made the man look at her sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the quality of her smile aroused his curiosity. But he proceeded diplomatically Yes, the Colonel has always been a generous paymaster. I attribute much of his success to thatand to his invariable plan of providing a suitable scapegoat. A great brain, undoubtedly a great brain! And an apostle of the maxim, If you want a thing done safely, do not do it yourself! Here are we, every one of us incriminated up to the hilt and absolutely in his power, and not one of us has anything on him. He paused, almost as though he were expecting her to disagree with him, but she remained silent, smiling to herself as before. Not one of us, he mused. Still, you know, he is superstitious, the old man. Years ago, I believe, he went to one of these fortunetelling people. She prophesied a lifetime of success, but declared that his downfall would be brought about through a woman. He had interested her now. She looked up eagerly. That is strange, very strange! Through a woman, you say? He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Doubtless, now that he hasretired, he will marry. Some young society beauty, who will disperse his millions faster than he acquired them. Nadina shook her head. No, no, that is not the way of it. Listen, my friend, tomorrow I go to London. But your contract here? I shall be away only one night. And I go incognito, like royalty. No one will ever know that I have left France. And why do you think that I go? Hardly for pleasure at this time of year. January, a detestable foggy month! It must be for profit, eh? Exactly. She rose and stood in front of him, every graceful line of her arrogant with pride. You said just now that none of us had anything on the chief. You were wrong. I have. I, a woman, have had the wit and, yes, the couragefor it needs courageto doublecross him. You remember the De Beer diamonds? Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just before the war broke out? I had nothing to do with it, and I never heard the details, the case was hushed up for some reason, was it not? A fine haul too. A hundred thousand pounds worth of stones. Two of us worked itunder the Colonels orders, of course. And it was then that I saw my chance. You see, the plan was to substitute some of the De Beer diamonds for some sample diamonds brought from South America by two young prospectors who happened to be in Kimberley at the time. Suspicion was then bound to fall on them. Very clever, interpolated the count approvingly. The Colonel is always clever. Well, I did my partbut I also did one thing which the Colonel had not foreseen. I kept back some of the South American stonesone or two are unique and could easily be proved never to have passed through De Beers hands. With these diamonds in my possession, I have the whip hand of my esteemed chief. Once the two young men are cleared, his part in the matter is bound to be suspected. I have said nothing all these years, I have been content to know that I had this weapon in reserve, but now matters are different. I want my priceand it will be a big, I might almost say, a staggering price. Extraordinary, said the count. And doubtless you carry these diamonds about with you everywhere? His eyes roamed gently round the disordered room. Nadina laughed softly. You need suppose nothing of the sort. I am not a fool. The diamonds are in a safe place where no one will dream of looking for them. I never thought you a fool, my dear lady, but may I venture to suggest that you are somewhat foolhardy? The Colonel is not the type of man to take kindly to being blackmailed, you know. I am not afraid of him, she laughed. There is only one man I have ever fearedand he is dead. The man looked at her curiously. Let us hope that he will not come to life again, then, he remarked lightly. What do you mean? cried the dancer sharply. The count looked slightly surprised. I only meant that a resurrection would be awkward for you, he explained. A foolish joke. She gave a sigh of relief. Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the war. He was a man who onceloved me. In South Africa? asked the count negligently. Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa. That is your native country, is it not? She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached for his hat. Well, he remarked, you know your own business best, but, if I were you, I should fear the Colonel far more than any disillusioned lover. He is a man whom it is particularly easy tounderestimate. She laughed scornfully. As if I did not know him after all these years! I wonder if you do? he said softly. I very much wonder if you do. Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in this. The South African mail boat docks at Southampton tomorrow, and on board her is a man who has come specially from Africa at my request and who has carried out certain orders of mine. The Colonel will have not one of us to deal with, but two. Is that wise? It is necessary. You are sure of this man? A rather peculiar smile played over the dancers face. I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient, but perfectly trustworthy. She paused, and then added in an indifferent tone of voice As a matter of fact, he happens to be my husband. The Man in the Brown Suit By Agatha Christie. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. 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We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dedication The Man in the Brown Suit Prologue I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI List of Illustrations Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks The Man in the Brown Suit List of Illustrations


I The Man with the White Hair 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 firstbusiness 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 tonight. 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 sittingroom. The electric light was shaded with dirty pink festoons, and it softened, but could not disguise, the girls face with its mask of crude paint. Could not disguise, either, the broad Mongolian cast of her countenance. There was no doubt of Olga Demiroffs profession, nor of her nationality. All is well, little one? All is well, Boris Ivanovitch. 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 menon the opposite pavement. It looks to me He broke off and began gnawing at his nailsa 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 knowit 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 Americanhe 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 Apache good hunting. Olga Demiroff 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 streeta 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 threadbare device. You meanthat the whitehaired man istheir employer? Something of the kind. The Russian looked alarmed and uneasy. You are surethe 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 priceit 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 Olga, with a glance at the clock. She left the room. In a minute she returned ushering in a stranger, a big, broadshouldered man whose transatlantic origin was evident. His keen glance went from one to the other. M. Krassnine? he inquired politely. I am he, said Boris. I must apologise forfor the unconventionality of this meetingplace. But secrecy is urgent. II 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 ofsale. The American nodded. That has already been agreed upon, he said indifferently. Now, perhaps, you will produce the goods. You have the moneyin notes? Yes, replied the other. He did not, however, make any attempt to produce it. After a moments hesitation, Krassnine 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, Monsieur. Everything is correct. Ah! said the other. He slipped the brown paper parcel negligently into his pocket. He bowed to Olga. Good evening, Mademoiselle. Good evening, M. Krassnine. 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 wonderwill 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. Olga Demiroff spoke. He will get back safely, she said. You need not fearor hopewhichever it is. Why do you think he will be safe? asked Krassnine curiously. A man who has made as much money as he has could not possibly be a fool, said Olga. And talking of money She looked significantly at Krassnine. Eh? My share, Boris Ivanovitch. With some reluctance, Krassnine 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, Olga Vassilovna? Regrets? For what? For what has been in your keeping. There are womenmost women, I believe, who go mad over such things. She nodded reflectively. Yes, you speak truth there. Most women have that madness. Ihave not. I wonder now She broke off. Well? asked the other curiously. The American will be safe with themyes, I am sure of that. But afterwards Eh? What are you thinking of? He will give them, of course, to some woman, said Olga 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 nowthe 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. II M. le Marquis 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 beena 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 pocketbook, and one or two late passersby 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, Monsieur. 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. D. Papopolous, 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. M. Papopolous had a very handsome apartment of his own overlooking the Champs lyses, 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 M. 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 M. le Marquis had shielded his face with his hand as he spoke. When the manservant returned with the information that M. Papopolous would be pleased to receive the visitor a further change had taken place in the strangers appearance. The manservant must have been very unobservant or very well trained, for he betrayed no surprise at the small black satin mask which hid the others 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 M. Papopolous. He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner had in it something ecclesiastical and benign. My dear friend, said M. Papopolous. He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous. I must apologise, said the visitor, for the lateness of the hour. Not at all. Not at all, said M. Papopolousan interesting time of night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening? Not personally, said M. le Marquis. Not personally, repeated M. Papopolous, 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 M. Papopolous; anything crude He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any form. There was indeed nothing crude about M. Papopolous nor about the goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings called him Demetrius 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 M. Papopolous. He shook his head. It answers sometimesbut very seldom. The other shrugged his shoulders. It saves time, he remarked, and to fail costs nothingor next to nothing. The other planwill not fail. Ah, said M. Papopolous, looking at him keenly. The other nodded slowly. I have great confidence in yourerreputation, said the antique dealer. M. 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 M. 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, M. Papopolous, through the usual channels, but there must be no hitch in your arrangements. M. Papopolous 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. M. Papopolous 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. M. Papopolous displayed neither surprise nor concern. It was evidently all quite natural to him. Well, Zia? he asked. I did not hear him go, explained Zia. She was a handsome young woman, built on Junoesque lines, with dark flashing eyes and such a general air of resemblance to M. Papopolous 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 M. Papopolous, with great simplicity. So that is M. le Marquis, said Zia slowly. Does he always wear a mask, Father? Always. There was a pause. It is the rubies, I suppose? asked Zia. Her father nodded. What do you think, my little one? he inquired, with a hint of amusement in his beady black eyes. Of M. le Marquis? Yes. I think, said Zia slowly, that it is a very rare thing to find a wellbred Englishman who speaks French as well as that. Ah! said M. Papopolous, so that is what you think. As usual, he did not commit himself, but he regarded Zia with benign approval. I thought, too, said Zia, that his head was an odd shape. Massive, said her fathera trifle massive. But then that effect is always created by a wig. They both looked at each other and smiled. III Heart of Fire Rufus Van Aldin 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. Van Aldin, he said. The American millionaire nodded his head in a casual greeting. Everything all right? he asked. Yes, sir. Major Knighton is upstairs in the suite now. Van Aldin nodded again. Any mail? he vouchsafed. They have all been sent up, Mr. Van Aldin. Oh! wait a minute. He dived into a pigeon hole, and produced a letter. Just come this minute, he explained. Rufus Van Aldin took the letter from him, and as he saw the handwriting, a womans 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 drawingroom 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 Van Aldin entered. Hallo, Knighton! Glad to see you back, sir. Had a good time? So so! said the millionaire unemotionally. Paris is rather a onehorse city nowadays. StillI got what I went over for. He smiled to himself rather grimly. You usually do, I believe, said the secretary, laughing. Thats so, agreed the other. He spoke in a matteroffact manner, as one stating a wellknown fact. Throwing off his heavy overcoat, he advanced to the desk. Anything urgent? I dont think so, sir. Mostly the usual stuff. I have not quite finished sorting it out. Van Aldin 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. Knighton, 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. Knighton 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. Van Aldin remembered, with a grim smile of amusement, the young mans complete astonishment when he had been offered the post of secretary to the great man himself. Butbut I have no experience of business, he had stammered. That doesnt matter a cuss, Van Aldin 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 whowell, knows the ropesand can attend to the social side of things for me. So far, Van Aldin had found his judgment confirmed. Knighton 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 Colton agreement But Rufus Van Aldin held up a protesting hand. I am not going to look at a durned thing tonight, 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. Richard Knighton smiled sympathetically. Mrs. Kettering? he murmured. She rang up yesterday and today. She seems very anxious to see you at once, sir. Does she, now! The smile faded from the millionaires 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. Knighton 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. Ill not stand for this, he muttered to himself. Poor little girl, its 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. Knighton still bent assiduously over the desk. Suddenly Van Aldin 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, Im going round to see my daughter. If Coltons people ring up Tell them to go to the devil, said Van Aldin. Very well, said the secretary unemotionally. Van Aldin 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, Knighton, he said. You dont worry me when I am rattled. Knighton smiled a little, but made no reply. Ruth is my only child, said Van Aldin, 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, Knighton? 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 Knighton. Are theyare they real? Van Aldin laughed a quiet little cackle of amusement. I dont wonder at your asking that. Amongst these rubies are the three largest in the world. Catherine of Russia wore them, Knighton. That centre one there is known as Heart of Fire. Its perfectnot a flaw in it. But, the secretary murmured, they must be worth a fortune. Four or five hundred thousand dollars, said Van Aldin nonchalantly, and that is apart from the historical interest. And you carry them aboutlike that, loose in your pocket? Van Aldin laughed amusedly. I guess so. You see, they are my little present for Ruthie. The secretary smiled discreetly. I can understand now Mrs. Ketterings anxiety over the telephone, he murmured. But Van Aldin shook his head. The hard look returned to his face. You are wrong there, he said. She doesnt know about these; they are my little surprise for her. He shut the case, and began slowly to wrap it up again. Its a hard thing, Knighton, he said, how little one can do for those one loves. I can buy a good portion of the earth for Ruth, if it would be any use to her, but it isnt. I can hang these things round her neck and give her a moment or twos 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. Derek Kettering. Van Aldin sighed. Slipping the parcel back in his coat pocket, he nodded to Knighton and left the room. IV In Curzon Street The Hon. Mrs. Derek Kettering lived in Curzon Street. The butler who opened the door recognised Rufus Van Aldin at once and permitted himself a discreet smile of greeting. He led the way upstairs to the big double drawingroom on the first floor. A woman who was sitting by the window started up with a cry. Why, Dad, if that isnt too good for anything! Ive been telephoning Major Knighton all day to try and get hold of you, but he couldnt say for sure when you were expected back. Ruth Kettering was twentyeight years of age. Without being beautiful, or in the real sense of the word even pretty, she was striking looking because of her colouring. Van Aldin had been called Carrots and Ginger in his time, and Ruths hair was almost pure auburn. With it went dark eyes and very black lashesthe effect somewhat enhanced by art. She was tall and slender, and moved well. At a careless glance it was the face of a Raphael Madonna. Only if one looked closely did one perceive the same line of jaw and chin as in Van Aldins face, bespeaking the same hardness and determination. It suited the man, but suited the woman less well. From her childhood upward Ruth Van Aldin had been accustomed to having her own way, and anyone who had ever stood up against her soon realised that Rufus Van Aldins daughter never gave in. Knighton told me youd phoned him, said Van Aldin. I only got back from Paris half an hour ago. Whats all this about Derek? Ruth Kettering flushed angrily. Its unspeakable. Its beyond all limits, she cried. Hehe doesnt seem to listen to anything I say. There was bewilderment as well as anger in her voice. Hell listen to me, said the millionaire grimly. Ruth went on Ive hardly seen him for the last month. He goes about everywhere with that woman. With what woman? Mirelle. She dances at the Parthenon, you know. Van Aldin nodded. I was down at Leconbury last week. II spoke to Lord Leconbury. He was awfully sweet to me, sympathised entirely. He said hed give Derek a good talking to. Ah! said Van Aldin. What do you mean by Ah! Dad? Just what you think I mean, Ruthie. Poor old Leconbury is a washout. Of course he sympathised 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 doesnt want to mess the thing up. But hes got one foot in the grave already, everyone knows that, and anything he may say will cut darned little ice with Derek. Cant you do anything, Dad? urged Ruth, 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 theres only one that will be any real good. How much pluck have you got, Ruthie? 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 youve made a mistake. Theres only one way out of this mess, Ruthie. Cut your losses and start afresh. You mean Divorce. Divorce! Van Aldin smiled drily. You say that word, Ruth, as though youd 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, Ruth. Youre like me, you cant bear to let go. But Ive learnt, and youve got to learn, that there are times when its the only way. I might find ways of whistling Derek back to you, but it would all come to the same in the end. Hes no good, Ruth; hes 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 leafand well, Id 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 durned softhearted to do it a second time. I cant tell you how I wish I had, though. Youve led a poor kind of life for the last few years, Ruth. It has not been veryagreeable, agreed Mrs. Kettering. Thats 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. Derek Kettering married you for your money. Thats all there is to it. Get rid of him, Ruth. Ruth Kettering looked down at the ground for some moments, then she said, without raising her head Supposing he doesnt consent? Van Aldin looked at her in astonishment. He wont have a say in the matter. She flushed and bit her lip. Nonoof 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 maynt take it lying down. The millionaires chin shot out grimly. You mean hell fight the case? Let him! But, as a matter of fact, youre wrong. He wont fight. Any solicitor he consults will tell him he hasnt a leg to stand upon. You dont thinkshe hesitatedI meanout of sheer spite against mehe might, well, 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. Kettering did not answer. Van Aldin looked at her sharply. Come, Ruth, out with it. Theres something troubling youwhat 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. Ill put the whole thing through so smoothly that there will be no fuss at all. Very well, Dad, if you really think its the best thing to be done. Got a fancy for the fellow still, Ruth? Is that it? No. The word came with no uncertain emphasis. Van Aldin seemed satisfied. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. It will be all right, little girl. Dont you worry any. Now lets forget about all this. I have brought you a present from Paris. For me? Something very nice? I hope youll think so, said Van Aldin, smiling. He took the parcel from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She unwrapped it eagerly, and snapped open the case. A longdrawn Oh! came from her lips. Ruth Kettering loved jewelsalways had done so. Dad, howhow wonderful! Rather in a class by themselves, arent they? said the millionaire with satisfaction. You like them, eh? Like them? Dad, theyre unique. How did you get hold of them? Van Aldin smiled. Ah! thats 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; thats the historic Heart of Fire.  Heart of Fire! repeated Mrs. Kettering. 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 Ruth Ketterings 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 heartburnings. Ruth returned the stones to their case; then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her fathers neck. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad. They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvellous presents always. Thats all right, said Van Aldin, patting her shoulder. You are all I have, you know, Ruthie. You will stay to dinner, wont you, Father? I dont think so. You were going out, werent you? Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting. No, said Van Aldin. Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you tomorrow, my dear. Perhaps if I phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths? Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith, Cuthbertson  Galbraith were Van Aldins London solicitors. Very well, Dad. She hesitated. I suppose itthiswont 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, Ruth, I shouldnt take those rubies abroad if I were you. Leave them at the bank. Mrs. Kettering nodded. We dont 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, Dad? 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, Ruthie. Some apache fellows got a bit fresh and I shot at them and they got off. Thats all. She looked at him with some pride. Youre a tough proposition, Dad. You bet I am, Ruthie. He kissed her affectionately and departed. On arriving back at the Savoy, he gave a curt order to Knighton. Get hold of a man called Goby; youll find his address in my private book. Hes to be here tomorrow morning at halfpast nine. Yes, sir. I also want to see Mr. Kettering. Run him to earth for me if you can. Try his Clubat any rate, get hold of him somehow, and arrange for me to see him here tomorrow morning. Better make it latish, about twelve. His sort arent early risers. The secretary nodded in comprehension of these instructions. Van Aldin 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. Ruth 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 Im fanciful, he muttered, and yetI bet theres something she has not told me. V A Useful Gentleman Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered the room. Mr. Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you. The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just halfpast nine. All right, he said curtly. He can come up. A minute or two later, Mr. Goby 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, Goby, said the millionaire. Take a chair. Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin. Mr. Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator. I have got a job for you. Yes, Mr. Van Aldin? My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps know. Mr.


Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the lefthand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr. Goby 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 solicitors business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information. Mr. Goby looked at the cornice and murmured About Mr. Kettering? About Mr. Kettering. Very good, sir. Mr. Goby rose to his feet. When will you have it ready for me? Are you in a hurry, sir? Im always in a hurry, said the millionaire. Mr. Goby smiled understandingly at the fender. Shall we say two oclock this afternoon, sir? he asked. Excellent, approved the other. Good morning, Goby. Good morning, Mr. Van Aldin. Thats a very useful man, said the millionaire as Goby went out and his secretary came in. In his own line hes a specialist. What is his line? Information. Give him twentyfour hours and he would lay the private life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you. A useful sort of chap, said Knighton, with a smile. He has been useful to me once or twice, said Van Aldin. Now then, Knighton, Im ready for work. The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted. It was halfpast twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Van Aldin was informed that Mr. Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod. Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please. The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering 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 Van Aldin. There was charm in itthere had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his soninlaw. Derek Kettering was thirtyfour, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it. Come in, said Van Aldin curtly. Sit down. Kettering flung himself lightly into an armchair. He looked at his fatherinlaw with a kind of tolerant amusement. Not seen you for a long time, sir, he remarked pleasantly. About two years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet? I saw her last night, said Van Aldin. Looking very fit, isnt she? said the other lightly. I didnt know you had had much opportunity of judging, said Van Aldin drily. Derek Kettering 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, Van Aldin said curtly. I have advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce. Derek Kettering 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 Ruth say? Ruth proposes to take my advice, said her father. Does she really? Is that all you have got to say? demanded Van Aldin sharply. Kettering flicked his ash into the grate. I think, you know, he said, with a detached air, that shes making a great mistake. From your point of view she doubtless is, said Van Aldin grimly. Oh, come now, said the other; dont lets be personal. I really wasnt thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You know my poor old Governor really cant last much longer; all the doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be chtelaine of Leconbury, which is what she married me for. I wont have any of your darned impudence, roared Van Aldin. Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved. I agree with you. Its an obsolete idea, he said. Theres nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her. I am serious, young man, said Van Aldin. Oh, so am I, said Kettering. I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth 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 cant possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, its a pity Ruth shouldnt get what she married me for. You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position? Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement. You dont think it was a question of a love match? he asked. I know, said Van Aldin slowly, that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago. Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you knowrather 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 homelife with a beautiful wife who loved me. He laughed again, rather more discordantly. But you dont believe that, I suppose? he said. I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money, said Van Aldin unemotionally. And that she married me for love? asked the other ironically. Certainly, said Van Aldin. Derek Kettering 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 fatherinlaw, I was very soon undeceived. I dont know what you are getting at, said Van Aldin, and I dont care. You have treated Ruth darned badly. Oh, I have, agreed Kettering lightly, but shes tough, you know. Shes your daughter. Underneath the pinkandwhite softness of her shes as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate, love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will. That is enough, said Van Aldin. 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. Derek Kettering 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 Van Aldin, that you had better not try to defend the case. Oh, said Kettering. Is that a threat? You can take it any way you please, said Van Aldin. Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the millionaire. And supposing, he said softly, that, just for arguments sake, I did defend the case? Van Aldin 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. Ruth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish of her. I dont interfere with her friends. What do you mean? said Van Aldin sharply. Derek Kettering laughed. I see you dont 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 Van Aldin 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 daughters house. Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Kettering in? Oh, shes out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You dont know? Oh, very good; no, theres no message. He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two oclock he was pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. The latter was ushered in at ten minutes past two. Well? barked the millionaire sharply. But little Mr. Goby was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table, produced a very shabby pocketbook, and proceeded to read from it in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked attentively at the wastepaperbasket. Um! said Van Aldin. That seems pretty definite. The case will go through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose? Cast iron, said Mr. Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt armchair. And financially hes in very low water. Hes 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 wont 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, Goby; 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. Goby 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, Goby. You are the goods all right. A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little mans face. Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin, he said; I try to do my best. Van Aldin 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 Derek Kettering 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 leastno, not a stranger; his face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaires 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. Ruth Kettering was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him when he entered. Well, Dad, how are things going? Very well, said Van Aldin; but I have got a word or two to say to you, Ruth. Almost insensibly he felt the change in her; something shrewd and watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a big armchair. Well, Dad? she asked. What is it? I saw your husband this morning, said Van Aldin. You saw Derek? I did. He said a lot of things, most of which were darned cheek. Just as he was leaving, he said something that I didnt understand. He advised me to be sure that there was perfect frankness between father and daughter. What did he mean by that, Ruthie? Mrs. Kettering moved a little in her chair. II dont know, Dad. How should I? Of course you know, said Van Aldin. He said something else, about his having his friends and not interfering with yours. What did he mean by that? I dont know, said Ruth Kettering again. Van Aldin sat down. His mouth set itself in a grim line. See here, Ruth. I am not going into this with my eyes closed. I am not at all sure that that husband of yours doesnt mean to make trouble. Now, he cant 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 theres any need to use those means. What did he mean by your having your own friends? Mrs. Kettering shrugged her shoulders. I have got lots of friends, she said uncertainly. I dont know what he meant, I am sure. You do, said Van Aldin. 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. Thats what Derek was driving at. Some special man who is a friend of yours. You neednt 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. Ruth didnt answer. Her hands were kneading themselves together in intense nervous absorption. Come, honey, said Van Aldin in a softer voice. Dont be afraid of your old Dad. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris?By gosh! He stopped, thunderstruck. Thats who it was, he murmured to himself. I thought I knew his face. What are you talking about, Dad? I dont understand. The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist. See here, Ruth, 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 meanshe hesitatedyou mean the Comte de la Roche? Comte de la Roche! snorted Van Aldin. 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 Ruth bitterly. And I married Derek Kettering. You wanted to, said the millionaire sharply. She shrugged her shoulders. And now, said Van Aldin slowly, you have been seeing him againafter all I told you. He has been in the house today. I met him outside, and couldnt place him for the moment. Ruth Kettering had recovered her composure. I want to tell you one thing, Dad; you are wrong about Armandthe Comte de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable incidents in his youthhe has told me about them; butwell, 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! VI Mirelle Derek Kettering emerged from Van Aldins suite so precipitantly that he collided with a lady passing across the corridor. He apologised, 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 fatherinlaw had shaken him more than he cared to show. He had a solitary lunch, and after it, frowning to himself a little, he went round to the sumptuous flat that housed the lady known as Mirelle. A trim Frenchwoman received him with smiles. But enter then, Monsieur. Madame reposes herself. He was ushered into the long room with its Eastern setting which he knew so well. Mirelle was lying on the divan, supported by an incredible number of cushions, all in varying shades of amber, to harmonise 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 Derek Kettering. 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. Ambrose has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera. Kettering nodded without paying much attention. He was profoundly uninterested in Claud Ambrose and the latters operatic setting of Ibsens Peer Gynt. So was Mirelle, for that matter, regarding it merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Anitra. It is a marvellous dance, she murmured. I shall put all the passion of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewelsah! and, by the way, mon ami, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond Streeta black pearl. She paused, looking at him invitingly. My dear girl, said Kettering, its 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, Dereek? What has happened? My esteemed fatherinlaw, said Kettering, is preparing to go off the deep end. Eh? In other words, he wants Ruth to divorce me. How stupid! said Mirelle. Why should she want to divorce you? Derek Kettering grinned. Mainly because of you, chrie! he said. Mirelle shrugged her shoulders. That is foolish, she observed in a matteroffact voice. Very foolish, agreed Derek. What are you going to do about it? demanded Mirelle. 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 Mirelle. It is not as though your wife were fond of you. Well, said Derek, 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 Kettering. After, when the creditors come down like wolves on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Mirelle; are you going to let me down? She pulled her hands away from him. You know I adore you, Dereek. He caught the note of evasion in her voice. So thats that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship. Ah, Dereek! Out with it, he said violently. You will fling me over; is that it? She shrugged her shoulders. I am fond of you, mon amiindeed I am fond of you. You are very charmingun beau garon, but ce nest pas pratique. You are a rich mans 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, Dereek. 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? Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand. You are thinking of some other woman, is that it? Oh, you neednt worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.  Mirelle said sharply, When did you meet her? Derek Kettering 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 doesnt matter, or words to that effect. And then? persisted the dancer. Kettering shrugged his shoulders. And thennothing. That was the end of the incident. I dont understand a word of what you are talking about, declared the dancer. Portrait of a lady with grey eyes, murmured Derek reflectively. Just as well I am never likely to meet her again. Why? She might bring me bad luck. Women do. Mirelle slipped quietly from her couch, and came across to him, laying one long, snakelike arm round his neck. You are foolish, Dereek, she murmured. You are very foolish. You are beau garon, and I adore you, but I am not made to be poorno, 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 thats not going to be actually in the sphere of practical politics, said Derek drily. How do you say? I do not understand. Van Aldin, 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 worldHeart of Fire it is called. Kettering did not answer. The dancer went on musingly It is a wonderful stonea stone that should belong to a woman like me. I love jewels, Dereek; 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 dont understand these things, Dereek; you are only a man. Van Aldin 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 Kettering drily. He settled a couple of millions on her at her marriage. A couple of million! But that is immense. And if she died suddenly, eh? That would all come to you? As things stand at present, said Kettering 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 moments pause, and then Derek Kettering laughed outright. I like your simple, practical mind, Mirelle, but I am afraid what you desire wont come to pass. My wife is an extremely healthy person. Eh bien! said Mirelle; 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 Dereek, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea. And if she wont? The dancers 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 Kettering sharply. Mirelle laughed, her head thrown back. Parbleu! I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not? Kettering 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. Mirelle 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 Comte about his business. And the little Mademoiselle, she wept many tears! But she obeyed. Still, you must know as well as I do, Dereek, 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 Kettering. Me? I have friends in Paris, my dear Dereek, who know the Comte intimately. It is all arranged. She is going to the Riviera, so she says, but in reality the Comte meets her in Paris andwho knows! Yes, yes, you can take my word for it, it is all arranged. Derek Kettering 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 Gods sake be quiet, cried Kettering. Shut your cursed mouth! Mirelle flung herself down again on the divan with a laugh. Kettering 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. VII Letters Mrs. Samuel Harfield presents her compliments to Miss Katherine Grey and wishes to point out that under the circumstances Miss Grey may not be aware Mrs. Harfield, having written so far fluently, came to a dead stop, held up by what has proved an insuperable difficulty to many other peoplenamely, the difficulty of expressing oneself fluently in the third person. After a minute or two of hesitation, Mrs. Harfield tore up the sheet of notepaper and started afresh. Dear Miss GreyWhilst fully appreciating the adequate way you discharged your duties to my Cousin Emma (whose recent death has indeed been a severe blow to us all), I cannot but feel Again Mrs. Harfield 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. Harfield at last produced an epistle that satisfied her. It was duly sealed and stamped and addressed to Miss Katherine Grey, Little Crampton, St. Mary Mead, Kent, and it lay beside the ladys plate on the following morning at breakfast time in company with a more importantlooking communication in a long blue envelope. Katherine Grey opened Mrs. Harfields letter first. The finished production ran as follows Dear Miss GreyMy husband and I wish to express our thanks to you for your services to my poor cousin, Emma. 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 realised 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 Grey, yours cordially, Mary Anne Harfield. Katherine Grey 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 anyone watching her to guess what emotions lay behind that quiet, reflective gaze. Katherine Grey was thirtythree. She came of good family, but her father had lost all his money, and Katherine had had to work for her living from an early age. She had been just twentythree when she had come to old Mrs. Harfield as companion. It was generally recognised that old Mrs. Harfield was difficult. Companions came and went with startling rapidity. They arrived full of hope and they usually left in tears. But from the moment Katherine Grey set foot in Little Crampton, ten years ago, perfect peace had reigned. No one knows how these things come about. Snakecharmers, they say, are born, not made. Katherine Grey was born with the power of managing old ladies, dogs, and small boys, and she did it without any apparent sense of strain. At twentythree she had been a quiet girl with beautiful eyes. At thirtythree 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 breakfasttable, staring in front of her, there was a ring at the bell, accompanied by a very energetic ratatattat at the knocker. In another minute the little maidservant opened the door and announced rather breathlessly Dr. Harrison. The big, middleaged doctor came bustling in with the energy and breeziness that had been foreshadowed by his onslaught on the knocker. Good morning, Miss Grey. Good morning, Dr. Harrison. I dropped in early, began the doctor, in case you should have heard from one of those Harfield cousins. Mrs. Samuel, she calls herselfa perfectly poisonous person. Without a word, Katherine picked up Mrs. Harfields 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. Dont you let it worry you, my dear. Theyre talking through their hat. Mrs. Harfields intellect was as good as yours or mine, and you wont get anyone to say the contrary. They wouldnt 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 holeandcorner way. And look here, my dear, dont let them get round you with soft soap either. Dont get fancying its your duty to hand over the cash, or any tomfoolery of conscientious scruples. Im afraid it hasnt occurred to me to have scruples, said Katherine. All these people are distant relatives of Mrs. Harfields husband, and they never came near her or took any notice of her in her lifetime. Youre a sensible woman, said the doctor. I know, none better, that youve had a hard life of it for the last ten years. Youre fully entitled to enjoy the old ladys savings, such as they were. Katherine smiled thoughtfully. Such as they were, she repeated. Youve no idea of the amount, doctor? Wellenough to bring in five hundred a year or so, I suppose. Katherine nodded. Thats 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, youre going to be a very rich woman. Katherine Grey 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. Samuel Harfields letter with his thumb. Dont worry about that woman and her odious letter. It really isnt an odious letter, said Miss Grey tolerantly. Under the circumstances, I think its 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. Katherine Grey laughed. Doctor Harrison retailed the great news to his wife at lunchtime. She was very excited about it. Fancy old Mrs. Harfieldwith all that money. Im glad she left it to Katherine Grey. That girls a saint. The doctor made a wry face. Saints I always imagined must have been difficult people. Katherine Grey is too human for a saint. Shes a saint with a sense of humour, said the doctors wife, twinkling. And, though I dont suppose youve ever noticed the fact, shes extremely good looking. Katherine Grey? The doctor was honestly surprised. Shes got very nice eyes, I know. Oh, you men! cried his wife. Blind as bats. Katherines got all the makings of a beauty in her. All she wants is clothes! Clothes? Whats wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice. Mrs. Harrison gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds. You might look in on her, Polly, he suggested. Im going to, said Mrs. Harrison promptly. She made her call about three oclock. My dear, Im so glad, she said warmly, as she squeezed Katherines hand. And everyone in the village will be glad too. Its very nice of you to come and tell me, said Katherine. I hoped you would come in because I wanted to ask about Johnnie. Oh! Johnnie. Well Johnnie was Mrs. Harrisons youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Johnnies adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Katherine listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about the naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Charles admired my gown? And composedly, kindly, Katherine would reply I rather think you have, Mrs. Harfield, but Ive forgotten about it. Wont you tell it me again? And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous corrections, and stops, and remembered details. And half of Katherines mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused  Now, with the same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs. Harrison. At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly. Ive been talking about myself all this time, she exclaimed.