The Mystery of the Green Heart
Max Pemberton
ARTHUR WILLIAM



sal
COLLEGE
LIBRARY








THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART









"Oh," she cried, "I feel just as though I were
drugged"
(Page 123)


THE MYSTERY OF THE
GREEN HEART
MAX PEMBEETON
Author of "The Little Huguenot," "A Daughter of the States," etc
FRONTISPIECE BY
ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1910


HARVARD \
l UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
COPTBIQBT, 1910, BT
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
Published September, 1910
THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, H. J.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER FAQB
I. The News is made Known upon the First
Day of July 1
II. In which we Learn more of Prince
Maurevale 10
III. The Jury is Perplexed .... 14
IV. The Prince and Stella Insole . . 35
V. The Law, but not necessarily the
Majesty thereof .... 43
VI. The Prince and the Accused ... 50
VII. The House of the Five Green Shutters 60
VIII. Flight .70
IX. At New Scotland Yard and Elsewhere 81
X. Paul the Russian 93
XI. A New Name is heard 100
XII. Stella writes from Blois . . . .109
XIII. The Marshes are Revisited . . . 131
XIV. Sir Horace Rupert asks some Questions 138
XV. The Search is Begun 146
XVI. The Den in the Rue Montserre . .162
XVII. The Green Lantern in the Rue
Dauphine 173
XVIII. The Young Man Speaks . . . .181
XIX. The Garden Gate 191
XX. An Accusation is Made .... 201


CHAPTER I
THE NEWS IS MADE KNOWN UPON THE
EIEST DAT OF JULY
The story of the Green Heart begins properly at
Pangbourne upon the morning of the first day of
July in the year 1908. A week had yet to run until
the opening of the regatta at Henley; but Pangbourne,
nevertheless, reflected aquatic anticipations of lively
business and patronage.
Boats were sent down to Henley by the watermen
every day. Steam-tugs attached themselves to mon-
strous houseboats and began to tow them toward Read-
ing and Shipjake. The inns were full of people who
preferred to stay at some little distance from the re-
gatta course.
To such an inn, the Swan, which lies but little re-
moved from Whitchurch Lock, there came a little after
five o'clock upon the morning of the first day of July a
young Oxford boatman named Huggins, who beat
loudly upon the door and implored the awakened sleep-
ers to come immediately to his assistance.
"There's a boat agen the bank by the weir," said
he, speaking as one who was utterly unnerved by what
he had seen; "do you come along wi' me, for I'm
blest if I know what to make of it."
Now Huggins was answered by an ancient waterman
of the name of Jarvis, who slept in one of the attics
above the river and was just about to go down to open


2 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
the boathouses. Hearing the hullabaloo, he put his head
out of the window and espied a strange young man,
holding a hand to his heart as though to help
his breathing, and so very white and shaken that
the importance of his words could no longer be
doubted.
"Ay, mate, and who be you?"
"I'm Huggins from Oxford. We're taking the
ships down to the races, but were held up last night by
way of Streatly. Here was I about to make the lock
just now when my mate see the thing. I tell you it's
a boat and a lady in it. You'd better come down
quick."
The old man muttered something about a boat with a
lady in it being no new thing in these parts; but he
went down nevertheless, and as he went he awakened
his master. The loud knocking had brought other
inmates to the windows, and one of these, a young
physician from the Addenbrooke Hospital at Cam-
bridge, now put in his word.
"What's up, my man? " he asked.
Huggins repeated his story.
"I see the boat in the long grass. She's dead, or I
don't know the likes of it. A fair lady, too, with dia-
monds on her. That's what sent me here."
"Did you wake the lock-keeper?"
"What's the good of he? I was through the St.
John Ambulance class in Oxford and I know it's a
doctor we want. If you can tell me?"
"I am a doctor. Wait a minute and I'll come down.
Where do you say the boat is?"
"It's over agen the weir bridge. You'll see it if


THE NEWS IS MADE KNOWN
3
you step across. I tell you it's given me and my mate
a rare fright and no mistake."
The doctor made no reply, but withdrew to dress
himself. When he arrived upon the scene there was
quite a little group of pale-faced men standing
hard by the boathouse. Day had broken with a
heavy haze, which promised heat later on. The wind
whispered in the reeds, and the water lapped coldly in
the channels by the sheds.
"Now then," said the doctor, " if we are all ready!
Have you got anything in the way of an ambulance
here? No? Then bring some oars and ropes. I
don't suppose there's much the matter, but we should
be ready for anything. You come with me, my man,
and show me where it is. And Johnson, get some
brandy, if you please."
He addressed himself to one of the servants of the
inn, who obeyed him with alacrity. Men love a leader,
and this young fellow led by right of knowledge. As
the group moved away toward the weir bridge, they
heard shouts of laughter from the little room down by
the water's edge. The cries came from a company of
undergraduates making ready for their morning bathe,
in ignorance of the tragedy.
Behind them an early train on the Great Western
Railway went by with a roar and a vomit of flame to
Didcot and the junction. The steam-tug which was
towing Huggins' racing boats to Henley, lay moored
by the opposite bank, and steam poured from her
valves. This robbed the scene of its silence, for the
river had no other craft to show, and the streets of
Pangbourne were without any signs of life. More-


4 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
over, the church clock struck half-past five as they
reached the weir bridge, and this quickened all their
steps.
Huggins had said that the boat lay among the reeds,
but none espied it until they came to the very place
where it had anchored itself, and then three of them
saw it together. It was an ordinary skiff, such as is
used for pleasure purposes upon the Thames, built of
teak and handsomely furnished with blue carpet and
cushions. Driven by the stream, it must have narrowly
escaped the main current of the weir, but accident or
the wind had turned it aside at the last moment, and
now it lay against one of the piles with the stern
swung round against the bank.
Within the boat lay the body of a woman who might
have been any age from twenty-five to thirty. Her
hands were clasped together in an attitude which sug-
gested prayer or pain. Her head was bowed so that
the jewels upon her neck were visible, but more re-
markable than these facts was that of her dress. She
was gowned, in the words of those round about, as
though for a ball or a party. And this rich gown
of pansy chiffon embroidered in flowers of pink and
gold, over a skirt of white silk, spoke of tragedy so
surely that even the doctor began to admit its possi-
bilities.
"Bring the boat round," he cried in a stern tone;
and then to one of the lads, " Run to the police station,
my boy, and send an inspector here. Tell him it is
urgent."
The lad was only too willing to escape a scene so
grim, and went headlong upon his errand. The boat


THE NEWS IS MADE KNOWN
5
meanwhile was brought round very gently to the bank
and the body lifted to the grass. There they laid it
upon the cushions from the skiff while Dr. Travis put
his fingers upon the pulseless wrist and then placed
his ear to a heart which would never beat again.
"She is quite dead," he said, rising at length, and
then, "Poor lady, there has been foul play here; it is
a case for the police."
They heard him with awe. The lock-keeper was
now upon the scene, and eager questions were addressed
to him. When the inspector from the station at length
arrived, he drove the merely curious away, and then
talked aside with Dr. Travis.
"I have sent for the ambulance, sir. The surgeon
has been telephoned. Do you make anything of it?—
do you know the lady?"
"I can tell you nothing," said the doctor. "They
awoke me a little after five, and I came at once. She
has been dead some hours, though. I leave it to your
surgeon to say how many."
"But it is not a natural death."
"I think not, though it might be the heart. She
has suffered much—the lower limbs were paralysed be-
fore she died."
"Poor thing—and a very beautiful woman, sir. You
can see she comes of a class." The doctor then listened
to the lock-keeper. For the first time some whisper
of identity was to be heard, and the mention of a name.
"The boat's from Highlands Castle, sir—the
prince's place."
"How do you know that?"
"By the queer burgee; that's a foreigner, sir, and


6 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
so's the prince, though his horses make us to forget it
sometimes."
The doctor listened very seriously.
"You are speaking of a great name—one of the
greatest in Europe to-day," he said at length. "This
lady would have been a friend of his."
"Ay, to be sure, and, now I think of it, I've seen
her more than once in that very boat along with his
Highness, too, and others as pretty as herself. Why,
only yesterday there was a young man asking me—
but perhaps I'd better say nothing about that. I'll
tell the police."
Dr. Travis said he would be wise to do so. A ser-
geant of police and two constables had now arrived
and made themselves masters of the situation. The
crowd, augmented considerably as the village of Pang-
bourne awoke to the news, collected by the Swan Inn
and discussed the affair with animation.
But no one yet spoke of murder, though many had
a thought of it in their hearts, which they would ex-
press loudly enough by-and-by.
This was the state of affairs, the police waiting for
the ambulance, the crowd increasing every moment, the
day beginning to break with a glorious promise of
summer, when a fast motor-car came along the river
road from Streatly, and all who knew the locality rec-
ognised it as the private carriage of Prince Maurevale
of Dara. Immediately now the least intelligent of the
onlookers could say that the unknown lady had been
staying with the prince's party at Streatly, and that
identification must be established without delay. In-
terest remained at high pitch. The crowd pressed


THE NEWS IS MADE KNOWN
7
forward, and was with difficulty restrained by the
police.
The prince himself was in the car, and was the
first to cross the weir bridge toward the island. He
was followed by a young lady of eighteen years of
age, enveloped from head to foot in a light grey motor-
coat, and so agitated that she made the passage of
the bridge with difficulty. Together these two ad-
vanced toward the body, the prince lifting his hat as
he came, the young lady covering her face with her
hands.
It was evident that they recognised the unknown at
once—the prince with a loud cry, his companion with
a flood of tears she could not repress.
Meanwhile the constables drew back as an act of
homage both to the dead and the living. Dr. Travis
remained alone with the distinguished foreigner that
he might relate what he knew of this affair.
"I am privileged to meet you, sir, under most un-
happy circumstances," he said. "There is no doubt,
I fear, that this poor lady has been dead for some
hours."
The prince inclined his head, as though grateful for
the doctor's courtesy.
"At what time was this discovery made? " he asked.
The doctor answered that it must have been at five
o'clock.
"Are you able to give any explanation of her con-
dition?"
"Impossible until an autopsy has been made. My
first opinion pointed to angina pectoris."
"But now?"


8 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I think that she may have come to her end by
foul means."
The prince sighed, but did not protest. The doctor,
however, stepped forward to assist the young lady, who
reeled in a swoon, and would have fallen but for his
outstretched arm.
"I fear that the scene has been too much for her.
. . . It is natural. Let us take her back to the inn."
"No," rejoined the prince firmly; "to my carriage,
if you please."
And then, going up to her, he said: " Stella, Stella"
—and at these words the young lady opened her eyes
again and permitted him to lead her toward the car-
riage.
"Let all those who know anything of this come to
me at Highlands Castle immediately," said Prince
Maurevale. "I should like to see Inspector Jarrard
as soon as possible. He should get help from Read-
tag"
A sergeant of police replied that the inspector had
gone back up to the station to communicate with head-
quarters, but would go to the castle directly he re-
turned and had put the body on an ambulance. Dr.
Travis, however, would remain upon the scene until the
police surgeon arrived—and this being arranged the
prince drove off. All thought it remarkable that the
name of the lady had not been mentioned, and that
the prince had received the story of her death with
such brief questioning. None, however, wondered at
the conduct of his companion, which was but natural
at such a tragic moment of recognition.
By this time a police ambulance had come from


THE NEWS IS MADE KNOWN
9
'Reading, and the body was set upon it and conveyed to
Highlands Castle, which stands upon the hills just
above Streatly. The boat remained in the custody
of the police, and was subjected by them to a close
scrutiny. The contents proved to be such as a river
skiff should possess; but, in addition to the sculls and
the boathooks, there was a walking-stick of black ebony
with an ivory knob.
Of this the inspector took possession, and, having
invited Dr. Travis to accompany him, he set out for
the castle. The gates were already surrounded by a
concourse of people, come together none knew whence,
but attracted as kites by this story of death.
These already spoke of murder . . . and the
rumour gained strength as the day wore on.
It was repeated in all the papers next day that
beyond a doubt Lady Anna Maclain had died of poison.


CHAPTER II
IN WHICH WE LEARN MORE OF PRINCE MAUREVALE
It was Prince Bismarck who said of the House of
Maurevale that its sons would live to write a page in
the history of Europe. This was after the signing of
the famous Berlin Treaty, in which Russia rewarded
her stout allies in Wallachia by robbing them of pre-
cious territory.
But thirty-four years passed before Europe heard
again, except in a social way, of the sole survivors
of that house of genius.
Prince Maurevale was no patriot in the common
sense. He had graduated at a German university, but
he came to England in his twenty-second year, and
there he remained. There was no more popular mem-
ber of the Marlborough and the Jockey Clubs. His
good looks had become a fable. The very cabmen
at Newmarket and at Epsom spoke of "Maury's"
horses, and were wont to recommend them to all and
sundry.
In London this true Bohemian was well known to
the' people; his little white house in Park Lane had
long been an object beloved of 'busmen, and his coach
remarked by frequenters of Hyde Park.
He was in his thirty-seventh year at this time; but
had never married. Had he done so he would have
inflicted a wrong upon the multitude of social gossips,
who bandied his name in amorous play between the
10


WE LEARN MORE OF PRINCE MAUREVALE 11
courts of Alsatia and of Arlington Street, and were
never so happy as when finding him a wife.
For all this, his friendships were many, and even
his friends could not deny the strange influence he
wielded over women. This was rather mental than
physical, the fruit of a sage and eloquent intelligence
rather than of athletic gifts which could not be denied.
As a horseman, a fencer, a shot, and an oarsman, he
could hold his own in any company. His daring as
a gambler was admitted, and that is a quality which
rarely fails to make an appeal to women of his station.
That such a man, the idol of a society which a poet
had declared to consist chiefly of the bores and bored,
should awake one morning to find himself the best dis-
cussed and, in a way, desired of any in Europe is
less remarkable when the story of his ancestry is re-
membered and the promises made for its descendants
by so shrewd an observer as the great Prince Bismarck.
To his friends these sudden revelations of notoriety
came without surprise. They knew that Maurevale of
Dara was by no means the dilettante that rumour had
made him out to be. Ambitions of no ordinary kind
had governed his acts from his boyhood. For every
day spent upon the heath at Newmarket or the moors
of Macrihanish there were five days afterwards in the
wonderful laboratories and workshops of Highlands
Castle, of which the world knew so little. To these,
said the intimates, Prince Maurevale gave the best of
his life; upon these he spent the most part of a con-
siderable fortune. His work was done neither for
appearance nor for reward, but in the name of hu-
manity.


12 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
How the truth leaked out it is a little difficult to say,
but the world awoke one day to hear that Maurevale
of Dara had become in a sense the master of Europe.
And this neither by personality nor by fable; but by
the possession of a scientific secret and the completion
of an invention which might make war henceforth im-
possible.
He had, said the electrifying rumour, discovered
methods of governing a torpedo so wonderful and so
uncontestable that their possession in the navy, even
the smallest, might make that navy master of the
world.
For not only had he thus established a mastery of
the most subtle of all forces, but to it had linked a
knowledge of high explosives surpassing that of the
Germans, and so wonderful and far-reaching that he
himself had grown to fear his own secret.
Convinced of the reality of his pretensions—for here
rumour gave the most precise particulars of the results
accomplished—the diplomatists of Europe asked them-
selves immediately that momentous question, "Upon
whom will this sovereignty be bestowed? Would this
dilettante of the booths and bazaars of Vanity Fair
throw in his lot finally with the country of his adop-
tion, or might other nations buy the secret at a
price?"
A further question, put in the dark corners of the
diplomatic palaces, suggested the Secret Service and
its possibilities.
Would Prince Maurevale be dethroned by spies, or
would he first establish his boast that there should be
no more war?


WE LEARN MORE OF PRINCE MAUREVALE 13
These were vital matters, and interested the whole
world.
Admitting the ideal to be a fine one, very naturally
the diplomatists of Europe refused to accept it.
"Maurevale," said they, " must be bought at any price
—or if not bought, then treated as an enemy against
whom all weapons may be turned."
They filled his house with spies and dogged his steps
at every turn.
The great idea became the vulgar theme of secret
service agents—and the most blatant of self-seekers.
These, however, plotted and planned to the prince's
amusement. No page of tragedy had been written
about this affair until the body of Lady Anna Maclain
was carried to Highlands Castle, and society heard
with awe the story of her death.


CHAPTER III
THE JURY IS PERPLEXED
The coroner's inquest was held upon the third day
after Lady Anna Maclain's death, and the jury as-
sembled in the chaplain's library, which is over against
the early English cloister of Highlands Castle, and
justly famed for the beauty of its Jacobean panelling.
A jury had been gathered diligently of zealous offi-
cers, anxious to please so generous a patron as Prince
Maurevale. They were for the most part strangers,
but Mr. Bell, a schoolmaster, served at the last moment,
and a local preacher, by name Turner, made up the
complement.
All approached the castle with bent heads and solemn
faces, in token of a grief of which they were un-
conscious, and as a witness to a sympathy which was
but an expectation of reward.
A wet and rainy day found Mr. Child, the butler,
over-anxious about their boots, and posted at the clois-
ter gates. Highlands Castle stands above the River
Thames at Streatly upon a round, green hill. There
had been no carriages provided, so hastily was all done
—and these good fellows had walked a long way in
quest of the two shillings with which the Government
rewards them.
Within, the castle was very silent and typical of
death.
Footmen moved a-tiptoe, as though they were afraid
14


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 15
of their own shadows. Questions were put and an-
swered in hushed whispers. The jury sidled into the
great room and responded to Dr. Flack, a deputy-
coroner, in timid monosyllables. The chaplain, who
was also the rector of a neighbouring church, St. Aga-
tha's, wore his cassock, and the silk of it rustled
pleasantly wherever he moved. The body had already
been viewed as it lay in the open coffin before the altar,
tapers upon either side of it, and so great a harbourage
of flowers round about that the dead woman's face
could be seen with difficulty.
Anon the castle party entered, and instantly the
jury stood and bowed deferentially. The busy chap-
lain became even busier, setting the chairs with due
regard to the rank of the sitters, and not disdaining
the menial task of dusting them.
Maurevale was the first to come in, and he was
followed immediately by Lady Constance Heliers, the
daughter of the Duke of Alton.
Those who were acquainted with Maurevale could
not but remark the gentleness of his demeanour to all
about him, and the solemnity his example inspired.
Not a tall man, he could tower by his personality
in any assembly. He had a soldier's figure, but the
face of a poet—and there were those who had said
that he was not unlike the pictures of the great Lord
Ryron. His dress was that of an English gentle-
man.
Almost as closely observed as Prince Maurevale was
Lady Constance, the Duke of Alton's only daughter.
Scandal had told many a lying tale of this charm-
ing if eccentric girl. To-day it would make of her


16 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
the greatest woman gambler in Europe; to-morrow it
would hint that she was about to marry an actor.
The duke's notorious poverty fostered these cruel
scandals and wrought a culminating injustice. At the
same house there were many who rightly shook their
heads when Lady Constance's name was mentioned,
and it was recalled that her dead mother had been
well known in theatrical circles more than thirty years
ago. These said that she would marry Maurevale if
she could: and none who knew her doubted the meaning
of her friendship for the prince.
It was very natural that such a lady should sur-
render to the solemnities of such an occasion as this,
and make no pretence to other than feminine attributes.
Entering the room upon Maurevale's heels, she
glanced quickly at the jury, and then averted her eyes
and looked up to the galleries as though wondering
if the books would speak. For the chaplain she had
a gracious smile as he bent to offer her a chair. A
woman would have said that her dark hair matched
her mourning, and that black was her colour. The
greengrocer, however, who had a seat in a dark corner
beneath the gallery, wondered why she wore so much
jewellery.
Immediately attending Lady Constance Heliers
came Maurevale's brother, Georges, a fair-faced young
man who was then serving in the Roumanian Army,
and had come to England for a holiday. His methods
were precise and soldierly. He saluted the coroner,
bowed to the jury, and then drew back to make way
for the Count of Fours, a French gentleman of some
fifty years of age, who treated every one with the


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 17
stately courtesy characteristic of the French aristoc-
racy, and apologised once more for the absence of
Madame, whom he declared to be prostrate and quite
unable to be present.
The count's manner was not less agitated when he
uttered these words than had been Lady Constance
Heliers' when she first observed the. jury sitting about
the table. Both were evidently overwhelmed by the
tragedy which had come upon this unhappy house.
Of the others of the castle party, the one most re-
marked was the youngest daughter of Lord Kerrimore,
Stella Insole, whom more than one judge had pro-
nounced to be the most beautiful of the debutantes
that year.
She looked a mere child in her delicate gown of black,
and instantly made a sure appeal to the hearts of
the humble audience. Here was one whom a true
sorrow had afflicted. The round blue eyes spoke at
once of intellect and of love; the forehead of a clever
race. She was girlish in all her movements, and more
than one spectator remarked that she seemed obsessed
by Maurevale's presence, and hardly lifted her eyes
from his face.
This was the young lady who was recognised by Dr.
Travis and by Huggins, the boatman, as having been
Maurevale's companion upon the fatal morning.
She was followed into the room by three young men
who had been taking part in a tennis tournament in
the locality. Their efforts to distract and to console
her were alike abortive, and in the end they abandoned
them and fell to discussing the company from un-
obtrusive seats in the shadow of the gallery.


18 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
It was now the coroner's turn to make an obsequious
speech, nattering the house of Maurevale and regret-
ting the necessity for this inquiry. Quite maladroitly
he dwelt upon the poor lady's virtues, and the mystery
surrounding her death. "That mystery, gentlemen,"
he added, "we are now come together to unravel—
as far as the evidence permits us to do so. The
jury have already seen the body. I will, there-
fore, call the boatman Huggins without further loss
of time."
Huggins, the young boatman who had discovered
the skiff by the weir, stepped up to the table and gave
his evidence very clearly. He had been attracted by
the dangerous situation of the boat, and had crossed
the lock to examine it. Then he saw that it was not
empty, and that a lady was asleep—as he thought—
in the stern of it. When he drew nearer he came to
the conclusion that she was dead.
"What made you think so?"
"The way her was a-lying."
."How was that?"
"Upon her side. She looked very pretty."
"Was there anything else extraordinary about her
appearance?"
"She was dressed for a party—I thought that un-
common."
"Did you observe that she wore any jewellery?"
"Yes."
"Tell the jury what it was."
"A string of diamonds round her neck, and an arm-
let with a broken link."
"How a broken link?"


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 19
"One of a chain. Something had been took orf
of it."
"You imagine that to have been the case?"
"Well, I don't know for certain."
He paused for an instant as though nettled by the
cross-examination, and in the brief interval a voice was
heard.
It was that of the Count of Fours.
"The gentleman is quite right," he said quietly;
"the ornament that Lady Anna Maclain carried upon
her bracelet was a heart of green jade."
He bowed to the coroner and sat again. Mean-
while there was a buzz of talk over in the corner where
the servants were sitting, and the voice of a maid-
servant was heard declaring that monsieur le comte
seemed to know everything. She was a Frenchwoman,
Berthe, the maid to Lady Anna.
"That is true," she cried in her own tongue; "the
heart of green jade is missing, monsieur, but it was
there when Madame went out to meet Captain Fer-
man."
A juryman asked that the words should be trans-
lated, but the coroner silenced him, and declared that
the maid would give her evidence presently, and that
everything must be taken in its proper sequence. Hug-
gins the boatman could add nothing further to what
was already known, and was soon dismissed. Equally
laconic was the evidence of the police surgeon, who
took refuge behind the Home Office.
"The lady has undoubtedly been poisoned," he said,
"but there is no evidence as yet to show the nature
of the drug employed."


20 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"You do not think it is antipyrin, or any of the
nostrums for headache commonly used by women?"
"I am quite convinced it is not."
"There is no evidence of any violence having been
used? This poor lady could not possibly have been
the victim of one who attempted to rob her?"
"There is absolutely no justification for such an
assumption."
"Do you think that the drug was self-adminis-
tered?"
"It is impossible to say 'Yes' or 'No' to that.
No poison has been found in her rooms."
"And the Home Office will make its report imme-
diately?"
"I am momentarily expecting it."
"Could there be any possible connection between this
trinket which is missing and the crime you believe to
have been committed?"
The doctor smiled.
"As much as between the wood of that table and
the Emperor of China."
The coroner now said that they were to have the
privilege of hearing Prince Maurevale, who immedi-
ately advanced to the table. A hush fell upon the
room, and all listened intently.
"I believe I am correct in saying that you have
known the dead lady for some years?" the coroner
began. The witness inclined his head.
"She was among the number of your . intimate
friends?"
"Undoubtedly so—I mourn for her loss as for a
sister."


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 21
"Had you any reason to believe that she was in
trouble?"
Maurevale hesitated.
"She had the troubles of a woman whose birthright
is obligation. I do not think we need enter into
that?"
"Then you wish us to understand that you know
of nothing which might have impelled her to self-de-
struction?"
"She was the last woman in the world, the very
last, about whom such a thought could arise."
"Had she been long at Highlands, sir?"
"She came with us from London—three weeks
ago."
"Being then in an ordinary state of health?"
"I have never seen her better. She had great hopes
of aiding me in my work—it gave her pleasure to
do so."
"She was, I think, the only sister of the present
Earl of Farrard, who is in Australia. May I tell
the jury that she was much beloved in society?"
"It would be very proper to do so."
"And that she had many friends?"
"Certainly—her friends were numerous. She was
a clever woman, but not too clever to be popular."
"Sympathetic, I may take it?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And without enemies?"
Maurevale shrugged his shoulders. It was obvious
that the question was unwelcome.
"The humblest have their enemies," he said. "It
is a privilege they share with the greatest. This poor


22 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
lady has earned the title to that distinction. She was
not immune."
"That we understand. She would possess both
friends and enemies in the world's common way. But
we are here to investigate what we must consider at
the moment a very terrible crime. I am compelled to
ask you, sir, if you know of any particular circum-
stance in the life of Lady Anna Maclain which would
justify further investigation."
Again Maurevale displayed his displeasure.
"I have no right to speak," he said at last; "it
is for the police to do their duty. My generalities
will not help you. They may be less than just—they
may be criminal."
"By which I take you to mean that you know of
nothing which is not in the ordinary circumstance of
our daily lives."
"You have put it better than I, sir."
The coroner was highly pleased at the compliment,
and signified to the jury that they should thank the
prince for his assistance. The next witness called was
the local inspector of police, who gave his evidence from
a notebook with the sharp clack of discipline and the
precision of convinced authority.
"I was called to the river at five-forty by a boy from
the Swan Inn. There I found the boat from which
they had taken the body of a lady, subsequently identi-
fied as Lady Anna Maclain. The doctor who had been
the first summoned pronounced her to be dead. He
thought it might be heart disease, but was not sure."
"Did you observe any significant fact—anything
which might help the jury?"


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 23
"Nothing except that the lady's jewellery had not
been interfered with, and that a man's walking-stick
was in the boat."
This confession, uttered in the hard, metallic voice
peculiar to policemen, instantly arrested the attention
of every one in the room. Shuffling feet and bent
heads denoted the importance of the evidence. The
coroner took his pen into his hand again and pre-
pared to write.
"What kind of a stick was it, inspector?"
"It is here, sir—the jury can see it for themselves."
He turned about to speak to a sergeant at the door,
and the sergeant to a constable in the passage without.
Presently the stick with the ivory knob was passed
from hand to hand and laid upon the oak table before
the coroner; and this was the moment when the Count
of Fours, who had watched the whole proceeding with
startled eyes, rose again to his feet and intervened for
the second time.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but the stick is mine."
The coroner nodded his head, and said, "Presently,
sir," meaning that the count's turn would come. Then
he continued to question the inspector.
"The medical evidence in the possession of the police
points, I understand, to a very serious crime. Can
you help the jury with any further information, in-
spector?"
"Not at present, sir. The case is in the hands of
the authorities at Reading, and I believe that an arrest
will be made presently."
"It would not be in the interests of justice to speak
of that?"


M THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Not on this occasion, sir"
He retired from the box to give place to the Count
of Fours. This handsome old gentleman began with
an expression of regret and pity which greatly moved
all who heard it. He declaimed upon the dead lady's
wealth and his admiration for her many virtues. Then
he spoke of the circumstance.
"The stick is mine, sir—I have missed it some days.
It would now appear that I left it in the boat upon
the last occasion of my embarkment. There is no
importance to be attached to it. I am glad to be able
to say so."
"Otherwise you can tell the jury nothing?"
The count paused and wiped his forehead with a very
large handkerchief.
"There is one thing," he said; "a box of green
jade has been mentioned. I would wish the jury to
know that madame, my wife, gave that to Lady Anna."
"We are much obliged to you for the information,
count. Would you be good enough to describe the
ornament?"
"Certainly, it was a bon-bon box bought by my wife
at Pekin. Its value lay in the beauty of the jade—
nothing more. The Chinaman who sold it spoke of a
superstition. I pay no heed to that."
"Can you remember the nature of the superstition?"
"I fear not—these silly tales do not interest an
intellectual man."
"And you attach no importance to its absence?"
*' Why should I? The poor lady would have lost
it as she stepped into the boat. Nothing could be
more natural."


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 25
"It seems so. We are very much indebted to you,
count. Perhaps upon another occasion, madame la
comtesse may tell us something more of this box. Let
the maid Berthe now be called."
The count returned to his seat, and the maid Berthe,
who had been devoted to the dead woman, was called
to the table. Her distress was very real, and over-
came her utterly for a little while. When she re-
covered her self-control a truly Celtic outburst opened
her evidence, and she declared hysterically that Captain
Ferman should answer for the crime.
There was a general cry of astonishment in the
room. Maurevale drew his chair nearer to the table,
and, resting his chin upon his hand, watched the girl
with an eye which no gesture, not even the lightest,
escaped.
The name of Captain Ferman had been blurted out
without any reticence, and in a way the coroner pro-
nounced to be improper.
"Come, come, my girl," he cried, remembering that
the jury but half understood the jargon of French
and English in which the maid spoke, " you must wait
until the questions are put to you "; and then to the
count he said, "Would you, sir, be so obliging as to
tell the jury just what she does say?"
The count agreed, and advanced again to the table.
He was obviously very nervous, and his nervousness in-
creased as each answer was received. It might have
been thought that he was the friend of the man whose
name had been dragged in thus at the last moment,
and that he resented the testimony that he must pass
on to the jury.


26 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Now, my girl, please to answer us categorically.
You were Lady Anna's maid?"
"Yes, certainly, sir."
"How long had you been in her service?"
"One, two, three years—after she returned from
India."
"We have heard nothing of India. It would not
be necessary, I suppose, gentlemen" (this to the jury).
"She was a good mistress to you?"
"I would have died for her."
"Did she take you into her confidence: tell you
about her troubles or anything of that kind?"
"Ah, oui—but always of Captain Ferman. I shall
never forget, jamais"
"Please to calm yourself. You say she spoke of
Captain Ferman. Can you tell us anything of it?"
"His Highness know all about it. She cannot
abide the captain—she run away from him."
"Come, now, you are talking nonsense. She dis-
liked this gentleman and avoided him. Is that what
you wish to tell the jury?"
"Yes, sir; I wish to say so with all my heart."
"Did her ladyship tell you as much?"
"Every day—when the captain wrote."
"Can you remember any particular occasion?"
"This is Saturday—well, she spoke of him on Sun-
day morning. There was a letter then."
"Was she upset by it?"
"She cried, messieurs, cried a very long time. Then
she said she must go to London the next day to see
the captain."
"Did she carry out that intention?"


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 27
"No, messieurs, there was a telegram."
"Did you read it?—you need not be afraid to tell
us."
Berthe blushed until her face was dangerously crim-
son.
"She left it upon the dressing-table—I must see it."
"And the words of it"
"It said, 'Tuesday if possible—otherwise Wednes-
day.'"
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more, sir."
"Do you know if Lady Anna went to London on
either of these days?"
"She went on Tuesday, sir."
"But not on the day of her death?"
"No, sir; the captain came here upon that day."
It is needless to say with what astonishment these
significant remarks were received. The coroner wrote
down every word that she spoke, and the inspector of
police made copious notes.
"You say that Captain Ferman came to this house
on Tuesday last? Are you quite sure of that?"
"I do not say that he came to this house. But
he was at the house of the boats, and madame met him
there."
"How do you come to know that?"
"I am gone to the village to buy some writing-
paper. The short way home is by the river gate and
the little house where they keep the boats. Then I
am much frightened. I hear a voice, and I know it
for that of the captain. A lady is with him—it is
madame."


28 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
It was to be observed that she fell to the French
idiom and the present tense as the shame of her con-
fession seized upon her and prompted her to anger.
The coroner waited a little while for her to resume,
and then continued:
"You are willing to swear that you saw Captain
Ferman?"
"I will swear by the crucifix, monsieur."
"Could you tell the jury what time it was?"
"It would have been at ten o'clock, sir."
"Are the village shops open for the sale of note-
paper at ten o'clock?"
The girl went crimson.
"No, sir; the shop was shut."
"And you did not buy any note-paper?"
"No, sir; I did not buy the paper."
The jury nodded their heads to each other at this
point, and the coroner made one of those gestures
aside which might have implied that he disbelieved the
witness. At this point, however, Stella Insole, who
had listened to the evidence with an intensity which
betrayed the most poignant interest, whispered to one
of the young men who stood by her chair, and he
in turn whispered to the prince. The latter thanked
him with an inclination of the head, and immediately
passed on the message to the coroner, who began to
question the maid anew.
"What did you do when you had seen the cap-
tain?"
"I came away at once, sir."
"You did not watch him?"
"Oh, monsieur!"


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 29
"But you can swear that you heard Lady Anna's
voice?"
"If I should mistake it, sir!"
"And being convinced that it was she—what then?"
"I returned to the house and to her bedroom. I
wish to make sure."
"Did you find the bedroom empty?"
"No, sir."
"It was not empty—who was there, then?"
"Monsieur Blandy, the steward, he was there."
"Oh, but that was very unusual—what was he doing
there?"
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but I was a-shutting
of a winder."
The interruption came from the far corner of the
room, where Mr. Blandy, the steward, watched the
proceedings in the company of certain maids and foot-
men whom it had been deemed wiser to make confidants
in this affair.
He was a bald-headed, red-nosed man, who was
utterly taken aback by this accusation. Perhaps an
observer would have said that the emphasis of his
protest was a little unnecessary and possible of mis-
interpretation; but he continued to address the com-
pany round about in muttered phrases of complaint,
and did not cease even when he was told to hold his
tongue.
"You saw Mr. Blandy in Lady Anna's room. Are
you able to say what he was doing there?"
"Yes, sir; he was turning over the papers on the
writing-table."
The admission astounded the court. Quick glances


30 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
were exchanged between the coroner and the jury; the
inspector looked closely at the witness and began to
bite the end of his pencil. A wasp indeed, this pale-
faced, smooth-tongued Frenchwoman, who had wor-
shipped her dead mistress as a divinity.
"Are you quite sure of this, my girl? Will you
swear it on your oath?"
"Oh yes, sir; I am quite sure."
"And you repeat that when you entered your mis-
tress's bedroom—but what time was that?"
"I did not look at the time, sir."
"Shall we say it was after ten o'clock?"
"Oh yes, sir, it was after ten o'clock."
"You entered the bedroom, and Mr. Blandy was
there?"
"He was, sir."
"Turning over the papers on the writing-table?"
"I will swear it."
"Was the electric light turned on?"
"Over the table, sir."
"And it remained on—this light over the table?"
"No, sir; he put it out when he heard me com-
ing."
A murmur of surprise greeted this new admission,
and did not subside for some moments. Many eyes
were watching the unfortunate Blandy, who could con-
trol himself no longer, but boldly declared the girl to
be a liar. The coroner, however, silenced him by the
stern reminder that he would be heard presently, and
continued his task.
"What did Mr. Blandy say when you discovered
him?"


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 31
"He said that the wind was blowing the things
about."
"In the room, of course. Did you agree with him?"
"No, sir, there was no wind."
"And you told him so?"
"I told him he had better go quick, or I would let
my mistress know."
"And he went at once?"
"At once, sir."
"Without saying any more about the window?"
"He never mentioned it, sir."
"But he spoke about the wind?"
"Oh, I did not listen to that."
It now became clear that the girl had nothing more
to tell the jury, and she was permitted to go, having
contrived in a few short sentences to incriminate two
people and to put the court in some doubts as to her
veracity.
Mr. Blandy was the next witness to be called, and
he floundered to the table in a great state of heat and
excitement. His early statement was severely censured
by the coroner, who told him very plainly that he must
behave himself.
"This girl is a liar through and through," he be-
gan, and then, as though to impress the jury, he added,
"a French liar."
"Oh come, sir, that is not the way to give your
evidence. Tell the jury what you were doing in Lady
Anna's room on the night of Wednesday last."
"I have told the gentlemen—I was there to shut a
winder."
"What took you upstairs at such a time?"


82 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"A noise of the things blowing about."
"You could hear it from the hall below?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you were in the hall?"
"Well, not exactly in the hall—I was in the cor-
ridor."
"Which corridor?"
"The one that leads to the pantry."
The coroner turned to the prince and asked him a
question. He looked very serious upon receiving an
answer.
"I am told that the corridor you name is on the
opposite side of the house. What have you to say to
that?"
"Why, the wind was blowing the blinds about there,
and so naturally I thought of the bedroom upstairs.
Is that to stand against me?"
"No one is suggesting such a thing. We merely
want you to tell the truth."
"Well, there it is then. I'm no liar like that girl."
"Did you enter more than one bedroom?"
"Yes, two or three"
"Whose were they?"
"His Highness's to begin with."
"Is that near to the room occupied by Lady Anna?"
"No, it's in the other wing."
"So you went straight from one to the other—neg-
lecting other rooms?"
"I went to the rooms I thought the most important.
Lady Anna was next door to being mistress of this
house."
The coroner passed it over.


THE JURY IS PERPLEXED 83
"She was an important guest?"
"She was Number One from the start."
"And you were most desirous of making her com-
fortable?"
"I was indeed, sir."
A further question was about to be put—the coroner
had it upon his lips in fact—when a telegram was
brought in for the inspector of police, and by him
passed over the table. When the coroner had read
it also he handed it to Maurevale and then to the
jury. Its contents, however, were not made public,
and presently, somewhat to the surprise of all present,
the inquiry was adjourned.
"Until this day week, gentlemen, at the Bull Hotel.
You must not let anything that happens elsewhere in-
fluence your minds in the meantime. I am asked by
his Highness to thank you for your attention. The
fees will be paid next time."
The house-party discussed the affair in scattered
groups as they crossed the great cloister to the castle
precincts. Very voluble and full of his grievance, the
old Count of Fours recalled the episode of the stick,
and declaimed against the coincidence as he accom-
panied Lady Constance Heliers to the house. The
university boys kept together, and were as awed as
young men ever are in the presence of death. The
prince walked with Stella Insole, who waited with
trembling heart for him to speak.
"Must I not know?" she asked at last. The ques-
tion had been expected by him from the moment the
telegram came, and was not to be avoided.


34s THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Yes," he rejoined reluctantly. "It is as we feared,
and Ferman is arrested."
She did not answer him. Her face was colourless,
and her heart beating rapidly. Perhaps for the first
time'the prince realised how much of womanly sweet-
ness and sympathy she added to her beauty. This day
revealed so many things.
"Let us go to my room—I have much to do, Stella,"
he said, " and you must help me now."


CHAPTER IV
THE PRINCE AND STELLA INSOLE
Peince Maurevale's room at Highlands is in the west-
ern wing, over against the great laboratory, which is
famous, not only throughout the country, but the
world.
It is a very large apartment with a domed ceiling,
panelled after the manner of Joseph Vernet. Luxury
abounds therein; but a love of ancient art is the pre-
dominating note, and there are paintings of the early
Italian and Spanish schools which connoisseurs travel
far to see.
Perhaps, however, there is no ornament of his sanc-
tum which the prince values so highly as the great glass
case which contains the addresses and the gifts which
have reached him from the various peace societies of
Europe. These have come from many nations; from
Berlin and from Paris, from the Czar of Russia and the
President at the White House. They all bear witness
to a common recognition of a noble aim.
To this room came Maurevale with Stella Insole im-
mediately after the inquest in the chaplain's library.
His assistant, that pale-faced youth, Otto Walther,
whose devotion was unquestioned, sat at a table in the
corner when the pair entered; but at a sign he with-
drew, and then the prince turned to Stella and bade her
speak.
85


86 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"You have much to tell me," he said, in a kindly tone.
"Is not this our opportunity, Stella?"
She answered him, to his surprise, that she could tell
him nothing—and emotion mastering her, she repeated
this assurance with tears.
The confession was wholly true. The supreme secret
would never be his unless his lips forced her own to utter
it. The passionate love for him which had tortured her
these many months lay locked in the treasure-house of
her heart. And he, Maurevale, who believed that he
could read woman as an open book, did but say that she
grieved for her dead friend, Anna Maclain, and would
not be comforted.
Her father, Lord Kerrimore, was a fine type of the
Irish nobleman, who had rendered Maurevale some
friendly service in Egypt many years ago. When trou-
ble came in Ireland and the father was beggared, the
prince remembered his obligation and fulfilled it. The
old baron received an altogether preposterous fee as the
master of the Maurevale stable at Newmarket; the only
son, Albert, was in a Lancer regiment; the two daugh-
ters, Stella and Kitty, became the children of High-
lands, and made it their home.
Maurevale liked young society—light and laughter
and beauty were essential to his well-being. These
qualities he found in Lord Kerrimore's daughters—but
Stella, the youngest, had begun to interest him lately
by the possession of other gifts. She was a critic of
perception above the ordinary. Her talk was. often
witty and sometimes shrewd. She studied the sciences
laboriously, but wept over her own inability to master
them. In the end she could confess to herself that she


THE PRINCE AND STELLA INSOLE 87
was merely a woman, and that any attempt to win the
prince's favour by empiric subterfuge could but end in
winning his contempt.
She was foolish, of course, to dream about such a
man, and she knew that she was foolish. The succes-
sion of distinguished guests at the castle showed her
women of many stations and diverse gifts, descendants
of great houses, the daughters of millionaires, the noted
beauties of society succumbing to Maurevale's dominant
personality, and utterly conquered by it. Her life at
Highlands permitted her to hear almost daily the
ancient story that this was a man who would never know
the love of woman. She assented to the proposition,
believed it for a while, and then came to doubt it. And
her doubt was awakened upon the day Lady Anna told
her that her faith was false.
She had believed that the dead woman was to become
the prince's wife, and nothing but death had altered
her belief.
It is easy to imagine that circumstances such as these
forbade her to reply to Maurevale as he wished or to
be other than embarrassed by his interrogation. She
could not answer him frankly, and her silence grieved
him.
"So," he said, " it would appear that even my friends
turn from me?"
She protested against it hotly, watching him with
burning eyes as he paced the long room, and wondering
where she would find courage. Presently she said:
"Is it not that your friends may fear to speak—do
they not trust you absolutely?"
He turned and looked at her.


38 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"In what, Stella?"
"In that you, who have rewarded right, will know
how to avenge wrong."
"Do you mean, then, that I shall leave my work to
become a policeman?"
He came and laid a hand upon her shoulder.
"Stella, do you believe that Captain Ferman loved
Anna Maclain?"
"I do most certainly believe it; but I believe no less
that my sister loved him."
"Knowing my opinion of him, and that I had for-
bidden him this house?"
"Forgive me; a woman's love owes nothing to an-
other's opinion. It is all-sufficient in itself."
"True, true. Too often do we forget how far our
hearts lie from what the world would teach us. I for-
bade Jack Ferman my house. Why? Because his ambi-
tion was greater than his friendship. He would have
sold me to the English Government. He wished to open
these doors and possess himself of my secret. He meas-
ured his intellect against mine, and found it to be a
child's. And now you tell me that I must save him!
I ask you why, child?"
"Because you know that he is innocent."
"I know! Did you hear them at the inquest?"
"Yes, but they were poor people who do not think."
"And their evidence is false?"
"I believe it to be mistaken."
"Ah, but let us consider. It is clear that this lady,
who stood as my own sister to me—it is clear that she
has been the subject of a foul crime. The last person
seen with her is Jack Ferman. He writes to her making


THE PRINCE AND STELLA INSOLE 39
secret appointments. I know, for she herself told me,
that he has been trying to make her the instrument of
his espionage for some months past. She resists him—
implores him to abandon his dishonourable task—to
leave her. Then she is found dead, poisoned in my
house. Am I to suffer that dishonour?"
"You will avenge the crime."
He stood and raised a hand in solemn witness.
"By the help of Heaven, yes, I will avenge her."
He went to the window and looked over the quad-
rangle.
"Observe," he said, " that is Lady Heliers' carriage.
She is the first to go. A woman who has spent her days
protesting against the selfishness of modern life is the
very first to leave me when I have need of her."
"Is it not well that one who was so bitter an enemy
to her we loved should leave us at this time?"
The prince turned his dark eyes upon her.
"Can we be sure of love or enmity?"
"A woman can."
"Ah, you correct me. I shall accept a woman's judg-
ment. Her flight, you see, is not even dignified. She
is leaving a message with the count, I doubt not for
me. The count himself paces the quadrangle impa-
tiently because madame, his wife, will not rise and quit
my house. He would fly from this vulgar scene of death
and escape the searching eyes which are already watch-
ing him. The night may permit him to go, and to-mor-
row we shall know him no more. So much for these
sacred friendships. Now let us see what our servants
are doing."
Maurevale crossed the room to one of the windows


40 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
upon the opposite side, and there looked out upon the
kitchen court. This was a paved quadrangle which
showed him a group of men-servants gathered about
the affable, if suspected, Blandy. The steward was
gesticulating wildly, and plainly talking in loud tones.
Presently a bell summoned the men, and they went their
ways, while Mr. Blandy himself stood a little while in
deep thought. Then he also crossed the court with
quick steps, and, going toward the stable-yard, was
lost to their view.
"Do you see," said Maurevale, with a sigh, "this
man was called a faithful servant yesterday. To-day
he is preparing to leave my house. He will go by night,
and stealthily. Should I not say, Stella, that he is a
guilty man?"
"Or one who is very much afraid"
"I see, and fear shunning the ordeal adds to it a
thousandfold. To-morrow Mr. Blandy may be in the
custody of the police, and I, in spite of the service he
has rendered me, powerless to help him. Is not that a
heavy punishment for an indiscretion—is it justice,
Stella?"
"I think you will keep Mr. Blandy."
(< j »
"And punish the real author of this crime."
He sighed, and fell once more to pacing the room as
a man who protested silently against the role he must
fulfil.
"Our ambitions tower to the stars, to fall again as
birds that are stricken. Then we lie crouching on the
earth because it is our destiny. Do you know, Stella,
that I was upon the point of attaining my desires,


THE PRINCE AND STELLA INSOLE 41
fables that they seem? Do you know that Europe has
begun to believe me when I have said there shall be no
more war? I was to go to Berlin this week and state
the conditions upon which I will entrust my inventions
to a chosen nation for the preservation of the peace of
the world. Of all the zealots who supported me in this,
Anna was the most devoted. Now death strikes her
down. The lust of money forces us back upon the
primal instincts. Her devotion to me awakens the appe-
tite of the brute. She is the enemy—she must pay the
price."
"Do you believe all this of Captain Ferman?"
He paused, and looked at her with searching eyes.
"Why do you ask me that?"
"Because all our hope is in you. Oh, you will save
Jack Ferman!"
"If he is innocent I will save him. Tell your sister
so. If he is innocent. Meanwhile, I say that you must
be my ally. We must begin our task now, this very
moment. All our great schemes must be forgotten until
it is accomplished. There must be neither rest nor
weariness. It is for her sake, Stella; for the sake of a
woman who has loved me."
"Tell me what to do, and you shall have no more
devoted servant."
"I believe it—herein fortune is kind to me, for it
seems to tell me that what I have lost may be found
again. You are a woman, and you have a woman's
instincts. Use them for your sister's sake. Her love is
not less noble because it is unselfish. I must think well
of Ferman because she commands it. Help me to do
so, Stella."


42 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Ah, sir, if I had but the cleverness"
"You will find it in love, child. We shall be alone in
this henceforth. Let us work as though Anna herself
were watching and helping us."
He paused once more, listening to a sound of wheels
which came up from the courtyard below—and as he
did so a smile of contempt crossed his face.
"As I told you, the amiable count has persuaded
madame, his distressed wife, to flee this dangerous coun-
try and return to the hospitable and less curious shores
of France. He was a man sent by the French Govern-
ment to beg the secret of my work. I will not say that
he returns empty-handed, for madame goes with him.
Do you think it odd that his stick was found in the
boat, Stella?"
"I thought it odd that he should make so much
of it."
"Exactly, but there was something else which was
made light of. Did you think of that also?"
She looked up with wondering eyes.
"The heart of green jade"
"Ah, truly, the heart of green jade, which the doctor
told us was of no more account than the table before
him."
"Did you believe that?"
He answered her very solemnly.
"So little that when I shall have found the heart of
green jade I shall find also the murderer of Anna
Maclain."


CHAPTER V
THE LAW, BUT NOT NECESSARILY THE MAJESTY THEREOF
Sib. Malcolm Morrison, the famous chief inspector,
is wont to complain, and the complaint is just, that
there would be few undetected murderers in England
if he were called to the scene at an early hour.
A practice so desirable is frustrated chiefly by the
vanity of a local police. These take a case in hand,
frequently bungle it, obliterate the vital clues, utter
many fine platitudes, and then in despair communicate
with Scotland Yard. Sir Malcolm Morrison comes in
as a physician at the eleventh hour, when the patient
is already in extremis, and the man upon the spot has
nothing further to do but to pocket the fees his ignor-
ance has earned him. Let it be admitted without pref-
ace that such an indictment of bureaucracy could not
be made when the search for the murderer of Anna
Maclain began.
So swift was the action of Scotland Yard that an
almost immediate arrest followed, and London heard
with an amazement most profound that one of the most
popular young soldiers of the day was in custody.
The handsome, witty, dare devil Jack Ferman, the
woman's favourite, the friend of princes, the notorious
rider—he in custody for the murder of a woman he had
been known to worship. Little wonder that the social
world seemed to stand still, that nothing else was as
much as mentioned among those who were in "the
48


44 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
movement." Incredible, said society. And disgraceful,
added his friends, unless the evidence were over-
whelming.
Of this evidence the world learned but little at the
police courts. Proof that Ferman had been with the
dead woman on the night of the tragedy was put in,
and his own refusal to give any account of that secret
meeting. A remand was asked for and granted by a
magistrate, who believed that the police knew their
business and would never make such a mistake as this.
Excitement waxed, and became as a fever among the
captain's friends. Lady Anna's would-be avengers were
not less numerous.
These were the facts when that distinguished officer
of police, Sir Malcolm Morrison, alighted from a
brougham at the door of Highlands Castle upon the
afternoon following the inquest, and asked for his
Highness Prince Maurevale.
A quiet and dignified personality this, six feet in
height, dressed with precise care, wearing gloves of
lavender suede, and a silk hat which could brave Bond
Street unashamed.
The interview took place not in the great study where
the prince had received Stella Insole earlier in the day,
but in the small red library to the right of the hall as
you enter the castle. Hither a footman, who went warily
before so distinguished an officer of police as Sir Mal-
colm, conducted the visitor, and here the prince met
him five minutes later.
"Sir Malcolm Morrison—that is a name I should
know well"
"And I that of Prince Maurevale no less."


THE LAW
45
And then he said, with a light wave of the hand:
"But I regret the circumstances, sir."
Maurevale replied, still looking at the card in his
hand.
"And I no less. You have come here to get my help,
of course."
"If you can help me! At present the case seems
quite clear. This young madman poisoned her because
she would not marry him."
"You believe that, sir"
"The police believe everything and nothing. It is
as far as the evidence leads us."
"But the coroner's jury"
Sir Malcolm smiled, and brushed it aside, as it were,
with a gesture of the hand.
"We must have our farces in England. I have
read the evidence. Very amusing and, in its way,
instructive."
"And yet it is evidence which led you to arrest Cap-
tain Ferman."
Sir Malcolm raised his brows.
"The maid Berthe?"
"No other."
"I will not debate it. Permit me to ask a question in
my turn. How did you come to be at Pangbourne at
that hour in the morning?"
"Because my boatman, Willis, is an early riser."
"He missed the boat?"
"Yes."
"Which he knew to be out on the previous evening?"
"Certainly—he alarmed the house. There is another
reason. Miss Insole, my guest, was anxious concern-


46 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
ing Lady Anna. She was awake when the alarm
came"
Again Sir Malcolm seemed to listen.
"Why was she anxious?"
"A woman's anxiety. Lady Anna had left the din-
ner-table pleading headache. It would be natural."
"But uncommon in your circles. Pardon the levity.
I will see the room and the boat, if you will permit me."
"Indeed, I will accompany you. The others have
already been here."
"Then I shall expect to do little good."
They rose and went upstairs together. The door of
the dead woman's room had been sealed by the local
police; but Sir Malcolm broke it without ceremony and
went in. Everything was just as Lady Anna had left
it. A long cupboard was half-full of her gowns and
hats from Paris and Vienna. The table was littered with
brushes and ornaments, but not with bottles, for these
had already been sent to London for analysis. An open
book lay upon the bed—the cover of which had been
turned down as though for some one who wished to lie
there without undressing.
The chief inspector made a swift survey of this room,
but it seemed to afford him but little satisfaction. From
time to time he asked a question of Maurevale, but did
not appear to pay much attention to the answers.
"They are well off, the Farrards?"
"Pardon me, I know nothing of their income."
"But it would be fair to ask the question now. Are
you not the target for every adventurer in Europe?"
"They say so. A man who strives for peace between
the nations begins by making many enemies."


THE LAW
47
"Of course he does. The finer his mind the
grosser the minds by which he is surrounded. They
come here to steal your inventions. You are aware
of it."
Maurevale smiled.
"They afford me much amusement, Sir Malcolm."
"Did the poor lady know anything of them?"
"As much as I did"
"She would have done. Ferman, I remember, is on
the staff."
"You are suggesting"
"Nothing at all. But if I were on the staff at
Whitehall, and I heard that a certain distinguished
visitor had invented a high explosive which woidd make
war against the power possessing it impossible, I think
I should want to know what it was."
Maurevale smiled again, but would not take up the
issue. Presently Sir Malcolm said:
"By the way, do you ever use coniine here?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Oh, I'll tell you. A preparation of coniine has been
found in Ferman's rooms."
"Indeed, and yet it was not coniine which poisoned
this poor lady."
"You say"
"A mere opinion."
"But I am profoundly interested."
"Then I do not think that she was poisoned by
coniine."
"They won't agree with you—and if they don't,
Ferman will hang."
"For a crime he did not commit; I think not."


48 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Sir Malcolm drummed with his fingers upon the
marble-topped washhand stand.
"You have other ideas, sir?"
"Certainly, but they are no more than ideas."
"You say then?"
"That this poor lady was poisoned not by coniine
but by a combination of drugs, of which one was cer-
tainly the poisonous rhus."
"Ah, an Indian drug"
"No, Chinese."
"Then that would seem to say"
Maurevale shrugged his shoulders.
"That we are as far as Streatly is from Pekin from
the author of this crime."
It was Sir Malcolm's turn to smile now. These fine
theories were altogether too distant for him. He had
a plain case for a jury, and would not complicate it.
Why should he?
"I fear you will not convince us, sir," he said. "For
Ferman's sake I wish it were otherwise. The evidence—
I beg your pardon, but is that a button lying by the
door—a red button?"
He crossed the room, attracted by a bright red object
which lay upon the black mat against the door. Evi-
dently their entrance had disturbed the mat and brought
this button to light. The inspector scanned it very
closely, then passed it to the prince.
"What do you make of that?"
"It is the ordinary button of the Legion d'Honneur."
"How very curious that it should be here. Let us
see, among your guests were"
"It would belong to the Count of Fours."


THE LAW
49
"Ah, that unfortunate count. His stick—the box—
and now the button. Evidently good reputation has
quarrelled with him. Well, I will take care of it. There
is just one thing more. May I see your steward, Mr.
Blandy?"
"Certainly—if he is in the house."
"But you do not imagine?"
"Oh, so many things happen."
They left the room and returned to the hall. There
Maurevale rang the bell and asked the footman to send
Mr. Blandy immediately. While they waited, the talk
was of common things—of Maurevale's horses about to
run at Newmarket, of his patronage of the new Aero
Club, of the stupidity of politics and the dangers of
the European situation. But no further reference was
made to the one subject until the footman returned,
and said with some confusion that Mr. Blandy had left
the castle and would not return, they thought, until
nightfall.
"Ah," said Sir Malcolm, "that is unfortunate."
But he made no further observation whatever and
drove off as he had come, a shrewd and wary ally of the
law whose majesty he worshipped.
Maurevale, however, went straight to his own room,
and as he went his butler Child stopped him in the corri-
dor and told him the news.
"I don't know how to tell your Highness—but
they've come for Mr. Blandy."
"Ah," said Maurevale, " I was expecting them." And
that was all.


CHAPTER VI
THE PEINCE AND THE ACCUSED
The governor of the prison had been advised by the
authorities that some courtesy beyond ordinary must
be shown to Prince Maurevale of Dara, and that the
unusual privilege of a private interview with the pris-
oner had been accorded to him.
This was nominally in the interests of justice, but
more truthfully in those of a common official purpose to
stand well with a man whom all Europe was seeking
to propitiate.
So it came about that the men met in a private room
by the library, and that no warder either watched or
listened at a forbidding grating.
It is needless to say with what surprise Jack Ferman
heard the name of his visitor, and with what vague
suspicions he received him.
In some sense Maurevale of Dara had been the author
of all his ills—alienating the affections of the woman
he had loved, and creating by his genius those tempta-
tions he had been unable to resist. And now this man
came to him in prison—upon a mission he could but
surmise and resent.
John Philip Ferman, as his name was written cor-
rectly, had just attained his thirty-fifth year, was fair
and florid in complexion, and possessed of those sol-
dierly manners which women especially find pleasing.
His antipathy to Maurevale of Dara had been entirely
50


THE PRINCE AND THE ACCUSED 51
official until Lady Anna Maclain visited Highlands
Castle, when it passed to a bitter jealousy which the
fires of a racial prejudice intensified.
The humiliation, nay, the actual dangers, of his
present position were acute enough that this new ordeal
must be added to them.
And yet he went to the room, hoping he knew not
what of the encounter.
The prince, who was dressed in a grey frock suit, and
carried a heavy stick with a silver knob, stood to receive
the prisoner, and held out his hand to him very
willingly.
"Captain Ferman, believe me that I have come here
in the hope of serving you"
"I must believe, prince—but I'm glad you told me."
Maurevale ignored the obvious gaucherie of the
retort, and pushed a chair forward.
"Shall we sit, Captain Ferman?"
"Then it's to be a long pow-wow."
"As you shall choose to make it. And first will you
permit me a certain freedom in recounting an older
story?"
"I'll permit you to say anything you please if
you'll tell me why they say I murdered a woman
for whom I would have given twenty lives if I'd
had 'em."
"We shall come to that by-and-by. To begin, you
have been engaged for some months in trying to steal
the secrets of my laboratory at Highlands, so far as
they concerned your experts at Whitehall."
Jack Ferman leaned back in the plain deal chair, and
his face flushed crimson. So matter-of-fact had been


52 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
the accusation, so devoid of anger or of malice, that he
was at a loss to find a word in answer to it. And there
he sat, colouring like an overgrown schoolboy, and yet
wishful to tell nothing but the truth.
"Well," he stammered at last, "that's so, and I'm
not ashamed of it. They're all after 'em—and why
shouldn't my country get em? We'd have paid you
a bigger price than the Germans"
Maurevale silenced him with a gesture.
"I bore you no ill-will, though I considered it wiser
for prudence' sake to deny you my house. Your coun-
try has claims upon me, but none which determined me
at present to depart from my own intentions where
these secrets are concerned. You acted in what you
believed to be the national interest, and I held you
blameless. Then came your attempts to suborn my
friends to your own ends. You tempted Lady Anna
Maclain to betray me, and were rebuffed. Do I speak
the truth, Captain Ferman?"
The soldier bent his head; he would not look his adver-
sary in the face.
"It's true—I can't deny it."
"And yet it is a most dishonourable thing to admit."
"It depends upon your point of view—I was doing
my duty."
"Come, come, sir; your duty would have been richly
rewarded had you succeeded in tempting this unhappy
woman." <
"I know it, nevertheless"
"Pray spare me that. Your present situation may
be in some part due to the folly of officials, but in a
great measure it is the consequence of your own acts.


THE PRINCE AND THE ACCUSED 53
Let us admit as much, and we have made a good be-
ginning."
"Then I won't deny it. I was wrong to tempt Anna;
but we both wanted the money, and we wanted it
badly."
Maurevale sighed.
"Had you come to me and said so, I would have
spared you many hours of shame. Now they are inevi-
table—for you and for her. If there is any hope left
to me, it is that I may save you from the final conse-
quence of this unsoldierly career to which you have so
long devoted yourself. For that I am come here—to
be your friend because you were the friend of a woman
I revered."
He spoke with a deep emotion which the other could
not resist. Jack Ferman had played with the deeper
truths of life for many years, but now the play was
ended, and he saw himself upon the brink of an unimag-
ined consequence and drew back afraid. He had loved
Anna Maclain passionately enough—but to passion
cupidity had been allied, and now he must gather the
fruits of his desire and make no complaint because they
were bitter.
"Oh!" he cried, almost as one in despair, " you don't
tell me that any one believes it? Great God! they don't
think I killed her?"
"The police are confident of it. They have found
the poison coniine in your rooms. I hear that the cor-
respondence on both sides is compromising beyond hope.
You actually threatened her in your letters. You spoke
of giving her so many weeks or days in which to answer
your so-called ultimatums. Believe me, there is but a


54 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
plank between you and the scaffold. I doubt even my
own power to save you"
"But—but I say it's a black lie. I never had any
poison that I know of in my life . . . and as for
killing her, I'd as soon have killed my own sister. Why
don't you tell them it's a lie—why don't my friends
speak for me? I loved her madly. Must I be kennelled
here like a dog for every coward to point a finger at?
I tell you I loved her—I loved her madly—she never
could have been anything to me, but I loved her—and
now they say I could do this thing. Oh, you can't
believe it; there isn't an honest man in all London who
would suffer them to say it"
Maurevale endeavoured to calm him, but succeeded
with difficulty. Jack Ferman had gone lightly enough
into this, the battle of his life, but the stress of it had
broken him already, and he, who was the light of the
social booths and bazaars a month ago, now cut a pitiful
figure enough. In truth both Maurevale and the world
which knew him had yet to discover the master key, but
while the one had a clue to it already, the other did not
so much as imagine that it existed.
"My dear fellow," said Maurevale, with some kind-
ness, "let me beg of you to reflect rather what you
shall say than what may be said by others with whom
we have no concern. I am here as your friend, and
implore you to help me. The police say you are guilty;
I believe you to be innocent"
"Thank Heaven for that! If you say so, others will
follow."
"You must help me to say so. You must answer my
questions."


THE PRINCE AND THE ACCUSED 55
"So far as I can answer them."
"But surely there are no secrets at such an hour
as this?"
"I'll tell you when you come to them."
Maurevale sighed and watched the face keenly. This
new manner did not reassure him; there was even the
suspicion of a hangdog look, a something not alto-
gether candid, a sudden lapse to suspicion, a reticence
which did not promise well. But he avoided any remark
upon it and continued, suavely:
"Did you know Lady Constance Heliers at all?"
"Oh yes, I knew her."
"Was she ever in India?"
"Not to my knowledge"
"And therefore would not have been acquainted with
Lady Anna at that time?"
"I never saw her there"
"Although you were stationed—in the Punjab, I
think, for some years?"
"That's so; why do you ask?"
"I have a purpose—sufficient that you did not know
her there. I now come to another point. You were at
Streatly on the night of the murder?"
"I'll not deny it."
"Why did you go there?"
"To tell Anna something she very much wanted to
know."
"Ah—and you feel indisposed to make me your
confidant?"
"I cannot make any man my confidant."
"It is a question of honour as between man and
woman, Captain Ferman?"


66 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"It is so."
"Then I shall respect it absolutely; but you will not
be surprised if others do not do so."
"I am prepared for that."
"And the consequences?"
"Oh, I don't know; I daren't say—I won't think
about it."
"They will compel you to think about it."
"Then let them. It's all the amends I can make her.
Let them do what they like."
Maurevale nodded approvingly.
"You are a brave man, Captain Ferman."
"No, don't call me that. I tell you, I'm a coward—
there isn't a bigger coward in all London to-day. Man,
I just sit in my cell thinking about it all until sweat
runs down my face. I killed her, I, Jack Ferman—I
killed her. And I must stand before my fellow-men
accused of that. I must hear the lawyers arguing it;
I must fight for my life before a jury of my fellow-
men who know nothing about the truth and never will
know anything—when it's all over, I may go to the
scaffold for her—go to my God, charged with the
death of a woman who never had a truer friend. See,
I am telling you my secret thoughts—you, the last man
I would have named to hear them in all the country.
You know now what I am, and you can pity or despise
me as you choose. I tell you I stand in the shadow of
death, and I know it; can I say more?"
He rose abruptly, a spasm of agony upon his face
and his pupils dilated by the visions of his own creation.
"Afraid—for myself, yes, and for her no less. You
know the truth now; you know the whole of it."


THE PRINCE AND THE ACCUSED 57
"Why do you say that? Am I a wizard?"
"No; but you are a man who is clever enough to
believe that I am ready to die for Anna Maclain."
"Shielding the true murderer"
"Ah, that's the question. Tell me who did it, and I
will answer you."
"Then you yourself are in ignorance"
"As ignorant as you are—if you are ignorant."
"Credit me with no superhuman powers, I beg of
you. I am no wiser than the others, but I go to work
in a different way. For instance, this heart of green
jade »
Ferman turned about, but his expression was simply
curious.
"The trinket she wore on her bracelet! What's that
got to do with it?"
"We must ascertain. Do you remember if she wore
it upon the night you speak of?"
"I can't remember. But I've seen it, of course.
A funny little green heart with some Chinese
letters upon it. She used to consider it a sort of
charm."
"Is that why she says, 'Pray that the green heart
may hide me when the hour comes'? The police make
nothing of it—but you will remember it, Captain
Ferman."
"I do remember it, but I cannot speak of it."
"I see—this also concerns her honour. Would the
same apply to her friend, White Hill"
"Ah, you know about that"
"I hear of it from the police."
"Ah, they are a clever lot. Well, White Hill is the


58 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
name of a diamond mine. All the world knows
that"
"Oh, the world is not so well informed"
"But I'll swear it—I'll swear it on my"
"I think not, Captain Ferman, or I shall begin to
lose faith in you . White Hill is the name of a man.
Will you tell me more now"
"Not a word, if it costs me my life."
"White Hill, then, must be protected."
"I cannot tell you. He didn't kill her. He wasn't
in England."
"I will believe you. There is nothing else, I think,
except to speak of courage."
"Do you say it"
"I do say it."
"After what has happened between us!"
"I say it in the name of the woman"
"Oh, you have made a changed man of me; I see that
the sun is shining."
"Beware, however, of your divinities, and—remem-
ber that I may fail."
"You—you fail"
"It is possible. I must speak of it."
"I won't believe you. I shall sleep to-night. God!
What the nights have been!"
"I can understand that. I must make them other-
wise. By the way, you know they have a warrant for
Blandy—my steward?"
"A warrant for Blandy—oh, come. A warrant for
poor old Blandy—ha, ha, ha. Now that's news."
"Yes, and he has bolted."
Ferman became deadly white in an instant.


THE PRINCE AND THE ACCUSED 59
"Bolted! Blandy bolted"
"Yes, I thought you would like to know. Well, I
suppose the time is up. Good-bye, Captain Ferman. I
don't suppose I shall be able to see you again until the
trial. There you will hear of me."
He held out his hand and the other shook it.
But he uttered no word, and his agitation was evi-
dent as Maurevale quitted the room and followed the
warder to the great gate of the prison.


HOUSE OF FIVE GREEN SHUTTERS 61
bottle of Burgundy, despite the season, put some heart
into Mr. Blandy and brought quite unnecessary colour
to his cheeks. He puffed at a cigar vulgarly and om-
nivorously as though to lose none of the smoke for
which he had paid. Becoming bolder each hour he
quitted the hotel at last to visit a music hall, where
none laughed louder at Scotch sallies or misunderstood
them so thoroughly. Finally, he returned to Soho at a
quarter to twelve o'clock, and, still unconscious that he
was watched, he went to his bed to sleep as soundly
as the most innocent man in the country.
It was late next day when he descended to breakfast,
and London by no means at her best. A fetid blight
had settled upon the city and hidden the sun from per-
spiring humanity in the intolerable streets. Though the
month was July the atmosphere should have been that
of humid November, and to make matters worse heavy
showers of hot rain fell at intervals, but did nothing
to clear the air. Upon such a morning Mr. Blandy
opened his newspaper to find that the police were after
him, and that he was wanted in connection with the
murder of Lady Anna Maclain.
He sat at a well-spread breakfast table when he read
this intimation, and had self-control enough to keep the
sheet before his eyes that none might discover his con-
fusion. If his heart drummed and his breathing was
stertorous, none of his neighbours remarked the fact,
for they were foreigners to a man, and would have suf-
fered any eccentricity from that unknown species, the
Englishman. To them, Blandy, the steward, was simply
bora garfon fretting for his food. And he, in turn, ig-
nored their presence, for was not he remembering that


62 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he had given his name to Alphonse, the proprietor of
the house, and that the first fool who asked for it would
most certainly get it?
He, Arthur Blandy, wanted for murder! It had come
to that, then, after twenty years of honourable service.
He, who had been the model for the servants' hall in the
past, church-goer, oracle, wise man, he to stand in the
dock with felons. And all for the sake of a promise—
but he thrust that thought aside, for it was but a new
reflection upon his folly.
A wiser man, perhaps, would have put on his hat and
gone straight over to the nearest police station to give
himself up. Arthur Blandy did not dare to do that. A
dull perception appeared to tell him that defence might
be his undoing. He had gone through the incidents of
the crime a hundred times since its discovery, and had
arrived invariably at the conclusion not only that the
world might think him guilty, but that a jury might
declare him to be so. And now the moment had come.
The police were at his heels; he might feel their hands
upon his shoulder before the clock struck again.
He put the paper down and made some pretence to
eat his breakfast. A subsequent confession admitted
that the room swam before his eyes, and that the people
in the street were so many black figures swaying in the
mists, but he remained manfully at the table for at least
a quarter of an hour, and when he rose he had mastered
the more evident agitation from which he suffered, and
could ask for his bill in a firm voice.
Clearly now the man's mind was hovering between a
choice of two courses, and he could arrive at no settled
resolution. Going to the door, he bade the German


HOUSE OF FIVE GREEN SHUTTERS 63
porter call him a cab, but delayed to get his bag, and
conversed disjointedly and in broken phrases with Mon-
sieur Alphonse, the proprietor. When this mood passed
he acted with great energy, hurrying hither and
thither, giving his directions in a loud voice and an-
nouncing to all who were there to listen that his destina-
tion was Euston. Thither the hansom drove him plod-
dingly, but he did not stop at the terminus, and, giving
another direction at the top of the Tottenham Court
Road, he was carried to St. Pancras Station, where he
took a third-class ticket for Ely, and found a compart-
ment to himself.
The train left London at twenty minutes past twelve,
and arrived at the cathedral city at two o'clock. Mr.
Blandy appears to have been still indefinite in his pur-
pose, for he delayed even to seek out an hotel, and the
report says that it was a quarter to three when he sat
down to a modest repast in a humble inn, and four
o'clock when he climbed into a dogcart and set out for
an unknown destination. He had, however, previously
questioned the groom as to the whereabouts of a certain
inn known as Five Miles from Nowhere, and, having
ascertained that this was situated upon the marshes
of the River Cam, and was supposed to be exactly half-
way between Cambridge and Ely, he drove away alone,
and did not return to Ely that night.
His absence, be it said, would have been the occasion
of some excitement at the inn but for an unusual circum-
stance, and one that set some tongues wagging in the
house. This was nothing else than the arrival in Ely,
at a quarter to'eight that night, of a powerful Mer-
cedes car, carrying a single passenger and driven by a


64 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Frenchman who had hardly a word of English. When
the car stopped, the owner, as it seemed, descended, and
put a few questions to the landlord in a tone which did
not fail to command an obsequious answer.
"You have one of my servants lodging here."
"Well, sir, I don't know about that—but there is a
stout gentleman"
"Did he give his name?"
"I can't say that he did, sir—I was over at Milden-
hall when he came. Perhaps my missis will know, and
if you wait a while I'll step up and ask her."
The stranger consented to wait as requested, and the
landlord returned anon with the intimation that the
stout gentleman had left his bag behind him, as was
supposed, and that the initials upon it were "A. B."
Certainly he had hired a dogcart to take him to a part
of the world rarely visited by anybody—viz., the inn
known as Five Miles from Nowhere. Which infor-
mation was imparted with true rustic bonhomie and
without an afterthought of suspicion—so guilelessly
indeed that the stranger's intimation that he himself
would pay the bill provoked no word of question
whatsoever.
t. "Your servant, did you say, sir?"
"My steward, who is here upon my business. This
is my card. And now, if you please, for my servant's
valise."
The landlord gaped at the card, read and re-read
it; then doffed his hat with celerity and stood bare-
headed before his guest.
"Glad to meet you, sir. I've won many a good 'un
on your Highness's horses at Newmarket"


HOUSE OF FIVE GREEN SHUTTERS 65
"And will many another, I hope. Do not trouble
about the change—and do not expect my servant to
return."
He re-entered the car—a limousine whose many win-
dows stood wide open—and was driven away at a rapid
pace in the direction of Cambridge. This was at the
hour when Mr. Blandy, having quitted the safe high-
road as he had been directed, arrived at a country
whose desolation appalled him, and whose solitudes are
without rival even in the marshes. Flat to the point of
wonder, its horizon without trees, a brown river flowing
sluggishly between high banks of mud—humanity ap-
peared indeed to have fled from it, and even Nature to
hide beneath her sorriest cloak.
A solitary village stood upon the confines of this dark
prairie, but thereafter the traces of habitation were
few. Here and there a white farmhouse rose protest-
ingly amid a rampart of dykes—but the grey road
was almost without landmark, and the few labourers
who trod it were the guardians of the pasture lands
which science has salved from the waters. No whisper
of a kindlier land, no voice from the world of men and
things came to break the silence of the waste. The sun
gave no images to the black pools, nor did the wind stir
them to life and beauty. Everywhere a droning har-
mony of the insect-laden air lulled to drowsiness, but
never to activities. For this was the Ultimate Land of
which the poets have written.
Mr. Blandy drove out upon this wild marsh just as
the church clock in the village struck seven.
He had never visited the place in his life before, and
yet some of the landmarks appeared familiar to him.


66 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
The great square tower of Ely Cathedral, looming in
the distance as in mockery of the desolation around him,
enchained his eyes and claimed his interest. From time
to time he stopped as though to take the bearings of the
tower by a little silver compass he carried upon his
watch-chain. The few landmarks were diligently ob-
served, the trend of the river and the situation of the
farmhouses. Presently he espied a clump of poplars
situated, perhaps, the fifth part of a mile from the
track, and these interested him greatly. He looked to
the right and to the left, watched the road afar to be
sure that none moved upon it, then turned the horse
toward the grass and drove straight to the thicket.
The road was very rough, little more than a cart's
track, and one which did not appear to have been used
since the winter. The difficulties, however, did not
daunt Mr. Blandy, who held on grimly to his seat as
the cart swung and rolled oyer the ruts—and considered
himself well rewarded when a sudden turn permitted him
to see a squat house at the heart of the copse and to
count the windows which gave upon the garden. These
he perceived were five in number, and diving into his
pocket he produced a paper upon which were written
the words, " the house of the five green shutters." No
longer did he doubt that he had reached his destination,
and whipping up the horse and buttoning up his coat,
as was his habit, he drove straight on to the garden
gate and there called loudly for some one to admit
him.
Mr. Blandy has confessed that he waited a consider-
able time before it dawned upon him that the house
was unoccupied.


HOUSE OF FIVE GREEN SHUTTERS 67
His loud shouts of " Hi, there—are you all asleep?"
obtained no answer whatever. He did not espy any dog
or hear the baying of a distant hound. A poor, half-
starved cat did, indeed, crawl upon the window-sill of
an upper room and mew most dismally, but her appear-
ance said clearly that she had not been fed for some
days, and that the omission was due to the simple fact
that there was no one about to feed her. This dawned
at last even upon the dull intellect of Arthur Blandy,
and stepping down from the cart and tethering the
horse he advanced up the narrow garden path and beat
upon the door.
No one answered his knock. A critical eye cast upon
the asters and geraniums of the tangled garden told
him that they perished for want of water, and had been
some days untended. The shutters of the house were
open and the front door unlocked. Mr. Blandy hesi-
tated no longer to do the obvious thing, and opened the
door boldly. He entered the hall and looked about
him.
There was nothing interesting here, and yet Mr.
Blandy appeared much relieved to discover an old hat-
stand and a plain deal chair beside it. In the well of
the stand there stood a common pink parasol, such as
women use in a garden, and an old iron rake with a
broken handle. The stairs beyond were carpeted, and
a scrubby geranium in a dirty pot served for the orna-
ment of the miniature conservatory upon the first floor.
These did not interest Mr. Blandy at all, and opening
the door of the right-hand room without further cere-
mony he peeped round the edge of it as though still
afraid there might be somebody in the house.


68 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
The alarm was quite unnecessary. None the less the
somewhat elegant furniture of this cramped apartment
astonished the worthy steward and brought him to a
halt. These chairs of a French design—they were
never built for such a house as this. The buffet with
the great silver cup—it did not speak of a peasant
occupation. He stared open-mouthed at the Japanese
ornaments of the mantelshelf, at the neat row of
leather-bound books and the elegant bureau which con-
tained them. A step further and the portrait of a
woman confronted him—and at that Mr. Blandy gaped
as he had not done for many a day.
It was a full-length picture, drawn in crayon, but
with rare skill. Arthur Blandy knew nothing of nation-
alities, but his limited education caused him to say that
the portrait was that of a Turkish lady, young and
beautiful beyond all expression. Such eyes looked out
upon the astonished man that he felt quite abashed
even when he remembered it was but a picture. The
deftly suggested robe of pure white, the veil fallen aside
as though by accident; the oddly shaped Eastern hands
with the tapering filbert nails, the little feet peeping
out from the spotless petticoat were all portrayed so
faithfully that Mr. Blandy found himself drawing
nearer the picture inch by inch until at last, forgetful
of everything—of his situation, his purpose in coming
there, and even of his danger, he dashed his hat down
violently upon the table and fell to a vulgarity he could
not resist.
"What a gal!" said the steward, and then again,
"I'm damned if ever I see her like," and with that he
thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and


HOUSE OF FIVE GREEN SHUTTERS 69
stared intently at the picture for five full minutes
together.
The distant baying of a hound and the sudden failure
of the light reminded him where he stood, and brought
him to a new recollection of his purpose in visiting that
scene of remotest desolation.
He had been brave enough in the sunshine, but now
that the sun had set, a strange fear of the place fell
upon him and set him itching to be off.
He had come there upon one of those strange impulses
which drive men headlong when crime is the whip, and
now that he had come the fatuity of his purpose dawned
upon him.
Of what service, either to him or to the man who had
employed him, were these witnesses to a prosperity for-
eign to the marshes? How would they save Captain
Ferman from the gallows or help him, Arthur Blandy,
to deny that he was accessory? The answer must be,
"Not at all." And meanwhile the unknown master of
this place might be watching him where he stood—
prying upon him even while he pried, resolving even
while he stood irresolute. And at this he went hot and
cold and made a hasty movement to the door.
"I'll go to London," he said; "I'll see the captain's
lawyers."
The resolve was good, but hardly was it made when
he heard a step upon the path outside, and standing
rigid, he cried, " The police, by God!"


CHAPTER VIII
FLIGHT
For a moment Arthur Blandy listened with ear intent;
then a new expression crossed his face.
"It's the prince, by all that's wonderful," he cried
aloud.
He had never been afraid of so kindly a master, and
he was not afraid now.
A child finding a father in a moment of the utter-
most peril, a prisoner at the bar told that the case
against him is false, could have experienced no revulsion
of feeling as sure as that which now came upon the
astonished steward.
"Your Highness—thank Heaven for that!"
Maurevale wore a long travelling cloak and a motor
cap with ear flaps which disguised him effectually. He
had left his motor a third of a mile down the road, and
had walked to the cottage as surely as though he visited
it every day. Entering without any hesitation, he espied
the quaking Blandy, and a smile crossed his face as he
did so.
"Good-evening, Blandy. I don't think you were ex-
pecting me."
"Heaven, sir, who'd have thought of such a thing?"
"And yet you leave your wheel-marks very plainly
upon the dusty road. A desolate neighbourhood,
Blandy, and one with which you are quite unac-
quainted."
70


FLIGHT
71
"That's true, sir. I was never here in my life be-
fore to-day."
"And you propose to live here in the future?"
"No, Highness; God forbid."
"Ah, but we shall talk about it presently. There are
other things to be discussed before we do so. To begin
with, Blandy, I have been travelling a good many hours,
and am very hungry. Do me the favour to visit the
larder of this house and to see if there is anything to
eat there."
"The larder, Highness—but I don't know if they've
got a larder."
"They will hardly be without so desirable an addi-
tion to a furnished villa. Make your investigations and
report to me."
The steward was almost too astonished to speak, but
he went off nevertheless, and the prince could hear him
delving presently amid strange crockery and stumbling
against doors with which he was unfamiliar. He him-
self spent the interlude in a swift survey of the apart-
ment, which culminated finally in the detection of the
picture and a prolonged study of it. A pocket glass
with a powerful lens helped him to examine this paint-
ing very closely, especially the texture of it; and, not
content with this, he removed a fragment of the yellow
paper and put it away carefully in a little silver box
carried in his waistcoat pocket. When this was done
Mr. Blandy's step in the passage warned him of espion-
age, and he sat again in the chair by the window and
would seem to have no eyes but for the solitudes of
the landscape.
"Well, Blandy, are we to dine comfortably?"


72 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"There's nothing to eat in the place, sir, but a bit of
cold rice pudding and some stale bread. Why, it must
be two days old."
"Let me see it, Blandy—a rice pudding, did you
say?"
"Yes, sir; nothing else whatever, excepting the gro-
ceries."
"Ah, we are indeed unfortunate, and the lunch
basket in my car quite empty, I think. You yourself
dined at Ely, I believe."
"I did so."
"And told every one that you were going to
the village inn known as 'Five Miles from No-
where.'"
"That's so, sir."
"How very foolish, Blandy—and how very kind to
your friends, the police."
"Oh, master, I'll take my oath before Heaven that I
had nothing to do with it."
Maurevale looked at him beneath gathered brows.
"And the man who bought the fidelity which was
mine—your employer who bade you spy upon me for
money, what of him, Arthur Blandy?"
"I don't know, sir, any more than a child. If you
ask me truly, I believe he done it."
"He did it, Blandy, if you please—not he done it.
Were I of your opinion, be sure I would not jest. But
I am here for your sake and for his—because I know
humanity, and do not judge it. Now show me your
rice pudding and let me see if I must go fasting.
Hurry up, man, for time is short. Do you not know
that the police are on our track, and that I am at my


FLIGHT
73
wits' ends to save you from them? Look alive, then,
before it is too late."
He spoke peremptorily, and a chill ran through the
steward's veins, as though the hand of Fate had touched
him with icy fingers. This wizard knew—but would
knowledge bring salvation? Arthur Blandy trembled
in every limb as he set the things upon the
table and watched his master's keen eye examining
them.
"Do you know anything of rice, Blandy?"
"It's twopence a pound, I believe, sir."
"A serviceable reminder. Observe the fine quality of
this particular variety. It is such as they eat in China,
I think—a growth that is rarely employed in this
country."
"Indeed, Highness, I would never have thought
of it."
"But you had some other country than England in
your mind when you came to this lonely house,
Blandy?"
"It wouldn't be true to say that, sir."
"Then why did you come?"
"Highness, I'll keep nothing from you"
"You would be wise not to do so."
"Captain Ferman told me all about this house three
months ago."
"I have imagined as much."
"He was always very anxious about Lady Anna
. . . used to ask about her almost every day.
'Blandy,' he says to me, ' if ever you hear of any trou-
ble happening to her and you can't get at me to tell
me all about it, you go to Ely as I have directed you,


74 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and give 'em my message. It shall be worth five hun-
dred of the best, I promise you '"
Maurevale listened with strained ear.
"What was the message, Blandy?"
"I don't know its meaning any more than the dead,
sir"
"Tell me what it was."
"The word 'hasib,' sir—I was to lay particular
stress upon the hache."
"I see, lest it should be misunderstood. Do you know
what the word 'hasib' means? I think you said that
you did not. Well, it means ' danger,' Blandy. It is a
word used in Arabic very frequently."
"Indeed, sir, you astonish me."
"And you were sent here, plainly, to warn some
person, who, however, has already received that warn-
ing and has fled."
"It would appear so, sir"
"In which case we might be clever enough—but let
us see, here is a bureau at which a person might write.
There are books upon it, and one has lately been' used.
Yes, it is a common railway guide, and the page is
marked at the trains—why at the trains—where do
you think, Blandy?"
"I cannot make a guess, sir"
"Then I'll tell you. The train is from Ely to Har-
wich, the through express to catch the Continental boat.
How interesting, how very interesting—and, upon my
word, this is more remarkable still."
Maurevale's astonishment was quite unfeigned. The
page of the Bradshaw had been marked by a telegraph
form, and that form, it appeared, had been delivered to


FLIGHT
75
a person named Prevost at the Marsh House Farm some
days prior to their visit. When the prince passed
it to the amazed Blandy, that worthy discovered
the identical word he had been commanded to
utter.
"Why, it says * hasib,' sir!"
"It does, Blandy"
"And says it plainly"
"So plainly that we must destroy it lest the police
should discover it."
"You said, Highness"
"That the police must not discover it."
"Not the police—but that telegram might save Cap-
tain Ferman's life."
"More likely to hang him, my excellent fellow, much
more likely"
"Does your Highness seriously mean this?"
"As seriously as I say to you that the least mis-
chance to-night may cost you your neck. Was it not
to save it that I had you watched to-day?"
"You had me watched, sir!"
"Certainly, from the moment you left my house un-
til you set out from Ely. You see, I am lucky; I might
have missed you on the road; but I did not, and here
we are, and the question is, at what time will the police
arrive?"
"You think they will come here then, sir?"
"If you do not prevent them, certainly they will.
Crediting them with common intelligence, they should
be here before the morning. They may be here sooner.
We, however, shall be already on our way. Now go
and see if that horse of yours is still there. He trou-


76 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
bles me greatly, Blandy; he is much in my mind—go
and see that all is well with him."
The steward left the room, hardly knowing whether
he stood on his head or his heels; but Maurevale, watch-
ing him out, began to search the apartment anew with
swift and searching eyes; and when that was done he
went upstairs and passed from bedroom to bedroom of
the lonely house.
A large apartment overlooking the road interested
him much, and he examined its contents minutely, espe-
cially the empty bottles on the washhand-stand and the
fragments of paper in the drawers of the dressing-
table. A smaller room, plainly furnished for a servant,
and a nursery which had evidently not been used for a
long time, were the objects but of a brief delay; and,
when he had searched the kitchens and the sculleries
and had returned for a few moments to the sitting-
room to open and identify the books on the writing-
table, he was ready to set out with Mr. Blandy.
It had fallen full dark by this time, a moonless night
with heavy clouds in the west, and a shudder of wind
upon the marshes. Lazarre, the French chauffeur, had
lighted the acetylene lamps of his car, and they shone
as stars across the flat meadows and showed the turbid
waters of the dykes at the roadside. Not a human
being, however, passed upon that lonely track; no
human tread disturbed the solitude of the waste; and
when the prince was sure of the fact he bade Blandy
get up into the trap and drive on before him.
"Until I shall stop you, Blandy, at some convenient
spot; the signal will be three blasts of the horn. Do
you understand?"


FLIGHT
77
"I understand, sir"
"Then drive on as fast as you can. Hush—one mo-
ment. Do you hear that, Blandy?"
"It's a hound barking, sir"
"And it means?"
"It means they are after me, sir."
He said it with chattering teeth, the while his hands
trembled, and he fumbled with the reins until he could
hardly sort them out.
"I'd better give myself up, sir."
"You will hang if you do, Blandy."
"No child's more innocent than me."
"Then play the man—or must I play it for you?
Here, give me the reins. Now, get up beside me—fool,
I say, get up. Don't you understand the police are on
your heels?"
Mr. Blandy climbed up anyhow, awed by the stern
word and afraid to disobey it.
They drove a mile and a half, perhaps, and then
espied a farmhouse, one dim light in a bedroom indicat-
ing its situation, and a watch-dog barking loudly at
their approach. This they passed without hesitation,
for it stood at some distance from the road; and when
they had passed it, they found the grassy track changed
for the semblance of a tolerable highway, running be-
tween muddy banks across a vast marsh where innumer-
able cattle stood asleep and motionless waiting for the
dawn. Following this a little way, the prince at length
discovered a gate giving upon a meadow, and halting
there he bade the astonished Blandy descend.
"Open the gate," he said in a voice which brooked
no argument, and was obeyed without a word.


78 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Now help me to unharness this obliging horse—do
you hear what I say, Blandy?"
"Oh yes, Highness, but the people at Ely"
"They will have no cause to regret the circumstance.
Come, man, are you losing your wits?"
"I beg your Highness's pardon."
"You are right to do so. The police will admit as
much to-morrow. Do you not still hear them, Blandy?
Surely you have ears!"
"Oh yes, I can hear that dog plain"
"You do not hear a dog at all—you hear another
motor-car. Listen again. That is a Panhard hum-
ming across the marsh. You have some three minutes,
Blandy, no more. Did not I tell you so?"
"I'm sure I leave it to your Highness. It makes me
quite faint to think of it."
Maurevale smiled but did not answer. He had spoken
truly when he said that he heard a motor humming
across the marsh, and he realised that there was no need
to alarm his wretched servant further by any sugges-
tion of hypothetical danger.
"Get into the car!" he cried suddenly, as he turned
the horse upon the marsh and left the derelict cart
by the roadside. The steward obeyed him without a
word, and then as peremptorily, Maurevale told his
driver in French to turn out all the lamps.
"We must pick our way for a mile or two, Lazarre.
They will stop here quite a long time, and we can light
up after we have passed the next village. Now, go
ahead, my boy; I trust to your skill."
Lazarre replied that the banks would make the driv-
ing easy; and he started at once, picking his way with


FLIGHT 79
rare cleverness and delighting in the test of his ability.
They were none too soon, for hardly had they made
the first bend of the narrow road when a glimmer of
light above the meadow indicated the approaching car,
and they could hear the squeal of the brakes as it was
brought to a halt and the men spread abroad to search
the fields about. Maurevale had reckoned that the dere-
lict would serve them above any device his ingenuity
could suggest. It was an hour before the police left
the place at all, and by that time the fugitives were
beyond Six Mile Bottom, and well upon their way to
a destination where none would follow.
Day had dawned when Arthur Blandy first began
to understand that his master had saved him, for the
time being, at any rate, and that their journey had
carried them to the brink of a wide estuary, beyond
which were the fretting waters of the North Sea. He
perceived a village upon the far bank, and a few yachts
lying at anchor in the fairway. To one of these, a
shapely white steamer, from whose copper funnel a haze
of smoke was drifting, the prince made a signal directly
he came down to the water's edge, and it was answered
immediately by the watch on board. A boat put off and
came to the mole, and Blandy understood that he was
to be the passenger.
"I will send for you," said Maurevale, "directly I
have need of you, and it is safe for you to come. My
officers have their instructions, and you will obey them
implicitly. Meanwhile, I wish you bon voyage, and
congratulate you upon your good luck. Really, Mr.
Blandy, you are a very fortunate man."
The steward was too dumbfounded to speak. The


80 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
swift episodes of this terrible week, the wonders of the
long night, the seeming miracle which had carried him
to the ship and the sea stilled his tongue and left him
witless. He muttered a few awkward words, tried to
ask a question and failed as dismally, and then, without
any further utterance whatever, stepped into the boat
and was rowed away toward the waiting yacht.
Maurevale, however, re-entered his car and bade La-
zarre take him back to London.
The hours were precious, and he knew the dead
woman bade him lose none of them.


CHAPTER IX
AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD AND ELSEWHERE
A single landaulette set down Maurevale at the doors
of New Scotland Yard at a quarter to nine, and he was
admitted at once into Sir Malcolm Morrison's private
office.
This was just forty-eight hours after his visit to
Cambridgeshire, and London still talked of little else
but its nine days' wonder.
And this was very natural, for the death of Lady
Anna Maclain had postponed the social festivities
planned by more than one famous house which suffered
by death what it never would have sacrificed to the
living woman.
Elsewhere the friendships were busy and staunch.
Hundreds who had known Captain Ferman protested
against the monstrous criminality of his arrest, while
the minority which declared the evidence to be incontest-
able was hardly able to obtain a hearing.
The disappearance of Arthur Blandy and the dis-
covery of the derelict cart by which he had attempted
to escape the police were the last straw.
The common tongue now named Blandy as the real
author of the crime, and hinted darkly that the old
Count of Fours, who had returned to Paris, knew much
that a jury would like to know. Wonder was expressed
that the police had made no inquiries in that direction,
or if they had made them had failed to profit by them.
81


82 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
In the main astonishment prevailed, and an utter
confusion of ideas which took refuge in a general esti-
mate of Ferman's chances and the efforts which his
friends were making on his behalf. Some said that
all depended upon Sir Malcolm Morrison and his mas-
tery of the evidence; others declared that if Ferman
died Prince Maurevale would have sent him to the scaf-
fold. But all agreed this must be the most sensational
trial the new century had known, and that nothing
quite like it was to be read in social story.
At such a moment, and at the height of such a
cataclysm of argument and of interest, Maurevale met
the great detective for the second time since the
day of the crime, and listened with keen interest to
the excuse which had summoned him to Scotland
Yard.
Never perhaps had there been such a battle of wits
in that official sanctum. Seated upon either side of a
great oak table, the one man old and white in experience
and success, the other buoyantly youthful and animated
by the loftiest purpose, the two faced each other as
masters of a diplomacy which should give life or death
to the subject of it.
Each realised the subtlety of the mind opposed to
him. Each knew that a word ill-spoken might prove
the master key.
"You sent for me, Sir Malcolm, and I have travelled
a hundred miles to see you. It would be about my
servant, Blandy, of course."
Sir Malcolm's brows lifted slightly—he had a note
of this upon his papers, but was about to mention other
things.


AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD 83
"We shall come to that, sir," he said, with just a
suspicion of impatience, "but first of yourself. Had
I wished to discuss the servant, it would not have been
here. What I wish to tell you concerns yourself. Is
that unexpected?"
"By no means. But it is a subject of which I am
very weary."
"And yet apparently one of sustained interest to
others. You have in your service a young man named
Otto Walther. Do you repose complete confidence in
him?"
"The most absolute."
"Then you will be interested to know that at nine
o'clock last night he attended a meeting of the Italian
Society of so-called patriots at 29a Portland Place.
Was that to your knowledge?"
Maurevale was very greatly interested.
"Indeed," he said with raised brows. "So you be-
lieve that Otto has turned politician. And Italian!
That is quite extraordinary, Sir Malcolm."
"I ventured the opinion that you would think so.
Let us see. Here is an account of his movements. He
departs from Highlands Castle at half-past eleven
o'clock; is in London at 1.11; drives from there to
Eton Terrace, and appears to have an interview with
a lady who was lately your guest, the Lady Constance
Heliers; goes afterwards to some apartments in Wel-
beck Street, tenanted, we find, by his father, Dr. Fred-
erick Walther; is unable to see that gentleman, and
goes thence to the South Kensington Museum, spends
a couple of hours there, and dines afterwards at Earl's
Court. At nine he is in Portland Place, at the meet-


84 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
ing of the Italian Society, where he remains until a
quarter-past ten o'clock, when he accompanies his
father back to Welbeck Street, and thence goes alone
to Paddington. Do you not find that an interesting
recital, Highness?"
Maurevale assented with a nod.
"In all particulars but one most interesting and
accurate, Sir Malcolm."
"Do you mean to say?"
"That all this is known to me? Yes; I mean to
say so."
"And what is the particular we have overlooked?"
"Unimportant, but human. A lady accompanied
our young friend to South Kensington, and dined with
him at the exhibition afterwards." Sir Malcolm
sighed.
"I had not imagined that you worked so zealously,
or would watch those whom you trust."
"Pardon me, I am too old a student of human
nature to conduct my experiments at hazard. Those
who serve me are first taught to be meticulous, and
after that to be elusive. The lad Otto has been
watched, not because I fear him, but because I fear for
him. He visited London to serve me—as you would
serve me, Sir Malcolm, by the warning you are about
to utter. At the same time I am really very much
obliged to you."
"There is no question of obligation, sir. It has
been known to us for some months that the agents
of at least two Powers have been instructed to devote
their whole attention to your affairs. Now we under-
stand that the time for patience has passed, and that


AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD 85
more drastic methods may be followed. Naturally, our
first duty is to warn you."
"I affirm my sense of obligation. I can see that
you are already disposed to take a wider view where
this particular case is concerned. Does it go so far
as to suppose Captain Ferman's innocence?"
"By no means. I am inclined to think that it sup-
ports an assumption of guilt."
"Indeed?"
"Supposing always that the dead lady was the ob-
stacle to the success of the captain and his friends."
"I see, I see. Certain good people, being deter-
mined to steal what they cannot buy, find Lady Anna
is in their way. But I remain perplexed."
"It is a delicate matter."
"Go on, go on"
"They believed you were in love with her."
Maurevale inclined his head.
"That would be the common opinion. I under-
stand it."
"And being in love with her, that you might bestow
upon her knowledge which the others could not purchase
or steal."
"In short, my dear Sir Malcolm, that I might sur-
render to her entreaty and come to an immediate un-
derstanding with the English Government at her call.
I am glad they do her so much justice. At the same
time my solicitude for the young man remains. Why
should he have killed a woman who, if this account be
true, was working for a common object? Surely your
hypothesis would not make of him a traitor?"
Sir Malcolm drummed upon the table with his fingers.


86 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I am afraid it is so, sir."
"Then, permit me to tell you it is an exceedingly
foolish hypothesis."
"We shall establish it in court, I fear."
"Upon whose evidence?"
"Upon the evidence of circumstance and probability.
The correspondence makes it plain. She implores him
in her letters to abandon his hopes. What hopes?
That she would rob you at his bidding. Are there
others? Can you say that such a man worked for
English employers? I think it is impossible. He
was poor, and the Government which tempted him rich.
Beware of its agents, sir, for when you become suffi-
ciently dangerous—well, then I will answer for noth-
ing."
"I remain your debtor. Were the information a
little more specific it would be more valuable. I mean
if there were names—1"
"I have mentioned one. Your servant, Otto Wal-
ther. His friends will naturally be the objects of your
suspicion. I see that your own agents are being em-
ployed in this matter. Let me counsel them to begin
by watching this young man. Remember, his father
was a German suspect five-and-twenty years ago. The
skin is cast, but the man remains. So I say, vigilance
—and, again, vigilance—and for the third time, vigi-
lance."
"I shall not forget it. Meanwhile you forbid me
to carry good news to Captain Ferman's friends?"
"It is impossible. That young man will pay the
ultimate penalty as sure as I am sitting in this chair."
"Pardon me, Sir Malcolm, but you are standing."


AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD 87
They laughed together, for the chief's earnestness
had carried him to his feet, and he stood when he spoke
of "vigilance." The jest passed, however, in an in-
stant, and the two separated upon the more serious
notes of menace and of warning, the one having learned
much, the other little from the interview. Whatever
had been Maurevale's attitude as an auditor he was
deeply impressed by the earnestness of Sir Malcolm's
words, and he left the building in a new mood of ulti-
mate despair with which a deeper study of the tragedy
did not fail to afflict him.
He worked to establish peace among the nations,
and this was his reward; that he must defend his honour
and his life against the nations' emissaries. Even
here, in this land of liberty, in London, the heart of
the world, men conspired that they might debase his
hopes and make of him a discredited dreamer, who must
pay the uttermost farthing for his faith in humanity
and its destiny. The preacher of the noblest creed
that man can recite, the creed of Peace, these schemers
would buy his silence at a price, or, failing to buy it,
resort to measures more desperate than purchase. This
he had always known; but to-night the truth of it
shone clear in the darkness of the labyrinth. He must
protect himself against them that the innocent should
not suffer by his ambitions. All his intellect, his wealth,
his influence, must be brought to bear upon one object:
the truth and its publication to the world.
The carriage had taken him from Scotland Yard to
Park Lane, and he awoke from his reverie to find him-
self approaching the "little white house," known to
every omnibusman as "Maury's," and very familiar to


88 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
the many distinguished foreigners who visit London
during the spring and summer months.
It was then a quarter to ten o'clock, and the social
ferment of the night at its zenith.
He recognised many acquaintances; women en-
shrouded in satin and ermine who were rocked in the
cradle of a luxurious equipage as they passed from
stage to stage upon the exacting pilgrimage; men who
hurried by in hansoms or taxicabs, familiar figures
haunting the steps of clubs. Open windows, the visions
of white figures and of stooping backs, the froth of
music, the aureole of lamps spoke of ambitious hos-
pitalities and of a response no more real. He espied
the beggars lurking in the shadow of the park railings,
and would ask himself again what is the true meaning
of this play we call life, and whither must the truth
or the justice of it be sought? When he answered
that sympathy is the key, and by sympathy alone shall
the riddle be read, he thought, he knew not why, of
Stella Insole.
He had known thousands of women in his adventur-
ous life, but never yet one who thus could compel re-
membrance, or remind him that the hours were so many
since last he had seen her; and he began to be impatient
because the traffic delayed him and the mass of car-
riages forbade him to press on quickly. When at last
he entered the hall of his own house, he asked imme-
diately if the young ladies had arrived from Streatly,
and was answered by his butler that they were then
upstairs, having delayed to dine until nine o'clock.
"Which is to say that they did not think you would
return to-night, Highness," the man added, fearing


AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD 89
with true menial apprehension that he might have to
serve the repast anew. But Maurevale immediately
undeceived him.
"I am going to the duke's reception in half-an-hour.
Let them prepare me a bath. I will see Miss Stella
in my study immediately . . . and afterwards if Paul
is here"
"He returned twenty minutes ago, Highness."
"Then let him come when I ring."
He passed on up the stairs and entered his study, a
long, narrow room at the back of the house, lighted
by lamps cunningly placed in the frieze, and harbouring
books which the rarest taste had furnished. Here a
moment later came Stella Insole, dressed in a gown
of black lace and wearing an ornament of diamonds
about her neck—and as she stood in the glow of the
light, her eyes bright with expectancy and her hair
aflame with threads of gold, he understood that she
also had been counting the hours, and that impatience
was not his alone.
"You sent for me, prince"
"Indeed, yes, Stella—to hear you reproach me that
it was not sooner. Let us see, it is four days since
I have seen you—four days. Have you remembered
that?"
"Oh yes—but I understood that it must be so."
"And that I must go away again immediately?"
She shook her head. Her quick breathing showed
an agitation she could not hide.
"Will that be for long? I hope not."
"I hope so, too. When next I see you it will be
at Lausanne for the Conference."


AT NEW SCOTLAND YARD 91
"Indeed, I will do so gladly."
"Then you shall start to-morrow morning. Mean-
while I am all curiosity to hear what has happened at
Highlands in my absence. You have much to tell me,
I am sure, Stella."
"So much that I hardly know how to tell you at all."
"Then do not think of me in the matter. I shall
be a stranger to whom you are telling everything from
the beginning. It is important that you should do
so, Stella. Our friend's life depends upon our candour.
We must hide nothing from ourselves, not even our
thoughts. Now sit there and tell me. I shall not
interrupt you."
Very quietly and methodically she began to tell him
that she had visited Lady Anna's dressing-room in his
absence and had searched it anew lest anything had
been overlooked. When she spoke of her belief that
she heard steps while she did so, and was convinced
that some one had watched her while she worked, the
prince listened with grave face. But a stranger con-
fession was to come. This very morning, as she was
leaving Paddington Station, the same idea had recurred
to her. For an instant she heard behind her on the
platform the same pattering of feet which had so
alarmed her at Streatly. Now as then her attempt
at discovery had been vain. There had been no one
near her to excite suspicion. A holiday crowd surged
upon the platform, but was not remarkable. She did
not believe that she had been followed.
"None the less," said Maurevale, "you were con-
vinced of the steps?"
"I am sure of it—I could not be mistaken."


92 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"A quick step?"
"A shuffling step, as though some one walked in
slippers."
"Did you look round quickly?"
"At once."
"And remarked no one near you?"
"Except a porter and a woman of the working
classes."
"So that it might have been a hallucination?"
"I do not think it was."
"But it might have been. And upon this occasion
our young friend Otto Walther was not there to help
you as he had been on the night of which you speak?"
"Oh yes; he came up with us from Streatly."
"He accompanied you—let me see, did Otto question
you after you had visited the dressing-room?"
"Yes, several times. I thought him very anxious."
"To know of your discoveries—which is odd, since
you made none?"
"None of importance."
"You would not have done. There was nothing
whatever in that room, I remember, but a glove in the
right-hand drawer of the dressing-table?"
"And in the glove"
He turned in his chair and looked her straight in
the face.
"There was something in the glove, child?"
She coloured with a girl's pride that she should have
been able to answer him, and fumbling an instant with
a locket attached to her bracelet she took therefrom
a white tablet and laid it on the table before him.
"That was in the glove," she said.


CHAPTER X
PAUL THE RUSSIAN
Maueevale laid the tablet upon a sheet of crimson
blotting-paper, and, taking a magnifying-glass from
the drawer upon the right-hand side of the table, he
studied the little white object with the profoundest
care. Evidently he was both surprised and perplexed,
and his mind worked visibly upon certain perceptions
which had come to him.
Stella, upon her part, watched him with a child's
desire for approval. Would he say that she had done
well? Would he ask her in all earnestness for that
help of her comradeship which, hitherto, had been but
the subject of his flattery? If she might but win his
whole confidence, the confidence of a man who was
known to distrust women and to despise their intellect!
This was in her thoughts as she watched and waited
for him to speak.
"Let me see," he said at last, "you found this in
Lady Anna's glove?"
"Yes."
"It was turned half inside out, I remember, and
was such a glove as women use when they are travel-
ling."
"Or driving in the country."
"A kid glove, and new. She might have worn it
on the afternoon of her death."
"I think it very possible."
93


9* THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"And evidently she carried the tablet in it because
she had been suffering very much from headache. That
would be quite natural. You, however, brought it to
me in the locket upon your bracelet, and that sets
me thinking. Did Lady Anna, I wonder, ever carry
her tablets in a locket?"
"I asked the maid Berthe that"
"You did! Capital! And she said"
"That sometimes her mistress carried them in the
heart of green jade, which is missing."
"My dear child, this is a most excellent service.
Jack Ferman may yet live to thank you for it. I
hope so—but I will not deceive you by any false hopes.
We are but upon the threshold of our task. A hun-
dred difficulties confront us, any one of which may be
fatal. Let us resolve to meet them together, Stella,
resolutely and with courage. You will go to France
to-morrow, but I have little hope of your work there.
What is wanted is the inspiration of an instant which
shall reveal a dead woman's secret, and show us why
we have not guessed it. That may yet come—to one
of us, Stella. Should it be you, lose not an hour
in finding me wheresoever I am. And remember,
I have chosen you of many to be my helper in
this."
"I could never forget it. At Lausanne I will tell
you what I have done."
He sighed deeply. This Lausanne, with what hopes
of an inspired ambition had he not contemplated his
visit thither a month ago. And now he must think
rather of an altar of pride upon which a woman who
had loved him lay already dead; an altar whose fires


96 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
rounding his path and of the mysteries growing more
profound every hour and baffling him by their changing
perplexities. But this ebb of courage passed instantly,
and, bidding her write to him every day, and promising
that he himself would not forget how precious the news
might be to her, he left her to return to her sister
with what message her affection might dictate.
It was growing very late, as he had said, and his
movements henceforth were impatient. When a man
stepped forward from the shadows of the hall and ex-
pressed a desire to speak with him he turned half about
with a gesture of despair, but discovering him to be
no other than his foreign secretary, Paul, displeasure
gave place to gratification, and he bade the young
Russian—for such was the secretary's nationality—
step into his brougham with him and tell him the news
as they went. This the young fellow did very willingly,
and they had no sooner entered the carriage than he
began to speak freely of the work he had done during
the recent days.
"Your Highness has received the report concerning
Herr Otto Walther?"
"I have studied it very closely, Paul."
"There is nothing to add to it."
"But you will see that his father, the worthy Dr.
Frederick, is kept under close observation."
"It shall be done by a picked man, Highness. I
think the Frenchman, Clouson, is the best for the task.
M. Lepine, the Paris Prefect, recommended him highly
to us, you will remember."
"I remember perfectly. Let him be chosen. He
will watch the doctor night and day—and his friends.


PAUL THE RUSSIAN 97
The German correspondence particularly should be
useful. He will need brains if he is to make anything
of it. Have you had any news of the maid Berthe,
the young lady who is so very anxious to hang this
unfortunate young fellow who is charged with the
crime? I had hope there."
"I fear we shall disappoint your Highness. She
has not yet left the castle, and has been seen by no-
body. But she has received a telegram."
"Ah! then her friends are not idle. Did you obtain
a copy of it?"
"Certainly, but your Highness could not read it
by this light. It is strange, however, and worthy of
notice—in French, and a proverb. 'Le coeur ne veut
douloir ce que l'oeil ne peut voir.'"
"Meaning that what the eye sees not, of that the
heart will not complain. I find it strange, as you say.
When was it received?"
"Yesterday at half-past six o'clock."
"From London?"
"From Vigo Street, Highness."
The prince was very much interested. Some minutes
passed and found him quite silent, but presently he
asked:
"Has she been away from Highlands at all?"
"Twice upon the river, Highness."
"A curious employment for a woman who has just
lost a mistress to whom she was devoted. Which way
did she go?"
"To Pangbourne"
"Ah! to the scene of our unhappy discovery. And
then?,"


98 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"She waited there as though expecting some one.
But none appeared, and she returned with apparent
reluctance to the castle. I may say at once that the
telegram was not answered."
The prince assented with a nod. They had come
by this time to the top of Piccadilly, and were just
turning eastward toward the Duke of Asherton's
house. Indicating that his driver should proceed very
slowly, the prince passed to other topics as though
this were already dismissed.
"The woman must be kept under close observation.
Your own tasks, Paul, have a wider field. I fear I
must send you to the East."
"To the East, Highness?"
"Yes, I want you to search the history of the young
Earl of Farrard, and to discover for me the names of
all the places which he and his sister visited between the
years 1900 and 1905. If necessary, you must follow
in his steps. But I may think it. wiser to go myself.
That will be as your story decides. You will lose no
time, Paul."
"Not an hour, Highness."
"Then let me hear immediately what progress you
are making. This is the duke's, I think. Well, I
may hear much or little to-night—but I am beginning
to doubt if England, or, indeed, Europe, can tell me
the whole. I am much in the hands of my friends,
Paul . . . very much."
"They are the hands of those who would give their
lives for your Highness."
"I believe it, and am grateful to them. Do you
return to Highlands to-night?"


PAUL THE RUSSIAN
99
"If possible, sir."
"Then tell my servant Otto that we are going to
show his old enemies the Admiralty what our brains
can do, at Shoeburyness, in a few days' time. Let
him be prepared."
"I will not forget, Highness."
The carriage turned into the well-known courtyard
of the duke's house at the words, and the prince de-
scended without any further remark. He was very late,
and the majority of the guests had already arrived,
but one carriage followed him to the door, and he was
by no means displeased to see that its occupants were
no other than Lady Constance Heliers and that no-
toriously rich and amiable youth, Rupert Wally, the
Australian sportsman. These shook hands with him
very cordially, and passed before him to the orgy upon
the staircase.
Maurevale, however, stood a moment in deep thought.
"She has taken to love-making, then?" he said to
himself, and added, "with an honest man, I perceive.
Well, that is not what I had wished . . . and I do
not think I shall find the heart of green jade in this
house."
He shrugged his shoulders, and went on up the stairs.
And as he went a bishop linked arms with him, and
began to speak of the dead woman in tones at once of
curiosity and of awe.


CHAPTER XI
A NEW NAME IS HEARD
The Duchess of Asherton's receptions were in a way
political, which, as a wit remarked, was as good as to
say that they were politically in the way.
The dear old duke was notorious for his amours and
his political indiscretions, and had more than once
threatened to destroy his party by a troublesome gift
for the truth, exceedingly embarrassing both to politi-
cians and to women. The duchess, on the other hand,
smiled sweetly upon all the derelicts from Westminster,
and having promised them baronetcies in a whisper,
sent them back to their pens the most loyal and de-
voted followers of a Prime Minister who was not even
at the pains to remember their names.
Maurevale had often been pressed by the duchess to
be present upon these occasions, and not infrequently
chided for his absence. She welcomed him this night
with a fervour that was not all a sham; and regardless
of the bishop, who had just begun to speak of the
possibilities of Ferman's guilt, she bade them make way
for his Highness, and carried him at once to the centre
of the scene, where stood Herr Krussman, the famous
German diplomatist, and the Grand Duke Ferdinand,
about to attend the Peace Congress in the name of the
Czar. These received Maurevale with a cordiality
which nothing but self-interest could excuse. He was
the one man in London they were most desirous to see.
100


A NEW NAME IS HEARD 101
"Herr Krussman, do you know the prince? And
you, duke—of course, you know each other. Now
where is Bertie—we really must find Bertie, or he will
never forgive me. Why, there he is—I thought he
would not be far away."
Thus the duchess, as she introduced the cosmopoli-
tans to each other. The young man Bertie, otherwise
Mr. Herbert Alltalk, now pushed his way through the
press, and having wiped the perspiration from his
steaming forehead, he greeted the prince with lofty
cordiality.
"Good of you to come under the circumstances.
Every one is wondering if you are going to Lausanne.
I'm sure Herr Krussman wants to know that. Don't
you, Excellency?"
Herr Krussman bowed.
"We could not fail to be interested in anything
Prince Maurevale does."
"I take it as a great compliment," said Maurevale
quietly; from which moment he turned to speak to the
foreigners, quite ignoring the young man.
"Have you been long in England, Excellency?"
"Five days—I am fortunate in the sixth. They
told me I would not see you to-night. The surprise
is the more welcome."
"And the expression no less. You were doubtful
about my going to Lausanne, then?"
"Frankly, we doubted it—unless you had come to
a decision."
"To offer my work to the nations."
"Or to one nation," intervened Herr Krussman.
The prince shrugged his shoulders.


102 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I wish to be quite frank with you, gentlemen. My
work henceforth is solely in the interests of the peace
of Europe."
"For which his Majesty works unceasingly," said
the Grand Duke.
"And earns the homage of all thinking men there-
by," said the prince.
"But the suspicions of the diplomatists and the
sneers of those who preach peace in the news-
papers "rejoined the German. Maurevale ignored
this.
"I have long believed," he said, "that science and
not diplomacy will make an end of war. The silent
gun, the high explosive which shall not be local in its
action, the torpedo against which your nets are un-
availing—these are great mediators. My years have
been given to the study . . . if I think it completed,
well, I am the optimist and none is compelled to believe.
But incredulity is a matter of indifference to me.
Rather, gentlemen, I seek honesty."
They smiled together—the Grand Duke kindly, the
German with the air of a man who was listening to a
fairy-tale.
"An ipse dixit is of little value in the councils of
Europe to-day," he said. "Your gospel stands or
falls not by peace but by war, prince. How are you
going to convince us at Lausanne? How shall we con-
vince our Governments in turn that your claims—par-
don me—are not open to the suspicion of an exaggera-
tion which would be fatal to them?"
"That," retorted the prince, "I shall leave to the
delegates."


A NEW NAME IS HEARD
103
"Then you will attend the council?"
"It is my earnest hope."
Herr Krussman watched him closely.
"Ah," he said, "then I perceive you are aware of
what will be said if you do not come."
"Perfectly aware; they will say I am an impostor,
and cease to consider me further."
"It might be their misfortune, prince."
"It certainly would be so"
The Grand Duke was about to reply to him when
the young man, Herbert Alltalk, having demolished a
Cabinet Minister with a fury of eloquence which put
the music to shame, turned again to join in the talk;
but at that moment Lady Constance touched Maurevale
upon the shoulder, and reproached him for neglect.
"My dear man, are you really so dreadfully annoyed
with me?"
"Why should I be annoyed?"
"I have a thousand things to say to you, and you
will hear none of them. Let us go where the world
no longer turns upon its own axis—or somebody else's.
There is news."
She said no more, and Maurevale followed her quietly
to a corner of the balcony overlooking Piccadilly. The
press was lighter here, and the curtain shielded them
a little from the turmoil of sound and the elbows of
the schemers. At the same time they could see all
that went on in the room had they the mind to do so.
Lady Constance was dressed in a satin gown of a
deep red shade. Her ornaments were diamonds, of
which she wore a magnificent tiara and a pendant,
whose real stones had long been the security for some


104 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
of her many gambling debts. There was no wilder
bridge player in London, and none with whom the
shady gamester played more willingly. She owned
horses whose performances were, in sporting parlance,
as black as her eyes. But of her wit and shrewdness
there was, unfortunately, as little doubt as of her social
insolvency—a fact with which Maurevale was very well
acquainted.
"Well," he said, "and what is the news I am to
hear?"
"That your man Blandy has been seen in Calais."
"Indeed, then I wonder that those who saw him did
not communicate with the police."
"Oh, but they are friends of yours. Do you re-
member Archie Kerrington, Lord Sapiston's son? He
has just come over, and he is quite positive that he
saw Mr. Blandy on the platform at Calais."
"Did he tell you so himself?"
"I haven't seen him yet—but Mr. Wally tells me
that he was in the club this afternoon telling every-
body."
"Ah, but I do not remember that I have had the
pleasure of receiving Mr. Kerrington at my house."
"He says that he knows Mr. Blandy quite well—
he used to see him at Newmarket. I think we ought
to do something for poor Jack Ferman's sake. Now,
really, don't you believe him to be quite innocent?"
"It is difficult to answer you. Innocent is an ab-
stract term."
"But you must have definite opinions. A man al-
ways has."
** Especially when he is ignorant. I am naturally


A NEW NAME IS HEARD
105
deeply interested—and my interest brings me here to-
night."
"That is why I came—I have been trying to see
you for some days. Do you know what people are
saying?"
"I have been too busy to ask."
"They are saying that you ought not to go to
Lausanne until Jack has been cleared."
"And do you agree with them?"
"Oh, absolutely. I think it should be a point of
honour. The poor woman was your guest. Do you
not owe it to her to remain here?"
"I have never thought of it in that light. Perhaps
there is some exaggeration. The evidence against your
friend may not be what you believe."
"There is no doubt of it at all. Sir Malcolm has
told my father that nothing can save him. Oh, my
dear man, the letters. Why, every one knew that the
pair of them were working for the Admiralty. Ap-
parently you were the last to become aware of
it."
"If I was unaware of it!"
"Then you knew?"
"Let us say that I understand women."
"A miracle! And that antediluvian sentiment com-
mon to schoolgirls saved her at the eleventh hour!
Really, if it were not so very dreadful it would be
exciting. She quarrels with her too progressive friend,
and he, they say, kills her. You really have some re-
sponsibility in the matter."
"I am unaware of it, and so I am here."
"And we must keep you—set snares if necessary.


106 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
I am thinking of one at Goodwood. Why not come
down to the duke's box for the week?"
"Would that help Captain Ferman?"
"I think it might. We would try to get Sir Mal-
colm down, if only for the night. And I would ask other
friends of Jack's—we could have a council of war."
"But that is the date I should set out for Lausanne
—by the way, there is your friend, Dr. Frederick Wal-
ther. He appears to be looking for you."
"For me—how absurd! I hardly know him. Is
he not the father of your tame youth with the big
eyes? I thought you said so."
"It is true—but I thought that you knew him well."
"Quite a hopeless mistake. Let us talk of some-
thing more pleasant. Now, won't you come to Good-
wood if I ask you"
"The invitation would be quite irresistible if it were
not for Lausanne."
"My father says that if you knew what he knows
you would not go to Lausanne at all."
"A wise man, undoubtedly. Is he good enough to
add reasons?"
"He thinks you have too many friends in England,
too many interests here; besides, the Kaiser means to
wreck the Conference. You should go to Berlin first
. . . the other thing is make-believe."
"I will remember it. Meanwhile I am convinced that
Dr. Frederick is looking for you. Why, here he is."
It was quite true. The doctor, altogether a typi-
cally benevolent old gentleman with a white beard and
the face of a prophet in the pictures, having wandered
about the great saloon aimlessly, now sauntered out


A NEW NAME IS HEARD 107
on the balcony, and seeing Maurevale, greeted him with
cordiality. The glance which he exchanged with the
Lady Constance as he did so was instantaneous and
full of meaning to one who had eyes to read it. Mau-
revale, however, seemed quite unconscious of it.
"My dear doctor, what a pleasant surprise!"
"I am delighted to meet you, sir—of whom my dear
son never ceases to speak with affection."
"Ah, but Otto is a very good boy. Have you seen
him lately?"
"It is many weeks . . . but I am intruding. Is
not this a lady whom I had the pleasure of meeting
once at your house? I thought so—but I have such
a poor memory for names. Pray forgive me, madam."
"My dear doctor, I was once your patient, and you
saved my life. No physician should forget such a
miracle as that. But perhaps you only remember the
dead."
"It would depend upon their sex," said the old man
sagely, at which they all laughed and returned together
to the saloon. Just as they entered a voluble German
attache went up to the doctor and greeted him in his
own tongue. The remark appeared to concern Egypt
and a certain Tahir Pasha, concerning whom the doctor
had been inquiring.
"Well," said the prince to Lady Constance, as he
was about to bid her good-night, "I will remember
your invitation to Goodwood."
"That would be splendid of you. If you are tired
of London before then, do not forget the 'box.'"
"Your cottage at Wargrave?"
"Yes, I am there every week-end—sometimes almost


108 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
alone. There would always be room for Prince Mau-
revale."
"That is an invitation I must underline. If I
thought that I might meet Archie Kerrington there,
and hear the news of my man Blandy."
"Oh," she cried, her black eyes flashing with excite-
ment, " I will ask him if you promise to come."
"Then I will promise—for, let us see, shall we say
Saturday week?"
"It would be perfectly delightful of you."
They parted upon it, she going off on the arm of
Rupert Wally, he making for the door as though to
leave the house. Half-way down the great staircase,
however, Maurevale espied the bishop, who loved to talk
of the dead; and, making the coming trial of Captain
Ferman an excuse, he led the ecclesiastical worthy into
an alcove of the conservatory, and there detained him
for ten minutes with all the gossip, pertinent or other-
wise, he could command. Then, as though uncertain
of his purpose, he returned to the door of the big room
and watched the throng until he had detected the white-
headed doctor and Lady Constance.
They were together engaged in ardent conversation,
and almost regardless of others about them. Appar-
ently the meek and philanthropic physician was much
agitated, and reproached his partner for something she
had or had not done—and so far was the dispute car-
ried that the pair went out to the balcony to resume it.
Maurevale in his turn, directly he had made sure of
this, descended to the hall, and sent his footman for
his car. His work at the duke's was done, but he
understood that elsewhere it was but beginning.


CHAPTER XII
STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS
The car was a Mercedes limousine, employed despite
the warmth of the July day, and the direction the
driver received was to go to Henley Bridge first, and
then as he should be ordered. But the real destination
was the Lady Constance's bungalow at Wargrave.
Maurevale could hope for little news from Stella
Insole, who had been but a few hours in France. He
had, however, received a letter from her and was glad
that she had remembered his wishes.
The note itself spoke both of haste and of travel,
being written upon the paper of an hotel at Blois and
obviously in an interval of waiting.
To Maurevale it came as a message from the heart
of a comrade, and he wondered at his satisfaction.
Many women had written to him during his eventful
life, but he could recall no letter which moved him to
a similar emotion or had been received with such pleas-
ure.
And what images it conjured up—of his own splen-
did home at Highlands Castle, of the spreading lawns
and the fabled yews and the secret places of the gardens
wherein she had walked.
All the beauty of the house was associated with her
now that she was absent, and no scene could be imagined
which she did not dominate. As a child she had come
to the castle, and as a child he tried to believe that she
109


110 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
had gone forth. It was hard to admit that love al-
ready might fold its wings about her, and a man utter
the common platitudes with Stella Insole for their ob-
ject.
Here was the shadow upon the page and one that
fell darkly before Maurevale's eyes.
Otto Walther, his assistant, was in love with her.
The lad had confessed as much and asked permission
to speak. And he, Maurevale, had not known how to
answer him.
Otto Walther, to whose genius he owed so much!
Otto Walther, the dark-eyed dreamer whose name might
be remembered when his own was forgotten! Did not
the police say that he, also, was among the suspects?
In that house of mystery there were many rooms.
Whither should he seek the key which would unlock
the golden door?
He tore the envelope of Stella's letter and found it
less brief than he had expected. She spoke of the
journey gratefully, and of her sister Kitty's well-being.
The old count had met them in Paris and taken them
thence in his son's motor to Blois, whence the chateau
lay at a distance of twenty kilometres.
"I cannot remember, dear prince," she went on, "if
you are well acquainted with this country of which one
hears so very much in these motoring days. Surely
the realities of its beauty must survive the onslaughts
of popularity and leave it unspoiled. To-day we have
driven many miles upon the banks of that fair river,
the Loire, by which lies France's Arcadia. Not a
boat anywhere upon its wide waters; nothing to be seen
but sandbanks and deep pools which speak of dead


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 111
years. The roads themselves go straight as an arrow
toward an horizon of limpid blue. There are count-
less miles of acacias, which must make this a fair gar-
den in the spring-time—but the boundless fields are
eloquent of the earth to which the peasants bend as
though the call of a final destiny compelled them.
"I would have had Kitty see something of Paris,
if by seeing it I might teach her to forget. What a
rare mystery is a young girl's love, dear prince, and
how many are its humiliations. Had it been she her-
self who suffered, her friends would have known nothing
of it; but because it is the man who loved and slighted
her she is not afraid to kneel to us that we may save
him. What her own life henceforth must be I do not
dare to think; but will it not be reward enough if we
can give her but a few years of that happiness her
courage has deserved?
"For my part, I speak to her ever of hope, and
of that hope which lies in the shadow of a beloved
name. While your friendship remains it is forbidden
to despair. Far away here in this beautiful land the
reality of all we have left is more cruel as it is more
distant. We think of you, sir, and reproach follows
that selfishness which permits us to think of ourselves.
And yet, God knows, I grieve for Kitty, for she is
heartbroken.
"You asked me, prince, to speak very frankly of
all I see at Aizy-la-Belle, and that I shall not hesitate
to do. The dear old Count of Fours was much agi-
tated when he met us in Paris, and went in perpetual
fear that some unpleasant person would discover and
annoy him. He asked me more than once if you had


112 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
ever been in Egypt or knew that the Lady Anna had
been there. Much of what he said I did not understand
at all, especially his references to a certain Tahir
Pasha, whom he seems to have known many years ago.
The way he bundled us out of the place was quite
troublesome, and when a little Egyptian boy found his
way to the door of the car and tried to speak to him
he became almost apologetic. He is very much
changed since the happy days at Highlands—rolls the
perpetual cigarette quite carelessly and uses naughty
words when the detestable little dog, Caesar, comes to
him to be nursed. Do not you remember that at High-
lands the wretched little beast was hardly ever off his
knees—thus are the idols downcast.
"I have no news of madame yet. This, I fear, is
not a house of amities to which we are going, and yet
I am sure the dear old count is very glad to have us,
despite his evident fear of his good lady. His anxiety
to hear all the news concerning Jack Ferman is pain-
ful, and it is ridiculous to remember that vulgar rumour
has connected him with the crime because his stick was
found in the boat.
"He begs you write to him yourself and assure him
that all is going as your friends could wish. Alas,
I cannot believe that it is so, for I am so foolish as
to think that were it the truth I, before others, would
have heard the good tidings.
"I have written much of Kitty in this letter, and
so, dear prince, let my conclusions be of her.
"She dreamed a dream of Jack last night, and it
has greatly affected her.
"She thought he came to her across the sea to tell


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 113
her that he wa6 condemned, and to say that he was
not unprepared to die. Her faith in him is quite
noble, and I would be the last to treat it lightly. Why
he ever left her for Anna I do not know, for his letters
to Kitty were always frank, and if he had ceased to
love her I am sure he would have had the honesty to
say so.
"Is not this one more of the many mysteries I pray
God we shall unravel?"
Maurevale folded the letter carefully and put it into
his pocket.
Many perplexities now joined to the pleasure which
its perusal had given him, and some of them were pro-
found.
Thrice in a few days had he heard this name, Tahir
Pasha—and from places so widely separated.
Already it began to appear that Ferman's safety
lay in no subtle defence based on the facts of the case,
but upon the discovery of this mysterious actor, Tahir
Pasha, and of his story. And if that were so, time
had become of the essence of success—and this must
be a race of the wits against time, with an innocent
man's life for the stake.
On the other hand—and here was a thought which
shook the house of conjecture to its foundations—
Ferman himself might dread the discovery of Tahir
Pasha, as he would dread it if he were guilty and had
taken an Eastern accomplice in his crime. The motive
became of supreme importance, and was difficult to esti-
mate. Had it been a sudden and not inexplicable
passion for a woman who did not love him, then motive


114 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
surely was all sufficient. But Jack Ferman had been
very much in love with little Kitty Insole for a season,
and he had known Lady Anna during that time. How
came he then thus to be the victim of a volte-face which
threw him back upon a mad desire to possess this beau-
tiful woman and to kill her because she denied him?
Well might Reason stand baffled before the very
clues she had discovered. Well might he, Maurevale,
continue to say that nothing but a miracle could snatch
Ferman from the gallows.
The car had carried him to Henley by this time,
and he lunched at the club and sat afterwards to smoke
a cigar upon the terrace overlooking the river.
The afternoon had turned dull and cheerless, and
few boats were abroad. From time to time heavy
clouds gathered above the hills by Hambledon and
threatened rain to scare the pleasure-seeker—a circum-
stance which caused the prince some satisfaction and
seemed to cap his plans.
To the few launches or rowboats which went up
or down the river to the Temple or the Marsh Lock
he paid but scant attention. His object was to present
himself at Lady Constance's cottage at such an hour
as would justify him staying the night even if he must
put up at an inn. Fortune, however, had something
better in store for him, and when he discovered it, a
suggestion rather of the inevitable than of coincidence
attended it.
This was a little after three o'clock.
He had finished his cigar and contemplated sending
for his car that he might make a detour upon the road


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 115
to Oxford, when an electric launch came down from
Marsh Lock, and who should there be sitting in its
bows but that benevolent old gentleman, Frederick
Walther.
None knew this old hypocrite better than the prince,
but the surprise of the encounter was so great that
for a moment he quite failed to recognise him. When
surprise passed, he remembered the cottage and the
telegram which spoke of her ladyship's indisposition.
Surely the old doctor was returning from a visit to
Wargrave!
Maurevale had no doubt upon the latter point. Con-
stance had told him of its virtues often—and indeed
since the old duke had lost nine-tenths of his money
in a brewery, a speculation which left him a poor but
honest teetotaller—the cottage at Wargrave and its
modest display constituted the main part of her luxuries.
As for the doctor, his appearance was not so benign
as usual, and even a passer-by might have noticed the
abstraction of his manner; while a vulgar youth would
have described him as looking for sixpence between the
floor boards.
Wearing a frock-coat and a crushed straw hat, he
had the air of a professional man who had snatched an
hour from study or consulting-room, but hastened back
to it with a problem which compelled him to expedition.
This also was fortunate for the prince, who other-
wise would hardly have escaped detection, at what cost
to his plans he might not say.
As it was, he did not move from his seat but just
watched the doctor until the launch had gone as far as
Temple Island; then, acting with decision, he re-entered


116 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
his car and drove as fast as he dare to Marlow Station
on the Great Western Railway.
"This old gentleman," he argued, "has been to see
dear Constance at Wargrave, and is returning to Lon-
don from Marlow to avoid any possibility of being rec-
ognised at the local station. Some urgent news sent
him there, and most probably was the same news which
caused her ladyship to decline to see me. Well, I must
discover the nature of it at her own house—but first
to be sure of my supposition."
This was no difficult matter, for he had ordered his
driver to wait by Marlow Bridge, and anon the launch
appeared and set the doctor down at the landing-stage.
Still preoccupied, but apparently fearing detection no
longer, the old gentleman directed a firm step toward
the railway station, and so was lost to view. Imme-
diately afterwards, Maurevale set out for Wargrave
and arrived at the Lady Constance's cottage exactly at
seven o'clock.
It was a gay little building, bungalow-fashioned, and
built just where the river sweeps to Shiplake and the
islands. A kindlier evening, with a flood of warm
sunlight, showed the white walls and green jalousies to
perfection; while all the air was redolent of the sweet
perfume of mignonette, which disputed with the roses
and the crimson ramblers for possession of the garden.
Such an hour suggested the lightest side of life—
love and laughter and music of the night; but it was
hardly typical of that very magnificent person, Lady
Constance, or the atmosphere of gaudy shams in which
she moved. Maurevale smiled quietly as he crossed the
long conservatory which guarded its inner door and


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 117
rang boldly at the big brass bell. He would look to
find Phyllis here—not my Lady of Belgravia.
A sonr-looking manservant opened the door and said
bluntly, "Her ladyship is not at home." When, how-
ever, he had taken a second look at his visitor and
had heard his quiet response, his attitude became very
different, and he appeared not unwilling to qualify his
negative.
"I beg your Highness's pardon—but perhaps you
did not receive her ladyship's telegram?"
"A telegram," said the prince, boldly entering the
hall, " then her ladyship is ill"
"Not ill, your Highness, but unable to see anybody
to-night."
"Ah," said the prince quietly; "then I will beg her
to do me the favour—but here she is, my good fellow,
and will speak for herself."
This was very true. Lady Constance herself, hear-
ing voices, had permitted her curiosity to get the better
of her prudence, and appeared without warning at the
head of the little flight of stairs leading to her boudoir.
A clever actress in an ordinary way, this situation was
too much for her, and every look, every attitude, spoke
of chagrin.
"But, prince," she stammered as she came down,
"I sent you a telegram."
He affected to treat it quite lightly.
"My lucky star shines," he rejoined; "a telegram
speaks of anxieties. How many things I should have
imagined if that telegram had deceived me. As it is,
I know the worst—the village inn and a bed upon
which it is impossible to sleep."


118 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Then Herbert has told you that I must go to
town?"
She looked at her manservant, who had received no
instructions to tell this particular lie, and he cast
modest eyes upon the parquet. Maurevale found the
situation quite delightful.
"Herbert forgot to mention it, but I could imagine
no other justification for your malady. You are going
to town, my dear lady, to see a specialist—and this,
oddly enough, is the last night of the opera. Well,
well, the inn, I hear, is passable, and I am really too
weary to motor back to-night. Shall I drive you to
the station, by the way, before my man stables the
car? Your train, of course, is the 8.24, as I see you
are dining. There is plenty of time, therefore, and
if you decide to honour me by an invitation"
He laughed and indicated the open door of the din-
ing-room, where a maid was busy about a flower-laden
table. Plainly, whatever were her ladyship's engage-
ments, she meant to dine before fulfilling them, and,
so intending, her last excuse for sending this most un-
welcome visitor to an inn had vanished. Evidently she
was at her wits' ends, and no art could conceal the fact.
"My dear Maurevale," she said, falling naturally to
the familiar manner, "you know perfectly well there
is not a man in England I would sooner see in this
house. Something troublesome has happened—that
is all. Let us have dinner at once, and then decide
what we will do. I put you off with the greatest re-
luctance, and you know it. Do not make matters
worse by being cynical."
"Cynical, my dear lady! I was never more serious


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 119
—or more hungry in my life. As you are in such a
hurry, and I see they are about to serve dinner, shall
it be costume de voyage, and will you forgive me?"
"Yes, yes," she cried, "let us dine as we are, by
all means, and you can tell me all the news before I go."
They sat to table presently, and an excellent little
dinner was served. Maurevale found this so well chosen
that he was compelled to believe that it had been spe-
cially prepared in view of his visit. In that case, Lady
Constance had received her ill news by the first post
that day, and had telegraphed to Frederick Walther
either to confirm or to discuss it. Why, then, did she
propose to go to London? Or was her proposal mere
bluff, the tale that came first to her lips, and one sug-
gested by Maurevale himself? He thought it must be
so—her chagrin could be set down but to one cause.
She expected a visitor at the cottage, and would see
his privately. Maurevale was quite sure of this and the
conviction gave him much satisfaction. He, also, would
venture to discover the identity of the unknown person
who could provoke such a flutter in this dainty dovecot.
With this eventful object in view, he kept his eyes
wide open, and did his best to amuse.
That the assignation was in any way connected with
her ladyship's partialities for flirtations of mild and
other varieties seemed against the probabilities. The
suggestion flattered neither his vanity nor his common
sense. He knew that she had been scheming for months
to get him to her cottage, and did not believe that she
would have sacrificed such a diplomatic opportunity
had not the motive been altogether of a singular nature.
So he talked to her in his lightest mood, and studied


120 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
her manner as he did so. Certainly she was a beau-
tiful woman, and it was a thousand pities that the fool-
ish old duke had fooled away the fortunes of his house.
Had it been otherwise, his daughter would not have
been reduced to these questionable friendships, or
thrust back upon the society of knaves. Poverty is a
hard taskmaster, and chooses the task.
Maurevale remembered this while he entertained her,
and pity rather than contempt lay at the back of his
thoughts. He never warred against women, and would
not war against this woman. When he spoke of him-
self, his object was not to learn her opinion, but that
of her friends, known and unknown.
"You have read of our little entertainment at Shoe-
buryness?" he asked, when dessert had been served;
"but do you read the papers, by the way?"
"At intervals—it is always pleasant to know that
dreadful things did not happen yesterday."
"And so you read the news of the day before—a
capital plan."
"But I knew you were brilliant," she said; and then
archly, "You could not fail to be, and I hear the Ad-
miralty was delighted with your work."
He pretended to take it seriously.
"I have done enough to bring half the rogues of
Europe upon my tracks. Perhaps I have also done
something for our friend, Jack Ferman."
"Really—that would be good to hear. They say
there is no hope for him. Is it so?"
"Ah, if I could tell you. There are possibilities
—but no certainties—at least I should not have said so
forty-eight hours ago."


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 121
She opened her eyes.
"And now?"
"Oh, now—well, now I know something."
He watched her as he uttered the words, and observed
that her whole will was bent upon the suppression of
an apprehension which threatened to betray her. Her
interest in Jack Ferman he had always believed to be
both curious and sentimental, but he would not accuse
her of inhumanity.
"You know something," she exclaimed at length;
and then, with the effusiveness of a born social actress,
she said: "Oh, my dear man, you are not going to
tell me that Captain Jack is safe?"
"I would give much to be able to say it. Do not
forget that I have received him as my guest, and that
this charge has come from my house."
"How could I forget it? Impossible. I am not
a victim of nerves, and I don't believe in ghosts the
least bit in the world—but I will tell you that hardly
a night has passed that I have not dreamed of Lady
Anna. Why, I can see her now as she came down to
dinner on that awful night; I can hear her laughter,
and remember that I thought that tears were not far
off. Forget! I am not likely to forget that!"
"Your womanly instincts would forbid. It is im-
possible that any one who knew her should either forget
or forgive. For my part, I will hunt this assassin
down to the very grave; I have sworn it, and I will
keep my word."
"Then Heaven help the guilty person, my dear
Maurevale—if you find him."
"I shall certainly find him. Whether it will be in


122 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
time to save Ferman's life I cannot tell you. But
that he will be found I am as certain as that these
are excellent peaches."
"I am glad that you like them. And it is always
good to hear a man who is not afraid of his own con-
victions. Can you tell me anything of this elusive
monster, I wonder, or is that a question which should
not be asked?"
"By no means. It is a fair question. In the first
place, I would have you know that one of his friends
is a German."
"A German!"
"Yes, a German and a woman—though generally
believed to be a man."
She laughed, and by her laughter betrayed her sense
of relief.
"That is a story of a hundred years ago, is it
not?"
"Not at all; it is a story of to-day."
"And the name of this interesting person?"
"Oh, her name is Ludwig Monheim—but, pardon
me, you appear to be ill. The room is too hot for
you, I fear."
"I am very stupid, prince. Don't notice me—these
July nights are intolerable."
"Then let us go outside—or, if you prefer it, I
will open the other window. That is better, is it not?
And now, what was I saying? Why, of course, that
this German woman being dead"
"Dead! you did not say that she was dead."
"Such are the facts. She was drowned as she at-
tempted to board my boat off" Canvey Island on the


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 123
night after I had demonstrated my torpedo before the
Admiralty at Sheerness."
"How very dramatic! And, of course, her secrets
are buried with her?"
"Far from it—they are already in the possession of
the police. A crimson tarboosh, such as Egyptians
wear, was found in the boat. We have now to trace
her accomplices—and, will you believe me, our quest
carries us first to the West End of London."
"To the West End of London—really, it is over-
poweringly hot here"
"Agreed—your courage is greater than your
strength. Let me give you a little brandy—you will be
the better for it. And I see that the decanter is here."
She was deadly pale, and fanned herself incessantly.
A keen observer might have noticed that Maurevale
acted with unusual rapidity, but with less than his usual
adroitness. He fumbled with the stopper of the de-
canter, and the glass rang musically as he poured a
little brandy into it.
"Drink this," he said, "and then we will go out-
side."
She obeyed him with unusual docility, and when she
had drunk the brandy she tried to rise, but immediately
sank back into her chair and pressed her hands to her
forehead.
"Oh," she cried, "I feel just as though I were
drugged."
"What a silly idea. Rest a little while on the veran-
dah. I will see that no one disturbs you. Let me
give you my arm. Come, it will pass at once in the
fresh air."


124 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
He almost lifted her to the verandah, which ran the
whole length of the room, and then, having arranged
the cushions of a low lounge chair, he returned to the
dining-room and rang the bell. When the servant ap-
peared, his instructions were mandatory, and such as
would command obedience.
"Her ladyship is not very well and is resting. See
that she is not disturbed, please. And tell my man
that I am returning to London to-night."
The man promised obedience and withdrew. Directly
he had gone, the prince went a-tiptoe to the verandah,
then returned with silent foot and extinguished the
candles one by one. When this was done he crept into
the shadows by my lady's chair and waited—he knew
not for what.
She had fallen into a stupor, and lay as one heavy
in sleep. It was getting dark upon the river, and the
passing boats had an air of unreality, as though they
were ghost ships upon phantom waters. From time
to time a murmur of laughter and song would be heard,
the tinkling chords of the mandoline or the more an-
cient and less popular banjo. The neighbouring gar-
dens, however, were deserted, and when it became fully
dark, and distant house-boats hung out their lanterns,
and lights shone from pretty windows, Maurevale might
have imagined himself to be the sentinel of a world
apart, the keeper of a house of silence upon the borders
of a dreamland. But this delusion of sentiment was
momentary. He knew, for a truth, that the issues
were beyond all words vital to the man whose life he
would have saved for Kitty Insole's sake.
A quarter of an hour passed and the situation re-


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 125
mained unchanged. It is true that a very ordinary
kind of boat was eased for a little while before the
cottage, and that, having gone on, it returned pres-
ently and again took up a similar station; but no at-
tempt was made by its occupant to come ashore, nor
did the darkness permit him or her to be seen. In
the end, the skiff joined the others going up to Ship-
lake or down to Henley, and for fully ten minutes the
river showed no human being nor any glimmer of light
upon which the vestige of an hypothesis might have
been built.
To say that Maurevale was disappointed is to ex-
press but ill the vexation which attended this rebuff.
He knew that the drowsing woman might recover con-
sciousness at any moment; and having recovered it,
would destroy in an instant the gauzy fabric of his
schemes. Watching her intently, not a little afraid
of the consequences of his venture, he perceived that
she lay as one in a heavy stupor—and stupor was all
that he had wished to contrive. From this she might
awake at any moment, and if she awoke, that was the
end of this night's work.
He rose from his seat impatiently, and stepping over
the balustrade of the verandah, where the bushes black-
ened the shadows, he crept a little way down the deserted
garden and peered out upon the still river as though
incredulous of its silence. A sweet sound of singing
arrested his attention pleasantly, but not with any hold-
ing interest; and when he had seen that the stranger
was a girl, and that a man paddled the punt which
carried her toward Marsh Lock, he turned about and
would have returned to the house. Then, as abruptly,


126 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he halted and listened with ears which were awake to
the lightest sounds.
There was a footstep upon the grass, familiar and
unmistakable!
Once before had he listened to that shuffling gait
and wondered at the mystery of it—and now he heard
it plainly here at Wargrave, and could say that who-
ever came stood within twenty feet of the shadows
which harboured him.
A halting, treacherous step, as though a man crossed
the grass in slippers and stood almost at every turn
in the winding path to be sure he was not observed—
such it was, and as such, it recalled to Maurevale
the night of his return to Park Lane and the steps of
which Stella had spoken.
And this also had been the mystery of Highlands
Castle, and Stella herself and Otto Walther had played
their part in it. The recollection fired him to an
interest keen beyond any he had known since the begin-
ning of it. Here and now he would learn why this
woman had hesitated to receive him, and why Frederick
Walther had come to Wargrave that afternoon. But
vastly more important than all, he would discover the
identity of the unknown intruder who had entered High-
lands Castle within a few days of the murder, and
had left it unidentified despite those who guarded it.
He did not move, hardly dared to breathe; but list-
ened entranced to that confession of the steps. And
first he could say that the unknown approached covertly
and with no great courage at his back. Sometimes the
fellow would take three or four steps quite boldly; then
stood motionless for long minutes together. This hesi-


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 127
tation convinced Maurevale of two things. He judged
that the interview with Lady Constance savoured of
the clandestine, and again, that some signal or other
was missing, and for want of it the man went warily.
This conviction became sure when a rustling of leaves
upon the right-hand side of the path declared that the
intruder had entered the little summer-house and had
pushed the honeysuckle aside to do so. In some sense
now he was trapped, and the advantage was with his
adversary. But this might not be a real advantage,
for Maurevale could not imagine him to go unarmed,
and a fracas would be disastrous. So he hesitated an
instant, still reticent to declare himself.
How might he see the man's face and yet go un-
discovered? The problem perplexed him, and found
him without idea while a full minute passed. Then, as
suddenly coming to a resolution, he crept along the
grassy border and discovered that he. might approach
the summer-house from the back. Advancing as deftly
as any Indian, he made the place and began to examine
it closely. As he had hoped, there were little glass
windows upon either side of the door. These would
serve his purpose. He took a match from his pocket
and struck it—and keeping himself in the shadow he
held it before the window. In the same instant a face
looked out almost full in his own—and he dropped the
burning match and stepped so far back among the
bushes that they hid him like a cloak.
It was no shuffling step now that the prince heard
upon the grass, but one of a man who fled from dis-
covery and had conceived the possibilities of flight from
the beginning. Almost leaping to the boat which


128 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
awaited him at the steps, the unknown drove his skiff
across the river with clumsy strokes and was lost almost
instantly to view. The prince, however, returned at
once to the verandah, and lighting a candle he held
it close to the sleeping lady's face, and was fully con-
tent when she opened her eyes and stared up at him.
"Well," he exclaimed in the most natural voice pos-
sible, " and are you better, my dear lady?"
She made a great effort to sit up, and shielded her
eyes with a trembling hand as she did so.
"Oh," she cried, "my head is whirling "—and then,
"why did you let me sleep?"
"It was much the best thing to do. But I fear you
won't be able to travel to London to-night."
"I must—I must go. What time is it, prince?"
He took out his watch and held up the candle to see
the hands of it.
"It is nearly half-past ten, I think."
She uttered a loud cry, upon which many interpreta-
tions might have been put, and struggled to her feet.
"Ten o'clock ... it cannot be ten o'clock."
"I assure you that it is."
"Then I must go at once."
"It is quite impossible. Let me send for your serv-
ants and make up your mind to the inevitable. You
really are not fit to do anything to-night."
"Oh, I have promised and I cannot disappoint. Did
not I tell you?"
"Certainly, but all these things are of so little ac-
count when health is in the case. For myself, I must
return to town, and if you really can trust your serv-
ants to do the nursing?"


STELLA WRITES FROM BLOIS 129
He waited, and watched a great sense of relief pass
into her eyes. His presence had been the obstacle, and
now he was about to remove it. She spoke no more
thereafter of a journey to London, but only of his
departure.
"It seems so ridiculous that you should go—but what
can I do? My head is just whirling—and, oh, it is all
so silly, but I seem to be half blind."
"You will be perfectly well after a night's rest.
I think you would be wiser not to get up to-morrow and
to see your doctor if your head should trouble you.
But I don't think it will—indeed, I should be very
surprised if it did."
She looked at him searchingly, a little recovered from
her dizziness, and her suspicions awakened. Something
had happened this night of which she knew nothing,
and dread fell upon her lest it should have been the
thing she imagined.
"Tell me," she exclaimed suddenly, "who came here
to-night?"
"Here? I am quite unaware that you had visi-
tors."
Her suspicions were not allayed.
"I dreamed as I slept that a strange man stood by
my side—I thought I heard you talking to him."
"Quite a conventional hallucination—you will not
expect me to tell you that it was absurd."
"Then no one has been?"
"I have been aware of nothing more remarkable than
the tripper who gazes enraptured from the hired skiff
—he could not be called interesting, and so I did not
invite him in."


130 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
S}ie was altogether deceived by his manner, and
greatly relieved. Presently she said:
"I shall really take your advice and go to bed.
Will you ever forgive me for this fiasco?"
"You are absolved absolutely—with my blessing.
The dinner was excellent."
He held out his hand, and at the same moment the
surly manservant opened the door and showed the flam-
ing headlights of the car. Maurevale's last impres-
sions of the house were such as set it in a pentagon
of lighted windows with a little door wide open and
a vista of a cosey staircase and a beautiful woman,
prettily gowned, waiting impatiently for his departure.
He waved a last good-night and gave the word to go;
but a quarter of a mile from her house he stopped his
driver abruptly and bade him return to the inn.
There a boat was quickly found, and pulling a little
way up the stream the prince arrived at the house he
had just left and perceived in a moment that my lady
had not taken his advice at all, but that she had re-
turned to the verandah, and stood there with such a
bright lamp by her side that no passer-by could have
failed to recognise her.
"So," he said to himself, "she is an optimist, and
still waits for her friend. Well, I do not think he
will return to-night at any rate."
And then he said:
"An Italian or a Spaniard—obviously a go-between!
And I am looking for an Egyptian who wore a crimson
tarboosh. Indeed, this is a very great mystery, and
who shall say that the truth of it will ever be made
known?"


132 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"That was quite unnecessary, Blandy."
"Unnecessary, Highness!"
"As I say, unnecessary. The police have your story
from the first line to the last. I myself have written
it down for them—and moreover I have promised that
you shall be present at the trial."
"You don't say so, Highness!"
"Indeed I do. So henceforth you will think entirely
of your work for me."
Great beads of perspiration fell from the man's brow,
and he wiped them away with a monstrous silk hand-
kerchief. What hours of agony he had suffered—and
that awful night of darkness and haunting sounds
through which he had awaited his master's coming.
Were these unnecessary? He could have kissed the
hand which carried the tidings.
"I am sure I am very much obliged to your High-
ness; you've made a new man of me."
"Very well, then; let us go to business. Has any
one been here since you came?"
"Not a living soul, sir—not since I came."
"Ah, then, you have reason to believe"
"That some one has visited the house before me?
Yes, Highness, I believe that. The picture has gone."
. "The picture?"
"Of the queer-looking lady in the Indian dress."
"You don't say so, Blandy. Well, I must see that
for myself."
He entered the sitting-room immediately and dis-
covered the truth of it. The portrait of the Turkish
lady no longer hung upon the walls—but the state-
ment that it had gone was premature. Stepping to


THE MARSHES ARE REVISITED 133
the buffet above which it had been suspended, the prince
perceived the picture wedged between the furniture and
the wall, and with a little help he quickly recovered it.
But in what a state! A man might have said that
it had been slashed by a knife or a sword—so cut and
torn it was. And the frame half broken to pieces as
though by the same savage assault.
Maurevale set the relics of the picture against the
wall, but made no immediate remark upon them. Had
he told Arthur Blandy the truth, he would have said
that this portrait carried him in thought, not to Tur-
key, but to Egypt, and that the face was the replica
of many he had seen in Cairo. But he confessed noth-
ing of this; and when he did speak it was to bid the
steward guard the relic carefully.
"I am renting this place, Blandy, and I propose to
buy the furniture. Directly you hear from me, send
this picture to Park Lane. If the agents come here
meanwhile, pretend that you have just arrived and are
looking round in my name."
"Would you wish me to stay here all the time,
Highness?"
Maurevale turned upon him peremptorily.
"Until the murderer of Lady Anna is discovered you
will not stir a step, Mr. Blandy."
Blandy sighed, but had not the courage to protest.
He had got himself into a rare mess truly, by his
trafficking in dishonourable secrets, and here he was to
pay the price of it. No crusted port in this mean
house'; no soothing cigars o' nights in a pleasant room,
with the vista of river and park to make looking out
of the windows a delight. Nothing of the kind—here


134 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he must lie next door to starvation and still speak of
the police. For a fat man thinks first of his food—
a thin man of himself.
"I'll do my duty willing, sir, if you'll make it clear
what that duty is," he said at length. Maurevale hesi-
tated to respond to that.
"You will report any circumstance to me immedi-
ately, however trifling it may seem. Directly the affair
is arranged with Captain Ferman, I will see that you
have some one in the house with you and a trap. Mean-
while we shall take charge of the commissariat. Watch
night and day, Blandy, and let me know who comes.
Some one, you see, has been here already. Now I
would pay a hundred pounds if you could tell me who
that person was."
"I'd be glad to earn it, Highness. He seems to
have been a-rooting everywhere, even in the garden.
There's the marks of his fingers all over the place."
"Indeed! but that is very interesting, Blandy. You
are becoming quite a detective. Let me see these won-
derful marks you speak of."
"They're in the kitchen mostly, sir. His footsteps
are also in the garden; I'll show your Highness."
He led the way to the kitchen, and showed exactly
what he meant. Some one had been busy in this place,
had even lighted a fire, and left a fine imprint of his
fingers upon the spotless white dresser and the cup-
board beside it. And as though this were not enough,
he had stepped out of the kitchen window, across a
tangled flower-bed, and so made his way to the' very
bottom of the garden, by which the dyke ran. Mau-
revale wondered that he had neglected it at his first


THE MARSHES ARE REVISITED 135
visit, for now, when he approached the dyke, he per-
ceived that some one had built a wigwam of reeds at
the water's edge, and had lined it within as children
line a nest they make in a hayfield.
"Oh," he cried, " but this is very interesting, Blandy;
we seem to have come upon a playground, do we not?"
"I rayther think the young lady has been a-using
of it, Highness."
"And what makes you think that, Blandy?"
"Why, Highness, I had a mind to peep inside of it
this morning, and what do you think I found? Why,
these here bits of gold chain, I did."
He handed the prince three tiny golden links, with
a broken split-ring at the end of them, and watched
his master's face curiously as he did so. Maurevale,
indeed, made no attempt to conceal his astonishment.
"You found these links! Now where did you find
them, Blandy?"
"I found them among the hay at the bottom of
that shanty, Highness."
"Were you looking for anything?"
"Well, I just rooted about; I don't know why it
was—a sort of feeling, Highness, that luck might be
in my way. And there they were—shining bright as
anything in the sunlight."
"I commend your diligence; I am very pleased with
you, Blandy. Can you imagine what purpose these
links served?"
"They've come off a lady's bracelet. I'm ready to
swear it, Highness."
"Undoubtedly they did; your powers of perception
are excellent, I see. Continue to employ them in my


136 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
service, and I can even forget that you contemplated
robbing me."
"Highness, I ought to be whipped for that. I can't
think what I was doing of."
"Nor why you visited Lady Anna's bedroom upon
the night of her death—shall I tell you why, Arthur
Blandy?"
"I was a very foolish man."
"An exceedingly foolish man—who went to her room
to read the names of the horses I wrote on her menu
at dinner-time. Was it not that, Blandy?"
"It were, Highness—and God forgive me, every one
of 'em lost."
Maurevale smiled.
"I meant them, too, Blandy. I wrote them down for
that poor lady because she asked me not for winners,
but for losers. Your informant, Child, should deal
more fairly by you. He is a bad listener, Blandy,
remember it."
The jest came lightly enough, and testified, perhaps,
to the emotions which the discovery of these few links
of gold had awakened. In truth, they filled the mean
house with visions, and served instantly to build a
bridge between its poor rooms and the wide terraces of
Highlands Castle, upon which Lady Anna had walked
so proudly. He had no doubt whatever that this chain
had linked the heart of jade to her white wrist, and
that she herself had stood in this very garden many a
day and had not complained of its loneliness. Senti-
ment of another kind reminded him of her prayer that
the heart might hide her when "the day should come,"
and he fell to wondering if death after all had not been


THE MARSHES ARE REVISITED 137
very kind to her. This thought, however, was quickly
replaced by a remembrance of his oath and the duties
it put upon him. He would avenge her though he
gave all that life held dear to the task.
And this was in his mind when he climbed into the
buggy and quitted the House of the Five Green Shut-
ters. Not in England might the truth be found—
perhaps not in Europe. But he, Maurevale of Dara,
would find it whatever the penalty.


SIR HORACE ASKS QUESTIONS 139
made love to most of them; could tell you exactly what
the Duke of Dundee owed to Moss, the money-lender,
and why Lord Swansdown married Bella Bolton, the
actress. In short, a very great counsel, and the hero
of more famous cases than any advocate of his time.
Such was the man who waited for Prince Maurevale
in the little library in Park Lane, and started both
with expectancy and pleasure when he heard the well-
known step on the stair. He had taken quite an un-
usual course, and was not indisposed to admit as much.
This case of cases, the meteoric crime which had
astounded all London and put that very social hero
Jack Ferman into the dock, might it not be the final
rung in that ladder of success by which he, Horace
Rupert, should scale the loftiest pinnacles?
He believed that it might be so, and yet there were
ugly depths before him. So far his keen eye dis-
covered no light. He had come to the conclusion that
nothing short of a miracle would save Jack Ferman
from the scaffold, and in miracles he had no faith. So
here he was in Park Lane, a snapper-up of unconsidered
trifles, a very beggar at the feet of one in whose acumen
he had the highest confidence.
"Sir Rupert, I am glad to meet you."
"My dear Maurevale, you are always kind to
me."
"Have you been waiting long for me?"
"Twenty minutes, agreeably passed in a survey of
other people's misfortunes, to wit, their wives, and in
the consumption of some excellent tea."
"I am glad of it. The train from Ely was very
late."


140 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
"Ecclesiastical dignity, prince. Did you ever hear
of a dean who hurried? A little haste at the dinner-
gong perhaps—but otherwise! Life would be a de-
lightful experience if no man cared where he was to-
morrow."
"I admit it—but your epigram must concern yes-
terday also. My dear Sir Rupert, if we had no yes-
terdays!"
"A true Eastern, I perceive, who has learnt to lisp
'Kismet.' Well, you know why I am here."
"To speak to me about poor Ferman? There could
be no other reason so good. Take a cigarette and let
us make ourselves comfortable. Have you seen him
to-day, by the way?"
"Yes, to the disgust of his solicitors. They tell
me nothing in their brief, and ex nihilo, you know. So
I must fall back upon myself—and be thankful that I
am a light weight."
"He is a lucky man to find so much devotion. Do
you make anything of the case yet?—have you really
gone into it?"
"To the last line."
"And you think"
"That he's an innocent man. His manner tells me
that. I have seen too many murderers to be mistaken.
Anna Maclain was never killed by Jack Ferman, believe
me."
"I do believe you—and then?"
"Ah, and then. Well, of course, there's another
man or woman in it somewhere."
"Does Ferman himself tell you nothing?"
"On the contrary, he appears to tell me everything


SIR HORACE ASKS QUESTIONS 141
that is vital. I can't persuade him that it wasn't
suicide."
"Oh, he is of that opinion, then—since when?"
"All the time, I should say. He admits she had
some trouble of her own. It came out by accident, and
I held him to it."
"Would he not indicate the nature of it?"
"Not a word—most of the time he spends praising
your generosity; that's touched him deeply."
"Why should he call it generosity? He was an
English soldier, and they have given him Secret Service
work to do. He knows that I could help his country
greatly—and Secret Service people are taught first to
help themselves. I despise the profession he follows,
but do not judge him."
"That's fairly put. Do you think the maid Berthe
had any grudge against him?"
"Ah, there you ask me a wise question. It was
almost the first I asked when the story came out. We
are confronted by the immediate difficulty, however, that
there is absolutely no evidence at all to connect her
with it—at least the police say so."
A curious smile accompanied the assertion, and was
not lost upon Sir Horace.
"You don't agree with them, Maurevale?"
"I? Oh, I agree with everybody—but I really know
nothing about the woman."
"And attach no importance to her evidence?"
"Absolutely none whatever."
Sir Horace sipped his tea and reflected a little while.
Presently he said:
"Ferman thinks the old Frenchman is in it."


142 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"He does—I am surprised at that."
"You know that the count is supposed to be work-
ing diplomatically for the French Government?"
"Yes, I understood as much."
"Well, I don't suppose he'd be more scrupulous than
the rest. That button of the Legion of Honour may
serve my client well. No jury will convict if it is
but put properly to them."
"And you will put it very well. By the way, does
Ferman treat you better than he treats me? Does
he tell you anything of Lady Anna's story?"
"I didn't know she had a story; but, of course, all
women have. Well, he said nothing about it."
"And yet I assure you that if you had mentioned
a certain name to him, an Egyptian name, you would
have made him very angry."
"That's very interesting—may I hear the name?"
"Certainly; it is the name of one who was persona
grata to Kitchener before the Young Egyptians got
hold of him and bought him body and soul—they call
him Tahir Pasha."
"And where is this pretty traitor now?"
"Tell me and I will win your case for you. The
last I heard of him was in an opium den in Paris.
My men were too late by an hour. But they are still
hunting."
"We must find that man, Maurevale; Ferman will
hang if we do not."
"He may hang if we do—I don't know—it's a
great question to me whether we should find him
or no."
"It is! Then you think—ah, I see, there is an old


SIR HORACE ASKS QUESTIONS 143
quarrel—but this is very interesting; and Tahir in
Paris. Since how long, I wonder?"
"We know that. He came to Paris from Corfu
three days before the affair. He was at the chatelet
upon the night Anna was murdered."
"Has he friends in England?"
"I am not sure of it. I think there may be one—
if there is, I have seen him."
"Seen him—where?"
"In a summer-house at Wargrave rented by my
friend Lady Constance Heliers."
Sir Horace did not speak for some minutes. It was
plainly to be seen that the mysteries of this most mys-
terious affair baffled him utterly.
"Well," he exclaimed at last, "I am very much in
your hands, prince."
"Ah, but you make my task very difficult. What
right has this young man to turn to me?"
"None whatever. That's why you are working for
him."
Maurevale shrugged his shoulders.
"You are quite wrong," he said; "I am working
because my vanity bids me."
"But in any case you are working, and that's a
great deal. God knows what the brief will be like
unless you write it."
"You compliment me prematurely. I may write
what none can read."
"And if you do Jack Ferman will hang. The great-
est case of our time, prince, the very greatest."
"And the greatest- advocate," said Prince Mau-
revale.


SIR HORACE ASKS QUESTIONS 145
self a patriot for doing so. I can see you with a rifle
in your hand."
"I would much prefer a brief, Maurevale."
"And you have one. The greatest, I think, of our
time."
"Undoubtedly the most perplexing—and that re-
minds me. Is the Earl of Farrard expected home im-
mediately?"
"I wish we knew. He was on his yacht when last
he wrote to Anna. We have sent him all the cables
possible telling him of his sister's death. I should not
be at all surprised to hear that he is still on the high
seas, somewhere between New Zealand and Valparaiso
—but, wherever he may be, we can do no more."
"Do you think he would help us?"
"Ah, that is what I should very much like to know."
"But we can get his evidence if we think it necessary
—we can get an adjournment."
"My dear Sir Horace, I will answer 'Yes' or ' No'
to that when I have found Tahir Pasha."
The great advocate smiled.
"You will have to take to opium, prince," said he.


CHAPTER XV
THE SEARCH IS BEGUN
Maukevale left for Paris upon the following morning,
being followed to Victoria Station by his secretary,
Paul.
This was the beginning of the holiday season with
its attendant discomforts.
Families which would have been much happier in
England struggled with adversity and a desire to be
in France. Children clung together, obsessed by the
fear that they had been forgotten and would be left
behind. The guards ran to and fro incessantly, drop-
ping exclamations as princes drop their favours. Those
who could, by any chance, take a seat in the wrong
train did so immediately, and sat there in banal content.
The experienced traveller wondered, on the other hand,
why experience sent him across the Channel at such a
moment, when there were fifty-one other weeks of the
year during which he could have travelled.
Maurevale had reserved a carriage in the Paris ex-
press, and here, at some five minutes to eleven o'clock,
Paul handed him his letters and received his instruc-
tions.
The Russian was very much in earnest, and excited
beyond his wont. An admission that he had reached
the station with difficulty caused Maurevale some sur-
prise, but was quickly explained.
"A very extraordinary thing has happened, High-
146


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 147
ness," he began; "had it occurred ten minutes later I
would have been compelled to follow you to Paris."
"Well, Paul?"
"It concerns the maid Berthe, Highness."
"Ah, I have been expecting something of this sort.
She is in London, is she not?"
"She came just three days ago."
"And her occupation?"
"Apparently the discovery of the person for whom
she waited at Pangbourne."
"You interest me very much, Paul—go on."
"As you know, sir, she has been under close observa-
tion since the beginning. Yesterday—to be precise,
last night at nine o'clock—she met a man near the
Criterion grillroom and walked some distance with him
in the direction of Piccadilly. They appeared to be
quarrelling, and separated at Downing Street. This
morning she met the man again, at twenty minutes
past ten, near her lodging, which is in Ayr Street.
The pair entered a cab and drove to St. Pancras Sta-
tion, where they have been followed by the cleverest of
all my assistants, who will make his report to me to-
night."
"Have you any description of the man meanwhile?"
"He is five foot ten or so in height, wears a dark
serge suit, and is apparently a Spaniard or an Italian.
We find that he is at a hotel in Leicester Square—but
that he has been in England since the first week in
June. His name in the books is Jules Farmot—but I
imagine it to be assumed, and that is the opinion of
the hotel people."
"Has he been with them from the beginning?"


148 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"No, Highness, for three days only; but they gather
from his conversation that he came here from Paris on
the day I have named. This morning my colleague
was clever enough to snap a picture of him—I have
the film with me here, but it is undeveloped. Should
your Highness wish"
"Certainly, I will take it with me, Paul. Let your
colleague hear that I commend his diligence. It might
be worth while to let Sir Malcolm know of this—but
not until I have debated it. You will find me at the
Ritz Hotel for three days. After that I am at Lau-
sanne."
Paul looked a little anxious.
"This visit is very daring, Highness."
"I am aware of it, Paul—but do you not say that
Gustave Faber is an excellent man, and that he is to
take care of me?"
"Ah, sir, but I am jealous. Nevertheless, I trust
Faber."
"And feel confident that he will discover for me
this very mysterious Egyptian Pasha, upon whose ex-
istence an honest man's fate may depend?"
"I believe that he will do so, Highness, though I
am unable to agree with your conclusions."
"Your own view being, Paul?"
"That this is a mystery which no man will ever solve,
Highness."
Maurevale sighed, but did not contradict him. Per-
haps he was coming to that opinion himself, but his
indomitable will refused to hear any such story, and
the last words he spoke to his servant were the com-
mand that every post must bring an account of his


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 149
achievements and his failures. Then he took his letters
and wondered why he had omitted to notice that the
first of them was in Stella Insole's well-known hand, and
that it had arrived in London by the morning mail.
For a little while this note remained unopened, while
Maurevale recalled a picture of the old French chateau
of Aizy-la-Belle, and of its gardens. He doubted not
that the Count and Countess of Fours would have many
guests, and he could conjure up an al fresco scene with
the English sisters for its chief ornament. Stella's
girlish beauty would win many admirers in that artifi-
cial atmosphere of " Paris a la campagne," and could
not fail to provoke some jealousies. He was not un-
willing that it should be so—for he remembered that
the boy, Otto Walther, had already declared his love
for her, and that she must know many lovers before the
true story of her life could be written.
She wrote freely an intimate confession of her hopes
and her doubts. So newly arrived at the chateau on
the Loire, she spoke of its splendours, ancient and mod-
ern, of its great rooms, wherein the kings and queens
of France had moved, and of its gardens, wherein al-
ready you might espy the monoplane of Monsieur
Henri, the count's second son.
"The house is superb," went her words, "a gabled
building of stone, with a fayade made familiar to me
by twenty writers. One wing of it is carried right
across the river upon Norman arches, above which is
the ballroom, with the very sedilla upon which the mad
Louis played with his images and Charles heard the
rhapsodies of the Maid who saved him. Now we set
the gramophone upon this ancient bench, while Mon-


150 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
sieur Henri tells me that he would fly with me to the
world's end if his machine would carry the spirit—
of which I am delighted to say there seems no possi-
bility whatever.
"The other guests are chiefly relatives: the Chevalier
Maurice, who makes love after dinner to the count's
niece, Olive, but becomes a philosopher of a depressing
school in the early morning hours; Monsieur Gaspard,
madame's brother, who still believes that France is wait-
ing for a king; and the Bishop of Loches, who is a
dear old gentleman with one foot already in Paradise
and the other in a poultice. I fear the gout afflicts
him sorely—but what is nearer to his heart is the trouble
which hovers about this house, and his own difficulty in
understanding it.
"You asked me, prince, to visit the chateau and to
give you my impression of its people. You told me
that this was a duty I owed to Lady Anna and to my
sister. Believing as you do that this visit is a true
service to the dear old count, and must make eventually
for his happiness, you establish me at once in a position
of responsibility and of charity to which I must bring
all the devotion I can command.
"Let me, then, speak very frankly to you of my
difficulties. When I set out from England I believed
with you that nothing but a series of coincidences had
connected the honoured name of the Count of Fours
with this terrible crime. If I believe it no longer, if I
am alarmed and dismayed, let circumstance, not judg-
ment, speak for me.
"The count went to your house frankly and openly
to negotiate with you, as you have told me, on behalf


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 151
of the French Government. His friendship for dear
Anna quickly became notorious—provoking the jeal-
ousy of Madame, his wife, and perhaps not unjustly.
When the dreadful day came, his stick was found in
the boat and a button of his order in the very dressing-
room. He gives us an open answer to these unhappy
witnesses, and we, perforce, are content with them. We
assume that he will return to France, and forget the
misfortunes to which he was subject in England. But
is that the case: do I find evidences of it here in his
daily life at Aizy-la-Belle? I am compelled to answer
'None.' I am driven to tell you that every day adds
its burden to my doubts.
"Do you remember, sir, that when I was travelling
from Paris here I made mention of the fact that the
count stood in evident apprehension of meeting some
person, and that particularly the approach of a little
Egyptian boy troubled him beyond all reason?
"Then at Aizy-la-Belle this curious and quite un-
looked-for impression is deepened every hour. The
count never leaves his wife's side when he can find an
excuse for remaining with her. Madame, upon the
other hand, treats him with a disdain which is cruel,
and delights, it would seem, in provoking the maddest
suspicions.
"Such is the scene, dear prince, to which I am called
and upon which my work must be done. I have written
this general account of it that you may judge how far
I have been influenced by an atmosphere of suspicion,
and how far by the realities in the story that is to
come.
"For there is a story, and it, I believe, is as strange


152 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
a story as even you have heard in all the dark hours
of this terrible affair.
"Yesterday Monsieur Henri took a party of us to
the old palace of Chinon, which, as you will know, is
the most splendid ruin in all this chateau land. More
correctly, perhaps, it should be said, that we made a
little tour, searching out Amboise and Chevarney and
fixing upon Chinon for our dejeuner. I am so much
in love already with this fascinating country, its ex-
quisite forests, and echoes of five hundred years ago,
that I would refuse none who offered to show me more
of it; and I felt quite grateful to Monsieur Henri for
taking me away from Madame and her petulant ways,
and the 'dear old bishop,' who is forever complaining
of the gout.
"Our party was a merry one. The Chevalier Mau-
rice rode at the back with Kitty and Olive, to whom,
upon this occasion only, he consented to make love be-
fore lunch. I went in front with Monsieur Henri, and
listened to his absurd stories of what the world would
be like when every one rode in aeroplanes, and even
love in a forest would be by no means pastoral. Our
journey carried us for a while by the banks of the
Loire, that dreamy river from which all life seems to
have fled; that wide lake of idle waters, lapping the
sandbanks and telling them stories of the mediaeval age.
Thence we turned to the forests, and were soon amid
those woodland scenes which are more beautiful, surely,
in France than in any country of the world.
"So far, be it admitted, the venture had nothing out
of the charming commonplace which makes a day in
chateau land. You shall soon hear how the aspect


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 153
of it was to change. We rambled about the chateau
of Chinon, and then returned one by one down the steep
road toward the town. Kitty had been with me at
the start, but I stopped from time to time to gather
the roses from the crumbling wall, and was quite alone
when I descended the narrow stone steps and entered
the street of ancient houses which lie immediately be-
neath the citadel. Here the strange thing happened.
Thinking nothing of the matter, and forgetting for
the hour all that had sent me to this wonderland, I
came face to face with the little Egyptian boy who had
so frightened Monsieur le Comte upon our journey
from Paris, and who recognised me immediately. In-
deed, he spoke to me in quite passable French; asked
me very cheekily how the angry old gentleman, whom
he called ' my father,' was doing.
"You may be sure, sir, that this encounter both sur-
prised and interested me beyond my power to tell. The
lad sat astride of a low wall, running round the garden
of a grey stone house, such as might have been occu-
pied by any artisan or petty clerk of Chinon.
"His attitude was neither one of concern nor even
of curiosity, and I perceived that he addressed me with-
out any other object than that of reminding me that
we had met before. When I answered him in the same
spirit, and asked him how long he had been living at
Chinon, he replied, with just as much self-assurance,
that he had been living there just three days; so that
it was evident he had come with us, step by step, from
Blois, and that his family had installed themselves in
this humble dwelling at the very moment the Count of
Fours returned to his home at Aizy-la-Belle.


154 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I have said that I was alone during this conversa-
tion, and very fortunately I remained so. An inquiry
as to whether the boy had long left Egypt obtained
the response that he had been five years away from his
own country; but while I was asking whether he wished
to return, a woman came suddenly to the door and
demanded to know who I was and what I wanted. To
her I responded immediately that I was the friend of
Monsieur le Comte de Fours, whereupon she immediately
invited me to enter the house, and sent the Egyptian
boy upstairs upon an errand of whose nature I remained
in ignorance.
"Admit, dear prince, that this invitation was ex-
ceedingly fortunate. Had I remained at the gate an-
other five minutes, Monsieur Henri and the Chevalier
Maurice—whose charming occupation had been that of
twining red roses into Olive's black hair—would have
overtaken me, and the whole episode ended in that fri-
volite de voyage of which the Frenchmen have such a
ready command. As it was, I entered the cottage just
as they passed, and thinking that they must wait for
me, and would not resent the delay while coffee and
cigarettes were to be had at the inn, I gave no thought
to myself but only to the woman before me.
"Let me describe this remarkable person for you
with what skill I can command. She is, perhaps, fifty
years of age: her skin so browned by the sun that she
might be an Eastern woman wearing our dress and
habits with difficulty. Her eyes are unforgettable,
very large and of a bluish grey, and seeming to reflect
an unstable mind and one dominated by fear. In her
hands there is some character; they are round and


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 155
puffy, and the nails very white. She is of middle height,
but a little lame; her hair is so wonderfully white that
it is quite impossible to imagine her as a girl or even
as a woman in the middle life. Beyond this, I can
tell you only that her voice is very soft and pleasing
when she is not agitated—but the slightest word of
opposition provokes her to a shrill outburst which a
true virago could not surpass.
"This person I followed into the parlour upon the
right-hand side of the narrow hall. It was very
sparsely furnished and without evidence of daily occu-
pation. A Madonna upon the mantelshelf stood in odd
contrast to a model of the Sphinx standing upon a
little oak table in the window. There were two or three
English books upon the ledge by the fireplace—and
more remarkable still, a large framed photograph of
Farrard Court above them. So astonished was I to
discover this that my amazement was evident to the
woman, and she began at once to speak of it.
"' Mademoiselle knows that house. It is of the
English Earl of Farrard—a great nobleman, mademoi-
selle, where my sister was maid. Mademoiselle is Eng-
lish, and will like to see the English pictures here in
our country—is it not so, mademoiselle?'
"I replied as graciously as I could that nothing
gave me greater pleasure; but a further reference to
Farrard Court would have been indiscreet in the face
of her evident desire to avoid it.
"' My sister has been dead many years,' she said,
evasively, 'and I, mademoiselle, I have come back to
my dear France to die. Here at Chinon I was born,
and here will I end my days. There is only one coun-


156 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
try for each of us, and we are faithless children if we
forget. Your own land is very beautiful—but,
mademoiselle, it is so lonely—the solitudes, the wide,
wide marshes, the dykes anywhere. And the people so
strange, so sullen. Oh, I do not like your England,
and I am glad that I have left it.'
"I concealed the interest I felt, and feigned indiffer-
ence with what composure I could command.
"' You must have been in our fen country,' I said
at hazard. 'England is not all like that, and you
were not fortunate, madame.'
"She waved it aside with a gesture; but I thought
her grey eyes were alert none the less, and watching
me as shrewdly as I watched her.
"' Ah, mademoiselle,' she exclaimed, ' we poor people
cannot pick our comings and goings as you others. I
have been in many countries, but there is only one coun-
try for me, and I pray God I may never leave it more.
Here in France one knows how to live—it is so difficult
among strangers.'
"' And you have travelled far,' I said, ' for the little
boy who spoke to me is an Egyptian, I think?'
"She made no attempt to deny it. I was surprised
that she answered me so readily.
"' Yes, yes, an Egyptian, a little orphan, mademoi-
selle, to whom I have been very kind. He tells me
that he has seen you before—was it not at Blois?'
"' Certainly, with Monsieur le Comte de Fours—
upon my journey from England.'
"' Ah, Monsieur le Comte! How many years since
I—but you know him well; he is an old friend of yours,
mademoiselle?'


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 157
"' He was a great friend of a dear friend of mine
—the sister of the English nobleman who owns that
house. Your sister would have known the Lady Anna
Maclain, I am sure. She must have seen her often at
Farrard Court.'
"I confess, prince, that I remained in some alarm
at the effect these simple words produced upon this
kindly old Frenchwoman. Had I come to rob her
house she could not have regarded me with more con-
cern or with an apprehension less concealed. Changing
colour at the rapid beating of her heart, the white
cheeks flushing in spots of crimson and then assuming
pallor quite unnatural in its hue, she pressed her trem-
bling hands to her breast and for quite a long while
did not answer me a word.
"' Ah,' she exclaimed at last—and I could see with
what difficulty she spoke at all—' then you knew that
unhappy lady?'
"' So well,' said I, ' that her death was the greatest
sorrow my life has given me.'
"She lifted her eyes, and they glistened with warm
tears. It was plain that she suffered much.
"' Ah, mademoiselle, what a story—and what a
crime! The dearest lady that ever lived. And the
assassin undiscovered! Oh, it is terrible, terrible, and
it makes my heart bleed.'
"' You speak,' said I, 'of a dear friend, and it is
evident you knew her very well.'
"She hesitated at this, and the look of reserve and
of question which I had already remarked passed again
into her eyes. Evidently she regretted the weakness of


158 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
her confession, though the truth of her emotion could
not be questioned.
"' My sister knew her very well, and I, mademoiselle,
I have seen her—it is long years ago since we first met,
and she—ah, dear God, she is dead.'
"And then she said:
"' How strange that you should have come to my
house—by accident, mademoiselle.'
"' Indeed,' said I, ' it could hardly be called accident
at all, for I saw your Egyptian lad at the gate and
remembered him immediately as one who attempted to
speak to Monsieur le Comte upon our journey from
Paris.'
"This, prince, I said with some deliberation, mean-
ing it for the challenge I would now throw down. Its
effect upon the dame was altogether curious. She did
not turn upon me passionately, as I feared would be
the case. There was no meaningless denial or even
an explanation—but she simply sat rocking to and fro
as one who debated a matter very seriously and could
come to no resolution. When this silence had lasted
perhaps a full minute she appeared to make up her
mind suddenly, and at once began to speak to me con-
fidentially.
"' Mademoiselle,' she said, 'are you the true friend
of Monsieur le Comte?'
"I said that I was.
"' Then you shall tell him from me that he must
come to my house without delay.'
"' To your house, madame? Why so?'
"' That he may save himself and others from the
tongues which speak against him.'


160 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
by her gossip proved as unkindly an ally as the truth
is apt to do. We made the journey to a salvo of droll
innuendo quite ridiculous in its childishness, and imme-
diately upon our return we found the grounds of Aizy-
la-Belle prepared for one of those garden fetes which
are such a solace to Madame the Countess.
"For these, as I have already hinted, she leaves her
'sick bed' and condescends to come among us. If no
impartial observer could by any chance mistake her
for an invalid that is her misfortune, which should or
should not invite our pity. Certainly no country girl
at a fair dances with more zest or is more solicitous of
the favours of flattery. Last night she surpassed her-
self—and in common charity it should be said that her
fete was magnificent. Not until this moment, perhaps,
had I understood how admirably are these old chateaux
adapted for the al fresco life, or what wonders can be
worked in their grounds if money and lights be not
spared.
"It was, sir, a veritable scene from the fables of the
ancients. We moved in a forest of silver lamps, the
most delicious music bewitching us, and countless sprites
raising their mocking laughter beneath the stately trees.
The river itself had become a stream of magic fire, blue
and golden and deeply violft; boats shaped as mon-
strous birds moved upon it, and the masqueraders were
winged things who flitted over the sheen of the waters
as giant fireflies from a world of spirits. Such a
pageant, lavish in its execution and without restraint
in its idea, is after Madame's own heart, and reconciles
her to the solitudes of Aizy-la-Belle. From Paris, from
Tours, and even from our own London, our guests have


THE SEARCH IS BEGUN 161
come. And you shall imagine what an opportunity
I found therein for the delivery of the old dame's mes-
sage to the count, or even for any private speech with
him whatsoever.
"He, sir, I confess, is the enigma in this doubtful
hour. It seems to me, I know not why, that the ' Eng-
lish sisters' and this dear old gentleman stand apart
from all the gaiety round about and are the sadder
because of it. At one moment, indeed, I came upon
him in a grove of the woods by which the band of the
African Chasseurs was playing, and discovered him to
be weeping. He took my arm when we met thus and
begged me to accompany him to the house—but imme-
diately we were joined by the old Bishop of Loches,
and any confidential talk was denied to me. Had it
been otherwise I doubt if I could have spoken to him
—my heart was heavy and the shadow of death stood
about me. But I shall take an early opportunity of
speaking to him—and meanwhile, prince, the unforget-
table thing remains. The heart of green jade is there
in that lonely house, hung as though by a child's fingers
where all the world can see it."


CHAPTER XVI
THE DEN IN THE EUE MONTSEEEE
Gustave Fabee proved to be a sedate-looking French-
man of some fifty years of age. His appearance was
quite without distinction: a fact, perhaps, to which he
owed success in his profession. Of the middle height,
his hair was already sown with grey, but a suggestion
of youth remained in his clean-shaven face. An ob-
server might have said that he was a retired soldier,
had been a sous offlcier or a servant of a Government
Department—but few would have named him for a po-
liceman. When he entered Prince Maurevale's room at
the Ritz Hotel in Paris he bowed formally and intro-
duced himself in the briefest words.
"Gustave Faber, Highness—by the instruction of
your secretary, Paul Gregoriev."
The prince nodded and bade him seat himself.
"I had expected you," he said, "but not so soon.
I am but just arrived. My secretary speaks highly
of you, Monsieur Faber, and I see that I must confirm
his opinion."
"Your Highness is very good. I fear this is an in-
trusion at such a time, but naturally I was anxious,
especially under the circumstances."
"Which are, Monsieur Faber?"
"That the man, Tahir Pasha, is still in Paris, though
I cannot say how many days he will remain here."
"Then you have traced him, after all?"
162


THE DEN IN THE RUE MONTSERRE 163
"Yes, Highness. He has lived for some time in
the Rue Dauphine. At the same time it is not always
possible to say that he is alive."
"Ah, I have heard of that. He is a victim to
drugs?"
"To opium, Highness; a habit he acquired in the
East."
"Then he should serve our purpose the better for
it. Do you say he is in Paris at this moment?"
"He is living in the Rue Dauphine—at a house which
I have reason to believe is rented by the Young Egyp-
tian Party—a dangerous house, Highness, and one
which we may not hope to visit."
"Possibly not; I will consider it. You will remem-
ber, however, that I am come to Paris to see this
man."
"I am perfectly aware of it—if your Highness so
pleases, you may see him this night. But the circum-
stances would be remarkable—and not altogether pleas-
ant."
"You mean that he is in an opium den, I
suppose."
"Yes, Highness, in the Rue Montserre, No. 29.
There are many scoundrels of all nations—I hesitate to
advise your Highness."
"Nevertheless, I will be with you—does our dress
matter?"
"It is a matter of indifference, Highness, since these
people's customers are drawn from many ranks, and
you will find members of the Chamber of Deputies lying
side by side with the assassins from the Halles. I
should prefer, however, that you should go armed."


164 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"As you please, Monsieur Faber. Let us see, it is
now half-past seven. I will be ready for you precisely
at nine o'clock."
Gustave Faber withdrew, and Maurevale went down
to dinner in the restaurant. Here he met many ac-
quaintances—women who had made love to him during
decades; bright-eyed girls not unwilling to make love
to him at this immediate moment; a dean who had for-
gotten the Fathers that he might conduct the daughters
to Switzerland; an aeronaut whose machine had been
smashed at Issy that morning, but who had already
planned a new one; an actor from London who had
come to buy French plays and had found none—a
heterogeneous throng dining famously, and asking
nothing else of destiny but that to-morrow should be
as yesterday.
To Prince Maurevale such puppets as these were
amusing enough in the common way, but to-night he
could play no part with them. His own destiny ap-
peared to be forcing him along a path so obscure and
unwelcome that he wondered sometimes if he did right
to follow it at all.
He had served great ambitions, and whither had they
led him? To a woman's grave; and thence?—but
beyond the grave he had no vision save that which
recalled Stella Insole and the gardens of Highlands
Castle in which she had walked.
And this vision the glass had mocked and the years
cried out upon.
"Youth is dead," the voices cried—and then as ironi-
cally, "youth is eternal."
He shut his ears to the voices, and declining invita-


166 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and little flames of fire whose breath is the dreamer's
paradise and the dreamer's death.
Orientals in robes of far from spotless white attend
the unhappy victims of this foul den, and help them to
that insensibility which is their heart's desire.
Men of all nationalities lie upon the narrow benches
and cry a satire upon their gift of life.
Here are Christians and Jews, Europeans and Chi-
nese, men from the Indies, East and West, adventurers
from many climes; even women prostrate before the
great God of Dreams they have chosen to wor-
ship.
Prince Maurevale entered this den by the narrow
stairway from the Rue St. Dominique. A fat Turk,
who wore a fez, answered to Gustave Faber's knock, and
bowed deferentially, as the East bows to the West when
the West carries a truncheon. An inner door ad-
mitted the visitors to a mosque-like apartment, in which
were those victims to hashish, mad-eyed creatures, who
would have sprung at any human throat for a nod,
and sat, meanwhile, straight-backed and stiff against
the frowsy red cushions which nursed them. Beyond,
in a larger chamber, were varieties of the order of
insensibles—creatures who laughed and sang and
danced, and from that would turn at any moment upon
their neighbours and crush the lives out of them but
for the iron hands of the Nubians who kept order here,
and knew no argument but that of the monstrous fingers
which could hold a neck as in a vice.
The general apartment for those who smoked opium
lay beyond this, and was oblong in shape and of some
size. The many bunks in it were ranged about the


THE DEN IN THE RUE MONTSERRE 167
marble walls in two tiers, and each was curtained from
observation. Beyond it, and shut from it by heavy
draperies, stood a smaller room, quite circular and
having a ceiling richly gilded and coloured. This ap-
peared altogether a different stamp of apartment from
the others which they had passed, and the boy attend-
ants who carried the little pipes of opium and lighted
them, were dressed in long white robes to which the
term spotless might have been fitly applied.
It was in this room, before a low bed of red velvet,
that Gustave Faber stopped at last, and indicated that
the object of their quest had been found.
"Highness," he said, " that is Tahir Pasha."
The man lay quite insensible and dreaming. His age
appeared to be about thirty-five years, and even in such
a light the remarkable beauty of his countenance could
not have escaped the most unobservant of visitors.
Very dark, with black hair which was bunched about
his ears and temples after the fashion of the older
Egyptians, his countenance had Grecian rather than
Oriental characteristics, the forehead being open and
pleasing, the nose such as one may see in the statues
of the early Greek masters, and the mouth delicate and
rosy as that of a woman. In contrast to this was
the truly manly figure, square and browned, the arms
almost of a mahogany tint, and the chest that of a
soldier. More interesting, however, than the purely
physical attitude was the mental—for the man dreamed
as he slept—and it was as though every line of his
thoughts was written upon his face that all who passed
might read.
There were but two occupants of this particular den,


168 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and the other was a very old man, apparently a true
Chinaman, who slept at the drug's bidding, with the
face of a child who is tired.
He, happily, might be ignored, and when the prince
had ascertained that none watched him in the room,
he bade Faber bring chairs and placed them at the
head of the bunk which Tahir occupied. Here there
was a curtained recess, disclosing a door which had been
locked; but as the curtain hid it completely, Maurevale
merely remarked the circumstance and fell to watching
the sleeper closely, even to touching his hand and letting
his fingers rest upon it a little while.
He was a student of telepathy, and a convinced be-
liever in the power of one brain to influence or dominate
another and a weaker brain. No better opportunity
for an experiment could possibly be found than in this
den of iniquity, where the silence reigned supreme and
the sleepers sought but dreams. Sitting by Tahir's
side, the prince began to speak in a low voice, as though
he questioned an intelligent auditor, and waited for a
natural answer.
"You are the Bimbashi Tahir, and you left Egypt
five years ago?"
The prone figure stirred slightly, but the face re-
mained without interest, and the question was repeated.
"You are the Bimbashi Tahir, and you left Egypt
five years ago?"
The head was turned now and the eyes were staring
wildly. Fear had become the dominating impulse, and
one might have said that the figure was about to rise.
"You left because of certain charges made against
you by the authorities at Assouan, where your regiment


THE DEN IN THE RUE MONTSERRE 169
was stationed. You were expelled from the army and
you fled the country."
The question received no response. A stolid look
of indifference passed across the sleeper's face and was
not to be moved. The prince, however, was not to
be discouraged, and he shifted his ground immediately.
"When did you first hear the news of the Lady Anna
Maclain?"
The prone figure stirred and shuddered. For a little
while afterwards it remained quite still, then was turned
about as though to hear the words anew. Before,
however, the prince could speak one of the little lads
arrived at the bed with a pipe of opium, but, seeing
there was no call for it, went out immediately through
the curtained recess. This was the moment for Gus-
tave Faber to intervene.
"Sir," he whispered, as the lad went out, "there is
a woman behind that door."
Maurevale nodded his head. He had been putting
his questions to the sleeper in a low tone; but now he
ceased to put them at all, and contented himself instead
with a touch of a finger upon the hand which fell limply
from the bed. When a few moments had passed, Tahir
Pasha stirred and opened his eyes—and immediately
those who watched him drew back.
If the Egyptian had seemed to be a fine man when
asleep, assuredly waking did not destroy the impression.
Of tall stature and immense physical strength, the face
appeared to lose its feminine characteristics when the
eyes were open, and courage and resignation to take
the place of fear and submission. The loose dressing-
gown he wore showed the developed muscles of the neck


170 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and chest, and when he lifted a hand even the languor
of the gesture was forgotten in the admiration of the
tremendous forearm which the falling sleeve disclosed.
A boy now advanced to offer the awakened sleeper
a new pipe of opium; but he waved him off with an
angry gesture, and turned about as though aware that
some one stood at his bedside and that he was watched.
Perceiving Maurevale, he rested his hand upon his shoul-
der and surveyed him with the profound gaze of one
who makes an appeal to memory but cannot command
it. In his turn, the prince apologised with charming
frankness for his intrusion, and begged the Egyptian
not to disturb himself.
"I think we have met before, sir," he said, "though
I cannot recall the circumstances."
"We have never met," was the response, blunt and
without qualification.
"And yet," continued the prince, very quietly, "I
seem to remember that you are the Egyptian officer
named Tahir Pasha, who was very well known to one
of my dearest friends."
He waited for an answer, watching the set face
closely. Tahir upon his part deliberately lay back
upon the cushion as one who had no interest in the
question. Nevertheless, he admitted something utterly
unlooked for even by so shrewd a thinker as Maurevale.
"You are Maurevale of Dara," he exclaimed—and
then, "I know perfectly well why you come to me.
But I cannot help you. Seek others and beware of
them."
"Ah," said the prince, " I feared as much. But you
would not be unprepared to help me if you could, sir?"


THE DEN IN THE RUE MONTSERRE 171
"If I could do so safely, sir—but I cannot. It is
not wise for you to come to me. It is most imprudent."
"Why should it be imprudent, sir? Do I not come
in the name of one with whom you were very well
acquainted?"
"It is possible—I do not wish to be reminded of it."
"Then I am wrong in assuming that you had some
friendship for my friend—the Lady Anna Maclain."
The Egyptian started up. His attitude had been
entirely passive until this moment—an attitude which
the drug might have influenced. Now, however, he
began to show some signs of impatience, and he turned
upon his interrogator sharply.
"Who is it that has sent you, sir—is it your friend
Captain Ferman, the assassin?"
"If it should be, you will desire, I am sure, to serve
an innocent man."
"An innocent man! I do not believe it, sir."
"You do not believe it?"
"Certainly not, since there is every reason to say
that he killed the lady you have named."
"But, sir, this cannot be said lightly."
The man's eyes blazed.
"Lightly—am I of a race that speaks lightly? Hear
me now—if your law spares this criminal I myself will
kill him whenever I shall find him."
"Then you hold him to be guilty?"
There was no answer. The Egyptian had become as
one possessed. Rocking to and fro upon his haunches,
his eyes blazed fire, and froth came to his lips. Pres-
ently he raised his arms high above his head and uttered
a shrill cry in a tongue that neither understood—then


172 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he fell back heavily upon the cushions and lay in-
sensible.
"Ah," cried Maurevale to his companion as he
stooped over the prone figure and lifted one of the
sleeves of the Eastern robe, "he wears an amulet, I
perceive. Do you know what this is, Monsieur Faber?"
But Gustave Faber made no reply. A movement
quick as light had carried him to the curtained door,
where he tore the drapery aside and caught at the
figure of a woman ambushed there. She, however, flung
herself from him, and the knife she carried fell with
a clang upon the marble pavement. In the same instant
the door was forced back and locked from the far side.
"A she-cat truly," remarked the detective as he
picked up the dagger and examined it. "In another
moment, Highness, you would have felt the temper of
this."
"For the sake of an Egyptian who wears a heart
of green jade," rejoined the prince quietly.
He looked again at Tahir Pasha and at the very
curious ornament to which he had referred. Con-
vinced that he had made no mistake, and that it was
indeed a heart cut from a solid block of that beautiful
jade the Chinese work so finely, he covered the sleeper's
arm again and bade Gustave Faber follow him.
"We shall learn nothing more here," he said. "Let
us go now to the Rue Dauphine."
"To the House of the Green Lantern—ah, Highness,
that will be a dangerous journey."
Maurevale made no reply. He had long ceased to
consider danger where it stood between him and the
mystery it was now the purpose of his life to reveal.


CHAPTER XVII
THE GREEN LANTERN IN THE RUE DAUPHINE
They took a cab at the end of the street, and crossing
the river they came to the Pont Neuf, beyond which
lies the old Rue Dauphine.
This is an ancient street running from the quay to
the Boulevard St. Germain—a monument to the social
history of Paris, which time and fashion have defaced
beyond all knowledge.
Formerly the home of princes, it is now peopled by
thriving tradesmen and worthy merchants. Students
from the Quartier Latin hire apartments in its once
glorious houses, and priests from the colleges enjoy
the splendours of its faded rooms.
Maurevale knew Paris well, but he did not know this
gloomy thoroughfare, nor did he remember to have
entered it before. Gustave Faber, on the other hand,
was very well acquainted with it, and could have told
him grim stories of its once splendid mansions.
To-night he forbore to be anecdotal. Perhaps the
mystery attending Maurevale's appearance in Paris had
engrossed him also, despite official immunity. He
imagined rightly that some matter of deep import was
responsible for this curiosity concerning the Egyptian
and his life, and he did not disguise in any way the
danger of the quest upon which they were embarked.
The latter consideration held him silent as they
crossed the Pont Neuf and looked down upon the dark
173


174 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
■
waters of the swift river. The great bell in the Palais
de Justice had struck eleven o'clock, the hour at which
"life" begins to be worth living on the south side
of the Seine. Even the Rue Dauphine could show them
a cafe, brightly lighted and teeming with long-haired
students from the colleges. These listened to the
strains of "Hungarian" musicians, born somewhere in
the neighbourhood of the "Midi." But none the less
the music was bright and catchy, and many feet beat
time to it.
Next door to the cafe were two or three shops, one
a bookshop kept by a white-haired old man who must
have been an optimist, for his shutters were still down,
while he smoked a cigar at his door as though some
laggard, intoxicated not by good wine but by learning,
might yet buy a volume of him before he went to bed.
Maurevale, who had eyes for everything in the street,
stopped the cab directly he espied the old bookseller,
and immediately entered into conversation with him.
He proved to be a vain and affable man, who spoke
freely of his neighbours and seemed pleased at the un-
expected opportunity of discussing them. When, how-
ever, the prince pointed out the green lantern above
the door of an ancient mansion some fifty yards down
the street, the old fellow became a little suspicious,
and showed some disposition to retire into his cell.
"The House of the Green Lantern—ah, monsieur,
none of us know much about that. But I will tell you
one thing—the lantern is sometimes of another colour
—and that is curious, as you will admit."
"Or merely a question of taste," said Maurevale;
"we change the colour of our doorposts, why not of our


THE GREEN LANTERN 175
lanterns? No doubt the house has a history with which
you would be familiar; is it not so, monsieur?"
An appeal to his learning flattered the old bookseller
and loosed his tongue.
"It was formerly the house of the Marquis of Ser-
vaux," he said immediately; "the ceilings are by Hor-
ace Vernet—though that is a fact that will not con-
cern the riff-raff who now occupy it. If you are inter-
ested in this quarter of our city, I would recommend
to you the volumes of Saint-Beuve, of which I have an
excellent example in my possession at this moment."
The prince asked to see the books, and they were
brought out at once. An offer to purchase them de-
lighted the old man and gained upon his confidence.
"The history of the Servaux family has been treated
also by Lamartine," he went on. "Unfortunately, I
have sold the book to the Egyptian lady who came to
see me yesterday. But I do not doubt that I could
quickly procure another copy if your Excellency desires
it?"
Maurevale desired him to do so—then he said:
"Do young Egyptian ladies take an interest in the
story of French houses? Surely that is something
new."
"As your Excellency says, both new and remarkable.
I make nothing of it. Why should I? It is my busi-
ness to sell books. But I have eyes like my neighbours,
and when I see a dead man carried into a coach at
midnight, and then a red lantern where a green lantern
had stood, why then, as your Excellency will imagine,
I am not less curious than others would be."
"It would certainly be very wonderful if you were


176 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
not—especially if the young lady were sufficiently
pretty. I am assuming that she was so, monsieur,
or you would not have spoken of her in such flattering
terms?"
The old man responded to him a little tartly.
"My personal opinions are of no importance to any
one, monsieur. Moreover, this is a case for the police,
or will be, before we are many days older."
Maurevale now perceived that he had gone a little
too far, and that the bookseller was alarmed and would
say no more. Laying a hundred-franc note upon the
counter, he declared that he would call for the book in a
few days' time, and so made as though to leave the shop.
Just, however, as he was crossing the threshold a car-
riage drew up before the House of the Green Lantern,
and a young Egyptian woman stepped to the pavement.
"There she is, Excellency," the old bookseller cried,
"that is Mademoiselle Zaida. Is she not beautiful?"
As it was quite impossible to see the young lady's
face, Maurevale might have hesitated to reply to the
question; but, wishing to draw the old man out, he
answered that her beauty was amazing. And then
he said:
"She is quite alone, I perceive."
"Always alone, monsieur, except when the brother
comes home. But that is not a lucky day for her."
"Is she not fortunate, then, in her brother?"
The bookseller shook his head.
"I do not know what it is. There are some who
say absinthe; others who tell a different story. But
he is very rich, this Tahir Pasha, and what does it
matter what we do while we are rich? The world likes


THE GREEN LANTERN 177
our vices all the better; for then people have something
to talk about. Does your Excellency now perceive how
very beautiful the young lady is?"
He had laid a hand upon the prince's arm as though
to call attention to the opportunity. Standing for a
moment to say a word to the coachman, the Egyptian
woman permitted the light from the lantern of the
carriage to fall full upon her face, and now for the
first time Maurevale saw it clearly—and with an aston-
ishment he could hardly conceal.
Immediately he recognised it for the face of the
picture in the House of the Five Shutters near Ely.
There was no possible doubt. Nor could he forget
that some unknown miscreant had entered that house
and slashed the picture with a sword. Verily were the
mysteries shaping anew.
"As beautiful as she appears to be fascinating,"
he said to the bookseller. "Does she speak French,
by the way?"
"With an accent, monsieur, which is pardonable to
such a lady. I believe also that she speaks English
very well—for I have heard her in conversation with
no other than the Count of Fours in this very shop."
"The Count of Fours—but this is very interesting.
Is he also a client of yours?"
"For many years I have sent books to Aizy-la-Belle.
Certainly I have a great respect for the count, and he,
I think, for me."
Maurevale was about to make some answer when
Gustave Faber, who had been walking up and down
the street, returned to the shop and made a sign that
he had something to report. Wishing the bookseller


178 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
good-night, and promising to return upon an early
day, Maurevale linked his arm in that of the detective
and went off with him. The Egyptian girl had re-
entered the house by this time, and the carriage was
driven away. There were but two lights visible above
the lantern, and one of these shone dimly from the
cupola of the hall.
"Well," exclaimed Maurevale, "I really think we
have done a very good night's work, Monsieur Faber."
"If your Excellency thinks so!"
"But I do think it. Trust a bookseller if you would
have the news of the street. Did you not tell me,
by the way, that this house was supposed to be owned
by the Young Egyptian Party in Paris?"
"The police believe so—and mark it dangerous."
"And yet it appears to be quite unworthy of such
a description. Why, my dear Monsieur Faber, the
good folks are already going to bed."
"Ah, sir, but not all of them, for here is another
carriage."
It was quite true, for a second carriage, drawn by
a fine pair of black horses, now appeared in the street
and drew up by the green lantern. Of its three occu-
pants two were men, Eastern certainly, and possibly
Egyptian. The third was the woman whom Gustave
Faber had discovered in the opium den of the Rue
Montserre—a fact which he hastened to point out as
he drew Maurevale back into the shadows and lowered
his voice to a whisper.
"Do you see—the lady concealed by the curtain,
monsieur?"
"Another object for the admiration of our friend


THE GREEN LANTERN 179
the bookseller. She is perhaps a little forbidding, but
then booksellers should be catholic in their tastes. Is
anything else apparent to you, Faber?"
"The men have been quarrelling, Excellency."
"And one of them is not permitted to enter the
house. For a truth we are fortunate—and there is
a man who must sup with us."
"Excellency—that is risking too much."
"Which I am here to risk. Now please to follow
me."
He crossed the street and followed the young Egyp-
tian who had been dismissed a little summarily at the
gate. Jostling him as though by accident when they
were almost at the Boulevard St. Germain, Maurevale
apologised with his accustomed courtesy—and then,
feigning astonishment, he explained:
"But, monsieur, we have met before."
"Indeed," exclaimed the young man, in very passable
French, "I am not aware of the circumstance, mon-
sieur."
"But it is so, for I never forget a face. I am
Maurevale of Dara—perhaps my name is known to
you?"
"It could not be unknown to any one in Paris. Still
I do not remember how we met."
"But you will do so presently. And as we both
appear to be without a destination, who do you say,
monsieur, to a little supper at the Cafe Heinrich?"
The young man twirled a fierce moustache and seemed
to hesitate. Possibly he would have declined even yet
but for a word at hazard—thrown down by the prince
as a gambler throws his last card.


180 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Where, sir, we could speak perhaps of Mademoiselle
Zaida."
The Egyptian started, and looked the speaker full
in the face.
"Oh, yes," he said quickly, "I will come with you,
prince, in that case."


CHAPTER XVIII
THE YOUNG MAN SPEAKS
They had turned into the Boulevard St. Germain by
this time, and there Maurevale called a cab and bade
this young Egyptian enter. Gustave Faber mean-
while continued his journey on foot, for he had other
work to do. A few whispered words confirmed an early
appointment with the prince for the morrow, and so the
two parted and Maurevale entered the cab. Precisely
ten minutes later he had ordered a well-chosen supper at
the Cafe Heinrich, and was there conducted to a private
room invariably reserved for him while he was in Paris.
He found the young Egyptian both an agreeable
companion and a willing one. An early exchange of
confidences established the fact that the young man had
served in the Egyptian Army, and that his name was
Allulah. Very frankly and without passion he declared
his sympathies with the National Party, but deplored
the methods they had begun to adopt. Maurevale,
upon his side, encouraged him to talk, serving him
meanwhile to rare dishes and filling his glass with the
choicest wine of the Bordeaux country.
"You have been some time in Paris, sir; I gather as
much from your conversation," said Maurevale, when
the waiters had left the room. Allulah replied that he
had been there just six months.
"More than sufficient to pass for a Parisian if you
have the disposition," said Maurevale. "I would make
a true Parisian of some men in three days. But I
181


182 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
should not take them to the south side of the river."
Allulah looked up, shrewdly perceiving the meaning
of the question. He had known very well from the be-
ginning that such a man as Maurevale of Dara would
not invite him to supper upon the mere score of con-
viviality, and was not surprised that the conversation
should take such a trend.
"Unless," he said, "there were reasons for your
choice. I can well imagine, sir, that the south side of
the river is more agreeable to some of us than the other."
"Or more convenient," said Maurevale, with a laugh,
"in relation to the Embassies."
The young man did not make an immediate reply;
but, when he had drunk another glass of champagne,
he asked:
"Does your Excellency refer to any particular Em-
bassy?"
"Most certainly, I am thinking of our good friends
in London."
"Would you expect to find them my good friends
also?"
"That would depend upon your wisdom. If the
Rue Dauphine holds them of small account, it does not
follow that the Rue Dauphine is an oracle. You, I am
sure, do not think of it as such."
"What leads your Excellency to such an opinion?"
"The fact that you accompany me to supper to-
night. Had it been otherwise you would have entered
the house with the others—whereas I plainly perceived
that you were not welcome."
Allulah sighed and ceased to eat. His thoughts had
been carried in a moment to the image of the woman


THE YOUNG MAN SPEAKS 183
he worshipped, and if he had confessed the truth aloud
it could not have been more unmistakable. Maurevale,
however, who had been convinced of the fact from the
beginning, now hastened to push his advantage home.
"You are not welcome except to one. Forgive my
frankness, for possibly I can help you. And permit
me to congratulate you upon so charming a friend as
Mademoiselle Zaida."
"Then you are acquainted with her, prince?"
"Indeed, no—but I hope to be shortly. Her picture,
however, is well known to me, and I have been privileged
to see her to-night for the first time."
"You agree with me that she is a beautiful woman?"
"It would be impossible to differ."
"And one worthy of sacrifice?"
"Such a sacrifice, shall we say, as would lead a man
to resign a king's commission and to number himself
among the rebels. I am speaking in parables, and
you shall correct me. Is it not so, sir—and do you
find fault with me?"
"Impossible to do so. I have heard you named for
a wizard, and I begin to believe rumour. Tell me, for
charity's sake, how you came to know of my affairs."
"With every pleasure. There are certain elemental
facts of life which no country changes. I desire to
be of service to Mademoiselle Zaida, and I argue that
I may help by the instrumentality of the man who loves
her. Fortune or opportunity sends you in my way at
the very moment I am determined to find you. So our
interests, being common, can be safely discussed."
Allulah nodded his head.
"I should have every confidence in your judgment,"


184 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he said. Maurevale knew too much of men to doubt
the candour of it.
"You are wise to accept my advances," he continued,
"for they may mean much to you. In the first place,
I may save you from the English Government, should
you desire to return to Egypt."
"Then you accuse me of a desire to return?"
"I must do so. The man who does not desire to
return to his native land is either a coward or a villain.
You are neither, and the day will soon come when you
would give ten years of your life for a safe conduct
to the barracks at Cairo. If you went there to-day
you would be arrested—it might be you would be shot.
But you will desire to take Mademoiselle Zaida to
Egypt ultimately, for she would not be happy in any
other country. And so I say that you are wise to
confide in me and to speak of your difficulties. Who
knows that I may not be the very friend for whom you
have been waiting?"
A light of pleasure entered the young man's eyes at
these words, and he regarded Maurevale wistfully, as
though he were listening to a fairy-tale in whose prom-
ises he did not dare to believe. Presently he said:
"But why should you help me? What is your ob-
ligation that you wish to be my friend?"
"Absolutely none. I am here for the most selfish
of interests—to save the life of an Englishman who
is in danger. And so I come to you"
"To me, prince?"
"Yes, to you and to your friend Tahir Pasha."
The Egyptian paled at the words. He was ob-
viously much agitated and not a little alarmed.


THE YOUNG MAN SPEAKS 185
"How can Tahir help you? Is he not himself in
danger?"
"Of what?"
"Of his friends."
"Because of his English sympathies—is that why
he is in danger?"
It was a word at random, but the shot went home.
"I do not say so."
"But you wish me to infer as much. Very well, we
will begin with that. Tahir must be saved for his
sister's sake. You must be saved—from yourself, my
friend—because you are the lover of Mademoiselle
Zaida, whose sympathies are English also, I imagine."
"I will not try to deceive you, since you know so
much. Both Zaida and I regret much that is done
in the Rue Dauphine. But we are helpless, and Tahir
is worse than helpless."
"I can well imagine it. A man who finds inspiration
in an opium den is not likely to be the lusty soldier
of any cause. Well, then, must we not rely upon our-
selves to give this excellent soldier his liberty?"
Allulah shook his head.
"I wish you success," he said quietly; " but you will
be lucky to save his life."
The prince looked up.
"From his friends of the Green Lantern. I see, I
see—our arrival upon the scene is at a late hour. But
we must do our best—and quickly. Are you aware,
by the way, to what your friend Tahir owes his Eng-
lish sympathies? Do you know much of his story?"
"Very little—except that he was dismissed from the
Egyptian army for so-called treachery some six years


186 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
ago. After that he went first to Tunis and then to
Athens. He has been but a few months in Paris."
"And you know nothing of his private affairs—of
his wife or children?"
"Of his wife, certainly—she is Madame Sabine,
Ghika's sister. But he has no children."
"How long has he been married to this lady?"
"I would say for some years; but I have not known
them very long—not personally, that is. We were not
in the same regiment, Tahir and I."
'"And yet I understand that he was a man about
whom Cairo gossiped some years ago?"
"Oh, that is true. The women ran after him very
much—even the French women as well as the Egyptians.
I have heard it said that the wife of the Count of Fours
was very much in love with him."
"To the great entertainment of the city, no doubt.
I have heard the same thing from the Nile boatmen.
The English women fall in love with them and write
them letters they cannot read. Did the old count ap-
prove of the adventure?"
Allulah smiled archly.
"There was some talk of a duel; but the city laughed
so much we heard no more of it. I think also that
Mademoiselle Zaida interfered, for she knew the family
very well. It is said that she corresponds with the
count still—but I do not know the truth of that."
"Perhaps she would tell it to me if I visited her at
the Rue Dauphine?"
A startled look passed into the Egyptian's eyes.
"They would kill you if they knew why you went,"
he said.


THE YOUNG MAN SPEAKS 187
Maurevale lighted a cigar; he seemed quite indifferent
to the information.
"I shall not tell them," he remarked smilingly; "be-
sides, I am not the kind of man that such people as
these are wise to kill."
"Your intention of going, however, is not quite seri-
ous."
"It is perfectly serious. I am going to Mademoiselle
Zaida—first that I may save her brother, and after
that, to marry her to one of my guests."
The youth coloured deeply.
"I may not stop you," he said, "and yet I think
such a journey to be madness."
"But you will help me to make it none the less.
At what time should I be likely to find mademoiselle
alone?"
"Between four and five in the afternoon, if you must
really go."
"I will call there between four and five o'clock to-
morrow. May I use your name in this matter?"
"You have my cordial permission; but once more,
I beg you to reflect."
"My dear sir," said Maurevale quietly, "I spend
most of my life reflecting. It is the only amusement
for a man of sense."
It was now very late, and most of the people had
left the cafe. With a promise to Allulah to meet him
again at the same place on the following evening, and
disregarding his renewed warnings concerning a visit to
the house in the Rue Dauphine, Maurevale returned
to the Ritz Hotel and to his bed. The day's work had
been profitable beyond all hope, and yet, when he came


188 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
to sum the total of its achievements, even he might
have despaired.
For what had he learned, and what did the knowledge
contribute to the solution of the supreme mystery?
He had come to Paris believing that the city might
add some pages to the story of Lady Anna's death,
might throw some new light upon those amazing per-
plexities to which the crime at Pangbourne had given
birth, and help him to send a message of hope to Jack
Ferman and his friends. So far these objects were
utterly defeated. He found himself in the heart of
a new intrigue which might ultimately disclose an amaz-
ing story, but not one, he feared, which would help
him to redeem his promise to Kitty Insole.
Vaguely he began to think that the old Count of
Fours might yet be called upon to answer in a way
which would surprise the world. The one idea, the
inspiration he had desired so ardently, refused obsti-
nately to come to him. He was still as a child grop-
ing in the dark, though the objects about him were
becoming more familiar.
It was late when he awoke next morning, and Gus-
tave Faber already waited for him. The detective
had much that was interesting to tell, and one piece of
news that was unexpected. Tahir Pasha had spent
the night at the house in the Rue Montserre, and had
not yet left that den of iniquity. He had been visited
there, however, by two men, apparently Egyptians, and
these had been followed to the Rue Dauphine, whence
one of them had gone on to a little hotel in the Rue
St. Honore. Here he had found no other than the
Englishwoman, the Lady Constance Heliers, who had


190 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
You meanwhile will not lose sight of Tahir. I consider
this most important."
Faber promised not to do so. At the same time the
intimation concerning the house in the Rue Dauphine
alarmed him very much, and he did not hesitate to
say so.
"Your Excellency is running a grave risk. I really
think it would be well to reconsider your determination.
These are not Frenchmen, and the Prefect has little au-
thority. If any harm happened to you in the house they
would disappear immediately, and we should never trace
them. Besides, it is very difficult to watch the place."
"I can quite imagine that. But do not give yourself
any concern in the matter. Nothing will happen to
me in the Rue Dauphine. I travel under a lucky star,
Monsieur Faber—you may be quite at your ease."
Faber said no more, and Maurevale went down to
breakfast. When he had attended to his correspond-
ence and written a letter to the young man Allulah,
which he sent by a special messenger from the hotel,
he left cards upon the amiable Constance Heliers and
then drove for an hour in the Bois. It was four o'clock
precisely when his car set him down at the door of
the house in the Rue Dauphine, and he told the man
to wait for him.
This had been spoken of by the young Egyptian as
the favourable hour. Maurevale wondered if it were so.
The green lantern was still lighted despite the time of
day. He reflected that Gustave Faber was a man of
wisdom, and that he had spoken of danger.
But he rang at the bell nevertheless, and had never
been more at his ease than when he waited for an answer.


CHAPTER XIX
THE GARDEN GATE
A French servant answered the ring and received the
visitor with the common formalities. In answer to
Maurevale's inquiry whether Mademoiselle Zaida was
at home he said that he would see, and begged the
prince meanwhile to wait in an anteroom of the hall.
This was quite a simple apartment, furnished with a
few stately chairs of a very ancient epoch, and a large
oil painting by Horace Vernet in that painter's usual
florid manner.
The great hall, one of the finest in Paris, was entirely
unoccupied as Maurevale crossed it. Two splendid
staircases led up to a domed landing; the walls were in
mosaic; the ceiling magnificently painted in the Italian
manner. But of evidence of human occupation there
was none whatever. The stillness of the whole place
affected the prince in an odd manner, accustomed as
he was to the power of silence and to its suggestive-
ness. He knew the house as a very nest of all the
conspiracies against British rule in Egypt. But for
what the house told he might have been a caller in the
dog days, when the old Marquis of Servaux had gone
to the Pyrenees and the concierge had fallen into a
nap.
Some minutes passed before the servant returned.
The prince perceived that his manner was no less cor-
rect than before and that the appearance of a stranger
191


192 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
in no way embarrassed him. Very civilly he said that
Mademoiselle Zaida was not at home—" but," he added,
"Madame Sabine will see your Highness if you so
desire."
This was a disappointment, though Maurevale had
hardly hoped to see Mademoiselle Zaida when he went
to the house. The young man, Allulah, was a very
simple fellow and had made light of the difficulties;
but the prince knew very well that such people as these
would not be caught napping, and he replied imme-
diately that he would be glad to see madame. Then the
Frenchman bade him follow, and they went up the great
staircase together.
It really was wonderful that so large a house should
harbour so many people and yet conceal all traces of
them. As in the hall below, so here beneath the cupola,
not a sound might be heard, not a human voice, nor
a human footstep. They passed down a long corridor,
glowing with treasures of painting and sculpture, and
the same impression remained. The dead ages had
their grip upon this splendid habitation, and the green
lantern burned but in a mockery.
Maurevale remembered the lantern, he knew not why,
as the servant opened a door at the far end of the cor-
ridor and informed him that madame would be down
immediately. The room into which they had shown
him was quite Eastern in its tapestries and ornaments,
if not in its paintings. Brightly coloured stuffs deco-
rated the walls; there were low ottomans and cushions
of the Turkish fashion; the windows gave upon the
roof of the ballroom below, of which a miniature winter
garden had been made. Moreover, there were lamps


THE GARDEN GATE 193
of an Eastern fashion, and one of them in the corner
burned before a Christian ikon.
This was a little surprising and added to the prince's
perplexity. But as though it was to be a day of per-
plexities, he had waited but a little while when a man
entered the room quite unexpectedly and appeared to
be astonished that a stranger should occupy it. He
was a very old man, with a white beard of prodigious
length, and a robe to match it falling to his slippered
feet. Bowing gravely, he saluted the prince, and for
an instant fixed curious eyes upon him. Then he with-
drew as silently, and no echo of his footsteps could be
heard from the corridor.
The intrusion was unlooked for, but a second of the
kind capped it more dramatically. This was nothing
else than the opening of a door in the wall, so deftly
concealed that Maurevale had been ignorant of its ex-
istence until the tapestry fell back. Then he perceived
that the hidden door gave upon a smaller apartment,
which was occupied by some half-a-dozen men in East-
ern attire—but chiefly by Turks and Egyptians, who
wore their native dress and were armed to boot. The
men appeared to be engaged in earnest argument; but
it was a woman who had opened the door, and she now
shut it as softly and bowed coldly to Maurevale. He,
however, remained too astonished to return her salute—
for he recognised her instantly as the woman who had
tried to stab him the previous night in the opium den
in the Rue Montserre.
"If you please, monsieur"
She spoke execrable French, as Easterns are wont to
do, but Maurevale detected her nationality instantly,


194 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and knew that she was no Egyptian. A tall woman, of
savage mien, some would have called her handsome,
others merely masculine. Her dress was French and
costly; she had a number of bracelets upon an un-
shapely brown arm, and her raven black hair was caught
up by an ornament of diamonds. At hazard, some
five feet ten in height; the contour of the face inter-
ested the prince greatly and forbade him to divert his
eyes. Where had he seen such a face before?
"A thousand pardons, madame," he exclaimed at
last, "but I do not think you are the lady I have
called to see."
"My cousin Zaida is out," she rejoined, and then,
"but as I have no reason to think that you are ac-
quainted with her, I shall take the liberty of asking
you your business."
Maurevale bowed and began to feel more at his ease.
A contest of the wits invariably stimulated him, and
he understood that this must be such a contest, what-
ever its dangers. Besides, he stood already at an
advantage.
"My excuse might well be that I am a fellow-coun-
tryman," he said; "did not the name of Sabine speak
to me of Sistova, then, assuredly, the ornament you
wear so well, madame, would do so. They have other
arts in the West, but the art of the gold workers of
our native land"
He indicated with a gesture the heavy bangles she
wore, and pursued the deduction in the same spirit of
raillery which had so often served him well.
"A common bond of the exile we suffer so bravely.
Here am I ten years out of Dara and yet able to sup-


THE GARDEN GATE 195
port existence. You, madame, I do not doubt, are in
the same happy position. You hymn your native land
in the suns of Egypt, and when Egypt wearies, you
continue the chant in the Bois de Boulogne. That is
both philosophic and patriotic, for how can one re-
member one's country so kindly as when one is banished
from it?"
The woman smiled, but did not make an immediate
reply. She still held Maurevale's card in her hand,
and it was plain to be seen that she would weigh her
words as a miser his gold. Had the prince desired
an image he would have thought of her as some magnifi-
cent animal trapped and at bay, but hesitating at the
moment of attack. In the end she appeared to think
that civility would serve her best, and she bade her
guest be seated.
"You have not come to the Rue Dauphine to speak
to me of patriotism. What then, sir?" she asked.
Maurevale, without any hesitation whatsoever, replied:
"To speak of an affair in which I believe that your
cousin, Mademoiselle Zaida, would be greatly inter-
ested."
"Am I not to share this interest?"
"Possibly. You alone can tell me. It concerns a
dear friend of mine, the Count of Fours."
The woman nodded her head. She had been waiting
for another story.
"I am not acquainted with him," she rejoined ab-
ruptly.
"No, but your cousin is, and so I came to her. You
see a most ridiculous thing has happened. There has
been a crime committed near my house in England, and


196 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
those foolish people, the police, insist that the count
had some knowledge of it; while I know that he is
altogether innocent."
"You know it, prince?"
"Absolutely. And that permits me to ask you if,
during your residence in Cairo, you were acquainted
with an Englishwoman, the Lady Anna Maclain."
"I have never heard such a name. Why do you
ask me?"
"Because, my dear madame, it would have been a
fortunate thing for your husband had you done so."
He uttered the words lightly, but they were unmistak-
ably a threat, and the woman understood them to be
so. Trembling with anger she looked Maurevale full
in the face with the eyes of one who challenged and
was not afraid.
"In what way is my husband concerned?"
"Ah, there I cannot help you. But I may tell you
this, that there are persons of influence in London who
believe that your husband could tell the whole story
of this crime, and who will stand at no risks to procure
his evidence. For your own sake, then, you should be
warned." She laughed derisively.
"Am I to suppose that they will take him to London
by force?"
"It is not impossible. They may even arrest him
in Paris."
"In the name of a woman he has never seen."
"Madame, you know that it is not true."
She began to breathe quickly; her hands played ner-
vously with the card she held. Here was a man who
flung the gauntlet into her very face.


THE GARDEN GATE 197
"Had you not better tell me at once that my hus-
band murdered this lady?"
"It would be utterly false to say so. But I think
that he knows the name of the assassin. Or if he does
not, he could help us to discover it. That would serve
him well. It might also be the means of permitting
him the continued use of this house. I have some in-
fluence with the authorities here, and would not oppose
a bargain. Let your husband tell me all that he knows
of the Lady Anna, and I will see that he is not molested
in Paris."
"You will see—what affair is it then of yours?"
"So much my affair that I am resolved to consider
no other until my purpose is accomplished."
"A noble ambition. It justifies you, it would
seem, in coming to this house to affront its mis-
tress."
"My dear madame, nothing is further from my
thoughts. I come to you frankly as to a friend.
Surely I must not suppose that this act of justice, this
testimony which might save the life of an innocent man,
is regarded by you as an affront?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I know nothing of it—and I have said that I can-
not help you. Is it not time that this interview should
terminate?"
She stood up and put her hand upon the silken cord
of a bell-rope, but she did not pull it. Resting thus
an instant, she exclaimed:
"I think you had better see my friends—this is no
subject for a woman to discuss. If my husband were
here"


198 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Ah," said Maurevale quietly, "but that would be
a long delay."
She let the bell-rope go and advanced toward him.
"What do you say, monsieur?"
"I say it is most unlikely that your husband will
return to this house at all. Indeed, I should not be
surprised to hear that he had left Paris."
She uttered a low cry and stood swaying in a tempest
of anger she could not control. Maurevale understood
that he had committed a grave imprudence, but he
wished to force her to a confession, and believed that
the threat alone could do so. Now he saw his mistake.
She was about to summon her friends from the ad-
joining room, and he had no doubt what their argu-
ment would be.
"Where is Tahir? " she asked, recovering herself with
an effort. "What have you done with him?"
"My dear madame, are you really supposing that
this is an affair of mine? I come to help you, and you
shut the door in my face. Really, it is not I who
am to blame."
"I believe that you are lying to me," she cried; and
with that she turned about and took the bell-pull again
in her hand. The critical instant had arrived. Mau-
revale waited for the men and wondered how he would
meet them.
Madame, however, did not pull the cord. It was as
though an unseen hand held her back, and she stood
swaying by the chimney as though to rid herself of a
spell. When some seconds had passed thus, the cord
dropped from her hand and the door opened. Maure-
vale turned about to see the old man upon the


THE GARDEN GATE
199
threshold and to understand why madame had not sum-
moned her friends. Here was the "influence "; there
could be no doubt of it.
Entering very silently and with stealth, the priest
crossed the floor and spoke softly to the woman. Her
protests, her vain efforts to rise and cry out, were a
strange tribute to his power. Apparently he argued
with her, but to argument he added a hypnotic sugges-
tion which was unmistakable. Then he turned to Mau-
revale and spoke in broken English.
"Go," he said; "you have no time to lose. Go,
friend, in the name of God."
Maurevale looked at the woman, but did not hesitate.
She had fallen almost into a state of coma, and rocked
and swayed in the chair by the chimney. The old
Egyptian stood by her side still speaking softly in an
unknown tongue and chafing her hands. And this was
the last the prince saw of them as he left the room
and found himself again in the corridor. Here, to his
surprise, a young woman waited for him. He rec-
ognised her in an instant for Mademoiselle Zaida, whom
he had come there to see.
She did not speak, and her slippered feet fell so
lightly upon the carpet of the corridor that not a
sound could be heard. Plainly she expected Maurevale
to follow her, and he was but too ready to do so. A
winding iron staircase carried them down toward the
back of the house and the garden, but they had hardly
begun to descend it when the shouts of angry men were
to be heard and the rush of their footsteps as they
burst out upon the corridor above. Mademoiselle mean-
while began to tremble, and when she turned at the


200 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
foot of the staircase to see if the prince were following
her, her white face spoke eloquently of the house and
of its people.
"By the garden gate, sir," she cried, thrusting a
little key into the prince's hands. He took it readily
and pressed her fingers in thanks.
"And you, mademoiselle?"
"Mahomet will protect me."
"But I shall send for you, and this key will open the
door. May I tell Allulah that all is well with you?"
She flushed crimson.
"He must not come here"
"We will come together," Maurevale said, "at ten
o'clock to-night, mademoiselle, in the garden you speak
of."


202 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I am just returned from the very place," he said,
with pretence, and then he asked, "Did you really be-
lieve that my intention would not be carried out?"
Faber did not know what to say.
"I can only consider your Excellency's return as a
miracle," he stammered.
"Come, come, my friend, why should it be that?
Crimes are of two kinds—those which imply brains of
a kind and are premeditated, and those which temper
provokes and are merely passionate. I did not fear
the first, for no one in the Rue Dauphine knew that I
was about to visit the house. Against the second I
felt able to protect myself."
Faber said that he could not understand it.
"Something happened in the house, I can see," he
said at last. The prince admitted it.
"You will laugh, however," he added, "when you
hear that my immediate purpose is to marry the young
lady of the Rue Dauphine to the youth who supped with
me last night."
"To marry the lady—your Excellency is not in
earnest!"
"You shall see how earnest I am when you have heard
my instructions. I shall require some help, Faber, that
of at least half-a-dozen men. Can you assure me as
much?"
"If your Excellency really means—but I must as-
sume that you are serious."
"As serious, Faber, as the passion of a man for
a woman will ever permit a third party to be. Now
please take down my instructions, and then act upon
them immediately. I must see Tahir without delay."


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 203
He said no more upon the matter, but began at once
to dictate his commands as he had promised: and he
was still engaged in this exciting task when a servant
of the hotel entered the room and handed him a tele-
gram. Tearing the envelope without remark, he said
nothing of the grave tidings which he had just
received.
"You are to be outside the garden gate of the Rue
de Nevers precisely at ten o'clock—but at half-past
nine o'clock you will send three men to the door of
the house in the Rue Dauphine, and they will watch it
in such a way that any one within the house will be
aware of their presence. Do you understand that,
Faber?"
"Certainly, Excellency."
"Then ascertain for me, I beg of you, when the
evening train from Blois reaches the Quai d'Orsay."
Faber ceased to write. The digression appeared to
him to be extraordinary.
"It arrives at eleven o'clock; but, Excellency, is the
Quai d'Orsay in the matter, then?"
"So much in the matter, Faber, that I would give
a thousand louis to know why a young friend of mine
will be there this night."
He crushed the telegram in his hand as though he
regretted the expression of impatience, and then fell
to pacing the room again as one plunged suddenly into
an abyss of his thoughts and totally without enlighten-
ment. This mood endured for some minutes, and when
it passed Faber perceived that the difficulty had van-
ished also and that nothing but an intense purpose re-
mained.


204- THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Have you any agent in Chinon?" he asked pres-
ently. This was a question which surprised the de-
tective very much.
"In Chinon, sir?"
"I said so; but it appears that you have not. We
must have one, however, and the best you can engage.
Let him go to a house I will describe and ascertain
if it has been visited within the last forty-eight hours
by a young Englishwoman, whose portrait I will give
you. In any case let him spare neither expense nor
trouble to trace this young lady, who, until to-day,
was the guest of the Count of Fours at Aizy-la-Belle.
You understand, Faber—the lady is missing, and it is
feared that she has been decoyed from the count's
house."
"That is very serious, prince."
"As serious as it was inevitable. And yet I had not
thought of it. Even the best of us is an optimist
sometimes, Faber. We think that our brains are in-
fallible and wake up to discover that a fool has out-
witted us. So it has always been. I am no different
from the others."
"Do you believe, then, that the story of an abduction
is true?"
"I believe nothing until it is proved. You will tell
me whether this be true or false. Lose no time, I beg
of you—for the lady's safety is more precious to me
than my own life."
He terminated the interview with the words, and
immediately left the Ritz in his own car to visit Tahir
Pasha at the Hotel Beau Seigneur. Never, perhaps,
from the beginning of this stupendous task had the


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 205
meaning of it or the nature of the stake he played for
been so well understood. That the truth might be in
the end a story of shame and humiliation; that his
pursuit of it might bring ruin to some and social ostra-
cism to others, he had not doubted—but that little Stella
should suffer, that harm might come to her, had never
been in his thoughts.
And now the blow had fallen, and Kitty Insole had
telegraphed from Blois the momentous announcement
that Stella was missing from the chateau, and that she
herself was coming straight to Paris. Such a turn had
not been imagined by the prince in the most profound
of his many anticipations.
Oh, it was all plain enough, and for that matter a
clever move. Maurevale never doubted that Frederick
Walther and Constance Heliers were at the back of it,
and that they had contrived it to keep him from the
Peace Conference at Lausanne. Very probably old
Walther had been offered a substantial sum by a Con-
tinental Power if he succeeded in silencing the most
feared advocate of peace and the one to whom the other
Powers would most readily listen. And he had struck,
not at the man, but at the woman—a clever trick and
one which earned his adversary's admiration.
That actual harm would happen to Stella, Maurevale
could not believe. None the less, it was possible that
evil might come to her, and if it did he must set it
down to his own overweening confidence and to his
imprudence. Bitterly now he blamed himself that he
had permitted her to go to the count's house at all.
Had he not known it for a nest of intriguers, and was
it not possible that after all this smooth-tongued


206 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Frenchman had killed Anna? He had come to think
that it might be so, but he reflected that this idea was
subsequent to Stella's departure from England. He
would not have let her go had it been otherwise.
It was astonishing how all he had planned now seemed
impotent and vain in the light of this unlooked-for
intelligence. What mattered the truth if Stella Insole
were not the first to hear it? He thought of her as
he had seen her at Pangbourne during the summer—
the simple, shy, little girl, whose wit and cleverness few
would have guessed. Truly would he have given half
his fortune to have known that all was well with her
this night.
These reflections had carried him to the Avenue de
l'Opera, and his car now drew up before a quiet little
hotel which almost faced the great opera-house, and
was next door to a cafe largely frequented by Germans.
An inquiry of the concierge whether Bimbashi Tahir
was in the house resulted in an affirmative answer, and
to Maurevale's surprise the Egyptian consented imme-
diately to receive him. Following a page upstairs to
a private room on the second floor, he found Tahir sit-
ting at a little writing-table, though it was not ap-
parent that he had been writing; and when he rose
Maurevale perceived how marked were the ravages of
last night's debauch, and how truly Faber had spoken
of his weakness.
The Egyptian was dressed in a black frock-coat with
dark trousers, and wore the button of his order. An
amazingly handsome man, his carriage was dignified
and his air that of an aristocrat. With a gracious
wave of his hand he indicated an armchair by the table,


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 207
and bade the prince take it. Then he called for the
eternal coffee and cigarettes.
"Your Excellency has been good enough to take
an interest in my affairs," he began. "Since I may
not doubt the friendly nature of your intervention, I
beg to thank you. Be sure that anything you may
say to me will have a careful hearing."
"I was sure of it," said Maurevale as he lighted a
cigar, "otherwise the letter would not have been writ-
ten. And as we have no time to lose I will come to
the point without delay. In a word, it concerns the
house in the Rue Dauphine."
Tahir turned in his chair that he might listen more
carefully.
"Yes," he said slowly, "it would be about that;
though what your Excellency knows of such a house
I am quite at a loss to say." He waited for an answer,
as though unwilling to commit himself until the whole
position were declared. Maurevale, however, was frank-
ness itself.
"You shall have the whole story," he said, with an
assumption of candour he could at all times command.
"The French Government knows of this house, and in
the present state of international politics will not permit
it to exist. The rest is in the hands of the police, who,
I am given to understand, will visit the Rue Dauphine
at ten o'clock to-night."
Tahir nodded his head. A man of phlegmatic tem-
perament, he betrayed no sign of emotion whatsoever.
And it may be that he and his friends had been expect-
ing some such tidings.
"What affair is jt of the French Government," he


208 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
asked presently—and then, with just a suspicion of
irony, " and of yours, prince? I am curious, and do
not hesitate to say so. You warn me—very well. But
you know nothing of me, and so you come with some
other purpose. Should I not hear that to begin
with?"
"Certainly;. I will tell it you at once. I want to
know something of an English lady whom you knew
very well in Cairo five or six years ago—the Lady Anna
Maclain."
A curious look came upon Tahir's face. It was as
though some one had uttered a word of warning and
bidden him beware.
"The Lady Anna Maclain—but she is dead. I have
read it in the papers." And then, with a sudden blaze
of passion, as though memory returned swiftly, he cried:
"Why do you ask me this—you, in whose house she
died? Yes, I remember it now—one of your English
friends killed her; and you ask me what I knew of her
—my God, the one woman for whom I would have given
my life—you ask me that?"
Maurevale did not reply immediately. The depth of
this man's passion, his obvious sincerity, forbade any
mere commonplace expression. And Tahir was ob-
viously sincere. There could be no doubt of the truth
of his story. The mere recital of it brought him to
his feet as one driven to action by a tempest of
anger.
"You shall speak!" he cried, choler almost choking
him; "you shall tell me the object of this visit. It is
my right to know it. Why do you come to my house
with this story—why do you affront me? And not for


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 209
the first time. I remember that now. We have met
before, and I have warned you. Is it not so, prince?
Do you deny it?"
He swayed slightly and passed a hand across his fore-
head as though trying to remember where and under
what circumstances the interview had taken place; but
the drug defied him, and reasserting itself, left him once
more impotent and listless. Sinking into a chair he
made a sign that he did not wish the interview to con-
tinue.
"I have said what should be said," he repeated. "I
loved this lady whom your English friend has murdered.
Do not come to me, for I cannot help you."
"But you can help justice," rejoined Maurevale
quietly. "You can help to punish this man if what
you say is true."
"Do you doubt it, then?"
"Why should I believe it?"
Tahir made a movement of contempt.
"Go to Cairo and ask them there," he said; "ask
her brother, the English lord, how many times this man
threatened his sister, and why she was afraid of him.
Then speak to me of doubt. It is as plain as the sun
in the east. He murdered her because he was jealous
of her friends. I said that he would do so five years
ago."
And then he asked:
"If not he, who else? Had she enemies in her own
country? I do not believe it. When she went to India
did not this man follow her? You must know that it
is so. What testimony can I give that is not better
given by others? If there is any justice among the


210 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
English, Captain Ferman will die. If there is not, I
will kill him, for I have sworn it."
The threat reanimated, and his words had all the
virility and emphasis which sincerity prompted. Mau-
revale no longer doubted that he believed Ferman to
be the author of the crime, and that he not so much as
suspected another; but it was evident at the same time
that much which could have been told was being kept
back, and that a subtle Oriental mind was more keenly
alive to the danger of admissions than an unsuspecting
listener would have imagined. For all that, the out-
burst remained startling enough, and the threat highly
dangerous to the man whom the prince desired to serve.
"Your feelings do you honour," said Maurevale,
when the heat of argument had cooled somewhat. "I
am bound to tell you, however, that the evidence so far
entirely fails to support your suspicions. In England
we do not believe Captain Ferman to be guilty, nor is
it the opinion of his friends that he would have com-
mitted such a dastardly crime. Moreover, this poor
lady died by poison. ..."
"It would be the weapon for such a man," inter-
posed Tahir quickly; " has not his brother, the doctor,
written a book upon the poisons of the East when he
was with his regiment in India? Your friendship is
honourable to you—it will not serve him. I say that
he murdered her because of his jealousy. He is rightly
accused, and your courts will do justice when they sen-
tence him. I have said it, and I will not retract. He
was this poor lady's enemy, and all in Cairo knew him
to be so. Let that be the story you carry back to
England, for I have no other to tell."


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 211
The prince expressed his obligation, and perceiving
that further pursuit of the subject would be useless,
he prepared to take his leave. Before he went, how-
ever, he had again to speak of the house in the Rue
Dauphine, and with discretion.
"At least you will permit me to be your ambassador
with the English Government according to our com-
pact," he said. "If any one can obtain an amnesty
for Bimbashi Tahir, I should be the man. I am sure
you will wish it for your sister's sake—which is to say
that I had the pleasure of making Mademoiselle Zaida's
acquaintance this afternoon."
Tahir had risen to bid his visitor farewell; but at
these words he sat down again immediately and re-
garded him with wondering eyes.
"You have been to the Rue Dauphine?"
"As I say, this afternoon."
"And you have seen my sister?"
"I had the great pleasure."
Tahir shrugged his shoulders.
"What was your purpose in going there?"
"To tell you what I have just told you."
"I must believe it. Whom did you see there?"
"Mademoiselle Zaida and another, whom I took for
the mistress of the house."
"You mean Madame Ghika—did you tell her why
you came?"
"Oh, I never discuss politics with women."
"Who are often the only people with whom they
should be discussed. Well, then, what did madame
say?"
"She seemed concerned for your safety."


212 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Naturally—and my sister?"
"The same answer serves."
Tahir sighed.
"My poor sister," he said, and for some moments
he paced the room slowly in the profoundest reverie.
Maurevale watched him with half-shut eyes.
"Be pleased to tell me," exclaimed Tahir, waking
from the reverie at last, "is your influence with the
English Government such that you will guarantee the
safety of me and of my friends in the event of the
house in the Rue Dauphine being abandoned?"
"I may safely say that it is; but the abandonment
of the house would imply also the abandonment of the
propaganda it has been opened to encourage."
Tahir thought upon it.
"I wish to return to Cairo," he said. I would go
there openly. Will you promise me a safe-conduct?"
"My influence shall be used to that end. You could
not ask me to say more."
"I understand—yet it is all idle talk. There is a
barrier between the English nation and myself which
death alone may break down. It can never be. I thank
you, prince."
And then, pacing to and fro once more, he repeated
the words, " My poor sister," with a sadness he did not
attempt to disguise.
Maurevale did not intrude with his sympathy, for
he understood that the offer of it at such a time would
have been an impertinence. He did, however, suggest
that it would be well if Mademoiselle Zaida were pre-
pared to leave the house in the Rue Dauphine at an
early moment—and this, to his surprise, was a sug-


AN ACCUSATION IS MADE 213
gestion which provoked Tahir to a response even more
enigmatical than the other.
"The house is her salvation," he said quietly. "I
cannot save her if she comes to me. She stands the
hostage of my liberty. If you are my friend, remem-
ber that."
"I could not forget it," said the prince, offering him
his hand.
Plainly, it would have been madness to confess that
he was going to the Rue Dauphine that night for no
other purpose than to marry Zaida to her lover.


THE ALARM 215
to the Rue Dauphine in a great state of inquietude and
uncertainty. A lover's natural anxiety suggested
divers perils which might overtake so heroic a plot; and
he persisted in his assertions that what they were doing
could only be done at the hazard of Mademoiselle Zaida's
life. Now when he heard the detective he fell to a
mood of such deep despair that the prince no longer
doubted the wisdom of his own determination. This
young fellow would make a worthy husband—he did
not doubt it.
"Come, come," he said, " that is a poor undertaking
which discovers no barriers. I promised you that I
would do certain things to-night, and you may blame
me when the right time comes. But it is not yet, and
we have now much to do which these people have made
easier for us. Take courage, my dear boy, and tell
yourself that what is done is for mademoiselle's sake.
To begin with, let us be quite sure that she is not in
the house—for upon that point I am far from satisfied."
With this he commanded Faber to leave certain of
his men in the Rue Dauphine and to come with the
others to the Rue de Nevers, which lies at the back of
the house and gives access to the garden gate.
It was now a little after ten o'clock, and this quarter
of the city silent and deserted. Much of the glamour
of Paris was to be found upon the far bank of the
river where the lights glowed and the sky was aflame
with a golden iridescence. The Rue de Nevers, how-
ever, might have been a street at the heart of a country
town, and when they came up to the garden gate of
Tahir's house there was not even a sergent de ville to
interfere with them.


216 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
The wall here is very high and the house itself quite
hidden from the observation of those who pass by.
Maurevale, with a word to his companions to be pre-
pared for an ambuscade, opened the gate with the key
mademoiselle had given him, and immediately entered
the garden. Then he stood to listen, and became aware
almost at once that he was not alone.
There are some fine old trees in this quarter of Paris,
and the gardens of the Rue Dauphine possess not a
few of them. One gigantic chestnut in particular ar-
rested the prince's attention, and he stood by its trunk
to listen for the sounds which had alarmed him. Here
the young man Allulah and Gustave Faber joined him,
and the three distinctly heard that almost human and
plaintive cry which heralded their intrusion.
"What, in Heaven's name, is it?" the detective asked.
Happily the pallor of his face was hidden by the dark-
ness, which also permitted him to pose afterward as
one who "had known it from the beginning." But
he was plainly alarmed, and when Allulah laughed softly
his alarm turned to anger.
"Then you do not hear it, monsieur?" he cried,
appealing to the Egyptian. Allulah replied that he
heard it distinctly.
"It is only old Barbasheesh," he said, and then in
explanation, "but you are lucky that I am here, for
he would have torn you to pieces." And then he called
softly in a strange tongue, and a great baboon came
swinging down from the branches above and cowered
and chattered at the young man's feet.
"Here is one of my friend Tahir's little pleasantries,"
Allulah said as he commanded the huge brute to be


THE ALARM
217
still; "if madame has left the house without him it
means that others are still here. Let us go up at once,
for I am sure that something has happened."
Allulah was well acquainted with this house of mys-
tery, and now put himself at the head of the party.
Swiftly he passed from room to room upon the second
story, switching on the lights as he went and declaring
his displeasure aloud as disappointment awaited him at
every turn. Everywhere they discovered traces of a
hurried flight—drawers open and ransacked, floors lit-
tered by torn papers; even the remains of a meal
taken hurriedly in a boudoir and of a letter unfinished
upon a desk. Allulah hardly glanced at this, but
the prince put it into his pocket and then followed the
youth to the floor above. Here a new surprise awaited
them. They stood in a long corridor and heard dis-
tinctly the monotone of a man who wailed incessantly
in the Eastern fashion. And this voice proceeded from
a room upon the right-hand side, whose unlatched door
permitted a single ray of light to shine upon the wall
of the corridor.
"It is old Mahomet," cried Allulah, his face betray-
ing the pleasure he felt; "I might have expected this.
Yes, yes, they would be afraid of Mahomet. And he
will tell us the truth. There is nothing to fear
now, prince. I should have remembered Mahomet
before."
He went on with brisk steps and entered .the room
boldly, Maurevale upon his heels. The spectacle he
discovered, however, unnerved him utterly, and with a
loud cry of " Zaida " he ran to the bed and flung him-
self upon it. Perceiving that a tragedy had hap-


218 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
pened, the prince hastened to follow him, and so dis-
covered the almost inanimate figure of Tahir's sister
—the young Egyptian girl he had come there to serve.
Surely she was dead, he said to himself. And this was
the end of the hazard—this the truth they were to
discover!
Mahomet, the priest, stood as they entered the room
and made way for them willingly. To their earnest
questions he could but reply that mademoiselle had been
taken ill suddenly, and that his own skill as a physician
had achieved little on her account. When they asked
him why he had not sent for help, he replied at once
that it would have been imprudent to leave her—and
that he did not dare to make the truth known to the
police for Tahir's sake.
Maurevale listened to these protests calmly, but paid
little attention to them. He was convinced that
mademoiselle had been poisoned and that none but a
clever physician could save her life. Indifferent to
the consequences and believing that Faber would do
wisely to pass the affair on to the regular police, he
commanded him to send to the prefecture while another
messenger went pell-mell for a physician whom he named.
The latter came almost immediately, and at once ad-
mitted the justice of their suspicions.
"She has been poisoned, sir"
Maurevale said that he agreed.
"And, I think, by some preparation of henbane.
Do you know anything of her story?"
"Very little—though I imagine that the story of
her friends may interest the police. Do you think
that you can save her life?"


THE ALARM
219
"I will make use of all the known antidotes, but she
will be very ill for some weeks even if she recover."
"That is inevitable. But I am particularly con-
cerned for this young lady, and if you can save her I
will ask you to honour me by naming a fee of 25,000
francs. Go to work now, I beg of you, and let me
have the news to the Ritz Hotel as early as may be.
This young man Allulah has a right here. Please show
him every consideration."
The doctor promised to do so, and at once re-entered
the bedroom. Maurevale, however, returned to the first
floor of the house and began to search diligently in the
deserted rooms as though they might contain some
secret vital to his scheme. In this occupation he was
interrupted a quarter of an hour later by the advent
of a M. Jarnac, the sub-prefect of the quarter, and of
his assistants, and to these he told his story as quickly
as possible.
M. Jarnac, a very little man with a pair of very
small eyes covered by very large glasses, listened stol-
idly, but would admit nothing of significance in reply.
The house had been under observation, he said, and
some queer stories had been told of it. As for its polit-
ical significance, that concerned Monsieur Clemenceau
and his Foreign Minister, and would be a Government
affair. All that the police could take cognisance of
immediately were the crimes which had been committed.
And this was as much as to say that they would now
take possession of the house and make the affair their
own, which was exactly what the prince desired them
to do.
It was now approaching eleven o'clock, and he re-


220 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
membered that he had to meet Kitty Insole at the Quai
d'Orsay, and hear from her lips the true account of
Stella's disappearance. His own car carried him to
the depot, where the express from Blois arrived almost
immediately, and one of the first persons who stepped
out of the dining-car was little Kitty Insole—alone,
and in such a state of distress that it was evident she
carried news of the gravest importance. Indeed, but
for the prince's word of caution, she would have blurted
it out there and then upon the platform where they
stood.
"Well," he exclaimed directly they were seated in
the car—for he had already dismissed Faber—" well,
Kitty, and so you have come to Paris to tell me that
Stella has gone away?"
"Indeed, it is so," she cried, the stress and strain
of it all bringing tears to her eyes; "she went away
three days ago, and we have heard nothing of her since."
"And our friend the count—what does he say?"
"He has gone to Dieppe in search of her."
"To Dieppe—why to Dieppe?"
"Oh, sir, I must tell you everything. Stella received
a letter from Dieppe, and it troubled her very much.
She would not tell me why, but I could not be mistaken.
So I told the count of it—and when she did not return
he went there at once."
"And madame, his wife?"
Kitty shook her head.
"I cannot speak of her—I do not wish to. She
seems quite indifferent. I do not believe that she has
a heart."
"But she knows of Stella's absence?"


THE ALARM
"Oh yes, the whole house knows. Madame alone
showed no feeling. With your permission, sir, I will
never go to Aizy-la-Belle again."
"That is given willingly. Perhaps madame is not
quite so wicked as you think her—I shall know when
I hear from Stella."
Kitty opened her black eyes very wide.
"Then you expect to hear from her?"
"Unless I am very much mistaken there will be a
telegram for us at the hotel. And it will contain good
news."
Kitty sighed and turned away her head.
"I do not believe that I shall ever hear good news
again," she said.


CHAPTER XXII
AN UNKNOWN VOICE
Rooms had been prepared for Kitty Insole at the Ritz,
and the prince conducted her to them immediately upon
their arrival.
His prophecy, that he would receive a message from
Stella, had been made in no boastful spirit, but was
a tribute to his unchanged confidence in the wit and
the resource of an unusually alert intelligence. He
did not think that Stella would fall readily into any
trap that knaves might set for her, while he had no
doubt that every artifice would be employed. Herein,
he proved once more how great was his reliance upon
the human factor rather than upon the theorems which
superficial facts might seem to warrant.
If Stella were worthy of the confidence he had placed
in her, she would be a free woman this night, and if
she were a free woman she would write to him. By
which process of reasoning he had promised her sister
Kitty that there would be news, and by which also he
maintained a serenity which the circumstances did not
appear to justify.
The letter was there sure enough, upon the table of
his own sitting-room, just where he had expected to find
it. A glance at the envelope showed that it had come,
not from Dieppe, but from Strasburg, and that it had
been posted early in the day. Nor had he read many
lines of it before it was clear that the writer was in
222


224 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
this he would not speak to-night. Indeed, Kitty's
presence embarrassed him, for how could he tell her that
the day might never be, and that the house might fall
before the truth was known?
It remained to comfort her anew with such promises
as were justified, and then to send her to bed. He
himself, however, could not yet think of rest. A heavy
roll of correspondence from his secretary Paul de-
manded instant attention—and was there not Stella's
letter with all its amazing revelations? This he had
but scanned when he told Kitty that all was well with
her sister, but now he sat down to read it, drawing the
lamp to the table and welcoming the silence of the
sleeping hotel.
She wrote from Strasburg, that old city of the
siege, and prefaced her news with the acceptable
assurance that she was quite a free agent in what
she had done, and had the greatest hopes of her
journey.
"You will be more than astonished," she wrote, "to
hear that madame the countess was the direct inspira-
tion of this journey. She sent me to Strasburg when
the count feared that I was going to Dieppe. It is
from her that I have obtained the address of Madame
Prevost, and by her aid that I have not lost sight of
that extraordinary woman whose house at Chinon
showed me once more the heart of green jade which
poor Lady Anna used to wear.
"But this, prince, is to tell you the end of my story,
when I should remember that you know nothing of the
beginning.
"My last letter spoke of the visit to Chinon, of my


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 225
discovery of the woman, and of the little Egyptian boy
—and of Madame Prevost's request that I would send
the count to her without delay.
"You will remember that Madame de Fours gave
an al fresco fete upon the evening of my return to Chi-
non, and that all my efforts to speak to the count apart
were unavailing. Next morning I was more fortunate.
Many of our guests then left for Paris, and madame,
being quite overcome by the ardour of her hospitalities,
retired once more from the scene. So I had but Mon-
sieur Henri to reckon with, and here fortune helped me.
His long-talked-of aeroplane is now finished and ready
for him at Issy—and even the prospect of assuring me
that life would not be worth living if I did not accom-
pany him to the forest failed to keep him to terra firma.
He left us immediately after the festivities, and we have
not seen him since.
"I found the count in the Italian garden, and I
think he was not unprepared for the interview. He is
a singularly enigmatical personage, and always difficult
to understand. For my part, I went straight to the
point, telling him all about the woman and not forget-
ting to remind him that we had seen the little Egyptian
lad at Blois. When I had finished he did not make any
comment whatever until he had walked twice round the
garden. Then he turned to me and said in the most
natural way possible:
"' This is very serious, Mademoiselle Stella—this is
altogether astonishing.'
"I said that it was so, and waited for him to con-
tinue. His efforts to appear unembarrassed became
less successful with every word he spoke, and it would


226 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
have been apparent to any one that whatever he might
say, his agitation was profound.
"' Have you any idea, can you form any opinion as
to why this woman wishes to see me? ' he asked me.
"I told him I was quite unable to do so.
"' But one thing is clear,' I said, 'we should tell
the prince without loss of time and let him know that
the green heart is discovered.'
"He nodded his head and seemed to agree. I am
sure, however, that the suggestion frightened him very
much.
"' Let us consider,' he went on, as a man thinking
out a problem, 'the heart of green jade is a common
ornament in China. This lady may possess such a
trinket and desire to explain her possession of it. The
French papers have made much of Lady Anna's death,
and my name has been mentioned. It is possible that
she is afraid of what her neighbours would say and de-
sires to be forearmed. We must try and look at the
matter from her point of view, and not disturb our-
selves with unreasonable hopes. Our nation is given to
hysteria, as you, my dear young lady, who know ma-
dame the countess, will not be unprepared to admit.
I shall go to Chinon and hear the old lady for myself
—that will be the best way out of the difficulty, though,
frankly, I have no expectations of my journey—none
whatever, as you may suppose.'
"To this I answered that I thought his decision wise,
and that I hoped he would find the matter no more
serious than he was disposed to consider it. Nor could
I offer any valid objection to his proposal that I should
not communicate either with you or any one else until


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 227
he had himself ascertained the truth of the affair—
'for,' said he, with one of those gestures so character-
istic of his race, 'we should only be laughed at if it
is as I suppose.' When I agreed, though not believing
a word of it, his pleasure was extreme, and he could
not make enough of me afterwards.
"I shall not try to tell you, prince, how greatly
the count's manner perplexed me, and how little I made
of this interview.
"Consider the circumstances. The woman evidently
knows the story of dear Anna's death as well as we
know it—she has the family history at her fingers' ends:
the heart of green jade we have sought for everywhere
is to be found in her house: she begs the count to go
to her without delay—and his answer is that she is
possibly a victim of hysteria, and that while it might
be well enough to visit her house, he fears that he will
laugh at himself afterwards for his pains. Oh, could
any one believe such a story!
"It is not necessary, I hope, for me to say that I
did not believe it for a moment. The count fears this
woman, and I know that he visited her that very after-
noon, going about four o'clock in the big car. His
subsequent assurances to me, that he had been to Tours
and that Madame Prevost must wait upon his leisure,
were but a new justification for my suspicions. I was
convinced even then that he did not speak the truth—
and now I hear the whole story from Madame Prevost's
lips.
"Here I am sure that I shall surprise you, but I am
confident none the less of your approval. A sudden
resolution inspired by Madame the Countess, and helped


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 229
she choose me for her confidant when it was equally
possible for her to communicate with you? And what
forbade her to speak openly if she meant to speak at
all? So evident was this conclusion that I came early
to the determination to send no answer whatever to the
message—and in this resolution I was, to my great
surprise, supported by no other than madame the count-
ess herself.
"' But what had madame to do with it? ' I hear you
asking, and shall now hasten to tell you.
"The telegram had been in my hands an hour, per-
haps; I was still in the throes of perplexity, when a
man entered my bedroom and said that madame
would like to see me in her boudoir, which lies
immediately beneath the apartments I occupy at Aizy-
la-Belle.
"Astonished at the invitation, I put on a tea-gown
and went down at once. This clever, domineering lady
has always been very gracious to me, and I have often
admired her wit and shrewdness. Sometimes I have
thought that she regarded me a little wistfully, as
though anxious to speak intimately but afraid to do so.
Now I found her in another mood, amused and annoy-
ingly enigmatical. Moreover, she posed as a kindly
magician, speaking of my own perplexities and railing
me upon them.
"' Well, my dear, and so you do not know how to
answer the telegram you have just received.'
"I looked at her, wondering.
"' But, my dear Madame de Fours, how do you know
this?'
"She poured me out a cup of tea—we have taught


230 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
her in England to drink it in the morning—and then
said with a laugh:
"' They brought it to me by mistake—I saw it was
for you and sent it up. Then I hear you walking to
and fro. That little lamp above my writing-table
trembles every time you pass—I say to myself, " She is
distressed and cannot answer her telegram." Is it
not quite natural?'
"I admitted it to be so, and sat at her bidding.
For a little while she sat back looking at me with
amused and half-shut eyes. Then she said:
"' And where is our friend Maurevale all this time?'
"I told her you were in Paris; I believed at the Ritz
Hotel. She did not seem to hear me.
"' I like Maurevale,' she said; ' he is a man who has
but to hold up his finger and all the world listens.'
"And then she asked me, quite inapropos, and with
a sudden turn of her handsome head:
"' Why does he not set your friend Captain Ferman
free—why does he keep him in prison?'
"I told her how willingly you would do so if it lay
in your power. She did not appear to understand me,
and—so like a Frenchwoman—began to deplore poor
Anna's death.
"' Ah, what a life, what a tragedy! How well I
remember her in Cairo. She was a beautiful creature,
my dear—it was lucky she went away or there would
have been a scandal, surely. Do you know her brother,
the earl? There's a foolish man for you. I wonder
sometimes if there is a more foolish in the world—unless
it is my husband. And he is in Australia, they tell
me—or somewhere in his yacht. Well, perhaps it is


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 231
as well for all of us that he should not come home.
Tell the prince when you write to him, madame says
the earl may do more mischief at home than abroad.
You will not forget?'
"I promised that I would not, unexpected as the
admission was. To my question whether she had known
Lady Anna well in Egypt, the countess replied with
one of those evasive answers so characteristic of her
and so hopeless to those who receive them.
"' We were never good friends, my dear, she and I.
It was all about the great white diamond—but what
should a child like you know of that? Then she went
to India, and Cairo forgot her. Perhaps the other
woman was glad she had gone. I will not say "Yes"
or " No" to that. Your captain, Jack Ferman, went
after her, and that was all we cared to know. Ah,
mon enfant, is it not incredible that such a man should
have killed her—he who was the best friend she had
in the years I speak of! Why are people foolish enough
to believe it? Why do they not set him free?'
"I could not reply to this, and contented myself
by saying how gladly I would hear that our friend had
been proved innocent. To my direct question whether
she had any suspicion as to the real name of the mur-
derer, she responded with a frightened look that it was
a matter for the police, and could be of no concern to
any one else.
"' But I will tell you one thing,' she said with un-
wonted emphasis, 'that Madame Heliers knows more
than most of us, and if your friend the prince were
clever, he would have discovered it for himself. What
a woman—what cunning, what deceit! Ah, my dear,


232 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
there are some very foolish and some very wicked people
in the world, and that Lady Constance is both foolish
and wicked. I know what I am talking about, and
that's my answer when you speak to me of suspicion.
Ask her why your friend died, and see that she answers
you.'
"She was very earnest in this, and, indeed, I heard
her with some distress. Reflection, however, convinced
me that she was driven by jealousy to speak in this way,
and that there could be nothing in her innuendo. When
she had calmed down somewhat, she recollected the tele-
gram which had led up to the conversation, and asked
me bluntly who had sent it. To my own astonishment,
but not to hers, I told her immediately. She is one
of those persons who are able to compel confidences and
seldom abuse them.
"' Lady Anna's maid?' she exclaimed, a frown
gathering upon her handsome face; 'but what has she
to do with it?'
"I said that I could not imagine, and was no less
perplexed than she. Then I added:
"' But it was the maid who declared first of all that
Captain Ferman must be guilty.'
"' So the count told me. And the woman was im-
pertinent enough—but there, I should be grown accus-
tomed to it. Be sure of one thing, my child—no serv-
ant sent that telegram you received.'
"' I thought so too, madame.'
"' Then you are not going to Dieppe?'
"' Certainly not—but I wish that some people could
believe me to be there.'
"She regarded me with wonder.


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 233
"' You are telling me—oh, but it is a clever little
head—clever, clever. They set a trap for you, you—
oh, mon enfant, but I shall come to love you very much,
and so you may tell the prince. Certainly, you shall
trick them—I will help you. Why did you not come
to me before—after you had seen Madame Prevost, for
instance?'
"It was my turn to express surprise. I had not,
you may be sure, any notion that she knew of my ad-
venture at Chinon, and her words quite took my breath
away. When I had a little recovered, I told her quite
frankly how much she astonished me, and how little I
thought she knew of the affair. This pleased her, as
the vanity of knowledge ever does.
"' I am curious to hear about Prevost,' she said;
'she used to be my servant in Cairo.'
"' Your servant, madame?'
"' I say it. It would be six years and more. A
clever woman, that—and a secret one. My husband
had been to Chinon to see her—though he little thinks
that I am aware of the fact. He is as ignorant as you
were, mademoiselle, and that is to say much.'
"' And would be just as curious, perhaps, to know
how the information came to you,' said I, a little ruffled.
This amused her; for quite a long time she chuckled
to herself in a mood which nattered her but little.
"' Women of my age know everything,' she said
presently, ' especially when the children tell them. Did
you not take Olive to Chinon? Ah, my dear, there is
nothing so simple as life when you begin to understand
it.'
"' So Olive told you of my adventure. The minx!'


234 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"' Be glad that she is, for now I can help you.
Are you aware that this Madame Prevost has left
Chinon?'
"' I am quite unaware of it.'
"' But it is true. I have myself inquired, and I find
that she has gone to Strasburg to her brother in the
Wilhelmstrasse—No. 90. Moreover, she has taken
the Egyptian boy with her. Is that not strange, and
she did not go to Chinon to end her days, as she told
her neighbours? Well, my dear, I am very curious about
madame, and you shall go to Strasburg and tell me
all about her. Write to the prince, and say what you
are doing. The maid Felise shall accompany you, and
you shall have one of the men as a courier. Then we
will let the others think you are on your way to Dieppe.
Oh, oh, that will be a fine answer to them—that will be
a pretty turn. And your friend Heliers—but she will
never forgive us, mon enfant, never'
"I did not see what Lady Constance had to do with
it, and I told her so. She is insistent, however, when-
ever that name is mentioned, and she turned upon me
almost angrily for my interruption.
"' What had she to do with it? Why, she sent the
telegram, of course, that your friend Maurevale might
go to Dieppe instead of Lausanne. The German would
pay her and her friends pretty well for that, be sure.
But she is not clever, my child, not clever enough for
such an old hand as this, and so I will show her. Now
go and command your maid to pack your things. I
will order the barouche, and take good care that we
enter it when the count is out of the way. You shall
be in Strasburg and not a soul the wiser. Go away


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 235
at once and do as I tell you—oh, it is a fine trick, a
fine trick, and clever the head that thought of it.'
"I left her, vastly pleased with herself—for she had
now taken the whole credit of the proposal—and going
to my room I did as she bade me. The suddenness
of her proposal, its accordance with my own hopes and
desires, found me acquiescent, if excited as I have not
been since I left England. No harm, I thought, could
come to me in Strasburg, and it might just be possible
that I should hear from Madame Prevost's lips that
story of the green heart which she had refused so
obstinately to tell me at Chinon. A great hope, a firm
belief in the wisdom of my determination, buoyed me
up and compelled me to second madame's plans with all
the art I could command. Obedient to her instructions,
I entered the barouche at the garden gate of the chateau
and said good-bye to none.
"We reached Blois early in the afternoon, and caught
the express to Orleans. There I changed, and, going
across to Chalons-sur-Marne, caught the express to
Strasburg, and had the doubtful advantage of arriving
in that city in the middle of the night. Madame de
Fours, however, had telegraphed to the Grand Hotel,
and as hers is still a great name in France, I was
treated quite as a regal personage. Going at once to
bed, I tried to forget my lonely situation and the de-
mands it would make upon my courage. A memory of
Kitty and of my duty to you and to her supported
me then, as it has supported me from the beginning.
I slept at last, believing and praying that the day
would help me.
"It was quite a summer's morning when I awoke,


236 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and even this grey old fortress city invited me to cheer-
fulness. I took a hasty breakfast, and, accompanied
by the maid Felise, set off for the Wilhelmstrasse.
This proved to be a narrow street at the back of the
cathedral, and was chiefly given over to serious-looking
shops upon which the sun can shine but seldom because
of the great height of the houses. If I were asked
to compare it with any street of a foreign city that is
well known to me I would name the Faubourg St.
Honore in Paris, but this is altogether a German street
which must come as a surprise to 'stay-at-homes,' who
think of Strasburg as it was in the great war, and
remember only the heroic defence which the French made
of their homes. Be that as it may, it was in the Wil-
helmstrasse that Madame de Fours had advised me to
pursue the object of my visit, and here at No. 90 I
discovered the shop of a dealer in curios, with the name
Prevost above its window, and at once entered to ask
for the woman I had travelled so far to see.
"It was a handsome establishment, full of beautiful
objects I could have coveted under other circumstances.
A little Frenchman with a pointed beard and a Jewish
type of face met me with those compliments which seem
inseparable from the sale of objets d'art; but no sooner
had I asked for Madame Prevost than his whole manner
changed, and became, if not insolent, at the best far
from servile.
"* How,' said he, ' my sister is but just arrived from
France, and you are the second this morning who would
see her privately. Cannot you state your business,
mademoiselle?'
"I said that I could not, protesting that I was sure


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 237
Madame Prevost would grant me an interview if she
knew that I came from Aizy-la-Belle, and begging him
to at least mention my name to her. This he did after
some demur, and when I had waited in the shop, perhaps
a quarter of an hour, he returned to tell me that I must
go up by the private staircase to a room upon the first
floor, but that Felise, the maid, must stay where she was.
"I went at once, more desirous than I can tell to
meet the white-haired old lady again. When I found
her it was in a spacious room looking over the street,
a dark and sombre apartment giving upon another at
the rear, and furnished with the elegance her brother's
calling would demand. Unchanged in many respects,
I thought her manner more furtive and suspicious than
it had been at Chinon, and she received me with some
asperity, as though rebuking my temerity in calling
upon her.
"' Why have you come so far to see an old woman
like me, mademoiselle?'
"' Because,' said I at once, ' you are the very person
who can help me, madame.'
"She heard me patiently, the grey eyes searching
my face, and the fat hands tapping the arms of the
low chair in which she sat. Presently she said in a low
voice:
"' How can I help you, mademoiselle—why do you
think so?'
"' Because you were the friend of my friend, the
Lady Anna Maclain.'
"She shook her head at this, neither denying nor
affirming the accusation. I thought her shrewd at the
first interview, and now she proved herself to be so.


238 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"' So madame the countess sent you to spy upon me?
Ah, that is like the old days, mademoiselle. She would
do that, without doubt. Does she believe that I can
help you—she who knows very well how that lady
died?'
"I could not conceal my astonishment.
"' You say that Madame de Fours knows how my
friend died, but it is inconceivable, madame.'
"' Possibly so, mademoiselle, but true nevertheless.
When a woman, a Frenchwoman, is jealous, she neither
forgets nor forgives. Madame de Fours had the best
of reasons for wishing your friend out of the way.
That is what I have told her husband the count.'
"' Then you saw him after all, madame?'
"She was surprised that I could ask such a question.
"' Did you not send him to my house, then?' she
asked.
"I told her at once that I had endeavoured to do so,
but that the count had neglected to tell me of his visit.
To which she replied:
"' Ah, but he would not wish to speak of it. He is
a wise man, Monsieur le Comte, and he knows how to
hold his tongue. You may tell madame so when you
return to her. If you take my advice, mademoiselle,
that will be to-day. What business can you have to
keep you in Strasburg? It was madness to come, mad-
ness! Go back at once and forget this affair—for the
truth will never be told. I say it, and I know.'
"I pretended to agree with her, protesting anew my
interest and affecting gratitude for her kind advice.
Happily, we have a shrewd idea in this world of the
opinion in which others hold us, and I had been quite


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 239
convinced from the beginning that this old lady liked
me, or she would not have tolerated my presence in
the house. This belief led me to decide upon quite an
unusually bold course, and seeming to pay heed to her
scruples and to promise her that I would make an early
return to England, I ventured to mention your name
and to speak also of your friendship for Anna. The
result passed my best expectations. Her interest was
captured immediately, and she begged me to sit again.
"' Ah,' she said,' but your Prince Maurevale is a very
great man, my child. If I could speak to him it would
be another matter.'
"' Oh,' said I, 'but he would come to you willingly
if you wished it, madame.'
"' Do you think so—would he have the patience to
visit an old woman?'
'"I am sure that he would—shall I send a telegram
to invite him here?'
"She seemed to think upon this. Presently she
asked:
"' Was it not the prince who sent you to Aizy-la-
Belle?'
"I said that it was. She seemed pleased at her
guess.
"' Of course he did—to watch madame the countess
and to discover what she knew of Lady Anna.'
"' Yes,' said I, as though carelessly, 'and to find
out the secret of the heart of green jade.'
"I waited for her to speak, regarding this as the
boldest challenge as yet thrown down—but to my very
great surprise, the words were without effect. An on-
looker might have thought that she did not hear them,


240 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
so unmistakable was her indifference. Indeed, she would
have gone on to speak of the promised visit of my
friend Prince Maurevale but for my intervention and
persistency.
"' Yes,' said I,' the prince is convinced that the orna-
ment of which I spoke is the key to the mystery. Do
you agree with him, madame?'
"' Agree in what?' she asked with asperity;' of what
do you speak, mademoiselle?'
"' Of a little heart of green jade, a Chinese orna-
ment worn by Lady Anna. Did you not know of it?'
"She shrugged her shoulders as one would shrug
them out of pity for an imbecile.
"' The little green box—in the name of humour,
what next, mademoiselle?'
"' And yet,' said I, 'Prince Maurevale would give
much to know how it got into your possession.'
"' Into my possession!'
"' Oh!' said I, 'forgive my boldness, but this is so
great a thing to us. Did I not see just such a heart
of green jade in your house at Chinon?'
"She was much amazed—quite taken aback, and not
a little frightened. For some moments she sat there
swaying slightly in her chair, and evidently contem-
plating in what manner she should answer me. And
this was the situation, poor little me, almost wild with
excitement, the old lady, perplexed to confusion, the
house as silent as the grave, when there came a sharp
ring, thrice repeated, upon the electric bell, and the
almost immediate entrance into the room of the little
Egyptian boy of whom I have already spoken. Whis-
pering a few words to madame in a tongue of which I


AN UNKNOWN VOICE 241
knew nothing, he brought the blood to the woman's
cheeks and such a fire of anger to her eyes that I might
have been alarmed for her very reason. Then I heard
her say in French, 'No, no: I will not see him, I will
not see him,' and she pushed the boy from her as if he,
and not the unknown, were the intruder. When he
had gone out I perceived that a card had been left upon
the table by her side, and I was trying to read this
when she rose from her chair again with the plain in-
tention of terminating the interview.
"' Mademoiselle,' she said, as one in despair, ' I must
leave Strasburg: I must go immediately. Tell your
friend, Prince Maurevale, that I will write to him pres-
ently and invite him to my house. Something has hap-
pened; I cannot speak of it! Will you please leave
me now? I am not able to talk to you any longer.'
"I saw that it was indeed true. The poor old lady
appeared to be in a state of agitation surpassing words,
and even as I held out my hand to her a further in-
terruption added to her distress. This was nothing else
than a crooning voice—I might have said the voice of
a woman crying from a sick-bed, coming to us from
the room at the back. Raised in accents most dolorous,
the unknown cried out again and again, in French, and
so plainly that I know I am not mistaken when I tell
you that I distinctly heard Jack Ferman's name not
once, but many times, repeated.
"Here was the final surprise of this most astonishing
interview. I see a woman, at one moment calm and
collected, the next plunged into an abyss of dread and
despair; I hear her almost frenzied appeal to leave her;
I listen to a strange voice crying the name of Captain


242 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Ferman, as one who wailed for him upon a bed of sick-
ness, and would not be appeased until he came. Madame
herself turns from me to the door and back again, as
though driven by conflicting impulses, and willing but
unable to obey them both. In the end I say 'Good-
bye,' and go; but not before I have read the card upon
the table and learned that the name of her visitor was
Michel Ghika, and that he had come to her from Paris.
"This, prince, is my story. I am here at the Grand
Hotel, waiting for your letter. Oh! advise me, or
come to me as soon as may be, for I believe that we
stand upon the brink of the great inspiration, and that
any hour may reveal the secrets we have so long pur-
sued."


CHAPTER XXIII
THE BAEON COETOT AND ANOTHEE
Paul, the Russian, who had crossed from England by
the night mail, entered Maurevale's bedroom at half-
past seven next morning, and was surprised to find his
patron already dressed and writing. Foreign to his
usual mood at this hour the prince was in the highest
spirits, and rallied his secretary in a way that surprised
that good fellow very much.
"Well, Paul, so you are becoming an economist and
travel by the cheap route, I see. Did you find Dieppe
amusing?"
"Then your Excellency knows that I have been to
Dieppe?"
"Certainly, I know. You arrived there yesterday
at three o'clock, and, having discovered the person you
sought, came on by the night train. Is not that a
correct account?"
"Absolutely; but I must beg your Excellency to
speak, not of one person but of two."
"Of two—then it would appear that the amiable Dr.
Walther joined the maid Berthe in that desirable local-
ity, Paul."
"Your Excellency is always right; nevertheless you
astonish me very much."
The prince turned in his chair and bade the Russian
ring the bell.
"We will have our coffee," he said lightly, " and then
243


244 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
talk about it. I have a busy day, Paul, and to-morrow
I should arrive at Lausanne."
"I am glad that you say so. The rumour is abroad
already that you will not be there—in which case the
Germans will claim a moral victory."
"And the rest of the world will merely call me an
impostor. Admit that it is so, and say that, after all,
I may do nothing. The dreamer of dreams finds few
to listen to him even when he carries a bludgeon in his
hand. I am such a dreamer, Paul, and there is but
one nation which understands me. Did I go to Berlin
to-morrow, mine might be the greatest name in Europe.
But it will never be so—the dead and the living forbid.
I serve a humbler cause—it will be something to serve
it faithfully."
He rose with a sigh and drank a cup of coffee. Paul
meanwhile reflected upon the thankless task of serving
a man to whom the most treasured secrets of his work
were no secrets, and who met him with the story he
had crossed the sea to tell. Such a reception was little
less than humiliating.
"Your Excellency serves all causes well," he ad-
mitted, if a little ungraciously; "at the same time I
am very curious to hear how you came to know of
my visit to Dieppe. Surely none of my assist-
ants!"
"Not one of them, Paul. Be under no anxiety.
The maid Berthe, whom I told you to watch, being now
in France, it was natural that you should try to find
out what she was doing. I, who believe that she came
at Dr. Walther's bidding, expect to hear of no other
in her company. So you see that this magician is a


THE BARON CORTOT AND ANOTHER 245
very ordinary person sometimes. There are other occa-
sions, however, when he is prone to eccentricity—which
reminds me, Paul, that I am at this moment looking for
some of the cleverest and most unscrupulous card-play-
ers in Paris. Could you, in conjunction with our
friend Faber, put me in touch with such undesirable
people at a short notice? Understand, they must be
quite presentable—such people as I could ask to this
hotel to dinner, to-night at eight o'clock, Paul."
He came across, a cup still in his hand, and watched
his secretary with twinkling eyes. The Russian had
received many a bewildering command since he entered
the service of Maurevale of Dara, but never one which
astonished him more than this. At the same time he
was far too clever to permit his patron to detect any-
thing of the kind.
"Clever and unscrupulous gamblers—your Excel-
lency desires the company " <
"Certainly, at eight o'clock, to dinner. Such people
as can be seen at my table, Paul, and whose history is
not likely to be known to Englishmen. Do you under-
stand me?"
"Perfectly; have you any other commands for
me?"
"I have one of the greatest importance. You will
leave as early as may be for Strasburg; go to the
Grand Hotel there and present yourself to Miss Insole.
Make yourself responsible for her safety, for she is
alone in the city. I shall come to you in three days
at the latest, and let Miss Insole wait until I do so;
but above all things, Paul, remember that she may be
matched against a dangerous enemy. I can tell you


246 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
little of the man, or men, for I know little of them;
but if you can trace a certain Michel Ghika, do not
hesitate, whatever the cost, and let me have the earliest
information." Is this also clear to you? Then act
upon it directly you have found me my card-players
—for really, Paul, I have the fancy to turn gambler."
He laughed lightly and dismissed the Russian upon
it, enjoying the unspoken perplexity and wondering at
his own humour. Kitty Insole, who came down to break-
fast half-an-hour later, could say that this was the
Maurevale they had known during the happy summer
days at Highlands and upon his yacht. He spoke as
though her own return to England that morning were
but the prelude to the great, good news. She must
return to Park Lane and wait for her sister there.
"And who knows," he added, "that Jack Ferman
will not condescend to be of the party, Kitty?"
She would not question him upon it, was afraid then
as from the beginning to admit those hopes and fears
which had humiliated her so often. But she left Paris
with a lighter heart; and was content to know that it
was well with Stella, and it might even yet be well with
the man whom the world had called her lover.
Maurevale, upon his part, returned from the station
wondering if he had done well to make such promises,
and if the facts could by any possibility justify them.
As a vision intangible, the scenes of Anna's death would
pass and repass through his mind and leave him ap-
palled at the hazards which attended his quest of the
truth. Would he find the murderer as he had prom-
ised, or would discovery come too late? That question
time alone could answer. He waged a war against


THE BARON CORTOT AND ANOTHER 247
the very moments, which had become more precious
than the years of old time.
Who had murdered that gentle woman, and with what
object?
Suspicion raised a dread finger and pointed to Jack
Ferman.
This man had loved and tempted her: these were
motives enough, it would seem, and to spare, to satisfy
a British jury. Desire of gain, jealousy, anger,
shame, what further incentives did common sense re-
quire? Ferman had killed her because she had turned
upon him. Admittedly, but at whose bidding, and why
at such a moment of her career?
Was it because he believed that Maurevale would
marry her and put an end once and for all to the
schemes of the intriguers? A jury might say so and
arrive at a verdict which studied no subtleties.
And this jury would be summoned almost immedi-
ately. Counsel might be unable to postpone the trial
by a single day. The maid Berthe would give her
evidence, and the man Blandy would come forward to
speak of the House of the Five Green Shutters and of
its secrets. Maurevale did not fail to perceive what
a black interpretation might be put upon this, or how
large a use the prosecution might make of it.
Where must the people who kept that house be
sought? Would it serve to say that it contained the
portrait of Tahir Pasha's sister, now lying at the
point of death and unable to speak of the simplest
things?
What, in God's name, could these people have to do
with Anna Maclain—even if it were admitted that they


248 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
had knowledge of the house upon the marsh? Was it
possible that Anna had intrigued against the English
as a mere girl in Cairo? Maurevale could believe no
such story.
And yet there was the woman Prevost—perhaps the
one woman in all Europe who could tell him the secret
of the house.
Why, then, did he not hasten to her at Strasburg?
Never, perhaps, did he show a greater sagacity than
in refusing to do any such thing.
For Maurevale believed, rightly or wrongly, that a
great drama was being played, and that time alone
would permit the story to arrive at its climax. That
Madame Prevost could tell him he thought that he
knew already, and he resolved to make her the final
instrument of detection. About her, henceforth, would
this surpassing tragedy revolve. All might be ruined
by any premature intervention upon his part.
He was convinced of this, and yet too sound an in-
vestigator to forget the others involved or the measure
of the suspicion they invited. Just as the ascertained
evidence made it possible that the Egyptians had known
of Anna's death, so was it permissible to say that the
Count of Fours or Frederick Walther, the Lady Con-
stance or Madame the Countess had committed the crime
for a reason which the study of human motives might
reveal. Each could contribute something to the story
of the doubtful years. Each had Hated or feared or
fawned upon the dead woman. And all but Frederick
Walther, it would seem, had known her in Egypt, where
men named Ferman for her lover and stood aghast
when it was known that he would never marry her.


THE BARON CORTOT AND ANOTHER 249
In this very complexity lay the almost insurmountable
barriers to detection. Maurevale perceived that any
of these people might be guilty; whereas, on the other
hand, not one of them might know, not even Tahir's
sister nor Madame Prevost, the name of the criminal.
As for Madame Prevost, she had already spoken wild
words which seemed to say that she thought Ferman
to be guilty, while little Zaida would hardly be the
confidant of intriguers. Should this be so, he was
driven back upon his original determination—to let
the facts speak, to add to them daily if he could, and
by them to seek at last that inspiration which, he had
no doubt, would unlock the door in an instant and show
him the secret place of the truth immutable.
He spent the afternoon in a round of visits, working
a little impatiently, as a man upon whom the hours
were gaining. A call upon the great specialist, Dr.
Morenceau, whose work upon poisons is a European
text-book, was rewarded by the discovery of that great
scientist and a profitable hour with him. Thence he
went to meet the young man Allulah at the Cafe Hein-
rich, where he had the latest tidings of the Egyptian
girl Zaida, disappointing as they were. There seemed
a doubt whether she would live; while, if she lived, her
reason might be threatened. Maurevale had hoped so
much from the friendship of this charming and amiable
girl that the news came to him as a profound disap-
pointment. Of what use her testimony if her sanity
were to be questioned?
Naturally, the police had made much of this case,
and declared war upon the revolutionary Egyptians in
Paris. The crime was already emblazoned on the news-


250 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
bills and Paris delighted by the story of the baboon—
for this was a monster after its own heart. The police,
meanwhile, were doing their best to discover the would-
be assassin of Mademoiselle Zaida, though they admitted
that they were without any clue whatsoever. Tahir
Pasha himself had returned to the house in the Rue
Dauphine and shown the tenderest solicitude for his
sister. This was a bold act, which defied the police;
and, indeed, the official view rapidly turned to the theory
of accident, and offered a new argument against the
pernicious habit of drug drinking—especially of those
nostrums against headache in which Frenchwomen are
wont to indulge.
Meanwhile there was no news whatever of Madame
Sabine, who was thought to be in Switzerland. No
doubt Tahir had shielded his wife as far as he was
able, and, while admitting the political purposes for
which the house was used, had denied that those pur-
poses were criminal. More than this, Allulah agreed
that Tahir had separated himself finally from the
Young Egyptian Party, and, he added with naivete,
"he is leaving Paris immediately if the police permit."
To which Maurevale answered that he saw no objection
to such a course, and that, if his own influence with
the Prefect were worth anything, he would secure the
requisite permission without loss of time.
Maurevale liked this youthful Egyptian, and did
what he could to cheer him. A boy and girl " passion"
is ever one of the roseate windows of life through which
the most gracious pictures of humanity are reflected.
And such a passion had been upon the verge of con-
summation when the blow fell and the worst was known.


252 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
of diamonds shone proudly upon the crest of her jet-
black hair. For all that she had changed much since
they met at Wargrave; and her glances aside, her sud-
den starts and pauses, spoke of a nervous system which
had been tried profoundly and now threatened to break
down altogether. This Maurevale detected at the out-
set. He wondered at the same time that she could
carry herself so well and so cleverly in the face of so
many excitements.
"I want you to tell me," she began, with an assump-
tion of candour which was pretty to see—" I want you
to tell me just what happened on that night you came
to Wargrave. Do you know, my doctor declared that
I had been drugged."
Maurevale smiled, and drew the lamp a little nearer.
"And you remain a friend of the medical profes-
sion?" he asked. She bit her lip and tried again.
"Now really—was not I very ill?"
"That would depend upon your nervous system.
Some of us are very ill when we scratch a finger."
"Oh, but you don't say"
"I am saying nothing. You had a fainting attack,
and, when you recovered, you talked a lot of nonsense
to which I paid no attention whatever. Why should
I remember it?"
He took a cigarette from the silver box at his side
and offered her one. It was a new excuse for scanning
her face, and opportunity served him well. He could
see that she was asking herself what nonsense she had
talked, and wondering whether it had been incriminat-
ing.
"Oh, but you make me very curious," she exclaimed.


THE BARON CORTOT AND ANOTHER 253
"Did I really talk nonsense? Won't you tell me whom
it was about?"
"I—my dear soul—what a memory I should want.
But I do remember one thing"
"Yes, yes."
"That you were evidently dreaming of the East."
She fanned herself for a moment, plainly reassured.
Then she said:
"Did you know that Anna was some time in India?"
"We all knew it, I think."
"And that she would never speak of it?"
"Why should she? Are we reduced to a recitation
of Cook's gospel for the enlivenment of our dinner-
tables?"
"No, no; but when one has been a long time in a
country it is curious if one never wishes to talk about
it—even to one's friends."
"Anna was not a long time in India—but little more
than a year, I understand."
"Yes; but she spent some time in Ceylon, I am told."
It was Maurevale's turn to be astonished.
"In Ceylon—indeed! I never heard of it."
"Possibly you would not. But Archie Kerrington
is sure of it. It was good of you, by the way, to ask
Archie to-night."
"I always try to make my friends happy. Is he
as fond of baccarat as ever?"
"Incurable as I am."
"Then I must see that the subject is not mentioned
to-night. The men who are dining with me are my
hostages. I must really keep them out of mischief."
She laughed with him; but it was not a winning smile.


254 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Do I know them?" she asked.
"I think not—unless you met the Baron Cortot at
Nice last year. Baltard is a young gentleman of for-
tune who should be locked up by his friends. But,
of course, he will not play cards here at my invitation."
"Archie is sure to ask him," she remarked as though
casually; "what a pity you invited him."
"But is he not the best and the dearest of your
friends?"
"The dearest, certainly—why talk of him when I
have so much to say to you and the time is so short?"
"Oh," said he, "I am entirely at your disposal. It
concerns poor Anna, of course."
"Who else ?—-and poor Jack Ferman as well. It
is impossible to speak of one without the other. I saw
Jack's sister before I left London, and it quite wrecked
me. His friends think there is no chance for him—
even Sir Horace will not promise anything."
"He is a wise man who performs but never promises.
The trial, I think, is coming on almost immediately."
"At the next—what do you call them?—assizes. We
shall get a postponement if we can."
"Ah, I like your interest; but why 'we'?"
"Just what I have come to tell you. Do you re-
member that old German gentleman—did you not tell
me he was the father of one of your scientific friends—
oh, yes, of the young man, Otto, whom I saw at High-
lands? Well, I have seen him again, and he has some
great news. Shall I tell you what he thinks?"
"By all means do."
"Well, he is of the opinion that this is a political
crime, and that the truth of it could be bought."


THE BARON CORTOT AND ANOTHER 255
"How—for money?"
"Just that. Dr. Walther knows a great deal of the
foreign political clubs in London, and has some odd
friends—patients of his, I think they were. One of
these has told him something which is very curious."
"May I hear it?"
She tapped the table with her fan, and seemed to
hesitate.
"It is very difficult for a woman to talk of these
things; but Archie knows, for he was with me when
the doctor came. As far as I can understand it there
is an Indian—I believe he is an Indian—in London who
could tell us just what Anna did while she was out of
England."
"How very interesting; and this person is not an
altruist. He is sufficiently vulgar to speak of money."
"That's the mischief of it. I suppose you might
call him a blackmailer in a way. Well, we know how
these things happen. Dr. Walther says that five thou-
sand would buy him body and soul."
Maurevale smiled—he could not help it.
"Am I to understand that this saintly person will
let poor Ferman die if he is not paid five thousand
pounds?"
"The doctor says so. You see he stands at an ad-
vantage. He believes that Anna has friends who will
pay that much for the possession of her secrets. The
earl certainly would if he were at home."
"Possibly. Have they any news of the earl, by the
way?"
"He is still cruising in the Pacific. In any case he
cannot return until after the trial. If Ferman is to


256 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
be saved we must do it. Don't you think his friends
and Anna's could find the money?"
Maurevale replied that he would think of it, but
further talk was impossible, for at that very moment
the servant announced the Baron Cortot and Monsieur
de Baltard, the amiable gentlemen with the gambler's
reputation.


CHAPTER XXIV
MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG
An old traveller has said that a railway carriage is
the best place in the world in which to read and to
smoke. Maurevale might have admitted the truth of
these observations as the morning train carried him
from Bale to Strasburg. He had made good his boast
that he would attend the Peace Conference at Lau-
sanne and had delivered a great oration there. And
now he hastened from Lausanne to Strasburg, impatient
above all to see Stella again and to hear the conclusion
of her dramatic story.
His reserved carriage was a litter of papers by the
time the old German city loomed into view. Delayed
correspondence from London and Paris had occupied
him during the journey. Long rambling letters from
busybodies in England lay unheeded on the floor. The
pious hopes of beggars that he would remember them
because he also knew the meaning of misfortune shared
no better fate. Had his secretary been in England
these things would not have reached him; but under-
lings were generous and feared the prince's displeasure.
Let it not be thought that any of these documents
had made the journey lighter. One correspondent
alone claimed a hearing, and he, perhaps, the greatest
specialist in France upon the subject of poisons. From
Doctor Morenceau, whom the prince had seen but a few
days ago in Paris, the illuminating missive had come
257


258 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
—an exhaustive epistle compiled with a scientist's ex-
actitude and bristling with facts.
Maurevale read this to the last line, and when he
had read it he began upon it a second time. Very
cleverly and with a wealth of illustration the doctor
capitulated the methods and the motives of the more
famous poisoners who had come under his notice. -He
showed how they were among the most cunning and
the most daring of criminals. He pointed out that
those who had once made use of poison to satisfy their
vengeance or their greed will employ it again in the
most trifling need. He recalled the case of the French
monster Zalin, who had visited the cafes of Paris and
dropped poisoned tablets in the cups of the idlers of
the boulevards; he spoke of Madame Goulange, who
had poisoned husband and son for a petty affront ad-
ministered in a theatre; he named Canivoleau, who
poisoned a dearly beloved sister on the eve of a mar-
riage to which he objected. In every case the assassins
had made subsequent attempts, successful or unsuccess-
ful, to repeat their crimes upon the slightest provoca-
tion.
"Thus, prince," the doctor wrote, " is the law vindi-
cated, thus is the safety of society assured. The very
facility these people enjoy is their undoing, and few
of them go free. I have studied this case of your
friend, the Lady Anna in England, and I accept your
assurance that the gravest motives of jealousy and
self-interest appear to have inspired the crime. But be
sure that there will be some attempt to repeat it, if
there has not been already. In the meantime, it may
be profitable to you to review certain very remarkable


260 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
employed and a precise account of the manner in which
they were sold.
To Maurevale these documents were precious just be-
cause they supplied that one link in his chain of evi-
dence which none but a scientist could forge. Much
of the matter, it is true, had at first seemed irrelevant,
for how could stories of French crime throw light upon
that tragedy which had visited his own house, and what
was it to him if twenty ruffians had been hanged at
Rheims for murders without motives? None the less
he perceived the doctor's meaning, and remained grate-
ful for his labours. Whatever the evidence did or did
not prove concerning Anna's death, the reality of the
motive would appear to be unquestionable. Human
passions spoke in her story with a voice which com-
pelled a hearing, the voice of jealousy, of greed, it
might even be of outraged love. There had been simi-
lar voices in some of the cases which Dr. Morenceau
indicated, and they could not be without their lessons.
From which of these great houses had the deadly
drug which killed Anna been purchased, and by what
channels had it come into the murderer's hands? Rea-
son might have answered, "Possibly from none." If
a doctor were concerned in the crime he, surely, would
make up his own prescription and destroy all traces
of it. In the same way it was possible to argue that
such a man might choose his instruments craftily, select-
ing those who would not know what they were doing,
and taking good care that they were in his power before
the choice was made. Here was a direct incentive to
recall the name of Frederick Walther and to ask who
of those at Highlands had become the willing or un-


MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG 261
witting partner of his crimes? Maurevale could name
no one, closely as he applied himself to the task.
Of Otto's fidelity he had now no doubt. The others
were the Count of Fours and his wife, and the Lady
Constance. If the latter had poisoned Anna, she did
so for a motive which few would find sufficient; in other
words, she had killed Maurevale's friend that she her-
self might become his friend. This he could not believe;
nor was it credible that a Frenchman who passed for
a man of honour, the Count of Fours, would become the
accomplice of a doctor working in the German cause.
Safer, surely, to come back to these Egyptians, to
recall the name of Sabine Ghika, and to remember that
she herself had denounced Walther as the murderer in
a letter she wrote to him at Lausanne.
He put back the list in his despatch-box and took
up some of the newspaper cuttings. They were of
little interest, save as morbid reading, of which he had
enough and to spare. The Chevalier Langerville, who
at Brussels had poisoned the woman he loved with a
brutality not to be matched, had undoubtedly been a
madman of a kind with which criminologists are fa-
miliar, but whose very name should be kept from a
gaping public. So, too, in the case of the miscreant
Ferre, with his reckless vengeance upon those whose
very names he did not know. It was idle to read of
him or of what he did or did not say upon the scaffold.
In the case of Madame Goulange there was the tem-
perament of a highly hysterical woman to be considered,
and of a long series of petty insults upon her by men
who- were without sympathy if not without affection.
None of these cases afforded that parallel for which


262 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he was seeking, and he had already dismissed them when
the train entered the station at Strasburg, and his
secretary Paul, with Stella Insole by his side, came to
the carriage to meet him.
Long weeks had passed since he had seen Stella, and
he found her wonderfully changed. The child of Pang-
bourne had become the woman of Strasburg, proud of
carriage, alert, and a beautiful woman, as the world
has borne witness.
When he took her hand their eyes met, and she did
not shrink from his glance as she had done at High-
lands. Pleasure, relief, desire to tell him, joy at his
coming, were all marked in her heartfelt exclamation
when she realised that he had kept his promise.
"Oh," she cried, "if you had disappointed me"
He smiled at her frankness, and bidding Paul follow
them, led the way to her carriage.
"You have been telling yourself for more than sixty
hours that I am an ingrate. Is it not so, Stella?
Have you not thought very badly of me?"
"No, indeed, but I have wished you to come, oh, so
very much. It all seemed so urgent to me, so very
dreadful and true." And then she said with a heavy
sigh, "And now I fear it is too late."
"In which case," rejoined Maurevale, "it is any-
body's fault, but not little Stella's. Has the woman
left Strasburg?"
"Paul thinks so. If so, it would be this morning,
for she came to the hotel last night."
"She did? I am astonished, or perhaps I should
say I am pleased to hear that. It was to ask for my
protection, of course?"


MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG 263
"She told me she must leave Strasburg immediately.
Some danger which she could not explain threatened
her and hers. I told her that she was wise to go if
that was the case; but I begged her also to let me help
her. She would not consent, though she actually went
so far as to admit that her life was in danger."
"Did you tell Paul of this?"
"Every word of it. I knew that it would be your
wish. I think he has been watching the house ever
since. Madame's flat is shut up; there is no one in the
house at all except the brother, and he refuses to tell
us anything."
"He would do so. You, however, gave the woman
the best advice you could, Stella? You promised her
my assistance, I am sure."
"I could do nothing else. She asked to see you,
and I gathered from your telegram and from the letter
Paul gave me that she would do well to return to
England. If she has left Strasburg, I feel sure it
is to go to London."
Maurevale smiled quietly with that pleasure of reali-
sation which the fulfilment of a well-considered scheme
may justify. They called him a magician, but he
knew himself to be no magician but merely an observ-
ant worker who travelled upon the broad lines of human
probability. Had he wished to flatter himself, he
might have told Stella that he had delayed to visit
Strasburg just because he knew that all this would
happen in his absence. But he did nothing of the
kind, leaving the whole credit of it to her.
"All this is very well done, Stella," he said pres-
ently. "Perhaps you begin to understand now why


264 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
I left you in Strasburg. Do you know that I could
desire nothing better than this news? Madame Pre-
vost is upon her way to London. Very well, I shall
return immediately and interview her there."
"But will you know her address, prince?"
"I am as certain of it as of my own. She will
go to a house on the marshes near Ely, a house known
as that of the Five Green Shutters. There she will
meet some one she has never seen before—which re-
minds me that I must send him a telegram without
loss of time. Have you forgotten Mr. Blandy, my
old steward? Well, he is the tenant of that very
house."
She opened her eyes widely while Maurevale gave a
direction to the coachman and drew up presently at a
telegraph office, whence he sent a special cable in cypher
to his private bureau in London. This being done,
they went on to the hotel, at which they arrived in time
to order dinner in the restaurant and still have plenty
of leisure to dress. Stella had much yet to tell him,
he was sure, and he judged by the excitement of her
manner and an elation quite foreign to her, that it
was a matter of great importance. It would be time
enough, however, to hear the rest of her story when
they had dined; and so he took Paul to his own room
and there told him very plainly both what he feared
and what he hoped of his visit.
"So Madame Prevost has flattered me by running
away, Paul? Is it ascertained beyond doubt?"
"I cannot tell you, Highness. The affair has be-
come a great mystery. The house has been visited
by the police to-day, and the man Prevost appears to


MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG 265
be closely watched. I might almost say that the
authorities have made it their business to do our work.
I paid him a call, but could not obtain a hearing. Un-
fortunately, one of our old friends is engaged in the
same occupation. I have seen him twice since noon
yesterday in the Wilhelmstrasse. Can your Highness
imagine who it was?"
"I can well imagine it—our learned friend Dr. Wal-
ther."
"Your Highness is not to be taken by surprise. It
was no other."
"You yourself avoided observation, I hope—not that
it matters. They must be well aware that Miss Stella
is here."
"They are perfectly aware of it, sir. This permits
me to say that I think I came to Strasburg just in
time, as your Highness imagined might be the case."
Maurevale ceased to smile, and for a little while made
no remark. The thought that he had exposed Stella
to this peril struck him a blow.
"Are you telling me that she has been spied upon,
Paul?"
"I must say so, sir, by a man who bears the name
of Michel Ghika, a Roumanian, I think."
"Can you describe him to me?"
"He is of the middle height, very dark, and might
be mistaken for a Greek or an Italian."
"And about thirty years of age, Paul?"
"I would say so, Highness."
Maurevale reflected a moment, and then called for his
despatch-box.
"Do you remember the episode of the maid Berthe


266 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and the man named Jules Farmot, who met her in
London, Paul?"
"Perfectly well, Highness. One of my assistants
obtained a photograph"
"Which I had developed in Paris. The prints are
among the correspondence I received at Lausanne last
night. Let us have a look at them, Paul. Now
would you recognise"
He stopped abruptly, the surprise of the revelation
choking his words. Once before in his life had he
seen the face of the photograph. As in a flash there
came to him a memory of the summer-house at War-
grave, of the bungalow, and the silent river beyond
the garden. From the window of that arbor a man's
face had looked out at him—it was the face of the
picture he held in his hand.
"I see that your Highness is greatly interested,"
said the Russian, who waited patiently for his patron
to speak. Maurevale answered him by passing the print
and begging him to examine it carefully.
"Is that the face of Michel Ghika, Paul?"
"It is undoubtedly the face. I am very much aston-
ished, Highness."
"And I no less. It is curious how early ideas
afflict us, and how slow we are to part with them.
When I saw that man at Lady Constance's bungalow, I
put him down as a ' go-between,' a fellow of no import-
ance and quite beyond the scope of our inquiry. He
had gone to Wargrave to deliver a message for another,
I thought. It was a grave misconception, Paul, for
unless I am wholly mistaken, this Michel Ghika is the
very heart of our mystery."


MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG 267
"Would you say that he is the murderer?"
"I would have said it this morning. If I hesitate
to say it now, a word from a comparative stranger has
changed my opinion. Indeed, Paul, the whole structure
of my house threatens to fall and to leave me but a
shattered foundation. I would be ashamed to tell the
world just what is running in my head at this moment."
"Then our work has been in vain?"
The prince rose up and began to pace the room.
He was intensely agitated, and spoke as one from
whom the words were wrung by an agony of mind he
could not conceal.
"It has not been in vain. You are clever, Paul, and
are perfectly well aware that I have laboured to guard
the secrets of Lady Maclain's life, secrets for which
this brave fellow Jack Ferman would go to the scaffold.
I have striven to save her from the scorn of women
and the pity of men. Until to-day, until I received
a letter from my friend Dr. Morenceau of Paris, I
was willing to believe that the means to do this were
in my hands. The assassin, I thought, was known to
me, and it might be possible even at the eleventh hour
both to save Ferman and to secure the punishment of
this man. But if he be no assassin, if the man who
really killed poor Anna be beyond the borders of our
inquiry, what then? This Ghika may or may not
know the story as we know it, but assuredly if he does
know it, then we are powerless; for in that case he
will have sold it already to the secret service agents,
and they will not fail to make use of it. That is the
problem with which I am confronted. The affair has
passed beyond the limitations of private vengeance; it


268 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
may readily become a weapon with which the diplo-
matists may war."
"And if it does so, your Highness believes that the
whole story will be told?"
"It will be told to the last line. The aims are
too evident; the purpose is too clear. They will tell
it in the hope of adding one new indictment to that
British rule in Egypt which is the keynote of their
policy. Nothing but the barter of my honour can
prevent that. Must I barter it, then, in the name of
a woman who loved me?"
The question moved him deeply, and he repeated it
again and again, as though its very reiteration would
earn a response. Must he sell his honour? Must the
pride of the house of Dara bend to these Germans, who
had discovered so cleverly both the master key to the
secret, and the price it might be worth to them? Mau-
revale saw no way out of it, and the measure of the
abasement appalled him. He to sell himself, he who
had treated their offers with such a just scorn? And
yet for Anna's sake the sacrifice must be made. The
dead commanded, and he would not disobey.
The Russian was quite unaccustomed to such an out-
burst as this, and it astonished him not a little. He
would not venture a comment upon it, and he rejoined
him with a commonplace that a way would yet be found
and that the man Ghika might be the means, despite
himself. From which, in the hope of diverting the
prince's gloomy thoughts, he spoke of Madame Prevost
and of her flight.
"Your Highness will see the brother, of course?"
"To-night, if possible, Paul."


MAUREVALE ARRIVES AT STRASBURG 269
"I doubt if he will hear reason."
"Then we must buy it, at a price. Let the house
be watched until I come. You have assistants here,
'Paul?"
"The best in the city, Highness."
"Then bring me the news—shall we say at nine
o'clock?"
They agreed upon it, and Maurevale entered the
other room where Stella awaited him.
They had not been alone for many weeks, and he per-
ceived in a moment that her impatience to speak would
brook no further delay, and that she was about to tell
him her secret whatever it might be.


CHAPTER XXV
THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE
Maurevale knew perfectly well that Stella would be
put to some embarrassment by the story she desired so
earnestly to tell him, and his tact quickly responded
to the difficulty. There were still some minutes to
dinner, and making them an excuse, he drew her into
an alcove by the window and began to speak of her
visit to Madame Prevost's house and of its fruits. Thus
insensibly he approached the point at which it might
be possible for her to tell him everything.
"You felt that madame was hiding something from
you," he said, "and your wit has been at work ever
since in trying to discover what that something was.
You were conscious of this at Chinon, where you stood
at a hand's breadth from the truth; but the impression
was confirmed here in Strasburg, where surmise became
certainty. Shall I tell you how, Stella?—do you wish
me to go on?"
She assented with a quick gesture, and he continued.
"When you last visited Madame Prevost in the Wil-
helmstrasse, you thought that you heard a woman's
voice. It would be natural to make such a mistake.
Some one cried out from an adjoining room, and you
were deceived for an instant, but only for an instant.
Then you said that the voice was not that of a woman,
but of a child. Am I right in this conclusion?"
She was disappointed, perhaps, that her secret should
270


272 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
turned to him with eyes which would read his judg-
ment. And then she knew the truth.
"Yes," he said in a low voice, "there was a child
at Chinon, and the woman Prevost brought it to the
Wilhelmstrasse in this city. I will tell you more, Stella
—the fingers of that child plucked the green heart
from Anna's wrist and carried it to France. And that
is natural, for it was her own child, and who had a
better right?"
He stopped abruptly, fearing his words, and remem-
bering that he talked with one who was but a child
herself a few months ago. To Stella the revelation
came as some black secret she had long feared but had
been unable to comprehend. Her pity for Anna had
been that of one generous heart for another; the pity
of a woman whose sympathies are unfailing and whose
love is sure. And now, as it were in an instant, the
curtain of the hidden life had fallen from her eyes and
revealed a scene from which a woman's instinct made
her shrink.
"Anna's child!" she cried, with drawn lips and flash-
ing eyes. "Oh, I will never believe it—never, never!
How could it be, prince? Who has thought such a
thing?" And then as earnestly:
"May not even you be mistaken in this?"
He bade her sit again, and, covering her hand with
his own, he told her much that he had done during the
weary days of watching and of waiting.
"I guessed the truth of this at the house of the
marsh," he said. "What did an old woman in such
a place, and what was the meaning of her seclusion?
The house had been furnished by some one of means,


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 273
and yet this old peasant occupied it. The style of
decoration, the food left in the larder, the very books,
spoke of nurse and child. Then I saw that the woman
had left the place hurriedly, and that she had left it
because of a telegram containing an Arabic word which
means 'danger.' So at once I thought of the East,
and remembered enough of poor Anna's life to recall
the years she spent in Egypt and India. I perceived
that a great shadow lay upon her story, and that
others might lift it with disastrous consequences to her
name and honour if I was not before them. Chance,
Stella—and there is always a chance in these things—
brought the name of a man to my ears. I followed
that man's story and came to a conclusion—that Anna
was his wife, and, because she was his wife, was hiding
the child from him. That is why I did not go to
Chinon when you told me of your discovery. As I
watched, so were Anna's enemies watching me. The
secret I had discovered was the secret they were risk-
ing their very lives to anticipate; but I was before
them, and I profited by my knowledge. Where I went,
there they followed. And now they are in Strasburg,
and we must come face to face. Do you wonder that
I break my habit of reticence and share with you of
all my friends the knowledge of this great secret?"
The meaning of this was not to be hidden, and Stella
shrank from it. His presence in Strasburg implied
a certain personal danger. He would visit the house
in the Wilhelmstrasse, but not without risk. And he
had told her truths of Anna's life that she might tell
them to others if he were killed. Such words affrighted
her, and she would have made a woman's appeal to


274 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
him but for one of those commonplace intrusions which
often break the thread of drama and bring us in an
instant to the realities of the trivial day.
A waiter knocked upon the door, and craved leave
to inform his Excellency that dinner was served. Mau-
revale was glad that it should be so; and giving Stella
no other opportunity to express her fears he conducted
her immediately to the table.
Her dread, nevertheless, was not without reason.
Maurevale could doubt no longer that a crisis had been
reached, and that Ghika and his friends would play
their last cards at Strasburg if they played them at all.
He perceived that the whole of this turbid drama
must play henceforth about the child—Walther seek-
ing it as an instrument of blackmail; Ghika relentlessly
in his sister's name. And just because he did perceive
it he had made an enigmatical offer to Madame Ghika
in a letter he wrote her from Lausanne—ten thousand
pounds if the secret were alive when he discovered it.
Such an offer would tie the woman's hands, but would
it tie the man's? Maurevale had no doubt whatever
that Michel Ghika had long since ceased to scheme
solely in his sister's interests, and now worked wholly
in his own. How, then, if Anna's child came into the
custody of such a man? What would its promise of
life be worth?
He looked back now upon the episodes of the last
few weeks, and asked himself if he had done well to
trust this secret to the keeping of Madame Prevost.
It would have been possible to have gone at once into
France and to have claimed the child; but had he done


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 275
so nothing would have been known of Ghika's part in
the affair; nor would that deeper plot of vengeance,
which ran in his mind, have been possible.
Reflection convinced him anew that he had done well,
and his scruples were quieted. It was another matter
to find an excuse which should satisfy Stella that he
ran no risk in visiting the house in the Wilhelmstrasse.
Why should she wish him not to go? What new in-
terest had come into her life to bend that daring spirit
to these craven counsels? He feared to dwell upon
it lest the impression should be false.
"You will wait for me in the lounge," he said as
he left her. "I should not be more than an hour, and
there are the Hungarian fiddlers to be considered; I
can see that they would never forgive you if I took
you away. We will talk it all over when I return,
and perhaps start for England in the morning. Are
you not anxious to get back, Stella? Do you not
think of Highlands sometimes, as it is these summer
days? I do, if you do not; I never remember a time
when I thought of England so often, or with such
kindly remembrances of its people. Ah, my dear child,
in what other land is there such a home as the English
people have helped me to make among them! If all
goes well we will leave for England to-morrow."
Stella could answer that readily enough.
"If it should be so, oh, I could count the hours."
And then she said:
"Must you go ?—is there no other way?"
He bent and kissed her on the forehead.
"There is none," he said. "And there can be no
danger."


276 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
His car was at the door by this time, and Paul
awaited him with news of Israel Prevost, Madame Pre-
vost's brother.
The little man, Paul said, had been very much upset
by his sister's departure, and was absolutely dumb con-
cerning it.
Like all exiles who resented the dominion of Ger-
many in Strasburg, Prevost feared the police exceed-
ingly and obeyed them to the letter. Because of this
apprehension, perhaps, he had shut and locked his
sister's flat upon the first floor and allowed no one to
visit it since her departure.
A man of bachelor habits, he lived himself in the
little room behind the shop, and seldom emerged there-
from when the day's work was done. To all of which
Maurevale listened with attention, and was still listen-
ing when the car arrived in the Wilhelmstrasse and
set them down at the door of the house.
It was then about a quarter-past nine o'clock, and
the night being very fine and warm, the neighbouring
'cafes swarmed with benign and kindly Germans, who
smoked their pipes and drank their beer as though all
the world, to say nothing of their wives, waited upon
their pleasure. Soldiers were everywhere, fine fellows
in smart green uniforms; cavalry clinking their spurs;
officers striding along with a due sense of what was
owing to the Emperor's coat. And mingled with these
were the earnest Frenchmen, moving sullenly amid the
conquerors, but guarding the pride of their race al-
ways.
Maurevale glanced up and down the narrow street,
listened while the musical bells of the old cathedral


THE SECRET OP THE HOUSE S77
chimed the quarter after nine, and then entered the
passage at the side of Israel Prevost's shop.
A quick survey of the house showed him that it was
in darkness save for a twinkling light far above, in
the room of a little sempstress whose day's work was
unfinished. The shop itself was shuttered and barred;
the passage by its side boasted a dim lamp which dis-
closed a narrow door giving access to the private apart-
ments occupied by Prevost. Here there was a drooping
bell-pull, at which the prince rang while he gave his
instructions to his secretary.
"Do not be far away, Paul, in case I have need of
you. The car must wait if the police permit. I
should not be very long, but it will not be less than
half-an-hour, perhaps."
"Your Highness is quite convinced that this is
wise?"
"I am quite convinced. Now leave me, for some
one is coming."
The crazy bell had reverberated through the drear
house in echoes which seemed to fathom the very cellars.
The sounds were followed by an interval of silence;
then by a footfall in the corridor beyond the door.
The clank of a chain was heard, and the harsh grating
of a bolt which seldom left its socket. Then the door
opened a little way and some one behind it asked,
"Who is it?" to which the prince responded immedi-
ately:
"I am Prince Maurevale and I wish to see Madame
Prevost. I understand that she has left Strasburg,
in which case it is necessary for me to see her brother
without loss of time."


278 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Why is it necessary, monsieur?"
"That I may tell him that which he ought to know
when the police put the question to him. Come, my
friend, will you not inform Monsieur Prevost?"
He pressed the door with his hand as he spoke, and
it gave way a little. Presently a face appeared, that
of a bearded Frenchman, who wore pince-nez and had
plainly risen from his bed at the summons. Upon
any other he would have slammed the door immediately,
but his sister had named Maurevale of Dara as the
one man who could befriend her. And was there not,
besides, this talk of the police?
"Well, monsieur," he said, his embarrassment speak-
ing for itself, "but I cannot see you at such a time
of night."
"Which means that you are Monsieur Prevost, and
that you will permit me to leave Strasburg with my
message undelivered. Assuredly, monsieur, that would
be very foolish of you. It is not every day that I
have a thousand francs to spend upon my curiosity
and an unknown lady's predicament. I must carry
them to England, after all, I see."
Prevost was not sure that he heard aright; but the
word "francs" rang musically in his ears, and he
opened the door at once. ,
"Is your Highness alone?"
"Quite alone, as you would see if you would do
the favour to turn on the light. Shall I follow you
upstairs?"
The man started and shuddered unmistakably.
"Why upstairs? My sister has left the house. Be-
sides, there is another way at the end of the cor-


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 279
ridor. We shall do very well in my own room,
monsieur."
"True enough; but the thousand francs I carry in
my pocket are for your trouble, monsieur, in gratifying
my very natural curiosity to see the apartments occu-
pied by madame—and the child which she concealed in
Strasburg."
He said it quite in a kindly way, but the effect was
none the less sure. Prevost was one of those sensitive
beings who dread the smallest departure from the
common way of life, however monotonous that life may
be. His sister had brought an unknown child to the
house and had refused him any explanation. What
more natural, then, than that his dread of possible con-
sequences should prove stronger than his reason? Why,
the police might want to know about it, and to have
the police in his house would never do.
"Do you mean to say, monsieur, that the little girl
is known to you?"
"Perfectly; she is the daughter of one of my friends,
and I have every reason to believe that her life is in
danger."
Prevost nodded.
"You will understand how little I heard of it," he
said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "It is nine
years since I have seen my sister, and then one day
she comes to me like a bolt from the blue. She has
money, and the apartment upstairs is vacant. What
more natural than that I should receive her?"
"Did she give you no account of the child?"
"Far from it. She said it was the daughter of an
English noblewoman, and that the mother was dead.


880 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
She had been paid very well for her trouble, I under-
stood; but that would be nothing to my sister Emily,
for she loves this child as her own, and such affection
is unusual. Even I was hardly admitted to her room
—and, monsieur, I fear she is quite reckless where
money is concerned."
"A good woman, I perceive. She was much dis-
tressed in Strasburg and afflicted by strange fears. Is
it not so?"
"You could not put it plainer. There was a cer-
tain Michel Ghika called here twice, and because of him
my sister returned to England. That is all I know
about it. She feared this man, and would not permit
me to speak to the police about him. And she left
me secretly by the little street which is at the back.
She went by the night mail, monsieur, and I have had
no word from her since."
"A clever and discerning woman; I shall know how
to reward her. Now permit me to see the rooms, if
you please."
Prevost seemed uneasy. He changed his attitude
several times, appeared about to speak, and then afraid.
"Well," exclaimed the prince, "why do you hesi-
tate?"
"On your account, monsieur. I cannot be sure, but
I have thought—well, perhaps it is not unnatural—
but I thought to-night that I heard some one already
in my sister's apartments."
"And you did not go up to see who was there?"
"Why should I? There is little of value there,
and, to be frank, I am insured against burglary."
Maurevale laughed outright. The fellow was not


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 281
only a craven, but an insured one as well. Perhaps
he had hoped that thieves really would carry away
some of " the antiques " which had decorated his sister's
apartments.
"Ah, I see, you are a prudent man. But surely
that is no reason why I should not go? How long ago
was it that you heard a noise?"
"A few minutes before your arrival. I am quite
convinced of it."
"Is there any other door but your own?"
"There is the passage of which I have spoken. They
could get in by that."
"Then I must really protect your property, Mon-
sieur Prevost. Now permit me to go up. We have
wasted time enough."
The Jew was still unconvinced. He hummed and
hawed, and made no movement whatever toward the
staircase. Plainly the confidence was not complete.
"Certainly we will go, but as your Excellency was
good enough to speak of a thousand francs"
"Ho, ho!" cried Maurevale. "So it is that, my
friend? You are thinking that I might be murdered,
and another get the thousand francs before you. How
farseeing you are, Monsieur Prevost. What an ex-
cellent man of business!"
"Then your Excellency is offended?"
"By no means. I am amused, and any one who can
amuse me is my friend. Please take your money—
perhaps you would like to run out and change the
note while I am upstairs?"
"Certainly not, monsieur. If anything happened
to you, which God forbid, the police would say I was


282 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
a robber. I shall stop here, and I think you had
better keep the notes until you come down."
It really was too droll. The little rascal was only
too ready to trade upon his sister's misfortunes, and
yet he found himself hedged about by difficulties which-
ever way he turned. When Maurevale went upstairs,
the fellow returned to the inner room and shut himself
up there. Why should he risk his skin for a crazy
curiosity which could lead nowhere?
The prince had the keys, and, as he understood it,
full permission to search the rooms which Madame Pre-
vost had quitted so recently.
These formed a little flat, with a heavy oaken door
and a three-cornered hall, of the smallest dimensions.
This vestibule was unlighted when Maurevale entered;
nor could he detect a switch for the small electric
lamp above the door. So he stood almost in total
darkness, listening for any sounds from the room
within, and wondering if Prevost had imagined his
wild tale of footsteps. All seemed quite normal, and
although he heard every sound from the streets with-
out, the rooms themselves were silent as the grave.
He opened a door to the left and found himself in
that very sitting-room which Stella had visited on her
arrival at Strasburg. The blinds of this were drawn
and the shutters closed, but not so closely that a ray
from a street lamp did not enter obliquely and fall
with startling effect upon a mirror to his right. This
in turn cast the reflection upon another mirror upon
the far side of the room, so that as he walked Mau-
revale saw his own face approaching him; just a vign-
ette of it which loomed up in a ghostly way, to be


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 288
blurred and lost immediately. Such an omen would
have frightened Israel Prevost out of his wits, but the
prince could smile at it, and say that by such means
are spirits conjured up.
He walked with a light step and made no sound as
he went. Listening from time to time, his belief that
the rooms were untenanted increased every moment and
gave him confidence. A pocket electric torch helped
his search, and he cast its aureole of light to the right
and left of him; upon the chimney and again to a
bureau whose drawers had been emptied to the last
shred of paper. Not yet would he turn on the electric
light in the room and discover the true situation. It
might just be possible, as Prevost had said, that an-
other was before him in the rooms; and if that were
so, the identity of this intruder might mean much.
For which reason he worked stealthily, searching with
the keen eye of a man who knows the worth of the
very dust upon the furniture, whose trained eye missed
no detail, however minute.
The search was vain, diligently as it was pursued.
Maurevale came reluctantly to the conclusion that what-
ever were Madame Prevost's motives, her gifts in an-
other way were remarkable. There had been little
enough in all conscience at the house of the Five
Green Shutters; but here in Strasburg there was abso-
lutely nothing at all. Not a drawer that had not
been ransacked, nor a cupboard which even a child's
fingers seemed to have touched. Baffled and disap-
pointed, he crossed with light foot and stood an instant
by the door which gave upon the bedroom. Should
he enter at once or turn on the electric light before


284. THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
he did so? The answer came all unexpectedly, from
the far side of the half-open door. A man breathed
heavily there; it was impossible to doubt that he waited
for Maurevale to enter.
A shiver of excitement thrilled the prince as he real-
ised the truth of this situation and recalled the danger
he had escaped so narrowly. A step would have carried
him beyond the door, and he had been upon the point
of making it. The unknown spy waiting in conceal-
ment would have sprung upon him and had his hand
at his throat before he could have uttered a single cry.
Now, however, the situation was reversed. Maurevale
had his hand to his revolver in a flash, then he raised
it again as swiftly, leaving his pistol where it was.
An idea had come to him, and he preferred it to
the other. Standing there and listening to the quick
breathing of the spy, he bethought him that a pistol
shot would bring the police to the Wilhelmstrasse, and
with the police that farce of inquiry which might undo
all. He had many reasons for wishing to keep the
German authorities out of this, and forgot none of
them as he stood there in the darkness. If the spy
were to be taken, he, Maurevale, must do it. And it
could be done, he thought, for the advantage was with
him.
Now was he quick to act and almost savage in this
purpose of discovery. Springing suddenly against the
half-open door, he pressed it backward against the
wall, hurling all his weight upon it and trying to
crush the unknown. There were few stronger men in
Europe than Maurevale of Dara; few whose physical
powers had been so little impaired by the life of cities


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 285
—and this strength served him well at such a crisis.
For a surety he had the fellow now. He could hear
a startled cry, a guttural oath, then a shriek of agony
as the corner of the door caught him and pinned the
man to the wall. But it went no further than that.
An observer might have said that Maurevale repented
of his act as soon as he had committed it. The truth
was far otherwise. A new idea had taken the place
of the old, and it was more terrible.
The men had been fighting in the darkness, and
save for the sudden cry when he realised the truth, the
unknown had uttered no word. Indeed, there had been
a moment's interval, when no sound within the room
could be heard at all, and it was during this interval
that the prince suddenly let the door go and released
his prisoner. His quick ear had detected something
of which he alone might understand the meaning, the
sudden clang of a distant door, and the echo of a
step in the corridor beyond the room. Convinced that
a new figure had appeared upon the scene, Maurevale
determined that this man should do his work. Rightly
or wrongly, he believed that he had fallen upon as
strikingly a dramatic situation as his life had shown
him. And he would let it be played to the end, if end
there might be.
A loud exclamation in the German tongue, in a voice
with which he was familiar, attended his change of
plan and the prisoner's freedom. Frederick Walther,
for the prince no longer doubted that he was the man,
pushed the door from him with an oath, and staggered
across the room to the corridor upon the far side.
The door of this also stood half-open, showing plainly


286 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
that the German had entered the flat from the back
and would leave it by the same way. Terrified by
this deadly antagonist, who fought with the brute
weapon of physical force, the doctor fled headlong and
disappeared in the darkness. Maurevale, however,
stood quite still, waiting with that chill apprehension
which speaks of death. Who was the third figure of
the night, and what would he do? If it were Michel
Ghika, and he discovered that another were ahead of
him and had already rifled the nest from which he ex-
pected so much, then assuredly would his vengeance be
swift. Maurevale could have counted the doctor's very
steps as the German felt his way down the dark cor-
ridor to the street. It might have seemed for the
moment that his wild imagination had run away with
him; that no new figure had appeared, and that the
German would go free. But this was only for a mo-
ment. Presently the steps ceased, a new exclamation
was heard, then a sudden cry of terror which none
could mistake. From this the prince turned with a
shudder to find Israel Prevost at his side. So absorbed
had he been in the drama which the darkness hid that
he had not even heard the Jew's step upon the parquet.
"Good God, monsieur, what is happening here?"
"You put my own question. I think your house
has been burgled, and that the burglars are now quar-
relling. Do you hear that? Oh, surely it is time
that we went to that man's help, Monsieur Prevost, or
I fear he will be past any help at all."
Prevost's face was ghastly pale, and his legs trembled
so that he could hardly stand. He made an effort to
turn on the electric light, and succeeded so far as


THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE 287
the lamps by the chimneypiece were concerned. It
was clear at the same time that nothing would induce
him to enter his sister's bedroom, and his one idea was
to summon the police. Maurevale meanwhile had al-
ready crossed the floor of the bedroom and gained the
passage beyond. His electric torch showed him the
whole scene plainly. A man lay dead there, stabbed
to the heart, and that man was the father of Otto
Walther, his servant.


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 289
Prevost tried to stammer "Yes," but his lips would
not frame the word. He was dreadfully afraid of
being left alone in the house, and every moment added
to his fears. The dim light in the room, the horrible
suggestion of the empty bedchamber, and the black
corridor beyond it, appalled him by the visions they
suggested. Incredible, he thought, that his own sister
should have brought this upon him.
"Come," said the prince. "We have no right to
delay. Let me give you my arm, for I see you have
need of it. That is good; now we shall do very well.
Here are the stairs, and this is the balustrade. Lean
upon me, my dear sir, and do not be afraid. Oh,
come, are you not a man? Then play a man's part,
and remember that this night's work is none of your
doing."
Step by step he helped the craven to the shop below
and to his own little sitting-room behind it. There,
as Maurevale had expected, the fellow collapsed alto-
gether and fell in a dead faint before the empty fire-
place. It could hardly have happened better. Im-
mediately now the prince left the house and went out
to the car which waited for him in the Wilhelmstrasse.
There he perceived the welcome figure of his secretary,
and, as he stood for a moment to breathe the pure
night air, it seemed to him that the race for liberty
had already begun.
The Russian was not slow to understand that some-
thing of grave importance had occurred at Prevost's
house, and he could not restrain the exclamation which
expressed his curiosity.
"Well, Highness?"


290 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Ah, my dear Paul, it is very far from well. To
begin with, are your assistants still here?"
"I have young Faber, Gustave Faber's son, with me;
he is quite a boy. There is also Barat on the box
with your driver."
"Send the lad immediately for a doctor. Monsieur
Prevost has need of him; you yourself will accom-
pany me to the hotel. I am leaving for Paris
immediately."
"Immediately, Highness?"
"As I say. You must come with me in the car,
for I have a letter to send to the police here, and it
should reach them as early as possible to-morrow. We,
however, must be across the frontier by that time. Is
it possible, do you think?"
"It is quite possible, unless there should be any
reason to think"
"That the police will detain me—exactly. Well,
there is every reason, Paul; so, you see, if your doctor
does not reach Monsieur Prevost for an hour"
"I will see that he does not get there before."
Maurevale nodded his head and waited while the
Russian gave his orders to the lad. Then they entered
the car together and set off for the Grand Hotel. It
was a quarter-past ten and Stella already in her bed-
room. She was amazed to receive a summons from
Maurevale at such an hour, but doubly amazed when
he told her the news.
"We are setting off for England in ten minutes'
time," said he. "Your luggage can follow; my serv-
ants will see to it. I think it wise that you should
come with me, Stella. It would be dangerous for me


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 291
to remain any longer in Strasburg, and you, I
know"
Her eyes spoke her answer, and she left him without
one word, the woman's heart saying: He is in peril
and will not confess it. The hotel people themselves
were too well acquainted with the caprice of touring
motorists to be surprised at any whim, and knew very
well, moreover, that the custom of Maurevale of Dara
must not be trifled with. Of all attending him, the
valet alone was in despair. What could he do for a
master who would hardly wait for a travelling-
bag?
"You will follow me to Paris immediately, to the
Ritz," the prince said. "If I have left there, go on
to London until I come; I shall do very well with what
I can buy. Let my travelling-bag go in the car with
me. And that reminds me, Edward, are you capable
of taking charge of Miss Insole's maid? Then do not
forget that the good woman thinks all foreigners to
be cannibals, and mind you bring her safely."
Edward hardly replied, so irregular did he consider
such proceedings. Maurevale, however, went to work
methodically, and a quarter of an hour had not passed
when the big limousine drew up in the courtyard of
the hotel, and Lazarre, the chauffeur, announced that
all was ready. Then Stella appeared, wrapped from
head to foot in a great fur travelling-coat, and entering
the carriage without a word they set off for the frontier.
The habits of the German citizen are much changed
these later years, and he is now given to late hours.
Strasburg was just beginning to think of supper when
the car left the Grand Hotel, and all the glamour of


298 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
a soldier's night had fallen upon the city. Not only
were the omnipresent artillerymen responsible for this,
but fat and prosperous citizens, who managed some-
how to work all day and to drink beer far into the
small hours. Pretty Women were to be seen everywhere
—in cabs, at the doors of the beer-gardens, or holding
up their dainty gowns as they tripped upstairs to the
supper-rooms, where the fiddlers were busy. Such a
going and coming filled the more public streets with
carriages and motor-cars, and through a press of these
Lazarre steered the car to the western gate and to the
highroad.
Hardly an eye followed them, scarce a head was
turned as they went. Of all these thousands none
knew—and certainly none would have cared—that a
man lay dead in the Wilhelmstrasse, and that he had
been foully murdered. Helmeted police marched their
rounds proudly, and paid no attention to the fugitives.
The sentinels at the outer gates cared not a straw
who went into France at such an hour. The very
attitude of the officials might have reassured Maurevale
and bidden him laugh at his haste. It did nothing
of the kind, however, and there was not an instant when
he did not ask himself the question: Have we time?
shall we outwit them? Possibilities of failure appalled
him, for they implied the weary weeks of delay, the
subtleties of the German police and the pursuit of an
advantage to the last point of legality. And, as a
climax, Jack Ferman's trial and his conviction.
Stella had been told nothing of the flight, but she
would not question the prince. It seemed so wonder-
ful to be out upon this lonely way with him, alone with


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 293
* the man she loved in the watches of the night; the
silent, unquestioning partner of his anxieties; the friend
of his hopes and the enemy of his fears. In good
time he would tell her; but she could not put away
the thought that they were racing to England for her
sister Kitty's sake, and that the issue must be beyond
all words momentous. So she watched her companion
with eyes which burned to read the truth. What had
happened in Strasburg; what tragic circumstances had
sent them forth like this?
They had left the outworks of the city behind them
at this time, and happened upon a wide country road
bordered by acacias. Here and there the lights of
a house showed up between the trees, and a beer-garden
could be discerned, nestling in a ring of shrubbery.
Music came faintly, but was often drowned by the hum
of the motor; they passed some market-carts going into
Strasburg, and a squadron of cavalry which had been
executing night manoeuvres. The latter spectacle
quickened Maurevale's heart and set him thinking again.
Would he make the frontier safely? Would this bold
coup, indeed, be rewarded by success?
So far, perchance, the excitement of it all had shut
all thought of Stella from his mind; but he now remem-
bered her, and began to realise the kindlier side of
the journey. How odd it was that Anna's death should
have sent him out to this remote highroad, and that
Stella should be his companion upon it. Never before,
unless it had been upon the day of the inquest, had
such an hour of intimacy been possible; and he could
welcome it despite that memory of the years which
seemed to mock it. Then he remembered the scene


294 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
in the Wilhelmstrasse, and what it might mean to her
if the lad Otto were other than her friend.
Of all the women he had known, of those who had
been his chosen companions in Vienna, in Paris, in
Rome, in London, none had spoken to his heart so truly
as this mere child, who sat silently by his side upon
the road to France; whose eyes tried to read his secrets
whenever his own were turned upon her. For here was
that rarest fruit of a woman's love, true sympathy,
the message of a woman's soul to a man's; the intimate
understanding of which mere passion knows so little.
Nor was Maurevale insensible to this, although he did
not dare to speak of it. As at Lausanne, so here in
Germany, the years mocked him. What right had he,
what title to forget, that she had been as his own daugh-
ter, the child of his house, which had been honoured to
shelter her?
He put such thoughts from him, and reflected that it
was his duty to speak of Frederick Walther whatever
the consequences. As briefly as might be he told her
the story of his visit to the Wilhelmstrasse and of the
drama which had been played there. His own acts
had seemed well enough at the time, but they accused
him now, when the glamour of them had passed, and
he could ask himself if he had done right to let the
German die. This point he put to Stella quite frankly.
Would she, a woman, accuse the vengeance which he
had taken? Would her mind revolt against the in-
evitability of the tragedy? He waited almost as
though she had been the judge to whom he must answer.
There was none other in all the world whose approval
he so desired.


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 295
"Consider," he said. "Was this not the judgment
of God? The man went to the Wilhelmstrasse—for
what? To search for Anna's secrets and to sell them.
If they were shameful secrets, which I do not believe,
so much the greater would have been his reward. He
would have dragged them into the light; such a man
does not know the meaning of the words mercy and
honour. He had schemed from the first moment of
this to enrich himself by a noble woman's dishonour.
Pursuit of the dead—for I must put it so—sent him
to Strasburg. I meet him in the house which he has
entered like any common thief; he waits there to kill
me if I give him the opportunity. And then, I hear
a footstep, and I know that I am not to be the avenger.
Tell me, was I wrong to let him go? Have I his
blood upon my hands?"
She shuddered at the recital, and hid her face from
him. For quite a long time he waited for her to
speak, believing that it was even as he had feared.
Then, as swiftly, she reassured him, speaking in
a low, sweet voice which fell as music upon his
ears.
"I think you have done what God willed," she said.
"Had I been in your place Anna's spirit would have
gone with me to the house, and I would have heard
her voice. We are her servants, our duty is to her
name and her memory. If I were a man, I would think
that a woman's honour was the true altar of my wor-
ship; I would give a hundred lives for it if I had them.
What is a woman's faith in a man's friendship if sacri-
fice, at least, may not be asked of it? You were not
your own master in the Wilhelmstrasse. Anna herself


296 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
was there. I am sure of it, and it was her voice that
you heard."
He liked the mysticism of it, and mused upon it a
little while. Science had done nothing in his case to
rob him of a hope that some mighty truth might lie
at the heart of all these dreamings, and that mankind
would discover it eventually. He did not deceive him-
self, played with no false gods of a material super-
stition, but yet maintained his faith and found it up-
lifting. Anna herself might have been in that house,
as this little friend suggested; she might even be with
them upon the journey they were now making to save
a man who had loved her.
"I shall try to believe that it is so," he exclaimed
presently, turning to Stella and drawing her arm
through his own. "Perhaps I have been conscious of
it from the beginning, and it has helped me. How
otherwise can I account for the impulses which have
overtaken me, irresistible and ever sure? When I set
out to follow Arthur Blandy to Ely the monition to
go was unmistakable, and I heard Anna's voice in my
ears as surely as though she had walked by my side.
It was heard again when I sent you to Paris to the
house of the Count of Fours; I obeyed it I know not
why. Common reason would seem to say that, if the
dead can direct us, their mandates would be neither
obscure nor fitful. We should hear the truth once
and for all, the clear word which could not be misread.
Against this is the obscurity of Nature herself, her
own fitful moods; her contradictions, and her final
truths. We must be content to leave it at that what-
ever our impatience or our desires. At least you and


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 297
I, Stella, may say that impulse is no poor friend, for
it has carried us safely out of Strasburg to-night, and
may yet win the frontier. I pray for that; I do not
remember any hour which has cost me so much."
He leaned back against the cushion and expressed his
weariness in the gesture. The car was passing through
a forest road by this time, and the blackness of the
later night prevailed about them. Such vehicles as
they passed were wood-lorries harboured by the roadside
or carriers' carts plodding toward the villages. The
heat and ardour of escape had abated for the moment,
but was to be recalled all too soon. This was at the
German Custom House", two hundred yards beyond
which lay France and freedom.
Lazarre stopped the car slowly, calling back to his
master and telling him just where they were. As the
car rolled up to the station the prince could distinguish
the outlines of a low building, in the window of which
a light burned dimly. Getting down at once, for he
knew the value of personality at such a moment, he
went up to the door of the house and knocked loudly.
Presently a gruff voice was heard asking what was
wanted, and this voice did not become more pleasing
when an answer was given.
"To sign the papers for my car, mein Herr; I am
going into France."
"Then you must wait until the morning. What
do I know about papers at this time of night? Come
at a reasonable hour and I will sign them."
"But I have paid a deposit to your Government, and
if you do not sign my papers, I shall lose the money."
"Then you must lose it, as far as I am concerned.


298 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Is this the time to ask me such a thing? You should
know better, mein Herr."
The prince smiled to himself and turned away. A
hundred yards down the road lay the French douane,
and here they arrived just as a bad-tempered official
had called his assistant Jules to the telephone to see
who rang them up at such an hour of the night. To
him Maurevale introduced himself.
"I am Prince Maurevale of Dara, and I hurry to
Paris upon an affair of some urgency. I am sure your
chiefs would be grateful for any courtesy you can show
me."
"But, monsieur"
The man shrugged his shoulders and uttered a loud
oath under his breath. The telephone was still ring-
ing violently. Jules, hearing it at last, lurched in
and took the receiver in his hands.
"Halloa, halloa, halloa!"
"I say, monsieur, that I am upon Government busi-
ness—cannot you help me? If there is anything to
pay"
The prince put his hand into his pocket and pro-
duced a great roll of bank-notes. Knowing men, it
may be that he knew also exactly what would pass in
the mind of this official, who now for the first time
began to connect the bell with this stately personage
who was in such a hurry to get on.
"Who is it, Jules? What do they say?"
The man Jules, still halloaing at the instrument,
put it down and turned to answer his chief.
"I think it is the police of Strasburg have tele-
graphed us, monsieur."


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 299
"Then what do they say, Jules?"
"That we are—halloa! halloa!—I beg your pardon,
monsieur, but I do not quite hear them."
"Then what a fool you must be. Write the message
down and bring it here."
"Certainly, monsieur, when I can understand it."
And once more he resumed his methodical "Halloa!
halloa!"
This byplay might have amused Maurevale at any
other time, but now it left him shivering with dread.
He was as a man who had one foot in a land of free-
dom, but knew not from instant to instant when he
might be dragged back. The bell rang the knell of
his hopes; he did not lift his eyes from the face of the
man in whose hands this momentous decision must he.
"Well, monsieur, shall we resume? You are keeping
me a long time, and I do not think that my friend,
Monsieur Lepine"
"Lepine—Lepine—who, then, is Lepine?"
"Is he not the chief of the police of Paris? If you
are in any doubt about me, would not a message to
him"
"I see exactly, Excellency. We must be plain with
each other. You are leaving Germany in a hurry,
and the police of Strasburg desire to detain you. Very
well, I must hear what they have to say."
"By all means, but I have not the leisure to wait.
Perhaps you will hear them in my absence."
He rose with the words, leaving on the table before
him two notes of the Bank of France, each of the
value of twelve hundred francs. The chief, pretending
not to see them, essayed the difficult task of addressing


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 301
chief's eye followed him in the act. Jules apparently
had now got into touch with the Germans, and was
listening intently to their story. Of all the moments
since the beginning this was the most critical. Mau-
revale could almost feel the emotions which influenced
the man upon the opposite side of the table. Was he
not saying that, after all, the police of Nancy were
the proper people to see to this? And a man could
go with the car, in which case the two thousand four
hundred francs would continue to lie upon the table.
"I shall apologise to nobody," he exclaimed, a just
tribute to his office; and then, "If it is as you say,
the police at Nancy must know of it. Have you any
one in the car with you, monsieur?"
"A lady."
"Ah, then, permit me to verify the fact."
He smiled cunningly, and, rising at the words, made
straight for the door of the bureau, quite forgetful of
the patient Jules, who was now writing down the Ger-
man message as fast as his clumsy fingers would permit.
The bank-notes lay just where Maurevale had left them.
There were two of the junior Custom House officers in
the road, and the sentries who guarded the frontier.
The chief himself, borrowing a lantern from one of his
men, lifted it up that he might look inside the limousine,
and when he espied the pale face of the young English
lady, a smile illumined his taciturn features. This
would only be some love affair after all. And might
it not be worth some thousand odd francs to him?
There was no irresolution in his acts from this time,
and calling loudly, " Albert, Albert," he gave one of the
young fellows a whispered direction, and the youth


302 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
mounted the box immediately, sitting by Lazarre, who
offered him a cordial welcome. The prince himself,
perceiving how matters lay, yet hardly daring to hope
that all had been won, entered the carriage immediately
and gave the signal to go on. The chief, bowing for
the first time, stepped back to make way for the car,
which moved off silently toward the great dark high-
road, and in two minutes had made of the station noth-
ing but a cluster of lights upon a hillside.
Maurevale could hardly believe his eyes or his ears
while these things were happening, and even the roar
of the Mercedes engine could not quite convince him
that so great a victory had been won. For some min-
utes he did not speak a single word to Stella, but con-
tinued to look back toward the frontier as though pur-
suit were inevitable and this but an interlude. When
he discovered that this idea was but a chimera, and
to be dismissed, he felt as a man who has crossed some
mighty ravine and gained a haven upon the far side.
Reaction came in a flood of high spirits which was
irresistible.
"Well, my dear child, and what do you think of
it all?"
"Oh," she cried, " I think I have been in the torture
chair; it seemed an hour. If you knew what it meant
to wait out there and look at that horrible man. He
was just like an ogre."
"Thank heaven ogres are human. I bought him
for a thousand francs or so, and would take a profit
on the transaction. Seriously, Stella, life would be
very dull if every one was honest. It would also be
very difficult."


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 303
She did not try to understand it.
"I could see every thought passing across his face,"
she said. "First he was very angry, then he was
pleased, then he just did not know what to do. The
Follies would have loved him; it was a perfect panto-
mime."
"With a Heaven-sent clown to cap it. May I be
spared such an entertainment for a long while to come.
I really thought that we must return to Strasburg."
"And if we had?"
"If we had, ah, if we had, then I fear there would
be no good news to carry to Kitty in England."
Stella hardly followed him. Was it possible, then,
that this flight implied the final victory, which would
prove Jack Ferman innocent and vindicate him before
the world? Would not the prince have told her plainly
if that were so? She could make nothing of it, and
feared to ask a question; while he, understanding per-
fectly what was in her mind, hastened to explain him-
self in a commentary which betrayed his most secret
thoughts.
"I am going to England, Stella, to tell as strange
a tale as a law court will ever hear. I am going to
show that there were at least six people interested in
Anna's death, and that three of these were quite capable
of murdering her. Of this I hold the most convincing
proof; and yet I must declare at the same time that
none of them murdered her, and that the secret of her
death is still hidden from me. This, I hope, will not
affect Jack Ferman, but I cannot keep it from you
that it might do so. Juries are rarely afflicted by
much common sense, and any obstinate imbecile with


804 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
a loud voice is able to sway them. My story may be
disbelieved, in which case God alone knows what will
happen. But I continue to hope, and I tell myself
that just as inspiration came to you at Strasburg, and
you divined the existence of a child, so may it come
to me before the trial—in time to save from the scaffold
one of the bravest men I have ever known."
She listened, wondering, and with a great hope she
would not confess. There had been so little sunshine
in her life since the dreadful day of the tragedy at
Highlands, that these words were as a message of sal-
vation. Never had the man she worshipped secretly
seemed so worthy of her homage or so truly the hero
that her childish imagination had made him out to be.
She believed that he would save Jack Ferman, and her
faith was never dimmed.
"If one could but go to Kitty now, this instant,
and tell her," she cried, her eyes blazing and her cheeks
on fire. "If we could but fly to her."
"You believe, then, that she loves him; you have
never doubted that, Stella?"
"Can any one doubt when a woman loves?"
"I think it quite possible."
"Must she then wear her heart on her sleeve? No,
no, I don't agree with you. A woman may both love
and be beloved, and the world no wiser."
"Does your own heart tell you that?"
"Why should my heart speak to me to-night?"
"Because the night is one when the secrets whisper
the truth to us and we, in turn, repeat them to the
stars. It was on such a night as this, I remember,
that a man spoke of his love for you. Shall I confess


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 305
that my own secrets came out of their hiding-places
then and stood all about me? But you would not be
interested; you forbid me to speak of it perhaps?"
She sat very still, her head thrown back upon the
cushions and long drooping lashes shielding the bright
eyes from him. Who, then, had spoken to him, and
who had dared? she asked rebelliously.
"I do not forbid you," she said presently. "Will
you not tell me the man's name?"
"It was Otto Walther. What could I say to him?
His sincerity forbade rebuke. He asked if he might
speak to you when we returned from Switzerland.
Could I answer that I was not the keeper of your
heart, Stella—dare I say as much? I had no right,
no title to forbid him. Was not I merely the friend
upon whom your sympathy had been bestowed? How,
then, could I answer the man who told me that he
loved you?"
"You did answer him, though—tell me that you
did?"
Her tone amazed him. He looked down upon her
half-closed eyes and wondered at her beauty. She was
tremulous with excitement and her lips quivered. The
hand which touched his own was hot as though a fever
consumed her.
"Yes," he said at last, " I answered him as I thought
you would have wished, Stella."
She neither moved nor spoke. The car rolled on
over the broad road toward the city; the cold light
of dawn struck upon the distant hills and showed them
the drear landscape in all its loneliness. And as
though these two had been cast out by fortune to this


306 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
remote land, there to learn and to confess the supreme
truth which dominated their lives, they fell to great
silence wherein the secrets were but a sigh, and the
story of their love had no other record than that which
their beating hearts might write.
It was late in the afternoon when the young man
from the douane returned to the frontier to tell his
chief that he had done well to let the prince pass, and
that Monsieur Lepine wished to see him in Paris with-
out a moment's loss of time.
This also was the hour when Maurevale received from
Lady Constance Heliers a telegram in which she im-
plored him to visit her at her hotel as soon as might be.
"I am in great trouble," the message went. "Of
your charity come to me."
This message, however, provoked but a smile, and,
when Stella came down from her room in the hotel
at Nancy to continue the journey, he showed it to her
as though he had achieved a triumph.
"The amiable Constance wants to borrow money of
me," he said. "Well, I am going to Paris to lend it
to her. But she will find me a dreadful usurer—tears
of blood, and genuine tears, this time. Let us get on,
dear child, the hours grow exciting, and I would lose
none of them."
She entered the car with him, and set her little hand-
bag on the opposite seat. A sudden lurch, when
Lazarre missed his foot upon the clutch, sent the bag
to the ground and its contents were scattered. Mau-
revale picked them up with a light word upon a woman's
needs; but discovering at the last a little round bottle


ACROSS THE FRONTIER 307
of tablets, he looked at it curiously and read the name
upon the label.
"Why," he said, " and what is this, Stella? I have
never heard of it."
"Oh," she said, laughing with him, "it is Seronal.
Anna, you know, used to take it for her headaches."
He did not answer a word for many minutes.
The names of the firm of chemists who had sold the
drug were Baro & Malquevart, of Rheims. Maurevale
must have read this name twenty times before he handed
the bottle back to her.
"How interesting," he said, " how very interesting."


CHAPTER XXVH
HELIEES AT BAY
One of Archie Kerrington's maxims for a happy life
was to spend little money when you had plenty, and
to spend a great deal when you were in that embarrass-
ing condition commonly known as " stony."
This advice he gave to all and sundry, particularly
to his dear friend Lady Constance Heliers, who acted
upon it with all a woman's daring and recklessness.
This pretty pair had come to Paris at the invitation
of that benevolent old gentleman, Dr. Frederick Wal-
ther, who had hinted to them in the politest terms that,
while he would not think of blackmailing such a fine
fellow as Maurevale of Dara, at the same time the
prince might be very ready to pay for certain secrets
in his possession, and to pay for them handsomely.
And now what should happen but that this idiotic
German must disappear and leave both the discerning
Archie and the expectant Constance in such a devil of
a mess that the brains neither of the one nor the other
were equal to that emergency.
Things had gone badly; they could not have gone
worse. To begin with, there was that awful bungle
about the maid Berthe, who had been used as a decoy
and had failed most dismally.
The pretty scheme to keep Maurevale from Lau-
sanne most certainly had proved a bad egg, for had
he not appeared at the Congress, and was not all
308


HELIERS AT BAY
309
Europe still discussing the masterly speech he delivered?
Clearly that was not one of the doctor's triumphs;
nor had he done any better with his mysterious dabbing
in the goods of an adventurer who came out of Cairo.
Both Heliers and Archie had been led to believe that
this fellow, a certain Michel Ghika, whom the doctor
met at one of the foreign clubs in London, knew Anna
Maclain's story to the last line, and would recite it
for a few paltry sovereigns. What easier, then, than
to sell it to Maurevale for as many thousands? It
had sounded well enough in London, but here in Paris
that adorable creature, Heliers, had found it less con-
vincing. And upon that came her losses at cards, to
two men she had never seen before, and whom she hoped
devoutly that she would never see again.
This surely was the culminating misfortune. To
come to Paris in the hope of making some thousands of
pounds, and to leave—if she might leave it—owing as
much, seemed to her an ironical turn which might yet
overwhelm her. For how was the money to be found,
and by what vigilance might she escape those lynx-
eyed Frenchmen whose manner was so bland and whose
cards were so good? She had not an idea, nor had
Archie.
"Let's change the pitch," he said, the day after
Maurevale left for Lausanne. "Let's move on to an
expensive hotel and work the confidence trick. I'll
play 'em again if we get the chance, and take deuced
good care they don't salt me a second time. It must
have been Maurevale's fizz, Conny—I never had such
a night."
She agreed to this, and added pleasantly that the


810 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
day had not been brighter than the night of which
he spoke. His idea of moving on to the Hotel
Gloucester pleased her, and they were installed there in
a couple of charming suites of apartments before many
hours were passed. Meanwhile Heliers sat down to
write to her dear papa, the duke, beginning as ever with
the words, " My dearest father," and immediately pro-
ceeding in tragic fashion to continue, " The misfortunes
we have suffered so many years seem really to have
come to a head in this horrible city, where, as you
know, I am staying with my friend, Lady Gladys.
Money, money, money, is it not terrible to be compelled
to write always of that? And yet as you, dear father,
understand so well "etc., etc.
The old duke did indeed understand it all too well.
He had been three days in bed with the gout when
this epistle reached him, and was at his wits' end to
satisfy the mortgagees of almost the last farm in Nor-
folk which remained to shed lustre on his house. So
it was a matter of congratulation that his daughter
heard none of the words with which he received her
dutiful address. Money—why, were not his own credi-
tors sufficiently numerous to be whipped up into a
regiment of yeomanry—if the rascally Jews could stick
on their horses, which he doubted.
He dictated a rambling answer, pitying himself and
cursing a Government which would tax the very teeth
in his head, as he put it elegantly. The enclosure
of £50 seemed shabby enough, but as that had been
recently borrowed it represented some generosity.
Clearly the affairs of the house of Alton were m ex-
tremis, and nothing but radical economies could avert


HELIERS AT BAY
311
the smash—a fact of poor consolation to Constance,
and of none whatever to Archie Kerrington.
To be sure, this promising couple were at their wits'
end. They had just lost over four thousand pounds
between them to the suave Baron Cortot and the equally
amiable Monsieur de Baltard, and nothing short of
flight would save them from the importunities of these
clever gamblers. But whither should they fly, unless
it were to London; and how would that help them to
avoid the baron and his friend, who had announced in
clear terms their determination to be paid, or to post
the pair as rogues and vagabonds in every club in
London and in Paris?
Archie, perchance, cared little about this threat, for
his character was very well known in both cities, and
it would not have been the first time that his title to
the designation "rogue" had found eloquent defend-
ers. But for the Lady Constance it was another mat-
ter, and the man had not sunk so low that he would not
make some effort to save her. Proffering loquacious
excuses to the baron, he asked for a month's delay.
The answer was a challenge, carried by Captain Loran-
ceaux to the Hotel Gloucester, and one demanding an
immediate response.
Such was the state of things on the day after Mau-
revale left Strasburg. Archie, who had boasted of
his adventures in many a London club, received Cap-
tain Loranceaux a little insolently, and was inclined
to treat the whole matter as a joke.
In England, he said, men fought with their fists;
and if the baron liked to put up a "pony" he would
box him twenty rounds at the National Sporting Club.


812 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
When the grave Frenchman failed entirely to under-
stand the joke, and went on to ask what message he
should carry to the baron, Kerrington declared, with
some effrontery, that if the "old sport" wanted to
be shot, he would meet him next morning at Auteuil
and bring the largest pair of horse-pistols he could lay
hands on. To which Captain Loranceaux, understand-
ing merely that pistols were chosen, bowed gravely and
responded:
"Your friends, monsieur, with whom I shall arrange
this?"
"Oh, anybody you like. If ladies are not objected
to, I name my friend Lady Constance Heliers. How
does that suit? These are rum times, and we might
set the fashion. Are women barred?"
Loranceaux shrugged his shoulders. He was almost
too astonished to speak.
"It would be irregular," he stammered, "but we
should offer no opposition. You will, however, wish
for another friend"
"Oh, then, go to Bobby Stanyers at the St. James.
Wait a minute and I'll give you a card. Fine chap,
Bobby, if you find him sober. If you don't, order a
bottle of fizz and put some brandy in it. That's up
to Bobby; he'll be all right on that."
The Frenchman could but answer that he would visit
this entertaining person without delay, and so he took
his leave. Perhaps it would be needless to remark that
Mr. Archibald Kerrington had no intention whatever
of presenting himself in the Bois next morning, and
that his immediate concern was to get out of Paris
with what credit he could. When he told Constance


HELIERS AT BAY
313
about it, her indifference was so absolute that there
seemed no longer an obstacle to flight. Who would
hang about a woman who did not care a hang, as he
remarked to Stanyers when he met him.
Heliers, be it said, was so very anxious upon her
own account that she had little sympathy to waste upon
Archie. When he tried to tell her, tragically, what
had happened she began by laughing, and concluded
with the expression of a pious hope.
"At least," she said, "he could not expect us to
pay him if you were wounded. Would not he have
to leave Paris or something? I am sure it is so. It
would be as good as a receipt in full."
Archie did not see it in that light at all.
"And what about me?" he asked lugubriously. "A
fine lot I should care about the money if I were skew-
ered. You don't think much about that, Conny; you
women never do."
"Oh, my dear boy, I am thinking about it all the
time. These French duels are nothing; they just
scratch one another, and then retire upon their
laurels. Think what a tale you would be able to
tell in the clubs—and, Archie, couldn't you take
gas?"
At any other time Archie would have laughed up-
roariously at the sally, but this day he took it ill.
What an unfeeling brute, he muttered to himself, and
after all he had not done for her. Well, it was the
old story, believe in a woman until she is found out,
and then believe in another. He felt like taking the
next train to Gib, where his elder brother was stationed.
He did not expect a cordial reception; but, after all,


! HELIERS AT BAY 315
"Then you would leave me alone here?"
"Well, not exactly that; but, you see, people might
talk about our being so much together, and say that
old Lady Gladys is a long time coming back from
Trouville. Besides, she's half blind when she gets
here. And it don't look well, Conny—I've got to think
of your reputation."
"I see that you have been thinking of it for some
time past," she said, and with so much scorn that he
could not answer her. The matter ended by the de-
parture of the noble youth to call upon his friend
Stanyers, and his promise to return to dinner. But
Heliers knew that he would not come; she was quite
convinced now that the last days of this evil friendship
were at hand.
Had she no moments of self-reproach, of reflection,
even of regret? It is difficult to say. Her life had
been lived upon a stage where nothing was real, neither
the pretensions of her house to greatness nor the popu-
lar estimation of its riches. Poverty had given the
old duke strange friends. His familiars had been taken
during recent years from the ranks of the rich and
vulgar who had patronized him at the cost both of his
dignity and his honour. Sycophants moved about him
and the riff-raff of the moneyed classes, and among
these Constance had been compelled to choose some of
her acquaintances. Her mother had been dead for
twenty years; her eldest brother enjoyed the unique
distinction of being considered the biggest blackguard
in London; while the younger was in India with his
regiment. In such a school were her wits sharpened
and her social lessons received.


316 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Superficially, then, it might be said that self-re-
proach, reflection, and regret were not among the emo-
tions of that difficult hour. But the bald statement
would have done her an injustice. No woman could
have been at Wymondham Manor and remained in-
sensible to its great traditions. There were hours
when she accused her father bitterly, rebelled against
her destiny, and knew herself. These hours she dreaded,
for it was necessary to her life that she should remain
the frivolous woman of fashion, the bewitching creature
of the salons, the decoy about whom wild ducks would
hover. And this necessity was all-exacting, ceaseless
—so that when she awoke one day to discover that an
honest man loved her, she could have laughed for very
irony of the circumstance.
Rupert Wally, the young Australian sportsman,
whom a kindly gossip credited with the possession of
something like a million sterling, what chance placed
him among the sycophants? There he was, however,
and Heliers was clever enough to know that she might
marry him any day she pleased.
If the obverse of the picture was not satisfying, her
own life was responsible for that. Rupert Wally meant
to return to Australia and to settle upon his estates,
and with him must go the wife of his choice, to dazzle
the gaudy salons of Sydney or to pose as the society
queen in Melbourne. Heliers had pouted at the pros-
pect, and refused to hear of it. The glass-house of
triviality held her a sure prisoner: its foetid atmosphere
was as the breath of life. Better, she had thought, to
make a pure marriage of convention, to marry one of
the pretty little boys with the silver (or plated) spoons


HELIERS AT BAY
317
of an unquestionable ancestry. At least he would re-
member that England was an island and London the
capital thereof.
Here lay the obstacle which sent Wally temporarily
to the right about, and set her steps upon a more
dangerous path than that of marriage. Now, however,
at this the nadir of her misfortunes, she could dwell
with her memories of the flirtation and find them wel-
come. Rupert Wally was a man at any rate, and
would have played a man's part. His sense of chivalry
would revolt at all this mean scheming, this despicable
intrigue. And to such a one she had said "No" not
a month ago in London. Oh, irony of circumstance,
if she had but foreseen!
Clearly, it was much too late to think of all this, and
there could be but one agent of her salvation in the
critical hour. Had not Walther, the wily doctor, flat-
tered her by the most generous of promises; had he
not for months past dwelled upon her advantages at
Highlands, and the use she might make of them? De-
ceived in his own son, whose unfilial scorn it was difficult
to bear with, he had bethought him that a woman might
well take that son's place and bring the affair to a
better issue.
Chance had dealt kindly with the doctor some years
ago, and had delivered one woman at least into his
hands. He would never forget the day when he had
been called secretly to a house not very far from Hyde
Park, and had discovered a handsome and wilful girl
whose arm was broken and whose temper was heroic.
Vainly her people prated of an unlucky accident; of
a headstrong young lady and of her tomboy tricks.


818 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
The truth was not to be kept from the wily physician;
he knew as much as any one before three days had
passed.
The plain truth was that the headstrong young lady
in question had been attempting to escape from her
father's house that she might join a boy of similar
temperament, bolt with him to an unknown shore, and
there, being married under the shade of a palm-tree,
might live in felicity forever and ever.
Walther got the secret to the last line, and used it
cleverly. He, who had not a shred of title to such
an honour, was received affably by the old duke and
tolerated by the obliging brothers. He picked up both
acquaintances and patients under that historic roof;
pushed himself in the world, and promised to become
one of the most famous physicians in London. If he
did not become so, his personal character was respon-
sible. There are some men whom all the world suspects,
and those who are thus suspected are doomed.
Queer tales got about; there were diplomatists to say
that the fellow traded in State secrets and found them
more profitable than drugs. Important matters, known
to the duke, became known also at Berlin, it was al-
leged, through the doctor's agency.
He haunted women who clung with both hands to
tottering reputations, and helped to keep upright the
sagging walls of their honour. But society said that
he was well paid for doing so, and it turned upon him
a shoulder that was more than chilly.
Let it be said in justice to Heliers that she had not
brains enough to understand the nature of the game
she played. It never occurred to her that her acts


HELIERS AT BAY
319
were treasonable toward her own country, or likely
to be attended by disastrous consequences. The doctor
was a scientist and so was the prince. She regarded
them as two savants who were rivals, and must hate
each other accordingly. Archie Kerrington, on his
part, knew perfectly well what he was doing, and was
not ashamed to do it. Vice had robbed him years ago
of the last shred of his honour. He played for money
and valued nothing else in all the world.
Heliers thought of doing many things that day, but
the thing which she actually did was surprising. It
was nothing less than to pay a visit to the apartments
of the Baron Cortot, which were situated, as the hotel
porter ascertained for her, in that fashionable quarter
of Paris known as the Avenue d'Eylau. Here, in a
charming flat, adorned by a thousand trophies of sport
(which the baron had not won), she astonished that
grave personage by appearing just two hours after
Archie had left her at the Hotel Gloucester.
Now the baron had been upon the point of going out
when his man handed him the card, and if he had been
told that an archbishop had sent for him to give him
the Apostolic blessing, he could not have been more
astonished.
The English lady in his apartments! What an in-
discretion, what an intrusion! But then, were not all
English men and women, by implication, quite mad; and
was not this daring something of which he had read
in the papers devoted to the "high life" of London?
He made sure that it was so; he would hope for no
advantage of the circumstance.
His second thoughts declared that she had come there


HELIERS AT BAY
321
Mr. Kerrington is both a foolish and a ridiculous
young man, and that, when I picture him fighting a
duel with such an experienced soldier as yourself, I
really do not know whether to laugh or to cry. On
the whole, I am tempted to laugh."
The baron stared aghast. Was it possible—did
his eyes deceive him—could he credit his senses when
they would have convinced him that this beautiful girl
was laughing, yes, laughing at the young man for
whom she had come to plead? The truth struck him
like a shock from a battery. He sat bolt upright,
and could utter but the most meaningless of exclama-
tions.
"Comment, mademoiselle, you laugh?"
"Yes," she exclaimed, a sense of humour prevailing,
"I laugh," and, suiting the action to the word, she
leaned back in her chair and laughed so prettily that
the baron would have to number the very ripples on
her peach-like cheeks.
Now, laughter is infectious, and Monsieur le Baron
Cortot was by no means proof against so desirable an
ailment. He, in turn, laughed loud and long, so that
the very passers-by in the avenue below might have
wondered what it was all about. And this amusement
continued for some minutes, first Heliers going off and
then the baron.
"Oh, my dear baron, he chose pistols"
"Mais, mademoiselle," and here a very shout; "he
chose horse-pistols."
"He is most terribly frightened, baron."
"Mademoiselle, I will make him run all round Paris,
I will have a nouveau cirque."


322 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"But you would not kill him, baron, for a few
paltry francs?"
The baron became a little serious at this. After
all, there was the money to think about. He must be
careful what he was doing; for it was by no means
certain that if he failed to get the debt out of Kerring-
ton, his new acquaintance, Maurevale of Dara, would
redeem that young man's honour.
"Certainly," he said; "there is the money, and
much money, mademoiselle. Do you know that be-
tween you, you owe my friend Baltard and myself more
than one hundred thousand francs? It is a large sum;
we cannot speak lightly of it."
Heliers at once protested that it was impossible to
speak in any other way.
"What I am thinking of, monsieur, is my dear
father's agitation when he comes to write me a cheque
for this amount. Oh, if you knew—if you could
imagine what a scene there will be! And I am three
hundred miles away. Is it not distance which lends
enchantment to the view? My poor papa!"
She said this so drolly that the baron was convulsed.
After all, her father was an English nobleman, and
although Maurevale had said that he had not a penny,
the baron thought that he knew English noblemen better
than that. What forbade him, then, to make love to
a pretty woman, and at the same time to keep her
I.O.U.'s in safe custody?
"Ah," he said, recovering at last, and wiping away
the tears of laughter from his face, "you will write
to Monsieur le Due, no doubt—or shall I say that
you have already written to him?"


HELIERS AT BAY
323
"Of course I have—were he not so ill, his answer
would have reached me before; but as it is, what can
I say but that I expect it hourly?"
"And if it should disappoint you, mademoiselle,
what then?" She shrugged her shoulders.
"Is our family one that does not pay its gambling
debts?" she asked. The baron did not know what
to say.
"Ah," he cried at last, "I have an idea. Your
answer, no doubt, will be received to-day. Very well;
shall I call at your hotel to hear of it—shall I do
myself the honour?"
She raised her eyebrows; a flush crept upon her
face.
"No, no!" she exclaimed; "I may be all alone,
monsieur."
"The better reason a thousand times—I will present
myself at six o'clock: you shall give me a cup of tea;
is it understood, mademoiselle?"
She neither answered yes nor no. The temptation to
laugh was irresistible; but her dignity forbade. Then,
slowly and deliberately, she left the room, turning as
he held the door to say to him:
"But what of my dear friend, Mr. Kerrington?"
The baron thought that an excellent joke.
** I will be the bogey to drive him out of Paris,
mademoiselle." And he gave a great guffaw, the
merry fellow he was.
Heliers had laughed in the Avenue d'Eylau; but
she shed tears upon her return to the Hotel Gloucester,
and they did her credit. Nothing but the direst neces-
sity would have driven her out upon such an errand,


SU THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
and assuredly nothing but the same necessity forbade
her the luxury of boxing the baron's ears.
That was an indulgence she yet hoped to enjoy, when
he came to her hotel and Dr. Walther had returned.
For, of course, the doctor would return before to-
morrow. She had not a doubt of it; and she thought
that his Teutonic wit would be quite capable of dealing
with this embroglio.
Meanwhile she was very much alone and very miser-
able. Her friend, Lady Gladys Carleon, under whose
protection she was supposed to be in Paris, had been
called to Trouville by the illness of her son—or more
possibly by the chance of a flirtation with Algy Hor-
ton, the captain of artillery who had such a fine opinion
of her. There was no one whom Heliers knew at the
Embassies in such a month—for was not all the world
still at Dieppe or Aix, at Trouville or Etretat? Cer-
tainly she was very much alone, and as though to em-
phasise her loneliness, what must happen but that a
visitor was announced almost immediately she returned
to the Hotel Gloucester, and she heard to her amaze-
ment that this was no other than the maid Berthe, the
agent of the conspiracy which had failed so disas-
trously.
Of course she consented to see her. It would have
been madness to shut the door upon a woman who had
been admitted to the doctor's confidence, and in a way
to her own. A certain thrill of apprehension accom-
panied Heliers to the interview, however. She seemed
to anticipate ill news.
Berthe was just a typical Frenchwoman—young,
quite pretty, and consistently loquacious. She had eyes


HELIERS AT BAY
of a deep brown tint, and a skin which Southern suns
had browned. Her eyelashes were unusually long and
becoming, her mouth rather ugly, and her nose a little
prominent. But, none the less, men found her at-
tractive, and the number of her admirers had been
large.
Usually, it should be said, she was a merry creature,
full of laughter and good humour, and always ready to
oblige. To-day Heliers found her in tears, and when
a Frenchwoman weeps the world does not remain in
ignorance of the fact.
"Oh, madame, madame," she sobbed, and then look-
ing up with swollen eyes—" but you have heard the
news, madame?"
"The news of whom?"
"Of monsieur—of the Doctor Walther—do you
know that he is dead, madame?"
Heliers did not answer a word for many minutes.
She simply sat and stared at the girl as though scrutiny
would reveal her secrets.
Dead! Frederick Walther dead! And she was
waiting for him here in Paris—her one hope of making
a creditable exit from the city; her sheet anchor. And
he was dead! The girl had come to tell her so.
"But, my good creature—come, be reasonable.
How do you know that the doctor is dead? Who told
you?"
"Oh, madame, madame, it is true—the police tell
me so; I know that it is true. Listen, I have wait one,
two, three days for the news—the doctor leave me and
say he will come—my money is spent and I have no
more. When I see him at Dieppe he say that it is


826 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
to Strasburg that he go, and if the Prince Maurevale
do come to my hotel then shall I send him a telegram.
Yesterday afternoon the landlord say I may stay no
longer and must go away immediatement. What would
I do, how shall I say to him—but, no, I telegraph to the
doctor and wait, wait, wait all the day for the answer.
This morning when I have not slept at all for waiting, I
get my answer. Madame, a policeman, a sergent de ville,
do bring it and tell the news. The doctor have been
murdered in Strasburg—last night at ten o'clock.
Then what shall I do—what shall I say to monsieur le
proprietaire? No, no, I think of you in Paris, where
the doctor have spoken of you, and I go to the Hotel
St. James, and here I am, madame—and you shall say
if I have done wrong—you shall tell me what to do."
She sobbed bitterly, as though she had lost a father,
while, in truth, she had merely lost a benevolent old
gentleman who promised to find for her a certain faith-
less lover who used to meet her at Streatly. Heliers
but half comprehended this, nor did she care anything
for the girl's grief. The blow had fallen with crush-
ing effect. She could pace the room now as a woman
at her wits' end, asking the girl a hundred questions
and hardly waiting for her response; scheming, plan-
ning, lamenting. In the end she came to the resolution
which would have been better taken at the beginning.
It was nothing less than to telegraph to Maurevale and
bid him come to her. But how to find him? Would
he be still at Lausanne, or had he returned to London?
Bidding the girl wait where she was, she summoned
a messenger and sent him headlong to the Ritz Hotel.
They would know surely. And as it chanced they


HELIERS AT BAY
did know, for a wire had come that very hour from
Nancy speaking of the prince's arrival in that town
and advising them of his return to Paris.
Heliers sent her telegram, and then returned to
Berthe. Her curiosity was insatiable, but her alarms
proved the sterner incentive. What did this woman
know? In how far had she been Walther's tool? And
now that Walther was dead, to whom would she turn,
upon whom would her confidence be bestowed?
Heliers perceived in a moment how full of danger
the situation was. If this girl's friendship could not
be secured, the whole story of the conspiracy might
be made public. Maurevale would then learn of the
paltry scheme concocted at Dieppe, and of its sequel.
But more than that, the police in England might get
to know of it—and if they knew!
She found the maid just where she had left her,
crying quietly in a deep armchair, and evidently awed
not only by her own situation but by the splendour of
the apartment into which she had been shown. To a
Frenchwoman death is ever terrible, and she will make
a tragedy even of a remote fatality. Berthe wept for
the doctor—a little; but for herself a great deal.
"Ah, madame, how terrible it is. I cannot believe
it—I would not to believe it at all if the policeman
have not told me—he is dead, madame, the kind, good
gentleman who have so much regard for me—he is
dead."
Heliers did not answer this; she was watching the
woman's face narrowly and trying to find some hint
of the truth there.
"Tell me," she exclaimed presently, drawing a chair


328 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
near, and beginning to think of many things which the
maid might be able to tell her, "when did you first
meet Dr. Walther?"
"When did I meet him—mats, madame—when he
come to the castle to see his son—I have met him the
many times"
"Yes, but after that terrible affair—when did you
hear of Dr. Walther then?"
Berthe thought about it. "I was in London—I am
very ill after what have happen to my poor mistress
—I think of the doctor, for he is the only one I have
meet. I go to him—he is very kind to me, and speak
of my dear mistress—ah, madame, my dear mis-
tress, will I ever forget that beautiful lady that I
love so much—will I ever know such a kind friend
again?"
Heliers was not moved by the outburst. She allowed
the woman to weep a little while in silence, then she
said:
"Were you alone in London?"
"Mais, madame?"
"I asked you if you were alone in London—when
you thought of calling upon Dr. Walther?"
Berthe flushed to the very roots of her smooth black
hair. Her eyes were downcast, and their lids quivered
when she replied:
"I have a friend in London, madame."
"I supposed so. Was he an Englishman?"
"No, madame, he was a Frenchman, Monsieur Jules
Farmot." And then she said quite simply, "But he
have been a long time in Egypt, madame"
Heliers started at the intimation. A long time in


HELIERS AT BAY
329
Egypt—and a Frenchman! A rush of strange ideas
came to her brain.
"Did you ever see this man at Highlands, Berthe?"
Berthe's eyes were still upon the carpet when she
replied:
"Jamais de ma vie—no, never of my life, madame."
"Have you seen him lately, Berthe?"
"Madame, it was because I hope to find my friend
again that the doctor send me to Dieppe"
"And what were you to do at Dieppe, Berthe?"
"I was to have met the prince and to say to him
that I shall prove the Captain Ferman to be the
assassin."
"But how were you to prove it?"
Berthe shook her head.
"The doctor would say that Monsieur Farmot
know—then I see Monsieur Farmot and do tell the
prince."
"But this French gentleman—did not you tell me
that you were alone in Dieppe?"
"Mais, madame, my friend do not come—I am alone.
Then I know that the police will have follow me from
England—I see them watch me at the hotel—I am
frightened—I come to you. Madame, will you tell
them? Will you say what is necessaire for me?"
"But, Berthe, what charge do they bring against
you?" Berthe looked up; she had ceased to weep.
"I do not know, madame," she said; "I am a good
girl—I do not fear anybodies."
"You are quite sure, however, that the police watched
you at Dieppe?"
"Quite sure, madame—monsieur le proprietaire say


330 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
so. I am watched all the day—and now they follow
me to Paris."
"To Paris—here, to this hotel?"
"I have say so, madame—here, to this hotel."
Heliers was greatly alarmed. She knew little of
police methods, either French or English, and had not
wit enough to see that the police followed this girl
just because she was an important witness in the case
against Captain Ferman—and also because there were
those who disbelieved her evidence at the inquest and
would know more of it. She had, in fact, been under
close observation from the very beginning, an attention
bestowed also upon other figures of the drama, notori-
ously the Count of Fours and Otto Walther.
Heliers knew nothing of this, and the intimation ter-
rified her beyond words. She began to see that the
part she had played might bring upon her the gravest
accusations of complicity and conspiracy. A woman's
instinct already connected this mysterious Jules Farmot
with the strange personage whom the doctor had asked
her to see at her house at Wargrave. She had always
protested against that interview, but had been un-
able to resist Walther's insistence and his assurance
that a woman could do what would never be done
by a man. And she now knew the truth of her own
fears.
For if the police had been following the maid Berthe,
would not her lover—the man must be her lover—have
been followed also? And if they had followed him,
would his visit to Wargrave have escaped them? She
believed that it would not. The veil dropped suddenly
from her eyes and disclosed the pit at her feet. The


HELIERS AT BAY
831
hour might yet come when the world would say—but
Heliers would not think of that.
She dismissed the maid after a little desultory talk
and passed a long afternoon, waiting for the Baron
Cortot, who never came. There was no news until
the following morning at ten o'clock, when they awoke
her to say that there was a telephone message from
the Hotel Ritz, and that it demanded an immediate
answer. For a moment her fears of yesterday returned
and set her heart beating wildly.
Whence had the message come—and was it from the
detestable baron? She had not caught the words
"Hotel Ritz," and the maid repeated it.
"From his Highness Prince Maurevale, my lady;
he has returned to Paris, and would see you immedi-
ately."
She sank back upon the pillow, and burst into a
passion of tears. Surely the worst was over.


CHAPTER XXVIII
. THE BARON IS SATISFIED
Matteevale wore a smoking suit of crimson twill, and
had a cigarette between his lips when Lady Constance
entered his private sitting-room at the Ritz. He apolo-
gised so charmingly for summoning her and appealed
with such boyish candour to her pity that all the dignity
of her distress vanished in a moment, and she remem-
bered but his friendship of the olden days.
"I have just come through from Strasburg," he
said quietly. "Stella is with me, and we are leaving
by the two o'clock train for London."
She was sagacious enough to make no comment on
the statement, but the irony of it proved irresistible.
What a bungler that old Walther had been! And he
had paid for his bungling with his life.
"You come from Strasburg? " she said. "Then you
know all the news."
"As you say, I know all the news. Under other
circumstances I might speak of it as dreadful news.
But I am unable to do so. Your friend Walther is
dead—murdered by a man who came to your house at
Wargrave upon the night I visited you there. I can-
not say that I pity him. He deserved his fate, for
he was a scoundrel."
She shuddered at his coldness. Walther murdered!
And by the man who came to her house. It was in-
conceivable!
882


THE BARON IS SATISFIED 333
"How do you know all this?" she asked in a hollow
voice. "Who told you the name of the murderer?"
He crossed the room and stood by the window.
"My common sense. There were two in Strasburg
seeking a woman's secret. Another woman had been
there before them, and she had done the work they
came to do. So two of the thieves fell out, and one
murdered the other. There could be no other explana-
tion—and, since it interests you, I will show you the
picture of the man."
He opened a despatch case on the table, and took
several things from it—a bundle of telegrams, a little
glass bottle which provoked a smile; lastly, the print
of the photograph which had reached him at Strasburg.
"Do you know that face?" he asked her, passing
the picture. She trembled while she held it.
"I have seen the man before."
"Where have you seen him?"
"In London—once—at Dr. Walther's house."
"Did you ever see him at Highlands?"
She shook her head.
"Never at Highlands."
Maurevale was satisfied.
"Then you are less fortunate than the maid Berthe,
who, I think, called upon you yesterday at the Hotel
Gloucester?"
She flushed with choler, but did not dare to remon-
strate.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "am I to understand, then,
that I am watched?" He would not deny it.
"We are all watched, my dear lady. There is not
a man nor a woman who was under my roof at High-


334 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
lands when poor Anna died who is not a persona grata
to the police both of London and of Paris at this mo-
ment. Do not complain of your good fortune. Had
they passed you by it might have been serious—for the
world would have talked. As it is, they know."
"Know—what do they know?"
"That a charming woman has some undesirable
friends, and that she is about to turn her back upon
them."
He left the observation where it was, and diverted
the conversation cleverly. In his hand was the small
glass phial which he had taken from the despatch-box.
It seemed to afford him considerable amusement.
"Look at that," he exclaimed, averting her angry
protest and riveting her attention instantly. "That
phial contains excellent water of the Lausanne district
—but it was put into a glass which had not been prop-
erly washed. Do you know that I had a dreadful
nightmare because of that glass—upon my word, I
thought some one was trying to poison me. And it
proved to be the maddest chimera. Morenceau de-
clares it to be absolutely harmless. I might have
drunk a quart of it and done myself no harm."
It was her turn to be ironical.
"Does this concern my friends—is it also part of
the sermon?"
He put the phial down and crossed the room to her
side.
"My dear Constance," he exclaimed, "it does con-
cern one of them—myself. Will you believe that?"
She was very pleased; hope gave colour anew to her
cheeks, and she looked up at him with grateful eyes.


THE BARON IS SATISFIED 335
"I have always wished to believe it—what then?"
"Ah, then the parable. Here am I frightened out
of my wits because I discover a glass of water upon
a dressing-table and think that I hear footsteps upon
a verandah. The water proves to be quite harmless
—the footsteps to be those of an under-gardener who
would not wake me. All my theories are dashed to the
ground. I must begin anew, from the very beginning.
Can I then complain of the fact—should I not rather
say that a greater than I turned my sleep to this pur-
pose, and that the hand of Almighty God directed me?
If that be so, admit the application of the parable else-
where—the beginning anew; the end of the old dispen-
sation—and friendship. Is it so, or was I wrong to
send for you?"
She did not answer him at once, swaying slightly in
her seat and seeming lost for an expression which
should not humiliate her. This was vain, however, and
anon she said, as one speaking in a reverie:
"Does the answer to that rest with me?"
"It rests with you absolutely."
"Amnesty and understanding"
"I said friendship."
"I am not worthy of your friendship, Maurevale."
"Permit me to say it—every woman is worthy of a
man's friendship when she is honest with him."
"Then you doubt my intentions?"
"I do not doubt them—I am sure of them. You
have served hard taskmasters; now you will serve a
friend."
"How can I serve him?"
"Then you are willing?"


THE BARON IS SATISFIED 837
case immediately call in the police and have him ar-
rested, since he is wanted in Strasburg upon a charge
of murder. Let me tell you that if you did so, the
story of a good woman's life would be blazoned all
over Europe in three days' time, and you would not be
one penny the better. That's what sent your friend
Walther to Strasburg—to keep the story from the
German Secret Service agents, that he might sell it to
them afterwards. There are just three people in
Europe who might be tempted to betray us, and one is
the man who is coming to you. So, you see, I am
entirely in your hands—you will receive this Michel
Ghika when he arrives, and you will give him one hun-
dred pounds and this message. Do I ask too much
of you?—does our friendship justify me?"
"It certainly does—if I have the courage. But
I shall be dreadfully nervous."
"My dear lady, I know you too well for that. There
is no one in Europe who has better brains for this
kind of work when you choose to use them. Remem-
ber, it is for me now. Walther is dead—but I remain
your friend. There are few, I think, who would not
wish to have that said of them—Maurevale is her
friend. Very well, then—you undertake the commis-
sion?"
She thought it over, her quick brain debating the
various issues with lightning-like rapidity. Certainly,
she had no other friend left in Paris, and she could
not fail to profit by such an association. Maurevale's
generosity was known far and wide; she would be a fool
to forget that.
"And if I do—the message?"


338 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"You will hardly forget it, but in case you should
do so, here it is written down for you already."
He passed her a slip of paper, and she read the words
aloud:
"The child is at the House of the Five Green Shut-
ters, in England."
Neither spoke for some minutes. The woman, per-
haps, reflected upon the irony of circumstance which
revealed so dramatically the master secret long pur-
sued.
There was a child, then, and Anna's child! And for
knowledge of this Frederick Walther lay dead in Stras-
burg, and she herself had passed through the valley
of humiliation in Paris. But more wonderful still,
the secret was told by the man to whom they wished
to sell it. The truth dazed her—she paid silent hom-
age to the genius which had unravelled this mystery;
her very tone expressed something akin to awe.
"Then you wish Michel Ghika to go to England?"
she asked in a low voice.
The prince answered her with head averted.
"Yes, I wish Michel Ghika to go to England."


CHAPTER XXIX
THE EVE OF THE TEIAL
London had forgotten the death of Lady Anna during
the holiday season; but remembered it when October
came. This was to be the supreme sensation of the
autumn, and society flocked back to town as to some
function which could not possibly be missed. There
had been nothing like it for years, the gossips said.
You could not attend any gathering at which conversa-
tion did not soon come round to the mystery.
Men discussed little else at their clubs, women at their
"afternoons."
Jack Ferman had been one of the most popular young
officers in London, and alike amongst soldiers and civil-
ians he found warm sympathisers. The general ver-
dict seemed to be that he could not be guilty; or that
if he were guilty, then he were assuredly mad. None
doubted that he had been violently in love with Anna,
and that she had refused to marry him. But with all
this the mystery remained—how and when had he given
her the poison, and how could the prosecution bring it
home to him?
Here the police court proceedings had helped the
amateur detective but little. Local magistrates heard
the case, and under no circumstances would they have
kept it from a jury.
The evidence seemed at once clear and perplexing.
Ferman had been seen at Highlands immediately pre-


340 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
vious to the murder; one of his letters had used the
amazingly compromising expression, "I would sooner
see you dead than that this should happen." He was
supposed to have been the last man who saw her alive
—and yet he made no mention of her death.
If it were suicide, as the charitable supposed, as-
suredly had this poor woman been determined in her
purpose.
For had she not in this case employed the rarest
poisons, so rare and subtle that they perplexed even
the scientists of the Home Office, and left the prosecu-
tion wondering how even her assassin procured them.
A modern woman who commits the terrible sin of
self-murder either acts with cool deliberation or the
most reckless madness. Had Anna Maclain determined
to take her own life, most certainly she would have
profited by her knowledge of modern drugs, and have
taken one of those many preparations of morphia by
which death is won so sweetly.
Moreover, it seemed to be established beyond doubt
that she entertained no such idea, and was the last
woman in all the world who would have made an end
of herself. Witty, gay, brimful of life, the admired
of every salon, the friend of the greatest, what sudden
tragedy could have come upon her life to turn her
thoughts to death?
Did not her very correspondence speak of approach-
ing engagements, of hopes and promises and the pleas-
ures of the hour? If it were possible to speak of
trouble, none the less her letters spoke of it hopefully.
"All will be well," she had written to Ferman; "don't
worry yourself, Jack, and, above all, don't worry me."


THE EVE OF THE TRIAL 841
And this was the woman who killed herself, accord-
ing to the evidence, a few minutes after she had seen
Ferman secretly at Highlands Castle, upon the night
of the murder.
This latter statement promised to be the turning-
point of the trial. Ferman would answer neither yes
nor no when it was said that he had seen Anna on the
Tuesday evening. The maid swore as roundly that
he had done so to her knowledge. Cynics said that
Sir Horace Rupert would have a fine chance here; but
others admitted that the outlook was not very promis-
ing. How came it that Ferman could not prove his
statements? He had no witnesses to swear he was in
London during the critical hours. His statement that
he was alone and indisposed was openly mocked. And
if that fell to the ground, woe betide him!
Of course there were a hundred amateurs ready to
solve the whole thing; and these wrote every day to
the lawyers for the defence, and to Sir Horace
Rupert.
The oddest suppositions were made. Men suggested
in all seriousness that the poison might have been al-
ready in the boat; that it might have been in the paint;
that the poor lady had not really died of poison at all,
but of a mysterious malady which defied the faculty.
Others affirmed as soundly that the maid Berthe knew
too much, and that the sooner the police put her in
the dock the better.
A few continued to believe that the French count had
something to do with it, and suggested that had he
not been under the protection of the French Govern-
ment—a man of high place and ancient family—he


342 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
would have been arrested. They were quite unable,
however, to say why he should have murdered the un-
happy woman, or how a murderer could be so very
careless as to leave such damning evidence of his guilt
—if guilty he were—behind him.
All this discussion, this controversy, helped the gen-
eral excitement. Men said the trial would be the great-
est for twenty years past, and when they heard that
Mr. Justice Nonagen was to be the judge upon the
circuit, they pitied Ferman the more. For was not
this fearful old man the most impossible of all im-
possible judges, and were not his screeds against the
social follies of the day the most ridiculous which ever
the law had indicted?
Of course every one who was anybody at all meant
to go to Reading. Rooms had been engaged at all
the hotels since the last weeks in July. Caversham
was to have its parties, and the famous hotel at Son-
ning would reap a rare harvest. Women spoke of
water picnics despite the month; and the most venture-
some of the youths engaged launches to run up from
Henley or down from Goring and Wallingford.
Such was the state of affairs upon what the news-
papers called the Eve of the Trial, although as a
matter of fact the Assizes were not to be opened for
three days. It was generally known at this time that
Maurevale had returned to London and was at his
little house in Park Lane; while the other witnesses
were at the disposal of the police, especially Arthur
Blandy, the steward, and the maid Berthe. The only
one who was missing appeared to be the old Count of
Fours, said to be lying seriously indisposed in Paris


THE EVE OF THE TRIAL 843
—a fact which loosened many a tongue, and inflamed
opinion as nothing had done from the beginning.
This rumour reached London upon the night Sir Hor-
ace Rupert called, for the second time that day, at
Maurevale's house in Park Lane and asked anxiously
for the prince.
To his great content the footman now announced
that his Highness was at home, and begged the great
advocate to come into the private study. It was just
nine o'clock, and the prince was alone in the house.
Sir Horace thought him much changed, and did not
hesitate to say so.
"My dear fellow, have you been ill?"
Maurevale replied by indicating the great armchair
and pushing forward a box of cigars.
"Every one is ill when he has the time to remember
the fact. I have been very busy, so busy that I am
hardly conscious of my own existence. Sit down and
let us talk about it. I can give you just an hour—
then I must answer that telegram."
He tapped a folded telegraph form on the table be-
fore him, and smiled as one who would hide his own
anxieties beneath the shallow mask of a jest. The ad-
vocate, however, had no doubt that the telegram was
of great importance—he would have given a good deal
to have read it.
"Of course you have read about Sir William's re-
port from the Home Office?" he began, eyeing the
paper coveteously, but hesitating to ask a further ques-
tion. "They say there never was such a case. Who-
ever poisoned that poor lady used the oddest mixture
of drugs that could occur to the mind of man. Don't


844 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
you think that points to insanity? I do, and it's half
my case."
"Then you really have a case, Sir Horace?"
The question was asked with a quiet cynicism which
would have amazed the lawyer very much at any other
time; but he was too anxious to hear what Maurevale
had to say to quarrel with him to-night.
"Have I a case?" he exclaimed; "why, the very
best—or the worst, as the jury take it. If they can-
not prove that my man was in the boat with her, I
don't think they'll prove anything at all. The ques-
tion is, can they prove it?"
Maurevale indicated that he followed him, then he
said:
"But that is not the line you are going to take
at the trial?"
"Not the line I am going to take?"
"I think not—when you have heard my evidence."
"But that's just what I came here to get. I know
you have been half over the Continent these last three
months, and the solicitors hint that you have learned
a good deal. Then why isn't it in the brief—why is
it kept from me? Surely, my dear fellow, you are not
against us?"
Maurevale smoked quietly for a few minutes. Then
unlocking a drawer upon the right-hand side of his
writing-table, he took a packet from it.
"I meant to send you this by special messenger to-
day," he said. "Then I heard that you had called.
A similar document goes to-night to the counsel for
the prosecution and to the judge. Read it when you
get home; it is the story of Anna Maclain's life."


THE EVE OF THE TRIAL 345
"The story of her life—good God, another
story!"
"Do the solicitors know nothing of it?"
"Oh, they think they know everything. She was
in Egypt and in India. In Egypt she met Jack Fer-
man, and, if the whole truth is to be told, she bolted
with him to Ceylon. That's the damning testimony.
She bolted with him, and then left him. When he
came back, naturally he would have resumed the old
relations if he had found her willing. But she was
not willing, and so the mischief began. Anyway,
that's how Wilson, who is prosecuting, will put it—
and a pretty case to answer. We can't even suggest
a sudden quarrel. Don't you see that this is no tiff,
or that sort of thing, but a determined passion lasting
over many years? If you were in the box and Wilson
were putting the case to you, I don't think you'd hesi-
tate long. I shouldn't, and that's candid. And yet
they expect me to get the man off, to work a miracle
and all that sort of thing. Now, my dear Maurevale,
do you really envy me?"
"I may be tempted to envy you before the trial
is over. Read that document very carefully, even at
the neglect of your brief. You will find it some account
of an old friend, one Tahir Pasha, whose name was
mentioned in this room the last time you were here.
There is a very fine fellow, Sir Horace—I will intro-
duce you to him some day."
"You will introduce me to him?"
"Certainly, I will introduce you to him."
The advocate stared as though some one had struck
him a blow. The document which the prince had de-


346 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
livered to him lay in a limp hand; he was tempted for
the moment to believe that all this was a jest, and that
his friend played with him.
"But," he stammered, " we are told that he is dead."
"Who told you that?"
"I don't know—Sir Malcolm seems to think so.
Anyway, how does this man count? He was an Egyp-
tian soldier with whom some of the Englishwomen in
Cairo were in love five or six years ago. We know
that certainly—but what follows after? And why
write it down for such an old friend as myself? Why
not a little more frankness? I repeat, you are not
against us, Maurevale?"
"You know that I am not. I have written Anna's
story for you and for the others that you may be its
keepers. If you deem it necessary to blacken the
memory of one of the kindliest of women, I am unable
to stay your hands. You, I know, will not consider
that story necessary to your case; I am hoping that
neither Wilson nor Nonagen will adopt any other
course. It is the story of a mere child's mad in-
fatuation for a singularly handsome man—but it is not
the story of her murder. That I shall hand to you
on the morning of the trial. Such evidence as I pos-
sess is good, but I have yet to make it overwhelming.
Possibly you may say to me when you hear it, that
I should have communicated both with you and with
the prosecution before. I differ from you there. Just
as the whole world has heard a brave fellow accused,
so shall they hear him vindicated. That is my message
to-night. Believe me, my dear Sir Horace, there is
nothing more."


THE EVE OF THE TRIAL
347
He rose as one who would indicate politely that the
interview was terminated. Sir Horace himself was too
astounded, in a way too affronted, to utter even a
remonstrance. He had come there to discuss with an
old friend all the subtleties of the most subtle case
which had ever engaged his intellect. And here he
was dismissed like a schoolboy; rewarded with a bulky
packet which might contain the truth or might contain
a fairy story. Surely it was incomprehensible.
"You say that you know how Anna Maclain
died?"
"I am perfectly aware how."
"And you will not tell me?"
Maurevale smiled.
"I will tell you when all my witnesses are in Eng-
land," he said.
Sir Horace gave it up and left the house reluctantly.
To an acquaintance met in his club, he confessed can-
didly that Jack Ferman's case was in a poor way,
and that, if any testimony hanged him, it would be
that of his friends. Then he went into a quiet corner
of the smoking-room and opened the mysterious docu-
ment. It was very late when he ceased to read—and
he had hardly put the papers down when he took them
up again.
Whence had this strange story come? By what
magic had a master intellect woven the threads into
this perfect whole? The advocate could not answer.
He recalled the plain and straightforward story told
by the police; the direct nature of the evidence; the
simplicity of the issues. And he shook his head. The
truth, it appeared, would not help him. He saw noth-


348 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
ing in this story which should save his client from the
gallows. There was no hint of murder.
The prince, meanwhile, had turned to those occupa-
tions in which the advocate interrupted him, and found
them engrossing. That folded telegram—how often
he read it. And what a world of dark suggestion and
earnest hope it revealed.
"Michel Ghika left Paris at eleven o'clock this morn-
ing."
And upon this, how significant that brief note de-
livered to him but an hour previously from the hand
of his secretary Paul.
"Michel Ghika is in London at the St. Pancras
Hotel."
The man in London; the assassin of Walther; this
mysterious Roumanian whose sister was the wife of
Tahir Pasha—this man in London ready to sell his
secrets to any who would buy them—if any there were,
now that irony had robbed him of his best customer.


CHAPTER XXX
AFTEE THE NIGHT THE GEAVE
The October night felt chill and raw, with a wraith of
fog above the marshes, and a cloudless sky, wonderful
in stars.
This was the season of the year when the hand of
winter is put out to touch the earth, and often with-
drawn as quickly at the bidding of that kindly saint
whom the churches hymn at Martinmas.
Frost holds the land by night; the glow of summer
is on the fields by day; there are white mists above the
waters, and the flutter of rare wings drawn to the
marshy places from the sterner north.
Somewhat would it seem that the dirge of the dying
year is sung at such a season rather than in drear
December. Gloom is the note of it and the sadness of
farewell.
Upon such a night came Michel Ghika to the town
of Ely, astonishing the officials at the sleepy station,
and causing some heads to turn as he pushed his way
to the street, despite the yawning entreaties of belated
porters. Men remembered afterwards that they had
thought him to be "a little queer"; while one lady
declared very positively that he was a madman.
He had travelled from St. Pancras by the train
which leaves at nine fifty-five, arriving in Ely shortly
after midnight, whence he set out upon an errand at
which none of those who discussed him could so much
840


350 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
as guess. It remained for a humble porter to declare
that he had seen the stranger before, and presently to
insist that the fellow had then asked him the way to
the marshes in the very queerest tongue man ever spoke.
But for an obliging curate who had once been at Bou-
logne, and who volunteered to interpret, they would
have got on "nohow."
This remembrance did something to satisfy a common
curiosity and to silence the bumpkins' tongues. Evi-
dently this queer fellow had friends or acquaintances in
one of the farms over there by the marshes; but it was
odd that he carried no luggage and arrived at such
a late hour of night. Perhaps, had it not been so
late and every one so willing to get to his bed, some
one would have thought it worth while to mention
the matter to the police. As it was, no one said
any more about it, and Michel Ghika went off as he
listed.
He walked fast because of the coldness of the night,
stopping by here and there to listen for any footsteps
upon the fog-bound road behind him, and bending his
head instinctively whenever a shadow fell upon his path.
The bitter cold searched his very bones despite the fur-
lined coat he wore and the heavy wrap about his throat.
He carried no stick, and his hands were thrust deep
into his pockets as he walked.
Possibly the more wonderful thing was the way he
kept to the road he sought, and his unerring instinct
for locality. Now and again, to be sure, he would
come to a halt at a cross-road and examine every by-
path, just as a dog might have done. But invariably
he took the right path in the end, and when he came


AFTER THE NIGHT THE GRAVE 351
out upon the great marsh itself he quickened his step
as though already sure of his destination.
He sought a house with five green shutters, and he
knew that it lay not very far from the inn which Cam-
bridge oarsmen frequent when they pull their boats
from the university town to the cathedral city of Ely.
If any considerable check were met with, it was at the
turning which led from the broader highroad to the
narrow track by which you gain the Marsh House
Farm. This turning perplexed him considerably. He
was twice down a cul-de-sac, and once went near to
falling headlong into the great dyke itself. In the
end he came upon the right path almost by accident,
and following it with a firm tread, stopped presently,
as a hound which marks its quarry but will not stir
a step lest it be winded. For the House of the Five
Green Shutters was but twenty paces from him; and
one light burned brightly in an upper window.
It was nearly two o'clock of the morning by this
time; the mists a little drifted by the sudden stirring
of the north wind, the heavens just flecked by a hand's-
breadth of mackerel cloud which promised half a gale
on the morrow. None the less, a profound stillness
reigned above the marsh. The very rabbits which
scuttled away at Ghika's approach might have been
shod with velvet, so ghostly was their rapid flight.
He had crossed Europe, had dared the police of Paris
and of London, to reach this destination; and now he
stood at its doors frightened that a light should speak
of waking sentinels, and yet more resolute than ever in
his purpose.
He opened the crazy garden gate, and stepped with-


352 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
in. The minutes passed and found him still irresolute.
At one moment, a sound from afar broke upon his
ear and filled him with a new apprehension. He
thought that he heard the hum of a motor-car across
the marsh, and was so sure of his idea that he stepped
over the low wooden fence and stood for a while in the
road to wait for the motor's approach. In the end
he came to believe that he had heard a train and not
a car, and, when the marsh sent him the echo of a
distant railway whistle, he was quite convinced that this
was the true explanation. So he returned to the gar-
den once more, avoiding the gate with the rusted hinge,
and stepping over the low fence to the soft mould of
the flowerbeds beyond. Then, without further hesita-
tion, he crept up to the front door of the house and
listened.
Not a sound came from within, not a sound but that
of the ancient clock which ticked drowsily as though it
also slept through the witching hours.
This discovery put new heart into Michel Ghika, and
he began to spy about for a means of entry which
would not betray him, a window ready to his hand or
a door that would yield. Perhaps it was a little
ominous that the shutters of the ground floor were
closed and barred, and the door itself obviously bolted.
Formerly, when he had come to this place he had found
this same door yield readily to his touch; but now
it withstood him, and seemed to say that the old
Frenchwoman might not be as unprepared as he
had hoped.
This was not in his calculations; but the fact did
not dismay him, and, passing round to the back of


AFTER THE NIGHT THE GRAVE 353
the house, he remembered the kitchen window and made
sure that it would suit his purpose.
He found the kitchen readily enough, and examined
the window with crafty fingers. To his surprise he dis-
covered this also to be shuttered and barred, and even
the small opening in the wall of the adjoining wash-
house had a wooden cover to defend it. The door alone
remained and attracted him by its flimsy structure and
ancient appearance. Convinced that he might force
it without effort, he took a heavy iron jemmy from his
pocket, and inserting it in the crack above the lock,
began to apply a steady pressure.
When the door yielded at last with a great sound of
rending wood and bursting locks, he stood still for
many minutes waiting for the challenge; for the voice
which should cry, "Who is there?" But no voice was
to be heard, and, fearing with a new apprehension that
his search might be vain after all, he entered the kitchen
and so gained the hall beyond.
Step by step, pausing at every effort, listening in-
tently for the lightest sounds, Ghika climbed to the
landing of the little house, and looked about for the
door of that room wherein, but a few months gone,
he had seen a child's cot and so had learned the truth
of Anna Maclain's life.
It was very dark upon the landing, and for a while
he was baffled; but anon he recognised the door, and
trying the handle he discovered it to be unlocked.
This was the critical moment of the night, and such
Ghika felt it to be. Many times he paused, afraid
to enter the room and yet unwilling to return; his
fingers played caressingly with a knife he carried in


356 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
He had always feared this terrible Egyptian, had
ever acknowledged him for his master even when the
dens of Paris stupefied his faculties, and the revolution-
aries had passed him as a "man who was "; but to-
night, in this lonely house, Ghika's dread became almost
a phase of madness. No thought of a contest, no
memory of knife or pistol helped him in that awful
moment; but seeing only the avenger and knowing that
the vengeance would be terrible, his heart froze within
him, and the very blood seemed to dry up in his veins.
What a death to die, he thought, the death that Tahir
would contrive for him.
The tension of the scene endured a full minute; then
passed as swiftly. Speaking in a low tone and in
Egyptian, Tahir asked why Ghika had come to that
house and what he would do there. When he was
unanswered, he repeated the question in a louder voice,
advancing across the room step by step and holding
the light high above his head that every movement
might be witnessed by his cowering enemy. Ghika, in
his turn, essayed to speak, but discovered that his lips
would utter no word. Driven and desperate, he
fumbled for his revolver and tried to draw it from his
pocket; but his hand had hardly been lifted when the
lamp was dashed out and the room left in black dark-
ness. Then he knew that death had laid a finger upon
it, and dreading the unseen presence, shrinking from
that terrible figure, he uttered a loud cry and flung
himself from the window to the garden below. At
the same moment a shrill whistling was to be heard,
and the cry of man to man across the marshes
—and so Michel Ghika knew that a trap had


AFTER THE NIGHT THE GRAVE 359
There is but one thing more to be said, and it is this,
the secret of your life shall be kept as the price you
pay for amnesty. Let it be broken, and the compact
is at an end.. Guard it, and I will make you great
among your fellows. Is it understood—is that the
oath to which we bear witness?"
The Egyptian swore it, his hand uplifted and in his
eyes the look of a man who had found his goal and
knew not the meaning of retreat. The new day would
set him upon the way to his own country, reconciled
to the English and about to be received by them.
And with him would go the little daughter he had
desired so ardently and had sought so long—the child
of the woman he had loved and would remember while
he lived.


CHAPTER XXXI
THE TE1AL
There have been few Assizes at Reading about which
so much public interest moved as the one which wit-
nessed the trial of John Philip Ferman for the murder
of Lady Anna Maclain.
The picturesque old town was thronged from the
early morning of the day and the vast audience repre-
sented all sections of society.
The shopkeepers did a fine business in pretty trinkets
and the knick-knacks which the tourists purchase; tea
"cabins " were packed to suffocation; the river people
could hardly believe their ears when they heard the
orders for boats and launches—in this far from merry
month of October. . Even the clergy rose to the occa-
sion, preaching discreet sermons on the previous Sun-
day and addressing kindly words to the well-intentioned.
The whole town indeed felt that this was an event of
events, and that no such dramatic trial had taken place
in the old court-house for many a year.
These Assizes are ever events of magnitude in a
country town, and their contribution to the picturesque
is welcome in these days of the commonplace.
Who does not pay homage to the Judge as the High
Sheriff carries him off in the state coach? Who does
not listen to the heralds as they stand at the street
corners and blow their trumpets? Then, too, is not
the Assize sermon an event, and does it not all add
860


THE TRIAL
361
something to that majesty of the law which we do so
well to preserve?
Maurevale arrived at Reading early in the day, be-
fore the pomp and circumstance of Assize had amused
the groundlings. Early as it was, the public galleries
of the Court, and also that other gallery devoted to
favoured auditors, were besieged by an eager crowd such
as the theatres can show upon the morning of a
premiere. Barristers a-many alighted from the in-
coming trains and took their way to the Queen's Hotel.
Special reporters, the chosen writers of the greater
newspapers, descended upon the town in flocks and
promised themselves unique opportunities. There were
lady journalists to deal with the dresses, and military
experts in case the affair should take a professional
turn. Such a galaxy of talent, in fact, never descended
upon a provincial town before, or carried with it so
much genuine excitement, so much real feeling.
In the town itself the sentiment was rather one of
expectation than of curiosity. Tradesmen thought
more of their shop-windows than of a soldier's guilt
or innocence. The influx of strangers pleased the idlers
in the streets and gave them much to do. It was some-
thing to stand at the station gates and try to recognise
the celebrities; to say, "There is the Duke of Alton's
daughter," " That is the Duchess of Asherton," "Yon-
der goes the Bishop of Overdeane." Prince Maurevale
was recognised immediately, and cheered heartily—
Heaven alone knew why—as he left the precincts.
Upon such a scene, before such an audience, the first
act of this tremendous drama was played. In solemn
tones a solemn judge recited the story of Anna Mac-


362 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
Iain's death to the subservient grand jury in the gal-
leries above, and left them to find a true bill. When
the trial itself opened, and the bill had been returned,
a hush fell upon the Court which was as the very still-
ness of the tomb. All eyes turned to that little door
by which the prisoner must enter. How would he bear
himself—how would he plead? Women trembled, men's
lips were dry while they waited. The lightest sound
was resented.
He came at last, the Jack Ferman so many had
known, so many had loved in the old days. Carrying
himself as a soldier, quick and resolute in all his acts,
stepping into the dock with a boy's foot, he looked
about the Court and seemed already to cry, "Not
guilty." And then a sigh, almost of relief, went up.
Whispers were heard again; a rustle of excitement;
a momentary slackening of a tension which had been
almost unendurable.
John Philip Ferman, accused of the murder of Anna
Agnes Iva Maclain, by the administration of poison,
on the first day of July in the year 1908!
What a drama of love and hate, of gain and loss,
of desire and defeat, these very words suggested! And
how they drew every eye upon the prisoner, as though
the eye might reach his heart and search it.
People settled themselves down to listen in earnest
when Montagu Wilson rose to open the case for the
Crown. They expected moderation from so great an
advocate; but with moderation a cold and pitiless state-
ment of fact. This would not be an impassioned ap-
peal to the jury—if one were made, it must be later
on, just before the judge's summing-up, and following


864 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
statement that this unhappy lady had been one of the
most admired and most revered in the society of our
time, he went on to describe how she had been found
dead in a boat by the weir at Pangbourne, how the evi-
dence pointed unmistakably to poison as the instrument
of death, and how necessary it had been that the facts
should be fully investigated by the jury. But not a
word, behold, of the prisoner's guilt; no reiteration
whatever of that damning evidence brought to light at
the inquest and the subsequent investigation before the
magistrates. An unbiased observer would have said
that Montagu Wilson resembled a man afraid of his
own case, quite uncertain how to handle it, and a very
amateur in the matter of its presentment. But this
was to misunderstand him wholly. A bomb had fallen
at his feet and had shattered his brief beyond repair.
He picked his way amid the rubble of an argument
with what credit he could. And the Court listened
amazed and incredulous, and only Jack Ferman was
unmoved.
Investigation—upon that the great advocate harped.
The jury must hear the evidence and be satisfied of the
truth. A very astonishing story would be told; it
was for them to say if the story satisfied them, if they
found it reasonable, and what its bearings must be
upon their verdict. For the moment they were faced
by the fact that a terrible crime had been committed.
Let their consciences answer for their judgment when
the evidence was before them.
He sat down almost abruptly, and the ushers cried
the name of Joseph Huggins. In the interval of wait-
ing a babble of hushed talk and the high falsetto of a


THE TRIAL
365
splendidly dressed woman in the " privileged witnesses'"
box were to be heard. Then Huggins, dressed neatly
in a suit of dark-blue serge, and carrying a very small
bowler hat in his hand, entered the box and was sworn.
He was very nervous, dreadfully afraid of counsel,
and haunted by the figure of the scarlet-robed judge
above him upon his right hand. The jury, being some-
what of his own class, seemed to him as a dozen good
friends in a very small box, and he addressed them
directly, to the great annoyance of Mr. Justice Nona-
gen, who commanded the wretched man to answer coun-
sel and be careful what he was doing. Such a threat-
ening exordium confused the poor fellow utterly, and
he began very badly indeed.
"At a little after six o'clock"
"Six o'clock!" sternly interposed Montagu Wilson,
looking at his brief. Huggins corrected himself im-
mediately.
"I should say five, your honour—a-begging your
pardon."
"If you are going on like that," said the judge,
"you will certainly get yourself into trouble. Take
your time—think before you answer counsel."
"I'll try to, my lord—well, it were a little after six
o'clock—I should say five—when I see the boat agen
the weir, and says to myself that it were a-lyin'
queerly—then I run round by the lock bridge, and
there was the poor lady as surely dead as I'm standing
in this Court."
His emphasis gave him courage, and he dared ac-
tually to look up to the judge as though to say, "I'll
show you yet what I can do." In the main, however,


366 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
his testimony was just what he had given at the in-
quest. How he had been astonished that the dead
woman should be in evening dress; how he had found
her lying on her side and detected the broken chain
at her wrist; how he had run to the Swan Inn, awak-
ened the boatman Jarvis and returned with Dr. Travis
to the scene. All this came pat enough, for he had
recited it a hundred and fifty times since he first re-
counted it at Highlands Castle. Not until Montagu
Wilson began to press the examination did his old con-
fusion return; but in the end he made a kind of triumph
even of that.
"Now, sir, can you give the jury any help on cer-
tain matters? Can you tell them, to begin with, how
the stretchers of this boat were placed—were they set
for a man or for a woman?"
Huggins scratched his head.
"I didn't rightly observe—if anybody had asked me,
I could have measured them, for that's my business."
"Then nobody thought of that"
"We wanted you there, Mr. Wilson."
A titter arose, and even Jack Ferman joined in.
He said something to his jailer at this point, and they
laughed together—an act which was observed and com-
mented upon by many. Huggins, meanwhile, was very
pleased with himself, and the judge not indisposed to
enjoy the joke.
"The learned counsel is evidently something of an
athlete," his lordship remarked—an observation which
set the Court tittering again, since the learned counsel
in question weighed at least seventeen stone. When
the latter retorted, "But your lordship and I do not


THE TRIAL
3T3
The judge looked up sharply
"What is that?" he cried. Mr. Blandy begged
his pardon, but affably, as one who merely obliged him
but did not retract.
"Asking your lordship's pardon, but that young
woman don't tell the truth, not by a long way; it's her
bringing up, I suppose."
Mr. Justice Nonagen smiled in spite of himself. His
rebuke, however, was properly stern, and when Mr.
Blandy had bent before it, Montagu Wilson continued.
"The French maid found you. Well, what then?"
"I left the room, going round the corner into the
corridor a tip-toe. Then I saw the Lady Anna."
"What was she doing? Be careful now. Tell the
jury precisely."
"She was standing by the dressing-table pouring
water into a wine-glass."
"Did you see if she drank the water?"
"I did not, sir."
"You are quite positive about that?"
"Quite positive, my lord."
"Are you able to say if she was alone in the rooms?"
"I think she was; I could not see very plain."
"But you, yourself, saw no one with her?"
"Oh no, sir, I saw nobody."
"And what next?"
"I went down to my rooms, which lie across the far
side of the quadrangle."
"Did you meet any one?"
"I met some of the servants; Mr. Child was one of
them."
"No one else?"


374 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Why, yes, if it comes to that, I saw one of the
stable-boys."
"Can you tell the jury his name?"
"Well, we always called him the Prophet—they used
to say he was an Egyptian."
"Did you speak to him?"
Mr. Blandy drew himself up haughtily.
"No, sir; I didn't so far forget myself."
"Well, well, you didn't speak to him. Were there
any others whom you saw in the quadrangle?"
"No, sir; I saw no one else."
Counsel nodded and stopped for a moment to speak
to his junior. There was a movement of relief in
Court, and some whisper of talk. Perhaps the effect
of the evidence could hardly be judged by the lay mind;
but the general opinion decided that it was neither for
nor against the accused. Jack Ferman's impeachment,
so to speak, must come later—every one believed that
when it did come it would be crushing.
"Now, Mr. Blandy," said the advocate, taking up
the thread when his junior had prompted him, "we
come to the morning of the day. At what hour did
you first learn that Lady Anna Maclain was dead?"
"It must have been after five o'clock, sir."
"Who told you?"
"Willis the boatman. He woke me up to say one
of the boats was out, and he was uneasy."
"And what then?"
"Why, I told him not to make a fool of himself, and
to get to bed again."
"Did he do so?"
"No, sir; he didn't. He's a wonderful careful man


376 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Go on, sir; we arc waiting. You drove to St.
Pancras Station. And after?"
"I went to Ely, to the house called the Marsh Farm."
"You went to Ely, to the house called the Marsh
Farm. Will you tell the jury why you went?"
"I will, sir—I went because Captain Ferman asked
me to go."
"Oh, Captain Ferman asked you to go. When did
he ask you?"
"Many a time. 'If ever Lady Anna is in trouble
about anything, Blandy,' says he, 'just you go down
to this address I shall give you, and let the people
there know about it.' That's why I went, my lord."
The judge nodded. To the surprise of the Court,
which found this evidence both damning and conclusive,
Mr. Justice Nonagen seemed entirely unmoved by it.
Not so Mr. Montagu Wilson, who, carried away by
professional habit, detected drama in the evidence and
pursued it.
"You went to Ely because Captain Ferman asked
you. Had you ever been before?"
"Never, sir."
"And when you got there?"
"When I got there, the birds had flown."
Montagu Wilson waved his hand in a contemptuous
gesture.
"Your ornithological studies were interrupted, I see.
Do you mean that the house was empty?"
"I do, sir."
"You visited it, I think, at a moment when a warrant
had been taken out for your arrest. Were you aware
. of that?"


878 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
tion to ask the witness. Sir Horace Rupert immedi-
ately rose.
"What kind of a glass did Lady Anna Maclain use
when you saw her in the dressing-room on the eve of
the murder?"
"A plain wine-glass, sir."
"Would you know it again?"
"I should, sir."
"Is that it?"
"It is, sir."
The glass was passed across to the judge, then to
the other side, and finally to the jury. It was an
ordinary sherry glass, quite plain, but a little curious
in shape—and it carried the crest of the house of
Maurevale.
Every one, however, examined it as though its struct-
ure were significant, and many a neck was strained
in the gallery above that the curious might catch a
glimpse of it. Meanwhile Sir Horace had resumed.
"You went upon the prince's yacht. Did he tell
you what you must do?"
"He did, sir."
"What was it?"
"That I must hold myself at his disposition, and,
if necessary, go to Scotland Yard at once."
"If necessary—what do you mean by that?"
"If the authorities insisted."
"Then they did not insist?"
"No, sir, the warrant was withdrawn, I understand."
"Upon the prince's undertaking that you should be
here to-day?"
"Yes, sir, upon his Highness's undertaking."


THE TRIAL
879
Sir Horace intimated that he had nothing further
to ask, and after the briefest re-examination Arthur
Blandy left the box, some twenty years younger in mien
and step than he had been when he entered it. The
next witness was Sir William Wentworth, from the
Home Office—one of the greatest chemists living, and
a man who gave his evidence with such a wealth of
learned illustration that there was hardly a barrister
living who could stand up to him. Montagu Wilson
paid great deference to this witness when he rose to
examine him. He might have been addressing one of
the potentates of Europe, so low was his voice and so
restrained his manner.
Briefly and quietly Sir William stated his reasons
for believing that the drug which had poisoned the
Lady Anna Maclain was a preparation of that deadly
poison aconitine. "But," he added, while the Court
listened with profound interest, "there were traces
of other poisons in the system—of strychnine, of the
deadly rhus, and even of arsenic." Of these he gave
the percentages, and then made the further statement
that such poisons appeared to be associated with com-
moner drugs, chiefly with phenacetin and caffeine—a
preparation known to every one, and commonly taken
by women who suffer from headache. The main point
was this, that while the amount of strychnine and ar-
senic found in the body would not account for death,
the aconitine would do so—and to this poison Sir Wil-
liam attributed the fatality.
A hush fell upon the Court; the evidence was so
amazing, so different from what had been expected,
that even counsel could make little of it. Common


THE TRIAL
S81
"To the act of a maniac, I would say."
"Ah, you think that? They might have been ad-
ministered by a person who had lost his reason tempo-
rarily?"
"Or permanently."
"Yes, or permanently—a man resolved to kill this
unhappy lady, one without any knowledge of drugs ex-
cept such as is traditional, one who meant to make
sure. Is that what you would tell us, Sir William?"
"It is a mere supposition, but plausible. I have
not looked at the case from such a point of view."
"Quite so, but you are ready to tell the jury that
the analysis defies all common expectation and may
speak of madness, temporary or permanent?"
"I should not be unwilling to say so."
Montagu Wilson was pleased and plainly showed
his pleasure to the jury. He was almost radiant when
he continued.
"There is a further matter, Sir William, upon which
I must trouble you. The contents of a glass, appar-
ently containing water, were sent you by the Reading
police, I think?"
"Yes, I received them."
"And you have subjected them to analysis?"
"That has been done."
"Will you tell the jury the result of that analysis?"
"Certainly; the poisons contained in the body were
all found in the water submitted to me."
"And in the same proportions?"
"Yes, in the same proportions."
"Was there any trace of the commoner drugs, of
caffeine and phenacetin?"


THE TRIAL
383
"If the poisonous rhus has been discovered, cer-
tainly."
"Then I have nothing more to ask you, Sir William."
The heart of green jade had been passed up to the
judge by this time, and when he had examined it in
all lights, he handed it over to the counsel for the
prosecution, who fingered it caressingly, as though it
might even now provide them with that clue which their
case still lacked. This afforded an interlude, and some
moments passed before the ushers cried for the maid
Berthe, and the Frenchwoman stepped into the box.
She was heavily veiled, and so terribly afraid of judge
and jury, to say nothing of the bewigged advocates,
that her first words were gasped rather than spoken.
To the question whether she preferred to speak in her
own English or to have the assistance of an interpreter,
she replied immediately that she would prefer the latter;
and it really seemed as though the presence of a fellow-
countryman gave her the necessary courage to continue.
Having answered to her name, and given the place
of her birth as Caen in Normandy, she was next ques-
tioned as to her length of service with* the Lady Anna
and the circumstances of it.
"You were two years and nine months with Lady
Anna. Is that so?"
"Yes, sir, two years and nine months."
"Was she an indulgent mistress?"
"I loved her very much, sir."
"And you enjoyed her confidence?"
"Oh yes, sir, she told me many things."
"She spoke to you of her friends, I suppose?"
"Very often, sir."


384 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Will you tell the jury the names of some of those
friends?"
The girl considered.
"There would be Prince Maurevale first; madame
adored him."
"And consequently she spoke to you often about
him?"
"Always, sir—she spoke of him every day."
"And after him?"
"It would be Captain Ferman's name."
"She mentioned Captain Ferman's name. Did she
see Captain Ferman often?"
"In London many times. At Highlands sometimes."
"Oh, he came to Highlands. How did he come—
to lunch, to dinner?"
"No, sir, he came secretly—by night."
"He came secretly—you swear to that?"
"Certainly. I myself have carried the messages to
him when madame could not meet him."
"When was the last time you carried such a mes-
sage?"
The girl reflected—her demeanour impressed the
Court and greatly excited it. Here was the case against
Ferman, surely!
"It would have been about a week before the acci-
dent."
"A week before the accident. Where did you meet
the captain?"
"In the little wood behind the stables."
"Was the message verbal or written?"
"It was verbal, sir."
"And you said"


THE TRIAL
385
"That madame was going to dine with the prince
and could not get away."
"What did Captain Ferman answer?"
"He said he was very sorry; then he asked me a
question."
"Tell the jury what that question was."
"He asked me if madame had any trouble."
"What did you reply?"
"I told him the truth—she was ill, weary—and then
I said something that I had wished to say for a long
time. I told him she was in love with Prince Mau-
revale."
"You told him that. What did he reply?"
"He did not answer me, sir; he walked away."
Counsel nodded and turned over a page of his brief.
"Now, when was the last time you saw Captain Fer-
man at Highlands?"
"That was the last time, sir; but I heard him later
on."
"The last time you saw him, but you heard him
later on? Explain yourself, if you please."
She did so, volubly, as at the inquest.
"I had gone down to the village to buy note-paper.
When I return and would take the short cut to the
house, I hear voices by the path to the boat-house.
They were those of Captain Ferman and of madame."
"What day was that?"
The girl flushed crimson.
"It was the night of Tuesday, sir."
"The night of Tuesday, June 30th. But have you
not sworn at the inquest and before the magistrates
that it was the day of the murder?"


THE TRIAL
387
ing between the parties," he said. "If there had been
a quarrel, we should know of it."
Sir Horace persisted in his objection, but the question
was put and answered—volubly and with more passion
than the girl had shown from the beginning.
"There had been many quarrels. The captain's
letters made my lady cry—ah, the bitter tears! Then
there was the telegram, and that upset her very much.
Oh, she was much distressed; she suffered because of
him surely."
"Of what telegram are you speaking?"
"Of the telegram my lady received on the Monday
morning."
"Do you know its contents."
"Yes, sir, I read it; it said, 'If not Tuesday, then
Wednesday.'"
"Was her ladyship distressed upon receiving that?"
"She cried a long time, sir; she was very much up-
set."
"Did she remain at the Castle on that day?"
"Yes, sir, until the Tuesday."
"And upon the Tuesday, the day before her
death?"
"She went away very early, and came back in time
for dinner."
"Did you help to dress her that night?"
"I did, sir."
"In what state of health was she?"
"She was very bright and gay, sir; but I think she
was suffering a little from neuralgia."
"Did she tell you that?"
"No, sir, but I have known her so long that when


388 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
she held her head in her hands then I say that madame
is not well."
"So what it comes to is this—that she is better in
spirit but that she suffers from headache?"
"I should say so, sir."
Montagu Wilson seemed pleased. He consulted his
j unior a little while, and then suddenly he asked:
"Did you see madame after dinner—otherwise than
upon the path to the boat-house?"
"No, sir; but I thought that I heard her in the
dressing-room while I was talking to Mr. Blandy in her
bedroom."
"Then she must have entered the house almost upon
your heels?"
"That would be so, sir."
"Do you know when she left it for the second time?"
"I do not, sir."
"But her movements upon the day are otherwise quite
clear to you. There is her journey, the return, she
dresses for dinner, she meets Captain Ferman on the
road to the boat-house; she re-enters the house, leaves
it again, and is next found dead. Do you agree to
that?"
"Ah, yes, my poor mistress, she is found dead, and
I shall never see her again—never, never."
The Celtic temperament prevailed and the girl suf-
fered a tempest of tears to rob her of her self-posses-
sion. So real was the grief which provoked it that a
hush fell upon the Court, and for some minutes Mon-
tagu Wilson ceased to examine her. When next he
asked a question, it was one which had been expected
by all for some time.


THE TRIAL
389
"Did my lady tell you whom she met in London on
the Tuesday?"
"She did not, sir."
"You are quite clear about this?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"Then if it had been necessary to summon her, to
send a message or anything of that kind, you could not
have done it?"
"I should have sent to her dressmaker—to Madame
Cyprene in New Bond Street."
"Ah, then Lady Anna was going to visit her dress-
maker?"
"Yes, that is so."
"And she left no other address?"
"None whatever, sir."
The answer did not altogether satisfy the advocate,
but he would not pursue the matter further. His next
question concerned the rumour that the murdered lady
had been in the habit of taking nostrums, and that
possibly an overdose of some popular drug might have
killed her. This was a return to the matter of health
and cleverly managed, as the defence admitted.
"Now you have said that you thought Lady Mac-
lain was suffering from neuralgia on this Tuesday
night; do you know if she took anything for it?"
"No, sir, she could not have done."
"Could not have done—what does that mean?"
"I will tell you, sir. She was in the habit of taking
the tablets which she got from France. But she had
finished the bottle and there were none left. I know
it was so, for she asked me for them upon the morning
of the day."


390 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Ah, she asked for them on the morning of the day
—you are speaking of the Tuesday?"
"Yes, of the Tuesday."
"And she had none then?"
"No, sir, she had none then."
"Do you not think it possible that she purchased
some on that day while she was in London?"
"No, sir, they always came to her from Paris."
"They came to her from Paris; but all the same
she might have got this medicine from London. Will
you please tell us the name of it?"
"It is Seronal, sir—very well known in Paris for
the headache."
"And you are ready to swear that she had none of
this medicine on the day of the murder?"
"Yes, sir, for, if she had, the bottle would have been
there."
"And no bottle was discovered. Was it looked
for?"
"Every one looked for it; his Highness insisted."
"And nothing was found?"
"No, sir, nothing was found."
"So that we come to this, that the poison which
this poor lady took must have been provided by some
person she met during the course of the day, either in
London or at Streatly?"
The girl shook her head.
"I have not thought of that, sir."
"But, now that it is put to you, you do see
it?"
"Yes, sir, I think that I do."
The answer pleased Montagu Wilson and he sat


THE TRIAL
891
down. Sir Horace in his turn was less brisk than usual
when he rose, and he turned twice to speak to his junior
before he began to cross-examine.
"Were you alone when you went to the village to
get this note-paper on the Tuesday evening?"
The question was put in a stern voice and it startled
the Court. The girl flushed crimson—her confusion
was beyond all question amazing.
"No, sir, I was not alone."
"Who was with you?"
"Monsieur Jules Farmot."
"What was he?"
"An engineer—the motor driver of a great French
nobleman."
"Did he tell you the nobleman's name?"
"Yes, to his highness Prince Eugenie."
"Did you discover that story to be a lie?"
"A lie! it is impossible. It is no lie."
"Would you be surprised to hear that he was not a
chauffeur?"
"But, sir, it is impossible, for he was."
"I see you are unconvinced. Would you know
Monsieur Farmot if you saw his picture?"
"Yes, sir, certainly."
"Is that it?"
He passed a rude photograph across the table,
and it was handed up to the maid. For a little
while she stared at it curiously, then she passed it
back.
"Yes, that is Monsieur Farmot."
"Did you ever hear that Farmot was not his proper
name?"


THE TRIAL
393
"I do not believe you," she rejoined, but so fiercely
that the Court tittered.
"You saw him at nine o'clock—what then?"
"He walked down to the village with me."
"The whole of the way?"
"No, sir, a little way, then he had to catch the
train."
"What train would that be?"
"At nine minutes past ten, sir."
"He left to catch that train. You swear it?"
"Yes, sir, I swear it."
"Are you aware that the nine minutes past ten train
only runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays?"
"Oh, sir, it is impossible."
"Everything apparently is impossible. We will
come to another point. You say that you saw Lady
Anna and Captain Ferman on the path which leads to
the boat-house. Shall I remind you that you have
led the magistrates to believe that it was at the boat-
house itself?"
"I do not speak English well, sir—I do not under-
stand them properly."
"But you had an interpreter?"
"It is his fault, sir, not mine, if I am not
clear."
"Tell the Court exactly where you did hear this
interesting conversation."
"Just at the entrance to the little plantation, sir."
"How far is that from the house?"
"About a hundred metres, sir."
"We'll say about a hundred yards, in English," this
to the jury. "Was it dark there?"


394 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Very dark; oh, vraiment dark!"
"So that you could not see the speakers' faces?"
"I could not see them, sir."
"Then how did you recognise them?"
"My mistress was speaking when I came up."
"Oh, she was speaking; and the other?"
"It must be Captain Ferman. I recognise his
figure."
"Indeed. Did you hear his voice?"
She hesitated, and her face changed colour again.
"I hear, but not very well."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I hear his voice but not the words."
"Now come, my girl, on your oath will you swear
that you heard Captain Ferman's voice?"
She paused an instant, then replied almost in a
whisper:
"Yes, I will swear it."
"Was it by his voice alone that you recognised
him?"
"Yes, by his voice."
"You could not see him?"
"No, sir, I could not see him."
"Are you able to tell the jury a single word he
said?"
She shook her head.
"I did not hear the words. I did not wish to be
discovered."
"How long did you remain on the spot?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am a good girl; I do not listen. I go away
at once."


THE TRIAL
395
"You went away at once. Were you there for a
minute?"
"Perhaps."
"For two minutes?"
She shrugged her shoulders and answered with tem-
per:
"I have not got a watch in my hand."
"Then shall we say it was a minute?"
"If you please"
"Or perhaps half a minute?"
"I have told you, sir; I cannot say any more."
Sir Horace accepted it.
"I will ask you another question," he exclaimed,
changing his voice cleverly, as great advocates are wont
to do. "Have you seen this mysterious Jules Farmot
since the murder?"
"Yes, sir, I have seen him."
"Where was that?"
"In London."
"When did you last hear from him?"
"At Dieppe in September."
"He was at Dieppe in September. Well, after
that?"
"He went to Strasburg."
"And that was the last time you heard of him?"
"Yes, sir, the last time."
"Do you read the newspapers?"
"I read the Petit Journal when my sister sends it to
me."
"Then you did not see what the English papers said
about this Jules Farmot yesterday?"
"No, sir, I did not read them."


396 THE MYSTERY OP THE GREEN HEART
"In which case, my good girl, you do not know
that the man is dead?"
She did not hear him properly. The interpreter
repeated the question twice, but she did not answer it.
Presently she began to cry out in French, then to sob
bitterly. One of the ushers, seeing her condition,
stepped over to the witness-box and opened the door.
They carried her from the Court in a dead faint, while
a hundred tongues were loosed to recite again the points
of her evidence.
"Silence," cried the judge; "I must have silence in
the Court." The cry was repeated everywhere, and
was still to be heard when Montagu Wilson rose and
intimated that he would re-examine the witness later
on, Sir Horace upon his part declaring that he had no
further questions to put to her.
It was now near the luncheon hour, and but two wit-
nesses, whose testimony was expected to be brief, were
called—the first a ticket-collector from Goring Sta-
tion; the second one of the farm hands from the High-
lands estate. Of these the first was a cheery, red-
haired fellow, who clipped his answers as he clipped his
tickets, and impressed the Court very much by his
obvious sincerity and good nature. Having answered
to his name and calling and being duly sworn, Montagu
Wilson soon brought him to the point.
"You were on duty at Goring Station on the night
of Tuesday, June 30th?"
"Yes, sir, I was."
"You took the tickets of the passengers who arrived
at Goring by the 6.10 train from London?"
"I did, sir, naturally."


THE TRIAL
397
"Have you recognised any of the passengers by that
train since the day in question?"
"I have, sir, to be sure."
"Where did this recognition take place?"
"At Reading Police Station. I had a day off, d'ye
see."
"You went to Reading Police Station; when was
that?"
"That was the last week in August—the 24th, to
be particler."
"We require you to be particular. What did you
see at the Police Station?"
"I saw nine men in a yard—a pretty poor lot, too."
"Behave yourself, sir," from the judge. Montagu
Wilson continued:
"Did you recognise any of these men?"
"I did that, sir."
"Which one?"
"The gentleman in the dock."
He was put through the usual searching cross-ex-
amination, but stuck to his point. Captain Ferman
had travelled by the train—moreover, he had given up
a newspaper with his ticket. This cheery, red-haired
fellow was not to be shaken. "What have I got to
get by it? " he asked Sir Horace, who had teased him.
The question was quite unanswerable. His evidence
impressed the Court greatly, and caused many a sympa-
thetic eye to be turned toward the prisoner. How
would this be answered? What had taken John Fer-
man to Highlands at such a tragic moment?
The second of the two witnesses was a farm hand
from Highlands. He spoke an uncouth dialect, and


THE TRIAL
399
the witnesses who had seen the captain at Highlands
on the night of the murder.
How dramatic are these trials, and how little the
great public knows of their drama!
Reading of them in the newspapers the imagination
helps but little to an understanding of the swiftly
changing emotions they provoke, of their contrasts and
their reflection of human nature profoundly stirred.
Life is at stake; life shall be given or taken by the judg-
ment of twelve who see the prisoner, perhaps, for the
first time; twelve who have looked upon the crime of
murder hitherto as little children look upon the fables.
But here crime is very close to them. They may be
listening to the very voice of the man or woman who
did another to death brutally. They live again through
the scenes of tragedy; hear the cries of the murdered;
breathe in the darkness of the house.
As a reed bent by the wind the spectators surrender
themselves to the evidence and its kaleidoscopic pic-
tures.
The prisoner is guilty, is innocent—O God! save
him, surely he is innocent. But no, listen to the wit-
ness now speaking. How damning is the testimony
■—can innocence be imagined after hearing it? So
they are bent again, and the blast of conviction sweeps
over them.
The air of the Court is hot and foetid; faces are
white in the ghastly light; hearts beat fast, or seem
almost to stand still, when momentous words are spoken.
The figure of the scarlet-robed judge towers above all.
God, what a burden he bears! But he will dine com-


402 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
tended the reading of Ferman's own correspondence
—three of his letters having been found at Highlands
immediately after the murder.
They were perplexing documents, inspired, it might
seem, by a passionate devotion to the dead woman, and
yet quarrelling with all that she did. The vagueness
of the terms excited suspicion and created a bad impres-
sion in Court, so that the hopes of the captain's friends
fell to the nadir. Evidently the Lady Anna had pro-
posed to do something which he much disliked, and
when the startling line was read, "I would sooner see
you dead than that you should do this thing," a murmur
of real feeling stirred the audience and was felt even
by the judge.
What a damning accusation! How real and vital
a piece of evidence! The dullest perceived its sig-
nificance. The man had threatened her when he could
not persuade her; he had visited her stealthily at the
Castle; he had gone there upon the night of the murder;
it was probable, though not proved, that he had been
in the boat with her. Would any jury acquit such
a man? Was his life worth a month's purchase at
any price? Men said it was not. Women, pitying
him, wept silently.
The rest of the evidence was purely technical, that
of police inspectors, of the boatman Willis, whose con-
cern for his boat had kept him up half the night, but
who had not a ghost of an idea if any one accompanied
the dead woman upon the river—of these and of such
as were necessary to the formality of the law. When
Montagu Wilson at length said, "That is the case for
the prosecution, my lord," an interval of two or three


408 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
out in England. He so sought her for several reasons,
the first of them being his belief that she was an ob-
stacle to the political organisation with which he was
connected. This is more readily understood when I
tell you that the chief of the Egyptian revolutionaries
in Paris, the noted Tahir Pasha, had been acquainted
with the Lady Anna in Cairo; that he considered him-
self her friend, and would have persuaded her if he
could to intercede for him with the English Govern-
ment. Here is a great figure in the Egyptian story,
my lord, and one which the British people will yet
learn to admire. If I speak of this man briefly, it
shall be with admiration none the less. Tahir Pasha
will return to Cairo under the aegis of the Government
this present week, and will return with honour. And
the man who would have thwarted him lies dead in the
mortuary of the city of Ely, an assassin and a self-
murderer."
He paused, the heat of the recital momentarily over-
coming him, and the necessity of deliberation putting
a bit upon his tongue. Neither side asked a question.
The irregularity of the narrative—if irregular it were
under circumstances so strange—moved the judge to
no protest. The Court listened with an interest which
would not brook an interruption.
"Michel Ghika is dead," the prince resumed, "but
to Michel Ghika indirectly is this fatality to be set
down. My lord, circumstances were kind to the mis-
creant and chance helped him. When he arrived in
England, there were in London two people whom he
had known well in the city of Cairo six years ago—
I speak of the Count of Fours and of Madame his


THE TRIAL
409
wife. The count he called upon, and from him he
learned not only of my friendship for the dead lady,
but of her frequent visits to the Castle. Even a more
fortunate rencontre was that with the Doctor Frederick
Walther, whom he approached at one of the foreign
clubs in London and with whom he soon became inti-
mate. This man, my lord, Michel Ghika murdered at
Strasburg in the month of September last. The cir-
cumstances of that crime will be familiar to many—let
it suffice that I record them, if it be but to show you
how reckless were the assassin's methods and how reso-
lute his purpose. For the moment I am content to
see him in England, to know that Lady Anna Maclain
is the obstacle to his ambitions, to believe that he came
to these shores to kill her, and that nothing but this
intervention of a malign destiny forbade him to achieve
his purpose. And from that I shall pass swiftly to
the week of the crime and to its events."
He turned about as though looking for some help,
while from the press by the witness-box, his secretary,
Paul, handed him a little bundle of papers and a card-
board box. This the prince laid upon the rail before
him, and opening it with care, he took from it various
objects—some links of gold chain, some broken frag-
ments of a bottle, a plain deal pencil, and a woman's
glove. These an usher helped him to arrange upon
the desk, and, when they were spread out and the
Court had searched them with wondering eyes, Mau-
revale continued:
"It is known to us that the Lady Anna visited Lon-
don on the Tuesday. There she saw Captain Ferman
and received from him the counsels of a friend. He


410 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
begged her to have nothing to do with Michel Ghika
and his gang—he implored her not to temporise with
such a scoundrel. Of this visit the Court has heard;
but what it has not heard is that upon the previous
Saturday her ladyship had visited the town of Ely,
gone thence to the House of the Five Green Shutters,
and there called upon an old Frenchwoman of the
name of Prevost. Such facts, my lord, are to be
established by the evidence of many persons who are
at the pleasure of the Court; by the evidence of the
innkeeper whose servant drove her to the house; by
that of the ticket-collector who knew her well; by that
of the guard to whom both her name and her station
were no secrets. These will tell you that she visited
Ely on that day, drove to the house we speak of, and
returned thence to London. But more important than
this fact of her return, is her interest in the old French-
woman and in her child. I know not, my lord, how
many charities are to be set down to the name of this
truly benevolent lady; but that she should journey so
far to visit a lonely old woman whom she had known
in Egypt is not a little to her credit. To us the fact
is vital, for in that house the Lady Anna lost the heart
of green jade, and a child's lingers plucked it from her
wrist."
He stooped and picked from the desk certain links
of a gold chain which the steward, Arthur Blandy, had
put into his hands on the occasion of his second visit
to the House of the Five Green Shutters. These links
he passed up to the judge, who examined them closely
—then handed them to the prosecution, whose interest
was no less than his own.


THE TRIAL
411
"This chain was found at the farm?" his lordship
asked. The prince assented.
"By my servant, Arthur Blandy, whom I left there,
my lord, in defiance of your conventions—a fault for
which I humbly apologise to the police."
A titter went round the Court, but a titter almost
of triumph. Some looked up at Sir Malcolm Morri-
son, who occupied a prominent place near the judge;
but he, good man, was quite unconscious of their
irony.
"And do you say that this chain belonged to the
heart of green jade?" his lordship asked. Maurevale
replied by a request that the ornament in question
should be passed up to him.
"If your lordship will be good enough to compare
the two," he said, "I think you will have no difficulty
in coming to my opinion. The workmanship is Chi-
nese in both cases—but I have here another heart of
green jade that you may compare them. Permit me
to say that the same hand which made a present of
the one to Lady Anna Maclain, bestowed the other
upon the Egyptian Tahir Pasha from whom I have
obtained it. Such is the evidence of Madame de Fours
—should your lordship wish to bring that lady from
France?"
"We shall see," said his lordship, knowing quite well
that it would not be necessary. Then he harked back
to the matter of Arthur Blandy.
"You took this unusual step of keeping this man out
of the way because you thought it might help justice.
I must assume that?"
"If your lordship pleases—I took it because I be-


412 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
lieved from the first that this house would reveal that
which my own had concealed."
"You ran some risk of a serious charge," remarked
his lordship. Maurevale smiled.
"The pursuit of justice requires some courage," he
retorted. "In this case I hope to convince your lord-
ship that convention would not have helped us."
He appealed to Sir Malcolm, who feigned not to see
him. The heart of green jade had been passed round
by this time, and come again to his hand. When next
he spoke he held it up so that all in Court could
see it.
"This chain was broken by a blind child at the
House of the Five Green Shutters," he said with em-
phasis. "The swivel link was already weak, and sur-
rendered to persistent fingers. In the heart itself there
is a box—that box, my lord, contained upon the day
of which I speak, three or more tablets of the prepara-
tion Seronal. It was one of those tablets which poi-
soned the Lady Anna Maclain."
"But," interjected his lordship, "you say that the
child obtained possession of it?"
"Admittedly, but not of the drugs. What woman
caring for children would forget a fact so obvious?
The Lady Maclain abstracted the tablets from the box
and put them into her glove. Of the three—supposing
there were three—I shall show you that two contained
the essence of this medicine—caffeine and phenacetin—
the third was that which killed her in the manner Sir
William has described."
He dwelt upon the point, giving to judge and coun-
sel the opportunity to examine him if they would. His


THE TRIAL
413
statement was ex parte; he knew it and would support it
presently.
"The story is plausible," said his lordship presently;
"but by what evidence is this theory of the glove sup-
ported?"
All waited to hear Maurevale's answer. The desire
to see him triumph had grown upon the Court. It
recognised the master-mind.
"It is supported, my lord, by the evidence of my
friend, Miss Stella Insole, who searched the rooms at
my instigation, and discovered in Lady Anna's dressing-
room this tablet—or rather what is left of it, that I
now have the honour to submit to you."
He passed the fragment up as he had passed the
green heart, and a critical scrutiny was bestowed upon
it. The prince, however, did not pause.
"That tablet, my lord, contains the simple drugs I
have named. But upon the coat of it we find a definite
trace of the poisonous rhus, a poison discovered also
at the autopsy. Permit me to say, then, that it was
so discovered because the interior of the heart of green
jade has been treated with the paint commonly used
by the Chinese and the Japanese to decorate such trin-
kets, and this paint has infected the coating of the
tablet. So the links in our evidence are welded to-
gether. The Lady Anna Maclain went to Ely; she
left there the heart of green jade; she returned with
three or more tablets of Seronal in her glove. I say
three or more because the number that she took between
her visit to Ely and the night of the murder is unknown
to me; but it will suffice to say that there were two
left upon the evening of June 30th, and that one of


414 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
these is now before us. The other, my lord, she hast-
ened to take when she knew that Michel Ghika awaited
her in the grounds of my house, and insisted upon
seeing her immediately and alone. That fact I shall
now establish to the satisfaction, I trust, both of your
lordship and these gentlemen."
"Do you mean to tell the jury that the Roumanian
came to Streatly upon the night of the murder?"
"It is beyond question, my lord. He came to
Streatly under the name of Jules Farmot, as he had
come on several occasions. The maid Berthe, deceived
by his ready tongue, and rejoicing in the opportunities
of speaking French to him, became his unwitting ally,
his dupe. By her he obtained admission to the Castle,
secreted himself from general observation, and was able
when the right time came to confront and to threaten
the Lady Anna. This hour we shall fix as ten o'clock
approximately on the evening of June 30th. Captain
Ferman had visited the house previously, and in a
secret interview with the dead lady had warned her, nay
implored her, not to see these Egyptians, of whose ar-
rival in England he had further news since their earlier
encounter. Possibly he told her to call the police to
her aid—I do not know. He is a brave man, and the
part he has played in this affair has been that of a
soldier and a chivalrous gentleman. Suffice it to say
that my friend was warned by him and was afraid.
Then followed the dinner at my table. She tried to
keep up; there was the persiflage concerning my horses.
I wrote down for her the names of three who could
not possibly win races. At length she was able to
support her anxiety and distress no longer; she left


THE TRIAL
415
the table, forbidding others to leave, and in her true
womanly fashion pooh-poohing her indisposition.
From that moment, my lord, the true act of the drama
begins. She stood on the threshold of death, this un-
happy lady who was my friend."
He had shown little emotion hitherto; but it con-
quered him at this point, and for an instant his voice
quavered and his hands gripped the rail before him
convulsively. Such a tribute to his friendship and
affection could not but win upon the sympathy of the
Court, and in the interval of profound silence the sound
of a woman weeping could be heard. Then Maurevale
resumed, speaking in a low voice and seeming uncon-
scious both of the scene and of the place.
"I follow in my guest's steps to the great con-
servatory, thence to the gardens. A man is lurking
in the shadow of the trees. He approaches her; she
bids him begone. But the man is insistent, and her
curiosity prevailing above her prudence—or should I
say her courage prevailing above her fears—she tells
him to go down to the boat-house, and that she will
speak with him there. Thus would she escape the
observation of her friends; thus would she hear in
secret the threats this miscreant has to utter. There
is a hurried visit to her dressing-room; in her agitation,
seeking some relief for her trembling nerves, she dis-
solves the tablet in a wine-glass of water while she
looks for a shawl to cover her head. Acting through-
out as one distracted she drinks the water but leaves
a third portion of it in the glass. Then passing by
the rarely used staircase behind the library, she goes
to the boat-house and the river. My lord, she is a


416 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
dying woman when she arrives there. And she is
one pursued now by all the phantoms which this secret
rendezvous can suggest. In her mad desire that none
at the Castle shall know of this meeting, she bids the
man get into a boat and row her down the river. I
see him astounded but obedient, wondering, perhaps, at
the amazing fortune which is his, and preparing al-
ready the knife with which he will kill her. Hid from
his observation by the darkness, failing to see that
she is in the agonies of death, the man passes under
the railway bridge, goes on toward the islands, and
then he knows. My lord, his victim lay dead in the
boat—the Lady Anna Maclain had ceased to be. As
though the very powers of darkness were helping this
monster, he discovers the truth and it appalls him.
His work is done; the night and the unknown have done
it. He is adrift with the dead; the shadows veil him
about; fear comes upon him; the superstitions of his
race create the phantoms which bid him flee—yet
whither? He knows this scene but ill. We may sup-
pose that all is distorted; he perceives the hills and
the woods, and the dread of them is inexpressible. The
river has become a Styx, and he himself is Death grin-
ning with his burden. So is the assassin who is not
yet an assassin driven. Boats pass him by upon this
summer night; he hides from them in the pools of the
darkness. A train vomits flame upon the railway; it
suggests the road to liberty and freedom. And ever
before him is the hunched figure of the woman he had
come to slay—the miracle which affrights his senses
and bids him press on. When the end comes, my lord,
it is a light from the cottage window beneath the rail-


418 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
by Montagu Wilson were hardly heard by the excited
spectators. The inevitability of the story had been
felt by all, even by the counsel for the prosecution.
None the less was it an ex parte statement, and must
be made good by other witnesses.
These now appeared upon the scene, the first of them
that courtly old gentleman, Dr. Phillipe Morenceau of
the University of Paris. This was a man whom all
the world honoured, and to whom the Court gladly paid
homage.
"You are Dr. Phillipe Morenceau of the University
of Paris, official analyst to the French Government, and
the director of the National Laboratory—is that
so?"
The doctor bowed gravely; his English was almost
without accent.
"It is so, monsieur. I occupy those positions."
"You were called in, I believe, at the time of the
unfortunate dispute between the firm of Baro & Mal-
quevart, who quarrelled with their workmen during the
spring of this present year?"
"I was the Government representative in that un-
fortunate case."
"Will you, doctor, be so good as to tell this Court
something about it?"
The doctor advanced to the edge of the box and
began to speak with the gesture and volubility of an
eloquent Frenchman.
"It was a terrible affair. The workmen were, as
you say in English, on strike. There were differences,
grievances, the common story, alas! of our time. For
six weeks the chemical works of Baro & Malquevart


420 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
little more intimately—the exact nature of his confes-
sion, if you are able to help us so far?"
"It is my duty to do so. Ferre confessed that he
had employed a preparation of aconitine, the common
preparation of our pharmacopoeia; that he had added
strychnine and arsenic in small proportions, and had
moulded the whole into tablets. These tablets were
coated as the others, and inserted here and there in
the phials of Seronal ready to be put upon the market.
Such was the man's method of vengeance upon his
employers. I regret, gentlemen, that I should be speak-
ing of a fellow-countryman."
"Was this dastardly proceeding soon discovered,
doctor?"
"Almost immediately, though the truth took some
weeks to unravel. A woman died at Rheims, another
in the town of Verdun, a priest at Goudrecourt, and
a child at Les Laumes. Each had been taking this
Seronal—prepared by Baro & Malquevart of Rheims.
The firm naturally was distressed, perplexed beyond all
words. I was sent for from Paris; it was I who dis-
covered the truth."
"It would be very interesting to hear how you went
to work, doctor."
The old gentleman smiled.
"I used my common sense. To begin with, I treated
fifty of the bottles en bloc; they were harmless. A
second fifty had a measure of the poison. I perceived
that a villain had been at work, and took my precau-
tions accordingly. None of the workmen knew that
such a thing was being done; my materials were taken
from the packing-house, where the boxes of this prepa-


THE TRIAL
421
ration were ready to be delivered to the public. Upon
the contents of these I worked in the laboratory at
Paris. The tablets were poisoned; but the poison was
to be detected but in a very small percentage of the
whole. I went through two hundred phials, testing
the tablets one by one, and in seven cases I found the
aconitine, the arsenic, and the strychnine. Then I
told the firm the truth. 'You have an assassin at
work,' I said; 'let the police help you.'"
"This was done, of course?"
"Immediately. The famous officer, Gustave Faber
of Paris, went to Rheims; his agents were engaged
nominally as workmen. The rooms were watched night
and day. On the fifth night, Ferre was seen to enter
the packing-room; he was arrested in the very act of
inserting a poisoned tablet into a phial of the Seronal.
Messieurs, I analysed that tablet for my Government,
and here is a note of my work."
He passed it round, and it was read by judge and
counsel; then by the jury. The proportions of the
poison were identical with those of which Sir William
had spoken. So overwhelming indeed was the truth
that a question upon it appeared altogether supereroga-
tory. Certainly Montagu Wilson had no intention of
wasting his time.
"The assassin being discovered, I need hardly sug-
gest that these mysterious deaths ceased in France?"
asked Sir Horace. The doctor shook his head.
"Not immediately. The firm called in the drug
from all the chemists, but the public had bought much
of it. There were nine further fatalities in my coun-
try ; I hear, to my sorrow, that there was one in yours."


422 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"You would have no hesitation in ascribing that
fatality to the assassin Ferre if it were proved to you
that the poor lady concerned had this drug in her pos-
session, and that she was poisoned by those proportions
of aconitine, arsenic, and strychnine?"
The doctor answered solemnly:
"I should as soon doubt my own existence."
He was thanked for his evidence, and left the box.
An offer by Sir Horace to submit Gustave Faber to
the examination of the Court was declined by the other
side and considered unnecessary by the judge. So
the next witness was a white-haired old abbe—one of
the minor canons of the cathedral—who spoke of
Ferre's death and of his confession.
Here was a picturesque moment, and one which awed
the people. To see this white-haired old man, a glim-
mer of golden light upon his face, his hand upraised,
his cassock and bands speaking of no modern age,
to see him and to hear him was to be carried from
the twentieth century to the Catholic age of England.
His words were uttered in a low, solemn tone; and his
voice was very beautiful when he spoke of death.
The assassin Henri Chadran Ferre had confessed
upon the morning of the execution. Of that confes-
sion, of course, the abbe would tell the Court nothing,
and he was careful to explain that what he might have
to say had no reference to anything disclosed under the
seal of the confessional.
"I went into the unhappy man's cell about half-
past four o'clock. The sun was shining upon him,
and he slept. I do not think he had hoped for pardon.
We awoke him, and he started up with the wild look


424 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
followed him to the scaffold and saw the head fall into
the basket—and then, messieurs, I sought out the child.
May she never know that such a father held her in
remembrance—such is my earnest prayer to Almighty
God."
The judge thanked him in a little speech full of
grace and charm and worthy of his high office. It
would have been almost an outrage to have submitted
the old priest to cross-examination; nor could any use-
ful purpose have been effected thereby. The next wit-
ness, one of the junior partners in the house of Baro
& Malquevart, appeared to have come to England
rather to benefit his firm than to throw any new light
upon this mystery. Somewhat truculently, he de-
clared that the whole affair had been greatly exag-
gerated by trade rivals; and while he could not deny
that a certain number of deaths had followed the use
of the preparation Seronal, he hastened to assure the
Court that further fatalities were impossible, and that
he and his partners had lost thousands of pounds in
recalling the outstanding stock. The main point was,
however, that he admitted the truth of the case against
Ferre, and could not deny that any one who used Sero-
nal during the course of the summer did run a certain
risk from the machinations of this miscreant.
This young man was followed immediately by an
under-gardener from Highlands—a sawny, red-cheeked,
bow-legged fellow, who laughed in a silly way while
counsel addressed him, and was as far from the gravi-
ties of the case as the equator from the poles. His
chief desire appeared to be a kind of personal glorifica-
tion and the establishment of the fact that a particular


THE TRIAL
425
variety of dahlia owed much to his genius and to some-
thing he had seen in a dream. When he was sternly
rebuked by the judge, he smiled again in the old sawny
way, and said, " Why, I thought as yer lardship would
have liked to hear on't"—which both exasperated and
amused the impatient Court.
"Now, sir," exclaimed Sir Horace in his sharpest
tones, "tell the Court if you have ever seen this be-
fore?"
He held up a pencil, such a pencil as is to be found
in many a pocket-book of a cheap kind, thin and pointed
and capped by a nickel head. The gardener, whose
name was Blow, looked at the pencil cunningly, and
then nodded as though what he had to say was between
counsel and himself.
"I'd know her anywhere."
"Then you have seen this pencil before?"
"Why, to be sure; I wouldn't know her if I hadn't
seen her."
"Come, come, my man, don't play the fool here.
You have seen this object before?"
"I've seed t'pencil."
"Where did you see it?"
"'Twere lyin' in the ole plantation."
"How did you come to find it there?"
"Why, by a lookin' fur it, in course—I wouldn't
have found it if I weren't lookin' fur it."
"Is it your habit to be looking for pencil-cases in
this plantation?"
The man scratched his head.
"Well, 'tain't no habit, so to speak; but, yer see,
the guv'ner, he tells me to."


426 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Oh, your master told you to. And so you went
into the plantation to look for something at his order.
Is that so?"
"Well, certainly; I wouldn't have gone otherwise,
for, yer see, I'm a glassus man, and it ain't my work
ordinary."
"Not your ordinary work—so you were taken from
some other occupation to this. What did your master
order you to look for?—anything in particular?"
The fellow was puzzled.
"'Tweren't nothink in particler, to be sure. Says
he, ' Keep yer eyes open,' and I kep 'em."
"For what were your eyes to be kept open?"
"Why, for that there pencil, silly."
The Court laughed, really heartily this time, and
there was even a twinkle in Mr. Justice Nonagen's eye
when he exclaimed: "If you do not behave yourself
I will commit you," a threat which was as water upon
the back of this self-satisfied duck. Sir Horace, how-
ever, kept his temper.
"Did your master specify a pencil when he sent you
to search the wood?"
"He didn't say narthen abart it. 'You keep yer
eyes open, Blow,' says he, 'and likely you'll find sum-
mat. It's as good as a five-pun note in your pocket,'
says he—and I'm j owned if it weren't."
"You certainly will get yourself into trouble," cried
Mr. Justice Nonagen sternly.
The witness declared that he was very sorry to hear
it. "Becos I must speak the truth, my hid; it's in
me jess the same as it were in my old feyther before


THE TRIAL
429
"My lord," he said, " if you will have the good-
ness to read the name upon the pencil to the
jury!"
The judge fumbled for his glasses, and when he had
arranged them and drawn the candle nearer, he read
the name as requested:
"Everard et ses Fils, Rue Vancourt, Paris."
Sir Horace made no comment; the Court itself re-
flected the profound admiration with which the details
of this splendid fabric of defence were being accumu-
lated. Excitement ran high, and the cries of the ush-
ers now added to it—for they were calling Stella In-
sole^ and a moment later Lord Kerrimore's daughter
stood in the box.
She was dressed very simply in a plain black gown
with a black hat and feather she had last worn at
Aizy-la-Belle. Very pale and self-possessed, it was
clear that she also would be an ideal witness—if testi-
mony at this stage were worth anything at all. Never-
theless Sir Horace examined her closely, and in a kindly
tone which won general sympathy.
"You were one of Lady Anna's friends, I think?"
"Yes, indeed, she was a dear friend."
"How long had you known her?"
"Since she returned from India three years ago."
"Did you see much of her during that time?"
"I saw her very frequently during the last year."
"Where was that?"
"At my father's house in London, also at the prince's
houses in Park Lane and at Streatly."
"Could you tell the Court if she enjoyed good health
during that time?"


4S0 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"I should not have called her a delicate woman. She
suffered occasionally from neuralgic headaches."
"Are you aware what remedies she took for them?"
"Oh yes; Dr. Walther of London recommended her
the tablets of Baro & Malquevart of Rheims; she used
to send to Paris for them."
"Why to Paris? Are they not to be obtained in
London?"
"She had the idea that the tablets were fresher when
they came from France."
"And so she sent direct to Paris for them. Do you
happen to know the name of the chemist to whom she
wrote?"
"It was a house in the Rue St. Honore. I cannot
remember the number, but I think the name of the firm
was SchefFer. She used to get them from there twice
a month."
"Did she advise you to take the drug?"
"Yes, that is how I came to know of it. She gave
me a bottle. I think it was as long ago as last
April."
"Could you tell the Court when this poor lady last
sent to Paris for any of this Seronal?"
Stella shook her head.
"I am unable to do that."
Sir Horace accepted it.
"I will ask you another question, Miss Insole. Is
it not a fact that you searched Lady Anna's dressing-
room after the police had been at Highlands?"
She bent her head.
"Will you tell the jury just what you discovered
there?"


432 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
jade could become invisible at will. I think he said
it was a Chinese superstition—certainly he believed the
heart to be lucky."
"Lady Anna thought that too?"
"In a way. She was wont to say that if ever she
were in trouble, she hoped that the green heart might
hide her."
"Meaning by that, I suppose, that it would make
her invisible?"
"I think it must have been so."
The judge intervened to say that a good many peo-
ple would pay a high price for such a trinket if its
powers could be established; and when this profound
observation had properly amused the Court, Sir Horace
put a last question to Stella.
"There was some foolish talk at the Police Court
of shuffling steps heard by you on the night you
searched this room. Is it true or false?"
"It is true; the steps were those of the boy Hassan
employed in the stables."
"How do you know that?"
"He has confessed as much to the prince and to me."
"What was he doing in Lady Anna's dressing-
room?"
"I cannot tell you, if he were not sent there by
Michel Ghika, the Roumanian."
"But you heard his steps distinctly?"
"Quite distinctly; I think he was very near me."
Sir Horace said, " Thank you "; and after Montagu
Wilson had intimated that he had no questions to ask,
Stella withdrew immediately and disappeared through
the private door behind her.


THE TRIAL
433
The next witness was a groom from Highlands, to
whom, directly he had been sworn, Sir Horace passed
a small wooden box, containing a complete bottle such
as chemists use for tablets, and the portion of another
bottle broken across the middle.
"You are a groom in the service of Prince Maure-
vale, I think?"
"I ham, sir."
"And a very nice, well-dressed ham you are—do you
recognise those bottles, my boy?"
"Should know them anywhere, sir."
"Why should you know them?"
"Because they were worth five of the best to me."
Mr. Justice Nonagen asked what "five of the best"
might be, and receiving the answer that the youth
indicated a present of five pounds sterling, his lordship
exclaimed that he would really like to send such an
answer to the Board of Education, and to hear what
it had to say for itself.
"I suppose," he remarked, "that we individually
have had to make some contribution to this youth's
education. And yet he comes to us and speaks of ' five
of the best.'"
"I meant 4 thick uns,' my lord," exclaimed the
groom, quite unconscious of his offence. The learned
judge succumbed at once in a philological agony of a
distressing kind. Clearly, this young man was hopeless.
"You received five pounds for those bottles," Sir
Horace went on. "Why did you receive them?"
"For finding 'em in the muck heap."
"Muck heap—what is that, pray?"
"Why, where the ashes go, ain't it?"


THE TRIAL
435
the Court wholly lighted. None of those present, how-
ever, had a thought for dinner or for the trains which
did or did not depart from London. Would they put
the prisoner in the box—would he be heard for him-
self?
The question was answered after a dramatic instant
of delay.
"Call John Philip Ferman."
The words rang through the Court as though the
prisoner were away on the recreation ground, and not
in the dock before them.
Ferman brushed the flaxen curl back from his fore-
head, buttoned the top button of his frock coat, and
stepped into the box. He took the book firmly, and
kissed it very earnestly. Then he turned right round
and faced the advocate.
"You are John Philip Ferman—late of the Second
Battalion of the Manchester Regiment?"
"I am."
"You were lately on the general staff—having
passed the necessary examination, I think?"
"It is true."
Sir Horace allowed a moment to pass. He drew his
gown back with a firm gesture, looked straight at the
jury, and in a voice trembling with emotion, he put his
question.
"I ask you in the name of Almighty God, did you
murder Lady Anna Maclain?"
"I answer you, sir—in the name of Almighty God,
I did not."
Sir Horace did not utter another word—he sat down
waiting for Montagu Wilson. The Court hardly


436 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
breathed in this moment of tense passion and expecta-
tion which burned.
"I have no questions to ask the prisoner."
"Then, my lord," said Sir Horace, rising slowly,
"that is the case for the defence."
He drew his gown back, and once more arranged
the papers on the table before him. To him it mattered
nothing that the foreman of the jury already desired
to communicate a decision to the judge. What he had
to say must be said though a legion intervened.
"May it please your lordship."
There were many admirers of this great advocate
in Court, and not a few who knew his manner well.
To-day they found him changed, and wondered at the
profundity of an emotion which he was at no pains to
conceal. Not as one who would plead with the jury,
but who would remind them of their deliverance, did
he begin that brief address. And in the same spirit
he terminated it—the spirit of earnest thankfulness,
nay, even of humility.
"Gentlemen, reflect—but for a master mind which
has taken this great burden from our shoulders, I
might be pleading with you at this moment for the
life of the prisoner you are about to acquit. Such
eloquence as I possess might have been unavailing in
the face of the evidence you had heard, and the wit-
nesses who had been called before you. You would,
perhaps, on testimony that seemed good to you—per-
haps in the certain belief that John Philip Ferman was
a guilty man—have sent him to his death. From that
calamity a stranger within our gates has saved us.
He who has been a guest among us many years, be-


THE TRIAL
437
loved of the people, that courtly gentleman, that noble
prince, has taught us how little is the worth of much
which seems convincing, how terrible are the possibili-
ties of mistake even under the beneficent laws of Eng-
land. And we have learned our lesson in all humility.
We have bent out heads to that destiny which bids us
set the prisoner free, nay, which commands us to honour
him."
There was a murmur of applause here; it would have
grown to a tumult but for the upraised hand of the
judge and the ushers' loud cries for silence. It had
hardly died away when the speaker resumed.
"Gentlemen, you are about to acquit the prisoner,
but never to the end of your lives forget that the wis-
dom, the perception, the intellect of one man stood be-
tween you and this crime against the truth. But for
that intervention the name of John Philip Ferman might
have been execrated through the land. I see him sent
forth dishonoured, nay, branded, as the murderer of the
woman he had loved, condemned by this Court to death,
a felon of felons, a miscreant of miscreants. And now
we know that he was the truest friend this poor lady
ever possessed; we know that he would have shielded
her from her follies; would have given his life for her;
would have gone to the grave rather than utter one
word concerning those difficulties which afflicted her.
Gentlemen of the jury, such is the prisoner. As the
law has put shame upon him, so will those who make
the laws atone. Be it yours to set the good example;
yours to trumpet these tidings far and wide; yours
to remember while you live that God Almighty has
watched over you in this ordeal, and has sent John


CHAPTER XXXII
8IE MALCOLM EEVISITS HIGHLANDS
The train which carried Sir Malcolm Morrison into
Oxfordshire arrived at Goring Station at ten minutes
to three upon the third day after the trial, and a
brougham being there to meet him, the distinguished
officer was driven at once to Highlands Castle.
Perhaps he would have admitted to none the strength
of the curiosity, nay, of the admiration, which impelled
him to this visit. A master of investigation himself,
one whose name stood high on the world's record of
criminologists, none the less he could admit the pro-
fundity of the genius which had saved John Philip Fer-
man and had solved one of the most amazing mysteries
of the time.
And now he himself would learn and profit by this
genius if he could. There was neither shame nor hu-
miliation in the motive. Sir Malcolm went to High-
lands Castle to discover, if he could, the system upon
which Maurevale had worked, and the nature of that
inductive method by which he had achieved a victory so
remarkable. And in this the prince encouraged him,
answering his letter at once, and bidding him come to
the Castle without delay.
The men met in the prince's room, that vast apart-
ment in the west wing wherein he had talked with Stella
on the day of the inquest. Hither a servant carried
coffee and Russian cigarettes, and when these had been
440


442 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"A pleasant family, prince—I congratulate you."
"Oh, don't congratulate me. The credit belongs to
Paul. He has been watching the woman for me, and
it was he who remembered the case. A great thing
is a good memory—especially in criminal cases, Sir
Malcolm. I am sure you must find it so?"
"I wish that I did—consistently. My memory is
both good and bad. I remember surnames but have
no memory for Christian names, recall dates but forget
days. It has always been so with me. Anno Domini
has nothing to do with it."
"The world would hardly guess as much by your
record. Permit the expression—we are friends and
alone. I have the greatest admiration for your achieve-
ments ; but, my dear sir, officialdom bound by precedent
must often fail when the pinch comes. Then it is the
free-lance who succeeds—the man without ideas, one
to whom the field is fallow, who will plant the seeds
himself and gather the fruit. I have been such a
free-lance in this case you have come here to speak
about. I started with empty hands and returned with
my harvest. Why? Because I was without precon-
ceived notions, listened to nothing which the facts did
not establish, and positively denied myself the luxury
of any theory at all. That is why I succeeded where
authority failed. Do you not admit it yourself?"
The question was put with great good humor, but
Sir Malcolm hesitated to answer it.
"If I could admit your premiss, yes. But did you
start from nothing, Highness? Did you not start from
a wine-glass and a little water? I think it is fair to
remember that."


SIR MALCOLM REVISITS HIGHLANDS 443
The prince remained unruffled.
"Let us admit it," he said quietly; "I start with
this wine-glass and this water—it is the first of the
facts upon which I work. You people heard of it
upon the following day, however, and yet you persisted
before the magistrates with your theory of coniine found
in Ferman's rooms—an old preparation left by a medi-
cal student who was there before him, and obviously
having nothing to do with this affair. Now, my dear
Sir Malcolm, was not that official obstinacy?"
"Undoubtedly. I do not defend it. Zeal, my
dear sir, is almost as dangerous in my profession as
candour in a parson's. That is what I said to you
three months ago. We are called in when the mischief
is done. A bungler from the provinces gives the whole
case away, and we must stand by him at the trial. I
heard of the coniine and believed it good evidence—
until I had the medical report. Unfortunately that
came after the case had been opened at Reading. So
there we are, tied to an absurdity from the beginning.
You, on the contrary, started with the knowledge of
the tablet. I consider that a very great advantage.
You knew that she had been poisoned by aconitine—
you almost told me so, I remember, at our interview."
The prince reflected, then he said with some delibera-
tion:
"I think that I did, but it must have been with re-
serve. When the analysis was first shown to me, I
thought the chemist an ignoramus; but he came from
Zurich with the finest credentials. His obstinacy, his
earnestness, at length convinced me. I saw that the
poor lady had been poisoned by a madman. The very


444 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
idea of so simple a fellow as Jack Ferman employing
such drugs seemed to me untenable. And from that
point I began."
"Having taken the opportunity of searching the
poor lady's rooms before the police arrived?"
"Quite so, and why not? My house is my own.
If the act were a conceit, it has been justified. I went
to her rooms while the car was got ready to carry us
to Pangbourne; I saw the glass of water upon her
dressing-table. Was it not natural to safeguard it?
For me the case began from that moment. I did not
know that she was dead; but a premonition of her
death went with me upon the journey. I was already
at work before I looked upon her dead body."
"Then you must have known that there was a
story?"
Maurevale looked up in surprise—the question
troubled him.
"What I knew, her friends knew," he said quietly.
"She had not been happy in her girlhood—she ad-
mitted as much to many. I observed that she spoke
of the East, sometimes with longing, sometimes with
abhorrence. I have seen her burst into tears before
a picture of an Eastern garden; once in Paris, when
Duvique's great drawing of Wady Haifa was hung,
her distress was pitiable to see. Yet I will confess to'
you that its meaning was unknown to me. That there
might have been a man was the obvious deduction. I
thought that she had been in love in the East and had
never forgotten some girlish romance which any picture
of the Orient could recall for her. More I did not
know—until I first heard the name of Tahir Pasha."


446 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
little short of scandalous; that half the Englishwomen
in Cairo were in love with the man and would have
been at his feet for a nod. The facts were many by
this time, and it needed an eclectic judgment to deal
with them. I began to perceive a human motive and
to say that, while the Count of Fours had been in love
with Lady Anna, his wife, the Countess, was as cer-
tainly jealous of my friend. From that it was easy
to go deeper, to sift the gossip of the time, the history
of the persons concerned, their acts and the conse-
quences. I learned that the Count of Fours, a loyal
Frenchman, was suspected of some dealings with the
Revolutionaries. Tahir Pasha fell into disfavour, was
accused of treachery and fled from Cairo. The Lady
Anna disappeared with her brother, the Earl of Far-
rard, and is not heard of for many months. Then
she reappears in India—but a changed woman. The
flirtations, the girlish escapades, the originality of a
spirited character are of the past. She is said to shun
the society of men, to have become a recluse, to have
joined the Roman Church. Then I begin to think that
I know—even as you know at this moment."
He threw the end of his cigarette away and took
another. Sir Malcolm had been too interested to in-
terrupt him, and almost resented the interlude.
"Of course I read your letter to the prosecution,"
he remarked quietly, " it was your wish, I understood."
"Assuredly, it was my wish. There are secrets
which all the town shares and yet they are secrets.
At a hazard there are just about a dozen people in
England who know that Anna Maclain was the wife
of Tahir Pasha. There may be five hundred in a


448 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
if not that the scandal connected with Anna Maclain.
had been one affecting her honour and the honour of her
race? I perceived as much at the start and began
to act upon it. Then come the conspirators, these
hawks preying upon our society, who also net the
rumours and would land them. I meet that master of
duplicity, Frederick Walther, and I understand that
he is in hot pursuit of Anna's story that he may black-
mail me into selling him my patents. My judgment
tells me that Lady Constance Heliers is in his power,
and that he is employing a woman's wit to do what
a man's could never do. At Wargrave, at her house
there, I first heard of the instrument of this conspiracy.
Her ladyship did not expect me and I came. Her
agitation served me well—I frightened and drugged
her. Had I not the right to do it at such an hour
and under circumstances so dramatic? She was ex-
pecting some one, I said, and that man would be the
link. When he came and I saw him, this Michel Ghika
whom they buried yesterday, I dismissed him as a go-
between, a mere scullion in the kitchen of intrigue.
But I was wrong—and I was wrong because I had then
carried Tahir Pasha's history but a little way. Of
Sabine Ghika, who was his second wife, I had not heard.
I did not know that Lady Anna had fled to the desert
with Tahir, driven by a girlish mania for Eastern ro-
mance, and duped by this fine fellow of a Bimbashi.
Of her so-called marriage by the old priest Mahomet,
I was equally ignorant. The fact that she lived for
seven weeks with her soldier in the steam yacht which
used to be the delight of the ladies of Cairo, was yet
to be discovered. None of these things are now hidden


452 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
of this sort without mistakes? I made many, and
admit them."
"But, like a good general, you repair them. The
clues were many undoubtedly."
"They were many."
"And you had not lost sight of the Count of Fours."
The Prince smiled at this idea.
"Very far from it. That amiable old gentleman
had invited suspicion in a way that was ludicrous. To
begin with, he leaves his stick in the boat. Then, in
his great anxiety to know what the police had found
in Lady Anna's dressing-room, he listens at the doors
and drops the button of his order on the mat. An un-
fortunate old gentleman truly. He was lucky that you
did not arrest him."
"We came near to doing so, I assure you."
"And did not do so because of your mistake about
Blandy. Well, I am in your debt there; the compli-
ment you paid my judgment in withholding the writ
against Blandy is one I shall remember."
Sir Malcolm sighed.
"I took your word for him—I thought it better.
We wanted all the light we could get, and your promise
to make use of him interested me. Of course the case
against him was very thin when the motives of the
visit to Ely and to the bedroom were explained."
"Obviously they were, and yet others might have
been suspected with some reason. Looking back upon
the case now, I name five people whose part in this affair
might well have mystified your men. This Count of
Fours, who knew Anna in Egypt, who had been in love
with her, the first man to whom Michel Ghika addressed


SIR MALCOLM REVISITS HIGHLANDS 453
himself in London—what were his thoughts upon the
morning of the murder? I am not the keeper of his
conscience; but I say at once that he feared one of
two things, either that Ghika was the murderer, or that
the crime had been committed by madame his wife in
a fit of intolerable jealousy. Madame de Fours, on
the other hand, may have believed that her husband
had been making love to her old rival, and had killed
her in a fit of mad anger which passion alone would
justify. Going on down the list, there is Lady Con-
stance Heliers, who suspects that Frederick Walther
may have been the murderer, and is dreadfully afraid
that her intrigue with him will be discovered. My
own assistant, Otto, is next on the list, and is suspected
by those who know nothing of his character; but ob-
serve, my dear Sir Malcolm, that all these doubts and
suspicions are not a matter of so many coincidences;
they are directly attributable to the central fact of
this Egyptian tragedy and its consequences. Putting
Otto Walther aside, you discover that the Count and
Countess were in Cairo at the very moment this poor
lady surrendered to the impulses of her passion.
Sabine Ghika is there with her brother, and is one of
those who would win Tahir's love. The woman Prevost
is actually in the service of two of the houses, and is
chosen as the child's guardian because she knows some-
thing of the secret already, and may discover it wholly
if she be dismissed. And so, you see, the threads of
the drama are drawn together at this very house, and
become the band which binds the sheaves of our infer-
ences. It remains but to say that our circle is com-
plete, and that within it we shall find the murderer."


454 THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART
"Who, as a matter of fact, stood outside alto-
gether?"
Maurevale did not answer the question for a little
while. The slightly ironic tone did not annoy him,
nor was he quite conscious of it. Perhaps he re-
called that memorable morning when he had opened
Dr. Morenceau's letter and first suspected the
truth.
"Human judgment is a fallible implement," he said
at last, "and mankind will be the victim of it to the
end. We speak of right reason, but what an irony
are the words. Astronomers gazing at the stars,
philosophers searching the records of men, cry, here
is the truth, or there. We know upon what shallow
ground they build, and how soon their houses fall. If
truth be found, it is within us, in those impulses, those
faiths, those inferences of which we are rarely master.
I labour for a month amid learned men trying to dis-
cover this or that axiom of life, and the voice of a
child reveals it to me. I cry aloud that I am right,
and the taunt not of reason but of ignorance mocks
me. And so to the end time will laugh at our In-
fallibility, and mock the seers who are its worshippers.
Let the didactic among us remember these truths, and
humanity will find humility its handmaiden. Forget
them, and the clock is put back, and the light becomes
wan before our eyes."
He paced the room again, hardly conscious of the
measure of his rebuke, or of the assent which silence
implied. Sir Malcolm, perhaps, was reflecting how
often infallibility had troubled his fellows, and how
swift had been the punishments. But he said nothing,


SIR MALCOLM REVISITS HIGHLANDS 455
and when some moments had passed the prince answered
that question which the interlude ignored.
"The murderer was without, yes. Had my intellect
not cheated me, I should have known it from the begin-
ning. For what man with a glimmer of reason left
to him would have murdered a woman and then rowed
half-way from Goring to Pangbourne in a boat with
her? Would he not rather have fled at once, making
the most of the precious moments, and so winning his
own freedom? So much I overlooked in all my argu-
ment. It remained for a savant of Paris to recall me
to the truth, to say, 'Your murderer is neither here
nor there; but an assassin who never saw his victim, who
slew her from the meanest motives of revenge, who is
accused and judged, who is dead.' The rest the Court
has told you. I am become a hero among your people,
but have no title to their gratitude. The finger of
God has shown me the road, and I have followed it—
even as it was revealed to me. So to God be the
thanks, for from Him is all truth."
He went to the window, and the sun of an October
afternoon shone full upon his face, the face of a
dreamer and a poet now.
And as he stood he heard Stella's voice in the garden,
and with a word of excuse to his guest he went out to
her.
THE END