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THE RED CAVALIER









“THE FIGURE DARTED ACROSS THE TERRACE AND
VANISHED IN THE NIGHT."
(See page 57)


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THE
RED CAVALIER
OR
THE TWIN TURRETS MYSTERY
BY GLADYS EDSON LOCKE
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN FULL COLOR
FROM A PAINTING BY
CHARLES E. BARNES

UR
SPE
LEVIS
BOSTON
THE PAGE COMPANY
MDCCCCXXII


23673.13.130
HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY
Copyright, 1922
By The Page COMPANY
All rights reserved
Made in U.S. A.
First Impression, April, 1922
PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
227
.
.
.
237
250
262
276
290
XXI. A QUESTION OF COSTUME . .
XXII. A QUESTION OF IDENTITY . .
XXIII. THRUST AND COUNTER . . .
XXIV. THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL..
XXV. “Miss WILTON” . . . .
XXVI. DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS . .
XXVII. IN SIR ROBERT'S CHAMBER
XXVIII. THE CAVALIER UNMASKED . .
XXIX. ON THE TRAIL
XXX. THE EYES OF BRAHMA . . .
XXXI. GATHERING UP THE THREADS .
XXXII. AFTER THE STORM . . . .
301
310
324
337
.
.
.
351
364


THE RED CAVALIER
CHAPTER I
MISS VANDELIA VENTURES
LORD BORROWDEAN heaved a sigh of boredom
and, adjusting his monocle, stared languidly about
the scantily filled lecture-hall. Lectures always
proved tedious to the young man and he had come
to this particular one simply because he felt it his
duty to the lecturer, who was one of his lordship’s
numerous protégés.
As Borrowdean's monocled eye swept over the
audience, some members of which appeared mildly
interested, and others as hopelessly bored as he, his
notice was attracted to an extremely aristocratic,
rather formidable-looking woman of middle age
seated just across the aisle. She held herself stiffly
erect, all attention to the lecturer, her sharp grey
eyes never shifting from his face as he described, in
what seemed to Borrowdean wearisome detail, the
history and architecture of an old Castle in York-
shire, whose two ancient towers, whence came its
name "Twin Turrets,” were said to date back to
the Wars of the Roses.


THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean smiled to himself at Miss Vandelia
Egerton's absorption. He remembered that the
study of the antiquities of England amounted with
her almost to a passion, if so intense a term could be
applied to the pursuits of a well-ordered British
spinster and high-churchwoman. Miss Vandelia
possessed but this one little weakness, unless per-
haps, an almost doting affection for her handsome
nephew, Max, could be placed in the same category.
But then what woman was there who did not look
with indulgent eyes on Maxwell Egerton?
A stir at the back of the hall made Miss Vandelia
glance sharply over her shoulder in impatience of
the disturbance. Then an expression of astonish-
ment, if not of actual consternation, spread over her
countenance. She half started up from her chair,
then as suddenly sat down again.
Borrowdean looked curiously toward the back of
the hall, but he could see nothing terrifying, though
there was indeed something a little unusual, in the
appearance of the two late comers. To begin with,
both were obviously Hindus. The younger, a man
in the early thirties, was dressed in correct European
attire, silk hat, frock coat, and properly subdued
tie; yet the very contrast of his Western garb with
the black hair and eyes and brown face of the East
Indian made him a striking figure. His companion,
a majestic old man, with white flowing beard, wore
full native costume, turban and loose robe.
The two Hindus walked to seats in the center of


MISS VANDELIA VENTURES
3
the hall, carrying themselves with the dignified and
assured bearing of princes. At once they became
thoroughly, almost breathlessly, engrossed in the
lecture.
Miss Egerton's attention began to wander from
the old Yorkshire Castle to the two East Indians,
whose presence appeared to cause her great disquiet.
Borrowdean, on the contrary, commenced at last to
feel a mild interest in the description of “Twin
Turrets,” mainly because of the extraordinary ab-
sorption evinced in it by the two stately Hindus.
While the lecturer was waiting for some stereop-
ticon views to be projected on the screen, the tension
of the two foreigners relaxed. The younger glanced
about the hall in a calmly curious and even detached
fashion, as though considering himself immeasurably
superior to the handful of Britishers comprising the
audience. Suddenly his arrogant gaze rested on
Miss Egerton, who was in the act of bowing to
Borrowdean whom she had just recognized. In-
stantly a change came over the Hindu's face; his
eye kindled and he addressed his companion in a
fierce, eager whisper. The old man followed his
glance and Borrowdean did not like the expression
of grim resolve that settled over his harsh features
as he surveyed Miss Egerton who, becoming con-
scious that she was the object of the Hindus'scrutiny,
straightened in her chair with an air that plainly
spoke defiance and an equally firm resolve.
Borrowdean was wondering how on earth this


THE RED CAVALIER
staid British spinster of excellent family could have
incurred the enmity, for such it undoubtedly was,
of these two men from the occult East, when the
lights were switched off for the first picture. There
was some trouble with the projecting lantern, and
for two or three minutes the hall was in darkness.
Borrowdean was startled by feeling a hand laid on
his shoulder and hearing Miss Vandelia Egerton
bid him, in an authoritative whisper, get up and
accompany her outside as noiselessly as possible.
They had just reached the main exit when the lights
went on again. The two Hindus had risen from their
seats and were making their way down the aisle with
undignified haste.
Miss Egerton clutched Borrowdean's arm. “Get
me a taxicab as quick as you can!”
Borrowdean, in a state of bewilderment, hailed a
waiting taxicab before the commissionaire could
blow his whistle. Miss Egerton literally leaped into
the cab, with a fine disregard of the usual composure
with which she moved.
“Get in too, Borrowdean! Tell him to drive at
the top of his speed to Cockerill and Waddington's
in Oxford Street.”
Borrowdean obeyed, being accustomed, as all who
knew Miss Egerton were, to her high-handed fashion
of disposing of other people's time to suit her own
pleasure. As the taxi shot forward, the two Hindus
issued agitatedly from the lecture-hall. Borrow-
dean, as the cab with a bold contempt for the rights


MISS VANDELIA VENTURES
5
and safety of others, plunged into that ceaseless
stream of traffic which at certain hours makes the
London streets fairly impassable, had a final glimpse
of a distracted commissionaire trying vainly to
secure a taxi in obedience to the impatient commands
of the two East Indians.
Miss Vandelia's expression was positively tri-
umphant. “We've beaten them! Drive faster,
fellow!” speaking through the tube which she found
by her side.
Borrowdean ventured a faint remonstrance. “My
dear Miss Egerton, if he drives any faster, we shall
all be haled into Bow Street Police Court for endan-
gering the lives of the public.”
"Don't try to be humorous, Borrowdean.” Miss
Vandelia sat on the extreme edge of the seat, leaning
forward as though hoping to hasten the speed of the
taxi by the very intensity of her impatience. “I
tell you we haven't a moment to lose.”
"Perhaps,” suggested Borrowdean, "you will
explain what sort of an enterprise this is we are
embarking upon?”
"Borrowdean,” in a severely rebuking tone, “ you
have an inordinate curiosity; I haven't the time
now to gratify it. You must wait till we reach
Cockerill and Waddington's. I trust this little trip
is not inconveniencing you?”
“Oh, not at all.” Borrowdean resignedly clasped
his hands over his malacca walking-stick. At least,
this little excursion was a break in the boredom of


THE RED CAVALIER
social life. “I am entirely at your disposal, Miss
Egerton.”
She leaned suddenly from the window. “There
is a taxicab following us! Offer that fellow any
inducement-I don't care what-so that we out-
distance it.” :
Borrowdean obediently spoke through the tube,
and with such eloquence that presently the taxi,
after having narrowly escaped running down several
indignant “bobbies” who had endeavoured to check
its speed in the interests of humanity, stopped with
a jerk before the impozing building in Oxford Street
which contained the offices of Messrs. Cockerill and
Waddington, the London estate agents who make a
specialty of letting and selling old houses of historic
interest. Miss Egerton sprang from the cab unaided
before Borrowdean could collect himself sufficiently
to assist her. She precipitated herself into the wait-
ing lift while he was making a leisurely descent from
the taxi:
· But this unconventional haste on the part of one
who had always hitherto shown a rigid regard for
the proprieties of etiquette was beginning to enthuse
Borrowdean, most unemotional of men, and he
gained her side in the lift with something approach-
ing celerity. He was even conscious of a little
thrill of expectation as the elevator shot upward.
The offices of Messrs. Cockerill and Waddington
were on the third floor. Miss Egerton swept through
the swinging doors into the inner office with a vehe-


MISS VANDELIA VENTURES 7
mence that brought Mr. Waddington, a benevolent-
featured elderly gentleman, in amazement to his feet.
"I'll take it, Mr. Waddington,” she cried.
He blinked at her dazedly over his gold-rimmed
spectacles. "I beg your pardon, madam?”.
“Twin Turrets! Mr. Waddington. I have come
to sign the lease. That is plain enough, isn't it?”
Mr. Waddington gave a little cough of embarrass-
ment. “The-ah-fact is, Miss Egerton, since our
little talk yesterday morning when I gave you the
refusal of Twin Turrets for twenty-four hours, that
—that other client whom you met here—".
“You mean that brown-faced, insolent Hindu who
thinks he has only to express a desire and the keys
of every Castle in England will be given up to him?"
Mr. Waddington's embarrassment grew. “I was
referring tomah-to Prince Kassim Bardai of India,
Miss Egerton. He made a-a really magnificent
offer this noon. We should have closed with his
highness at once had you not requested us over the
telephone to extend the refusal until you had oppor-
tunity to hear the lecture and judge for yourself of
the historic merits of Twin Turrets as compared with
other old Castles on our list. Of course, Miss Eger-
ton, you have the refusal until this evening, but-
as I said-the prince's offer is magnificent-really
extraordinary.”
“How much?” demanded Miss Egerton sharply.
“Four thousand guineas per annum for a lease of
five years.”


THE RED CAVALIER
“A rather extraordinary offer indeed," interposed
Borrowdean who, with his gloved hand resting on the
back of a chair, stood listening in an attitude of cour-
teous, if slightly bored, ease. "I shouldn't say the
old place was worth it, Miss Egerton. Probably
the drainage is bad.”
"On the contrary, the drainage is excellent,”
defended Mr. Waddington. “It is the one modern
thing in this wonderful old castle.”
Miss Vandelia stiffened with decision. “Get out
the papers, Mr. Waddington, and I will sign at once.
I duplicate the offer of that Hindu, whatever he
styles himself, though I tell you frankly I consider
four thousand guineas an outrageous sum. I only
pay it on principle to keep our old castles in the
hands of the English-where they should be. It is
bad enough to see the Americans taking possession
of them-but an East Indian adventurer, never!
Where are the papers, Mr. Waddington?”
“Here on the desk, Miss Egerton. If you will
take this chair, please.” From the agent's tone,
one might infer that he was a little disappointed at
losing a Hindu potentate as a client. “I think, Miss
Egerton,” he ventured, “it is hardly fair to term
Prince Kassim Bardai an adventurer. He is a
member of one of the reigning families of India.”
Miss Egerton gave a grunt of disbelief. “They
all are. It makes them popular in society. Haven't
you a respectable pen in your offices, Mr. Wad-
dington?”


MISS VANDELIA VENTURES
9
The agent hastily procured another. “Perhaps
this will suit you better, madam.”
She accepted it with a curt nod. “It couldn't
suit me less."
As she crossed the "t" in her surname with a bold,
masculine dash, the swinging-doors flew open vio-
lently and the younger of the two Hindus sprang
into the office. The old East Indian stalked after
him.
. Both stopped short; there was desperation, rage,
menace on the countenance of the younger man and
a sort of restrained ferocity on that of his companion
as they stared at Miss Egerton, who, after giving
them one glance of unalloyed triumph, blotted her
signature and wiped the pen with a maddening
precision.
The younger Hindu seemed unable to control him-
self and made a threatening movement toward her.
Mr. Waddington turned white with alarm and stood
inert. Borrowdean, his air of languid ease gone,
stepped quickly before Miss Egerton and confronted
the East Indian.
“Can I accommodate you in any way-Prince
Kassim Bardai, I believe?” a sternness in his voice
in place of its usual fashionable drawl.
The Hindu glared in speechless wrath at the Eng-
lishman, tall, broad-shouldered, one who might have
been athletic if he had not chosen to be elegant.
There was a light in Borrowdean's grey eyes that
must have reminded Kassim Bardai of the calm


10
THE RED CAVALIER
masterfulness of those British rulers of India.
His features worked convulsively, but the hand
which had sought the ever-ready dagger fell at his
side. His companion addressed to him words of
advice and rebuke in Hindustanee, and Kassim
Bardai listened with respect and even awe to the
solemn speech of the old man. The rage died from
his face and his manner became more in accord with
his quiet Western dress than had been his violence
of a moment before. He removed his silk hat and
bowed politely, if a little constrainedly, to Miss
Egerton, who was still seated uncompromisingly
erect at the desk, her hand upon the document she
had signed.
"Madam, it is Chand Talsdad's opinion that I
owe you an apology.” Kassim Bardai spoke perfect
English with just a hint of the liquid quality of the
Burmese tongue. “We men of the East are of
ardent temperament and we find it difficult to bear
disappointment with equanimity. It has long
been my wish to become the possessor of an old
English castle and to make my residence there during
several months of each year. Twin Turrets
appeared to me highly desirable, but doubtless
Messrs. Cockerill and Waddington have other old
houses of equal desirability on their list. I regret,
madam, that my disappointment should have caused
me to forget the respect due an English lady and I
beg that you will permit me to wish you full enjoy-
ment of Twin Turrets."


MISS VANDELIA VENTURES 11
dia.
and
che
Kassim Bardai bowed gracefully. One felt under
the courtesy of his words a striving for effect rather
than sincerity. He had not needed to say that he
spoke at the instigation of Chand Talsdad.
Miss Egerton rose with deliberation. She looked
squarely into the handsome, swarthy face of Kassim
Bardai.
“Thank you. I expect to enjoy Twin Turrets."
“I repeat, madam, I hope you may.” Kassim
Bardai's teeth gleamed.
om


CHAPTER II
THE VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS
Miss EGERTON surveyed Borrowdean across the
table in the restaurant at the Carlton. "I suppose,
Borrowdean, you think I have committed a great
folly.”
Borrowdean eyed the hot buttered crumpet on
his plate. “Well rather! Miss Egerton. I don't
believe any old broken-down castle is worth such a
rent as four thousand guineas per annum. There
are other old castles in England that you could lease
for much less. Why were you so determined to
have this one?”
“Apart from its historic interest there are two
reasons. One is that I will permit no East Indian
adventurer to get the better of me, and the other is
that Twin Turrets is situated near Eversleigh
Court.”
Borrowdean smiled comprehendingly. “And Eloise
Eversleigh, the girl whom you would like to have
Max marry, lives at Everslei gh Court."
“Precisely. It is time that Max married and
settled down. He is thirty-three years old and yet
he has no more serious object in life than horses
and flirtations. But” — Miss Egerton's voice soft-
I 2


VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS 13
ened as it always did when she spoke of her
nephew—“Max is good-hearted and a true Egerton
in spite of his irresponsibility which, after all, is only
the boyishness of one who will never grow old.
Max needs nothing more than the steadying influence
of a sensible, clear-sighted wife-not a society doll.
Eloise Eversleigh is just the girl to supply that
influence."
Borrowdean ventured a question. “Does Miss
Eversleigh happen to love Max?”.
Miss Egerton looked slightly nettled. “They
have only met twice—but I intend to remedy that.
Did you ever know a woman with whom Max did
not find favour?”.
Borrowdean winced a little. “No; I don't be-
lieve I ever did.” His tone was somewhat regretful.
He was thinking of a certain woman.—“Do you
know," he asked abruptly, "if Max feels any-ah
-interest in Miss Eversleigh?”
Miss Egerton frowned. “You know perfectly
well, Borrowdean, that at the present moment Max
considers himself in love with Lady Berenice Con-
ingsby. But it is nothing more than infatuation-
senseless infatuation-a few weeks absence and he
will forget her completely."
Borrowdean did not share Miss Egerton's hope-
fulness. He appreciated better than she did the
charms of Lady Berenice.
“It is my intention to have Max spend the
summer with me at Twin Turrets,” resumed Miss


14
THE RED CAVALIER
Egerton. “I tell you frankly, Borrowdean, I shall
throw him and Eloise Eversleigh together as much
as possible. But I suppose, to begin with, I must
have some less obvious purpose in bringing Max
to Twin Turrets, or I shall rouse that masculine
obstinacy which all you men possess. A small
house party would probably please him. You know
his friends better than I, and I am going to do a
rather unconventional thing and leave the selection
of the guests to you. You may invite anyone you
please—except Lady Berenice Coningsby.”
"But, Miss Egerton, I think Berenice is the very
one Max would want the most.”
Miss Egerton's mouth tightened. “You call her
Berenice?"
Borrowdean flushed. “Why yes; we're old pals-
Berenice and I-have been for years.”
Miss Egerton settled back severely in her chair.
“Well, you need not invite her to Twin Turrets.
As I said, I wish Max to forget her. She is dis-
tinctly not the woman whom I could accept as his
wife.”
“Oh, come now, Miss Egerton, what have you
against Berenice? She's a jolly good sort-a fine
woman.”
“That is just it, Borrowdean. I do not approve of
women who are 'a jolly good sort'; and, in the first
place she is a divorcée."
“Her husband was a beastly cad!”
“But her husband,” in an uncompromising tone.


16
THE RED CAVALIER
prince, he bowed to her with a grave, though some-
what elaborate courtesy, which savoured slightly
of the East. Chand Talsdad's rebuke had taken
root, and whatever passion of resentment Kassim
Bardai might still cherish against the successful
lessee of Twin Turrets was concealed under a bearing
of conventional composure, no less correct than that
of any well-bred Englishman.
Miss Egerton inclined her head stiffly in response.
Kassim Bardai, for the first time since entering the
café, addressed his companion. He spoke to her
earnestly, in an undertone, and evidently in Hin-
dustanee. There was little doubt that Miss Egerton
was the subject of the conversation and still less
that the girl stood in abject fear of her escort and
was both distressed and horrified by his words.
She glanced across at Miss Egerton, her eyes filled
now with pathetic appeal, touchingly childish.
She appeared to be struggling with a desire to
escape from Kassim Bardai and yet to lack the
courage even to raise her voice in protest.
Miss Egerton was moved by the girl's obvious
distress. “Borrowdean, I should like to go over
and rescue that poor child from that Hindu ad-
venturer, but I suppose it wouldn't do."
Borrowdean shook his head regretfully. "No;
I don't believe it would. He evidently has some
authority over her. Miss Egerton," leaning toward
her over the table, “I have been thinking of Twin
Turrets—where I have heard of it before. I remem-


VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS 17
ber now that it figured in the newspapers as the
scene of a mysterious murder which has never been
cleared up. The murdered man was the late owner
-a collector of Hindu curios and the possessor of
large shares in the ruby mines of Burma. If I were
you, Miss Egerton, I should give up the lease of
Twin Turrets. I don't like Kassim Bardai and I
like that old greybeard even less.”
"No!” Miss Egerton spoke with decision. “I
shall not allow myself to be driven away from Twin
Turrets either by a couple of East Indian mounte-
banks or by the ghost of a curio collector who ought
to have known better than to dabble in anything
Oriental. I am going back to Cavendish Square.
I can't stand the misery in that poor child's eyes.
Have you finished, Borrowdean?”
Borrowdean politely assured her that he had, but,
as they rose, he could not resist a rueful glance at his
scarcely touched cup of tea. Their sudden departure
evoked the interest of Kassim Bardai, and Borrow-
dean, as he escorted Miss Egerton through the restau-
rant, was acutely conscious of the Hindu's intent gaze.
As Borrowdean handed her into a cab, she re-
minded him that she was leaving to him the selection
of the guests for her house party.
“Not more than four including yourself," she
cautioned him, "and you know whom you are not
to invite. By the way, I wish you could find it
convenient to call on me to-morrow. Why not
come to luncheon? I expect Max then."


18
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean accepted her invitation and then re-
entered the hotel intending to ask the reception
clerk if Prince Kassim Bardai was registered there.
As he was crossing the office, he heard his name
called.
Turning, he saw a petite, very pretty young lady,
dressed in the extreme of fashion, hastening toward
him, one small gloved hand extended.
He stared a moment in amazement. “Why
Ethie!” shaking hands with her somewhat con-
fusedly, “what are you doing in London? I thought
you were in Paris with the Nortons and their party.”
The young lady made an affected little moue.
“So I was, but I found Paris shockingly dull these
last few days—Max was called back to London,"
she explained in a tone of confidence, the ingenạous-
ness of which seemed slightly studied.
In fact, as one looked closely at Miss Ethelyn
Roydon, her prettiness and even her youthfulness
seemed slightly studied. The golden fluff of hair,
straying from under the brim of her smart Paris
hat, was of a little too bright, almost hard shade,
the delicate pink and white of her complexion ap-
peared to owe something to art, the arch of her
brows was almost too perfect, her babylike mouth
a bit over red.
Borrowdean surveyed her thoughtfully for a
moment. “Ah! yes. I knew that Max had re-
turned.”
"I hear that he and Berenice coached to the


VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS 19
races,” observed Ethelyn, striving to speak indif-
ferently, but not altogether succeeding.
Borrowdean looked uncomfortable. He was sorry
for Ethelyn, little Becky Sharp though he knew her
to be. Max was treating her rather shabbily.
True, they had never been formally engaged but,
for a brief spell some three or four years previous,
before Ethelyn's beauty had needed to borrow from
art, Max had been no less devoted to her than he
now was to Berenice. As a matter of fact, there
had even been gossip; and then, Max's fickle fancy
turning, he became no less assiduous in fleeing from
Ethelyn than formerly he had been in running after
her. -
Borrowdean was aware that he must say some-
thing. “I believe Max did take several friends
down to the races."
Ethelyn moistened her lips. “Do you know
where I could reach Max with a telephone or letter?
His rooms are closed and the porter does not know
when he will be back. He left Paris in such a hurry
that he forgot to give me his address.” Her tone
was successfully light, but her expression a little
tremulous.
Borrowdean did not know what to say so he
blundered into the truth, telling of Miss Egerton's
renting of Twin Turrets and her intention to have
Max pass the summer with her there.
“What a very peculiar woman Miss Egerton must
be,” remarked Ethelyn reflectively, “to leave the


20
THE RED CAVALIER
selection of her guests to you. Have you invited
any one as yet?”
“Not as yet." His manner was guarded. He
knew instinctively what was coming.
Ethelyn laid her little gloved hand appealingly
on his arm. “Reggie, couldn't you—couldn't you
invite me for one of the guests? I'd so love to pass
a few weeks in Yorkshire. I dote on old castles.”
Borrowdean felt utterly helpless. He knew what
Ethelyn's persistency was and that she was almost
always successful in securing desired invitations.
In fact, extended visits at the houses of acquaint-
ances, casual or otherwise, was Miss Roydon's
favorite method of eking out the very slender
annuity which was all that her father had managed
to save for her out of an extensive patrimony which
he had dissipated in the three popular pursuits of
pleasure-living gentlemen.
"I don't know what to say Ethie,” Borrowdean
stammered in desperation, "you don't even know
Miss Egerton."
“But I should like to! Reggie,” Ethelyn's voice
became very plaintive, “I'm fairly down to my
last penny. If you don't take pity on me, I shall
be forced to spend the summer here in London and
I am sure the heat will kill me. Really, Reggie,
I'm half sick now."
Borrowdean's unhappiness grew. Max would
never forgive him if he invited Ethelyn, and as for
Miss Egerton, Ethelyn was another of her pet


VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS 21
aversions. He stole a glance at Ethie. She didn't
look strong, there were circles under her eyes not
due to art and a drawn expression about her mouth.
London would be a beastly hole in the heat of
summer.
Miss Roydon, seeing his hesitancy, pressed her
plea. "I should be so grateful to you, Reggie.”
He could hold out no longer. After all, Miss
Egerton had named only one whom he was not to
invite.
“Very well, Ethie," with what heartiness he could
summon up, "you are to consider yourself invited
to Twin Turrets. You'll enjoy it, I think. I'll
let you know when Miss Egerton expects her house
party.”
He made his escape as quickly as possible from
Miss Roydon and her rather gushing thanks, lest
he be tempted to withdraw the invitation which he
already regretted. As he stepped toward the
mahogany counter in the office to make inquiries
regarding Kassim Bardai, that gentleman himself
entered from the direction of the restaurant and
approached Borrowdean. The young Hindu girl
was still with the prince, but she kept at a little
distance, her eyes fixed anxiously on Borrowdean
as Kassim Bardai addressed him.
“You will pardon me,” the East Indian said,
speaking in his correct, somewhat stilted English,
“but I believe you are the gentleman who accom-
panied Miss Egerton this afternoon to the offices


22
THE RED CAVALIER
of Messrs. Cockerill and Waddington in Oxford
Street?”
Borrowdean screwed the monocle into his eye
and stared curiously at the Hindu. "I did accom-
pany Miss Egerton."
Kassim Bardai plainly resented the Englishman's
stare. A dark flush mounted to his face, but he
contrived to hold his voice even. “Perhaps then
you can inform me if you think it likely that Miss
Egerton could be prevailed upon to reconsider-
that is, to surrender the lease of Twin Turrets.
There are several reasons why I wish to rent this
estate. I am prepared to make Messrs. Cockerill
and Waddington an even larger offer."
Borrowdean continued to find his eye-glass useful.
“You are jolly eager to get the keys of that battered
old castle, Prince Kassim Bardai. Its fame must
have penetrated to India. Might I ask,” with an
exasperating drawl, "which part of its history in-
terests your highness most, the fifteenth century
period when barons wore roses and battled for rival
kings or," and Borrowdean's voice became suddenly
crisp and stern, “a more recent period, say a year
or so ago when the late owner of Twin Turrets, a
gentleman who had many affiliations with your
country was found mysteriously murdered? A
Hindu dagger, I believe, was the death-dealing in-
strument.” His voice had dropped again into a
drawl and he readjusted the monocle for another
scrutiny of Kassim Bardai's face.


VENTURE ASSUMES PROPORTIONS 23
There was a tigrish glint in the East Indian eyes
and his upper lip curled, showing the gleam of his
teeth. But, in an instant, as though in obedience
to some will mightier than his own, he crushed all
outer semblance of passion. Once more he pre-
sented the composed and assured bearing of a man
of caste. For the first time Borrowdean, observing
the marvellous self-control which he exercised,
believed in the reality of his being a prince of India.
“I will answer your question,” Kassim Bardai
remarked, his tone perfectly modulated and even a
little tolerant. "I am interested in the history of
no period in the existence of Twin Turrets. As a
matter of fact, I am interested only in the history
of my own country of India, seat of the worship of
supreme Brahma.” The light of religious fervour, of
exaltation illumined the features of Kassim Bardai
as he spoke the name of the first of the Hindu triad.
Borrowdean felt amost a sense of awe. He
glanced at the girl, standing a few paces distant.
The mention of Brahma had set her to trembling
and her olive cheeks were almost white. She was
regarding the impassioned countenance of Kassim
Bardai with an intensity of fear that was fairly
heart-rending. Borrowdean's inherent hate of the
Hindu revived.
Kassim Bardai again put restraint upon himself,
seeming to resent the fact that even for a moment
he had permitted an unbeliever to look into the
soul of a worshipper of Brahma.


24
THE RED CAVALIER
“No,” he went on, clearly forcing himself to use a
more conversational tone, "my interest in Twin
Turrets is in no way connected with its historic
merits-or demerits-either in the past or in the
near present. As I told Miss Egerton in your
presence, I find it desirable to spend a few months
of each year in England and Twin Turrets exactly
suits my purpose. In addition, I consider its loca-
tion near the North Sea an extremely healthful one.
The air there, they tell me, is very–what you
English call bracing—and precisely what my sister,
Princess Lona Bardai”—he indicated the young
girl who was still regarding him with frightened,
fascinated eyes—"is in need of. Her highness has
a delicate constitution.”
"It is a pity to deprive Princess Lona Bardai of
the bracing North Sea air,” observed Borrowdean
dryly, “but Miss Egerton has signed the lease for
Twin Turrets, and I assure you I am perfectly certain
that nothing will induce her to give it up."
He had purposely spoken loudly and he heard the
girl utter a little moan of despair. She was a
pathetic figure—this little Hindu princess; but
Borrowdean judged her ailments to be mental rather
than bodily and wholly due to the thraldom of
terror in which her self-styled brother held her.
Kassim Bardai preserved an emotionless coun-
tenance. “If Miss Egerton is determined to occupy
Twin Turrets, that of course ends the matter. I
have the honour to wish you good-evening.”


CHAPTER III
MAX
BORROWDEAN stopped in at his club before going
on to his rooms. He had learned from the reception
clerk at the Carlton that Kassim Bardai was not
registered at that hotel. It had occurred to him
that some of the members of the club might be able
to give information concerning the Hindu, for, if
he really was, as he claimed to be, a prince of India,
he could not be entirely unknown in London.
However, there was only one man at the club who
had ever heard of Kassim Bardai. This man was
Bellamy, traveller and journalist of international
reputation. He assured Borrowdean that Kassim
Bardai actually was a member of a royal house of
India, but for some mysterious reason had been an
exile from his native land for several years. Bel-
lamy believed that his exile was due to the fact that
the family of the Bardai had in some way brought
upon themselves the wrath of Brahma and that the
priests of the triple god had forbidden Prince Kassim
to return to India until he had performed some act
of vendetta which should appease Brahma.
“But," objected Borrowdean, "the old chap who
travels around with Prince Kassim looks as I should
25


26
THE RED CAVALIER
imagine a Hindu priest would look and why should
a priest travel about with a man who has offended
Brahma?”
Bellamy shrugged. “I don't know, unless to see
that he doesn't get lukewarm in the vendetta act.
I know very little of the priests of that land of
mystery and poisoned daggers-in fact, for pru-
dence's sake I have made it a point to remain igno-
rant—but this I do know: if I had incurred the
enmity of any one even remotely connected with
that three-headed idol I should put the ocean be-
tween that person and myself and in addition build
me an impregnable fortress. The wrath of Brahma
reaches far. I trust that you are not in the black
books of Prince Kassim or his priestly compagnon
de voyage."
Borrowdean leisurely helped himself to a glass of
Vermouth. “If I am, I fancy an able-bodied Eng-
lishman should be a match for even a worshipper
of Brahma.”
Bellamy laughed. “You are insular in your con-
fidence. Don't you know that with the Hindus
able-bodiedness and courage count for nothing?
With them it's a thrust in the dark; and the
coroner's verdict—'persons unknown.'”
Borrowdean lighted a cigarette and leaned back
comfortably in his chair. “Confoundedly interest-
ing, Bellamy. You should lecture on Hindu ven-
dettas.”
“But I'm serious, old fellow. If you have


MAX
27
offended Prince Kassim or that other chap, take the
advice of a friend—and hide!”
"I fancy hiding would bore me." Borrowdean
blew out a little cloud of cigarette smoke. “Do
you happen to know if the wrath of Brahma rests
also on the sister of Prince Kassim?”.
Bellamy looked interested. “Didn't know he
had a sister. Has he?"
"So he says." Borrowdean threw away his
cigarette and stood up, preparatory to leaving.
“If you should hear anything further in regard to
vendettas and the wrath of Brahma, I should be
grateful if you would pass on the information to me."
Bellamy stared at him curiously. “Why do you
take such an interest in Kassim Bardai?”
Borrowdean decided not to gratify his curiosity.
Undoubtedly Miss Egerton would not wish her
affairs discussed at a club.
“One must have some interest in life," he
answered guardedly. “Why not Kassim Bardai
as well as another?”
Bellamy smiled without rancour. “Keep your
own counsel by all means if you prefer, only”—and
he lowered his voice to a dramatic tone—"be careful
you don't bring on yourself the curse of the Azra El
Kab ruby!”
“Is that intended for a joke, Bellamy?"
"I don't know whether it is or not. I don't fancy
Sir Robert Grainger thought so. You remember a
year or more ago he was found dead in the library


28
THE RED CAVALIER
of his castle with a Hindu dagger in his breast.
There was a strip of parchment pasted on the wall
above him and on it in red ink was printed the
words: 'Per order the Azra El Kab ruby'-or some
such rot. I don't remember the exact wording, but
Grainger was dead right enough and there was
poison on the blade of the dagger to make the
thrust sure.”
Borrowdean felt a slight shiver down his phleg-
matic spine. “And this happened, Bellamy?”
“In Yorkshire at a place called Twin Turrets.”
Borrowdean took up his hat and stick. “Sounds
too deuced melodramatic to have happened in Eng-
land.” His tone was perfectly colourless. “Good-
night, Bellamy.”
Borrowdean's state of mind, however, was not
as unemotional as his voice. He was determined to
use every effort to induce Miss Egerton to give up
the lease of Twin Turrets. The scene of a spec-
tacular murder such as this was decidedly not the
place for a respectable English lady to pass the
summer. He felt indignant toward Messrs. Cock-
erill and Waddington for their silence in regard to
the crime which had occurred in this Yorkshire
Castle.
When Borrowdean entered his rooms he discovered
that he had a visitor. His favourite easy-chair was
drawn up before the electric-log fire — for the May
night was cool-a chestnut head reclined against the
cushions and a pair of graceful limbs clad in black


MAX
29
TIS!
evening suit were stretched in indolent comfort upon
a leather ottoman. The visitor did not trouble to
alter his position in the slightest as Borrowdean
crossed the room.
“Making myself at home you see, Reggie,” he
remarked in a lazy, rather musical voice.
Borrowdean caught in a cordial grip the slim,
elegant hand held out to him. “Max, dear old
boy, why haven't you been in to see me before
this?”
Max laughed softly. "First evening I've had to
myself, Reggie. I don't dare to cross London in
broad daylight—too many duns at my heels-rotten
nuisance those chaps.”
Borrowdean stood looking down at his visitor
with an indulgent smile. Maxwell Egerton, for all
his thirty-three years, looked entirely boyish, merry,
and irresponsible as he reclined there in careless
grace. In his very attitude was conspicuous his
distinguishing characteristic—a calm confidence,
an almost insolent assurance in his own powers of
attraction-a characteristic which antagonized most
men but won most women against their better judg-
ment. Then, too, Max was undeniably handsome
with his wavy chestnut hair, blue eyes, and his clear-
cut features. Yet there was something not entirely
lovable about his face—the reckless, half-mocking
light in his eyes perhaps, combined with the cynical,
almost sneering curl of his lips. But Borrowdean,
who regarded Max, his boyhood's playmate, with


30
THE RED CAVALIER
the lenient affection which a man of his steadfast,
slow-going nature would feel for a wayward younger
brother, saw none of these defects in the smiling
face, indolently upturned to his.
Though Borrowdean was only five years older than
Max, he felt at least twenty years his senior, and his
tone was almost paternal as he asked, “You backed
the winner at the races, I hope?”
Max raised his hand in entreaty. “Don't speak
of races, Reggie! I lost heavily on Gypsy Queen.
Berenice lost, too. She's no end worried. She's
up to her ears in debts and had staked everything
on the mare. Now she's no means to meet her
creditors. I'm in the same predicament myself,
but fortunately I am able to take it philosophically.
'Pon my word, Reggie, after all it's jolly exciting
dodging duns. You should try it to relieve that
infernal boredom you suffer from.”
Borrowdean drew up a chair near his guest and
settled himself therein with a sigh of content. “Must
be jolly wearisome for the creditors though. Think
I had rather bore myself. Have a Corona, Max?”
He pushed a box of cigars toward him.
Max selected one. "Thanks. Don't mind if I
do. By the way, Reggie, what is this wild-goose
scheme my revered Aunt has in her bonnet about
leasing a crazy old castle in Yorkshire and dragging
me up there to lay the ghost? I couldn't make
much out of what she said over the telephone except
that it was bound to be a beastly hole to pass the


MAX
31
summer in. What about it, old man? She seems
to have constituted you master of ceremonies.”
Borrowdean lighted his cigar with some eagerness.
“It strikes me, Max, that it's bound to be a rather
exciting place to pass the summer in.” And he told
of the Hindus' attempts to gain possession of Twin
Turrets, the crime which had been enacted there,
and Bellamy's revelations in regard to the younger
East Indian.
When Borrowdean had finished, Max was no
longer reclining in indolent ease. He was sitting up
with animation and his interest was so great that he
even declined a glass of the Chateau Yquem which
Borrowdean's manservant had brought in on a tray.
“What did you say that Hindu chap's name was?”
Max demanded eagerly.
“Kassim Bardai.”
"By George! I know him then. I've met him at
'The Foreign Club' and other places. He's a
genuine prince all right and I believe there was some
talk about his being exiled from India because of
some curse having fallen on the family. But that's
not to the point; the main fact is that he's distinctly
worth cultivating. Why, he's a modern Croesus,
a walking treasury of bank-notes and jewels. You
should see the huge ruby he flaunts at evening
functions—a ball of red fire-biggest stone I ever
saw. They say it once formed one of the eyes of a
Hindu god and that Kassim can't go back to India
until the ruby has done something or rather-I don't


32
: THE RED CAVALIER
know what. Reggie, do you happen to know where
his highness is putting up?"
“Max," said Borrowdean gravely, “don't get
mixed up with this Hindu. If you must have
money at once, I am perfectly willing to lend you
more-anything within reason. I don't fancy
Kassim Bardai would be a patient creditor."
Max gave a laugh of exasperation. “What an
old literal-head you are, Reggie! Do you imagine
that I should apply for a loan to a mere social ac-
quaintance--and a foreigner at that? No, old boy,
I have less direct views than that. Kassim Bardai
could—if he wished-give me a little inside informa-
tion in regard to investments. I've long had a
wistful eye on the ruby mines of Burma. You say
he was confoundedly set on getting the lease of
Twin Turrets and that Aunt Van wouldn't give it up.
Well then, if he can't be the lessee, there's no reason
why he shouldn't be a guest at the house party.”
Borrowdean knocked the ash from his cigar with
deliberation. “Before you invite Kassim Bardai to
Twin Turrets, suppose you ask him where he and
his ruby were when Sir Robert Grainger was stabbed
to death with a poisoned dagger in the library of
that very castle.”
Max rose with an indifferent shrug. “Hang Sir
Robert Grainger! That little question is up to
Scotland Yard. It's not my concern nor yours
either, Reggie. Well, I'm off to try my persuasive
powers on Aunt Van. I suppose if I invited the
as


MAX
33
Hindu without her permission, she would turn him
out of doors. But I think,” with a confident laugh,
“I can bring her around. If she proves too obsti-
nate, I shall threaten to make myself an ogre to the
fair Eloise. You see,” with a twinkle in his eye,
“I have surmised my respected aunt's little match-
making plan. Oh, by the way, Reggie, have you
invited any guests as yet?”
Borrowdean, in his sudden displeasure at Max's
unreasonableness, decided to break the news without
preamble.
"I have invited one-Ethelyn.”
“The deuce you have!” Max's face hardened;
the suggestion of a sneer about his mouth became
pronounced. “Why the blazes did you do it, eh?”
Borrowdean told him.
Max gave a harsh laugh of irritation. “You're
confoundedly soft! Oh, well,” with a resigned
shrug, “I suppose she would have tracked me down
wherever I went.”
At that moment Borrowdean felt something akin
to contempt for Max. “You're treating Ethie
rather shabbily.”
“Then let her keep away from me.” Max's tone
was expressive of that indifference, nothing short of
brutality, which men display toward the woman of
whom they have tired. “Look here, old chap, why
didn't you invite Berenice instead? Then,” with
a mocking smile, "you would have pleased yourself
as well as me.”


34
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean stiffened. Max had never before ap-
peared to him in so unlovable a light.
"It was Miss Egerton's express wish that I should
not invite Berenice.”
Max burst into a shout of amused laughter. "By
Jove! Reggie, I don't think the choice you have
made will please Aunt Van much more than if you
had shown a little daring and invited Berenice after
all. I wonder if I could coax her into giving an
invitation to Berenice as well as to Kassim Bardai.
It would be a jolly entertaining house party then.
So long, Reggie!”
Still laughing, Max went out.


CHAPTER IV
TWIN TURRETS
BORROWDEAN was awakened the next morning,
unpleasantly early for a man of his easy habits, by
the insistent ringing of the telephone. It was Miss
Egerton calling. She desired to know if he could
accompany her to Twin Turrets that very afternoon.
Something had happened-she would explain on the
train-which made her determined to take posses-
sion of the old house that night. She deemed it
advisable for a man to accompany her-even a
woman of her independent character was not averse
to summoning a member of the dominant sex to her
aid in a case of necessity-and as Max, because
of a previous engagement which he thought could
not be broken, was unable to play attendant squire,
Borrowdean had occurred to her as being in every
way a suitable escort.
Borrowdean, too, had a previous engagement for
that evening, but he was too good-natured to refuse
Miss Egerton's request, or rather demand; and
so, after a vain attempt to induce her to give up the
lease of Twin Turrets by a recital of Bellamy's
colourful account of the crime that had taken place
there and the apparent connection with it of some
35


36
THE RED CAVALIER
malevolent Hindu association, he assured her that
he would be at King's Cross Station in due time for
the train which she desired to take to Yorkshire.
He was as good as his word and was leisurely
pacing the platform, scanning the passing throng of
travellers and tourists with his monocled gaze, when
Miss Egerton's tall, austere figure made its way
toward him. That venturesome lady was followed
by an elderly, worried-looking maid, laden down
with boxes and bags, and by an indifferent-appearing
porter, also burdened with luggage.
“Glad to find you on time, Borrowdean,” was Miss
Egerton's characteristically curt greeting. “Evans,"
to the distracted maid, "don't let that morocco bag
out of your hands for a moment. Borrowdean," as
he was assisting her into a first class compartment,
“what have you done with your luggage?”.
“My man has charge of it.”
“I hope,” Miss Egerton paused on the carriage
step, "you are not bringing anything of especial
value?”
“Oh, no; I shouldn't say Twin Turrets was
exactly a safe treasure-house.”
Evans gave a little gasp and dropped the morocco
bag.
“You are very clumsy to-day, Evans,” said her
mistress severely.
Evans hastily picked up the bag. “It's nerves,
Miss Vandelia, that's what it is. And why shouldn't
it be when we're heading straight into danger?”


TWIN TURRETS
37
Miss Egerton's whole attitude was expressive of
disgust. “I am sorry, Evans, I showed you that
note this morning, but I did not suppose a woman
of your years would permit herself to be afflicted with
nerves. Hand me the bag, Evans, before you drop
it again."
As the train left the great city behind and plunged
on through suburbs and woodlands and queer, dead-
alive little villages on its way to the north, Borrow-
dean was shown the note which had upset the
middle-aged nerves of Evans. Miss Egerton drew
from a pocket of the morocco bag a square, white
envelope on which the address, “Miss Vandelia
Egerton,-Cavendish Square,” was painstakingly
printed in cramped characters. The postmark was
“Kensington,” and the date of posting the preceding
evening.
"Read the enclosure, Borrowdean,” bade Miss
Egerton.
He took from the envelope a sheet of plain, white
paper folded once. As he opened it, there was
wafted to his nostrils the peculiar, subtle fragrance
of some perfume which he had never smelled before,
but which vaguely suggested to him strange, exotic
blossoms, the storied lotus-flowers perhaps. Across
the middle of the paper was printed in the same
laborious, cramped characters as those upon the
envelope: "For pity's sake, do not go to Twin
Turrets. Danger is there.”
“It was that note,” declared Miss Egerton, sitting


38
THE RED CAVALIER
very straight and stiff in her corner of the compart-
ment, "which made me resolve to go this very night.
I never allow myself to be deterred from a course
of action by silly practical jokes."
Borrowdean refolded the paper and placed it
carefully in the envelope which he gave back to
Miss Egerton.
“You think it is no more than a practical joke
then?”
“This is the twentieth century and a civilized
country," she reminded him.
He nodded assent. But that faint, exotic perfume
was still in his nostrils, strangely stirring his hitherto
stolid British senses and conjuring up the vision
of a plaintive olive face and a pair of soft, dark
eyes, shy and troubled as those of a frightened
fawn. Lona Bardai, poor little transplanted lotus-
flower! Why should she not have sent this line of
warning through terror of what her brother might
do to the woman who had outwitted him in securing
the lease of Twin Turrets?
Miss Egerton, however, refused to credit this
belief. “If the note is more than a practical joke
and was written by that poor shrinking child, then
Kassim Bardai forced her to do so in the hope of
-frightening me away from Twin Turrets, but I am
not to be frightened away as long as there is tele-
graph connection with Scotland Yard. It is un-
believable, Borrowdean, but Max actually begged
me to invite that brown-faced adventurer to be my


TWIN TURRETS
39
guest this summer-it seems he met him at some
club. Of course I refused. Max then behaved
very foolishly, displayed a little of his mother's
temper, and even declared he would not come to
Twin Turrets. You understand how essential it is
that he should come and so I finally consented to
his bringing down two or three friends with him.
He forestalled the proviso I was about to add by
informing me that Lady Berenice Coningsby in-
tended to spend the summer in Scotland.”
Borrowdean thought that Berenice must have
changed her mind very suddenly for she had told
him only the day before that she had declined Lady
MacGowrie's invitation because Lord MacGowrie
persisted in making love to her, but he wisely said
nothing. He could not, however, help wondering
if Max, the incorrigible, had some daring plan in
his head. He had always taken liberties with Miss
Vandelia which no one else in the family would have
ventured upon, and yet had contrived to keep the
lion's share of her favour by a successful blending of
audacity, whimsicality, and boyish charm of manner.
Borrowdean became aware that Miss Egerton's
grey eyes were fixed upon him rather sharply.
"I was sorry,” she remarked, “to learn that you
had invited Miss Roydon to Twin Turrets. From
what I have heard of her I judge she is not a guest
whom I should have chosen. Her father was im-
possible and she appears to have no established
position.”


40
THE RED CAVALIER
“Her father was a rotter right enough, but Ethie
herself—why she's just a forlorn little creature,
rather a pitiful little soul when all is said and done.
She's always been buffeted about from pillar to post
and has had to fight for whatever she got. Her
mother was never known to speak a kind word to
her and her father tolerated her and that's all. I
doubt if she ever had a real friend in her life.”
Miss Egerton's expression became slightly less
severe. Her heart was kinder than she herself
would admit. “Well, I daresay Miss Roydon will
know how to make herself agreeable. You under-
stand, Borrowdean, I shall expect you to look after
her. Max must be left free. Now there is another
little matter. I received a communication from
Cockerill and Waddington this morning which did
not please me. I think they are not treating me
quite fairly. Those Hindus have unquestionably
offered them a still larger sum for Twin Turrets and
they are adding all manner of conditions and stip-
ulations, hoping of course to annoy me sufficiently
to make me give up the lease. But they don't know
me. I have signed that lease and shall hold to it.
Moreover, I admit I have a certain amount of
woman's curiosity and am determined to find out
why these Hindus are so desperately anxious to rent
Twin Turrets. You are always complaining of
being bored, Borrowdean; it might amuse you to
turn detective and help me solve this mystery."
“By Jove! it might.” He looked mildly excited.


TWIN TURRETS
41
“What were Cockerill and Waddington's conditions,
Miss Egerton?"
“That the woman who acted as housekeeper for
Sir Robert Grainger, the late owner, and the man
who was butler should remain in the same capacities.
It seems they have been caretakers of the estate
since Sir Robert's death. The man is a Hindu.”
“And the woman?”.
“She came originally from Australia, I believe.”
Borrowdean passed his hand thoughtfully down
the smooth back of his head. “An interesting pair!
I shouldn't wonder, Miss Egerton, if we found more
or less excitement at Twin Turrets.”
"I am prepared for it!” grimly. “I have Max's
revolver in this bag."
Borrowdean smiled ever so slightly. The notion
of Miss Vandelia Egerton levelling a revolver at
some housebreaker was not entirely lacking in
humour.
"I believe,” with a suggestion of a twinkle in the
calm depths of his grey-blue eyes, “that Pearson
thought it advisable to pack my revolver. I fancy
we should be a match for the butler and the house-
keeper-or even Kassim Bardai himself. Our first
glimpse of the Yorkshire moors, Miss Egerton.”
He pointed to the huge expanses of moorland, flam-
ing with the gold of the gorse and the broom, which
now, as the train laboured up the steep gradients
northward, were replacing the farmlands, the
wooded valleys, and the green fields.
On


42
THE RED CAVALIER
Miss Egerton looked with interest on the rugged
Yorkshire scenery—the lofty shoulders of the moors,
the precipitous ravines gorged out between fortress-
like scarps, again rolling masses of moorland, and
beyond, as the train climbed ever higher, the sea,
like a haze of pearly-blue, blending softly with the
hard, rugged outline of the ling.
As the sun was commencing to sink, the train drew
up at a small wayside station and Miss Egerton and
Borrowdean descended. Standing there on the
platform in the waning light, while the tail-lamps of
the train lost themselves in the distance, the Lon-
doners felt very much alone; the silence of the
countryside seemed oppressive and even formidable.
Evans shivered and drew close to her mistress.
A moment later a wagonette with a pair of cobs
swung into view. The coachman, a hard-featured,
thick-set fellow in a nondescript blue livery, saluted
Miss Egerton with respect, not untinged with
curiosity, as he drew up at the edge of the platform.
Miss Egerton and Borrowdean took the two side
seats, facing each other, Evans crowded in beside
her mistress, and Pearson, Borrowdean's valet,
climbed to a seat beside the coachman. A flourish
of the whip and the cobs started off at a smart pace
along a wide roadway, bordered by strips of grass
and indented on the left by a large pond which re-
flected the pale pink of the evening sky. Some
ancient barns, a flock or two of geese, and a few
whitewashed gables stood out against the deepening


TWIN TURRETS
43
tones of the landscape, while beyond rose ever
steeply the majestic shoulders of the moors, now
merging into gloom. There was something soul-
stirring, awesome in the silence, the vastness of the
moor spaces. It seemed almost a desecration to
break the brooding quiet, and so the travellers rode
on, without speaking, over the bare ribs of the hills
where the heather, not yet awakened, slumbered
snugly in its coat of chocolate-brown.
The wagonette turned into a side road and curved
upwards to towering heights whence swept down
a cold, cutting wind that set the Londoners shivering.
It needed but this chilling blast to complete the grim
suggestiveness of the bleak waste, the darkling sky,
and the mystery of that old castle toward which
they were hastening. Evans sat huddled against
her mistress in a misery of loneliness and homesick-
ness. Miss Egerton herself was strangely subdued.
Borrowdean wondered if she was beginning to regret
her venture.
As the wagonette still pressed upward, the wind
grew keener, whipping their faces with the sting of
salty brine, the air became filled with the ceaseless
thunder of the heavy waves of the North Sea, and
beyond the bold headlands, shrouded in dusk, which
reared themselves to the west, glimmered the har-
bour lights of Whitby.
Suddenly there rose before the travellers the ridge
of a lofty promontory; on its crest, lashed by the
winds of the North Sea, clustered a dark mass of


44
THE RED CAVALIER
buildings, which sent up into the evening sky two
high, narrow towers. The driver pointed with his
whip.
“Twin Turrets!”
Miss Egerton, with the spirit of adventure shining
in her eyes, stared up eagerly at those two ancient,
crenelated towers. Evans regarded them with a
sort of fascinated fear and pushed closer to her
mistress. Borrowdean, too, his imagination excited
by the long ride through the desolate grandeur of
the darkling moors, felt that there was something
almost sinister in the aspect of those twin relics of a
bygone age, outlined with peculiar distinctness
against the twilight glow. For centuries they had
stood thus like sentinels, frowning down on stretches
of sea and moor, grim guardians of the old house
which, only a few short months ago, had been the
scene of violent and unexplained death. Perhaps
were those two hoary turrets but endowed with the
power of speech, they might have told what dark
link it was which united this old Yorkshire castle to
distant India-a link not severed by the mysterious
death of its late owner, since the brown-skinned men
of that occult land sought still to gain a foothold
here.
It seemed that the old house meant to offer but a
sullen welcome to its new mistress, for its windows
gave back darkness to the dark. Gaunt and silent
and stern, under the desolation and terror of its
solitude, it clung to the naked back of the promon-


TWIN TURRETS
45
tory. On near approach the house showed itself
to be composed of a central block of black granite,
above which rose the twin turrets, battlemented and
pierced with many loopholes, and from which, on the
right and left, stretched more modern wings, out-
spread like arms, as though to make more secure the
apparently perilous position of the old castle perched
on the ridge of the promontory. The whole pile was
singularly bare of ivy for so venerable a structure,
and this fact accentuated its gaunt and forbidding
aspect.
As the wagonette passed through a turreted gate-
way, one of the heavy mullioned windows in the
central block suddenly showed forth a golden ob-
long, bordered with shadowy grey where the lamp-
light thinned the black of the wall. There was life
then in that grave-like house; some one had been
watching for the coming of the wagonette. A
moment later the massive entrance door swung open
and a strange, fantastic figure was silhouetted
against the yellow light of the hall. It was the
Hindu butler in native garb. He stepped out into
the night, making a graceful and dignified salaam.
“Welcome, Mem Sahib!” His voice had the
same liquid quality as that of Kassim Bardai.
He opened the door of the wagonette and held out
a lean, brown hand to assist Miss Egerton down.
But she ignored that hand and descended unaided.
Evans followed closely, her teeth chattering more
from dread of the solemn-faced Hindu and that old


46
THE RED CAVALIER
house, secret and silent, with its one lighted window
than from the chill of the biting winds that swept
straight from the sea, foaming at the foot of the
promontory.
Deferentially the Hindu butler ushered Miss
Egerton into the great hall, dim and sombre in the
subdued light of the central lamp. Borrowdean
followed her, carrying the morocco bag which she
would no longer entrust to Evans, who was fairly
treading on her mistress's heels in her determination
not to be left alone and unprotected. Borrowdean's
customary boredom had long since vanished and, as
the outer door clanged heavily behind Pearson who
was the last to enter, he felt extraordinarily wide-
awake and ready to encounter the mysteries of the
old house which the very atmosphere of the hall
seemed to suggest. Long shadows trailed down
from the age-blackened oak rafters, dimming the
richly carved pattern of the wainscoting which
reached to the high ceiling, and blurring into a vague
purplish grey the various tints in the stone-flagged
pavement. Two noble staircases, curving upward
on either side of the hall, lost themselves in obscurity
and even the splendid old fireplace showed but
indistinctly.
Borrowdean, as his eyes became accustomed to the
dusk, looked about vainly for the stags' heads and
the armoured figures that usually adorn the halls of
well-ordered old English houses. In place of these
traditional relics, Hindu curios of every description


TWIN TURRETS
47
were ranged about the oaken walls and the gloom
lent them grotesque shapes. The hideous faces of
idols grinned with unseemly mirth, and one in par-
ticular, a monstrous statue of three-headed Brahma,
standing forth from a dim recess, seemed to mock
and threaten.
Miss Egerton turned sharply from a scrutiny of
those three leering idiot faces to meet the mildly
questioning gaze of the Hindu butler, who was
standing by her side in an attitude of respectful
attention.
"What is your name?” she demanded curtly.
“Ahmed, Mem Sahib," with another deep salaam.
Miss Egerton jerked her shoulders impatiently.
Her English straightforwardness revolted at the
grovelling obsequiousness of the East.
"Have no preparations been made for our arrival?
Why is Mrs. Dalrymple not here to receive us?”
The shadow of some emotion, quickly suppressed,
flickered for an instant over Ahmed's inscrutable
brown face.
"I will call Dalrymple Sahiba,” he said in his
liquid, deliberate voice.
With slow dignity he advanced to the staircase
on the left. As a matter of fact, he appeared to go
with a purposeful slowness and at every step he
seemed to be listening for something.
“Pull yourself together, Evans!”
Miss Egerton gave her elderly maid a reproving
shake. The latter was staring with fascinated


48
THE RED CAVALIER
horror at the triple-headed Brahma. Borrowdean's
man, on the contrary, had preserved the detached
imperturbability of the well-trained British servant
and apparently was supremely unconscious of such
very untraditional-in the sense that they were
unEnglish-objects as the leering images of foreign
gods.
Before Ahmed could mount the stairs, a figure
grew out of the darkness above: a woman's figure,
dressed in black.
Ahmed turned quickly. “Dalrymple Sahiba is
here to give welcome, Mem Sahib.”
Again there was the momentary flicker of some
emotion on the face of the East Indian.


CHAPTER V
THE FIGURE ON THE TERRACE
MRS. DALRYMPLE descended the stairs with ner-
vous haste and moved toward the centre of the hall
where Miss Egerton awaited her in a silence which
plainly spoke rebuke. As the housekeeper came
into the small circle of lamplight, her face was il-
lumined clearly; it was the face of a woman who had
known mental suffering-and who still suffered.
She was of rather an unusual type, not beautiful,
yet striking, with her heavy masses of bronze hair,
her large, tragic eyes of the same colour, and her
singularly white complexion. She was of medium
height, admirably developed, with slightly voluptu-
ous lines. In age she might have been anywhere
in the vicinity of thirty-five.
There was a stereotyped smile of welcome on her
lips, but in her eyes fear-indubitable, anxious fear.
She looked a little doubtfully at Miss Egerton's
uncompromising countenance, read the disapproval
there, and her smile grew somewhat tremulous.
"I am Morna Dalrymple,” she said, in a low and
musical voice which had in it a note of sadness.
“I am sorry not to have been on hand to receive
you, but there were some little housekeeping duties
49


50
THE RED CAVALIER
which I had not quite finished-you see, the only
servants at present are Ahmed and one maid, so
there was much I had to do myself. Cockerill and
Waddington's telegram was-was rather sudden.”
The severity of Miss Egerton's expression did not
relax. “I instructed Cockerill and Waddington to
tell you that I should not expect many preparations
to be made for our reception on so short a notice.
But nevertheless it seems to me that a few lights in
the windows would not have put you to too much
trouble and would certainly have given a more
cheerful aspect to the house than absolute darkness.”
Morna Dalrymple bit her lip and flashed a peculiar
glance at Ahmed, who was watching her intently,
as though waiting for instructions. Perhaps he
read some unspoken wish in her glance, for suddenly
he turned and crossing the hall, sped up the stairway
on the right with a sort of panther-like swiftness.
"I hope you will pardon the absence of lights,"
Mrs. Dalrymple was saying in her soft voice. “I
told Essy Grieve to put lamps in several of the win-
dows, but she evidently forgot to do so. Probably,"
there was a hint of nervous tension in her manner,
"you will wish to go to your rooms before having
dinner.”
In answer to her call of “Essy!” a buxom young
country lass, clear-eyed and rosy-cheeked, appeared
from somewhere at the back of the hall, bearing a
lamp which Mrs. Dalrymple took from her hand.
“The maid at least is wholesome-looking,” Miss


THE FIGURE ON THE TERRACE 51
Egerton remarked in an undertone to Borrowdean
as they followed the housekeeper up the stairway
on the left. The two staircases mounted and
merged into a square balustraded gallery, from which
two long corridors branched off on each side. The
chambers opened off these corridors. Borrowdean's
was in the same wing as Miss Egerton's and only
three doors from it. The room was gloomy, as he
had expected to find it, and when Pearson threw
back the window sashes to dispel the musty odor
that pervaded the chamber, the thunder of the
North Sea fell on their ears and a sharp, penetrating
wind swirled through the apartment, billowing the
old tapestries and snuffing out the candles which
Essy had just lighted.
Borrowdean hastily closed the sashes and sent
Pearson for a lamp. A few minutes later he joined
Miss Egerton in the dining-room which opened out
of the hall. This apartment, long, low-ceilinged
and heavily paneled in dark oak, was no less sombre
than the rest of the house and there was something
unpleasantly incongruous in the contrast between
the fine old monogramed silver and the prim line of
portraits on the walls—both so essentially English-
with the Oriental curios and idols that stood about
the room. Ahmed alone in his exotic garb seemed
to fit in with the ever-present suggestion of the East
-Ahmed with his peculiar, liquid voice, his impas-
sive features, his observant eyes, and his catlike
tread. He was perfectly trained, this Hindu butler,


52
THE RED CAVALIER
deft in serving, attentive to every want, and yet
Borrowdean had the uncomfortable sensation of
being near some secret menace every time the brown
man approached him.
To divert his mind from this obsession, he began
to study the stiff old portraits of the past occupants
of Twin Turrets. One in particular held his gaze;
time had effaced but little of the brightness of its
colouring and the swaggering, beribboned cavalier
of the days of the Second Charles laughed down at
him with reckless, insolent eyes. Vivid as though
fresh from the painter's brush, gleamed the red of
the gay roysterer's brocaded suit; equally brilliant
was the scarlet of the sweeping plumes that adorned
the broad-brimmed hat. In fact, this Carolean rake
stood forth like a single splotch of brightness against
the surrounding gloom. But Borrowdean, who
was strangely fanciful that night, took an instinctive
dislike to the flaunting picture; it seemed to him
more a thing of evil than the grinning Indian idols.
At this juncture the rigidity of Ahmed's attitude
drew his attention. The Hindu, too, was staring
up at the Red Cavalier, and his face was no longer
impassive--it was filled with hate. Hate of a man
dead these two hundred years? Borrowdean lifted
the black ribbon of his monocle and, screwing the
glass into his eye, gazed curiously at the Hindu.
Ahmed became at once conscious of his scrutiny.
Instantly he lowered his eyes from the portrait and
his countenance was again inscrutable. He raised


THE FIGURE ON THE TERRACE 53
the silver cover from a dish which Essy had just
placed upon the table.
"I may serve you to rabbit pasty, Sahib?” Ah-
med's tone was respectful and properly subdued.
But Borrowdean partook of the rabbit pasty with
indifferent relish, and he was not sorry when the
meal had ended and it was permissible to withdraw
from the presence of Ahmed.
Miss Egerton, too, had not appeared thoroughly
to enjoy the dinner.
“They're both uncanny—the butler and the
housekeeper," she confided to Borrowdean as she
led the way into the hall. “Mrs. Dalrymple looks
to me like a woman who has a past she doesn't know
how to get rid of and a present she doesn't know
how to manage.”
Evans, the picture of disconsolate misery, was
awaiting her mistress in the centre of the hall, that
being the farthest point from the idols which terri-
fied her.
“I couldn't stay in that room alone another minute,
Miss Vandelia! I could see images in every corner."
"Ridiculous!” said Miss Egerton unsympatheti-
cally. She plainly felt a desire to shake some courage
and a little common sense into Evans.
Mrs. Dalrymple at that moment was gliding
through the hall with a step almost as noiseless as
Ahmed's. Miss Egerton called to her peremptorily
and asked her to show them over the house before
it grew later.


54
THE RED CAVALIER
“At the same time,” she added, “I can see that
everything is properly locked up.”
Morna Dalrymple's features stiffened. "That
will hardly be necessary, Miss Egerton. I have
always had charge of the locking up.”
“Henceforth I will relieve you of that duty."
A flush suffused Mrs. Dalrymple's very white
skin. “Sir Robert Grainger was content to entrust
the locking up to me.”
Miss Egerton stood her ground. “Sir Robert
Grainger, Mrs. Dalrymple, met with violent death
in this house."
Morna Dalrymple quivered as though she had
been struck. Her sudden colour fled and for a
moment she presented the appearance of some
hunted creature. Then, realizing that Miss Egerton
was scrutinizing her with cold suspicion, she con-
trived to recover her poise.
“Of course,” she said quite humbly, "if you prefer
to see for yourself that everything is propery, locked
up, I can have no objection. I only wished to relieve
you of what seemed to me an unnecessary respon-
sibility.” She called Essy to bring a lamp.
Miss Egerton turned to her maid, who was staring
at Mrs Dalrymple with much the same terrified
gaze as that which she bestowed on the idols.
“I suppose you will want to come with me, Evans?"
“Oh yes, Miss Vandelia." Evans showed im-
mense relief at finding she was not to be left alone.
“And-and won't his lordship come too.”


THE FIGURE ON THE TERRACE 55
“Really, Evans, you are behaving very foolishly.
I presume Lord Borrowdean will wish to see the
house.”
Borrowdean stepped forward. “Delighted, I'm
sure.”
He, too, was looking fixedly at Mrs. Dalrymple
whose extreme pallor was accentuated by the recent
storm of emotion that had agitated her. Decidedly
the housekeeper of Twin Turrets was an interesting
study.
A lamp having now been brought by Essy, Mrs.
Dalrymple conducted Miss Egerton, with Evans
again treading on her heels, and Borrowdean follow-
ing leisurely, from one end of Twin Turrets to the
other. She led them through a large drawing-room
and a smaller one, on to the modern billiard-room,
and thence into a magnificent ballroom of immense
size. Evans slipped on the highly polished floor
and fell in an ungraceful heap. Borrowdean gravely
assisted her to her feet, but Miss Egerton, yielding
to the desire that had possessed her the entire eve-
ning, gave Evans a vigorous shaking, which made
her so indignant that she forgot to whimper and
tremble at every shadow as they passed through a
long gallery into a splendid library, vaguely illu-
mined by a few wax tapers in a candelabra pendent
from the vaulted ceiling. Here again Hindu curios
confronted them on every side.
The light of the lamp which Mrs. Dalrymple
carried flashed back in streaks of fire from the eerie


56
THE RED CAVALIER
collection of curious-shaped daggers, glittering on the
dark oak wainscoting. Sir Robert Grainger had
shown strange taste in the adorning of his castle.
Borrowdean recollected that it was in this very
room Sir Robert had met his death.
But Miss Egerton apparently had no thought,
then, of the late occuppant of Twin Turrets. As she
passed from room to room, her appreciation of the
old house grew. The passion of the antiquarian
was in her eyes as she looked at the beautiful old
brocades and embroideries on the furniture, the
ancient oak-panellings, the rare china, and the
priceless old tapestries. The sinister suggestion of
India which everywhere protruded itself, she seemed
resolved to ignore. Here in the library, with its
mullioned windows, its oaken wainscoting, and its
rows of bookshelves, all so characteristically English,
it was comparatively easy to banish the thought of
that land of mystery, for the idols standing about
were almost swallowed up by the shadows in the
vast room, and the daggers on the walls, now that
Mrs. Dalrymple had moved her lamp to the middle
of the apartment, no longer streaked the wainscoting
with darts of fire.
The sashes of one of the deep-set windows were
slightly thrown back and through it sounded the roar
of the sea. A double door of leaded glass cut in
the centre of the north wall, between the rows of
bookshelves, looked out upon a stone terrace. Miss
Egerton advanced to this door to make sure that it
S were


THE FIGURE ON THE TERRACE 57
was secure. At the same time she directed Mrs.
Dalrymple to close the window and extinguish the
candles. Borrowdean drew the window to, while
the housekeeper, reaching up on tiptoe, blew out the
tapers.
Miss Egerton turned to rebuke Evans who was
trying to prevent her from approaching the door;
evidently the maid was under the impression that
her mistress intended to walk out upon the terrace.
Suddenly Mrs. Dalrymple's lamp was extinguished.
Borrowdean, although he had not been watching her
at that moment, would have been willing to swear
that she had blown it out purposely. The library
was instantly flooded with darkness. Evans uttered
a piercing shriek.
“Look there at the door, Miss Vandelia!”
The sudden change threw the door into relief-
a long rectangle of greyish light-and showed a
figure standing close, peering in. Before one could
hardly visualize it, the figure darted across the
terrace and vanished in the night.


CHAPTER VI
THE BROKEN IDOLS
EVANS began to moan and cry from nervous fear.
Miss Egerton shook her again, but without the
desired effect.
“Give me the key to this door, Mrs. Dalrymple,"
bade Borrowdean crisply.
"I-I haven't that key.”
“Why not?” demanded Miss Egerton belliger-
ently. “You have every other key with you, have
you not?"
“That key is—lost I think; at any rate, mislaid.”
Mrs. Dalrymple was plainly agitated.
Borrowdean felt his way, with numerous collisions,
to the hall. “I am going outside, Miss Egerton, to
discover, if I can, who that was looking in at the
door."
Evans raised a scream of protest. “Don't let his
lordship go and leave us alone in the dark! That
man might get in somehow and murder us all.”
“Be quiet, Evans.” But Miss Egerton's own
voice was almost shrill in the stress of her excite-
ment. “It was only a woman-didn't you see the
feathers on her hat? I wish you would go, Borrow-
dean.”
58


THE BROKEN IDOLS
“It was a man,” insisted Evans hysterically, "a
man dressed very queer.”
As Borrowdean hurried along the gallery into the
entrance hall, he heard Miss Egerton saying, "Don't
be absurd, Evans! Men don't wear feathers in
their hats. Are there any matches in this room,
Mrs. Dalrymple, or have they too been mislaid?”
Borrowdean, however, thought as Evans did that
the person who had looked in at the door was a man.
It was ridiculous, of course, but the transient impres-
sion he had gained of that shadowy figure which
certainly had worn a hat with feathers brought to
his mind the picture in the dining-room at which
Ahmed had stared with eyes of hate—the flaunting
picture of the Red Cavalier.
In the great hall Ahmed was busying himself
lighting candles and he showed mild amazement-
and a hint of some other emotion-when Borrowdean
bade him undo the outer door. This usually deft
servitor proved singularly clumsy in obeying, and
when at length the massive door swung open, Bor-
rowdean felt sure that the person in the feathered
hat-whether man or woman-had by now put dis-
tance between himself and Twin Turrets.
As Borrowdean stepped out into the night, the
wind, tearing like a tornado across the bare prom-
ontory, almost took away his breath, and the boom-
ing of the sea below was fairly deafening. The stars
were creeping into the cloud-swept sky and by their
light he made the entire circuit of the house, but


60
THE RED CAVALIER
found no trace of any person lurking about. Through
the library door opening on to the stone terrace,
he saw that one could gain a comprehensive view of
the whole apartment. In fact, he stood for a few
moments looking through the leaded panes, studying
with interest the rather tragic face of Morna Dal-
rymple. The wax tapers had been relighted and,
as Mrs. Dalrymple was standing directly under the
candelabra, talking with Miss Egerton and evidently
trying to conciliate her, he had opportunity for a
prolonged scrutiny of the woman who had served as
housekeeper to the late tenant of Twin Turrets,
mysteriously slain in that very room not more than
a year ago.
Her personality seemed to him baffling and con-
sequently repellant. Women of this type had no
attraction for him and, when in their presence, he
was always conscious of a desire to escape. Being
of a frank and open nature, he hated mystery; and,
too, being also of an indolent temperament, the
effort of trying to understand such women wearied
and finally bored him. But in the case of Morna
Dalrymple there appeared to be necessity for try-
ing to understand her. Her smooth manner very
likely concealed hostility and certainly her agitation
at mention of Sir Robert Grainger's death would
hardly prejudice one in her favour. She began now
to move about the library, pushing chairs into place
and giving little housewifely touches here and there.
Borrowdean was forced to admit that there was


THE BROKEN IDOLS
61
grace in her every movement, but to him it was a
snake-like grace, and the curious contrast of her
bronze-coloured hair and eyes with her very white
skin which would have aroused enthusiasm in an
artist struck him as uncanny.
At that moment Evans caught sight of him peering
in. Mistaking him for that other who had so
alarmed her, she gave vent to another scream.
Borrowdean decided to go in and reassure her.
Moreover it was beastly cold outside. The densest
of London fogs was cheerfulness itself in comparison
with the bleakness of this house on the North Sea.
Upon reëntering, he found that Miss Egerton had
recovered her equanimity to the extent of being
able to discuss with Mrs. Dalrymple the engaging
of additional servants. The housekepeer did not
show undue joy at the prospect of an invasion of
new servants. As a matter of fact, she seemed to
be endeavouring to conceal her unwillingness to
receive them, although her own duties would thereby
be greatly lightened. The mention of the arrival of
guests on the morrow even caused her to exhibit
dismay. But why should it? Guests would enliven
the gloom of the old house and surely Morna Dal-
rymple was not the type of woman who would
be content to bury herself indefinitely in lonely
monotony.
Borrowdean found himself longing for the sound of
Max's irresistible laugh. He wondered now how it
was that he could have felt irritated with his friend.


62
THE RED CAVALIER
the night before. Max, he felt sure, was too chival-
rous to treat Ethie cavalierly unless she fairly drove
him to do so by her importunities. Well, he would
try to amuse Ethie while she was at Twin Turrets
and keep her away from Max. He owed that much
to Miss Egerton and to Max since he had invited
her against the wishes of both. He fell to wonder-
ing what guests Max himself would invite. It was
useless to think of Berenice. Even Max would
hardly dare to bring as his aunt's guest a woman
against whom she was so prejudiced.
Miss Egerton broke in upon Borrowdean's musings
by suggesting that every one retire early in order to
feel fresh in the morning when Max and her other
guests should arrive. Mrs. Dalrymple was quick
to avail herself of the opportunity to escape to the
seclusion of her own rooms, and Miss Egerton, after
a second tour of the house to make herself doubly
certain that everything was locked up as it should
be, permitted Ahmed to extinguish the candles in
the hall and mounted to her chamber. Evans,
who had finally secured permission to sleep on the
couch in her mistress's room, besought Borrowdean
in an agonized whisper to leave his door unbolted
so that she could call him readily in case of need.
He consented to this although he did not particularly
like the idea of sleeping in an unlocked room at
Twin Turrets. It would not be surprising if Ahmed
of the furtive step were addicted to night walking.
However, once comfortably in bed with the win-


THE BROKEN IDOLS
63
as
dow curtains drawn to shut out that vista of wild
sea which oppressed him, his British stolidity re-
asserted itself and he forgot Ahmed and all the mys-
tery of Twin Turrets. One face only, a charming,
smiling face, remained before his mental vision and
he fell asleep with the name of Berenice on his lips.
He was awakened by a hand clutching at his
shoulder. A light flashed in his eyes and he blinked
up into the panic-stricken face of Evans. She was
a queer-looking object to break in upon a man's
dreams-her hair in curl-papers, a striped petticoat
over her shoulders, and her colour a greenish-white.
“Get up, my lord, do!” she begged. “Some-
body's broken into the house and Miss Egerton's
going down to see who it is. She'll be killed!”
Borrowdean was dazed with sleep and his chief
sensation at that moment was annoyance that the
vision of Berenice should be superseded by that of
Evans in curl-papers.
“You have the nightmare, Evans,” he said lan-
guidly, preparing to turn over on his side. “Go
back to bed.”
"Please, my lord, get up!” Evans' voice rang dis-
tressingly shrill. “There was an awful crash in the
hall, my lord-didn't you hear it-like the crash of
doom?"
Her words brought conviction. What he had
taken in his sleep to be a clap of thunder might have
been this crash she referred to. He sat up fully
awake.
e
V


64
THE RED CAVALIER
"If you'll kindly vanish, Evans, I'll get up and
investigate.”
Evans fled, and he, throwing a dressing-gown
about him and pushing his feet into bedroom
slippers which Pearson had had the foresight to
leave conveniently at hand, rapidly made his way
along the corridor, which, of course, was dark, to
the head of the double stair sweeping down into the
great hall. On the right staircase he could dis-
tinguish the tall figure of Miss Egerton, resolutely
descending. The blackness of the hall below was
thinned by a glimmering light and he heard the voice
of Morna Dalrymple, not quite so soft and well-
modulated as hitherto, asking if Miss Egerton, too,
had been awakened by the crash.
The housekeeper came apparently from the back
of the apartment where a gallery branched off to
the servants' hall and the kitchens. She was attired
in a négligé of Oriental design, which was knotted
about her waist and did not appear to have been
put on with any particular haste. The light of the
candle she carried made the two long heavy braids
of hair which hung over her breast shine like burn-
ished copper and revealed the alarm in her eyes.
Miss Egerton, her usual dignity somewhat im-
paired by the unconventional arrangement of her
own hair and a flannel dressing-gown, obviously put
on in haste, was staring with disapproval and sus-
picion at Mrs. Dalrymple.
“How did you get downstairs so quickly?”


THE BROKEN IDOLS
65
Morna Dalrymple braced herself to meet Miss
Egerton's hostile gaze. “I sleep downstairs in a
room off the servants' hall.”
Borrowdean hurriedly descended. “Will you
lend me your candle, Mrs. Dalrymple? I should
like to go through the lower part of the house."
Mrs. Dalrymple yielded the candle readily, but,
before Borrowdean could cross the hall an excited
cry rang out. “Is it anoother idol brawken?”
Everybody turned in amazement. Essy Grieve,
a night-lamp in her hand, was leaning tensely over
the balustrade of the gallery above. Her comely
young face was white and scared.
"Is it anoother idol brawken?" she repeated.
The alarm in Mrs. Dalrymple's eyes grew. "I-
I haven't looked to see.”
Evans, limp with fear, pressed down the stairs
and huddled up to her mistress. Essy followed her
excitedly.
“Tha’llt not need to hoont for boorglars. I knaw
—'tis anoother idol.”
“Is the girl crazy?" demanded Miss Egerton.
“Luke theer!” screamed Essy, pointing to the
corner where the statue of triple-headed Brahma
had stood-it no longer stood there—“I knawed
how it wor—' third brawken idol.”
She ran over to the corner and her lamp disclosed
the triple idol lying broken on the flagstones. Bor-
rowdean examined it with interest. The image was
made of some kind of pottery gilded to represent


66
THE RED CAVALIER
bronze. One of the heads was crushed in as though
by a heavy blow, the other two were simply cracked
as from the impact of the fall. Borrowdean looked
up at Essy who was regarding the fallen Brahma
with a kind of awe.
“What did you mean by the third broken idol?”
Essy shivered. “This is third night theer's
been a crash and av'ry time it's a brawken idol. O
knaw, it's t' ghost o' Sir Roobert Grainger coom back
an' now he caaun't abide thoose idols an' 'e brak's
'em.”
Borrowdean turned to Mrs. Dalrymple. "Is it
true this is the third night an idol has been found
broken?”
Miss Egerton seemed content that he should be
spokesman.
“It is true; this is the third night.” Mrs. Dal-
rymple spoke slowly and as though with reluctance.
“How do you account for it?”
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled a little
wearily. “I can't account for it. It's all a mys-
tery."
“Nonsense!” broke in Miss Egerton. “Idols
don't fall down without hands to push them.”
“Where is Ahmed?” asked Borrowdean quickly.
The absence of the butler was rather odd.
“He is probably asleep.” Mrs. Dalrymple ap-
parently did not like the question. “His room is in
one of the twin turrets and he could not have heard
the fall of the idol.”


THE BROKEN IDOLS
67
“The dead could have heard it,” snapped Miss
Egerton.
“Pearson,” said Borrowdean, addressing his valet
who had joined the group in the hall, “go and ask
Ahmed to come down here."
As a matter of fact, he did not expect that Pearson
would find the butler in his room and he was accord-
ingly surprised when, a few minutes later, Ahmed
glided down the stairs in Pearson's wake. Borrow-
dean fancied he detected a shade of triumph on Mrs.
Dalrymple's face at sight of the Hindu. Evidently
she had read his mind. His dislike of her grew.
Ahmed approached with a mildly-inquiring def-
erence, as ever, soft of step. His eye sought Mrs
Dalrymple's once and then he stood before Miss
Egerton in his customary attitude of respectful atten-
tion.
“You send for me, Mem Sahib?”
But no amount of questioning on Miss Egerton's
part, or Borrowdean's, could elicit from Ahmed any
information that would tend to clear up the mystery
of the three broken idols. Upon each occasion he
had been asleep in his “so distant chamber" and
had known nothing of the happening until Mrs.
Dalrymple had bidden him clear away the wreckage.
Miss Egerton turned impatiently from Ahmed
and proposed that they make another tour of the
house to be sure that everything was as it had been
when they retired. At hearing this, Mrs. Dalrymple,
who had been bending intently over the broken
Wn


68
THE RED CAVALIER
Brahma, straightened up. As she did so, some
object slipped from the folds of her négligé and fell
with a metallic ring on the flagstones. Mrs. Dal-
rymple stooped quickly to pick it up, but Essy's
hand was already on it.
"Eh! but it's t' key to th' lib'ry doar,” she cried
amazedly. “I told yo I didn't lose it.”
Mrs. Dalrymple's face might have been a mask for
all the emotion it betrayed. There was a faint
smile of self-reproach on her lips.
“I am sorry I accused you unjustly, Essy, but you
know you are often careless about mislaying things.
I found that key in my bureau drawer, Miss Egerton,
when I was undressing tonight. I intended to give
it to you in the morning.”
Miss Egerton held out her hand. “I will take it
now."
As Morna Dalrymple passed her the key, the eyes
of the two women met and the housekeeper's were
clouded-unpleasant.
Miss Egerton decreed that Borrowdean alone
should accompany her through the house-Evans
went along as a matter of course. They tried the
key in the library door and found that it fitted.
Miss Egerton then entrusted it to Borrowdean to
keep for her.
As Evans again, when her mistress's back was
turned, besought him to leave his door unlocked it
seemed to him that the safest depository for the
key would be under his pillow where it could not be


THE BROKEN IDOLS
69
disturbed without awakening him. He had the
notion that Mrs. Dalrymple, for some purpose which
he could not fathom, might wish that key in her
possession again.
Since everything in the house appeared quiet and
he was tired from the long railway journey, he soon
fell asleep. As before, Berenice was the centre of
his dreams. Perhaps the bronze of Mrs. Dalrymple's
hair, recalling similar glints in Berenice's when the
sun shone on it, was what brought the latter before
him so persistently that night. However it was,
he dreamed of Berenice again and even had the fancy
that she was hovering about him. The warm touch
of her hand on his was almost like reality.
When he awoke, the sun was forcing its way in
cheerily through the worn old hangings. The dark
panelling glowed in the golden rays, the roar of the
sea outside had abated into a musical murmur, and
the chamber no longer seemed gloomy. Borrowdean
reached under the pillow for the key. He wished to
examine in the daylight the peculiar chasing he had
observed on it.
He drew forth his fingers in dismay. The key was
not there. Perhaps it had slipped among the bed-
clothes. He got up and searched carefully. But
it was useless—the key had disappeared!


GUESTS ARRIVE
71
turf, and there rose the roofless arches of Whitby
Abbey, standing out like a silhouette on the green
horizon. Beyond, a staunch lighthouse showed
itself a dazzling white against the azure of the sky.
Yonder, for an additional bit of colour, clustered
under the dominion of a sturdy Norman church the
red roofs of Whitby town.
Miss Egerton drew a breath of satisfaction. “Such
a view as this is worth all the unpleasantness con-
nected with Twin Turrets. Borrowdean, look!
Is not that the wagonette winding up the cliff?”
“It surely is, Miss Egerton, and there is Max
waving to you."
Miss Egerton's austere face softened. She smiled
and fluttered her handkerchief in response. Sud-
denly her brows drew together in a frown of per-
plexity.
“Who is that woman with him? Is it Miss
Roydon?”
Borrowdean adjusted his monocle and stared at
the graceful figure by Max's side. Then his eyes
lighted up, his habitual expression was succeeded
by one almost of eagerness.
"Take it calmly, Miss Egerton. It's—Lady
Berenice Coningsby.”
Miss Egerton was speechless. She ceased to wave
her handkerchief. Borrowdean felt a little appre-
hensive for Berenice.
The wagonette topped the brow of the cliff and
drew up before the terrace. Max was smiling gaily,


72
THE RED CAVALIER
confidently. Apparently his aunt's state of mind
did not concern him. Berenice, too, was smiling.
Evidently she did not doubt her welcome.
Borrowdean moved forward with unusual celerity
to assist Berenice from the wagonette, but Max was
too quick for him and handed her down with his
debonair gallantry.
"How are you, Reggie, dear boy?" was Berenice's
greeting. Her voice was slow and soft, almost
languid, and yet very pleasant to listen to.
Also she made a very pleasant picture to look at
in her lavender tailor gown-tall, slender, instinct
with grace, with dark hair showing auburn glints,
eyes of a dusky violet hue, full red lips, and a saucy
little nose, sufficiently retroussé to lend a piquant
charm to her beauty and save it from a suspicion of
languor.
Max, taking the bull by the horns, led Berenice
directly to Miss Egerton, who had made no move-
ment to advance toward them.
"Aunt Van," he said with an audacious smile,
"I want to present to you my friend and your
guest-Lady Berenice Coningsby.”
It was the first time the two women had met and
Berenice could not but be conscious of the hostility
under Miss Egerton's frigidly polite greeting, yet
she gave no indication of having observed it and her
manner was frankly cordial as she told her hostess
how much she appreciated her invitation to visit
at Twin Turrets.


GUESTS ARRIVE
73
Miss Egerton's eyes were severe as they rested
for a moment on Max's face, which was crimson with
suppressed laughter.
“Will you come into the house, Lady Berenice?”
she asked coldly.
Berenice prepared to follow her hostess, then
turned to Borrowdean. "Reggie, won't you bring
in Pompon? I wouldn't trust him to Max. He's
too irresponsible.”
"Delighted, I'm sure," Borrowdean murmured
vaguely as he watched Max follow Berenice into the
house, whispering gay nothings in her ear.
From the seat of the wagonette Borrowdean ab-
stractedly lifted down a fawn-coloured, silky-haired
Pomeranian adorned with a splashing lavender bow,
the exact shade of Berenice's gown. Pompon was
a snappish little creature to every one except his
mistress, as Borrowdean knew, and he carried the
dog rather gingerly into the hall where Berenice, out
of a sincere wish to make herself agreeable, was
trying to admire the Hindu curios. Miss Egerton
had ordered the statue of Brahma set upright in its
former position and the two remaining heads leered
forth from the recess. Max showed an extraordinary
interest in the fact that one head had been broken
in and this interest grew when he learned that two
other idols had been shattered in the same inexplic.
able fashion. He asked so many questions concern-
ing these happenings that Miss Egerton, who had


76
THE RED CAVALIER
rm
made his peace with her by promising to call on
Eloise Eversleigh that very afternoon.
“You know, Aunt Van," with a wink at Borrow-
dean, “I invited Berenice more or less on Reginald's
account. He will need some occupation while I am
playing squire to Eloise.”
“He could have occupied himself with Miss
Roydon.”
Max gave a soft laugh of mischief. “I think
Reggie can take care of two; if he can't-why I'll
come to his aid.”
Miss Egerton tried to look stern, but even she
was not proof against the twinkle in Max's eyes
and she smiled in spite of herself. He put his arm
about her and kissed her lightly.
“We're friends again, eh, Aunt Van?”
“Max, you're incorrigible! You know I can't
be angry with you. You promise to be very agree-
able to Miss Eversleigh?”
Max promised and went upstairs laughing.
Ahmed followed respectfully, carrying his Gladstone
bag.
An hour or so later Borrowdean found Max in the
hall again examining the broken Brahma with
minute attention.
“My word, Max, are you becoming a convert to
Brahma?”
Max swung round hastily. “Epicurus--and Bere-
nice-are my only idols.” He spoke lightly, but
his eyes were restless and his fingers worked nerv-


GUESTS ARRIVE
77
ously. “This old chap with the shattered head
rather interests me, he's so ugly. What time does
the ghost generally walk?”
“You mean—"
“What time do the idols fall?”
"This one fell about midnight." Max's harping
upon the subject was beginning to puzzle Borrow-
dean.
Max stretched himself indolently upon the old
settle by the fireplace. “I'll take only cat-naps
to-night, Reggie. 'Pon my word, I'd like to lay
the ghost of this old house.”
Soon after luncheon Max set off obediently for
Eversleigh Court. Miss Egerton accordingly un-
bent a little toward Berenice and invited her out
upon the terrace. Borrowdean drew up a chair by
Berenice's side and prepared to make the most of
Max's absence which he suspected was partly due
to a desire to be away when Ethelyn should arrive.
Miss Roydon made her appearance in the middle
of the afternoon and Miss Egerton received her with
much the same frigid politeness as that with which
she had received Berenice. The latter was very
cordial in her greeting. Ethelyn tried to recipro-
cate, but did not altogether succeed and her dis-
appointment was obvious at finding Max gone.
Borrowdean again felt sorry for her and mentally
vowed that he would do his best to make her stay at
Twin Turrets an agreeable one.
About four o'clock Max came strolling back,


78
THE RED CAVALIER
humming a gay snatch of song. At sight of Ethelyn
who had hastened forward to meet him, his expres-
sion was not one of unalloyed delight, but he greeted
her pleasantly enough and even took a chair beside
her, after throwing a glance of whimsical reproach
at Borrowdean who did not offer to relinquish his
seat by Berenice. Max interrupted Ethelyn's
voluble chatter by informing Miss Egerton that he
had a piece of news for her. His eyes were full of
mirth and the half-humourous, half-mocking twist
of his lips was conspicuous.
“Prepare to write a note of felicitations, Aunt
Van. Eloise Eversleigh is engaged to be married.”
“What!” Miss Egerton could not have started
up more suddenly if a bomb had exploded under her
chair. “Who to?” in her agitation forgetting her
grammar.
“Young chap by the name of Mountford-in the
army, I believe. A good match for Miss Eversleigh,
I should say."
Miss Egerton stood up abruptly. “The wind is
growing sharp. Suppose we have tea in the hall.”
Max's high spirits were infectious and the gloomy
old hall resounded to unwonted merriment. Miss
Egerton alone had but little to say and sat stiff and
for the most part silent with the massive tea-urn
before her.
A ponderous knocking that for a moment checked
the gaiety of Miss Egerton's guests sent the attentive
Ahmed to the entrance door. Max gazed after the


GUESTS ARRIVE
79
Hindu with a kind of repressed eagerness. Several
times Borrowdean had caught Max glancing at the
butler in a curious way. What was on Max's
mind? His merriment did not seem altogether
spontaneous. Could it be that he attached some-
thing sinister to the fall of those idols and believed
that danger was threatening Miss Egerton?
Ahmed now was gliding back with rather undue
rapidity toward the tea-table, bearing a visiting-
card on a silver salver. He had evidently left the
caller in the small entry-hall. It was apparent to
all that the Hindu was labouring under extreme
emotion. His face had gone a sickly hue, his eyes
were like those of a trapped animal, and the hand
that held the salver shook.
Miss Egerton bestowed upon him a prolonged
stare of displeasure and took the card from the tray.
“Who is the visitor, Borrowdean? I haven't my
reading-glasses with me.”
The monocle dropped from his eye as he read
aloud the name engraved upon the bit of paste-
board; “Prince Kassim Bardai.”


CHAPTER VIII
THE RED CAVALIER
Miss EGERTON rose precipitately. “I will receive
Prince Kassim Bardai here, Ahmed.”
Max looked distinctly interested. Berenice
glanced at him comprehendingly.
“It is that same Hindu prince whom we met at
the Ascot races and later at the Russian Embassy
ball?”
Max nodded, a little jubilantly, it seemed.
“I have heard of this Prince,” broke in Ethelyn
eagerly. “They say he flaunts an immense ruby
of priceless value at evening functions and yet has
no detectives to guard him as most of these Oriental
potentates have. He is fairly tempting Providence.
I wonder—"
The approach of Kassim Bardai cut short her
words. The Hindu as before, was correctly and
quietly dressed in European clothes which bore the
unmistakable impress of the West End tailor and
he showed on his person none of that ostentatious
display of jewelry in which Orientals commonly
delight. In fact, his attire was precisely that of
any well-born English gentleman, his only adorn-
ments being the unobtrusive pearl pin in his tie and
80


THE RED CAVALIER
81
his watch-chain of early-Victorian design. He was
rather handsome, this East Indian, tall, well-formed,
with regular features, but there was an expression
in his black eyes and a hardness about his smooth-
shaven mouth which did not attract.
Borrowdean found himself staring curiously at
the Hindu's snakewood walking-stick-a vicious-
looking object with a cobra's head at the top from
the open fangs of which protruded the tip of a
dagger point in place of the serpent's tongue. With
such a weapon as this within reach Kassim Bardai
scarcely needed the protection of detectives.
The prince relinquished his hat and gloves to
Ahmed, who received them with an exceedingly low
salaam. The butler's face showed still the sickly
hue of fear. Kassim Bardai did not glance at
Ahmed and he himself carefully deposited the snake-
wood walking-stick upon a chair nearby. He then
shook hands gravely with Miss Egerton, whose
greeting was the reverse of cordial, and presented
his sister. Lona Bardai's shrinking little figure had
been dwarfed almost into invisibility behind her
brother's imposing form. There was the same
plaintive terror in her eyes that there had been two
nights ago at the Carlton and she gazed up so ap-
pealingly at Miss Egerton that the latter was moved
and spoke to her with unusual gentleness.
Miss Egerton, with the air of one performing an
unpleasant duty, introduced the Hindu and his
sister to her guests. Max greeted Kassim Bardai


82
THE RED CAVALIER
with the cordiality of an old-time friend, but there
was hauteur in the East Indian's bearing. It was
not so when he held Berenice's hand for a moment
in his. His brown face lighted up.
"It is a great pleasure for me to meet again Lady
Berenice Coningsby."
Berenice smiled charmingly and Borrowdean had
for an instant a savage feeling against the Hindu.
It was one thing to relinquish Berenice to the atten-
tions of Max, his friend, but an entirely different
matter in the case of an East Indian adventurer.
Kassim Bardai appeared to harbour no resentment
against Borrowdean for the curtness which he had
previously shown him and his manner was cour-
teous in the extreme. Of Ethelyn the prince took
scant notice. In fact, his eager eyes scarcely left
Berenice's face. She, for her part, seemed to derive
considerable amusement from his obvious infatua-
tion, and turned aside his thinly-veiled compliments
in her usual bantering fashion.
Max, finding himself unappreciated, directed his
attention to Lona. At first, she was too shy to
answer in more than monosyllables, but gradually
under the influence of Max's encouraging smile,
she expanded and told him with a childlike eager-
ness of the wonderful sights she had seen in London,
evidently her first experience of life in a great city.
In the daylight and dressed in tailor gown, she
looked older than she had at the Carlton. Borrow-
dean decided that she was probably eighteen instead


THE RED CAVALIER 83
of sixteen as he had previously judged her to be.
Yet she had the timidity and artlessness of a child,
of a child who has always lived in seclusion and
more or less under subjection. But Borrowdean was
sure that it was more than awe-it was terror-
with which her brother inspired her. So long as
Kassim Bardai devoted himself to Berenice, Lona
chatted away happily with Max, like a child who has
found an appreciative listener, but, let the Hindu
turn his glance upon her, she would stop talking in
a curious, abrupt way, and it would require much
encouragement on Max's part, to draw her out
again.
In the course of the conversation, Kassim Bardai
remarked with a faint smile at Miss Egerton that he
had succeeded after all in leasing a house in York-
shire-as a matter of fact in the near vicinity of
Twin Turrets, for the grounds adjoined those of
Eversleigh Court.
"By the way, Miss Egerton,” he said, “have you
heard that Eversleigh Court was broken into and
-what do you English call it-looted last night?
Many valuable art treasures were stolen."
“No; I had not heard.” Miss Egerton evinced
some agitation. “Have they caught the thief?”.
Kassim Bardai shook his head regretfully. “They
are not likely to. It is but another of the many
mysterious robberies which have taken place
recently here in the North Riding."
“Mysterious robberies! What do you mean?”


84
THE RED CAVALIER
Kassim Bardai regarded her gravely. “Is it
possible, Miss Egerton, you do not know that for
the past few months there have been innumerable
daring robberies in the North Riding? Last night's
was the most successful of all. Really, Miss Eger-
ton, one must admire your courage in wishing to
occupy Twin Turrets."
The Hindu's voice held a peculiar note and his
eye swept the hall, embracing the Indian curios and
idols. Several times Borrowdean had caught him
glancing sharply at the mutilated image of Brahma.
Miss Egerton stiffened. "My intention to occupy
Twin Turrets is hardly a matter of courage, I think.
There is little here to tempt a thief unless he desires
to make a collection of idols as Sir Robert Grainger
did."
Kassim Bardai flushed darkly. “You English
have no reverence-not even tolerance—for the gods
of other peoples. But then”-he put restraint upon
himself—"you do not understand. It is your mis-
fortune. But I do not want to quarrel with you,
Miss Egerton, because it is best to be frank-I
have a quite extraordinary proposition to make to
you. It is a favour I would ask—a great favour
you will say. It is not for myself,” as her expression
grew forbidding, “it is for my sister.”
Lona heard his words and looked up in her fright-
ened way.
“My sister," resumed Kassim Bardai in his slow,
liquid voice, “has not your courage, Miss Egerton.


THE RED CAVALIER
85
The robbery last night has excited her sadly. There
are strange tales in regard to this robber who ter-
rorizes the North Riding. The country folk are
superstitious, they say that he is the ghost of some
gentleman who was hanged for his misdeeds two
centuries or more ago—in fact an ancestor of the
late Sir Robert Grainger. According to the peas-
ants, he has reappeared from the grave-or the
gibbet perhaps-every few years since his hanging
and has haunted the moorland paths so that the
natives do not dare to cross the moors at night.
But this is the first year, I am told, that he continues
the robberies for which he was banged so many long
years ago.”
Borrowdean listened with interest. He thought
vaguely of the portrait of the roystering cavalier in
the dining-hall at Twin Turrets and of the figure
in the plumed hat which had peered in through the
library door.
“Silly, superstitious twaddle!” declared Miss
Egerton. “I haven't a doubt that the face of
this man who has been committing burglaries
here is known to every official at Scotland Yard
and it is only a matter of time when he will be
arrested.”
Kassim Bardai shrugged slightly. “It may be.
You English have little belief in the occult. It is
not so with us who are of the East. We have reason
to believe in mysteries.”
"How do the moor folk describe this resurrected


86
THE RED CAVALIER
robber?” inquired Borrowdean, his voice losing
something of its usual drawl.
Kassim Bardai turned politely. “He is said to
wear always the costume of a cavalier of your merry
King Charles II. I understand that Sir Gerald
Eversleigh saw him last night fleeing from the house
after the robberyand he swears to the same costume.”
“Any particular colour, this costume?” No one
could accuse Borrowdean of looking bored as he put
this question.
"A bright red-scarlet." Kassim Bardai's voice
was almost a snarl.
Borrowdean nodded. “I thought so."
The tea-cup which Ahmed was passing to the
prince fell with a crash on the flagstones. Murmur-
ing profuse apologies, the butler stooped and with
head lowered under Miss Egerton's reproving gaze,
began carefully to gather up the shattered cup, bit
by bit. Miss Egerton sharply bade him procure
another cup and send for Essy to sweep up the
débris.
Kassim Bardai paid no heed to the little mishap,
but he did bestow on Borrowdean a peculiar, ques-
tioning stare before resuming his conversation.
“You will wonder, Miss Egerton, what all this
has to do with the favour I wish to ask you in behalf
of my sister. As I said, she has not your courage,
your disbelief in the occult. She is of the East;
you will understand that she must think as those
of the East think.”


88
THE RED CAVALIER
make her more willing to receive you as her guest for
a few weeks.”
Lona obediently opened a small bag she carried
and tendered to Miss Egerton an unsealed and
partly finished letter written to a prominent solicitor
in Lincoln's Inn Fields. In the letter Sir Robert
was making arrangements for a new will to be drawn
up in favour of "my ward, Lona Bardai.” He
described Lona as having been entrusted to his care
by her own father at the time of his death fourteen
years previous when he, Sir Robert, had been travel-
ling in India. The letter went on to state that it
was his particular desire that Twin Turrets, in regard
to which there was some legal tangle, should come
unequivocally into Lona's possession.
Borrowdean read this letter aloud at Miss Eger-
ton's request, and during the reading Kassim Bar-
dai's face was a study in passion restrained. He
seemed to hate the memory of the man who had
been his sister's benefactor and who would have
made her his heiress had not death intervened.
When Borrowdean had finished Sir Robert's letter,
Kassim Bardai produced another from the solicitor
in Lincoln's Inn Fields which substantiated Lona's
claim of being the unofficial ward of Sir Robert
Grainger. There was no doubt that the Hindu was
exceedingly anxious for his sister to be received at
Twin Turrets. But why? Borrowdean did not
for a moment believe that it was out of consideration
for Lona's mental or physical state. Nor did he


THE RED CAVALIER
89
believe that it was simply from a desire to be rid of
the care of his sister. There was some deeper
motive than this and Borrowdean felt convinced
that it was connected with the death of Sir Robert.
On the other hand there was no doubt that Lona
herself was anxious to come back to Twin Turrets,
but whether it was from real affection for the old
house which had been her home for so many years
or a desire to be free from her brother's tutelage or
some other reason not so innocent, Borrowdean
could not make out.
Max suddenly spoke a word in Lona's behalf.
“I think, Aunt Van, that Princess Lona Bardai
would be a jolly little addition to the house party."
Miss Egerton yielded as she generally did to
Max's wishes and when Kassim Bardai took his
departure after assuring Berenice that he hoped for
the pleasure of seeing her again shortly, he left his
sister as the guest of Miss Egerton.
Max smiled quizzically at Lona. “Are you happy
now, little Lotus-Flower?”
Lona glanced up shyly into his half gentle, half
mocking eyes and her dusky cheek flushed. “I
am sure I shall be, Mr. Egerton.”
Max laughed and sauntered out from the hall.
Berenice, in her frank, friendly way, bore Lona off
to the terrace to watch the waves. Borrowdean
went into the dining-room for another scrutiny of
that picture which was constantly recurring to his
mind.


90
THE RED CAVALIER
He was surprised to find Max standing though
fully before it. Max wheeled quickly.
“So you've come too for a glimpse at this Red
Cavalier? The moment you asked Kassim Bardai
the colour of the robber's costume, I knew you were
thinking of this picture. You hardly took your eyes
off it during luncheon. What do you think of this
ghostly burglar, Reggie? Does he step down out
of the canvas-or what?”
"I think," answered Borrowdean with delibera-
tion, “that it is worth our while to find out.”
Max studied the handsome, reckless face of the
Cavalier a moment. “This chap is interesting,
Reggie. And so,” he added with a laugh, “is the
little lotus-flower. What do you say to playing a
string at billiards, old man?”
11


CHAPTER IX
A NIGHT OF MYSTERY
That night Borrowdean, in view of the disap-
pearance of the key to the library door, decided to
sleep on the couch in that room so as to be ready
for developments. He felt sure that the key had
been stolen for some purpose and he intended to
discover what that purpose was. Miss Egerton ad-
vised him to keep his revolver at hand and Max
insisted upon sharing his vigil. Their intention to
pass the night there was known only to Miss Egerton.
After every one else had retired, housekeeper,
new servants, and guests, Borrowdean and Max
went down quietly into the library where the latter
calmly appropriated the couch and left Borrowdean
to get what sleep he could lounging in a chair. But
sleep would not come. He fell to wondering if Mrs.
Dalrymple, whose chamber was on the ground floor
not far from the library, could have heard them enter.
The more he saw of the housekeeper, the more he
distrusted her, and her question in regard to Bere-
nice's name puzzled and annoyed him.
Berenice too was puzzling him, or rather he was
puzzled by the note which had been brought to her
that evening when they were all out upon the terrace
91


92
THE RED CAVALIER
watching the moon rise over the sea. The note had
been brought by a little country lad and Berenice
had not been the same since receiving it. She had
gone into the house to read it and when she returned
her face was troubled and her gaiety vanished.
Could it have been a dunning letter from some
creditor? Max had said she had placed all hope
of meeting her debts on Gypsy Queen, the losing
horse.
The hours dragged by without incident and far
away a clock solemnly struck two. Max was sleep-
ing peacefully, the moon's rays falling caressingly
on his chestnut head. No figure in plumed hat
had yet peered in through the leaded glass door
opening on the terrace; there was no sound of stir-
ring in the old house, no crash of a breaking idol.
An overpowering drowsiness crept over Borrowdean
and he fell asleep to dream that the Red Cavalier
was stepping out through the painted canvas. The
dream was very real; the insolent, reckless eyes
of the beribboned rake laughed into his, the arrogant
mouth mocked him with its jeering twist; he could
even hear the cautious tread of his buckled shoes as
the cavalier stole away to nocturnal adventures.
Suddenly Borrowdean sat upright in the chair,
wide awake. Some one was stealing across the
floor. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. There
at the outer door was a woman's figure! A click of
the lock and she was gone, hurrying across the ter-
race. He sprang to the door; it was locked behind


A NIGHT OF MYSTERY
93
her, and she had disappeared into the night which
the moon, buried in scurrying clouds, no longer
lighted. He had caught but a transient glimpse of
the woman, wrapped in a long mantle and with a
scarf or veil floating about her head, but he knew
she was Morna Dalrymple. It was she then who had
taken the key from under his pillow.
As he turned from the door he made another dis-
covery. The couch was vacant and Max gone.
He struck a match and lighted a candle to make sure
that his friend was not playing him some trick.
But no, he was alone in the room. He looked out
into the corridor and called Max's name softly.
There was no response.
Borrowdean then blew out the candle and settled
himself in his former chair prepared to wait for Mrs.
Dalrymple's return. As a precaution against dozing
off again, he lit a cigarette and resolutely kept his
thoughts fastened on the mysteries that troubled
him. He did not regard Max's disappearance as
one of them. Max had probably found the couch
uncomfortable for an extended nap and had gone up
to bed, doubtless laughing to himself at the surprise
he should cause Borrowdean.
The minutes dragged by, the pulsing of the sea
outside, the only sound audible now, was dangerously
soothing, and Borrowdean, for all his efforts to
awake, was growing sleepy again, when on a sudden
the hush that held Twin Turrets was broken by a
peculiar, drilling noise. It was not loud, it was


94
THE RED CAVALIER
er.
subdued, cautious, as though the maker of it feared
that some one would hear. Yet the noise went on
steadily, resolutely, purposefully.
At first Borrowdean was at a loss to locate it, then
he decided that it must come from the great hall.
He hated to leave the library even for a moment lest
Mrs. Dalrymple return in his absence, but he must
find out what that drilling was. Halfway to the
hall, he was checked by a low, startled scream.
Then a familiar voice said softly:
“Don't be alarmed, little Lotus-Flower. It is only
I, Maxwell Egerton.”
Borrowdean hurried into the hall. The dawn
which was just sending its pale light through the high
windows revealed Max in his dressing-gown as
Borrowdean had seen him last, and at the base of
the double stair Lona in négligé, her dusky hair
falling like a cloud about her shoulders and her eyes
more than ever like those of a frightened fawn.
"By George! Reggie,” Max called out, "did you
hear the noise too? I was just about to get into
bed-forgive me for deserting you, old chap, but
that couch was never meant to spend the night on
-when I heard a jolly queer noise. At first it was
very faint and I thought I was imagining it, but it
grew louder and I ran down to investigate. When
I got here the ghost had vanished. Then her little
highness," turning with a half tender, half mocking
smile to Lona, “came down, too, and mistook me
for the ghost. Didn't you, little Lotus-Flower?”


A NIGHT OF MYSTERY
95
“I-I was all dazed,” she faltered. “I think I
am hardly awake even now."
“It's a sleepy little Lotus-Flower, eh?” Max spoke
very gently. “You had better go back to bed, little
princess.” .
"I must find out first what that noise was," de-
murred Lona anxiously. "I think-I think the
statue of Brahma has been moved.”
She ran excitedly across the hall. The idol surely
had been pulled out a little from the recess in which
it stood. Lona stooped and raised some object from
the flagstones.
“See! Could not this have made the drilling
sound?”
"By Jove! it could.” Max took the object from
her hand and passed it to Borrowdean for inspection.
"It's a gimlet, Reggie, and a strong little instrument
too.”
Lona uttered a cry of consternation. “There is a
hole straight through one of Brahma's faces, big
enough to put my finger in!”
Borrowdean took down a candle from a silver
sconce on the wall, lighted it, and examined the
idol. Some one had indeed bored a hole through
one of the two remaining heads of the image.
Borrowdean looked kindly at Lona. “Don't be
too upset over it, little girl. It's only an idol after
all. The old fellow himself—your god I mean-
isn't actually injured.”
Lona smiled tremulously. “It isn't that. I am


96
THE RED CAVALIER
a
not a worshipper of Brahma as my brother is. But
-but why should any one—" she broke off, glancing
pitifully from Borrowdean to Max.
Max put his arm about her shoulders with a
slightly caressing gesture as though he were reas-
suring a frightened child. “You run along up to
bed, little Lotus-Flower, and leave the worrying to
Lord Borrowdean and me."
Lona hesitated. There was a haunting, doubtful
look in her soft, dark eyes raised to his.
Max smiled banteringly. “Can't you trust us to
do the worrying, eh?”
Lona let her cheek rest a brief instant against
Max's arm. “I am not going to think any more
about it, Mr. Egerton. I shall go directly to bed.”
Max laughed and released her. “A sensible
decision, isn't it, Reggie?”
Lona ran lightly up the stairs. “Goodnight, Mr.
Egerton," she called softly, leaning down from the
balustraded gallery.
“Goodnight, Princess Lona.” Max made her a
mock, ceremonious bow.
“Coming up, old man?” He turned to Borrow-
dean who was studying the mutilated idol.
“No; I'm going back to the library.”
Max stifled a yawn. “Suit yourself, you old
night-owl. I'm off to bed. I don't believe the
ghost will get in any more work tonight and I'm
beastly sleepy."
Borrowdean returned immediately to the library.
.


A NIGHT OF MYSTERY
97
Everything appeared exactly as he had left it and
he did not believe that Mrs. Dalrymple had come
back. But as time went on and still she did
not come, he began to fear that he had missed her
after all. The room was almost light now and
he ensconced himself in a big morocco chair,
the back turned toward the outer door so that she
should not see him through the leaded panes and
take alarm.
The question of who had drilled a hole through
the head of Brahma was troubling him now. And
why had it been done? It was rather strange that
the sound of the drilling had been loud enough to
call Max and Lona down from their chambers,
and yet had been audible to no one else on the upper
floors. Of course Max had not been asleep. He
had said he was about to get into bed when he had
heard the noise, but Lona-how did she happen to
hear it so distinctly? Her chamber was some-
where at the farther end of the west wing. She
must have singularly acute hearing unless she had
already been up and about the house. Still,' it was
difficult to imagine a timid creature like Lona
wandering aimlessly at night through such a ghostly
old place as Twin Turrets. If she had been wander-
ing about, she had done so with deliberate purpose.
He recalled how shocked and alarmed she had been
at discovering the fresh mutilation of the idol, but
her agitation had not been due to religious scruples
or to any feeling that sacrilege had been done to the


98
THE RED CAVALIER
Hindu god. What was the mystery surrounding
these mutilated idols?
The sound of a key furtively turning in a lock
startled him; he almost forgot precaution and
sprang up from the chair in his relief that the weari-
some vigil was over at last. When a rush of cold,
salt air through the library and the gentle closing
of the door told him that the one he had waited for
so long was in the room, he rose quickly to his feet.
"Mrs. Dalrymple, I think I must ask you how you
secured the key to that door."
The woman turned swiftly and the veil fell away
from her face.
Borrowdean started back with an exclamation of
amazement.
It was not Morna Dalrymple-it was Berenice.


CHAPTER X
ANOTHER MYSTERY
BERENICE stared at him unhappily. “I was
hoping you had gone upstairs.”
She was pale and looked intensely miserable, as
though she had come face to face with sordid tragedy
and felt herself cheapened, humiliated, crushed
down by it.
Borrowdean was deeply moved to see her like this
-she who had always hitherto, no matter what
worries beset her, contrived to appear light-hearted
and gay. He drew forward a chair for her and she
sank into it dejectedly, with a sigh of utter weariness,
more of mind than of body, it seemed to him.
He stood looking down at her awkwardly, longing
to offer sympathy but not knowing what to say.
"Berenice, old girl,” he blurted at length, “you're
in some trouble. Can I do anything to help you.”
She glanced up at him with a faint smile of appre-
ciation. “You are awfully kind, Reggie, but there
is nothing you can do. I must fight this out my-
self.”
“Berenice," he laid his hand gently on her shoulder
-his voice was a little husky-he meant to play
fair with Max, to give him “free way” with Bere-
99


100
THE RED CAVALIER
nice, but he could not be expected to remain entirely
passive at sight of her distress, "Berenice, if it's-
if it's Gypsy Queen that's worrying you, I should
like-that is, I-oh, hang it alll you know what I
mean, I've got more money than I know what to
do with.”
Berenice caught his hand and pressed it in both
her own. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. “Dear
old Reggie, it is not Gypsy Queen and I cannot
permit you to help me. I can only tell you that
something has happened tonight which makes me
wonder if there is such a thing in the world as happi-
ness—for me, at least.”
“Oh, I say, Berenice—" It was so unlike her to
talk in this way.
She rose suddenly. "Reggie, I must see Kassim
Bardai to-morrow-alone. But I don't want any
talk about it-any gossip-if I were to write a note
asking him to meet me somewhere on the cliffs
to-morrow, would you see that it was delivered to
him? I don't want to trust a servant-they talk
too much.”
Borrowdean again was conscious of a savage feel-
ing against the Hindu. “If that chap is bothering
yo'l in any way"
"No, no, Reggie, it is strictly a matter of-of
business.” But her eyes, always so frank, avoided
his.
A miserable suspicion seized him. "Berenice,"
he said desperately, "promise me that you will


ANOTHER MYSTERY
101
accept no loan from that brown fellow-nothing
that will put you in his power."
“Why, what an absurd idea, Reggie!” She gave
a little forced laugh. "If I will not accept money
from you, my old friend, surely I will not do so from
one who is almost a stranger to me. You will take
my note, Reggie?”
He had a struggle with himself, but he could not
resist her appeal. “I will take the note. And,
Berenice, remember, you can always count on me.
If you won't let me help you with this matter, I
wish you would with Gypsy Queen. I know that's
worrying you, too."
"It is worrying me, but I can't quite bring myself
yet to letting you help me. I've just a little pride,
Reggie, and then I know how generous you have
been to Max. You mustn't allow all your friends to
bleed you, dear old boy.".
"Berenice, I want you to promise me something
else--that you won't let any one but me help you with
Gypsy Queen.”
She laid her hands on his shoulders and smiled at
him almost maternally. “Dear old boy,” she said
again, and her voice was very tender, "you actually
beg people to take advantage of your goodness.
Well, I promise. I will let no one help me but you.
Now I want you to promise me something, too.
No matter what happens, don't fail me with your
friendship. Just now I need it even more than I
do moneyand Heaven knows I need that badly


102
THE RED CAVALIER
enough. But your friendship I can't do without.
You're sane, conventional, respectable, and you're
wholesome for me."
He felt an almost irresistible desire to draw her
into his arms-she looked so absolutely wretched.
Loyalty to Max alone restrained him. His emotion
repressed made him seem a little brusque in manner
as he said:
“You ought to know I'm not just a fair-weather
friend.”
She gave a little sigh, almost of exasperation.
“Of course I know that and I know, too, that you
are horribly, hopelessly literal.”
Borrowdean stared after her thoughtfully as she
hurried from the room. He did not altogether
grasp her meaning, but he was a man, and being
such, was not too self-depreciative to speculate on
what she might mean. At any rate he wished
fervently that Max had chosen to bestow his volatile
affections in some other quarter..
Berenice excused herself from coming down to
breakfast on the plea of "a shocking headache,”
but she met Borrowdean on the terrace later and
gave him her note to Kassim Bardai. She looked
rather a wreck in the pitiless sunlight, but assured
Borrowdean that another nap would freshen her up.
By tacit consent no mention was made of the fresh
mutilation of the three-headed idol save to Miss
Egerton and she appeared more annoyed than
alarmed.


ANOTHER MYSTERY
103
Borrowdean did not perform his duty of mes-
senger to Kassim Bardai in a very tranquil frame
of mind. He could not conceive what business
Berenice could have with the man, and he could not
but wonder where she had gone last night and what
had happened to upset her so. Then, too, how had
she gained possession of the key to the library door?
It must have been Mrs. Dalrymple-or Ahmed
perhaps—who had taken it from under his pillow.
But why should either of them give it to Berenice?
It was another of the mysteries so rife at Twin
Turrets, but this one touched him more nearly be-
cause it concerned Berenice. He resolved to think
of it as little as possible. She had practically asked
him to trust her and he would do so in face of every-
thing.
As he walked on over a stretch of brown moorland
starred with the gold of the furze and the broom, he
came upon a little group of shepherds and rustic
folk discussing the latest exploit of their favourite
goblin, the Red Cavalier-namely, the robbery at
Eversleigh Court. The cold blooded pistolling of
the page lent an additional thrill to this escapade
and the simple-souled country folk were thoroughly
enjoying the retelling of the tale. To satisfy some-
thing more than curiosity, Borrowdean approached
the little group and asked if any one of them per-
sonally had seen the cavalier burglar.
One old shepherd proudly declared that he had
and the others listened with awe and envy to what


106
THE RED CAVALIER
Ser
a-
TO
Pulling the bell-rope, he requested the Hindu
servant to bring him letter-paper and writing ma-
terials for his own use and cigarettes and liqueur
for his guest. Borrowdean, however, declined both.
He had come to feel such dislike for Kassim Bardai
that it was impossible for him to accept even con-
ventional hospitality at his hands.
The East Indian looked at him a little curiously
but did not press his hospitality. Seating himself
at a remarkably handsome Jacobean writing-table,
he penned, with much painstaking thought, a rather
lengthy epistle to Berenice.
When this was finished, Borrowdean rose in-
stantly. Although by no means a man of passions,
he would have liked to tear into bits the note,
written on strange, foreign paper, which Kassim
Bardai, with a few courteous words of thanks, put
into his hand. There was an air of confidence, of
assured power about the Hindu which particularly
irritated him. Then, too, he felt a ridiculous resent-
ment against him for the simple fact that he wore
the clothes of an Englishman and wore them also
with correctness and ease as though he had never
known any different garb. To Borrowdean, who,
perhaps, was too insular in his prejudices, this
seemed nothing short of usurpation. Moreover, if
this handsome, arrogant East Indian could thus
readily usurp the dress and bearing of an Englishman
might he not also usurp the privilege of taking an
Englishwoman to wife? Borrowdean caught a
sea


ANOTHER MYSTERY
107
glimpse of his own face in a wall-mirror and was
dismayed by its expression of obvious rage. He had
always prided himself on his self-control and never
in the company of casual acquaintances had his
features betrayed a stronger emotion than good-
natured boredom. But now here was this brown
man in whose veins surged the hot blood of an alien
race, only superficially civilized, putting to shame
in the matter of courtesy and self-restraint one who
was a descendant of generations of conventional-
living, cool-blooded Saxons.
Borrowdean took hold of himself. His face no
longer expressed anything but the impassivity of
high-bred indifference.
"Pray don't mention it, Prince,” he drawled. “It
gives me pleasure to carry your note to Lady Bere-
nice.”
Kassim Bardai, with an air of amiable condescen-
sion, accompanied his visitor to the porch.
"I suppose there were no unusual occurrences at
Twin Turrets last night-no visit from the Red
Cavalier, as the country folk call this picturesque
North Riding robber?”
Borrowdean lifted the ribbon of his monocle and
stared deliberately through the glass at Kassim
Bardai. “You take a tremendous interest in Twin
Turrets, don't you?”
“But naturally, Lord Borrowdean, since it has
been the home of my sister for so many years."
The calm hauteur of the Hindu's answering stare


108
THE RED CAVALIER
stirred Borrowdean to anger. For an instant his
eyes blazed, but almost immediately a bored look
filmed them once more.
"You will be glad to hear, Prince Kassim,” his
voice drawling and polite, “that your sister is well
and happy this morning. I daresay it is the North
Sea air."
The Hindu nodded gravely. “Without doubt it
is the North Sea air. For my sister it is always a
tonic. Lord Borrowdean, may I trouble you to con-
vey my respectful good wishes to that intrepid lady,
Miss Egerton?”
Borrowdean found Kassim Bardai's tone as he
uttered these last words particularly objectionable
and he walked quickly away from Avingdon Manor
lest he again lose control of himself.
Berenice was awaiting him on the terrace and she
received the Hindu's note with a feverish eagerness
which served to increase Borrowdean's resentment
against the East Indian. She went up to her room
to read the reply. She was a few minutes late to
luncheon, but seemed to be unaware of Miss Eger-
ton's displeasure and entered at once into a lively
skirmish of words with Max. But her gaiety was
fitful and now and then Borrowdean would see the
shadow of some trouble darkening her eyes.
After luncheon she contrived to escape from Max
and disappeared without any one knowing where
she went. But Borrowdean knew that she had gone
to meet Kassim Bardai and his heart was heavy.


ANOTHER MYSTERY
109
He felt utterly unequal to the task of trying to keep
Ethelyn away from Max as he had promised to do
-in his present mood her inconsequent chatter
would be maddening, so he, too, wandered off alone.
Some irresistible impulse drew him to the cliffs.
He did not intend to spy upon Berenice, but he
distrusted Kassim Bardai as much as he disliked
him and he knew that the Hindu was capable of
violence if any purpose of his were thwarted.
As a rule Borrowdean was not in the least addicted
to the exercise of rock climbing, but this afternoon
he scrambled zealously over great masses of cliff
till he reached a lofty scaur which offered an almost
limitless panorama of sea, sands, and cliffs. The
waves were breaking all around the jagged scaur,
filling the air with their booming, while a strong
wind blew the white spray high above the foaming
crests, and Borrowdean, as he lay stretched full
length upon the promontory, resting after his un-
wonted exertions, felt his face sting from the salty
moisture. The sky was sharply blue, but the sea
was full of shadows, of vague, weird colours, greyish
green, purply-blue, gold-flecked where the sun
danced upon the waters, and again dusky violet
like Berenice's eyes.
That distant figure in white coming lightly over the
rocks, was it Berenice? Raising himself on his
elbow, he gazed intently at the graceful figure. As
it came nearer he saw that it was Berenice. She
stood now in indecision upon a bare, black nab of


ANOTHER MYSTERY
111
moment he would have felt little regret had Kassim
Bardai lost his footing and slipped into those angry
waves churning around the nab. But nothing of
the sort happened, nor did Berenice repulse the
Hindu or even laugh at him as Borrowdean expected
her to do. Instead she continued to gaze out to sea,
evidently thinking seriously. After a few moments
she spoke to Kassim Bardai and then they walked
away together, he carrying her parasol and assisting
her over the rocks.
It afforded Borrowdean some slight consolation to
observe that Pompon shared his dislike of the Hindu
and was giving vent to his feelings in sharp little
yelps which his mistress was trying in vain to check.
The sound of a familiar laugh, merry, and yet with
a hint of mockery in it, drew his gaze from the
retreating figures of Berenice and Kassim Bardai
and turned it to the long strip of yellow sand curving
like a crescent on the right of the scaur.
Max and Lona were strolling along, laughing and
talking. There was no trace now of worry or fear
on the beaming face of the little Hindu girl. She
was like a happy child off for a rare holiday. She
was hanging upon her companion's jesting words
and gazing up into his face with shy, but whole-
hearted admiration. Every now and then she would
stop to pick up shells, exclaiming eagerly over their
beauty and holding them to her ear to hear the sounds
of the sea. At such times Max would regard her
with a smile of cynical amusement.


112
THE RED CAVALIER
Somehow Borrowdean felt a little angry with Max.
If he were really in love with Berenice, why should
he trifle with this little Hindu girl, as unsophisticated
as a child in the nursery? Was it all in line with his
expressed desire to be on terms of friendship with
Kassim Bardai because he represented the fabulous
wealth of the East, or was it merely from a wish to
find some amusement on an afternoon when Bere-
nice was not available? In any case it was not
fair to Lona. Max's interest in things Hindu was
somewhat puzzling. Those ugly Indian idols seemed
to exercise a sort of fascination over him and he was
quite unable to keep away from them. Lona rep-
resented that land from which they came but could
this fact explain his interest in her? Simple child-
like girls were not the type of women which gen-
erally appealed to him.
Borrowdean remained on the scaur, staring out
over the sea and thinking rather bitter thoughts
until long after Max and Lona had gone from sight
and the wind had grown uncomfortably keen.
Then he rose and made his way back to Twin Tur-
rets. The old house, clinging there to the prom-
ontory, seemed more than ever grim and sinister
in the mood that held him then. As he entered the
great hall, the sound of music led him to the smaller
drawing-room.
Lona, her hair blown from the walk on the sands,
· her face still that of a happy child on a holiday, was
seated at the piano. Max was leaning gracefully


ANOTHER MYSTERY
113
against the instrument, watching her with that
same amused, cynical smile. Lona had been playing
a little timidly, but under Max's encouraging words,
she gained confidence and the music swelled beneath
her fingers. Strange chords crashed and broke;
the mystery and the haunting sadness of the East
alike brooded in the weird notes. The wild, quiver-
ing melody evoked all manner of extravagant, im-
possible dreams.
Borrowdean was conscious of a sense of unutter-
able depression, but Max wore still the smile of the
cynic. One last shivering chord and Lona's fingers
dropped from the keys. She looked up at Max,
half in doubt, half in hope.
Again he put his arm lightly about her shoulders
and patted her on the arm. “Bravo, little Lotus-
Flower!”
She thrilled under his touch, her eyes shone, her
dusky cheeks were aflame.
Borrowdean turned away abruptly. That eve-
ning he spoke to Max.
"I hope you'll play fair with the little Hindu girl.
She's only a child as far as worldliness goes. She
might take you seriously.”
Max's easy laughter bubbled up. “My word!
Reggie, what a long face. Now don't worry over
the little lotus-flower. Such exotic blossoms are not
for my garden, but you know I am bound to be
decent to her since she is Aunt Van's guest.”


CHAPTER XI
THE COSTUME BALL
BORROWDEAN looked down without enthusiasm
upon the ancient suit of armour in which he was
imprisoned.
"Pearson, do you think it possible for me to dance
in this steel box?”
Pearson paused in his task of encasing Borrowdean
in the shining coat of mail and surveyed him rather
dubiously. “It might be possible, my lord.”
"I expect I am making a bally ass of myself
tonight, Pearson.”
The valet remained discreetly silent. Borrowdean
pushed up the steel visor with some disgust. This
costume ball, Max's idea to enliven the gloom of life
at Twin Turrets, found as little favour with him as
it did with Miss Egerton. A ball was well enough,
but let it be a properly-conducted affair in conven-
tional, sensible evening dress, not a sort of Bohemian
function where the guests appeared in the fantastic
costumes of other ages and other countries-cos-
tumes which they could not hope to wear with proper
effect and which consequently made them seem
ridiculous.
Borrowdean had not particularly enjoyed his visit
114


THE COSTUME BALL
115
at Twin Turrets, especially during the last ten days.
Kassim Bardai had been in constant attendance
upon Berenice; Max as a result had been moody
and irritable, and upon one occasion there had been
almost a scene between the two men, the Hindu's
anger having been aroused by some mocking words
of Max's in regard to the idols, which were holy in
the eyes of Kassim Bardai. Berenice, and Lona,
too, had intervened, a semblance of peace had been
brought about, and Kassim Bardai was among the
guests invited to the ball. As a solace for the loss
of Berenice's society, Max continued to amuse him-
self with Lona, leaving Ethelyn to depend entirely
on Borrowdean for her entertainment.
As a prelude to the ball, the one intact head re-
maining to the statue of Brahma had been broken
the night before by a blow from some heavy imple-
ment and the crash had again roused the household.
Essy Grieve chose to consider this as an omen of
impending evil. As a matter of fact, Borrowdean
was inclined to agree with her. The atmosphere of
Twin Turrets on the eve of the ball was charged with
unpleasantness and mutual distrust. Some one of
the household must be responsible for the breaking
of the idols. But who was it and how much longer
would this person be content simply to shatter images
for the furtherance of some unknown design?
Borrowdean's musings were interrupted by the
sudden opening of the door. At sight of the scarlet-
clad figure which entered he remained a moment


116
THE RED CAVALIER
astounded. It was as though the Red Cavalier had
stepped out of the frame which held his painted like-
ness. There was the roystering blade to the life,
with his plumed hat, his resplendent, beribboned
suit, his flowing wig, his reckless eyes and his mocking
smile. Then the cavalier burst into a merry,
audacious, boyish laugh, and the spell was broken.
“Max! Why the deuce are you gotten up in this
fashion?”
Max's laughter bubbled forth again. His eyes
now were teasing, the curve of his lips wholly
humourous.
“Gave you rather of a start, eh, Reggie? The
guests should be arriving soon. Let us come down
and see how they will welcome the famous Red
Cavalier."
Forthwith they went downstairs where Max's
costume provoked the amazement he desired and
brought upon him a rebuke from Miss Egerton, who
disapproved, as Borrowdean did, of his impersonat-
ing the North Riding robber. Max's appearance
in this garb had an astonishing effect upon Ahmed.
On the way to the ballroom, he passed the Hindu in
the hall. The butler started violently and let fall
with a crash the tray of glasses he was carrying.
His features were convulsed with conflicting emo-
tions-hate, fear, and incredulity.
“Look closer, Ahmed,” Max urged pleasantly.
“You'll see I'm not the chap you took me for."
For some reason it gave Max infinite satisfaction
SOle cas


THE COSTUME BALL
117
as well as amusement to observe the effect of his
costume on others. But no one betrayed more
agitation than did Kassim Bardai who was among
the first of the arriving guests. His emotions were
no less acute than Ahmed's, but in place of fear
he showed rage. And when, at a second glance, he
recognized Max, he was able to call up no saving
sense of humour, but exhibited anger and resent-
ment.
The East Indian's own appearance was somewhat
startling, due not so much to the full native garb
which he wore with a princely dignity, but rather to
the enormous ruby-a ball of crimson fire set in dull
gold-which ornamented the breast of his silken
robe.
"The Azra El Kab ruby!” Berenice murmured in
Borrowdean's ear. “Think what a fortune that
jewel representsand see how boldly he flaunts it!”
There was an undernote of bitterness in her voice.
Borrowdean surveyed her gravely. “I hope you
will not permit that Hindu to monopolize you to-
night.”
Berenice laughed but not quite naturally. “You
absurd fellow! I believe you're jealous. • I have
promised Prince Kassim several dances but I have
saved two for you. Well!” as he remained silent,
“have you nothing to say. Can't you thank me,
at least?"
He smiled painfully. “No end kind of you, I'm
sure, to save me Prince Kassim's leavings.”


118
THE RED CAVALIER
"Reggie, I never saw you ill-natured before. I
suppose I ought to feel complimented, for I believe
you are jealous.” She gave a little nervous laugh.
"By the way, dear boy, you haven't said how you
like me tonight.”
He viewed her critically. She was wonderful as
Cleopatra, in a diaphanous robe of violet-blue,
glittering with gold spangles. A diamond asp
sparkled about her throat and the glow of the hun-
dred wax candles in the crystal lustre above her
brought out the rich, auburn glints in her hair.
Borrowdean's eyes lighted up. “You look-ah-
ripping!”
The approach of Kassim Bardai, who came to
claim Berenice for the dance which was just com-
mencing, cut short her jesting words of gratification.
Borrowdean was obliged to call to the fore the full
strength of his conventional training in order to
return the Hindu's polite salutation. Not only the
arrogant, dominating personality of the East Indian,
but that blazing jewel, like a splotch of blood, upon
his breast, affected him most unpleasantly. More-
over, the Hindu's air of proprietorship toward
Berenice was insufferable.
He turned away abruptly as Kassim Bardai led
Berenice into the centre of the great ballroom where
already more than fifty couples in fancy dress were
dancing. He had no heart to seek a partner. Every
thing for him was coloured by the fierce, red light of
the Azra El Kab ruby, and he felt the presentiment


THE COSTUME BALL
119
that something was to happen which would make
this brilliant ball seem but mockery.
Unnoticed in the gay whirl of the dance, he passed
through one of the long French windows and stepped
out upon the terrace to be alone with his thoughts.
But even here on the terrace, swept by the ever keen
winds from the sea below, he could not find the
solitude he sought. The moon, riding high among
a few white clouds, disclosed the figures of a man
and woman standing together, on the edge of the
promontory, cut clear as silhouettes against the
silver sheen of sky and water. The fantastic cos-
tume of the man startled him for a moment-it was
Max in his cavalier dress. The woman without
doubt was Morna Dalrymple. She was of course
not in fancy dress and was easily recognizable from
her general appearance and the arrangement of her
hair in heavy braids twisted about her head. It
was strange that Max should desert the ball for the
purpose of coming out on the cliffs to talk with the
housekeeper. Did he mean to solace himself for
Kassim Bardai's monopoly of Berenice by a little
affair with Morna Dalrymple? To some she might
seem an attractive woman, in spite of her air of
mystery. Borrowdean shrugged and reëntered
the house. In any case, it was not his concern.
Ethelyn, in the guise of Poppaea, and looking not
unlike that very earthy divinity with her fluff of
golden hair, its hard shade softened by the moon's
rays, and her big blue eyes with their expression of


120
THE RED CAVALIER
artless appeal which struck the observant as being
not entirely sincere, stepped suddenly through the
French window.
"I saw you come out here, Reggie. I want to
talk to you. I happen to be partnerless, too, for
this dance." She tried to laugh, but the attempt
was not altogether successful.
Borrowdean glanced hastily toward the edge of
the promontory. He was relieved to find that Max
and Mrs. Dalrymple were no longer there. Perhaps
Ethelyn had not seen Max; he hoped not.
“I want to speak to you about Berenice," Ethelyn
was saying. “Miss Egerton is extremely displeased
with her and one can hardly wonder at it. You
spent the afternoon taking a nap, I believe, so of
course you did not see the visitor she had. He was
a distinctly unpleasant-looking person, a Hebrew and
quite obviously a money-lender-one gets to know
that type. His manner was insufferable, bullying
even. Berenice went out on the cliffs with him and
was gone over an hour. When she came back, her
expression was quite desperate. I never saw her
like that before.”
“Why have you told me all this, Ethelyn?" Bor-
rowdean's voice held a curious hard note.
Ethelyn looked at him innocently. “Why, you're
such a friend of Berenice-it's evident she's in a tight
place—and I thought you might advise her for her
own good. It is equally evident that Kassim Bardai
is infatuated with her—"


THE COSTUME BALL
121
"But she shall not encourage him if my influence
is of any avail,” Borrowdean broke in sharply. He
understood Ethelyn's purpose and knew that she
would go to any lengths to remove Berenice from her
path. “I am going back to the ballroom. Are you
coming?”
Ethelyn smiled reproachfully. “Why are you
in such a hurry, Reggie? You'll not find Berenice
there, you know. Just before I stepped out here,
Ahmed came to her with a note. She stopped in
the middle of her dance with Prince Kassim-made
some hurried excuse and left the room. If any other
woman than Berenice had abandoned her partner
so abruptly, one would have called it a gaucherie,
but Berenice has a way of making everything she
does seem' right. No doubt it was necessary for
her to leave the ballroom as she did. I suspect the
note was from the money-lender."
Borrowdean stepped through the French window
as quickly as his casing of armour would permit.
Ethelyn's words were rousing him to an unusual
state of exasperation. A careful scrutiny of the
crowded ballroom failed to reveal Berenice in her
gold-spangled dress. She had not returned then.
Kassim Bardai, too, had disappeared-probably
had gone in search of her. Borrowdean was sur-
prised to observe Max in his beribboned scarlet suit
among the dancers. Max must have reëntered the
house while he, Borrowdean, was talking with
Ethelyn. Max was easily the most graceful male


122
THE RED CAVALIER
dancer on the floor and he was in high good spirits
as he whirled past Borrowdean with Lona, in Hindu
costume, on his arm. He was chatting gaily and
looking down with teasing eyes into Lona's flushed,
innocently-adoring face. Borrowdean, watching
him, wondered if Max were not, after all, a bit of a
Lothario at heart. Perhaps this was Lona's first
ball. At any rate, she yielded herself to the excite-
ment of it with the whole-souled enjoyment of a
child, her young figure swaying to the music with all
the charm of unconscious grace. She seemed that
night to have shaken off the influence of her brother.
By the way, why did not Kassim Bardai return?
It annoyed Borrowdean that he should be gone so
long in search of Berenice. If that note which had
called her away, was from some dunning money-
lender, as Ethelyn had suggested, Berenice in the
stress of the moment might turn to the Hindu, might
listen to his suit. The dancers came and went
between the ballroom and the terrace, but neither
Kassim Bardai nor Berenice were among them.
Ethelyn did not come in for over an hour after Bor-
rowdean himself had entered and she looked chilled
and miserable from her long stay in the cool night
air. Borrowdean danced with her twice because
Max did not seem inclined to do so. Her hand was
cold and trembling and her face intensely white
save for a bright pink spot on each cheek. Borrow-
dean felt very sorry for her and a little indignant
with Max. He need not utterly ignore her!


THE COSTUME BALL
123
Miss Egerton, naturally, was both amazed and
incensed over the continued absence of Kassim
Bardai and Berenice. She considered it an affront
to her hospitality and to her other guests. Bor-
rowdean, however, thought it unfair that she should
lay the entire blame on Berenice. As time wore on,
others began to comment audibly on their unex-
plained absence. There was a general atmosphere
of unpleasantness and guests began to take their
departure. Max had lost his gaiety and Lona her
look of a happy child revelling in the excitement of
her first ball. As a matter of fact, Lona began to
appear, as she invariably did when in her brother's
presence, as though she were under the obsession of
some fear.
It was an immense relief to Borrowdean when Max,
after one of his numerous excursions from the ball-
room brought Berenice back with him. To Borrow-
dean's surprise Kassim Bardai did not accompany
her. Berenice's appearance was such as to create
more comment. Her hair was wind-blown and damp
with the moisture from the sea, her eyes shadowed,
her cheeks flushed. She apologized to Miss Egerton
for her absence, alleging as an excuse an unexpected
business engagement which had to be attended to
that night. Miss Egerton received her apology with
a frigid air of disapproval and disbelief.
“Did you see anything of Prince Kassim Bardai
during the course of your business engagement?”
Berenice's colouring waned. “I have been down


124
THE RED CAVALIER
on the cliffs," she said faintly. “Prince Kassim
Bardai was not there.”
At this juncture Ahmed entered the ballroom and
came swiftly toward Miss Egerton. There was
terror in his face.
“Mem Sahib,”—unlike his wont he spoke quickly
and jerkily—“is it by your order the lights in the
library are gone out and the door locked?”
“Certainly not.” Miss Egerton's voice, too, was
slightly agitated. She crossed the ballroom in
haste, bidding Ahmed accompany her.
Borrowdean followed them, drawn on by that
presentiment of evil which had oppressed him
throughout the evening. Something made him
glance back at Berenice in her spangled dress. Her
colour had entirely forsaken her now and she put
out her hand to steady herself against a chair.
Miss Egerton stopped short before the closed door
of the library. There was no light under it, no
sound from within. Miss Egerton grasped the
handle; it yielded.
She turned suspiciously to Ahmed. “What did
you mean by telling me this door was locked?”
"But—but, Mem Sahib, it was locked!” Ahmed's
teeth were chattering
Miss Egerton grunted incredulously and pulled
open the door. The rush of cold salt air which
greeted them signified that the door onto the terrace
was open, which it had not been at the commence-


THE COSTUME BALL
125
re-
ment of the ball. The moon had sunk behind clouds
and the darkness in the library was absolute.
Borrowdean interposed as Miss Egerton was about
to cross the threshold. "I think you had better let
Ahmed bring a light.”
But the Hindu had already gone for one. It
seemed an eternity before he glided back, bearing
a triple-branched candlestick. Borrowdean took it
from his shaking hand and stepped into the room.
The light of the three candles was almost lost in
the huge apartment, but their wavering glow re-
vealed enough to cause Borrowdean to motion Miss
Egerton back. She was not to be stayed, however,
and precipitated herself toward the stone-pillared
fireplace where a long, shadowy object lay out-
stretched on the floor. Borrowdean held the candles
above it and their flames flickered on the brown,
rigid features of Kassim Bardai and glinted back
from the stained dagger at his side. This had been
taken from the wall above him as an empty space
in the collection of daggers showed. Even in that
first paralyzing moment of horror, Borrowdean
noted that the crimson splotch on the Hindu's breast
was no longer from the red fire of the Azra El Kab
ruby. The jewel he had flaunted was gone.
Ahmed, who had pressed after them into the
library, gave utterance to an inarticulate cry. Miss
Egerton, her face white and grimly-set, hurried to
the door to intercept the excited guests brought from
the ballroom by Ahmed's cry.


126
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean stooped suddenly and with a quick,
furtive movement, picked up from the floor near
the body of Kassim Bardai a small, glittering disc.
It was a gold spangle.


CHAPTER XII
GOLD SPANGLES
Miss EGERTON with admirable presence of mind,
calmed her guests by telling them simply that Kassim
Bardai had met with an accident. She then cleared
the house of all who were not staying there, des-
patched a servant for the nearest doctor and sent a
telegram to Scotland Yard. Having done all that
could be done, the strain of inaction proved too
much for her. She collapsed and had to be put to
bed.
Borrowdean, meanwhile, ignorant of the proper
course of action in cases of violent death, closed the
terrace door of the library and locked it with the
new key which Miss Egerton had had made. Who
had possession of the original key was a problem.
He had last seen it in Berenice's hand some ten
nights previously. He next surreptitiously picked
up from the floor two other glistening spangles,
laid a curtain of ancient tapestry over Kassim
Bardai's body and withdrew softly from the library,
closing the door after him. He would have locked
this door, too, could he but have found the key.
He then went upstairs and had Pearson get him out
of his imprisoning suit of armour.
127


128
THE RED CAVALIER
How especially ilat and silly the costume ball
seemed in the light of what had occurred! The
remembrance of Berenice in her glittering frock
brought him bitter thoughts. He sent Pearson
from the room on some pretext and, drawing out
the spangles he had picked up in the library, ex-
amined them minutely. They had certainly come
from Berenice's dress. He refused to harbour for
an instant the ugly suspicion which those three
little gold discs provoked, but he hid them away
in the inner pocket of his Gladstone travelling-bag,
for he feared that, were others to see them, they
might not be so conservative in their judgment.
It was almost dawn now and he glanced out of the
window to see if there was any sign of the doctor
coming. The sight of a figure in a plumed hat
stealing along the cliffs filled him with a sense of
annoyance. Why should Max keep on that absurd
costume and go prowling about in it?
The crunch of carriage wheels on the pebbly
driveway drew Borrowdean from the window and
sent him in haste to the great hall to receive the
doctor. The physician had brought with him the
coroner of the shire and a detective from Scotland
Yard who, he explained, had been working in the
North Riding for some days on the trail of the Red
Cavalier.
While the doctor and coroner were busied in the
library, the detective-Inspector Burton he was
called-rounded up the servants and plied them
er


130
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean considered. “Then it must have
been the real Cavalier I saw.”
“Sure it wasn't too much wine, Reggie? I don't
put much faith myself in that mythical robber.”
The library door opened suddenly and the coroner
and detective came out. Ahmed, quite limp with
fear, followed them.
Max addressed Borrowdean in a quick undertone.
“Suppose you don't mention the fact, if you can help
it, that I dressed up as the Cavalier last night. I
have asked the others to forget it.”
Borrowdean looked at Max curiously. It was a
singular request, and yet-in view of the notoriety
of the Cavalier-perhaps it was advisable.
The coroner, it seemed, had a few questions which
he wished to ask the members of the household.
He held this preliminary inquiry in the hall. Miss
Egerton had recovered her usual composure and
came down, with Evans shuddering after her.
Ethelyn was the next to appear. Borrowdean was
struck at once by the change in her bearing since
last night. Then she had been a rather pitiful little
object, unable to conceal the wound which Max's
indifference caused her. Now she carried her small
figure with a queenly air, her eyes no longer held
appeal, they were almost commanding, and her
over-red lips had lost something of their babylike
curves and were hard and tight-set. Even in the
ghastly light of candle-glow and struggling dawn,
she was neither fagged nor colourless, her com-


GOLD SPANGLES
131
d
plexion still delicately pink and white, suspiciously
perfect.
Max sauntered forward and drew up a chair for
her. “You're looking uncommonly fit, Ethie,” he
remarked with what toward her, was unwonted
affability on his part.
She seated herself with elaborate precision. “I
am glad you think so, Max," a faint, confident smile
on her lips.
She directed her attention then to the coroner
who was putting a few questions to Miss Egerton.
Max remained, leaning with indolent grace, against
the back of Ethelyn's chair and did not abandon this
attitude when Berenice and Lona came down the
stairs together.
The young Hindu girl appeared now like a very
unhappy and terrified child and sat close to Berenice,
as though hoping to gain some assurance from the
strong personality of the older woman. Berenice
was gentle and tender with the girl, evidently trying
to sink her own troubles in the effort to console and
reassure Lona. Berenice, unlike Ethelyn, did not
look "uncommonly fit" in the wan light of dawn.
She was frankly fagged and soul-weary and had
scorned artificial means to conceal the fact.
Mrs. Dalrymple, who was keeping herself per-
sistently in the background, was no more colourless
than customarily, but her eyes had gained a hunted
expression which did not tend to raise Borrowdean's
estimate of her. Neither did he like the glances


132
THE RED CAVALIER
which every now and then she flashed at Berenice.
It was almost as though she hated Berenice and at
the same time feared her. But why should she have
these feelings toward one who was practically a
stranger to her? To be sure, her eagerness to learn
Berenice's name argued some previous knowledge
of her, but when he had mentioned this to Berenice,
she had said, as Mrs. Dalrymple had, that she must
have mistaken her for some one else. But who, if
not Mrs. Dalrymple, bad given Berenice the key to
the terrace door and where had she gone that night?
Borrowdean was angry with himself because these
doubts of Berenice kept recurring, and more per-
sistently than ever since his discovery of those three
gold spangles near Kassim Bardai's body.
The coroner, having ascertained that Borrowdean
was the one responsible for closing both doors of the
library, inquired severely if, in doing this, he had
been aware that he might be destroying some valu-
able clue. Borrowdean, mindful of those spangles,
flushed uncomfortably, glanced hastily at Berenice
and answered that his only thought in closing the
doors had been to keep the servants out of the
library and he had not done this until everyone else
had gone upstairs. He observed that Burton the
detective followed his glance at Berenice and a sense
of disquiet came over him.
The coroner diverted his attention by another
question. “Where did you find the key which you
put in the lock of the hall door?"


GOLD SPANGLES
133
Borrowdean adjusted his monocle in amazement.
“I beg your pardon? I put no key in the lock-
saw none there. In fact before discovering the-ah
-unpleasant occurrence in the library we supposed
the door was locked and the key missing. The
butler gave us to understand this.”
The coroner eyed him reflectively. “So I have
heard. But the key is in the lock now. Are you
certain you did not put it there?”
"Absolutely certain.”
There was a little commotion among the servants
huddled together at the back of the hall. Essy
Grieve started forward as though she wished to say .
something, then lost her courage and retreated.
The coroner, observing this, addressed her per-
emptorily. “You know something about this key,
my girl?”
Essy looked ready to cry with terror and embar-
rassment. “Ah doan want to maake trooble for
onybody.”
“You will not make trouble for anybody by telling
the truth,” said the coroner uncompromisingly.
“Now then, do you know who put the key in the
lock?"
“Ay, Ah knaw.”
“Who was it?"
Essy hestiated. Then she flung up her head
defiantly. “Ah doan see th’ use o so mooch talk
about an owd key. It wor Lady Berenice Coningsby
put it in t lock.”


134
THE RED CAVALIER
All eyes turned on Berenice. She flushed slightly,
but met the coroners' gaze without flinching. In
fact, it seemed to Borrowdean who happened to
glance also at Morna Dalrymple, that she betrayed
far more consternation than did Berenice.
"Is this girl's statement true-er-Lady Bere-
nice?" demanded the coroner.
“It is true.” Berenice's voice was even and com-
posed. “I saw the key lying in the hall near the
door and I picked it up and put it in the lock.”
“When did your Ladyship do this?”
“Why, shortly after the-murder was discovered.”
"Before or after Lord Borrowdean closed the
library door?”
“After. I remember that the door was closed.”
“Then,” said the coroner with deliberation, "you
must have come downstairs again later. Lord
Borrowdean says that everyone had gone upstairs
before he closed the door."
Berenice bit her lip. “I may have been mistaken
about the door being closed. At such a time as this
one's mind is not very keen in regard to trifles."
“Then you did not come downstairs later?”
“No.” Berenice spoke rather sharply.
"I should like to ask,” suddenly interposed Bur-
ton, "if anyone else noticed the key lying on the
floor."
There was a general dissent. Mrs. Dalrymple
watched Berenice nervously. The latter, however,
had turned her attention to Lona and seemed to be


GOLD SPANGLES
135
unaware of the portent of the detective's question.
Burton suddenly addressed Essy. “When did
you see her Ladyship put the key in the lock?”
Something in his manner or the bullying note in
his voice antagonized the girl. She threw back her
head with a defiant gesture. “Why does tha aask
me? She told tha mann it wuss-afore she went
oopstaares.”
“Was the library door closed or open?” persisted
Burton.
“Ah doan knaw,” stolidly. And that was all
Essy could be brought to say.
The coroner, after a few more questions by means
of which he elicited from Mrs. Dalrymple the infor-
mation that the body of Kassim Bardai had been
found in practically the same position as that of Sir
Robert Grainger one short year before, took his
departure, setting the public inquest for the follow-
ing Monday, thus leaving five days for further in-
vestigation. This statement by Mrs. Dalrymple
gave a new aspect to the death of Kassim Bardai,
which, at first, had seemed to have as motive simply
robbery, in that the Azra El Kab ruby was missing.
But now it seemed that the previous murder must
have some bearing on the recent one.
This was Borrowdean's reasoning, but it struck
him that Burton was inclined to view the two
murders as separate units, and he did not at all like
the way in which the detective's gaze lingered on
Berenice. He appeared to attach little importance


136
THE RED CAVALIER
to the incident of the broken idols, which Miss
Egerton related to him in detail, but harked back
again to the matter of the key.
Berenice grew a little impatient of his continued
questioning. “Really, Mr. Burton, you would
almost harry one into admitting things which one
did not do."
Burton favoured her with a sour smile and changed
the trend of his inquiries. This time he addressed
Miss Egerton.
“Do you happen to remember which one of the
ladies at the ball last night wore a costume covered
with gold spangles?”
Borrowdean felt himself grow cold. He dared not
look at Berenice, but he caught the suggestion of an
unpleasant smile on Ethelyn's face and heard a
smothered ejaculation from Max, who was still
leaning over Ethelyn's chair.
Miss Egerton sat up stiffily at Burton's question.
“Is this an official investigation of an unexplained
crime or merely an interview for the society column
of a newspaper?”
“I have a serious object in asking this question,
Miss Egerton,” Burton answered in his drawling,
yet hectoring voice. “I must insist on knowing
which lady wore a gold-spangled gown.”
Miss Egerton bridled. “I do not recognize your
right to insist, and I have nothing to say in regard
to my guests' costumes.”
Berenice rose from her chair. “I wore a gold-


GOLD SPANGLES
137
spangled gown, Mr. Burton." Her tone and manner
were calm and collected as though she were merely
stating a fact of little import to any one.
The detective wheeled upon her and, plunging his
hand into his pocket, drew out and fashed before
her eyes a bit of gauzy material, sewn with gold
spangles.
"Then perhaps you will explain how this came to
be clenched in the right hand of Prince Kassim
Bardai."
Berenice quivered. Morna Dalrymple drew a
convulsive breath.
But almost instantly Berenice recovered her poise.
Her lips even smiled, though her eyes remained
shadowed.
"I am afraid that is one of the little mysteries
which Scotland Yard must ferret out for itself.”


CHAPTER XIII
A MATTER OF OPINION
THAT afternoon Chand Talsdad came to claim the
body of his compatriot. The shock of the tragedy
had aged the old Hindu, but the emotion he dis-
played when he looked on the dead features of
Kassim Bardai had little of the personal note; it was
rather regret for what India had lost.
"He was the hope of the house of Bardai,” Chand
Talsdad said in a stern, measured voice. “He
should have restored the former glory of his race,
that was his destiny-not to perish here in this in-
sidious Western civilization which, like a poison in
the veins of the men of the East has made them
weaklings and slaves. But it is for Brahma to
judge-for Brahma to punish.”
Lona shuddered at the words of the old Hindu.
She looked in a curious, pathetic way at Max, but
he avoided her glance and, with his air of careless
gallantry, replaced the scarf that was slipping from
Ethelyn's shoulders.
Chand Talsdad gazed searchingly into Lona's
downcast face and his expression grew sterner and
more forbidding.
“Lona Bardai, you are a daughter of India, you
138


A MATTER OF OPINION
139
know your duty, you know that sacrilege was done
when the Azra El Kab ruby was stolen from your
brother. Will you join with me in the search for
that sacred stone and aid by every means in your
power the mission which brought me over the seas
-the mission which your brother was under oath
to fulfil? Will you do this, Lona Bardai, or will you
earn the punishment which Brahma metes out to
those who are faithless to his teachings?”
Lona quailed under Chand Talsdad's scrutiny;
but, after a moment, she flung up her head and con-
fronted him with the desperate courage of an animal
brought to bay.
“The teachings of Brahma are nothing to me! I
have been taught to worship the god of the English,
and England not India is my country now. I have
a horror of that cruel three-headed god whose priest
you are and I would forget if I could, that I am of
Hindu blood and that my ancestors worshipped such
a savage being. I will not help you, no, I will not!”
Chand Talsdad turned from her with a majestic
movement of contempt. “Your faithlessness to
the god of your forefathers cannot go unpunished.”
Lona fled out on the terrace to escape the oppres-
sive personality of Chand Talsdad and remained
there during the removal of her brother's body to
Avingdon Manor. She exhibited no sorrow at his
death-only a kind of dazed horror.
Berenice went out on the terrace to talk with her
and Borrowdean followed. He could not rid his


A MATTER OF OPINION
141
"I see quite clearly, Reggie. But what is the use
of denying that my interview with Prince Kassim
was exceedingly unpleasant? Mr. Burton is already
assured of that.”
“Then you must explain further. You must
absolve yourself from doubt."
Berenice shook her head. “I can explain nothing,
to no one, Reggie. But you-you trust me, don't
you?”
He gripped the hands she held out to him. “You
know I do!”
“Dear old Reggie!” She laughed a little un-
steadily.
"I say, let me come in on this, too,” exclaimed a
gay, buoyant voice, and Max, with his confident air,
his mocking smile, strolled toward them. “Don't
overwhelm Reggie with your gratitude, Berenice,
as though you hadn't another friend in the world.
Don't I count a little, eh?”
Berenice laughed with something of her usual
gaiety. “Silly fellow! Of course you do. I should
be desolated without your championship.”
Max laughed back at her with ardent, confident
eyes. “You know it's more than championship,
Berenice."
Lona suddenly pressed forward. Her face was
full of trouble.
"Lady Berenice, do you think that one ought to
keep to a promise-a very solemn promise—which
they did not want to make and which will injure


142
THE RED CAVALIER
some one they are fond of, but who is not-not quite
an honourable person?”.
Berenice looked at the girl very kindly, but before
she could answer Max spoke for her.
“Do you know what I should do, little Lotus-
Flower,” his voice held a caressing note, “I should
forget that promise which I did not want to make,
and I should do exactly as my heart dictated.”
Lona kept her gaze lowered. “Sometimes,” she
said sorrowfully, “one's heart does not dictate what
is right.”
“But you have said, little Lotus-Flower, that your
promise was not right—that it will injure some one."
Lona regarded him in wistful silence. There was
hopelessness in her young face.
Berenice impulsively put her arm about the girl.
“Max! you must let Lona decide this problem-
whatever it may be--for herself. It is not for you
to find a solution with plausible words that are worse
than platitudes.”
Max looked at her with a face of whimsical re-
proach. “Oh, I say, Berenice, that's hardly kind
of you when I am only trying to make Lona feel
easier in her mind.” He smiled at the young Hindu
girl with a mingling of tenderness and banter.
Berenice gently pinched Lona's cheek. “My
dear, you tell Mr. Egerton that you don't need his
advice, that you are quite capable of deciding this
matter for yourself.”
But Lona broke suddenly from Berenice's embrace.


A MATTER OF OPINION 143
“No, I'll not tell him that! I think I'll—I'll take
his advice."
Max gave a soft laugh of triumph. “You're
beaten, Berenice! Lona esteems my judgment even
if you don't. What do you say, little Lotus-Flower,
to a walk along the sands? It will brighten you up
wonderfully?”
Lona's dark eyes shone. “I should like to go
down on the sands, Mr. Egerton, near the sea.”
“Come along then!” He caught her hand and
pulled her down the steps of the terrace. “As a
punishment for your unkind words, Berenice," he
called back gaily, “I shan't ask you to come with us;
nor you either, Reggie; such a long face as you're
wearing would make you a dismal third.”
Berenice looked after Max with an indulgent smile.
“He's a dear fellow, Reggie! But I wonder,”—her
expression grew serious—“if one ought not to tell
that little Hindu girl-she's such a child—that Max
doesn't mean all he says. And I don't think I
should take his advice on a momentous question,
should you, Reggie?”
"No." Borrowdean spoke with emphasis. “And
in this matter I am not sure that his advice is wholly
disinterested."
A little distressed pucker gathered on Berenice's
forehead. “Reggie, I have noticed lately that you
and Max are not quite as good friends as you used
to be. I should feel dreadfully if I thought I was in
any way the cause of this. Your friendship is as
Caus


144
THE RED CAVALIER
good for Max as it is for me; even his aunt admits
that he needs a steadying influence. Don't deprive
him of it, Reggie. I know you're both rather fond
of me and I think the world of both of you, I don't
see why we shouldn't all three be good pals together
as we always have been, do you?”
Borrowdean lit a cigarette reflectively. “I don't
see exactly,” he said slowly. “But I don't think we
can be.”
“Why not?” she entreated. “You seem to dis-
trust Max. It's quite noticeable. Doesn't it occur
to you that you may be doing him an injustice? I
am sure you are generous and fair-minded enough
to trust your friends even if some of their actions do
appear a little peculiar. You have said that you
trust me; now why not Max?”
In her earnestness she leaned toward him so that
her hair almost brushed his cheek. He flung away
his cigarette.
“Can't you understand,"—his voice was hoarse,
even a bit savage-"that it's different with you?"
Berenice drew back abruptly, watching him curi-
ously for a moment. Then she laughed, and her
laugh had a happy ring in it.
“I don't believe you are absolutely emotionless,
after all, Reggie!”
Then, even as he stared at her, again not altogether
certain of her meaning, a shadow fell across her face.
The laughter died on her lips, the light went out
from her eyes.


A MATTER OF OPINION
145
The crunch of steps on the gravelled path made
Borrowdean turn. A man, dressed in flashy, but
seedy, clothes was advancing with a swaggering
assurance. He was obviously a Jew and of a most
unpleasant type.
“This man has a message for me,” Berenice said
in an utterly weary tone. “You'll have to excuse
me, Reggie.”
Borrowdean went slowly into the house. There
was a deadness at his heart.


CHAPTER XIV
THE TOWER ON THE CLIFFS
Te
An hour or so later Borrowdean wandered out
toward the cliffs. Aimlessly following a grassy foot-
path which skirted the edge of the rocks, he roamed
on till the twin turrets, as he glanced back toward
them, were only thin black lines cutting the ruddy
gold of the sunset sky. The sudden restless energy
which had impelled him to lay aside his leisurely
habits and set forth on this long, rough walk by the
cliffs deserted him now that he found how far his
wanderlust had carried him. He became conscious
of fatigue and lowered himself wearily into a little
ravine between two high escarpments, tempted into
this gully by the sight of a chair-shaped boulder
wedged there which would offer a support for his
tired back.
Once established upon this rock, he looked about
him with a sigh of content. The cliffs here were
lower, smoother and more regular in formation than
those in the vicinity of Twin Turrets. In the golden
light of the late afternoon the blueness of the sea
seemed almost unnatural and the waves, lacking the
irritant of high winds and jagged scaurs, rolled in
with rhythmic calm. On the pebbly beach below
146


THE TOWER ON THE CLIFFS 147
IUC
a flat-bottomed red rowboat-or coble in Yorkshire
parlancegrated gently as the water lapped its keel.
Above a wide expanse of grass and bracken stretched
away from the cliffs and a hundred paces or so dis-
tant rose the column of a small stone tower, its single
window facing out to sea.
Suddenly Borrowdean's eye was caught by the
figure of a woman coming swiftly through the grass
and bracken toward the tower. He recognized her
at once by her tall, graceful form and the dark cloud
of her hair, for she wore no hat. It was Berenice.
When she came nearer, he drew out his handkerchief
and flapped it to attract her attention.
But she was in too great haste to observe the flutter
of white between the rocks and by the time Borrow-
dean had scrambled up the side of the escarpment,
she had reached the tower and was knocking on its
closed door. This was opened immediately and
Berenice passed inside, after which the door was
closed quickly again.
Borrowdean stood on the scarp, staring dubiously
at the stone shaft which had engulfed Berenice.
Whom could she have gone to meet there? He was
convinced that she had gone in answer to the mes-
sage brought her by that villainous-looking person
in the flashy clothes. The man was undoubtedly
hounding her and she had been driven by some stress
to come to the tower. Perhaps she was in danger
there. The fear of this possibility sent him hurrying
forward. Then a thought stopped him. She might


148
THE RED CAVALIER
have come of her own free will on a matter of private
business. If this were the case, would she not resent
his interference, would she not believe that he had
doubted her and was spying upon her?
He decided to wait near by and watch. But if
she did not come out soon, he would feel justified in
forcing his way in. Now that he was close at hand,
he studied the tower critically. Built of small,
irregular stones crudely cemented together, it stood
not more than forty feet high and, with its broad
circular base and walls narrowing but slightly toward
the apex, it presented a queer, squat appearance.
It was possessed, as aforesaid, of a single window
overlooking the sea. This was hardly more than an
aperture between the stones and the dingy panes
were shrouded by a curtain of coarse cotton which
successfully balked any intrusive gaze. The low,
narrow door of stout oak also seemed designed to
repel intruders. The more Borrowdean surveyed
the tower, the less he liked the idea of Berenice being
within.
The minutes dragged by and still she did not come
out. He was growing apprehensive and was about
to approach the door and pound for admittance,
when it suddenly swung open and a slender, wiry
man in an inconspicuous tweed suit stepped out,
glancing about him in a quick, furtive way. At
sight of Borrowdean, be closed the door sharply and
started running toward the cliffs with long, reaching
strides, like one trained and practised in running.


THE TOWER ON THE CLIFFS 149
Borrowdean, forgetting his love of ease, ran
valiantly in pursuit, but, though his wind held out,
the other readily maintained his advantage and
sped over the cliffs and down to the beach below,
leaping the gullys and ravines with the unerring
step of an adept at rock-climbing. While Borrow-
dean was scrambling and slipping down the side of
a scarp, this man had reached the red rowboat and
was pushing it into the waves, grown hungry to re-
ceive it. A moment more and he had sprung into
the coble. Bending to the oars, he was borne out
to sea, the boat rising and falling on the billows.
By the time Borrowdean had gained the beach, the
coble, seeming hardly more than a red speck dancing
on the water, was rounding a distant nab and was
shortly lost to view.
Borrowdean stood a moment in perplexity, star-
ing after it. Although his glimpse of the fugitive's
face had been but a transient one, he was sure that
he had seen the man before, but where and under
what circumstances he was puzzled to know. As the
man had hesitated a second in the doorway before
starting into flight, Borrowdean had gained a vague
impression of a pair of steely grey eyes, delicately
chiseled features, and a sneering mouth, the whole
countenance suggesting some unpleasant memory
which he was at a loss to classify. Now that this
man had successfully eluded him, Borrowdean
scrambled up the cliffs again and hurried back to the
tower, Berenice uppermost in his mind.


150
THE RED CAVALIER
Why had she remained after the person she had
gone to meet had come out? There was a horrible
fear at his heart and his hand shook as he pounded
on the door. There was no response, no sound of
stirring within, utter silence save for the mournful
wash of the waves below. The screaming of a pair
of gulls which rose from the sea and circled over the
tower made Borrowdean shudder. He tore open the
door and stepped in.
His relief was boundless. Berenice was seated
on a rough wooden bench. Her back was toward
him, her head dropped dejectedly in her hands; she
did not look up.
“I though you had gone,” she said bitterly. “Why
work yourself into a passion because I did not fly
to open the door for you? Weren't you afraid that
some one would hear your pounding? You're
rather famed in these parts, you know.” There was
a world of contempt in her voice. “Well, why don't
you speak? Why have you come back? I told you
I could do no more for you than I am already doing,
and I shouldn't advise you to push my patience too
far.”
“Berenice, old girl!” interposed Borrowdean
pityingly.
She sprang to her feet, staring in blank astonish-
ment. "Reginald!”
Borrowdean, flushed and uncomfortable, stood
looking at her in helpless silence. He had always
found it impossible to express himself when emotion


THE TOWER ON THE CLIFFS 151
overmastered him. It was doubly so now that
sentiment was a factor.
"I-I hope you won't think I followed you here,”
he stammered at length. "I was sitting on the cliffs
when I saw you coming toward the tower. I waved
my handkerchief, but you didn't notice. You went
inside and I—well, this tower seemed a jolly queer
place for you to come to—and I-I got nervous. I
was poking around here when the door opened and
a man came out. When he saw me, he hopped it
for the cliffs—and deuced lively, too. He was no
end a good runner-and I'm not in training-so he
got down onto the beach and went off in a red row-
boat. It made me beastly nervous wondering what
-what you were doing in here alone. So I-I just
burst in. I beg your pardon, I'm sure.”
A very gentle smile played about Berenice's lips.
"On the whole, I'm rather glad you burst in, Reggie.
I was in the mood when everything looked black and
hopeless and the sight of your dear friendly face is
like a-well, like an antidote. You don't mind my
considering you an antidote, do you?” She moved
toward the door. “Let us walk back to Twin
Turrets, Reggie. I know you won't plague me with
questions.”
Borrowdean thrust his arm protectingly through
hers. “Come along, old girl. It's an uncommon
fine evening for walking.”
“Does your Ladyship often visit this tower?”
suddenly spoke up a drawling yet peremptory voice.


152
THE RED CAVALIER
A man had come quietly toward them from the
direction of the cliffs. It was Burton the detective.
Borrowdean felt Berenice's fingers grip his arm
convulsively. But she turned a composed face
toward the detective, her expression showing only a
natural surprise and a little annoyance that he should
address her so abruptly.
Burton repeated his question and his tone was
trenchant.
"Do I often visit this tower?” Berenice echoed
lightly. “Why should it matter to you, Mr. Bur-
ton? You are not by any chance its owner, are
you?"
Burton scowled. “Neither its owner nor its
casual tenant. What I want to know-and I have
authority for asking—is who the man is you came
here to meet.”
The detective's bullying manner angered Borrow-
dean, but Berenice only shrugged her shoulders and
smiled a trifle wearily.
“Really, Mr. Burton, aren't you just a little im-
pertinent?"
Burton's aggressive eyes held a threat. "I rep-
resent Scotland Yard, my lady."
Berenice gave a little exasperated laugh. “My
dear man, suppose you do! Does that license you
to pry into my private affairs?”.
“They cease to be private, my lady, when they
have to do with a rotter like the one you came here
to meet.”


154
THE RED CAVALIER
agination. I shall want to know how you progress
with your theories. Come along, Reggie, or we shall
not have time to dress for dinner.'


CHAPTER XV
BULLETS OF SALT
Miss EGERTON stared amazedly across the dinner
table at the young Hindu girl, who, in the act of seat-
ing herself, had uttered a little smothered cry and
caught at the chair for support. Her eyes, fixed upon
her plate, were wide with terror. Yet seemingly
there was nothing terrifying on the plate, only salt
-though in the shape of a bullet.
“What is the matter, Lona? Are you ill?”
“Who—who put this on my plate?" Lona gasped
at length.
"By Jove!” Max exclaimed suddenly, "some one
has been salting my plate, too.”
Sure enough on Max's plate lay another bullet of
salt.
Lona looked at him for a moment with an expres-
sion of pitiful despair, then she sank into her chair
and covered her face with her hands. Max with his
careless, mocking smile continued to examine the
bullet before him. He, apparently, took it for a joke.
Miss Egerton turned accusingly to Ahmed who,
to all appearances, unconscious of the little scene,
was poiselessly and deftly arranging the dishes on
the table.
was
155


156
THE RED CAVALIER
“What is the meaning of this nonsense? If you
have so much leisure that you can find time to mix
up salt in absurd shapes, I will dismiss the new serv-
ants and give you more occupation.”
“Pardon, Mem Sahib, but I did not place the salt
on the plates.”
“Then who did?” with increasing sharpness.
Lona uncovered her face and gazed with a breath-
less intensity at Ahmed's inscrutable features.
“I do not know, Mem Sahib.”
“You mean you will not tell.”
There was a flicker of an emotion on the Hindu's
brown face, the shadow of fear in his eyes.
“I do not know, Mem Sahib."
Lona rose precipitately. “You will excuse me-
please, Miss Egerton. I am going to my room. My
head pains.”
“Why, surely," objected Miss Egerton kindly,
"you are not taking seriously a silly practical joke.
Sit down, child, and eat your dinner. Ahmed, re-
move that plate and bring another. Remove Mr.
Egerton's too."
“You don't understand!” protested Lona. “I-I
couldn't eat now.” She crossed swiftly to the door,
and the shadows seemed to steal forth from the dark
wainscoting and enshroud her young figure as she
shrank past the Indian curios and idols that stood
about the walls.
“Could I help you in any way, Lona?” Berenice
called after her gently.


BULLETS OF SALT 157
"No, thank you, there is nothing you could do."
Lona's voice trailed back faintly from the great hall.
Max rose nonchalantly. “Perhaps I can persuade
our exotic little guest to come back and finish her
dinner." He spoke with easy confidence.
"I don't think even you could do that, inter-
posed Ethelyn in a tone of certainty which held a ring
of authority. “She doesn't make as light of the
bullets of salt as you do. She knows what they mean.”
Ahmed set down some silverware with a little clat-
ter and murmured a suave apology. Max surveyed
Ethelyn, his lazy eyelids stretched wide, his smile
gone. She, on the contrary, wore a baffling, assured
smile. She appeared distinctly pretty as she sat
leaning forward slightly, looking up at him. Her
bright hair gained a softer shade in the subdued light
of the lamps, her complexion an added delicacy,
but the blue of her eyes was of a cold, hard clearness,
and her little hands, heavily ringed, and hardly lar-
ger than a child's, were clasped tensely on the table.
Max grew manifestly uncomfortable under her
prolonged gaze. “What are you driving at, Ethie?”
"Why, simply that these bullets of salt have some
significance which Lona perfectly well understands.
The salt sign is frequently used in India to convey
some communication-generally a warning or threat.
Am I right, Ahmed?” She suddenly directed the
battery of those hard blue eyes of hers upon the but-
ler who stood behind Miss Egerton's chair in an atti-
tude of rigid immobility.


158
THE RED CAVALIER
The Hindu slightly altered his position, but his
countenance remained impassive. “It may be,
Sahiba. There are many signs used in India.”
Miss Egerton viewed Ethelyn disapprovingly.
“How does it happen, Miss Royden, that you are so
well-informed in regard to the melodramatic in-
trigues of the East?”
Ethelyn laughed—but without mirth. “After I
left boarding-school, I spent two years in India with
my father. One learns a good deal in two years."
She glanced up again at Max who was standing by
his chair as though in indecision. “Now don't go
and leave us to imagine all manner of horrible things
about those salt bullets. I daresay in this case they
don't mean much, but, coming so soon after Kassim
Bardai's—death-they are, to say the least, sugges-
tive. Sit down, Max, and tell us one of your amus-
ing stories." Her tone was pleading, but her eyes
compelling.
Max's debonair smile returned and he slipped again
into his seat at her side. “Did I ever tell you the
funny mess Charlie Fallowfield got into at the last
polo match?”
Borrowdean watched Max curiously. The latter,
bending tenderly over Ethelyn as though no other
woman in the world occupied his thoughts for a
moment, began to tell, in his inimitable way which
drew a smile even from Miss Egerton, of the trick
played upon Charlie Fallowfield, a trusting youth
with more money than brains. Berenice had spoken


BULLETS OF SALT
159
with truth when she said that he and Max were
drifting apart. And jealousy was so slight a factor
in the widening breach as to be practically a negli-
gible quantity. Borrowdean was generous-hearted
and could have borne to see Max appropriate Bere-
nice as his right and calmly ignore any one else's sen-
timents in regard to her, but what he could not bear
was to see him monopolize Berenice and at the same
time trifle with other women. He did not like Max's
attentions to Lona-did not think them fair to the
girl-and, moreover, he was beginning to feel a vague
distrust of Max-in just what particulars it was hard
to say, but the distrust persisted nevertheless.
He observed that Berenice's attention wandered
more than once during the account of Charlie Fallow-
field's misadventures, but immediately she would
force herself to listen again and would look at Max,
smiling, boyish, and gay, with that indulgent ex-
pression with which she frequently regarded him.
Tonight it annoyed Borrowdean as did, for the first
time, Max's careless gaiety. It seemed almost heart-
less after the tragedy which had taken place in the
house only the night before. Yet he would have
given much to possess Max's boyish exuberance of
spirits, his undeniable charm of manner. In com-
parison with his friend Borrowdean felt himself old,
dull, and ineffectual. No wonder Berenice looked on
Max with eyes of indulgence. But, after all, was it
more than this? Did she really love him or did she
consider Max as she did him, simply as a friend, a


100
160
THE RED CAVALIER
"good pal"? Sometimes it seemd to him that Bere-
nice's unhappy marriage had crushed all sentiment
in her and made it impossible for her ever again to
feel more than friendship for a man.
He pulled up his thoughts abruptly. What had
he, a prosaic, conventional-living bachelor nearing
forty, to do with sentiment? It had passed him by
in his youth; why should he welcome it now and
allow it to make him ridiculous in the eyes of the very
woman whose esteem he wished most to have. Bere-
nice was clever-of course she guessed his passion
and it amused her in her lighter moments to fan it
into flame. But what she really wanted of him, and
needed-had she not said so—was friendship in the
true sense. He would conquer this absurd sentiment
- he could not hope to compete with Max in the field
of romantic love-and he would give her what he
was growing daily more certain that Max could never
give her—the unselfish friendship that she craved.
He stole a glance at Berenice. She was very beau-
tiful that night, but quieter than her wont. As she.
turned her eyes full upon him with a jesting remark,
he felt, in spite of his resolutions, something warmer
than friendship stirring in his veins.
When he looked her way again, he was struck by
the bitterness of her expression. She was staring up
at the painted face of the Red Cavalier and her own
had grown hard and rebellious.
Ahmed glided toward her. “Sahiba, I may serve
you to cherry glacé?”


BULLETS OF SALT
161
Berenice abstractedly accepted the iced fruit.
“Ahmed, did you ever hear from your late master
the true story of that ancestor of his, that man in the
crimson suit?”
Ahmed darted a swift glance of hate at the berib-
boned Cavalier, then instantly lowered his gaze to
the tray of ices he was carrying.
“The Sahib told nothing to his servant, Sahiba,"
his voice smoothly liquid as always.
“For my part,” spoke up Miss Egerton tartly, “I
am tired of mysteries and red robbers, and Hindu
idols that bore holes into themselves in the middle of
the night. Twin Turrets in itself is all that could be
desired, but—these Hindu appendages that go with
it—” her gesture and her glance as it lighted on
Ahmed said volumes.
The butler hastily approached her. “The Mem
Sahib will have a second glacé?" he begged defer-
entially.
Miss Egerton frowned and shook her head. “I
do not believe,” she said severely, addressing Bor-
rowdean, as he accepted her rejected glacé which
Ahmed absently set before him, "I do not believe in
eating a hearty meal, and then making an ice-box of
one's stomach. Max," abruptly turning to her
nephew, “what do you think of this Burton fellow
as a detective? It seems he has spent some weeks
trying to capture this Scarlet Chevalier-or what-
ever his ridiculous appellation may be and hasn't
succeeded yet so I don't believe he is at all likely


162
THE RED CAVALIER
to find out who killed Kassim Bardai. In fact, I
have almost made up my mind to send for a private
detective on my own responsibility.”
Max pushed away the glass of vintage claret with
which he had been toying. “Oh, give the chap a fair
chance, Aunt Van. Kassim Bardai hasn't been cold
twenty-four hours yet.”
Dinner over, they all repaired to the terrace for a
short while, but the recollection of the horror that
had ended the ball the night before hung upon them
and all were glad to escape to their rooms early.
Lona had not appeared again.
Borrowdean went at once to bed, but found it
impossible to sleep. His mind persisted in reviewing
with painful clarity all the unpleasant incidents of
the past day and a half, and they all seemed to
centre about Berenice: her inexplicable absence dur-
ing the greater part of the ball, the finding of spangles
from her dress near the body of Kassim Bardai and
even clutched in his hand, and next, her visit to the
tower on the cliffs whither she had gone, according
to Burton's assertion, to meet the notorious robber
of the North Riding. What hold could this man
have upon her? A sudden vague suspicion made
Borrowdean spring out of bed. The memory of the
insolent, devil-may-care face of the Red Cavalier
flashing before his mental vision, filled him with
resentment.
As he could not banish that pictured face, and the
bed had become a place of torment, he proceeded to


BULLETS OF SALT
163
dress himself partially and then, in his dressing-gown,
sat down by the open window and lighted a cigarette
for company. The wind came to him with a brackish
flavour, salt from the sea, and the booming of the
waves sounded preternaturally loud in the hush of
night. Across the dim waters, merged in the black
of the starless sky, glimmered the harbour lights of
Whitby, eyes of hope for weary mariners. Borrow-
dean stared unseeingly upon the shadowy seascape;
his cigarette burned out unheeded on the window-
ledge.
Suddenly the strident hoot of an owl startled him.
The cry, breaking in upon his thoughts, annoyed him,
and when it was repeated several times in succession
with almost a human note of impatience in the pierc-
ing call, he got up to close the window. It was then
he caught sight of an indistinct figure on the prom-
ontory below, blurred against the dark background
of sea and sky. At first he took it for a woman but,
when it stole swiftly toward the house as though
some answer had been given to the owl signal, he
saw that it was a man dressed in the garb which had
come to be associated with the North Riding robber.
Borrowdean seized a box of matches and, hurriedly
opening the door of his chamber, stepped into the
corridor. He was reasonably certain that some one
in the house had responded to the Cavalier's signal
and was about to admit him. As he hastily groped
his way through the unlighted corridor, he tried
not to think that this person might be Berenice for,


164
THE RED CAVALIER
in any case, this man must be prevented from rifling
the house of their hostess. As Borrowdean reached
the double stair leading down into the great hall, he
started and stopped short in amazement.
Along the corridor from the opposite wing, a figure
in white was advancing with a peculiar, slow, stud-
ied motion. There was something ghostlike in the
shadowy, gliding form, but Borrowdean, sane and
matter-of-fact, did not expect to meet ghosts even in
a house like Twin Turrets, so he calmly waited till
the wraith drew nearer and then he struck a match.
The light flickered on the wan face of Lona Bardai.
Her eyes, though open, were set and unseeing, and
she did not blink as Borrowdean held the match
before them. She was in her night robe and bare-
footed. Without checking her slow, measured glide,
she passed by him and descended the stairs, not even
touching the rail to guide herself.
Borrowdean followed her, a great pity in his heart
for the young Hindu girl. Those bullets of salt must
have had some terrible significance to call her forth
from her bed at midnight and send her sleep-walking
through the house—or was it the Cavalier's signal
she was going to answer in this subconscious state?
Lona had reached the foot of the stairs now and the
darkness in the great hall almost swallowed up her
little white-clad form. Borrowdean struck another
match. There she was, gliding with certain step, her
hands outstretched now, toward the huge, stone-
pillared fireplace. Reaching upon tiptoe, she com-


CHAPTER XVI
THE PAPER IN CYPHER
BEFORE Mrs. Dalrymple could snatch the paper
from Lona's hand, Borrodean quitely took pos-
session of it.
Mrs. Dalrymple confronted him, a tigrish gleam
in her eyes, her customary smoothness of manner
gone. "That is my property, Lord Borrowdean."
"I was under the impression,” he drawled, “that
it was the property, temporarily at least, of Princess
Lona Bardai.”
"It belongs to me!” Mrs. Dalrymple's voice rose
hystercially. “I have a right to that paper.”
Borrowdean seemed hardly to hear her words. He
had turned solicitously to Lona. Mrs. Dalrymple's
excited voice had pierced the subconsciousness that
enwrapped the girl. A tremor shook her and her
eyes, no longer unseeing, looked now with question-
ing fear into Borrowdean's.
“Where am I? What has happened?” she asked
dazedly.
“You have been walking in your sleep, little girl,”
he answered soothingiy. “There is nothing to be
afraid of. Mrs. Dalrymple will take you up to your
room."
166


THE PAPER IN CYPHER
167
“Mrs. Dalrymple!” faltered Lona, for the first
time observing the housekeeper. She met the latter's
unfriendly gaze and shivered. “Oh, what has hap-
pened?” she moaned. “Who broke tha: idol?” She
pointed to the head of the image at her feet.
"I will tell you what has happened,” said Mrs.
Dalrymple in cold, incisive tones. “You yourself
in your sleep removed the head from that idol and
drew out a slip of paper-I think you know what
paper.”
For a moment Lona looked utterly bewildered,
then comprehension dawned in her face. “You
mean-the paper?” tremulous joy, mixed with awe,
in her voice.
“I mean the paper to which I have every legal
right,” replied Mrs. Dalrymple, fiercely.
Lona drew a convulsive breath. “I think—that is
not so. The paper was meant for me and I found it.”
She looked very young and pathetic in her white
robe with her loosened hair and her little bare feet as
she stood defying the older woman.
Morna Dalrymple towered above her in the
strength of her anger. “It makes no difference
whether you found that paper or not. It belongs to
me by every legal as well as moral right.”
Lona held her ground. “I do not think so!”
Suddenly she looked about her anxiously. "But
where is the paper? Have you-did you take it,
Mrs. Dalrymple?"
“I took the paper," said Borrowdean quietly.


THE PAPER IN CYPHER
.
169
For the first time Lona appeared to become con-
scious of her night clothes and her bare feet. She
gave a little gasp and filed up the stairway on the
right, just as Miss Egerton, bearing a lighted lamp
and closely followed by the shivering Evans, des-
cended the stairs on the other side.
“What is all this commotion down here?” Miss.
Egerton demanded severely. “A broken idol or an-
other murder? And who was that running up the
stairs-was it Lona-what ailed her?”
"It was Lona and she had been sleep-walking,"
Borrowdean answered. “We waked her and—”
A smothered scream from Evans interrupted him.
She was pointing with shaking finger at the head of
the small idol on the floor.
“It's the ghost at his work again, Miss Vandelia!"
Miss Egerton whirled upon her and because her
nerves were completely unstrung, she shook the
maid until every separate curl-paper stood up on end.
“If I hear another word about ghosts, I will lock
you up in the library and make you stay there till
daylight!"
This threat had the desired effect. Evans lapsed
into shuddering silence.
The voices in the hall had roused the other guests
and Max, in a very handsome dressing-gown, his
chestnut hair carefully brushed, and his expression
singularly alert for one suddenly awakened, was the
next to appear. There was an aroma of cigarettes
about him which suggested that he, like Borrowdean,


THE PAPER IN CYPHER
171
“I am sure of it! The paper was intended for me.
It is my right. Every spare moment for the past
year I have spent in the study of cryptography so
that I might read this paper when it was eventually
discovered. You see how cunningly–how cruelly-
it was hidden, but the malice that put it there has
been thwarted and I ask you, I beg you, to give me
what is rightfully mine. Miss Egerton!” as she re-
mained unmoved, "what if I tell you that that paper
has direct connection with the murder of Sir Rob-
ert Grainger and of Kassim Bardai, too.”
"In that case," said Miss Egerton with decision,
“I shall consult Scotland Yard before I surrender it
to any one.”
A light of desperation kindled in Morna Dal-
rymple's eyes. "If you do that, Miss Egerton, you
will regret it.”
She turned abruptly and walked from the hall.
"In the morning,” said Miss Egerton grimly, “I
shall send for that Burton fellow. I shall also write
to Cockerill and Waddington and ask them if it is
necessary to keep that woman here indefinitely.
Now I suggest that we all go to bed and try to get a
little sleep before another idol breaks. Come, Evans!
Well," as the maid hung back, “what is the matter
now?”
“Surely, Miss Vandelia, you're never going to
take that muderous paper up to bed with you?"
Max burst out laughing at Miss Egerton's look of
exasperation. “I'm inclined to agree with Evans,


172
THE RED CAVALIER
Aunt Van. A mysterious document in cypher is not
a proper bedfellow for a respectable Englishwoman.
Better let me take charge of it.”
"I do not intend,” responded Miss Egerton un-
compromisingly, “to humour Evans' silly, supersti-
tious fears. Are you coming, Evans, or are you not?”
“If that paper is in the room, I shan't close my
eyes one second,” whimpered the maid.
“Then keep them open,” snapped Miss Egerton,
and began to ascend the stairs.
“Oh, I say, Aunt Van,” laughed Max, “don't con-
demn poor Evan to hours of mental torment. I'll
keep the paper safe enough.”
"Please, please, Miss Vandelia, let Mr. Egerton
have it!” Evans was reduced almost to tears.
“Why don't you humour your maid, Miss Eger-
ton?” suddenly spoke up Ethelyn. “You'll have
no peace if you don't.”
“That is very true.” Miss Egerton looked down
on Evans as though she wanted to shake her again;
but she restrained herself. “This once I will give in
to your silliness, Evans, because I must get some
sleep-I am sure I wasn't allowed to last night-and
I know just how you would carry on if that paper
was in the room. Take it, Max.”
“And hold on to it," admonished Borrowdean
gravely. “It seems to be a very much desired ob-
ject.”
“Oh, I'll hold on to it right enough," said Max
with his easy confidence. “Coming up, old man?”


174
THE RED CAVALIER
until he came to a closed door which he judged to be
Mrs. Dalrymple’s. From within rose a sound of
sobbing, low, fierce, and despairing. Borrowdean
listened abashed to that heavy, deadly sobbing, the
outpouring passion of a soul-wrung creature. For
the first time pity began to stir in his breast for
Morna Dalrymple, strange and incomprehensible
personality though she was. With a sense of having
committed almost a desecration in hearing these sobs
of heart agony, he stole away on tiptoe. He was
practically convinced now that the North Riding
robber had not been admitted.
When he re-entered the great hall, he was surprised
to behold Berenice ensconced in a high, carved chair
near the stone fireplace. She had lighted a single
taper on the mantel and its glow shone softly on her
face, smoothing away its lines of weariness and en-
hancing its beauty. She smiled faintly as Borrow-
dean approached.
“Do you object if I keep you company, Reggie?
I am not in the mood for sleep either. I don't want
to talk, just to sit here with you. There's a restful-
ness about you, dear boy.” She leaned her head
back and closed her eyes with a sigh of content.
Borrowdean, looking down upon her, felt a wild
impulse to stoop and kiss the slightly parted, red lips.
He pulled himself together sternly, forcing himself
to remember that it was only friendship she wanted
of him-let Max play the lover. He walked over to
the oak settle on the other side of the fireplace,


THE PAPER IN CYPHER
175
stretched himself out upon it, and lighted a cigar-
ette. As most men do, he found a kind of subtle
consolation in watching the blue smoke curl upward
to the ceiling.
After a long silence Berenice opened her eyes and
gianced at him with a smile of reproach. “You
might offer me a cigarette, Reggie.”
“I beg your pardon. I didn't think.” He jumped
up, tossed his cigarette case into her lap and struck a
match.
She made a careful selection, took the match he
held out to her, and lighted the cigarette with a little
gesture of relief. Then she leaned back again in the
chair, sighed luxuriously, and blew out a little cloud
of smoke.
After a moment she sat upright and flung away
the cigarette. “It has lost its flavour, Reggie-like
everything else. Listen, dear boy, I'm worried, hor-
ribly worried over the inquest. What will they ask
me?"
Borrowdean carefully knocked the ash from his
cigarette before replying. “I suppose they will ask
you about your-ab-interview with Kassim Bardai."
“Then," said Berenice with calm conviction, “I
shall have to commit perjury or plead guilty to
having killed him.”
Borrowdean stared at her aghast. “What the
deuce do you mean, Berenice?"
She rose with a reckless, desperate air. “Just
what I said, Reggie. I know it will be hard, but I


176
THE RED CAVALIER
am going to hold you to your promise of friendship
in spite of everything. Mind you don't fail me!"
Borrowdean laid down his cigarette and rose too.
"Berenice, whatever comes out at the inquest, I
shall be your friend-and shall believe in you."
“Thanks, dear old Reggie!” She turned and ran
up the stairs with a little hysterical laugh that was
almost a sob.


CHAPTER XVII
ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER
Max, to everybody's surprise, was punctual to
breakfast. It was apparent at once that something
had happened to upset his careless equanimity. He
looked serious and a little worried. Berenice's
attempted raillery hardly provoked a smile and
neither Lorna nor Ethelyn, both watching him with
intentness, appeared to exist for him.
“Aunt Van,” he said directly, "you have steady
nerves and so I am going to tell you without any
beating about the bush that I have reason to believe
Twin Turrets had a visitor last night-after we went
up to bed the second time.”
Miss Egerton set down her cup of coffee hurriedly.
“If you are trying to be facetious, Max-"
“But I'm not,” he declared. “In fact, I am sure
this person attempted to pay his visit earlier in the
evening, not long before our little Princess"-he
turned with a slightly carressing smile to Lona-
"started out on her sleep-walking tour."
Miss Egerton stiffened with impatience. “Will
you speak plainly, Max! Who paid a visit?”
Max looked across at her with solicitude. “Now
take it easy, Aunt Van. It was that chap they call
the Red Cavalier."
177


178
THE RED CAVALIER
There was a moment's complete silence. Then
Berenice laughed nervously.
“Of course you don't expect us to believe that.”
“But it's a fact, Berenice.”
Borrowdean moved uneasily. Miss Egerton
caught her nephew up sharply.
“Will you have the goodness to speak plainly and
not make us drag every word out of you!”
Max nodded affably. “I'll do my best, Aunt
Van, but it's a long story and almost an incredible
one."
Forthwith he launched into an account,the
beginning of which Borrowdean, too, could vouch
for-of how, as he sat smoking at his window before
going to bed, he had heard the hoot of an owl. The
persistent repetition of this cry, which had struck
him also as singularly piercing, had caused him to
glance from the window and he had seen there below
a man in the now notorious costume of the Red
Cavalier. This man had approached the house as
though to enter it and Max had started to go down
stairs to prevent this. In the subsequent excite-
ment in the great hall over the ownership of the paper
in cypher, the Cavalier had slipped from his mind
and had not occurred to him again until shortly
before dawn when he had awakened with the vague
sensation of there being some one in his room. It
was too dark to see, he had no notion where the
matches were and, though he listened intently, he
could hear no further sound of any one moving.


180
THE RED CAVALIER
the paper to me as a disinterested party and I en-
trusted it to my nephew to keep until morning.”
“We are none of us exactly to blame, little Lotus-
Flower," said Max gently, “because the Red Cava-
lier chose to steal it.”
“It was not the Red Cavalier.” Lona spoke with
hopeless conviction. “It was Mrs. Dalrymple who
stole it.”
“But Mrs. Dalrymple did not know I entrusted it
to my nephew," objected Miss Egerton, bound to be
just to the woman however much she disliked her.
“Mrs. Dalrymple stole that paper," reiterated
Lona with unshaken conviction. “She would do
anything to get possession of it.”
“I think it is time," observed Miss Egerton, “that
we should be told what was written on that paper."
"It was taken from me before I could even un-
fold it.”
“But you know more or less what it said.”
“Yes! But I cannot tell.”
"Mrs. Dalrymple," pursued Miss Egerton relent-
lessly, “declares that this paper has some connection
with the murder of Sir Robert Grainger and of your
brother also. Is this true?”
Lona quivered. “Please! you must not ask me
that.”
Miss Egerton was silent a moment. “At least
you can tell who hid the paper inside that ugly little
idol."
“No! No! I cannot tell that either.”
Lona


ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER 181
fixed her eyes with a pathetic appeal upon Miss
Egerton. “They will not ask me these questions-
will they—at the inquest?”
Miss Egerton's own eyes grew suspiciously bright.
The little Hindu girl had such a hopeless, hunted
expression.
"I am afraid it is rather likely," she answered in
a softened tone.
Lona gave a little moan and dropped her face
in her hands.
Borrowdean turned to Max. “Where did you
put the paper for safe keeping?”
“In the pocket of my dressing-gown.”
“Not an especially secure hiding-place, was it?"
Max made a wry face. “Not especially. But
how the deuce should I know that this Cavalier chap
would unlock my door and walk in?”.
“As a matter of fact,” spoke up Miss Egerton, "I
do not believe that he did. Nor do I believe that
he entered the house at all. I have discovered noth-
ing missing, not even out of place. It is not likely
that he would break into the house simply for the
purpose of stealing a paper the existence of which
he could not even have known.”
“Unless," suggested Max, "some one in the house
informed him of it.” He glanced up lazily at
Ahmed who, while attending to his duties as butler,
was obviously interested in the conversation.
There was a curious light in the Hindu's eyes as he
met Max's gaze. It was not a pleasant expression.
alion.
as


182.
THE RED CAVALIER
Max looked away, a cold smile on his lips. “If
the Cavalier did not steal the paper, Aunt Van, who
do you suppose did?”
“Ahmed,” said Miss Egerton abruptly, "we shall
not need your services any more for the present. If
there is anything required I will ring.”
Ahmed made his Eastern obeisance and noiselessly
withdrew.
“I will tell you now, Max," resumed Miss Egerton,
"that I really think there may be some truth in
Lona's suspicions of Mrs. Dalrymple. After she
left the hall last night, she may have been eaves-
dropping and in this way have learned that the paper
was given to you. It is not improbable that she
possesses duplicate keys and so was able to enter
your room.”
“I am sure that is what happened,” declared Lona.
“Mrs. Dalrymple would stop at nothing to get that
paper. She thinks she has a right to it, but oh, it is
not so! Miss Egerton, won't you make her give it
back to me?"
"It is my intention,” said Miss Egerton, not un-
kindly, "to put the matter in the hands of that
detective fellow, Burton. The paper must first be
found; it is useless to tax Mrs. Dalrymple with the
theft of it. Naturally she will deny it and we have
no proof. Moreover, it is surely the province of the
police to take charge of a paper which appears to be
involved in two murders. They can decide to whom
it shall be given.”


ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER 183
At mention of the police Lona sprang up affright-
edly. “I had as soon Mrs. Dalrymple had that
paper as-as the police. They will never give it to
me and I-I must have it!” She became conscious
of Max's half amused, half cynical scrutiny and her
distress turned suddenly to anger. “Chand Talsdad
was right. The English are cruel-cruel and bad
to the people of India. Perhaps,” she ilung up her
head with childish defiance, “I will answer questions
at the inquest.”
Max looked up at her with his expression of whim-
sical reproach which few women were proof against.
“Oh, come now, little Lotus-Flower, you don't class
me among the cruel and bad English, do you?”
Lona stood silent, staring at him. Slowly the
anger died from her eyes and tears gathered.
"I think it would have been better if Sir Robert
Grainger had never brought me from India.” She
turned and went swiftly from the room.
After breakfast Borrowdean again went out on the
cliffs alone. Max was just starting for a walk over
the moors with Berenice and Ethelyn. They had
asked Borrowdean to join them, but he felt a singular
distaste that morning to taking Ethelyn for his
charge so that Max might be free to devote himself
to Berenice. He was becoming tired of playing
second to Max. Berenice could not mean to Max
with his volatile affections what she meant to him.
Why then should he continue to efface himself?
From the cliffs he watched them set out and it


184
THE RED CAVALIER
afforded him a kind of grim satisfaction to observe
the proprietary fashion in which Ethelyn possessed
herself of Max's arm. He would have small oppor-
tunity for love making this morning.
After the little party had gone from sight, Borrow-
dean sat a long time in thought. Here was another
mystery to puzzle over-the theft of the paper which
was of such inexplicable value both to poor little
Lona and to Mrs. Dalrymple. Every circumstance
connected with it held mystery. What communica-
tion could it contain that must be written in cypher
and hidden away inside a Hindu idol? And who
had hidden it? One thing, at least, seemed reason-
ably certain: the explanation of the broken idols
might be found in somebody's search-probably
Mrs. Dalrymple's—for this very paper. But what
connection could this have with the murder of Sir
Robert Grainger and with that of Kassim Bardai?,
Again, who had possession of the paper now? Mrs.
Dalrymple, it was likely. He, too, did not believe
that the Cavalier had entered the house. As Miss
Egerton had said, the fact that nothing else had
been stolen argued against this.
Above all these questions and surmises, the coming
inquest loomed dark. In what sort of a mess had
Berenice become entangled? If she persisted in
silence, Burton's suspicions would grow into cer-
tainty. Everything was against her: her interview
with Kassim Bardai, which she frankly admitted
had been unpleasant; the bit of her spangled dress


ONE MYSTERY FOR ANOTHER 185
clutched in his hand; her visit to the tower on the
cliffs; and her persistent, reckless silence in every
regard. Who was the man she had gone to meet at
the tower? Was he the Cavalier, as Burton de-
clared, or was he-Borrowdean lighted a cigarette
in desperation. What the deuce did the man's
identity matter in comparison with the damning
evidence against Berenice of that fragment of her
dress in Kassim Bardai's hand?
Berenice's own words pounded through his brain.
“I shall have to commit perjury or plead guilty to
having killed Kassim Bardai.”
Ah! but she was not guilty. He would not believe
even her self-accusation and his blood surged with
the desire to protect and defend her against the
world. He would fight for her against herself as
well, and perhaps some day—who knows-her frank
friendliness might turn to that warmer emotion
which, at last, was kindled in his own phlegmatic
veins. Again he forcibly checked his thoughts. He,
Reginald Borrowdean, growing sentimental! He
who had always viewed the vagaries of love with a
bored tolerance, not unmixed with contempt, that
men and women otherwise sane should lend them-
selves to the absurdity of considering each other
divine products, set above the general run of human
beings. He and Berenice had been good friends,
good pals, for years with never a hint of sentiment
between them, and then, suddenly and without
warning, the madness had seized him. Yet—he


186
THE RED CAVALIER
had to admit it-he would not have wished this
madness away. When it began he could not tell.
He only knew that now life was no longer empty for
him-it was incarnate in Berenice, whether she ever
returned his affection or not. If only Max would
bestow his attentions elsewhere! or Ethelyn succeed
in bringing him back to her!
What made Ethelyn so assured now in her bearing
toward Max? This had been noticeable ever since
the death of Kassim Bardai and Max no longer
treated her with scant courtesy, but even paid her
little gallantries. What was the secret of her hold
over him? Borrowdean, with a sense of self-shame,
indignantly rejected the suspicion that assailed him.
Max was easy-living and his code of morals elastic,
but he was no murderer.
The sight of a youthful figure in a thin, white
frock, standing on the verge of a scaur and staring
out to sea, drew away Borrowdean's thoughts.
Poor little transplanted Lotus-Flower, in what a
hopeless attitude she stood, gazing out over the grey,
turbulent sea! There was a storm brewing, leaden
clouds, bursting with rain, hung low on the horizon,
and the heavy wind blew Lona's shirts about her
graceful young limbs and played wild gambols with
her loosened hair.
Borrowdean was beginning to feel uncomfortably
chilly and it made him colder to look at Lona in her
thin muslin frock. Getting on his feet he clambered
over the rocks to the little Hindu girl and advised


CHAPTER XVIII
WHERE IS LONA?
LONA did not appear at luncheon. Essy Grieve,
who had been sent by Miss Egerton to call her, re-
ported that she was not in her room nor anywhere in
the house. At Borrowdean's suggestion, Essy went
out on the cliffs in search of her, but Lona was no
longer there.
“Probably she is down on the sands gathering
shells,” remarked Max indifferently, and resumed
his bantering conversation with Berenice.
Ethelyn was watching them with narrowed eyes.
“Lona should learn to be punctual to meals,”
observed Miss Egerton severely. “Punctuality is
a duty which a guest owes to his host.”
“But there is some excuse for her this time,” inter-
posed Borrowdean. “The poor little girl is no end
upset over the loss of that paper."
"By the way,” Miss Egerton lowered her voice
so that Ahmed who was busied at a side table should
not overhear, "I sent for Burton this morning and
gave the matter into his charge. He seems fairly
intelligent, after all, and certainly is energetic. He
searched the house very thoroughly to see if there
were any further indications of a burglar having
188


WHERE IS LONA?
189
entered. He found nothing to suggest this even and
next he interviewed Mrs. Dalrymple. Naturally
he got nothing out of her—the woman is a living
enigma-but it is plain to be seen that he suspects
as we all do that she is responsible for the theft.”
Max threw Miss Egerton a comical glance of de-
precation. "Speak for yourself, Aunt Van, and
allow us the same privilege. For my part, I still
believe the Cavalier is the guilty one."
"And I,” said Ethelyn in a clear, cold voice, "be-
lieve that it was neither the Cavalier nor Mrs.
Dalrymple."
Max turned to her with his mocking smile. “You
speak like a prophetess, Ethie. Who is the guilty
one in your opinion?” He laid his arm carelessly
over the back of her chair, his teasing eyes laughing
into hers.
Ethelyn interlaced her little fingers. She did not
respond to his smile.
“For the present I shall keep my suspicions to
myself.”
Miss Egerton surveyed her, frowning. “If you
have reasonable suspicions of any particular person,
Miss Roydon, I should say it was your duty to state
them. But of course you will do as you think
best.”
It had been noticeable for some days that Miss
Egerton had less liking for Ethelyn than she had for
Berenice, in spite of the latter's apparent connection
with Kassim Bardai's death. Probably Ethelyn's


190
THE RED CAVALIER
obvious efforts to keep Max in attendance upon her
had something to do with this.
Ethelyn gazed back at her hostess with hard, un-
flinching blue eyes. "I think it best to say nothing
as yet.” She turned to Berenice. “You have not
said whom you suspect.”
Berenice gave a little hurried laugh. “Oh, I don't
believe in suspecting people.”
“Sometimes,” Ethelyn's expression was not
friendly, “it is impossible not to suspect.”
Berenice bit her lip, but there was no rancour in
the frank look she gave Ethelyn. “But why not
allow them the benefit of the doubt?"
Ethelyn elevated her carefully arched brows.
“There is not always a doubt. What do you think
about it, Reggie? Miss Egerton might like your
opinion.”
"I agree with Berenice," a stern note in his
voice.
“Naturally you would.” Ethelyn laughed sar-
castically.
When luncheon was over, the threatened storm
was raging in its full fury, the wind had risen to a
gale and the rain was beating down in torrents.
Lona had not yet returned. Miss Egerton, mutter-
ing something about the trouble and worry certain
guests caused her, came into the hall carrying her
own gossamer and galoshes.
“I am going to send Ahmed in search of Lona.
She must be drenched to the skin. The idea of her


WHERE IS LONA?
191
staying out in such a storm! We shall have her sick
on our hands next.”
Borrowdean got up with resolution from the com-
fortable chair in which he had been trying to content
himself. The thought of Lona wandering in the wind
and rain, bareheaded and in a thin, muslin frock
tormented him.
“I'll take those things to Lona, Miss Egerton."
Max, who was stretched in graceful ease upon the
settle, talking to Ethelyn, but gazing at Berenice,
broke into an incredulous laugh.
* Good Lord, Reggie, you go out in a storm like
this! Why, a London fog always kept you indoors."
"Well, this storm isn't going to,” said Borrowdean
curtly.
Max's unconcern over Lona aroused his indigna-
tion.
"I'll go up and put on a heavy ulster," he said to
Miss Egerton. “I'll be down directly."
Miss Egerton looked dubiously at the perfection of
Borrowdean's clothes. “You'll get drenched, too.
I can send Ahmed just as well.”
But Borrowdean was already half way up the
stairs. He had a fancy that Lona would prefer him
for an escort back to Twin Turrets rather than Ahmed
whom he certainly suspected of having put on her
plate the bullet of salt which had so alarmed
her.
When Borrowdean came down wrapped in a long,
thick coat, he was amazed to behold Berenice in a
was amaz


192
THE RED CAVALIER
tweed ulster, motor hat and veil, waiting at the foot
of the stairs.
“I'm going with you, Reggie. I want to get out
and battle with the storm."
"But-but it isn't prudent, you know." Borrow-
dean felt it his duty to object.
Berenice laughed. “I'm never prudent, Reggie.
It's no use; you can't dissuade me, even if you say
you don't want me. I am a very determined person
when I make up my mind. Come along, Reggie.”
“Hope you'll have a pleasant stroll, you two,"
Max called after them lazily. “I really think Lona
deserves a little scolding when you find her. I'll
hold you to that game of billiards this evening,
Berenice, if you are not entirely washed away.”
As they stepped outside, the massive entrance
door of studded oak slammed behind them and the
violence of the wind almost took Berenice off her
feet.
Borrowdean looked at her anxiously. “'Pon my
word, you ought not to be out in this.”
Berenice laughed again. “I'm just in the mood
for it! Give me your arm to steady me a bit. Now
then, where shall we look first for the little girl?”
They battled their way to the cliffs, Berenice
holding close to Borrowdean's arm, and he, trying
to shield her as much as possible with his body from
the wind and the lashing rain. The great rocks,
wind-swept and dripping, stretched themselves above
the raging sea, void, as far as the eye could reach, of


WHERE IS LONA?
193
any human presence save their own. Wild as the
North Sea always was, it was now like a frenzied
monster unchained. The vast expanse of ocean
was white with the foam of the waves, which hurled
themselves in thunderous bombardment against the
jagged scarps. Tempests of spray were dashed into
the faces of the two on the cliffs. Berenice's veil
was soaked and flapping limply.
Borrowdean pulled her aside as a higher wave
boomed against the scaur on which they stood and
broke over it in torrents of foam. “I wish you
would let me take you back to the house."
Berenice shook her head. “This is too glorious
to miss! Besides, we must find Lona. Where can
the poor child be? Come down onto the sands,
Reggie. There is a cave along there where she might
have taken refuge."
Berenice scrambled down the steep escarpments
with grace and light-footedness as though she were
accustomed to rock-climbing Borrowdean, nat-
urally less agile and, in addition, hampered by the
gossamer and galoshes he was carrying, came down
more slowly and rather awkwardly.
At last they reached the drenched sands over
which the sea was rushing ravenously. Berenice
stood close to Borrowdean, her hand pressing his
arm.
“This storm is wonderful, Reggie!”
“I say, won't you take off that bally veil?” he


194
THE RED CAVALIER
asked irrelevantly. "I can't see you at all through
it.”
She gave a little low, amused laugh. “You'll have
to untie it then. The knot is in the back, stupid!”
She turned her head and he awkwardly fumbled
at the knot. Her near presence, the little intimate
act of untying her veil, intoxicated him. He caught
her by the shoulders.
"Berenice-I can't help it I love you!"
She gently freed herself. “Not that now, Reggie!”
He drew back abruptly. “I didn't suppose you
could care for a commonplace chap like me.”
“Dear boy, don't be absurd!” Her fingers jerked
the knot apart and she tore off the veil. There was
more than rain moisture in her eyes. “Do you
imagine I could permit you to speak of love to me
while I am under suspicion of being concerned in a
man's death? Oh, I know what you would say, how
generous-minded you are, but I know, too, what the
world will say-after the inquest."
"I don't care a hang for the world, Berenice!”
“But I do—for your sake. I'm too fond of you,
you've been too good a friend for me to allow you to
mix your name with mine at such a time as this.
We will limit ourselves to friendship, Reggie. It
will be much the best for us both."
Borrowdean surveyed her gloomily. "And what
about Max?” he could not refrain from asking.
Berenice smiled indulgently. “Max is delightful,
but-one could hardly take him seriously. No,


WHERE IS LONA?
195
Reggie, I feel too sore and bruised and crushed-
yes, and desperate-to love any one at present.
And really,” with a rueful laugh, “this is rather an
inopportune occasion for discussing sentiment. I'm
blown to pieces and I'm drenched. I am sure no
one else would dream of making love to me in this
bedraggled state, you dear, foolish boy! But come,
we must find Lona. I am worried about the poor
little girl.”
They fought their way along the sands in the
face of the furious wind till they came to a natural
cave penetrating deeply the high cliffs. Lona was
not there. Borrowdean was becoming genuinely
alarmed. He thought of her as he had seen her last
-a lonely, dejected little figure poised on the edge
of a scaur, watching the storm sweep over the sea.
Had she slipped and fallen into the angry waves, or,
driven to despair by brooding over the loss of that
paper which meant so much to her, had she deliber-
ately thrown away her young life? He should have
insisted upon her accompanying him back to the
house; in any case, he should not have left her alone
on the cliffs in the mood she was in.
"Berenice,” he said suddenly, "if you will wait
here in the cave I will push on to the nearest coast-
guard station. It may not be too late to-to recover
her.”
“You are getting morbid, Reggie,” declared Bere-
nice briskly. “Don't allow yourself to imagine that
anything like that has happened to Lona. We will


196
THE RED CAVALIER
go back to Twin Turrets. I am sure she will have
returned by now, or if not, she must have gone to
Avingdon Manor to see that old Hindu—what's his
name?"
Borrowdean shook his head in dissent. “She
would not go there. She stands in fear of the old
chap.”
“But he is of her race. She might think it neces-
sary to tell him about that paper-that is, if it really
is connected with her brother's death. In any case,
Reggie, the coast-guards could not launch a boat in
such a storm as this. Look at those waves—and
the wind, if anything, is increasing! I feel almost
certain we shall find Lona at Twin Turrets."
Lona was not there, however, and a message of
inquiry despatched to Avingdon Manor brought
back the information that neither was she there and
that Chand Talsdad had gone to London that morn-
ing with the body of Kassim Bardai, preparatory to
sending it to India for burial. It was the old Hindu's
intention to return in time to be present at the in-
quest.
Lona's disappearance cast an added gloom over
the atmosphere at Twin Turrets. Max alone was
unaffected.
“Oh, I daresay she'll turn up in a day or two," he
remarked easily. “More than likely she has run
up to London to meet this old priest and pay the
last rites to her brother's memory."
Borrowdean surveyed him coldly. “What! Go


WHERE IS LONA?
197
up to London batless?” More than ever Max's
unconcern roused his resentment.
Max smiled with lazy insolence. “My dear
fellow, won't your insularity permit you to remember
that Oriental maidens are not so bound down'to hats
as your own countrywomen are?”
Miss Egerton, meanwhile, had notified the nearest
coast-guard station and a thorough search of the
cliffs and sand was being carried on. Up to dinner-
time no trace of the missing girl had been reported.
But a discovery made at the commencement of the
meal increased the general apprehension that the
young Hindu girl had not simply wandered off of her
own free will.
On the plate set before Lona's empty chair lay
another bullet of salt. Max, this time, was not
favoured in like manner. This second warning or
threat had been intended for the girl alone. Ahmed,
as before, denied all knowledge of the salt signal and
Mrs. Dalrymple, too, when questioned, made denial,
but she betrayed agitation at sight of the white
bullet. Evidently she knew its portent.
Borrowdean felt assured now that Lona had either
been driven to seek death as a solution to the prob-
lems that beset ber or else had been forcibly carried
off.


CHAPTER XIX
THE CURTAIN RISES
THE day set for the inquest arrived, and still no
trace of Lona. When the storm had subsided the
coast-guards had dragged the sea within a radius
of five miles of Twin Turrets but, if the young Hindu
girl were within its waters, the sea would not yield
her up. The entire moorside, too, had been searched
without avail. A wire had been sent to Chand
Talsdad in London. He, it seemed, knew nothing
of Lona, but offered a fabulous reward for informa-
tion concerning her whereabouts. "She must be
found,” his telegram had ended.
However, the fact remained that she had not been
found up to the time when it was necessary to set
out for the Bay Town—the little fishing village on
Robin Hood's Bay—where the inquest was to be
held. Borrowdean's apprehensions as to the out-
come of the inquest grew as the wagonette wound
among the steep narrow streets of the old town,
famed as a former haven for smugglers. But Bere
nice, the object of his apprehensions, apparently did
not share them. There was a vivacity about her-
a trifle feverish perhaps-which drew upon her dis-
approving glances from Miss Egerton and she showed
an interest so intense as to be rather peculiar in the
198


THE CURTAIN RISES
199
queer, tall houses so closely wedged together and
built down to the water's edge, practically into and
on top of one another, thus giving the whole town a
consciously guilty air as though it were endeavouring
to conceal itself. Curious passages and little courts
like culs-de-sac intersected the huddled houses and
must have afforded the smugglers of other days ex-
cellent means of escape from pursuing excise officers.
It would be as impossible to trace a fugitive through
this labyrinth of intricate little passages as to chase
a rabbit in a warren.
Berenice was studying with especial intentness the
old houses near the water's edge. They were almost
identical in appearance; their dark stone walls en-
livened by newly-painted doors and windows, their
doorsteps brightened by ochre-coloured hearth-
stones, the scrapers sleek with black lead, and the
windows shaded with spotlessly clean curtains. At
the sound of the cobs' hoof-beats in the quiet little
street, one of these immaculate curtains was slightly
drawn aside and Borrowdean caught a vague, mo-
mentary glimpse of a man's face peering out. In an
instant the curtain was drawn to.
Something impelled Borrowdean to glance at
Berenice. She was staring up at that window; her
brows were contracted, her lips pinched, her whole
expression bitter.
Max, too, was observing her with a cynical smile.
"Jolly queer houses along here, Berenice," an odd
intonation in his voice.


200
THE RED CAVALIER
Berenice's features relaxed. She smiled lightly.
“Immensely interesting, I think. I should like to
go through some of them.”
Borrowdean, without knowing exactly why he did
so, made a mental note of this particular house which
had held Berenice's attention. He had occasion
later to be thankful that he had done so. It was the
last house but one upon the sea-wall. As it was
built almost on top of its neighbours and towered
two stories above them, the windows must have
afforded an uninterrupted view of the entire sweep
of Robin Hood's Bay. Borrowdean had no further
time for observation. The wagonette stopped before
the small inn built on a bastion against which the
waves were breaking hungrily.
Max, never to be outdone in little gallantries,
sprang from the wagonette and, with a filial defer-
ence, assisted his aunt to descend. Miss Egerton,
dignified and severe, in austere black, unbent a little
at Max's attentions and looked at him with eyes of
pride and affection as he stood before her, handsome,
debonair, and faultlessly dressed.
"Just one thing, Max,” she said in a softened
voice, “do be serious at the inquest and don't mock
at the coroner even if you do think him stupid.”
A whimsically tender smile played about Max's
mobile mouth. “My blessed Aunt, I promise to be
on my very best behaviour.”
His eyes, however, were full of teasing mirth and
Miss Egerton looked a little dubious as she took his


THE CURTAIN RISES
201
arm and let him lead her into the inn. Borrowdean
followed with Berenice and Ethelyn. The two latter
were obviously dressed with a view to the impression
they should make. Berenice wore a golden-brown
summer silk, the waist cut in a V to disclose her full
white throat and neck, a smart Paris hat of the same
golden-brown shade, dainty gloves and bronze high-
heeled shoes. Under one arm she carried the in-
evitable Pompon, his absurd little body surmounted
by a monstrous golden-brown bow. The ensemble
of Berenice's costume with its harmony of burnished
gold set off her brunette beauty to particular ad-
vantage. Ethelyn, too, had counted upon uniform-
ity of colouring to lend charm to her own appear-
ance, but the blue she had selected was of too vivid
a shade and the contrast between this and the bright-
ness of her hair was harsh and unpleasing. Her
eyes also, sharply blue, heightened the severity of
the contrast and in no way blended with her costume,
made in the extreme of fashion as all Miss Roydon's
clothes were.
Berenice, on the contrary, though always following
strictly the prevailing modes, never went in advance
of them and her gowns invariably expressed in-
dividuality, were graceful, becoming, and comfort-
able to her type. Ethelyn, during the entire drive
to the Bay Town had been painfully aware of Bere-
nice's superiority of taste and of Max's admiring
consciousness of this fact. Consequently the glances
Ethelyn bent on Berenice were appraising and un-


202
THE RED CAVALIER
friendly. They did not, however, disturb Berenice
in the least-Borrowdean thought it doubtful if she
even noticed them—there was nothing petty about
her and she would not think it worth while to notice
envy.
As Borrowdean, silk hat in one hand and Malacca
stick in the other, ushered them ceremoniously into
the inn parlour where the inquest was to be con-
ducted, Berenice caught Ethelyn's arm in her
friendly, intimate way.
"I do hope Pompon will behave himself,” she said
with a nervous laugh.
Ethelyn twitched away. "Why did you bring the
little beast?"
A shadow settled over Berenice's face. "I
thought poor Pompon might divert my thoughts a
little."
Ethelyn looked at her sharply. “Do they need
diversion so badly?”.
Berenice returned Ethelyn's look steadily, but she
did not reply. In silence they followed an usher
through the crowded parlour, packed with the usual
incongruous gathering upon such occasions, gentry
from the neighbouring estates, sensation-seekers from
the cities, journalists and gaping country folk, to
where chairs had been reserved for them immediately
in front of a long table littered with writing-materials
and bundles of varying size tied up with pink tape.
The coroner was already seated at this table; on each
side of it were a half dozen shabbily-upholstered


THE CURTAIN RISES
203
chairs of early-Victorian design. Toward these a
dozen men, representing as many professions and
walks in life, were pompously making their way.
Borrowdean surveyed them without enthusiasm-
some intelligent-looking, some obstinate, even surly,
some eager, others bored, and still others merely
stupid. These were the men who were to decide
to-day how Kassim Bardai, a prince of far off
India, had come to his death.
Involuntarily Borrowdean took Berenice's arm
with a protective gesture as he handed her into a
chair beside Miss Egerton. With punctilious polite-
ness he would have had Ethelyn follow her but Bere-
nice decreed that he himself should sit next to her.
“Ethie will like to sit with Max,” she said in
excuse.
Miss Roydon had the grace to give a slight nod
of appreciation, but Max looked positively ill-
natured when he found himself relegated to the end
chair with two persons interposed between himself
and Berenice. Miss Egerton glanced scathingly
at Pompon huddled in his mistress's lap and look-
ing up at her with plaintive, wondering eyes.
"If that ridiculous dog should commence to
bark—"
“Oh, but he's too tiny really to bark. He never
does more than yelp.” Berenice's tone was inno-
cence itself, but there was a faint twinkle in her eye.
"If he yelps too badly, I will ask Reggie to carry
him out."


204
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean flushed uncomfortably. Sensitive as
he was to ridicule, the notion of pushing his way
through the crowded room with an absurd, yelp-
ing little dog in his arms, made him writhe inwardly.
Why, indeed, had Berenice insisted upon bringing
the silly little creature? Miss Egerton stiffened
with disapproval and drew as far away as possible
from the unappreciated Pompon. Berenice's lev-
ity at such a time grated upon her sense of pro-
priety. Could she not realize the serious position
in which she stood through the discovery of a frag-
ment of her dress in the hand of the man whose
death was about to be investigated-or the still
more serious position in which she was likely to
stand when the inquest was over?
But Berenice's levity was as fleeting as it was
ill-timed. After all, it was nothing more then the
pitiful effort of a naturally joyous and healthy soul
to shake off the burden of bitterness and horror
that opressed it. She threw a hasty, but embrac-
ing glance about the improvised courtroom, and
instantly the amused sparkle died from her eyes
and lines of anxiety settled over her features.
Borrowdean, following her glance, discovered that
the venerable Hindu, Chand Talsdad, was seated
on their left and was scrutinizing Berenice with an
expression of merciless hatred on his harsh old face.
Borrowdean's indignation rose and his own expres-
sion as he stared at the Hindu was fairly ferocious
for a man of his easy good-humour.


THE CURTAIN RISES
205
Berenice touched his arm. “Don't look so sav-
age, Reggie. That old man can hardly help hat-
ing me. You see”—with a sigh-"he blames me for
Kassim Bardai's death. He knows Prince Kassim
rather-well rather lost his head over me and every-
body, I warn you, Reggie, is not as charitable as
you are.”
“Confound the old chap!” muttered Borrow-
dean uneasily. “Why couldn't the precious pair
have stayed in India?"
"Well, I am sure I wish they had," said Berenice
fervently.
The whisperings in that packed little parlour
rose now and then to loud murmurs in spite of the
usher's rappings for silence. There were many fa-
miliar faces in that heterogeneous assembly and Bor-
rowdean found himself resenting the offhand manner
in which the men bowed to Berenice and the cool,
supercilious nods of the women. The newspapers, he
knew, had been hinting rather broad things against
her and of course these society puppets, only too
avid for a breath of scandal, or worse, in connection
with the beautiful divorcee who had always frankly
and openly scorned trivial conventionalities, had
mentally tried and condemned her. If Berenice
was aware of their hostile attitude, no trace of it
showed in the persistently smiling countenance
with which she greeted acquaintances. But when
she thought herself unobserved, she dropped the


206
THE RED CAVALIER
mask and her face was that of a weary and des-
pairing woman.
Borrowdean caught sight of Morna Dalrymple
seated near the door. She was dressed in unre-
lieved black which, of course, accentuated her ex-
treme pallor, but offered an effective setting to her
curious copper-colored hair and eyes. She was
watching Berenice in an unfriendly, almost fear-
some way. Several times at Twin Turrets Borrow-
dean had observed Mrs. Dalrymple watching Bere-
nice in this same fashion and he was at a loss to
account for it. Surely generous-hearted, laughter-
loving Berenice was the last person in the world to
inspire fear. Yet there was undoubted fear in Mrs.
Dalrymple's eyes turned upon her. The mystery
of this enigmatic woman was again beginning to
irritate him and the sympathy which the sound of
her agonized sobbing had called forth was becom-
ing blunted.
Ahmed, like Chand Talsdad, a strange, unreal fig-
ure in Eastern garb, stood over her chair, his lean
arms folded across his breast and his brown face
under the bright-hued turban singularly alert to
every movement and every person in the room. At
that moment the back of Chand Talsdad's power-
ful, grizzled head was the focus of the butler's at-
tention and there was awe, reverence, and a kind
of cringing fear in his restless black eyes. He
stooped suddenly and addressed Mrs. Dalrymple
in a furtive whisper. She replied in the same man-


THE CURTAIN RISES
207
ner. Seeing this, the conviction Borrowdean had
long held that there was some bond, some secret
understanding between the housekeeper and the
Hindu butler became strengthened. It seemed to
him that it might very well date back to the murder
of their former master, Sir Robert Grainger. He
distrusted them both.
Borrowdean had no opportunity for further sur-
mises. The usher rapped again for silence and the
physician who had been summoned on the night of
Kassim Bardai's death was called to the stand. In
the hush of expectation that ensued while the
physician somewhat impatiently pushed his way
through the compact crowd of spectators, the waves
beating against the bastion outside sounded abnor-
mally loud and menacing and brought to Borrow-
dean a disturbing memory which he could not rid
his mind of—the memory of Lona as he had last
seen her standing hopelessly on the edge of a scaur
staring into a wild and ravenous sea. What fate
had befallen her? An even crueller one perhaps
than that which had overtaken her brother? Those
threatening messages in the shape of bullets of salt
would seem to indicate this unless—the sea had
saved her.
The physician now had reached the witness-table.
The spectators craned their necks eagerly. No
need now to cry “Silence!” The curtain was about
to go up on the first act of an absorbing play in
which, they had no doubt, the beautiful woman in


CHAPTER XX
THE INQUEST
The physician, who was also medical officer of
the North Riding and had performed the post-mor-
tem examination, gave his testimony at great length
as to the cause of death. Technical terms were
used in plenty and puzzled the elegant folk who had
come to be entertained. In brief, the testimony
amounted to this:
Kassim Bardai had come to his death by a thrust
through the breast, effected by means of a long, nar-
row instrument with two sharp edges, such as a
dagger or stiletto. This instrument had entered the
thorax between the third and fourth ribs to the left
of the sternum and had penetrated the left ventri-
cle of the heart. Death must have been practi-
cally instantaneous. As regarded the nature of
the wound, the possibility of suicide might be con-
sidered. But the fact that the instrument of death
had been withdrawn from the wound and found on
the floor by the dead man's side would seem to
argue against the theory of suicide. For since the
wound was such as to cause almost instant death
from shock, it was hardly likely that the dying man
could have had the time or the requisite strength to
draw out the weapon from so deep a cut.
209


210
THE RED CAVALIER
The coroner was about to dismiss the physician,
when the latter asked if he might state a fact which
appeared to him relevant to the inquiry and, in any
event, was a striking coincidence.
“A little over a year ago I performed a post-mor-
tem examination on the body of Sir Robert Grain-
ger, who was also found dead in the library at Twin
Turrets. Sir Robert, too, had met his death by a
thrust through the breast made by a dagger or
stiletto.”
There was a little stir at the back of the parlour.
Mrs Dalrymple seemed to be faint and a glass of
water was brought her. When quiet had been re-
stored, the coroner turned again to the physician
and asked in his deliberate, emotionless voice:
“You wish us to understand, Dr. Blair, that you
see or suspect connection between these two deaths
because of certain similar features in both?"
The medical officer hesitated. “I don't want to
commit myself too far, but-well, yes, it is my per-
sonal opinion that there is connection between the
two deaths. Of course,” he added slowly, “some
of the sensational elements, present in the earlier-
er-death were absent in the one now being inquired
into. I refer to the highly melodramatic sentence
printed in red ink on a strip of paper pasted on the
wall above the body of Sir Robert. I cannot now
recall the exact wording, but it was to the effect that
Sir Robert's death was due to his having incurred
the enmity of some association or blackhand soci-


THE INQUEST
211
ety called the Azra El Kab-or some such weird
name.”
The coroner consulted his notes. "The Azra El
Kab is the name of the colossal ruby reported to
have been stolen from Prince Kassim Bardai either
directly before or directly after his death. I think
it well, Dr. Blair, that you have called attention to
this fact. Now, if I remember rightly, it was a poi-
soned dagger with which Sir Robert was slain. Is
the same true in the case of Kassim Bardai?”
"It is not. Chemical analysis has failed to reveal
any trace of poison either on the blade of the dagger
or in the wound itself.”
The coroner was again about to dismiss the physi-
cian, but Dr. Blair clearly had something further to
say.
“Mr. Coroner, at the risk perhaps of harking back
too much to the past, I should like to bring out a
little point which was hardly more than touched on
at the inquest on Sir Robert's death. It may, or it
may not, shed light on the present inquiry."
The audience was alert at once. Borrowdean,
glancing back, saw that Mrs. Dalrymple was leaning
forward tensely in her chair and that Ahmed had
shifted his curious, cringing gaze from Chand Tals-
dad to the physician.
"Kindly proceed, Doctor," the coroner said.
“The poison on the dagger which killed Sir Robert,"
the doctor began, "was discovered by analysis to
be a little known, but very deadly, Hindu poison.


212
THE RED CAVALIER
The dagger itself was usually carried by Sir Robert
on his person as a protection against some enemy or
enemies of whom he was always in fear. I was Sir
Robert's physician and I know that this fear dated
from the time of his return from India where he had
spent several years—I cannot say how-but he had
learned many Eastern secrets, among them how to
distill poison from an apparently harmless flower of
India. The blade of his dagger had been dipped in
this poison.”
The coroner viewed the physician with interest.
“But if Sir Robert, as you state, died from the thrust
of his own dagger which he himself had dipped in
poison, does not this suggest suicide?”
Dr. Blair shook his head emphatically. "Not at
all. While Sir Robert's wound from its nature might
have been self-inflicted, he was not in the least a man
who could have taken his own life under any circum-
stances whatsoever. As a matter of fact, he had a
horror and a fear of death which amounted almost
to a mania. But it always seemed to me that there
was reason for this obsession-as though he might
at some time have committed a deed because of
which he rightly feared to meet the judgment of his
Maker. He was a hard, bitter, self-centred man and
was never known to show affection or even considera-
tion to any human being, as far as I have heard, ex-
cept to his ward, the young Hindu girl, Lona, who
has turned out to be the sister of Kassim Bardai.
To her, I believe, he was invariably kind.”


THE INQUEST
213
The coroner considered a moment, “You have then
no other cause for supposing connection between
these two deaths except that in the former there
were Hindu features or elements and that in the
latter the victim himself was a Hindu and died by a
Hindu dagger?”
The physician nodded. “That is so.”
The next witness called was Miss Egerton.
Borrowdean, who had been fairly easy in his mind
during the medical testimony, commenced to feel a
sense of disquiet for he knew that the questions asked
now would be of a personal character and would tend
to enlarge and emphasize any little incident which
could have even the most remote bearing on Kassim
Bardai's death. Miss Egerton was not in sympathy
with Berenice and so could hardly be expected to
shield her by glossing over her rather extraordinary
conduct on the night of the costume ball: namely,
her long and unsatisfactorily explained absence.
The coroner, however, got little enough out of
Miss Egerton. As a well-born, well-bred English
woman she very properly resented the notoriety
thrust upon her by being summoned to testify as to
her knowledge of a vulgar, sordid murder, and she
meant that the coroner and all concerned should feel
the weight of her displeasure. She made it plain too,
that the man who had brought all this notoriety upon
her by allowing himself to be killed in the house she
had rented shared her displeasure to no small degree,
and she laid stress upon Kassim Bardai's efforts to


THE INQUEST
215
“Was any other guest or guests, with the excep-
tion of Prince Kassim Bardai, absent a markedly
long time from the ballrcom?”
Borrowdean felt himself grow cold. It was com-
ing-what he had dreaded. Berenice ceased
abruptly to fondle Pompon—which she had been
nervously doing from the moment Miss Egerton took
the stand-and fixed her eyes with a sort of resigned
despair upon the coroner. Ethelyn flashed a signi-
ficant glance at her and Max's careless serenity of
expression became slightly troubled.
The coroner's question appeared to increase Miss
Egerton's indignation over the position into which
she had been forced. She settled her eyeglasses
with a belligerent air and viewed the coroner scath-
ingly.
"I suppose you hope for an answer that can be
twisted into incriminating evidence?”
The coroner bristled in defence of his official dig-
nity. “I expect a frank answer, Miss Egerton.”
Miss Egerton set her lips. “I think the question
an unfair one and I shall not answer it.”
Berenice drew a little fluttering sigh of relief.
Borrowdean felt profoundly grateful to Miss Eger-
ton, but the coroner was angry and showed it.
"Perhaps you are not aware, madam, that your
refusal to answer will incline the jury to believe
either that you have something to conceal or some-
body to shield.”
The grim set to Miss Egerton's mouth became


216
THE RED CAVALIER
more pronounced. “The jury will believe what
they choose, but I believe that there would be more
progress made in this investigation if there were
fewer deliberately incriminating questions asked and
more attention devoted to solving certain palpable
mysteries which apparently are beyond the compre-
hension of Scotland Yard. I am referring to the dis-
appearance of a paper in cypher which was of para-
mount importance to the sister of Kassim Bardai
and to Mrs. Dalrymple, the housekeeper at Twin
Turrets, and also to the disappearance of Lona Bar-
dai herself. So far as I know, nothing has been
accomplished in either direction. Act, not theorize,
seems to me an excellent principle.”
The coroner gasped. A wave of amused laughter
swept through the room-an echo of that secret el-
ement of lawlessless in mankind which rejoices
when those in authority are rebuked or derided.
While the usher was peremptorily calling for order,
Miss Egerton swept stiffly to her seat. The cor-
oner, to hide his anger and confusion, hastily sum-
moned the next witness.
This was Chand Talsdad. As the aged Hindu,
stalwart and upright in spite of his years, dignified,
even majestic in his priestly garb of turban and flow-
ing robe, which seemed to set him apart from,
to raise him above commoner personalities, faced
that eager gathering, alien to him and his, and con-
sequently unsympathetic, if not actually hostile,
Borrowdean was conscious of a sense of strength


THE INQUEST
217
and power and resolution unconquerable emanat-
ing from the calm, stately figure of Brahma's
priest. Empires would sooner totter than Chand
Talsdad abandon a set purpose. He could be inex-
orable, pitiless, too, if that purpose were thwarted
-the harsh, grim lines of his countenance, the
stern, farseeing, impersonal light in his eyes de-
clared this. He looked beyond men and their
petty deeds to great results, vast enterprises which
had their root in the past, their growth in the pres-
ent, and their fruitage in the future. Kassim Bar-
dai had been a part of these enterprises, an aid to
their achievement. It was not likely that Chand
Talsdad would show mercy to the one who had re-
moved, or whom he suspected had removed, this
integral link in the chain of his purpose. That
Berenice was the object of his suspicion there seemed
no doubt, for, out of that whole roomful of men and
women the Hindu's stern gaze sought out Berenice
and rested upon her with concentrated hatred.
Borrowdean. felt Berenice shiver. His resent-
ment against Chand Talsdad kindled to a flame.
By what right did this man judge and condemn her
without a hearing?
Ethelyn gave Borrowdean a little nudge. “Reg-
gie, don't scowl so, you're attracting attention.”
Borrowdean made an effort to control his fea-
tures as he listened to Chand Talsdad's reserved tes-
timony which the coroner drew from him with some
difficulty and by dint of much questioning. The


218
THE RED CAVALIER
Hindu declined to state the nature of the business
which had brought him and Kassim Bardai to Eng-
land and had caused the latter to make such per-
sistent efforts to obtain the lease of Twin Turrets,
he intimated only that it was a purely private
affair. When asked if they had been in England
in June of the preceding year, June was the month
in which Sir Robert Grainger had met his death-
Chand Talsdad answered that he had never set foot
outside of India until six months ago.
“But was Prince Kassim Bardai in England in
June of last year?” persisted the coroner.
“That I cannot say,” was Chand Talsdad's
somewhat ambiguous reply.
As the coroner finally narrowed his questions
to the period directly preceding the costume ball,
the Hindu's replies became lengthier. It appeared
that Kassim Bardai had gone to the ball against
the advice of Chand Talsdad. The old Hindu
named no names, but it was plainly to be gathered
from his words that he disapproved and had sought
to prevent Kassim Bardai's growing intimacy with
a certain member of the house party at Twin Tur-
rets.
It seemed to Borrowdean, hypersensitive to any
allusion, however covert, to Berenice, that every-
one in the little courtroom must know to whom
Chand Talsdad was referring. Every chance look
cast at her appeared to him deliberate and accus-
ing. Perhaps Berenice felt the same, for she kept


THE INQUEST
219
her head slightly lowered and her attention on Pom-
pon, fawning against her. As Borrowdean stole
a glance at her and saw the misery in her eyes and
the nervous, agitated, persistently engrossed man-
ner in which she fondled the Pomperanian, he
understood better why she had brought the absurd
little creature.
Chand Talsdad concluded his testimony by sol-
emnly exhorting English justice in the person of
the coroner to leave no effort untried to discover
the person who had stolen the Azra El Kab ruby
and the whereabouts of Lona Bardai. Either he
believed that the solution of these two minor mys-
teries would solve the greater mystery of Kassim
Bardai's death or else he felt that Kassim Bardai,
being dead and hence unable to further the under-
taking which had brought the two Hindus to Eng-
land, had become a nonentity, a thing without rat-
ing, and that in some way the reappearance of the
ruby and of Lona-if the girl still were alive-
would complete that chain of purpose broken by
Kassim Bardai's death. Borrowdean guessed that
the vengeance of a man who valued causes and effects
above the lives of his fellow humans would be un-
remitting and pitiless, and he was obsessed by a
primitive, protective impluse to snatch up Berenice
and bear her away from even the shadow of the
Hindu's suspicions. It was a relief to him when
Chand Talsdad resumed his seat.
As the name of the next witness was called Berenice


THE INQUEST
221
“You had then no more urgent or more personal
motive for remaining than deference to Sir Robert's
wishes?”
"No." Mrs. Dalrymple spoke calmly, but she
looked a little anxious as though distrusting the in-
tent of this question.
The coroner pressed his attack. "Do I understand
rightly that Sir Robert in his will made no further
provision for you than to establish you as permanent
housekeeper-or caketaker?”.
There came a bitterness into Morna Dalrymple's
eyes. “That was all the provision made for
me.”
The coroner leaned forward aggressively. “Had
you reason to expect that Sir Robert would make
further provision for you?"
At this Mrs. Dalrymple became so agitated that
her lips moved rapidly without framing an intelligible
word. She clenched and unclenched her hands;
patches of red came swiftly into her cheeks and dis-
appeared as swiftly. Realizing what effect was reg-
istering on the faces of the jurors, she quickly regained
her power of speech.
“Why-why, no. I always received my wages as
housekeeper with due regularity; there was nothing
more to expect.”
“Then your willingness to follow out Sir Robert's
wishes and remain as caretaker had nothing to do
with any expectations you might have cherished,
expectations which you thought might be realized


THE INQUEST
223
Her sincerity could not be doubted. The coroner
slightly varied his attack.
“Who were the others' interested in the discovery
of that paper?”
“Lona Bardai was one.” Mrs. Dalrymple's voice
was hostile.
“And Prince Kassim Bardai?”
“Probably more so than his sister.”
“You were acquainted with Prince Kassim Bar-
dai?"
“Not in the least. A woman in my position does
not have princes for acquaintances—but I knew of
him.”
“Did he ever visit Twin Turrets during the life-
time of Sir Robert?”.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Would you have been likely to know if he
had?”
“Not unless I had happened to see him. Sir
Robert was not confidential with me.” Mrs. Dal-
rymple's tone was hard.
The coroner once more veered his questioning.
“Will you state who concealed that paper in cy-
pher?”
“Sir Robert Grainger concealed it."
“It was his then to dispose of in this way if he
wished?”
“It was his; he could do as he wished with it,
and did,” a world of bitterness in the words.
“Then, Mrs. Dalrymple," the coroner snapped


THE INQUEST
225
Berenice, hesitated an appreciable while, then an-
swered hurriedly:
. "I was alone."
Burton passed another card to the coroner. Bor-
rowdean was commencing to dread these cards and
he was not surprised at the trend of the coroner's
next question.
“Did you see any guest from the costume ball on
the cliffs?”
Mrs. Dalrymple studied this question before re-
plying. “I saw no one from the costume ball," she
said at length.
The coroner frowningly bent over his notes. Sud-
denly he sat upright and launched a shot that caused
a tremor of excitement to pervade the room.
: "Then if the man in the feathered hat and the
cavalier dress who talked with you on the cliffs that
night was not a guest from the costume ball-who
was he?"
Mrs. Dalrymple uttered a smothered cry; her face
was like chalk. Her lips opened, but no words came.
Berenice pressed against Borrowdean. He felt the
trembling of her body, saw the horror in her
eyes.
“Mrs. Dalrymple, who was the man in the cavalier
dress?" thundered the coroner.
There was no response. Morna Dalrymple had
fainted in her chair.
Berenice precipitated Pompon into Miss Egerton's
lap and went hastily to Mrs. Dalrymple's aid.


226
THE RED CAVALIER
Max leaned across Ethelyn. His boyish, debonair
look was gone.
“I say, Reggie, if they get you on the stand, it will
be just as well under the circumstances-as I told
you before not to proclaim the fact that I got
myself up as the Red Cavalier. I was a bally ass to
do it.”


CHAPTER XXI
A QUESTION OF COSTUME
A DOSE of sal-volatile restored Mrs. Dalrymple
to consciousness and she was assisted from the room
by Berenice and Ahmed, the latter solicitous and
deferential. The butler was immediately summoned
to the witness-stand, but Berenice remained outside
with Mrs. Dalrymple. Borrowdean was rather glad
that it happened so. Berenice would be spared the
recital of much unpleasant testimony and would be
free, for a while at least, from impertinent stares.
Miss Egerton resigned herself to Pompon, Max re-
sumed his usual careless serenity of expression, and
the courtroom generally quieted down and prepared
itself to listen to Ahmed's reluctant and circumspect
testimony.
That the East Indian, figuratively speaking, was
on the rack there could be no doubt. Hitherto
Ahmed's understanding and command of English
had been perfect, but now it was necessary for the
coroner to repeat his questions several times before
they entered the Hindu's comprehension sufficiently
to draw from him even the most monosyllabic re-
sponse. Borrowdean fancied that the hard, search-
ing gaze which Chand Talsdad directed upon his un-
227


228
THE RED CAVALIER
happy compatriot as though he sought to probe the
secret depths of his soul, was responsible in no small
degree for the pitiful showing which the perfectly-
trained and efficient servant made on the witness-
stand. . Borrowdean dreaded the moment when
Berenice must undergo the same scrutiny.
The coroner with admirable patience finally elici-
tated from Ahmed a denial that he had had anything
to do with the mutilation of the idols or the subse-
quent disappearance of the paper in cypher.
“I know nothing of anything, Sahib,” the butler
declared in his smooth, liquid voice.
“But you know," urged the coroner persuasively,
“whether you ever admitted Prince Kassim Bardai
to Twin Turrets during the lifetime of Sir Robert
Grainger."
Ahmed's restless black eyes were suddenly lowered.
"It is not so, Sahib, I have never admitted Prince
Kassim Bardai to Grainger Sahib.”
Borrowdean wondered if the fellow was lying, but
the coroner was content to let the matter rest. He
next forced the unwilling admission from Ahmed
that it was he on the night of the costume ball who
had called Miss Egerton's attention to the fact that
the library door was locked. But he could not explain
how it was that Miss Egerton had found the door
unlocked, nor how the key later had been discovered
in the lock.
"What drew your attention to the library in the
first place?" demanded the coroner.


A QUESTION OF COSTUME 229
Two repetitions of this question were necessary to
elicit the reply that the door being closed had at-
tracted his attention.
“Did you hear any sounds of moving about or
disturbance within?”
“No sounds, Sahib.” Ahmed seemed anxious to
make this statement.
"Had you previously seen any person enter the
library?”
“No, Sahib.” Ahmed's answers came more quick-
ly now.
“Did you see any person leave the library before
you notified Miss Egerton?”
“No, Sahib," with greater baste, but so low as to
be almost inaudible.
The coroner surveyed the Hindu thoughtfully.
“Do you know if any person entered Twin Turrets
that night who was not an invited guest?”
Ahmed was shaken by the question. Again the
coroner was forced to repeat. The Hindu's response
struck Borrowdean disagreeably.
"About ten o'clock, Sahib, a man came to the en-
trance door and asked that I would carry a note to
Lady Berenice Coningsby."
It was the first specific mention of Berenice's name
and Borrowdean felt a weight settling on him. Bur-
ton, with eager haste and something of the hunter's
look, commenced to scribble on another card.
“What was this man's appearance-how was he
dressed?" asked the coroner.
me


230
THE RED CAVALIER
“Like you, Sabib-dressed like any European.”
“He did not then wear a hat with feathers and a
queer fancy costume, red and tied up with ribbons?”
The audience leaned forward expectantly. They
had all heard of the picturesque robber of the North
Riding and they could guess what was in the cor-
oner's mind. The question had startled Ahmed. He
looked the embodiment of consternation.
"No, Sahib, no! The man was not in costume
dress. He had the European clothes, but he was
like what Grainger Sahib called a bloodsucking Jew."
The coroner frowned at the wave of laughter
through the room. Burton finished his hasty scrib-
bling and thrust the card upon the coroner.
That official gave him an impatient glance, but
proceeded to ask the question on the card.
“When you gave the note to Lady Berenice Con-
ingsby what happened?”.
The change in the trend of the examination seemed
to afford Ahmed relief. He answered glibly that her
ladyship had left the ballroom and gone outdoors
to join the man.
"Did you see her ladyship reenter the house?”
“Yes, Sahib, about half an hour later when I was
passing through the hall, her ladyship came in alone.”
Borrowdean started. Only half an hour later!
But Berenice had been absent from the ballroom
fully three hours.
“Did her ladyship return directly to the ball-
room?” asked the coroner, still reading from the card.


A QUESTION OF COSTUME 231
Ahmed hesitated a moment. Then, “No, Sabib.”
“Where did she go?”.
Another pause. Ahmed was evidently the prey of
some mental struggle. “Prince Kassim Bardai,
Sahib,” he said reluctantly, “spoke to her ladyship
in the hall."
The coroner showed interest as intense as that of
the spectators. The next question was put at his
own initiative.
"Did Prince Kassim and her ladyship remain in
the hall, or where did they go?"
Ahmed looked genuinely distressed. “They
walked down the hall, Sahib, toward-toward the
library.”
“Did they enter the library?”
“I did not see, Sahib. I carried refreshments into
the ballroom.”
“When did you see either of them again?”
Ahmed's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.
He cast furtive, helpless glances about the room.
Pressed sternly by the coroner, he finally answered
that he had not seen Prince Kassim until he had been
discovered dead.
“And when did you next see her ladyship?"
“I saw her, Sahib, a few minutes before I went into
the ballroom to tell the Mem Sahib that the library
door was locked. I saw her ladyship come in from
outdoors with the Mem Sahib's nephew."
"You are sure they did not come from the library?”
“They came from outdoors, Sahib.”


232
THE RED CAVALIER
“Was this outer door kept open during the ball?”
“Yes, Sahib, two footmen were watching it.”
“Then no stranger-no unbidden guest-could
have entered without being observed?”
“No, Sahib.” Ahmed was beginning to look
terrified again.
“And neither you, nor any of the servants, as far
as you know, saw in the house or about the grounds
a man in a feathered hat and a red, beribboned
costume?"
Ahmed appeared quite desperate for a minute or
two. Then suddenly he recovered his poise.
“The Mem Sahib's nephew wore a feathered hat
and a red costume with ribbons."
“Confound that brown chap!” muttered Max. .
There was no humour now in the lines of his
mouth. Hard, bitter, almost repellant his whole
face seemed—but only for a moment. To those who
bent curious stares upon him, he turned an indifferent
countenance and now a smile, whimsical, yet with a
suggestion of cynicism, played about his lips.
Miss Egerton was indignant with Ahmed for the
innuendo in his answer, but she also was indignant
with Max for having given ground to it by electing
to copy the costume of a notorious character such as
the Red Cavalier. She conveyed this displeasure to
Max by a few whispered words, caustic and sharp.
Max looked comically repentant, also reproachful.
“But, Aunt Van, how the plague was I to know "
His words were arrested by a sentence spoken by
m


A QUESTION OF COSTUME 233
the witness who had succeeded Ahmed. Essy Grieve
was on the stand and she was telling a startling tale.
The girl's cheeks were rosier than ever with em-
barrassment and excitement, but her round blue eyes
were steady and convincing.
“Aboot an hour after t ball began,” she was
saying, “Ah seed a man on t' terrace wi' a feddered
bat an a ribboned suit. Ab wor in t' library trim-
min' a candle and t man wor lookin' in at t' door.”
“Did you see his face?” demanded the coroner.
“Ah didn't wait ter see it. Ab wor afeeard an
Ah ran oot from ť library. Ab wor sure 'e wort
- Red Cavalier.” She lowered her voice impres-
sively and glanced around the room with an air of
pride in the sensation she was causing.
“Did you see this man again?” asked the coroner
with official sternness.
Essy looked more important than ever. “Ah seed
'im coomin' oot from t library. Ah didn't see 'is
face then either, on'y his back, but he went into ť
ballroom.”
“What time was this?"
“Varra late-aboot a half hour afore t' murder.”
“You mean before it was discovered that there had
been a murder?”
“Ay, thot's what Ah mean.”
"Did this man close and lock the library door?”
“He closed it; thot's aw he did.”
“And what did you do? Did you attempt to look
into the library?"


234
THE RED CAVALIER
“Ah ran into t’ servants' hall. Ah wor freetened.”
“Then you don't know who locked the library
door and later unlocked it in the short interval be-
tween Ahmed's discovery that it was locked and his
informing Miss Egerton of this fact?”.
“Noa, sur. Ah stayed in t servants' hall till
John-he's yan o't' footmen-cam cryin' theer wor
murder done."
The next information elicited from Essy was that
which Borrowdean had long been dreading to hear-
the repetition of her former statement that she had
seen Berenice put the key in the lock.
“When was this done?” The coroner's tone was
trenchant. He remembered Essy's previous evasion
as to the time.
Essy again sought to elude the question, but the
coroner pressed her so hard that she was finally
forced to answer.
“It worn’t varra long afore yo an th' doctor cam.”
Borrowdean nervously adjusted his monocle and
stared hard at Essy. The girl was certainly telling
the truth. But Berenice! She must then have had
the key in her possession and have come downstairs,
after all the others had gone up, to rid herself of this
incriminating evidence. Undoubtedly she had been
the one who had locked the door. But why, and who
had unlocked it in the interval of Ahmed's entering
the ballroom? Not Berenice, for she had been
standing near Miss Egerton when Ahmed approached.
Borrowdean was coming to resent more and


A QUESTION OF COSTUME 235
more the significant glances directed toward Bere-
nice's vacant chair. Yet, in spite of himself, did not
he too harbour the selfsame ugly doubts which ex-
cited this morbidly curious throng?
The coroner had not quite finished with Essy.
“What were you doing downstairs at that time?"
Essy's eyes grew a little rounder and she seemed
slightly dismayed. “Ah wor too freetened to go
oopstaares to my room an Mrs. Dalrymple axed me
to coom in her room which is downstaares off ť
servants' hall.”
The girl hesitated as though unwilling to say any
more, but the coroner forced her to continue.
“Theer cam a rap on t door,” she said somewhat
sulkily. “It wor Lady Berenice; she wor nervous
an oopset like. Mrs. Dalrymple went out into ť
corridor wi' her an closed t door. She wor gone a
long time an Ah got afeeard-aw alone in troom-
so Ah opened t' door and theer wor Mrs. Dalrymple
an Lady Berenice whusperin' afore t’ library an Lady
Berenice wor puttin' a key in t’lock.” Essy jerked
her head defiantly. “Thot's aw Ah knaw aboot ť
key."
Borrowdean thought it sufficient. Berenice then
and that woman of mystery, Morna Dalrymple, had
been in collusion on the night of the murder. Now
that this was manifest to every one, he wished that
Berenice had not gone to Mrs. Dalrymple's aid when
she had fainted; he wished, too, that Berenice would
no longer remain outside with the housekeeper.


236
THE RED CAVALIER
Suspicious minds would readily see more collusion
in what he, who knew Berenice's generous and sym-
pathetic nature, felt sure was only an act of kindness
toward another suffering woman.
The coroner had still a last question to put to Essy
Grieve. “Did you see anything further of this man
in the cavalier costume after, as you stated, he en-
tered the ballroom?"
"Noa, sur.” But there was a curious hesitancy in
Essy's voice.
“You seem to be doubtful on this point.” The
coroner spoke sharply. “Did you or did you not see
him?"
“Noa, sur, Ah didn't—but Ab thought Ah did."
"Explain yourself, please.”
Essy twisted about worriedly. “Wann John
cried to me theer wor murder done Ah ran into th'
hall—th' entrance hall, sur-an Ah saw a man wi'
a feddered hat an ribboned costume joost goin'
oop t staares. But wann 'e turned-Ah'd gi'en a
cry o' freet-Ah seed it worn't t-t' Red Cavalier,
sur."
“Well, who was it?” impatiently.
Essy drew a quick breath. “It wor Mr. Egerton,
sur."


238
A RED CAVALIER
were to meet the Hindu's hard scrutiny his self-
command would be shaken.
As it was he came through the inquiry without
making any damaging admissions in regard to
Berenice and also spoke a word in Max's favour by
substantiating Essy's statement that the Red
Cavalier had been in the vicinity of Twin Turrets on
the night of the ball. He would no longer allow
himself to believe that it was Max whom he had
seen from the terrace talking with Mrs. Dalrymple.
The coroner, nevertheless, needed convincing.
“You say, Lord Borrowdean, that you were on the
terrace when you saw this man at the edge of the
promontory. He must then have been at a consid-
erable distance from you and it was dark in addition.
How then did you know it was the Red Cavalier?”
“The moon was out and I recognized him by his
costume.”
“But you could not see his face?"
“No; it was too dark for that.”
“How could you be sure then that this man was
not Mr. Egerton? He wore a costume resembling
the Cavalier's according to the testimony of the
two preceding witnesses.”
Borrowdean found this question rather of a poser
and he gave a lame answer. “I should suppose that
Mr. Egerton would be in the ballroom instead of on
the cliffs with—with a person who was not one of
the guests,” he finished hastily, not wishing to name
Mrs. Dalrymple.


A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 239
But the coroner was determined to force him to it.
Borrowdean, however, was equally determined and
would admit nothing except that the Cavalier's com-
panion had been a woman not in fancy dress. The
coroner listened with interest to Borrowdean's ac-
count of having seen a man in Cavalier costume on
the cliffs at dawn and of having met Max in the hall
in conventional morning garb only a few minutes
later.
“There seems then to be two Cavaliers to account
for," said the coroner with rather an unpleasant
smile, as he dismissed Borrowdean.
This remark caused Borrowdean to wonder if he
had really helped Max so very much after all.
However, the knowledge that he had successfully
diverted the questioning from Berenice was sufficient
to content him. Since Max had foolishly chosen to
impersonate the Cavalier, he must shield himself
from the consequences.
Ethelyn was summoned next. There was some-
thing in her poise, her assured bearingor was it the
hard blue of her eyes—which gave Borrowdean a
sense of uneasiness. She was jealous of Berenice and
he felt that she would not be likely to withhold
evidence which might discredit her. Ethelyn was
not generous-hearted; the only soft spot in her
nature was her infatuation for Max, but this made
her bitter against any one who caught his volatile
fancy and it was particularly so in the case of Bere-
nice. For over two years now Max had pursued her


240
THE RED CAVALIER
with untiring ardour-usually his passion cooled in
half that time-but Berenice still remained its de-
sired object. His trifling with poor little Lona was
not to be taken seriously; she was just an amusing
child, a pastime, and Ethelyn had not thought it
worth while to be jealous of her. But Borrowdean
knew that her jealousy of Berenice had reached fever
heat and he listened in an agony of apprehension to
Ethelyn's readily-given testimony.
Yes, Miss Roydon admitted coolly, she had been
absent from the ballroom about an hour and a half.
She had gone outdoors because she had had a head-
ache. She had joined Lord Borrowdean on the
terrace and had remained there alone after he went
inside. No, she saw nothing of a man in cavalier
dress nor of Mrs. Dalrymple.
“Did you see Lady Berenice Coningsby go out
from the house?” asked the coroner.
The audience, whose tension had somewhat re-
laxed, straightened up, metaphorically and literally,
at mention of Berenice.
"Lady Berenice Coningsby had left the ballroom
before I went outdoors,” said Ethelyn quietly. “But,
about half-past ten o'clock, I saw her reënter the
house. She was alone and came from the direction
of the cliffs. She appeared to be in a hurry and I
thought that she was nervously upset.”
Borrowdean felt an impulse to sweep Ethelyn's
petite, assured figure from the stand. She might at
least wait for direct questions instead of voluntarily
pie,


A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 241
offering testimony which she knew would discredit
Berenice. Why verify till necessary Ahmed's state-
ment that Berenice had re“ntered the house within
a half hour after leaving it and so emphasize the fact
that over two hours of her time from then until the
discovery of Kassim Bardai's death was unac-
counted for? Max apparently shared Borrowdean's
indignation against Ethelyn, for his expression as he
regarded her was almost contemptuous.
Miss Roydon, however, did not once glance his
way, but looked persistently over the heads of the
audience toward the outer door as though challenging
Berenice to come back and defend herself. Burton
was exceedingly interested in Ethelyn's testimony
and proceeded to dash off another card.
The coroner's next question revealed its purport.
“The terrace on which you stood extends, I believe,
from the front entrance of Twin Turrets beyond
the windows of the library?”
Ethelyn quickly assented. She seemed anxious
for the next question. It came after a brief delay,
during which the coroner studied again Burton's
card.
“Did you happen to walk up and down the terrace
-as far as the library windows for instance?”
"I walked several times from one end of the
terrace to the other." There was in her voice a
suggestion of information withheld which caused
the coroner to lean toward her with eagerness.
“Did you look in at the library windows?”


242
THE RED CAVALIER
“I looked in at the door.” Ethelyn spoke as
though regretfully, but Borrowdean, his sensibilities
unusually keen, detected a false note.
"Miss Roydon," the coroner's tone though in-
sistent was yet gentlemafter all, Ethelyn was ex-
ceedingly pretty and chic and she had when she
chose, as on the present occasion, a certain appealing
way with her which most men found difficult to
resist—"I must ask you to tell me frankly what you
saw in the library.”
Ethelyn's eyes became very regretful, her baby-
like mouth quivered slightly. “I am afraid," she
said with a little sigh, “that in telling you I may
give an entirely wrong impression of-of what
happened later."
A current of excitement ran through the room.
Borrowdean was morbidly sure that Ethelyn's words
were no less than an innuendo against Berenice.
Max, leaning back nonchalantly in his chair, was
studying Ethelyn with a sort of cynical, grudging
admiration.
“Actress!” he muttered.
“Miss Roydon,” urged the coroner, still gently,
“it is your duty to tell all that you saw and leave
the gentlemen of the jury to draw their own con-
clusions."
Ethelyn made a little deprecative gesture. “It
really wasn't very much. Prince Kassim Bardai
was in the library with Lady Berenice.”
Miss Roydon's pause was significant and lent a


A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 243
Corone
dramatic touch to a statement in itself fraught with
meaning.
“They were talking?" demanded the coroner.
“Talking?” Ethelyn elevated her carefully-arched
brows. “Well-yes.”
“Amicably?”
Ethelyn appeared somewhat distressed. The
coroner looked sympathetic and even Borrowdean
was not quite sure but that her distress was gen-
uine. Max gave a kind of twisted smile. Miss
Egerton sat erect and frowning. She for one was
not to be influenced by Miss Roydon's ingenuous
ways.
The coroner repeated his question. Ethelyn
firmly interlaced her little gloved hands as though
to reassure herself of the integrity of her motive in
answering frankly.
“It was not at all an ordinary conversation," she
said in a low, deliberate voice. “Both were greatly
excited, almost quarrelling."
“How did this end, Miss Roydon?"
Ethelyn turned surprised eyes upon the coroner.
“I cannot tell you. I walked away immediately.”
Borrowdean felt a little bewildered. He did not
believe that Ethelyn had walked away nor did he
understand why she should conceal what else she
had seen through the terrace door. Certainly it
could not be from a desire to shield Berenice and he
had it from Berenice's own lips that her interview
with the Hindu had been in the highest degrce un-
2.SS


246
THE RED CAVALIER
he flashed back, "how do you know that your
costume was a representation of his?”
Max smiled tolerantly. “Partly from hearsay,
partly because I had it copied from an old portrait
in the dining-hall at Twin Turrets said to be the
original Cavalier, or rather this present-day chap
is said to be the reincarnated spirit of the other.”
"You take a great interest in this old legend, Mr.
Egerton. Why ?” The coroner's tone was trucu-
lent.
Max looked at him lazily. “Why not? There's
an epidemic of Cavalier legends throughout the
North Riding. It's the one excitement here."
The coroner showed plainly that he did not like
Max's nonchalance. “At any time during the course
of the ball were you out on the cliffs with Mrs.
Dalrymple?”
“I spent the evening in the company of my aunt's
guests. At no time was I on the cliffs with Mrs.
Dalrymple.” There was a certain arrogance in
Max's voice and bearing which did not tend to pro-
pitiate the coroner.
“Were you out on the terrace?” he asked sharply.
"I was. The terrace was used as a promenade
by many of the guests.”
“Did you look in at the library door?”.
“No; I did not go as far as the library door. I
think that few of the guests did. The terrace forms
a sharp angle just before reaching the first of the
library windows. While I was on the terrace I saw


A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 247
no one walk beyond that angle. To one not famil-
iar with the house it would seem in the darkness
that the terrace ended there." Max's demeanour
was once more amiable and indifferent.
“So then," pursued the coroner, “those on the ter-
race would not be likely to know what was happen-
ing in the library unless they made it a poin to do
so?”
“That is correct," Max assented affably.
Borrowdean glanced at Ethelyn, who was gazing
with intensity at Max. Evidently she had made it
a point to know.
“Did you enter the library at any time during
the evening?” The coroner's voice was increas-
ingly harsh.
“I did not enter or approach the library until the
discovery of the death there."
Max answered with some sharpness. Apparently
he saw, as others did, that the coroner was endeav-
ouring to prove that there had been only one Cav.
alier in the vicinity of Twin Turrets on the night
of the ball, and that Cavalier Max himself.
The coroner stroked his chin thoughtfully, con-
templating the witness before him. “Did you, Mr.
Egerton,” he asked at length, "see anything that
night of another man dressed in Cavalier costume?"
Max looked at him with a frankness which some-
how seemed overdone. “I didn't happen to see the
other-the original-Cavalier that night, but of
course he must have been about since Essy Grieve


248
THE RED CAVALIER
and Lord Borrowdean too have vouched for his
presence.”
“But you personally saw nothing of him?”.
“Nothing at all,” said Max lightly.
“If he had entered the ballroom it would have
caused some sensation, would it not?”
Max appeared a little puzzled. “Well, rather!”
“But you, wearing almost the identical costume
could enter without sensation?".
The puzzlement in Max's eyes grew, but he re-
sponded readily enough. “Naturally; none of the
guests wore masks, they would know my face and
they had become accustomed to my costume.”
“And yet," persisted the coroner, "if a person had
seen the costume without seeing your face, that is,
if you had been standing with your back to that per-
son, he might have mistaken you for the real Cava-
lier?”
“Why,” admitted Max with an uneasy smile, “I
suppose so. My costume was a jolly good copy of the
one in that old portrait.”
The coroner straightened to the attack. "Did you
not come out from the library, closing the door after
you, about a half hour before the discovery of Prince
Kassim Bardai's death?”
If Max felt the thrust, he successfully concealed it
under an assumption of arrogance. “I have stated
that I did not approach the library until after the
discovery of the prince's death."
"A preceding witness has stated," resumed the


A QUESTION OF IDENTITY 249
coroner in barsh, judicial tones, “that she saw, a half
hour before the discovery of the prince's death, a man
whom, from his costume-she did not see his face,
only his back-she took to be the real Cavalier, come
out from the library and enter the ballroom. Ap-
parently his entrance caused no sensation. Now,
Mr. Egerton, since your costume, according to your
own statement, was an exact reproduction of the real
Cavalier's and yet you could enter the ballroom
without causing sensation, why should we not think
that it was you yourself whom this witness saw com-
ing out from the library?".
Max's arrogant mouth hung slack. For a moment
he stood gazing at the coroner in silent consternation.
Then he pulled himself together and tried to carry
off the situation lightly.
"I am afraid you'll have to take my word that it
wasn't I.”
The coroner's smile was not pleasant. “There
seems to be no choice in the matter. That will do,
Mr. Egerton.” He turned to the usher. “Summon
Lady Berenice Coningsby."


CHAPTER XXIII
THRUST AND COUNTER
BERENICE entered the inn parlour quietly and com-
posedly, not with Max's air of half-contemptuous
nonchalance, but with the calm bearing of a woman
who has steeled herself for what she must undergo
and has confidence in her ability to maintain self-
command. The impression she made upon coroner
and jury was distinctly favourable; upon the spec-
tators it varied according to their natures.
Miss Egerton's expression which had grown sombre
and even grim during Max's examination relaxed
slightly and she bestowed a dutiful pat or two on the
little Pomeranian who commenced to whimper at
sight of his mistress. Into Max's face, now set in
lines of cynical indifference, there came an ardent
light as his eyes followed Berenice's graceful figure
to the witness table; yet there was present too a sug-
gestion of that appraising look with which Max in-
variably regarded women. In the case of Berenice
Borrowdean had always more or less resented it-in
the case of other women it had not mattered to him
-but now he found himself angry and the fact that
Max's look was entirely approbative did not lessen
bis resentment.
250


THRUST AND COUNTER
251
Ethelyn stared at Berenice through narrowed lids,
and it seemed to Borrowdean that the ferocity of
Chand Talsdad's scrutiny was not more pitiless than
Miss Roydon's cold gaze.
Out of the scores of faces turned toward her, Bere-
nice's glance sought out Borrowdean's; he thought he
read in her frank eyes the plea, "Stand by me, old
friend!” He tried to convey to her by his answering
glance the assurance that he intended to do so, and
evidently she understood for she gave him a faint,
but warm smile of gratitude.
Max observed this smile and, taking advantage of
Ethelyn's critical study of Berenice, whispered to
Borrowdean, “Play fair, Reggie!”
Borrowdean felt his colour mount under Max's
quizzing eyes. Somehow Max's knowledge of his
sentiments toward Berenice made him uncomfort-
able. He had a notion that Max, confident in his
own powers to attract women, was making mock of
his poor pretensions. But perhaps-the consoling
thought came to him—with one woman, the woman,
his pretensions were not so poor after all. It was to
him Berenice turned when in trouble-Max was for
her lighter hours. But yet this did not content;
Borrowdean wished to be something more to Bere-
nice than a mental prop or solace; since that walk
alone with her in the storm when his passion had
forced utterance he realized that friendship could
never satisfy; he must take as well as give. He
would recall the foolish half-promise he had made to


252
THE RED CAVALIER
allow Max "free way” with Berenice. He could no
longer hold to it; he must "play fair” with himself.
It was as much his right to seek love as Max's-per-
haps more.
A leading question put by the coroner arrested his
reflections. That official had finished his prelimi-
nary questioning of Berenice and was now coming to
the substance of the examination.
“Were you acquainted with Prince Kassim Bardai
before you met him at Twin Turrets?”
Berenice's voice was quite steady as she gave reply.
“I met Prince Kassim first at the Ascot Races in
June of last year and later at the Russian Embassy
ball in November, also at several other functions
during the season."
The coroner looked slightly triumphant. Berenice
had established what he had vainly endeavoured to
make Chand Talsdad establish: namely, the fact that
Kassim Bardai had been in England the previous
year in June, the month in which Sir Robert Grainger
had come to his death. Chand Talsdad squared his
powerful shoulders and his beetling grey brows drew
together.
“What were your relations with Prince Kassim?"
The coroner's tone was courteous and respectful
rather than judicial. He was conscious of Berenice's
charm and, moreover, was grateful for the informa-
tion she had so freely given.
Berenice's frankness continued. “I saw a good
deal of Prince Kassim. He called on me frequently,


THRUST AND COUNTER
253
sent me flowers, and wrote to me when he was absent
from London.”
Borrowdean wondered why she had never men-
tioned the Hindu's attentions to him; but perhaps she
had and the name had slipped his mind. Berenice
had such a coterie of admirers.
“Was Prince Kassim-er-in love with your lady-
ship?” The question was put apologetically.
“I suppose so.” Berenice spoke regretfully.
“And what were your feelings toward him?” The
coroner looked as though he wanted to apologize for
these personalities.
“I regarded him simply as an acquaintance," said
Berenice briefly.
The coroner would have abandoned this line of
questioning were it not for one of Burton's cards.
“Did Prince Kassim,” he now asked, “ever make
you a proposal of marriage?”.
Borrowdean saw Chand Talsdad straighten fiercely
in his chair.
Berenice gave a queer little smile. “Yes; he of-
fered me the honour of becoming his princess when I
had made it plain to him that in England proposals
of marriage were still the rule after declarations of
love-even from a prince.”
The spectators in general, glad of any chance to
relax, laughed at her words. But the ferocity of
Chand Talsdad's scrutiny of Berenice was intensified.
Borrowdean became hot with indignation against all
Hindus, but against Kassim Bardai in particular. If


254
THE RED CAVALIER
he had stayed in India where he belonged, Berenice
would not have been mixed up in a murder trial.
“When and where did this proposal take place?"
asked the coroner next.
A shade of annoyance came over Berenice's fea-
tures. “Well really, I don't see—"
“It will be best to answer," interposed the coroner,
still gently.
Berenice gave a little resigned shrug. “Prince
Kassim made the proposal on the cliffs near Twin
Turrets one afternoon a few days before the ball."
Borrowdean started. That must have been the
day on which he had carried to Kassim Bardai Bere-
nice's note asking for an interview.
“Did you accept the-er-offer of marriage?”
asked the coroner.
Berenice slightly drooped her head. "I did.”
This time Max as well as Borrowdean started.
The coroner, too, looked surprised. “Your feel-
ings then toward Prince Kassim had changed?"
"Not in the least,” said Berenice wearily.
"It was then to be a so-called 'marriage of con-
venience'?”
Berenice raised her head. "Not in the ordinary
meaning of the phrase-no! His title, his wealth
were nothing to me personally."
“But I understand that your finances have lately
been in a straightened condition?"
Berenice flushed. “It is true, but that fact had
nothing to do with my acceptance of Prince Kassim.”


THRUST AND COUNTER
255
“Then what reasons did cause your acceptance?"
Berenice suddenly acquired hauteur. “Private
reasons—and they must remain private."
“Your engagement to the prince was not made
public?” The coroner's voice had grown harsh. In
the effort to sound Berenice's soul she had become to
him witness, not woman.
“It was not made public. There were reasons on
both sides why it should not be known for a while."
“Were you still engaged to Prince Kassim up to
the time of his death?”
“No.” The reply was sharp and distinct.
“When was the engagement broken?”
“The night of the ball.”
“Where?”
She hesitated. Then: "In the library,” she said
half defiantly.
“At what hour?” persisted the coroner.
There was a tortured look in Berenice's eyes which
made Borrowdean suffer with her.
"It was early in the evening,” she said faintly;
"not later than ten-thirty, I should think.”
“Was it your ladyship or Prince Kassim who broke
the engagement?”
"Does it matter?" she asked wearily. “Oh, I sup-
pose it was I who actually broke it-but he forced
me to do so."
“What do you mean by 'forced' you?”
"Well, he was unwilling to fulfil a certain promise
-a private matter,” she added with emphasis.


256
THE RED CAVALIER
“This promise was the condition of your marriage
to him?"
"It was," her tone infinitely bitter.
“You and Prince Kassim quarrelled as the result
of his unwillingness to fulfil this promise?"
“We broke the engagement,” she answered eva-
sively.
“Were there not mutual recriminations?”
“He made me loathe him!” The words burst
from her passionately and as though against her will.
The coroner was quick to press his point. “Then
there was a violent scene between you?”
Berenice attempted to retrieve herself. “I do not
know what you mean by 'a violent scene.' We could
not come to any agreement certainly."
"Did Prince Kassim threaten or attack you?"
The question startled her. "No!” she cried
vehemently, but her eyes wavered.
“Think a moment,” urged the coroner not un-
kindly, "did not Prince Kassim attack you and did
not you in a struggle to escape him seize upon the
only means of escape, one of the daggers on the wall
above you?”
“No, no!” Berenice put out her hands in passion-
ate protest. Her face was blanched and desperate.
"He did not threaten or attack me," she reiterated
with a feverish intonation.
“Then how," demanded the coroner sternly, “do
you account for this torn piece of your gown being
found clutched in Kassim Bardai's dead hand?" He


THRUST AND COUNTER
257
drew from under the pile of papers before him the
bit of spangled gauze which Borrowdean had dreaded
to see.
The desperation in her face grew. “I cannot ac-
count for it. You must draw what conclusions you
will.”
“They will not be favourable,” the coroner warned
her gravely. Borrowdean's misery was intense. It
seemed to him that Berenice was deliberately in-
criminating herself—and yet, perhaps not, for if she
admitted that the Hindu had attacked her, as that
damaging bit of spangled gauze intimated, the infer-
ence would naturally be that she had defended her-
self in the manner suggested by the coroner. Justi-
fiable homicide this might be considered, but even
under extenuating circumstances Borrowdean would
not, could not bring himself to believe Berenice blood
guilty. She was not a woman of unbridled passion;
she would call for help, not stab a man.
“How long," resumed the coroner, "did you re-
main in the library?”.
Berenice made a visible effort to calm herself.
“Perhaps a quarter of an hour, perhaps longer; I
cannot tell.”
“Did any one enter the library while you were
there?”
“No,” her reply quick and tense.
“Was the corridor door closed or open?"
“It was closed.”
“And locked?"


THRUST AND COUNTER
259
compassion, unwholesome curiosity, and even horror
in the glances directed upon her.
“Where did you go upon leaving the library?”
The coroner's manner was increasingly magisterial.
"I went down on the cliffs and stayed there for a
long while. I wished to be alone."
“Did you meet any one there?”
“I met no one."
Why, Borrowdean wondered half angrily, could
she not at least try to put some ring of truth into her
tone? Did she deem the circumstantial evidence
against her too strong even to make an attempt to
extricate herself?
“You saw nothing,” persisted the coroner, “of a
man in cavalier costume?".
“No!” She spoke now with vehemence.
The coroner changed his line of attack. “Who
was the man who sent a note in to you by the Hindu
butler?”
"I do not care to give his name. He came on a
matter of private business. He went away immedi-
ately after it was transacted about ten-thirty-and
did not return."
“Did you reenter the library after having left it?”
"I remained on the cliffs till very late. Then when
I went up to the house I met Mr. Egerton on the ter-
race near the front entrance and we went together-
into the ballroom.” Berenice's voice was even and
deliberate, like one repeating a lesson learned by
rote.


THRUST AND COUNTER
261
The coroner showed his disbelief in words and
manner as he asked, "What did you have to say to
the housekeeper of Twin Turrets that could not wait
until morning?”
“Something of a private nature.” Berenice's
voice was cool, steady, and determined. Her glance
as it encountered his did not waver.
The coroner leaned back in his chair and surveyed
her gravely. It seemed impossible to chip the ar-
mour of quiet and firm reserve which she had girded
on. Her very frankness left no vulnerable spot to
strike at and she met his attempted thrusts with a
calm refusal to answer which paralyzed a further
attack in that quarter. As a last resort he tried in-
timidation.
"Do you realize that your repeated answers of
'private reasons' and matters of a 'private nature'
cannot do otherwise than lead the jury to the very
inference which you say you sought to avoid by sur-
reptitiously returning the library key to its lock?”
But Berenice countered with the same disarming
frankness. “I realize that fully,” Her face was
white, but her voice unmoved.
“And you still refuse to state the substance of your
conversation with Mrs. Dalrymple?"
"I do."
That ended her examination and the case was given
over to the jury.


CHAPTER XXIV
THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL
THE hours, passed in awaiting the verdict of the
coroner's jury, were centuries of mental agony to the
principal actors at the inquest. Berenice was the
most composed of all but this very composure was
disquieting to Borrowdean for it suggested the resig-
nation of despair. It was plain that she expected to
be held for trial and was prepared to go through with
it. Mrs. Dalrymple, still in a state of collapse, had
sought her room immediately upon the return to
Twin Turrets and still remained there with door
locked against well-meaning intrusion. Ahmed per-
formed his duties as butler with, it seemed to Bor-
rowdean's irritated nerves, more furtive glance and
softer tread than ever. One could feel the brown
fellow listening for the verdict they all dreaded.
Miss Egerton made no attempt at conversation
herself and discouraged it in others. She even failed
to respond to Max's affectionate raillery and sat
apart from her guests, stiff and austere, in a corner
of the great hall, working with grim diligence on some
garments destined for the children of an Orphans
Home in the East End of London. But every now
and then she would look up from her work and her
262


266 THE RED CAVALIER
Berenice gave a little hysterical laugh. “The ver-
dict might have been a good deal worse, Mr. Burton.”
The detective eyed her significantly. “That's a
fact, it might.” He was plainly disgruntled.
"Now perhaps,” remarked Miss Egerton, with a
sigh of relief, "we shall have an end to notoriety."
"Don't know about that, ma'am," answered Bur-
ton ominously. “Better read what the papers say;
they're getting the extras out. If you don't mind,
I'd like a word with that girl, Essy.” Without wait-
ing for Miss Egerton's permission, he went toward the
servants' hall.
Miss Egerton's lips tightened. “So we are to con-
tinue to be harried and hounded by detectives and
made the talk of every scandalmonger in the kingdom.
If ever I get back to Cavendish Square among decent-
living, respectable people I hope I shall have the sense
to remain there and when I think of giving another
house party I will invite the guests myself.”
There came a stricken expression into Berenice's
face. “I shall take the morning train to London,
Miss Egerton,” she said quietly.
Borrowdean's features twitched, there was a
peculiar light in his eyes. “Miss Egerton, no doubt
your guests have caused you inconvenience, but you
owe them a little courtesy since they are your guests.”
Berenice raised her hand in protest. “Miss Eger-
ton is justified in feeling annoyed, Reggie. I did not
exactly understand about the invitation-but I
should not have come here. I am very sorry.”


THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL 267
re
She turned to ascend the stairs. Miss Egerton
checked her with one of her authoritative gestures.
"I am sorry too,” she said jerkily, “sorry for what
I said. I didn't mean you particularly. On the
whole I should prefer that you stayed on a while.”
A gentle smile lighted Berenice's face. “You are
very kind, Miss Egerton, but I think I ought to go
back to London in the morning."
Miss Egerton frowned and cleared her throat.
“I am not in the habit of repeating invitations and
it is not easy for me to apologize, but I say again I am
sorry if I have been discourteous to you and I ask
you once more to finish out your visit. I have grown
accustomed to you and-well, I want you to stay."
Berenice hesitated a moment; then she impulsively
leaned forward and kissed Miss Egerton on the
cheek. “You are awfully kind. Of course I'll stay
if you want me to.”
Miss Egerton snapped the moisture from her eyes
as Berenice ran up the stairway.
"I'm no end grateful to you for your goodness to
Berenice," said Borrowdean earnestly.
“You needn't be. I like her. I don't want to like
her, but I do. Now where can I send for a paper?
We may as well know the worst and have it over."
"I'll drive back to the Bay Town and see if the
extras are out.”
“That might be a good idea. Get back as soon as
you can. I don't want to wait up all night.”
A few minutes later Borrowdean stepped into the


268
THE RED CAVALIER
wagonette and was driven rapidly away from the old
turretted house on the promontory, now showing as
a black irregular mass against the evening darkness.
Ethelyn from the terrace threw him some sarcastic
little remark about his impatience to secure a paper.
Max had ungallantly left her to watch alone for the
rising of the moon.
The coachman, a Yorkshire man, and consequently
endowed with native superstition, did not enjoy this
ride along the verge of the night-hidden moors with
the solemn booming of the sea the only sound to
break the silence. He was continually glancing
about as though expecting some goblin shape to
spring up before him and upon Borrowdean's asking
what made him so "confoundedly jumpy," he
launched forth into colourful tales of the Red Cav-
alier and his propensity for accosting belated travel-
lers on the moors, appearing to them in all manner of
fantastic shapes, but always contriving to wear the
costume of the Merry Monarch's days.
Borrowdean stifled a yawn. The coachman was
wearisomely prolix.
“I don't fancy you need to alarm yourself, Thomas.
We are not actually on the moors and the Cavalier
has lately kept himself under cover. He doesn't
consort well with detectives.”
“Do yo think, my lord, t Cavalier be flesh an'
blood?”
“What else, Thomas?”
“He wor hanged amaist tree hunderd year ago.”


THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL 269
The coachman's voice dropped to an awed whisper.
“'Tis his picture hangs in t dining-hall oop at t
hoos. Theer's nobbat one person in aw ť' Riding-
a wild slip of a laad-thinks t Cavalier be flesh and
blood. An' this poar laad's wits ha amaist fligged
away sence 'e took oop wi' t' Cavalier.”
“Took up with the Cavalier?” encouraged Bor-
rowdean. His speculations in regard to the Cavalier
were beginning to formulate into definite suspicions
and he welcomed all information concerning him,
were it no more than superstitious gossip.
“Ay, my lord,” resumed Thomas, “t'laad took ter
follerin' 'im aboot o'neets, an' mebbe aidin' 'im in his
devil's work. Mony a person ha seed t’ laad follerin'
ť Cavalier acrossť moars. T'laad ha taaken too
ter drink an' no one 'll ha speech wi' him.”
“Who is this lad, Thomas?”
The coachman's volubility abruptly ceased. “Ah
don't think Ah'd best naame 'im.”
“Why not, Thomas?”
“Mebbe it wad get 'im an' soom yan else into
trooble.”
Borrowdean surveyed curiously the Yorkshire-
man's thick-set, obstinate shoulders. “How long
have you been coachman at Twin Turrets, Thomas?”
“Aboot two year-mebbe," Thomas answered
with true native caution.
Borrowdean tried again. “What did you think of
Sir Robert Grainger? He was an eccentric, wasn't
he?"


270
THE RED CAVALIER
“It worn't my plaace ter think aboot t' maaster,"
said Thomas bluntly. “Theer's allus foalk ter saay
a maan's queer in 'is head like if he do different from
they. Yo'll ha ter ax others aboot 'im.”
The wagonette was winding now among the narrow
streets of the Bay Town and Borrowdean had no
further opportunity for trying to break through
Thomas's stubborn cautiousness. Fisher-boys cry-
ing "extras” were keeping the little old-world town
of smuggling fame awake and Borrowdean had no
difficulty in possessing himself of a half dozen papers.
A hasty reading of the front page stung him into a
belligerent humour which made him want to fight the
world-particularly the newspaper world-in order
to force the retraction of these insinuations against
Berenice. Of what use was the jury's verdict of
"persons unknown" in the face of calumny like
this? The worst interpretation was put on every
phase of her testimony. She was not spared in any
instance; it was even practically stated that the jury
had been flagrantly negligent of their duty in failing
to indict her. But what angered Borrowdean per-
haps more than all was the unnecessary dragging in
of the details of her unhappy married life and the
putting of the blame for the divorce on her shoulders
instead of where it belonged on the shoulders of her
cad of a husband. Everything possible was done to
blacken her character and prejudice the public mind
against her.
Borrowdean's burning sense of the injustice of it all


THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL 271
drove him to a step which he had been contemplating
for some days but had hesitated to undertake through
dislike of interfering in concerns which were not his
affair. Now, however, he felt that matters had come
to a crisis where the suspicion that had been troubling
him must be verified and Berenice's name cleared
before the world. That she would make no effort
to vindicate herself, he knew. But he would at-
tempt it, come what might. Things could not be
worse than they were.
Heedless of Miss Egerton's injunction to return as
quickly as possible he bade Thomas wait for him by
the post-box in the centre of the town and proceeded,
on foot, to the queer, tall, furtive-looking houses near
the water's edge from a window of one of which a man
had peered down upon them as they were driving to
the inquest. The memory of Berenice's bitter ex-
pression as she had stared up at that window quick-
ened Borrowdean's pace. He had no difficulty in
finding the house he sought. He had made careful
mental note of it: the last but one upon the sea wall
and built fairly on top of its neighbours.
The house, as he mounted the stone doorsteps, was
dark save for a single light in an upper window
obliquely facing the sea. An elderly woman of un-
prepossessing appearance answered his summons at
the door. She carried a candle in one hand and held
it in such a fashion that its light illuminated his
features, but left hers in shadow. She seemed in fact
like an anachronistic survival of those days when the


272
THE RED CAVALIER
inhabitants of this very house perhaps were roused
from sleep by excise officers, armed with warrants
authorizing them to search for smugglers.
"I wish to speak with Captain Greville Con-
ingsby,” said Borrowdean in a confident tone.
“He doan't live here, sur.” The woman tried to
close the door.
Borrowdean put out his foot and prevented.
“That won't do, my good woman. I have seen the
man here.”
The woman kept her face persistently shaded.
“Then 'tis anoother naame he calls ’imself. Ah
doan't knaw ony such person as yo speak of. This is
a respectable lodging-hoos an' he might ha coom here
ter see yan o'th' lodgers.”
“No, I am sure that he is staying here.” And
Borrowdean set to work to describe the man whom
Berenice had met at the tower on the cliffs, the same
man, he was convinced, though he had caught but a
transient glimpse of him, who had peered down from
the window of this house. Captain Coningsby in
his proper person he had seen but once in his life-
at Berenice's wedding. She had met the young
officer while travelling abroad, and immediately after
the wedding they went back to the continent for the
honeymoon from which Berenice returned alone some
months later. Scandalous tales of Captain Con-
ingsby began to be spread in army circles and finally
he resigned his commission to avoid being forced to
do so. Berenice, out of pity for the ruin he had made
m


THE HOUSE ON THE SEA WALL 273
of himself, joined him in Vienna and attempted a
second time to live with him. It ended two or three
years later in her instituting divorce proceedings
against her husband.
In the midst of his description of the supposed
Coningsby, Borrowdean heard some one coming
down stairs.
“What's all the fuss about, Mrs. Barker?” de-
manded a boyish, excited voice from the hall.
Mrs. Barker, startled by the interruption, let the
door swing open and Borrowdean, quietly pushing
by her, stepped into a stuffy, box-like hall. He
found a slim youth in a rakishly-tilted cap confront-
ing him. The light from Mrs. Barker's candle
showed the lad to be possessed of a shock of copper-
coloured hair, shifty eyes of an uncertain brownish
hue, and a pasty, unwholesome complexion. He was
· singularly like, and yet unlike, some one whom Bor-
rowdean could not at that moment name to himself.
In age the boy might have been seventeen or eighteen.
Borrowdean repeated his query and the description
of the man he sought.
“He doesn't lodge here,” said the boy. “Does he,
Mrs. Barker?”
The landlady shook her head. "Noa; thot's what
Ah told t' gentleman, Maaster Leon.” Her tone was
conciliatory.
She had forgotten to shade her face and Borrow-
dean saw that it was thin and shrewd and furtive-
not at all pleasing.


274
THE RED CAVALIER
The boy slouched toward the door. “Well, I'm
off, Mrs. Barker.”. He stared curiously at Borrow-
dean. “Want any guiding through the town? I
take it you're a stranger.”
“Thanks,” said Borrowdean briefly, “I can find my
way without a guide.” He had taken an instinctive
dislike to the youth.
“Maaster Leon" bestowed on him another curious
prolonged stare, at once insolent and suspicious, then
swung on his heel and went out, giving the door a
vicious bang.
Borrowdean, more than ever settled in the convic-
tion which had sent him to this house, addressed Mrs.
Barker with sternness, saying he had reason to know
that the man he sought was among her lodgers and
that if she wished to avoid trouble with the police,
she would see that he had opportunity to speak with
him.
The mention of the police served to quicken Mrs.
Barker's wits and make her complaisant. She ad-
mitted that one of her lodgers resembled the person
Borrowdean had described to her, but his name was
Mr. Sartoris. She thought that Mr. Sartoris was out
now but she would go up to his room and make cer-
tain. She left the candle on a corner table and
mounted a steep flight of stairs to a dimly-lighted
upper hall.
Borrowdean had just decided that it would be best
to follow her up to Mr. Sartoris' room in case she
should lie about his presence there when he heard


CHAPTER XXV
"MISS WILTON”
MAX, not observing Borrowdean in the dark corner
of the hall, immediately ascended the stairs. He did
not, however, run up with his usual light, boyish
step, but went up slowly and deliberately. His ex-
pression, too, unlike its wont, was neither careless nor
gay; on the contrary it was resolute and a little grim.
For the first time Borrowdean noted a resemblance
between Max and Miss Egerton.
Max mounted the first flight of stairs and Borrow-
dean heard him ascending a second with quickened
step. Some instinct stronger than idle curiosity
impelled Borrowdean to follow the moment those
footsteps were no longer audible. It was not without
purpose that Max was provided with a key to the
lodging-house where Greville Coningsby was pre-
sumably staying, and Borrowdean intended to find
out if this had to do with the murder in which public
opinion implicated Berenice. He was just mounting
the second flight of stairs when he heard a woman's
steps coming along the hall below. Supposing this to
be Mrs. Barker returning from "Mr. Sartoris” room
and not wishing to be discovered prowling through
her house he leaped up the remaining stairs and found
276


“MISS WILTON”
277
himself in a dimly-lighted hall, the four doors leading
from which were tightly closed. Which door had
Max entered?
There was no means of telling, no sliver of light
under any threshold, no sound of voices. Borrowdean
had practically no detective instincts and so was at a
loss what to do. Finally a straightforward, but un-
sleuthlike idea occurred to him. He approached the
nearest door and knocked on it authoritatively. A
startled movement within warned him that some one
was there.
He grasped the handle of the door, it turned, and he
stepped into a room shadowy with the first rays of the
moon.
At his sudden entrance an indistinct figure blotted
against the side wall, rose hastily to its feet and re-
solved itself into a slim woman's form.
“I beg your pardon,” began Borrowdean in some
embarrassment, “but I was looking for—".
"Hush! Please lower your voice," entreated the
young woman-he judged from her slenderness that
she was young-in an eager whisper and down she
went on her knees again, apparently listening at the
wall.
Borrowdean stood in the silence of amazement,
looking down at her and perplexedly twirling his
monocle. Suddenly a light flashed along, or rather
through the wall, illuminating the delicate features of
the young woman crouched against it and showing
above her a curtain of heavy, dark plush which she


280
THE RED CAVALIER
Borrowdean flushed. “Mr. Egerton is a friend of
mine.”
“And to me," she said coolly, locking the door as
they stepped into the hall," he is an interesting study.
I think we are justified in following him, Lord Bor-
rowdean. Oh yes, I know your name," observing
his start of surprise. “I believe everybody in the
Bay Town knows by sight the guests at Twin
Turrets."
Mrs. Barker confronted them in the lower hall.
She seemed rather apprehensive. “Ah thought yo
mun ha gone, sur. Ah've been oop to Mr. Sartoris'
room; he's not in. Ah'd noa notion yo knew Miss
Wilton, sur,” glancing suspiciously from him to the
young woman by his side.
“We're old acquaintances, Mrs. Barker,” Miss Wil-
ton spoke up readily.
She opened the outer door and preceded Borrow-
dean down the steps. Mrs. Barker closed the door
sharply after them. As Borrowdean had feared, Max
had lost himself from their sight in the labyrinth of
passages and little alleys intersecting the narrow
street. Miss Wilton, however, wasted no time in
indecision but turned at once into a little court which
looked like a cul-de-sac, but instead terminated in a
hidden flight of steps leading down to another pas-
sage, similarly provided with a series of steps. This
second flight descended directly upon a narrow stone
pathway running alongside the sea-wall. Here the
waters were beating angrily against the bastion. The


“MISS WILTON”
281
moon, stretching a band of silver across the sea, dis-
closed a flat-bottomed rowboat tossing at anchor near
the wall. At the further end of the miniature em-
bankment Borrowdean made out the figures of a man
and girl walking slowly in the opposite direction.
“Your friend, Mr. Egerton," said Miss Wilton
softly. “Whenever he visits the Bay Town of an
evening he walks on this little esplanade. He must
be a lover of the sea; is he not, Lord Borrowdean?”.
Borrowdean ignored the question, put in a quizzi-
cal, half mocking tone, and advanced with rapid and
determined pace toward those two distant figures.
The sight of that girlish form in fluttering white
aroused a suspicion that grew into certainty as he
came nearer. Miss Wilton made no effort this time
to restrain him, but tripped along by his side, a
curious smile on her lips and a tense, eager look in her
eyes which made them very dark and brilliant. Most
men would have pronounced her an exceedingly at-
tractive young woman and would have felt a thrill of
adventure in their unconventional meeting and her
cool appropriation of him as an "old acquaintance"
but Borrowdean, singularly unsusceptible to all
women save one and, in this instance, moreover,
intent on fathoming the reason for Max's mysterious
actions, failed to be impressed in any way by Miss
Wilton.
Max, at the sound of their approach, whirled about
with a rapidity which proved the state of his nerves.
“Reginald!” he cried in angry dismay.


282
THE RED CAVALIER
Lona-Borrowdean's suspicion had been correct-
clung to his arm affrightedly. Max released himself
and tried to carry off the situation lightly.
“We're mutually caught, eh, Reggie?” He threw
a smiling glance at Miss Wilton. “Won't you intro-
duce me, old chap?”.
Borrowdean gave him a look of contempt. He
turned to Lona and his expression softened. “Little
girl, we've been no end worried about you. I want
you to come back with me to Twin Turrets."
Lona looked pitifully at Max. “I can't go, Lord
Borrowdean.”
Borrowdean addressed Max. “How is it I find
this child in your company? What's the meaning
of it, eh?”
Max's face darkened. “You don't need to take
that parson's tone, Reggie. Why not ask the young
lady herself?”
“I prefer to ask you.”
Max gave a short laugh of exasperation. “Hang
it all! Why should I get such a grilling? Lona
was afraid-afraid of Chand Talsdad-and she
went into hiding to keep clear of him. He meant
to claim her as his ward and probably take her back
to India. I looked her up a lodging-house-and
there you have the whole story. But, I say, Reggie,”
with another glance at Miss Wilton, “it's hardly
convenable, is it, to bore this lady with the private
history of people who are strangers to her?”
“Not altogether strangers, Mr. Egerton,” Miss


“MISS WILTON”
283
Wilton interposed sweetly. “I also am one of Mrs.
Barker's lodgers. I became interested in your
young friend when I heard that she was so much
of an invalid that she could not go across to the inn
for her meals but must have them brought to her
room. I am glad,” suddenly addressing Lona who
was staring at her in a frightened way, “I am glad
that your health is improved. I was sure that your
evening walks by the sea would benefit you. I
think I will take one myself and leave you three to
talk together.”
With a smile and nod she was gone, walking rapidly
along the little esplanade. Borrowdean saw her
stop a moment and gaze with singular intentness at
that flat-bottomed row-boat tossing on the moonlit
waters. Max stared after her uneasily.
“Who the deuce is she?”.
“I think,” said Lona faintly, “that she has the
next room to mine at Mrs. Barker's.”
It seemed to Borrowdean, though he could not be
sure in the uncertain light, that a shade of fear
came into Max's eyes..
“I shouldn't wonder but Lord Borrowdean was
right, Lona. You had better let him take you back
to Twin Turrets.”
“But-but what can I tell them there?” pro-
tested Lona.
“Why, tell them,” said Borrowdean sternly before
Max could reply, “what Mr. Egerton told me-if
it is the truth.”


284 THE RED CAVALIER
“By Jove! Reggie,” began Max, excitedly.
“I don't think I can go back to Twin Turrets,"
Lona interrupted nervously, “Chand Talsdad would
question me and—”
“The old boy needn't know you're back,” broke
in Max hastily. “You see, Reggie, how afraid she
is of the old chap.”
“Lona," asked Borrowdean gravely, “what ques-
tions do you fear that Chand Talsdad will put to
you?”
Lona stood gazing at him in consternation. She
could find nothing to say. She threw a little ap-
pealing glance at Max which he disregarded.
“Lona," said Borrowdean in the same grave tone,
“are you afraid that Chand Talsdad will question
you in regard to something you know about your
brother's death?”
Lona quivered. She looked so frightened and so
pathetically young that Borrowdean felt a great pity
for her.
"It is not that, not that!” she reiterated in a
high-pitched, hysterical voice.
"Well never mind what it is,” said Borrowdean
reassuringly. “The old fellow shall be made to let
you alone. Come, little girl, we'll go back now to
Twin Turrets. I've got the wagonette waiting for
me by the post-box.”
Lona hesitated, again looking at Max. “Shall I
go back, Mr. Egerton?”.
Max shrugged indifferently. “My dear child,


: “MISS WILTON”
285
.
do as you think best. I don't know that I'm quali-
fied to advise you. Mrs. Barker's doesn't appear
to be a particularly secure hiding-place-if you want
to hide.”
Lona seemed both perplexed and hurt by his off-
hand answer and cool manner. Then after a
moment she threw up her head with a defiant little
gesture.
"I'm tired of hiding. I will go back to Twin
Turrets, Lord Borrowdean, and Chand Talsdad
can ask me questions if he chooses."
"Now it's a brave little lotus-flower," said Max
in a caressing voice. “You have been foolish,
haven't you, child, to run away and hide just for a
caprice, a fancy?” There was a smile of tender
amusement on his lips.
Lona's defiance suddenly melted. Her eyes filled
with tears. “Have I been so—so very foolish?”.
Max laughed softly and pinched her cheek. “You
wouldn't like me to say so, now would you?”
Lona gave him a smile of tremulous content, her
brief resentment gone. Max's power to change
her mood at will had never been more obvious. The
adoration in the dark eyes of the young Hindu girl
angered Borrowdean. He felt that Max merited
no woman's worship.
"We had better be getting back to Twin Turrets,"
he remarked curtly.
To his surprise Lona hung back. "I do not want
to go tonight after all-perhaps tomorrow—"
Or


“MISS WILTON”
287
At mention of the Hindu Lona shivered. "If I
do come back, Lord Borrowdean, will he have to
know?”
Borrowdean patted her arm reassuringly. “Now
don't you worry about that old chap. He shan't
be allowed to bother you.”
Borrowdean and Max accompanied Lona to the
door of Mrs. Barker's lodging-house. Borrowdean
did not ask again for “Mr. Sartoris.” He preferred
to do so when Max should not be there.
Lona promised that she would be ready to return
to Twin Turrets the next morning. “And you will
come for me, too, Mr. Egerton?” her eyes searching
his wistfully.
“Oh, I shouldn't wonder,” he answered with a
laugh. “Goodnight, little lotus-flower.”
For some reason Borrowdean felt vaguely uneasy
as the door closed behind Lona. He did not like
the idea of her spending another night in Mrs.
Barker's lodging-house. But what could he do?
He could hardly take her away by force. In silence
he and Max made their way up the queer old streets
darkened by the weird shadows of the tall, narrow
houses guiltily crouched one against the other.
Still in silence they went on to the post-box and
climbed into the waiting wagonette. Borrowdean
could not bring himself to speak and Max was
strangely disinclined for conversation.
Finally, however, Max could stand the strain no
longer. “I say, old man," he began persuasively,


288
THE RED CAVALIER
“I know you think me an awful rotter but I give
you my word-I haven't harmed the little lotus-
flower. I promised Berenice I'd play the deaf adder
and-well, I have my virtuous moments."
Borrowdean surveyed him gravely. “If I thought
you had harmed that little girl I should not be riding
with you now. But all the same you have treated
her caddishly. You have stolen her love to suit
some purpose of your own, and I don't think it is
wholly to gratify your pride of conquest. Max,
you know more than you should about Kassim
Bardai's death. Is Lona shielding you?”
Max's face showed a whiteness not due altogether
to the paling light of the moon. “Thanks for your
opinion of me, Reggie,” his voice hard, “but you are
wrong. I did not kill Kassim Bardai.”
“You know more about his death than you have
told. Max, it is your duty to speak-for Berenice's
sake. Do you know what the papers are saying of
her? They practically call her guilty.”
“It is an infernal shame!” declared Max with
genuine indignation. “But honestly, Reggie, if I
were to say any more than I did at the inquest it
would put Berenice in a worse mess than she is in
now."
“What do you mean?” Borrowdean scarcely
knew his own voice.
“Hang it all! old man, don't you know I'd give
my eyes for Berenice? But I tell you there is noth-
ing to be said nothing to be done. She hasn't been


CHAPTER XXVI
DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS
UPON their arrival at Twin Turrets, Borrowdean
handed the newspapers to Miss Egerton and warded
off her rebuke for his delay in returning by giving
a brief and rather incoherent account of his meeting
with Lona. He left to Max all explanations of the
latter's share in her disappearance and went off by
himself for a quiet smoke and reflection. Berenice,
he learned, had gone to bed with a headache.
He, too, felt anything but fit. Max's statement
that, were he to add to his testimony at the inquest,
Berenice would be further implicated, made him
sick at heart. For all his increasing distrust of Max
he felt that in this instance he had spoken the truth.
Yet Borrowdean did not for a moment believe in
Berenice's guilt; he was convinced that she was
the victim of circumstantial evidence from which
she could not or would not extricate herself. But
how was he to prove this to the world? He deter-
mined that he would make another attempt on the
morrow, perhaps when he went for Lona, to speak
with Mrs. Barker's lodger, “Mr. Sartoris." Failing
this, he would communicate his suspicions to Burton
the detective.
290


DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS
291
But just what were his suspicions? Why simply
that “Mr. Sartoris” was Greville Coningsby, Bere-
nice's divorced husband and possibly the Red Cava-
lier also. Still, granting that these hypotheses were
true, it would not go far toward clearing Berenice.
It had been brought out fairly conclusively at the
inquest that the only Cavalier who had been in the
house on the night of the masked ball was Max.
Although it had been suggested-and Borrowdean
himself believed it was so—that the real Cavalier
had been hanging about the grounds, it had by no
means been proved. However, it seemed to him,
since he refused to credit Berenice's guilt in spite
of the cumulative evidence against her, that one
of these two men in Cavalier dress was the murderer.
The question was which one?
He doubted Burton's ability to handle the case
alone and he intended to send a telegram early in the
morning to a private detective in London, a young
woman professionally known as Mercedes Quero.
This young woman had established a reputation as
a solver of apparently unsolvable mysteries and
had distinguished herself especially in that recent
“Affair at Portstead Manor.” Borrowdean turned
toward the library to see if there were any telegram
blanks there. The door was closed and, upon open-
ing it he was surprised to behold Ethelyn, usually
the most unliterary of people, seated near the book-
shelves, absorbedly bent over a ponderous tome
and making pencil notes as she read. She started


294
THE RED CAVALIER
you saw couldn't have been prejudicial to Berenice
or you would have told it.”
"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Reggie,”
Ethelyn's tone cut like a lash. “Why don't you
ask her all that happened?"
Borrowdean felt suddenly helpless before Ethelyn's
innuendos. “She wouldn't tell me," he mut-
tered.
"Exactly, she wouldn't tell you. Then I think
that is all that need be said.” Ethelyn moved to
the door, carrying her small figure with an aggressive
dignity. “Goodnight, Reggie. I trust you will
feel better natured in the morning.”
For an instant Borrowdean stood rigid, then he
strode to the door. “Ethelyn! I say, Ethelyn!”
he called sharply.
On the threshold he almost collided with a young
male person who showed a desire to run at sight of
him. But Borrowdean held his arm in a grip that
could not be shaken off.
“By George!” he said slowly, “what the deuce
are you doing here?”
His captive's pasty white face wore a sullen look.
"Lemme go! You hurt. I'm doing no harm."
“Whom did you come here to see, eh?” Borrow-
dean did not relax his grasp on the youth's arm.
"Maaster Leon's” shifty, brownish eyes for a
moment looked impudently into his. “Not to see
you, guv'nor; that's sure.”
“What seems to be the trouble, Reggie?" a rather


DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS 295
excited voice from the great hall suddenly de-
manded.
Borrowdean glanced surprisedly at Berenice who
was coming toward them. He had supposed her
to be in bed long since, nursing a headache. She
still however, wore her dinner frock.
“I say," burst out Leon, "you tell him to let go
of me.”
"Reggie, let him go.” There was an anxious
little pucker on Berenice's forehead. “He isn't
here to do any harm.”
Borrowdean reluctantly loosed the boy's arm.
“You know this—this chap?”.
“He has been here before,” she evaded, “with
messages.”
“To you?” Borrowdean asked with his usual
directness.
“Oh, cut the questions!” said Leon airily. “I've
got a right to be in this house if I choose.”
He slipped past Borrowdean into the library and
went out through the open terrace door.
"Berenice,” said Borrowdean gravely, “I wish
you would be frank with memperhaps I could help
you. I could try anyway. What kind of a mess
have you gotten yourself into?"
Berenice smiled drearily. “It's a shocking mess,
Reggie, and the worst of it is there is no way out.”
“But, old girl, there must be—there shall be. If
you will only tell all that happened in the library
that night,"


296
THE RED CAVALIER
“I shall never do that, Reggie. I couldn't.”
Berenice spoke in a tone of finality.
“But it is your duty to yourself. Have you seen
the papers—what they are saying?”
She shook her head. “I don't want to see them.
I can guess what they are saying.”
"Now look here, Berenice, I've figured this all out.
You're shielding somebody, that's what you are
doing. And Greville Coningsby is mixed up in this,
now isn't he?"
The suddenness of this thrust left her speechless
for a moment. Then she said with a little laugh,
“What an absurd idea, Reggie! Don't you know
that Greville Coningsby is in Australia?"
Borrowdean's jaw set obstinately. “I know he is
supposed to be in Australia, but I have seen him here
in Yorkshire at least twice. He was the man you
went to meet in that tower, Berenice, and I've a
jolly strong suspicion, too, that he is that very
Cavalier chap Inspector Burton would give a good
deal to lay his hands on."
Berenice paled slightly. “What you say is too
absurd, Reggie. But please don't say it to any one
else. It-it might be believed.”
"It would be," he declared with conviction.
"Then please, please don't suggest such things,"
she laid an appealing hand on his arm.
“You are shielding Coningsby then?” His voice
was hard.


298
THE RED CAVALIER
drawn into even a worse mess than she already was
involved in made him resolve to send off a telegram
immediately to Mercedes Quero.
Berenice might consider herself under obligation,
through some mistaken sense of duty, to shield
Greville Coningsby, but he did not feel himself
obliged to support her in this ridiculous notion. It
was like Coningsby to skulk behind a woman's
skirts and it was equally like Berenice to permit
him to do so. She had said at the time when his
misconducts had at last driven her to seek relief in
divorce that she felt herself a deserter. Well, how-
ever she felt about it, she should not be permitted
to sacrifice herself further for the worthless fellow
who had taken the first bloom off her life.
Miss Egerton, to whom Borrowdean applied for
a telegram blank, expressed approval of his resolve
to send for Mercedes Quero.
"I have no personal experience of women as
detectives,” she said, "and it seems to me a very
unusual pursuit for them to engage in. However,
it's a fad for women to do very unusual things nowa-
days and I hear that this particular one is highly
successful in her profession. Of course she is quick
and intuitive. You men for the most part are slow-
witted.”
“Shouldn't wonder but we are,” Borrowdean ad-
mitted good-naturedly, “still we are useful at times
-as escorts to country houses—if nothing more, eh,
Miss Egerton?”


302
THE RED CAVALIER
he fancied he could detect under the threshold a
pale, very pale sliver of light as from a shaded lamp.
At all events the outline of this particular doorway
was certainly less obscure than that of its neighbours.
And now he did hear another sound from within
a cautious step. Some one was in the room-some
one who did not want his presence known.
Borrowdean laid his hand on the yielding knob.
At the same instant the outlines of the door faded,
became blurred into the dark walls of the corridor.
The light had been put out! Borrowdean stopped
only long enough to ascertain that he was well
provided with matches; then he made a rather
melodramatic plunge into an absolutely dark
chamber whose musty odour proclaimed the fact
that it was a place of disuse and avoidance. He
could make out nothing in the darkness, but he knew
that person of the cautious step was hiding some-
where in the shadows engulfing the room and might
even elude him if he were not careful. Conse-
quently, with little regard for quiet, he closed the
door and stood with his back against it. Then he
struck a match.
In its flickering glare there loomed up heavy old
furniture and a high, canopied bed behind which,
half-concealed by its curtains, lurked an odd-looking
figure at sight of whom a Yorkshire peasant would,
no doubt, have fallen to muttering prayers.
Borrowdean merely struck another match. It
illuminated the plumed hat and the beribboned suit


IN SIR ROBERT'S CHAMBER 303
of the person behind the bed and revealed the
domino across his features.
“It's about time, Captain Coningsby, to unmask,
isn't it, eh?" asked Borrowdean sternly.
Just then his second match blackened and
crumpled to the floor. Before he could strike a
third, the Cavalier had sprung upon him and was
trying to throw him back from the door. Borrow-
dean, though taken by surprise, held his ground and,
with a well-directed blow, reminiscent of his Oxford
days, drove his assailant half across the room, where
he stumbled against a chest of drawers and sprawled
his length. Before he could pick himself up, Bor-
rowdean was upon him, holding him down by the
weight of his own body and warding off his counter-
buffs with one hand while with the other he tore off
the Cavalier's mask.
“The game is up, Coningsby, time to show your
face.”
In spite of the Cavalier's struggles, Borrowdean
succeeding in striking another match.
"By-by Jove!” He rose slowly to his feet,
unheeding the match that stung his fingers.
The Cavalier got up painfully. “Confound you!
Reggie. You hit out like a prize-fighter."
"I should be glad of some explanation,” said
Borrowdean severely.
He went over to the fireplace and lighted one of
the tall candles which he had glimpsed on the mantel.
Darkness was intolerable.
ASK.


306
THE RED CAVALIER
“That's what you are - a regular old idiot! But I'm
uncommon fond of you even if you did try to batter
me into jelly. Oh, by the way, Reggie, what did
you mean by hailing me as 'Capt. Coningsby'?”.
Borrowdean felt that it was impossible to explain
this to Max. “Oh, I-I don't-know," he said
lamely.
“You think Greville Coningsby is mixed up in all
this, Reggie?”
"I don't know anything about Greville Coningsby.
He is supposed to be in Australia."
Max gave a short laugh. “Oh, all right,” he said
carelessly, “be mysterious if you like. I'm off to
bed. Think I'll get out of this costume. Your
pommelling has rather taken away my enthusiasm
for thrilling poor Evans. Whiff out the candle, old
man.”
Max strolled toward the door. Borrowdean, still
full of misgivings as to Max's garb and his presence
in this disused room, was about to blow out the candle
when the door was opened suddenly from the hall.
Max started to dodge back behind the curtains of the
bed, but it was too late.
There was a little cry, quickly suppressed, in a
woman's voice, and Morna Dalrymple, dressed as
for motoring, stepped swiftly into the chamber and
closed the door.
"So it was partly a trick to get me away,” she began
angrily. “It wasn't enough for you to share—”.
Then for the first time, she saw Borrowdean stand-


308
THE RED CAVALIER
· Again his words stung her beyond control. “I
shall take this matter to the police, Mr. Egerton."
Max surveyed her with an expression of quizzical
amusement. “I don't think you'll go to the police,
Mrs. Dalrymple."
Mrs. Dalrymple could not sustain his gaze. She
shivered and drew back.
Max's smile broadened. With a shrug he swung
on his heel and sauntered to the door.
"I'll not keep you talking longer, Mrs. Dalrymple.
You must be tired after your motor ride."
Morna Dalrymple looked after him fearfully. Bor-
rowdean felt awkward and out of place.
“Hadn't you better turn in?” he suggested finally.
“Of course you are tired.”
“Lord Borrowdean,” she said with emphasis, “I
have not been motoring tonight. I could not sleep-
thinking of the inquest and all—so I went out on the
cliffs to walk. The wind was so strong that I wore
a hat and veil. Mr. Egerton was mistaken.”
Borrowdean had little faith in her explanation, but
he had not the heart to call it into question. She
seemed to be almost dropping from nerve exhaustion,
so he simply suggested again that she go to her cham-
ber and try to sleep.
“Lord Borrowdean," she asked with searching
intentness, "why did you come into this room?"
Because it appeared the best thing to do, he told her
the truth: that he had heard sounds which had made
him suspect some one was in this disused chamber.


IN SIR ROBERT'S CHAMBER 309
“What sort of sounds?” she urged, nervously.
("Why-er-footsteps.”
“No other sounds? You are quite sure?”
“It is difficult to distinguish sounds at night,” he
evaded. “It was the footsteps that made me come
in.”
She gave a sigh of despair. “Of course you will
not tell me-Mr. Egerton is your friend.”
She stepped into the corridor and Borrowdean
followed. She then closed and locked the door with
one of a bunch of keys which she took from a small
hand-bag.
Borrowdean watched her curiously. “Does Miss
Egerton desire this room to be locked?”
"I do not know what Miss Egerton desires.”
There was hostility in Mrs. Dalrymple's voice.
“But this was Sir Robert Grainger's room; he would
not wish people poking about in it; he did not allow
even the servants to enter.”
She turned abruptly as though to avoid further
discussion and hurried down the corridor.
Borrowdean went on to his own chamber. A sub-
dued purring sound outside drew him to the window.
There he saw a long, low motor-car gliding almost
noiselessly away from the house. Apparently Mrs.
Dalrymple had returned from a motor-ride, after all.
It was now sufficiently near dawn for him to make out
the figure of the chauffeur, and there was something
in the youthfulness of his appearance and the rakish
tilt of his cap which suggested “Maaster Leon."


CHAPTER XXVIII
THE CAVALIER UNMASKED
The next morning Borrowdean and Berenice drove
over to the Bay Town to bring Lona home. Max,
despite his half promise to the young Hindu girl,
did not accompany them. Instead, he went for a
ramble over the moors with Ethelyn.
Borrowdean had purposely refrained from telling
Berenice to which house thery were going and when
he would have led her up the doorsteps, she drew
back, startled.
“Reggie,” with direct reproach, “I did not sup-
pose you would try to lay a trap for me. Of course
I do not need to tell you that I should not have come
here had I not supposed it was to see Lona.”
Borrowdean flushed uncomfortably under her
pained look, but the consciousness of the integrity of
his motives gave firmness to his voice as he answered:
"I won't deny that I am trying to pry into your
affairs, but I think you know why I am doing this;
and it is the truth that Lona is in this house and
wanted you to come with me."
"Reggie,” Berenice's voice was low and decided,
“If Greville Coningsby is accused of Kassim Bardai's
murder, I shall stand with him. He is not more
guilty than I.”
“Berenice!”
310


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 311
rod
.“I mean it, Reggie, Now let us go in to Lona.”
It seemed to Borrowdean that Mrs. Barker's ap-
pearance was more unprepossessing than ever. He
fancied, too, that she looked at Berenice with a
glint of recognition in her furtive eyes. This time
she was not in hospitable and her-manner was unc-
tuously propitiating.
The young lady he asked for was to be found in her
room; she never went out in the daytime.
Would he and the lady like to go upstairs at
once?
Borrowdean signified that they would. On the
first landing he intercepted a glance of understanding
between Mrs. Barker and Berenice. A feeling of
deadness weighed upon him. He could not under-
stand Berenice nor her quixotic devotion-if it were
no more-to Greville Coningsby. As they passed
Miss Wilton's door, he saw that it was tightly closed
and he wondered if, when she heard voices in Lona's
room, she would gratify her curiosity by peering
through the peep-hole in the wall.
Several knocks, increasingly vigorous, on Lona's
door eliciting no response, Mrs. Barker shook the
handle which turned readily. The room presented
an appearance of disorder and confusion which Bor-
rowdean had not observed the evening before when
he had looked into it through Miss Wilton's point of
vantage. A couple of chairs were overturned, a
small glass jar lay broken on the floor, its shattered
bits of crystal sending forth a peculiar, heavy fra-


312
THE RED CAVALIER
grance as of exotic flowers, a little white slipper stood
nearby, its mate not visible, and the coverlets of the
bed were tossed back as though its occupant had
sprung from it in haste. Of Lona herself there was
no sign.
“Tyoong laady mun ha' gone out, aafter arl,”
suggested Mrs. Baker, her eyes meeting no one's.
“Without dressing herself, with nothing over her
night clothes?” Berenice pointed to a neat little
pile of lingerie on a chair in the corner and to a thin
white frock, limp and rain-soiled, hanging from a peg
on the wall.
"She mun ha' had oother clothes," volunteered
Mrs. Barker.
Berenice dismissed the suggestion with impatience.
“I believe the poor child has been forcibly taken off
in the night. What do you know about this, Mrs.
Barker?”
The landlady cringed under Berenice's accusing
gaze and broke out into protestations of her igno-
rance of the entire matter. The house had been quiet
all night; there had been absolutely no sound of
disturbance and no one had entered it—of that she
was sure for she slept in a front room on the ground-
floor-since "t'yoong laady herself had come baack."
At this juncture a violent ringing of the door-bell
below afforded Mrs. Barker an excuse for going
downstairs and so avoiding further questioning-
an excuse of which she immediately availed herself.
“I think,” remarked Berenice, “that here is another


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 313
proof that Lona was forcibly taken off. She would
not have left this.”
Berenice indicated a photograph of Max, en-
cased in a satin frame and standing erect in solitary
state, on the top of the battered old bureau.
“Poor little girl,” she said softly, “I am afraid she
has been very foolish. Max ought to be ashamed of
himself.”
· The bare little lodging-house room revealed no
further clues as to the manner of Lona's disappear-
ance nor her present whereabouts. Once again the
young girl had utterly disappeared. Borrowdean
felt that Max this time could not be held responsible,
but this fact only increased his apprehensions. Lona,
seemingly, had been carried off by force and he could
not forget those bullets of salt which appeared to
presage some evil threatening her. He had no doubt
that she possessed knowledge of her brother's death
and it was not unlikely that she had been carried off
either to insure her silence or to make her divulge
this knowledge. Either supposition seemed equally
tenable since Lona admitted that she feared to be
questioned by Chand Talsdad. If that implacable
old chap suspected that she had knowledge which
might solve the mystery of the death of his com-
patriot, the man on whom he had built all his hopes
for the glorification of India, he would stop at noth-
ing to make her speak. Borrowdean had heard of
the tortures resorted to by the Hindus in crimes like
this. What would one poor little life count for when


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 315
glance which included the minutest details of Bor-
rowdean's appearance, tipped his hat politely and
addressed him by name. The notoriety which Bor-
rowdean had gained as one of the guests at Twin
Turrets was highly offensive to him and he returned
the official's salutation with scant cordiality.
The detective chose not to take offense. “I saw
your lordship come in here. I have a telegram for
you. It came in just as I was sending off one my-
self.”
Borrowdean took the pink envelope held out to
him; he turned it over with a frown. “This has
been opened.”
The detective smiled blandly. “A little official
liberty, my lord.”
“A piece of confounded impertinence, I call
it.”
“That's just as you look at it, my lord. To me
it's all in the day's work.”
Borrowdean gave a short laugh. "Didn't find
much incriminating evidence in it, did you?”
The detective laughed, too. "I wasn't exactly
looking for it, my lord—just professional curiosity.
But, I say, if you are going to meet the lady-your
lordship'll excuse my mentioning it-you'd better be
stepping. She's always on time and she don't like
to be kept waiting. Burton," he added confiden-
tially, “will be hot when he finds out she is going on
the case. Jealousy, I call it. Now I,” with ex-
pansive magnanimity, “don't feel that way about


316
THE RED CAVALIER
her. She don't do bad for a woman. No, by George!
she's devilish smart.”
Borrowdean lost no time in entering the inn op-
posite, where the telegram from Mercedes Quero had
stated that he would find her at ten o'clock, the hour
which was just striking. The inn brought back un-
pleasant memories of the inquest and he made his
way as quickly as possible to the back parlour,
designated by Mercedes Quero as their meeting-
place.
In answer to his knock, the door was opened by a
young woman, at sight of whom he stood for a mo-
ment speechless.
“Miss Wilton!” he exclaimed at length.
Her brown eyes were mirthful. “You didn't
expect to meet me so soon again, did you, Lord
Borrowdean?”
“I beg your pardon,”—he turned to withdraw-
“I must have made a mistake in the room. I ex-
pected to meet a-another lady—"
“Mercedes Quero, perhaps?” smiled Miss Walton.
He stared. “My telegram must have become
public property.”
Miss Wilton's look of amusement grew. “Not
necessarily—I am Mercedes Quero.”
“You will pardon me, Miss Wilton,” he said stiilily,
“but I am not in the mood, nor have I the time, for
joking."
Miss Wilton laughed. “You don't believe me, eh?
Will this convince you?” She drew from a silver


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 317
mesh bag the telegram which he had sent the evening
before.
In the face of this he could no longer disbelieve
and yet this slim, girlishly pretty young woman with
mirthful brown eyes, skin fair as a child's and soft
brown hair simply coiled in her neck was not at all
his idea of the detective who had already won an
enviable name in her chosen profession.
The pseudo “Miss Wilton” appeared to find his
puzzlement highly diverting. “Am I so very very
different from what you expected? Is the disap-
pointment too great to be borne? I am afraid the
prying ‘Miss Wilton' made an unfavourable im-
pression upon you.”
“Why, no, not at all—now that I understand.
I-I am delighted to-to have met you before."
She laughed again-a low, amused laugh. “Really,
you almost make me believe you mean that.” She
stood a second surveying him.
He remained grave and silent, slowly drawing off
his gloves.
"Lord Borrowdean,” the mirth died from her eyes,
her tone became crisp and business-like, "you wish
to employ me to unravel the mystery at Twin Turrets,
and particularly, I understood from your telegram,
to clear the name of Lady Berenice Coningsby in
spite of herself.”
"That is so,” he assented. “I believe that you
alone can do this.”
“Perhaps," she agreed with a calm confidence that
ass


318
THE RED CAVALIER
was by no means vanity or arrogance, “but I cannot
at present undertake to do this. As a matter of fact,
I am already at work on the case; my employer is
the Hindu priest, Chand Talsdad, and the clearing of
Lady Berenice's name is of little importance to him.
When a prince of India has been murdered, the Azra
El Kab ruby stolen, and a princess abducted, what
does the tarnishing of a mere Englishwoman's name
matter to him?"
"But,” Borrowdean urged, “have you not dis-
covered anything in your investigations so far which
might clear her?”
Mercedes Quero shook her head. “Ah! no, Lord
Borrowdean, I cannot give away professional secrets.
The results of my investigations belong to Chand
Talsdad and to the proper officials, and that, too,
only when I think it wise to make them known.”
"But you don't think her guilty as that—that ass
of á Burton does?”.
The detective's brown eyes danced. “You have
expressed precisely my opinion of Mr. Burton. No!
Lord Borrowdean, I shall not say one word more."
She had no opportunity to do so. The door was
torn open and a slender, wiry man, hatless, and with
the look of a hunted creature plunged into the room.
At sight of Mercedes Quero, he uttered an oath of
consternation and made a movement to dart out
again.
The detective, however, was too quick for him.
She sprang to the door, closed it, and levelled upon


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 319
him the barrel of a tiny revolver, not more than four
inches long and mounted with mother-of-pearl.
"Surely you cannot wish to leave us so soon, Capt.
Coningsby?"
The excited voices of men in the room beyond
maddened Coningsby. He looked with desperation
at the slim young woman, coolly holding him prisoner.
Borrowdean placed himself by Miss Quero's side, her
girlish figure accentuating his height and the broad-
ness of his shoulders.
Coningsby hesitated a second, calculating. Then,
ducking his head, he leaped toward the window.
The toy revolver flashed fire. Coningsby, with a
scream of pain, threw himself through the closed
window, the glass splintering and cutting.
Mercedes Quero calmly replaced the little re-
volver in the silver-mesh bag whence she had snatchd
it. “Capt. Coningsby will not row very far. His
right arm is useless. Ah! Mr. Burton"-as that
official and two subordinates precipitated themselves
into the room—"you are a trifle late; our friend has
just gone out through the window.”
Burton and his two satellites, with a fine disregard
for splintered glass, vaulted over the window-sill upon
the bastion on which the inn was built.
Mercedes Quero went swiftly into the hall and
thence out onto the bastion. Borrowdean followed.
Some yards beyond the sea-wall a flat-bottomed,
red row-boat was tossing at anchor. Toward it a
man was swimming, struggling on with one-armed
Il


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 321
Borrowdean to observe that she seemed to consider
herself in some way responsible for Coningsby's
death.
Burton, on the other hand, accepted his responsi-
bility with an exultant air which was decidedly
unpleasant.
"I'll confess," he remarked confidentially, “that
when I started out some weeks ago to trail the Red
Cavalier, I didn't expect to bag so big a game.”
Mercedes Quero regarded him with interest.
“What do you mean by so big a game, Mr. Burton?”
Burton expanded under the stimulant of success.
He even condescended to become facetious. “Oh,
come now, Miss Quero, you ain't so blind as you're
trying to make out. Didn't I tell you I was working
on a double trail?”
“Why yes,” she assented, “but I understood you
to say that there was a petticoat at one end of this
double trail.”
Borrowdean listened apprehensively. He was
glad that Berenice had gone from the room.
Burton's manner became increasingly pompous and
assured. “Now I don't give away the inner work-
ings of a case any more than you do, Miss Quero.
When I said there was a petticoat at one end of the
trail, I meant a little more than that. The petticoat
was shielding some one. Begin to see a little glimmer
of light, eh?”
Mercedes Quero regarded him with a curious smile.
"No, Mr. Burton, I am still hopelessly in the dark.”


THE CAVALIER UNMASKED 323
Burton, I do not give away the inner workings of a
case, but, I assure you, you have still to discover the
person or persons who killed Kassim Bardai, stole
the Azra El Kab ruby, and the paper in cypher, and
abducted the little Hindu Princess.”


CHAPTER XXIX
ON THE TRAIL
It was sundown before Borrowdean and Berenice
returned to Twin Turrets. The latter had been
harried with questions by the detectives who, under
Burton's lead, had tried, but vainly, to make her
incriminate herself as the confederate of the Cavalier
and the sharer of his spoils. Mercedes Quero finally
rescued her from these inquisitors—they, like Burton,
were still inclined to believe Coningsby guilty also of
Prince Kassim's death-and requested a seat in the
wagonette as she wished to make some investigations
at Twin Turrets.
During this drive a sympathetic understanding
began to establish itself between Berenice and the
detective. Mercedes Quero did not hector Berenice
with questions, but tried to divert her mind by
talking entertainingly on general topics. Borrow-
dean learned from their conversation that Berenice
had met the detective previously in the character of
“Miss Wilton.”
As they came within sight of the twin turrets,
Mercedes Quero's face became grave.
“I am sorry, very sorry for Miss Egerton,” she
said musingly, more to herself than to her two com.
panions.
324


ON THE TRAIL
325
Berenice flashed a peculiar glance at the de-
tective. “Why are you sorry for Miss Egerton?”
Mercedes Quero bit her lip as though regretting
her words. Her voice was emotionless and wholly
professional as she answered:
"Because of the notoriety this affair has brought
upon her. It is, of course, very distressing.”
Miss Egerton received the detective with correct
courtesy which, however, was not cordiality. Her
manner made it clear that she disliked Miss Quero's
profession and considered it reprehensible for a
woman to follow it. On the other hand, Miss Eger-
ton was unwontedly gracious in her reception of
Berenice. The news of the identity of the Red
Cavalier and of his death had reached Twin Tur-
rets and Miss Egerton found it impossible not to feel
pity for Berenice as being more or less his victim.
Berenice showed herself touched by this sympathy.
Borrowdean wished that the ability to express his
emotions had been vouchsafed to him. There was
so much his heart prompted him to say, and yet he
sat now by Berenice's side, as he had sat during the
drive back to Twin Turrets, in awkward silence,
finding no word to say.
Miss Egerton handed to Mercedes Quero a note
enclosed in an envelope of thick, foreign paper.
“This was brought here for you.”.
The detective broke the seal and read the note, a
little frown gathering between her brows.
“It is from Chand Talsdad. He fears that I am


326
THE RED CAVALIER
cooling in the chase. He intends to pay his respects
to you this evening, Miss Egerton, and, incidentally,
to give me my congé unless I have some information
to impart to him. Oh, I do not blame him for feeling
as he does. My progress in this case has been slow.
But, you see, there were so many threads to pick up
and I wanted to be sure. By the way, Miss Egerton,
I should like a few words with your interesting house-
keeper."
“Mrs. Dalrymple has been confined in her room all
day with a headache," observed Miss Egerton.
“I will go to her then," said Mercedes Quero
gravely. “She must be told of Capt. Coningsby's
death-if she does not already know.”
Berenice unexpectedly intervened. “Couldn't
you let the poor woman rest until morning? She
may know already—through Leon. But if she does
not know, it will be a terrible shock. I think she
really loved him."
The detective's expression softened. “I think she
did. I suppose it is her justification. But I must
speak with her tonight; a little later will do just as
well, however. Miss Egerton, will you ask your
nephew to come here, please?".
"My nephew!”
“Yes; there are questions he must answer."
Borrowdean and Berenice exchanged swift glances.
The same suspicion had come to both.
Miss Egerton bristled with indignation, but her
cheeks were a little greyish.


ON THE TRAIL
327
“Surely, you are not accusing my nephew "
"At present I am accusing no one," said the de-
tective gently. “I want simply to ask your nephew
certain questions. Please send for him, Miss Eger-
ton."
Max entered the detective's presence with his con-
fident air, his mocking smile. Ethelyn, on the con-
trary, who accompanied him, showed perturbation.
Max's surprise at beholding “Miss Wilton” meta-
morphosed into a detective was by no means as great
as Borrowdean's had been and he carried off the
situation lightly.
"I knew that you were something more than an
ordinary woman, Miss Quero. You interested me
from the first."
“The interest was mutual then,” she smiled.
“You have been in my thoughts very frequently the
last few days, Mr. Egerton.”
“You flatter me, Miss Quero." His eyes laughed
into hers.
“Not at all; I am speaking seriously.” Her tone
hardened. “My interest in you has been so intense
that on the day before the inquest I went up to Lon-
don on the same train which you took."
Max's audacious glance fell, the lines of his mouth
stiffened. His voice, however, was still bantering as
he said:
"By George! if I had only known it, we would
have had a jolly entertaining ride together. I say,
Miss Quero, why didn't you make yourself known?”


328
THE RED CAVALIER
The detective looked him straight in the eye.
“Because I feared that if I did, it might cause you to
postpone your business interview with Mr. Jer.
mayne of Tottenham Court Road.”
Max smothered an ejaculation. His face was
ashen.
Ethelyn suddenly stepped before him. Her eyes,
of a harder blue than ever, flashed hate at the detec-
tive.
"I do not know what you mean by all this, Miss
Quero. Mr. Egerton went to see Mr. Jermayne at
my request. He was kind enough to try to raise
money for me on some old jewelry which had be-
longed to my mother.”
Mercedes Quero turned her searching gaze on
Ethelyn. “How did your mother happen to have
in her possession the Azra El Kab ruby, Miss Roy-
don?”
The silence in the room was intense. Miss Eger-
ton, alone, was not looking at Ethelyn, white and
defiant, but at Max who had forced to his lips a
trace of his old careless smile. A bitter conviction
was struggling into being on Miss Egerton's face.
Ethelyn collected herself. “Your question is
absurd, Miss Quero. Of course the Azra El Kab
ruby was never in my mother's possession.”
"In that case then,” shot back the detective, “Mr.
Egerton was trying to dispose of stolen property."
At this Ethelyn completely lost control of herself.
She burst into a storm of denial and vituperation.


ON THE TRAIL
331
“She is trying to trap you," warned Ethelyn in a
low, tense voice.
Mercedes Quero caught the words. “I am not try-
ing to trap him. I do not need to. I offer him in
exchange for that paper in cypher—which he has
found useless-an opportunity to make his escape
from the country. Otherwise he will be charged with
the murder of Prince Kassim. I think he realizes
the impossibility of proving his innocence. It is for
him to choose.”
Max's sangfroid was unshaken. “You've got me
fair and square, Miss Quero. If I do give up this
bone of contention, can you assure me safe conduct
from the country?”.
"I can. I have considered and planned every-
thing. There is a train leaving for London within
an hour which you can catch. At London you
should be able to make the early morning boat train
for-well, I should advise, Australia.”
Max's eyelids stretched wide in dismay. “Aus-
tralia!”
The detective nodded. “I should say that Aus-
tralia was the safest refuge for you. Your debts, I
understand, have made you rather too familiar a
figure on the Continent. Australia will be new
ground for you."
Max made a wry face. “Deuced dull ground-
but, oh, well! I'll try it for a few years till this affair
blows over.”
“I think you are wise, Mr. Egerton. The paper


332
THE RED CAVALIER
in cypher, please, and really you haven't many min-
utes to lose. I have taken the liberty of ordering a
carriage. It should be waiting for you now.”
Still with imperturbable nonchalance, Max drew
from an inner pocket the paper in cypher and, with a
mock bow, tendered it to Mercedes Quero.
During this time Miss Egerton had spoken no
word. Only the grey rigidity of her features showed
that she was suffering. .
Max turned to her now, his smile growing whim-
sical. “Aren't you going to wish me 'bon voyage,'
Aunt Van?”
Miss Egerton raised her eyes. The scorn in her
gaze withered the smile on his lips. “I am going to
wish that I may forget I ever had a nephew.”
Max turned away sharply, with a hard laugh.
“And what are you going to wish me, Berenice? A
short road to perdition?”.
Berenice took his hand impulsively in both her
own. There was a great pity in her face.
"I am going to wish that you will pull yourself
together and live a different life. You can do it if
you will."
"It is too late for that,” his voice a little unsteady,
his smile more regretful than bitter. “If I had loved
you years ago—and you could have given me your
love-” He broke off abruptly, a mask of cynicism
hardening his face. “Miss Quero will be reminding
me that I haven't the time for sentimental rot. So
long, Berenice, old girl!” He wrung her hand con-


ON THE TRAIL
335
gains, and now here was another woman on whose
misplaced devotion he meant to batten and divert
himself until, once more satiated, he cast her off
again.
“Max,” he said with conviction, "you're no end of
a bounder."
Max shrugged indifferently. “You are frank, to
say the least. Ethie, shall we make our adieux?”
Miss Egerton stood up. “Wait a moment. I
hope I know my duty by my brother's son. If you
communicate with my bankers they will see that you
are supplied with money, sufficient for necessities.”
“Thanks, Aunt Van,” responded Max coolly.
“I shall probably be forced to avail myself of your
bounty. My assets at present are nil. Come along,
Ethie.”
As the door closed behind them, Miss Egerton
sank into her chair. She looked old and worn.
“Reginald,” she said unsteadily-she had not
called Borrowdean by his first name since he was a
boy—“I am going back to Cavendish Square to-
morrow or the next day. I hope you will come to see
me often. I shall be lonely—at first-until I get used
to having no nephew."
Borrowdean pressed her hand. He could not seem
to find anything to say.
Berenice went over to Miss Egerton and said, a
little timidly, "I wish that sometime I might come
with Reggie.”
Miss Egerton hastily passed her handkerchief


336
THE RED CAVALIER
across her eyes. “Please do; I should like to have
you.”
Mercedes Quero stepped forward. Her face like
Berenice's was gentle and sympathetic.
“Miss Egerton, perhaps you are thinking a little
more hardly of your nephew than you need to.
With your permission I am going to ask Mrs. Dal-
rymple and Ahmed the butler to come here. This
case is by no means closed.”


CHAPTER XXX
THE EYES OF BRAHMA
The detective had scarcely finished speaking when
Ahmed affrightedly ushered in Chand Talsdad. The
old Hindu was in a state of agitation bordering on
frenzy. He forgot altogether the courtesy due Miss
Egerton and addressed himself solely to Mercedes
Quero.
“I come to give you dismissal. You neglect my
interests. You let a thief escape-the man who has
stolen the Azra El Kab ruby. As I enter the house
I see him, the thief, riding away like-like mad, as
you English say, in a motor cab. I demand the
explanation!”
Mercedes Quero sustained the East Indian's furi-
ous eyes with provoking calm. “Perhaps I have mis-
understood your object in engaging my services.
Was it the apprehension of the murderer of Kassim
Bardai or simply the recovery of the Azra El Kab
ruby-and its mate?”
"And its mate?” Miss Egerton, Borrowdean and
Berenice stared at the detective in amazement.
Ahmed's dark face paled. Chand Talsdad scruti-
nized the detective in a curious, reflective fashion.
"You have found then the stolen paper and you
have the knowledge of cypher writing?”
337


THE EYES OF BRAHMA
341
years this man had been robbing the men of India
and outraging their gods. It was agreed between
the traitor Mareluke and this perfidious foreigner
that a certain door of Brahma's temple which could
be entered only by the head of the House of Bardai
should be left unguarded one night. Through this
door Sir Robert Grainger was to enter the temple
and steal the two sacred rubies which formed the
eyes of Brahma. The proceeds from the sale of
these holy jewels was to be divided between Mare-
luke and the Englishman. At the eleventh hour
Mareluke came to realize the atrocity of the crime
that was about to occur. He dared not confide in the
priests of Brahma and call them to the aid of the
god who was about to be desecrated, so he went
alone to prevent the crime. Well, he was unsuc-
cessful. The consciousness of his baseness robbed
him of strength and he was stabbed to the heart
by his English friend on the threshold of Brahma's
shrine.
“Sir Robert Grainger, fearing discovery, stayed
only long enough to remove one sacred eye. Some
hours later I found Mareluke dying. At the feet
of the violated Brahma he poured out his confession.
From that day a curse has rested on the House of
Bardai. The restoration of the stolen ruby alone
can remove it. From the hour of Mareluke's death
I took his young son, Prince Kassim, under my
charge and forced him to vow his life to the appeas-
ing of Brahma and the restoration of the past glory.


THE EYES OF BRAHMA
345
“And destroyed your soul," admonished the old
priest harshly. “You dared to protect him against
the vengeance of Brahma. You would warn him
when the servitors of Brahma came to punish. But,
when the Englishwoman with the pale face com-
manded you to kill—so that she might have the ruby
-you killed !"
Ahmed slid to his knees. “No, no! It is not I kill
Grainger Sahib! Prince Kassim not believe that!”
“Prince Kassim,” said Chand Talsdad severely,
“would believe all an Englishwoman told him-he
was the son of Mareluke. You, by cheating ven-
geance, will later know Brahma's wrath.”
On his knees Ahmed dragged himself to Mrs.
Dalrymple.
"Sahiba! You tell Chand Talsdad it not I who
kill Grainger Sahib."
Morna Dalrymple raised her white face to the
old priest's.
"Ahmed is telling the truth. He did not kill Sir
Robert Grainger.”
“Then who killed him?" demanded the old priest
fiercely.
Morna Dalrymple dropped her face in her hands.
Berenice placed a kindly arm about her shoulders.
“Capt. Greville Coningsby killed Sir Robert
Grainger,” she said quietly.
Chand Talsdad turned upon her. “If you knew,
why have you not told?”.
Berenice met his eyes calmly. “Because I had no


346
THE RED CAVALIER
interest in Sir Robert Grainger, dead or alive. It
was not my business to tell.”
Mercedes Quero, with a little gesture of com-
mand, checked the harsh speech on Chand Talsdad's
lips. “Mrs. Dalrymple, I am going to ask you now
to tell the story of Sir Robert's death. In return I
shall tell the story of Kassim Bardai's death.”
The detective's words caused a stir through the
little gathering. Miss Egerton sat stifly erect, a
strained look about her features. Borrowdean knew
that she was dreading to hear Max's name spoken.
A glance of understanding passed between Berenice
and Morna Dalrymple. The latter's face showed
now a hopeless acquiescence. Ahmed, still crouched
by her chair, presented a pitiful appearance of abject
terror. He was acutely conscious of evey move-
ment on the part of the old priest; he seemed to be
in a kind of paroxysm of guilty fear, and Borrowdean
for the first time felt sorry for the poor wretch.
Inspector Burton, his jaw set more aggressively
than ever, had quietly entered the hall and now
stood, note-book and pencil in hand, waiting for
the housekeeper to speak.
"I think it will be best," said Mercedes Quero in
a crisp, business-like tone, "for you to state clearly
the relation in which you stood to Sir Robert
Grainger.”
Mrs. Dalrymple raised her eyes. They held a
world of bitterness. “I was legally his wife-
morally his slave. Why he married me I don't


THE EYES OF BRAHMA
347
know, unless to make sure that I should not escape
his persecutions. I was his lawful prey and he
used his right to heap upon me every sort of humil-
iation and insult. He knew why I married him-
to make a permanent home for myself and Leon,
my poor boy. Oh, I paid for it!”
Leon! Borrowdean knew now why “Maaster
Leon's " face had seemed so familiar.
Mrs. Dalrymple went on with her story in a
dreary monotone, her features without expression
save for the bitterness smouldering in her eyes.
“I was a widow without friends, without money,
and newly come from Australia when I secured
through an advertisement in The Times the position
of housekeeper here. Sir Robert had just returned
from India and had with him Lona Bardai, then
a child of three or four, and Ahmed who was butler
and valet too. Sir Robert soon made it plain that
he desired more than a housekeeper. At least I
can say to his creditor, that is, I thought then
it was to his credit—that he suggested no mere
temporary relation, only stipulated that the mar-
riage should remain secret until it pleased him to
announce the fact. Well, what could I do but
accept? Leon was only five years old; I thought
this marriage would secure him a home.” Mrs.
Dalrymple gave a short, hard laugh. “Instead, it
secured for him harsh treatment and even blows
and made of him what you have seen, a drunken
loafer.


348
THE RED CAVALIER
“I endured all this for years—what else could I
do—Sir Robert had bound me to him—and of course
I was counting on his death. Who wouldn't have?
Well, the inevitable happened finally; another man
came into my life. He had made friends with Sir
Robert for the purpose of robbing him later. I
knew that, but he gave me compliments in place of
abuse and I–I came to love him.”
She looked around the hall with a little defiant
gesture. Berenice gently pressed her hand. Chand
Talsdad was visibly chafing with impatience, but
he preserved silence. Ahmed was regarding Mrs.
Dalrymple with the mournful eyes of a whipped
dog.
After a moment she resumed the thread of her
story. “This man-Capt. Coningsby,”—her voice
shook over the name—“was a distant relative of
Sir Robert's and he knew of his theft of the ruby
and other crimes he had committed. He intended
to make him give up the ruby by threatening dis-
closure. Then we were going away together. I
had learned by that time that I had little to expect
at Sir Robert's death. He intended everything to
go to Lona Bardai and I could not prove the legality
of our marriage. The clergyman who had married
us and the witness were both dead, there had been
some confusion over the licence and Sir Robert
had taken the certificate from me and destroyed it.
I had nothing to hope for except discovering the hid-
ing-place of the ruby, and this was only indicated


THE EYES OF BRAHMA
349
by a paper in cypher which also was hidden. He
intended to give the key of this cypher to Lona and
also a clue to the hiding-place of the paper. He
could not resist torturing even her by making the
discovery of the ruby doubtful. For me he made it
impossible.
“Capt. Coningsby, of course, knew of all this
and he planned an interview with Sir Robert in
which he intended to force him to give up the ruby.
He had no thought of killing him, but he knew Sir
Robert's violent nature and that he always carried
with him a poisoned dagger as a protection against
Hindu enemies. Capt. Coningsby persuaded me
to steal this dagger so that Sir Robert would be
unarmed in case, as was very likely, he should lose
control of himself at this interview. I had no idea
that Capt. Coningsby intended to carry the dagger
with him. But he did, and both men lost control
of themselves. The rest you know.” Her voice
was still emotionless.
“I shielded Capt. Coningsby. He and I together
made the murder appear as much as possible the
work of those Hindu enemies Sir Robert was always
in fear of. I gained nothing by Sir Robert's death,
Capt. Coningsby was financially and socially ruined
so he stayed on here secretly and we searched for
the ruby and the paper which would give a clue to
its hiding-place. Capt. Coningsby needed money
and he wanted excitement, so he revived the legend
of the Cavalier robber, his ancestor as well as Sir


GATHERING UP THE THREADS 353
boat-train for Australia. We”-she nodded toward
Inspector Burton, waiting grimly, pencil in hand,
to take down whatever testimony might be wrung
from Lona—"we have promised him safe conduct
till he leaves the country.”
"He-he is not to come back-ever?"
Borrowdean turned away that he might not see
the misery in Lona's eyes.
“No; he will never come back.” Mercedes Quero
seemed to be forcing herself to treat this tragic-faced
child with professional coldness. "I think that Miss
Roydon, too, will never come back.”
"Miss Roydon! He-he took her with him?"
Mercedes Quero nodded. “They went together."
In spite of herself the detective's expression was com-
passionate.
A lightning-like change came over Lona's face.
All its childlike appeal was gone; her mouth was
hard, her eyes dry. She looked as her brother had
looked when the hot blood of his East Indian fore-
fathers had burst through the constraints of Western
refinement. For the first time she forgot her fear of
Chand Talsdad, forgot even his presence. She stepped
nearer the detective, her slim, as yet unformed,
figure trembling with the intensity of her passion.
"I will tell you what I saw in the library. My
brother lay on the floor-he was dead-and Mr.
Egerton was tearing the Azra El Kab from his breast.
There was a dagger at Kassim's side and—and blood
on Mr. Egerton's hands."
as


354
THE RED CAVALIER
Miss Vandelia tried to smother a groan.
Berenice suddenly pressed forward. “For Miss
Egerton's sake, if not for her nephew's, the whole
truth should be told. Prince Kassim was dead
before Max came into the library.”
Burton's pencil dug eagerly into the pages of his
note-book. Borrowdean, at that moment, was con-
scious only of a mad desire to snatch that pencil
and break it and its owner into bits.
“How do you know that Prince Kassim was dead
before Mr. Egerton came into the library?” Mercedes
Quero asked quickly.
"I saw him lying dead on the floor before Mr.
Egerton came in."
“You are sure of this?”
“Perfectly.”
“And what makes you so sure of this?" demanded
Burton in his most truculent tone.
Berenice met his bullying gaze with composure.
“Because I looked in at the terrace door after I had
seen that Prince Kassim was dead. Mr. Egerton
was bending over his body. I thought he was dis-
covering that he was dead, so I went away imme-
diately-out on the cliffs.”
“You didn't then,” hectored Burton, “first lock
the library inner door so the murder shouldn't be
discovered by others?”
Berenice's composure was not to be shaken. “As
I stated at the inquest, I locked the inner door when
I first entered the room in order that no one should


GATHERING UP THE THREADS 355
interrupt my conversation with Prince Kassim. So
far as I know, the door remained locked.”
"It was locked when I came in from the terrace,"
spoke up Lona sharply. "I thought I would leave
it so to-to help Mr. Egerton; but—but he," her
voice broke—“he is a bad heart; he forgets what I
do for him, what he promises me—"
Miss Egerton went forward resolutely and, drawing
the girl back, forced her to sit down. “My nephew
is not worthy of your thoughts. I am going to look
after you from now on.”
With a tenderness that Borrowdean for one had
never observed in her before, Miss Egerton drew
Lona's head down upon her breast, consoling her as
one might have consoled a broken-hearted child.
Lona clung gratefully to Max's aunt, sobbing out
her griefs in the arms of the woman of whom hitherto
she had always stood in awe.
Burton turned to Berenice. "Perhaps now, my
Lady,” his tone still truculent, "you will be good
enough to explain how a piece of your gown came to
be found in Kassim Bardai's hand.”
“And perhaps, Mr. Burton,” spoke up Mercedes
Quero crisply, “you will be good enough to remember
that I am conducting this inquiry.”
Burton scowled. "Fire ahead with it then."
"I will tell you exactly what happened in the
library between Kassim Bardai and myself,” said
Berenice quickly, before Mercedes Quero could ad-
dress her. “The truth cannot harm the guilty per-


356
THE RED CAVALIER
son now. As I testified at the inquest, I broke my
engagement to Kassim Bardai in the library because
he refused to fulfil a promise he had made to me.
This promise concerned Capt. Coningsby. Prince
Kassim had discovered that Greville had killed Sir
Robert Grainger and also that he was the Red
Cavalier. Prince Kassim considered that Greville
by killing Sir Robert had not only prevented him
from recovering the Azra El Kab ruby, but had also
cheated him of his vendetta and his hope of appeas-
ing Brahma's wrath against this whole family. For
this Prince Kassim had determined to have Greville's
life. I wanted to save Greville. I felt more or less
responsible for the wreck he had made of everything
-if I hadn't divorced him, I might have been able
to put him on his feet again. Well, he appealed to
me for help, I was sorry for him, awfully sorry, and
Prince Kassim kept urging his love upon me. I
knew I should always blame myself for anything
worse that might happen to Greville, so finally I
told Prince Kassim that I would marry him if he
would give me his promise to let Greville alone. He
gave me his promise, and then later, in the library
that night, told me he could not keep it. When I
refused to marry him as a consequence, he lost control
of himself and showed me then the little respect
which men of the East have for women. I repulsed
him and that is how, Mr. Burton, a piece of my frock
came to be found in his hand.
“I was about to call for help, when Greville,


GATHERING UP THE THREADS 359
the terrace door. I did not stop to see what hap-
pened then-Capt. Coningsby called to me.”
“A no end remarkable tale, Mrs. Dalrymple,"
remarked Burton with the exasperating drawl which
he assumed at times.
Mrs. Dalrymple flushed. “I didn't expect any
one to believe me”—a world of bitterness in her tone.
"I believe you, Mrs. Dalrymple."
Mercedes Quero met with a slight and bafiling
smile the amazed glances bent upon her.
"It was you, Mrs. Dalrymple, was it not, who
unlocked the library door in the interval between
Ahmed's discovering that it was locked and his an-
nouncing of the fact to Miss Egerton?”.
“Yes, it was I. Lady Berenice had already told
me that she believed Capt. Coningsby had kiled
Kassim Bardai. I wished to make sure that Ithe
Hindu was really dead. I turned the lock with a
duplicate key, but before I could open the door I
heard people coming from the ballroom, and so I
hurried away.”
Borrowdean took occasion here he could not have
told just why—to glance at Ahmed. Once more he
was struck by the abject terror in the brown man's
face.
Lona still sat with her head on Miss Egerton's
breast, catching her breath now and then with a
heartrending sob. The means and the author of
her brother's death were of far less import to the little
Hindu than the desertion of the man who had once


360
THE RED CAVALIER
seemed the beau ideal of her girlish dreams. Miss
Egerton, still with that greyness to her features, was
stroking Lona's dark hair, but abstractedly, and Bor-
rowdean knew that her thoughts too were with Max.
“You were saying,” pursued Mercedes Quero, still
addressing Mrs. Dalrymple, “that you saw some
person move away from the shadow of the house
and enter through the terrace door, and that you
could not make out whether this was a man or a
woman. But you must have gained some impression
of the person's sex from the dress.”
Mrs. Dalrymple shook her head. “From the very
brief glimpse I had, I judged that the person was one
of the guests in masquerade costume, and it appeared
to be a costume that could be worn by either a man
or a woman."
Mercedes Quero turned quickly to Ahmed. “What
happened when you entered the library through the
terrace door?"
Ahmed stared at her with mingled amazement
and terror. “It not I, Sahiba, who enter through the
terrace door.”
“Be careful what you say," the detective warned
him.
"It not the terrace door, Sahiba,” he protested
earnestly. “I do not go outside the house all that
evening-I will swear it-so it cannot be the terrace
door I enter through.”
“Ah! but you did enter the library before calling
Miss Egerton.”


GATHERING UP THE THREADS 363
proaching admiration. He, on his part, presented
an aspect of lofty calm, mixed with contempt for
those who failed to comprehend his motives.
Burton, that ever zealous bloodhound of the law,
was the first to shake off the atmosphere of Eastern
gods and their vendettas which the sight of this
majestic old priest, assured of the righteousness of
his act, conjured up, and to return to the realities
of twentieth century England.
“You can give any fancy name you like to the kill-
ing of Kassim Bardai,” he said gruffly, “but here in
this country, you'll answer to the charge of murder."
As he spoke, he advanced toward Chand Talsdad
with the obvious intention of clapping handcuffs
upon his wrists, but, before he could carry out his
purpose, the old Hindu had snatched a small phial
from the folds of his robe and swallowed the con-
tents.
The poison had an almost instant effect. A grey-
ness spread over the East Indian's features; he
staggered back.
"It is not for unbelievers to pass judgment on a
servant of Brahma."
These were his last words.
ness


CHAPTER XXXII
AFTER THE STORM
Two or three days later, after the excitement
caused by Chand Talsdad's rather spectacular death
had partly subsided, Mercedes Quero found time
to give Miss Egerton and Borrowdean an insight of
the inner workings of the case and the line of reason-
ing which she herself had pursued.
"I always follow to a certain extent the process
of elimination,” the detective explained. “Take,
for instance, Burton's first suspect, Lady Berenice.
The most superficial reader of character would
know that a person of so frank and open a nature
could never successfully conceal her guilt and would
very probably scorn to do so. You remember the
frankness with which she refused to answer certain
incriminating questions, although she knew the
interpretation that would be put upon her silence.
But, although I mentally acquitted her of actual
guilt, I had no doubt from my observations of her
that she either knew the murderer or thought she
did and was trying to shield him. You see, I had
been studying this case before Chand Talsdad en-
gaged me to hunt up his rubies. Twin Turrets has
been of interest to me ever since the murder of Sir
364


366
THE RED CAVALIER
son
rymple had been Grainger's wife, in spite of the as-
persions cast upon her at the inquest. She was too
clever a woman to allow herself simply to be en-
tangled with a testy old reprobate. She wished to
better herself in the world, and in addition she had a
son to provide for—I discovered that, too. Of
course, she was Grainger's wife, and of course he
ill-treated her-he ill-treated every one except the
little Hindu girl as I learned by inquiry. Then,
enter the lover-and the result was easily to be
guessed at. But, to prove Coningsby the murderer
of Kassim Bardai was another matter. As Mrs.
Dalrymple said, he had not the opportunity to kill
the Hindu. I happened to be trailing Coningsby
that night, and I can account for all of his movements
from the time he left Mrs. Barker's house in the
Bay Town to go to a cave along the shore where his
Cavalier costume was hidden, and from there ap-
proached Twin Turrets. With my own eyes I can
vouch for the truth of every one of Mrs. Dalrymple's
statements regarding his actions on that night. He
was not in the library long enough to kill Kassim
Bardai.
“I, too, saw the person whom we know now to
have been Chand Talsdad, come out from the shadow
of the house and enter the library. But I took him
to be one of the guests in fancy costume and so I
continued to follow Capt. Coningsby, for I hoped
to discover him in some act which would make it
possible for me to have him arrested as the Cavalier.


368
THE RED CAVALIER
swear to the sex of this person, but I had the im-
pression that it was a man, and a man too power-
fully-built to be Maxwell Egerton.
“Later I tried to identify this person with some
one of the guests from the neighbouring houses,
but I did not succeed. I even asked Burton's aid
but he stamped the whole story as 'bally rot' and
persisted in believing that Coningsby had had suffi-
cient time in which to kill Kassim Bardai in spite of
all I could say. This attitude of Burton's threw me
entirely upon my own resources and for a while I
seemed to be facing a blind wall. Then, unex-
pectedly, Chand Talsdad engaged me to search for
his rubies. The moment I saw him in his Hindu
garb, I thought of the mysterious person I had seen
enter the library. I questioned him as narrowly as
I could without arousing his suspicions. When I
discovered that he not only cared nothing about
apprehending Prince Kassim's murderer, but was
even unwilling to discuss the matter, I became mor-
tally convinced of his guilt. Finally, by continued
questioning, I led him on to betray some bitterness
against Kassim Bardai. That was what I wanted.
He had then incentive. I could learn nothing of
his movements on the night of the ball from his
servants, but I found out a good deal by putting
Ahmed through a sort of 'third degree.' He knew
more than he should about the murder and he re-
garded Chand Talsdad with a superstitious fear that
made him clay in the old priest's hands. I saw that


AFTER THE STORM
369
no ordinary measures would make him betray Chand,
and so, as a last resort, I tried to terrorize him into
speaking. I was more successful than I had dared
to hope. As far as I am concerned, the case is
closed. It is for the government to decide what
shall finally become of the rubies. I wonder if I
have made every point clear to you both?”.
Borrowdean swung reflectively the black ribbon
of his monocle. “I suppose it was Chand Talsdad,
eh, who put those bullets of salt on the little girl's
plate and also on Max's?”
The detective shook her head. "No; it was Ah-
med. Chand Talsdad by threats based on the super-
stitious fear in which he, as a priest of Brahma, held
Ahmed, forced him to do this. He suspected, as he
told me, that Mr. Egerton had stolen the Azra El
Kab and that Lona knew it and was shielding him.
He hoped to terrorize Lona into betraying Mr.
Egerton."
“That point is clear,” said Borrowdean slowly.
“The old chap, of course, knew that Ahmed would
never say a word about his being around the house
the night of the murder, and he wasn't mistaken in
his man. But I don't exactly understand why
Ahmed should report the murder—that is, why he
should tell Miss Egerton that the library door was
locked and so call attention to the room. He must
have known there had been some sort of a scene
between Prince Kassim and Chand.”
“It was Mrs. Dalrymple who ordered him to do


370
THE RED CAVALIER
this," answered the detective. “Lady Berenice had
told her that Capt. Coningsby had killed Kassim
Bardai. Mrs. Dalrymple knew that this was im-
possible as Coningsby had not had the time, but
the poor woman was so upset that she could wait
no longer for the murder to be discovered and some
solution attempted. For the first time she had diffi-
culty in persuading Ahmed to obey her-he always
had obeyed her with a doglike devotion. This devo-
tion explains the hatred which he always felt toward
Coningsby-he must have known that this man was
using her love for his own purposes. As I was saying,
Mrs. Dalrymple finally persuaded Ahmed to in-
form Miss Egerton of the locked door, but when she
saw that he was actually going she became desper-
ately afraid that Coningsby would somehow be
accused of the murder, so she unlocked the library
door with the intention of satisfying herself that he
had left no traces of his having been in that room.
The sound of your footsteps, Miss Egerton, drove
her in terror to the servants' hall. That explains, I
think, the mystery of the locked and suddenly un-
locked door.
“And now"-with a hurried glance at a tiny gold
watch—"it is time for me to be driving to the sta-
tion if I am to catch the next train to London. If
you think, Miss Egerton, that I have left any point
unexplained, please remember that my head now is
full of the murder at Treverton House. I have


AFTER THE STORM
371
scarcely thought of anything else since I received
the telegram asking me to take the case.”
Borrowdean assisted the detective into the wait-
ing wagonette and then joined Berenice on the ter-
race. She was watching the setting sun gild the
waves of the North Sea with ruddy gold.
At Borrowdean's step, she turned with a wel-
coming, but half sad smile.
“Our last chance, Reggie, to watch the sun set
over the North Sea. In spite of everything that has
happened here, I believe I have grown fond of this
wild spot. I shall be almost sorry to leave for
London in the morning.”
“I shall not,” Borrowdean spoke with decision.
“This has been a bally unpleasant house party for
the hostess and every one concerned. Miss Egerton
is no end sensible to plan a trip on the Continent and
try to forget it all.”
“I am glad she is going to take Lona with her,"
said Berenice. “Travelling will make the poor child
think of something besides Max. Oh, by the way,
Reggie, have you heard how kind Miss Egerton has
been to Mrs. Dalrymple? She has engaged Malcolm
French of Lincoln's Inn Fields to put forward Mrs.
Dalrymple's claim to Sir Robert Grainger's estate.”
Borrowdean gloomily dangled his monocle.
“ 'Pon my word, Berenice, everybody but me seems
to have people to look after them. I hear that some
old maid cousin of yours has asked you to finish out
the summer at her place in Kent.”


372
THE RED CAVALIER
Berenice made a little moue. “Yes; but I had
rather stifle in London, than listen to Cousin Serena's
dissertations on the wickedness of my ways. I'm
not going to Kent, Reggie. Perhaps you will look in
on me once in a while. It will be dull in London."
The sun brought out the auburn glints in Bere-
nice's hair; the dusky violet hue of her eyes seemed
more pronounced; her lips more red.
Borrowdean caught both her hands in his. “Bere-
nice! you don't need to stifle and be dull in London.
Don't you think we could 'hit it off,' eh? That is, I
mean, couldn't you-couldn't you-ah-contrive to
marry me?”
A wonderfully tender expression came into Bere-
nice's face. “Dear old boy, I'm awfully fond of you.
I think we might try to 'hit it off.””
THE END


THE PRINCESS NAIDA
pode
By Brewer Corcoran
Author of “The Road to Le Rêve," etc.
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00:00 Bolet
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1.)