CHAPTER XVI
THE YELLOW HAND
It was not difficult to watch the slender figure of the stranger as he made his way leisurely up the staircase. In the ordinary course Mercer would have hardly recognized him at all. There were hundreds of people there in all kinds of the extravagant fancy dress which one usually associates with theatrical enterprise. But the more Mercer looked at the little man the more convinced was he that the stranger was not disguised at all. He was slight and slender, his dress-clothes fitted him to perfection, and he wore the air of a man who was accustomed to that kind of thing. As to his head it was small and lean, his skin glistened like polished parchment, his dark, restless eyes were turned from side to side, though he did not appear in the least degree excited.
"He interests you?" Wilfrid asked.
"Why, certainly," Russell replied. "I should have thought that he would interest you, too, knowing all you do know. Now who should you say that fellow is, and where do you suppose he comes from? Take your time."
"Well, I should say that he is an Asiatic of some kind," Wilfrid replied. "And a full-blooded one at that. If he did not look so much at home in his dress-clothes and on such easy terms with his surroundings I could imagine him to be the head of some savage tribe or another. I can see him in his warpaint with his braves around him. But, of course, that is all nonsense, Russell. Whatever nationality the fellow belongs to, he is an educated man, and they don't breed that kind in the Malay Archipelago."
"Now that is just where you make the mistake," Russell answered. "There are certain islands in the Malay Archipelago which have never been explored by white men yet. Of course, I am not speaking of orchid-hunters and that kind of people, but I know for a fact that in North-eastern Borneo there are one or two tribes who come very near the level of our modern civilization. But we don't want to discuss that at present. Still, I was personally acquainted with one chief whose two sons were being educated at English public schools. Perhaps I will tell you his history later. Meanwhile, I don't mean to lose sight of our friend. Let's push boldly inside and chance it. I know two or three officials connected with the theatre, and they will help me if they can. Ah, there is Franklin, the very man I want to see. Come along."
Swan dragged his companion eagerly up the stairs and laid his hand on the shoulder of a florid man in front of him. As the other man turned his face, there was no occasion to ask his profession. He had stage manager written all over him.
"Don't stop to ask questions," Russell said. "This is my friend, Wilfrid Mercer. We had invitations for the front of the house to-night; in fact, you were good enough to get them for us. As things have turned out, it is more or less essential that we should become your guests for the time being. Can't you rig us up in something in your property-room?"
"You were always a queer sort," the stage manager said with a smile. "I suppose it is no use asking you what mischief you are up to now? Oh, I can smuggle you in right enough, especially as certain guests have failed us at the last moment. If you will come with me I will rig you both up in some sort of fancy dress. Only it seems hard that I should be kept out of the joke. Come this way."
"You shall know all about the joke in good time," Russell said grimly. "For the present, all I want you to do is to leave us severely alone. I suppose we could mention your name if any awkward questions were asked."
The stage manager replied good-naturedly enough, and some half an hour later Russell and his companion were roaming about the flies, mixing unconcernedly with hundreds of well-known people who appeared to be bent upon enjoyment. Meanwhile, the little yellow man had vanished.
"Oh, we shall see him sooner or later," Russell said cheerfully. "Did I tell you what the programme is? There is to be a kind of variety entertainment on the stage and then the theatre will be closed and supper partaken of at separate tables on the stage. After that the floor will be cleared for dancing and those who don't care for the 'light fantastic' will amuse themselves in the body of the theatre. I think we had better separate and I will meet you here when the signal for supper is given."
Mercer glanced at the clock and saw that the hour was close upon twelve. The time had gone more quickly than he had expected, and if he were to catch Beatrice Galloway he would have to go at once. A well-known opera quartette was occupying the stage to the exclusion of everything else, so that it was easy to steal down the stairs to the vestibule. A few young couples had secreted themselves behind the palms and flowers. It was some time before Mercer could make out the form of Beatrice seated alone. She looked up as he accosted her and he was not sorry to see that she failed to recognize him. He was got up like one of the Three Musketeers and the upper part of his face was masked.
"I'm afraid you have made a mistake," the girl murmured.
"Indeed, I have not," Wilfrid said. "You did not expect to see me like this, but my friend, Swan Russell, has managed this quick change. On the whole, I am glad not to be recognized, because I can speak the more freely to you without arousing the suspicions of Mr. Flower."
Beatrice glanced uneasily at her companion.
"But why should you be afraid of him?" she asked. "Surely you have done no wrong to him. On the contrary, he has every reason to regard you as one of his best friends."
"It should appear so," Wilfrid said thoughtfully, "but, candidly, do you think your uncle is friendly towards me?"
It was some time before Beatrice replied. She glanced down with a troubled expression on her face.
"Really, I don't know," she confessed. "I don't feel sure of anything lately. And my uncle is so changed. He is so different to everybody, even to me. He is afraid of something. I am certain some great disaster hangs over us. It is all the more trying and nerve-destroying that I have not the remotest notion what it is. I don't know why I am here to-night, for instance. I don't know why I have been dragged away from Maldon Grange. We have always been very good friends, or I should hesitate before I spoke as freely as this to you. And now I am going to ask you a question which I hope you will answer candidly. Do you think this mystery has anything to do with the attempt to rob Maldon Grange the other night?"
Wilfrid endeavoured to devise some plausible reply. Nothing could be gained by telling the girl the truth. On the other hand, she might be still more disturbed.
"I am afraid I cannot tell you," he said.
"Do you mean that you won't tell me?" Beatrice asked.
"I think you can trust me," Wilfrid went on. "I think you can allow me to know what is for the best. I must ask you to have patience for the present, to rest secure in the knowledge that whatever happens no harm will come to you. And why worry yourself with these things at such a time as this? You ought to be enjoying yourself like the other guests. There is no suggestion of tragedy in this brilliant scene?"
Beatrice leaned towards her companion.
"I am not so sure of it," she whispered. "At first I enjoyed it immensely. I had never seen anything like it before, and the brilliancy of the scene carried me quite out of myself. And yet I cannot help feeling that the trouble is here; in fact I have seen it for myself. Do you remember the night I sent for you when my uncle was hurt? I told you all about that skinny hand pushed through the broken piece of glass and how the hand was fishing for the latch with a piece of string. You haven't forgotten that?"
Wilfrid shook his head. He was not likely to forget Beatrice's story.
"But what connexion is there between that hand and such an assembly as this?" he asked.
"Because I have seen the hand here," Beatrice went on in the same intense whisper. "Half an hour ago one of my friends came up to me with the offer of an ice, and we went into one of the refreshment rooms. There were a lot of men crushing round the bar, most of them drinking champagne and laughing and chattering. I was gazing about in a thoughtless kind of way when three men came in together and asked for champagne. One was a little man with his back turned towards me, and I could not see his face. One of his companions with a chaffing remark leaned over the counter and took a glass of champagne, at the same time telling his diminutive companion that he had been saved the humiliation of standing on a chair to get it. And then as the little man's hand was stretched forward I recognized the yellow claw that I had seen groping for the latch in the conservatory."
CHAPTER XVII
THE DIAMOND MOTH
"But you couldn't identify it," Wilfrid said, speaking as coolly as he could. "You don't mean to tell me that it was the same hand? You couldn't swear to it?"
"Perhaps not," Beatrice admitted. "But to all practical purposes it was the same hand, though the arm was hidden in a black sleeve and the whitest of cuffs. But you can imagine how the incident disturbed me. I pressed forward as eagerly as I could, but at that moment somebody had finished singing on the stage and there was a rush of men into the refreshment-room, so that I was prevented from pursuing my investigations. But I am frightened, Wilfrid. The thing seems to have taken my courage out of me. I wish you would try to find out if there is a man here like the one I have described."
Wilfrid muttered something in the way of a promise, though he knew that he had not very far to go to find the man that Beatrice spoke of. Then there was a tramping of feet overhead, the orchestra was playing the audience out of the theatre, and already an army of sweepers and cleaners had taken possession of it. There was a swift scattering of guests, and then, as if by magic, the stage was transformed into a huge supper-room and the guests were being ushered in by the stewards.
"Let me take you in," Wilfrid pleaded. "That is, of course, if you have no other partner."
Beatrice made no demur; indeed, she was thankful to have Wilfrid by her side. Already most of the guests had assembled on the stage. There were scores of little tables, flower-decked and shaded with pink lamps, which formed an exceedingly pretty picture. Towards one side, under a box, Wilfrid could see a table still unoccupied, and to this he piloted his companion.
"This is a slice of luck," he said. "Let us hope we can have this to ourselves so that we may have a long, cosy chat that will disperse all your fears. A glass of champagne will make a different girl of you."
A waiter bustled up to the table and Wilfrid gave his orders. A moment later and two guests came across the stage towards the table. One was a tall woman whom Wilfrid recognized at a glance as a well-known actress, the other was no less a person than the little yellow man in evening dress who had so startled Russell earlier in the evening. All the colour left Beatrice's face. She grasped her companion's arm helplessly.
"They are coming here," she whispered. "Oh, I am sure they are coming here. What shall we do?"
"Courage," Wilfrid said coolly. "We can't prevent them from sitting at the same table, seeing that they are the guests of the management as well as ourselves. So that is the man you were speaking about? He looks harmless enough. Don't be silly, Beatrice. Try to behave as if nothing had happened."
The girl recovered herself with a powerful effort. She even smiled as the handsome actress made a half-apology for intruding at the table.
"I think we know one another," she said. "Of course we do. I recollect some friends bringing me to your delightful place, Maldon Grange. You are Miss Galloway?"
"You are Miss Marcombe," Beatrice said a little coldly. "I recollect you now."
"That's all right," the actress laughed. "Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Uzali. Mr. Uzali calls himself a Borneo chief or something of that kind, though how he manages to look after his duties there and spend six months of the year in England is beyond my comprehension. I daresay you will tell me it is no business of mine."
Uzali bowed with the utmost self-possession. Disturbed as she was Beatrice did not fail to notice this. She was struck with the charm and grace of the Malay's manner.
"You see, I was brought up in this country," he said, speaking perfect English. "My country is more or less of an unfortunate one, and my father was an enlightened man. That is why he sent me to school and college in England. No doubt he had dreams, poor man, that some day or other I should come into my own again. But that time has passed for ever."
To Beatrice's surprise she found herself at the end of ten minutes chatting gaily and freely with the stranger. She noticed from time to time how his dark eyes were turned upon an ornament which she wore about her neck. It was a diamond pendant, consisting of a moth, in dark enamel, the wing set in diamonds. The other wing was gone, as indeed was part of the body. Beatrice was bound to notice Uzali's curiosity.
"Do you admire my moth?" she asked.
"It would be impossible to do anything else," Uzali said gravely. "The workmanship is unique. You see, I am interested in that kind of thing; indeed, I have made a study of them all my lifetime. Perhaps you are acquainted with the history of that moth? Do you know where it came from?"
"Indeed, no," Beatrice confessed. "It conveys nothing to me, but it has a fascination for me and I wear it frequently."
"And you don't know where it came from?"
"No, except that my uncle gave it to me."
Uzali's eyes flashed and he looked down at his plate which he appeared to be studying gravely.
"You are fortunate in the possession of such an uncle," he said. "I wonder if I have the honour of his acquaintance."
"That is probable," Beatrice said frankly. She had lost all her fears. "So many people know my uncle. He is Mr. Samuel Flower, the shipper."
Uzali said nothing. Sitting close by him, watching him carefully, Wilfrid noticed a sudden flush across the Malay's cheek and how the dark eyes turned to purple.
"The name is familiar to me," Uzali said, "but then there are so many people whom I know. So it never struck you to ask your uncle the history of that pendant? Now what should you say if I could produce the missing half?"
Beatrice looked up eagerly, her lips parted.
"How very curious!" she said. "But you are joking."
Uzali bowed gravely, then produced a small green packet from an inside pocket, from which he drew a small folded piece of wash-leather; and this being undone disclosed what appeared to be an engraved diamond in the shape of an insect's wing.
"We do strange things in my country," he said with a queer smile. "We have priests and learned men whose philosophy is far beyond anything that one knows of in the West. Not that I claim these powers myself, oh, no. That is quite another matter. But I think you will be satisfied if I prove to you that this is the missing portion of your pendant. Mr. Mercer shall be umpire if you like, and we will leave him to judge. Perhaps you would not mind removing your pendant for a moment."
Beatrice complied. She was quite excited now. All her strange fears had fallen from her. With trembling fingers she removed the pendant from its slender gold chain and laid it on the tablecloth. Wilfrid reached over and fitted the broken pieces together. He could see that they matched to a nicety.
"Not the slightest doubt about it," he exclaimed. "These two pieces once formed one jewel. Now whom does it belong to? Mr. Uzali, do you claim the whole thing? Are you going to hand over your half to Miss Galloway?"
"I wasn't thinking of doing either for the moment," Uzali said coolly. "But I am going to ask Miss Galloway to trust her portion into my hands so that I can get the ornament mended, when I hope she will allow me to send her the jewel intact. All I ask in return is that Miss Galloway will inquire of her uncle how the moth found its way into his hands."
"Perhaps you know already," Beatrice smiled. But Uzali was not to be drawn. He shook his head.
"I do not claim any occult powers," he said. "I merely said that there are wise men in my country who possess them. And now, if you will be good enough to give your portion of the moth to me I will let you have it in a few days restored to its original beauty."
Beatrice hesitated. Yet, why not comply? The request had been made tastefully and in good faith. It was a graceful thing to do and her moth had always fascinated her. She handed her portion to Uzali with a smile.
"It is exceedingly good of you," she said, "and I am obliged by your kindness. I am equally justified in handing my half of the treasure over to you – "
"But I don't wear that kind of thing," Uzali protested. "Now give me your address so that I may carry out my promise. Miss Marcombe, are you ready? I think the next dance is ours."
The Malay had vanished before Beatrice could say more. Her excitement had passed away. She looked at Wilfrid with troubled eyes. Had she done wrong?
"Leave it to Providence," Wilfrid said answering her unspoken thoughts. "The Malay, at least, meant well."
CHAPTER XVIII
A TANGLED CLUE
Beatrice turned once more to her companion. The look of fear was in her eyes again. No sooner had the charm of Uzali's appearance been removed than it seemed that she had done wrong. Perhaps Wilfrid guessed her thoughts.
"I don't think so," he said. "It certainly was a most surprising thing to happen. But I have come across more extraordinary coincidences in my life, and, do you know, I rather like our friend. He seems to be a gentleman."
"I think so," Beatrice said doubtfully, "but I am frightened all the same. He was so like the man – "
"Who tried to get into Maldon Grange the other night. But you surely do not believe that a man like Mr. Uzali could be guilty of burglary. I am disposed to believe what he said. If I were you I should think no more of the matter."
"That is all very well," Beatrice protested, "but I am bound to tell my uncle."
"Then tell him," Wilfrid said, growing rather impatient. "It is clear that you have nothing to fear. When you mentioned your uncle's name, Mr. Uzali gave no sign that he had ever heard it before. Don't you think we are in the way of these people here?"
Beatrice glanced round her to see that most of the tables and chairs had disappeared and that the stage was nearly ready for dancing. The guests had increased considerably and the theatre appeared to be filled with visitors. They had overflowed into the auditorium and already many had gathered in stalls and boxes to watch the entertainment. As Beatrice moved away with her companion a man came up and accosted her.
"I think you are Miss Galloway," he said politely. "I don't suppose you remember me, though I have dined more than once at your house in town. Your uncle sent me to look for you. He is in one of the boxes. If you will allow me to show you the way. From what I understand he has not been very well. I don't think there is anything to be alarmed about; only he wanted you."
Beatrice waited for no more. She hurried off with her new companion until they came to a box at the back of the dress circle. Here one or two men were talking somewhat earnestly to Flower, but he dismissed them with a gesture as Beatrice came in. There were one or two shaded electric lights behind Flower's head, but subdued as they were Beatrice did not fail to notice the pallor of her uncle's face. There was a quick irritation in his manner which she had never noticed before.
"I have sent for you everywhere," he said. "Where have you been? And tell me, who was the man you were supping with? Now don't prevaricate. Tell me at once."
Beatrice's face flushed with indignation.
"There is no reason why I should not tell you," she said. "I went into supper with Mr. Mercer. He is a guest here as well as ourselves. Perhaps we stayed too long – "
Flower waived the suggestion aside impatiently.
"Oh, why do you waste my time like this?" he asked. "I don't mean Mercer at all. I want to know who was the other man who sat at the same table with you?"
Once again the old dread was closing in upon Beatrice. She glanced at her guardian with troubled eyes.
"I have never seen him before," she said. "It was no fault of mine that he sat at the same table. He came in with Miss Marcombe, the actress, who, as you know, has been a guest of ours at Maldon Grange. She introduced him as Mr. Uzali. He is not an Englishman, but I found him very entertaining, and a gentleman. Moreover, he surprised me by saying he had seen my moth brooch before. He declared he had a piece which would match the broken part and took it from his pocket. It seems almost incredible, but the match was perfect."
"You let him have it?" Flower asked hoarsely.
"What else could I do? He promised that he would return it in a day or two completely restored."
Flower said nothing for a moment or two. He sat looking gloomily at the glittering stage below. Beatrice could see that his hands were clenched so that the muscles stood out strong and blue. It was not for her to deduce anything from these signs, but she knew that Flower was moved to the very core of his being. He turned to the girl with an effort.
"Was my name mentioned between you?" he asked.
"Certainly, I told him who you were," Beatrice said, "but it did not strike him as familiar. You might have been perfect strangers from the way in which he spoke of you. But why all this mystery, uncle? What have I done that is wrong?"
Flower pulled himself together with an effort, but there was an unsteady smile on his thick lips. He tried to speak gaily, but Beatrice noted how forced his words were.
"Another romance!" he said. "I must make the acquaintance of your friend. No, I am not in the least angry; only one comes in contact with such strange people at this sort of an affair that you cannot be too careful. And now if you are ready I should like to go home. Somebody will call a carriage for us. I'll stay here till you come back."
For some reason the man was afraid to move as Beatrice could plainly see. She wondered at his want of strength, at his sudden display of cowardice. She had never seen him in this mood before. She had never known him to display anything that savoured of terror.
"Just as you like," she said coldly. "I daresay I can manage."
The carriage came at length and Flower moved reluctantly from the shadow of the box. The night was not cold, but he huddled himself in a big coat so that he might not be recognized. But as they walked through the hall to the portico Beatrice saw that Mercer was not far away. The latter waited until they had vanished, then he made his way back to the stage again. The first person he encountered in the wings was Russell.
"I have been looking for you everywhere," the latter said. "I saw you on the stage just now when you were having supper, but it was not policy to come near you. What has become of Flower and his niece? Have they left?"
"Some few moments ago," Mercer explained. "I think I shall have enough information even to satisfy you. If you were watching us at supper I suppose you saw whom we sat down with?"
"That was why I was looking for you," Russell said eagerly. "What a stroke of luck that our friend the Malay should take a seat at the same table. What was he doing with that ornament which Miss Galloway was wearing?"
By way of reply Mercer led the way to one of the refreshment-rooms. It would be much easier to talk the matter over a cigarette than stand chattering where they were in everybody's way. Russell was an attentive listener. He said nothing whilst Wilfrid poured out his story.
"Splendid!" he muttered under his breath. "Nothing could have happened better. I came here on the off-chance of picking up some information, but I never expected to gather as much as this. But I will explain all in good time. Now let us get as near that party by the alcove as we can. Unless I am mistaken Uzali is in the midst of them. We don't want to arouse his suspicions, but I am going to let him know that he has friends here. We can hear what is going on without appearing to listen."
There were four or five men in the alcove and room for as many more. Russell and his companion pushed their way in casually and lighted their cigarettes. Uzali appeared to be finishing some anecdote, for he stopped presently and smote emphatically with his fist on the table before him.
"Not a sign, gentlemen, I assure you," he said, "not so much as a single clue. But I am not the man to be rebuffed at the first disappointment. No, I would rather not go back to the stage if you don't mind. I will stay here till you are ready to go. I am not a dancing man."
The alcove speedily cleared, leaving Wilfrid and Russell opposite Uzali, who smoked his cigarette as placidly as if nothing had happened to upset the even tenor of his way. Russell reached out his hand to an empty chocolate box around which a silk string was still attached. He took the string in his hand and tied it into a variety of knots.
"That was a strange story you told just now, sir," he said coolly. "You will pardon my friend and myself if we listened."
Uzali looked up sharply with a challenge in his eyes.
"I was wondering," Russell went on, "if the clue was anything like this which I hold in my hand." With apparent carelessness he tossed the string across the table and waited for the Malay to speak.
"You have said too much," Uzali murmured, "or too little."