Geoffrey had no reason to fear anything from his adventure in the way of catching cold, seeing that beyond his feet he was not in the least wet. But the exertion had brought the great beads to his forehead, and he lay at the entrance to the cave exhausted.

Meanwhile Tchigorsky had appeared again clad in the long Oriental robes that suited him so well. Even in the strong light that filtered through a crack on to his face Geoffrey found it impossible to recognize him.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"All right," Geoffrey gasped. "I'm a little bit pumped, of course." Tchigorsky pointed to the boat pulled over the ledge of rock.

"Then oblige me by shoving her off and letting her sink in shallow water," he said. "It is not pleasant and may cause your friends a great deal of anxiety, but for a little while it will be necessary for the world to regard you as one who has met with a watery grave."

"But surely this does not apply to my family?" Geoffrey asked anxiously.

"To your family most of all," said Tchigorsky coolly. "It is all part of the scheme.

"My dear boy, I am the last man in the world to cause unnecessary suffering – goodness knows I have had enough of my own – but one must be cruel to be kind sometimes. I have worked out the scheme; I have seen the enemy's cards, and I am playing mine accordingly. I tell you the step is imperative."

"But Vera," Geoffrey groaned. "It will kill Vera. In normal circumstances the shock would be great; with a girl who has been so awfully tried the news may mean loss of reason."

"I have thought of that," Tchigorsky said. "At least your uncle Ralph and I have worked it out between us. Miss Vera is not to know anything of our scheme, but she is to know that you are safe and well. Come, I fancy you can trust Ralph Ravenspur."

Geoffrey nodded. He felt easier in his mind. Not that he was satisfied, but it would be flying in the face of Providence to interfere with the delicate and deeply laid scheme of a man like Tchigorsky.

"All right," he said. "I'll do as you desire."

"Then push the boat off without further delay. You will understand why I don't want to be seen in the matter. Go, before any one comes along."

Geoffrey went obediently. He had not much fear of anybody passing. Nevertheless he did not neglect proper precautions. As he reached the cave again he found Tchigorsky lying on a heap of dry seaweed smoking a cigarette.

"I suppose I have to thank Mrs. May for this?" Geoffrey asked.

"For this and other things," Tchigorsky nodded. "I knew it was coming; in fact, very little can happen now that I am not in a position to discount. My ruse succeeded capitally. Behold in me Ben Heer, one of the two miscreants who succeeded in destroying Voski. My colleague perished in the attempt."

"The princess is convinced of that?"

"Absolutely. She is certain that I, Sergius Tchigorsky, have gone over to the great majority. Besides, I have placed proofs of my alleged crime in her hand – the Garuda stone all the fuss was about. It is a clever imitation, but that is beside the question."

"So you have been taken into her confidence?"

"Well, not exactly that. But every new scheme is relegated so far as details are concerned to some of us, and therefore I am in a position to discount the future. In ordinary circumstances I should simply have warned you against going fishing to-day, and thus checkmated the foe again; but that would have been inartistic.

"Besides, I wanted the princess to regard you as another victim, hence the whole of this rather cheap dramatic business. You will come to life again in a few hours – when we shall have to be guided by events."

"Who was it who tampered with the boat?"

"You will learn in good time. Let us meanwhile assume that it was the work of one of my dusky companions. For the present you and I remain where we are – till dark probably – when it will be possible to smuggle you up to your uncle's room. I have not been regardless of your creature comforts. Here are cold meat and a bottle of champagne. We dine together."

Geoffrey accepted his portion with resignation. And Tchigorsky was an entertaining companion. There was no dullness in his presence.

"Very well," Geoffrey said as he lighted a cigarette. "We are safe here. Now's the time for a further recital of your thrilling adventures in Lassa."

"Agreed," Tchigorsky cried. "Where did I leave off?"

"You had been gagged and bound at the instigation of the princess."

"True. It is also true that but for the intervention of the same princess we should have been torn to pieces on the spot; and, incidentally, I may mention that that would have resulted in the absolute extinction of the house of Ravenspur. The men who a moment before had been grave, reserved priests were transformed instantly into raging fiends.

"Had they been possessed by devils they could not have flamed out more suddenly. They were mad to know that the secrets of all ages had passed into the hands of Christian dogs – dogs who had defiled their altars. And yet much the same kind of barbarous fanaticism has been displayed in civilized dominions. They were not any worse than the bigots who burned your English martyrs.

"We should have been torn to pieces on the spot, as I told you, but for the authority of the princess. So commonplace a death did not suit her ideas of the eternal fitness of things. Many and many a time afterwards, when racked by agony, I deeply deplored that supposed act of clemency. It would have been a far more merciful death.

"Well, we were spared for the moment and cast into a loathsome dungeon, where we were overrun with vermin, great rats which we had constantly to drive off, and spiders whose bite was very painful.

"How long we lay without food I don't know; anyway, it seemed days. Perhaps it was only so many hours. Try lying in the pitch dark fighting with nameless unseen terrors and see how many bitter years can be crammed into a minute. And yet we knew there was far worse to come. But for the fact that we were together and could cheer the black hours with the sound of each other's voices we should have gone mad. One moment we were cast down in the depths of gloom, the next we prayed for death; anon we laughed and sang sketches of gay songs. We were not insane, but were treading perilously near to the borderland.

"Then, after many years – or so it seemed to us – they fetched us again. We were not led into the banqueting hall, but to a long, low vault-like place on the floor of which were two shallow tanks or baths covered over with a frame of iron, and from the frame of iron ran long sliding rods for all the world like a bird cage, only the sliding wires of the cage ran far into the room.

"Around these cages were glowing charcoal fires, the greater part of the sliding bars or wires growing red and crocus blue from the heat. What did it mean?

"I wondered. Ah! I was very soon to know."

Tchigorsky drew a deep breath and a shudder passed over his powerful frame. The moisture on his forehead was not due to the heat alone.

"On a throne of stone the princess was seated. A few of the higher grade priests were grouped around her. Evidently they had been discussing us, and had made up their minds. We were not going to be tried even.

"'Stand there!' the princess commanded! 'Dogs, do you want to live?'

"Ralph Ravenspur said nothing. He was ever a man of few words.

"'We have no desire to die,' I replied. 'Nothing that breathes ever has. Even if I were an old man with one foot in the grave the desire for life would be as strong upon me as it is now!'

"The princess smiled. I will not try to describe that smile. If you had seen it you would have given ten years of your life to forget it again.

"It is in your hands to live,' the woman said; 'it is for you to say whether or not you return to your people. But you shall not carry our cherished secrets to the West. You shall live, you shall go free, but you shall take no memory of the past with you!'

"I guessed at once what she meant. There were attendants upon the priests, poor fools who fetched and carried, who would undertake errands one at a time, but who had no reasoning powers, no wits of their own.

"They were not born idiots; they had been made so. They are put under drugs, a portion of the scalp is removed, and then some small fragment of the brain is destroyed. We could have our liberty if we chose, but at what price! We could go free, but for the rest of our lives we should never know the blessed light of reason again.

"I tell you it came to me like a cold shock and turned me faint and giddy. As I glanced at my companion I saw that he was ghastly as myself. What use was life to us under such conditions! And the fiends were equal to the cruelty of getting us to consent to this operation and then detaining us afterwards. We should be a mockery among them and a warning to others.

"There was no reason to discuss this defined cruelty, this vile offer. We glanced at each other and shook our heads. Far better death than this. We knew how to die; we could have drawn our revolvers and shot each other then and there. But we did not. While there was life there was hope."

CHAPTER XL
THE IRON CAGE

Tchigorsky made a long pause before he resumed his story. His nerves appeared to require composing. It was impossible to shake off the horror of the past. At length he went on again.

"I saw the cruel light flame into the eyes of the princess; I saw that she was pleased and yet sorry to learn our decision. She gave a sign and we were brought nearer to her.

"'You understand what your refusal means!' she said. 'You have been here long enough to know how carefully our secrets are guarded and also how we punish those who try to read them. Where are those scripts?'

"We had no scripts and I said so. As a matter of fact, such formulæ and papers as we had managed to become possessed of had been smuggled beyond Lassa to Ralph Ravenspur's servant, Elphick, who had conveyed them to a place of safety. But my statement was without effect.

"'Strip them,' she said, 'and put them in the baths.'

"We were going to learn then what those cages were for.

"There is no need to remove our clothing,' I cried. 'We will do it ourselves!'

"I was afraid our revolvers should be discovered, or the cartridges be rendered useless by immersion. Ralph seemed to understand, for, like myself, he quickly discarded his robes and slippers and professed himself to be ready.

"Then the grating was raised and we were placed on our back in a shallow bath formed in the shape of a coffin, and not more than ten inches deep. As first the baths were empty, but gradually they were filled with water until we had to raise our faces and press them against the bars to breathe. I thought that we were to be suffocated in this shallow water – a dreadful idea that filled me with stifling anxiety – but there was worse to come."

Again Tchigorsky paused and wiped his brow.

"The suspense was torture; the terrible uncertainty of what was going to happen was agony. Imagine being drowned with a bare half-inch of water over your lips and nostrils. I turned my head a fraction of an inch on one side, and then I saw that the water could not rise quite high enough to drown me without overflowing the edge of the bath. Evidently this was but the first chapter in the book of lessons. We could breathe by placing our faces against the bar. What next?

"There was no occasion to ask the question. Though my heart was drumming like the wings of an imprisoned fly, and though there was the roar of a furnace in my ears, I could make out the crack and rattle of machinery, and the bars over the cage began to move. My face, to escape the water, was so closely pressed to the bars that the friction was painful.

"The bars slid along, and as they did so I remembered the long projecting ends which were glowing yellow and blue in the braziers. My heart ceased drumming and then seemed to stand still for the moment. I had guessed the riddle. A second later and the horizontal bars over my face were white hot.

"Here was the situation, then – I had either to press my face against those cruel bars or drown in a few inches of water. Could the mind of man imagine a more diabolical torture? I cried aloud; I believe my friend did also, but I cannot say. My face flinched involuntarily from the scar of the blistering iron; I held my breath till the green and red stars danced before my eyes.

"Flesh and blood could stand it no longer, and I was literally bound to raise my head. Into the flesh, as you have seen for yourself, those hot barriers pressed, while I filled my lungs with a deep draught of delicious air. But the agony was so great that I had to go down again. The water cooled the burns for the moment. But you can imagine how it intensified the agony afterwards.

"When I raised myself again the bars were cool. But only for an instant, for they came hot once more, this time in a horizontal direction. The same ghastly business was enacted; again there was the sense of semi-suffocation, again the long draught of pure air and the pain from the bars. And then, while wondering, half-delirious, how long it could last, something gave way and I fainted.

"That I deemed to be death; but it was nothing of the kind. When I came to I was lying on the floor writhing in agony from my wounds. Fortunately I had not lost my sight, nor had Ralph at that time. He was to discover later that the injuries received were fatal to his eyes.

"He was lying by my side and groaning with pain like myself. A more hideous and more repulsive sight than my companion's face I never wish to look upon. And doubtless he had the same thoughts of me. But I did not think of that at the moment.

"We were alone. I staggered to my feet and across to the door. It was fastened, of course. For a time we were too maddened by pain to take heed of anything, but gradually reason came back to us. My first idea was of revenge. Ralph had grasped for his robes and his revolver was in his hand.

"'Heaven help the first man who comes in!' he yelled.

"Like a drunken lunatic, I applauded the sentiment. For a minute we were both mad as the drugged Malay who runs amuck. Fortunately nobody did come in for some time, and gradually wiser counsels prevailed. We slipped into our garments and hid our revolvers. Then from raging madmen we passed to tears. We were so spent and exhausted that we cried like little children.

"But men like ourselves are not easily daunted. The pain was still great, but this only stimulated our desire to live and gain the better of those who had so cruelly used us. Later a priest conducted us into another room, where the princess awaited us.

"She smiled as she looked at our faces. That smile was nearly the end of her. Many a time since have I regretted that I didn't finish her career then and there. Had she betrayed the least sign of fear I should have done so. And by so doing your people would have been saved many a bitter sorrow."

"At the expense of your life," Geoffrey said.

Tchigorsky shrugged his shoulders.

"What matter?" he said. "The few suffer for the many. Well, as I was saying – "

The speaker paused suddenly as his eye caught something moving along the beach. It was the figure of a woman creeping along as if in search of some missing object. She proceeded very slowly until she approached the spot where the boat lay filled and sunk, and then she paused abruptly.

For a minute she stood fascinated by the sight, then she flung her hands high in the air, and a bitter wailing cry escaped her. If she had been a fisherman's wife suddenly brought face to face with the dead body of her husband or lover, her wail of anguish had not been more poignant.

"Who can she be?" Geoffrey asked.

Tchigorsky said nothing. The woman stood with her hands raised. As she turned and ran towards the cliffs, moaning as she went, Geoffrey started.

"Marion," he said. "Marion."

He would have dashed forward, but Tchigorsky restrained him.

"That is not your Marion," he said. "Your Marion does not dress like that."

Geoffrey looked again. It was Marion and yet not Marion. It was the girl in the blue serge dress and red tam-o'-shanter who resembled her so strikingly. What did this girl know about him, and why did she stand wailing over his boat? He felt he must solve this mystery.

"Sit down," Tchigorsky said slowly. "Sit down."

"But," Geoffrey cried, "I insist upon knowing – "

"And spoiling everything. Sit down, I say, or I shall have to detain you. I don't fancy you would care to measure your strength with mine."

Geoffrey dropped into his seat.

"Perhaps not," he said. "I don't believe you want me to know who that girl is."

"I have heard worse guesses," Tchigorsky said dryly.

CHAPTER XLI
WAITING

They were growing uneasy at the castle. There was a forced cheerfulness about the small party that testified to the nervous tension that held them. For some years now there had been a tacit understanding on the subject of punctuality. Such a thing was necessary when any moment might precipitate the next catastrophe. The mere fact of anybody being late for five minutes sufficed to put the rest in a fever. And Geoffrey had not come in to tea at all.

The thing was almost in itself a tragedy. Geoffrey was always so considerate of others. Nothing in the world would have induced him to stay away without first saying he was going to do so or sending a message. And tea had been a thing of the past for a good hour. What could have become of him?

Nobody asked the question, but it was uppermost in the minds of all. Vera was chattering with feverish gayety, but there was a blazing red spot on her ghastly white face, and her eyes were wild and restless.

Marion had slipped away. The only one who betrayed no anxiety was Ralph. He sat sipping his chilled tea as if he had the world to himself and there was nobody else in it.

Presently, with one excuse or another, all slipped away until Vera was alone with Ralph. He was so quiet that she had almost forgotten his presence. When she thought herself alone she rose to her feet and paced the room rapidly.

She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples.

"God spare him," she whispered, "spare him to me! Oh, it is wicked to feel like this and so utterly selfish. But if Geoffrey dies I have nothing to live for."

The tears rose to her eyes, tears of agony and reproach and self-pity. Ralph crossed the room silently. He was upon the girl ere she had heard the soft fall of his footsteps. He laid a hand on Vera's arm.

"Geoffrey is not going to die," he said.

Vera suppressed a scream. She might have cried out, but something in the expression of Ralph's face restrained her.

"Are you sure of that?" she asked.

"As sure as one can be certain of anything, child. We are alone?"

"There is nobody else here, uncle."

"One cannot be too careful," Ralph muttered. "Then Geoffrey is safe."

"Thank Heaven. You have sent him somewhere, uncle?"

"No, I have not sent him anywhere. And you are not to ask any questions. I have told you so much to spare you the agony and suspense that will overtake the others. I tell you because had you not known, the mental strain might have broken you down," continued Ralph.

"Before long it will be proved almost beyond a demonstration that Geoffrey has become a victim to the family foe. There will be evidence to convince a jury, but all the time Geoffrey will be safe."

Vera said nothing. She could only gasp. Ralph's hand lay on her shoulder with a grip that was not devoid of pain.

"You are not to show your feelings to any one," he croaked. "You are not to betray your knowledge by a single sign. Ah, if I could tell you how much depends upon your courage, reticence, and your silence!"

"I think you can trust me, Uncle Ralph."

"I think I can, dear. I like the ring of your voice. You are to be quiet and subdued as if you were unable to comprehend the full force of the disaster. Much, if not everything, depends upon the next few hours. Now go, please."

Ralph slipped away into the grounds. A little later he was making his way along the cliffs toward the village. For a brief time Vera stood still. She was trying to realize what Ralph had said.

"What did it mean?" she asked herself again and again. But she could find no answer to the puzzle. Still Geoffrey was safe. Whatever sensation the next few hours might produce Geoffrey had come to no harm. It would be hard to see the others suffer, hard to witness their grief and not lighten it by so much as a sign.

But Ralph had been emphatic on this point. Had he not said that everything hinged upon her reticence and silence? Vera went slowly to her room, her feet making no sound on the thick pile carpet. A flood of light streamed through the stained glass windows into the corridor. In the big recess at the end a white figure lay face downward on the cushions.

Vera approached softly. She saw the shoulders rise and fall as if the girl lying there were sobbing in bitter agony. It was Marion. Marion the ever cheerful! Surely her grief must be beyond the common?

"Marion," Vera whispered. "Dear Marion."

She bent over the prostrate figure with heartfelt tenderness.

Marion raised her face at length. It was wet with tears and her eyes were swollen. At first she seemed not to recognize Vera.

"Go away," she said hoarsely. "Why do you intrude upon me like this? Am I never to have a minute to myself? Am I always to carry the family troubles on my shoulders?"

She spoke fiercely, with a gleam in her eyes that Vera had never seen before. She drew back, frightened and alarmed. It seemed incredible that gentle Marion could repulse her like this. But she did not go.

Marion was beside herself with grief; she did not know what she was saying. It was impossible to leave her in this condition.

"You are grieving for Geoffrey," she said. "He will come back to us."

"Geoffrey is dead," Marion wailed. "He will never come back. And I – "

She paused; she had not lost control of herself entirely. But the look in her eyes, the expression of her face, the significant pause told Vera a story. It burst upon her with the full force of a sudden illumination.

"Marion," she whispered, "you love him as well as I do – "

So her secret was known at last! And Marion was only a woman, after all. The selfishness of her grief drove away all other emotions.

"As you do?" she cried. "What do you with your gentle nature know of love? You want the wild hot blood in your veins to feel the real fire of a lasting, devouring affection.

"I tell you I love him ten thousand times more than you do. Look at me, I am utterly lost and abased with my grief and humiliation. Am I not an object of pity? Geoffrey is dead, I tell you; I know it, I feel it. Love him as you do! And you stand there without so much as a single tear for his dear memory."

Vera flushed. The words stung her keenly. How cold and callous Marion must think her! And yet Marion would have been equally cold and self-contained had she known. And it was impossible to give her a single hint.

"My heart and soul are wrapped up in Geoffrey," she said. "If anything happens to him I shall have nothing to live for. But I am not going to give way yet. There is still hope. And I shall hope to the end."

Marion sat up suddenly and dried her tears.

"You are a reproach to me," she said with a watery smile. "Not one word of reproof has passed your lips, and yet you are a reproof to me. And to think that you should have learned my secret! I could die of shame."

Vera kissed the other tenderly.

"Why?" she asked. "Surely there is no shame in a pure and disinterested affection."

"From your point of view, no," said Marion. "But if you could place yourself in my position you would not regard it in the same light. I have cared for Geoffrey ever since I came here; all along I have loved him. I knew that he was pledged to you, and knew that he could never be anything to me and still I loved him. Who shall comprehend the waywardness of a woman's heart? And now he is dead."

Once more the tears rose to Marion's eyes; she rocked herself to and fro as if suffering from bitter anguish.

"I do not believe that Geoffrey is dead," said Vera. "Something tells me that he will be spared. But why go on like this? Anybody would imagine that you had something to do with it from the expression of your face."

Marion looked up suddenly.

"Something to do with it?" she echoed dully, mechanically.

"I wasn't speaking literally, of course." Vera went on. "But your curious expression – "

"What is curious about my expression?"

"It is so strange. It is not like grief, so much as remorse."

Marion broke into a queer laugh, a laugh she strangled. As she passed her handkerchief across her face she seemed to wipe out that strange expression.

"I hope remorse and I will remain strangers for many a long day," she said more composedly. "It is so difficult to judge from faces. And I must try to be brave like yourself. I have never given way before."

"I believe you are the bravest of us all, Marion."

"And I that I am the greatest coward. I have even been so weak as to allow the secret of my life to escape me. Vera, I want you to make me a most sacred promise."

"A dozen if you like, dear."

"Then I want you to promise that Geoffrey shall never know of your discovery. At no time are you to tell him. Promise."

Marion looked up eagerly and met Vera's eyes. They were clear and true and honest; they were filled with frankness and pity.

"I promise from my heart," she said. "Not now nor at any time shall Geoffrey know what I have learned to-day."

Marion blessed the speaker tenderly.

"I am satisfied," she said. "He will never know."