"No," answered Fullaway, with a smile. "I don't know much about these
European titles and dignities, but I don't think the title of Prince
means in Russia what it does in England. A Prince there, I think, is some
sort of nobleman, like your dukes and earls, and so on, here. But,
anyway, the Princess Nastirsevitch isn't a Russian at all, except by
marriage--she's a countryman of my own. I guess you've heard of her--she
was Helen Hamilton, the famous dancer."

Allerdyke shook his head.

"Not my line at all," he said. "It was a bit in James's, though. Dancer,
eh? And married a Prince?"

"Twenty-five years ago," replied Fullaway. "Ancient history, that. But I
know a good deal about her. She made a big fortune with her dancing, and
she invested largely in pearls and diamonds--I know that. I also happen
to know that she'd one son by her marriage, of whom she's passionately
fond. And I read this thing in this way: I guess the old Prince's estates
(he's dead, a year or two ago) were heavily mortgaged, and she hit on the
notion of clearing all off by selling her jewels, so that her son might
start clear--no encumbrances on the property, you know."

Allerdyke pursed his lips and rubbed his chin.

"What I don't understand is that she confided a quarter of a million's
worth of goods of that sort to a man whom she couldn't know so very
well," he observed. "I never heard James speak of her."

"That may be." replied Fullaway. "But he may have known her very well for
all that. However, there are the facts. And," he added, with emphasis,
"there, Mr. Allerdyke, are those four words, sent from Christiania, 'Have
got all goods!' Now, we can be reasonably sure of what he meant. He'd
got the Princess's jewels. Very well! Where are they?"

Allerdyke got to his feet, and, thrusting his hands in his pockets,
began to stride about the room. All this was not merely puzzling, but,
in a way which he could not understand, distasteful to him. Somehow--he
did not know why, nor at that moment try to think why--he resented the
fact that any one knew more about his dead cousin than he did. And he
began to wonder as he strode about the room how much this Mr. Franklin
Fullaway knew.

"Did my cousin James ever mention this Princess to you?" he suddenly
asked, stopping in his walk to and fro. "I mean--before he went over to
Russia this last time?"

"He just mentioned that he knew her--mentioned it in casual
conversation," answered Fullaway. "She and I being fellow Americans, the
subject interested me, of course. But--he only said that he had met her
in Russia."

"Aye, well," said Allerdyke musingly, "it's true he did go across to
Russia a good deal, and no doubt he knew folk there that he never told me
about."

"Well," he went on, throwing himself into his chair again, "what's
to be done? Do you honestly think that he had those things on him when he
came here last night? You do? Very well, then, he's been murdered by some
devil or devils who's got 'em! But how? And who are they--or who's
he--or--good Lord! it might be who's she?"

"Poisoned," said Fullaway. "That's my answer to your question of--how? As
to your other question--is there no clue to anything? you forget--I don't
know any details. I only know that he was found dead. Under what
circumstances?"

Allerdyke pulled his chair nearer to his visitor.

"I'd forgotten," he said. "I'll tell you the lot. See if you can make
aught out of it--they always say you Yankees have sharp brains. Try to
see a bit of daylight! So far it licks me."

He gave the American a brief yet full account of all that had happened
since his receipt of James Allerdyke's wireless message. And Fullaway
listened in silence, taking everything in, making no interruption, and at
the end he spoke quietly and with decision.

"We must find that woman--Miss Celia Lennard--and at once," he said.
"That's absolutely necessary."

"Just so," agreed Allerdyke. "But look here--I've been thinking that
over. Is it very likely that a woman who'd stolen two hundred and fifty
thousand pounds' worth of stuff from an hotel would wire back to its
manager, giving her address, for the sake of a shoe-buckle, even one set
with diamonds?"

"I'm not--for the moment--supposing that she is the thief," answered
Fullaway. "Why I want--and must--find her at once is to ask her a
simple question. What was she doing in James Allerdyke's room?
For--I've an idea."

"What?" demanded Allerdyke.

"This," replied Fullaway. "They were fellow-passengers on the _Perisco_.
Your cousin--as I daresay you know--was the sort of man who readily
makes friends, especially with women. My idea is that if this Miss
Lennard went into his room last night it was to be shown the Princess
Nastirsevitch's jewels. Your cousin was just the sort of man who knew how
a woman would appreciate an exhibition of such things. And--"

At that moment a waiter tapped at the sitting-room door and announced
Dr. Orwin.




CHAPTER VI

THE PRIMA DONNA'S PORTRAIT


Marshall Allerdyke's sharp eyes were quick to see that his new visitor
had something of importance to communicate and wished to give his news in
private. Dr. Orwin glanced inquiringly at the American as he took the
seat which Allerdyke drew forward, and the cock of his eyes indicated a
strong desire to know who the stranger was.

"Friend of my late cousin," said Allerdyke brusquely. "Mr. Franklin
Fullaway, of London--just as anxious as I am to hear what you have to
tell us, doctor. You've come to tell something, of course?"

The doctor inclined his head towards Fullaway, and added a grave bow in
answer to Allerdyke's question.

"The autopsy has been made," he replied. "By Dr. Lydenberg, Dr. Quillet,
who is one of the police-surgeons here, and myself. We made a very
careful and particular examination."

"And--the result?" asked Allerdyke eagerly. "Is it what you anticipated
from your first glance at him--here?"

The doctor's face became a shade graver; his voice assumed an
oracular tone.

"My two colleagues," he said, "agreed that your cousin's death resulted
from heart failure which arose from what we may call ordinary causes.
There is no need for me to go into details--it is quite sufficient to say
that they are abundantly justified in coming to the conclusion at which
they have arrived: it is quite certain that your cousin's heart had
recently become seriously affected. But as regards myself"--here he
paused, and looking narrowly from one to the other of his two hearers, he
sank his voice to a lower, more confidential tone--"as regards myself, I
am not quite so certain as Dr. Lydenberg and Dr. Quillet appear to be.
The fact of the case is, I think it very possible that Mr. James
Allerdyke was--poisoned."

Neither of the two who listened so intently made any reply to this
significant announcement. Instead they kept their eyes intently fixed on
the doctor's grave face; then they slowly turned from him to each other,
exchanging glances. And after a pause the doctor went on, speaking in
measured and solemn accents.

"There is no need, either, at present--only at present--that I should
tell you why I think that," he continued. "I may be wrong--my two
colleagues are inclined to think I am wrong. But they quite agree with me
that it will be proper to preserve certain organs--you understand?--for
further examination by, say, the Home Office analyst, who is always, of
course, a famous pathological expert. That will be done--in fact, we have
already sealed up what we wish to be further examined. But"--he paused
again, shaking his head more solemnly than ever--"the truth is,
gentlemen," he went on at last, "I am doubtful if even that analysis and
examination will reveal anything. If my suspicions are correct--and
perhaps I ought to call them mere notions, theories, ideas, rather than
suspicions--but, at any rate, if there is anything in the vague thoughts
which I have, no trace of any poison will be found--and yet your cousin
may have been poisoned, all the same."

"Secretly!" exclaimed Fullaway.

Dr. Orwin gave the American a sharp glance which indicated that he
realized Fullaway's understanding of what he had just said.

"Precisely," he answered. "There are poisons--known to experts--which
will destroy life almost to a given minute, and of which the most skilful
pathologist and expert will not be able to find a single trace. Now,
please, understand my position--I say, it is quite possible, quite
likely, quite in accordance with what I have seen, that this unfortunate
gentleman died of heart failure brought about by even such an ordinary
exertion as his stooping forward to untie his shoe-lace, but--I also
think it likely that his death resulted from poison, subtly and cunningly
administered, probably not very long before his death took place. And if
I only knew--"

He paused at that, and looked searchingly and meaningly at Marshall
Allerdyke before he continued. And Allerdyke looked back with the same
intentness and nodded.

"Yes--yes!" he said. "If you only knew--? Say it, doctor!"

"If I only knew if there was any reason why any person wished to take
this man's life," responded Dr. Orwin, slowly and deliberately. "If I
knew that somebody wanted to get him out of the way, for instance--"

Allerdyke jumped to his feet and tapped Fullaway on the shoulder.

"Come in here a minute," he said, motioning towards the door of his
bedroom. "Excuse us, doctor--I want to have a word with this gentleman.
Look here," he continued, when he had led the American into the bedroom
and had closed the door. "You hear what he says? Shall we tell him? Or
shall we keep it all dark for a while? Which--what?"

"Tell him under promise of secrecy," replied Fullaway after a moment's
consideration. "Medical men are all right--yes, tell him. He may suggest
something. And I'm inclined to think his theory is correct, eh?"

"Correct!" exclaimed Allerdyke, with a grim laugh. "You bet it's correct!
Come on, then--we'll tell him all. Now, doctor," he went on, leading the
way back into the sitting-room, "we're going to give you our confidence.
You'll treat it as a strict confidence, a secret between us, for the
present. The truth is that when my cousin came to this hotel last night
he was in possession--that is, we have the very strongest grounds for
believing him to have been in possession--of certain extremely valuable
property---jewels worth a large amount--which he was carrying,
safeguarding, from a lady in Russia to this gentleman in London. When I
searched his body and luggage, these valuables were missing. Mr. Fullaway
and myself haven't the least doubt that he was robbed. So your
theory--eh?"

Dr. Orwin had listened to this with deep attention, and he now put two
quick questions.

"The value of these things was great?"

"Relatively, very great," answered Allerdyke.

"Enough to engage, the attention of a clever gang of thieves?"

"Quite!"

"Then," said the doctor, "I am quite of opinion that my ideas are
correct. These, people probably tracked your cousin to this place,
contrived to administer a subtle and deadly poison to him last night, and
entered his room after the time at which they knew it would take effect.
Have you any clue--even a slight one?"

"Only this," answered Allerdyke, and proceeded to narrate the story of
the shoe-buckle, adding Fullaway's theory to it. "That's not much, eh?"

"You must find that woman and produce her at the inquest," said the
doctor. "I take it that Mr. Fullaway's idea is a correct one. Your cousin
probably did invite Miss Lennard into his room to show her these
jewels--that, of course, would prove that he had them in his possession
at some certain hour last night. Now, about that inquest. It is fixed for
ten o'clock to-morrow morning. Let me advise you as to your own course of
procedure, having an eye on what you have told me. Your object should be
to make the proceedings to-morrow merely formal, so that the Coroner can
issue his order for interment, and then adjourn for further evidence. It
will be sufficient if you give evidence identifying the body, if evidence
is given of the autopsy, and an adjournment asked for until a further
examination of the reserved organs and viscera can be made. For the
present, I should keep back the matter of the supposed robbery until you
can find this Miss Lennard. At the adjourned inquest--say in a week or
ten days hence--everything pertinent can be brought out. But you will
need legal help--I am rather trespassing on legal preserves in telling
you so much."

"Deeply obliged to you, doctor--and you can add to our obigations by
giving us the name of a good man to go to," said Allerdyke. "We'll see
him at once and fix things up for to-morrow morning."

Dr. Orwin wrote down the name and address of a well-known solicitor, and
presently went away. When he had gone, Allerdyke turned to Fullaway.

"Now, then," he said, "you and I'll do one or two things. We'll call
on this lawyer. Then we'll cable to the Princess. But how shall we get
her address!"

"There's sure to be a Russian Consul in the town," suggested Fullaway.

"Good idea! And I'm going to telephone to this Miss Lennard's address
in London," continued Allerdyke. "She evidently set off from here to
Edinburgh; but, anyway, the address she gave in that wire to the
manager is a London one, and I'm going to try it. Now let's get out and
be at work."

The ensuing conversation between these two and a deeply interested and
much-impressed solicitor resulted in the dispatch of a lengthy cablegram
to St. Petersburg, a conversation over the telephone with the housekeeper
of Miss Celia Lennard's London flat, and the interviewing of the captain
and stewards of the steamship on which James Allerdyke had crossed from
Christiania. The net result of this varied inquiry was small, and
produced little that could throw additional light on the matter in
question. The _Perisco_ officials had not seen anything suspicious in the
conduct or personality of any of their passengers. They had observed
James Allerdyke in casual conversation with some of them--they had seen
him talking to Miss Lennard, to Dr. Lydenberg, to others, ladies and
gentlemen who subsequently put up at the Station Hotel for the night.
Nothing that they could tell suggested anything out of the common. Miss
Lennard's housekeeper gave no other information than that her mistress
was at present in Edinburgh, and was expected to remain there for at
least a week. And towards night came a message from the Princess
Nastirsevitch confirming Fullaway's conviction that James Allerdyke was
in possession of her jewels and announcing that she was leaving for
England at once, and should travel straight, via Berlin and Calais, to
meet Mr. Franklin Fullaway at his hotel in London.

The solicitor agreed with Dr. Orwin's suggestions as to the course to be
followed with regard to the inquest; it would be wise, he said, to keep
matters quiet for at any rate a few days, until they were in a position
to bring forward more facts. Consequently, the few people who were
present at the Coroner's court next morning gained no idea of the real
importance of the inquiry which was then opened. Even the solitary
reporter who took a perfunctory note of the proceedings for his newspaper
gathered no more from what he heard than that a gentleman had died
suddenly at the Station Hotel, that it had been necessary to hold an
inquest, that there was some little doubt as to the precise cause of his
death, and that the inquest was accordingly adjourned until the medical
men could tell something of a more definite nature. Nothing sensational
crept out into the town; no bold-lettered headlines ornamented the
afternoon editions. An hour before noon Marshall Allerdyke entrusted his
cousin's body to the care of certain kinsfolk who had come over from
Bradford to take charge of it; by noon he and Fullaway were slipping out
of Hull on their way to Edinburgh--to search for a witness, who, if and
when they found her, might be able to tell them--what?

"Seems something like a wild-goose chase," said Allerdyke as the train
steamed on across country towards York and the North. "How do we know
where to find this woman in Edinburgh? Her housekeeper didn't know what
hotel she was at--I suppose we'll have to try every one in the place till
we come across her!"

"Edinburgh is not a very big town," remarked Fullaway. "I reckon to run
her down--if she's still there--within a couple of hours. It's our first
duty, anyway. If she--as I guess she did--saw those jewels, then we know
that James Allerdyke had them on him when he reached Hull, dead sure."

"And supposing she can tell that?" said Allerdyke. "What then? How does
that help? The devils who got 'em have already had thirty-six hours'
start of us!"

The American produced a bulky cigar-case, found a green cigar, and
lighted it with a deliberation which was in marked contrast to his usual
nervous movements.

"Seems to me," he said presently, "seems very much to me that this has
been a great thing! I figure it out like this--somehow, somebody has got
to know of what the Princess and your cousin were up to--that he was
going to carry those valuable jewels with him to England. He must have
been tracked all the way, unless--does any unless strike you, now?"

"Not at the moment," replied Allerdyke. "So unless what?"

"Unless the thieves--and murderers--were waiting there in Hull for his
arrival," said Fullaway quietly. "That's possible!"

"Strikes me a good many possibilities are knocking around," remarked
Allerdyke, with more than his usual dryness. "As for me, I'll want to
know a lot about these valuables and their consignment before I make up
my mind in any way. I tell you frankly. I'm not running after them--I'm
wanting to find the folk who killed my cousin, and I only hope this young
woman'll be able to give me a hand. And the sooner we get to the bottle
of hay and begin prospecting for the needle the better!"

But the search for Miss Celia Lennard to which Allerdyke alluded so
gloomily was not destined to be either difficult or lengthy. As he and
his companion walked along one of the platforms in the Waverley Station
in Edinburgh that evening, on their way to a cab, Allerdyke suddenly
uttered a sharp exclamation and seized the American by the elbow,
twisting him round in front of a big poster which displayed the portrait
of a very beautiful woman.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "There she is! See? That's the woman. Man
alive, we've hit it at once! Look!"

Fullaway turned and stared, not so much at the portrait as at the big
lettering above and beneath it:

ZELIE DE LONGARDE,
THE WORLD-FAMED SOPRANO.
RECENTLY RETURNED FROM MOSCOW
AND ST. PETERSBURG.
Only Visit to Edinburgh this Year.
TO-NIGHT AT 8.




CHAPTER VII

THE FRANTIC IMPRESARIO


Fullaway slowly read this announcement aloud. When he had made an end of
it he laughed.

"So your mysterious lady of the midnight motor, your Miss Celia Lennard
of the Hull hotel, is the great and only Zelie de Longarde, eh?" he said.
"Well, I guess that makes matters a lot easier and clearer. But you're
sure it isn't a case of striking resemblance?"

"I only saw that woman for a minute or two, by moonlight, when she stuck
her face out of her car to ask the way," replied Allerdyke, "but I'll
lay all I'm worth to a penny-piece that the woman I then saw is the
woman whose picture we're staring at. Great Scott! So she's a famous
singer, is she? You know of her, of course? That sort of thing's not in
my line--never was--I don't go to a concert or a musical party once in
five years."

"Oh, she's great--sure!" responded Fullaway. "Beautiful voice--divine!
And, as I say, things are going to be easy. I've met this lady more than
once, though I didn't know that she'd any other name than that, which is
presumably her professional one, and I've also had one or two business
deals with her. So all we've got to do is to find out which hotel she's
stopping at in this city, and then we'll go round there, and I'll send in
my card. But I say--do you see, this affair's to-night, this very
evening, and at eight o'clock, and it's past seven now. She'll be
arraying herself for the platform. We'd better wait until--"

Allerdyke's practical mind asserted itself. He twisted the American
round in another direction, and called to a porter who had picked up
their bags.

"All that's easy," he said. "We'll stick these things in the left-luggage
spot, dine here in the station, and go straight to the concert. There,
perhaps, during an interval, we might get in a word with this lady who
sports two names. Come on, now."

He hurried his companion from the cloak-room to the dining-room, gave a
quick order on his own behalf to the waiter, left Fullaway to give his
own, and began to eat and drink with the vigour of a man who means to
waste no time.

"There's one thing jolly certain, my lad!" he said presently, leaning
confidentially across the table after he had munched in silence for a
while. "This Miss Lennard, or Mamselle, or Signora de Longarde, or
whatever her real label is, hasn't got those jewels--confound 'em! Folks
who steal things like that don't behave as she's doing."

"I never thought she had stolen the jewels," answered Fullaway. "What I
want to know is--has she seen them, and when, and where, and under what
circumstances? You've got her shoe-buckle all safe?"

"Waistcoat-pocket just now," replied Allerdyke laconically.

"That'll be an extra passport," observed Fullaway. "Not that it's needed,
because, as I said, I've done business for her. Oddly enough, that was in
the jewel line--I negotiated the sale of Pinkie Pell's famous pearl
necklace with Mademoiselle de Longarde. You've heard of that, of course?"

"Never a whisper!" answered Allerdyke. "Not in my line, those affairs.
Who was Pinkie Pell, anyhow!"

"Pinkie Pell was a well-known music-hall artiste, my dear sir, once a
great favourite, who came down in the world, and had to sell her
valuables," replied the American. "To the last she stuck to a pearl
necklace, which was said to have been given to her by the Duke of
Bendlecombe--Pinkie, they said, attached a sentimental value to it.
However, it had to be sold, and I sold it for Pinkie to the lady we're
going to see to-night. Seven thousand five hundred--it's well worth ten.
Mademoiselle will be wearing it, no doubt--she generally does, anyway--so
you'll see it."

"Not unless we get a front pew," said Allerdyke. "Hurry up, and let's be
off! Our best plan," he went on as they made for a cab, "will be to get
as near the platform as possible, so that I can make certain sure this is
the woman I saw at Howden yesterday morning--when I positively identify
her, I'll leave it to you to work the interview with her, either at this
concert place or at her hotel afterwards. If it can be done at once, all
the more to my taste--I want to be knowing things."

"Oh, we're going well ahead!" said Fullaway. "I'll work it all right. I
noticed on that poster that this affair is being run by the
Concert-Director Ernest Weiss. I know Weiss--he'll get us an interview
with the great lady after she's appeared the first time."

"It's a fortunate thing for me to have a man who seems to know
everybody," remarked Allerdyke. "I suppose it's living in London gives
you so much acquaintance?"

"It's my business to know a lot of people," answered Fullaway. "The more
the better--for my purposes. I'll tell you how I came to know your cousin
later that's rather interesting. Well, here's the place, and it's five
to eight now. We've struck it very well, and the only trouble'll be about
getting good seats, especially as we're in morning dress."

Allerdyke smiled at that--in his opinion, money would carry a man
anywhere, and there was always plenty of that useful commodity in his
pockets. He insisted on buying the seats himself, and after some
parleying and explaining at the box-office, he and his companion were
duly escorted to seats immediately in front of a flower-decked platform,
where they were set down amidst a highly select company of correctly
attired folk, who glanced a little questioningly at their tweed suits,
both conspicuous amidst silks, satins, broadcloths, and glazed linen.
Allerdyke laughed as he thrust a program into Fullaway's hand.

"I worked that all right," he whispered. "Told the chap in that receipt
of custom that you were a foreigner of great distinction travelling
incognito in Scotland, and I your travelling companion, and that our
luggage hadn't arrived from Aberdeen, so we couldn't dress, but we must
hear this singing lady at all cost and in any case. Then I slapped down
the brass and got the tickets--naught like brass in ready form, my lad!
Now, then, when does the desired party appear?"

Fullaway unfolded his program and glanced over the items. The
Concert-Direction of Ernest Weiss was famous for the fare which it put
before its patrons, and here was certainly enough variety of talent to
please the most critical--a famous tenor, a popular violinist, a
contralto much in favour for her singing of tender and sentimental songs,
a notable performer on the violincello, a local vocalist whose speciality
was the singing of ancient Scottish melodies, and--item of vast interest
to a certain section of the audience--a youthful prodigy who was fondly
believed to have it in her power to become a female Paderewski. These
performers were duly announced on the program in terms of varying
importance; outstanding from all of them, of course, was the great star
of the evening, the one and only Zelie de Longarde, acknowledged Queen of
Song in Milan and Moscow, Paris and London, New York and Melbourne.

"Comes on fifth, I see," observed Allerdyke, glancing over his
program unconcernedly. "Well, I suppose we've got to stick out the
other four. I'm not great on music, Fullaway--don't know one tune
from another. However, I reckon I can stand a bit of noise until my
lady shows herself."

He listened with good-natured interest, which was not far removed from
indifference, to the contralto, the 'cellist, the violinist, only waking
up to something like enthusiasm when the infant prodigy, a quaint,
painfully shy little creature, who bobbed a side curtsey at the audience,
and looked much too small to tackle the grand piano, appeared and
proceeded to execute wonderful things with her small fingers.

"That's a bit of all right!" murmured Allerdyke, when the child had
finished her first contribution. "That's a clever little party! But she's
too big in the eye, and too small in the bone--wants plenty of new milk,
and new-laid eggs, and fresh air, and not so much piano-thumping, does
that. Clever--clever--but unnatural, Fullaway!--they mustn't let her do
too much at that. Well, now I suppose we shall see the shoe-buckle lady."

The packed audience evidently supposed the same thing. Over it--the
infant prodigy having received her meed of applause and bobbed herself
awkwardly out of sight--had come that atmosphere of expectancy which
invariably heralds the appearance of the great figure on any similar
occasion. It needed no special intuition on Allerdyke's part to know that
all these people were itching to show their fondness for Zelie de
Longarde by clapping their hands, waving their program, and otherwise
manifesting their delight at once more seeing a prime favourite. All eyes
were fixed on the wing of the platform, all hands were ready to give
welcome. But a minute passed--two minutes--three minutes--and Zelie de
Longarde did not appear. Another minute--and then, endeavouring to smile
bravely and reassuringly, and not succeeding particularly well in the
attempt, a tall, elaborately attired, carefully polished-up man,
unmistakably German, blonde, heavy, suave, suddenly walked on to the
platform and did obeisance to the audience.

"Weiss!" whispered Fullaway. "Something's wrong! Look at his face--he's
in big trouble."

The concert-director straightened himself from that semi-military bow,
and looked at the faces in front of him with a mute appeal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I have to entreat the high favour of
your kind indulgence. Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet arrived from
her hotel. I hope--I think--she is now on her way. In the meantime I
propose, with your gracious consent, to continue, our program with the
next item, at the conclusion of which, I hope, Mademoiselle will appear."

The audience was sympathetic--the audience was ready to be placated. It
gave cordial hearing and warm favour to the singer of Scottish
melodies--it even played into Mr. Concert-Director Weiss's hands by
according the local singer an encore. But when he had finally retired
there was another wait, a longer one which lengthened unduly, a note of
impatience sounded from the gallery; it was taken up elsewhere. And
suddenly Weiss came again upon the platform--this time with no
affectation of suave entreaty. He was plainly much upset; his elegant
waistcoat seemed to have assumed careworn creases, his mop of blonde hair
was palpably rumpled as if he had been endeavouring to tear some of its
wavy locks out by force. And when he spoke his fat voice shook with a
mixture of chagrin and anger.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I crave ten thousand--a
million--pardons for this so-unheard-of state of affairs! The--the truth
is, Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet here. What is more--I have to
tell you the truth--Mademoiselle refuses to come--refuses to fulfil her
honourable engagement. We are--have been for some time--on the telephone
with her. Mademoiselle is at her hotel. She declares she has been
robbed--her jewels have all been stolen from their case in her
apartments. She is--how shall I say?--turning the hotel upside down! She
refuses to budge one inch until her jewels are restored to her. How
then?--I cannot restore her jewels. I say to her--my colleagues say to
her--it is not your jewels we desire--it is your so beautiful, so
incomparable voice. She reply--I cannot tell you what she reply! In
effect--no jewels, no song! Ladies and gentlemen, once more!--your most
kind, most considerate indulgence! I go there just now--I fly; swift, to
the hotel, to entreat Mademoiselle on my knees to return with me! In the
meantime--"

As Weiss retired from the platform, and the longhaired 'cellist came upon
it, Fullaway sprang up, dragging Allerdyke after him. He led the way to
a sidedoor, whispered something to an attendant, and was quickly ushered
through another door to an ante-room behind the wings, where Weiss, livid
with anger, was struggling into an opera-cloak. The concert-director
gasped as he caught sight of the American.

"Ah, my dear Mr. Fullaway!" he exclaimed. "You here! You have heard?--you
have been in front. You hear, then--she will not come to sing because her
jewels are missing, eh? She--"

"What hotel is Mademoiselle de Longarde stopping at, Weiss?" asked
Fullaway quietly.

"The North British and Caledonian--I go there just now!" answered Weiss.
"I am ruined if she will not appear--ruined, disgraced! Jewels! Ah--!"

"Come on--we're going with you," said Fullaway. "Quick now!"

Allerdyke got some vivid impressions during the next few minutes,
impressions various, startling. They began with a swift whirl through the
lighted streets of the smoky old city, of a dash upstairs at a big hotel;
they ended with a picture of a beautiful, highly enraged woman, who was
freely speaking her mind to a dismayed hotel manager and a couple of men
who were obviously members of the detective force.




CHAPTER VIII

THE JEWEL BOX


Mademoiselle Zelie de Longarde, utterly careless of the fact that her
toilette was but half complete, that she wore no gown, and that the
kimono which she had hastily assumed on discovering her loss had slipped
away from her graceful figure to fall in folds about her feet,
interrupted the torrent of her eloquence to stare at the three men whom a
startled waiter ushered into her sitting-room. Her first glance fell on
the concert-director, and she shook her fist at him.

"Go away, Weiss!" she commanded, accompanying the vigorous action of her
hand with an equally emphatic stamp of a shapely foot. "Go away at
once--go and play on the French horn; go and do anything you like to
satisfy your audience! Not one note do I sing until somebody finds me my
jewels! Edinburgh's stole them, and Edinburgh'll have to give them back.
It's no use your waiting here--I won't budge an inch. I--"

She paused abruptly, suddenly catching sight of Fullaway, who at once
moved towards her with a confidential and reassuring smile.

"You!" she exclaimed. "What brings you here? And who's that with
you--surely the gentleman of whom I asked my way in some wild place the
other night! What--"

"Mademoiselle," said Fullaway, with a deep bow, "let me suggest to you
that the finest thing in this mundane state of ours is--reason.
Suppose, now, that you complete your toilet, tell us what it is you
have lost; leave us--your devoted servants--to begin the task of
finding it, and while we are so engaged, hasten with Mr. Weiss to the
hall to fulfil your engagement? A packed audience awaits
you--palpitating with sympathy and--"

"And curiosity," interjected the aggrieved prima donna, as she threw a
hasty glance at her deshabille and snatched up the kimono. "Pretty talk,
Fullaway--very, and all intended to benefit Weiss there. Lost,
indeed!--I've lost all my jewels, and up to now nobody"--here she flashed
a wrathful glance at the hotel manager and the two detectives--"nobody
has made a single suggestion about finding them!"

Fullaway exchanged looks with the other men. Once more he assumed the
office of spokesman.

"Perhaps you have not told them precisely what it is they're to find," he
suggested. "What is it now, Mademoiselle? The Pinkie Pell necklace for
instance!"

The prima donna, who was already retreating through the door of the
bedroom on whose threshold she had been standing, flashed a scornful look
at her questioner over the point of her white shoulder.

"Pinkie Pell necklace!" she exclaimed. "Everything's gone! The whole lot!
Look at that--not so much as a ring left in it!"