The Cold Blooded Vengeance: 10 Mystery & Revenge Thrillers in One Volume. E. Phillips Oppenheim

actors. The guests seemed to belong to no universal social order, but to Francis, watching them almost eagerly, they all seemed to have something of the same expression, the same slight air of weariness, of restless and unsatisfied desires.

      “I can’t believe that the place is real, or that these people we see are not supers,” Margaret whispered.

      “I feel every moment that a clock will strike and that it will all fade away.”

      “I’m afraid I’m too material for such imaginings,” Francis replied, “but there is a quaintly artificial air about it all. We must go and look for Wilmore and Lady Cynthia.”

      They turned back into the enervating atmosphere of the winter-garden, and came suddenly face to face with Sir Timothy, who had escorted a little party of his guests to see the fountain, and was now returning alone.

      “You have been dancing, I am glad to see,” the latter observed. “I trust that you are amusing yourselves?”

      “Excellently, thank you,” Francis replied.

      “And so far,” Sir Timothy went on, with a faint smile, “you find my entertainment normal? You have no question yet which you would like to ask?”

      “Only one—what do you do with your launch up the river on moonless nights, Sir Timothy?”

      Sir Timothy’s momentary silence was full of ominous significance.

      “Mr. Ledsam,” he said, after a brief pause, “I have given you almost carte blanche to explore my domains here. Concerning the launch, however, I think that you had better ask no questions at present.”

      “You are using it to-night?” Francis persisted.

      “Will you come and see, my venturesome guest?”

      “With great pleasure,” was the prompt reply.

      Sir Timothy glanced at his watch.

      “That,” he said, “is one of the matters of which we will speak at a quarter to twelve. Meanwhile, let me show you something. It may amuse you as it has done me.”

      The three moved back towards one of the arched openings which led into the ballroom.

      “Observe, if you please,” their host continued, “the third couple who pass us. The girl is wearing green—the very little that she does wear. Watch the man, and see if he reminds you of any one.”

      Francis did as he was bidden. The girl was a well-known member of the chorus of one of the principal musical comedies, and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying both the dance and her partner. The latter appeared to be of a somewhat ordinary type, sallow, with rather puffy cheeks, and eyes almost unnaturally dark. He danced vigorously and he talked all the time. Something about him was vaguely familiar to Francis, but he failed to place him.

      “Notwithstanding all my precautions,” Sir Timothy continued, “there, fondly believing himself to be unnoticed, is an emissary of Scotland Yard. Really, of all the obvious, the dry-as-dust, hunt-your-criminal-by-rule-of-three kind of people I ever met, the class of detective to which this man belongs can produce the most blatant examples.”

      “What are you going to do about him?” Francis asked.

      Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders.

      “I have not yet made up my mind,” he said. “I happen to know that he has been laying his plans for weeks to get here, frequenting Soto’s and other restaurants, and scraping acquaintances with some of my friends. The Duke of Tadchester brought him—won a few hundreds from him at baccarat, I suppose. His grace will never again find these doors open to him.”

      Francis’ attention had wandered. He was gazing fixedly at the man whom Sir Timothy had pointed out.

      “You still do not fully recognise our friend,” the latter observed carelessly. “He calls himself Manuel Loito, and he professes to be a Cuban. His real name I understood, when you introduced us, to be Shopland.”

      “Great heavens, so it is!” Francis exclaimed.

      “Let us leave him to his precarious pleasures,” Sir Timothy suggested. “I am free for a few moments. We will wander round together.”

      They found Lady Cynthia and Wilmore, and looked in at the supper-room, where people were waiting now for tables, a babel of sound and gaiety. The grounds and winter-gardens were crowded. Their guide led the way to a large apartment on the other side of the hall, from which the sound of music was proceeding.

      “My theatre,” he said. “I wonder what is going on.”

      They passed inside. There was a small stage with steps leading down to the floor, easy-chairs and round tables everywhere, and waiters serving refreshments. A girl was dancing. Sir Timothy watched her approvingly.

      “Nadia Ellistoff,” he told them. “She was in the last Russian ballet, and she is waiting now for the rest of the company to start again at Covent Garden. You see, it is Metzger who plays there. They improvise. Rather a wonderful performance, I think.”

      They watched her breathlessly, a spirit in grey tulle, with great black eyes now and then half closed.

      “It is ‘Wind before Dawn,’” Lady Cynthia whispered. “I heard him play it two days after he composed it, only there are variations now. She is the soul of the south wind.”

      The curtain went down amidst rapturous applause. The dancer had left the stage, floating away into some sort of wonderfully-contrived nebulous background. Within a few moments, the principal comedian of the day was telling stories. Sir Timothy led them away.

      “But how on earth do you get all these people?” Lady Cynthia asked.

      “It is arranged for me,” Sir Timothy replied. “I have an agent who sees to it all. Every man or woman who is asked to perform, has a credit at Cartier’s for a hundred guineas. I pay no fees. They select some little keepsake.”

      Margaret laughed softly.

      “No wonder they call this place a sort of Arabian Nights!” she declared.

      “Well, there isn’t much else for you to see,” Sir Timothy said thoughtfully. “My gymnasium, which is one of the principal features here, is closed just now for a special performance, of which I will speak in a moment. The concert hall I see they are using for an overflow dance-room. What you have seen, with the grounds and the winter-garden, comprises almost everything.”

      They moved back through the hall with difficulty. People were now crowding in. Lady Cynthia laughed softly.

      “Why, it is like a gala night at the Opera, Sir Timothy!” she exclaimed. “How dare you pretend that this is Bohemia!”

      “It has never been I who have described my entertainments,” he reminded her. “They have been called everything—orgies, debauches—everything you can think of. I have never ventured myself to describe them.”

      Their passage was difficult. Every now and then Sir Timothy was compelled to shake hands with some of his newly-arriving guests. At last, however, they reached the little sitting-room. Sir Timothy turned back to Wilmore, who hesitated.

      “You had better come in, too, Mr. Wilmore, if you will,” he invited. “You were with Ledsam, the first day we met, and something which I have to say now may interest you.”

      “If I am not intruding,” Wilmore murmured.

      They entered the room, still jealously guarded. Sir Timothy closed the door behind them.

      CHAPTER XXXIV

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      The apartment was one belonging to the older portion of the house, and had been, in fact, an annex to the great library. The walls were oak-panelled, and hung