The Cardinal Moth

"The Shan of Koordstan is generally hard up," the latter said. "He is a precious rascal, too. I have already dogged and watched him because he might be a profitable investment some day."

"Precisely," Frobisher chuckled, "precisely as you have studied me. Well, you are quite welcome to all the milk you can extract from this cocoanut. You are interesting me, beloved spy."

"Koordstan has been unlucky lately in his many dealings. The tribes are fighting shy of him. And in the depths of his despair he found a friend and philanthropist in Aaron Benstein. In other words, he must have given Benstein really good security for his money. Mind, I am speaking from personal knowledge."

"You are earning your money," Frobisher croaked. "Do you know what the security is?"

"I know that it isn't the concession you are after, because there is another game on over that. And Benstein is not likely to say anything, nor is the Shan, for that matter. But one thing is wrapped up in another, and there you are. Shall I show you how I have earned all that cheque?"

"Rascal, you are puzzling me. If Benstein had any kind of weakness – "

"He has. He is the hardest man in London, the most clever and greedy financier I know, and yet he has his weak point. He is old and his mind is not what it was. And he has a young wife, a kind of beautiful slave that he has purchased of recent years. The fellow is infatuated with her to the verge of insanity. She has no heart and no brains, but cunning and infinite beauty, to say nothing of an audacity that is thoroughly Cockney in its way. I dare say you have seen her?"

Frobisher nodded thoughtfully. Benstein's wife was one of the stars of London. She kept a queue of young men in her box, but no faint breath of scandal touched her fair fame. Benstein was too old to run risks like that.

"We don't seem to be getting any further," Frobisher suggested.

"Indeed! The subtle play of your mind is not in evidence to-day, and perhaps the morning-coat has unsettled you. My friend, men tell their wives everything – everything."

"Not every man," Frobisher said, with one of his wicked grins. "I don't, for instance."

"If you did your wife wouldn't stay here for a day," Lopez said coolly. "Pshaw, I don't mean things of that kind; I mean business things, successful deals, how you have got the best of somebody else; in fact, the swaggering boasting that man indulges in before the woman of his choice. Not a single secret of that kind does Benstein keep from his wife – he couldn't if he wanted to."

"In other words, Mrs. Benstein has the secret that I would give a small fortune to possess?"

"Precisely. The game is in your own hands, mon ami. That woman is trying to get into society. And, with her natural audacity and the money she has behind her, she will succeed. In a year or so she will be turning her back upon women who won't look at her now. Only up to now she had got hold of the wrong leaders. But she is going to your Duchess's to-day. The Duke is in Benstein's hands."

"That's a good tip," Frobisher chuckled. "I'll get an introduction to her."

Lopez bent across the table and lowered his voice confidentially.

"Get Lady Frobisher to take her up," he said. "Quite as great ladies will be doing it before long. Mark my words, but Mrs. Benstein will be the fashion some day. Nothing will keep her out. If your wife holds out a helping hand – why, it seems to me that I shall have more than earned my money."

Frobisher lay back in his chair, and laughed silently. He was quite satisfied that he had found a most profitable investment for his five hundred pounds. In great good-humour he pressed cigarettes upon Lopez.

"We are a fine couple," he said gaily. "With my brain to plot and yours to weave, we might possess the universe. Again, it shall be done; Lady Frobisher shall take up Mrs. Benstein. Lord, what a pleasant time I shall have at luncheon!"

He lay back in his chair chuckling and croaking long after Lopez had departed. The second luncheon gong sounded before he rose and made his way to the dining-room. Lady Frobisher, tall and slim and exquisitely patrician, had already taken her place at the table. Angela came in a moment later with a murmured apology for keeping the others waiting.

"You have both been out?" Frobisher asked in his politest manner. "Riding, eh? Is there anything new?"

Lady Frobisher was languidly of opinion that there was nothing fresh. Most people were looking fagged and worn out owing to the heat of the season; she was feeling it herself.

"It's a treat to see some suggestion of the open country," she said in her languid way. "For instance, we met Harold Denvers. He was like a whiff of the sea to us."

Frobisher shot a lightning glance at Angela. Try as she would, she could not keep the colour from her face. And in that instant Frobisher knew the meaning of Angela's secret visit downstairs a night or two before. Angela also knew that he guessed; the flame on her cheek grew almost painful.

"So he's back," Frobisher said, with a suppressed chuckle in his voice. "Don't you ask him here."

"As if he would come," Angela exclaimed indignantly. "I am sure Lady Frobisher would not do anything of the kind. She would as soon ask that impossible Benstein woman!"

A queer light flamed into Frobisher's eyes. Luck had given him an opening sooner than he had expected. He was prepared to lead up to his point by tortuous means.

"Is there anything impossible in society nowadays?" he asked. "Mrs. Benstein is beautiful and audacious, and her husband is fabulously rich. What more could you have?"

"She was actually wearing diamonds this morning," Angela murmured.

"Well, what of that? Next year, next week, it may be the thing to wear diamonds in the morning. After all, fashion is dictated by the tradesman you buy your stockings from, men with Board School education for the most part. Ain't you photographed in evening dress and picture-hats? After that atrocity any thing is possible. Mrs. Benstein will be at the Duchess's party to-day."

"Really, my dear Clement, I can't see how that can possibly interest me."

Frobisher laughed again, and the quick grin bared his white teeth. He liked his wife in these moods, he liked to bring her down from her high pedestal at times.

"It means a good deal to you," he said gaily. "Ma chérie, I have a mood to take Mrs. Benstein up. The woman fascinates me, and I would fain study her like one of my valued orchids. Of course, I don't make a point of it, but I shall be glad if you will get an introduction to Mrs. Benstein, and ask her to your fancy dance next week."

"Clement, you must be mad to insult me by such a suggestion!"

"Not in the least, my dear. The Duchess is complacent, and why not you? It is my whim; I have said it. Or perhaps you would prefer me to bring the lady to you this afternoon."

"If that woman ever sets foot in this house," Lady Frobisher gasped. "If she ever comes here – "

"You will be polite and amiable to her, I am sure," Frobisher said in a purring voice, though his eyes flashed like little pin-points of flame. "Or perhaps I had better ask the Bensteins to dinner. Sit down."

Lady Frobisher had risen, and Sir Clement did the same thing. Angela sat there breathlessly. With a slow, gliding movement Frobisher crept round the table to his wife's side. He took her two hands in his and gazed steadily into her face. Her eyes were dilated, her lips were parted, but she said nothing. Just for an instant she had one glance into the flame of passion and evil that Frobisher would have called his soul.

"You are not going to make a scene," he said, in the same caressing, silken voice that made Angela long to rise and lay a whip about his shoulders. "After all, Mrs. Benstein has a great pull over many women that you nod and smile to and shake hands with across afternoon tea-tables – she is quite respectable. Besides, this is part of my scheme, and I expect to be – well, we won't say obeyed. As a personal favour, I ask you to meet me in this matter."

Lady Frobisher dropped into a chair and her lips moved. Her voice came weak and from a long way off.

"I'll do as you wish," she said. "Of course, it would be far better if somebody else – "

Frobisher skipped from the room whistling an air as he went. The sudden grin flashed all his teeth gleamingly.

"She is going to cry," he muttered, "and I cannot stand a woman's tears. If there is one thing that cuts me to my shrinking soul, it is the sight of a lovely woman's tears."

CHAPTER XI

BORROWED PLUMES

Frobisher's highly sensitive nature demanded a flower as a little something to soothe his nerves. He passed into the conservatory where the Cardinal Moth was flaming overhead, he climbed like an over-dressed monkey up the extending ladder, and broke off a spray of the blooms. He patted them gently as he fixed the cluster in the silk lapel of his coat. Hafid looked in and announced that the car was ready. Hafid's face was white and set like that of a drug victim. Frobisher was at his most brilliant and best as the car flashed away. Presently the scene changed from the hot air and dusty glare of the streets, to green lawns and old trees and the soft music of a band of some colour and doubtful Hungarian origin. But there was the clear flow and the throbbing melody of it, and Frobisher's gloved hand beat gently to time. There were little knots of kaleidoscope colours, graceful and harmonious in graceful shades and the emerald green for a background. Here, too, was the Duchess with a swift, pecky smile for each guest, as if she had been carelessly wound up for the occasion, and something had gone wrong with the spring.

Frobisher slipped in and out of the various groups with his hands behind him. There were still certain people who seemed to be smelling something unpleasant as the wicked little baronet passed, but this only added zest and piquancy to his studies. It was some time before he found the object of his search – a study in yellow, and a large black hat nodding with graceful plumes. Something round her slim, white neck seemed to stream and dazzle, there was another flash of blue fire on her breast.

Yet the diamonds did not seem in the least out of place on Mrs. Benstein. There was something hard and shaky about her beauty that called for them – blue black hair drawn back in a wave from her forehead, a complexion like old ivory, and eyes suggestive of mystery. Frobisher thought of the serpent of old Nile as he looked at her critically.

A marvellously beautiful woman beyond all question, a woman without the faintest suggestion of self-consciousness. Yet she was practically alone in that somewhat polyglot gathering, and she knew that most people there were holding aloof from her. Frobisher strolled up in the most natural way in the world. He had had one or two dealings with Benstein, had dined with the man, in fact, but he had contrived not to see Mrs. Benstein in public till to-day. He dropped into a chair and began to talk.

"You feel any attraction to this kind of thing?" he asked.

"Well, not much," was the candid reply. "I came here out of curiosity. The Duchess would not have asked me, only that my husband is useful to the Duke. So you have got a Cardinal Moth?"

Frobisher fairly gasped, though he dexterously recovered himself. He smiled into the dark, swimming eyes of his companion. Their strange mystery irritated as well as fascinated him.

"And what can you possibly know about the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.

"Well, I know a great many things. You see my father was a merchant in the Orient, and my mother had some of the Parsee about her. We gravitate to strange things. But I see you have the Cardinal Moth, and, what is more, I know where you got it from."

The last words came with a quick indrawing of the breath that faintly suggested a hiss.

"Paul Lopez is by way of being a relation of mine," Mrs. Benstein went on. "At one time we were engaged to be married. I was much annoyed when he changed his mind. Sir Clement, why do you choose to be so amiable to-day?"

The quick audacity of the question stirred Frobisher's admiration. This woman was going to get on. With his fine instinct, Frobisher decided to be frank. Frankness would pay here.

"Well, I am a great admirer of courage," he said. "I admire your splendid audacity in coming here in broad daylight wearing diamonds."

A wonderful smile filled the eyes of the listener.

"Why shouldn't I wear them if I like?" she demanded. "The stones are wonderfully becoming to me. And, after all, it is only a matter of what these chattering parrots here call fashion. See how they are all watching me, imagine the things they are saying about me."

"And I am quite sure you do not mind in the least?"

"Not I. I must be doing something out of the common, something daring and original."

"It was anything but original, but certainly very daring, for one so beautiful to marry a man as – er, mature, as Aaron Benstein," Frobisher murmured. It was an audacious speech, and Mrs. Benstein smiled. "You might have had a duke or even a popular actor."

"Well, you see, I was sick of being poor. It is not my fault that I was born an artist with a second-hand clothes shop in Hoxton for a home. I don't look the part, do I? And Aaron came and fairly worshipped the ground I stood on. Except for money, and the making of it, he is perfectly childish."

"Therefore he tells you all his secrets like the dutiful husband that he is?"

"Oh, yes. I find some of the secrets useful. There is the Countess of Castlemanor yonder, who has stared at me in a way that would be vulgar in the common walk of life. And yet, if I went up and whispered a word or two in her ear, she would gladly drive me home in her car."

Frobisher laughed silently. Here was a woman after his own heart – a woman who studied society and despised it. And Frobisher was going to make use of her, as he made use of everybody, only this was going to be one of his finest efforts. Isa Benstein was no ordinary pawn in the game.

"I should like to see you do it," he chuckled.

"What is the use? She is a poor creature, despite her title and her marvellous taste in hats. Can't you give me a similar hold on Lady Frobisher? There would be some fun in humbling her."

Again Frobisher laughed. The splendid audacity of the woman fascinated him. The people he made use of as a rule were not amusing. And here was a power. It pleased his vanity to know that he was bending a power like this to his will.

"I am angry with myself to think of what I have lost," he said. "My dear Mrs. Benstein, it can all be arranged without annoyance to the lady who does me the honour to rule my household. I will bring my wife to you presently, and she shall ask you to her fancy dance next week."

"That will doubtless be a great pleasure to Lady Frobisher," Mrs. Benstein smiled. "I shall like her, but I shall like Miss Lyne a great deal better. And if you try to force her to marry that detestable little Arnott I shall do my best to spoil your hand."

Frobisher's teeth flashed in one of his uneasy grins. He felt like a man who has discovered a new volcano quite unexpectedly. What an amazing lot this woman knew, to be sure; what an extraordinary fascination she must exercise over her doting husband. He followed her glance now to a distant seat under a tree where Angela and Harold Denvers were talking together.

"Would you like to match your wits against mine at that stake?" he asked.

Mrs. Benstein declined the challenge. She was only a woman after all, she declared.

"I like the look of the girl," she said thoughtfully. "She's honest and true. And he's a man all through. Now go and bring Lady Frobisher to me, and we will talk prettily together, and she shall show me how much it is possible for a society woman to hate another woman without showing it. You want to make use of me or some subtle purpose, but it suits my mood for the present to comply."

Frobisher went off chuckling to himself. The creature was absolutely charming, so clever and subtle. But she was neither subtle nor clever enough to see his game, Frobisher flattered himself. In a profound state of boredom Lady Frobisher was nibbling a tepid strawberry dipped in soppy cream. She was tired to death, she said, and wanted to go home.

"It's a tonic you need," Frobisher said, with one of his quick grins. "Come along, and have your mental shower-bath. I'm going to introduce Mrs. Benstein to you."

Lady Frobisher rose stiffly. Her little white teeth were clenched passionately. But she made no protest. Under the eyes of fashionable London she crossed over to the place where Mrs. Benstein was seated. She knew perfectly well that her action would be the theme of general conversation at a hundred dinner-tables to-night, but she moved along now as if she were sweeping the primrose path of conventionality with her lace gown. There was some little seed of consolation in the fact that Mrs. Benstein made no attempt to shake hands. On the whole, she was perhaps the coolest and most collected of the two.

"My wife very much desires to make your acquaintance," Frobisher said in his smoothest manner. "Didn't you say something about a fancy-dress ball, Norah?"

Lady Frobisher was understood to murmur something that suggested pleasure and a wish fulfilled. She was not quite sure whether she had proffered the invitation or not, but it was a small matter, as Frobisher was not likely to permit the card to be omitted.

"It is very good of you, and I shall come with pleasure," Mrs. Benstein said. "I am not sure, but I fancy that society is going to amuse me. Of course, it is all a matter of time, though I could have pushed my way here before. You see, the Duchess asked me here of her own volition. My dear Lady Frobisher, do you see how Lady Castlemanor is glaring at you? Yes, I will do it. I will go and dine with that lady as honoured guest on Monday night. And you shall come and see my triumph."

Lady Frobisher turned feebly to her husband for support, but he was too frankly enjoying the performance to interfere. Here was a new farce, a new source of amusement.

"You will be a success," he predicted. "You must come to the dance as 'diamonds' or something of that kind. You would carry off any amount of jewels, and nothing becomes you better. You see we are already becoming the centre of attraction."

People were passing by with studied inattention. A great society dame paused and put up her glasses. In anybody else the stare would have been rude. The great lady's face flushed crimson with anger, much as if her own cook had been found masquerading in that select assembly. She took a step forward, paused, and then walked hurriedly away. Frobisher turned away to hide the mirth that he found difficult to control. He had come here practically on business, therefore the unexpected pleasure was all the more enjoyable. With a bow and a smile Lady Frobisher turned and took her husband's arm.

"Well, I suppose you are satisfied now," she said, with a fierce indrawing of her breath. "With your saturnine cleverness, perhaps you will tell me why the Marchioness behaved so strangely."

"The thing is obvious," Frobisher chuckled. "Benstein is a money-lender in a big way, old plate and jewels, and all that sort of thing. And he's got all her ladyship's diamonds. Probably takes the best of them home and shows his wife. Being weak and doting, she has them to play with. And Mrs. Benstein is wearing the old lady's collar and star this afternoon. And people say there's no comedy in society!"

Lady Frobisher turned away mortified and cut to the quick. And this was the class of woman that she had actually asked to her dance, one of the great social functions of the season! Frobisher threw himself into a deck-chair and gave way to his own amused thoughts.

"Clever fellow, Lopez," he chuckled. "On the whole, he earned that cheque. But I don't quite see what he meant by saying that Mrs. Benstein – by gad, I've got it! Lopez, you are a genius! It's any money that my grip on the Shan is in Benstein's house, and she can get it."

Frobisher rose and strolled back to Mrs. Benstein's side. It would have been impossible to guess from his face of the fiendish elation that burnt within him.

"I've been thinking over that jewel idea I gave you," he said. "Are you disposed towards it?"

"Yes," Mrs. Benstein said, thoughtfully. "I am very favourably disposed towards it indeed."

"Then wear rubies," Frobisher urged. "Rubies will suit you splendidly. I have the greatest fancy to see you decked out in rubies. If you can get hold of some large ones. I'll come round and have tea with you to-morrow, and we can discuss the matter thoroughly."

CHAPTER XII

A MODEL HUSBAND

Isa Benstein drove in her closed car thoughtfully homewards, a little less conscious than usual of the attractions caused wherever she went. On the whole she had enjoyed herself; she had got on far better than she had expected. It was characteristic of her self-reliance and strength of character that she had gone to the Duchess's party quite alone and knowing nobody there, whilst she herself was familiar by sight and reputation to everybody who would be present.

She had directed her husband to obtain that invitation out of a pure spirit of curiosity. She had read paragraphs touching the great social function in the smart papers, and Isa Benstein had smiled to herself as she remembered that but for her husband and his money-bags the great gathering could not possibly have taken place at all.

By instinct, by intuition, by observation, Isa had pretty well gauged modern society. She had seen it at Ascot and Cowes, at Hurlingham and Covent Garden, but as yet she had never actually been in it. And now her first experience was over.

She had almost come to the conclusion that the game was not worth the candle, when Frobisher came up and spoke to her. With her natural astuteness she had not long to see that Frobisher had some intention of making use of her. That being so, the game should be mutual. Not for one moment was Mrs. Benstein deceived – by some magnetic process Lady Frobisher had been forced to be polite, and ask her to that fancy-dress ball. Mrs. Benstein had smiled, but she had seen the rooted repugnance in Lady Frobisher's face, the constrained look in her eyes.

"I wonder how he managed it?" she asked herself as she drove along. "And what does that little creature with the brow of a Memnon and the mouth of a tom-cat want to get out of me? Money is at the root of most things, but it can't be money in that quarter."

Berkeley Square was reached at length, and for the moment Mrs. Benstein banished Frobisher from her mind. All she required now was a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most society women would have sacrificed a great deal to know the secret of Mrs. Benstein's complexion, but the secret was a simple one – she ate sparingly, and she never touched intoxicating drinks in her life. The tea was waiting in the drawing-room, the water was boiling on the spirit-kettle. A slight, dark man rose as Mrs. Benstein entered.

"I'll take a cup with you, Isa," he said. "Nobody makes such tea as yours."

"Paul Lopez," the hostess said. "I have not been honoured like this since the day when you and I – "

"Agreed to part. Who was wise over that business, Isa? No sugar, please. I loved you too well – "

"Never! You are incapable of loving anybody, Paul. I gave you the whole of my affection – and a scarlet, flaming plant it was – and you trampled it down and killed it. Not so much as a cutting remains. And why? Because you were ambitious and I had no money."

Lopez waved the accusation aside with his Apostle spoon.

"It was the wiser part," he said calmly. "I shall never be rich like Aaron, for instance, though I have ten times his intellect. My love of perilous adventure prevents that. And when I look round me, I am quite pleased with myself. Persian carpets, Romneys, Knellers, Lelys, Louis Quinze furniture, Cellini silver, even Apostle spoons. Have you got a complete set?"

"So I understand," Isa Benstein said carelessly.

"And there you have the keynote of this wonderful house. The exquisite pleasure you must have had in the collecting of all these beautiful things! And yourself?"

Mrs. Benstein smiled queerly as she bent over the teapot. When the time came she was going to be even with this man, though, characteristically, she had no flaming anger against him. She had loved him once, and let him see it, and he had weighed the possibilities, and coldly told her it was not good enough, or words to that effect. The secret was theirs alone.