"but you couldn't identify it," wilfrid said, speaking as coolly as he could. "you don't mean to tell me that it was the same hand? you couldn't swear to it?"
"perhaps not," beatrice admitted. "but to all practical purposes it was the same hand, though the arm was hidden in a black sleeve and the whitest of cuffs. but you can imagine how the incident disturbed me. i pressed forward as eagerly as i could, but at that moment somebody had finished singing on the stage and there was a rush of men into the refreshment-room, so that i was prevented from pursuing my investigations. but i am frightened, wilfrid. the thing seems to have taken my courage out of me. i wish you would try to find out if there is a man here like the one i have described."
wilfrid muttered something in the way of a promise, though he knew that he had not very far to go to find the man that beatrice spoke of. then there was a tramping of feet overhead, the orchestra was playing the audience out of the theatre, and already an army of sweepers and cleaners had taken possession of it. there was a swift scattering of guests, and then, as if by magic, the stage was transformed into a huge supper-room and the guests were being ushered in by the stewards.
"let me take you in," wilfrid pleaded. "that is, of course, if you have no other partner."
beatrice made no demur; indeed, she was thankful to have wilfrid by her side. already most of the guests had assembled on the stage. there were scores of little tables, flower-decked and shaded with pink lamps, which formed an exceedingly pretty picture. towards one side, under a box, wilfrid could see a table still unoccupied, and to this he piloted his companion.
"this is a slice of luck," he said. "let us hope we can have this to ourselves so that we may have a long, cosy chat that will disperse all your fears. a glass of champagne will make a different girl of you."
a waiter bustled up to the table and wilfrid gave his orders. a moment later and two guests came across the stage towards the table. one was a tall woman whom wilfrid recognized at a glance as a well-known actress, the other was no less a person than the little yellow man in evening dress who had so startled russell earlier in the evening. all the colour left beatrice's face. she grasped her companion's arm helplessly.
"they are coming here," she whispered. "oh, i am sure they are coming here. what shall we do?"
"courage," wilfrid said coolly. "we can't prevent them from sitting at the same table, seeing that they are the guests of the management as well as ourselves. so that is the man you were speaking about? he looks harmless enough. don't be silly, beatrice. try to behave as if nothing had happened."
the girl recovered herself with a powerful effort. she even smiled as the handsome actress made a half-apology for intruding at the table.
"i think we know one another," she said. "of course we do. i recollect some friends bringing me to your delightful place, maldon grange. you are miss galloway?"
"you are miss marcombe," beatrice said a little coldly. "i recollect you now."
"that's all right," the actress laughed. "let me introduce my friend, mr. uzali. mr. uzali calls himself a borneo chief or something of that kind, though how he manages to look after his duties there and spend six months of the year in england is beyond my comprehension. i daresay you will tell me it is no business of mine."
uzali bowed with the utmost self-possession. disturbed as she was beatrice did not fail to notice this. she was struck with the charm and grace of the malay's manner.
"you see, i was brought up in this country," he said, speaking perfect english. "my country is more or less of an unfortunate one, and my father was an enlightened man. that is why he sent me to school and college in england. no doubt he had dreams, poor man, that some day or other i should come into my own again. but that time has passed for ever."
to beatrice's surprise she found herself at the end of ten minutes chatting gaily and freely with the stranger. she noticed from time to time how his dark eyes were turned upon an ornament which she wore about her neck. it was a diamond pendant, consisting of a moth, in dark enamel, the wing set in diamonds. the other wing was gone, as indeed was part of the body. beatrice was bound to notice uzali's curiosity.
"do you admire my moth?" she asked.
"it would be impossible to do anything else," uzali said gravely. "the workmanship is unique. you see, i am interested in that kind of thing; indeed, i have made a study of them all my lifetime. perhaps you are acquainted with the history of that moth? do you know where it came from?"
"indeed, no," beatrice confessed. "it conveys nothing to me, but it has a fascination for me and i wear it frequently."
"and you don't know where it came from?"
"no, except that my uncle gave it to me."
uzali's eyes flashed and he looked down at his plate which he appeared to be studying gravely.
"you are fortunate in the possession of such an uncle," he said. "i wonder if i have the honour of his acquaintance."
"that is probable," beatrice said frankly. she had lost all her fears. "so many people know my uncle. he is mr. samuel flower, the shipper."
uzali said nothing. sitting close by him, watching him carefully, wilfrid noticed a sudden flush across the malay's cheek and how the dark eyes turned to purple.
"the name is familiar to me," uzali said, "but then there are so many people whom i know. so it never struck you to ask your uncle the history of that pendant? now what should you say if i could produce the missing half?"
beatrice looked up eagerly, her lips parted.
"how very curious!" she said. "but you are joking."
uzali bowed gravely, then produced a small green packet from an inside pocket, from which he drew a small folded piece of wash-leather; and this being undone disclosed what appeared to be an engraved diamond in the shape of an insect's wing.
"we do strange things in my country," he said with a queer smile. "we have priests and learned men whose philosophy is far beyond anything that one knows of in the west. not that i claim these powers myself, oh, no. that is quite another matter. but i think you will be satisfied if i prove to you that this is the missing portion of your pendant. mr. mercer shall be umpire if you like, and we will leave him to judge. perhaps you would not mind removing your pendant for a moment."
beatrice complied. she was quite excited now. all her strange fears had fallen from her. with trembling fingers she removed the pendant from its slender gold chain and laid it on the tablecloth. wilfrid reached over and fitted the broken pieces together. he could see that they matched to a nicety.
"not the slightest doubt about it," he exclaimed. "these two pieces once formed one jewel. now whom does it belong to? mr. uzali, do you claim the whole thing? are you going to hand over your half to miss galloway?"
"i wasn't thinking of doing either for the moment," uzali said coolly. "but i am going to ask miss galloway to trust her portion into my hands so that i can get the ornament mended, when i hope she will allow me to send her the jewel intact. all i ask in return is that miss galloway will inquire of her uncle how the moth found its way into his hands."
"perhaps you know already," beatrice smiled. but uzali was not to be drawn. he shook his head.
"i do not claim any occult powers," he said. "i merely said that there are wise men in my country who possess them. and now, if you will be good enough to give your portion of the moth to me i will let you have it in a few days restored to its original beauty."
beatrice hesitated. yet, why not comply? the request had been made tastefully and in good faith. it was a graceful thing to do and her moth had always fascinated her. she handed her portion to uzali with a smile.
"it is exceedingly good of you," she said, "and i am obliged by your kindness. i am equally justified in handing my half of the treasure over to you——"
"but i don't wear that kind of thing," uzali protested. "now give me your address so that i may carry out my promise. miss marcombe, are you ready? i think the next dance is ours."
the malay had vanished before beatrice could say more. her excitement had passed away. she looked at wilfrid with troubled eyes. had she done wrong?
"leave it to providence," wilfrid said answering her unspoken thoughts. "the malay, at least, meant well."
