The Blood-Red Cross | Page 3

the occasion."
"Ah! there doesn't seem to be much that, does there?"
"I don't quite agree with you. Pressure has been brought to bear on the girl to make her conform to the usual regulations, and Lady Kennedy, a woman old enough to be her mother, is quite disagreeable on the point."
"But the girl sticks to her determination?"
"Absolutely, although she promises to yield and to wear the conventional dress at the ball given in her honour a week before the wedding."
Vandeleur was silent for nearly a minute; then dropping his voice he said, slowly:--
"Did Miss Ripley ever mention in your presence the name of our mutual foe--Madame Sara?"
"How strange that you should ask! On our journey to town to-day she told me that she knew the woman--she has known her for the greater part of her life--poor child, she even loves her. Vandeleur, that young girl is with Madame Sara now."
"Don't be alarmed, Druce; there is no immediate danger; but I may as well tell you that through my secret agents I have made discoveries which show that Madame has another iron in the fire, that once again she is preparing to convulse Society, and that little Miss Ripley is the victim."
"You must be mistaken."
"So sure am I, that I want your help. You are returning to Rowland's Folly?"
"To-night."
"And Miss Ripley?"
"She goes with me. We meet at Euston for the six o'clock train."
"So far, good. By the way, has Rowland spoken to you lately about the pearl necklace?"
"No; why do you ask?"
"Because I understand that it was his intention to have the pearls slightly altered and reset in order to fit Miss Ripley's slender throat; also to have a diamond clasp affixed in place of the somewhat insecure one at present attached to the string of pearls. Messrs. Theodore and Mark, of Bond Street, were to undertake the commission. All was in preparation, and a messenger, accompanied by two detectives, was to go to Rowland's Folly to fetch the treasure, when the whole thing was countermanded, Rowland having changed his mind and having decided that the strong-room at the Folly was the best place in which to keep the necklace."
"He has not mentioned the subject to me," I said. "How do you know?"
"I have my emissaries. One thing is certain--little Miss Ripley is to wear the pearls on her wedding-day--and the Italian family, distant relatives of the present Duke of Genoa, to whom the pearls belonged, and from whom they were stolen shortly before the Battle of Agincourt, are again taking active steps to secure them. You have heard the story of the American millionaire? Well, that was a blind--the necklace was in reality to be delivered into the hands of the old family as soon as he had purchased it. Now, Druce, this is the state of things: Madame Sara is an adventuress, and the cleverest woman in the world--Miss Ripley is very young and ignorant. Miss Ripley is to wear the pearls on her wedding-day--and Madame wants them. You can infer the rest."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Go back and watch. If you see anything, to arouse suspicion, wire to me."
"What about telling Rowland?"
"I would rather not consult him. I want to protect Miss Ripley, and at the same time to get Madame into my power. She managed to elude us last time, but she shall not this. My idea is to inveigle her to her ruin. Why, Druce, the woman is being more trusted and run after and admired day by day. She appeals to the greatest foibles of the world. She knows some valuable secrets, and is an adept in the art of restoring beauty and to a certain extent conquering the ravages of time. She is at present aided by an Arab, one of the most dangerous men I have ever seen, with the subtlety of a serpent, and legerdemain in every one of his ten fingers. It is not an easy thing to entrap her."
"And yet you mean to do it?"
"Some day---some day. Perhaps now."
His eyes were bright. I had seldom seen him look more excited.
After a short time I left him. Miss Ripley met me at Euston. She was silent and unresponsive and looked depressed. Once I saw her put her hand to her neck.
"Are you in pain?" I asked.
"You might be a doctor, Mr. Druce, from your question."
"But answer me," I said.
She was silent for a minute; then she said, slowly:--
"You are good, and I think I ought to tell you. But will you regard it as a secret? You wonder, perhaps, how it is that I don't wear a low dress in the evening. I will tell you why. On my neck, just below the throat, there grew a wart or mole--large, brown, and ugly. The Italian doctors would not