January, a detestable foggy month! It must be for profit, eh?’
‘Exactly.’ She rose and stood in front of him, every graceful line of her arrogant with pride. ‘You said just now that none of us had anything on the chief. You were wrong. I have. I, a woman, have had the wit and, yes, the courage—for it needs courage—to double-cross him. You remember the De Beer diamonds?’
‘Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just before the war broke out? I had nothing to do with it, and I never heard the details, the case was hushed up for some reason, was it not? A fine haul too.’
‘A hundred thousand pounds’ worth of stones. Two of us worked it—under the “Colonel’s” orders, of course. And it was then that I saw my chance. You see, the plan was to substitute some of the De Beer diamonds for some sample diamonds brought from South America by two young prospectors who happened to be in Kimberley at the time. Suspicion was then bound to fall on them.’
‘Very clever,’ interpolated the Count approvingly.
‘The “Colonel” is always clever. Well, I did my part—but I also did one thing which the “Colonel” had not foreseen. I kept back some of the South American stones—one or two are unique and could easily be proved never to have passed through De Beers’ hands. With these diamonds in my possession, I have the whip-hand of my esteemed chief. Once the two young men are cleared, his part in the matter is bound to be suspected. I have said nothing all these years, I have been content to know that I had this weapon in reverse, but now matters are different. I want my price—and it will be a big, I might almost say a staggering price.’
‘Extraordinary,’ said the Count. ‘And doubtless you carry these diamonds about with you everywhere?’
His eyes roamed gently around the disordered room.
Nadina laughed softly.
‘You need suppose nothing of the sort. I am not a fool. The diamonds are in a safe place where no one will dream of looking for them.’
‘I never thought you a fool, my dear lady, but may I venture to suggest that you are somewhat foolhardy? The “Colonel” is not the type of man to take kindly to being blackmailed, you know.’
‘I am not afraid of him,’ she laughed. ‘There is only one man I have ever feared—and he is dead.’
The man looked at her curiously.
‘Let us hope that he will not come to life again, then,’ he remarked lightly.
‘What do you mean?’ cried the dancer sharply.
The Count looked slightly surprised.
‘I only meant that resurrection would be awkward for you,’ he explained. ‘A foolish joke.’
She gave a sigh of relief.
‘Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the war. He was a man who once—loved me.’
‘In South Africa?’ asked the Count negligently.
‘Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa.’
‘That is your native country, is it not?’
She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached for his hat.
‘Well,’ he remarked, ‘you know your own business best, but, if I were you, I should fear the “Colonel” far more than any disillusioned lover. He is a man whom it is particularly easy to—underestimate.’
She laughed scornfully.
‘As if I did not know him after all these years!’
‘I wonder if you do?’ he said softly. ‘I very much wonder if you do.’
‘Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in this. The South African mail-boat docks at Southampton tomorrow, and on board her is a man who has come specially from Africa at my request and who has carried out certain orders of mine. The “Colonel” will have not one of us to deal with, but two.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘It is necessary.’
‘You are sure of this man?’
A rather peculiar smile played over the dancer’s face.
‘I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient, but perfectly trustworthy.’ She paused, and then added in an indifferent tone of voice: ‘As a matter of fact, he happens to be my husband.’
Everybody has been at me, right and left, to write this story, from the great (represented by Lord Nasby) to the small (represented by our late maid-of-all-work, Emily, whom I saw when I was last in England. ‘Lor, miss, what a beyewtiful book you might make out of it all—just like the pictures!’)
I’ll admit that I’ve certain qualifications for the task. I was mixed up in the affair from the very beginning, I was in the thick of it all through, and I was triumphantly ‘in at the death’. Very fortunately, too, the gaps that I cannot supply from my own knowledge are amply covered by Sir Eustace Pedler’s diary, of which he has kindly begged me to make use.
So here goes. Anne Beddingfeld starts to narrate her adventures.
I’d always longed for adventures. You see, my life had such a dreadful sameness. My father, Professor Beddingfeld, was one of England’s greatest living authorities on Primitive Man. He really was a genius—everyone admits that. His mind dwelt in Palaeolithic times, and the inconvenience of life for him was that his body inhabited the modern world. Papa did not care for modern man—even Neolithic Man he despised as a mere herder of cattle, and he did not rise to enthusiasm until he reached the Mousterian period.
Unfortunately one cannot entirely dispense with modern men. One is forced to have some kind of truck with butchers and bakers and milkmen and greengrocers. Therefore, Papa being immersed in the past, Mamma having died when I was a baby, it fell to me to undertake the practical side of living. Frankly, I hate Palaeolithic Man, be he Aurignacian, Mousterian, Chellian, or anything else, and though I typed and revised most of Papa’s Neanderthal Man and his Ancestors, Neanderthal men themselves fill me with loathing, and I always reflect what a fortunate circumstance it was that they became extinct in remote ages.
I do not know whether Papa guessed my feelings on the subject, probably not, and in any case he would not have been interested. The opinion of other people never interested him in the slightest degree. I think it was really a sign of his greatness. In the same way, he lived quite detached from the necessities of daily life. He ate what was put before him in an exemplary fashion, but seemed mildly pained when the question of paying for it arose. We never seemed to have any money. His celebrity was not of the kind that brought in a cash return. Although he was a fellow of almost every important society and had rows of letters after his name, the general public scarcely knew of his existence, and his long learned books, though adding signally to the sum-total of human knowledge, had no attraction for the masses. Only on one occasion did he leap into the public gaze. He had read a paper before some society on the subject of the young of the chimpanzee. The young of the human race show some anthropoid
