reward of ten thousand pounds for the recovery of the necklace. I have recovered the necklace. I have decided to claim the reward and remain on the right side of the law.”
Charles stared at him, still not fully comprehending all that was in the man’s mind.
“But I never agreed to your doing anything of the sort,” he protested. “We ought to get a lot more than that out of it. Besides, it is dangerous. From whom did you say that you had received the necklace?”
“Scotland Yard is never too inquisitive in matters of that sort,” Felix Main murmured. “Besides, the Marquis wants the necklace back very badly. It is an heirloom.”
“Well, you had no right to make up your mind to do anything of the sort without consulting me,” Charles grumbled, “but so long as it’s done, I suppose it’s done. What about my five thousand pounds? After all, perhaps this is the quickest way of touching the money.”
“Your five thousand pounds?” the other queried gently.
Then the whole hideous truth dawned upon Charles. He half rose to his feet, and Mr. Felix Main’s hand disappeared entirely now into the interior of the drawer.
“Do you mean that you are going to try to cheat me, that you are going to keep the necklace, collect the whole of the reward for yourself—my necklace, the necklace that I risked everything for—”
“I am going to keep the whole of the ten thousand pounds,” Felix Main announced, with a coolness which surprised himself. “Now, what are you going to do about it? You cannot go to the law, and if you try to kill me, well, I shall kill you first.”
The gun was out now, but a second later it was lying harmlessly upon the floor. Felix Main had made his calculations without taking into consideration his own very flabby nerve. His last words, the sight of the gun, and Charles was on him like a tiger. The arm from which the gun was wrenched was afterwards proved to be broken. Weakened though he was drink and debauches of every sort, at that moment the young Russian was as strong as a lion. He was across the desk, and Felix Main felt a grip upon his throat which was like the grip of death. His collar was burst away, Charles raised him up and shook him as an angry tiger might have done an offending jackal. Then he set him down for a moment, still with a grip like the grip of metal upon his throat.
“You’re killing me!” Main gasped, the blood rushing up even to his eyes. “You’re killing me!”
“My God, what else do you think I’m going to do?” the young man muttered, as he bent a little closer over his victim. “You spawn of the devil! You foul little cheat! Do you think I’m taking risks of my life and leaving you to mock at me? You are going to send me to the gallows, eh? And stick to the ten thousand pounds! A wonderful scheme, Mr. Felix Main. But you will never spend a penny of that ten thousand pounds. They will never let you take that with you down to hell.”
The man was almost unconscious, a poor, lifeless pulp in the hands of his assailant.
“I’ll pay—I’ll give you all,” he choked. “I’ll tell nothing.”
The young man laughed horribly. The natural cruelty of his race had asserted itself, and his blood was hot with the lust of killing. He lifted his victim up and shook him once more. Then he flung him on his back and leaned over him for a minute. What happened then was spoken of at the inquest with bated breath.
The unfortunate part of the whole affair, so far as Mr. Felix Main was concerned, was that the struggle had been almost noiseless. Mabel was peacefully typing when Charles paused in her office on his way out, to light a cigarette.
“Well?” she asked pertly. “Finished with the guv’nor?”
“Pretty well,” he answered. “Listen.”
“I’m engaged for dinner, thanks,” she replied— “but if it’s at the Ritz, I’ll put my boy off.”
“I’m not asking you to dinner,” he said, bending still closer over her. “I want one kiss.”
She laughed and gave it to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Here’s a little memento, as that’s the last kiss I shall ever have.”
He drew off his signet ring and laid it by her side.
The girl stared after him as the swing door closed. Then the silence from the other room somehow frightened her. She went in, and her screams rang through the building.
CHAPTER XXIX
Andrew and Félice, as they lingered over dinner that night at Glenlitten House, could not conceal their astonishment at the way in which the latter’s new-found relative seemed to have kept in touch with all modern changes and happenings. He smiled at one of his daughter’s questions.
“You see,” he explained, “I had a piece of great good fortune. I was imprisoned in a fortress within a mile or two of the castle on my own Karnoff estate. You would not remember it, Félice. How indeed would you remember anything,” he added, with a whimsical smile, “when you left Russia at four years old? As a matter of fact, you never came to Karnoff. The district did not please your mother, but it was nevertheless a very wonderful estate, and one for which I had a great affection. I was always a very lenient overlord, and I believe that for many miles round the people had a genuine affection for me. When I came home wounded after winning those two great battles, and very nearly succeeding in smashing the Austrians before the Germans could arrive, they went crazy with delight. They used to come and sing outside my windows at night. I was fond of them too,” he reflected, with a sudden touch of melancholy in his tone. “It is not a pleasant thing for an old man to remember that the Russia of those days exists no longer.”
“I hope we will be able to show you that England isn’t such a bad place, sir,” Andrew said, with hospitable emphasis.
The Grand Duke smiled.
“I never expected to feel my heart so much at ease again as it is this evening,” he declared. “To see Félice just like her mother when I first met her in Paris, looking so happy, and you, my dear Andrew, the son-in-law so much after my heart, in this short time—when I think of what might have happened, owing to those scandalous servants of mine—well, it makes me believe once more in God.”
He finished his wine and lit a cigarette.
“But I was beginning to tell you,” he continued, “of my life at the prison. I had English, French and Russian newspapers every day, and all the magazines and many novels. I had my own food specially prepared, a garden for exercise, and the most exceptional privileges. Then after a time there came messages from the north that something had better happen to me, and, do you know, I believe I was the one man in Russia who was kept alive through the love of his people. There was a complete understanding between the warders, the outside workers at the fortress, and the people who used to be my labourers and who were living miserably as the labourers of some Bolshevist community—a complete understanding between them as to what should take place if anything were to happen to me. There was a beacon to be fired from the fortress, a flag to be hoisted at the castle, and I honestly believe I am not exaggerating when I tell you that every warder concerned in my murder, and every soldier there, the
