Chapter 13

THE BAZAAR.

For the next few days Vernon vainly grappled with the new problem which Lady Corsoon's information had supplied. That The Spider should offer the millionaire's wife a fortune of ten thousand pounds per annum on condition of receiving the income for the first year scarcely surprised the young man, for he already suspected The Spider to be connected with Diabella, if, indeed, the creature was not that famous individual herself. But it seemed odd that the arch-criminal should interest himself in Maunders' affairs, even to assisting to bring about the marriage with Lucy. Could it be possible that Maunders was one of the gang?

Vernon recalled that after Mrs. Bedge's confession of poverty he had suspected Maunders in this respect, since the young man apparently contrived to live like a prince on nothing a year. He did not receive much from his aunt and he did not earn an income, so it was possible that in some shady way he managed to become possessed of sufficient money to gratify his extravagant tastes. Maunders also being in the vicinity of the library on the occasion of the conversation with the late Mr. Dimsdale, must have heard the suggested arrangement of the trap. But then, as Vernon recalled, Miss Hest had stated in quite an innocent way how Maunders had been with her all the evening and could not thus have had anything to do with the crime at "Rangoon." Vernon's suspicions had been banished by Miss Hest's assertions, but they now revived in full force after Lady Corsoon's communication. He had made her show him the letter, and it proved to be similar to the earlier epistle of The Spider, even to the ideograph at the end. Apparently it was genuine enough, and, if genuine, Maunders must be connected in some way with the blackmailer. No other explanation was feasible.

Had Maunders been in London Vernon would have gone straight to tax him with his possible complicity, but the young man was at Bowderstyke and so, for the moment, could not be questioned. But, sooner or later, he would return to London, and then Vernon intended to force him to explain. Meanwhile it seemed best to seek out Diabella at the Bazaar for the Homeless Hindoos and threaten her with arrest unless she explained how she had come to let The Spider know Martin Dimsdale's secret. Also, she might supply the connecting link between The Spider and Maunders. Vernon was rather surprised at Diabella's daring in thus making a public appearance, but he supposed that his ruse had been successful, and that the fortune-teller, not having been openly searched for, presumed that Colonel Towton had taken no steps. If she had learned that Towton was to be at the f�te she might have declined to risk exercising her profession; but she had no reason to believe that he would be present, and thus dared the danger. But, never suspecting Vernon, he could enter the tent and tear off her mask, which was what he intended to do at the first opportunity.

The young man hesitated whether to tell Inspector Drench or to remain silent until more satisfied as to the hidden connection between Diabella and The Spider. After reflection, he decided to carry through the matter himself. By removing the waxen mask he would at least learn what Diabella was like, and perhaps, if brought to bay, she would speak out to save her skin. Then, when he knew more, he might venture to call in the aid of the police. It was a dangerous business, and perhaps Vernon would have been better advised had he taken more precautions against the woman's escape; but the evidence against her was so vague, and there appeared to be so much to clear up, that he doubted if Drench would be able to arrest her on the bare suspicion. At all events, after turning the matter over in his mind Vernon started by himself for the bazaar, resolved to act on his own initiative. He told no one of the second letter from The Spider to Lady Corsoon, not even Colonel Towton. So that military gentleman, ignorant of what was taking place, lingered in his chambers or idled at the Athenian Club, fretting over his inaction and longing for some chance to display his generalship. A very natural feeling, considering the Colonel's active mind.

The Georgian Hall was a huge repository of Hanoverian relics in South Kensington, and consisted of many moderately large apartments encircling a spacious central room. This was used for concerts, balls, meetings, f�tes, and such-like entertainments requiring ample scope for their celebration. The minor halls were dedicated to the display of objects connected with the rule of the House of Brunswick, and dating from the reign of the first monarch of the dynasty. Memorials of warfare on land and at sea were here, together with pictures of famous events, and collections of old-world things dealing with social life of the various epochs. One room was filled with figures representing the male and female garbs of the different reigns; another displayed china and silver and glass of the several periods; and a third room held quaint furniture, recalling the tales of Jane Austen. The political and social and military history of England was contained in the museums, and from this fact the hall took its name, since the objects dated only from The Act of Succession. It was an interesting place and well worth the patronage which it received from the idle public.

On this occasion the central room was filled with gaily-decorated stalls in divers colours, on which were displayed modern luxuries likely to appeal to the purses of the self-indulgent. Society beauties, charming actresses, and celebrated lady novelists presided over the booths of this Vanity Fair, and did a large trade by their fascinating personality alone. Vernon, accurately dressed, as became a young man about town, managed to elude these sirens, who would have cajoled every shilling out of his pocket, and walked into the grounds at the back of the Hall, where, Mrs. Crimer had informed him, the tent of Diabella was to be found. It was a sunny afternoon, as the flippant lady had desired, and the spacious gardens looked extremely pretty with flags and tents and flowers and general greenery. Games of all kinds were going on, and the place resembled a fair with its crowd of laughing people, who were enjoying themselves thoroughly. So far as could be judged, the Homeless Hindoos would benefit largely by the bazaar, as it apparently was a great success. No prettier function had taken place during the season.

Vernon saw endless friends and acquaintances, as many fashionable folk were present, but, taken up with his own anxious thoughts, he spoke to no one. However, someone spoke to him as he threaded his way amongst the throng, for a friendly touch on his shoulder wheeled him round, to behold Francis Hest. He looked more like his sister than ever, and decidedly handsome in his immaculate frock-coat, grey trousers, patent leather boots, and silk hat. The only fault which Vernon--always rather fastidious--could find in his general appearance was that he wore his hair much too long, which gave him the look of a poet or of a fashionable musician. And the full black locks added still more to his resemblance to Frances.

"I did not expect to find you here, Vernon," said Hest after a handshake. "Why not? It's one of the entertainments of the season, and everyone who is anyone is bound to patronise it."

"I should have thought it was too frivolous for you."

"Oh, I assure you I am a very frivolous person," said Vernon smoothly.

"Is Colonel Towton?" asked the other smiling; "and is he here?"

Vernon wondered why the question was asked. "Really, I can't say. Towton is certainly not frivolous, but he enjoys society and is usually to be found everywhere, enjoying himself. Do you know him?"

"No. I am an innocent countryman, who knows no one in the fashionable world except Lady Corsoon, who is a host in herself. I asked out of curiosity, as, having heard Miss Dimsdale speak of the Colonel, I should like to meet him."

"Oh! She spoke of Colonel Towton, did she?"

"Is that strange?" asked Hest, smiling again and showing his white teeth. "I rather think Miss Dimsdale admires the Colonel."

"He admires her and wants to marry her," said Vernon bluntly.

"So I should imagine. Another reason why I did right in running away from Gerby Hall and in declining my sister's help in marrying me to the lady. I think, however," added Hest significantly, "that unless the Colonel looks to his bride he will find she is likely to become Mrs. Maunders."

"I should be sorry to see that."

"Why? Don't you like Maunders?"

"Oh, yes. We were at school together. But I believe that Miss Dimsdale is in love with the Colonel. You know, of course, that Maunders has gone down to your place?"

"Certainly. Frances wrote me that he arrived on Sunday morning. That is why I advise Colonel Towton to look after Miss Dimsdale."

"Why does your sister wish Miss Dimsdale to marry Maunders?" asked Vernon in a pointedly blunt way.

Hest raised his thick, dark eyebrows. "Ask me another," he said lightly. "All I can say is that Frances is a great matchmaker. Failing me, she suggests Maunders as a suitor. He is younger than the Colonel, I believe."

"And much handsomer. But he has not Towton's sterling character. By the way, have you met Maunders?"

"Twice. Once in town and once at my own place. I confess that he doesn't attract me greatly. Handsome, yes; but there is something dangerous about him."

"Dangerous?" Vernon looked straightly at the speaker, wondering how he had chanced to hit on the very defect which spoilt Maunders' charm.

"It's the only word I can think of which describes him. But perhaps I am wrong. Frances would think so."

"I always thought that Miss Hest did not like Maunders.

"It may be so," said Hest indifferently. "Still, he is handsome, and Frances is a woman. It seems to me, however, that the word rests with Miss Dimsdale. If she loves Colonel Towton she will marry him, if Maunders, he will win her. A wilful woman will have her way."

"I do not think that Miss Dimsdale is wilful," said Vernon stiffly, then with an afterthought that Hest might help the Colonel to thwart the plans which Frances certainly appeared to entertain, he added, "Would you like to meet Towton?"

"Oh, yes. I shall be in town for a week before going to Paris. I have few friends here and like to be amused."

"Where are you staying?"

"At Professor Garrick Gail's, Isleworth."

"Oh!" Vernon could scarcely conceal his surprise. "I thought that you did not approve of your sister appearing as a reciter?"

"Nor do I," rejoined the other man with a frown, "but Frances asked me to deliver a message to Professor Gail, whom I met before and whom I like. He asked me to accept his hospitality while in London, so I did so, as I hope to induce him to get Frances to abandon this scheme of earning money by her talents--which by the way I don't deny--so that she may resume her proper place in society as my sister."

Vernon shook his head. "Miss Hest is of too active a mind to bear tamely the life of an ordinary country lady."

"She is singularly obstinate, if that is what you mean," said Hest with a curling lip. "However, that is my address, so if you can arrange a dinner with Colonel Towton I shall be glad to meet him and to give him the latest news of Miss Dimsdale."

"Thank you!" Vernon booked the dinner. "Say next Wednesday?"

"That will suit me capitally. The day after to-morrow? Well, and what are you going to do now?"

"Just wander round," replied Vernon evasively. He did not wish to disclose his plans regarding Diabella to the Yorkshire squire. "Good-day."

"Good-day," said the other in a friendly tone, and the two were soon separated by the ever-moving crowd.

It was growing late by this time and the gardens were not nearly so filled as they had been. Already there was a shade of twilight in the calm sky and several lamps had been lighted. It was necessary to see Diabella at once, for it might be that she would not be present in the evening. Vernon therefore went to seek for the Egyptian tent and soon found it standing in an isolated position at the far end of the ground. With some skill the canvas had been erected into the square form of a Memphis temple, and this, coloured like stone and adorned with gaudy hieroglyphics, looked a striking object in the waning light. Two imitation sphinxes guarded the doorway, and beside these on either side stood two men like bronze statues with folded arms. One was slender and the other burly, and both were natives of India in spite of their ancient Egyptian array. Vernon, knowing what he did know, had no difficulty in recognising Bahadur and the heavier man who had attempted to strangle the Colonel, until prevented by his mistress.

"Can I see Diabella?" he asked, approaching slowly and addressing Bahadur as the more amiable-looking of the two.

"One, two, three," said the man, showing his teeth and throwing up triple fingers. "Three to see mistress. Then you."

Vernon nodded and, resting on his cane, stared at the merry scene in an idle manner. But his thoughts were taken up with the probable scene which would ensue when he tore the mask from the woman's face. He wondered if she would make an outcry and would summon her attendants, and if so, would the sullen-looking wrestler attempt to choke him? But Vernon resolved at the moment he removed the mask to intimate that he knew of the assault on Colonel Towton, and so hoped that the woman would not risk unpleasant discoveries by making an outcry but would be willing to talk calmly. If so, then he hoped to induce her to state how she came to be possessed of Martin Dimsdale's secret. And here again, as it always did, came the thought that Diabela might be a disguise for The Spider, in which case she would surely decline to incriminate herself. If she did and refused to be frank there would be nothing for it but to see Drench and procure her arrest. For the moment, and now that he was on the very eve of the enterprise, Vernon regretted that he had not brought the Inspector with him so that he might be legally supported by the arm of the law. But it was too late for such regrets, and when he arrived at this point of his meditations Bahadur lifted the curtain which formed the door of the canvas temple to intimate that the stranger might enter.

The interior of the tent was adorned as an Egyptian Hall, much in the same way as the Bond Street rooms, save that the mummies were absent. Diabella, in the weird dress described by Towton, sat stiffly in a chair, with a small table at her elbow. The cards and the crystal and various charts bearing astrological figures were on the table, together with a boat-shaped lamp. This gave out a fairly strong light, and Vernon could see plainly the expressionless waxen mask which covered the face of the fortune-teller. She looked like a sphinx, solemn, calm, and passionless. Yet below that non-committing mask Vernon guessed was the face of the true woman, alive with passion and intrigue. He saw two glittering eyes scanning him curiously from the shadow of a black veil which the seeress wore draped over her Egyptian head-dress, and shivered a trifle at the uncanny look.

The sorceress saw the tremor. "Are you afraid?" she asked in her metallic voice, which was as expressionless as her mask.

"I am afraid of nothing," replied Vernon boldly and coldly; "but the night air strikes chill."

He thought that he heard a sarcastic laugh, but it was so soft that he well might have been mistaken. However, thinking that the prophetess was sneering at him he might have ventured on some angry remark, but that he recollected his intention and drew back with a grim smile. The laugh would be on his side when the mask was torn off.

"You wish to have your fortune told?" asked Diabella coldly and stretched out her hand. "Let me read your palm."

This was just what Vernon desired, as the grip brought him within snatching distance of the mask. There was a stool near at hand, upon which Diabella motioned that he should be seated; so shortly he was sitting, so to speak, at her feet, with his hand in hers. Shadows filled the corners of the tent and enhanced the grotesque looks of the figures painted on the canvas. The laughter and chatter of the diminishing crowd without had died away into a faint and confused murmur, and in the vivid circle of the lamplight sat the two figures. Diabella, holding back her veil, bent over Vernon's hand in silence.

"You are coming into good fortune," she said thinly. "Yes. Here is the line which foretells money and position. One near to you, if not dear, is on his death-bed and you benefit by his decease. Am I right?"

She raised her glittering eyes again to peer into his face. "If you are certain of your craft, there is no need for you to ask if you are right," said Vernon composedly. He was well aware of how fortune-tellers gain more knowledge than they impart by such dexterously-put questions.

Diabella gave a very modern shrug quite out of keeping with her dress and mien. However, she made no reply and continued her reading. "There is marriage here", she continued in a low voice; "but you have a rival."

"Will he be successful?"

"If he chooses to be."

"That is untrue," contradicted Vernon nettled; "The lady loves me."

"It is questionable--questionable," muttered the woman hastily. "Your rival is a formidable one and not easily turned from his purpose. Look at the break in the line yourself." She handed him a magnifying glass. "That means trouble before you achieve your heart's desire."

"Can you tell me what my heart's desire is?" asked Vernon after a glance through the glass.

"A lovely, wealthy wife and a happy home."

"Quite so; but I have a stronger desire."

"To do what?"

"Ah!" said Vernon sarcastically, "that is for you to say. But my second desire, which is marriage, is contingent on my first being realised."

"I see, I see," said Diabella raising her voice, which whistled shrilly like the wind through a crack. "You have to save someone from disgrace before you can marry the girl you love?"

"Is the someone a woman or a man?"

"A woman, and closely connected with the girl you wish to marry."

"Is there any chance of success?"

"None! none!"

"Then I shall not marry the----"

"You may marry, for the line of Venus is strongly marked," interrupted Diabella sharply. "The girl loves you, and may defy the person with whom she is so closely connected."

"And my rival also?"

Diabella shook her head. "He is too strong for her. He can force her to marry him when he chooses."

"Perhaps he may be forced to defend himself," said Vernon incautiously.

Diabella looked up quickly. "What's that?"

"Never mind. If you can read events you must guess what I mean."

"I can only read what is in your hand, and all that a man plans and thinks may not be written there. Still, you will be wise to leave your rival alone, for he is too strong for you."

"I don't think so, knowing what I know."

"What do you know?" Diabella's metallic voice sounded somewhat nervous, and she dropped Vernon's hand to clasp her own on her lap.

"I know," said Vernon, bending closely towards her, "I know that my rival will marry neither Ida Dimsdale nor Lucy Corsoon."

Diabella shrank back and gripped the arms of her chair. "The names are not familiar to me," she breathed in a low voice.

"Think again. The first name is familiar, surely?" mocked Vernon. "Why should it be?"

"Colonel Towton might be able to answer that."

Diabella rose suddenly, tall and straight, from her chair and threw out her arms with a repellant gesture. "I do not know the name of Colonel Towton."

Vernon rose slowly and measured his distance carefully. "You seem to forget a great deal, madame," he said softly, his fingers itching to tear off the expressionless mask.

"I never ask the names of my clients," she mumbled.

"How do you know that Colonel Towton was a client of yours? I never told you."

"I guessed--that is---- Ah! Help!"

She shrieked loudly and with good reason. Vernon's hand had shot out while he kept her attention engaged, and in a moment he had ripped the mask from her face. Head-dress and all came away in his grip, and Diabella covered her face with her hands. At her shriek the fold of the tent door was torn open and the burly Indian appeared. Vernon flung aside the mask and veil and head-dress and seized Diabella's wrists as the Indian ran forward to aid her. "I must see who you are," cried Vernon and pulled her hands away. "Maunders!"

He fell back a step and into the arms of the Hindoo. It was indeed Maunders whom he beheld, shrinking back into the shadows with a furious, shameful face, startled as a trapped animal. Vernon had no time to see more, for the Hindoo made a clutch at his throat, silent and venomous. Mindful of how Colonel Towton had been assaulted and Dimsdale killed, the young man turned fiercely to grapple with his assailant. As the two men closed in what promised to be a deadly struggle Maunders recovered his presence of mind sufficiently to dash over the lamp, and the tent became pitchy dark.

In that Cimmerian gloom the combatants swayed and swung and fought with silent earnestness. But the Hindoo was the stronger of the two, and Vernon felt the lean, long fingers grip his throat with vicious strength. He faintly heard Maunders, now at the door, hurriedly call to the native in an unknown tongue, and, fearful lest the two villains should escape, he tore himself away with a violent effort, crying as loudly as he could for assistance. The next moment his opponent flung himself forward and, picking him up as though he were a child, dashed him with gigantic force to the ground. His head struck the turf with a thud, and everything was swallowed up in blank insensibility.