The Catherine Ruby

ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY COLLER

BAZAAR?" echoed the Duke in a disgusted tone. "I remember quite well your telling me before the war that you'd opened enough bazaars in one year to last you a lifetime."

"We've done so very little for the neighbourhood lately," observed the Duchess gently. "And a bazaar gives every kind of person mixed up in it something nice and interesting to do."

The Duke chuckled. "'Nice and interesting?' Listen to my definition of a bazaar! 'A place where fools sell, idiots buy, and thieves break in and steal'—if there's anything worth stealing—not that there ever is."

They were on their way to dinner at a house called Chillingworth Place, now in the possession of their widowed neighbour, Lady Playling, famous both in town and country as the most successful Mrs. Leo Hunter of her day. Those of her friends who were unkindly witty had dubbed Lady Playling "The Guest Hog" and "The Forcible Feeder," but, as a matter of fact, she was a generous, kind-hearted, highly vitalised woman who liked bringing congenial souls together, and who delighted to come in touch with any man or woman enjoying temporary fame or notoriety.

"Everyone's already tremendously excited about the bazaar," went on the Duchess placidly. "And Nora Playling will entertain a big party of rich London people, as well as several lovely girls who will be very useful as sellers."

"And when is this amazing clamjamphrie of yours going to take place?" asked the Duke.

Now and again he would use a queer old Scotch expression which he had learnt from his grandmother.

As the Duchess did not answer at once he went on: "You can't be sure of the weather before July. Why not have your bazaar in August, when I shall be safe away, up north?"

"August?" echoed the Duchess disdainfully. "Should I have spoken to you now, James, if the bazaar was going to be in August? No, no, our clamjamphrie is going to be an Easter offering."

"And which of our beautiful lawns is going to be cut up and turned into a dust-heap or a swamp?"

He turned on her in the darkness rather sternly, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, darling" She took hold of his hand.

"Don't 'darling' me about a thing like that!"

At once she amended her phrase, "Well, monster"

"That's better," he exclaimed. "Out with it, Laura!—what is it you want?"

"We hope that you will be kind enough to allow us to hold our bazaar"

"I—kind? What have I to do with it?" interrupted the Duke suspiciously.

"—in the Riding School," completed the Duchess.

"Quite impossible!" exclaimed the Duke, but even as he uttered the word, he reflected ruefully on the fact that the word "impossible" did not figure in his wife's vocabulary.

"You see it's the only large covered-in building for miles round. Also it is possible to warm the riding school."

"At great expense," grumbled the Duke.

"But for a far worthier object than usual."

"Rather like burning down the house to roast a pig, eh?"

The Duke was fond of that cynical old simile, and when he made use of it, especially in that tone, she knew that everything was "all right."

"And to how much more expense am I to be put in connection with this absurd affair?" he went on.

"The putting up of the stalls won't cost anything," was the confident answer. "It can be done in a jiffy, as Robin would say, by the house carpenter.'

"And who will provide what Robin would call the grub?" asked the Duke. "I presume there will be grub?"

"Of course there will! But all refreshments will be paid for. In fact, that's the only thing that's settled already. There's to be a sixpenny tea, a ninepenny tea, and a shilling tea."

"There won't be much profit on a six-penny tea," observed the Duke dryly.

"There'll be sixpence on each tea," her voice sounded slightly surprised, "and a hundred sixpences come to—let me see?"

"That means that I am to provide the tea, the bread and butter, the cake, the jam, the cream, the milk"

"No, no," cried the Duchess, "I shall provide all that."

"I fear this is one of the cases," observed the Duke thoughtfully, "where the greater includes the less."

"What do you mean, James?"

"I mean that what is thine is mine, dearest. Or, if you prefer to put it so, what is mine is thine. Therefore you will provide the refreshments, and I shall ultimately pay for them."

At that moment the car drew up under the brightly illumined portico of Chillingworth Place. It was Lady Playling's pride, as well as pleasure, that everything should be conducted in her country house on a pre-war basis. So there was plenty of light, and plenty of heat.

As they walked down the long corridor which led from the square hall to the drawing-room, the Duchess murmured: "How deliciously warm it is here! I wish we could have central heating; but I don't suppose we can ever hope to be able to afford that."

"Thank Heaven, no," grunted the Duke. "I feel as if I was walking in one of the glass houses at Kew. All this waste and extravagance is enough to make Nora Playling's old mother-in-law turn in her grave! I remember very well, as a child, being tripped up by a hole in the carpet in this very corridor."

"Fools save, so that the wise folk who come after them may spend," murmured the Duchess slyly.

She had invented this improvident proverb, and she was fond of quoting it, though not in the presence of her children.

They entered the large Victorian drawing-room whose defects were now minimised by two splendid pieces of tapestry and a number of fine pictures, together with a pervading air of comfort. And there each perceived, with secret disappointment, that most of Lady Playling's guests were local worthies. Even so, the party, which numbered sixteen, was "laced" with a certain number of people who were evidently staying in the house.

Among these—strangers to her—the Duchess at once picked out an unusual-looking girl—or was she a young married woman?

"My friend, Donna Julia Verocchio!"—Lady Playling presented the girl first to the Duchess, and then to the Duke, and they both, in their different ways, told themselves that Donna Julia was a very attractive young woman. She had an irregular-featured, clever face, an exquisite camellia-like complexion, beautiful eyes, and a well-shaped little head covered with dark curls.

Donna Julia began speaking to the Duke in an English which, if that of a foreigner, yet was exceedingly good. The Duchess, with amusement, overheard the charming stranger alluding to his famous herd of pedigree cattle. Small wonder that he found her pleasant company.

"Donna Julia has had a most tragic life," whispered Lady Playling. "She lost her three brothers in the war, and though she belongs to a famous Italian family she is very, very poor. You'd never think she was thirty—would you? Some silly globe-trotter told her that there was a great deal of money to be made in England by giving private dancing lessons, so she came to London two months ago. One of my nieces met her at a charity ball, and since then she's been with me quite a lot—on and off."

The Duchess again glanced with real interest at the attractive Italian. Donna Julia was still gazing up into the Duke's face, an eager expression in her large eyes, and he, on his side, had evidently unbent, and was looking, for him, quite interested in what she was saying.

"Of course I can't help hoping," went on Lady Playling, "that some day one of the silly old men she's teaching to dance will fall in love with her. She'd make a perfect second wife! She's so utterly unlike the modern society girl; so gentle, so unselfish, such a help to me, dear Duchess. Throws herself into all the little things one's doing. She didn't even know what a bazaar was till this morning, yet she's already made two or three quite good suggestions."

"I should have thought," said the Duchess, surprised, "that all kinds of fancy fairs took place in Rome."

"Ah, but Donna Julia has lived mostly, in fact almost entirely, in the country and in southern Italy. She knows nothing of Rome and of Roman society. I very soon found that out."

The owner of Chillingworth Place had an excellent chef, and she was herself a gourmet, so the dinner was exceptionally nice. This no doubt contributed something to the fact that it was a very good-humoured party of ladies who moved off at last to the drawing-room, leaving an equally good-humoured party of gentlemen in the dining-room behind them.

At once Lady Playling's feminine guests resolved themselves into an informal bazaar committee. Great was the satisfaction expressed when the Duchess revealed the fact that the Duke had offered the use of the Castle Riding School, and that he was also anxious to provide everything connected with the refreshment buffets.

As the discussion drifted on, as such discussions are apt to do, with very little said of practical value, the Duchess began to feel that Lady Playling had not over-praised her Italian guest; Donna Julia said but little, but everything she did say was to the point.

"This morning Donna Julia and I thought of a scheme," exclaimed Lady Playling suddenly, "that might bring in a great deal of money."

She rose and took off a table a large handsomely bound volume. Then, dragging forward a high footstool, she placed it in front of the Duchess.

The latter leant forward. "Why, it's Historic Jewels, she observed. "We've got a copy of this book in town, though I've not seen it for ever so long."

Lady Playling began busily turning the wide pages. "Here is a picture of your Catherine Ruby!" she exclaimed.

Now the Catherine Ruby was a priceless gem which, once a favourite jewel of Catherine the Great, had been given by the then Emperor of Russia to the Duke's grandfather, on the last day of his stay, as Special Envoy from the Court of St. James, at St. Petersburg.

"Is the stone really as large as that?" asked someone.

"Yes, this is it's exact size."

Another voice chimed in. "Do you ever wear it, Duchess?"

"I've only worn the Catherine Ruby three or four times in the last twenty years! As a brooch I think it very ugly, though I wouldn't say so before my husband. If we could afford to have it recut, and beautifully reset, then I should enjoy wearing it, but it's still in that heavy setting."

"It must be worth a vast quantity of money," observed Donna Julia pensively.

"I hope you have it well insured, my dear?" said Lady Playling.

She was once more turning over the pages of the big volume. "Though I hate paying the cheque every Christmas, I've got this of mine well insured"; and she let the book fall open at a page containing a coloured illustration of a curious-looking ornament formed of three large sapphires.

"I always feel nervous when I'm wearing this bandeau," she observed. "Still, it's wonderful to feel on my humble brow something that used to be worn, I believe practically every evening, by the Empress Maria Theresa!"

"It's rather odd," observed the Duchess, "that within a few miles of here there's another of the jewels illustrated in this book—I mean the pendant owned by Mrs. Deane, which was given by Queen Anne to the Duchess of Marlborough."

"And now for my great idea!" cried Lady Playling. "I suggest that we have a kind of Aladdin's Cave as the feature of our bazaar. Wonderful jewels, including your Catherine Ruby, Duchess, and my bandeau, could be on show. I think it would be a very great draw, don't you? We might charge half a crown admission."

She looked round for approval and met, as she fully expected to do, with eager congratulations on her brilliant suggestion.

"Yes," said the Duchess slowly, "I think that a very good idea."

"We should have to engage a detective from town," went on Lady Playling—"indeed, perhaps two detectives."

"Do you think detectives would be necessary? " asked Donna Julia in a surprised voice. "A thief, surely, would not know what to do with such historic jewels."

Her hostess laughed. "You're quite wrong, Julia! There are eager purchasers, and no questions asked, for jewels of historic interest and value, both in North and South America. Besides, a really big stone can be cut in half, and still prove enormously valuable. But here come the men! We mustn't talk bazaar shop before them."

But in spite of good resolutions the minds of all the ladies present were much too full of the coming bazaar to make it possible for them to remain wholly silent.

Lady Playling boldly tackled the Duke, and to the Duchess's surprise, he responded quite amiably to her request.

"Laura," he asked, "where is the Catherine Ruby? I'm blessed if I know!"

"It's at Farringdons'. They are putting on a little chain and safety-pin. I thought you would like me to wear it when the King opens Parliament."

The Duchess turned to Lady Playling. "I always feel happy when it's with our jewellers"

While driving back to the Castle, the Duke said thoughtfully: "I think the best thing to do will be to ask Farringdons' to send a trustworthy man down with the Catherine Ruby just for the one day. By the way, what a very pleasant young woman our Lady Leo Hunter's new Italian quarry appears to be."

the Duke was by no means popular in the neighbourhood—indeed it might almost be said that he was as much disliked as the Duchess was liked—it was universally admitted that when he set out to do his duty by his neighbours, he did it in a truly ducal and magnificent fashion.

So it was that the old Riding School presented on the morning of the opening day of the bazaar a really beautiful appearance, transformed for the nonce into the semblance of a mediæval baronial hall. The spaces between the high windows were hung with what even an expert would have declared was a very fair imitation of ancient arras, and the floor was covered with rushes.

Twelve stalls had been erected, six on one side and six on the other side of the great covered-in space, while in the centre at the upper end, flanked by two refreshment buffets, stood a red silk tent which gave a note of brilliant colour and distinction to the scene.

The tent was a survival of the famous Eglinton Tournament, and had been lent by a friend of the Duchess. Everyone agreed that the tent alone was worth coming a long way to see, quite apart from the marvellous jewels which were to be on show within it for this one day. In addition to the three historic pieces, certain splendid modern gems had also been generously loaned by their fortunate possessors.

It was half-past twelve, and though the formal opening was not to take place till three o'clock, Lady Playling and her house party of eight carefully selected wealthy—and it was hoped generous-hearted—friends, as well as Donna Julia, and three pretty girls, were already at the castle. Indeed the younger members of the party had been working hard since ten, arranging and pricing the wares on the stalls, and seeing that everything was in smooth selling order.

They had all been bidden to lunch at the Castle in the company of the Princess, who had graciously consented to declare the bazaar open.

As the value and historic importance of the jewels to be shown were so exceptional, the senior partner of the famous firm of London jewellers known as Farringdons', had himself brought down from town the ducal heirloom.

The noted jeweller was a cultivated man, with an unique knowledge of gems, and he threw himself into the spirit of the affair, performing, unassisted, the far from easy task of arranging to the best advantage the contents of his travelling safe, as well as the other jewels which had been lent to the Duchess, in the show-cases which had been commandeered from a local shop.

In the centre of the tent stood a sunk table lent by Lady Playling. It contained the three principal treasures of the many which were to be on show. The Catherine Ruby reposed to-day on a tiny dark red velvet cushion, between the Maria Theresa bandeau and the Queen Anne diamond pendant.

When he had at last finished his task, Mr. Farringdon came out of the tent and approached the Duchess, who, like everyone else there, was hard at work putting the final touches to her own stall which displayed garden and greenhouse produce.

"All we want now, your Grace, are the detectives. I presume their lunch can be brought out to them and served in the tent? As for the key of the sunk table, I have just handed it to his Grace."

The Duchess looked rather taken aback. "The detectives won't be here before half-past one!" she exclaimed.

As she saw a look of dismay cross his face, she said penitently: "I'm so sorry, Mr. Farringdon. It's all my fault! As the bazaar is not to be declared open till three, I thought that it would be quite all right if the detectives came down by the one-thirty train. I'll send for two of our most responsible outdoor men, to whose care the Duke and I would trust everything precious we have in the world! Besides, the great doors will be locked, bolted and barred till just before three o'clock. As you can see for yourself, there is only one other door, that leading from the Castle into the Riding School. No one could get in by any of the windows; they are far too high."

"There are such things as ladders, your Grace."

"I'll have a boy scout placed outside on the grass by each window. But, believe me, there is no danger of any stranger coming in before, say, two-forty-five. My orders are quite clear, and all our people are absolutely trustworthy."

Mr. Farringdon, even so, did not look entirely satisfied, and the Duchess told herself that he was an old fuss-pot.

While their little discussion had been going on, the Duke, accompanied by the charming Donna Julia Verocchio—who had worked with such energy, while yet so quietly and unobtrusively, all the morning, as to win the Duchess's whole-hearted approval—went into the jewel tent.

It was seldom indeed, so said the Duchess to herself, that her dear Duke showed himself so interested in—it might almost be said so attracted by—any woman, as he obviously was by Lady Playling's foreign protégée.

"I should like your Grace to see what I have done as to the actual arrangement of the jewels," observed Mr. Farringdon suddenly.

He lifted the heavy, gold-fringed, red silk curtain which masked the entrance, and followed by the jeweller she passed into the softly illumined tent.

The Duke and Donna Julia were standing by Lady Playling's sunk table. The glass lid had been lifted back, and the Catherine Ruby taken off its tiny cushion. It now lay on the palm of Donna Julia's pretty hand, and she was looking down at the huge pigeon's-blood coloured stone with a glance of rapt admiration, and, or so Mr. Farringdon thought, of almost covetous delight.

A jeweller, it may be observed in parenthesis, does not see the best of feminine human nature during his journey through life.

"How wonderful to think that this marvellous gem often adorned the bosom of the greatest sovereign in Christendom!" murmured Donna Julia to herself.

Then, as she turned to the Duke: "I think you will admit that the Empress Catherine was—how do you say it?—a vastly more remarkable woman than even your celebrated Queen Elizabeth?"

"I don't admit that for a moment," he replied gruffly. "I consider the Empress Catherine to have been a horrible woman, from every point of view. I don't think that you can know much about her, Donna Julia; if you did, you wouldn't dream of comparing her to our Great Eliza."

Donna Julia looked up with a distressed little look. It was the first time the Duke had ever spoken to her in anything but kindly, indeed, for him, honeyed, accents.

"I am very ignorant," she murmured. "But even I know what a wonderful woman was your mighty woman sovereign."

As if a thought reluctantly, she placed the Catherine Ruby carefully back on its little red cushion in the centre of the sunk table. Then, turning to the Duchess who was examining a collection of engraved gems which she thought more curious than beautiful, "I do hope," she said fervently, "that hundreds and hundreds of people will come in to see all these marvellous jewels!

The Duke, meanwhile, closed down the glass lid of the sunk table, and turned the key in the silver-gilt lock. "I can't keep this key," he said quickly, "for I'm leaving for town after lunch. If you don't mind, I think it had better remain in your charge, Mr. Farringdon."

With a bow the jeweller took the key from the Duke's fingers, and a few moments later all four left the tent.

Mr. Farringdon, who was the last to leave, turned out, as he did so, the electric light, which had been temporarily installed in a cut-glass chandelier which, hanging from the centre of the gathered red silk ceiling, provided just the right amount of illumination to show off the gleaming jewels at their best.

gracious Princess, who was to declare the bazaar open, naturally sat on the right hand of her host, the Duke, at luncheon. After giving the matter a little thought, the Duchess had decided that Donna Julia Verocchio, both as the stranger within their gates, and as the daughter of an Italian noble, should occupy the next place of honour on the Duke's left.

Host and guest had quite made up their little quarrel as to which of the two great women sovereigns deserved the most praise, and the Duchess saw with pleasure that the Duke, instead of being bored as he almost always was on such an occasion as this, was evidently amused and in good cheer. But the moment luncheon was over, he made his excuses to the Princess, and slipped away to where his motor was waiting to whisk him off to London.

About twenty to three the Duchess was informed that Mr. Farringdon wished urgently to speak to the Duke.

"Surely you explained that his Grace is by this time half-way to town? Show Mr. Farringdon into my boudoir. I can't give him many moments, for of course I must be in the Riding School well before the Princess declares the bazaar open."

A moment later she ran upstairs—her footsteps still as light as a girl's—to her own private sitting-room, to find, a little to her surprise, Mr. Farringdon already there.

"My business," he said hesitatingly, "was really with the Duke, your Grace."

"The Duke had an urgent reason for wishing to be in London to-day. He stayed till after lunch only because we were entertaining the Princess. What is it you wished to tell him, Mr. Farringdon? Is it a secret?"

She smiled into his grave face. The Duchess and the jeweller were old friends. They had all three been happy young people, with all the world before them, when she and the Duke had consulted the then junior partner of the famous firm of London jewellers as to the choice of her engagement ring. So she allowed herself to add now: "The Duke and I have no secrets from one another—at least I hope not."

"I'm afraid I'm going to give your Grace a great shock," said Mr. Farringdon slowly. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, Duchess, that the Catherine Ruby has been stolen."

"Stolen? D'you mean that thieves broke into the Riding School while we were at luncheon?"

"If that had happened, your Grace, the problem which confronts us now would be comparatively simple."

"But the Catherine Ruby was in the tent a couple of hours ago when you, the Duke, and I, were there? Don't you remember, Mr. Farringdon?"

She waited a moment, then added, with a touch of hesitation: "I mean just before his Grace handed you the key."

"The Catherine Ruby was undoubtedly in the sunk table when I myself handed his Grace the key, leaving the tent for a moment or two empty," he answered evasively.

And then, as if speaking to himself, he went on: "I blame myself, indeed I blame myself very much, for not having gone back into the tent for a final look round before leaving the Riding School just before one o'clock. But it never occurred to me to do so! I entirely trusted—I do now—the two men your Grace left in charge. Of course I made sure that they were there on guard, one in front of the entrance curtain, the other behind the tent. As a matter of fact, the poor chaps were so nervous that they had the big doors locked and bolted before I left the place."

"That must mean," said the Duchess quickly, "that the thief or thieves obtained access to the Riding School through the little door leading from the Castle?"

"Impossible, your Grace. That door, too, was locked, after I went through it at one o'clock till I myself accompanied the two detectives into the Riding School about half an hour ago. It was then that I discovered what had happened."

"Then how could anyone have got into the Riding School?" The Duchess looked, as she felt, not only very much chagrined, but utterly bewildered.

Without giving him time to answer, she went on, as if speaking to herself: "The Catherine Ruby gone? I can't believe it!"

"It has been a very cleverly planned affair, for anyone just looking in casually wouldn't know that the real Catherine Ruby was not there. Even the detectives don't know it yet."

"What do you mean, Mr. Farringdon?"

"Whoever took the Catherine Ruby put something that looks uncommonly like it in its place. But of course it's my business to know sham from true, your Grace. And though I unlocked the glass lid and made quite sure, I hadn't a doubt as to what had happened the moment I glanced at the false stone."

"You mean that there has actually been substituted a piece of red glass for the real Catherine Ruby?"

"That, your Grace, is exactly what I do mean, though what has been substituted is an excellent Parisian imitation, obviously copied from the illustration in a book of which your Grace may have heard called Historic Jewels."

"That means that the theft has been most carefully planned?"

"That undoubtedly is so, your Grace. And we must seek the active agent, the actual thief, among the people who were in the Riding School this morning. That is why I thought it would be best to tell the Duke what has occurred privately, so that we might consult what it will be best to do under the very peculiar circumstances."

"You mean that we may have to look for the thief very near home? "

"Undoubtedly. I presume your Grace feels quite easy as regards the character of each member of the household staff?"

The Duchess waited a moment. Then she answered firmly: "Absolutely easy! There isn't a single person employed in the Castle about whom I don't know practically everything there is to know. I'm a very lucky woman, Mr. Farringdon. I hear of other people's troubles with their servants; but I have never any trouble! Fortunately for me, I've a wonderful old housekeeper who was once my nurse. No, no. We must look further afield"

"I've been wondering if your Grace would allow me to telephone to the firm of private enquiry agents my firm always employs?"

"I shouldn't like you to do that before the Duke knows of this very serious matter," she said decidedly.

And then looking straight into his deeply troubled, anxious face, she said quietly: "I want to ask you a plain question, Mr. Farringdon. Have you any suspicion?"

He waited for what seemed to her a long time, then he answered at last: "I have a strong suspicion as to the composition of the actual gang of international crooks who instituted this particular robbery. They've done one or two very big things both here and on the Continent. Their biggest haul was in the house of a diamond merchant near Barcelona. The gang include a number of women—ladies, I ought to say."

"Ladies?" repeated the Duchess.

Her quick mind began turning over in distressed review the personalities of the many women and girls, for the most part friends and neighbours, who had been working hard all that morning in the Biding School. Some of them, she realised with sorrow, were now very, very poor.

"Since the end of the war, there are many men and women of gentle birth, your Grace, who don't know where to turn for money, and who seem to stick at nothing in order to procure it. I am, of course, thinking of the Continent, not of our own country, thank Heaven!"

Mr. Farringdon, like the Duke, was a true blue Briton.

"Then you think we must look for a foreigner?"

Mr. Farringdon opened his mouth; then he shut it again. The Duchess realised that he had been about to say something, and that then he had thought better of it. Suddenly as if his brain were voicelessly communicating with hers, she knew who was in his mind.

"I think you have a suspicion." Her voice dropped; it was almost as if she was afraid the walls of her friendly old boudoir would hear her half-question.

Mr. Farringdon came a little closer up to her than he had been. "As far as we know,"—and he also dropped his voice—"there were only four people, your Grace, in that tent, between the time I arranged the jewels and when, a good hour and a half later, I took the two detectives there."

"Four people?" she repeated hesitatingly.

"I mean your Grace, the Duke, a young foreign lady, and myself. Maybe you don't remember that when you and I went into the tent we found his Grace and the lady standing by the sunk table?"

"I do remember that now," murmured the Duchess.

"The lid of the table was open, and the lady had the Catherine Ruby lying on the palm of her hand. The Duke and she were talking, I think, about Queen Elizabeth."

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "Of course, Mr. Farringdon; it all comes back to me now!"

"How long have you known that Italian lady, if I may ask the question?" and Mr. Farringdon looked very straight at the Duchess.

"We have known that lady, Donna Julia Verocchio, for quite a long time. I think I may describe her as an intimate friend of Lady Playling—whose name, of course, you know as that of the owner of the Maria Theresa bandeau."

"It seems a pity," he said musingly, "a very great pity, your Grace, that we can't have a search made of that lady—I mean, of course a search carried out properly, by members of her own sex"

He stopped abruptly.

The Duchess looked very much dismayed. "I'm afraid there's no hope of my being able to suggest the doing of such a thing. It would be so very insulting, though, as a matter of fact, the two police women, whose duty it is to search smugglers on the coast hard by, are in the Castle at the present moment."

"How strange!"

"No, not in the least strange," said the Duchess rather crossly. "They have come to the bazaar as private individuals. They are both war widows, and very nice women."

"I do wish this Italian lady could be searched, your Grace."

"I can't help hoping, nay I feel sure, that you are wrong to suspect her," said the Duchess slowly.

"I hope I am; but I have very little doubt about it in my own mind, your Grace."

To herself the Duchess murmured: "I don't know what I ought to do!"

"If I may make so bold as to advise, I think the only thing for your Grace to do is to telephone to the Duke in order to obtain his permission for me to get in touch with the firm of enquiry agents I mentioned. The head of the firm is a very clever man—he was for a long time in the C.I.D.—and he may be able to offer, even over the telephone, a valuable suggestion."

"Very well," said the Duchess slowly. "I'll get a call put through to London, and the Duke will ring me up as soon as he reaches our house. I shall not give him any hint of your suspicion. But you will be free, of course, to say what you judge to be right to the man of whom you have just spoken."

ceremony of declaring the bazaar open was quickly got through, and very soon the great hall was full of a merry crowd of eager sightseers and would-be buyers.

As for the Duchess, her mind was completely absorbed in the problem now centring round the Catherine Ruby. She was painfully anxious to avoid any scandal, and though she was a very brave woman, she quivered with fear at having to confess to her husband, and through the telephone, too, that their priceless heirloom had disappeared while virtually in her keeping.

Then, suddenly, it was as if a light broke in upon her. A certain course of action suggested itself to her—a forlorn chance, maybe, but one she thought well worth the risk it involved.

Quickly she left her stall, on which was set out a wonderful show of fresh fruit and vegetables, and. crossed over to where Lady Playling, surrounded by a bevy of pretty girls, was herself selling, at high prices, elegant useless trifles. As for Donna Julia, she was hidden behind the stall hard at work, engaged in the humble, but most necessary, task of doing up parcels.

The Duchess sought her out. "You look very tired," she said kindly. "I'm flitting away, to have an early cup of tea up in my own sitting-room, and I want you to come and have one with me."

The Italian girl smiled a little wanly. "I don't think I ought to go away just yet," she murmured.

"Indeed you ought!"

The Duchess spoke as one having authority, as indeed she always had over any man, woman, or child, who came across her path. And so the two soon found themselves in the charming room which held so many memories for its possessor.

The Duchess rang the bell, and her own maid brought in the tea-tray.

And then, just as Donna Julia sank gracefully back in her chair, she saw, with a slight look of surprise (and was it also apprehension in her beautiful eyes?) her hostess go across to the door and lock it.

As the Duchess came back and began pouring out two cups of tea for herself and her guest, she exclaimed: "I never seem to have a moment's real peace! So I often lock the door when I don't want to be disturbed. When people find my door locked, they take it as a hint that I'm to be left alone."

Donna Julia looked reassured, and that involuntary look of reassurance made the Duchess feel what she had never felt in her now long life before—a traitor to her kind.

"Something very unpleasant has happened," she said quietly.

"Something unpleasant? Dear Duchess! I am sorry."

Donna Julia sat up in her easy-chair, and gazed anxiously into her hostess's flushed face.

"The Catherine Ruby, which has been in our family for something like seventy to eighty years, has disappeared."

"Disappeared?" exclaimed the other incredulously.

"Yes, and in the last two or three hours."

"But how incredible!"

"In a few minutes from now the great doors of the Biding School, as well as the little door leading into the Castle, will be locked, and everyone there is to be searched," said the Duchess slowly.

Donna Julia turned very pale; and a look of terror came into her eyes, which were the most beautiful feature of her striking face.

"What an odious idea! Then it was to allow me to escape such an ordeal that you invited me up here? I am more grateful than I can say—for I have a physical horror of being touched by alien hands."

"Alas! I cannot claim your gratitude, my dear. As you and I were the only two women who were in the tent before the detectives arrived from town, I had, of course, to say that we should both be quite willing to submit ourselves to what you truly call this odious ordeal. That is the reason why I brought you here. In this sitting-room the search will be conducted in complete privacy."

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "The two policewomen will be here in about ten minutes."

"But you do not mean that I am going to be searched?"

Donna Julia rose from her chair. She was gazing about her with a hunted look, as if involuntarily seeking a way of escape.

"I'm terribly sorry! But the two women are most respectable folk, accustomed to this curious job of theirs, owing to the smuggling of which there has been so much of late within a few miles from here."

There followed what seemed to the Duchess—though probably she was not really suffering as much as her guest—an almost intolerable pause.

At last, feeling she could no longer gaze, as she had been doing, into the Italian girl's agonised face and fear-haunted-looking eyes, and, indeed, hardly aware of what she was doing, the Duchess turned away.

Then, suddenly, she heard a cry. Was it a cry of triumph?

"Duchess? I do believe that I, myself, have the Catherine Ruby safe in my possession!"

The Duchess turned round. "You?" she exclaimed in an ill-assured voice.

"Yes, I, Julia Verocchio!" Then speaking in a quiet, toneless voice, she went on:

"I noticed a rather peculiar-looking woman slip into the Jewel Tent just after the Princess and your party had left it. She stayed in there about five minutes, after which, to my surprise, she came up to me. I was doing up a parcel, and the stranger said to me in what I noticed at the time was an agitated voice, 'Have you a bag in which you can keep for me a tiny parcel for which I will come back after I have made my purchases at the bazaar?' When I said I would of course keep it for her, she leant towards me and whispered, 'It has nothing to do with this bazaar. It is very valuable. Have you a place where you can keep it safe?'"

"And where did you keep it?" asked the Duchess breathlessly.

She was admiring, in spite of herself, the other's quick-wittedness.

Donna Julia lifted the lower part of her very pretty frock, thus revealing a dainty pale pink petticoat. The petticoat had a pocket—a pocket which now looked as if it contained a rather large handkerchief.

"I showed the stranger this. Many women in my country find it convenient to have a pocket in their petticoat."

As she spoke, her hand slid down, and from the pocket she extracted a crumpled-up silk handkerchief in which was wrapped a tiny tissue-paper-covered packet, tied up with pale blue ribbon.

With an air of joyful excitement, and with eyes sparkling, she held it out to her hostess.

"Will you look?" she cried. "Somehow I feel sure that the mystery is solved"

The Duchess felt sure too. But, even so, she waited a moment before she slipped off the ribbon, and, with fingers that trembled, opened out the tissue-paper to see, with a sensation of almost sobbing relief, the Catherine Ruby gleaming roguishly up at her.

"'All's well that ends well'!" she exclaimed in a low tone. "As for your stranger, Donna Julia, I cannot help believing that she belongs to a very clever,"—she substituted for "gang" the word "group,"—"who, not very long ago, carried out an amazing and successful raid—in a country house near Barcelona."

As she said the word "Barcelona" she saw the other's face quiver for the fraction of a moment.

"I wonder," said Donna Julia hesitatingly, "if you could send me back to Chillingworth Place now? You see it would be so very awkward for me if that woman sought me out and asked for her little packet. What should I answer—what should I do?" and she gazed with what looked, oh, such an air of innocent anxiety! into the Duchess's face.

"Of course I will send you back at once—and I'll make your excuses to Lady Playling."

"That will be kind!"

The two went downstairs together. As they waited in an apartment called the Long Library for the car to come round, the Duchess saw that Donna Julia was now trembling violently. Her face was twitching, her hands shaking, and a sudden tide of pity swelled up in the older woman's heart.

"I have always suspected," she said in a low voice, "that you are younger than you admit, Donna Julia. If that is so, then I'm old enough to be your mother, and you must allow me to give you a word of advice. You are so charming, so attractive—the Duke, who so seldom likes charming young ladies, has become quite fond of you—that surely you might make a happy, normal life for yourself? Young people live so dangerously nowadays—and oh, my dear, it is so foolish."

An expression of almost agony came over the other's face.

"Life," said Donna Julia in a strangled voice, "is very hard nowadays for some people. You may not know that I am partly Russian. Who here realises the hideous, ay, the tragic, plight of those women who, having lived like fairy-tale princesses, were flung penniless, friendless, out of their own beloved country? Then comes a terrible temptation—only those so tempted know how pleasant looks the downward path."

"I do indeed understand," murmured the Duchess, and impetuously she kissed the girl good-bye.

A month later the engagement of Donna Julia Verocchio to an immensely wealthy Peruvian appeared as an exclusive piece of news in a Sunday paper. And the Duke, who was wont to disapprove of the Duchess's habit of promiscuous wedding-gift giving, observed: "Don't you think we might send that nice girl some little thing just to show that we remember her? Nora Playling worked her like a black! I hope she's going to be idle for the rest of her life."

"I hope so too," agreed the Duchess cordially.

She waited a moment, then she said quietly: "If you'll go shares, dearest, I'll send her a little ruby brooch I saw at Farringdons' the other day. It was quite cheap. I happen to know that rubies are Donna Julia's favourite stone."