The Heart of a Mystery/Chapter 3

ADEMIOSELLE DELACOURT had now twice attempted my life. From the manner, the words and actions of the unfortunate girl who had committed suicide in the moment of failure, this was abundantly evident.

"I shall put the matter into the hands of the authorities," I said to myself, and when my friend Jack hurried to England, I remained behind at Lisbon.

On the afternoon of the day of my arrival I called upon the British Consul.

He received me courteously, and I need scarcely describe his amazement when I explained my position.

"I am a witness to all that occurred," I said to him, "and my friend Tracey is prepared to return to Portugal at any time to bear me out. I trust, sir," I added, "that you will give me your advice and assistance, for truly I am in a position of grave danger."

"There is no doubt whatever with regard to that," was his reply. "I had a letter this morning from M. Ayres, the French Consul, informing me that Mademoiselle Delacourt was here."

"Here!" I cried, starting to my feet, and a cold sensation running through my frame.

"Yes, here, Mr. Phenays; she is staying with the Duchess of Almeida now. That terrible woman has friends everywhere in the highest positions, and I may as well tell you, you would find it extremely difficult to substantiate the charge of conspiracy against a lady in her position. Her influence, too, is very great: and though the authorities are civility itself to the English, you know, my dear sir, they are very slow, phenomenally slow. Position and Court influence can do anything here when backed by money. Mademoiselle Delacourt is known; you are unknown. I think it is most unwise of you to have come to Portugal."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, in the first instance, there is no capital punishment here, and in the next, money will do practically everything. You are, believe me, far safer on English soil. This is a very serious matter, and I am sorry for you."

"But can you help me?" I asked with some impatience.

He paused, silent for a moment, evidently thinking deeply.

"I can do nothing," he said then. "It is out of my power to work in the dark, and against such a foe as Mademoiselle Delacourt. But there is one man who might render you assistance. He is a Portuguese, and a personal friend of mine, and he is engaged by the Government in many secret international inquiries. You may trust him absolutely. He is a very smart man, and speaks almost every European language. In short, you will find him an excellent fellow. This is his name and address. I should go and see him at once."

I took the slip of paper he gave me. On it was written—

Thanking the British Consul, I went at once to the address.

I found myself standing before one of the finest houses in the beautiful Avenue. It was set back from the road and surrounded by a garden, in which many magnificent palms were growing. A liveried servant answered my ring and ushered me into the presence of his master. The Portuguese are noted for their excellent dress, but I had rarely seen anyone so perfectly attired. Senhor Pinheiro was refinement personified, from his white, almond-shaped nails and jewelled fingers, to his pointed and polished boots.

On explaining who I was, he handed me a chair and seated himself at a desk, upon which lay a heap of official-looking papers and a large revolver. As he laid his left hand on the table, I noticed with astonishment that two of the fingers were wanting.

"I was almost expecting you, Mr. Phenays," he said, speaking in perfect English and stroking his black, pointed beard. "She is a clever woman, isn't she?"

"Whom do you mean?" I exclaimed in astonishment.

"I mean Mademoiselle Delacourt, of course," he replied. "I know something of your case, sir."

"What! you know Mademoiselle Delacourt?"

"I know her well. I have met her in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg, and I was dining with her at the Duchess of Almeida's last night."

"And you know about my special case?"

"I know of the attempt made on your life a few days ago at Cintra. I was at Government House when the police telegraphed the news. There will be an inquiry; of course; but, apart from that, I can astonish you by telling you that I knew of your escape from the Château Laroque. The affair was communicated to all the European detective agencies."

"You astound me!" I cried, but at the same time a pleasant feeling of security stole over me. I felt that here, indeed, I had a good friend.

"Of course you are mad to have left England," continued Pinheiro. "But do you know, Mr. Phenays, I am glad that you have come."

He spoke in a curious tone and looked me full in the face.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," he said, bending towards me, and with the fist of his crippled hand tightly clenched, "because it is the one desire of my life to see that woman in chains."

The sudden transformation in the man's face was extraordinary—all the passion of his hot Latin blood, which only boils at some personal wrong, showed now in his voice, his eyes, and his features.

"Nothing," he continued, "would give me greater pleasure than to see Mademoiselle Delacourt exposed in her true character, than to see her driven in disgrace from the European Courts. But if that is effected it means also her imprisonment. I can't help admiring her sometimes," he continued, a grim smile playing round his lips. "She is, I think, mad; no one who was not mad could be so devilish clever."

"You have some personal animosity against her, I presume?" I continued.

He held up his crippled hand.

"I owe that to her," he said in a low voice. "Some day I will tell you how it happened."

"Well," I said, "what can you do for me? I can bring valuable witness to testify to the truth of my story. The suicide of Miss Hamilton is a fact well authenticated at Cintra. How can you protect me in future? I am young, innocent, I love life, and I don't want to fall a victim to the knife of the assassin."

"You are right," he replied.

As he spoke he rose and drew himself up to his full height.

"Mr. Phenays," he said, "this arrival of yours means a complete change in my own life. You are in difficulty, and, I will not deny it, in extreme danger. Now, you will not object to my joining you in this matter; it will cost nothing, and you will have the advantage of my experience and knowledge in the hunting down of this woman. You, the hunted, shall turn hunter, and we will rid Europe of a pestilential and powerful malefactor."

I grasped his hand.

"You mean this, Senhor Pinheiro?" I asked.

"I was never more serious in my life; the whole of my energies shall be directed to this object. Mademoiselle, I know, has gone from Lisbon; therefore, for the time you are perfectly safe—in fact, you are safer here than anywhere else. Stay on for the present and enjoy yourself, while I mature my scheme."

"With delight," I murmured, and a vast burden seemed lifted from my mind at the thought of having this shrewd and clever man to work with me, to protect me from dangers that I should never see, and, still more, to help me to deliver Mademoiselle Delacourt into the hands of justice. It seemed almost too good to be believed.

"Well," he said, "having made our decision, we will enjoy ourselves until the time for action arrives. You shall see all that Lisbon has to show to the stranger, and you will meet all the people worth meeting. To-morrow we will combine business with pleasure, and I will take you to call upon the Duchess of Almeida at her castle at Estoril, a lovely spot at the mouth of the river on the seashore. I am dining out to-night, or I would ask you to come here. Where are you staying?"

"At Duraud's Hotel," I said.

"Very good. I will expect you at eleven to-morrow morning, and I will drive you over to the Castle to breakfast." It was many days since I had enjoyed a meal as I did my solitary dinner that night at my hotel. A great light had broken; I had found a friend of evident ability, a man in touch with all the European police, au courant with diplomatic affairs, and moving in the best Portuguese society. There had been no acting in his sudden outburst of passionate hatred against Mademoiselle Delacourt. I felt sure that if ever a time came when he was in a position to pay off his debt to her, she would receive little mercy. No race can be kinder, more sympathetic and gentle, than the Portuguese, but none can be more devilishly cruel and vindictive when they avenge a personal wrong. Mademoiselle would soon see that Senhor Pinheiro was working on my side, and this fact would in itself prevent molestation.

I went round early the next morning to Senhor Pinheiro's house, for I was impatient to see him again and assure myself of the fact that he was altogether on my side. He was standing on the steps of his handsome house, evidently waiting for me.

"Just ready," he said gaily. "Come along, the dog-cart is coming round. By the way," he added, as we got in and he took the reins and drove off at a spanking pace, "the Duchess does not speak English, and as you do not know Portuguese well, you had better talk to her in French."

"I can do that," I answered.

We were now going down the Rua Auguste, and out by the Boa Vista embankment. Our way lay along the Tagus, which was covered with numerous craft and abounding with life and animation. Picturesque mountains lined the opposite banks. In less than an hour we reached Almeida Castle, a grand old building still retaining its Moorish architecture. The Castle was surrounded in front by magnificent gardens of palms and pines, while the back of the building ran down on to the sand by the seashore, in which the buttresses were deeply embedded. As we drove out, Senhor Pinheiro gave me a short account of the old place. The Castle had been a Moorish fortress until ll47, when Alfonso Henriques, the first King of Portugal, assisted by other Crusaders bound for Palestine, surrounded Lisbon, then in the hands of the Moors, and after five months' hard fighting he entered the city in triumph. After this, the house was given by him to his valiant lieutenant, the first Duke of Almeida, in whose family it has remained ever since. Pinheiro informed me that the house was full of treasures presented to the family by the celebrated Vasco da Gama, on his return from India in 1499.

"Remember," he said, as we stopped at the house, "I am introducing you as a friend of Mademoiselle Delacourt's"

"But why?" I interrupted, in great surprise.

"Because," he answered, "in no other way can you get information about her. She is, as I have already said, one of the cleverest women in Europe. My friends here also believe her to be an impersonification of all the virtues, and if they think that you are a friend of hers they can talk freely."

We were shown into a magnificent sala overlooking the sunlit sea, where we were received by the Duchess and her daughter, the Marqueza Ferraz. Both ladies welcomed Pinheiro with effusion, and me with kindly warmth. Portuguese girls are, as a rule, not good-looking; but the young Marqueza was an exception of the most striking kind. She was tall and slender, with the extreme bloom of youth on her softly rounded cheeks, with dark, lustrous eyes and grace in her every movement. But the extraordinary thing about her was this—she had a remarkable likeness to Mademoiselle Delacourt. So striking was this likeness that I caught myself looking at her again and again. A sensation almost of repulsion came over me as I did so, although the likeness between the Marqueza and Mademoiselle Delacourt only applied to features, and not at all to expression; for the young girl had a frank and lovely face, full of kindness and good nature.

While Senhor Pinheiro talked to the Duchess, the Marqueza came and took a seat near to me.

"So you know Mademoiselle Delacourt, Monsieur Phenays?" she said, speaking with a most charming French accent, and using that tongue. "Mademoiselle is one of my greatest friends. Mother and I have often stayed with her in Paris. Certainly she is one of the cleverest women I have ever met. Did you happen to see her on her flying visit to Lisbon?"

"No," I answered. "Was her visit a very short one?"

"Of course it was," answered the Marqueza; "that gay Mademoiselle never stays long in one place. She thinks nothing of visiting half the European capitals in less than three weeks."

"On pleasure or business?" I asked.

"Pleasure, of course; just to visit her numerous friends. But she certainly always talks about business. Mother and I quite laugh at her about it. Such a speech is so like a Parisian. Why, one of those dear creatures will go half over Europe to buy a new tea-gown. But how do you like the Portuguese, Monsieur Phenays? Senhor Pinheiro tells me this is your first visit."

"Yes, my first," I answered. "I do not know Lisbon well,but Cintra is very beautiful." As I mentioned the latter place I could not help giving an involuntary shudder.

"Oh, yes, beautiful; but so dull, no one ever goes there now. By the way, are you interested in old curios? We have a wonderful collection from India. Shall I show them to you before we go to breakfast?"

"I should like nothing better," I replied.

"Then we will leave mother and Senhor Pinheiro to discuss the latest Lisbon scandals. The Senhor knows everyone and everything, and is so awfully clever. Between ourselves, I am a little afraid of him."

The true charm of Portuguese society lies in the power the host has to make his visitors at home. In a few minutes the Marqueza was showing me over the beautiful house and chatting about the treasures, her face full of animation and her eyes bright. Presently we entered the drawing-room, where the Vasco da Gama curios were kept. They were of great rarity and value—carved ivories, elephant goads, rare gold ornaments set with jewels, and magnificent jade bowls. One piece in especial attracted my attention. It was a Hindoo head-dress of great magnificence. It was chiefly made of finely woven silks of various shades, the colour strengthened by plaits of gold thread, and surmounted by four of the most enormous tiger's claws I had ever seen. These were set, but with their sharp points outwards, like four horns.

"Ah! you are admiring that head-dress," said the Marqueza, coming over to where I was standing. "Is it not curious and wonderful? It was the first thing Francesca pounced on when she came to examine the curios. She was quite thrilled with it and examined it most carefully."

"It looks rather a dangerous sort of head-dress if you wanted to kiss the lady," I could not help remarking. "These claw points are as sharp as needles."

"That was the very point remarked by Francesca. There is an old legend attached to this head-dress. It was worn by the favourite lady in the Nizam's zenana, who, in resisting the embraces of a young prince, scratched him with one of the claws, and the young prince died. I long to wear the head-dress, and intend to do so very soon."

"Indeed?" I said.

"Yes, I am going to wear that head-dress, and in this very house," she said, merriment dancing in her eyes. "Have you not heard, has not Senhor Pinheiro told you, that next week is our great fancy dress masked ball? We always give one before the Carnival. It is the greatest possible fun. Would you like to come? You should see one Portuguese masked ball before you go away."

"I should be delighted," I replied; "only I am afraid I should have some difficulty in getting a suitable dress."

"Not at all; Senhor Pinheiro is sure to have plenty. Yes, you must come, and then you will see me in the wonderful head-dress. I shall look so quaint with that and the mask."

We presently returned to the room where we had left the Duchess and Senhor Pinheiro, and breakfast being ready, we sat down to it on the terrace. My spirits rose. The excellence of the meal, and the conversation of our brilliant and witty hostess, the charming ways and pretty speeches of her daughter, the warm and soft air, the waving palms and the sparkling sea, banished all dark memories.

"I am so glad to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Phenays," said the Duchess. "Come down here and see us whenever you are tired of Lisbon, and want a few hours of fresh air. In any case, we shall expect you both at the ball on Tuesday night."

"Well," said Pinheiro, as we took our seats in the trap, "they are charming people, are they not? Did you make any judicious inquiries concerning Mademoiselle?"

"I talked about her a great deal," I replied, "but learnt very little beyond the self-evident fact that she is a great friend of the Marqueza's. She paid them a flying visit, so the Marqueza told me, and for apparently no reason."

"That is so like her," answered Pinheiro.

"That pretty girl seems deeply attached to her," I continued. "By the way, Pinheiro, have you ever noticed the extraordinary likeness between them?"

A curious change came over the face of the Portuguese, and when I spoke he suddenly clapped his hand on his knee.

"Now that you mention it, I do see it," he replied. "When looking at the Marqueza, I was often puzzled by an intangible likeness. Her face was familiar to me, not on its own account alone. You have solved the mystery. My dear Phenays, we must be on our guard—it is exactly the sort of thing that Mademoiselle would take advantage of." "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Ah! I wish I could tell you what I mean; the craftiness and cleverness of that woman baffles all description. There is no clue she will not seize, and no possible accident she will not avail herself of."

"One thing at least is evident," I said—"the Duchess and her daughter have not the slightest suspicion of her."

"I told you so, and therein also lies danger. Mademoiselle's great power lies in the fact that she can turn men, and women too, round her finger. But never mind," added Pinheiro, glancing at me, and doubtless perceiving the anxiety on my face, "you and I together will be more than a match for her."

I cheered up at these few words, and the next few days were passed in the most enjoyable manner. The Senhor introduced me to many charming people and took me to all the sights of Lisbon. He seldom referred to Mademoiselle Delacourt, and once, when I spoke of her, he replied shortly—

"Don't worry; leave the thing to me. I will tell you one thing. Although I don't speak of that fair lady, she is seldom absent from my thoughts. I am laying my plans slowly and cautiously, and when the moment comes to act I will let you know."

So the days passed pleasantly enough, and at last the night of the fancy ball at Almeida Castle arrived. Pinheiro had helped me to design the fancy dress which I was to wear, and in which, I prided myself, my best friend would not recognise me.

I had just finished dinner on this special evening when the waiter handed me a note from Senhor Pinheiro. "Please come round at once; I want to see you," it ran.

In five minutes' time I was in his room. I found him standing by the open window, a letter in his hand. When he saw me he turned round slowly and gave it to me to read, without a remark.

"Not from Mademoiselle?" I cried. He nodded, but did not speak.

My hand began to tremble, and a sick sensation visited me.

"Read it," said Pinheiro, now showing some impatience. "She has heard that I am at work, and the bluster and bounce show that she is afraid. These, as far as they go, are good signs."

The letter was dated from the Hotel Bellevue, Taormina, Sicily, and the envelope bore the Sicilian post-mark.

"What has she gone to Sicily for?" I could not help exclaiming, as I folded the letter and returned it to my host. "I suppose because there is no extradition."

"She is not in Sicily, and has never been there," was the Senhor's reply.

I stared at Pinheiro. "That is her writing and signature," I said, "and the post-mark is Sicilian, of the correct date."

"True, but I had reason to suspect the genuineness of that letter. I have just cabled to the Bellevue, at Taormina, and she is not there. The letter was written and sent to a friend to post there. At present I have no information as to her whereabouts. There is one feature in the letter which I do not like. Beyond doubt it was sent with a purpose. What that purpose is I don't quite know. As far as we are concerned, it means, doubtless, that we must be more on our guard than ever." He gave a little shudder. "I tell you, Phenays, I don't like it."

"You mean that we are in some unknown danger?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Possibly. Nay, I should add probably; but whether or no, I mean to enjoy myself to-night. Go back and dress and come round here, and we will forget Mademoiselle in the mazes of the cotilloncotillion [sic]."

Though I had expected some gay sights at the Castle Almeida, I certainly was not prepared for the magnificent display that awaited us on our arrival. The beautiful gardens and terraces were hung with festoons of Japanese lanterns and were already astir with revellers in fantastic dresses, and all masked. Upon the polished inlaid floor of the great ballroom many couples were waltzing to the strains of a military band in the gallery. According to our English notions of society, a Portuguese masked ball would seem unaccountable and strange, for all introductions were dispensed with, and as the features of men and women alike were hidden under the mask, it was impossible to tell with whom one was dancing. But there was one lady, at any rate, whom I had no difficulty in recognising, and that was the young Marqueza Ferraz. I had not been in the ballroom two minutes before I recognised her. She was dressed as Queen Margarita of Spain, with a large lace ruffle and the most magnificent black Spanish lace arranged round her slender form that I had ever seen. Upon her head she wore the curious Indian head-dress, with its four tiger claws. The effect was marvellous. It gave a strange feline look to the head and face, though the latter was closely hidden by a black mask. I made my way across to her.

"You look magnificent in your beautiful head-dress, Marqueza Ferraz," I said. "I only hope you will be merciful to your partners, for you are armed against any unfavourable advances."

"Yes, I am armed, Monsieur Phenays," she replied in so low a voice that, with the noise of the music, I could scarcely catch the words. She gave me a flashing glance from her lovely eyes, and again I could not help likening her to Mademoiselle Delacourt.

"Has Senhor Pinheiro come with you to-night?" she asked.

"Yes, of course; there he is, close to us. Don't you see him. He is dressed as Vasco da Gama, to whom your family owes your head-dress. But will you give me the pleasure of a dance, Marqueza?"

"Later on I shall be delighted." Again she spoke in a whisper, and making me a low bow she moved off among the throng.

It crossed my mind just at that moment that there was something strange and a little unaccountable in her manner. But I had forgotten it the next minute in waltzing with an unknown but magnificent dancer. Several times during the evening I caught sight of the Marqueza waltzing with her many partners. There was a gay abandon about all her movements. Her dancing was the perfection of charming and exquisite movements, and I looked forward with pleasure to the moment when I should encircle her slim waist with my arm and conduct her through the mazes of the waltz. From time to time my other partners spoke of the Marqueza, and each and all, when they alluded to her, mentioned her head-dress with a degree of envy.

"It is our great ambition," said one slender girl, looking into my face as she spoke, and flashing at me a pair of magnificent Spanish eyes, "it is our great ambition at our fancy balls to wear something outré strange and unconventional. You can judge for yourself, monsieur," she said, speaking in excellent French, "that such an ambition becomes more and more difficult to gratify as time goes on, all ideas being used up in advance. Now the Marqueza has exceeded herself to-night. She can be recognised anywhere. Hers is the most distinguished figure at the ball."

I made some suitable reply, and as the hour was midnight, and the time had come when I might claim the fulfilment of the Portuguese girl's promise, I went to seek for her. I wandered into the gardens, and was just passing a fountain which sent its cool spray, full of rosy light, up into the night air, when I heard a light laugh almost in my ear. I turned quickly, but no one was visible; but the next moment the following words were distinctly audible—

"Doesn't she do it well? And the best of the fun is that everyone takes her for me."

The voice was exactly like that of the Marqueza. What did she mean? I called her name, but receiving no answer wandered down further into the grounds. It would not be difficult to find her, on account of her characteristic and towering head-dress. I had sauntered down one of the pathways towards the sea, when suddenly, by the light of a Chinese lantern, I caught sight of her moving swiftly in an opposite direction, along a parallel pathway which separated her from me by a low hedge of laurustine. She was alone, and I stopped and called to her.

"Marqueza!" I cried, "I have come to claim your promise."

She stopped abruptly and waited for me to go up to her.

"Monsieur Phenays?" she said, in courteous tones.

"Yes," I answered.

"I did not recognise you beneath your mask," was her next remark.

"You have the advantage of me, Marqueza," I answered; "you are easily distinguishable, owing to your head-dress."

"Yes," she answered, and her voice was very low.

I had noticed this peculiarity early in the evening, and now, bending towards her, I said—

"You will give me the promised dance?"

"Yes," she replied; "yes, with pleasure."

"But you are tired?" I continued.

"You think so, because I speak low," was her reply. "Sometimes I suffer from a curious affection of the throat, and at times am too indescribably tired to raise my voice."

She stopped in the middle of her sentence and burst into a peal of ringing laughter. That laugh sounded almost offensive. I started away from her side, displeased, I knew not why.

"Come," she said, laying her hand, light as a feather, on my arm, "I am sorry I laughed; but I am subject to uncontrollable mirth at the most inconvenient times. Let us return to the ballroom, where we will enjoy ourselves in the waltz." We re-entered the magnificent room side by side. A. moment later we were whirling gaily through the waltz. Did I say gaily? That was the maddest time of my life. The blood coursed through my veins with the joyousness of youth. The shadow in which I dwelt sped away from me, and sunlight, gay and joyous, filled my soul. Was there ever such a dancer? She seemed to sweep me up and carry me forward with the gaiety of her movements. We paused, breathless.

"I have met no one who could dance like you," was my remark, when I could speak.

"Such music, such a floor, and such a partner make the thing divine," was her answer. "Shall we take another turn, monsieur?"

Again my arm encircled her waist, and again we whirled in the giddy round. The room was now much more crowded than it had been when we danced a few moments earlier. Couples had arrived in haste from the gardens. The music played an inspiriting waltz. The time of the band was so brisk as to be almost maddening. Lighter and quicker were our movements. Suddenly we found ourselves in a dense mass of people. Our way was blocked.

"The other end of the room is nearly empty," I whispered to my partner. "Let us go there—we can dance without being disturbed."

"Yes," she replied, and to my astonishment she moved towards the doorway, through which numerous dancers were pressing. The next instant we were jammed in the doorway. A burly man pushed rudely against us. The Marqueza uttered a cry and fell against my breast. One of the tiger's claws scratched my neck very slightly: but the next moment we were dancing as briskly as ever.

"Why!" suddenly cried the Marqueza, "what is the matter with you, monsieur? Your neck is bleeding."

I took a handkerchief and dressed it to the wound.

"You scratched it," I replied, "with one of the claws of your formidable head-dress."

"Did I not say that I was dangerous?" she answered.

There was a peculiar ring in her voice. It was no longer low and guarded. It reminded me—good God! of whom? I felt my head reel with a sudden fear, and the next moment a sense of chill faintness crept over me.

"You are not dancing well, monsieur," said the voice of the Marqueza. "You are tired. For that matter, so am I. Take me to an anteroom and leave me."

"I will stay with you until your next partner arrives," I answered. "You must leave me," she said in a peremptory tone. "I wish it. Take me here."

A little boudoir, draped in the palest green silk, stood invitingly open.

We entered, and the Marqueza flung herself on a couch.

"After all, this head-dress worries me," she said. "I should like to take it off."

"Shall I assist you?" I asked.

"Not now," she answered. "Go into the open air—you look faint. We danced too fast; but all the same, it was divine, was it not?"

"Marqueza," I answered, "I have just lived through the most blissful moment of my life."

Her laughter rang out clear, and—did I hear aright?—it seemed to mock me. She motioned me to go, and I went.

A moment later I was seated on a bench in the deep shade of a palm tree.

"Hallo! Phenays, is that you?" called Pinheiro.

"Yes," I answered. "I was dancing with the Marqueza, and we both felt faint."

As I spoke I took out my handkerchief and pressed it to my neck.

"Where is the Marqueza?" asked Pinheiro.

"In one of the anterooms," I replied. "She asked me to leave her."

Again I pressed the handkerchief to my neck.

"I will go and look for her," said Pinheiro. "She promised me this dance. But whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing much," I answered. "Only one of the tiger's claws on that curious head-dress gave me a sharp scratch. But it is not worth talking about."

"What possessed the girl to put on that infernal head-dress? She must be out of her mind to do such a thing!" cried Pinheiro. "Now that I come to think over the matter, I would sooner dance with a cat. I won't trouble to find her."

"The scratch was a mere accident," I replied. "Some thundering idiot cannoned into her."

"I dare say; only one doesn't come to a ball to be torn to pieces by tiger's claws. I wish I could see the young lady, to tell her what I think of her."

"Well, and here she is!" cried a silvery voice, and the Marqueza, unmasked, and with a look of merriment on her face, stood before us.

"Oh, so you have taken it off," said Pinheiro. "You will not be quite such a dangerous partner now, and I don't mind claiming your promise. This is our dance, is it not?"

"You have not asked me for a dance this evening, monsieur."

"Indeed, I did," he replied. "See! here is your name on my programme. But, hallo! you have made a complete change! Why is that?"

As he spoke I saw the Marqueza was no longer in black Spanish lace, but was clothed from head to foot in some gossamery stuff of shimmering white.

"You have been very quick in changing your dress," I said.

Once again she laughed.

"You don't know the joke we have played upon you," she said. "It is almost too good. I have a great mind to let you find it out for yourselves."

"No, no," said Pinheiro, "you must tell. What joke do you allude to?"

"Oh, I have had such fun!" she exclaimed. "I have been watching you both, and especially you. Monsieur Phenays, for the last half-hour. It was not I who wore that head-dress, but Mademoiselle Delacourt."

I leapt to my feet, and a violent oath passed my lips. Pinheiro stood silent.

"May I ask the reason of this joke?" he asked presently.

"You are not really angry?" cried the girl. "It was only fun. Francesca was at Madrid, and I mentioned to her that you were both going to the ball, and said that I intended to wear the head-dress she so much admired, and that you, Monsieur Phenays, knew that I was going to. Then she wrote to me asking me to let her take my place, and begged me not to say a word to anyone. I am so sorry that the claw scratched you, Monsieur Phenays. It is not serious, is it?" "Time will prove," said Pinheiro. His face was deadly white. "You don't know what mischief you, in all innocence, have done, Marqueza. But now, don't keep us. If anything can save my friend, there is not an instant to lose."

As Pinheiro spoke he put his arm round my waist and raised me from the seat into which I had sunk.

"Come at once, and quietly," he said. "We will get back to Lisbon without a moment's delay. Without doubt you have been poisoned, but there may be hope if we take the matter in time."

While he was whispering to me he was dragging me, for I was now incapable of walking, in the direction of the house.

The Marqueza, startled and alarmed, walked by our side.

"I wish you would explain," she said. "You have made me so terribly unhappy. What, oh, what is wrong?"

"Find the head-dress, Marqueza," said Pinheiro, "and if possible, and if you have the nerve, detain Mademoiselle Delacourt. Phenays, I will leave you for an instant, on this seat close to the house, while I fetch the carriage and give instructions to the police to watch everyone who leaves the Castle."

A sudden shiver of intense cold passed over me. Pinheiro disappeared round the corner of the brilliantly lighted house, and the young Marqueza seated herself by my side.

"I am so sorry and so terrified," she whispered. "What, oh, what can be wrong?"

"Pinheiro will tell you to-morrow," I answered in a whisper. "But do not blame yourself, please. It was my own fault, for not being more careful."

Just then Pinheiro appeared.

"The carriage is waiting," he said. "I will call early to-morrow and explain everything to your mother, Marqueza. Now, Phenays."

I was helped into the carriage, and soon afterwards Pinheiro and I arrived at my hotel at Lisbon.

The doctor had been summoned. He examined my wound and told Pinheiro that I had, without doubt, been inoculated with some deadly micro-organisms.

"Will it be fatal?" I whispered.

"You are in danger," was his slow reply. "But you look strong, and must be healthy; there ought to be hope. You should have a good nurse, however, as your symptoms will require careful watching."

"I will sit up with Monsieur Phenays to-night," said Pinheiro. "I got him into this trouble, and have made up my mind to pull him through at any cost."

Through the long hours of that night Pinheiro never left my side. At short intervals he administered stimulant after stimulant, and by so doing kept the dread enemy Death at bay.

In the morning I was still alive, but through the days and week that followed my life hung in the balance. How I did recover in the end will always appear to me little short of a miracle.

When I was well enough for Pinheiro to leave me, he went back to Almeida Castle and told Mademoiselle Delacourt's true story to the Duchess and the Marqueza. The distress of both was beyond description. The head-dress was examined, and even now traces of the deadly poison in which the tiger's claws had been dipped were found upon them. But, alas! Mademoiselle herself was gone.

From the moment I left her in the green anteroom she had not been seen or heard of at Castle Almeida.