It was soon after Claremanagh had gone back to the front, and while people were still coupling their names in a scandalous way, that Konrad Markoff arrived in Paris.
"At last the time has come when you can be of real use to me," he had said.
Lyda had hoped that this was "bluff." But Markoff explained. He explained things of which she had never dreamed.
With brutal frankness he told the girl that he had made Claremanagh's acquaintance in Petrograd for a very special purpose. He had married his French wife because she had been maid to the young Duchess of Claremanagh, and knew something about the famous pearls. Always he, and men associated with him, had kept track of the family fortunes. He had known that the boy intended to visit the scene of his ancestor's great romance. Had it not been for some treachery (he believed that his own wife had sent anonymous warnings to the Claremanaghs) the lost treasure would long ago have returned to Russia. Now, though his associates were dead or in Bolshevik prisons, and the crown was a legend, he—Markoff—wanted the pearls for himself.
Lyda had more than repaid Claremanagh's generosity, all of which, Markoff argued, she owed directly to him. She was in a position to demand any favour she liked of the Duke. She must get him to lend her the Tsarina pearls. If she refused to do this, she should be denounced as a spy. Even though her activities had been stopped by the revolution, the war was still on! Markoff had letters which would convict her. She—the adored one, the divine dancer—would be tried and shot some morning at dawn.
It would be nothing to die, Lyda had thought. But she loved France. She could not bear to die as a traitor! What to do then? Suddenly a plan came to her. She agreed to ask Claremanagh for the pearls.
"You see," she explained to Manners, "Markoff had had a copy made, from an old portrait of the Tsarina. He meant me to hand him over the real pearls, and give the false to Claremanagh. But he didn't know that Claremanagh's mother had had them copied. Hardly any one did know. But Claremanagh had told me. And it was that copy I asked him to lend! He couldn't bear to refuse my very first request. Poor fellow, he hated to grant it, though! It was just after he'd fallen in love with Miss Phayre—before they were engaged. There was enough talk about him and me, without my wearing those well-known pearls. It was part of my bargain with Markoff to appear with them in public, for he wanted my name to be coupled with Claremanagh's. It would give me more power over his future. And even if the Duke told people that he was lending me a copy, they wouldn't believe it. They would have laughed at the idea of Pavoya accepting false pearls.
"Claremanagh sent to London for the things. My wearing them made a sensation! Markoff was wild with rage when he saw what they were—wild against Claremanagh, not me. He believed that I'd been tricked. Of course the copy was of no use to him. He did not take it. But he would not let me give it back to the Duke. He was working up a scheme of blackmail against us both. I dared not disobey—and once the mischief was done by my wearing the rope Claremanagh didn't much mind whether I kept it or not. I pretended to forget, and he didn't mention the subject. Then I got this surprise offer to dance in New York. I was so glad! I thought I might get rid of Markoff. How foolish! He sailed in the ship with the Duke and Duchess, but kept out of their way. Claremanagh never knew he was on board—and perhaps wouldn't have remembered him from those old Petrograd days if he had seen his face.
"Now, we come to these last few weeks in New York," Lyda finished. "Do you begin to see Markoff's game?"
"Not quite," Jack answered. It was the first time he had spoken since she began her story. "It isn't clear to me yet—at least where Pat Claremanagh's concerned."