Having lost both his uncle and his charming blue domino, Prelice took a tour through the rooms in search of further adventures. He could only afford a few minutes, since he had to call upon Shepworth at eleven o'clock, and it was already that hour, as he had told Haken. Still, a few minutes more or less would not matter, and Prelice wished to see if he could espy Mrs. Dolly Rover, in order to renew his acquaintance with her and to compliment her on the success of her ball. And it undoubtedly was a success, for everyone seemed highly amused, and the laughter and small talk went on incessantly. Many people were dancing to the music of a gaily uniformed Hungarian Band, and many more were ensconced in flirtation corners, making the best of the hour which would elapse before everyone unmasked for supper.
Prelice therefore wandered leisurely throughout the two flats, exchanging a few chaffing words with the different women who addressed him, and looking for the tall form of his hostess. Alas! there were many tall women, who looked as imperial and graceful as Mrs. Rover, and Prelice felt like Ali Baba's robber when he examined Morgiana's chalk-marks on the various doors. He therefore began, by way of some diversion, to admire the costumes of the women, which showed themselves more or less plainly from under the flowing dominos of silk. In fact, the heat of the night and of the rooms was so great that many ladies loosened the strings and buttons of their dominos, and permitted their frocks to be plainly seen. They would have removed their masks also in some cases, so stifling was the perfumed air; but the rule of the ball stopped them from doing so. Still, as many revealed the gowns they were wearing, it was probable that some would pay for their flirtatious sins when the supper hour and recognition came.
The young man had an eye for colour, but knew very little about millinery, so if anyone later had asked him to describe the various dresses, he would have been puzzled. But one woman wore a dress which attracted him from its oddity. It was a flowing gown of white silk, and from hem to waist the skirt was adorned with triple lines, at intervals, of narrow red velvet. The spaces between the triple lines were equal, and the lines of red velvet themselves ran apparently entirely round the skirt. The effect was bizarre, and rather fascinating; but what made Prelice note the dress so exactly was the wonderful ubiquity of the lady who wore it. He went into the ballroom of the right-hand flat, and there she was dancing; he strolled into the left-hand ballroom, and found her flirting in a corner with another partner. Then he stumbled across her in the corridor, and later discovered her at the buffet sipping champagne. Her domino was green, as was her mask, and she seemed to be in several places at once. Prelice was amused at her activity, and at the way in which she seemed to permeate the entire place. She was certainly getting all the enjoyment she could out of the ball. He spoke to her once, but she made no reply, and disappeared before he could address her again. Rather annoyed that she would not respond, Prelice yawned, and discovering that it was half-past-eleven, decided to descend and look up Shepworth.
The stairs were crowded, not only with people leaving and arriving, but with flirting couples, who were cooling themselves in the purer air, which ascended from the main entrance of the mansions. These expostulated loudly, and sometimes silently—if irritated gestures went for anything—with those who pushed past them to go up or down. Prelice came in for his share of blame, as he cautiously steered his way to the second floor. Here there were but few people, as the guests kept to the third-floor stairs and to those leading to the fourth. A look at the left-hand door as he came down showed Prelice that it was Number Forty, so he pressed the button of the electric bell, and waited for the door to be opened. As he did so, and while he was leaning against the wall, still wearing his mask and domino, the ubiquitous lady in the green domino with the oddly trimmed frock descended the stairs alone. She cast a swift look at him as he passed, and it was not until she vanished below that Prelice became aware that the scent of the tuberose was again in his nostrils. He had half a mind to run after her, and—assuming the privilege of a masked ball—ask her if she was wearing such a flower. But, in his idle way, he did not think it was worth while, and remained where he was.
No one came to answer the bell, so Prelice judged that Shepworth's servants were out, perhaps fraternising with Mrs. Rover's domestics at the ball overhead. He rang again, however, believing that Shepworth must be within and awake by this time. As again the door did not open, Prelice raised his hand to the knocker. To his surprise, the door yielded a trifle, and then he discovered that it was slightly ajar, but so little so that he had believed it to be closed. For the moment there was no one on the landing, so he stepped into Shepworth's flat, without closing the door after him.
"I say, Ned. Ned, are you in?" cried the young man, pausing in the corridor, which was similar to that overhead in Mrs. Rover's flat. "I say, Ned! It is me. It is Prelice." And he slipped off his mask.
There was still no reply, and then Prelice smelt stronger than ever that strange odour, which had evoked the Easter Island vision. His thoughts again flew back to the heathen festival, and he walked along the corridor wondering why the scent should follow him here. On the left-hand side he peeped into a drawing-room, but it was empty. The door opposite was surely that of the dining-room. It was closed, but Prelice opened it and walked in to look for his friend. Shepworth was in the room sure enough, but Prelice uttered an irrepressible cry when his amazed eyes fell on the barrister.
In a deep saddle-back chair, placed between the fireplace and the near window, sat Shepworth, bolt upright, with his hands resting upon his knees, in the hieratic attitude of an Egyptian statue. His intensely calm face was pearly-white, his brown eyes were fixed in a glassy, unnatural stare, and he appeared as rigid and stiff and unbending as though hewn out of granite. There was no disorder about his clothing, the evening-dress he wore was as accurate and neat as though he had got ready to go to the ball overhead. Prelice stared at him, tongue-tied and motionless with astonishment. Then his eyes mechanically wandered round the room. They fell immediately upon another figure seated on the far side of the dining-table, with outstretched arms sprawling nervelessly across the cloth. On them rested a huge head covered with shaggy red hair.
Drawn, as by a loadstone, Prelice stole forward with staring eyes, and saw, with a sudden shudder, that the man at the table was stone-dead. He had been stabbed ruthlessly in the back, under the left shoulder-blade. Everything in the room was in absolute order. Only one man, dead, sat at the table, sprawling half across it, and the other man, insensible, was stiffly seated in the armchair. And the whole apartment was permeated with the scent which suggested Easter Island; suggested also that other murder at Lanwin Grange.