From under the table he produced a copper electric kettle, filled it, and plunged the plug into the wall. In a little less than five minutes a long trail of steam issued from the spout. By reason of the long flex Harold could carry the kettle from place to place without cutting off the connection, so that the water continued all the time to boil and fizzle.
"Now watch this," he said. "I place this jet of steam under the rope here, and there you are! The effect is practically instantaneous. See what a simple thing it is." Sir James jumped back, horror and enlightenment in his eyes. His voice shook as he spoke.
"Infernal! Diabolical!" he cried hoarsely. "And you mean to say that Frobisher knew this! Damnable scoundrel; he is not fit to live, still less to die."
CHAPTER XXIII.
A LUNCH AT THE BELGRAVE.
Mrs. Benstein received Denvers as arranged the next morning as if the events of the previous night had been forgotten. She was looking wonderfully fresh and bright; a tailor-made gown fitted her figure to perfection. She motioned Denvers to a chair.
"I am glad you came," she said. "Now you are to please listen to me carefully and put the past out of your mind altogether. Since I saw you last night I have learnt a great deal touching the history of the Blue Stone of Ghan."
"Which I trust is quite safe," Harold murmured.
"Oh quite," Mrs. Benstein said, with a queer little smile. "I have even satisfied my husband on that point, though he has not yet recovered from the shock of your visit—I mean the visit of yourself and the Shan last night. You want to borrow the stone for a day or so?"
"That was the suggestion we ventured to make, Mrs. Benstein."