By way of response Flower took an envelope from his pocket and produced a five-knotted piece of string. He handed it gravely to his companion.
"Look at that," he said. "You know what it means. Now, that came to me in a registered letter posted by my agent Slater, in Borneo. Mind you, though Slater knows nothing about this trouble, my correspondence with him is always conducted in cypher. The letter was so private and confidential that it was written by Slater himself and posted by his own hand. And yet, when I come to open the letter, I find this inside. You are an easy-going sort, but I ask you, would not your flesh creep and your hair stand on end if you found a message like that inside of a confidential letter, written, sealed and posted by another person? I tell you the play is finished, the game is up, and I am doomed just as irrevocably as if I were the victim of some incurable malignant disease. Come, you are a clever man, Dr. Jansen, can you show me any way out of this?"
Jansen played thoughtfully with the string, but no words crossed his lips. He was baffled.
CHAPTER XXVII
NO FOE OF HERS
The house was quiet enough now. The whole place was plunged in darkness; even Cotter had forgotten his terror and was dreaming uneasily. As for Beatrice, she had thrown herself upon her bed, worn out with fatigue and anxiety and for some time she slept. Her room and the dressing-room beyond were not dark, seeing that they faced the front of the house and the street lamps shone upon the windows. She lay at first unconscious of her surroundings, but by and by she grew uncomfortable and awoke with a start. She could hear and see nothing beyond the dim shadows of the various objects in the room, until gradually her eyes began to grow accustomed to the gloom and she could distinguish her dressing-table in the small room beyond. She recollected hazily that she had placed her diamond moth with the rest of the jewelry on the table. In a drowsy sort of way she was chiding herself for her carelessness when she seemed to see a hand moving noiselessly over the toilet articles. For a moment Beatrice put the impression aside as a mere fancy, but kept her eyes fixed on the spot till she knew that she was no longer mistaken. Somebody was in the room and bending curiously over the diamond moth. A moment later a shadowy arm waved and a second figure joined the first. The two dim outlines stood with clasped hands gazing rapturously at the moth, much as some heathen might regard a precious idol. Beatrice could see the intruder's lips moving as if in prayer. Evidently they had found some talisman which was engrossing their attention and probably keeping them from more serious work.
The girl lay still and rigid, too terrified to move, and incapable of uttering a syllable. For the life of her she could not have screamed, she was so overcome with dread. How long this scene lasted it was impossible for Beatrice to say. She knew that danger sharp and horrible was here. Then it flashed into her mind that the peril was not for her. The thought nerved her to exertion. She dragged herself from her bed and threw a wrap over her shoulders.
A new wild courage was burning in her veins. Action was better than lying quaking and fearing the worst. With a firm step she crossed the floor and walked into the dressing-room. Then, before she had time to speak or move, unseen hands were laid upon her shoulders and she was dragged backwards, not with violence, not with anger, but with a considerate firmness that would brook no denial. An instant later and a small blue light flickered on the floor, throwing up a sweet fragrant incense which Beatrice found infinitely soothing to the senses. She seemed to rock and sway. She felt herself lifted from the floor, and then she dropped into a deep sleep and knew no more.
When she came to herself again her mind was wonderfully fresh and clear. Like a flash she saw everything that had happened. Like a flash it came to her that these intruders were no other than the strange visitors who had made themselves so much at home at Maldon Grange. Beatrice was not in the least afraid; at least, she had no fear for herself. Whatever those uncanny creatures were searching for, they had no quarrel with her; indeed, they had gone out of their way to save her from the consequences of her interference. But if the danger were not for her, for whom was it intended? The answer was obvious. Samuel Flower was the enemy. Samuel Flower was the victim whom these little men were tracking down in their relentless fashion. How long had she been asleep?
She looked at her watch, but there was nothing to learn from that. She partly dressed herself with a view to arousing the household. As she opened the door leading to the landing she heard sounds of a struggle outside. With unsteady hand she turned up the lights, and, locked in a deadly grip, almost at her feet, were one of the strangers and another man whom she did not recognize at the moment. As the two rolled headlong down the steps, Beatrice gave a sharp cry, for she had seen the white, set face of Wilfrid Mercer. The thing was all over almost before she realized that it was begun. One assailant had vanished, goodness only knew where, and Wilfrid lay on his back bruised, battered, and all but unconscious. Thoughts for his safety uppermost in her mind, Beatrice flung prudence to the winds. She flew downstairs and raised her lover's head just as he was opening his eyes. Nothing seemed to matter so that he were safe, and with unfeigned thankfulness Beatrice heard Wilfrid mutter her name.