He held the bee lightly in his hand. Then he released it.
"The stings have been removed," he said. "I bred these myself, and I know how to treat them. I am sorry to have caused a disturbance."
He spoke with serious, earnest, politeness, but there was a mocking light in his eyes as he turned upon Mrs. May. Nobody had a thought or a glance for anybody else, and the spectacle of Marion lying back half fainting in her chair passed unnoticed.
"Then they are usually dangerous?" Vera asked.
"My dear young lady, they are dreadful," Tchigorsky explained. "They invade other nests and eat the honey as they might have invaded your hives. By way of experiment I tried one of these on your hives to-night, and your bees seemed to recognize an enemy at once. They all deserted their hives and not one of them has returned. As some amends for what I have done I am going to send you two of the finest swarms in England."
Vera shuddered.
"I shall never want to see a bee again," she said.
Once more the eyes of Tchigorsky and Mrs. May met. She knew well that Tchigorsky was talking at her through the rest, and that in his own characteristic way he was informing her that the last plot had failed. With a queer smile on her face she proceeded to peel a peach.
"You are so horribly clever," she said, "that I feel half afraid of you. But I don't suppose we shall meet again."
"Not unless you come to Russia," said Tchigorsky, "whither I start to-morrow. But I am leaving my affairs in competent hands."