"mademoiselle pavoya, this is captain john manners, just back from france: a cousin of the duchess of claremanagh's," said the manager who was introducing jack.

lyda pavoya lifted her drooping head a little—only a little, and fixed upon manners a pair of dark eyes. "a pair of dark eyes!" simple words, and a simple act. there are many women in the world with dark eyes, and many had looked at john manners. but these eyes of the polish woman——!

as they gave that upward look from under heavy lashes manners felt himself a traitor. he had heard all sorts of stories about lyda pavoya. he had got an impression that she was a "tigress woman." and then, the dancing that he had seen her do was wild and barbaric. but to-night she was a swan.

her eyes were dark, but not black or even brown. they were perhaps a very deep, greenish grey, and extraordinarily luminous. yes, that was the word: luminous! "brilliant" would be too hard. there was a mysterious, moonlight sort of luminance between the black fringes of the white lids, and the whole face—pale, delicate, with pointed chin—was mysterious as only polish or russian faces are.

"why does she look at me so?" jack thought. it was almost as if she guessed, because he was juliet's cousin, why he had asked for this introduction. he could not believe that she, who met so many people, could recognize the man in evening dress as the officer in khaki she had seen on the phayre doorstep.

they were in a room at the theatre where mademoiselle pavoya received privileged persons: a plainly furnished room, mostly grey except for masses of flowers, and it suited her better than a background of fantastic colour. perhaps it was this greyness which made her stand out so vividly, and seem of such vital, thrilling importance. she was extremely quiet in manner, and her voice was low. yet her quietness was disturbing, like that of a summer night when lightning may leap from a clear sky.

manners was struck dumb by her. something had flashed from her eyes to his with that first look. it did not say merely, "i am a woman. you are a man." it said—or seemed to say—"you are the man. i am the woman. we had to meet. and now—what?"

he tried to think that this was a trick of hers which she used on every male worthy of her steel. but he could not believe it to be so. her perfume—that perfume of an eastern garden by moonlight—had gone to his head. no woman had ever produced such an effect upon him, though they had exchanged but a few words, and those not memorable. yet he was not humiliated by his own surrender. in spite of all reason he was convinced that she had been stirred by him as he by her.

the meeting was between pavoya's dances, and she had not many minutes to spare. her manager had impressed upon manners that the few she gave were an immense concession. there was no hope of prolonging them. her call came. she had to go. again eyes met with that shock to the nerves. suddenly lyda held out her hand to jack. clasping it, electricity flashed up his arm and stabbed at his heart. he felt her start slightly, and his breath quickened.

for juliet's sake, and the promise he had made, it was manners' duty to take instant advantage of his "luck" with pavoya. but he was not thinking about juliet—or the promise. he was neither remorseful nor triumphant. all he thought of or wanted as they talked in snatches was to hold this woman, not to let her go till he had arranged to meet her again. he must meet her again! he must know what she really was—what they were to be in each other's lives. but he could not ask permission to call. he was stupidly tongue-tied, and could not put words together as he would have wished.

"would you care to have supper with me at my house to-night?" she asked, not taking her hand from his.

the invitation was so unexpected that jack could hardly believe it had been given. yet he heard himself answering, "yes, i should be delighted."

"i am glad," she said, in her perfect english, with the pretty accent that was part of her charm. "perhaps you don't know where i live? i have taken a house, furnished: mrs. lloyd-jackson's house on park avenue. you have been there? supper will be at twelve. till then——"

she was gone.

"by jingo, you've made a hit, my boy!" chuckled pavoya's manager.

it was all jack could do to detach himself from thoughts of lyda, and go about juliet's business between ten-forty and midnight. for the first time in his life the prospect of seeing juliet was distasteful to him. he didn't want to see her, because she would ask him about lyda pavoya, and in his present mood there was nothing he would hate worse than discussing the polish girl with his cousin. but he was as sorry for juliet as ever, and just as anxious to help her.

desperately against the grain, he took a taxi and drove to the phayre house, which he found brilliantly lighted. the huge front looked so gay that for a moment he hoped pat had come back. but he asked for the duke, and was told gravely by togo that his grace was not at home. the duchess, however, was expecting captain manners.

juliet was waiting, not in her boudoir, but in the chinese room which her father had loved. she no longer wore the dressing gown she had put on when nursing her headache in the afternoon, but was dazzling in some flame-coloured film over shot gold and purple tissue.

"you've had good news!" jack exclaimed at sight of her.

"no, i've had none whatever," she said. "if possible, things are worse. i know why you thought something good had happened. all the lights, and this dress! but if you were a woman you'd understand. i've realized that there's a fight in front of me. i want it to be a silent battle. i don't wish people to know i'm fighting at all—till i see what the end's likely to be."

"i do understand," jack said. "you're a brave girl, and i believe the end will be all right."

he hurried on to talk about pat, and thus put off the bad moment when she would question him about pavoya. as nothing had been heard of the missing one and juliet seemed now even more anxious than angry, jack decided to confess having telephoned to all the hospitals. it was good news, he insisted, that these enquiries had drawn blank, and he did his best as a comforter by saying that pat had probably gone off in a huff. people who loved each other flew into rages more easily than those who didn't care. men of pat's temperament didn't lie down quietly to be trampled on by their wives. he'd write soon, or send word somehow when his first fury had exploded. or, at worst, he would communicate with the bank, even if he didn't turn up for work there.

meanwhile, however, jack admitted that they mustn't let things slide and merely "hope for the best." would juliet like to have a detective engaged—a private one, of course—quietly to make enquiries, in the very unlikely case that something queer had happened?

"yes, i was going to suggest that," juliet said in a hard, bright voice which kept back tears. "what about that detective you spoke of—the one who was with pat and defasquelle at the club?"

jack hesitated. "well, i think we'd better get a chap of our own. you see, possibly he was pat's man, engaged for the—the pearl business. he mightn't be able to work for us with a whole heart——"

"i know what you mean," juliet caught manners up. "pat's man may know where pat really is, and lead us off the track, instead of on to it."

"it's just possible," jack had to agree.

"would you believe it," the girl veered abruptly to a new subject, "two reporters have called to interview me about the inner circle stuff?"

"impudent beasts!" manners lashed out. "of course you didn't receive them?"

"jack, i did!" said juliet. "i'll tell you why. here in the house i've got more and more proof against pat—or against that woman." jack winced, but she was not looking at him: her eyes were full of tears. "still, i'm doing what you told me to do: i'm giving him 'the benefit of the doubt.' besides—i've my pride, just as pat has his. there's my father's name. in its way that's as good as the name of claremanagh, or all the dukes in britain. i came to this room to-night because dad loved it so, and i felt as if he were here in spirit, helping me to be strong. he was such a busy man, yet always he had time for me! i can almost hear his voice saying, 'steady, jule!' as he used to say when i was in one of my wild moods. i had those newspapermen brought to me here. and i said to one what i said to the other. i admitted that i'd seen the inner circle, and i supposed the horrid rag meant us. but i simply laughed at the whole thing! i told them pavoya came to see me—something about her dance for the armenians: you know, the roof-garden show nancy van esten's getting up. i said the insinuation about the pearls was nonsense: that i'm an expert, and that they're the realest things i ever saw. i talked about pat as if we two were the best of friends, and mentioned just casually that he was away for a few days. i was as nice as i could be to the men, though i longed to—to kick them! i'm sure they both went off to their horrid old newspapers to write beautiful things about the family. don't you think i did right?"

"perhaps," said jack. "if you don't mind being a bit infra dig."

"i don't mind anything," juliet choked, "if only pat comes back safely and—and—if we can patch up some sort of a life together. if—i don't have to break with him."

"then you've given up those ideas you had this morning?"

"about divorce? no. i haven't exactly given them up. but they seem far off now—when i'm so afraid for pat. i've thought of a thousand things that might have happened to him. suppose he does love me really, and pavoya is jealous? she'd be capable of anything. she may have had him stabbed! that reminds me: you've met her?"

"yes."

"well?"

"what do you want me to say?"

"to tell me what she was like, of course! how you got on—what have you got out of her?"

jack felt suddenly antagonistic to juliet. "i was with mademoiselle pavoya about twenty minutes at most, and her manager was there, too," he said. "i got nothing out of her. what did you expect? all the same you may take it from me, juliet, you'll make a big mistake if you imagine she has anything to do with pat's not showing up. i'm sure she hasn't."

"oh! she's hypnotized you, too, has she?" snapped juliet. "pat wanted to make me believe she was a good woman! come with me into his study, and i'll show you something. then perhaps you won't be so quick to defend her!"

this was worse than jack's fears. he couldn't refuse to follow his cousin. from everyone's point of view, that would be poor policy. but he hated to go to pat's study. he did not wish to see anything juliet had to show him there.

"if it's a letter, i won't——" he had begun when she cut him short.

"it isn't a letter! after the scolding you gave me at the lorne, i wouldn't glance at the wildest love-letter of pavoya's even if she'd printed it so large i could read every word across the room."

"i didn't give you a scolding," jack defended himself. "i only said a man wouldn't do what you did—or some such thing as that."

"yes. that's just what you did say." juliet was unlocking the door of pat's study, of which she had the key.

"i never knew you not to do what you wanted to do because i or any one else scolded you!"

"how hard you are to me, jack!" she reproached him. "this is different. and i am different. i don't want to do anything a man would think mean. i want to be fair to pat, whatever happens. but about the pearls i can't be fair to him and pavoya both. i'm going to show you why not."

as she spoke she went to pat's desk, where things were wildly scattered, as in his notorious carelessness he had left them. jack manners' heart beat rather thickly as he remembered his last visit to this room: how defasquelle had come in; how he, jack, had sat on the club fender, very conscious during the scene which followed that lyda pavoya must be hidden behind the curtains or the screen; how he had advised pat to do what defasquelle asked; how pat refused, and showed the safe in the wall which was already open.

"here's his seal ring," juliet was saying. "i found it lying on the desk. this is what i brought you in to see. now take the ring in your hand, please. look at it closely, and tell me if you notice anything odd."

as jack took the ring, he recalled that pat had pulled it off his finger and given it to defasquelle, telling the frenchman to compare it with the seals on the packet. relieved that, for a moment, juliet was letting lyda's name rest in peace, he examined the ring.

"i see nothing peculiar, unless a tiny bit of red stuff stuck in the corner of the eye," he said.

"ah!" cried juliet, "i thought you'd see that! what do you think the red stuff is?"

"might be sealing-wax."

"that's just what it is. i used a magnifying-glass to make sure. which showed me something else, too. but i haven't quite come to that yet! pat never seals his letters with red wax. he dislikes red things: you know yourself he always uses grey-blue wax. he said it reminded him of my eyes! you saw the packet defasquelle brought from france?"

"yes."

"then you know it was sealed with five red seals. i have the box and wrappings upstairs, if you don't remember."

"i do remember."

"very well. you can guess what i'm driving at?"

"i suppose i can."

"good! now for the other thing the magnifying-glass told me. but no—take it yourself. there's a scratch across the eye on the ring. you see it?"

"yes."

"do you know who was supposed to have sealed up the packet?"

"mayen, of course: with a duplicate ring pat had made for him on purpose."

"yes, a duplicate. but would the scratch have been copied? it shows on all five seals of the packet. i looked through the magnifier."

"juliet! you accuse pat——"

"or pavoya. i said it must lie between him and her."

jack did not answer at once. he saw the sinister importance of this discovery which juliet had made. his mind rushed back to yesterday. lyda pavoya had been left alone in the study, for how long he did not know. but pat had given her a chance to get away. he had made an excuse to show both men something in the chinese room next door. then, when defasquelle pleaded an engagement, pat had rung for togo to guide the frenchman out. a little later jack also had gone. what pat had done after that, who could tell? his own man nickson, perhaps, or one of the other servants. jack pushed the name of lyda pavoya violently out of his mind. he would not ask himself what she knew about pat's next movements and about the red seals.

when these thoughts had shot through his head, bringing actual bodily pain, he drew a long breath, and forced himself to speak. juliet was waiting! "it's very necessary to have a detective to tackle this business," he said. "i realize that fact more than ever now. it's essential for pat's own sake, if—for no one else's. a sharp chap may be able somehow or other to pulverize this beastly theory you're forming, juliet. he'll make tests for fingerprints on the safe in the wall. if there are others besides pat's, of course——"

"and lyda pavoya's!"

"it's not worthy of you to spring to such conclusions!" manners broke out before he could control himself. he expected juliet to retort furiously, but she did not. she merely looked piteous—and young.

"jack," she said, sadly, "what am i going to do if that woman takes you away from me as well as pat?"

"nonsense," he bluffed. "i hope i shall show that she hasn't taken pat—or anything of yours. you don't want her proved guilty, i suppose?"

"not unless she is. but i'd rather it would be pavoya than pat. and it seems as if it must be one or the other."

"it seems so to you—now. but wait."

juliet looked at him anxiously. "can you think of any one else to suspect?"

"i haven't had much time to think yet," said jack. "to-morrow morning early, i'll get the best private detective in town: one who won't talk. meanwhile, we must be patient. i suppose, of course, you've questioned nickson about his master?"

"that was one of the first things i did. poor old nick was almost bowled over when i said i feared that something had happened to his adored one. i didn't mention the pearls—naturally!—or that i thought pat might have disappeared of his own accord. i watched nick's face to see what he knew. i don't think he has an idea where pat has gone. but—jack, he knows something—something wild horses wouldn't drag out of him. i feel—i have a flair—it's about pavoya. i've an idea nick has taken messages. togo has been bribed by her, too, i'm sure. and he won't speak. the woman is like circe, with men of all sorts and classes. she has but to look at them to turn them into beasts!"

"the woman" had looked at jack. but she had not turned him into a beast. he had never felt less like a beast in his life than he felt at this moment! yet—saint or circe—by some magic she had won his loyalty. "wild horses" would not have dragged her secrets from nickson, juliet said, and jack believed she might be right. as for him, he would have had his tongue cut out sooner than tell his cousin that he was engaged to sup at lyda's house. and it was almost time to go!

what excuse could he make for leaving juliet abruptly, without hurting her? he would not hurt her for a great deal. but he would hurt her if he must, rather than be late!