"In it! In it up to his neck. I bribed one of the Shan’s servants. Why, Denvers, calling himself Aben Abdullah or some such name, and beautifully disguised, was in your house the night before last at your wife’s dance. It was he who stopped your little game and enabled Mrs. Benstein to turn the tables on you. Those concessions are as good as in Denvers’ pocket." "But where did the money come from to get that gem out of Benstein’s clutches? I know for a fact that the Shan is desperately hard up for the moment." "What does that matter?" Arnott asked irritably. "You were at Mrs. Benstein’s luncheon-party at the Belgrave yesterday. Who was there besides the actors in the game? You are losing your wits, Frobisher. What do you suppose Parkford was doing there?" Frobisher slapped his bald head helplessly. "I never thought of that," he said blankly. "I’d go to Paris myself, only I’ve got to attend an inquest. Come and dine quietly to-night and discuss the plan of campaign. I shall find some way out yet. Now just you toddle off and keep your tongue between your teeth." "And what about Miss Lyne?" Arnott asked. "That’s going to be all right—you can safely trust the young lady to me. She doesn’t realise what I am capable of. Though why you should want to marry a girl who hates you and despises you from the bottom of her heart is more than I can comprehend. Eight o’clock sharp to-night." Frobisher travelled down to Streatham a little later, and devoutly hoped that his own evidence would be a matter of form. But the hall in which the inquest was to be held was crammed with curious onlookers, for the dual sensation caused by two mysterious deaths under similar circumstances had not been forgotten by the public. Frobisher but rarely glanced at the newspapers except _The Times_, or he would have known that "the orchid mystery," as it had been called, was the sensation of the hour. Only by the aid of two friendly policemen did he reach a seat in court. The proceedings were drawing on, evidence of a formal nature only being called at present. Frobisher nodded to Inspector Townsend, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance. "Something horribly nasty about perspiring humanity," he said. "I should like to turn a garden-hose on to the gallery yonder. What on earth do you want me for, Townsend?" Townsend admitted that there might be one or two points on which Sir Clement’s evidence might prove material. He was not quite sure what the barrister for the authorities had in his mind. Frobisher glanced at his watch from time to time impatiently; he had forgotten his surroundings utterly, when the sound of his own name brought him back to the present with a start. Leisurely and with perfect self-possession he entered the box and was sworn. "I want to ask you a few questions," the Crown counsel said. "You have read something of the case, Sir Clement?" "I have heard of it, though I am afraid I shall be of very little use to you."