"No, you wouldn’t," Mrs. Benstein said, quietly. "But mind you, that flower is more or less of a sacred thing, and the Shan of Koordstan would have given his head to get it. He’s Oriental through and through, despite his thin veneer of polish and his Western vices. I suppose those concessions that the Shan has to dispose of are valuable?" Benstein’s deep-set little eyes twinkled. "Give a million for ’em and chance it," he said. "So you think that Frobisher——" "Precisely. Much as he loves orchids, he didn’t want the Cardinal Moth for keeping, as the Americans say. With that lever he meant to get hold of those concessions. Now I have discovered that it was young Harold Denvers who found the Cardinal Moth and brought it to England. He took it down to Streatham, thinking that it would be safe there. But Paul Lopez got to know about it, and so did another man, apparently—I mean the man who was murdered." "You think that he was murdered by Lopez, Isa?" Mrs. Benstein made no reply, but smiled significantly. She might have startled her husband with some strange information, but she did not care to do so at present. "That will be the general impression after to-day’s proceedings," she said. "And Paul Lopez has disappeared. But I feel pretty sure that he has not left England." "I am certain of it," Benstein chuckled. "Lopez has never got any money. He tried me for a loan only yesterday to take him away. Guess I could put my hand upon him in an hour." "You think he is to be found at that gambling club you are so interested in?" "Certain of it, my dear. Lopez is friendly enough with old Chiavari, who has found him a bed and food before now. Rare good customer to Chiavari he has been. If Lopez is not hiding at 17, Panton Street, I’m no judge. Do you want to see him?" Mrs. Benstein intimated that she did, at which Benstein said nothing and evinced no surprise. He had the most profound, almost senile confidence in his wife and her intelligence, and she did exactly as she liked, and her obedient husband asked no questions. "Very well, my dear," he said, as he rose and looked at the clock. "I’m going past Chiavari’s and I’ll look in. If Lopez is there, expect him in half an hour." Benstein waddled out of the room and presently left the house. Something seemed to amuse Mrs. Benstein as she sat in the drawing-room before her piano. Half an hour passed, the clock was striking nine, and the footman opened the door to admit a stranger. "A gentleman to see you, madame," he murmured. "He says you would not know his name." Isa Benstein signalled assent. She closed the door as Lopez came in and led the way to a small room beyond, furnished as a library more or less. There was an American roll-top desk and a telephone over it. Isa Benstein pushed a box of cigarettes towards her companion. "How did you guess where to find me?" he asked.