"Not at all. There is a much smaller Moth growing side by side with the larger one. I found that out to-night. You have only to snap off a small piece of cork and unwind the stems. Then you hurry off to my place with it and put it amongst my orchids. The old man does not expect anything beyond a small plant; those we had before were babies compared to the one yonder. Then we get the Shan round the next day and give him the vegetable. I shall have the concession ready. And it’s any money Frobisher never knows how he has been done." "I’ll make the attempt if you like," Manfred said without emotion. "We can discuss the details in the morning. And now let me see what happened to my man. There is sure to be an account in this paper." Manfred came upon it at length: "Mysterious Occurrence in Streatham. "Yesterday evening Thomas Silverthorne, caretaker at Lennox Nursery, Streatham, was aroused by hearing a noise in the greenhouse attached to the house. Silverthorne had not gone to bed; indeed, only a few hours before his employer had died, leaving him alone in the house. On entering the greenhouse the caretaker discovered the body of a man lying on the floor quite dead. Silverthorne thinks that it was the dull thud of the body that aroused him. Some plants in the roof had been pulled down—rare orchids, according to Silverthorne, who, however, is no gardener—but there was no means to show how the unfortunate man got there, as there is no exit from the greenhouse to the garden. The man was quite dead, and subsequent medical examination showed that he had been strangled by a coarse cloth twisted tightly round his throat; indeed, the marks on the hempen-cloth were plainly to be seen. An inquest will be held to-morrow." "Well, what do you think of it?" Lefroy asked. Manfred pitched the paper aside in a sudden flame of unreasoning passion. "Accursed thing!" he cried. "It is the curse that follows the pursuit of the Cardinal Moth. It is ever the same, always blood, blood. If I had my way——" "Drop it," Lefroy said sternly. "Remember what you have got to do." Manfred grew suddenly hard and wooden again. "I have passed my word," he said. "And it shall be done, though I would rather burn my hand off first." *CHAPTER IV.* *A DUSKY POTENTATE.* A very late breakfast, past two o’clock, in fact, was laid out in one of the private sitting-rooms of Gardner’s hotel that self-same afternoon. Gardner’s only catered for foreign princes and ambassadors and people of that kind, the place was filled with a decorous silence, the servants in their quiet liveries gave a suggestion of a funeral of some distinguished personage, and that the body had not long left the premises. But despite the fact, some queer people patronised Gardner’s from time to time, and His Highness the Shan of Koordstan was not the least brilliant in that line.