"Well, there it is. I have been on the fringe of it for some time. Angela, you must give me back that spray of blossom, you must not mention it to Sir Clement at all. And now I must have a look into the conservatory, indeed I came on purpose." "You came expecting to find something, a clue to the mystery there?" "Well, yes, if you like to put it that way," Denvers murmured, avoiding Angela’s eyes for the first time. "I had a plant of that Cardinal Moth which I deemed safely hidden in Streatham. Why I had to hide it I will tell you in due course. It had a great deal to do between myself and the Shan of Koordstan, with whom I hoped to do important business. I mentioned it to him and he showed me a paragraph in a paper which for the moment has scattered all my plans. As soon as I read that paragraph I felt certain that my Moth had been stolen, though it cost one life to get it. When I heard of the tragedy here to-night, I was absolutely sure as to my facts. Angela, my Moth is in the conservatory here, and Manfred lost his life trying to steal it for somebody else." Angela listened with a vague feeling that she would wake presently and find it all a dream. A new horror had been added to the house in the last few minutes. "Let us hope you are wrong," she said with a shudder. "Come and see at once. But what do you propose to do if you find that your suspicions are correct?" Denvers hardly knew; he had had no time to think that part out. He reached out to find a switch for the light, but Angela’s gentle hand detained him. "The moon must suffice," she said. "Sir Clement has eyes like a hawk. What’s that?" A thud in the hall followed by an unmistakable cry of pain. It was only just for an instant, and then there was silence again. Angela drew her lover back into the shadow of the curtain. "That was Sir Clement," she whispered. "Whether he has found me out, or has merely come down for something, I can’t say. Probably he kicked against something in the dark. Harold!" For Harold had darted out from the curtain and gripped something that looked like a shadow. As he dragged his burden forward the moon shone on the dull features of Hafid. Taken suddenly as he had been, he did not display the slightest traces of fear. "My beautiful mistress is watched," he said smoothly. "I came to warn her. Sir Clement has gone up to his dressing-room for his slippers. He struck his illustrious toe against a marble table and——" "Then follow him and lock him in," Harold said hurriedly. "Do that and you shall not be forgotten. Lock the dressing-room door whilst you are pretending to look for the slippers." "You could do me no greater service," Angela whispered sweetly. Hafid hastened off as noiselessly as a cat. There was nothing short of murder that he would not have done for Angela. There was no light in Frobisher’s dressing-room, by the aid of the moon he was fumbling for his slippers. He turned as Hafid entered.