Frobisher’s highly sensitive nature demanded a flower as a little something to soothe his nerves. He passed into the conservatory where the Cardinal Moth was flaming overhead, he climbed like an over-dressed monkey up the extending ladder, and broke off a spray of the blooms. He patted them gently as he fixed the cluster in the silk lapel of his coat. Hafid looked in and announced that the car was ready. Hafid’s face was white and set like that of a drug victim. Frobisher was at his most brilliant and best as the car flashed away. Presently the scene changed from the hot air and dusty glare of the streets, to green lawns and old trees and the soft music of a band of some colour and doubtful Hungarian origin. But there was the clear flow and the throbbing melody of it, and Frobisher’s gloved hand beat gently to time. There were little knots of kaleidoscope colours, graceful and harmonious in graceful shades and the emerald green for a background. Here, too, was the Duchess with a swift, pecky smile for each guest, as if she had been carelessly wound up for the occasion, and something had gone wrong with the spring. Frobisher slipped in and out of the various groups with his hands behind him. There were still certain people who seemed to be smelling something unpleasant as the wicked little baronet passed, but this only added zest and piquancy to his studies. It was some time before he found the object of his search—a study in yellow, and a large black hat nodding with graceful plumes. Something round her slim, white neck seemed to stream and dazzle, there was another flash of blue fire on her breast. Yet the diamonds did not seem in the least out of place on Mrs. Benstein. There was something hard and shaky about her beauty that called for them—blue black hair drawn back in a wave from her forehead, a complexion like old ivory, and eyes suggestive of mystery. Frobisher thought of the serpent of old Nile as he looked at her critically. A marvellously beautiful woman beyond all question, a woman without the faintest suggestion of self-consciousness. Yet she was practically alone in that somewhat polyglot gathering, and she knew that most people there were holding aloof from her. Frobisher strolled up in the most natural way in the world. He had had one or two dealings with Benstein, had dined with the man, in fact, but he had contrived not to see Mrs. Benstein in public till to-day. He dropped into a chair and began to talk. "You feel any attraction to this kind of thing?" he asked. "Well, not much," was the candid reply. "I came here out of curiosity. The Duchess would not have asked me, only that my husband is useful to the Duke. So you have got a Cardinal Moth?" Frobisher fairly gasped, though he dexterously recovered himself. He smiled into the dark, swimming eyes of his companion. Their strange mystery irritated as well as fascinated him. "And what can you possibly know about the Cardinal Moth?" he asked.