"I didn’t. I sat and watched the procession. Sir Clement Frobisher came and made himself agreeable to me, and so did his wife—under compulsion. But she asked me to her dance, and I am going." "Hope that they won’t ask me, too," Benstein said uneasily. "You need not go, in any case; in fact, I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve been scheming out my dress, Aaron; do you happen to be strong in rubies just now?" Benstein nodded his huge head and smiled. More or less, he had the jewels of the great world in his possession. It was his whim to keep them at home. He trusted nobody, not even a bank. Besides, nearly every day brought something neat and ingenious in the way of a jewel fraud. "I can rig you out in anything," he said. "Yes, I could pretty well cover you in rubies. They’re all on diamonds just for the moment, so that they bring their emeralds and rubies to redeem the white stones. Wonder what some of those big swells would say if they knew you had got their jewels to wear, Isa?" Isa smiled at some amusing recollection, but she held her peace. Humour was not Benstein’s strong point. He puffed away to the library, followed by his wife, and once there locked the door. Here was a large iron sheet that, being opened, disclosed something in the nature of a strong-room. There were scores of tiny pigeon-holes, each filled with cases and bags all carefully noted and numbered, for method was Benstein’s strong point. "More papers," Isa exclaimed. "A fresh lot since yesterday. Is it some new business, Aaron?" "Count Lefroy," Benstein wheezed. "Valuable concessions from the Shan of Koordstan. Shouldn’t wonder if those papers don’t become worth half a million. Queer-looking things. Like to see them?" Isa expressed a proper curiosity on the point. The papers were in Hindustani and English, with some cramped-looking signature and the impression of a seal at the bottom. "Those signatures are both forgeries," Mrs. Benstein said, after careful examination. "And that seal, I feel quite sure, is a clumsy imitation of something better." "Doesn’t matter if they are," Benstein said without emotion. "If they are real, I only get a finger in the pie; if they are forged I bag the whole of the pastry. Let me once get Lefroy under my thumb like that, and I’ll make a pocket borough of Koordstan. Leave your Aaron alone for business, my dear. Now let us see what we can do in the way of rubies, though I am a great fool to——" "It’s too late in the day to think of that," Isa said sharply. "Turn them out." The shabby cases began to yield their glittering contents. The electrics glowed upon the piled-up mass of rubies, bracelets, brooches, tiaras, armlets—the loot of the East, it seemed to be. Isa’s slim fingers played with the shining strings lovingly.