Angela made off hurriedly, and, for the time being, Harold returned to the ballroom. On the whole, he was not particularly enamoured of the part he was playing: the idea of forcing himself into a house where he had been forbidden by the host was repugnant to his finer feelings; but, on the other hand, any scheme was worthy which had for its end the defeat of a scoundrel. As the Shan caught Harold’s warning eye he left Frobisher and moved towards his ally. "So far there is not much the matter," Harold replied. "Miss Lyne knows exactly what she has to do, and she will do it well. You are going to have a pretty big surprise just now, but whether it will turn out a pleasant one or the reverse I cannot say as yet. Stand here and pretend to be interested in the pictures." Angela had been more successful in her search than Frobisher. A prosy peer had buttonholed his host and the latter could not get away for the present without using actual violence. Angela had found the lady of the rubies sitting in a dim corner alone. She looked a little dazed and tired. "I am not used to it," she said frankly. "And I can’t stand all their silly folly. I sent my partner for an ice on purpose to get rid of him. My dear young lady, you are very kind, and I’ve taken a great fancy to you because you are the first person I have spoken to to-night who is honest and true. All the same, I really want that ice, and if you can find some quiet corner——" "I know the very thing," Angela cried eagerly, delighted at the way fate was playing into her hands. "Come along. There, what do you think of that? Sit down near the light and I’ll go and get the ice." Mrs. Benstein protested, but Angela was already out of earshot. The Shan and his companion were deeply engrossed in a pair of Romneys as Angela passed them. "I have secured your bird," she whispered. "She is exactly where you asked me to place her." Harold touched his companion on the arm, and they strolled away leisurely in the direction of the great conservatory. It was fairly quiet here, with few people about. Under the lamp sat a rarely beautiful woman whose dress from head to foot was one mass of rubies. Another one flamed across her forehead. "What do you think of her?" Harold whispered. "And what do you think of that big stone that is attached to her forehead by those thin gold wires?" The Shan started violently. He rubbed his hands across his red bloodshot eyes. "The Blue Stone of Ghan," he whispered hoarsely. "By Allah, she is wearing the sacred jewel!" *CHAPTER XVI.* *DIPLOMACY.*