Demetri broke in. “This—eh?” His cunning eyes gleaming with cupidity caught those of Lal Singh and held them for a brief period. The Indian laughed cruelly. “You have said. ’Twas but Justice if you only knew.” Stefanopoulos was silent. He held out his hand for this stone of liquid beauty that had come to him so unexpectedly, yet was not for him. His fingers itched to hold it—to feel some of its flaming fire. “Let me look at the stone,” he growled. Lal Singh pushed it over very slowly, watching the old man as a hungry cat regards a mouse. Stefanopoulos held it to the light watching its flashing points of scintillating brilliance play round the room. The eyes of Lal Singh wandered upward, fascinated at what the Greek was doing. As they did so Cuypers rose like lightning and covered the Indian with his revolver. Simultaneously, Mr. Bathurst, similarly armed slipped through the door behind which he had been standing and covered Lal Singh from the rear. “Don’t move,” he said, “or I’ll put a bullet through you. You are arrested for the murder of Sheila Delaney at Seabourne in England on July fifth. See to him, Cuypers!” As the little Dutchman advanced and snapped the handcuffs upon the prisoner, Anthony was acutely aware of a flow of concentrated hatred and devilry that flooded him from the dark vindictive eyes of the arrested man. They flicked from Stefanopoulos and Cuypers to the Crown Prince and Sir Austin Kemble, embracing them all, but they always returned to dwell balefully upon Mr. Bathurst. Unmoved—the last-named walked quietly to the prisoner. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I don’t think any of you quite realise yet the real truth of what has happened.” His hand went to Lal Singh’s face and he jerked suddenly and strongly at the Indian’s beard. The spirit gum failed to withstand the challenge. The beard came away in his hand. “Don’t you find the costume rather chilly, Bannister,” he said lightly, “for this particular season of the year?” Chapter XXVII Sir Austin Kemble Removes His Hat “Dinner is served,” said the butler. “Will you escort Lady Fullgarney, Mr. Bathurst? And you, Sir Austin might be good enough to take Lady Brantwood? Thank you. If Lady Kemble will honour me?” Sir Matthew Fullgarney led his guests into the brilliantly-lighted dining-room of Dovaston Court. “I should have been delighted,” he said, “to have had the Crown Prince of Clorania with us for Christmas but, of course, he has a very much more important engagement”—he chuckled—“the wedding, I believe, is fixed for the last day of the old year. I suppose you are going—Mr. Bathurst? Surely, you should be the guest of honour?” Anthony laughed. “I was invited, Sir Matthew, it’s true—but like the Crown Prince—I had an important engagement myself, last week. I wasn’t sure how long it would last—so in the circumstances, I placed myself at Lady Fullgarney’s disposal instead.” He bowed, “I am sure that excellent judges would agree that I chose the better part.”