"I had a brother who once went there," Ralph replied. "I am accounted like him. It is possible you may have met my brother, madam." The speech was sullen, delivered with a stupid air that impressed Mrs. May that she had nothing to fear from him. And yet the words had a curious effect on her. Her face changed color and for the first time she glanced at Marion. The girl was trembling; she was ashy grey to her lips. Tchigorsky, observing, smiled. "Tibet is a wonderful country," he said, "and Lassa a marvelous city. I had some of my strangest experiences there. I and another man, since dead, penetrated all the secrets of the Holy City. It was only by a miracle that I escaped with my life. But these I will carry to my grave." He indicated the scars on his face. Vera was profoundly interested. "Tell me something of your adventures there," she said. "Some day, perhaps," Tchigorsky replied. "For the most part they were too horrible. I could tell you all about the beasts and birds and insects. I see you have some bees outside, Miss Vera. Did you ever see Tibet bees?" "Are they different to ours?" Vera asked. Tchigorsky glanced up. Mrs. May was regarding him with more than a flattering interest. A slight smile, almost a defiance, parted her lips. Marion was looking down at her plate, crumbling a piece of bread absently. "Some of them," said Tchigorsky. "Some are black, for instance. I have a place in Kent where I dabble in that kind of thing. I have a few of the bees with me." Tchigorsky took a small box from his pocket and laid it on the table. Vera inspected the black bees for a moment and then handed them back to Tchigorsky. By accident or design he let the box fall, the lid flew open, and immediately half a dozen sable objects were buzzing in the air. A yell of terror broke from Mrs. May, a yell that rang to the roof. She jumped to her feet only to sink again with the pain of the injured limb. She seemed to have lost all control of herself; she turned and addressed Tchigorsky in some liquid tongue that conveyed nothing to any one except that she was denouncing the Russian in a fury of passionate anger. Geoffrey had risen, too, greatly alarmed. From the head of the table, Ralph Ravenspur coolly demanded to know what it was all about. "The man is mad," Mrs. May screamed. "He is a dangerous lunatic. Those are the black bees of Tibet. They are the most fearsome of insects. Ah!" One of the droning objects dropped on her hand, and she yelled again. She was a picture of abject and pitiable terror. "I am doomed, doomed," she moaned. "Killed by a careless madman." "Is there any danger?" Geoffrey demanded. Only the life led among so many perils caused the family to wait calmly for the next and most dramatic development. Perhaps the way in which Tchigorsky was behaving gave them confidence. If he was a madman, as Mrs. May asserted, then the madman was wonderfully calm and placid. "You are alarming yourself unnecessarily," he said. "See here."