It seemed to have been tacitly agreed by Geoffrey and Marion that nothing could be gained by telling Vera of the danger that she had escaped. Nothing could be gained by a recital of the dastardly attempt on the previous evening, and only another terror would be added to the girl's life. And, Heaven knows, they all had terrors enough.

On the other hand, Vera had made up her mind to say nothing to the family generally as to her startling adventures. Of course, Geoffrey and Ralph Ravenspur would have to know, but the rest were to be kept in the dark.

Vera's white face and serious air were accounted for by the headache from which she was palpably suffering. Some of the others understood, and they were full of silent sympathy.

"It is nothing," said Vera. "A walk along the cliffs will soon set me right." As she spoke she looked at Geoffrey significantly. He knew immediately that the girl had something important to say to him. He slipped outside and Vera followed him. Not till they were out of sight of the house did she speak.

"Dr. Tchigorsky is still about?" she asked.

"Yes, dear," Geoffrey replied. "As a matter of fact, he is hiding in Uncle Ralph's room. He has his own reasons for so doing, but the reasons are to remain a profound secret. I ought not to have told you. You are not to tell any one."

Vera gave a sigh of relief.

"I promise that," she said. "And I am exceedingly glad to hear that Dr. Tchigorsky is safe. I was not sure whether I had not seen his murder."

Geoffrey regarded Vera in amazement.

"Why, you were in your room all night," he cried. "You were——"

He was going to say "drugged," but he pulled himself up just in time. Vera told her story without further preamble. It was a thrilling story and none the less so because simply told.

"I don't profess to understand it," Vera concluded. "I tell it to you just as it happened. On the whole, I thought it as well to keep the information to myself. I dare say that Dr. Tchigorsky can solve the problem."

"He shall have a chance," said Geoffrey. "I'll tell him after luncheon. But I should not tell a soul else this, Vera."

"I had no intention, Geoffrey. And now, hadn't we better go back and say good-bye to Mrs. May. She is leaving the house directly."

Mrs. May did leave the house in the course of the morning, all smiles and blandishments. She had a particularly tender word and squeeze of the hand for Geoffrey, whom she pressed in a whisper to come and see her before long.

"I will," Geoffrey replied. "You may rely upon that."

It was with a feeling of intense relief that he was rid of her. It seemed hard to believe that the smiling polished woman of the world, the derniÈre cri of Western civilization, should be one and the same with the fanatic princess of the fanatical East.

There was something wild and bizarre about the very suggestion. There was one last smile for every one but Marion, who had not appeared, and Mrs. May was gone.

Geoffrey made his way up to his uncle's room. There he found the two friends smoking. Tchigorsky looked at him from behind a cloud of thin smoke.

"You have news, my young friend," said Tchigorsky. "I see it in your eyes."

"I have the most important news," said Geoffrey, "only it does not convey any impression to me. It is a discovery of Vera's. She had a fine adventure last night. She was not sure whether or not she had seen your murder, Tchigorsky."

"Say on," Tchigorsky said calmly. "Say on, my boy."

Geoffrey said on accordingly. He fully expected to surprise his hearers, and he was not disappointed. Every word he said was followed with rapt attention.

"And now can you explain it?" Geoffrey asked eagerly.

"To me the explanation is perfectly clear," Tchigorsky replied. "Last night I told you that there were two other parties to the vendetta now in England, and that it was necessary to get them into the net before we close it. That is no longer necessary, for the simple reason that these two men are dead—drowned."

"Do you mean that they perished with that stranger last night?"

"Certainly, I do. A fine determined fellow, whose death I cannot sufficiently deplore. And he had his vengeance upon his foes. If he perished, they perished also."

"But who was he, Tchigorsky?"

"The other man—my fellow-countryman, Voski. Don't you remember my telling you how the princess spoke of him? He has been hunted down at last. They lured him here and destroyed him under the pretence that I wanted to see him. My presumed servant had only to mention my name, and the thing was done."

"But why bring him here?"

"Because the place is so quiet. Because they wanted to give their mistress, the princess, a pleasant surprise. I don't suppose she knew they were coming."

"But the light in the corridor?"

"That was a curious and useless coincidence. The light in the corridor was mine. I was looking for something. Neither of those miscreants was ever in the house at all. At the same time they had naturally been informed where I was. To-day they would have gone to their mistress with the pleasing news that they had despatched Voski. I am certain they were saving the news for her."

"What shall you do about it?" asked Geoffrey.

"I shall not do anything at present," Tchigorsky replied. "I have a little idea that may work out to our advantage later. Meanwhile nobody knows of the tragedy and nobody is to know. This afternoon you are going out fishing in a boat, but in reality you are going to look for their bodies. If you can find them all——"

"We are certain to find them all," Ralph interrupted. "They will be carried round Gull Reef on the spit of sand under the caves and deposited on the beach, whence the tide ebbs at four o'clock to-day. I have not lived here all my life for nothing. We shall find those bodies within a yard of where I say."

"And bring them up the cliff," Geoffrey shuddered. "Ugh!"

"You will do nothing of the kind," Tchigorsky said coolly. "Bring Voski, of course, but you are to bury the two ruffians in the sand. It will be easy to do so, and pile some rocks over them afterwards."

Geoffrey ventured to suggest that such a course might end disastrously, the officers of the law not to know of it. Tchigorsky waved the suggestion aside contemptuously. It was no time for nice points like these.

"Those foul creatures are dead, and there is an end of it," he said. "What can it matter whether there is an inquest held on them or not? If it is, then there will be an end of my scheme. I say you must do this. The future happiness of the family depends upon it. It is also of the utmost importance that Princess Zara does not know of the death of her miscreants."

Geoffrey nodded. He began to see daylight. And, after all, the concealment of these bodies was no crime.

"What do you say, Uncle Ralph?" he asked.

"Say that Tchigorsky is right," Ralph croaked; "Tchigorsky is always right. When we get Voski's body, what shall we do with it?"

"Lay it out in the corridor, where I can get a look at it," said Tchigorsky. "For the present I do not exist—at least, so far as this house is concerned. All you have to do is to follow my directions."

The strange pair set out on their excursion in the afternoon. It was a long pull from the village to the cliffs, but it was accomplished at length. The boat was run aground at the least dangerous spot and Ralph and Geoffrey set out along the sands. The former's step was as free and assured as that of his younger companion.

"Ah," Geoffrey cried, "you are right. There they are."

"I knew it," Ralph replied. "See if they are injured."

Geoffrey steeled himself to his gruesome task. The three men lay side by side as if they had been placed so by human hands.

As far as Geoffrey could judge, there were no signs of violence on the bodies of either of the natives. They lay by each other, their faces transfixed with rage and horror.

Beyond doubt, these men had been drowned, sucked down by the strong current and then cast up again by the sea as if in cruel sport.

"No hurts on either," Geoffrey muttered.

"It is possible. Look at the other one."

Geoffrey did so. He saw a face fixed with a grim smile, the smile of the man who can meet death and knows how to punish those who injure them. The face was seared and criss-crossed just like Tchigorsky's and Ralph Ravenspur's; indeed, with its strange disfigurement the dead Russian would have passed for Tchigorsky.

The face was black and swollen from an ugly bruise in the forehead. Had not he known the truth, and had any one told Geoffrey that Tchigorsky lay there, he would have believed it.

A spade had been placed in the bottom of the boat, and with it two deep graves were dug in the sand. Into them the bodies of the Orientals were cast; the sand was made smooth again, and a layer of heavy rocks laid on the top. The body of the Russian was conveyed to the boat and thence to the house.

There was nobody to see the mournful entry. All the family were on the terrace. A startled servant or two came forward and gave the necessary assistance to convey the body to the dimly lighted corridor.

"Go to the village and fetch the constable," said Geoffrey. "We have found a dead body on the beach."

The servant went off; the gallery was deserted. In a few minutes the family would be in the house again, and the story would have to be told. Tchigorsky looked cautiously from his hiding place.

"Is the coast clear?" he asked.

"Perfectly clear," said Geoffrey.

Tchigorsky came forward. For a long time he examined the body. The regret on his face was tempered by a gleam of grim satisfaction.

"It is very like you," said Geoffrey.

"It is me," Tchigorsky whispered. "You are to recognize it as me. The idea is that I fell over the cliffs in the darkness and was drowned. I will explain later. Somebody comes."

Tchigorsky darted off as Marion appeared. She looked white and agitated.

"Another horror," she said. "Sims just told me. Who is it?"

"I regret to say it is Dr. Tchigorsky," said Ralph. "He must have walked over the cliff in the darkness. See here."

Marion bent over the body with a shudder.

"Poor fellow," she said tenderly. "Tchigorsky beyond a doubt."

Ralph turned away, as if in grief. But the grin on his face was the grin of Mephistopheles.