Geoffrey was fain to confess that he couldn't quite follow. He turned to Ralph, who once more had recovered his old expression—an expression tinged with profound regret. From the hall below came the tones of Rupert Ravenspur demanding to know what it was all about.

"Go and tell your grandfather," Ralph said quietly. "Everybody who comes near us is fated, it seems. Poor Tchigorsky is no more. He was a mysterious man, and wonderfully reticent as to his past life, but he was the most interesting man I ever met. But I shall never hear anything more about Tibet."

"He was a very old friend of yours?" Marion asked.

"Not so very old," Ralph replied. "And I should hardly call him a friend. We were mutually interested in certain scientific matters. But as to the marvelous side of things he told me nothing."

Speaking by the letter this was perfectly true. Tchigorsky had told Ralph nothing, for the simple reason that they had learned and suffered together.

"Then why did he come here?" Marion demanded.

"To try to solve the mystery. He declared that Orientalism was at the bottom of it. But we shall never know now. Tchigorsky is no more, and such knowledge as he may have possessed has gone down to the sea with him."

Marion turned away with a sigh. Slight as their acquaintance had been, she had been drawn to Tchigorsky, she said. Strange that whoever tried to help the house of Ravenspur should come under the ban.

"But Tchigorsky was drowned," said Ralph.

"No, indeed," Marion replied. "Oh, I know there are no signs of violence on the body. I know how dangerous the broken balustrade is; but I have my opinions all the same."

"You are wrong in this case," Ralph said, as he walked away.

Presently other people began to arrive. For the first time for many years Ravenspur was invaded by strangers—a policeman or two, a fussily polite inspector, a journalist with a colleague, pushing everywhere. They would have interviewed Rupert Ravenspur, but the cold glitter of his eye awed even them.

The police let Ralph alone, but Geoffrey was subjected to severe questioning. On the whole he came out of the ordeal better than Ralph had anticipated.

"You managed that very well," he said.

"I feel horribly mean and guilty. All these prevarications—"

"Call them lies, if you like," Ralph put in coolly. "It doesn't matter. Think of the good cause. If ever the end may justify the means it is here. You are deceiving only our enemies; you are injuring nobody. And you are giving Tchigorsky a heaven-sent opportunity."

"I doubt it, uncle. Clever as Tchigorsky is, well as he may disguise himself, he will fail. Did not Princess Zaza pick you both out at Lassa?"

"That was not quite the same thing. Remember she knew beforehand that we were going to make the attempt to reach the holy city. She allowed us to go so far because she is naturally a cruel woman. Moreover, all the time her spies had been dogging our footsteps.

"Before nightfall she will firmly believe Tchigorsky to be dead, which is a great point in his favor. She does not know that her other two miscreants have met with a deserved fate. Tchigorsky will go to her, passing as one of them, and will tell her a wonderful tale as to how he and his ally compassed Voski's death. He will tell how that death entailed the death of his companion."

"It is a fearfully dangerous position."

"Oh, it is. But Tchigorsky will not mind that. He loves danger for its own sake. And he will be able to act the character to the life. He speaks the language perfectly; he is up to all the rites and ceremonies. Tchigorsky will not fail."

The inquest was appointed for the afternoon. It was not likely to last long, and the verdict in the minds of most people was a foregone conclusion. Tchigorsky had walked out into the darkness, he had stumbled over the cliffs, and there was an end of the matter.

Meanwhile the police seemed to have taken possession of the house. And all the time Tchigorsky was seated in a comfortable lounge in Ralph's room, smoking cigarettes and making plans for the future.

Geoffrey had gone out after luncheon. He would not be wanted for a full hour and resented the vulgar curiosity of these strangers. Already some of the jury had arrived, and were critically examining the broken balustrades with an owl-like wisdom which, in other circumstances, would have been amusing.

Geoffrey walked along up the slope toward Jessop's farm. He met a small governess cart drawn by a donkey coming down the hill. In it was Mrs. May driving slowly along. She pulled up as she saw Geoffrey and held out her hand. Her face was very clear and bright to-day.

"You see, I have already adapted myself to circumstances," she said when Geoffrey had asked politely and feelingly after the injured foot. "The donkey and I are old friends and Jessop got the cart for me. So I am all right. By the way, what is it I hear about your finding a body down on the sands?"

"It is quite true," Geoffrey said gravely. "The body of Dr. Tchigorsky."

"Tchigorsky! Dr. Tchigorsky! Do you really mean that?"

The smooth, velvety voice had risen to a hoarse scream. Disappointment, joy, relief danced across the woman's gleaming eyes. For the moment she seemed to forget that she had a companion.

"What a dreadful thing!" she said, catching her natural voice again. "How did it happen?"

Geoffrey gave her the details without flinching.

"It was a bit of shock for us," he said, "but we are accustomed to them. Of course it will be brought in that the poor fellow met with an accident, but there is not the slightest doubt that the poor fellow was murdered."

"Murdered! Why should you say that?"

"I don't know. Of course I have no evidence. But Tchigorsky chose to interest himself in our affairs, and he has paid the penalty. That was exactly what Marion said when she saw the body."

"So that poor child actually saw the corpse! How terrible!"

"Marion did not seem to mind. She is small and slender, but has courage and resolution."

Mrs. May nodded. She had received information that was a long way from being distasteful to her. She plied Geoffrey with questions as to what Tchigorsky had said and done, but Geoffrey evaded them all. Tchigorsky had said nothing; he had hinted vaguely at what he was going to do.

"I knew him years ago," said Mrs. May.

"Oh, indeed!" Geoffrey replied. "He never mentioned that."

Mrs. May drew a long breath. Evidently she had nothing to fear. Her arch-enemy had gone to his account, leaving no mischief behind. Sooner or later the man would have had to be removed; now he had gone away, saving all the trouble. Really, it was very considerate of Tchigorsky.

"You might come to the inquest and say he was a friend of yours," said Geoffrey.

Mrs. May looked at him sharply. Had she said too much or did he suspect? But Geoffrey's eyes were clear and innocent of meaning. Mrs. May shuddered. These kind of horrors made her ill, she said.

"Pray do not mention that fact," she implored. "It can do no good and it may cause a great deal of harm."

Geoffrey disclaimed every intention of making mischief. Besides, as Mrs. May pointed out, there was his uncle Ralph. Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders.

"It is a hard thing to say," he murmured, "but my poor uncle's testimony would not carry much weight. That accident he had some years ago injured his brain. But he is harmless."

Mrs. May exchanged a few more or less banal remarks with her companion and drove on. She had got nothing out of Geoffrey, but he had baffled her and, what was more, had succeeded in lulling a set of lively suspicious to sleep.

The inquest turned out as he had anticipated. The suggestion of foul play was never raised. A surgeon testified to the fact that the deceased met his death by drowning, and that the injury to the face was doubtless caused by a fall on the rocks. Beyond that the condition of the body was normal.

Geoffrey's evidence was plain and to the point. He had little to say. He repudiated the suggestion that the family enemy had had anything to do with the thing. Dr. Tchigorsky was merely a passing visitor; he had met with an accident, and there was an end of the matter. It was impossible to say more than that.

Then, to the manifest disappointment of those who had come prepared to be thrilled with sensational details, the inquest was over almost before it had begun. Directed by the coroner, the jury brought in a verdict of "Found Drowned, but how the deceased came by his death there was no evidence to show." Rupert Ravenspur rose from his seat and ordered the servants to clear the house.

"See that they are all out at once," he said. "Half an hour ago I found two women—ladies, I suppose they call themselves—in the picture gallery with guide books in the hands. Really, there is no sense of decency nowadays."

The curious crowd were forced back and once more Ravenspur resumed its normal aspect.

"I will see to the burial," Ravenspur said. "The poor man seems to have no friends. And I feel to a certain extent guilty. Geoffrey, you will see that all proper arrangements are made for the funeral?"

Geoffrey bowed his head gravely.

"Yes, sir," he said. "I will see to that."