He saw all this as distinctly as though he had been actually present, and yet none of the party seemed to take the slightest notice of him.

But he was getting quite accustomed to miracle-working now, and so he accepted the extraordinary conditions of his visions, or whatever it was, with more interest than astonishment. He followed them up the stairs and along the right hand side of the gallery. The Count opened a door of heavy black oak and stood aside for his Countess to enter. Again the younger of his companions went first, and again he followed; then, as the elder man entered and closed the door, the scene was blotted out as though a sudden darkness had fallen upon his eyes.

"Dear me!" he said, getting up and rubbing his temples with both hands.

"If I hadn't had so many extraordinary experiences since my promotion to the plane of N4, I should probably be a little scared as well. But it is really astonishing how soon the trained intellect gets accustomed to anything--even the eccentricities of the fourth dimensional world.

Well, well! I hope that's not the end of the adventure, I was getting quite interested. I suppose this must be in some obscure way the reason why those paragraphs in the _Pall Mall_ interested me so strangely."

He walked towards the window, pulled the blind aside and looked out. But instead of his own tree-shaded lawn and the wide expanse of moonlit common beyond which he expected to see, he found himself looking, as it were, through a window from the outside into a great, oak-panelled sleeping chamber, lighted by a huge silver lamp hanging from the middle of the painted and corniced ceiling. Against the middle of the left hand side wall, as he was looking into the room, stood one of the huge, heavily-draped, four-post bedsteads in which the great ones of the earth were wont to take their rest a couple of hundred years ago. The curtains were drawn back on both sides. In the middle of the bed lay Count Zastrow, deathly white, with fast-closed eyes and lips, breathing heavily as the rise and fall of the embroidered sheet and silken coverlet which lay across his chest showed. On the right hand side stood the Countess and the two men whom he had seen before; on the other side stood a tall, strikingly handsome woman, whose dark imperious features seemed strangely at variance with the severely fashioned grey dress and the plainly arranged hair which proclaimed her either a nurse or an upper servant.

He saw the elder of the two men lean over the bed and raise one of the sleeper's eyelids with his thumb. The nurse took up a lighted taper by the table beside her and pa.s.sed it in front of the opened eye. The man closed the eyelid, and turned and said something to the Countess and the other man. The Countess nodded and smiled, not quite as a man likes to see a woman smile, and, with a swift glance at the motionless figure on the bed, turned away and left the room. The nurse said something to the two men, and as the door closed behind her the scene changed again.

This time he was not looking into a window, but out of one. He was gazing over a vast expanse of forest pierced by a broad, straight road which led for several miles, as it seemed to him, between two dark walls of thickly-growing pines until it ended abruptly with the forest and opened out on a tiny sand-fringed inlet whose narrow mouth was guarded by two little outcrops of rock half a mile to seaward.

A carriage drawn by four black horses rolled rapidly along the road, swung out on to the beach, and stopped. Almost at the same moment a grey-painted, six-oared boat grounded on the sandy beach. A couple of men landed from her, and as the carriage door opened, they saluted. The Count's two guests got out and the others entered the carriage, then one of them got out again followed by the other, and between them they carried a limp, motionless human form completely covered by a great rug of dark fur. It was taken to the boat. All embarked, and the pinnace shot away out through the little headlands. A mile out to seaward lay the long black shape of a torpedo destroyer. The pinnace ran alongside and they all went on board, two of the sailors carrying the body as before.

Professor Marmion found himself accompanying them. The body was taken into a little cabin and laid in a berth. The rug was turned down from the face, and he recognised Prince Zastrow. A few minutes later he found himself in the main cabin of the destroyer. The two men who had come in the carriage were sitting at a little table with a man in mufti. This man raised his head and said something. He did not hear the words--but, to his amazement, he recognised the handsome face as that of Prince Oscarovitch, whom he had never seen before he came as his guest to the garden-party at "The Wilderness."

On the bulkhead of the cabin at the Prince's head there hung a little block-calendar, and the exposed leaf showed the date, Monday, 6th June.

As he read it an impulse caused him to look round at the calendar standing upon his own mantel-shelf. It showed the date, Friday, 24th June. He turned back to the window and saw nothing but his own lawn and the moonlit Common beyond.

CHAPTER XVII

M. NICOL HENDRY

Franklin Marmion sat down and began to think the situation over. It was not an easy one, for, as it appeared to him, it would be very difficult, if not impossible, for Nitocris and himself to help in the elucidation of the Zastrow mystery, and the prevention of any European complications that might arise out of it, on both the higher and the lower planes of existence. Of course, it would have been perfectly easy to do so in one sense, for now, practically nothing in human affairs was impossible of achievement to them; but, on the other hand, it would never do to allow people on the lower plane to become aware of their extra-human powers.

This was out of the question for many reasons, not the least of which was that they had their lives to live under the ordinary conditions of time and s.p.a.ce and among their fellow-mortals, every one of whom would shun them in fear, perhaps even horror, if they knew their secret. What, for instance, would happen to Nitocris in her temporal state if even only Merrill came to know it? No, the idea was certainly beyond the possibility of consideration.

At the same time, it was to some extent necessary that they should work on both planes if they were to reap the full advantage of their recently acquired powers, and out of this dilemma there appeared to be only one way open to the Professor: he must have the a.s.sistance of others to do on the lower plane the work that he would, as it were, direct from the higher. The question was, who? Obviously it must be some one upon whose discretion absolute reliance could be placed. He must be highly skilled in police work, and have a reputation to enhance or lose as the result might decide. Suddenly a name occurred to him. A short time ago his friend the President had been telling him the inner story of a very intricate case which had involved a scandal of two Courts. Only the most meagre details had obviously been permitted to appear in the papers, but His Lordship had told him that it had been solved and settled almost entirely by the skill and diplomacy of a M. Nicol Hendry, who held the little advertised but highly responsible position of Head of the English Department of the International Police Bureau.

"That's the very man," he said, "the very man, and I shouldn't wonder if he's engaged on this particular case. It's too late to wire, and, besides, that would look suspicious. I could telephone to Scotland Yard, but I don't want even the police to know I want him until I've seen him.

No, I'll write a note: it will go by the early post, and no one will know where it comes from."

Just as lunch was over the next day the front door bell tingled, and presently the parlour-maid knocked, and came in with a card on a silver salver:

"I have shown the gentleman into the drawing-room, sir. He says that he has an appointment with you for half-past two."

"Very well: I will be up in a moment, Annie." Then, as she closed the door, he gave Nitocris the card, and continued: "Our ally on the lower plane that may be. You say you wouldn't care to be present and help me with your opinion?"

"Oh no, Dad. I don't want any one to know that I am taking any part in this little adventure. But if you will introduce him afterwards, I'll tell you what I think. You know, women generally judge other people that way."

"Very well," laughed her father, as he turned to the door, "that will be best. If everything goes right and I think I can work with him, I shall bring him upstairs and you can give him a cup of tea. If I don't, you will know that he won't do."

"Good-bye, then, for the present," she smiled, "and don't frighten the poor man, if you can help it. I dare say he's only an exaggerated policeman, after all."

But it was a very different sort of person whom Franklin Marmion greeted in the drawing-room. M. Nicol Hendry was a slimly but strongly-built man of about forty. His high, somewhat narrow forehead was framed with close-cut, crinkly, reddish-brown hair. Under well-defined brown eyebrows shone a pair of alert steel-grey eyes of almost startling brilliancy. His nose was a trifle long and slightly aquiline. A carefully-trained golden-brown moustache half-concealed firm, thinly-cut lips, and a closely-trimmed, pointed beard just revealed the strength of the chin beneath. He was dressed in a dark grey frock-coat suit, and wore a pinky-red wild rose, which he had plucked on the Common, in his b.u.t.ton-hole. As he shook hands with him the Professor made a mental note of him as an embodiment of strength, keenness, and quiet inflexibility: a summing-up which was pretty near the truth.

"Good afternoon, M. Hendry," he said, as the hands and eyes met.

"Good afternoon, Professor," returned the other in a gentle voice, and almost perfect English. "May I ask to what happy circ.u.mstance--at least, I hope it is a happy one--I owe the honour of making the acquaintance of the gentleman who has succeeded in mystifying all the mathematicians of Europe?"

"Well," said Franklin Marmion with a smile, "I don't know whether there is so very much honour about that, but I do know that your time is very valuable and that I have already taken up a good deal of it by bringing you all the way out here, so I will come to the point at once. But wait a moment. Come down into my study. We can talk more comfortably there."

When the Professor had given his guest a cigar and lit his pipe, he said quite abruptly: "It is about the Zastrow affair."

If he had said it was about the last Grand Ducal plot in the Peterhof, M. Hendry could not have been inwardly more astonished. Outwardly the Professor might have mentioned the last commonplace murder. Only his eyelids lifted a little as he replied:

"Ah, indeed? Well, really, Professor, you must forgive me for saying that that is about the very last matter I should have expected you to have brought up. All the world knows you as one of its most distinguished men of science, now, of course, more distinguished than ever; but I hardly think any one would have expected you to interest yourself in political mysteries. I have a recollection of hearing or reading somewhere that politics were your pet aversion."

"So they are," replied Franklin Marmion, with a short laugh. "I consider ordinary politics--juggling with phrases to delude the ignorance and flatter the prejudices of the mob, and bartering principles for place and power--to be about the most contemptible vocation a man can descend to, but those are low politics in more senses than one. Now high politics, as a psychological study, to an outsider are a very different matter. But I am digressing. I did not invite you here to discuss trivialities like these. I want to ask you--of course, you will not answer me unless you like--whether you are connected, professionally or otherwise, with the Zastrow affair?"

M. Hendry looked down at the toes of his perfectly-shaped boots for a moment or two. Then he raised his head and said good-humouredly:

"Professor, I know that there is no more honourable man in the world than you, but even from you I must ask frankly your reasons for asking that question?"

"You have a perfect right to do that, my dear sir," was the quiet reply.

"If you say 'yes,' I am anxious to help you: if you say 'no,' I should like you to help me: if you don't care to answer, there is an end of the matter. Those are my reasons."

It took a good deal to astonish Nicol Hendry, but he was considerably astonished now. Yet it was impossible to have the remotest doubt of Franklin Marmion's absolute earnestness. But why should he of all men on earth want to unravel the Zastrow mystery? What interest save the merest curiosity could he have in the matter? And yet he was by no means the sort of man to be merely curious. The very strangeness of his proposition half-convinced him that there must be some other very strong reason underlying those which he had given. Again, he was to be perfectly trusted, so no harm could be done trying to discover if this was so, since if he could help he would do so loyally. So he told him.

"Yes, Professor," he said, looking keenly into his eyes, "I am interested in the _affaire_, professionally interested, and, I may add, very deeply interested, to boot."

"I am glad to hear that," said Franklin Marmion with unexpected earnestness. "Now, the next question is: Will you accept my a.s.sistance, whatever it may be, under my own conditions, which are these: No one but yourself shall know that I am helping you, and you yourself will not ask me how I help you."

Once more a puzzle. Nicol Hendry thought for a few seconds before he replied slowly:

"Yes, Professor. As long as you do help us I don't care either why or how, for, as I may now be quite frank with you, we certainly want help of some sort very badly. The papers are quite right for once. Neither here nor on the Continent have we found a single clue worth picking up.

It is humiliating, but it is true."

"Then before you go I hope I shall be able to give you some that will be worth picking up, and keeping too," said the scientist with a faint smile; "at any rate, I think I can put you upon certain lines of enquiry which you will find it profitable to trace out."

Nicol Hendry was an ambitious man, and he would have given a good deal to have known what was pa.s.sing in the other's mind just then, but his expression betrayed nothing more than interested antic.i.p.ation.

"We shall be entirely grateful to you if you will, Professor," he murmured.

"I have no doubt of that, my dear sir. Now, to begin with: I presume that there are photographs of the persons mentioned in the newspapers as being in the Castle of Trelitz with the Prince on the last day that he was known to be there?"

"Certainly; we should scarcely leave a simple preliminary like that neglected," smiled Nicol Hendry. "With the exception of the Fraulein Hulda von Tyssen, the Princess' Lady of the Bedchamber, all have been photographed for publication, and hers we have got through a private source. The Chief of each of our Departments has a copy of them, and I happen to have mine in my pocket now, if you would like to see them. The Princess, of course, you must have seen. She is in every photographer's window in the West End."

"Oh yes, I have seen her. Who has not? She is a singularly beautiful woman. But I should very much like to see the others, if I may."

The Chef de Bureau looked at him sharply as he took a small square morocco case out of his inner pocket and opened it. Going to a little table he spread out five small unmounted photographs upon it. He put two of them on one side, saying:

"Those, of course, you know; they are the Prince and Princess. This one is Count Ulik von Kessner, High Chamberlain of Boravia; this, Captain Alexis Vollmar; and this is Fraulein von Tyssen."

Franklin Marmion looked at them with much more than ordinary interest, for he recognised all five as clearly as though he had just left them in his own dining-room.

"There are no suspicions attaching to any of these people, I suppose?"