In this latest story from Mr. Stort's pen, faithful readers will eventually meet once again many of the characters who have figured in the author's previous stories. The author hopes that readers will be happy to renew their acquaintance. The "Society of Black Butterflies" featured in the story, figured prominently, it will be remembered, in the author's serial story, "The Strange Quest of Anthony Drew," some years ago.
The dark stranger, distinguished-looking in a sinister, saturnine sort of way, sole occupant of the table near the wide windows in the lounge of Torino's at cocktail time, had been keenly interested in the couple in the corner opposite for quite a while before the thing happened that suddenly quickened his attention to wide-eyed amazement. Or, rather, he had been interested in the girl as, in fact, who wouldn't have been? The good looking, laughing eyed boy with her was all very well, but it was the girl who at once took the roving eye and held it.
Exquisite in her fresh blonde loveliness, with her small, shapely head poised proudly, yet graciously, upon the slender, white column of her throat, her beautifully rounded body slim and straight in her chair, she immediately drew the attention even in a room such as this, plentifully besprinkled as it was with undeniably pretty women of every type.
The dark stranger eyed her intently as he fingered the slender stem of his cocktail glass and pulled at his fat, oval cigarette. She could not, of course, be the girl he had come to London to find, he mused, but, of a certainty, she was the type. She had the delicate, blonde beauty, the perfectly cut features, especially the proud, imperious carriage of the girl of whom he was in search - a well-nigh invisible needle, it seemed to him, in the immense haystack that was London.
He cursed silently as the difficulty of his task once again confronted him. He did not know the girl he sought. He had never seen her. He had known her beautiful mother, and he had to rely upon his memories of the lovely thing she had been as a girl to help him to recognise her daughter, should he ever encounter her.
There was, however, one known fact - actually twofold in nature about the girl that was sufficiently out of the ordinary to narrow the field of search somewhat and perhaps with luck to save him from complete failure. Without that little bit of special knowledge he doubted whether he would ever have embarked upon his almost impossible task. And even with that he had little hope of ultimate success.
And all the time, as his thoughts eddied restlessly through his brain, his hooded, steely eyes were busy with the girl in the opposite corner. Certainly she was the type. The girl he sought must, he felt sure, have her colouring, her particular cast of features. There was a distant something about her that recalled the beautiful woman he had known years ago. But, of course, she couldn't possibly be the girl, because.... And then the amazing thing happened.
The boy at the girl's table stood up, obviously as a preliminary to leaving. Then he stooped behind the table to pick up something from the floor. When he reappeared the watching stranger stiffened suddenly in his chair and into his eyes came a look of almost comical astonishment. For the boy was holding a pair of neat, slenderly built black crutches, the highly polished lacquer of which gleamed in the glow of the brilliantly lighted lounge.
Meanwhile the girl had risen in one lithe, sinuous movement, and had turned with a smile to the boy. Deftly he adjusted the slender crutches beneath her arms. The girl let herself sink gently until she was resting comfortably on the cushioned arm-rests. Then with another smile at her companion she turned and, with him, threaded her way neatly between the tables, swinging along with an easy grace, apparently quite untroubled by the battery of interested stares directed at her from every side.
To gain the exit, she had to pass within a few yards of the dark stranger's table. Controlling his growing excitement with an effort, his gazed instinctively downwards as the girl passed. There was no doubt about it. The fantastic thing was true. Below the girl's comparatively short, close-fitting, clinging skirt was revealed only one slim, shapely limb enhanced by a perfectly fitting silk stocking, an absurdly small slipper with a high, slender heel, gracing the single foot.
For some moments after the girls departure the dark man sat there very still, his eyes on the doorway through which the couple had passed, a not very attractive smile twisting his lips. Then, as if suddenly galvanised into new life, he snatched up his hat and stick and hurried from the lounge. The beautiful one-legged girl and her companion had, however, not gone very far. In fact they were standing by the kerb, immediately outside the restaurant, chatting gaily together, apparently waiting for the taxi which the commissionaire was waving towards them.
The stranger took up a position a little away from the entrance, his eyes on the couple, his next move depending upon what they did. There were plenty of taxis about if he needed one to follow them. Meanwhile the taxi waited and the couple chatted on unconcernedly. The stranger's eyes, still bright with only half-suppressed excitement, never left the girl, as she stood there resting comfortably on her crutches, taking in all the details of her slim, perfect figure. He noted again the beautiful lines of the shapely single leg, now accentuated by the thin, clinging silk of the wing-blown skirt. He could no longer doubt that he was on the right trail. The girl was not only the right type, she was not only one-legged; but the remaining portion of her missing limb that now outlined itself on the skirt was, as far as he could judge, about the right size!
At last the couple made a move towards the taxi. But only the girl entered it, and with an expertness that drew a grin of admiration from the saturnine onlooker, she slipped her crutches from under her arms and handed them to the boy, who deposited them within the taxi. Then with a hand laid lightly on the boy's raised arm, she hopped deftly and gracefully inside, laughing gaily at her companion after she had accomplished the feat. The taxi started and, with a wave of her hand, she was gone.
The dark stranger was quick to realise that he could use this unexpected turn of events to his immediate advantage. And when the boy turned to go on his way, he found the man at his elbow, with his hat at his hand, bowing stiffly from the shoulders, a would-be gracious smile on his lips.
"The charming young sir will, I trust, pardon an apparently unwarrantable intrusion," the dark stranger began, with more than a trace of foreign accent. "But I have the best of reasons, which I shall at once make clear to you, should you be so amiable as to allow me to do so, for addressing you. Have I your permission, my dear young sir, to continue?"
The "dear young sir's" first reaction to the stranger's somewhat magniloquent overture was an almost overwhelming desire to laugh. But he controlled himself admirably, and only the ghost of a smile trembled on his lips.
"That's all right, sir," he said cheerfully. "You are not intruding in the slightest. What exactly can I do for you?"
The other bowed again in his stiff, formal manner.
"I am indeed grateful for your courtesy," he said, and then hesitated as if uncertain how to proceed. "To tell you the truth," he went on at last, "the matter is hardly one that we can discuss here in the street. Will you think me too presumptuous if I suggest that we return to Torino's, where you will honour me by joining me in a cocktail, and where we can talk? I realise, my dear sir, that I am asking a great deal of a total stranger, but I assure you the matter is of some importance."
The young man looked at he stranger for some moments in slightly embarrassed silence. "Confidence trick," was his immediate mental comment. And then he reassured himself. The man was apparently a German, obviously of some importance, very probably an army officer. He did not look particularly likable. Sinister-looking sort of bloke really. But the boy had never heard of a German confidence trickster; and anyway, he felt pretty certain that such gentry didn't approach their prospective victims in the manner adopted by the man before him. It had been much too direct. In any case, he was sure he could take care of himself. So at last he nodded smilingly.
"Very good, sir," he said, "I don't know what it is all about, but I'll be glad to do what I can."
The couple turned round and re-entered Torino's, where they secured a table sufficiently isolated to enable them to talk undisturbed.
"I'll come to he point at once, without, as you say in England, beating about the bush," began the stranger when the cocktails had been served and cigarettes lighted. "First of all, let me introduce myself. I am Rudolf Muller, of Berlin, Germany, and here is my card."
He passed a bit of pasteboard to the boy, who read the name imprinted on it, and nodded.
"My name, by the way," he volunteered, "is Saville - Guy Saville."
"Thank you, Mr. Saville," responded the other gravely, with a bow. "It is good of you to be so courteous. Well, the matter really concerns the young lady who has just left you; and I hasten to assure you that my interest in her is purely one of business; though," he added, with a sudden twist of the lips that was meant to be a smile, "one might be pardoned for being interested in another way in so beautiful a creature."
Saville, puffing slowly at his cigarette, grinned amiably, wondering what exactly was coming.
"Let me begin at the beginning," went on Muller, "and you will understand everything much better. I shall try to be as brief as I can. About the year 1920, the English wife of a very rich German gentleman, an intimate friend of my own - the gentleman, I mean, not the wife - quarreled bitterly with her husband - there had been the war, you know, and all that it had entailed - and fled, it was presumed, to England, taking with her her baby girl, then aged about six or seven.
"They managed to get lost very efficiently. And though efforts were made to trace them, they were never found, and the search was eventually given up. well, a few months ago my German friend died, and though he never again saw his daughter, his will revealed that he had always kept her memory in his heart. So the whole of his vast fortune has been left to her, if she can be found and her identity established."
Saville straightened up and regarded the other fixedly.
"You - you mean," he said slowly, "that you think that this daughter might be Elaine?"
"Elaine", repeated Muller, quickly. "Is that the name of the young lady who has just left you?"
"Yes, Elaine Hammond."
"Elaine Hammond!" echoed Muller, slowly. "Elaine Hammond. That's a curious thing, too. You see the daughter's name was Illeana - rather like Elaine, don't you think?"
"Illeana," said Saville, with a little frown. "Is this a German name?"
For the first time, the merest shadow flitted across Muller's face and was gone.
"Oh, not a common German name, perhaps," he said easily, with a wave of his hand, "but met with now and then. A very pretty name, don't you think - and, in the circumstances, extraordinarily like Elaine. Tell me, is Miss Hammond"s mother alive?"
"No, I am sorry to say that she is dead."
"I am sorry, too," said Muller, gravely, though something had gleamed in his eyes at that news. "Very sorry. You see, I knew the mother of the girl I speak of. She was a very beautiful woman. did you know the mother of Miss Hammond?"
"No, sir. I have known Miss Hammond only about a year - since she came to London, in fact. And I understand her mother died two or three years ago. But what makes you think Miss Hammond might be the girl you are looking for? You must, of course, have noticed that Miss Hammond is a cripple - does that fact have any bearing on the matter?"
"That's just it", cried Muller, emphatically. "I was interested in Miss Hammond before I was aware of that very important fact. I saw that she was the type I was looking for, a youthful replica of the woman I knew years ago. And then when she rose from the table and I saw, to my intense astonishment, that she had lost a leg - well, I was practically certain I was on the right trail. Tell me, my dear Mr. Saville, have you any idea when Miss Hammond had this misfortune?"
"Why, yes. As a matter of fact, Elaine, did tell me. It was when she was a child. I gathered she was about six or seven at the time.
"There you are!" cried Muller, his face flushing with triumph. "The girl I am looking for lost her leg at about the age you mention. It was the left one, as in Miss Hammond's case. I don't think I need look any further. I never dreamed I should be so lucky in such a short time. But I must make absolutely certain; and I wonder if you can still be of help to me. You have been of inestimable service so far, my dear young sir, and I am unbelievably grateful - "
He hesitated for a moment or so, and then cleared his throat.
"Pray, pardon me, Mr. Saville," he went on, "if I may ask what may appear to be a very intimate question. You will, I know, understand that I do so purely in the interests of the lady in question. If we can prove that she is the heiress to very large fortune, I think we shall have done a very good day's work for her."
"I agree, absolutely," said Saville fervently. "And I shall certainly give you all the help I can. Fire away!"
"Thank you," said Muller, gravely. "Well, now - you know Miss Hammond very well. I take it? I could see that you were both very friendly - very friendly indeed. You have been perhaps permitted, if I may ask the question, to note the remaining portion of the absent limb?"
"Well - yes," replied Saville, with a little embarrassed stare. "I have, as a matter of fact. For instance, we often swim together."
"Of course, of course," ejaculated the other, with some relief. "Very naturally you swim together. Then I am sure you can tell me everything I want to know. It is most fortunate. Can we say it is about four inches or so in length from the hip?"
"About that, I should say."
"Excellent! As I stood and watched you both outside, I was able to note that it was probably about that and that it was perfectly shapely."
Saville nodded without speaking, somewhat surprised at the accuracy of the German's observation.
"And now comes the important point," went on Muller, speaking a little more quickly. "Perhaps the most important point of all the one thing that will make us absolutely certain. There is somewhere on the surface - I regret I do not know exactly where a tiny birthmark. This birthmark is in the shape of a heart about a quarter of an inch in length and width. It's colour is, like that of most birthmarks, purplish, or as it is more commonly described, port-wine colour."
Muller bent suddenly towards Saville until their faces almost met.
"You have seen that little birthmark, haven't you?" he went on, hardly able to keep the excitement out of his voice.
But Saville sat up and rewarded the German blankly.
"I - I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Muller," he stammered at last, "But I've never seen any thing of the kind, and I am quite satisfied it does not exist."
For some moments Muller sat there in absolute silence, his face paling under the stress of the emotions.
"You must be mistaken," he said hoarsely. "You must be! we can't have got so near what I feel sure is the truth, to be beaten at the last moment in this manner."
Young Saville then added very quickly but distinctly:
"Miss Hammond is very proud of the fact that practically all trace of the scars usually left by amputation have now disappeared. Believe me, Mr. Muller, there isn't the slightest doubt about it. There is no blemish of any kind, and certainly not of the kind you suggest."
There was silence again for a perceptible period and then Muller nodded slowly and spread his hand in a gesture of resigned acceptance. There was no gainsaying Saville's very clear, very definite evidence. And the German was quite sure that the boy was not lying. His vast experience of the less reputable by-ways of the world's social life, where all kinds of chicanery and lying had been brought to a fine art, made him only the more expert in recognising the truth where it was told to him. The boy was not trying to hoodwink him. Besides, there was not the slightest reason why he should. So the bitter truth was that in spite of what had appeared an amazing run of luck, he was, after all, on the wrong trail. Elaine Hammond was not the "Illeana" he sought.
"Well", he said after a pause, "that, as you say in England, is that! It's a blow, I was so sure; and I became more sure as the facts emerged. And now I have to begin all over again. Where can I begin? Where can I look? Beautiful one-legged girls are as rare as snow upon the desert. That was why I could hardly believe my incredible luck when, after only a few days in London, I stumbled across your beautiful Miss Hammond."
"I really am sorry to have spoiled everything like this," said Saville, penitently. "Not only for your sake, but for Elaine's. But perhaps I may be able to make some amends. It's just possible that I may be of some help after all."
Muller, who was in the act of raising his glass to the lips, put the glass down again and regarded the boy expectantly.
"You have just said," went on Saville, "that you have no idea where to begin your search. Well, you see, there happens to be a club in London to which both Elaine and I belong. It's an exclusive affair - and by that I don't mean that it's snobbish, or anything of the kind, but it appeals to a special membership and is unknown to the general public. It's called the 'Phenomene'. Now, one section of the membership - and you'll be surprised to discover how large it is - consists of beautiful woman who are limbless in some way. I believe practically every beautiful limbless women is a society member. But naturally the majority of the lady members are like Elaine - So you see -"
"I begin to see", exclaimed Muller, excitedly. "I begin to see. You think there is at least a chance of my finding the girl I am looking for there, and you would take me there?"
"I would be most happy to. In fact I could arrange for you to become a member for the period of your stay in London."
"You are indeed most amiable, my dear Mr. Saville, and you fill me with a new hope. I shall be exceedingly glad to avail myself of your very great kindness."
"Of course you know there is a really much simpler way of solving our problem," put in Saville, with a smile.
"You mean advertising - notices in the newspapers? Naturally that method had not escaped me; but you see there are obstacles. I was, in fact about to take you a little further into my confidence about this matter in which I am engaged. Had your Miss Hammond actually been the lady I was looking for, I was going to ask you to say nothing at all of all this to her for the time being. I shall explain.
"You must remember, as I told you earlier, that the girl's mother - I mean, of course, Illeana's mother - had left her husband after a bitter quarrel, and had so effectively hidden herself and her daughter that their whereabouts were never discovered. From this it is obvious that the mother was determined that the break with her husband should be definite and final and that she never wished to see or hear of him again, or even to touch a penny of his wealth.
It is therefore practically certain that she would have imbued her daughter with these sentiments, and I have no doubt that the girl has grown up with only hatred and distrust of her father in her heart. Now, if the mother is still alive, she would never allow her daughter to reply to any advertisement I would insert in a newspaper. And if the mother is dead I am very much afraid that the daughter would not reply for similar reasons. You see that, don't you?"
"Yes, I see that quite clearly. But won't all this apply if you happen to find the girl?"
Guy Saville did not see the queer, sinister glint that showed in the German's eyes, far the man had lowered his head at just that moment.
"I shall know exactly how to deal with the young lady when I find her," he said smoothly as his disarming smile robbed his words of any menace they might otherwise have conveyed. "But you see," he went on, "why I was going to ask you not to say anything of this to Miss Hammond? Now, I think it would be as well if you told her the whole story. She may be able to help us to find the girl. In fact she may already know a crippled girl who has a heart-shaped birthmark. "But," he went forward and emphasised his next words by tapping with his fingers on the table - "if the girl is found, please do remember how important it is that she should know nothing of the matter.
You see the wisdom of that, don't you? Were she to learn from somebody other than myself that she was being searched for, she might easily take fright and vanish into thin air. And now, my dear Mr. Saville, I really must apologise for worrying you with my affairs to the extent I have. It has been very good of you to bear with me so patently and to offer your help as you have so kindly done. And if I am not trespassing too much upon your good nature, when could you possibly take me to this club you mention?"
"well, as a matter of fact," smiled the boy. Elaine and I were going there to-night, late, you know, say about eleven o'clock. Things begin to warm up there about that time. If you'd care to come along as my guest, we could pick you up somewhere."
"That is most kind of you. I shall be delighted to avail myself of your offer. Is indeed most unfortunate that I am absolutely pledged to dine with some compatriots of mine to-night, otherwise I should have been charmed to ask Miss Hammond and yourself to be my guests at dinner. However, that can be remedied later. You could perhaps pick me up, as you say, at the Germanic, where I am staying. would that be out of your way?"
"Not in the least. It is, in fact, on our way. We'll pick you up, say, about half-past ten. How will that suit you, sir?"
"Admirably. I shall be there all agog with impatience to begin my search."
The two had risen during the last interchange of remarks, and now made their way slowly to the street. Here they shook hands cordially.
"I'm very glad to have met you sir," said Saville, with his charming boyish smile. "To tell you the truth, I am almost as much excited about this extraordinary business as you are. I shall be glad to be of whatever assistance I can. And I am sure Miss Hammond will also be glad to do all in her power to help you."
"That is indeed most kind of both of you," responded Muller, warmly. "Perhaps after all the luck is still with me - though, of course, I realise that he girl I am looking for may still be living in seclusion and that a club of this kind may be the very last place in which to find her. Still, we shan't think of that now. We shall hope for the best. And whatever happens, my dear Mr. Saville, I shall ever be profoundly grateful for your interest and your very great help. Auf wiedersehn, Mr. Seville or, as you say, au revoir. Until to-night, then, at half-past ten."
"Good hunting," laughed the boy, as they shook hands again, "and the best of lucks."
The German made his stiff little bow and, with a military about-turn, marched in erect soldierly fashion, westwards along Piccadilly.
For a little while Guy Saville stood there watching the disappearing figure, the smile still on his lips. Then he summoned a taxi and, giving an address in Mayfair, got in and settled himself comfortably on the cushions as the vehicle moved off.
He took a cigarette from his case, slowly tapped it on the flat gold case, and as slowly lit it. Now that he was by himself, he was going over in his mind the course of that odd interview he had with the German. Quite apart from the unusual nature of the man's quest, there was the odd point that the girl sought was to be kept in the dark about the whole thing until Muller was sure of her identity.
Of course Muller had put forward a reason far this that had sounded convincing enough at the time. But did it seem so convincing now? Why was Muller so afraid that the girl would refuse. the fortune left by her father? Was it really the reason Muller had given, or did something more sinister into the matter?
Guy Saville suddenly laughed at himself. He was scenting mystery and melodrama where probably none existed. The Germans grim exterior was no doubt to blame. Extraordinary thing that Muller had picked on Elaine! Particularly as he was actually searching for a beautiful girl with one leg and he had no idea, when he first saw Elaine, that she satisfied that very unusual condition. Pity Elaine was not the wanted heiress - or was it really a pity? He grinned at himself again and then, shrugging his shoulders, gave the whole problem up. At any rate, it would be interesting to know if Muller did run his beautiful quarry to earth and to see what would actually happen when he did so.
Meanwhile the taxi had sped westward and at last drew up at a handsome block of modern flat off one of the quiet squares. Saville paid off his driver and, entering the softly lit hall, took one of the lifts to the second floor. He rang the bell at a flat at the end of a well-carpeted corridor. The door was eventually opened by a trimly uniformed maid, who smilingly admitted him to the hall.
"Was Miss Hammond expecting you, sir?" she asked, her tone revealing her surprise at his visit.
"Well, as a matter of fact, Mary," he admitted, with a grin, "She wasn't - at any rate, not yet. But please tell Miss Hammond - "
At that moment a door at the further end of the hall opened, and Elaine Hammond stood in the doorway. The maid, with a discreet smile, slipped away through another door, closing it softly after her.
"I thought it was your voice, Guy," said Elaine, with a welcoming smile. "It is nice to see you after such a long time," she added with a light raillery.
"I know - and I'm not looking a day older, and all that," grinned guy. "I'm sorry, darling, to butt in again so soon, but I've just met the most extraordinary bloke with the most extraordinary yarn. I thought I had better run along at once and tell you all about - particularly as it concerns you, in a way, and we are going to meet the chap later on to-night."
As he spoke, Guy was able to spare a most appreciative eye for the fascinating fact that Elaine was clad in a delicious negligee of pure white chiffon trimmed with soft, silky white fur, a daringly diaphanous garment, which she held close about her with one white hand. And also that she was standing without her crutches, perfectly poised upon her single little foot.
He had never ceased to marvel a Elaine's perfection of balance on her one and only leg, and the exhibition of her skill always had power to thrill him. He did not note how her eager eyes suddenly dilated as he gave his reason for calling upon her long before the appointed time. But Elaine recovered herself in a instant, and then, lightly and effortlessly, hopped across the intervening space, giving the ordinarily awkward movement a little grace that had something of dancer's agility about it.
She slipped an arm about Guy's waist, the action being partly an affectionate embrace and partly a means of support. It was an engaging habit of hers.
"Guy," she asked, keeping her tones calm and unemotional, "who is that 'extraordinary bloke' you speak of, and how does he affect me?"
"Come along," said Guy, brushing her soft cheek with his lips. "I'll tell you all about inside."
There then ensued a little bit of "business" of which they were both comically proud and with which they frequently "showed off" among their friends. Guy put his arm about Elaine's waist, supporting her in a close embrace, while Elaine tightened the grip of her arm about his waist. And in this way they moved off side by side, Elaine walking in step with Guy with perfect ease and grace.
Thus they entered the little lounge or salon of the flat, a charming room beautifully decorated and furnished in cream and gold. Before the cheerful coal-fire - for though Elaine had modern tastes in furnishing, she clung to the comfort of at least one coal-fire in the flat - was drawn up a comfortable couch piled with invitingly cosy, bizarrely coloured cushions. Guy, after another kiss, released the beautiful girl at his side and, without ceremony, sank into the comfortable depths of the couch.
But his eyes were fascinatedly busy with the girl as she moved expertly about the room, drawing up to the couch a low table of chromium tubing topped with thick, coloured glass, setting up about it the cigarette box, matches and trays; darting to the tiny buffet and returning with sherry decanter and glasses - all the time happing with the airiest grace imaginable on her one little foot, daintily slippered in soft, white velvet.
A stranger might have been pardoned for thinking that Guy's conduct was most discourteous in thus allowing a girl, handicapped as she was, to wait on him in this manner. But Guy and Elaine understood each other thoroughly. Guy knew that the girl delighted in her wonderfully agile and expert display, and Elaine knew that Guy loved to see her give her fascinating exhibition. At last Elaine settled herself on the couch on Guy's right, lit a cigarette, and turned expectantly to him.
"And now," she said, with apparent calmness, "what is all this about?"
"Well, darling," responded Guy, "first of all, tell me this: Was your father a very wealthy German?"
Elaine looked startled and at the same time palpably relieved.
"A German," she repeated. And then with a definite shake of he head, "No, why do you ask that?"
"You're sure, darling?"
"Of course, I'm sure. If you mean, do I know whether my father was German or not - yes, I do, and he certainly was not!"
"Pity," said Guy with a smile. "Though I don't know. Perhaps it isn't a pity. Now for the second test."
"I'm pretty well certain there's nothing to find out," he went on lightly. "But it's just as well to be absolutely sure."
The apprehension was back in Elaine's big, expressive eyes, but Guy very naturally read it as puzzled surprise. Then, with another effort, the girl hid whatever fear she felt beneath an assumed lightness of manner.
"Is this some sort of a game?" she asked. "Why all this mystery?"
"All mysteries solved in a second or two," replied Guy, cheerfully. "Come on, darling, it's perfectly all right. Nothing at all to worry about."
Guy stopped suddenly, halted by the look of intense exasperation on Elaine's face.
"Frightfully sorry, darling," he spluttered apologetically. "I'd better explain everything, or I can see you'll jolly well explode."
Whereupon he began at the beginning and told the almost painfully absorbed girl the queer story of his encounter with Mr. Rudolf Muller and of the latter's extraordinary search for thelost daughter of dead German millionaire.
"He was sure he had got the right girl when he spotted you, darling," he went on. "Said you were exactly the type. And it certainly was an amazing thing that you should be minus a leg in the same way as the girl he was looking for. You see how odd the whole thing was. But it was the little birthmark that settled the matter."
"The - the birthmark!" repeated Elaine, hiding her agitation behind a show of keen interest.
"Yes, a little heart-shaped birthmark which the missing girl had somewhere on the remaining part of her lost limb. Our German friend almost put me through the third degree on that particular point. Of course I was able to convince him in the end that you had nothing of the kind."
"And so robbed me of a fortune," put in Elaine, with forced lightness. "You might have fenced with him a bit, and then we could have faked a nice little birthmark for him and claimed the money. But what exactly do you mean by saying you had forgotten my tattooed butterfly? What had that got to do with it?"
"Oh, nothing at all. But it all goes to show how completely one can forget things. When the German asked me if I was absolutely certain that there was nothing at all, I might easily have answered, 'Nothing at all - except a little tattooed butterfly'. But the butterfly had quite escaped me for the moment. I suppose, as I have explained, that was because it did not matter in this particular instance."
As he spoke, Guy took a cigarette and lit it, and so Elaine's long drawn breath of relieve escaped his notice. Suddenly he looked up at Elaine with a new light in his eyes.
"Elaine," he cried, "don't think me potty, but I suppose you didn't have tattooed the little butterfly over a birthmark?"
Elaine had from the beginning been waiting for just that question, and she was therefore more or less prepared far it. The apparent genuineness of her gay laugh was a tribute to her histrionic powers.
"The trouble with you, my lad," she said evenly, "is that you get sometimes a rush of ingenuity to the head. Now, supposing for just a minute that I were the lost daughter and heiress of a German millionaire, do you suppose that I should hide behind a permanent and indelible tattoo design the very bit of evidence that would establish my identity?"
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," agreed Guy. "Only I remember that Muller said that the girl would very probably not wish to be found by her father or anybody connected with him."
"Personally, I think that part of your German friend's story is just a bit thin. A girl in such circumstances might conceivably not wish to join her father or forgive him for what he may have done to her mother. But she wouldn't hide from him - that is, she had some very good reason to be afraid of him. And one isn't afraid of a father who wants to hand you millions of pounds."
"I think you're probably right," nodded Guy.
"I feel sure I am." said Elaine, pressing home her advantage. "But anyhow, my butterfly is definitely not tattooed over a birthmark. You know quite well why I have this little emblem. It's because I belong to the Society of Black Butterflies, and every member of this exclusive society of limbless women has tattooed on the remaining portion of her lost limb the emblem, or batch, of the society - viz. a black butterfly. Has it occurred to you, Guy, that about fifty of sixty beautiful women in London have a butterfly exactly like mine, and that quite a number of them are, like me, 'just the type' your friend Dr. Muller is looking for? Tina Nicholas, for example, is very like me. Felice Drew is very much my type. And there are others sufficiently near the type Mr. Muller is looking for to make his search a bit a problem to him. "I wonder" - Elaine paused and eyed Guy enigmatically - "I wonder if any of them has the butterfly tattooed over a birthmark."
"Jove," exclaimed Guy. "That's something I never thought of! Rather tangles things for friend Muller, doesn't it?"
"But Guy," Elaine bent earnestly towards him - "please don't put ideas into Muller's head. Don't even hint at the possibility of a butterfly hiding a birthmark. Because, you see, if any girl has gone to the trouble of having a design tattooed over a birthmark - a pretty painful process, I should imagine - then it is quite obvious that she must have a very good reason for it. You see that, don't you, darling?"
"Oh, absolutely," agreed Guy, reflecting the girl's earnestness. "I quite see the point and I'm quite dumb with Muller as far as that part of it is concerned. Jove! It's going to be a rag watching him do his little sleuthing act, isn't it?"
"I wonder," said Elaine, unable to help the little sigh that escaped her lips. "I wonder."
"Well," said Guy after the natural pause, as he stubbed his cigarette on the ash-tray. "Having said my little piece, I suppose I had been beer going."
He didn't look as if he particularly wanted to go, but Elaine was firm, as she often had to be with him.
"Yes, I think you better had, Guy," she said. "You know you promised to let me have an evening off, and I have heaps to do. In any case, you are calling for me about ten, so you really won't have time to miss me. Be a good little boy and run along."
"Oke," agreed Guy. "Orders appears to be orders."
She lifted herself lazily and knelt on the edge of the couch, drawing Guy's head towards her, smoothing his hair with gentle fingers.
"And it's very sweet of you," she went on in a little more than a whisper, "to be so nice to me."
For a long passionate moment, their lips clung. At last Elaine gently disengaged herself and stood up, gathering her wrap closely abaut her.
"And that will be all for the present, darling," she said with a miraculous calmness that a woman is always able to assume on such occasions. "Come along, out you go!"
Guy accepted the inevitable and stood up. Then, after a final kiss in the hall, he took his leave.
For some moments after his departure, Elaine stood where Guy had left her, poised in that easy balance of hers upon her single foot, her fingers idly smoothing the silk of her wrap. All the gaiety from the last few minutes had gone from her face, leaving it grave and troubled.
And last she turned and hopped effortlessly, this time into her small, daintily appointed bedroom. She moved to the porcelain washbasin, and from the hot-water tap half filled a small glass bowl with hot water. This she placed on one of the low pedestals of the dressing table, and seated herself on the dressing stool facing the long centre mirror of the table.
She drew aside her negligee, and for some moments she regarded fixedly the dainty little butterfly imprinted on the firm, white flesh. Then, dipping a small sponge in the warm water and moistening the butterfly she was able to peel it off as one might a stamp from an envelope. Where he butterfly had been imprinted was a tiny, heart-shaped birthmark of the familiar purple or "port-wine" colour!
Elaine sat there, her beautiful face grave, her eyes troubled, gazing down at the little indelible mark that was the only blemish on the delicate satin whiteness, her fingers idly smoothing the spot as in an unconscious endeavour to rub out the offending thing.
At any rate, she had not actually told a lie to Guy, she mused. The butterfly had not been tattooed over the birthmark. It was simply a design transferred to the skin. It had been a good deal because of that butterfly emblem of the Society of Black Butterflies that she joined the association. The butterfly had offered such a perfect means of hiding the mark. And of course as, according to the rules of the society, every one-legged lady member, except herself, had the butterfly actually tattooed, it was naturally taken for granted that her own butterfly was tattooed also.
Elaine smiled to herself in spite of her troubled state as she thought of the effective little subterfuge. But her face became grave again on the instant. Who could this man be who called himself Muller? She did not believe for a moment that his name was Muller, or even that he was a German! And his preposterous story about the German millionaire and his lost wife and daughter! That in itself stamped the man as a liar, as a dangerous man, on a secret and sinister mission. If he had been genuine, he would have told Guy the truth and not concocted this cock and bull story of a missing heiress.
The truth! Elaine's face became graver as she thought of it. And the wretched part of it was that she could not tell Guy. She was sure she would lose him if ever he learned who she really was - and she felt she would die if she lost Guy.
At last, with an effort, she shook herself out of the reverie. From a drawer in one of the dressing table pedestals she took a small box. It must have contained fifty to a hundred tiny, delicately frail butterfly "transfers," exactly similar in design to that of the tattooed emblem of the "Black Butterflies." Elaine selected one and damped it on the sponge. Then, raising her negligee, she bent down and applied the butterfly transfer neatly over the birthmark, keeping it in position for some minutes with a small cambric towel.
Finally, using great care, she drew away the thin paper backing of the transfer, leaving the butterfly design adhering firmly to the white flesh. The birthmark was safely and ingeniously hidden once again. Over this she slipped the little silk sock, smoothing it meticulously in place and then, drawing it taut, fastened the miniature suspenders.
"And now," she murmured, as she rose agilely to her single, soft-slippered foot, "we are ready for the so-called Mr. Muller. At any rate, we sincerely hope so," she added, a little falteringly.
(to be continued)