“Indeed,” Smith murmured. “Would it surprise you to know that she is also one of the most useful servants of the Si-Fan? . . . That she was personally concerned in the death of General Quinto, and in that of Rudolph Adion?—to mention but two! Further, would it surprise you to know that she is the daughter of the president of the Council of Seven?”
Delibes sat down again, still staring at the speaker.
“I do not doubt your word—but are you sure of what you say?”
“Quite sure.”
“Almost, you alarm me.” He smiled again. “She is difficult this Korean!—but most, most attractive. I saw her only last night. Today, for she knows my penchant, she sent me blue carnations.”
“Indeed! Blue carnations, you say? Most unusual.”
He began looking all about the room.
“Yes, but beautiful—you see them in those three vases.”
“I have counted thirty-five,” snapped Smith.
“The other, I wear.”
Smith sniffed at one cautiously.
“I assume that they came from some florist known to you?”
“But certainly, from Meurice Freres.”
Smith stood directly in front of the desk, staring down at Delibes, then:
“Regardless of your personal predilection, sir,” he said, “I have special knowledge and special facilities. Since the peace of France, perhaps of the world is at stake, may I ask you when these carnations arrived?”
“At some time before I was awake this morning.”
“In one box or in several?”
“To this I cannot reply, but I will make inquiries. Your interests are of an odd nature.”
Nevertheless, I observed that Delibes was struggling to retain his self-assurance. As he bent aside to press a bell, surreptitiously he removed the blue carnation from his buttonhole and dropped it in a wastebasket . . .
Delibes’ valet appeared: his name was Marbeuf.
“These blue carnations,” said Nayland Smith, “you received them from the florist this morning?”
“Yes sir.”
Marbeuf’s manner was one of masked alarm.
“In one box or in a number of boxes?”
“In a number, sir.”
“Have those boxes been destroyed?”
“I believe not, sir.”
Smith turned to Delibes.
“I have a small inquiry to make,” he said, “but I beg that you will spare me a few minutes when I return.”
“As you wish, sir. You bring strange news, but my purpose remains undisturbed . . .”
We descended with the valet to the domestic quarters of the house. The lobby buzzed with officials; there was an atmosphere of pent-up excitement, but we slipped through unnoticed. I was studying Marbeuf, a blond, clean-shaven fellow with the bland hypocrisy which distinguishes some confidential man-servants.
“There are four boxes here,” said Smith rapidly and stared at Marbeuf. “You say you received them this morning?”
“Yes sir.”
“Here, in this room?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I placed them on that table, sir, for such presents frequently arrive for Monsieur. Then I sent Jacqueline for vases, and I opened the boxes.”
“Who is Jacqueline?”
“The parlor-maid.”
“There were then nine carnations in each box?”
“No sir. Twelve in each box, but one box was empty.”
“What!”
“I was surprised, also.”
“Between the time that these boxes were received from the florist and placed on the table, and the time at which you began to open them, were you out of the room?”
“Yes. I was called to the telephone.”
“Ah! By whom?”
“By a lady, but when I told her that Monsieur was still sleeping she refused to leave a message.”
“How long were you away?”
“Perhaps, sir, two minutes.”
“And then?”
“Then I returned and began to open the boxes.”
“And of the four, one contained no carnations?”
“Exactly, sir; one was empty.”
“What did you do?”
“I telephoned to Meurice Freres, and they assured me that not three, but four dozen carnations had been sent by the lady who ordered them.”
Smith examined the four boxes with care but seemed to be dissatisfied. They were cardboard cartons about I8 inches long and 6 inches square, stoutly made and bearing the name of the well-known florist upon them. His expression, however, became very grave, and he did not speak again until we had returned to the study.
As Delibes stood up, concealing his impatience with a smile:
“The time specified for the reply from Monaghani has now elapsed,” said Smith. “Am I to take it, sir, that you propose to hand that document to Marshal Brieux?”
“Such is my intention.”
“The time allotted to you by the Si-Fan expires in fifteen minutes.”
Delibes shrugged his shoulders.
“Forget the Si-Fan,” he said. “I trust that your inquiries regarding Korêani’s gift were satisfactory?”
“Not entirely. Would it be imposing on your hospitality to suggest that Mr. Kerrigan and myself remain here with you until those fifteen minutes shall have expired?”
“Well”—the Minister stood up, frowned, then smiled. “Since you mention my hospitality, if you would drink a glass of wine with me, and then permit me to leave you for a few moments since I must see Marshal Brieux, it would of course be a pleasure to entertain you.”
He was about to press a bell, but changed his mind and went out.
On the instant of his exit Smith did an extraordinary thing. Springing to the door, he depressed a switch—and all the lights went out!
“Smith!”
The lights sprang up again.
“Wanted to know where the switch was! No time to waste.”
He began questing about the room like a hound on a strong scent. Recovering myself, I too began looking behind busts and photographs, but:
“Don’t touch anything, Kerrigan!” he snapped. “Some new agent of death has been smuggled into this place by Fu Manchu! God knows what it is! I have no clue, but it’s here. It’s here!”
He had found nothing when Delibes returned . . .
The Minister was followed by Marbeuf. The valet carried an ice bucket which contained a bottle of champagne upon a tray with three glasses.
“You see, I know your English taste!” said Delibes. “We shall drink, if you please, to France—and to England.”
“In that case,” Nayland Smith replied,”if I may ask you to dismiss Marbeuf, I should esteem it a privilege to act as server—for this-is a notable occasion.”
At a nod from Delibes, Marbeuf, having unwired the bottle, went out. Smith removed the cork and filled three glasses to their brims. With a bow he handed one to the statesman, less ceremoniously a second to me, then, raising his own:
“We drink deep,” he said—his eyes glittered strangely, and the words sounded oddly on his lips—”to the peace of France and of England—and so, to the peace of the world!”
He drank nearly the whole of the contents of his glass. Delibes, chivalrously, did the same. Never at home with champagne, I endeavored to follow suit, but was checked—astounded—by the behavior of Delibes.
Standing upright, a handsome military figure, he became, it seemed, suddenly rigid! His eyes opened widely as though they were starting from his head. His face changed color. Naturally pallid, it grew grey. His wineglass fell upon the Persian carpet, the remainder of its contents spilling. He clutched his throat and pitched forward!
Nayland Smith sprang to his side and lowered him gently to the floor.
“Smith! Smith!” I gasped,”he’s poisoned! They have got him!”
“Ssh!” Smith stood up. “Not a word, Kerrigan!”