"How can I ever thank you for all you have done?" she said.
Her face was flushed with a rosy7 hue8, her eyes sparkled like stars; and at the moment, stirred by generous emotion, Iris Link was a beautiful woman. Paul had never noted9 the fact before--perhaps from long familiarity with her face, and an unavoidable comparison of it with the brilliant beauty of the dead Milly. The revelation of the soul which rendered her beautiful came on him with unexpected force, and he wondered how he could have been so blind as not to have admired her before. In that moment love germinated10 with unexpected suddenness in his soul; and he pressed the girl's hand warmly.
"Don't thank me at all, my dear," he said in a low voice. "I am only too glad to help you and yours."
"Will you come to Barnstead this evening, Paul?"
"No, Iris. I have a great deal of work to get through before going to London."
"You are going to London?"
"To-morrow morning. I fancy I have a clue to the identity of the person who killed Milly."
"Does the clue guide you to London?"
"Yes. I have ascertained12 that a third person was in the Winding13 Lane on that night when Milly and Lovel met."
"Who is the person?"
"Catinka, the Polish violinist," replied Paul; and forthwith he told Iris all that he had learned regarding the rainbow feather from Dr. Lester.
"It certainly looks as though she had been there," said Iris thoughtfully; "but it is impossible that she could have killed my sister."
"Why? From all accounts she is in love with Herne."
"I don't believe she is!" insisted Miss Link. "Mr. Herne's explanation to my father is far more likely. I fancy her association with him is founded on patriotic14 grounds. She knows that he is rich and enthusiastic, and wishes to secure him as a member of her ridiculous society. With his money she could do a great deal towards her object of inciting15 a revolt against Russia."
"That is very probable. But on these grounds I do not see why she came to Barnstead on the night of the murder."
"Nor I. You must ask her that yourself, Paul," added Iris suddenly. "Is not this the lady you love?"
Paul blushed in his turn. "It is Catinka whom I admired," he replied with an emphasis on the last word; "but I do not love her--at least, not now. My fancy for her has passed away. My heart is free--far more so than yours, Iris."
"What do you mean?" asked his companion, a trifle coldly.
"Why," said Paul in surprise--"surely you know! Do you not love Darcy Herne?"
"No, Paul; my fancy for him has died away, like yours for Catinka."
"For what reason?"
"One which satisfies myself," said Iris resolutely16, "but one I cannot tell you."
Paul looked searchingly at her, but the cold look on her face baffled his scrutiny17. "I do not understand you," he said, turning away his eyes.
"I don't understand myself," replied Iris bitterly, "but some day I may do so. At present, my dear Paul, you may be sure that my heart is as free as your own."
"Our hearts may not always remain in such a forlorn condition," said Paul suggestively.
Iris looked at him suddenly, and saw something in the expression of his face which made her blush. With the evasive instinct of a woman, she turned hastily away.
"See--papa is going," she said hurriedly. "I must follow him. Good-bye, Paul."
"Good-bye, Iris," was his reply; and when the two went away from the house with Miss Clyde--who had to return to Barnstead also--Paul stood looking after them with a smile on his lips.
"Strange if Iris should turn out to be my fate after all," he said to himself; and then went off to the office of the "Tory Times." His presence there was much needed, and he had to discard all speculation18 about Iris and a possible wedding, in order to plunge19 into journalistic work connected mostly with the dry subjects of politics.
The next morning, having finished his work, and obtained the necessary leave from his editor, Paul went up to London by the express train. It was noon when he arrived at Victoria, and he had luncheon20 in a Strand21 restaurant before calling on Catinka. Here Fate served him well, for she brought him into contact with a rising musician, who might be supposed to know all that there was to be known about the Polish violinist. Signor Baldini was a young man of Italian blood on the maternal22 side, and he had taken the maiden23 name of his mother, as more likely to look well on music paper. He had written one or two songs which had been more or less successful, and now he contemplated24 composing the music of a comic opera, which was--in his own estimation--to place him on a level with Sir Arthur Sullivan. Paul was hailed cheerily by this individual, and they were soon in confidential25 discourse26.
After a chat about the comic opera, and people to whom they were both known, Paul ventured to ask his companion concerning Catinka. At this question Signor Baldini shrugged27 his shoulders.
"I have not seen her lately," he said, candidly28. "She does not play so frequently as she once did. You see her name rarely on the St. James's Hall programmes now."
"Have the public got tired of her, then?"
"Not that I know of. I rather fancy it is she who has grown tired of the public. The fact is, Mexton, that charming young lady has a bee in her bonnet29."
"What sort of a bee?"
"A political bee, that is intended to sting the Autocrat30 of all the Russias. Catinka is a Pole, you know, and of late she has been mixed up in politics of the Socialistic sort. I never take up a paper without expecting to see her name figuring as the heroine who has thrown a bomb at the Czar."
"Is she known to be a Socialist31?"
"Well, it isn't in the papers, you know; but it is pretty generally talked about. Catinka has a kind of society, of which she is the leader."
"The Rainbow Feather Society?"
"Yes. I see you have heard of it, even in your native wilds. Did you ever hear so absurd a name, or imagined so ridiculous a symbol? A feather plucked from a goose and dyed in bars of red, blue, yellow, and green.
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CHAPTER XV. DR. LESTER TELLS A STORY.
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CHAPTER XVII. THE SOCIETY OF THE RAINBOW FEATHER.
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