BOOK TWO: THE LONE WOLF'S DAUGHTER

I THE GIRL SOFIA

II MASKS AND FACES

III THE AGONY COLUMN

IV MUTINY

V HOUSE OF THE WOLF

VI THE MUMMER

VII THE FANTASTICS

VIII COUNCIL OF THE GODLESS

IX MRS. WARING

X VICTOR ET AL

XI HEARTBREAK

XII SUSPECT

XIII THE TURNIP

XIV CONFERENCE OF THE DAMNED

XV INTUITION

XVI THE CRYSTAL

XVII THE RAISED CHEQUE

XVIII ORDEAL

XIX UNMASKING

XX THE DEVIL TO PAY

XXI VENTRE A TERRE

XXII THE SEVEN BRASS HINGES

BOOK I

A CHAPTER FROM THE YOUTH OF MONSIEUR MICHAEL LANYARD

RED MASQUERADE

I

PLEBEIAN AND PRINCE

The gentleman was not in the least bored who might have been and was seen
on that wintry afternoon in Nineteen hundred, lounging with one shoulder to
a wall of the dingy salesroom and idly thumbing a catalogue of effects
about to be put up at auction; but his insouciance was so unaffected that
the inevitable innocent bystander might have been pardoned for perceiving
in him a pitiable victim of the utterest ennui.

In point of fact, he was privately relishing life with enviable gusto. In
those days he could and did: being alive was the most satisfying pastime he
could imagine, or cared to, who was a thundering success in his own conceit
and in fact as well; since all the world for whose regard he cared a
twopenny-bit admired, respected, and esteemed him in his public status, and
admired, respected, and feared him in his private capacity, and paid him
heavy tribute to boot.

More than that, he was young, still very young indeed, barely beyond the
threshold of his chosen career. To his eagerly exploring eye the future
unrolled itself in the likeness of an endless scroll illuminated with
adventures all piquant, picturesque, and profitable. With the happy
assurance of lucky young impudence he figured the world to himself as his
oyster; and if his method of helping himself to the succulent contents of
its stubborn shell might have been thought questionable (as unquestionably
it was) he was no more conscious of a conscience to give him qualms than he
was of pangs of indigestion. Whereas his digestive powers were superb....

This way of killing an empty afternoon, too, was much to his taste. The man
adored auctions. To his mind a most delectable flavour of discreet scandal
inhered in such collections of shabby properties from anonymous homes.
Nothing so piqued his imag