It did not take the motor more than an hour to cover the difference between Portman Square and Manor Lodge, Grays, and in a very brief time Cleek in the character of George Headland had the satisfaction of seeing all the actors in this tragic drama. Narkom's assertion that Colonel Parradine was "acting queerly" had led him to expect a broken-down, shifty-eyed half-pay officer, glad to be free from the iron hold of the dead man. He found instead a collected, typical Anglo-Indian, as keen on probing the mystery as Cleek himself, and full of suggestions as to possible clues. It was only when there arose the subject of motor-cars, which he detested ordinarily, that his calm was broken.
Miss Parradine, however, appeared to be on the verge of hysterics, and though in normal times she would have been a very handsome girl, now her eyes were red with weeping, her hair dishevelled, and had she been the dead man's widow she could not have evinced more grief. All this, in face of Mr. Narkom's statement that she loved anotherman, made her manner over-done, and almost theatrical.
"I suppose, Miss Parradine," said Cleek in a casual, off-hand sort of way, "you don't happen to know who will inherit Mr. Winton's fortune, or if he ever made a will? I am aware from what Mr. Narkom has told me that the collection of jewels will come to you, but that is not the whole extent of his wealth. There is no one you know who might benefit by his death?"
"No one who would be likely to injure him," said Miss Parradine. "His only relative is a distant cousin, Richard Deverill, I believe, a wealthy man in Buenos Ayres. I know, because Anthony told me when he had our settlements drawn up that he would leave all the jewels to me, and in case anything happened to him, Mr. Weston, the solicitor, was to send over to South America and find out if Deverill was still alive."
Cleek switched round quickly.
"Anything happen?" he inquired. "Did he expect anything to happen then?"
"Well," said Miss Parradine, "I think he was always nervous, especially about the 'Rose of Fire.' And as that very day I had caught sight of some Burmese natives, of high caste, it is true, hanging about his London hotel, the Savoy, where we had all been staying, I got nervous, too. That is why I came straight to him last night, to ask him to givethe 'Rose' up to me for safety. But he refused, and I was angry about those horrible brooches. But if only I had known! No, Mr. Headland, there is no one else I know."
"Well, there's nothing wrong there," said Cleek. "Clearly a case of local robbery, I should say."
"Yes, that's what Robert said." She flushed as Mr. Headland twitched an inquiring eyebrow.
"Robert Bristol and I at one time were engaged," she said, huskily. "This terrible tragedy sets me free. I confess that I regret parting in anger from Mr. Winton, but he could be very, very cruel. Robert said he could save me—but oh——" She broke off as if frightened at what she had said, and Cleek flashed a glance of deepest significance at Mr. Narkom.
"Robert could save her," could he! How, except by removing the obstacle which stood in their path of mutual happiness, that with the jewels left her by one lover she might find happiness with the other? Was this the explanation?
"Perhaps you would like to see Mr. Bristol," she said, hurriedly. "I know he is here, because he, too, is worried over it."
"I should indeed," said Cleek, and as she left the room it seemed to him that Parradine cast an anxious glance after her.
"I cannot understand Bristol," he said, "since my daughter's engagement to Mr. Winton. He wentaway until yesterday, the day before the wedding, then arrived evidently in good time...." his voice trailed away as the door opened to admit Robert Bristol, a typical gentleman-farmer, but now his face was pale and lined with anxiety, his whole appearance as of one who has had little sleep, and as Cleek noticed his carelessly brushed clothes and shaking hands, his eyes narrowed down. But when the first formalities were over, he spoke as he always did at such times, in the heavy, befogged tones of utter incompetence.
"You are just the man I want to see, Mr. Bristol, before I go upstairs. I'm fairly puzzled, but I'd like to know any other facts you can give me——"
"I can give you nothing, tell you nothing," declared the young man in shaking tones. "It has been such a colossal shock to me. I hated the dead man, Heaven knows, and could not bring myself to return till after—that is—— But I could not keep away, and when I learned what had happened...."
"From whom did you hear the news, Mr. Bristol?" asked Cleek, sharply.
"Well, I think it was old Twells," he said. "He's a bit of a character, kind of naturalist and all that sort of thing," Bristol stammered. "He said Wills, the butler, had told him on his way to Doctor Smith's, and as I passed him ... he told me.
"Passed him!" ejaculated Cleek. "Where were you; where had you been during the evening?"
"Most of the time, at the Electric Power House. I know one of the engineers there, and I just happened to be there, and so ... so...." His voice trailed away as though he had given the most lucid of explanations.
"I see," said Cleek, pinching up his chin, as the thoughts raced through his mind. What connection had this explanation with the sudden failure of the electric light at the exact moment of the discovery of the murder, and how was Miss Parradine connected with it? Were the two in league, after all? But he said no more, only switched round on his heel and allowed himself to be led upstairs to the gallery where the dead man still lay.
It was a large square room, solidly built, without corners or panels. Along its dull, gray-papered walls hung large pictures of long dead and gone ancestors of the owner of Manor Lodge, himself a wanderer in strange lands. Small tables held the cases of curios collected by Anthony Winton, and but one big window gave it light. Clearly there was no room for concealment of any unknown assailant, and when Cleek had dismissed the plain-clothes man on guard, and told Calvert, who had quickly been sent for at Cleek's request, to open up the blind, he turned his attention to the dead man.
As Mr. Narkom had said, there was no sign of wound or mark on the body.
"Suffocated, it is clear enough," commentedCleek, having made minute examination. "But how?" He looked round. "You have no gas fittings here?"
"None in the house, sir," said Calvert. "The whole place was lit by oil-lamps till my master took it and then the local company wired it for electricity. All the rooms are not done yet, but this one and downstairs were finished first. The company also connected up the house telephone to theirs, so as to oblige Mr. Winton while waiting for his own connection with the company. I suppose that was why that went wrong, too, when the electric light went off."
"What did he have to eat last?" said Cleek, suddenly, almost as if he had not been listening. "Do you know?"
"Yes, I do," said Calvert. "He dined downstairs at 7 o'clock, as usual, and the rest of the dinner was finished in the servants' hall and nothing better could be desired. I came in at 9 o'clock to see whether he would have anything more, but Mr. Winton said no. And then Miss Parradine came."
"Yes, I know. And what about her visit?" said Cleek. "How long was she here, do you remember?"
"Yes, sir. The hall clock was striking a quarter past nine when I let her in, and at a quarter to ten the telephone bell rang. Miss Parradine flung herself out of the gallery as I went to answer it, andthe master was alive then. I heard his voice. Whether she went back while I was answering the 'phone, I don't know...."
"Went back?" said Cleek, excitedly. "What do you mean?"
"Well, sir," said Calvert, "as I said, just as she came out, the bell rang, and Miss Parradine said she would let herself out, and I turned and ran to the instrument. When I returned—it was only a message from the tailor, and nothing important—she was gone. But she might have gone back to the master, and perhaps it was her dress fluttering that I heard inside the room. You see, sir, I knocked, and then I heard that kind of struggling and fluttering and ... I am almost sure, the sound of the window being shut. Then I forced the door, but the room was pitch dark. If any one slipped by me then I didn't know it, but when the lights flashed on again I saw Mr. Winton crouched up against the window, and he pointed to the skeleton, saying, 'Death's Head!' And that was the end."
The man gave a half-sob and his words rang true. If it were acting, it was perfect of its kind. Cleek stood silent, his shoulders hunched up.
"Where was your master sitting before that, do you know?"
"When I went in about nine, as I said, he was sitting right under the light. The window was wide open then. I noticed it particularly, and the Roseof Fire, was in front of him. Very fond of that jewel he was, and used to say he'd give his life for it."
"Which he did," muttered Cleek, advancing to the table and standing just where the dead man had sat a few short hours before. Suddenly he switched round.
"Mr. Winton was cleaning his jewels then, was he? He preferred Venetian powder to jeweller's rouge, eh?"
"Cleaning, sir? No, indeed. He never touched them last night, that I'll swear."
Cleek bent down lower. "Ah, I see my mistake, a little cigarette ash, nothing of importance. Well, Calvert, I see there is nothing more to be gained here. Tell Mr. Narkom I am ready for him, will you?"
"Certainly, sir," and Calvert turned as if glad to make his escape.
Had he waited another minute he would have seen Cleek pounce swiftly on the little feathery yellow dust on the table, gather it up, and transfer it to his note-book, and when Mr. Narkom had come upstairs, it was to find his famous ally gazing thoughtfully out of the window, his face serene, as if there were no such gruesome things as a murdered man and a withered skeleton behind him.
"Mr. Narkom," he said, when he had followed the Superintendent downstairs and out into the country road, where the limousine was waiting, and as he stepped into it, "I want you to wait here for me.I've got an idea that death takes strange shapes, and Mr. Winton recognized his foe rightly, though too late. I want to poke about for myself a little farther afield. Give me a couple of hours, and if I am right, my friend, the riddle is at an end. What's that? A clue? I want to find out which sticks the best to metal, glue or soap." With this Mr. Narkom had to be content, and only Lennard, at the wheel of the car, heard the direction to drive to South Kensington Museum as hard as he could go.
That Lennard did go at considerable speed was very evident, for it was under two hours when the limousine, gray with dust, raced once more into Grays High Street, and pulled up in front of the solitary inn, the Royal Arms. Here Mr. George Headland, after giving some directions to a weedy youth of dejected mien, who had sat beside him in the car, flashed the door open and shut again, and vanished up the village street.
He crossed the road and struck into the woods, his face relaxed from its tenseness, and swung across country in the direction of the Manor House. There was still one link missing in his chain, and he wanted it quite finished before he met Mr. Narkom.
Reaching the house through the trees, he searched carefully along the ground on the side on which gave the window of the gallery, and in a very few moments leaned forward with a little cry of satisfaction. His case was complete.
He turned swiftly back, but as he passed silently through the heavy undergrowth, the sound of snappingtwigs brought him up short. Then he moved on with indrawn breath. Someone was shadowing him without a doubt. Well, if necessary, he could make a run for it, but the path was indistinct—— And just then came a snarl and a spring from somewhere behind him. A thick cloth was thrown rapidly over his head, two arms like vises closed about his struggling shoulders, and he was carried, fighting for dear life, away from the Manor House and the scene of the murder. He was conscious of being forced inside some building and here a voice greeted him the sound of which sent a little dagger of fear stabbing its way into his heart.
"The Cracksman at last!" shrilled the voice, excitedly, and Cleek knew, for the time being, that the game was up. He was here in the shadow of these woods, and in the power of the accursed Apaches themselves—alone and helpless! A door closed behind them, bolts were shot, the cloth torn from his head, and he saw before him, in the interior of a half-ruined cottage, three of the best-known scoundrels in Paris, men he had known only too well in the past. "At last,nom de Dieu, we have you!" cried one as he seized a rope and bound Cleek's struggling hands and feet. "Margot shall hear of this, I promise you! Margot, who thirsts for your blood for your escape from her as we thirst for the money she will pay us! Where is this precious 'Rose of Fire'? That is what we are after. No foolish priest shall have a jewelwhichweare after. Where is it, pig of a cracksman, where, I say?"
"Where I have failed to find it, that I can promise you!" replied Cleek in as level a voice as he could muster under the circumstances. "It has wholly disappeared."
"You lie!" screamed Dubois, furiously. "You lie! You know well where it is concealed. Do you not always find the answers to the cases propounded to you? But we shall see what we shall see. A touch of fire may loosen your tongue,cochon! Come,mes amis!"
Turning, they swarmed into a tiny kitchen, and Cleek could see them throwing paper and wood into the range. Luckily for him the wood was damp, and the chimney smoky from disuse. He writhed his hands to and fro in their ropes. It was not for nothing that those old days in Paris had been lived. He knew a thing or two about knots which would teach these devils something. A tug, a twist, and at last one hand was free. The other followed in a jiffy. Quickly and soundlessly he worked upon the rope about his feet, while the snarling Apaches cursed and swore at the fire which would not burn. In another moment he was free. But he stood still, awaiting his opportunity. Then of a sudden there came to his ears a sound that made his heart leap. He did not even know he was near a road, and yet there sounded the soft purr of the Scotland Yardlimousine—he would have known it among a thousand! He did not stop to think how his plight could have become known, he simply leapt for the window, and making a cup of his hands, shouted as loudly as his lungs would permit, "All right, boys! Well played! Get round to the back! They're in the kitchen!"
The trick worked like magic. He heard the car come to a grinding stop, saw the leaping figures of three Apaches dart like frightened rats across the little kitchen floor, and in the twinkling of an eye every man of them had vanished into the wood beyond. With a bound Cleek was out of the door, onto a road, into the limousine, with a very excited Dollops at his side, and death was once more behind him.
"How did you know?" he said, curiously, as the car went speeding down the road under the guidance of Lennard.
Dollops heaved a heavy sigh.
"I saw some of the blighters up the road after you left me. I told you, sir, you should have took me along"—this very reproachfully—"and I tells Lennard here, we don't leave this neighbourhood till I sees you safe and sound."
"It was a narrow squeak this time, old man," said Cleek, softly, and put out his hand. "You are the best ever of a helper. Bless you."
Dollops' eyes gleamed with pleasure as the car swept on in the direction of Grays Village.
And this was why Mr. Narkom had begun to feel very uneasy about the whereabouts of his colleague when he finally received a message from one of his men that "Mr. George Headland" was having a meal at the Royal Arms and would be pleased if all the company from the Manor House would give him the pleasure of joining him there.
There was an indignant murmur of dissent from the Parradines, but Mr. Narkom, knowing there must be a very good reason for this invitation, succeeded in persuading them to accompany him down to the inn, though they expressed no faith in what "that fool of a policeman was doing."
In the old-fashioned inn, at the bar of which most of the villagers were smoking and drinking, at one of the window tables they found Mr. Headland certainly busy in front of a meal though it was the youth beside him who was eating it voraciously. As Mr. Narkom recognized Dollops, he beamed delightedly. The landlord of the inn was himself in attendance, but Mr. George Headland was evidently in a state of indignation with the youth at the table and was pointing to a small yellow object in his hand.
As the little party came up, he turned to Mr. Narkom.
"Look, sir, that's what that young varmint's done while I've been down 'ere. Let my prize canary starve in the office. I wouldn't have partedwith that bird for a fortune, and what I'm to say to my missus. Lord only knows."
Colonel Parradine gave a snort of disgust. "I suppose you haven't sent for us to look at a dead canary when we are faced with such a tragedy," he thundered.
"Sent for you, sir," said Mr. Headland, innocently. "Never thought of such a thing. Lennard must have made a mistake. I asked for Mr. Narkom to come, as I can't find anything more out, and am giving up the job. But this canary fair beats me...."
"I suggest having it stuffed, sir," put in the landlord, thoughtfully. "We've got the man here that'll do it, in a trice."
"Why, of course," said Bristol, patiently, turning in the direction of the bar. "Old Twells, the very man."
"The very thing," said Cleek, and switching round on his heel looked interestedly at the old gray-haired man to whom the landlord was evidently explaining the situation. Then, as he came over to them, Cleek turned to Mr. Narkom. "If you'd get the cage out of the locker in the car, sir, we could stick it on its blessed perch and make a good job of it. Here's the key; I think it's the right one."
Whether it was the right one or not Mr. Narkom looked down on the label attached to it, and seeingthe message that Cleek had scribbled on it, ran out of the place as fast as legs could carry him.
When he returned Mr. Headland was still directing the taxidermist as to what he was to do and how and when to do it.
"Did you find it, sir?" he asked as Mr. Narkom rushed in, his face red with excitement.
"Yes, exactly where you said, Cleek," cried the Superintendent, blurting out the name unconsciously in his agitation.
A little gasp of interest sounded, but Cleek took no heed. With shining eyes and mouth set in a thin red line he switched round on his heel, his voice sounding clear and sharp:
"Game's up, my boy; stand aside, Bristol. It's no use trying to shield yourself or your accomplice. I want you both."
With a little spring he threw himself forward, bearing down on the old bent figure of Twells, still standing with the dead canary in his hands, leaving Narkom and Dollops to keep an eye and hand on the younger man, who had collapsed into a chair.
"Richard Deverill, I arrest you for the murder of your cousin, Anthony Winton," rang out Cleek's imperious voice.
"It's a lie! Who are you? How dare you?" shrieked the supposedly old man, his voice no longer quavering, but full and shrill.
"No lie, my man." And Cleek, leaning forward, twitched off the gray wig, revealing a close-cropped head and sallow forehead. "Also for the theft of the 'Rose of Fire,' but in that I think we have forestalled you."
"Yes, here it is," said Narkom, as he held up the exquisite gem, and a cry burst from the lips of the prisoner.
"Take him away, boys," said Cleek to Petrie and Hammond, who had entered unnoticed in the general confusion. Then turning to Bristol he said: "You did a foolish thing, young man, in not telling the complete truth last night. You knew Twells had something to do with it."
"Yes, I did. He asked me to get the lights switched off at exactly 10 o'clock last night, saying he could stop the marriage of Winton and Miss Parradine without any harm if the lights were off in that house for two minutes, and I was so desperate that I yielded. While I was talking with my engineer friend at the Power House I leant up against the switch. Afterward I went nearly mad thinking that I had helped to kill Winton, if I was not a murderer myself."
"No, but you let the murderer escape, my friend. If you had told me, it would have saved me a lot of trouble."
"But how and by what was Winton killed? How could the murderer escape through closed doors andwindow and in the dark? Nothing human could do it——"
"I never said it was human," flung in Cleek, a little one-sided smile creeping up his face. "It was as Mr. Winton said—the Death's Head. What's that, Miss Parradine, the skeleton? Oh, dear no; something far more deadly, though not as dead as that. Here it is!"
Diving into his pocket he pulled out a large match-box, and opening it turned out onto the table a splendid moth.
"The Death's Head," he said. "See the skull and crossbones?"
"Twells or Deverill was a ruined man and desperate. I soon found out by cabling from headquarters that he had left Buenos Ayres for London some two months ago. Being already known to the police over another shady transaction, they had kept watch and there was no doubt he was in league with the Burmese priests to try and recover the 'Rose of Fire' for them. You may be sure that he knew from gossip that the jewels had been willed to Miss Parradine, so he settled down here to await his chance and got it, last night."
"But how?" said Bristol.
"Through the open window," was the reply. "From his post in that big oak tree opposite the gallery he let loose this moth, knowing the bright electric light right in front of Winton's face wouldattract it. Its wings were heavily laden with that deadly poison dust the natives use both in South America and Burmah for their blow-pipes. The heat of the lamp would make it more deadly. I take it that Winton knew his danger when he got the first whiff of the poison dust, and tried to drive the intruder out, but could not manage both, dying as he was.... Yes, both, Colonel—Deverill had not played the part of naturalist for nothing and he had ready a natural thief. In the magpie, or raven, was it, Mr. Narkom?"
"Magpie, Cleek."
"Yes, as I thought. Trained to pick up a red rose probably, it responded nobly to its training, and picked up the brilliant red 'Rose of Fire'."
"But why did he want the light off?" asked Bristol.
"Because he knew that just as the light had attracted them in, the dark would send them out into the moonlight. Winton probably exhausted his last strength driving them away and pulling down the window, which sound Calvert heard.
"All Twells had to do was to see that his pet came home safely, and left the jewel I expect where the bird itself took it, to his cage. Was I right, Mr. Narkom?"
"Right as a trivet, Cleek—hidden under the straw."
"I recognized the yellow feathery dust, and had it analyzed in town to make sure," continued Cleek."The trace of bird-lime, or some sticky substance in the shape of a bird's claw, gave me the first clue as to the actual thief, and a black feather under the table confirmed it. The dead moth I found outside the window, so I knew the whole thing. The fact that coming back from finding the moth, I nearly met my own death is another story. If I hadn't brought Dollops back with me, this case might have ended very differently. All I wanted to find out in town was whether Richard Deverill was still in South America, of which I had my doubts."
"What's that, Mr. Narkom? Why did I suspect old Twells? Well, it was rather suspicious that he should be hanging about at that hour, and discovering that he was so keenly interested in natural history made me think a whole lot. As I found the number of that motor-car that knocked you down, Colonel, I knew you were out of suspicion. Besides, I had a good look at 'Old Twells,' and though his voice and face were well kept up, his hands were full-blooded and strong. All I had to do was to find an excuse to get him into my clutches, without losing the 'Rose of Fire,' and my canary did the trick. I was only just in time, for to-day old Twells would have vanished forever. The 'Rose of Fire' would have been sold to return to Mandalay and the new heir would have come home with a flourish of woe and mourning. He gambled that Mr. Bristol would be afraid to mention the light business, even if he ever connected itwith the murder. And now I think as Dollops here has demolished my meal and his own too, I propose we get back to town. Miss Parradine, take my advice, either bank that jewel, ill-fated as it is, or strike a bargain with the envoys of Buddha, for they will not hesitate to strike again, and the next time they may be even more successful."
With a little bow, and with Narkom and Dollops in the rear, Cleek passed out, and soon the soft whirr of the departing limousine was heard. Only a gilt cage, with a dead canary in it, was left to remind them of the riddle that had so quickly been solved.
Cleek's first object on getting back to town was to make for Ailsa's cottage at Hampton.
Always, when staying at the cottage alone, Cleek's disguise was that of "Cap'n Burbage," guardian of his ward, Ailsa Lorne. Mrs. Condiment, the housekeeper, therefore, greeted the "Cap'n" heartily on the threshold of the cottage when he arrived. Ailsa was for the present in safe hands—on a visit with Mrs. Narkom. Secure, therefore, in his "Cap'n Burbage" disguise, Cleek went to and fro, with peace and serenity restored to his soul. So determined was he to have these few days undisturbed that in spite of his affection for Mr. Narkom, he instructed Mrs. Condiment to say, in answer to any telephone calls, that he was not at the cottage.
Mr. Narkom, seated in his office at the Yard, a few days later, flung aside the pen with which he had been beating an idle tattoo, thus showing the tension and anxiety under which he was almost unbearably labouring, and wheeled round in his chair. He heard the sound of footsteps, telling him that his trusted messenger, Hammond, was returning at last. Hegave vent to a little sigh of relief. Now he would know what had really happened, and be able to prove to a waiting public and sneering newspapers that Scotland Yard was not "asleep," but that neither was it to be bullied nor cajoled into blurting out all that it knew. "Gad," he ejaculated, mentally, wouldn't he like to have some of those brilliant young cub reporters have his job for a week, and let them see if they could fathom mysteries, such as were searing his forehead at the present moment, any quicker than he himself.
The door opened and shut, and Detective-Sergeant Hammond was stepping briskly across the room.
"Well?" rapped out the Superintendent in a sharp staccato born of nervous impatience. "A false alarm, wasn't it?"
"No, sir, it's not. It's the greater part of Tooting Common this time—sheep blown to bits and a few kiddies, too, I'm afraid. I was just in time to see a second explosion myself, as I got there—that's the seventh one altogether, and heaven knows what's the cause or reason. And where will the next one be? The papers will be raving over this to-night."
"Can't rave more than they've done now. I'd give my head to make those beastly reporters sit up!"
"There's only one man to help you, sir, beggin' yer pardon." Hammond dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "That's Mr. Cleek——"
"Do you think I don't know that?" Narkom snapped back, impatiently. "Do you think I'd have waited till now if I'd known where he was? I've done nothing but ring that confounded 'phone day in and day out and all I get is that 'Captain Burbage is away.' Captain Burbage, indeed! To think that after all these years we can't protect him against those devils of Apaches without his living in this constant disguise."
"'Tisn't like Mr. Cleek to be long away from the Yard, either," said Hammond, scratching his head reflectively.
"No. I don't doubt, though, there's some good reason for it, but my lord! what wouldn't I give to hear his blessed voice or see his face at this moment!"
Possibly in the whole period of his professional career Mr. Narkom had never had a wish granted so speedily, for as the words left his lips, the door behind him flashed open and shut again and there on the threshold stood a stout, elderly, seafaring man. The sight of him caused the Inspector fairly to spring from his seat.
"Cleek!" he cried. "Cleek! Lord, I did want you. I——"
Cleek smiled as he bore up under the onslaught. "Thought you would when I saw the papers," he said. Mr. Narkom snorted as if at the name of a hated enemy, then turned to Hammond.
"Nor a word outside, Hammond, but tell Lennard to come round at once. We shall need him!"
Once alone, he turned again to his partner.
"I suppose it's those explosions," said Cleek, as having divested himself of some of the "Burbage disguise," he dived for a cigarette.
"No, they're an extra burden," said Mr. Narkom, "as if I'm not nearly mad already! And now there's been another one this morning on Tooting Common. But it's this Government business that is killing me."
Cleek twitched an inquiring eyebrow and waited patiently for the facts.
"The Kenneth Digby case. I'm expecting him here every minute, but I've nothing new to tell him."
"Kenneth Digby?" echoed Cleek, a little pucker between his brows. "Any relation to the soldier and scientist-inventor of that new machine-gun tried out last year?"
"His son, Cleek. And, as his father is practical guarantee of his integrity and uprightness, you can imagine what a blow this has been to Colonel Digby and his family."
"A blow! Does that mean you are trying to tell me that Graham Digby's son is a traitor to his country?" flung back Cleek in rising tones of amazement. "Suppose you give me all the facts, old man—just what has happened."
"It's like this, Cleek," answered Mr. Narkom."Young Digby is engaged in laboratory experiments with high explosive; trying, as far as I can gather, to evolve a smokeless powder—— Good heavens, what's wrong?" For his famous associate was sitting erect in his seat, his eyes sparkling and brilliant, his brows twitching with excitement, his breath coming in gasps.
"Smokeless? Is that the secret? Blithering idiot I was! Of course, a child would have guessed it. But go on, old man. Don't mind me. I've been reading the papers, and am just beginning to see."
"Well, it's more than I am," ejaculated Mr. Narkom, blankly. "However, to continue: it seems that as fast as Digby evolves a formula our Secret Service reports to the War Office that it is known immediately to a certain unfriendly foreign power. Well, Digby is nearly frantic, and is to be here again at 11 o'clock."
"H'm, it's that now," said Cleek, as he glanced out of the window, "and unless I am mistaken here he comes. Introduce me as Lieutenant Deland in mufti, will you? I'll have a look into things for myself, directly I have made a few necessary changes."
And that was why a minute or two elapsed before, after a brief word on the house 'phone, Captain Digby was shown in. He was a fine, upstanding, manly-looking young soldier of about eight and twenty, a man with something of the scholar's refinementin his bearing. But this morning he was nearly as hysterical as a schoolgirl.
"Oh, Mr. Narkom, help me! For God's sake, solve this mystery!" he cried as he gripped Mr. Narkom's outstretched hand in his own and pressed it excitedly. "My father said everything would be all right just as soon as you had the matter in your hands—but it's gone, another! The horror and disgrace of it! I shall kill myself in the end!"
"Steady, Captain Digby. Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Deland, who will help you," said Mr. Narkom.
The young man acknowledged the introduction dumbly, and his look of appeal went straight to Cleek's heart.
"Look here, get a firm grip on yourself, Captain, or you'll be in a bad way," said Cleek. "Here, swallow this capsule. Swallow it, man! There, that's better. Now let me get a clear grasp of the facts of the case, for I know nothing about it whatever. Begin at the beginning, please. Just whathashappened? What has 'gone'?"
"My latest formula," replied Captain Digby, regaining his composure somewhat. "I am at work on smokeless powder experiments in my laboratory down at my country home in Hampshire. It was specially built for me two years ago when I first took up this work, and I have a special detachment of police and military to guard it."
"When did you miss this formula?"
"This morning," was the quick answer. "I had been working over it three days—night and day. Last night I tested the stuff, and the results were more satisfactory than hitherto, so I made up my mind to knock off and go to bed—after I had written out the completed formula as usual."
"What did you do with it then?"
Captain Digby passed a hand, stained with chemicals, over his lined forehead. "That's just it," he almost moaned. "I can't remember. I thought I locked it up in my little wall safe! I meant to, I know, but failing that, it lay there on the laboratory table and I must have come away and left it. In the morning it was gone! I searched the place over, inch by inch. This is my last chance; the authorities will never get over this." His head sank down in his hands.
"Where is the laboratory and how is it built?"
"It is at the side of the house, and was originally a stable till we had it concreted inside and out. Solid six feet of concrete doors, ceiling—everything.
"Hullo! Concrete everything? How do you see in it?"
"Artificial light always, run by my own generator and dynamo, overhead. Only one door opens into the laboratory and that is from the drawing-room inside the house and it is guarded by a soldier. No one ever enters save myself; no one, not even among the rest of the family, save my father, knows of thenature of my work. Is it any wonder that my chief suspects me?"
"Well, there's nothing to be said or done till I come down and see things for myself," said Cleek, very quietly. "Will there be any difficulty in your admitting me into the laboratory, by the way?"
"Not a scrap. I shall just say you are another colleague——"
"Another, Captain Digby?" Cleek flashed round on the young man. "Another? Does that mean that you have had a colleague or assistant before this?"
"Why, yes—a fellow officer, Captain Brunel—Max Brunel. We are bosom friends as well. We were at Heidelberg together, and he is the very soul of honour."
"H'm——" Cleek turned aside to pick up his hat from the rack, a queer little smile twitching up the left side of his face, and when he looked back at Captain Digby his gaze was a very intent one, as if he were asking himself whether the Captain's innocence and belief were real or assumed.
It was exactly two o'clock when Lieutenant Arthur Deland, tall, well-set, and debonair, with the stamp of the army all over him, arrived as arranged at St. Mary's Abbey, Hampshire, the family seat of the Digbys, which was noted for a wonderfulpainted shrine of the Virgin Mary, said to date back to the sixteenth century and renowned throughout all the southern counties of England.
He found the laboratory exactly as the young scientist had described it, absolutely sound-proof, light-proof, and as innocent of hole or aperture in its concrete walls and floor—with the exception of the door leading from the dining-room—as the inside of an egg.
His introduction to the family—a large one—caused him to be voted an acquisition to its amusement by its younger and more frivolous members. Before he had been in the house an hour, the very sight of his gold-rimmed monocle and the sound of his inane laugh was a signal for the spoilt Digby twins, aged eight, literally to fling themselves upon him, notwithstanding the gentle protests of their meek little fair-haired governess. She had been curtly introduced as Miss Smith by his hostess, and then allowed to fade away into the obscurity she so obviously preferred.
Within the next twenty-four hours Lieutenant Deland gained much intimate knowledge as to the ways and characters of an interesting family. Fancies are queer things, and he found himself greatly disliking Colonel Digby's wife, a hard-faced, gushing woman, shrill of voice, and quick to scold, and he was not surprised to learn that she was the Colonel's second wife, and not the mother of the Captain atall. According to the gossip elicited in the servants' hall by Dollops, who had been allowed to accompany him at the last moment, the dreamy, absent-minded scientist had been snapped up by the lady, herself a widow, when on a visit to Vienna. He had found himself married "before he was properly awake," as Dollops expressed it with a significant grin.
Cleek soon found, too, that her contempt for Captain Kenneth was as great as her inordinate love for her own son by her first marriage, Max Wertz, a brilliant young scamp of the class of bar-loafers and roulette-table haunters. It did not take Cleek long, either, to discover that, unknown to the old Colonel or Kenneth, both mother and son were keenly curious as to the work carried on in the concrete laboratory.
Cleek played right up both to mother and son, however, and had the satisfaction of obtaining from both unqualified approval.
"I say, Deland, you're a good sort," said young Wertz in the drawing-room that evening—a shade too enthusiastically, perhaps—"but hang it all, if you can go into that silly old stone coffin of a laboratory, why can't I? Jealousy, that's it! Old Ken thinks he's the only one with brains in his head. What—what's it like in there, anyway?"
"Dem dark, dirty, and smelly, my boy," was the lieutenant's drawled and expressive reply. "You keep out of it, old sport. Give you my word, myclothes'll smell of rotten eggs for a week. Hullo, though, who's that coming out of it now?"
Wertz spun round and looked across at the door which led into the laboratory. "Oh, that's Brunel," he said, carelessly. "Ken's other self, alter ego, and all that sort of thing. Can't bear the man myself. I'll introduce you if you like, and then I'll go along."
He performed the ceremony carelessly enough, and then lounged away whistling the latest jazz melody.
Left alone, the two men found themselves mentally sizing each other up as men will do, and Cleek decided silently that he liked the look of Max Brunel—but not on account of his appearance. That was not very prepossessing. His face was too scarred from his student days at Heidelberg, and his clothes, which were stained, also reeked of the chemical compounds with which he, like his friend Kenneth, spent his days. But his voice was an attractive one, and his eyes, when unshaded by disfiguring glasses, were clear though undisguisedly penetrating.
That he had been let into the secret of the vanished formula was evident by his sudden remark.
"This is a rotten business for Ken, my friend, Mr. Deland. Do you think you are likely to make any discovery?"
"Well, Mr. Brunel, to tell you the truth and just between ourselves I don't think there is a ghost of achance. It's gone. I must get a squint into the room and write immediately—you have no telephone, have you?"
"No, Mr. Deland, and only one post. At that all the letters have to go by motor to the next town. Lately the Colonel has had all letters censored, so as to be quite sure no knowledge leaks outside."
"There you are, you see—absolutely impossible, don't yer know. I shall have to stay down here for another day to make things look ship-shape, but I really think they'll have to put a more brainy chap on to the case than yours truly. Eh, what?" Deland gave an inane little giggle, and fixing his monocle turned away, leaving Max Brunel with a frown of contempt on his fair, stolid face. He continued on his way toward Mrs. Digby as she stood near the fireplace.
"The youngsters have been telling me about that painted shrine, Mrs. Digby," he said, twisting his monocle affectedly, and eyeing her with something very much akin to admiration, which pleased her immensely. "Sort of thing interests me, doncher-know."
"Indeed? Well, I know little about it myself," she responded with a forced laugh. "Miss Smith will be able to give you the most assistance as to the legend. She fairly worships at it, and spends all her spare time painting pictures of it on postcards and sending them to her friends. Her father was anarcheologist, I believe, and it runs in the family. If you're interested you should get her to talk on the subject."
She turned at the moment to speak a word to her son, and Cleek made his way to the door in the wall in order to join Captain Kenneth in the laboratory. He found him frowning over test-tubes, Bunsen burners, and retorts. Also he was not alone. Brunel was with him, and at the look of concentrated interest upon Brunel's face, Cleek's own took on a peculiar expression.
His entrance caused the two young men to look up, and they came forward to him, as if eager to help him in some way.
"Going to poke about a bit if you don't mind," he said, smiling, and proceeded to put the words into immediate action. He searched, he sniffed—much to their secret amusement—and he took measurements as would a furniture man preparing to lay a carpet. Finally he climbed up into the loft where stood the generator and dynamo which supplied electric current for the laboratory. There was clearly nothing to be learned there, and as he descended, plainly irritated by his failure, he found young Digby standing alone in the centre of the room, his hand pressed to his forehead.
"Got a rotten headache," he explained to Cleek's unspoken inquiry. "Can't think what's caused it, either, unless it's the gas, and——"
"Gas!" exclaimed Cleek, suddenly. "How's that? I thought you used electricity for lighting?"
"So we do, but I made some nitrous oxide yesterday—one of the kids had toothache, and I pulled out the molar. Came like lightning, too, but that little fool of a governess fainted just as I was going to administer the gas—you learn to do a lot of things shut off in the country, you know, sir. So I had to make some more of the stuff. It escaped, no doubt, and that's what's given me this beastly head."
"Very probably." Cleek's detached air seemed to dismiss the affair. His eyes were fixed upon one of the Bunsen burners beneath which stood a retort labelled plainly enough, "Nitrous Oxide." Casually he picked up a strand of hair and seemed to cast it away, absent-mindedly. Suddenly he switched round upon his heel.
"Did you have that headache last night?" he asked, his hand resting for a moment upon the retort.
"No, I didn't notice it, but I was so dead beat that I simply flung myself down and slept like a log."
"H'm," Cleek said, thoughtfully. "Well, Captain, there is very little to be gained here. Still, I should like to go through some of the rooms of the house myself, if you've no objection."
"Why, of course not. Do as you please. But it's no use suspecting the servants because they couldn't get past the guard, and——"
"I suppose not. But I'll have a talk with thatguard, too, if you don't mind. It's as well to take all precautions."
"By all means."
Cleek followed the Captain out of the room and into the drawing-room, now empty save for the guard in question, a big man in soldier's uniform who saluted as they came up to him.
The Captain spoke first:
"Marshall, this gentleman would like to know if any one came in here last night," he said, quietly. "Speak out."
"No, sir." The man's voice was rough and emphatic. "Only yourself—and that but for a moment."
"Myself?" Captain Digby's voice registered utter amazement. "You're dreaming, man. I was never down here last night, I'll swear——"
"Beggin' yer pardon, but yer were, sir," responded Marshall, stoutly. "You just switched on your torch, saying you'd forgotten something, and was in and out before you could say Jack Robinson. You've 'ad so much on your 'ands, sir, it's no wonder you forget. Nothin' wrong, is there?"
Cleek's quick voice interposed before the Captain had time to reply, but his dazed, blank face answered for him.
"No, Marshall, there's nothing wrong at all. Everything, in fact, is quite in order. The Captain forgot, I expect. That's all I wanted to ask you.Better come along upstairs, Digby. I'd like to have a word with your father when I come down, but if you'll be good enough to show me the way upstairs now——"
The dazed look was still upon the Captain's face as he led Cleek upstairs, and at sight of it that gentleman gave vent to a low, amused laugh.
"Don't worry, Captain," he said, softly. "Keep quiet and don't get disturbed about it. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know, and I've an idea that this one has a touch of gold in it."
He said no more, and the two went from room to room, through bedroom and bathroom, nursery and servants' quarters, until at last Cleek expressed himself satisfied, and consented to join Colonel Digby in the library.
They found him engaged in looking over the letters which were to go by that night's post.
"Not a very big 'bag' this evening," he said, smiling up into his son's pale face. "We confine ourselves mostly to postcards—they're easier to censor."
"Can't put much on them certainly, especially the picture ones," remarked Cleek with some amusement. "That's a pretty thing you've got in your hand there, Colonel. The celebrated shrine, isn't it?"
"Yes." Colonel Digby handed it across with a kindly smile. "Another of poor little Miss Smith's attempts. She's always painting the thing, and Ishould think the little brother to whom she sends them must know it off by heart. He's a cripple, I believe, and very much devoted to his sister. Anyhow, she sends him dozens of these cards. Nothing from you to-night, Kenneth?"
"No, Dad. I haven't felt up to writing," responded the Captain, gloomily.
Meanwhile, Cleek's eyes were dwelling upon the crudely painted little picture of the shrine. It was finished with a conventional hexagonal border, obviously imitated from some old illuminated missal.
Suddenly he turned about and ejaculated with some show of excitement: "I must be right. The Benzene Ring, of course. I might have known. Only give me till to-morrow at three o'clock, Colonel, and if I'm right your son's honour is as safe as the Bank of England. I'll be off at once. I'll take the motor which carries the postbag, if you don't mind. There's no use in wasting fuel these days. Three o'clock to-morrow will find me back again, never fear. Until then, good-night."
He caught up his hat from the table where it had lain since he entered the house, dashed to the door, flashed it open, and was gone in the twinkling of an eyelash. But he left the dawn of hope behind.
If punctuality is the virtue which the world paints it, then Lieutenant Deland was clearly not gifted with that quality, for on the afternoon of the nextday the clock on the mantel in the Colonel's library had long ago struck three and was creeping steadily on in the direction of four, and still the lieutenant had not as yet appeared.
The Colonel's usually grave face was grim, and the light of that sudden hope which had made the night so sweet was slowly but gradually dying out of his eyes. His son could not rest a moment, and seemed unable to do anything but pace up and down the long room. Of a sudden came the sound of wheels on the gravel of the drive beneath their window. Both men looked eagerly toward the doorway, where there soon appeared a servant with the announcement that they were needed in the drawing-room.
"Thank God!" said young Digby with a sigh of relief. "The beggar's come at last, has he? All right, Blake, we're coming along at once."
But their hopes were doomed to disappointment for it was not the dapper lieutenant who awaited them, but Mr. Narkom, beaming genially upon them from the chair where he was seated near Mrs. Digby.
"I am sorry you've been kept waiting," he said as he shook hands. "It's all the fault of that idiot Deland. He couldn't make head or tail of the business so I took him off and put a new man on to the job—Mr. George Headland. I expect him down by the next train, and I thought if I could wait here——"
"Why, of course, Mr. Narkom," was the reply."I didn't expect he would or could discover any solution; it's beyond everybody——"
"We'll give you some tea, Mr. Narkom," gushed Mrs. Digby. "Perhaps your new man will be as amusing as the lieutenant—such a nice boy."
So that was how, when at 4:30 the door opened to admit another arrival, Miss Smith, the children, and all the family were gathered around the tea table. It was, however, Lieutenant Deland who appeared and not the successor the Superintendent had announced.
"Headland couldn't come, Mr. Narkom, so I thought I'd come down and tell you that I was right," that gentleman remarked, casually.
"Good," exclaimed the Superintendent, his face beaming with excitement. "And did you bring the warrant with you?"
"Yes, I——"
"Warrant?" The word was echoed from various pairs of lips, in varying tones of surprise.
"Yes, my friends, the warrant. A traitor in a family is not a pleasant thought," said Cleek in clear, ringing tones, at the sound of which the Colonel and his son started in amazement. "What's that? No, Mr. Wertz, leave that door alone, no one goes out from here now—not even the kiddies. They must put up with it; we can't afford any risks. Perhaps Miss Smith would not mind giving them these pictures to look at to divert their attention."
"Certainly, sir." The timid little black-robed figure advanced, while Cleek gave a watchful glance toward the corner where Mr. Max Brunel was watching him as if fascinated.
"That's right," he said, producing a big package of pictures, adding laughingly, "you'll want both hands." As she extended them he snapped out: "And so shall I, Fraulein Schmidt. Quick, Narkom, the handcuffs—in my pocket. No, you don't, you she-cat. I've got you. Never again will you betray the country that has shielded and paid you. No more painted picture postcards. You see, I smelt the trick—and smelt the gas, too."
Not without considerable difficulty and more than considerable noise Mr. Narkom and his ally overcame the struggling little figure, and before the children had realized what had happened, their governess was escorted from the room by two stalwart policemen. Then they themselves were hustled from the room, as dazed at the occurrence as their elders.
"Sorry to seem to accuse you, Mr. Wertz," said Cleek. "But I was afraid she would recognize Hamilton Cleek even as I recognized her. Then the fat would have been in the fire with a vengeance!"
"Cleek!" came in varying tones of amazement from the group around him. "Cleek!"
"Yes—just Cleek of Scotland Yard. And perhaps it was as well that I came when I did, for CaptainKenneth might not have awakened from the next sleep he took, and—— What's that, Colonel? An explanation? Oh, certainly. That's very simple.
"In the first place, I discovered that your laboratory was, as you had said, absolutely proof against all outside observation. Clearly, also, there was only one means of entry and that by the simple method of the door. Here I must admit I was puzzled for a while, until I heard through your son of the nitrous oxide and found a strand of blonde hair caught in that Bunsen burner. That explained everything—your headache, Captain, and the second visit of which you knew nothing. Your tooth-pulling operation gave my lady her chance. Probably she had been provided with tubes of that gas, for all her painting tubes smelt of it. Anyhow, I take it that she secured your tube while pretending to faint. After she had succeeded in sending you to sleep, she dressed herself in your clothes, and went downstairs—it was easy enough in the dim light."
"What's that? She spoke to Marshall, you say? Oh, yes, I remember that quite clearly. But you must remember that I recognized Elsa Schmidt from the first, and knew her to be a male impersonator of no mean order. She used to be a shining star among the Apaches of Montmartre—but that's another story. Anyhow, having secured the formula, she burnt it and——"
"Burnt it?" exclaimed Captain Digby.
"Yes, burnt it. The ashes were beside the Bunsen burner as you will see for yourself next time you enter the laboratory. Then all she had to do was to come back and send a picture postcard to her brother Johann, one of the cleverest spies in Europe. By the way, Colonel, he is no more a cripple than I am!"
Everyone in the room by this time was looking at Cleek in utter amazement.
"Picture postcards you said, Mr. Cleek?" broke in the Colonel, suddenly. "Not those silly little painted things with the fancy borders?"
"The very same. And each time they passed through your hands for the postbag, your son's formula passed, too. But that was not your fault. It was simply a matter of that conventional border she was so fond of painting. Look at this one." He drew one from his pocket. "Evidently in this formula you used a combination of that mobile and highly inflammable liquid known as benzene chemically expressed as C6H6. Now give a glance at this postcard. You will see that it is bordered with multiples of that Benzene Ring, and the dot and dash message underneath gives the exact proportions. All that the lady had to do was to paint a different border round her picture of that shrine and the thing was done.
"What's that, Mr. Narkom? How did I guess?Well, first of all, her face seemed familiar—though her hair had taken upon itself another colour. However, the strand of gold-dyed hair told me the truth of my suspicions. Secondly, when the children showed me the large quantity and size of these painting tubes, and when I saw the card when the Colonel put it into the postbag yesterday—well, I simply used my brains, and the rest was easy."
He stopped speaking for a moment and smiled into young Digby's face, stretching out his hand.
"Well," he resumed, "here's luck to your next formula, Captain. And at the same time, here's luck to London as well. For we shan't be having any more of our parks destroyed and our kiddies mutilated for the pride of a lustful nation. Johann was clever enough with his experiments—though God alone knows to what a pitch he might have carried them. But I happened to be up on the outer edge of Totting Common when the centre of it blew up yesterday, with hardly a puff of smoke, either. But when it comes to using innocent human life as anexperiment—well, it's beyond the conception of the average man!... Mr. Narkom, whenever you're ready we'll be making tracks. I've an appointment this evening and I'm afraid I shall miss it if we don't hurry. Good-bye, Mrs. Digby. Good-bye, Colonel—and you, too, Captain. Good-bye, all of you."
His hand went out and clasped each hand extendedtoward him. As Max Brunel's hand met his, he paused a moment.
"If you take my advice, my friend," he said, softly, "you'll never let young Kenneth know of your suspicions of him. I saw it all. I knew, even though you would have shielded him with your own life. But friendship and suspicion can never be in union. Take it from one who knows."