The circumstance was something of a shock to him. Up to this moment he had looked upon young Raynor as being merely a selfish, irresponsible wastrel, not as something vicious, something that had the courage or even the power to bite or to sting. Now, however—— He turned the bracelet over in his hand and examined it closely, to be certain before he finally decided that it really was Margot's.
The act served merely to deepen suspicion into certainty. By a dozen things he knew it for what he hoped it might not be. It was Margot's bracelet, beyond all possible question it was! So, then, he had been a fool for his pains, had he—a fool taken in and gulled by appearances, eh? And the creature he had fancied a mere worm was, after all, a serpent and—dangerous!
Margot's bracelet in the pocket of Harry Raynor's evening coat was something rather more significant than Margot's picture and Margot's letters in Harry Raynor's tobacco jar, for an evening coat consorted well with an evening frock, and some woman who was not Ailsa Lorne, nor yet Lady Katharine Fordham,had worn an evening frock at Gleer Cottage last night.
Where was Harry Raynor last night? That, too, would want looking into in the light of present events. And possessing two evening suits, which had that interesting young gentleman worn yesterday? This one, which he had lent to Cleek, or the one he would himself wear at dinner to-night? A great deal would depend upon that point—as great a deal as sometimes sends men to the gallows. For whensoever he had last worn this suit, this bracelet was put in the pocket of it. Upon that point there could be no shadow of doubt; for although he had forgotten all about the thing—as evidenced by his leaving it in the pocket when sending the clothes to Cleek—he could not possibly have put this coat on again without noticing how abominably the thing sat upon the wearer, and discovering the cause of it.
And if he had worn this particular suit last night, and Margot could be proved to have visited Gleer Cottage at, or about, the time of the murder——Cleek shut off that train of thought, and puckered up his lips until they were white and full of creases, and sighed inwardly, thinking of the loving mother and of the added cross for the shoulders of the bitterly disappointed father, a man and a hero, a soldier and a gentleman, cursed with such offspring as this!
"And the little beast would sacrifice the pair of them for the price of a night's orgy, and turn suspicion even against his mother to save his own skin ifhe were in danger," was his unspoken summing up of Harry Raynor's character. "Gad, how little there is in heredity, after all, when we so often see eagles breeding jackdaws and lions bringing forth mice!"
The dinner gong sounded again; and it was only then that he realized how long a time he had spent mooning over a stolen bracelet and a gnat that seemed suddenly to have grown into a bird of prey.
He turned round on his heel and switched off the light. "A bombshell foryou, my laddie!" he said in the soundless words of thought, as he put the bracelet into the tail pocket of his coat and nodded as if young Raynor were there in person to be addressed; then he walked out and shut the door behind him, and went down to the business of dining.
He found the General and his son and Mrs. Raynor and Ailsa awaiting him in the drawing-room, and was not—considering what he now knew—at all surprised to learn that Lady Katharine had developed a bad headache, gone to bed, and wished no dinner at all.
"I can't think what's come over her," said Ailsa when she made this announcement.
"Oh, can't you?" said young Raynor with a cackling laugh. "Lord! women don't look far beneath the surface of things, do they, Barch? Who wouldn't go to bed with a headache after a visit from a goat like Geoff Clavering?"
"Harry, dearest, do think what you are saying, and before whom, darling!" bleated apologetically hisadoring mother. "You mustn't mind him, Mr. Barch; heis sofull of spirit, the dear boy."
Cleek did not reply, neither did the General. Possibly both were secretly battling with a desire to catch hold of this young man and to kick him as far as the human foot could propel him; and it was, no doubt, a relief to all when the two footmen swung open the great double doors leading into the dining-room and announced gravely that dinner was served.
With the matter of that dinner it is doubtful if anybody but Cleek really enjoyed the hour spent in consuming it, and even he merely because the girl of his heart was beside him, andthatwould make a heaven with any healthy and well-conditioned man in the universe. But it was certain that nobody was deeply regretful when the end came, and Mrs. Raynor, rising, gave the hint to Miss Lorne that it was time to return to the drawing-room and to leave the gentlemen to their half hour with the coffee, the liqueurs, and the cigars. But to-night the General would have none of these.
"Young men to young men's pleasure, gentlemen. I'm an old fogy, and I'm sleepy," he said immediately after the ladies had retired. "Besides, my monthly copy of theGardener and Fruit Growerarrived this evening, and I haven't looked at it yet. So, if you will excuse me, Mr. Barch——"
"My dear General, pray make no apologies," said Cleek, struggling between the necessity for keeping up his rakish attitude and the desire to be a man inthe eyes of this rugged old soldier, who was fighting a braver battle now than he had ever fought in the days when king and country called him. "If a man may not consider his personal convenience in his own house, what's the good of saying that an Englishman's home is his castle?"
"Ah, we outlive old notions, Mr. Barch, we outlive them!" replied the General with a kindly smile and something that was like a smothered sigh. "Pray make yourself thoroughly at home, however. I hear from Harry that you have decided to honour us with a week's visit, and I am very greatly pleased. Hawkins, in the absence of Johnston, see that the gentlemen want for nothing."
"Very good, sir. Serve your coffee in your study, sir?"
"No, I shan't take any. See that I'm not disturbed; and don't bother to valet me to-night; I shall be reading late. Good-night, Harry; good-night, Mr. Barch." And with that he walked out of the room and left them.
"Now, then, Hawkins," said young Raynor as soon as his father was fairly out of sight and sound, "set the decanters and the glasses on the table here, and you and Hamer clear off about your business as fast as you can toddle. We don't need you. Hook it!"
"Very good, sir," replied Hawkins deferentially, and obeyed the order to the letter.
Harry Raynor waited a moment to give both time to leave the room and to get beyond earshot, thencaught up a decanter, drew a glass toward him, and poured out a stiff peg of brandy.
"I say, Barch, I've got a flea to put into your ear," he said earnestly, "and I didn't want those blighters hanging round to hear it; that's the reason I packed them off as I did. I'm going to give you a shock that will set you thinking."
"Are you?" said Cleek with the utmost serenity. "Well, I'm going to giveyouone, too, dear boy; and as first horse at the post wins—I say, what price this little caper? How did you come by this, dear boy—and when?"
He dipped round and down into his coat-tail pocket, as he spoke, pulled out the scent bracelet, and laid it on the table before him.
Young Raynor was not in the smallest degree upset at sight of the thing. He was mildly surprised, and expressed it by a low, soft whistle as he reached out his hand and took up the bracelet.
"Well, of all the mutton heads! Shows what a thoughtless beggar I am!" he said with a slight lurch of the shoulders and an impatient twitch of the head. "No need to ask you how you came by the blessed thing, dear boy. Found it in the inside pocket of that coat you're wearing, I know. That's where I put the bally thing, I recollect. What an ass of me to forget all about it. Hope she won't think I've bagged it."
"She?" said Cleek, with admirable composure, considering that this open admission, this evidence of there being nothing to conceal, threatened to upset all his calculations. "Antecedent of that personal pronoun, please; who may the 'she' in question be?"
"Why, Mignon, of course."
"Mignon?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle Mignon De Varville, thefamous Whirlwind Dancer of the Paris Variétés.Youknow her, or ought to, considering that you got a peep at her phiz in spite of me this afternoon."
"Not 'Pink Gauze'? The lady of the tobacco jar?"
"The very identical. Little bit of all right, that—eh, what?"
"Looked like it, at all events," said Cleek, selecting a cigar and lighting up. "What a lucky beggar you are, dear chap—all the good things seem to go your way. And so"—puff! puff!—"Pink Gauze gave you the bracelet, eh? When? Last night? Or didn't you see her then?"
"Oh, I saw her last night, right enough; in fact, I've seen her pretty nearly every night since she came over from Paris, but she didn't give me the bracelet to take care ofthen.Thatwas on the night before—over at her little place, you know."
"No, I'm blest if I do. How should I? Never saw or heard of her, dear boy, till I had the misfortune to break that tobacco jar and tumble out her photo. So her name's Mignon de Varville, is it? And she's got a little place of her own, eh? Where? In this neighbourhood?"
"Lord, no! Beyond Wimbledon. Rippin' little place, too. Clinkin' little house standing in its own grounds and fitted up to the nines. Took it furnished, and gives the rippin'est suppers and the jolliest dances going. Hot stuff, I give youmyword. Brought over her entire troupe with her. Rehearsingnow, and with all their evenings to themselves. Going to open in London in a fortnight's time, she says, and no English hotels forherand her little lot. There are ten of 'em: five spiffin' pretty girls, and five of the most awful-lookin' Johnnies you ever saw in evening clothes since the hour you were christened. Coarse as dog's hair, every mother's son of 'em, but clinkin' good chaps, for all that. Plenty of champagne, and jolly good champagne it is, too, dear boy; and after supper there's always a dance, two of the chaps and two of the girls sitting out and furnishing the music. And Lord, you don't know what a dance is, Barch, till you've had one with Mignon de Varville, my boy!"
Cleek did not dispute the assertion. He had had many with the lady in those old days that lay forever behind; and it needed no man's word to tell him how tirelessly, how joyously, and with what madabandonMargot could dance when the fever of music and wine got into her blood.
"My hat! I'll be choking you from sheer jealousy, presently, you lucky beggar!" he said enviously. "All the plums seem to fall over onyourside of the wall, dash you! and here am I sitting solitary and alone in a howling wilderness with not evenone. I say, how the dickens did you ever come across this French lot? Blest if I can seem to meet withany—French, English, or any other sort, dash it! Where did you meet the charming Mignon? In Paris?"
"No fear! You can fall in with anything goingin London if you only know the ropes, dear boy, and are popular. Flossie Twinkletoes introduced me to her. She'd just come over from Paris, and Flossie was out of work through the failure of 'The Seaside Girl,' and asked me to take her to supper and meet a friend of hers. I did—and the friend was Mignon. After that—well, you know how it is, dear boy. When a fellow knows his way about womenwillrun after him. Mignon and I took to each other from the first, and we've been jolly good pals ever since. Invited me to her place before we'd known each other half an hour. Fact, dear boy. And she's rather exclusive, too, I can tell you. Justhowexclusive you may guess when I tell you that I'm the only living man outside of those who belong to her troupe that ever sees the inside of her house or shares one of those rippin' evenings there."
The curious one-sided smile travelled up Cleek's cheek, hovered there a moment, and then disappeared. He said nothing upon the subject, but it was perfectly clear to him justwhyMr. Harry Raynor was the only stranger present. He knew Margot and he knew her methods. This one man was desirable because she had an especial use for him; and he meant to make it his business to find out just what that especial use might be. So, then, she had abandoned her customary tactics for once, and had brought some of the female members of her crew to England with her, had she?
The murder of De Louvisan looked more than everlike an Apache crime, in the light of these things. Butwhyan Apache crime? Margot's game was always money; and the pseudo Count de Louvisan had not a shilling to bless himself with. Again, if it were an Apache crime, how came a man who was undeniably Lord St. Ulmer—undeniably everything that he claimed—to be mixed up in the affair to such an extent as he was? And what of Lady Clavering? Where did she come in? What had taken her out upon the Common last night? What of young Geoff? What of his father? And what, of all things, about Lady Katharine Fordham?
None of these people could be connected with Margot—with the Apaches. He had his own ideas relative to Lady Katharine's part in the puzzle, but there was still that bundle of buried clothing, still the fact that it was found in the grounds of Wuthering Grange, and that it was highly improbable either Margot or any of her crew could have put it there. Still, Margot had a purpose in "catching" Mr. Harry Raynor; and if—— Ah, well, you never can tell. Shallow-looking pools are sometimes very deep. Which, then,wasMr. Harry Raynor: the brainless fool he appeared, or a very excellent actor playing a very cunning part?
During the moment it had taken for these thoughts to travel through his mind, Cleek's whole attention seemed to be claimed by his cigar, which, for some unknown reason, appeared to have an objection to draw. Now, however, he flung the thing aside.
"Pardon me, dear boy, if I have seemed inattentive," he said. "Please go on. What was it you were saying? Oh, ah! I recollect: about your being the only guest that Mademoiselle What's-her-name ever asks to her blessed kick-ups. Lay you a tanner I can tell you why, old chap."
"Can you? Then why?"
"Either she's clean gone on you—which, no doubt, is very likely—or she's trying to get something out of you. Ever give you what our Yankee cousins call the touch? Ever try to get anything out of you?"
"Not a blessed rap. Never wantedanythingfrom me. That is, anything in the money line, I mean. Hinted pretty strongly at something else, however; but, of course, I wasn't taking any on that score!"
"Weren't you? Why not?"
"Don't be an ass, Barchie! You've seen the pater and mater, and you can judge for yourself just how impossible it would be to even hint at having a girl like Mignon asked over here to dinner one night just simply because she has, as she says, an intense yearning to see how people of the better class in England live and conduct themselves in their own homes."
Cleek reached for another cigar and lit it. Oho! so that was how the cat jumped, was it? That was Margot's little game, eh? She had taken up with this engaging young man merely for the purpose of getting an entrée to Wuthering Grange. Clearly, then, there must be something or some one under the roofof this house that she desired to get in contact with; and having failed to getinvited, as she had hoped——Yes, of course! Cunning of her, diabolically cunning. Forgotten all about the bracelet, eh? Not she! He knew her like a book. It would be an excuse to come over in person to ask for its return. "So sorry; but called away suddenly, and couldn't possibly wait for you to bring it back." That sort of thing, and—well, there you are. Ah, she was the very embodiment of craft and cunning, that lady: cut her off at one door and she would make her way round to the other.
"Wasn't aware that it was anything of that sort, dear chap, or I shouldn't have asked," said Cleek, responding with the utmost serenity to young Raynor's remark. "Of course you couldn't do anything of that sort, so it was deuced wise of you to ignore the hint. Rum what fancies women of that sort have, eh? And how blessed crafty they are in getting what they want! You look out, dear boy, that she doesn't come over here after that bracelet. Lay you a sov that's why she got you to take charge of it."
"Lay you another it isn't," replied the young man, with a smile of confidence. "You don't know the facts, dear boy, or you wouldn't jump to such silly conclusions. She gave it to me because the blessed thing would keep coming undone and falling off and interfering with our waltzing. Besides, it wasn't she—it was I—that suggested that I should put it in my pocket for safe keeping until the dancing was over;and, like a blithering idiot, you see, I forgot all about it. Blessed lucky thing for me that I had to lend you a suit of evening clothes, b'gad, or I might not have found the bracelet for heaven knows how long."
"And a blessed lucky thing for me that you turned up in time to lend it to me," said Cleek, in reply. "Never was in such a beastly funk in all my life, dear chap. Could have said a prayer, if I knew any, I was so blessed glad when I looked out and saw you standing in the passage. I say, how did you come to be there, Raynor? Thought you were heaven knows how far away, and blest if I can think where you came from."
"Popped out of St. Ulmer's room. Next one to yours. Was in there when that sneak thief appeared."
"In there? My hat! What a rum idea! Thought you didn't care for the old josser. At least, you spoke as though you didn't this afternoon; and to have you sitting in there and kow-towing to a gouty old sick man——"
"Wasn't sitting in there, dear boy. Had just popped in on my way up to dress. Evening papers full of that business at Gleer Cottage last night. Bought several of them at the railway station. Happened to think that, maybe, the old bounder hadn't read the news and would be interested in it, so just dropped in to give them to him. That was all."
"Oh, I see," said Cleek. "That accounts for it,of course. Wondered how the dickens you came to be there, and what on earth had called you back home so early after you'd told me not to expect you until twelve. By the way, dear boy, what did call you back, if it isn't an impertinence to ask. Needn't bother to reply if you'd rather not." This latter, for the reason that at the mention of his coming back earlier than expected, young Raynor's lips had come together in a sharp, hard, narrow line, and his eyes had assumed an absolutely savage expression. "Sorry if I've poked my nose in where I'm not wanted, old chap, deuced sorry."
"Oh, that's all right," said Raynor, reaching for the decanter and pouring out a fresh peg of brandy. "Don't bother about treading onmycorns. Of course I'm a bit sore on the subject, but—well, I like you, Barch; I like you no end. Besides, I was going to tell you, anyhow. Remember, don't you, that I said I was going to give you a shock?"
"Oh, ah! Yes. Blest if I hadn't forgotten. And I thought I was going to give you one, too, about the bracelet; but it didn't come off. Maybe yours won't either, dear boy."
"Oh, don't you make any mistake upon that score. Lay you a fiver it makes you sit up when I spring it on you. Shove that siphon over this way, will you, dear boy? Thanks, very much. I say, Barch—chin'-chin', old chap!— I say, you want to know what sent me back so unexpectedly, do you, eh? Well, you may."
"May I? Thanks. Then what did?"
"Same thing that called me away in the first place—a blessed swindle!"
"The dickens you say? What sort of a swindle, old chap, eh?"
"A forged letter. Somebody wanted to get me away from this house for some purpose or another, and tokeepme away until late to-night, too. I don't know why, and I don't know what for, but I'm jolly well certain who the party is, b 'gad; and it's a howlin' eye-opener, I give youmyword! Wait a bit!"
He got up suddenly, walked to the door, opened it a foot or so, peeped out, then reclosed it and walked back to his seat. He poured out a third brandy, and drank it almost neat this time, then put his elbows upon the table, and, leaning forward, looked straight into Cleek's eyes.
"Barch, I've discovered something," he said in a lowered voice. "My father's playing a double game. He's a damned old two-faced hypocrite, that's what, and I've found him out at last!"
The cigar dropped suddenly from Cleek's fingers, and he ducked down in quest of it. He simplyhadto have some excuse to cover up the state of his feelings, or they would have got the better of him. A while ago he had said to himself that the fellow was despicable enough to implicate his own parents if it were necessary to save his skin; but even then he had only half believed it; now, however, he knew, and a fierce indignation bit into the very soul of him.
The worm had suddenly developed into a viper.
He went on groping for the dropped cigar. He might have found it at once had he chosen to do so, but he did not. It needed a moment or two to whip his savage desires into subjugation, to get himself well in hand again that he might face this unnatural son without giving way to the temptation to thrash him; and all the while his head was whirling with the crushing recollections that were crowding into it.
If it were worth his while—to save his own skin, to divert suspicion from himself—— Well, was it not worth his while now? The chase was narrowing, and perhaps he knew it—one could not be certain what such a manwouldfind means of discovering. Perhaps he knew of the unearthing of the buried clothing. Perhaps he knew that there was proof the murderer had been traced to Wuthering Grange, and knowing, realized the necessity for diverting suspicion from himself, if he were guilty? But, guilty or innocent, principal or accessory, this one thing was certain: last night a murder had been committed; last night a dead man had been spiked to the wall in true Apache fashion; and this Mr. Harry Raynor, who was casting slurs upon his own father, was hand and glove with the Apache queen!
Cleek found his cigar at last, and rose with it in his hand, leaving young Barch to finish his story in his own inimitable way.
"Yes," he continued, "what I call a regular facer for me. I was swindled into going away by a forged letter, which I swear he wrote himself. Recollect, don't you, that when you came to meet me at the ruin, I told you I'd suddenly been called away? Well, so I had. While I was waiting there at the ruin for you to get shot of that muff Geoff Clavering and come to join me, up walks the pater and hands me a letter—a typewritten letter, mark you—with word that a messenger had just brought it. Now listen to this closely, Barch! Last January some fool of an editor suggested to my pater that he should write a series of articles upon the proper cultivation of hot-house fruits for his tomfool paper, and said that typewritten copy was absolutely necessary. Out goes the pater and buys a typewriter, and engages a girl to operate it. Got her from some typewriting school in town, and a rippin' fine little girl she was, too! Name, Katie Walters. Pretty as a picture and lively as a cricket. Well, Katie and I became jolly good pals.Pater found it out, and then just what you might have expected happened. I got a lecture, and Katie got the sack and was packed off to town before I could get a private word with her. Now, the letter my father handed me this afternoon was supposed to come from that girl."
"And didn't?"
"No, it didn't. It asked me to run up to town and meet her just outside the typewriting school when the day's work was over. I went, but I didn't do exactly as I'd been asked. I suppose the party that wrote it hoped that I'd wait there until dark, and that when she didn't come out I'd come to the conclusion that I'd missed her, and, being in town, would probably go somewhere else and make a night of it, as I most likely should have done under ordinary circumstances. But I didn't feel like waiting round for that bally school to close; so as soon as I got there, I walked upstairs and asked to see her."
"Humph! And she wasn't there?"
"No, she wasn't. And what's more, she hadn't been there for weeks and weeks. Had got a position up in Scotland, and is going to be married to a bank clerk next month."
"Oho!" said Cleek, "I see! I see!"
He walked over to the other side of the room, where there was a huge potted azalea on an ebony pedestal. He had admired and he had examined that azalea earlier in the evening, so it was, perhaps, only natural that he should be attracted by it now. Still, for oncein a way, it was not the blossoming beauty of the plant that lured him to it, much as flowers always had and always would appeal to him. He could see the trend of young Raynor's tale now, the dim, shadowy outline of the argument he was putting forth, the suspicion he was endeavouring to lead; and he was afraid that something in his face or his eyes might betray the true state of his feelings if he remained there in the bright light for the man to study him. The big azalea offered the refuge of shadow. He walked there and stood in the shade of it, and began idly poking at the earth in the huge pot.
"Naturally, dear boy," he went on, "when you heard that you knew that you had been taken in."
"So I did, on the instant," said young Raynor, tackling yet a fourth glass of brandy. "It was as plain as the nose on your face that somebody had tried to spoof me; somebody had an interest in sending me off to town on a wild-goose chase and getting me out of this neighbourhood to-night, and that that somebody hadn't reckoned upon my doing what I did, and didn't know about my having promised you to take you to see Mignon de Varville, when that blithering letter intervened. And speaking of that— I say, Barchie, we'll go to-night, if you like—eh, what?"
"Sorry, dear boy," said Cleek, whose intention was to get out on the Common to-night and test the truth of Geoff Clavering's story; "sorry, but I'm afraid we'll have to put that off until to-morrow. Thinking you weren't coming back in time, I arranged with theladies for an evening of bridge; so, if you don't join us, you'll have to pay your respects to 'Pink Gauze' to-night without me. And, by the way, how did you get that bit of pink gauze, old chap? Any particular significance attached to it?"
"Lord, no! Bit of gauze scarf she wore the other night—always wears pink, by the way—caught in my watch chain. Tore in gettin' loose, and I kept the bit as a memento."
"Ah, I see. Well, get on with the other subject; I'm immensely interested. As soon as you'd found out that Katie What's-her-name couldn't have written the letter, and that you'd been deceived by somebody, then what?"
"Why, then I put back home by the first possible train. I had my suspicions—yes, rather—so I came back to prove them true."
"And did you?"
"Ah, didn't I? Nobody knew of my affair with Katie outside of my father, and my father has a typewriter ready to hand, and typewriters don't betray anybody's 'fist.' I went to the lodgekeeper. No messenger had passed him to-day. I went to Hawkins and Hamer. No messenger had brought any letter that they knew of to the house. I couldn't ask Johnston, because this is his evening off; but no doubt that when I do ask him he'll say the same. Well, now, you put all those things together, Barch, and see for yourself what they make. As nobody but my father knew anything about the girl, andnobody gave him a letter, and he has a typewriter ready to hand, why there you are. He wrote the letter, that's what. And if he wrote it to get me away and keep me away until late at night, why he's got a devilish good reason for it; and if he has got a reason for doing things at night that he doesn't want other people to know about and doesn't want his own son to discover, then he's playing a double game. And last, when a man sets himself up for a howling saint in the virtue line and yet plays a double game, why he's a rotter and a hypocrite, whether he's my father or not, and I'm not going to stand it." He nodded with drunken solemnity. "I'm going to have it out with him to-night, you'll see. Come with me if you like——"
"Not I, old man, I've promised to join the ladies, see you later, eh?" said Cleek, and with a look of unseen contempt at the drink-sodden figure, he turned abruptly and left the youth to continue his potations at his own sweet will.
It would not be overstating the case if one were to say that Cleek's mind was absolutely in a whirl when he closed the door of the dining-room behind him and stood alone in the brilliantly lighted hall; for, added to the loathing contempt he felt for the young reprobate he had just left, there was the knowledge that this new and unexpected development threatened to destroy the whole fabric of his theories in almost every particular.
Not for one moment, heretofore, had he looked upon young Raynor as other than a shallow, empty-headed wastrel; a mere cuckoo hatched in an eagle's nest; a thing to be scorned, not dreaded; a mere mischievous atom that hadn't the courage to be a bird of prey, nor blood enough in its veins to be dangerous. Now, however—— God! what a riddle life is! You never know!
The door that led out into the grounds of the Grange was but a rope's cast distant. He felt that he couldn't trust himself to go in and face the ladies just yet a while; that he must think over this new and staggering turn which events had taken: think over it for a time in the hush and darkness of theouter world; and, turning on his heel, went swiftly to the door and let himself out.
By this time the night had closed in, the moon had risen, and the gardens were simply a shadowy place of dark and fragrant mystery, with here and there a silver arabesque on the earth where the moonlight shafted through the boughs of trees, and here and there a streak of yellower radiance where the windows of the house threw man-made light across the lawn and against the massed green of crowded leaves. Cleek took to the grass that his footsteps might not be heard, and there, in the darkest shadow of all the darkened land, walked up and down, up and down, with his lower lip pinched up between his thumb and forefinger, his brows knotted, and the elbow of one arm in the hand of the other: a quiet, slow-moving figure, as silent as the other soundless shades that were about it.
So that was how the cat jumped, was it? Directing suspicion—not openly, not with any positive hint ofwhat, but with deadly seriousness, considering that last night a man had been mysteriously murdered and the police were out for the assassin—directing suspicion against his own father, and at such an appallingly significant time.
What a cur the fellow was! Even if his father could in any way have been implicated in the crime, by any means, upon any pretext, what a devil's act it was to lead the law into the right channel. But when there was not one solitary circumstance thatpointed, when it was merely to save his own skin, merely to divert suspicion away from himself, what an act of unspeakable atrocity! Couldn't the fellow reason? Couldn't he see that the very thing he was doing to mislead justice was the one circumstance which directed its sword against himself? That the simple fact of his endeavouring to direct suspicion against one who was in no way implicated was absolute proof that he had a purpose in wishing it to be misdirected. And if hehada purpose in doing that, the inference was so obvious that a child might read between the lines.
Heigho! It was just another exemplification of the truth of the old adage that "when the wine's in the wit's out." If he'd let that brandy decanter alone, if he hadn't fuddled his reason and clogged his wretched brain with alcohol, he must have seen what an ass thing he was doing, and what a fool his loosened tongue was making of him.
True, as yet there did not seem any just cause for connecting him with the murder of De Louvisan, any reason why he should have killed the man; any single purpose he might serve, any solitary thing he might gain by slaying him; but still—— Oh, well, you never know how deep a well is until you have reached the bottom of it. The thing had every appearance of being an Apache crime, and he was "in" with Margot—Margot, who played for money and money alone; so if—— Good God! the little reptile hadn't let her lead him intothatfolly, had he? Hadn't lether lure him into taking the oath and enrolling himself a member of the Apache?
If he had been mad enough to do that, if that were the explanation, why, then, all the rest was possible. The law of the Apache is the law of the commonwealth; and he would find that out, as Lovetski had found it out—too late. If St. Ulmer was in any way implicated, St. Ulmer's fortune would beonestake. And if this brainless weakling should fall heir to his father's money, ho! there was the other "stake"; there the possible motive, there the first connecting link!
Was that Margot's little game? Was that the way the idiot had been tricked into becoming an accomplice? Just so! let's put the jumbled bits together and see if they fit; let's sum up two and two and learn if they really do make four.
First bit: De Louvisan with such a hold upon St. Ulmer that he can compel his lordship to cancel his daughter's engagement and force her to accept him as a fiancé. Quite so! Second bit: De Louvisan, without any rupture occurring between himself and St. Ulmer, suddenly murdered in cold blood. And not only murdered, but spiked up to the wall after the manner of Lanisterre and other traitors to the Apache. A clear proof that this De Louvisan himself was an Apache; and being a traitor to the cause—— Quite so! quite so! Prevented from marrying Lady Katharine, because that was not part of the agreement; because he was makingan effort to obtain for himself and his own personal use a fortune which it was intended should come into the commonwealth. Hum-m-m! Those two pieces seem to fit together. Now for the next:
If St. Ulmer, over whom this De Louvisan undoubtedly had a hold of some sort, bought that fellow's silence by promising him his daughter for a wife, then it is quite certain that he was acquiescing in his traitorship to the Apache and quite willing that the man should have Lady Katharine's dower for himself. That bit fits also. Now for another: if in doing that thing this De Louvisan merited the name of traitor, it must have been that he came between the Apache and the possession of the St. Ulmer fortune, and if the owner of that fortune had to make terms such as he did with the man, the inference is as plain as the nose on your face. In other words, St. Ulmer, too, had reason to dread the Apache, and there must, therefore, be some connection between him and Margot. Two and two—and it makes four exactly! St. Ulmer, then, is the game, St. Ulmer the pivot upon which the whole case revolves.
Where, then, does young Raynor come in? Hum-m-m! Ah! Of course, of course. Very crafty, very crafty indeed. A beautiful woman could do anything in the world with such a worm as he. The stage-door Johnnie will be best caught by a chorus girl. Yes, yes, just so. Get one who is out of an engagement or in debt—anything that will make herwilling and eager to accept a bribe. She will do the introducing; the rest you can do yourself. Easy enough with such an ass as that fellow. Lovely women and jolly chaps for companionship; a lonely house, music, dancing, champagne; a famous French variety star heels over head in love with him, letters, photographs, nights of revelry, and quarts of wine; and then—voilà, the fish is hooked!
Sworn in, by heaven! sworn in in a drunken fit, to wake and find himself not only an Apache, but to have his vanity tickled, his empty head turned, and his love of being thought a regular ladies' man pampered to the full by being told that he is in reality thekingof the Apaches, and that hundreds and hundreds of just such jolly fellows and girls as he sees about him are willing and eager to do the little worm homage and to be ruled by him as though he were actually royal.
It is an old, old game of yours, that, isn't it, Margot? So you have caught many a fool in your day, wiser fools than this one, and sillier, too, in their way, but none of them ever held his kingship beyond the space of a month; none at all but that bolder rascal, the Vanishing Cracksman.
And this little maggot of a Harry Raynor is the latest dupe, eh? Hooked in a drunken moment, the silly gudgeon, hooked that you may get at St. Ulmer and—get even—with the chap called De Louvisan. It must have been a shock when you found what a cowardly cur the fellow is at heart.Still there must be an accomplice, and there must be a strong incentive to command the services of this one.
How did you work it, then? How get him to assist in that thing, if he did assist? How lead him up to this abominable act regarding his own father? Yes! To be sure, to be sure. Help you and your crew to St. Ulmer's money and you'd help him tohis: to be rid of a father who kept him upon a short allowance, who disapproved of all the things and all the people he cared for, and who treated him as though he were a little foolish boy instead of a great, noble, splendid man, who ought to be free to live like the king he was.
Oh, it would be easy: just the mere turning of suspicion after the other thing was done. A letter would do that—a forged letter—and that would be prepared for him nicely. Oh, no, no! of course he wouldn't be hanged. Means would be provided to prevent that. He would be so deeply compromised, however, that there would be no possibility of his escaping but by death, and the means of bringing that about would be conveniently supplied him. A swift but painless poison; or, perhaps, a bottle of ether—something of the sort. No pain, no suffering, all over in a minute or two; then "darling Harry" would come into everything, and the clever little forged letter would explain everything away.
Would it? Cleek's jaws clamped together as the thought came, Would it, indeed? Well,he'dseethat it wouldn't, then! If any one was to suffer it should be the guilty, not the innocent; they should never pull that game off to the end of time.
The forged letter, eh? Ah, be sure that Harry Raynor would take means to preserve it and to have it handy against the time of need. And be sure, too, that Margot would instruct him with the utmost carefulness just how to act with regard to it, and just where to keep it in order to make everything appear natural and in accordance with what he was to tell to his friend, Mr. Barch, in order to set the ball rolling. Claimed to have received it this afternoon, didn't he? So, of course, it would be in the pocket of the coat he had worn at the time. Had to change into evening clothes for dinner, and was in evening clothes still. So, of course——
The thought had no more than shaped itself in Cleek's mind before he put it into action. As swiftly and as soundlessly as he had left the house he now returned to it. But whereas he had gone out unsuspected and unseen, it now became manifest that he was not to be permitted to enjoy the same privilege in returning, for as he stepped into the hall he came face to face with Hawkins advancing from the direction of the servants' staircase.
"Out for another ramble in quest of a new plot you see, Hawkins," he said gayly as he entered. "The woes of the novelist are many when plots come slowly. Where's Mr. Harry—upstairs or in the drawing-room with the ladies?"
"Neither, Mr. Barch, sir. Still sitting in the dining-room. Just on my way there with a message. Shall I say that you will rejoin him there, sir?"
"No, not at present, thanks. Just going upstairs to change my shoes—the grass is very damp. By the way, Hawkins, do you happen to know what time Mr. Harry got home last night? Your mistress was asking Miss Lorne earlier in the evening, and as he was with me until ten I shouldn't like to contradict anything he may have said,youknow, should she conclude to askme. Know when he got back?"
"No, sir, that I don't. All I can tell you is that he wasn't home at half-past twelve when I went to bed."
Cleek made a mental tally. Wasn't home at half-past twelve; and it was at half-past eleven, according to Mr. Narkom, that the limousine arrived at the head of Mulberry Lane and the first cry of murder was heard.
"Oh, all right," he said. "Don't worry him by mentioning that I asked. See him myself when I come down." Cleek then passed by and went up the stairs two steps at a time.
He did not stop at the second floor, however, but went up still another flight, and then, stopping a moment to look about to see if anybody was watching and to lean over the bannisters and listen if anybody was following, went fleetly to Harry Raynor's den, passed in, and shut the door behind him.
The place was quite black, but a touch of the electric button flooded it with light, and showed him atonce what he had come to seek. On a chair close to the open bedroom door lay the clothes which young Raynor had worn this afternoon, neatly folded, just as Hamer had placed them after brushing and pressing, in case the young man should, by any chance, elect to wear the same suit to-morrow.
Cleek moved rapidly to the chair, partly unfolded the coat and slipped his hand into the inside breast pocket. A letter was there—theletter, as he learned when he drew it out and opened it—typewritten by what was clearly the hand of a novice, and setting forth just such a message as young Raynor had stated.
"A bad move, Margot, and a little less carefully done than I should have thoughtyouwould have countenanced, knowing how clever and cunning you are," was his mental comment as he read the thing. Then carefully refolding it, he slipped it into his own pocket, snicked off the light, and left the room.
In the lower passage he encountered Hamer.
"Begging pardon, Mr. Barch," the footman said, "but I was just going up to see you, sir. Hawkins tells me that you were anxious to know at what hour Mr. Harry returned home last night, and it happens that I know."
"Do you?" said Cleek. "That's jolly. At what hour did he return last night, then?"
"He didn't return last night at all, sir. It was four this morning and day just beginning to break, sir, when I heard a noise, and getting up, looked out of my window, and there he was, a-coming up thedrive very cautious-like and acting as though he didn't want to be seen, as no doubt he didn't, sir, considering that master and mistress didn't know he was out at all."
"Didn't know he was out? How do you know that?"
"Because, sir, he said he was going to sit up and write letters when the master gave the order for Johnston to lock up after Lady Katharine and Miss Lorne returned from Clavering Close; and Mr. Harry he gave me a half a crown to see that the door wasn't bolted before I went to bed, as he intended to slip out and visit a friend. Of course I wouldn't have said anything about it to anybody, sir, if Hawkins hadn't told me that you said he was with you, which, of course, means that you were the friend he was going to see, and not, as I'd supposed, the Lady in Pink."
In spite of himself Cleek's nerves gave an absolute jump, but being an adept in the art of dissimulation, he laughed lightly and gave Hamer a quizzical look.
"The Lady in Pink, eh?" he said cheerily. "You know more than your prayers, I'm afraid, Hamer. Now what in the world made you think he'd be calling on her last night, eh?"
"Well, sir, I can't exactly say what, unless it was a sort of putting two and two together, sir. I'd seen him with her over Kingston way on my day off, only she wasn't dressed in pink then, of course. And last night, a deal earlier in the evening, just about the time Lady Katharine and Miss Lorne was starting for Clavering Close it was, sir, I happens to go round back and slip into Mulberry Lane for a pull at my pipe on the sly—master never letting any of the servants smoke in the grounds, and housekeeper objecting to pipes in the servants' hall—and just as I comes out, there she was a-standing in the shadow of the trees, and so close up to the wall that I nigh barged into her, sir."
"Who? The Lady in Pink?"
"Yes, sir. Took her by surprise, coming out in that unexpected manner, and she just had time to throw a pink scarf she was wearing over her face and hurry away, sir, before I could so much as apologize. But quick as she was it didn't prevent me a-seeing of her, sir, and recognizing her as the lady I'd seen Mr. Harry with on my day off, although, as I say, sir, she was dressed quite different last night. Looked to me as she was going to some sort of an evening affair: a dance or the theatre or something of that sort; for she didn't have any hat on, and although she was wearing a long black cloak that reached almost to the ground, I could see when she made such a bolt to get out of sight that it was lined with ermine, and that, under it, she wore a rose-pink evening frock that she was holding up to keep from touching the ground."
Cleek did not so much as turn a hair, although beneath his placid exterior something in the nature of a tumult was raging. And why not? For here, undoubtedly, was the pink gauze dress that had left the fragment on the nail head at Gleer Cottage last night; and here, too, was a garment which, being turned inside out, would become in truth an ermine cloak!
"Oho! Now I see how you came by the idea that Mr. Harry had gone out to meet her, Hamer," he said with the utmost serenity. "Quite natural, quite, in the circumstances; only, as it turns out, you were mistaken. Mr. Harry spent the evening with me, and as we had the misfortune to miss the Pink Lady altogether, we didn't see her at all last night, worseluck. But, I say, that's letting you into something, isn't it? Well, here's half a crown to pay you to forget all about it and to keep your tongue behind your teeth. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir. Won't breathe a word to a living soul."
"Mind you don't, or you'll spoil sport and—wait! Stop a moment! Got time to do something for me?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. Plenty of time; no end of it this evening. Master says he'll be up best part of the night reading, sir, and won't need me at all to-night; so if it's to go anywhere or to carry any message for you, sir, I've got hours at my disposal."
"Thanks, but I shan't require any more than a minute or two of your time. I'll just scrawl a line on the leaf of my notebook, and—ph, blow! Another fellow's evening clothes! And, besides, when I come to think, it was in the pocket of the coat that confounded thief carried off. Slip into the library and get me a sheet of paper and a bit of pencil, will you? Look sharp!"
"Couldn't do that, sir—couldn't get what you want from the library, I mean. Master's in there reading, sir, and he's locked the door and given orders that nobody's to disturb him. But if a bit of typewriting paper will do, sir——"
"Yes, certainly. The very thing. Can you get me a sheet or two?"
"As much as you care to have, sir. It's all in the hall cupboard along with the typewriter itself. Masterhad them taken there when he'd finished his book and let the typist go. I'll get you some in an instant, sir."
He hurried away forthwith and was back presently with half a dozen sheets of typewriting paper, a bit of pencil and an envelope, which latter he had included on the off-chance of its being needed.
Walking a few paces away, Cleek rested the paper against the wall, scribbled a few hasty words, sealed them up in the envelope, and then handed it over to Hamer.
"Here, take this thing to Miss Lorne. You'll find her in the drawing-room," he said, as he threw the remaining sheets which he had employed as a sort of writing pad upon one of the hall chairs. "You can attend to that litter afterward. Move sharp!"
He turned as he spoke, as if to go upstairs again, but the very instant Hamer had disappeared he went fleetly back to the chair, caught up one of the sheets of paper, folded it carefully, slid it into his pocket, and passing swiftly and soundlessly down the hall, opened the door and went out again into the night.
Hitherto all had been speculation, theory, guesswork, not irrefutable facts; hitherto all clues had been mere possibilities, never actual certainties. Now——
The curious smile travelled up his cheek, slipped down again, and left his face as hard and as colourless as a mask of stone. He turned as he roundedthe angle of the house and glanced back to where the windows of the dining-room cut two luminous rectangles in the fragrant, flower-scented darkness; then his eye travelled farther on, and dwelt a moment on the chinks of light that arrowed out from the curtained bay of the library.
"Poor old chap! Poor, dear old chap!" he said between shut teeth.
The tightly woven fabric of last night's mystery had started to unravel. In one little corner a flaw had suddenly sprung into existence, and to-night the first loosened thread was in this man's hands.
He set his back to the lighted windows and forged on through the darkness until the swerving path brought him to the little summerhouse where, earlier, he had first met Ailsa, and stepping in, threw himself into a rustic seat and bent forward with his elbows upon his knees and his face between his hands: a grim and silent figure in the loneliness and the darkness.
Five minutes passed—six, seven—and found him still sitting there, still communing with his own thoughts, though it was now nearing ten o'clock, and he had told Dollops to be at the wall angle to meet him at nine. But suddenly his attitude changed; his hands dropped, his head jerked upward, as a sleeping cat's does when it hears a gnawing mouse, and he was on his feet, alert, eager, all alive, in a twinkling. Half a minute later Miss Lorne stepped from the grass on to the gravel and found him waiting for her in the arch of the summerhouse doorway.
"It is you at last, then, is it?" he said, reaching out to her through the darkness. "Take my hand and I will guide you if you cannot see the way clearly. I can't risk striking a match."
"It isn't necessary; I know the way quite well," she answered; but she took his hand all the same. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting; I came as quickly as I could. Mrs. Raynor had fallen asleep over her novel while we were waiting for you and her son to finish your cigars and join us in the drawing-room, but Hamer coming in with your note awoke her and I could not get away so quickly as I desired."
"Was Mrs. Raynor interested in the note, then? Did she show any desire to hear what it was about?" he questioned eagerly.
"Oh, no. She"—colouring under cover of the darkness—"she merely laughed, and said that it was no more than she should have expected, but she kept me talking so long that I nearly lost all patience, and your note did puzzle me, Mr. Cleek. Why was it so important that you should see me at once without Kathie knowing? Have you discovered anything fresh?"
"Such strange things indeed have happened, Miss Lorne, since this evening," he returned quietly, "that I think I shall need your help in getting to the bottom of them. For one thing, it is now absolutely certain that the murderer of the Common keeper came into these grounds last night after he had committed the crime, and that when he gave Narkom andhis men the slip the fellow came directly to this place unseen."
"Mr. Cleek!"
"Sh-h-h! Not so loud, please. And don't shake like that. Steady yourself, for there is something yet more startling to come. There is now positive proof, Miss Lorne, that Lady Katharine Fordham did leave this house last night and go to Gleer Cottage."
"I won't believe it!" she flung out loyally. But she had scarcely more than said it when his next words cut the ground from beneath her.
"A witness has turned up," he said; "a witness who saw her there and spoke to her."
"A witness? Dear God! Who?"
"Geoffrey Clavering!"
"Geoffrey Clavering? Geoffrey?"
"Yes. He and Lady Katharine had an interview in the ruin this evening, an interview which I overheard without either being aware of my presence. That is what sent Lady Katharine to bed with a bad headache just before dinner. Geoffrey Clavering accused her of murdering De Louvisan and acknowledged that it was he himself who placed the two lighted candles at the feet of the dead man's body."
She made no cry this time, no single sound. He knew that she was beyond doing so, that she was struck to the very heart, and he made haste to lessen her distress by telling her of Lady Katharine's denial and of the whole circumstance as it happened. Thenhe told of his own discovery of the buried clothing, his overhearing the interview, the manner in which the lovers had parted, and, finally, of his own act in apprehending young Clavering and then accepting his parole and sending him off to London for the night.
"Why did you do that?" she questioned feebly, and was not satisfied even when he explained his motive. "I will not even take his word against Kathie's, but I could have told you that he speaks the truth when he says that his stepmother's interest in him is so great it is very likely that she did go out on the Common to look for him, and for the reason he gave. If he were her own son she could not think more of him. She absolutely idolizes him. He is not dearer to his father than he is to her; and if he does not return to Clavering Close to-night, be sure she will have the Common searched from end to end, and will go half out of her mind when she does not find him."
Cleek took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it hard. This was somewhat of a facer, he was obliged to confess.
"You rather take the wind out of my sails," he said reflectively. "If the boy spoke the truth, if the stepmother really does care like that, why that eliminates her from the case altogether, and it isn't worth while asking you to take the risk I alluded to in the note."
"What risk?"
"A very considerable one for a young lady in your position, should you be seen. As I do not even knowLady Clavering by sight, I was going to ask you if you would mind prowling about the Common in company with me, that, if the lady put in an appearance, you might be able to identify her for me. But of course, if it is so very certain that she will join in the search for the boy, there's no necessity for doing such a thing."
"Pardon me, but I think, Mr. Cleek, there is more reason than ever," she replied, "if only to ease her mind, you know. You might do that by telling her that Geoff was unexpectedly called to town and that you were on the way to the Close to tell them so. I don't in the least mind taking the risk, as you call it, under those circumstances; it would be a charity to do so, for I know her ladyship, and Sir Philip will worry. Of course they will not think of worrying yet a while; it is much too early; and as Geoff came over here to see Kathie they will think he is remaining for the evening. But later, when it is past bedtime, when it is getting on toward twelve o'clock, they will be half out of their minds with anxiety. Oh, yes; I'll go with you willingly, this minute if you like, in such a cause as that."
"How loyal you are! What a woman you are! What a friend!" said Cleek admiringly. "Shall I tell you something? I have hope that one of those friends will be wholly cleared before another day comes; that something may happen to-night which will make Geoff Clavering the happiest of men and you and Lady Katharine almost beside yourselveswith joy. No, don't ask me what it is just yet a while. I have dreams and fancies and odd notions like other men sometimes; and I am a great believer in the theory of Loisette that a likeness of events acting upon a weary brain is apt to produce similar results in certain highly strung natures. But will you walk with me as far as the angle of the wall on the other side of the shrubbery, Miss Lorne? Dollops is waiting there for me. I have something of great importance for him to do to-night, and I think you will be interested in it. Will you come? Thank you! This way then, please, as quietly as you can."
Taking her hand and keeping always on the grass and always in the dark, where the shadows of the trees lay between them and the lighted windows of the Grange, he led her on to something which even he had not foreseen and never for a moment guessed.
At the angle of the wall he stopped and began to whistle softly "Kathleen Mavourneen." As upon another occasion, before he had completed the third bar, the wall door gaped open and flashed shut again and Dollops was in the dark, tree-crowded enclosure with him. It was a rather more excited Dollops than he had expected to find, however, for Cleek had no more than just begun to apologize for his lateness when the boy was on him like a pouncing cat and was cutting into his low-spoken words in a panting sort of whisper:
"For Gawd's sake, gov'ner. Come quick, sir!" he said, as he laid a tense, nervous grip on Cleek'sarm. "'Nother door in the wall, sir. Higher up where them mulberry trees is thickest. Woman prowlin' round, gov'ner. Been prowlin' round this ten minutes past and been to that door and tried it three times a'ready. Woman in a pink dress, sir, and a long dark cloak reachin' almost to the ground!"
"Margot!" said Cleek in an exultant whisper. "Margot at last, by George!"
Then, for the second time that night, he received a shock.
"If you mean that French Aparsh 'skirt' we run up against in the time of the Red Crawl, gov'ner," interposed Dollops, "you're backin' the wrong horse. It aren'ther—aren't a bit like her, sir; no fear!"