Cleek was conscious of a sense of keen disappointment at this piece of intelligence, it so completely upset all his calculation. Hitherto, the bits of the puzzle had fitted nicely and bade fair to make a smooth and flawless whole.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, laying a tense hand upon Dollops's arm. "Don't jump to a conclusion without positive evidence. Are yousure?"
"Rath-er! Of course it's too dark to see her face, gov'ner; but when she come to the gate the first time—she's been several, sir—it was a deal lighter on account of the moon not bein' hid so much with them blessed clouds, sir; and I could see then that she was wot you might call a high-stepper—summink classy and up in the nines, gov'ner, and had a way with her that you don't pick up if you aren't born to it. She couldn't have been putting it on for effect, 'cause she didn't know there was anybody there to see. Gone she is now, sir; slipped off over the Common, and I lost sight of her among all them furze bushes, but she'll come back, never fear. She's went away like that two or three times before, but always come back and tried the door, and jist struck her handstogether and rocked back and forwards like she was half beside herself when she found it locked and nobody there to meet her."
"And you didn't succeed in seeing her face at all?"
"No, sir. It never was light enough for me to do that. But even if it had been, it wouldn't 'a' been no use, sir. She had summick that looked like a white lace scarf wrapped all round her head and over her face. But I was near enough to make out as she smelt summink beautiful of voylits, and had on one of them shiny, silky-lookin' kind of mackintoshes and a dress of pink silk."
A black mackintosh and a dress of pink silk!Nota black cloak lined with ermine! Not a dress of pink gauze! Of course Dollops was right in his statement that it was not Margot; that fact alone proved it. So there was a second woman who prowled about Wuthering Grange and endeavoured to see somebody in secret, was there? Whom? Harry Raynor or Lord St. Ulmer?
Clearly the one in the pink gauze—Margot beyond all possible question—came to see Raynor, for Hamer had identified her as the woman he had seen in that young man's company that day at Kingston. Who, then, was this other woman in pink? And whom didshecome to see? What washermission, her place in this elusive puzzle?
Come to think of it, he had been a fool to imagine when Dollops first spoke of her that it could possibly be Margot. The pink dress itself ought to have toldhim that. For although young Raynor had said that the lady he knew as Mademoiselle Mignon de Varville nearly always dressed in pink, Margot was no such fool as to prowl round this place to-night in the identical frock she had worn at the time of the tragedy, and from which that tiny scrap had been torn by the nail head in the floor of Gleer Cottage.
True, nobody but Narkom and Ailsa and he himself knew, as yet, of the finding of that betraying scrap, but—— Ah, well, you couldn't catch Margot napping! She might not know when, how, norwherethat scrap had been torn off, buthershrewd eyes would detect the missing bit in the skirt: she would be on to it like a cat on a mouse. He knew her methods, knew her miscroscopic carefulness and attention to detail. What, then, was this other woman's place in the puzzle? What was she after? Whom had she come to see? He'd make it his business to find that out, and in short order, too.
These things had travelled through Cleek's thoughts rapidly. It was scarcely more than a moment after Dollops had last spoken when he addressed the boy again.
"I've got something important on hand for you, as I told you, my lad," he said in a cautious whisper. "But, first, tell me: where is this other door in the wall of which you speak, the one where the Pink Woman goes?"
"Jist about thirty feet farther up, gov'ner; there where them mulberry trees is so blessed thick. Youdon't notice the place till you come smack on to it, on account of furze bushes and ivy along the foot of the wall. You can creep up till you're almost on it, though, without a body seein' of you, 'specially if you go before the party comes back."
"Right you are," said Cleek in reply. "I'll act on that tip, my lad. Now, then, listen here. There's a ruin in the grounds of this place, and that ruin I particularly wish to have closely watched to-night. For one thing, the man who murdered the Common keeper made his way to that place and buried his victim's clothing there; and for another—oh, well, never mind. That will keep for later. Miss Lorne"—he turned to Ailsa, who all along had remained silent and closely huddled back in the shadow of the wall-angle and the trees—"Miss Lorne, we shall have to defer our stroll on the Common until later, I'm afraid. I shall have to look into the matter of this mysterious woman in pink before we can give any further thought to Lady Clavering and her possible anxiety over her stepson. In the meantime, will you, as silently and as expeditiously as you can, steal back through the grounds and show Dollops the way to the ruin? Afterward, you and I can meet again here. And you, Dollops, listen closely to what I say. The chances are that some one, either man or woman, will secretly visit that ruin to-night. Keep yourself well hidden and your eyes wide open. If a woman comes, slip away from the place as quietly as you can, come round to the shrubbery near the front entrance to thehouse, and hoot like an owl three times in succession; then lie low until I come out and join you. But if, on the other hand, it should be a man who puts in an appearance—here, lay hold of this pair of handcuffs—look sharp! At all costs, at any hazard, get those things on him and then blow your police whistle as a signal to me. I'll be with you like a shot. Now, then, cut along with you. Show him the way, Miss Lorne, and be as quiet as you can in your movements, both of you."
"Mice'll be fools to us, sir," whispered Dollops.
Cleek waited a minute to let them get well on their way, then stooped in the darkness, crept to the wall door, opened it cautiously, and went down on all-fours upon the strip of grass and the row of furze bushes that flanked that wall upon the outer side and made a narrow black alley between it and the crowded mulberry trees.
The moon had ridden farther than ever into the depths of the thick, slow-moving clouds, and the darkness was almost opaque. To the left the great Common stretched out, a thing of gloom and shadows, blotted here and there with deeper black where the furze clumps were thickest or the full-leaved tree reached up above the skyline. On the right, the blank wall rose, flat, smooth as your hand, so tall it shut out even the lights in the windows of the Grange; and between these lay Mulberry Lane, a black funnel leading on to deeper darkness and the shapelessness of crowded trees.
In the shadows of that narrow alley made by the wall and the furze bushes Cleek crouched a moment and listened before he ventured to move another inch. Not a sound, not the merest ghost of a sound. If the woman were in the immediate neighbourhood, she was keeping extremely quiet; therefore it behoved him to progress with infinite caution. Inch by inch, on hands and knees, he moved up that narrow alley, stopping every now and then to prick up his ears and listen breathlessly. But upon every occasion he found the stillness yet unbroken and no sign or sound of breathing life anywhere about him.
Two minutes passed—three—five—half a dozen, and still all was as it had been in the beginning. By this time this slow, cautious creeping had carried him over two thirds of the distance, and he was now within ten or eleven feet of the hidden gate; and still no sound or sign of the woman's return. Indeed, no sound of any sort until, with one hand outstretched and one knee lifted to edge forward yet a trifle more, he paused abruptly, sucked in his breath, and huddled softly down, becoming but a mere dark heap on the damp, dark grass.
A sound had come at last! The unmistakable sound of some one moving cautiously through close-pressing branches and crowded leaves.
It was so faint a thing that ears less keen than his might not have detected it. Yet, at the first rustle of the first stirred leaf he caught the hiss of it and knew it was not the woman that made it; for theprickly foliage of furze makes no rustling sound when a passing body brushes it, and there was nothing upon the outer side of the wallbutfurze that was low enough to be brushed in passing.
Clearly, then, the sound was from the other side of the wall, from within the grounds of the Grange! Some one was coming to keep the tryst—some one who, evidently, had been delayed past an agreed time, otherwise the woman would not have made all those anxious pilgrimages to the door and been so upset when she found it still locked and nobody there to meet her.
Well, this was a stroke of good fortune at all events; for if by any chance the woman did not return there would at least be the satisfaction of discovering——A sound interrupted: a cat's mew to the life. And from the shadow of a thick furze hedge on the Common side of the lane it was answered.
"Yes, I am here," a shrill, eager voice called out in a sharp, keen whisper. "Oh, come quickly or I shall go insane!"
Almost instantly there was a rustle of silken garments, a patter of footsteps, the swift moving of a figure across the lonely lane, followed by the rattle and click of a key in a spring lock, the creak of an in-swung gate moving upon its hinges, and with these things the sound of an excited man whispering warningly, "Sh-h-h!" as the woman swept down upon him in a state bordering on absolute hysteria.
"Oh, if you could but know what agonies I havesuffered, what horrors of suspense I have endured!" she said in a wailing sort of whisper, "I feared that you might not be able to come, after I have risked so much to be here; but when I heard the cat's mew, I wonder that I did not scream."
And again the man's whispered "Sh-h-h!" sounded, but fuller than ever of excitement and fear.
But Cleek scarcely heard it. Other and more startling things were claiming his thoughts. A scent of violets was in his nostrils; a sting of bitter recollection was in his memory. What was it the dying Common keeper had said? "All shiny pale green satin, sir, with sparklin' things on her bosom, and smellin' like a field of voylits in the month of May!"
He did not need Ailsa Lorne to point her out to him after this. He knew without anybody telling him; knew in that first moment, as surely as he ever lived to know in moments yet to come, that this veiled and night-hidden woman who stood there by the garden door keeping tryst with a man was she who had been out on the Common last night: Sir Philip Clavering's wife!
And the man she was meeting, this crafty fellow who hung back in the shadow of the solid gate, who and what was he? What part was his in this grim riddle of death?
It was Lady Clavering herself who gave the answer.
"Oh, it is so easy to say that," she went on, answering his warning "Sh-h-h" in a whisper that was shrill with agony and despair, "but the dread of shriekingwill be on me forever after this, the horrible dread that if I do not cry out in my waking moments I may unconsciously do so in my sleeping ones. I know it was mad of me to do this thing, to take this dreadful risk in coming here; but I couldn't sleep until I saw you, until I had told you that I know! I think I knew it yesterday; I think I foresaw it when you wrote and warned me, and if I had not been a coward, if fate had not sent him to Clavering Close last night and let me see that it was written he should come back into my life again——"
Her voice snapped off and failed her for an instant, sinking down to a dull, whimpering sound like the wail of an animal that is beaten; then it came back to her and she spoke again.
"I knew you would kill him, I knew that you would!" she said in that horrible, excited whisper. "I felt it in my soul the moment he looked up and recognized me, and I knew what I—what you—had to dread. It was that that drove me out on the Common. I wanted to find you; I wanted to stop you. But it was too late, too late! I know that you did it for my sake as much as for your own, but the thought of the thing, thethoughtof it! If anything can palliate that, if God can in any way excuse it, it will be that you got the letters; that you tore them up, burnt them, did anything in the world but let them fall into that woman Margot's hands! Oh, did you? I cannot sleep until I know. For if you did not——"
Here her voice snapped again, but for quite another reason this time, a reason which made Cleek groan inwardly.
Far down at the other end of the dark alley where he lay breathlessly listening, a faint rustling sound had suddenly risen—the sound of some one creeping gently toward him. He knew and understood what was happening, what an unkindly blow fate had dealt him. Ailsa was returning. She had taken his expression, "Afterward you and I can meet here again," to mean after she had conducted Dollops to the ruin, not after Cleek's own work was done; and lo! here she was returning at this inopportune moment. She was creeping along on tiptoe, it was true, and moving as stealthily and as silently as she knew how, but in that utter stillness, with silk skirts that brushed the wall as she advanced——
The end came abruptly. There was just one second of breathless listening, then without a word the two people at the open doorway parted. Lady Clavering jumped back, darted across the lane, and vanished in the blackness of the Common; the wall door closed, the spring lock clicked, and the sound of a man's running echoed faintly from the other side. No time this for craft and finesse. Here was a call for action, a demand for muscle, not brain. If that man was a member of this household, if fleet running could do it, if any man who should be under that roof wasnotthere——
Cleek was on his feet like a flash. He scuddeddown the lane openly, he ducked into the door and vanished into the gardens without so much as a word to Ailsa, he struck through the plantation and made a short cut for the lawn and the front door, and with jaw squared and teeth shut, ran and ran and ran.
Cleek covered the distance between the wall angle and the door of the Grange in a fraction over a minute, and he had neither heard any one nor seen any one on the way. He went up the steps two at a time, and, swinging into the hallway, made hot foot for the dining-room. An inward push on the door and all that lay beyond it was in view.
The lights were still burning, the decanter and the glasses stillen évidence, and, what was still more to the point, there lay Mr. Harry Raynor with his arms sprawled out over the tablecloth and his head between them, snoring away in a semi-drunken stupor, with his mouth wide open and his flushed face a little less attractive in slumber than it was in wakefulness.
Not he, then!
Cleek dashed out of the room and flew upstairs to Lord St. Ulmer's room. No time for craft and cunning this. At whatever risk, at whatever cost, he must assure himself of wherethatman was at this particular moment; and, even if he had to break down the door to get in—— The possibility ceased to exist while it was yet taking shape in his mind.
For he had reached the second landing, had come within three feet of Lord St. Ulmer's room, when he heard a voice from within it say, "Then if there is nothing more, your lordship, allow me to thank your lordship and to say good-night"—and was in time to see the door open and Johnston, the butler, come out. More than that, to look past him and see the figure of a man lying in bed with his back to the door, his face to the wall, and one pajama-clad arm lying outside the bedclothing.
Not St. Ulmer either, eh? Then who the dickens——He turned and made a bolt for the staircase again.
"Anything I can get you, Mr. Barch?" inquired Johnston. "I've just returned from town, sir, so if there's anything Hamer has neglected to do in my absence——"
"No, thanks, don't want anything!" flung back Cleek, not waiting for him to finish; and then cut downstairs again in such hot haste that his feet beat an audible tattoo upon the padded steps and gave such evidence of excitement that he was not at all surprised when the key of the library click-clacked sharply, the door opened, and General Raynor appeared.
"What's this? What's the meaning of all this confounded hubbub when I expressly said"—he began—and then, looking up and seeing Cleek, stopped short and changed his tone. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Barch; I didn't know it was you! Is there anything wrong?"
"No, General," replied Cleek. "Sorry if I disturbed you. Just looking for——" Then he, too, stopped short and changed his tone. For of a sudden his ear had caught the shrilling note of a distant police whistle, and excitement swayed him.
"Dollops, by Jupiter!" he cried unthinkingly. "Got him! Got him, the little brick!" and without another word he faced about, ran down the hall, and pelted off through the grounds in the direction of the ruin.
And all the time the police whistle was shrilling, and Dollops's voice was sounding, and the darkness was full of scuffling sounds. For the noise of the whistle had disturbed the servants, and Cleek was hard put to it to get to the scene of the uproar before them. He did, however; but they were close upon his heels and as excited as he when, upon nearing the ruin, they came upon two struggling figures linked together and careering about like a couple of fighting tomcats.
"Here yer are, gov'ner; ketched him foul, the rotter," sang out Dollops as his master came scudding up with all that troop of servants pounding along in his wake. "Look! See!"
Then an electric torch clicked, and lo, there he was, with one end of a pair of handcuffs snapped on his own wrist and the other locked fast upon that of a distinguished-looking man in a spring overcoat and evening clothes.
A stranger to Cleek this man, but not to the servantsof Wuthering Grange; and it came as a shock when he heard them speak his name.
It was Sir Philip Clavering.
The man's identity had no sooner been made known than he broke forth with a storm of indignant protest.
"What is the meaning of this outrage, and who is this young person?" he demanded with heat. "As some of you have good enough eyes to recognize me, perhaps you will have good enough wits to go for your master and let me get to the bottom of this extraordinary proceeding as soon as possible. I should like to know what on earth this means. Ah, Raynor, is that you?" he added, as he caught sight of the General forcing his way to the front. "Glad you've put in an appearance. Perhaps you can throw some light upon this affair. Who's this fellow?" twitching his head toward Dollops. "What's he doing here? And what is the meaning of this astonishing business, if you please?"
"Good heavens above, how do you expect I am going to know? Never saw him in all my life," exclaimed the General in bewilderment. "Look here, young man, what's the meaning of this? Who are you? What are you doing in this place? Speak up.
"Name's Dollops," replied that youth serenely. "Business: Scotland Yard. Lay: Doin' wot I'm told by my gov'ner. Boss: Mr. 'Amilton Cleek,Es-quire. All other questions I refers to him."
Cleek! The name produced universal excitement. There was not one person present that had not, at one time or another, heard it and did not recollect of what it was the synonym. It stood for the Law and the coming of the Law! And last night a man had been done to death within a gunshot of this house.
"It is too absurd, too absurd!" said Sir Philip, after a moment, speaking with a little shaky laugh and looking Dollops up and down with half-contemptuous interest. "I hope, Raynor, that you——Good heavens above! What asinine mistakes the law does sometimes make. And it is all so easily explained. Superintendent Narkom of the Yard will speak for me if it is necessary. There can, by no shadow of possibility, be anything to connect me with that abominable case."
It was here that Cleek chose to take part in the affair, and with a warning glance at Ailsa, who had come up and joined the gathering, stepped forward and addressed Sir Philip.
"My dear Sir Philip Clavering, allow me to introduce myself," he said suavely, serene in the confidence that Dollops, hearing, would take the cue and act accordingly. "My name is Barch; I am at present a guest of the General's, and I am taking this liberty because I, too, happen to be a friend of Mr. Narkom's. I have heard him speak of you time and again, and always with the warmest interest. Perhaps, then, if we question this young man——" Heturned to Dollops, and Dollops looked at him and never turned a hair! "Boy, what's all this thing about? How came you in this place, and for what reason?"
"Come in by the garden door, sir, 'arf an hour or so back. Told off by my gov'ner to lie low and wait for somebody who might come a-sneakin' about, meanin' to break into the house, I suppose, and with his eye on the plate."
"I see! Well, better take my advice, my lad, and unlock those handcuffs, and set this gentleman at liberty before they do come, or you're likely to have a sharp talking to from Superintendent Narkom. By the way, what induced you to snap them on him in the first place? You surely do not expect us to believe that a gentleman of Sir Philip Clavering's standing was acting suspiciously? What was he doing, if you please, that you should have gone to such a length?"
"Sneakin' along and feelin' about the bushes like he was huntin' for somethin'," said Dollops as he unlocked the handcuffs and put them in his pocket.
"He is quite right in that, Mr. Barch. Iwaslooking for something," said Sir Philip, wiping his wrists with his handkerchief, as though to remove something of the infection with which he felt he had come into contact. "As a matter of fact, I was looking for my way. I had come into the grounds from a point where I had never before entered them, and I was endeavouring to find a path which would lead meto the house. As it was as black as a pocket, nothing was left me buttofeel my way. I got hopelessly muddled up, and was just telling myself that I would have done better to make my call in orthodox fashion and by the regular entrance, when, the first thing I knew, this enterprising young man jumped out of the dark and pounced on me like a monkey. You see, it was this way, Raynor," glancing up at the General, who was looking at him fixedly, and with a curious ridge between his brows, as if, for some reason, he only half believed him, though for years they had been tried and trusted friends; "I was in such a dickens of a hurry to see you that when I came off the Common and found that wall door open——"
"Open? What wall door open?" interposed the General agitatedly.
"The one at the angle of the wall, where your boundary flanks the waste land between here and the right-of-way across the fields."
"And you found that door open?Open?Why, man alive, it has been locked and screwed up for years."
"Has it, indeed? Well, it was open to-night, then. As I was saying, when I found that open, I thought that, possibly, it might be a short cut to the house, so I dashed in and got into this abominable fix."
"But why did you wish to take a short cut to the house, Clavering? Was there any reason for such a thing?"
"None but that I was anxious; that I am anxiousstill, when it comes to that. About my boy, Geoff, you know."
"About Geoff?"
"Yes, you know how foolish Marise and I are over him. He left to come over here early this afternoon, and said he would not be long, but he did not return even for dinner. Of course Marise was disappointed, for she had said that after so much gloom and depression we must do all that we could to brighten him up and to appear merry, and even went to the length of getting out a pink silk frock which he had always admired, when she dressed for dinner to-night. She was distressed when he didn't come, and anxiety brought on a splitting headache, so bad, in fact, that she went to her room to lie down and rest. Later, Celine came down to tell me she had taken a sleeping draught and there was every likelihood of her sleeping until morning. I was glad when I heard that, for I knew how she would worry if she were awake and the boy did not return at a reasonable hour; and when it crept along to be nine o'clock and after, I don't mind confessing that I began, myself, to worry."
"Why?" said Cleek, dropping in an unexpected query.
"My dear Mr. Barch, you wouldn't ask that if you knew what a bond of affection exists between my son and me," Sir Philip replied. And Cleek heard, or fancied that he heard, the General give a sort of sigh, as if he were contrasting this man's heir with his own. "Besides, after that mysterious and abominable affairlast night—after a man had been murdered in this identical neighbourhood, to have my boy out and alone—— Oh, well, you can understand. I got a bit nervous—a bit dotty, if you like. I imagined all sorts of things, and when it got to be half-past nine I set out to walk across the Common to meet him. I didn't, however, so I suppose he is still here; and in the enjoyment of Lady Katharine's society and the hope that has so unexpectedly returned to them both, has forgotten all about the time and the probable worrying of his silly old dad. That's why I was so anxious to get to the house as quickly as possible, Raynor, and why I was foolish enough to take what I fancied might be a short cut. I wanted to be certain that the boy is still here; I wanted to walk back with him when he goes home. No harm can possibly come to him then."
Not once during all this had General Raynor's eyes left the man's face, nor had the faint pallor and the curiously tense look departed from his own. He stood looking at Sir Philip in intense and unbroken silence, his lips tightly set, a worried look in his fixed eyes, as if he were trying to believe this thing and found it difficult to do so. Now, however, he turned to the assembled servants, ordered them back to the house, made one or two uneasy turns up and down for a distance of three or four yards, then halted suddenly and looked into Sir Philip's face again.
"Clavering," he said in his abrupt, direct manner, going straight to the point, as was his custom."Clavering, are you sure that you are telling the truth about this? Are you sure? Will you swear, will you give me your word of honour, that it was to seek your boy, that and that alone, which brought you to this place to-night?"
"Raynor! By the Lord Harry, sir——"
"No, don't fly into a passion. Anger is no answer, and an answer is what I want. A man of honour responds promptly to an appeal to that honour; and I am asking you on yours if you are telling the truth?"
"On my word of honour, then, I am!" said Sir Philip indignantly.
"And you will swear by it that you came only to meet your son? That you had no other purpose in coming whatsoever?"
"Yes, decidedly I will swear it. Are you taking leave of your senses, Raynor? What other reasoncouldI have?"
An expression of intense relief drove that other and darker look from the General's face and eyes.
"I don't know," he said, fetching a deep sigh; "but I am glad to have your word for it, glad to say that I accept it. Still, why should I not ask? Why should I not question everything, any statement, in the face of to-night?"
"I don't know what you are driving at, I am sure."
"Don't you? Then let me tell you: your boy is not here. He left this afternoon; came and stayed but a little time, and left so early that there has been time and to spare for him to get back to ClaveringClose a dozen times over. On the top of that, you tell me that a door in my garden wall, a door that has been locked up, and screwed up, and even rusted up, for years was found standing open. And on top of that again, an emissary of the police, of Scotland Yard, of that man Cleek, is here in these grounds. Who opened that door? What brings the police to Wuthering Grange? That is what mystifies me; that is what I want to know. What brings the police here, of all places in England? Do you know, Clavering? Do you know, Miss Lorne? Do you know, Mr. Barch?"
"Not the ghost of an idea, I assure you, General," said Cleek serenely. "Never knew the beggars were here until this young person declared himself. But, yes, by Jove! We'll have 'em here in full force presently, I'm afraid, if those sounds go for anything. Coming in answer to that blessed whistle, I'll lay my life. Here, boy!"—this to Dollops—"nip off as quickly as you can, and head them off. Tell 'em it's a mistake; tell 'em you didn't mean to blow that whistle for assistance. Move sharp; we don't want that lot in here, or—— Hullo! I say, what's the matter, Sir Philip? A bad turn, is it? Upon my soul, you look as white as a sheet!"
It was no exaggeration. The moon, coming suddenly out from behind the clouds at that moment, showed him leaning heavily against a tree and looking pale as a dead man.
"My boy?" Sir Philip Clavering made answer, in a wrung voice, a voice that clearly showed where all his thoughts were, and that he had had ears for nothing, care for nothing, heart for nothing, from the moment he had been told that Geoff had left the Grange hours and hours ago. "What has become of my boy? Where did he go? What has happened to him? He never came back! He never came back!"
The agony of the man was so intense, so apparent, that Cleek's heart ached for him, and he made haste to spare him any greater pain.
"Oh, as for that, Sir Philip, you needn't worry an atom," he said. "I think Miss Lorne has something to tell you about him, and just where he went, and why he hasn't returned. In fact, I know she has, for he left a message with her. Went to town on some special matter for Lady Katharine Fordham, didn't he, and is likely to be very late indeed in returning?"
"Yes," said Ailsa, taking her cue and remembering. "In fact, it is a matter that may keep him so late it is possible he will stop in town until morning,Sir Philip. He asked me to send word over to you and Lady Clavering to relieve you of any possible anxiety; and, indeed, I should have done so long ago, only——"
"Only that I volunteered to walk over the Common and back with her if she'd carry the message herself instead of sending it by some one," supplemented Cleek, coming to the rescue. "And then, like an idiot, I sat so long after dinner with young Mr. Raynor that I forgot all about it until she sent me in word. We were going to start at once, and would have done so but for this hubbub. Happened to think, however, that as it was late and the Common very lonely, it would be wisest to carry something for protection in case of necessity, so ran up to my room to get a pistol I had given me. That's why you heard me making such a clatter in running up and down stairs, General, when you popped out of the library and asked what was up."
The General made no reply, but the expression of his mouth and eyes told plainly what he thought of a man who had to rely upon firearms for protection in case of assault by footpads. He gave his shoulders a significant twitch.
But Sir Philip was too greatly relieved by the good news of his son's safety to give thought to other details.
"You can't think what a load you've taken off my mind, Mr. Barch," he said. "I can go home now feeling satisfied. My mind is at rest."
"I wish mine were, then," put in the General. "But to have one's place invaded—and secretly invaded—by the police! God! If I only knew what it means. That thing last night, and now this! Who under this roof has fallen under suspicion—couldfall under suspicion? The thing is as mysterious as it is appalling. Clavering, you know this man Narkom. You must introduce him to me; he must tell me upon what evidence, what pretext, this thing has been done. The police do not take action withoutsomeshadow of reason, some good cause, for what they do; and that my garden door should be secretly unfastened that one of their spies may enter these grounds—— It is abominable. Why didn't he apply to me for permission to enter the place if he thought it necessary to do so? I have my rights as well as any other subject of the king. Why, then, should he break open my garden door without warrant or privilege and send his spies in here?"
"Maybe he didn't, General." It was Cleek that spoke. "Come to think of it, the explanation of that chap who claimed to be attached to the police was rather fishy, and he was precious sharp about cutting his lucky when I sent him off. Besides, whyshouldhe take orders fromme, anyway?"
"My dear Mr. Barch——"
"Catch the point? We've had one sneak thief visit the Grange already, General. What's the odds that they are not identical? We never knew how the first one managed to get into the place nor wherehe went when he got out of it. Well, then, what about that garden door being the answer? Why shouldn't it have been he that unfastened it? Why shouldn't this business of pouncing upon Sir Philip and making an outcry be a clever dodge to make a safe getaway?"
The General looked up, brightening, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"I hadn't thought of that, Mr. Barch," he said, caught by the feasibility of an argument backed up so plausibly. "We did have a thief pay us a visit earlier in the evening, to be sure; and, as you say, very possibly—— Yes, yes, it must be so. There could be no shadow of a reason for the police coming here, because—— Eh? What's that, Hamer?" facing round as he heard his name mentioned, and discovering the second footman, who had just put in an appearance. "Telephone, did you say?"
"Yessir. Somebody asking to speak to Mr. Barch, sir; and I requested him to hold the line while I came to call the gentleman."
"Somebody calling for me over the telephone?" inquired Cleek, with sudden deep interest. "You are sure it is for me, Hamer? Sure that the name was Barch?"
"Yessir, quite. Mr. Philip Barch was the name given, and I was to say that it's a most important message."
Cleek turned and looked inquiringly at the General.
"Yes, certainly, Mr. Barch, certainly," he said, replying to that look. "The instrument is in the library, which opens directly off my study. Hamer will show you the way."
"No, I will," put in Ailsa. "I shall have to be running up to see how Kathie is, and it will be on my way. Good-night, Sir Philip. Good-night, General. Come, Mr. Barch, I'll show you the way." She went with him out of the moonlight in the open to the dark of the shrubbery and the trees that shut in the path to the house.
"Tell me," she whispered eagerly as they hurried along. "Are you nearer the end? Is the solution anywhere in sight?"
"I think so," he answered.
"Oh!" with a sharp intaking of the breath. "You found it out at the garden door, then? You saw the woman and you saw the person she came to meet?"
"To the contrary, I saw neither. I merely heard the woman speak. It was a voice I had never heard before. The man said nothing, and never once showed himself. He might have done both but that they heard you returning and separated like a shot. But please, we will not speak of that at present. Wait for me by the shrubbery; I'll tell you a lot when I meet you there. Just now I am anxious to know who it is that is telephoning to 'Mr. Philip Barch' and for what. Only two persons outside of Dollops and yourself know that name and whoseidentity it covers. One is Geoffrey Clavering, the other Mr. Narkom. No, please! Don't ask me any questions now, I can't stop to answer them. But this you may know if it will ease your mind at all: Lady Katharine Fordham never had anything to do with it, although she was there. Oh, yes, she was, Miss Lorne; for all your protestations, I tell you that she was! And, what is more, I know the man, although I do not as yet know the motive!"
"Oh! You found it out, then, at the garden door?"
"No, I did not. I daren't stop to explain, but believe me, Miss Lorne, I begin to see light. I only wonder at one thing: What makes Sir Philip Clavering use black cosmetic? Sheer vanity, I suppose."
"Does he?" cried Ailsa, in surprise.
"Yes, on his moustache. It's wonderful why some of these old men hate gray moustaches so. Wait for me, I'll be back as quickly as possible," and he dived into the house to answer the mysterious telephone call.
Cleek went straight to the library, flashed an inquiring look all round it as he closed the door, made sure that nobody else was there, and walking to the telephone took up the receiver and put it to his ear.
"Hallo!" he said somewhat cautiously; then, after a moment: "Yes, Barch," he added in response to a query from the other end. "What's that? Speak a little louder, please; I can't hear clearly. And, I say, I don't recognize your voice. Who are you?"
The voice in question underwent a complete change, showing that the owner of it had, in the first instance, carefully altered it until sure of his man, and then over the wire came promptly the two words: "Geoff Clavering!"
"Eh, what?" exclaimed Cleek, not a little surprised by this revelation, and not doubting the truth of the statement for an instant now that the real voice of the speaker sounded. "Why, what the dickens— I say, where are you?"
"In London, at the Savoy Hotel, speaking from one of the booths. Got here twenty minutes ago, and as soon as I registered and got a room, I hunted up one of the clerks who knew me by sight, and then came in here and rang you up."
"Why?"
"I wanted you to know that I'd kept faith with you; that I really have come to London as I promised. If you doubt it, there's the clerk to prove it any time you like."
"Why, you ripping young—— By George! Well, well! See here: as open confession's good for the soul, let me say that I don't doubt it, and, what's more, I never did doubt it, you splendid young pepper pot!"
"Thanks very much, that's jolly nice of you. But listen here, Mr.—er—Barch. Can't you get word to my pater somehow? He'll worry himself dotty when midnight comes on and I don't turn up. And I say: how long have I got to stop up here, anyhow?I hear there's a down train at four in the morning. Can't I take that, and put on end to the dad's anxiety as soon as possible?"
"He hasn't any anxiety on the subject whatsoever, my boy. Miss Lorne and I have seen him, and trumped up a story to cover everything. He doesn't expect you back until morning. But—— Would you like a pleasant surprise? Well, you can come back at once if you like and get it. Take your own time, however; only be sure that you turn up here not later than twelve, and are waiting just outside the lodge gates of the Grange when I go there to meet you. What's that? Yes, quite satisfied, quite. She did come out on the Common to-night, and—— What's that? To look for you? Yes, of course. What other motive could she have, you silly fellow? She came out, and your father came out; and—listen and catch this, Clavering"—sinking his voice—"for it is very important. You said, did you not, that last night when Lady Katharine took you into that house she told you she would show you something that would 'light you back to the land of happiness'?"
"Yes. Those were her words. Why?"
"Well, you be outside the lodge gates at the time I want you, my boy, and I'll show both of you the way to that land to-night." And he hung up the receiver before Geoff could say a word.
"The soul of honour, just as I knew he was, the young beggar!" he said, putting his thoughts intowords for once in a way. "A son for any man to be proud of, that!" And chuckling a little, he prepared to leave the room.
But as if the sight of that room, with its swinging French window, its reading desk with an open book upon it and an easy chair beside, brought back to his memory that other son and that other father, the smile faded suddenly from his lips, his jaw squared, and a pucker gathered between his level brows.
What a difference between the two sons of those two men he had left out there in the grounds! The one clean-lived, clean-minded, honour's very self. The other a wastrel, a sot, a liar, the consort of evil women and disreputable men, a poor, paltry worm living in an oak tree's shade.
And to-night the General had wondered why the police should be coming to Wuthering Grange; what trail from last night's tragedy led to the threshold of this house! Yet, while he sat here reading, his own son—— Heigho! "'Tis a mad world, my masters," a mad, mad world indeed. Poor old chap! Poor, blind, unsuspecting old chap, sitting here all alone and reading! What was it he was reading while his unnatural son was slandering him to a stranger?
He walked to the reading desk and bent over the open book that lay upon it, with a pamphlet beside it and a litter of loose papers all round.
"Fruit Culture," by Adolph Bonnaise. And the pamphlet? He took it up to look at the title page, for the half of it was smothered under loose papers,one or two of which his act sent fluttering to the floor. The April number ofThe Gardener and Fruit Grower. Reading of flowers and of fruits, of Nature's good and beautiful things, and all the while—— Yes, indeed, Shakespeare was right. Itisa mad world! Worse than mad: it is wicked! And the sons of men are the wickedest things in it!
Oh, well, he mustn't stand wasting time here in moralizing and mooning. Ailsa was waiting.
The papers he had disturbed lay on the floor, close to a half-filled scrap basket. Unimportant things enough they were: seedsmen's circulars, soap advertisements, tailors' announcements, all the litter of loose-leaf insets that are thrust between the covers of monthly magazines; quite unimportant, and not worth the trouble he was taking to gather them up and replace them upon the desk. But—— Oh, well, he shouldn't like the General to think that when he came into the library to use his telephone he'd been cad enough to look over his papers; so, of course—That all of them? Any drop into the waste basket by chance? Perhaps that bit of white paper with the red blob of sealing wax on each end might have fallen with the rest. He picked it out of the basket, turned it over, and decided that it hadn't; smelt it, smiled one of his curious one-sided smiles, and flung it back into the basket.
Even an old soldier may have his foibles and his weaknesses. It is on record that Bonaparte had a secret love of bonbons; that Washington had a passionfor barley sugar; and that Drake slept always with anise seeds within easy reach.
He turned away as he tossed the paper back, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out. The staircase down which he had run in such hot haste at the sound of Dollops's whistle was before him. He stopped an instant and looked up it, then nodded his head in the direction of Lord St. Ulmer's quarters, and if he had put his thoughts into actual words, would have said this:
"I'll know your part in it, and I'll see your face by hook or by crook before this night is over; I promise you that, my man!" Then he turned again, and went down the hall to the dining-room.
Harry Raynor was still there, lying with his arms sprawled out upon the table and his head sunk between them.
Cleek stood still and looked at him. Of a certainty, the man had moved since last he saw him; but whether that movement had been merely the unconscious stirring of a sleeping man or the fellow had been up and about in the meantime, it was impossible to say.
Cleek, taking no chances, closed and locked the door, and assuming once more his "Barch" tone and manner of expression, advanced to his side, shook him, and said:
"I say, Raynor, don't be a howling ass! Buck up and don't sleep the whole blessed night away. I'm jolly lonesome."
Young Raynor went on snoring serenely, and neither answered nor moved.
Still Cleek was taking no chances. He repeated the operation with greater force and louder spoken words, and finding it produced no effect, finally shook the man so hard that his head lolled over on one arm and let the hidden face come into sight.
The jaw hung loose, the scooped cheeks and pendulous lip gleamed pale as ivory, and the whites of his eyes shone like narrow bands of silver through the slits of their half-closed lids.
There was no question whatsoever regarding the man's condition. Satisfied now, Cleek felt his pulse, pushed up one of his eyelids and examined the eye itself. The pupil was largely dilated, the white suffused considerably, and both were slightly filmed.
"Hum-m-m!" he breathed conclusively, then turned from the man and looked at the decanters and glasses on the littered table. "Port, Brandy, Benedictine, Scotch. To be sure! to be sure! Who is to know the taste of a mere guest in the matter of his after-dinner drink? So, if it is put inall——" He took up the decanters one by one, sampled their contents in turn, and smiled one of his queer crooked smiles when he set the last one down.
"Clever, very clever, my friend," he said. "And who was to tell you that the guest would not drink at all?"
Then he turned on his heel suddenly and left the room.
He had scarcely taken a dozen steps down the hallway, however, before he encountered General Raynor, who had just then reëntered the house by the front door.
His rugged old face wore a look of deep anxiety, as though the exciting scene through which he had so recently passed bore heavily upon his spirits, despite Cleek's attempt to allay his distress by branding Dollops as a possible sneak thief; but he brightened perceptibly and made a valiant effort to appear quite at his ease when he looked up and saw Cleek.
"Get your call over the telephone all right, Mr. Barch?" he inquired pleasantly.
"Yes, thanks," said Cleek serenely, still keeping up his "Johnnie" air. "Awfully obliged to you, I'm sure. Dickens of an important message. Should have been in no end of a hole if I hadn't received it. But I say, General, you ought to be more careful, you know, especially with sneak thieves about."
"As how, Mr. Barch?"
"Why, that blessed swing window in the library. I found the thing unfastened, don't you know."
He hadn't, of course, for he had not been near it.But his statement undeniably agitated the General, though he made a brave effort to disguise it.
"Did you?" he said. "That's peculiar. I never noticed it. I must speak to Johnston about it; it's his duty to see that it is locked, and I supposed he had done so. Still, it's of no great consequence as it happens. The sneak thief didn't enter by that way, I am sure."
"No, but he might easily have done so; and if he had come in there while you were alone you might have had a warm time of it; don't you think so, eh, what?"
"I fancyhewould have had a warm time of it, as you express it, Mr. Barch. I'm not so old but I know how to take care of myself, believe me."
"No, I suppose not," said Cleek. "Had a jolly lot of practice in your young days—with the gloves and all that. Forty-fifth Queen's Own used to have a national reputation for the best boxers and wrestlers in the service, I'm told. Suppose it was the same in your day; and you got a lot of practice out there in Simla in your subaltern days."
"You are wrong in both particulars. I did not belong to the Forty-fifth Queen's Own, Mr. Barch, and I was not billeted to India. I passed out of Sandhurst into the Imperial Blues, and from the time I was twenty-two until I was twenty-six I was stationed at Malta."
Cleek made a mental tally of those two statements.
"Oh, I see; mistake on my part," he said serenely."Malta was it? And the Imperial Blues? Thought Harry said the other. I've got a rotten memory. But it doesn't matter which, does it, so long as you learned the trick, and are able to put up a stiff fight and floor a burglar still? I'll lay you could floor one in short order, too, when I come to look at you," he went on, glancing the General up and down with apparent admiration. "Lord! shouldn't like to run foul of you when your temper's up. Built like a blessed gladiator. Shoulders on you like a giant; arms like—mind if I feel what they're like?"
Impudently taking hold of him before he could reply or resent the familiarity, Cleek moved the General's forearm up as if to see the swelling of the biceps.
"That's what I call muscle!" he exclaimed. "What a wrist! What a fist to floor a man or—— Hullo! been flooring some one since I left you, General? Big green smudge on your cuff, as if you'd been up against a mossy wall? Didn't get into a scrap with Sir Philip after I left you, did you, eh?"
There was no gainsaying it, the General's face grew absolutely white as he looked down and saw that green smudge on the white cuff which protruded beyond the sleeve of his evening coat. It was evident he had not noticed it before.
"No, certainly I havenot!" he rapped out sharply as he plucked away his arm. "Sir Philip Clavering has gone home. And if you will pardon my saying it, Mr. Barch, I object to being handled."
"Awful sorry; did it before I thought," said Cleek vacantly. "No offence, eh? Because, you know, none was meant. Ought to have remembered; ought to have remembered half a dozen things when I come to think of it. One of 'em is that you and Sir Philip weren't likely to scrap like a couple of drunken navvies; and t'other is that you couldn't have got wall-moss on your cuff if you had, when there wasn't any wall where I left you. So you couldn't have got it there, of course."
"And as that settles it, I think we can abandon the subject with profit to both, Mr. Barch," said the General stiffly. "As a matter of fact, I don't know where nor how I did get the smudge; and it's of no consequence anyway. And now, if you will pardon me, I'll ring for Johnston to lock up the house—we always retire to bed early at the Grange, Mr. Barch—and have a wee drappie o' whisky and turn in. The evening has been unpleasantly eventful, and I feel the need of something in the way of stimulant."
"So do I, by Jove! Never drank a blessed drop to-night, didn't feel up to it, don't you know; but if you don't mind my toddling into the dining-room and helping myself——"
"By all means do so, Mr. Barch, by all means!" interposed the General with something akin to eagerness. "You will find plenty there. Help yourself."
"Thanks very much. But come to think of it, you haven't had a drink to-night, either. Told Hawkins you didn't feel like it, I recollect."
"No, I didn't at the time, but I certainly require it now; so if——"
"Good business!" interjected Cleek airily. "Come in and let's have one together. Harry's asleep, so I shan't have any company; and as I never like to drink alone, and you are my host, and there's plenty in the dining-room——"
"Pray don't think me discourteous, Mr. Barch," interposed the General blandly, "but I think I will take my whisky hot this evening; and as I make a practice of never taking a hot whisky until I am safely between the sheets, will you pardon me if I do not join you, but have mine served in my bedroom to-night?"
"Yes, certainly," said Cleek. "Only if I'm left to drink alone I'm apt to take two or three instead of one, and my doctor says I oughtn't to, don't you know."
"Doctors are not infallible, Mr. Barch; they often make errors. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Cleek. "But if I have a headache in the morning—oh, well, I can't help it. If I have one I'll have it I suppose. Here goes!" He walked back along the hall and went into the dining-room and shut the door, leaning heavily against it and breathing through his shut teeth the one word, "God!"
The footsteps of the General clicked off down the hall, but Cleek never stirred, never moved a muscle, until their dwindling sound dropped off into suddensilence and all was still. Then, as softly as any cat, he twitched round, opened the door, closed it after him, and stood alone in the hall.
He moved on tiptoe to the library. The door was closed. He stopped and listened.
The faint rustling sound of papers told its own story. The General had not gone to his bedroom, he was in there!
With fleet, unsounding steps Cleek moved from that closed door to the open one of the drawing-room, remembering what Ailsa had said of how Mrs. Raynor had dozed over her coffee while they waited for him to come, and of how, after Hamer had carried in his note, the good lady had rallied the girl, and then gone off to bed because, she said, she was sleepy—sleepy at half-past eight o'clock!
Taking into consideration the events of the evening, he had counted upon the possibility of something happening; and the moment he entered that room and looked round him he knew that it had done so.
The butler's evening off; the excitement and distraction occasioned by that screaming police whistle sounding from the grounds and sending all the servants flocking out. These things had conspired to upset the routine of things as they should be in a well-regulated house; and lo! the silver tray and the coffee service and the cups, used and unused alike, had been overlooked, and there they still were, awaiting removal. And beside them stood a liqueur standwith Chartreuse, Benedictine, Crême de Menthe, and a half-dozen tiny Venetian glasses.
Liqueurs with coffee! He went over and looked at the glasses; so much, so very much, depended upon that. If more than one had been used; if Ailsa, too, had taken liqueur—— No, she had not! Only one glass had been used, and Mrs. Raynor had gone to bed!
He rubbed the tip of his finger round the inner side of that one used glass, and put it to his tongue.
The wine and the spirits in the decanters on the table of the dining-room had all tasted alike. This liqueur tasted like them.
He made no comment, wasted no time. The instant he had decided that point he left the room and went back to the hall and to the gardens beyond the entrance.
Ailsa Lorne waited for him at the shrubbery; but it was not to the shrubbery he went! His way lay round the angle of the house, past the path to the ruin, past the windows of the dining-room where a drugged man lay, and on through the darkness, until he stood in the shelter of the trees directly opposite a broad stone terrace, upon which the swinging French window of the library gave.
It was bright with inner light, when first he came in sight of it; but he had barely halted before that light went out—and left it as black as pitch.
But a moment later Cleek drew farther back in the shadow of the trees.
He had warned General Raynor to be careful to lock that window, and now here he was not only disregarding that warning, but pushing the sashes wide apart.
"Coming again, is she, General?" said Cleek in the soundless words of thought. "A bad move, my friend, a very bad move. One may not recognize a man's voice from a simple 'Sh-h-h!' but when he steps out of a library with a black mud-spot on the toe of his house shoes and a green smudge on his cuff——"
He stopped and crouched back under the trees, and was very, very still.
Through the darkness a faint rustling sound had suddenly risen, the soft falling of a foot, the careful passage of a body between lines of leaves.
Some one was advancing cautiously toward that darkened and opened window.
That the nocturnal visitor would prove to be Lady Clavering Cleek had not the smallest shadow of a doubt, although he marvelled much at her temerity in venturing into the grounds of the Grange after that experience at the wall door so short a time previously, and he therefore remained as breathless and as still as the shadows surrounding him, and waited the coming of events. Not, however, without some slight feeling of disappointment at the thought that, intricate and puzzling as this case had been, it now promised to be solved in such a tame and paltry manner; for if the newcomer should prove to be Lady Clavering, as, naturally, he had every reason for supposing, the affair would resolve itself into simply playing the part of eavesdropper at her interview with the General, and then making capital of the information thus obtained.
The intruder was advancing with extreme caution, but lacking his own peculiar gift of soundless stepping and noiseless movement, did not succeed in passing between hedge and coppice without the betraying rustle of disturbed leaves; and it was outof this circumstance the mischief which followed was formed.
The shrubbery where Ailsa was waiting lay but a rope's cast distant from the spot where Cleek now crouched; and as if the ill-luck which had balked him once before to-night was intent upon flooring him at all quarters, he had no sooner grasped the unwelcome fact—made manifest by the clearer sound of the approaching body as it came into closer range—that the steps were advancing in a direct line with that shrubbery than a thin, eager whisper pierced the stillness.
It was the voice of Miss Lorne, saying cautiously, yet distinctly:
"Goodness gracious! Why, Purviss! You don't mean to tell me it's you?"
Purviss! Not Lady Clavering, but Geoff Clavering's old valet, Purviss? Here was a facer to be sure. Well, well, you never can tell which way a cat will jump, and that's a fact.
Purviss, eh? So he, too, was in the know, was he? Of course he must be, to be playing the rôle of Mercury and carrying messages between them in this secret manner. Cleek decided to have a look at Mr. Purviss, and a word or two as well, by George! For now, of course, he would make no attempt to go near that window.
The thought had no sooner presented itself to him than he acted upon it. With the speed of a hound, but with no more noise than a moving shadow, heleft his hiding-place, skirted the house, got round to the front of it, crawled up the steps, then, rising suddenly, appeared to come out of the doorway and down the steps whistling, as he descended to the gardens and moved leisurely along in the direction of the shrubbery.
When he was within a foot of it he suddenly stopped, pulled out his cigarette case, struck a match as if for the purpose of smoking, and by the aid of that light saw standing within a yard of him Miss Ailsa Lorne in close conversation with a mild-mannered, mild-faced elderly person, upon whom the word "valet" was clearly written.
"Hullo, Miss Lorne, enjoying an evening ramble, too? May I be allowed to join you?"
"With pleasure, Mr. Barch," said Ailsa. Then she motioned toward the valet, who had stepped meekly back.
"Purviss has just come over from Lady Clavering to inquire for Mr. Geoffrey——"
"Ah, yes," said Cleek, smiling to himself unnoticed in the dark. "He left this afternoon, did he not? You have evidently just missed Sir Philip, who was himself here."
"Yes," added Ailsa, "I was just telling him, but it seems he has a message for General Raynor from Lady Clavering——"
"I thought as much," said Cleek to himself triumphantly, though aloud he remarked, calmly enough: "Ah! but the General has gone to bed. Iheard him say that he was not to be disturbed, but if you care to give any message or letter, I'll go and knock him up."
"Oh, no, there's no need to do that, sir," replied Purviss hurriedly. "It's only a request for a gardening book if I happened to see General Raynor; of no importance at all, sir."
"I quite understand," said Cleek, the smile on his face hidden in the screening darkness.
"As for Mr. Geoffrey," put in Ailsa kindly, "he is quite safe. He went up to town on an errand for Lady Katharine——"
"Thank you, Miss," returned Purviss respectfully. "That will be a relief to her ladyship to know that. She was very anxious. Good-night, Miss! Good-night, sir!" With a deferential salute, the man turned and disappeared swiftly into the night.
"You see now," said Ailsa, "that I was right, that Geoff's absence would create such a panic at the Close that they would scour the place for news of him. First his father, and now Purviss. I thought you would be satisfied as to the truth of his mission directly I spoke."
"Yes," said Cleek quietly, "but he did not come here to seek Geoff Clavering. That was a lie. He came for the purpose of having an interview with some one else, and for the second time this night, Miss Lorne, you have unfortunately prevented me from hearing something which might have cleared this mystery up without any further search on mypart. You remember how I rushed past you at the time when Dollops had set me on the track of the lady in pink? She came and she had an interview, or, at least, she had the beginning of an interview, with the man she was there to see. What's that? No, she was not Margot. She was Lady Clavering. Sh-h-h! Quiet! Quiet! Yes, she was Lady Clavering. And she had just accused the man she came to meet of having murdered De Louvisan, when your approach startled the pair of them and made them separate hurriedly. Miss Lorne, can you stand a shock? Good! Then hold your nerves under tight control. The man Lady Clavering met at the wall door to-night was the master of this house, General Raynor!"
She all but collapsed when she heard that.
"General Raynor?" she breathed in a horrified voice. "General Raynor? And Lady Clavering? Oh, but why, but how? Dear Mr. Cleek, it—it is like some horrible dream! What possible connection could there be between those two people of all others?"
"I don't know. I have a suspicion—it is my business to have that, you know—but I want something stronger. I shall have it soon. My work here in this house is pretty well finished, I fancy. Maybe to-morrow, maybe the next day, but this week certain, I shall be off to Malta. I am going to hunt up a man's army record there."
"The General's?"
"Yes. His and—well, possibly, some one's else. When I come back I promise you that I will have the solution to this riddle in my hands. What's that? Oh, yes, Margot is in it."
"Then why—then how can Lady Clavering——"
"Lady Clavering, it appears, knows Margot. So does the General, evidently, for she mentioned her name to him."
"Dear heaven! And you say that she accused him of the murder? Accused him? How could she?"
"She was there—at Gleer Cottage—lastnight. She went there to meet him. But she was not, however, the first to direct my suspicions against the General. That was done hours before and by a totally different person."
"Whom?"
"His son," said Cleek, and forthwith told her of that memorable interview with Harry Raynor after dinner, and of the typewritten letter he had abstracted from the young wastrel's coat pocket. "Miss Lorne, I waste no sympathy upon that worm," he went on. "From the top of his empty head to the toe of his worthless foot there's not one ounce of manhood in him. But he spoke the truth! His father did type that forged letter and for the purpose he declared."
"To get him out of the neighbourhood for the night?"
"Yes. And but for the mere accident of the fellow's having discovered that the typist girl was outof England, he would have succeeded without having to resort to other means."
"How do you know that the General typed the letter?" asked Miss Lorne.
"I didn't in the beginning," returned Cleek. "I did know, however, that it had been typed by somebody in this house; for I stole the letter, then tricked Hamer into getting me an unused sheet of the typing paper that was left over from the manuscript of the General's book. A glance at the watermark showed them to be identical; in other words, that the letter had been typed upon one of those left-over sheets. Well, that was one thing; the other was that the General, having failed to get his son out of the way for to-night by that means, took steps to accomplish it by drugging him."
"Drugging him?"
"Yes. Earlier in the day Purviss had brought him a note from Lady Clavering, and it was imperative that he should go out to-night to meet her in secret. He didn't want his son prowling about, and he didn't want me prowling about, either. Still less did he want you prowling about, or that his wife should know of his leaving the house after she had gone to bed. To make sure of having no such risk to run, he put a sleeping draught into every drop of spirit or liqueur that was served in this house to-night. What he had not reckoned upon, however, was the fact that neither you nor I tasted either. But at this moment his son lies drugged and unconsciousin the dining-room, and it would be a safe hazard to stake one's life that his wife is lying unconscious in bed."