Cleek, accompanied by the faithful Dollops, did go down to Hampton that very day, and put up as arranged at the Hampton Arms. He travelled as Mr. George Headland, a commercial traveller for beer, from London, with an inveterate taste for gossip. He speedily learned that since the return of Lady Margaret to Cheyne Court the house had been shut up "worse than ever," for hardly anybody had seen Miss Cheyne, and no one would go near the estate because of the noise.
"What noise?" Cleek's ears pricked up.
"A queer moaning noise, sir. It fair beats me to describe it, but it just lifts the 'air off yer 'ead. You go down the lane past the gates, one dark night, and 'ear that sound. I'll wager yer'd make for the railway station as fast as yer legs could carry yer."
"Hum! now what can that noise be?" Cleek mused. "An old trick to frighten away the superstitious peasants? Old as the hills, that is. I'll hear that noise for myself before I'm many hours older, orI've lost my sense since the Vanishing Cracksman days."
But it was not until the next day that his desire was granted, for Dollops, having been left to himself for a few hours, contrived to get a "scratch meal." This had apparently consisted of pickled walnuts, sheep's feet, steak-and-kidney pudding, and some jam puffs, with an additional helping of nuts as dessert. The effect of this startling combination may be imagined. The result was a fit of indigestion which sent Cleek pounding down the lane at ten o'clock that night to find the nearest doctor. It was not until he was well within sight of Cheyne Court, standing shuttered and dark, that he remembered the innkeeper's words of the morning before. He slackened speed a moment in the dark and all at once, as if from the ground beneath his feet, there issued one of the most horrible and inexplicable sounds that could be imagined. It was neither human nor animal though it contained something of both. No instrument or mechanical thing could possibly have emitted it, and Cleek stood stock still, the very hairs on his head quivering at the sudden unearthly wail. It ceased as quickly as it had begun, and brought back to the immediate needs of his protégé, he went on his way, the memory of that horror-haunting sound still ringing in his ears.
Half an hour later he was back with Dr. Verrall,a stiff and unyielding young man, who evidently held the House of Cheyne and all its ways in the greatest reverence. He refused to discuss the subject of the queer sounds, and as he very soon concocted a nauseous dose that had the desired effect on Dollops, there was nothing else to do but to allow him to proceed on his way home.
On the following day Mr. Narkom arrived at the Hampton Arms. The presence of the great inspector brought Mr. Roberts, bursting with pride to be allowed to speak on any terms with the great official. He clearly had no recollection of ever having seen Mr. George Headland before, and had any one told him that he was in the presence of the very man who had fetched him on a wild-goose chase that night nearly a month before, he would absolutely have refused to believe the evidence of his own senses.
Mr. Narkom, however, listened to all he had to say on the subject of that escapade and commended him for his promptness in obeying the summons.
Another visitor came also to the little inn, and that was Sir Edgar Brenton.
"I am thankful you've come," he said, addressing Mr. Narkom, though he had greeted Mr. Headland civilly beforehand.
"I cannot fathom the mystery at all. I returned to Cheyne Court to make another attempt on theplace, but found that the broken window is now barred and shuttered, so there is evidently still someone in the place. Don't you think you could take the law into your own hands and force an entry? Mr. Narkom, when I think that my dear girl may be kept there a prisoner, I go nearly mad with terror of what they may do to her—the devils!"
Mr. Narkom nodded sympathetically, and stole a side glance at Cleek's impassive face.
"I don't doubt it, Sir Edgar," he replied, "but it's a dangerous thing to break into a house, you know. Still, there is the excuse of a forcible abduction of the young lady perhaps, and if it is Miss Cheyne who is at the bottom of it, I don't mind trying to bluff her about burglars being in the neighbourhood, etc. We could say how unsafe it was with those jewels about."
He looked across at his ally for approval and Cleek, with a little smile hovering round his lips, nodded.
"Yes, why not?" he said. "I'd like to have another look at Cheyne Court by daylight and locate that abominable row——"
"Have you heard it, then?" broke in Sir Edgar hastily. "I was beginning to think my brain was giving way, and that the old superstition was right, after all."
"What superstition is that?" asked Cleek.
"Why, Cheyne Court has always been supposedto be haunted by a wailing lady who presages death to the owner, and for the past week nearly everyone seems to have heard her. I refused to believe it till last night, when I couldn't keep away from the place. 'Pon my word, the sound fairly made my blood run cold. What do you think about it, Mr. Headland?"
"A good deal, sir, and that's the truth," responded Cleek. "There's some villainy on foot and I don't take heed of any wailing ladies till I see how it's done. Now if you're ready, sir."
Sir Edgarwasready and the three, with Dollops hovering in the background, made their way to the ill-fated abode. Silent and grim-looking, with its lower windows shuttered, an oppressive silence seemed to overhang it. This was speedily broken by their sending peal after peal from the door-bell ringing through the building.
But no answer came. There was no sound of approaching footsteps and Sir Edgar, pale and despairing, stepped back into the gravelled path and gazed up into the windows. As he did so, he gave a cry and pointed upward. Cleek and Narkom sprang to his side just in time to see the wrinkled and malevolent face of Miss Cheyne looking down on them. That she was bitterly angry they could see, for though they could only guess at the stream of invective pouring from her shaking lips, a frenziedfist shaken in their direction warned them that any liberties taken with her abode would be bitterly resented. She disappeared suddenly from view and Sir Edgar turned upon his companions.
"Help me break the door down," he cried, forgetting all caution. "My dear girl is in there with that harridan, who has perhaps killed her for the sake of those accursed jewels! Some women would sell their very soul for diamonds, and she is one of them."
Cleek pursed up his lips and gave forth a low whistle.
"That's a fact," he assented. "Let's try the back." Recognizing that at least one emissary of the law was on his side, Sir Edgar darted along the terrace and on his way to the rear of the house. All the windows were shuttered and barred but a handy brick smashed the glass of one and their combined assaults on the time-worn shutters behind soon gave them an entry.
Cleek left Dollops on guard outside.
"Don't let a single person escape, Dollops," he said. "Whistle if anybody attempts to come out, but don't let them go."
"Righto, guv'nor," was the cheerful answer. "Don't you worrit; I'll put some of my 'tickle tootsies' along here as I follows yer, an' it'll be a downy old bird wot escapes me andthemas well; wot?"
Cleek smiled approvingly and followed his two companions into the house, perfectly content to leave the care of the outside to Dollops. Already he could hear Sir Edgar impetuously racing from floor to floor, making the oak rafters ring with Lady Margaret's name. But no sight or sound of her rewarded his efforts.
Mr. Narkom, pulling down shutter after shutter, let in the gorgeous light of day, but it was soon evident that the house was empty. Neither servants nor mistress rewarded their search. Neither did subsequent tapping and close scrutiny reveal a panel or trap-door. No cornered criminal was to be found; no gagged and bound figure of the girl they sought. There was nothing but the scamper of frightened mice behind the wainscoting. Miss Cheyne had disappeared before their very eyes, mysteriously, inexplicably, but disappeared nevertheless!
As they stood in the empty ballroom, its walls lined with age-old portraits, the furniture dusty and moth-eaten, there came a sound that made even Cleek, to whom it was no stranger, shudder. It was a low, horrible moaning which seemed to permeate the whole house.
For a moment they stood rooted to the spot in horrified silence, then Sir Edgar spoke in a quaking whisper:
"Heavens above! what is it?"
Nobody answered him, for it was a question impossible to answer. All they could do was to search the house again from garret to basement, but Miss Cheyne had apparently disappeared as mysteriously as her niece. Whether by her own will or not, it was impossible to say.
Back once more on the terrace they were compelled to own themselves beaten, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom looked at one another in sympathetic dismay at this set-back to their plans. They both had counted on coming face to face with the eccentric guardian of the girl whose life was in such evident danger. Suddenly Sir Edgar gave a little startled exclamation and turning in the direction of his gaze they saw the figure of a fair and slender woman running toward them.
As she drew near, Cleek's heart gave a little leap of delight, for it was the woman who meant more to him than all the world. A second later he quickened his steps to meet her.
"Oh, I am so worried!" Ailsa said swiftly. "I am thankful I have found you at last. It is that poor girl you drove home that night, Lady Margaret Cheyne, you know. I have tried so many times to see her. I have called and called, but have always been refused admittance. Now this morning I wasin the lane when I saw Lady Margaret at a window and she dropped this scrap of paper. See!" She handed Cleek a little screwed-up piece of paper on which was scrawled "Miss Lorne, save me! Margaret." "She was snatched away before I could call to her. What does it mean?" asked Ailsa, wistfully looking from one face to the other.
"I should not be surprised if that dangerous stone, the Purple Emperor, is at the bottom of it all," said Cleek.
Sir Edgar took the scrap of paper from Ailsa's fingers, and read it slowly through. Then he cried vehemently:
"I'll save her, if I commit murder fifty times over."
As he spoke, he plunged along the lane, the ill-fated words lingering in their minds long after he had disappeared.
"It's an absolute mystery at present," said Cleek softly, his chin pinched up in his hand. "There must be some way of getting in and out of that house which we haven't yet fathomed, and I'd like to have a shot at finding it. I think, too, we shall have to keep an eye on our young friend, Sir Edgar, or he will be getting into trouble. Never fear, Ailsa," he added, gently, "I will save the little girl somehow, but I mean to give myself the pleasure of walking back with you first."
The walk was but a brief one, and Cleek on his return to the inn sent an urgent message to the Towers asking Sir Edgar to come down to him. He meant to keep a watchful eye on his movements and prevent further trouble if possible.
Dollops returned half an hour later with the disconcerting news that the master had gone up to town.
Cleek switched on his heel, alert and surprised.
"Gone!" he said excitedly "What does that mean? Does he think he is going to find Lady Margaret wandering about Piccadilly Circus? Well, anyhow, he is safe up there out of reach of doing any mad tricks. Ah, if I could only find the secret of that house I'd go a long way toward restoring that child."
"Well, ifyoudon't find it I'll bet a tanner to a fresh herrin' no one will, guv'nor," exclaimed Dollops indignantly. "There ain't no one in the world wot's got your kind o' brains, and that's a fact. You'll find the secret out all right, sir, if yer only has patience. And in the meantime, if yer don't want me any more, I'll just pop along to the restaurant and have a sandwich, for I'm that empty you can hear me ribs rattle!"
He left the room, and Cleek sat alone, trying to puzzle out the whole awful affair. But it was like some jig-saw puzzle in which all the pieces were odd, and he did not hold the key to the solution.
The case was one that fascinated Cleek, and as it seemed absolutely certain that Sir Edgar would not venture back within the precincts of home that night, both he and Mr. Narkom prepared to make another investigation of Cheyne Court. Constable Roberts and Dollops were patrolling the forked lanes, and thanks to the latter's supply of "tickle tootsies" as he persisted in terming them and which were really an ingenious invention of his own consisting of slabs of brown paper well smothered with molasses, there was no fear of any one being able to approach without being seen.
A brisk two minutes' walk brought them to the picturesque house with its ivy-wrapped walls, dark Gothic windows, and quaintly carved chimney-pots. A medieval appearance was strengthened by a deep moat, long since dried up, but which gave it the air of an old-world castle. A ruined drawbridge completed the resemblance, though the actual date of its erection was certainly not in the bygone ages.
Cleek and Mr. Narkom had hardly approached the western side, where Constable Roberts had been stationed on guard, when that official came rushing toward them, breathing hard with excitement, his eyes nearly starting from his head.
"A shot, sir," he gasped. "As true as I'm 'ere, I heard a shot fired from somewhere, and a man rushed by me in the lane down there, waving his arms wildly, and then 'e vanished."
"Couldn't you catch a glimpse of him?" rapped out Cleek briskly. "What was he, a labourer, gentleman, or what?"
"Couldn't say, sir. I had turned my back, and was looking up at the blessed house, when I 'ears the sound of a shot, be'ind me it seemed, and round I spins, and next I knows was my helmet knocked down on my 'ead, and a man sprinting down the lane for dear life. By the time I'd got it lifted, 'e was gone."
"H'm! Sure it was a man?" asked Cleek, as the three men came out once more into the lane.
"Well!" said the police-constable, startled by this new hypothesis. "Now you speak, sir—the footsteps was light enough and there was a precious fine scent."
Before he could volunteer any further ideas, he caught sight of something which apparently drove them all from his head.
In his excitement he gripped the arm of Mr. Narkom, oblivious for the time being of their relative positions. "Look, sir," he said, "blest if there ain't somebody got into the 'ouse now, though 'ow they've bin and done it, beats me!"
Only a minute before the house had loomed up dark and cheerless, without a single sign of habitation. Now in the lower room known both by Cleek and the superintendent to be the dining room, someone was obviously walking about with a light held in one hand. For a moment all three stood stock-still gaping at one another in blank amazement, then Cleek spoke.
"Come on," said he, through clenched teeth, "not a sound if you can help it, and look if there are any strange footprints."
"The place is alive with footprints!" ejaculated Constable Roberts, as he turned the light of his bull's-eye downward and it revealed unmistakable traces on the soft, yielding earth. They led right up to the edge of the marble terrace. "Look, sir, this is the way he come down the lane, up this path and straight ahead. Come on!"
Straight down the narrow path they went without break or interruption, shielded by the overshadowing trees, their eyes bent on the countless footprints which followed each other down thecentre in one long unbroken line leading right to the house.
Suddenly at the front steps they stopped short, and Cleek and Narkom stopped also, for from the steps they took another direction altogether, wheeling about sharply and leading toward the terrace where they seemed to terminate.
But Constable Roberts was keenly on the look-out, being a dutiful policeman if a trifle slow.
"Here they are again, sir," he whispered, pointing to the left along the terrace where, since the previous night's rain, the thick dust had evidently been laid. "See, 'ere's where 'e went, right over this blessed wall. Ten chances to one but what 'e's cut 'isself with all that broken glass at the top. Fancy finding broken glass on a marble bannister!" He snorted under his breath as he lifted himself over the low balustrade after pushing the glass aside. "Mind 'ow you come, gents. Fair copped him out, as sure as guns is guns. Better let me go first, 'e's in there right enough. You can see the light moving about."
A single look was enough to convince Cleek and Mr. Narkom of the truth of the constable's words, and in an instant they had sprung up, gripped the edge of the wall, scrambled over it and dropped down on the marble terrace beneath. In the room, ofwhich Sir Edgar had acknowledged breaking the glass of the window, thin, wavering lines of constantly shifting light could be seen through the chinks of the wooden shutters. But so well had the wooden barriers been nailed up, that it was impossible to see anything more than this shifting streak of light, and Cleek, abandoning the attempt, led a swift flight round to the back of the building. To the intense astonishment of them all they found a small side door, not only unlocked, but ajar. Through this they made their way down a passage and up into the hall to the dining room. The thin streak of light beneath the door told them that their quarry was still there, run to earth at last. They stopped for a moment, their nerves strung to breaking point, their hearts beating wildly as they thought of what lay before them.
Only for a brief second they paused, then Cleek's head went up.
"Now," he whispered, and in they went, with a rush that sent the old panelled door crashing back on its hinges with a queer sort of groan.
But again, as on the previous day, no figure at bay rose to fight them. Once more only the squeal and rustle of countless mice behind the oak-panelled walls came to their listening ears.
To all appearances the dining room was exactlyin the same condition as when Cleek had first entered it with the girl they now were seeking so strenuously. The room was empty. A guttering candle contrasted strangely with the rich polished mahogany of the table on which it had been placed, but its faint light revealed no living thing.
They stared at one another in mute astonishment, then Cleek switched on his electric torch and swept it from ceiling to floor.
It swung around like a miniature searchlight, then stopped abruptly, and ejaculations of horror fell from the lips of the watching men.
On the hearth-rug on the opposite side of the room from where they stood, half hidden by the great divan chair, lay the figure of a woman. The life-blood was oozing from a gun-wound above the breast and it needed only one brief glance to tell them that she was already past their aid! Blankly they stared into each other's faces as recognition came.
"Miss Cheyne!"
Hideous fact though it was, there could be no doubt as to her identity. The golden, curled hair, the beringed hands were identically the same as Cleek had seen, and it seemed to his almost dazed senses, seen in the same position—just a month ago in the ballroom! It was the same woman who had driven the constable and himself away, barely anhour after that dreadful discovery and certainly the same who had glared at them so threateningly on the previous day!
Yet here she was in an apparently empty house.
For a moment all three men stood staring in appalled silence.
Then Constable Roberts backed shudderingly away.
"The Lord deliver us," he said in a quaking whisper. "It's Miss Cheyne herself, sir, and dead just as the young officer said a month ago."
At any other time Cleek would have noted this compliment paid to his disguise, but now he stood staring down at the grimly grotesque figure, all the colour drained from his lips and cheeks.
"How and when did she come back? Where did she hide herself yesterday?" said Constable Roberts, in hushed, awed tones. Nobody answered him. Nobody seemed to have heard. For Cleek and Mr. Narkom the discovery threatened to possess an even more tragic importance. In the finding of this woman shot to the heart they recognized that the deed threatened by Sir Edgar Brenton but a few short hours ago had now indeed been committed.
"Good Heavens!" gasped out Mr. Narkom at last, his lips dry, his voice tense and strained, "andso we came too late. No wonder we waited in vain. Poor boy, poor boy, the mystery is at an end."
"On the contrary, my friend," flung back Cleek sharply, a bright spot of colour showing in each cheek, "I venture to think it has only just begun. Constable Roberts, search this house first, then mount guard. Don't let any one enter or leave it. If any living man or woman comes near, arrest them, no matter who they are. But don't leave the place unguarded for a single instant. A doctor must be fetched and Dollops must find him.
"Thank goodness Sir Edgar is in London and can supply an alibi," he added, almost under his breath.
But Constable Roberts turned on his heel as he caught the words, the ruddy colour deserting his face, leaving it white and strained.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that's just what 'e ain't. I passed the station on my way here, and there was Sir Edgar 'imself on top of the steps. 'E must 'ave come in by the 9:10 train and 'e didn't see me, but I see 'im as plain as life. Lord pray someone else saw 'im, too!"
Speaking, he turned and left the room, and as Mr. Narkom gazed at Cleek, their mutual feeling showed only too visibly on their white, tense faces.
So the unhappy boy had taken matters into his own hands after all. That matter was only tooclear. He might have gone to town, true enough, but only waited there long enough for it to get dark, that he might be free and undisturbed in his task of revenge.
"There's no help for it, Cleek," said the Superintendent with a little shrug of despair. "I would have given one hundred pounds to have prevented it, but——"
His voice trailed off and he let the rest of the sentence go by default. Without further comment he turned and hurried out of the room. Already he could hear Constable Roberts tramping from floor to floor in a vain search for something in the nature of a murderer, and could not help thinking once more as he went out into the blackness of the night of the tragedy that this hot-headed boy had brought upon his house.
Cleek followed slowly. It took him but a second to get back into the lane, but there was no sign of Dollops, nor did the familiar hoot of a night-owl, Cleek's favourite signal, bring forth any reply. Dollops indeed had vanished as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up.
Meanwhile Dollops, obedient to Cleek's behest, had been patrolling round Cheyne Court, and was getting exceedingly tired of that proceeding.
He had been two or three times round the building when he saw the figure of Constable Roberts travelling swiftly away from the house, but receiving no signal, like the faithful watchdog he was, he remained at his post, facing the back of the house. Five minutes passed, and there was no sound of any kind save the rustling of the branches swayed by the wind, and the soft drip of moisture from the trees. Still he stood there, watchful, keen, with every nerve alert for sight or sound.
Five minutes became ten—fifteen—twenty, then, of a sudden, Dollops' nerves gave a sort of jump and a swift prickle flashed down through the soft down of hair upon his neck. For a sound had come at last, a quick, grating sound as of a window being opened. He stood on tiptoe and flashed the lightof his latest and most treasured possession, a powerful electric torch, all round him.
As the light streamed forth and he flung a shifting circle before him, there moved across it the figure of a woman, clad in scarlet, her hair floating over her shoulders and over the intervening space there stole a strange sweet smell of jasmine.
A woman here, at this hour, and under such strange circumstances! The thing was so startling that it was little wonder Dollops stood as if turned to stone. She was gone so soon, just glimmering across the circle of light and then vanishing into the darkness as suddenly as she had appeared, that for a brief second he lost his nerve, believing that he had seen the apparition said by the superstitious villagers to haunt the grounds. Indeed, as if to make this illusion even more real, there came an unearthly wailing moan from the earth beneath his feet, a sound that would have chilled even stronger nerves than Dollops', tired with the strain of waiting.
With a yell the lad turned and fled down the lane in pursuit of the speeding figure.
At the end of the path, however, winded and spent, he stopped short, and as his eyes pierced the gloom in search of his prey, for the second time that night, his limbs shook beneath him. Looking in all directions he had turned back and had caught aglimpse of the windows of Cheyne Court. Here he saw a sight that caused his strained nerves to tremble like live wires. Something was happening in the old house at last! Over the low-lying porch half covered with ivy was a great landing window, one of those which had been kept religiously closed, but was now wide open, and on the sill of it there appeared the startlingly clear figure of a woman. She was young, fair-haired, and clad in white with a gold lace scarf round her head. Lightly and cautiously she balanced herself on the sill and as lightly let herself down till she reached the ground.
But the terrible sound of a few minutes before had startled others besides poor Dollops. Mr. Narkom, unable to find him, had returned to Cleek, whereupon Constable Roberts, who had found the house empty as regards any human being, had been duly dispatched to the village in the opposite direction to find Dr. Verrall.
Left to themselves once more, Cleek and Mr. Narkom proceeded to investigate. The Constable had been gone about ten minutes or so when the sound of that unearthly wail caused both men to falter in their work.
"What, in Heaven's name, is it? Supernatural or human?" exclaimed the Superintendent.
"Neither," rapped out Cleek. "I'll look intothat next, but at present I——" he threw up his head and sniffed violently at the air. "Yes, it's as I thought. That woman's been here again."
Switching on his heel, he walked over to the dead woman, made a thorough examination, and the queer little smile fluttered for a moment up his cheek. Suddenly he bent down and sniffed at her dress, the lace ruffles on her sleeves, even the dead fingertips, all of which he subjected also to the closest scrutiny.
Suddenly, too, he rose to his feet, and stood looking down, first at the body itself, and then at a little shining object that lay near by.
"Hmn," he said musingly, "as I thought, two people at least and one of them a woman at that——"
"Cleek, my dear fellow!" murmured Mr. Narkom, who had at last succeeded in lighting a couple of lamps and some wax candles which made the room a little less gloomy.
"The scent first," flung back that gentleman quickly. "The place reeks ofHuile de jasmin, while this," he pointed to the silent figure, "is a speaking witness, even though dead." A grim smile flickered over his mobile features as he stood, his lower lip sucked in, his chin pinched hard between his finger and thumb. "If there isn't a very great surprise in store for the good people of Hampton shortly I'll miss my guess."
"Cleek!" Mr. Narkom was in a very tremour of excitement. "You have discovered something. Tell me; what is it?"
"All in good time, my dear friend, remember the old proverb 'set a thief to catch a thief'! We'll see what our good friend Dr. Verrall has to say, and if I am not mistaken, here he comes."
And come he did, for a sound of voices and hurried footsteps introduced him to their presence.
"What is this?" said Dr. Verrall to the Superintendent, whose identity had evidently been impressed on him by Roberts who hovered obsequiously in the background. Of Cleek he took no notice, having apparently taken an unaccountable dislike to the man who had tried so hard to pump him, on the excuse of a servant's fit of indigestion but a night or two ago.
"What is this the man tells me? Miss Cheyne, the Honourable Miss Cheyne," he corrected himself as if the dead lady herself had reproved him for thus forgetting her title, "has been murdered. It is impossible!"
"Not so impossible," interposed Cleek smoothly, his eyes narrowing down to mere slits as he noted the doctor's white face and unconsciously trembling fingers, "as not to be the actual fact, Doctor." He made mental comment of the doctor's agitation.It was strange to find the man so upset over the death of an eccentric stranger even if she had been a patient of his. And how was it he was so quickly on the spot? Aloud, however, he continued blandly: "She has been murdered some time, too, Doctor——"
With a little cry of horror, Dr. Verrall passed to the body and bent over it for a minute. "Humm," he said, meditatingly. "Dead, but within a couple of hours, I should say."
But Mr. Narkom struck in upon him.
"Impossible," said he, involuntarily, looking over at Cleek, "why, we heard the shot—you and I, not half an hour ago."
"The doctor is quite right, Mr. Narkom," Cleek replied, an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. "The corpse——" Dr. Verrall started a little.
"This is the Honourable Miss Cheyne, sir," he said with a quick look of contempt at the policeman.
"Pardon me, Doctor," was the smooth reply. "The Honourable Miss Cheyne has been dead nearly a month. I said she had been dead a long time.This," he flung out his foot in scorn, "well, don't you think you had better remove the wig first?"
"What do you mean?" gasped the Superintendent. Then, without waiting for a reply, he bent down and touched almost fearfully the mass of golden hair. It moved under his fingers and with one twitch cameaway in his shaking hand, revealing the sleek, close-cropped head of a man, of which the particularly noticeable feature was a narrow, sloping forehead.
A sudden smile looped up the corner of Cleek's mouth as he turned to the astonished group about him with a little theatrical gesture. There was a sort of triumph in his eyes.
"As I thought," he said. He turned suddenly round on the horrified constable, his voice and features those of the young Lieutenant Deland. "It was not such a wild-goose chase that night a month ago, after all, eh?" he said briskly. "Lieutenant Deland, you know, Constable. Miss Cheyne was lying dead in that room, and this rascal took her clothes and her place. Heaven help that poor girl!" he added gravely, while both Mr. Narkom and the constable gazed from him to the grotesque figure, almost dazed by the sudden turn of events.
Almost as startled as his companions, the doctor tore away the clothes, revealing the slim body of a man about forty years of age, revealing, too, something that caused Mr. Narkom to lay a shaking hand upon Cleek's arm.
"You see what that is, don't you?" he gasped. "Look at his arm. It bears the sign of the pentacle. He's a member of the gang, at any rate."
Cleek stood still a moment, thinking.
"Yes," Cleek replied in a low voice. "The Purple Emperor has much to answer for."
"There is something clenched in his hand," said the doctor, who had proceeded with his task. "Bring the light nearer, please."
As the stiff-ringed fingers were bent back, a little glittering fragment was displayed.
Cleek grasped it, and twitching back his head sniffed violently two or three times.
The doctor started in amazement.
"Good Lord, man," said he testily, "you can't tell who it belongs to by smelling it."
"I'm not so sure of that," responded Cleek smiling. "At any rate, find me the person who scents himself or herself withHuile de Jasmin, and you will be on the right road."
"Huile de Jasmin!" interjected the doctor suddenly. "Huile de Jas—no, no, it is not possible. I will not believe that." He had risen to his feet and was gazing across at Cleek, his face drawn and white.
"You know some one who uses that scent?" said Cleek quietly. "Come, Doctor, in her interests, clear the ground first of all; do not delay matters. There may be nothing in it, but——" His tones were fraught with significance, and the other man realized their value.
"I have known Miss Jennifer Wynne to use it. She is very fond of the scent," he said, grudgingly. "But that does not mean she had anything to do withthis," he pointed to the floor. "It is rarely that a woman fires a revolver, and as this wound has clearly been caused by this weapon here the first thing we have to do is to find the owner of it."
"True," said Cleek, quietly, bending as he spoke and pulling the dead man's lips down.
"Unfortunately for that theory, my dear Doctor, though the man has undoubtedly been shot, he was dead before ever that bullet reached him: killed with prussic acid. See. Here are the remnants of a little pellet, and I rather fancy if you have it analyzed, you will find it consists of nearly pure solidified prussic acid. Then again, look at the neck, there are the marks of long, slender fingers, showing that someone must have grasped the man by the neck, and forced the pellet into his mouth. Do you see?"
The doctor did see, and stood frowning heavily at these signs so easily read by this stranger.
Bending down again, he picked up the revolver which lay at the side. It bore an initial, that of the letter B.
"Brenton," muttered Mr. Narkom almost involuntarily, seeing one more link in the chain of fatal evidence against Sir Edgar. "Good lud,Brenton!"
Cleek apparently took no heed either of the remark or the revolver.
"Come," he said suddenly. "We have had enough of this gruesome spot, and there is nothing to be learned from it. Let us lock it up and have a look at some of those interesting footprints outside."
They had almost reached the outer gate when the silence was broken by a babble of angry voices, mingled with the sound of a scuffle, and there rang out the shrill tones of Dollops.
"No, you don't, my beauty! I've copped yer, and I'm going to keep you till my guv'nor's seen you. None of your larks, now! None of your larks!"
The distance between the door of Cheyne Court and the end of the lane, whence the sounds appeared to issue, was by no means a short one, but at the first sound of Dollops's voice the four men sped down the centre of the dark drive and round the corner, the bull's-eye lantern of Constable Roberts sending a brilliant path of light before them.
Close to the identical spot, where earlier in the evening Constable Roberts had had his helmet pushed down over his eyes by an unseen assailant, two figures struggled together. One was vainly endeavouring to free herself from the clutches of her captor, the other was intent on bringing her to the ground. Scattered all about were the drawings and paraphernalia with which Dollops had evidently been carrying out his usual proceedings. The light of the lantern and Cleek's electric torch revealed his prisoner to be a slim, fair-haired girl of about three and twenty, clad in a soft white gown now sadly soiled and torn by the rough usage she hadundergone, while over her shoulders was hanging a crumpled but unmistakable gold scarf.
It hardly needed the doctor's startled exclamation, "Jennifer!" to tell the detective that this was indeed the girl of whom he had spoken, for even from that distance there emanated the sweet fragrance of jasmine. There before him was the girl the host at the Hampton Arms had gossiped about, and who was a bitter rival of Lady Margaret Cheyne for the love of Sir Edgar Brenton.
"Why, Doctor!" she said bravely. "This is a lucky meeting. Who and what is this disgusting individual? I was just taking a little stroll, when I was seized hold of and dragged along like a sack of coals, or a criminal on the way to the police-station."
Cleek noted her voice and tone, and stood watching her. He said nothing, however, merely removed the pressure of his thumb from the controlling button of his torch, slipped that useful article into his pocket, and busied himself with picking up Dollops' papers on which he had obviously been taking measurements of footprints.
"Here you, whoever you are, just keep your 'ands off my papers," snapped Dollops with a wink at the Superintendent which passed unnoticed by that irate individual. "I say, Mr. Narkom sir, don't let that new man take off my papers, and don't yoube took in neither, sir," he added, earnestly. "I didn't do the young person no 'arm, but she wasn't up to no good a creeping and watching in the dark."
"Well, you can take it from me, sir," interposed Dr. Verrall, heatedly, "this lady is a personal friend of mine, and had a perfect right to be strolling down the lane. She was probably on her way home from Lady Brenton's; were you not, Miss Wynne?"
"Yes, yes, that's just where I had been," the girl answered, her dark eyes flashing gratefully at the doctor, "but I refuse to say another word till you send away this enterprising youth who has bruised my arms nearly black and blue."
"Certainly, Miss Wynne," said Mr. Narkom. "Dollops, get along back to the station."
"But, sir, Mr. Narkom——"
"Not another word: do as I say."
Dollops gave a swift glance at Cleek's impassive face, then sullenly picked up his papers, the bundle of famous "tickle-tootsies" without which he never budged when on a case, and lounged away into the shadows of the trees.
"We are anxious to get on with a very important task, Miss Jennifer," said the Superintendent. "A very horrible deed has been committed within the last few hours, and I and my friend and ally——"
"Mr. George Headland," interjected that gentleman,blandly. While appearing to have been absorbed in dispatching Dollops, Cleek had been quietly taking in every detail relative to the girl's appearance, and had decided off-hand that he liked the look of her, despite her suspicious behaviour. She was just the type of womanhood that to connect with such a thing asmurderwas simply impossible. "Surely, Mr. Narkom, it is hardly necessary to explain if the details are already known. Perhaps Miss Jennifer had come down to learn any fresh news?"
"That is just what I have done," she said, gratefully, a note of agitation sounding in her rich voice, despite an effort to keep it calm. "I was just going for a stroll. I had a splitting headache, and only a good walk in the open air ever does it any good. All at once I met Constable Roberts. I stopped him and he told me dear Miss Cheyne had been murdered. Of course I did not want to be caught, and I was just trying to get back home when that young beggar set on me, mistaking me, I suppose, for an accomplice."
"Well, it's very deplorable," put in Cleek, mildly, "but you see, miss, he'd been told to arrest anybody who came along, and under the circumstances——" His voice trailed off into silence and the rest of the sentence went by default.
Miss Wynne nodded her head vigorously.
"Yes, yes, I suppose so; still, it has all been a mistake and now I think I had better be going home. You will be suspecting me of the actual murder next.
"Nonsense, Miss Jennifer, we might as well suspect Lady Brenton, or Sir Edgar, for that matter."
"Why, yes, indeed," said the girl, quickly. "But as Lady Brenton was confined to her room, also with a headache, and Sir Edgar is not expected back till the morning, I think we are all quite safe."
The curious one-sided smile moved up Cleek's left cheek, then vanished as quickly as it had come.
"Quite so, Miss Jennifer," he said, blandly. "Besides, it is not with women we are concerned but the owner of this revolver that we found on the spot——"
She saw the revolver and whirled upon him like a mad woman.
"My God! He did lea—Edgar—he said it had been stolen!"
Realizing the effect of her words, she then turned fiercely on them. "If you dare to suspect Edgar, you are wrong. He was never within miles of the place! You shan't drag him into this wretched mess, you shan't, I say, you shan't——"
"Calm yourself, my dear young lady; there is everyproof of its being a woman as much as a man," put in Cleek gently.
"You are absolutely sure you have no knowledge of the murder, no suspicion?"
For the briefest second she seemed to hesitate. Then she spoke hysterically:
"Why should I? I shouldn't have come if Roberts had not told me it was Miss Cheyne."
"There is no more to be said, then," returned Cleek. "We will all say good-night, and perhaps you will let one of us see you home."
"I will take Miss Jennifer back, myself," responded the doctor with a pathetic alacrity which Cleek noted, and with a last good-night the two turned and set off down the lane.
"H'm!" said Cleek, rubbing his chin, "and so a fresh element of mystery enters. She knew all that had been done this night, I'll swear. There was no surprise, was there, Roberts, when you told her?"
"Come to think of it, sir, she never turned a hair, might have been a dead cat I was talking about."
"What do you make of it, Cleek?" Mr. Narkom asked, in a mystified manner.
"Nothing as yet. Roberts, get a guard round the house, and then turn in. We'll wait here till relief comes. Good-night."
But after the burly policeman had tramped thankfully away, Cleek turned to his companion.
"For a liar, commend me to a woman every time," he said. "Miss Jennifer does know who it was. She knew that it had already been committed, and every blessed thing of hers smelt ofHuile de jasminstrong! Did you notice the gold lace scarf also?"
"Good Lord! Surely you do not believe——?" Mr. Narkom's voice was full of anxiety.
"I never 'believe' anything till I get proof. I may have my doubts and I do think at the moment that the young lady is either in the possession of dangerous knowledge, or else she is bent on throwing the blame on to Sir Edgar——"
"Good heavens, Cleek, how, why, what makes you think that?"
"First, because she was so evidently on the spot to be caught; secondly, her remark about the revolver was not so unstudied as it looked. No, my friend, you will find that Miss Jennifer knows a little more than you imagine, and means to turn that little to account in winning the man she has set her heart upon, much to our good doctor's dismay. I wonder, now, what poor young Dollops has got to say?"
A shrill whistle speedily brought the boy along, and his face when he saw that they were alone was a veritable picture of disgust.
"Lor' lumme, sir!" he exclaimed, "you never went and let yerself be taken in by that young woman's soft soap! Taking a stroll, indeed! Not she! Why, she climbed right out of one of those winders there, and dropped to earth like a first-class burglar born."
"In the house itself, did you say?"
"Yes, I did, Mr. Narkom, and I would 'ave told yer if yer 'adn't pitched into me! In the room over the porch she was, and she slid down the ivy, right in front of my blessed eyes, and then made out wot it was me that 'ad torn all 'er fings. I was running full tilt after another female, when I sees 'er, so there!"
"Another woman!" Narkom looked at Cleek, significantly.
"Are you sure it wasn't the same woman in the dark, Dollops?" asked Cleek, suddenly, "you might have made a mistake, you know."
Dollops gave vent to a little snort of disgust.
"Certain sure, sir, but the other lady wasn't near the house she wasn't. Sort of floating about under the trees in a kind of red dressing gown——"
"What's that—red—do you mean scarlet? Was it scarlet satin, Dollops? Do you think you know?"
"That I do, sir. Shining stuff it were and whenI got near, she smelt something hevingly, like a garden full o' flowers."
"What's that?" rapped out Cleek, suddenly. "Huile de jasmin, of course. It must be the same woman I myself saw a month ago; and yet how does Miss Jennifer come to be there? If she is innocent, what was she doing in that room? And she was wearing a gold scarf, a piece of which I have here and which was clenched in the dead man's hand!"
"Heavens above, man!" snapped Narkom. "It's as clear as crystal. I should apply for a warrant for her arrest immediately."
"And yet, it was a revolver that had also been used, and one belonging to Sir Edgar. Miss Jennifer would hardly go so far as to murder the only obstacle that stood between the man she loved and his marriage to her rival. What, too, has become of that poor girl?"
"Don't ask me, Cleek," returned the puzzled Superintendent, dolefully. "It's the most infernal riddle I ever came across, and my head's aching with it. I'm off to get additional help, if you don't mind, or else we shall have crowds surging into that room before we know where we are."
"Right, Mr. Narkom, and as I still have a few threads to collect, Dollops and I will be off, too. We'll meet at the Hampton Arms. Come on, Dollops,we'll take a few impressions of those footprints before they're trodden out of existence to-morrow."
"Righto, Guv'nor."
Cleek took out his electric torch and the two set forth on their appointed task, leaving Mr. Narkom to set a sufficient guard over the silent figure of a dead man on whose face there rested an inscrutable smile. It was as if he were smiling over the secret he held and which was to puzzle many minds, and was one of the greatest riddles Cleek had ever attempted to solve.
Meanwhile that gentleman and his zealous assistant worked silently and surely. Not a depressed blade of grass was left before it was subjected to the keenest scrutiny, while exact outlines were taken of the clearly defined footprints, with which the lawn was fairly alive. To recognize the unmistakable imprint of the Government Regulation boot worn by Mr. Narkom and Constable Roberts was a simple matter. The footprints of Cleek and Dollops were also distinguishable, for both had early in their companionship decided to wear boots which would always enable them to tell their own footprints from any they might be tracking, a precaution that had stood them in good stead on more than one occasion.
It did so now, but even after having eliminatedall the known ones there yet remained a bewildering number of marks, and a disgusted grunt broke from Dollops.
"Lor' lumme, the place is alive with them, sir, and they're all about the same size. They're that young woman's or I'll eat my 'at!"
But Cleek was silent, and as Dollops cautiously flashed his torch so that the light fell full upon his master's face, he gave a little start. Cleek was staring fixedly at the imprint of a newcomer, a man who had evidently come right up to a certain point, then stood still, as if waiting for something or someone to join him.
"Lor', sir," said Dollops, looking down now in the same direction, "there's that girl's footmarks, too. They go down the lane side by side."
An odd look flashed across Cleek's face, an odd smile dwelt for a moment about his mouth, for it looked as if the lad were right: the girl had been joined by a companion who had waited while she committed the deed. Once more Cleek's mind went back to the principals in the grim drama. Which was it? Jennifer Wynne, whose deception was so obvious; Sir Edgar Brenton, supposed to be in town; or the unknown stranger whose footprint they had found? It was a difficult problem, more difficult than he had at first imagined.
Finally he threw up his chin and faced the earnest young Cockney who was staring at him.
"Come, Dollops," he said with a little sigh, "there's no more to be done here. But if we'd only had a crop of your 'tickle-tootsies' we'd have caught those fine birds by their tail feathers and caged them. However, we haven't, so let's be off. There's plenty to do and not much time to do it in, and a walk back to the inn on this beautiful night will do us both a power of good."
It is not often that it falls to the lot of any village to revel in such abysmal depths of excitement as did the village of Hampton when the news leaked out, and once the affair was known to the local police and their respective wives, the news of the tragedy spread with the velocity of a hurricane. By nine o'clock the next morning there wasn't an inhabitant within a radius of ten miles that had not heard of the murder of Miss Cheyne, and the mysterious disappearance of Lady Margaret. An hour later, the lanes and fields were thronged to overflowing with the chattering mob of sightseers, which the police, strongly reinforced by the reserves of several neighbouring hamlets, found more than a difficult task to keep in order. The story grew with every telling.
Miss Cheyne had been killed—oh, yes, months ago—and this man who had taken her place had murdered Lady Margaret, though it was not to be allowed to leak out. "Oh, no"—with many a wiseshake of the head, and knowing wink—"the police knew their business." But what had they done with the girl's body? Ah! that remained to be seen. Meanwhile, if human ingenuity and absolute disregard of time stood for anything, they meant to see the body of the impostor for themselves.
Tongues wagged and heads nodded, but nevertheless, none but the police themselves, and such representatives of the press as were absolutely necessary, had been permitted to cross the threshold of Cheyne Court, or even obtain the merest glimpse of the dead man. Notwithstanding Cleek's reserve, and Mr. Narkom's own restrictions, news had managed to leak out of the mysterious sign of the Pentacle upon the murderer's arm, and as Scotland Yard—as represented by Cleek and the Superintendent—refused to give forth any further knowledge that they might well be supposed to possess, imagination ran riot.
The correspondent of theParty Lanterntherefore "discovered" that the murdered man was a famous member of a Royal house, condemned by his seniors to become dead to the world, owing to his having offended the masonic societies of his country. Further details theLanternrefused to give, though hinting darkly at deeds of misconduct that would have made Don Giovanni turn greenwith envy. As to the whereabouts of Lady Margaret, they again contented themselves with wild hints as to what they might have told, had it not been for their "honour."
On the other hand, theEvening Tatler"discovered" and declared the man to be nothing more exciting than a low-down anarchist, who had tried to do his boon companions out of their share of the loot of the Cheyne jewels. That they were any nearer to the truth, however, than their contemporary, was equally open to query; though when Mr. Narkom pointed out the arguments of the reporter to his ally Cleek gave a little approving nod.
"Best thing we can do is to shut that young man up," he said, tersely. "Get on to theEvening Tatler, Mr. Narkom, and tell the news editor that we only want vague eventualities given to the public just now—no facts at all. Otherwise, you know, we shall put the Pentacle Club on guard, and if this is one of its crimes, we want to scotch the whole gang once and for all. That this man was a member of the Club is certain, for the markings of that Pentacle were not branded on, as in former cases where people were murdered from motives of revenge, but finely tattooed, showing that our friend is decidedly an old hand at the game. Personally, I want to find out what Blake is doing."
Mr. Narkom mopped his face with a silk handkerchief, a sure sign of emotion upon his part.
"I don't think this can be James Blake," said he, reflectively, "for I looked up his record after what you said a little while back about his being the head of the gang and learned that he left England a year or more ago, and nothing had been heard of him in his old haunts, or by his boon companions since."
"Hmn," said Cleek with a grim little laugh, "lying low, evidently, after, or in view of some big coup, but that doesn't prove anything about our murdered friend here. It's finger-prints we want."
"And we shall have them, too," threw in the Superintendent triumphantly, fumbling in his pocketbook with fingers that themselves shook with excitement. "I had a copy made of Blake's."
"Good man," ejaculated Cleek, as he took the precious scrap of paper, and went up to the room wherein had been placed the victim of a vengeance, possibly as just as that of the law itself. By the time Mr. Narkom had made his way more slowly and ponderously up to the same spot, he found Cleek looking down with considerable disappointment.
"Barked up a wrong tree this time," he said, but the light of a great discovery shone in his eyes and his voice had an undercurrent of strong excitement."This is not James Blake, but I can tell you who it is. Justice has simply been forestalled——"
His face was grim and Mr. Narkom looked up into it almost breathless.
"What is it, old chap; tell me?" he gasped. "What have you discovered?"
Cleek smiled.
"This man is the murderer of Elsie McBride, the old wardrobe seller of Crown Court, so her murder will not have gone long unavenged!"
"But—how—are you sure?" said the startled Superintendent.
"Quite sure, my friend," was the reply. "Whatever other disguises a man may assume, as we know, there is no escape from the irrefutable proof of finger-prints. Here——"
He lifted up the dead hand, and with a magnifying glass in his own, brought the thumb before Mr. Narkom's gaze.
"Now compare these thumb and finger marks with these which are a copy of those found on that dagger with which the poor woman was killed. You will see that they are identical. I'll nip off to town now and see whether I can get the other old woman down here to identify this man. I think, too, when we have discovered the motive for this murder we shall have gone far to have found out the reasonwhy Lady Margaret was abducted. But that remains to be seen."
And afterward, when the turn of events had crowded even more important matters from his mind, Mr. Maverick Narkom remembered these words.
Meanwhile a search of the house had not revealed the hiding place of the famous jewels, and Mr. Shallcott, who was the first to come down and investigate after he had read the surprising facts in his morning paper, was full of remorse that they should have been lost.
"I shall never forgive myself, Mr. Headland," he said, peering short-sightedly at that gentleman. "I might have known there was something wrong in the jewels being taken out like that, and if only I had persisted in seeing the poor child alone, all would have been well."
Cleek laid a hand upon his arm and gave it a gentle pressure.
"You could not help yourself, Mr. Shallcott," replied he, sympathetically, "and neither legally nor morally can you be held responsible. She was the victim of a deep-laid plot to effect their theft. As to the murder, I cannot say yet. We can only await the turn of events."
Cleek himself felt a natural if morbid remorse for having so innocently placed Lady Margaret in thehands of the Pentacle Club. Accordingly, on the following day, when he was immersed in collecting his facts at the Hampton Arms, preparatory to going down to meet Mr. Narkom at the police station, he was greeted by the voice of Sir Edgar Brenton himself; he jumped up with pleasure and excitement in his voice.
"Ah, Sir Edgar, the very man I want," he said, looking into the lined, drawn face, no longer that of a boy, but of a man, and one in deepest trouble at that. "What have you been doing with yourself since last night? I expected you to have joined us in watching Cheyne Court. As it is, you know what has happened, I have no doubt."
Sir Edgar's apathetic eyes met his.
"Yes," said he, dully. "Miss Cheyne was murdered by those devils, after all. I thought they would. I was sure of it! But what I want to know is, where Lady Margaret is, Mr. Headland? What has become of her? Surely there is some trace of her by this time!"
His haunted, anguished eyes watched Cleek's inscrutable face and, notwithstanding the almost complete chain of evidence that was being slowly but surely welded about him, Cleek felt the same instinctive liking for the young man as he had when they had first met.
"I should have thought you could have answered that question better yourself, Sir Edgar," he said, quietly. "Why did you rush up to town so unexpectedly?"
A wave of scarlet passed over the young man's pallid face.
"I was a fool, I suppose, but as I was passing the station I saw, or I fancied I saw, the face of that girl whom Margaret called Aggie and I thought it might be a clue. I wasn't certain, I didn't pay much attention to the creature when I saw her with my girl in Trafalgar Square. And so, without stopping to think, I rushed up the steps, took a ticket, dashed on to the platform, and just had time to tell the porter to take a message up to my mother, who might have been anxious and started off."
"Yes," said Cleek, quietly. "But what about this Aggie you speak of? Did you see anything more of her?"
"Unfortunately, no, I lost sight of her at Waterloo, and knowing the futility of doing anything further—I—I came back——"
Cleek made a little clicking sound indicative of mild despair.
"I wish to God you had stayed away all night," he said under his breath.
"But that's just what I did do," returned SirEdgar wearily. "When I got back to Hampton Station, a little boy came running up, and told me that this telegram had been waiting for me at the post office. I didn't stop to question, I can tell you, I simply tore it open, and when I read it, I was over that platform and off again before you could say 'Jack Robinson.'"
Cleek's eyes narrowed.
"What was in it; you don't happen to have kept it, I suppose?"
"As it happens, I have," said Sir Edgar, fumbling in his pocket and producing a crumpled ball of paper which Cleek took from his outstretched fingers.
"Hotel Central, come quick. Margaret," he read and Sir Edgar's voice broke in upon his thoughts in a high pitch of excitement:
"You can be sure I just rushed up there as fast as trains would carry me—only to find it a hoax. I waited about all night, and came back this morning, none the worse. But I'd like to lay hands on the man who sent me on that wild-goose chase."
Cleek looked at him for a brief second in silence, his face set, his chin cupped in the palm of his left hand. If this thing were true, it put Sir Edgar out of the affair altogether.But was it true?Was it not rather an attempt to establish an alibi, and thus throw dust in the eyes of the police? Thehotel? Oh, yes, that part was easy, simplicity itself. He would go there and register, wait about for a girl whom he knew couldn't possibly be there, and then, after going up to the room, it would be the easiest thing in the world to step down unnoticed, thus getting back in time to have committed the deed. He recalled Jennifer's words: "Edgar—so hedidleave——" Leave maybe—but what about the revolver? As for Constable Roberts' hypothesis that the young man had just arrived—why, he might well have been just leaving. And now this telegram! Cleek looked at it again, then gave vent to a low cry of astonishment.
"Hello," he said, "here's a pretty kettle of fish. This is an old telegram; look, here's the date, last Friday, by Jove!"
He held it before Sir Edgar's astonished gaze. "All the original words have been rubbed out," he continued as the young man stared at it. "You can see the roughened paper."
Then he turned on him suddenly.
"Now, my friend," he said, "considering that your revolver was found just near the body of the murdered man I think you will agree that this will take some explanation. Don't you think so?"
Sir Edgar started as though someone had stabbedhim. A wave of colour suffused his face for a moment, then left it waxen white.
"Good God, you don't attempt to suggest that I——" he began, then appeared to lose the power of speaking altogether as he gazed into Cleek's stern eyes.
"I am not in the habit of suggesting," interrupted Cleek, "I am simply stating a fact which, as you know, is one that is in itself suspicious. It is useless also to blink at the fact that the real Miss Cheyne was murdered on that night when I found you wandering up and down the lane, with that same revolver in your pocket. Perhaps you can explain that also?"
"Heavens, man, but you don't think I committed still another murder," said Sir Edgar, incredulously. "I say, that's going a bittoofar you know. I can understand a joke, but as to your thinking for one moment that I should do such a low-down dirty thing as to murder a woman, and an old one at that——"
Cleek laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Not so fast, my friend, not so fast," said he with a little laugh. "There's an old French proverb which saysqui s'excuse, s'accuse. Perhaps you know it. But the evidence is strong against you. What about that revolver with the 'B' on it? Perhaps you'll deny that?"
"I do, most emphatically I do!" responded Sir Edgar with a little snort of indignation. "That belonged to the old woman herself, I snatched it from her, and——"
"Cheyne does not to my knowledge begin with a 'B'," threw in Cleek, quietly. "The revolver bears your initial and a jury is a difficult thing to convince when facts are strong."
"Stuff and nonsense!" spluttered forth Sir Edgar, red with anger. "You can have me arrested straight away, if you like, but whatever happens, I mean to find Margaret, and to find out why I was lured away last night. You know where to find me when you want me." Turning angrily on his heel, he walked out, leaving Cleek smiling quietly to himself and rather liking this young spit-fire for the way in which he had risen to his fly.
"So he knows there is no danger of being convicted for a revolver-shot, does he? Now did he administer that prussic acid, or did he not?" was the next thought that passed through his mind.