Meanwhile Dollops had not been idle. He had set himself the stupendous task not only of discovering the murderer of Miss Cheyne, but what was more important to his sentimental heart, the finding of the young girl. Her face, as he had seen it once on that memorable day at Charing Cross Station, had so imprinted itself on his impressionable mind that it was little wonder that Sir Edgar Brenton spent many hours in the lad's company listening to his brief description of her again, and giving Dollops as clear a word picture of her as any lover could.
"She is dead, the devils have killed her!" he would say in despair, but this theory Dollops refused to accept at any price.
"Not 'arf they ain't, Sir Edgar, and don't you go fer to believe it," he would say, when the two paced up and down watching the grim old house that would have told them so much could it have had human powers of speech. "Don't you forgit,murder's an 'anging business, and a mighty uncomfortable sort of business, too, I should imagine. No, sir, 'er ladyship's 'id away snug and tight, mark my words, till it's safe to let 'er go, and it's up tousto find 'er. For all Mr. Narkom thinks of is them blessed jewels, beggin 'is pardon."
"Yes, and the other one, the Headland chap, is just as bad; not a single effort made to trace my dear girl, only that blessed Purple Emperor. As if it were worth a hair of her precious head!" stormed Sir Edgar.
Dollops switched round upon his heel and looked up into the angry countenance.
"Steady on there, sir. Not a word against Mr.—er Headland," said he with a touch of asperity in his cockney tones. "He's my boss, and the finest, cleverest chap wot ever breathed, an' if 'e's made up his mind to find the Emperor, purple or pink, then 'e's quite right, and you may depend on it he hasn't forgotten Lady Margaret."
Then Dollops went on his own tack, leaving Sir Edgar to enjoy his own bitter reflections as best he might.
"Not but wot 'e's all wrong though, bless 'is 'eart," said Dollops, when he was safely by himself, "for if that precious Miss Wynne ain't at the bottom of it then I'll eat my 'ead, 'at and all."
He was still indignant that Cleek had apparently taken such little notice of his staggering discovery and capture as she climbed through the window on the night of the murder, and he had persistently dogged her footsteps ever since. But for the time being he was keeping a strict eye on the movements of Cleek himself, and having seen him safely into the house, he took up his position, squatting in the shadow of the huge overgrown laurel bushes, prepared to wait till nightfall, if need be, for such time as his master should emerge.
From time to time his eyes swept ferret-like over the vacant windows of Cheyne Court, and of a sudden, a sight met them which caused his active little body to stiffen like a statue. In that deserted house, in an upper window, there appeared the outline of a woman's figure and Dollops' heart leapt into his mouth as the dazzling thought that it might be Lady Margaret herself, crossed his mind.
Dollops gave a praise-worthy imitation of a night-owl, and that Cleek heard it was soon apparent, for the ballroom window flashed open and Cleek himself came out. No sooner was he on the step near the lad than a rather more than usually excited Dollops descended on him.
"For Gawd's sake, Guv'nor, come quick," he said as he laid a tense, nervous grip on Cleek's arm."There's a woman prowling round in the 'ouse. How she got in, fair licks me, but she's in right enough and——"
"What's that?" rapped out Cleek, sharply. "In Cheyne Courtnow? Impossible, my dear Dollops. I locked the hall door behind me, and only unshuttered the ball room window when I heard you call. It's quite impossible!"
"It's not, sir," said Dollops, his voice shaking with earnestness, "there's a woman in that house, sure as I'm standing 'ere on this blessed piece of ground. She was upstairs herself in that window up there. I couldn't see her face, first at all, sir—thought it was Lady Margaret 'erself when I copped a glimpse of 'er, but when she turned away I could see as her countingance was too broad."
Cleek looked at the boy keenly.
"Was it Miss Jennifer, Miss Wynne again?" he asked. "Try and place the woman in your mind, lad."
"No, it wasn't, worse luck," responded Dollops, ruefully, for he would dearly have loved to have caught his erstwhile captive red-handed again.
"I seen 'er this morning, and she's in a blue creepy-crawly kind of dress wot tears if yer looks at it. But this 'ere female was in a black dress. I see it plain as plain."
Cleek twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.
"Sure it was a woman and not a Hindoo priest?" he said.
"Certain sure," was the disappointing answer. "You're backing the wrong 'orse there, sir. It was a woman right enough."
Cleek's disappointment showed in his grave face, for in his own mind he was still inclined to lay the murder and even the abduction of Lady Margaret, at the door of the priests of Brahma, tenders of the far-distant Temple of Shiva. He knew the main object of their lives would be achieved could they but once get into their possession again the ill-fated Eye of Shiva, known to the European world as the Purple Emperor.
"Are yousure?" he persisted, laying a tense hand upon Dollops' arm. "Don't jump to a conclusion, Dollops."
That worthy tossed up his carrotty head.
"Not 'arf I ain't, gov'nor," said he, fervently, only wishing in his loyal heart that it could have been one of them beastly "niggers." He would cheerfully have sworn them to be snow-white could it give Cleek any satisfaction. "I see 'er face the second time and it was a middle-aged woman. Why you didn't 'ear 'er tramping around beats me. Anyway, she was evidently a watchdog for someone, too,for she looked right down vicious-like. Lor-lumme, sir, if she ain't there again! Look! Look!"
Cleek did look, switching round on his heel, and gazing up at the window on his left. Sure enough, a woman was there, a woman in a dark dress and with a pale, lined face. She was a stranger to Cleek, as well as to Dollops, and a chill of excitement went through him at the thought of what her presence in this house of mystery and death meant.
At a silent signal from Cleek Dollops crouched lower in the bushes.
"Can't be up to much good in there," he whispered with a backward jerk of his thumb in the direction of the house. "Shall I nip back to Mr. Narkom and bring him along?"
Cleek pondered a moment.
"H'mn, yes, you might do that, but no, on the other hand, it will look suspicious. Keep here, out of sight, if you can, and if I don't come out in half an hour, then you might cut along. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Dollops, obediently, but in his own mind he was saying, "mestay out 'ere if there's going to be any danger for'im?"
He watched Cleek's features writhe into the face of the gallant Lieutenant Deland, so that he should be unrecognizable should he encounter any one he knew and saw him fit in the heavy key which hadbeen found for the front door. But it had hardly closed upon his figure when Dollops was up and round the back to see whether it were not possible to effect an entrance of his own.
Meanwhile Cleek, his foot on the threshold of the door, took out the key, and closed the hall door behind him. It was very gloomy within, but not so dark as to prevent him seeing the figure of a woman, standing at the foot of the stairs, the woman Dollops had seen but a few short minutes ago.
He advanced a step forward and raised his chin.
"Who are you?" he said, imperatively. "And what are you doing here?"
"That's what we'd like to know of you," came a harsh, raucous voice behind him.
Cleek wheeled round sharply, but a moment too late. For once in his life his customary caution had left him. From the gloom of the door a man's figure sprang forward, bearing him down by the impetus and the total unexpectedness of the attack.
A little cry of triumph burst from the lips of the woman as she rushed forward and helped him bind Cleek's struggling figure with the ropes which he had drawn from his pocket. When this was done, she turned upon her companion and spoke to him.
"I thought you were never coming, Jack," she said, looking up into the sullen though triumphantface of the man whom Cleek had recognized as the immaculate butler of that day so long ago when he and Constable Roberts had come post haste to the Court.
"I came as quick as I could, but those fools of police are all over the place," the man answered, viciously. "As to you, my fine fighting cock," jerking Cleek's bound figure to his feet, "we want a little explanation from you, and we're going to see that we get it. Come along, Aggie, let's make for the wine cellar. I can do with a drink, can't you?"
Cursing himself for his folly, Cleek was forced to let his captors drag him downstairs into what were evidently the wine-cellars of Cheyne Court. How either of his opponents had entered and re-entered the house was still a mystery to him, and when he looked at their grim, triumphant faces he wondered dully exactly what was likely to become of him. There was desperation in their eyes and hatred in their looks. This was a tighter corner than he had yet experienced. His thoughts were not permitted to continue long, for——
"Now, my friend," said the man, as he pushed Cleek roughly into a stout kitchen chair. "What have you done with the girl? Come, out with it! We've no intention of having dangerous witnesses against us. Tell us where that girl is, and we'll let you off with your life. But if you don't——"
Cleek looked as surprised as he honestly felt.
"What girl?" he asked, bluntly.
"Now, then, none of your tricks," snarled the woman with a nasty laugh. "You know right enough, the girl you drove here and came back in such a precious stew about afterwards! Lord, how we took you in! A proper old 'do' it was."
She laughed hysterically. "The clever devil! He was a bit too clever, eh? Didn't get over me, though." Her voice broke, and it was evident that she had already been drinking heavily.
The man, seeing this, interrupted her.
"Stow it, Aggie, my girl," said he with an oath. "We've had enough of that. Now, then, you tell us quick or it will be the worst for you."
"If you mean Lady Margaret Cheyne," Cleek said in a calm voice, "you know more about her than I do. She was in your hands!"
"Yes, and safe and sound, too!" snarled Aggie. "What we want to know is who broke in 'ere and took 'er away? You're the only person wot's bin actually near the place, so it's no use your denying it."
Cleek shook his head, and favoured her with a bewildered smile.
"I do, and I give you my oath. I have not seen her since I left her asleep in the chair upstairs," heresponded. "I wish to God I had! We've been searching for her long enough, goodness knows!"
The man stared at the woman and the woman stared at the man. There was dismay written large on both their faces. It looked as if a mistake had been made after all.
"What are you going to do now?" asked Aggie in a breathless whisper. "I don't believe it—still——"
"Believe it or not, I'm going to finish him," growled the man in response. "Dead men tell no tales, my girl, and her precious ladyship won't do us no harm. And as for other things——"
Their laughter filled the vaulted chamber, sending the echoes chasing back and forth. Cleek's heart sank like lead. So this was to be the end. This. After all his escapes, all his plans for the precious future with Ailsa. His soul was sick within him.
"Come, let's have one more drink of the old girl's wine. Pretty good taste, too, and then we'll put this johnny to sleep for good," went on the man in a calm, steady voice as though the task of putting people to sleep for good was an easy matter.
"Are you sure it's safe to leave 'im?" asked Aggie. "There might have been someone else on the watch."
"Not a soul, my dear. Come on!"
Still laughing, they passed into the inner room, leaving Cleek trussed up like a fowl upon the floor and utterly helpless to assist himself.
In his anxiety to find the girl whom he had driven all unconsciously into danger, Cleek had had no thought for himself, and he felt that any help that Dollops might bring would be too late to save him. The studded door swung back on its hinges, and all was as silent as the grave it would so soon become.
Two minutes passed, three—five—perhaps ten, and still the quiet was unbroken. Cleek, his eyes strained toward the window which he would have given worlds to be able to reach or drag himself to, waited like a mouse in a trap.
Suddenly an odd gleam of sunlight came through the dust-laden, begrimed window, and as it did so, it lit up two tiny shreds of substance which caused Cleek's heart to leap to his throat. With his unmistakable gift of memory, he knew from whence they came, he knew now many things.
He knew how Lady Margaret had escaped and also, if his memory served him rightly, the identity of the person who had assisted her, though for what ends it was impossible to know.
Suddenly on his reverie a sound broke at last and Cleek braced himself for the end. To die like this—like a rat in a trap with no chance to fight forone's self! Well, it was Fate, and he could not quarrel with it.
But this was no sound of triumphant captor, rather of someone moving down the stone passage with the greatest of caution. It was so faint that ears less keen than his might not have detected it. And at first he thought it was the man come to finish his task or even Aggie, his companion. Yet at the first soft footfall he knew it was neither of them. Then inch by inch the door pushed its way open until it was wide enough to allow the slight body of Dollops to pass through.
At the sight of his master he leapt forward and whipping out a knife cut the bond that bound him.
Cleek stretched his head luxuriously.
"Dollops, lad, that was a narrow shave," he said with a sudden little laugh. But the boy's face was grave.
"Quick, sir, for the land's sake. I know a new way out," he whispered, as he dragged away the chair. "They've drunken themselves blind, but any minute—quick, sir—come on—come,do!"
Cleek did come on, and after one grab at the window, switched on his heel and sped swiftly and noiselessly in the wake of Dollops. Not so noiselessly, however, but what some faint sound must have penetrated even the wine-fuddled brains of the man and woman, for there came the sound of swiftfootsteps, a yell of disappointment, then the patter of pursuing feet which stumbled uncertainly. To Cleek it seemed as if they must be caught and would have to fight for it. So affecting the quick, heavy tones of Mr. Narkom he shouted lustily at the top of his voice, and the house rang with the echoes.
"Come on, lads, we'll find him yet! Down this passage, and here they are."
And he tramped the stones with his boots till the passage resounded as with the feet of many men. It was a chance throw, but it had the desired effect, for with a smothered yell the two turned and fled back to the wine-cellar. Dollops caught Cleek quickly by the arm.
"Let's get out, sir. Don't stop to catch them till we gets help," pleaded he, and Cleek, realizing the futility of attempting to capture these two members of the Pentacle Gang if he knew anything, single-handed and unarmed as he was, did as he was bidden. Together they left the big house by Dollops' new egress, a biggish pantry window standing conveniently open, and so reached the safety of the grounds. Despite the rush, Cleek had contrived to snatch at the two fragments clinging to the cellar window ledge, and a little smile crossed his face as Dollops uttered words of remorse at having let his precious master into the trap alone.
Cleek squeezed his arm with an impulsive gesture.
"Dollops," he said, softly. "Be quiet. You've put one more thread into my hands, and you've saved my life into the bargain. If that's not enough for one afternoon, then you're a greedier chap than I thought."
Dollops gulped loudly in answer and seizing Cleek's hand, squeezed it tightly in both his own.
It was not until they had arrived safely at the Hampton Arms and were in the company of Mr. Narkom himself that Dollops gave vent to his relief.
The Superintendent gasped when he heard their story. "This must be the rest of the gang," he said, "but how and where they get to puzzles me!"
"So it does me," threw in Cleek, quietly. "There is evidently some unknown hiding place. What's that? Go back now with you to catch them? No, no, Mr. Narkom, surely you will give them more credit than that. My little trick succeeded, but they will not stop to be caught like rats in a trap. A stronger guard must be kept in future, and I will take care not to be caught napping myself. By the way, I suppose that you have seen the authorities about the inquest."
Mr. Narkom nodded vigorously.
"Yes, it is fixed for to-morrow, at the house itself," he said.
To say that the village went mad with excitement when the bodies of the two victims, man and woman, were laid side by side in the great ballroom of Cheyne Court was to underestimate the case altogether. The villagers were literally crazed for the time being, and when news reached them, as such news will, that an inquest was to be held in that identical spot in a day or two, daft was no name for their condition at all.
Cleek himself would have smiled at the rumours which were rife.
So a revolver had been found beside the body of the murdered man who had so successfully impersonated the Honourable Miss Cheyne herself, had it? And—what? No, it couldn't be possible! Mrs. So-and-So had whispered that that identical revolver was the property of Sir Edgar himself! It was too much to believe; too horrible to think about! That little Master Edgar whom they had watched grow up from a toddling babe of two, prattling to hisnurse on their walks through the village, and winning their hearts with the sweetness of his manner, that that child should have grown up and become amurderer. The thought was impossible.
When the day of the inquest finally arrived, all Hampton turned out and put in an appearance at Cheyne Court.
To tell the exact truth, Cleek's own mind was suffused for the time being with something that closely resembled doubt as regards Sir Edgar's innocence in the whole awful affair. Circumstantial evidence he had always regarded as a spider's web of coincidence to be brushed aside with the broom of a man's reason. But, somehow, this was different.
He took his stand at the back of the great ballroom, and watched with keen eyes and saddened heart, while the coroner put forth the case in all its bald appallingness.
In a sort of dream he heard that gentleman impart to the jury gathered there for the purposes of justice the colossal fact that they were met together to inquire primarily into the death of an unknown man, whose identification, up to the present, they had wholly failed to establish.
Cleek shifted upon his feet and cast a quick glance over to the other side of the room, where BobbyWynne and his sister Jennifer stood together, listening with unveiled interest. If they were in no way connected with it, their morbid curiosity in the affair sickened him. But if theywere——
Watching the scene, as a mere spectator (he had particularly requested Mr. Narkom to make arrangements that he should not be called in any official capacity) Cleek felt that he could more clearly review the situation.
Constable Roberts was the first witness to be called. He told, briefly, of his encounter with the young "military gent," who had fetched him in a car at 10 o'clock on March 11th, and dragged him forth upon what proved eventually to be nothing more than a wild-goose chase. The lady whom the young gent had said was lying dead was alive, "and very much alive, sir!" added the constable with some conviction, "and 'e was as took in as wot I was meself."
Cleek nodded at this, and the little one-sided smile slid slowly up his face at this unconscious admission.
The coroner also nodded.
"Indeed," he said, in proper judicial manner, "and did you meet no one then upon the return journey, Mr. Roberts?"
"Er—er——" Roberts began, staring confusedlyround the room, and turning red, "that is, no one as is any bearings upon the case, so to speak—not suspicious at all wasn't, sir, and—and——"
But the Coroner's voice broke in upon his flounderings with sharp incisiveness.
"That isn't altogether your affair, Mr. Roberts," he said, concisely, "the meting out of justice lies in other hands, and whether he was a suspicious character or not remains, of course, to be seen. The point is, who was it?"
A sort of grayness dropped down like a veil over the policeman's ruddy countenance, he drew in his breath with a little gasp, and passed a hand over his perspiring forehead.
"The gentleman wot I saw was Sir Edgar Brenton," he said, suddenly, in a strangled voice, "but what 'e 'as to do with it, beats me. For 'e was coming back from the station——"
"How do you know that?"
"Because 'e said so," responded the constable, decisively.
The simplicity of the statement, and the utter belief in the man's voice, brought a sudden look of sympathy flashing across Cleek's countenance. It was the finest tribute to the character of the young man that he could receive. The Coroner's voice broke in upon Cleek's thoughts.
"You may stand down," he said. And the Constable stood down with a look of relief upon his countenance.
The second witness was Dr. Verrall, pale-faced and calm, but with an odd look in his eyes that caused Cleek to watch him closely. Right through his evidence he gave the impression of saying only just as much as was absolutely necessary, and of keeping something back. But upon one point he was clear.
"Your first belief, then," the Coroner said, quietly, "was that the deceased was shot by the revolver at his side?"
"Yes."
"And afterward?"
"Afterward, unmistakable traces were pointed out by Inspector Headland who was on the scene when I arrived, and I came to the conclusion that he had undoubtedly been poisoned by prussic acid compressed into a tabloid by the use of magnesia."
A quiver of interest swept over the assembled audience. Poisoned! Then perhaps Sir Edgar——
"Was it possible for the man to have taken it himself; committed suicide, in fact?" put in the Coroner, breaking in upon the thought that was in every heart.
"No. There were finger-marks upon his neckshowing that he had been seized, and the poisoned pellet pushed forcibly down his throat. Death must have taken place almost immediately."
The Coroner cleared his throat.
"Would it be possible to identify the finger-prints, Dr. Verrall?" he asked. For the fraction of a second there was no reply. The doctor hesitated, coughed affectedly, and passed his hand across his mouth. Then:
"Hardly," he responded in a cool, clear voice. "Death had taken place fully an hour or so before. They were evidently long, slender fingers, but that was all that could be gathered."
"H'mn! Slender, eh? A woman's possibly?"
Something like fear came into the doctor's face, and was gone again in a twinkling.
"Certainly not!" he snapped back with a sudden show of vehemence. "They were decidedly those of a man. Besides, there were the marks of a heavy seal ring upon the throat."
A seal ring? Like a flash the thought telegraphed itself over the long, crowded room. Cleek gave a hasty glance backward over his shoulder, and encountered the eye of Sir Edgar Brenton standing near the doorway, with his pale-faced mother beside him.
But other eyes than Cleek's were looking in hisdirection now. A seal ring? And Sir Edgar's seal had been upon his finger ever since he attained his majority! Every member of the village community recollected his delighted pleasure when that day came round.... And there were marks of a seal ring upon the murdered man's throat.
"And where was the revolver found?" the Coroner inquired.
"Close by the dead man's side. He had been dead quite a long time before he was shot, and rigour mortis was already setting in. Whoever fired the shot sent it into a dead man's breast."
"Quite so.... And I understand that this is the revolver in question." He held up a little dark metal object that caught the light in one vivid bar along its slim barrel.
Dr. Verrall bowed his head.
"That is so," he said, calmly.
"And do you know to whom it belongs?"
"I cannot say."
There was a hushed silence fraught with a sort of stalking terror that sent every heart beating and every pulse drumming with the awful thought of whatmightbe.
Then:
"That will do for the present, Dr. Verrall. Thank you very much," came in the same clear tones andthe crowd heaved a sigh of relief. Who would be the next to be called?
The next to be called proved to be no less a person than Mr. Maverick Narkom himself, who in his concise fashion related for the edification of all present how he and his colleague, Mr. George Headland, of Scotland Yard, had together discovered the body.
"Were there any signs of a struggle?" asked the Coroner, quietly, with a little added show of respect for the dignity of his witness's position.
"Yes," responded Mr. Narkom, excitedly. "Decidedly there were. That was evidenced by the scrap of torn lace found in the dead man's hand, and——"
"Torn lace?" echoed someone involuntarily aloud. Then therewasa woman in it, after all!
Mr. Narkom mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and glanced about him.
"Yes, torn lace, gold lace," he reiterated.
"Can you identify it?"
There was a momentary hesitation; meanwhile, Cleek's eyes sought his and Cleek's lips seemed to say: "Be careful. Keep Lady Margaret out of it if you can," and Mr. Narkom responded to that appeal with surprising alacrity.
"I can't say that I can," he said with a slight smile and a shake of the head.
But the Coroner had not done with the subjectyet. He held the little fragment of gold high above his head, and then handed it round the table.
"Can any one identify it?" he asked, and all eyes went instantly in its direction. There was no response, only, as Cleek looked, a queer, shocked sort of expression came over Sir Edgar's countenance.
Just as Cleek's face dropped into lines of concentrated thought there came the sound of a voice somewhat high-pitched and clear, with the carefully accurate accent of a foreigner. Cleek whipped round to see the slim, turbaned figure of Gunga Dall standing far back in the room.
"If I may be so permitted," he said in the bland, smooth fashion of his, as the crowd instinctively parted and made way for him to come to the front, "I should like to identify that scrap of gold lace."
Identify it?The hush that came over the room could almost befelt, it was so intense, so absolute.
"We shall be pleased to receive your evidence," broke in the Coroner, shortly; he, like Sir Edgar, had no partiality for "niggers."
There was a sort of polite regret upon Gunga Dall's dark features. He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, with a little pucker of the lips that bespoke dislike of the task he had in hand.
"I am sorry to say that it is the property of Lady Margaret Cheyne," he said, serenely.
There was a moment of tense silence. You could have heard a pin drop in the ballroom.
Cleek sucked in his breath and stood a moment eyeing the Hindoo. If that were so—but the thought was too utterly horrible to be longer entertained.
There followed the sound of a little cry echoing across the crowded room. Cleek's eyes went in the direction of it, and saw that Lady Brenton had gone dead white, and that her lips were pinched and blue. Sir Edgar, in a sort of mad abandonment, was pushing his way up through the audience, his eyes flashing, his fists clenched, the red blood flaring in his face, and all his virile young manhood up in defence of the woman he loved.
"Say that again, you damned liar, and I'll thrash you within an inch of your precious life!" he shouted. "You can't prove it—you absolutelycan't, I say! It isn't her scarf at all——"
"And I say itis!" responded Gunga Dall with an unpleasant little laugh. "Because I happened to have given it to her myself and——"
"You take care what you're saying," returned Sir Edgar in a passion of white heat. "You dare to suggest that you've given her presents."
The Coroner's upraised hand silenced him.
"If you please," he began, "permit Mr. Dall tocontinue with his evidence without interruption. This is hardly the time or the place, Sir Edgar, for the airing of one's particular—er—differences. You say the scarf belongs to Lady Margaret Cheyne, Mr. Dall?"
"I do. For I myself gave it to her. I met her on the journey over from Boulogne to Folkestone, and I happened to show the scarf to her. She admired it, and on the impulse of the moment I pressed her to accept it. It was one of a pair."
Of a pair, eh? So there was the loophole of escape for Lady Margaret after all. Cleek's head went up.
The coroner leant a little forward in his seat and stared up into the Hindoo's impassive countenance.
"And where, may I ask, is the other?" he inquired.
The blow fell unexpectedly, but with more force in consequence.
For even as Gunga Dall commenced to speak there followed a little commotion at the back of the room. Someone had fainted, there was a hushed call for smelling salts and brandy.
"The other scarf is, or was," said the Hindoo, quietly, "in the possession of Lady Brenton, to whom I gave it last week!"
It was like a thunderbolt in the quiet room. Cleek snatched up his hat and ran over to where Mr. Narkom stood.
"You've got to close this inquiry before it goes any further," he whispered, hurriedly. "We've got to make more investigations before that nigger's assertion is allowed to carry any weight with the evidence. We've got to close this inquiry at once, my friend!"
Mr. Narkom nodded, then crossed over to the Coroner and spoke to him in a low, hurried voice.
That gentleman seemed to acquiesce in whatever statement the Superintendent made, and shortly afterward declared the case postponed.
Slowly the people began to file out of the room in twos and threes, but even as they did so came the sound of a terrible moaning, the sound that Cleek had heard so many times before, but from whence it issued, was impossible to tell. Long drawn out and wailing as a dog's death-howl, it floated over the room, striking fear into every heart by its very ghastliness. What was it? Whatcould it be?
Horrified, the listeners looked at one another in blank dismay. Even Mr. Narkom's usually ruddy countenance had undergone a change as the sound came to his ears. Supernatural or not it acted like a charm, for in another minute the room was cleared and Cleek, Mr. Narkom and the Coroner stood alone.
"Strange thing, isn't it?" said that gentleman, as he fetched his hat and moved over toward the doorin the act of following upon the heels of his jury-men.
Mr. Narkom nodded.
"Very. Coming along, Headland?"
"No, not just for a moment or two. I want to look round for myself if you don't mind. Just an odd fancy, don't you know! But don't wait for me, Mr. Narkom. I'll see you later on."
Even as they left, once again there sounded that uncanny wail, seeming to come from the very depths of the earth. Cleek felt that he was alone in a haunted house.
Before another quarter of an hour had passed Cleek was the sole inmate of Cheyne Court. He sat with shoulders hunched up and head thrust forward, seeking to pierce the cloud that hung over the heads of the two young people to both of whom he had been undeniably attracted.
He was as anxious to restore Lady Margaret to the arms of her lover as Sir Edgar himself and it was only because he felt that the discovery of the Purple Emperor would be bound up in some inexplicable manner with the girl herself that he had striven to elucidate the puzzle.
He had contrived to get the inquest postponed for a week, for he felt instinctively that had the case been left to take its course, a verdict against Sir Edgar Brenton of wilful murder would have been the result. Like a flash had come back to him the words of Ailsa Lorne about Sir Edgar's purchase of prussic acid to poison an old dog. And after all, it had never been used; at least not for that purpose! Had itthen been only a blind? Had the desperate lover conceived the plot to murder the woman whom he believed to stand in the way of his marriage with Lady Margaret? Impossible! Yet love is a strange madness. And what had he been doing with the revolver in his pocket on that first night? Where, too, did Miss Jennifer and her idiot of a brother come into the puzzle,andLady Brenton? Cleek pinched up his chin and stood a moment looking out of the window across the stretch of straggling, unkempt lawn that lay beyond it. He was seated in the wide window seat of the ballroom that had been the scene of the dual tragedy. All at once his trained ears caught the sound of a footfall on the path outside the window. Not a man's foot, either! What woman was it that would remain behind in this place of ill omen? Noiselessly he raised his head and looked out of the window, but he was unable to see any one. He listened intently, then, of a sudden, twitched up his head with a jerk, and crouched forward.
For the woman's footfalls had ceased, brought to a stop by others heavier, yet light in themselves, padding swiftly along the path. No sooner had they got within hailing distance of the woman than the eager, frightened voice of Lady Brenton sounded across the silence of the deserted place.
"Mr. Dall," said that enlightening voice, with thecatch of a half-sob in it. "Thank Heaven you have not gone! This is the only place where we can meet with safety. Why—oh, why did you mention about those lace scarves? You don't know how they will gossip now, all the narrow-minded, evil-thinking folk in the neighbourhood. Why did you want to see me here like this? Tell me quickly, for I am frightened to death of this place."
"Are you?" the Hindoo's voice was smooth, almost sneering. "My dear lady, why be more frightened by day than by night? You were not frightened when you fluttered in by that window barely a month ago. Did you kill the old lady? I wonder—why were you not honest with me?"
"Kill? Kill whom, Mr. Dall? My God, what are you talking about?"
The sneer in the Hindoo's voice was less veiled than ever.
"Why, the real Miss Cheyne, of course. Why didn't you leave that to me? I should have done it far better, believe me."
Cleek caught the sound of a strangled breath and his pulses drummed.
"Good Heavens, man!" came Lady Brenton's voice again, "are you mad to accuse me of such a thing? Why should I murder her, poor creature? And how?"
Came a cackle of harsh laughter like a shot on a tin roof.
"Well acted, my lady, but it won't work. Don't forget, I saw you in that very room, when, according to our old friend, Constable Roberts, Miss Cheyne was dead. Well, who killed her, I say? You did not know I saw you but I caught sight of your golden scarf as you bent over the body——"
Cleek sucked in his breath hard and a brighter sparkle shone in his half-shut eyes. So Lady Brenton was there, was she? If this were true, then Sir Edgar knew more than he professed, and he was shielding someone other than Lady Margaret—and that someone was his own mother!
Lady Brenton had remained perfectly still, as though dumbfounded at the charge made against her. Either that was it, or she was striving how best to free herself from the power of this man who held her guilty secret.
Then she spoke suddenly.
"You really mean that you think I killed that poor defenceless old woman?"
Cleek could fairly see the cynical smile that crept over the man's features, for the tones of his voice betrayed it.
"Dear lady," he answered, "it is what anybody would say if they had seen you, as I saw you, emergefrom that room with a gold lace scarf round your face. I watched you cross that lawn and vanish in the darkness."
"That is not the truth," she flung back with a sudden awakening from the kind of stupor which up till now had overcome her. "I never wore that gold scarf for the simple reason I did not possess one at that time. I was never near Cheyne Court. If you say you saw me, you are saying what is absolutely untrue. And there is another thing, since you are so sure that I was responsible for that horrible deed, what were you doing at Cheyne Court that night at all?"
Gunga Dall's answer to Lady Brenton's question was given so quickly, even as Cleek himself echoed the thought in his own mind, that he might well have been forgiven in believing that it had been prepared beforehand.
"I followed you, my dear lady——"
"Followed me?" she repeated. "From where, pray? Oh, this is intolerable!"
"I saw you as I turned into the lane and I rather wondered, as was only natural, what you were doing at that unearthly hour and place."
"So I should think," responded Lady Brenton with a little sniff of disdain; "the same might apply to you, Mr. Dall."
That gentleman laughed softly.
"I came to see if I could speak to Lady Margaret Cheyne," he replied, "you must remember I had met her previously in Paris."
"I do remember, only too plainly, and how you gave me no peace till I had introduced you, but that is no reason why you should call upon her at night, after she had had a long journey. Besides, how did you know she was expected home? I hardly knew myself till quite late and by a chance word overheard from Miss Cheyne herself in the post office. How didyoucome to hear of it?"
That very idea was already formulating itself in Cleek's own mind at the same time. How, indeed? But Gunga Dall was evidently prepared for the question.
"In the same way as yourself, my dear lady," he returned, glibly, "the young lady at the office was busy talking about Lady Margaret's return and I made up my mind then to pay her a visit, but I had not intended to call at that hour. I just took a little walk and my steps led me by accident—or what you English people call Providence—past the house. Then I saw you, and you beckoned to me, so naturally I followed in your wake. I saw you enter the house, the front door was open, and I waited and waited, and at last out of curiosity I, too, went through the door, and closed it behind me.
"I tell you when I stood in that ballroom, and lit a match for a cigarette and saw that old woman dead, and you bending over her——"
"It is alie!" threw in Lady Brenton, vehemently. "I was never there! Never!"
"But you were!" he repeated, emphatically. "What is the use of denying what we both know? At sight of you there I was staggered—is not that your word?—and turning on my heel I ran right out of the house. Then I remembered you were still in the place, and to try and help you, dear lady, I went back, and peered through that window. I could not have gone into it—no, not for a thousand rupees! The horror of it all was so strong! But fortunately you were gone, and so I have bided my time to tell you what I want, both from you and your interesting son Edgar."
All this time Lady Brenton had remained as if stupefied by this web that was being woven round her, but the sound of her beloved son's name aroused her.
"Edgar!" she cried in a high, shrill voice. "What has he got to do with it?"
"Everything, dear lady," was the smooth reply, "for when I came out of the grounds I walked nearly up against him, and he was in such a state of agitation that he never even noticed me till I spoke to him!"
"Edgar?" echoed Lady Brenton again, a note offear as well as surprise in her voice. "Edgar in the grounds of Cheyne Court on that night?" and Cleek could have blessed her for the note of doubt which her tone held, for this was assuredly one of the points which he himself desired to have explained satisfactorily. "But what was Edgar doing at such an hour and in such a place? Why, he was at a public dinner, now I remember, so it is impossible!"
"Not so impossible, dear lady. Sir Edgar himself said that he had come to meet Lady Margaret."
In the shadow of the window curtain Cleek puckered up his brows and thoughtfully pinched his chin. So that was the young gentleman's explanation of his presence in the grounds, was it? Plausible enough, though it differed greatly from the explanation he had tendered to Lieutenant Deland. However, that was only to be expected.... After all, it might be merely a red herring drawn across the path. Surely, the station was the right place to await a fiancée's return from abroad, not the grounds of her home—late at night! But then he had little belief in the young man's guilt, and there was every possibility that Sir Edgar had followed in his mother's footsteps with a view to finding out her purpose.
For that Lady Brenton had been in that vicinity, Cleek felt almost certain despite her vehement denial. The bond between mother and son was beyond alldoubt a very close one. It might well be that the two had played at cross purposes and been bent on shielding one another. But he had not thought that Sir Edgar——
Gunga Dall's soft, purring voice broke in upon his thoughts, and Cleek pricked up his ears to listen.
"It was his mention of Lady Margaret that made me wonder whether you, too, had gone for that purpose," the Hindoo went on, "that's how I came to see you there, I suppose——"
"You did not see me there!" she flung back, indignantly. "Really, this is unbearable! I tell you I was not near Cheyne Court that night, Mr. Dall, and I will not stop another second to hear such abominable charges against me! No, please do not follow me, or speak to me, you have done me injury enough this morning with your foolish blundering remark about the scarves."
A moment she stood there irresolute, then turned and sped down the path across the lawn like a fleet shadow. As she went, Cleek heard the sound of a soft, throaty chuckle which came to him as he crouched in his hiding place. Then the padding footsteps followed in Lady Brenton's wake and died away into the silence of the deserted place.
For a moment Cleek sat there, lost in thought. There had been a certain note of truth in the voiceof Gunga Dall which told him instinctively that Lady Brenton had been there on that night, deny it as she might, and Sir Edgar, too. That both would fight tooth and nail to keep their visit a secret to the world he felt no less assured.
But why had either of them—mother or son—been concealed in the house that night? Could it have been Lady Brenton whose figure had flitted across the lawn before his startled eyes? True, it had worn a gold scarf and, according to her ladyship, at that moment she had not possessed such an article. Still, there was more than one kind of gold scarf in the world, and even Indian ones were quite easily obtainable.
Then why had she been forced to introduce Gunga Dall to Lady Margaret when the child had been in Paris? Was there some power that the Hindoo possessed over the elder woman? All these thoughts raced through his mind—but——
And then of a sudden he became alert, for out of the silence of the night and in at the window again came the sound of footsteps tip-toeing softly by. Even as he stared out with sharp, discerning eyes, a figure flitted by. It was a figure that made Cleek's heart beat wildly for it was the figure of Sir Edgar Brenton himself!
For a minute the young man made neither sound nor movement, and Cleek was tempted to believe that his presence there was accidental—a mere trick of chance. But of a sudden, as he peered farther out, he caught a glimpse of Sir Edgar's face, and that one glance told him that here was no chance eavesdropper, but one whose hatred of the Hindoo presumably would carry him very near to murder now, if he had not already committed that act. His face was white with the passion that kills if need be, and his twitching hands and lips told their own story. As Cleek's eyes fell on a little shining instrument in one of those shaking hands, he knew it was time to act quickly. He leaned over just as Sir Edgar raised the revolver to aim at Gunga Dall's retreating figure and with a grip of iron grasped the boy by the shoulder. He swung his slim figure over the shallow window-sill and into the ballroom before you could say Jack Robinson.
The strength of his muscles was extraordinary,and as the young man stood before him, sputtering in fury at this calm proceeding, Cleek gave a short, sharp laugh.
"Took you rather by surprise didn't I, my friend?" he said as Sir Edgar turned upon him menacingly. "But quick thought demands quick action, and my apologies are manifold. Believe me——"
"Who the devil are you and what are you doing here?" cut in Sir Edgar, angrily, trying to recognize the strangely contorted face of the man who stood guard over him.
"Who am I?" replied Cleek, with a light chuckle. "Ah, my friend, more than you would like to have that question answered. What I am doing is another matter—preventing another murder, I fancy. Anyway——"
He gave a quick spring and there came a swift rustle, a metallic click! The revolver was on the floor and a band of steel was locked about each of the young man's wrists.
"You've put handcuffs on me," Sir Edgar cried out, angrily. "How dare you commit such an outrage! I'll have you arrested—I——"
"Better let that subject alone, young man. I suppose you don't realize that I overheard all that passed between Gunga Dall and Lady Brenton just now."
"Well, and you know that he lied," put in Sir Edgar, eagerly. "My mother wasn't there that night—you must know that."
"On the contrary, my friend, I know that she was," responded Cleek, serenely.
Sir Edgar made an effort to raise his shackled hands. His face was passionate.
"It's a lie, an infernal lie, I tell you!" he cried, vehemently. "It was I who killed the old woman, if you want to know the truth. Not Lady Brenton!"
"I do want to know the truth," replied Cleek, severely. "But that is not it, so don't tell any more lies than you are obliged to. If I say Lady Brenton was here that night, it does not mean that she killed Miss Cheyne, nor that you did, either, despite the fact that you had a revolver in your pocket."
A sudden, startled look passed over Sir Edgar's face. His mouth was a little drawn.
"Then what is the meaning of this outrage? What right have you to arrest me?" he said with a very creditable attempt at bluster which deceived Cleek not at all.
"The right of the law, young man. You asked me who I was just now. Well, I'll tell you as much as the world knows—I am Cleek, Cleek of Scotland Yard."
"Cleek!" Filled with astonishment and not a little awe, Sir Edgar found himself looking into a hard, cynical face with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped, cruel mouth.
Cleek smiled.
"Perhaps you know this man better," he said, quietly, and in a flash his features blent, softened, altered, made of themselves yet another mask, and Sir Edgar found himself gazing into the face of Lieutenant Deland.
"Good heavens! The lieutenant!" he said, with a throb of fear in his voice. "Then you were that man—and Mr. Narkom knew all the time."
"Yes, Sir Edgar, and perhaps, too, you can tell me of this one, eh?"
In a flash, that face had given place to the bovine stupidity of Mr. George Headland, as the young man had seen him at Scotland Yard.
"Mr. George Headland!" The name scarcely sounded above a whisper and Cleek smiled a little as his face now resumed its normal expression.
"All three, my friend," he said, genially. "So you see it is useless to attempt to deceive me. I have given you these proofs, to drive that lesson home. Put yourself unreservedly in my hands, and you will be safe, otherwise—well, remember that the inquest is only postponed, not settled."
Something of menace in the low tones caused the face of Sir Edgar Brenton to grow more pale and for a brief moment there was silence. Then Cleek spoke swiftly.
"Give me your word to work with me, on the side of the law, and I will see that the one you seek to shield shall not be harmed so much as by a hair of her head," he said. "Do you believe me?"
"Yes, I do, Mr.——"
"Mr. George Headland, please."
"Very well, Mr. Headland, I place myself in your hands completely, if you will give me your word of honour to say nothing, absolutely nothing, to any living soul about this."
"You may safely trust the knowledge with me," responded Cleek, lightly, as he undid the manacled hands. "And now, Sir Edgar, I want you to tell me everything that happened that night, and the night when the imposter was also killed, then go up to town and stay there till I send for you. Now, fire away!"
Sir Edgar hesitated, then gave a queer little gulp.
"Well, I suppose there is no help for it," he said in a shaken voice, seating himself beside Cleek on the wide window seat. "I was coming back from a dinner party, just as I said, but I meant to see Margaret, despite Miss Cheyne, and I still hadthat revolver in my pocket. It was the revolver that Miss Cheyne herself threw at me that same day when, like a fool, I tried to get her consent to our happiness. How and why this one was marked with my initial as it was, I don't know, but I'll swear Mr. Cl—Headland, that the first one was not. I'll take my oath on that. It was a Smith & Wesson repeater. Well, anyhow, I came back to Cheyne Court, and after knocking till I was tired, I was about to turn away and had got to the bottom of the steps when I thought I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. On turning, to my astonishment, I found the door ajar. In I went, and as I did so, there came the sound of a shot—from the ballroom."
"Ah, then it was you I heard, when I knocked?" interposed Cleek.
Sir Edgar nodded.
"Yes, I didn't stop to notice, just rushed into that room, and saw the old woman dead and not a soul to be seen. Then I heard your knocking again, and I think I lost my head—I thought it might be the police. I know I was mad, but I just made a dash for the window and was out and through it like a shot!"
"H'mn—then there was someone else in the house, too, for it was a woman who crossed thatlawn, one who wore a gold scarf," said Cleek, his brows knitted. "Well, go on, what next?"
"You can imagine my feelings when you said you had been driven out by Miss Cheyne herself when I met you in the lane. I thought that in my fright I had imagined the murder and that she must just have fainted and come to afterward. I know it was silly, but I was afraid to speak."
"That's all right," said Cleek, quietly. "But now what about the second murder? How did you come to go to Cheyne Court again? That wants explaining away, too."
"And it can easily be explained," retorted Sir Edgar, rapidly. "I was trying to find Lady Margaret, and I caught a glimpse, or thought I did, of a woman's figure in the grounds and followed it right into the house. There again I found the body of Miss Cheyne, as naturally I took it to be, and felt I must have gone out of my senses. There was something queer and supernatural in finding her again in the same spot. Like a donkey I took to my heels, and ran straight into Dr. Verrall half-way down the lane."
Cleek twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.
"Met Dr. Verrall in the lane, did you?"
"Yes. He told me he had come from Miss Wynne's house, he had been to borrow some drugfrom the old doctor's surgery or something. Anyway, I tell you I was tempted to blurt out the truth, but again I was afraid, for, as a matter of fact, we are not usually the best of friends—you see, well——" He broke off, finding this position rather more awkward than the others had been.
A little one-sided smile crept up Cleek's face and he put his hand upon the young man's shoulder.
"I know," he said, quietly, "he was jealous of you and Miss Wynne, wasn't he? She—er—entertains somewhat of a liking for you, doesn't she?"
"Yes, that's just it. Not that there was any cause, for though I have known Jenny all my life, I have never dreamt of marrying her. And after I met Margaret, she was the only girl in the world!"
"I know, I know," Cleek said, quietly. "But to return to our muttons, Sir Edgar. Didn't you meet any one else at all? Just think a moment. No woman at all—eh?"
For a moment Sir Edgar hesitated. Then his honest eyes met Cleek's, and read the knowledge in their keen depths.
"Yes," he said in a broken, choked voice, "you seem to know everything, Mr. Headland. I met my mother. She was doing what I know now she often had done, when perturbed or upset—walking in her sleep. God knows why she had chosen thatparticular part to wander in. But asleep she certainly was, for she failed to recognize me at all, and I managed to lead her gently back until she was once more in her bedroom."
Cleek looked at the young man sharply for a moment, as though questioning the verity of this statement.
Walking in her sleep, eh? That would account for many things. He remembered that Ailsa had told him about the sound of footsteps in Lady Brenton's room.... Walking in her sleep, eh? So that was the explanation, was it? Or was it not likely to have been a case of hypnotism? Then remembering Lady Brenton's headaches Cleek began to see daylight at last. So Gunga Dall had not been lying after all when he said he saw her ladyship, and she had not lied either in replying that she knew she wasn't there. For if she were walking in her sleep, Lady Brenton certainly didnotknow of the fact. And that cleared a good many things in Cleek's mind.
"You know I'm speaking the truth, Mr. Headland, youdobelieve me, don't you?" put in Sir Edgar, suddenly, with a little anxious note in his voice. "I'd take my oath on it, you know."
"No need for that, my friend," responded Cleek, with a smile, "your word is enough. But if youwant to help me, keep your eye on our young friend Bobby Wynne when you get to town. His movements will possibly be somewhat interesting, and I'd like to keep posted regarding them—— So she was walking in her sleep then, eh? I begin to see light."
"Well, I'm hanged if I do," responded Sir Edgar, with a little shrug of the shoulders, "still, I'll do my part. And if only you'll find my Margaret—God! Mr. Headland, I'll do anything in the world to show my gratitude!"
Their hands met and clasped for a moment in the grip of friendship and in the next, Sir Edgar was striding away with new hope.
Cleek watched him go from the room and swing down the long path that lay by the window. Then he faced round suddenly and took up his stand once more by the broad window-sill to reconsider the changed aspect of things. Lady Brenton was clearly out of the case now, for it was not possible that she could have committed the actual murder, even in her sleep, so the case had narrowed down once more. What was worse, it was centring on the girl who had worn that gold scarf—Lady Margaret herself! And yet he would not believe that even desperate as she might have been made, she could deliberately kill her enemy. Yet if it were not she, who, then,had worn the scarf in her place? Not Miss Jennifer, for her scarf had been gold, it is true, but of a different colour and texture. The thought of her appearance recalled Dr. Verrall and again Cleek frowned heavily.
Dr. Verrall knew more than he had revealed at the inquest. Instinctively Cleek realized that the doctor was trying to shield Jennifer Wynne from discovery, shield the girl he loved despite everything. Jennifer had access to the old doctor's surgery, and someone had undoubtedly tampered with the bottle of prussic acid, as he knew already. Dr. Verrall himself might have climbed up—but the shreds of cloth which Cleek had found clinging to the ivy were not like any suit Dr. Verrall had worn. Certainly not like the black broadcloth which he had on the night of the murder when fetched from the lane where he had lurked so opportunely. True, he might have changed quickly, but not so quickly as that.
Cleek was still bent on the problem, but not so absorbed that he did not hear yet another light footfall outside, one that seemed to be approaching the window where he still sat. It stopped right under the window, and Cleek did not dare so much as move a finger lest he betray his presence. Backward and forward paced the light steps, and the rustle of a skirt told him it was a woman. Two,three, five minutes passed, and Cleek sat hunched and motionless, unable to see who this new visitor to the house of mystery might be.
That it was someone keeping a tryst was only too evident; waiting, too, for someone who had been delayed past an agreed time, as was indicated by the impatient tapping of one foot on the path. Well, Cleek was prepared to wait all night if necessary.
A sound came suddenly across the night, the sound of a cuckoo. With a little cry of relief, the woman outside answered the cry, softly and clearly.
"Quick! I am here," Cleek heard the words almost gasped out. Then there came the sound of snapping twigs as if a man were forcing his way through the dense shrubberies, followed by the sharp crunch of feet on the gravel. With these came the soft whisper of a man's voice warning the woman to keep silence as she rushed toward him, in a state bordering on absolute hysteria.
"Quick!" she said again. "If I am discovered here, or my absence noticed, all is lost! You don't know what horrors of suspense I have endured. I was afraid you would think better of your promise and go to the police, after all. All through the inquest I dreaded every opening of the door! Tell me you won't give him up. He is so young. Oh, I shall scream in a minute."
Again came the man's whispered "Hush!" and then he broke forth suddenly in an excited undertone.
"I tell you I saw him," he said in a voice which was quite unfamiliar to Cleek. "If you've got the money, all right, if not——"
He let the rest go by default, and Cleek heard a little moan of distress come from the woman. "All I've got left is here. I can't give you another penny," she cried, and Cleek heard her fumbling as in a bag.
But now he scarcely noticed her movements. Other and more startling thoughts were in his mind. A scent of jasmine was in his nostrils.
He did not need to move or see now, he knew that the unseen speaker was Jennifer Wynne, and that the boy she was trying to save was none other than the lad she had mothered and watched over—her idle young scamp of a brother. It was all as plain as a pikestaff. The lad, in the power of the tipster Blake, had seen through his disguise, and in the quarrel that must have followed had murdered him!
But with what? The prussic acid had been taken from his father's dispensary. Had he then gone prepared to kill him? Or was it not Bobby, after all, for whom Jennifer was allowing herself to be blackmailed. Could it be Sir Edgar? And who wasthis man who had discovered her secret, this man who was keeping back in the shadow of the bushes? What part was his in this grim tragedy of death?
It was Jennifer herself who gave the answer.
"I tell you this is the last I can give you or get from anywhere or any one," she said in a low, tense tone. "I knew you were both out for something, directly I recognized the imposture, but you must be content and leave me alone. How do I know that you didn't kill him yourself for that matter? Oh, if I only knew, if I only knew the truth, that it were not my boy!" Here her voice stopped and for a reason which made Cleek groan inwardly.
Down at the end of the path there came the sound of feet. He knew and understood what was happening, what an unkind blow Fate had dealt him.
Dollops was returning to be near his master, lest anything unforeseen should occur. There was just one little rustle like the sound of notes crackling. Then Jennifer sped forward along the path that led away from the house. The bushes crackled and snapped again, and the sound of a man's running feet echoed faintly from the other side of the hedge. Cleek was on his feet and over the window-sill like a flash. He ran down the lane openly, without so much as a look toward Dollops, struck through the ground, and cut into the meadows adjoining.Yes!—there was the figure of his quarry. Cleek bent his head and ran on.
It was but a brief second, then he looked up, to find his man again. He stopped short, as though struck by some invisible force.
Far as eye could see were the smooth green meadows dotted here and there in the distance with slumbering sheep, but of sign of human being there was none. The man had disappeared as though the ground or the sky had opened and swallowed him up. Cleek was alone in that expanse of green pasture, utterly and entirely alone!