Meet me at three o'clock by the G. F. Road. Everything successfully carried out. Muffled clapper. Must see you. Utmost importance.
Meet me at three o'clock by the G. F. Road. Everything successfully carried out. Muffled clapper. Must see you. Utmost importance.
A. M.
"Hello! Hello!" rapped out Cleek in the sharp staccato of excitement. "Then shedidhave something to do with it, after all, did she? Gad! a dollar to a ducat that there's someone else in this affair whom we've never even hit upon yet! What a bit of luck Dollops turned up at that moment—whenshewas just on the way! Let's see—what's the time? Three o'clock. Gad! I'll nip along myself, and come in at the finish, and hear what I can hear from the good lady's lips herself, and see who the dickens it is who's meeting her. There's more in this than meets the eye, Cleek my boy, and don't you forget it!"
Following the direction shown him by Mr. Narkom (who was still standing like a monument of Patience in the little shrubbery where they had first caught sight of her wandering ladyship), Cleek pelted off in the direction of the woods, every faculty alert,and in the hastily donned rubber-soled shoes proving himself a silent if a fleet-footed pursuer.
But he was doomed to disappointment upon his quest. For halfway toward the Great Free Road as that portion of the country was called, through a belt of thick trees which entirely hid the landscape from view, he met Dollops, looking disconsolately upon the ground, hands in pockets and face dejected, and cannoned into him as they came abreast of each other.
Dollops's face went crimson at sight of Cleek, and then paled off suddenly. His voice was tragic in the extreme.
"Missed 'er, Guv'nor!" he declared laconically. "Missed 'er for the first time in all my existence upon this 'ere plannit! Give me the slip, strite she did, but'ow, is a question as 'as fair diddled me. I follered 'er up to 'ere as good as you please, and then of a suddint 'eard voices to the left of me, did a bunk after 'em, as I knowed you'd wish me to, sir, and—that there she-devil 'ad disappeared as smooth as you please! A fair ghost she were, Guv'nor, strite—an' if she ain't the Peasant Girl wot 'aunts these parts, then I'm a Dutchman!"
But Cleek had not the heart to smile at the boy's excited preamble. He was too disappointed at losing his quarry so easily when this new thing had been thrust right into his hands in this fashion, and the chance of elucidating the mystery so incrediblyeasy—judging by the crumpled note in his breast-pocket. Another such opportunity would never occur again—one could not hope for things to happen in duplicate.
"Dollops! Dollops!" he exclaimed, with a shake of the head. "Where is your training in Apache quarters gone to, I'd like to know? Letting a mere woman elude you, as though she had been Margot, Queen of the Apaches, herself. And doing the ventriloquial trick so successfully upon you, too! And at the very crux of the case, just when I'd found the clue of all others which was likely to establish the truth of the whole appalling affair! I'm disappointed. But it can't be helped, so put away your crestfallen countenance, and come back to the house with me. We'll have to wait until evening now, and see what comes to pass to-night. Did the lady actually see you by any chance?"
"Don't know, sir." Dollops's voice was dejected. "Suppose she must 'er done, by the way she slipped the leash on me, so ter speak. Why, sir?"
"Because, my young jackanapes, if that is the case, the scarcer you make yourself the better," returned Cleek rapidly. "For it's no use your allying yourself to me in her ladyship's presence, for the fat would be in the fire with a vengeance. And now, about that other affair.... You did what I told you? And what did your bit of private 'detecting' bring forth, may I ask?"
For a second Dollops's glum face lit up, and his eyes shone. Here at least he had found something with which actually to help. There was a hint of triumph in his tones.
"Got 'em 'id in the shrubs, sir," he returned enthusiastically. "Done up in brahn paper, they are, and ready for examination on sight. 'Untin' boots, Mr. Cleek, sir—gent's 'untin'-boots, and that thick wiv mud as ter look like blessed gardings too. Fit fer growin' a crop of taties in, I swear, sir. An' fahnd 'em 'idden in a bush er laurels as large as life."
"Whew! Is that all, then? Nothing under-ground?"
"No, sir. Not a blinkin' thing."
"Um. Pity. You must show me the hunting-boots, Dollops; they may prove a clue—though just how they would be connected with this particular case remains to be seen. Very muddy, eh? Any name inside?"
Dollops nodded.
He looked hastily from side to side to see that no one was listening. Then he bent toward Cleek with a mysterious manner and spoke in a bated voice.
"Yessir. Belongs to a gen'leman as is sweet on the young leddy we come along wiv yesterday from Lunnon," he replied weightily. "Or so they tell me up at the Three Fishers. Name of Macdonald—Captain Angus Macdonald. Writ inside 'em aslarge as life and twice as nat'ril. Eh?—wot's the matter, sir?"
For Cleek had whirled about suddenly and struck his hands together, and was laughing, laughing like a man gone suddenly daft. He stopped abruptly and put one hand upon Dollops's shoulder.
"Matter?" he said rapidly. "Why, simply this: Get a line on this young Captain's handwriting, Dollops, and report to me this afternoon. And if it tallies with this note, as I somehow fancy it does—well, we'll see the fur fly so quickly that you won't be able to say Jack Robinson. Happen to notice the size of the boots, by any chance?"
"Yessir. Tens."
"Good lad. And the footprints outside of the window in that little courtyard are tens, too! The net's closing in upon you, my gallant friend, and you won't get a chance to do much more spluttering and exclaiming before I've found out what your little move in this Inheritance Game is, and—nipped it in the bud!... Gad!—Captain Angus Macdonald! And—tens!... Now, who the dickens would have thought it?"
Who, indeed? That King's Evidence was beginning to prove itself against still another member of this unhappy household—or, to be more literal, a would-be member—was clearly to be seen. What if the Captain's story of shielding someone else were a mere "blind," as he had thought once before? What if he was in league with Lady Paula herself, and using a pretended affection for Maud Duggan as a wedge to get into the graces of the household? Who knew? Stranger things had happened. But if he was scoundrel enough to steal the heart of a good woman, such as Miss Duggan undoubtedly was, a good, honest, straight woman, then he were a blackguard indeed!
Cleek had come across just such things in his varied experience in Yard matters, and found his faith in human nature apt to be shaken by the least wind that blew upon it. And for the will to disappear—after Sir Andrew had declared that he would disinherit Ross and substitute the name of his sister instead—and not that name which Lady Paula had hoped he would substitute, the name of CyrilDuggan, as all her imaginings had led her to believe—what if, on the strength of this fact, the murder had been committed to get the old man out of the way, and then to snatch the will itself, and—see what the Law would do for the widow and the progeny? Who knew anything of Lady Paula but that she was the daughter of a famous criminal who had paid the last penalty for his crime? And a graceless but fascinating woman at that. The whole thing might be a gigantic plot to wrest more from the estates than that will of Sir Andrew's was likely to leave to her and her immediate family.
Captain Macdonald and the good lady might share things between them, and then make off together when things had righted themselves and start again in another country. It seemed incredible after what Maud Duggan had said of him, and yet.... Love blinds a woman's eyes even more than it blinds a man's, and the good Captain was a handsome devil, to say the least of him.
The web of his imaginings spun itself on and on during that brief walk back to the house alone, with the parcel containing those tell-tale hunting-boots under his arm, Dollops having been left on the outskirts of the wood to "keep his eyes open and see what he could see." It was remarkable how one thing led to another, tightening the chain all the time. Here was possible motive, surely, and what if that note had been written by theworthy Captain? H'm. That certainly was possible. And the initials were the same. Gad! it gave one to think, as the French say. It did indeed! For the Law gave a widow a third share of everything—and in the case of no will her son had an equal share with the other children of the first family. And Maud Duggan had told him that Sir Andrew had left her enough to live upon for herself and Cyril.... But all these estates in Scotland, that were not part of the entail, well, a third would certainly bring them more thanthat.
He didn't trust Lady Paula. He'd met her kind too often before to take her upon face value. But the Duggans themselves came of far different stock. H'm. That might be it. And the air-pistol stunt simply used to throw the blame upon Ross. Gad! it grew more credible as one went on thinking about it. But there were loop-holes to be filled up before one could be even sure. The condition of Captain Macdonald's affairs would assist considerably. Maud Duggan had said he was poor. Another link. He might even be in debt. Possibly was. Well, that must be looked into, too.
But if the thing had actually gone so far as murder, why had there been two of 'em—when one would have done? And Lady Paula had stood upon her liege-lord'srighthand, and not upon his left. And it was through the heart that that little poignard had pierced. And Catherine Dowd stood there.And it was she who had brought him the poignard in the first place! It was the devil's own doing, any way you looked at it. And not only Catherine Dowd, but Miss Debenham and Johanna McCall as well.
He reached the house at last, and stepping in through the French window that led to the great drawing-room by the back way, rang a bell there and waited for the maid who answered to come and speak to him.
"I want Miss Duggan, please."
The maid withdrew with a discreet, "Yessir," and it was not many seconds later when Maud Duggan herself appeared, looking pale and distraite and exceedingly unhappy.
"You wanted me, Mr. Deland?"
"I did. Just for a moment," replied Cleek gently, noting her dark-ringed eyes, and in the present state of his mental peregrinations feeling more than a little sorry for her. "I've something to show you. And I want you to tell me exactly to whom they belong and how you think they got where my boy discovered them."
Then he pulled the wrappings from his bulky parcel and set the hunting-boots in front of her upon a little marquetrie table.
She gave a sudden start, went pale as death, and shut her hands against her heart as though to stop its unruly beating. Her pale lips trembled.
"Angus's!" she exclaimed in a wrung voice. "Where—did you find them?"
Cleek turned his head away, not to see her evident distress. It hurt him miserably to hurt her. It was like whipping a faithful dog that trusted you.
"I thought so. The name, you see, is inside. My man found them hidden in the shrubbery, just near the gates, and brought them along to me at once. Do you know anything about how they got there, Miss Duggan?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"No. Not a single idea of it, Mr. Deland. That I swear," she returned with emphasis. "Those boots are undoubtedly Captain Macdonald's, of that I am sure. And see, as you say, there is the name inside. But they have not been used by him for a long, long time. It was nearly six months ago, I think, that he left them here, after a meet in our grounds, and before Father had found out anything about our—our caring for each other. He stayed the night, Mr. Deland, and Ross lent him some sleeping things, and then one of the men-servants carried his hunting togs over to his place the next day."
"And these boots?"
"Were left behind by mistake. He called for them, but I asked him not to take them away. You see, I—liked to have them here, for silly, sentimental reasons, no doubt. But I told him Iloved to see them with the other men's boots—Ross's and Father's and Cyril's and Mr. Tavish's—in our harnessing-room, where the groom, Jarvis, always takes care of them and keeps them oiled, when not in use, to prevent them cracking. And so Angus laughed at me, and said they might stay, as he'd another pair at home—and teased me terribly over my babyishness. It may sound silly to you, Mr. Deland, but it meant a lot to me to see those boots there—belonging—where I belonged. It was like—a peep into the future.... And when the trouble with Father came, I wanted them there more than ever, to keep my heart up. To my knowledge they have never been moved."
"And yet my man Dollops found them under the shrubbery and in this condition this morning—after last night's terrible affair, Miss Duggan," put in Cleek quietly, keen eyes upon her face.
"It certainly looks black for Angus, Mr. Deland," she replied in a frightened voice. "But I'll swear he never used them. I'll swear it in court, if need be."
"How do you know?"
She stopped a moment and sucked in her breath, and then a sudden look of determination came over her face.
"Because," she said steadily, "he was coming to meetmein the grounds last night, as he had come often enough before. We could never see each otherin daylight, as Father had forbidden him the house and so we stole our meetings at night, under the old oak tree at the bottom of the first lawn. You can't see it from the house, as that hedge of yew hides it entirely."
"And you saw him last night? You'll swear upon that?"
"I—I—that is—yes, I saw him last night," she replied, with flaming cheeks and upthrown chin. "First Ross, and now Angus! You're cruel, Mr. Deland, cruel as detectives can so often be! I thought you were going to help me—truly—and, instead, you cast suspicions upon the two people I love most dearly in the world! How can I possibly put you upon other clues?Anythingto lead you away from such a false and utterly unworthy scent!"
Cleek laid a hand upon her arm, and bending his head, looked down at her, a great sadness upon his face.
"Justice is so often cruel, Miss Duggan," he said quietly, "and to men in my profession we have so often to be cruel to be kind. I wouldn't hurt you for the world, believe me. But I must do my duty to the Law that employs me at all costs. I am not indicting your fiancé—truly—and there may be still another way out. Men have borrowed each other's boots before now. And if you can tell me the size of the feet of the men in this household, it will be a considerable help."
She lifted her eyes and looked at him, filled with a sudden hope.
"I can tell you Ross's this minute," she said quickly. "He takes eights. He has a small foot, like poor old Father had. And Cyril's, of course, is just a boy's foot—sevens, I think."
"Any one else?"
"The butler, Jarvis. Our groom, Batchett, and the old gardener, McGubbins—and Mr. Tavish; but he's a huge man, and would take elevens, I should imagine—if not bigger. Anyhow, I'll make inquiries, and be back with you in ten minutes, if that will do."
"Make it twenty minutes,here—for I've other things to attend to," returned Cleek with a smile. "And don't worry more than you can help. Things will right themselves in time, you know; and there are lots of blind alleys in the pursuit of Justice which we often imagine to be the royal road to Rome. In twenty minutes, then. By the way, who attends to your laundry, may I ask? The sorting and counting of it I mean."
"You amazing man! What on earth do you want to know that for? Why, the laundry-maid, supervised by Miss McCall. One of her endless stream of duties."
"Thanks.... One more question. What do you know of Miss Catherine Dowd?"
She shook her head.
"Only that she is Cynthia's cousin," she returneduncertainly, "and that she has been staying down here on and off all through the spring. She—she's rather fond of Ross, I believe, Mr. Deland—though for mercy's sake don't whisper it aloud! We call her 'La Gioconda,' you know. She's so odd and inscrutable."
"Exactly. I nicknamed her that myself. And I'll tell you another secret, too. She brought me this morning the stiletto which so obviously stabbed your father. She says she found it sticking in the curtains. Have you ever discovered that the young lady lies, Miss Duggan?"
She gave a quick, uneasy laugh, and shrugged her shoulders.
"Ross always says he wouldn't trust her on sight," she paraphrased, with a nervous gesture. "We've tripped her up—on purpose—lots of times, you know, as girls do to one another. But to men, it seems a mean trick, I expect, Mr. Deland. Only, she elaborates so frightfully, you know. About her family and their money, and all the rest of it. And that's such frightfully bad form. If people really 'belong,' they don't have to advertise the fact, do they? And Catherine advertises it rather too much. But I don't know anything actually against her."
"Thanks. And what of this Johanna McCall? Where did she originally come from? Do you know?"
Her face softened visibly. You could see that Miss McCall held a warm place in her heart.
"Yes. I can tell you at once. Her foster-father used to be a bailiff of my father's in the good old days when money wasn't so hard to get, and even land seemed to yield a richer harvest. The old man died at his work, and as he was a widower, with this little adopted daughter living with him, he begged Father to see that she came to no harm. And Father promised. And when she grew old enough, he gave her work in the house. Sort of secretary—Mother's help, you know. But when he remarried, Paula changed all that, and took her for her own sort of companion-lady's-maid. I believe she would have left us before now, after the treatment she has had, if it hadn't been for Father being her guardian, so to speak. But none of us can ever forgive Paula for the way she has treated her. It's disgraceful."
"And yet your father never complained?"
"My father neversaw. But the girl has been made a pack-horse from the minute Paula set her foot in this house. She seemed to have marked her down for her own, and Johanna has had to suffer in consequence. Such a nice little thing, too! It's common knowledge that she is engaged to Mr. Tavish—though we've heard nothing definitely. But it will be an excellent match. More in her own station of life; and they're both such dears.... Anything else, Mr. Deland?"
"Nothing else, thanks."
"Then I'll be off. And back again in twenty minutes. And in the meantime, Mr. Deland, you won't—you won't think too hard of my Angus will you? Even if he had done such a terrible thing whatever reason would he have had to do it?"
"Has he any debts, Miss Duggan?"
She laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders. "Heavens, yes! Heaps of them. That was what Father had against him. Father used to say that a poor man should own nothing, because there was little chance of paying it back. But so have I, for the matter of that. Over a hundred pounds—and bridge debts. But it's my only recreation, Mr. Deland, and I can easily pay it back, so that it's nobody else's business, is it? But I wouldn't have Paula know for worlds! She'd make my life misery."
"As she'd make any one's—who stood in her way," thought Cleek, as the girl left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. "So the worthy Captain is a debtor, is he? H'm. A very uncomfortable state of affairs, I imagine. And that poor girl has only thrown fuel upon the smouldering fire, and helped to bank it up. For a man who is dogged by debts would stoop to a good deal, and if he is already in correspondence with her stepmother, by way of this little clandestine note, why shouldn't he do other things? There's a good haul, at any rate, bigger than that for which many aworse crime has been committed. And, besides, he must have hated the old man for forbidding him the house. So he might have worked off a bit of that, too. And yet—gad, it's a puzzler! I'll nip after Mr. Narkom and have a little talk withhim! And—no!—I'll see the laundry-maid first. Perhaps by now she will have remembered something with regard to that missing handkerchief."
Acting upon that impulse, he rang the bell once more, summoned the maid to him, and had a little talk with her there in the shaded drawing-room, and elicited a few facts which surprised him not a little in the puzzling mesh of conflicting clues which seemed to surround him upon all sides.
Within the space of a half-hour Miss Duggan was back again in the big drawing-room, and Cleek, having had a short confidential talk with Mr. Narkom, and gleaned a few of that good gentleman's ideas, entered the room by the French windows that led on to the terrace just as she came in by the hall door.
"Hello!" he said with a smile. "Brought your bootmaker's department with you, eh? Now we'll really be able to establish somebody's innocence onthat! Come, let's have a look at it."
She brought the paper to him, a sort of blank wonderment written in her eyes as they scanned his face.
"It's the strangest thing," she said with a shake of the head, "the very strangest! But every single man in this establishment has the same-size foot, Mr. Deland. There's nothing but tens among them. It seems a queer coincidence, surely!"
Cleek pursed his lips up to a whistle of amazement.
"Gad! it certainly does. Every man-jack of 'em,then? Jarvis, and Batchett, and your bailiff Tavish, and McGubbins? Every one of them?"
"What a memory you have!" she countered amazedly. "Yes, every one of them. Except Mr. Tavish. And his are elevens, he tells me."
"Didn't give away any reason for asking, I hope, Miss Duggan?" put in Cleek at this juncture, with an arching of the brows and a keen look into her upthrown face.
"Indeed I didn't. In fact, I threw them off the scent most successfully by taking a pair of Ross's boots along with me and pretending I didn't know whose they were. Batchett soon put me right. 'Them's Mr. Ross's—Sair Ross, if ye please, m'm,' he said, using Ross's new title (poor old boy! He won't like it a bit, either. He thinks titles are anathema!). But Mr. Tavish, of course, didn't know whose they were, nor did the old gardener, McGubbins, nor Jarvis, either. Only they said they weren'ttheirs. And then, of course, told me the sizes they took. So, you see, Mr. Deland, you can't blame Angus forthat, can you?"
He smiled at her and shook his head.
"You've missed your vocation. You ought to have been a lady-detective, using those methods," he replied lightly. "But it's odd—deuced odd! I'll take a look at their feet whenever I get the chance. Don't bother any more, Miss Duggan. I'll get to the bottom of this thing somehow or other,before the next few days, and don't make any mistake about that. That's all you can do for me. So go along, and lie down and have a proper rest. I'm going to interview Mr. Narkom again. What time is tea, by the way?"
"Half-past four. If you'd like it sent to your rooms with Mr. Narkom——"
"No, thanks; we'd prefer to take it withyou." ("And use our eyes for ourselves," he supplemented silently.) Then, without more ado, bowed and left her, and went off in pursuit of the Superintendent, who had been spending a quiet hour investigating the scene of last night's tragedy, and trying to solve the riddle of it.
Halfway there Cleek encountered young Cyril, wandering disconsolately about, hands in pockets and head downthrown, and at sight of Cleek he fairly ran up to him, his brows black as thunder, his young mouth set into an ugly line.
"Look here," he demanded, in his shrill young voice, planting himself in Cleek's way and looking up into his face, "they've been telling me you suspect my stepbrother Ross of murdering my father last night, and I've been waiting to catch you and to tell you it's a damned lie!"
"Easy, easy, my young enthusiast," returned Cleek, with a throb of admiration for this fearless young person, nevertheless. "They'll never make a detective ofyouif your methods of attack don'timprove hastily. Let's hear what you're worrying over. Now, then, all over again. I'm going along this way to see the Superintendent, and you can come with me if you like."
Cyril's face went a dull brick-red at Cleek's bantering tone, and his lips twitched. He swung into step beside Cleek as they traversed the long hall toward the library.
"They've been telling me," he reiterated, "that you think my stepbrother Ross killed Father last night, and——"
"Who's 'they,' may I ask?"
"Oh—Mother—Miss Dowd, Cynthia—the whole bally lot of 'em. Said you'd threatened to arrest Ross and put—put him in prison. But it isn't true, sir, is it?"
Cleek looked down at the eager young face, and sighed.
"Partly," he returned, "and partly not. I've made no accusation, Cyril, but—things point very blackly to your brother, and it will take pretty strong evidence to say he is innocent at this juncture of the case, at any rate. There are—others—whom I doubt, but at the present moment doubts are all that can be expected of me. Certainties will follow later.... Now, look here, you can help considerably. Tell me, who's been tinkering with the electric switches in the library lately?"
Of a sudden the boy's face went red and whityby turns. Then he averted his head and pretended to inspect a fly that was crawling upon the opposite wall.
"Er—I don't really know," he replied in a confused voice. "I haven't the faintest——"
"You do!" Cleek had caught him by the shoulders and whirled him around so that eye met eye squarely, and he saw that the boy dropped his. "Come, now. Play the game. I can't expect to find the true murderer unless you tell the truth. Listen to me, Cyril. Was it your brother Ross?"
Came a long silence, followed by a quickly drawn breath. Then:
"Ihave."
"You? What the dickens did you do? Tell me all about it, quickly. I found a bit of flexible wire upon the carpet yesterday morning when I was looking over the house with your stepsister, and came to the conclusion that someone had been altering the lights. And it was you, was it?"
Again the flushed cheeks and quickly drawn breath. Oh, this quixotic family!—that muddled a decent man up in trying to do his duty by their perpetual affections and efforts to shield one another.
"Yes—and no. It was the day before yesterday. Ross and Mr. Tavish were in the library going over some land accounts and looking at the weekly wages bill, which is part of Ross's work for Father that he's been doing the past two years.I was there, too, mending a damaged switch which wouldn't go right, and Ross had promised to help me when his business was finished. Well, when it was done, and they had smoked a cigarette together— Mr. Tavish is awfully popular with the whole place, you know, Mr. Deland, and Ross liked him immensely—well, as I was saying, when they'd done, they came over to me, where I was tinkering away at the switch by the wall, and while Ross explained to me what exactly was the matter, Mr. Tavish stood over us and made remarks."
"Can you remember what any of those remarks were?"
"Yes. He said he thought I was growing to be a clever youngster, with a turn for electricity which ought to drive my father nearly mad, and then he shook his head, and Ross laughed sort of uncomfortably, and agreed with him. And then Ross asked Mr. Tavish if he knew anything of electricity. 'Not a blessed thing!' Mr. Tavish said, with a loud laugh. 'I don't know the difference between a short circuit and a Bath bun.' And of course we all laughed again, and then Ross explained a little of it to him, and he seemed to catch on awfully quick, and asked some jolly interestin' questions."
"And what were the 'jolly interestin' questions,' may I ask?"
"Oh— I've really forgotten. Whether one could get a shock from that sort of thing when you wereworking at it, and Ross said you could; and electricity could kill a person instantly. And then they began to talk about electrocution and the electric chair which criminals had to sit in instead of being hanged, as they used to do in the old days. And Ross, who simply loves anything to do with the subject as much as I do, Mr. Deland, began to explain how a man could be killed by leaving a live wire somewhere near where he could grasp hold of it, and then taking a long piece of flexible wire in his hands, he wired it along the edge of the room from the ground plug to the window, just to show what he meant by it."
"Oh, he did, did he? And what colour was the flexible wire?"
"Crimson. Usual shade. Mr. Tavish was awfully interested at what Ross did, and Ross got so enthusiastic that he carried the piece of wire up to the window and left the raw edge of the wire exposed, and when he put a piece of stuff against it, it singed up immediately, and, my word! therewasa stink!"
"Naturally. And then?"
"Ross said a lot of things about the power of electricity that seemed to interest Mr. Tavish, and of courseIwas frightfully struck, as you can imagine, and kept my ears open. And just then, who should come in but Mother, and of course Ross and all of us stowed the conversation for the time being, and Ross nipped off the length of unnecessary wire withhis pincers and left Mother with Tavish to discuss some changes she wanted made in the poultry runs. She's rather interested in chickens, you know, sir."
"I see. But this was a bird of another colour, eh? What's that? No, my lad, you've said nothing to incriminate anybody, and I'll keep your confidence about this conversation, if you're worrying about it. Now, then, you'd better nip along, as it's nearly tea-time, and when I was your age clean hands were an absolute necessity even in the—er—austerity of my home! I've no doubt they're the same in yours."
"But I haven't said anything to—to incriminate Ross, have I, sir?" reiterated Cyril anxiously. "That thing about shooting a chap with the aid of electricity—of course it couldn't be done, I suppose, and Mr. Tavish didn't know enough about it to contradict Ross—and anyhow he was only gassing and not really meaning it at all. I—I'd give my right hand, sir, for Ross. He comes next to my mother in my estimation. And that's saying a good deal!"
"Not so much as you might think—if you know that lady as well as I do, my lad," apostrophized Cleek as the boy sped down the passageway and left him alone. "Gad! here's a new outlook altogether. And that conversation actually took place! He wasn't lying, the straight young devil. And he never realized that he was plunging that preciousbrother of his deeper and deeper into the mire!... I say— Cyril!"
The boy turned at the end of the passage and came slowly back to him.
"Yes, sir?"
"By the way, what size shoes do you take? Gad! your foot's pretty hefty for a sixteen-year-old, I must say! What's the number of those delicate little trotters?"
Cyril laughed self-consciously.
"They are rather huge, aren't they?" he replied. "But they're tens. Same size as Ross, you know, so that I can often borrow his shoes—and Captain Macdonald's as well. Funny we should all be the same size, isn't it?"
"Yes—deuced funny," returned Cleek, sucking in his lips suddenly and his face gone grim. "Tens—eh? Thought it was sixes for you and sevens for your brother."
"Who the dickens told you that fairy-tale, sir?"
"Oh, nobody particular. I must have dreamt it, I suppose," returned Cleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "And— I say, Cyril. Your man Jarvis seems to have trotters, too. What size are his boots now, I wonder?"
Cyril's eyes flew wide.
"You must have made a mistake," he said in a surprised voice. "For Jarvis's feet are awfully small. Eights, I believe. Anyway, I can't get 'emon because I tried once. Stole his dress clothes and dressed up in 'em. But the mater was furious! Hello! there's the tea-gong. I must be off!"
Then he went off forthwith. Meanwhile Cleek, with his finger upon his chin, stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway and pinched up his brows.
"Now, why the dickens did she lie to me—unless she wanted to shield her precious brother?" he said ruminatively. "And why in heaven's name are they all so anxious to pervert Justice and to deny truth?"
But there was no one to give him any answer to that most difficult question, and he had perforce to possess his soul in patience for the present.
The rest of the day passed comparatively uneventfully for all those concerned in the drama of a night's doings, and save for a searching scrutiny of the library by Cleek, carried out under the noses of the village policeman, with Inspector Campbell very much to the fore as being in command of the local constabulary and anxious to make a good impression upon the Yard's Superintendent (with an eye to future promotion), and the discovery of one or two minor details which had passed even his searching eye before, Cleek's time hung fairly heavily upon his hands.
Dollops, keen as mustard upon any task which involved the imagination of his beloved master, spent the rest of the afternoon and a goodly part of the long twilight in scampering over the countryside in pursuit of various "facts," by the aid of a borrowed bicycle, which Mr. Fairnish had charged him seven-and-sixpence for in advance, being obviously doubtful as to whether the young man would return it or not, for Dollop's Cockney countenance was not one to breed immediate trust on sight.
His efforts in this direction proved fairly fruitful, for after having scraped acquaintance with one of the grooms at Captain Macdonald's stables—the worthy Captain meanwhile champing furiously at the "bit" which kept him tethered to his present quarters for another night, when there were other affairs at his own place that wanted looking into—and in his own inimitable fashion managing to wangle an old letter written by his master to himself from the groom, Dollops, whistling vociferously, came spinning back again to Aygon Castle to present his find to Cleek, and receive the reward in Cleek's instantly spoken pleasure.
But to see Cleek was a different matter altogether. He had been told to "lie low" where Lady Paula was concerned, and not poke his nose in anything within reach of her ladyship's sharp eye. And as he did not possess Cleek's marvellous birthright by which he was able to alter his countenance in the space of a second, and become to all intents and purposes another man, Dollops was certainly "floored."
"Better try rahnd the servants' quarters, an' see what I kin see there," he decided after a brief survey of the land from an adjacent laurel bush which immediately faced the Castle. "The Gov'nor'll be ready ter split my nob open if I ups and goes inter the plyce by the front door, bless 'is 'eart! And it's shorely the back door for the likes o'you, Dollops me lad! So here goes!"
So to the servants' quarters went Dollops forthwith, and scraped acquaintance with Jarvis, the butler, by offering him an impossible cigar, and asking off-handedly for Mr. Deland in the meanwhile.
"Dunno where 'e is at the moment," replied Jarvis, with a wink and a smile. "Seen 'im talkin' to the lydies only a few moments back, in the drorin' room. But since then.... Lunnon chap, ain't yer?"
"Yus!" Dollops's voice rang with pride of birthplace. He threw back his narrow chest and stuck his fingers in his waistcoat and surveyed his interlocutor with upthrown chin.
"Well, so'm I. Come dahn with the family last January from their Lunnon 'ouse. Park Mansion, it's called. Big plyce in Eton Square. Know those parts, I'll lay."
"Every inch of 'em," vociferated Dollops with emphasis. "Luvly plyce, ain't it? They tells me yer got a ghost in this 'ouse, and blimey! I'm that frightened ter meet 'er, me backbone's almost come rahnd ter me front. 'Ugs the gentlemen at night, don't she?"
Jarvis threw back his head and let his hearty laugh ring out over the rafters of the servants' hall.
"Wouldn't 'ugyou, young 'un, not for nothing—if it were light enough ter see yer face by," he retortedwith heavy wit. "But it's truth. And the wimmenfolk is that nervous at night there's no managing with 'em nohow. Some sprightly feller in a by-gone century went and man-'andled a girl from these parts an' carried 'er 'ere by force. Then 'e got 'er into trouble, so the story goes, an' she up and stabbed 'erself with the spindle of her spinning wheel—that there contraption wot stands in the library terd'y and makes a rare job er dustin' fer Minnie the under 'ousemaid. She don't 'arf kick at it, I kin tell yer! Anyway, that was 'ers! And we 'ad a footman 'ere last May wot fancied 'imself very partickler as a braive bloke. Well, he says, says 'e, 'I'll sit up ternight and go dahn by the dungeon door, where she's supposed ter come from, and see wot I kin see.' 'Course we laughed at him, and there was a bit of friendly gamblin' done—youknow—an' I backed the blighter for a pound-note."
"An' what 'appened?"
"Ah, that's the scrub of it, as Shakespeare says, me lad. Young fool sat up there, and then abaht three o'clock in the mornin' we 'eard 'im come a-screamin' ter 'is quarters, lookin' as pale as death. 'E said 'e'd 'eard the Peasant Girl rustlin' abaht in her room, and the chink o' chains, and then the iron grille door began to open, and an unearthly voice called out,'Avaunt ye, varlet, or I'll break yer bones!' and then.... 'E was off like a pea from a catapult,and that was the last we ever 'eard of 'is bravery. 'E gave notice next day, and forfeited a month's money ter get away from the plyce. And I lost me money, of course! That's wot comes of backin' a bad starter—mostly orlus loses yer money I find."
During this enlightening recital Jarvis had been polishing the table silver, pausing between his task to relate the story, while Dollops's pale face went the colour of ivory, and the hair at the back of his neck began to prickle with fright.
"Gawd's troof!" he ejaculated, stung to some show of feeling by this gruesome tale. "Ain't that orful! 'Oo'd 'ave thought it? I wouldn't spend a night down there fer a mint of money—would you, Guv'nor?"
"Not if I knows it. But no one never does go dahn very often, only ter the wine-cellar. See that door there? Open that and you'll find a set o' stairs leadin' right down inter the cellar, and the rest of the pleasant little dungeon-places where they used ter put bad men like you an' me, my boy. Orl right in daytime, er course, an' nothin' much ter see. And perfectly safe. 'Ave a squint, won' yer?—while I send a maid ter find yer gentleman. Quite a nifty little 'idin'-place 'twould be fer any one, but as safe as 'ouses in the daylight.Goon. Ain't scared, are yer?"
Now, if there is one thing in the world which islikely to upset a nervous man more than anything, it is to be designated "scared" in that precise tone of voice. It is from such efforts that heroes are made. Dollops, whose heart had turned to water within him, found it instantly hardening at the butler's joking tone, and the bantering look upon the man's rosy face settled the matter. He squared his shoulders and threw back his head, though his jaw was chattering like a chimpanzee's.
"Course I ain't—stoopid!" he said stammeringly. "Show us the way, and I'm orf at once. Any other entrance but this one?"
"Yes. Through the courtyard and down the stone steps. But it ain't never used. Your gentleman went dahn yesterday mornin' with Miss Maud, just for a bit of fun like. I'm needin' a couple er bottles er best port up, if you've a mind ter fetch 'em fer me, an' when yer gets back I'll give yer a swallow er Burgundy ter warm yer. 'Ere's the keys. Bottom of the steps and first door ter yer right. You'll see a lot of others, but I wouldn't meddle with them if I was you. Them's'erpreserves. I believe you're scared stiff—even at this time of day?"
Dollops favoured him with a withering look, being perfectly unable to find his voice, and then proceeded to the door with steady step, flung it open, and straightway began to descend the staircase to the cellar, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound uponthe wooden stairs with their carpeting of thick felt and with his heart literally in his gaping mouth. Down, down, down the stairs led him, and then he heard a laugh from the top of them, turning suddenly to see Jarvis's smiling face above, framed in the open doorway, heard the door slam loudly, and the key grate in the lock, and realized that he had been the victim of a pleasant little practical joke.
The palms of his hands went wet. He felt a mad impulse to bound up the stairs again and hammer upon the door until he gained admittance, but his pride held him back.
"No, I'll see 'im in 'ell first, the blinkin' practical joker!" he apostrophized the absent butler in tones of blackest rage, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, seeing that there was no other alternative but to go down and then return by theotherway, "which was scarcely ever used," proceeded on his journey into blackness, which grew each second more black, until he was stepping carefully, with one hand pressed against the stone of the wall and his eyes goggling through the darkness from sheer fright.
He reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and paused to take breath. He was as winded as a spent runner, and as white as a sheet, and trembling in every limb. The place was as black as a pocket, save for where, through a grille-door on the left-hand side of him (which was actually supposedto be her door, if he had but known it, and led through to the torture-chamber which Cleek himself had traversed), a single candle shone with a pale, sickly light, sending a tiny shaft in his direction, though, with peering through at it, he could only just see its vague outline in some room beyond.
"Gawdamassy!" he ejaculated, his eyes fairly popping out of his head at this sight. "Someun's 'ere, that's a fact! And from what I knows er ghosts, they shine wiv a more unearthly light than wot comes from a candle in a bottle. Now, 'oo the dickens——"
But his searchings after light on this subject were cut off short by the sound of softly speaking voices creeping to him through that grilled door, and coming from some long distance away within it. He darted back against the wall and, groping with his hands, found a cupboard door ajar, slipped into it, and drew himself up taut against the inner wall, and waited for that which might come to pass, every nerve a-tremble, his eyes fixed upon the crack of the door, which at present showed black as a pocket.
The soft voices continued—men's voices, too, and one with the changing inflections of the foreigner.
"Blinkin' German!" thought Dollops excitedly. "Or a Chink! Don't know the difference between their parley-vous meself, but it's orl alike wivforeigners. But the other 'un—'e's English orl right.Never 'eard 'is voice before, that's certain! Gawd! they're comin' out now, an' I prays 'eaven they ain't a jossin' ter fetch nuffin' from this 'ere cupboard, or little Dollops's number'll be up with a vengeance! I don't fancy bein' done in by a blinkin' pigtail, neither! Nah!—then! Keep still, Dollops, me boy, and stop yer tremblin'. You'll 'ave the 'ouse a-shakin' in a minit, an' they'll fink it's a earfquake instead of a boy-quake—strite they will!"
Having wrestled himself into some sort of quiet of heart and brain, Dollops continued to lie in wait until the strangers had come out through the grilled door, and stood a moment with the candle between them, talking in low tones, and glancing occasionally up the flight of stairs by which he had only just descended. One of them had his back to him, but the other's face was in full view. It was a dark, swarthy-skinned face, with black eyes and crisp black moustache curling upon the upper lip, the slim nose and aquiline features revealing to the watching lad the very evident fact that here was a genuine Italian.
And the other? He'd seen that tweed coat before, surely—but where? Where? He racked his brains to think. Somewhere that tweed coat had crossed his vision once before during that day, and in some unaccountable manner it was associated in his mind with Sir Ross Duggan himself....
The men moved quietly, blew out the candle, and then opened the door opposite and began to climbup the stone stairway into the fresh air, creeping about like mice.
Meanwhile Dollops, afraid no longer, and all his being afire to get to his master with news of this new development—and so make up for his slowness this afternoon, when the lady had so successfully given him the slip right here within his reach—stood stock-still, raking every corner of that fertile young brain of his for the clue which eluded him.
And then—quite suddenly—heknew.
Twenty minutes later he presented himself once more at the back door, and asked in scathing accents for Mr. Jarvis, dangling the keys of the wine-cellar in one careless hand.
That gentleman appeared to him, changed for his evening duties in the dining-room, and with one eye upon the clock, clapped him upon the shoulder and guffawed into his face.
"Blinkin' idiot!" thought Dollops, as he grinned back. "Might er frightened me into foamin' at the mouth like a bloomin' 'oss, he might." Then, aloud: "Nice practical joke ter play upon a feller, eh, Mr. Jarvis? Nah! if I'd been sufferin' wiv me nerves and 'avin' calisthenics wot's so fashionable just at presint, you could of sent me to my coffin—strite."
"But you're alive an' kickin' now, me 'earty!" returned Jarvis, with another guffaw, "an' lookin' in the pink, I must s'y. What about them bottles of port?—or didn't yer stop ter look into the wine-cellar? Didn't bring 'em up, I notice."
"No." Dollops's smile was catching. "But I nearly brought up sumthink else, I kin tell yer—an'that's me 'eart, for it were a-sittin' in me mouf like as though it would choke me! I've 'arf a mind ter cut you out of me will, Mr. Jarvis. But, seriously speakin', where's my gentleman? I've a note fer 'im if 'e's engaged, and if not, I'd like ter see 'im. Say it's important."
"News from the Front, eh? Fahnd out 'oo committed that there crime last night, I don't think," said Jarvis, with his heavy humour. "Well, I'll send along Minnie after him. Dinner's bein' prepared, and no doubt your boss'll be dressin'. If 'e ain't nosin' round after clues, with that there fat Superintendent. Wot's 'e, anyway?—your Mr. Deland? Amachoor detective?"
Dollops nodded.
"That's the line. Tell 'im I've got summink ter say about his blue trousers wot I've been a-pressing at the Three Fishers. An' it's most important."
"Oh!—very. Blue trousers is an important matter when a man's been murdered in 'is own 'ome, I take it. Orl right, orl right; don't lose yer temper, sporty. I'll see to it at once. Like ter go up to 'is room, would yer?"
"No. Rather wait 'ere for 'is message."
"Very well. Sit down and make yerself comfortable, and no doubt there'll be a bite er dinner fer yer, if you're patient. Won't say 'no' to a nibble er chicken, I lay, follered with a dash er Peach Melba?... I thought not."
So saying, the garrulous Jarvis proceeded kitchenward to summon Minnie and entrust her with the message for Mr. Deland, and then returned to the servants' hall and passed the rest of the time with Dollops, talking of London—a subject which appeared to be dear to both their hearts, and which certainly gave them something in common with each other.
Minnie returned in ten minutes bearing a little note upon her silver salver, which she presented to the smiling Dollops with a mock bow and a courtesy. She was a pert little country thing, with a trick of the eye that took a man's heart.
"'Ere's a note fer yer lordship," she said smartly. "Your gentleman says 'e's sorry 'e can't get down, and it don't matter about the blue trousies a particle. And 'e don't need you this evenin', so that you kin explore the countryside if yer want to. Wot say to a little walk, Mr. Ginger-'Air? It's my evenin' out, and I don't mind if I do."
Dollops winked and nudged her with his elbow.
"You're a pretty piece,youare, and if we was in Lunnon I'd be takin' you to the pickshurs," he returned with a grin. "But I've an appointment rahnd about ten o'clock up in the village. I'm yer man till then, Saucer-Eyes. No, Mr. Jarvis, a bit of dinner, as you s'y, wouldn't go quite amiss. I'm that 'ungry me insides rattle."
And while Jarvis was carving the chicken for theservants' hall, and giving him a generous portion, and Minnie was off to her room to prink up and change for the evening, Dollops opened his master's letter and scanned the few lines written upon it.
"Be under the big gate by twelve o'clock to-night," it said. "Hear all news then. Burn this."
So when Jarvis returned Dollops was lighting a cigarette from a twist of note-paper, which, upon sight of the big plate of steaming-hot chicken that awaited him, he promptly threw into the fire, watching absent-mindedly until it had become a charred fragment, and then set to upon the feast with a vengeance.
Meanwhile Cleek, dinner at last over—a meal passed in sober silence, with the shadow of that dead Thing still hanging over the diners and wiping the joy of life from their faces—went with Mr. Narkom out upon the terrace, cigars alight, and discussed with him the probabilities and possibilities of the whole affair, comparing notes with the Superintendent and jotting down in his business-like way any ideas that occurred to him as they talked together, until his cuff was covered over with pencil scrawls and the furrow between his eyes had deepened considerably.
Slowly the evening wore itself away, the presence of the silent-watching constabulary in the house making all friendliness between hosts and unwantedguests a matter of impossibility. Women and men drew together in little knots, discussing the affair in low-pitched voices, and even Maud Duggan's eyes held something of accusation now when they dwelt upon Cleek's face, so that at length he took Mr. Narkom by the arm and drew him toward the door.
"Come, old friend," he said quietly. "We are intruders here, you and I. These other poor folk cannot be at rest in our presence. Come along to the library once more, and have a look about it. The place draws me, I must say. For I still believe that the secret of the whole terrible thing lies there. To-morrow afternoon is to be Coroner's Inquest—a hateful proceeding, to say the least of it—and I've given myself just that time to solve the mystery."
"Cinnamon! And you don't imagine you're going to, do you, Cleek?" returned Mr. Narkom excitedly, as they passed down the passage together and entered the room. "That's rather a tall order, I must say. Seems as if we'd scoured this room from end to end."
"And yet, from what I heard from Master Cyril a short while ago, that is exactly what we havenotdone," rejoined Cleek, dropping to his knees and examining the wall plug which had interested him before. Meanwhile, Mr. Narkom strolled to the other side of the room, leaned against the spinning wheel in an attitude of ease, and then ... asCleek's fingers began to trace an invisible path along the edge of the carpet, the Superintendent gave out a sudden little cry and jumped as though he had been shot.
"Eh?—what's the matter, old friend?" Cleek was on his feet in an instant, for the Superintendent had gone a little pale, and was running his hands up and down his back in a curious fashion.
"Pins and needles! Funniest sensation I've ever come across. Brrh! Just like a slight electric shock."
Electric shock! Cleek was beside him in an instant, his face suddenly alight, and his hands searching over the instrument, here, there, and everywhere. Electric shock, eh? That was peculiar, to say the least of it.
Then he stopped suddenly and sucked in his breath, and, whipping round upon his heel, clapped the Superintendent upon the shoulder.
"And it takesyou, after all, to lead us to the actual secret!" he said affectionately, smiling into Mr. Narkom's astonished face. "For here's the thing in a nutshell. What a blind fool I've been all the time, old friend. Here's the murderer, the perpetrator of last night's crime—the mechanical means of doing away with human life in such a perplexing manner. Here—right here. See?"
"What the—what are you driving at, my dear chap?" ejaculated the Superintendent excitedly,stooping at the pressure of Cleek's arm upon his shoulder. "This—spinning-wheel thing? You don't mean to tell me thatItmurdered Sir Andrew, do you? Because I'm not fool enough to believethatstory—and not dunderhead enough to be taken in by a practical joke. Whatdoyou mean, old chap? I'm on pins and needles to know."
"And it's just those particular pins and needles of yours which have found the thing out," returned Cleek in the sharp staccato of excitement. "Look here! It's as easy as A B C—once you've got the hang of it. And that sensation of yourswasan electric shock all right. And it was just this spinning wheel which gave it to you. The thing's wired—see? Devilishly well done, too, and disguised very successfully. But here it is. Under the wheel. And see that funny box-like thing attached, which looks as though it belonged to a part of the machinery?—and doesn't. That's a battery, by all that's good! Now, what the dickens does that battery do, I'd like to know?... 'A whirring sound'—'hum-hum-hum!' That's how they described it to me this morning, do you remember? Gad! And this is the thing that produced that supernatural sound, then! Just a touch of a switch somewhere, and the thing sets in motion. Now let's follow this wiring along to its destination, and that will tell us a good deal."
He traced the line of palish flexible wire—sonearly the colour of the old wood as to be hardly discernible unless one really knew of its presence, round the wheel, and down on to the floor—the thing stood a mere matter of inches from the window-sill—and then disappeared up through a narrow piece of oak-coloured woodwork which was entirely unnoticed from the panelling it covered, until it reached the window-ledge and ended at the extreme right-hand corner of the middle window, and vanished in a cluster of ivy which clung about the outside of it, sending its tendrils right up to the edge of the sill itself.
Mr. Narkom followed the thing with fascination, poking a finger here and there to help discern its threadlike and imperceptible progress, and was almost as quick as Cleek in leaping out through the low sill to the flower-bed below upon which those tell-tale footprints had made such a strong impression. Then, of a sudden, they both stopped and stared blankly at each other. For the end of the thing lay beneath the ivy covering, in a little home-made switch which, touched by the finger, obviously set the whole contraption in motion.
Cleek hopped back into the room to see that no one was about, but the constable in charge stood outside the door, not in it, and they had closed that door carefully behind them upon entrance. Then he leaned out over the top of the window-sill and spoke softly to Mr. Narkom.
"Put your finger upon the switch when I say 'Go,'" he said in a tense whisper, "and I'll stay inside here and watch how the thing works. Now then....Go!"
Mr. Narkom applied his finger forthwith, while to Cleek within came a soft whirring, drumming sound, and then—an almost imperceptible "click" and—the most amazing of all these amazing matters came instantly to pass! For as he leapt out of the path of it, led by some mysterious, intuitive impulse, a bullet sped rapidly past his ear, and lodged itself in the woodwork, just a fraction of an inch below the spot where that other bullet had lodged, and—the secret was out at last!
"By all that's good!" he ejaculated, as Mr. Narkom jumped into the room somewhat heavily at sound of his hastily spoken ejaculation. "See that mark there in the woodwork, above the spot where we dug the bullet out this morning? Nearly shot me through the head, old friend, and made an end of your troublesome ally at last! Gad! the ingenuity of it! The devilish ingenuity! Sothat'show it was done, eh? We'll look into the thing a bit closer, but from what I have already seen I'd say there was a pistol hidden inside that wheel, but the thing's so perfectly done that it must have taken a master-hand to have done it. And where's the master-hand here? Ross Duggan?—with his hobby for electricity? He's not got the face of a man who could contrive a thing like that, and carry it out to such a pitch of perfection. And yet—it's a soundless pistol, all right, that did the deed. But the patience of the manipulator! the straightness of vision, to be certain of the moment to operate it! That man would be a useful adjunct to Scotland Yard's force, Mr. Narkom, with knowledgesuch as that. It's the most diabolically clever thing I've ever encountered!"
"It is—by James! it is!" returned the Superintendent, mopping his forehead in his excitement and going very red in the face. "Sure it isn't a woman, old chap? Women are pretty tricky people in affairs of this kind. And the contrivance of it, too!... Sothat'show it is done, is it?" as Cleek's agile fingers slid over the wheel and stopped upon a faint line which showed how the thing had been cut out and then stuck in again after the pistol had been lodged in its hiding-place. "Here; use my knife and dig it out, won't you?"
"Never! The time for doing that will be after I have given a demonstration of its prowess before the assembled company. I'm no master at intricate woodwork and mechanism such as that, Mr. Narkom, and I want to keep it in perfect working order for the crucial moment. If I extracted it now, ten chances to one I'd never get it back again. The thing to be discovered is to find out the man in this establishment whose fingers give him away as a delicate worker. And there's just one I've noticed that——"
And it was just as the name formed itself upon his lips that Cyril Duggan burst hurriedly into the room, despite the detaining hands of the constable on duty outside the door, and beckoned hastily to Cleek.
"Your man wants you, Mr. Deland," he said breathlessly. "Says it's awfully important and must see you at once. He wouldn't come in, but asked me to tell you, would you come round to the servants' quarters as soon as you could? He's waiting in the outer courtyard. Ginger-headed chap by the name of Dollops. I'd only just gone out for a breath of fresh air before Mother packed me off to bed—ten o'clock is the latest hour I'm permitted to sit up to. But he seemed so anxious to see you that I promised to come along at once. It's gone ten now, I think, and Mother will be after me if I'm not off—she's frightfully particular on little matters. But the policeman here said you and Mr. Narkom were busy and were not to be disturbed.... I say! What's the matter with the old spinning wheel, eh? You seem to be frightfully interested in it!"
"I am—as you say—frightfully," returned Cleek with a smile. "But nothing of any more consequence than an outsider's interest in something he knows nothing about. Ever looked at the thing, my boy?"
"Yes—heaps of times. And experimented upon it, too! Tried all sorts of ways to make it go, until Mother put a stop to my touching it, and said I should probably hurt myself with the spindle and break the thing."
"Oh, she did, did she? Well, perhaps you might. It's more harmful than people give it credit for.All right, Cyril; many thanks for telling me. I'll be along in a moment or two. You'd better get off to bed now, or Lady Paula will be on your track, I'll swear. Good-night."
"Good-night, Mr. Deland; good-night, Mr. Narkom."
He was off again like a shot, and Cleek could hear his light steps running down the hallway and up the stairs, like the big child he was.
"Funny thing," he said to Mr. Narkom as the two left the room together and walked down the corridor toward the servants' quarters, "but that young gentleman always seems to turn up in the most unforeseen moments. Noticehisfingers, did you, Mr. Narkom? No? Well, they are as delicate as a woman's and as strong as a man's. Curiously strong for a fifteen-year-old, I must say. Now, if I didn't know better, I'd lay a ducat to a dollar that that lad is a good sight cleverer than either you or I give him credit for, and with his mother's blood in him and a portion of his rascally grandfather's, too, there's no telling just exactly where he will end up.... Hello! is that you, Jarvis? I'm told my man wants to see me very particularly. Know where he is by any chance? It's probably about that blue suit of mine. He worries more over my clothes than any woman. In the courtyard? Thanks, very much. You coming along, too, Mr. Narkom?"
"Don't mind if I do," returned the Superintendent off-handedly, "seeing that there is nothing more to be discovered to-night. My man's in charge, so we might go over to the Three Fishers and have a quiet smoke in your rooms. That is, if you'd care about it?"
"Love to, my dear chap, love to. Through this door, eh, Jarvis? Nice snug place you've got here, I must say. Family do you well, I suppose?"
"Yessir," Jarvis's voice bordered upon the confidential. "Tight-fisted where the money is, sir, but—that's Scotch, you know."
"And you're London, eh?—and naturally generous! I understand. Well, here's something to buy yourself a drink with." And Cleek dropped half-a-crown into the butler's hands.
As the two men disappeared through the kitchen door and out into the courtyard, the highly elated Jarvis turned to his fellow servants with a genuine sigh of admiration.
"Amachoor detective or not," he apostrophized the absent gentleman, "an' queer in the top story though 'e may be, that's what I calls a right-down Lunnon gentleman!"