THE RIDDLE OF THE
MYSTERIOUS LIGHT
[Illustration: "_Mr. Narkom saw Cleek run to the tower's foot ... and
then, almost immediately, he saw him throw up both hands and stagger
backward._"]
THE SCOTLAND YARD MYSTERY LIBRARY
THE
RIDDLE OF
THE
MYSTERIOUS
LIGHT
BY
MARY E. and THOMAS W. HANSHEW
McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Trapped by the Apaches 3
II. A Kiss for a Life 12
III. The Haunted Village 22
IV. Weird Church Bells of the Night 30
V. The Private Affairs of a Duke 43
VI. The Ghost in the Church Belfry 50
VII. A Garden of Transplanted Flowers 62
VIII. The Murder of Captain Sandringham 73
IX. A Faintly Familiar Face 78
X. A Walk in the Garden 86
XI. Clues from a Dead Body 94
XII. A Jangle of Pealing Bells 101
XIII. The Mysterious Light 107
XIV. "George Headland" Keeps an Appointment 113
XV. The Laying of the Valehampton "Ghost" 121
XVI. Cleek Explains 128
XVII. The Mystery of the "Rose of Fire" 137
XVIII. Murder at Manor Lodge 145
XIX. The Winged Messenger of Death 154
XX. The Stolen Formulas 166
XXI. Countess Maravitz Entertains 190
XXII. An Interrupted Holiday 202
XXIII. A Divided Legacy 210
XXIV. "The Fire That Slays in the Dark" 218
XXV. The Priceless Statue That Vanished 229
XXVI. Flecks of White Powder 237
XXVII. The Ruse of the Sprained Wrist 246
XXVIII. The Mystery of the "Rope of Fear" 256
XXIX. The Mysterious Death of Elton Carlyle 287
XXX. The Safe with the Time-Lock 297
XXXI. In the Den of the Apaches 306
XXXII. The Passing of Cleek 320
CHAPTER I
TRAPPED BY THE APACHES
There are days, even in the capricious climate of London, when the whole
world seems at peace; when the blue of the summer sky, the fragrance of
some distant flower brought in by a passing breeze, and the contented
chirp of the birds, all unite to evoke a spirit of thankfulness for the
very gift of life itself.
This was the spirit of Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent of Scotland
Yard, on this particular day in July. Even the very criminals had
apparently betaken themselves to other haunts and distant climes, and
the Yard, therefore, may be said to have been surprisingly slack. Up in
his own private room, seated in front of his desk--both desk and room
reduced to a state of order and tidiness uncanny to behold--sat the
Superintendent, if the truth must be told, oblivious to all the world; a
purple silk handkerchief draped itself gracefully over his head and rose
softly up and down with the rise and fall of his breath. This was his
last day at the Yard, for to-morrow would see him well on the road to
Margate for a blessed two weeks' holiday with Mrs. Narkom and the
children, not to mention guests who were nearly as precious to him,
namely Ailsa Lorne and Hamilton Cleek.
His famous ally had himself been absent for more than two months, but
was returning this very day--day, in fact, might be expected to arrive
now at any minute, so it was little wonder that peace reigned supreme in
the worthy Superintendent's heart, and induced his gentle slumbers even
in the sacred precincts of what has been termed the Hub of London.
But outside, in the blue azure of the sky above, a tiny cloud, no bigger
than that of the proverbial man's hand, had gathered, and as if it were
a reflection of the storm-clouds of crime hovering round, there came the
sharp _ting-ting_ of the telephone bell at his elbow. For a minute, thus
suddenly aroused, Mr. Narkom stared blankly at the disturber of his
peace. A swift glance at the indicator told him it was a summons from
the Chief Commissioner, and Mr. Narkom betook himself to the interview.
It lasted only fifteen minutes as registered by the clock ticking gently
on the mantelshelf, but its deadly effect was that of fifteen years on
Mr. Narkom, and when he once more entered his own official sanctum, he
sank down into the chair with a groan. For he had heard the first
details of that mystery of the haunted village of Valehampton, which
later on was to rouse a whole county, and bring to Hamilton Cleek one of
the chief problems of his career. That the strangeness of the case was
apparent on the face of it could be gathered from Mr. Narkom's muttered
remarks.
"Curses!" he growled. "Suicides! Murders! Ghosts! Prophecies! It's the
work of the devil himself." He consulted his notes again, but though
copious enough, it was clear they afforded no further light. He pulled
out his watch and heaved a sigh of relief. "Only half-past nine now," he
ejaculated, "and if only Cleek arrived safely by the 8:40, I think he
said, at Charing Cross, there's a chance of seeing light. I don't know
where he's been, the amazing beggar, but he's never been wanted so badly
here in his life. Thank goodness he's back again."
He reached out a hand for that friendly instrument the telephone
receiver; but his complacent gratitude had evidently tried the patience
of the Fates, for ere his fingers closed round the familiar black
handle, the door of his room was thrown violently open, and without
ceremony or even apology a slim figure fairly hurled itself before the
gaze of the astonished Superintendent.
It was Dollops, worshipper of Cleek and his ever-faithful assistant. His
face was the colour of a Manila paper bag, and his eyes bulged out of
his head as they took in the fact that Mr. Narkom was alone.
"Lor' lumme!" he cried, relapsing into broad cockney, as he invariably
did when excited. "Don't go for to say he ain't 'ere, neither," he
blurted out, his eyes seeking those of Mr. Narkom with a very agony of
impatience.
For both of them there could be but one "he," and Mr. Narkom's face
became nearly the same colour as the lad's as he realized that his
famous ally was not at hand.
"Didn't he arrive at Charing Cross by the 8:40?" he cried.
Dollops shook his head.
"No, bless 'im, that's just what he didn't do, Mr. Narkom. Me and Miss
Lorne waited for 'im, me wivout so much as a bite to keep my insides
from sticking together, and them blooming Apaches--beggin' your pardon,
Mr. Narkom, but they are blooming, too--merry and bright they was, I
tell you, buzzing round that station like bluebottles round a piece of
meat. That's wot made me come 'ere, thinkin' he'd twigged 'em as usual
and come another way. But if 'e ain't 'ere, 'e ain't, and I'll get back
to Portman Square."
With a dejected lurch of the shoulders, he turned, leaving Mr. Narkom to
make his own preparations.
Soon deep in the business of issuing orders to his underlings,
despatching telegrams--one, of course, to Mrs. Narkom herself to
prepare her for the disappointment of a postponed holiday--and in
writing and expanding the notes of this last case just entrusted to him
by his chief, Mr. Narkom for the first time in his life since he had
known and learned to love his famous ally, Hamilton Cleek, once known as
the Man of Forty Faces by reason of his peculiar birth-gift, his ability
to change instantaneously his whole appearance by an extraordinary
distortion of his facial muscles, and also as the Vanishing Cracksman,
for his capacity of extricating himself from perilous positions, and now
as Cleek of Scotland Yard--for the first time, we say, Mr. Narkom forgot
to be anxious at his evident non-arrival.
The sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor outside struck upon his
ear and he wheeled suddenly in his chair. But if he had expected to see
Cleek, he was doomed to disappointment. There came a knock, the door
opened and closed, and a deprecatory cough came from Inspector Hammond,
white-faced and anxious, his lips set in a grim line of tense anxiety.
"Hammond--why, what is wrong, man? Speak up," cried the Superintendent.
"Come, out with it."
"It's 'im, sir," said Hammond. "A kid of a paper-boy just pushed this
'ere paper into my 'and as I was leaving my beat and 'ops it before I
could as much as breathe Jack Robinson."
His hand shaking, he extended to the obviously irritated Mr. Narkom a
scrap of dirty paper, and as the Superintendent gave a glance at the few
words scrawled on it, his own ruddy face was drained of every vestige of
colour, and it looked not unlike that of Dollops but a brief half hour
previous.
The scribbled words were barely half a dozen in number but in their
import they told of more dire disaster to him than could any voluminous
cabinet epistle.
Irregularly penned as by one in imminent peril, the message danced
before his blurred eyes.
"_Come, God's sake, 1st barge, Limehouse, Dock 3.--Cleek._"
"What does it mean, sir?" asked Hammond, anxiously, as Mr. Narkom sucked
in his breath and stood staring rigidly.
"Means," he gasped, "that they've got him, the devils. Dollops was
right. Apaches! God, but he's gone by now perhaps. Cleek, my
pal--my----"
He wheeled on the now frightened Inspector. "Quick, man--the car. You
follow, with Petrie and whoever else is off duty."
Hammond needed no second telling. He almost fled from the room, and the
dread news preceding him, Lennard was on the spot and waiting as
impatiently as the Superintendent himself.
"Limehouse Docks, Lennard--and streak it. Mr. Cleek is in danger----"
"I know, sir. Hop in, and Lord help the man or vehicle in my way!" was
the fervent reply as he cranked up and took his seat.
"Streak it" he did, and not a policeman on duty, after a brief glance at
his grim face and that of the Superintendent within, did more than hold
up every cart, cab, tram, or 'bus that was likely to impede his way.
Obviously the Yard, as vested in the sacred person of Superintendent
Narkom and his prime minister Lennard, was "on active duty" and like a
fire engine in speed and purpose, the Yard limousine rocked and swayed
its way through grimy lanes and malodorous byways till it reached the
squalid region known as Limehouse Docks. Here Lennard could go no
farther, and ere the car had pulled up, quivering, the portly form of
the Superintendent had thrown itself out, and was peering into the
sunlit distances.
"Wait here, Lennard, and when the others come along bring them to Dock 3
and look out for Barge No. 1, if we are not here first."
"Righto, sir," said Lennard.
But already Mr. Narkom was out of sight, all other duties forgotten.
Swiftly he turned a sharp corner, nearly falling over a sailor leaning
against the wall smoking a cigarette. At the first whiff, Mr. Narkom
glanced up swiftly. It did not take his trained sense long to recognize
that it was a French cigarette--hence Apache--and that Cleek must be
here, in need of him!
"La, la, but you are queek," the man muttered. "It is ze brave
Super-in-tend-ent and he come for his gr-great frien' Cleek--is it not
so, my frien'?"
"Yes, yes--_you know_! He is here?" gasped Mr. Narkom, barely, if at
all, stopping to think of any possible peril to himself. "You shall be
finely rewarded for this, my good man," he said, warmly. "Lead on----"
"But yes," was the reply, "a brave reward. Come!" He turned silently and
swiftly, beckoning to the Superintendent to follow.
Nothing loath and unsuspecting, Mr. Narkom turned and followed the
sailor till they reached one of the docks--and a barge.
"This is dock 3," he said, as he noticed the number.
"Quite right," said his guide. "Get in, queek--ze boat--ze others, zay
weel return and it weel be too late."
That was sufficient for Mr. Narkom. Obviously, his friend was in danger;
equally obvious was it that this guide had brought him as a
reinforcement against returning Apaches.
"Get in" he did, and it was not until he had stumbled down a dark
companionway into the grimy cabin and heard the door click swiftly
behind him that he realized he was trapped--deceived by a trick as
simple as it had been effective. The sweat stood out on the
Superintendent's forehead, rolling down in great beads, while his hands
grew cold and clammy.
"Cleek!" he cried, hoping even now that his ally were with him to help
and be helped! But a light laugh--half snarl, half sneer--caused him to
turn. His guide stood regarding him with mocking amusement.
"Bravo! my frien'--so easy it was! Caught like the great big
turkey-gobbler. Oh, _non, non_--but not so queek, my frien'----"
For Mr. Narkom had flung himself forward in a vain effort to escape. A
sharp whistle and a door hitherto unseen in the darkness of the cabin
behind him was flung open. Mr. Narkom was seized from behind, flung down
some three minutes later, and trussed up, panting and helpless, tears of
rage and mortification in his eyes.
Soon, as it grew darker and darker, betokening the fall of the summer
night, he felt the movement of the boat beneath him, and even while
Lennard and a posse of his own men were interviewing the officials and
overhauling Dock 1, the boat with its valuable burden was drifting out
to meet a larger vessel, waiting well up the river's mouth, bearing away
one of the only two men who could solve one of the greatest mysteries
the Law had ever been faced with.