THE WINGED MESSENGER OF DEATH
That Lennard did go at considerable speed was very evident, for it was
under two hours when the limousine, gray with dust, raced once more into
Grays High Street, and pulled up in front of the solitary inn, the Royal
Arms. Here Mr. George Headland, after giving some directions to a weedy
youth of dejected mien, who had sat beside him in the car, flashed the
door open and shut again, and vanished up the village street.
He crossed the road and struck into the woods, his face relaxed from its
tenseness, and swung across country in the direction of the Manor House.
There was still one link missing in his chain, and he wanted it quite
finished before he met Mr. Narkom.
Reaching the house through the trees, he searched carefully along the
ground on the side on which gave the window of the gallery, and in a
very few moments leaned forward with a little cry of satisfaction. His
case was complete.
He turned swiftly back, but as he passed silently through the heavy
undergrowth, the sound of snapping twigs brought him up short. Then he
moved on with indrawn breath. Someone was shadowing him without a doubt.
Well, if necessary, he could make a run for it, but the path was
indistinct---- And just then came a snarl and a spring from somewhere
behind him. A thick cloth was thrown rapidly over his head, two arms
like vises closed about his struggling shoulders, and he was carried,
fighting for dear life, away from the Manor House and the scene of the
murder. He was conscious of being forced inside some building and here a
voice greeted him the sound of which sent a little dagger of fear
stabbing its way into his heart.
"The Cracksman at last!" shrilled the voice, excitedly, and Cleek knew,
for the time being, that the game was up. He was here in the shadow of
these woods, and in the power of the accursed Apaches themselves--alone
and helpless! A door closed behind them, bolts were shot, the cloth torn
from his head, and he saw before him, in the interior of a half-ruined
cottage, three of the best-known scoundrels in Paris, men he had known
only too well in the past. "At last, _nom de Dieu_, we have you!" cried
one as he seized a rope and bound Cleek's struggling hands and feet.
"Margot shall hear of this, I promise you! Margot, who thirsts for your
blood for your escape from her as we thirst for the money she will pay
us! Where is this precious 'Rose of Fire'? That is what we are after. No
foolish priest shall have a jewel which _we_ are after. Where is it,
pig of a cracksman, where, I say?"
"Where I have failed to find it, that I can promise you!" replied Cleek
in as level a voice as he could muster under the circumstances. "It has
wholly disappeared."
"You lie!" screamed Dubois, furiously. "You lie! You know well where it
is concealed. Do you not always find the answers to the cases propounded
to you? But we shall see what we shall see. A touch of fire may loosen
your tongue, _cochon_! Come, _mes amis_!"
Turning, they swarmed into a tiny kitchen, and Cleek could see them
throwing paper and wood into the range. Luckily for him the wood was
damp, and the chimney smoky from disuse. He writhed his hands to and fro
in their ropes. It was not for nothing that those old days in Paris had
been lived. He knew a thing or two about knots which would teach these
devils something. A tug, a twist, and at last one hand was free. The
other followed in a jiffy. Quickly and soundlessly he worked upon the
rope about his feet, while the snarling Apaches cursed and swore at the
fire which would not burn. In another moment he was free. But he stood
still, awaiting his opportunity. Then of a sudden there came to his ears
a sound that made his heart leap. He did not even know he was near a
road, and yet there sounded the soft purr of the Scotland Yard
limousine--he would have known it among a thousand! He did not stop to
think how his plight could have become known, he simply leapt for the
window, and making a cup of his hands, shouted as loudly as his lungs
would permit, "All right, boys! Well played! Get round to the back!
They're in the kitchen!"
The trick worked like magic. He heard the car come to a grinding stop,
saw the leaping figures of three Apaches dart like frightened rats
across the little kitchen floor, and in the twinkling of an eye every
man of them had vanished into the wood beyond. With a bound Cleek was
out of the door, onto a road, into the limousine, with a very excited
Dollops at his side, and death was once more behind him.
"How did you know?" he said, curiously, as the car went speeding down
the road under the guidance of Lennard.
Dollops heaved a heavy sigh.
"I saw some of the blighters up the road after you left me. I told you,
sir, you should have took me along"--this very reproachfully--"and I
tells Lennard here, we don't leave this neighbourhood till I sees you
safe and sound."
"It was a narrow squeak this time, old man," said Cleek, softly, and put
out his hand. "You are the best ever of a helper. Bless you."
Dollops' eyes gleamed with pleasure as the car swept on in the direction
of Grays Village.
And this was why Mr. Narkom had begun to feel very uneasy about the
whereabouts of his colleague when he finally received a message from one
of his men that "Mr. George Headland" was having a meal at the Royal
Arms and would be pleased if all the company from the Manor House would
give him the pleasure of joining him there.
There was an indignant murmur of dissent from the Parradines, but Mr.
Narkom, knowing there must be a very good reason for this invitation,
succeeded in persuading them to accompany him down to the inn, though
they expressed no faith in what "that fool of a policeman was doing."
In the old-fashioned inn, at the bar of which most of the villagers were
smoking and drinking, at one of the window tables they found Mr.
Headland certainly busy in front of a meal though it was the youth
beside him who was eating it voraciously. As Mr. Narkom recognized
Dollops, he beamed delightedly. The landlord of the inn was himself in
attendance, but Mr. George Headland was evidently in a state of
indignation with the youth at the table and was pointing to a small
yellow object in his hand.
As the little party came up, he turned to Mr. Narkom.
"Look, sir, that's what that young varmint's done while I've been down
'ere. Let my prize canary starve in the office. I wouldn't have parted
with that bird for a fortune, and what I'm to say to my missus. Lord
only knows."
Colonel Parradine gave a snort of disgust. "I suppose you haven't sent
for us to look at a dead canary when we are faced with such a tragedy,"
he thundered.
"Sent for you, sir," said Mr. Headland, innocently. "Never thought of
such a thing. Lennard must have made a mistake. I asked for Mr. Narkom
to come, as I can't find anything more out, and am giving up the job.
But this canary fair beats me...."
"I suggest having it stuffed, sir," put in the landlord, thoughtfully.
"We've got the man here that'll do it, in a trice."
"Why, of course," said Bristol, patiently, turning in the direction of
the bar. "Old Twells, the very man."
"The very thing," said Cleek, and switching round on his heel looked
interestedly at the old gray-haired man to whom the landlord was
evidently explaining the situation. Then, as he came over to them, Cleek
turned to Mr. Narkom. "If you'd get the cage out of the locker in the
car, sir, we could stick it on its blessed perch and make a good job of
it. Here's the key; I think it's the right one."
Whether it was the right one or not Mr. Narkom looked down on the label
attached to it, and seeing the message that Cleek had scribbled on it,
ran out of the place as fast as legs could carry him.
When he returned Mr. Headland was still directing the taxidermist as to
what he was to do and how and when to do it.
"Did you find it, sir?" he asked as Mr. Narkom rushed in, his face red
with excitement.
"Yes, exactly where you said, Cleek," cried the Superintendent, blurting
out the name unconsciously in his agitation.
A little gasp of interest sounded, but Cleek took no heed. With shining
eyes and mouth set in a thin red line he switched round on his heel, his
voice sounding clear and sharp:
"Game's up, my boy; stand aside, Bristol. It's no use trying to shield
yourself or your accomplice. I want you both."
With a little spring he threw himself forward, bearing down on the old
bent figure of Twells, still standing with the dead canary in his hands,
leaving Narkom and Dollops to keep an eye and hand on the younger man,
who had collapsed into a chair.
"Richard Deverill, I arrest you for the murder of your cousin, Anthony
Winton," rang out Cleek's imperious voice.
"It's a lie! Who are you? How dare you?" shrieked the supposedly old
man, his voice no longer quavering, but full and shrill.
"No lie, my man." And Cleek, leaning forward, twitched off the gray wig,
revealing a close-cropped head and sallow forehead. "Also for the theft
of the 'Rose of Fire,' but in that I think we have forestalled you."
"Yes, here it is," said Narkom, as he held up the exquisite gem, and a
cry burst from the lips of the prisoner.
"Take him away, boys," said Cleek to Petrie and Hammond, who had entered
unnoticed in the general confusion. Then turning to Bristol he said:
"You did a foolish thing, young man, in not telling the complete truth
last night. You knew Twells had something to do with it."
"Yes, I did. He asked me to get the lights switched off at exactly 10
o'clock last night, saying he could stop the marriage of Winton and Miss
Parradine without any harm if the lights were off in that house for two
minutes, and I was so desperate that I yielded. While I was talking with
my engineer friend at the Power House I leant up against the switch.
Afterward I went nearly mad thinking that I had helped to kill Winton,
if I was not a murderer myself."
"No, but you let the murderer escape, my friend. If you had told me, it
would have saved me a lot of trouble."
"But how and by what was Winton killed? How could the murderer escape
through closed doors and window and in the dark? Nothing human could do
it----"
"I never said it was human," flung in Cleek, a little one-sided smile
creeping up his face. "It was as Mr. Winton said--the Death's Head.
What's that, Miss Parradine, the skeleton? Oh, dear no; something far
more deadly, though not as dead as that. Here it is!"
Diving into his pocket he pulled out a large match-box, and opening it
turned out onto the table a splendid moth.
"The Death's Head," he said. "See the skull and crossbones?"
"Twells or Deverill was a ruined man and desperate. I soon found out by
cabling from headquarters that he had left Buenos Ayres for London some
two months ago. Being already known to the police over another shady
transaction, they had kept watch and there was no doubt he was in league
with the Burmese priests to try and recover the 'Rose of Fire' for them.
You may be sure that he knew from gossip that the jewels had been willed
to Miss Parradine, so he settled down here to await his chance and got
it, last night."
"But how?" said Bristol.
"Through the open window," was the reply. "From his post in that big oak
tree opposite the gallery he let loose this moth, knowing the bright
electric light right in front of Winton's face would attract it. Its
wings were heavily laden with that deadly poison dust the natives use
both in South America and Burmah for their blow-pipes. The heat of the
lamp would make it more deadly. I take it that Winton knew his danger
when he got the first whiff of the poison dust, and tried to drive the
intruder out, but could not manage both, dying as he was.... Yes, both,
Colonel--Deverill had not played the part of naturalist for nothing and
he had ready a natural thief. In the magpie, or raven, was it, Mr.
Narkom?"
"Magpie, Cleek."
"Yes, as I thought. Trained to pick up a red rose probably, it responded
nobly to its training, and picked up the brilliant red 'Rose of Fire'."
"But why did he want the light off?" asked Bristol.
"Because he knew that just as the light had attracted them in, the dark
would send them out into the moonlight. Winton probably exhausted his
last strength driving them away and pulling down the window, which sound
Calvert heard.
"All Twells had to do was to see that his pet came home safely, and left
the jewel I expect where the bird itself took it, to his cage. Was I
right, Mr. Narkom?"
"Right as a trivet, Cleek--hidden under the straw."
"I recognized the yellow feathery dust, and had it analyzed in town to
make sure," continued Cleek. "The trace of bird-lime, or some sticky
substance in the shape of a bird's claw, gave me the first clue as to
the actual thief, and a black feather under the table confirmed it. The
dead moth I found outside the window, so I knew the whole thing. The
fact that coming back from finding the moth, I nearly met my own death
is another story. If I hadn't brought Dollops back with me, this case
might have ended very differently. All I wanted to find out in town was
whether Richard Deverill was still in South America, of which I had my
doubts."
"What's that, Mr. Narkom? Why did I suspect old Twells? Well, it was
rather suspicious that he should be hanging about at that hour, and
discovering that he was so keenly interested in natural history made me
think a whole lot. As I found the number of that motor-car that knocked
you down, Colonel, I knew you were out of suspicion. Besides, I had a
good look at 'Old Twells,' and though his voice and face were well kept
up, his hands were full-blooded and strong. All I had to do was to find
an excuse to get him into my clutches, without losing the 'Rose of
Fire,' and my canary did the trick. I was only just in time, for to-day
old Twells would have vanished forever. The 'Rose of Fire' would have
been sold to return to Mandalay and the new heir would have come home
with a flourish of woe and mourning. He gambled that Mr. Bristol would
be afraid to mention the light business, even if he ever connected it
with the murder. And now I think as Dollops here has demolished my meal
and his own too, I propose we get back to town. Miss Parradine, take my
advice, either bank that jewel, ill-fated as it is, or strike a bargain
with the envoys of Buddha, for they will not hesitate to strike again,
and the next time they may be even more successful."
With a little bow, and with Narkom and Dollops in the rear, Cleek passed
out, and soon the soft whirr of the departing limousine was heard. Only
a gilt cage, with a dead canary in it, was left to remind them of the
riddle that had so quickly been solved.