A DIVIDED LEGACY
Brought down to mere essentials, it differed very little from what Mr.
Narkom had already told him. It was the tale of a man who had incurred
the wrath of native priests for what was in reality nothing less than
looting their temple of its greatest treasure, a Fire Opal, which was
known historically as the Eye of Ashtaroth, the Assyrian goddess of
beauty. In the fight at the temple Sir Thomas had only saved his own
life and those of his few followers by shooting the head priest with his
revolver. Dying, the man had cursed him in one of the fearful curses of
the East, and vowed that his spirit would follow the Sacred Eye to the
uttermost ends of the earth, and that every human being that touched the
stone should die "in the darkness that walketh by night, by fire that
knows no heat, and by a death that leaves no sign, but passes through
walls of stone and bars of steel."
"Splendid!" commented Cleek, with a little nod of approval. "By the way,
Mr. Montelet, who told you the history of this ill-fated stone and its
fearful curse of a wandering spirit that slays in the dark?"
"Why, my father himself, Mr. Headland. I remember when he brought the
wretched stone back and fixed it up in a steel-lined case, of which the
top was glass. He had a kind of mimic altar made--you shall see it for
yourself--on which the case was put. No one but my dear stepmother knew
how the stone was put into its pedestal. No one but my father had ever
touched it, and after the priest died I don't believe even he did so
with his bare hands."
"H'm. I see! And did Lady Montelet believe in the priest's curse or
not?"
"Not at first--not, in fact, till after that poor maid of ours died last
year. She accidentally let her broomhandle fall through the glass top of
the case and whether she did touch the stone or not, or whether it was,
as our doctor said, that she died of fright, her heart having been known
to be weak, one can't say. But she was found dead. Then, six months
later, a young orphaned French girl from a Russian convent, Celestine
Merode---- Why, what's the matter?"
"Celestine! A convent!" Cleek ejaculated. "The two things are so utterly
incongruous!"
"Why, did you know her?" asked the young man in natural bewilderment.
"Know her! Yes, she was the sister of one of the worst scoundrels that
ever formed a unit of the Apaches."
"The Apaches!" gasped young Montelet. "Good heavens! But she came with
the very finest credentials, to act as companion for my stepmother. She
was a dear girl, and it nearly broke my mother's heart when she, too,
was found dead. Lady Montelet has a penchant for French companions, and
her present one, Marie Vaudrot, who has been with her ever since, is
also French. She was vouched for by a Countess Somebody or other, and
she has been like a daughter to my mother.... Oh! it is too, too awful!"
he burst out, fiercely. "First my dear, dear father----"
"Good heavens!" burst out Mr. Narkom. "Did he too, die mysteriously? I
understood that he died from pneumonia."
"So he did," was the low-toned reply; "but on the night of his death he
eluded the nurse while she slept, and we--my mother and I--found him
lying in front of the altar. The glass was removed, leaving the stone
exposed. He must have touched it--and he had died...." His voice trailed
away into silence, and a wave of emotion surged over him, choking him.
Suddenly he swung round with an intense desperation in his face and
voice. "Help me, Mr. Headland! Let me avenge these deaths. The stone I
care nothing for. Thank Heaven it is gone, that no more murders may be
committed for its sake. Help me to avenge the woman who was more than a
mother to me--the best, the truest that ever lived! If I could have done
anything in this world to have saved her, but I couldn't, I couldn't!
Nothing on earth could save her."
Cleek twitched up an inquiring eyebrow.
"Save her from what, Mr. Montelet? The effect of the curse?"
"The curse!" he echoed in tones of unutterable contempt. "No, there's
nothing supernatural about that! You know as well as I do that such a
thing is all rot. People can't be killed like that in a steel-lined
room, with a bolted door and barred windows, thirty feet above the
ground; nor do I believe in heart disease. No; there's a human agency at
the back of the mystery, and you yourself have given me a clue as to the
perpetrators. It is that gang of thieves, the Apaches, who are the root
of the mystery, and Miss Marie Vaudrot will turn out to be a second
Celestine Merode. No wonder Laura distrusts her."
"Laura! And, pray, who is that?" interposed Cleek, gazing into the young
man's excited face.
A flush came over it. He shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Miss Laura Gwynne, Mr. Headland--Lady Montelet's stepdaughter. She, you
know, was married twice, and Laura was brought up in the French convent
of Notre Dame. She is a few years older than I am, though no one would
believe it, and a noble girl.
"Laura says Marie Vaudrot was outside the long gallery the night of the
murder. One hates to bring suspicion against a woman, Mr. Headland, but
when you consider how greatly that woman would, and does, benefit by our
dear mother's death, you must feel yourself that I--we--have strong
grounds for suspicion."
"Certainly, I understand," said Cleek, promptly. "But in what way does
this young lady benefit? She is no relation, is she?"
"Not in the least; but while I was away this summer my mother grew to
love her as if she were her own daughter, and made a will leaving her, I
believe, nearly a third of Sir Thomas's fortune; and as most of the
historic jewels were willed by him to the nation, including the stolen
Fire Opal, that diminished our share considerably, and you will admit it
is not entirely just to either of us personally. There will be more than
enough for my modest needs; but Laura, Miss Gwynne, is angry because
Lady Montelet had always shown her the deepest affection and promised
that the property should be equally divided between us. She is so
self-sacrificing, however, that she has begged me to hush the matter up,
so that no scandal shall be attached to the name. She is absolutely sure
that Miss Marie Vaudrot is connected in some way with the murder.
She----"
Suddenly the door opened behind them, and framed in the open doorway
stood the slim figure of a sweet-faced girl. It did not need young
Montelet's worshipping if surprised cry of "Laura" nor Mr. Narkom's
greeting to tell Cleek who this girl was. A moment or two later the
young man had made that assurance doubly sure, and the detective and
Miss Gwynne were shaking hands together.
"I ought not to have intruded on you," said Miss Gwynne in a voice
low-pitched and musical, "but--but--I was passing, and I saw Hubert's
face through the window, and I guessed what he had done. He wishes to
spare my feelings," her sweet voice broke in a sob, "but, of course, he
is right. I must not let my feelings for one of my own sex blind me to
my duty both to the dead and to my country."
Cleek raised an inquiring eyebrow at the latter part of this remark.
"Yes," she continued, "if it was Sir Thomas's wish that the Government
should have the sacred stone, then surely it is only right that I should
do all that lies in my power to get it back."
"Quite right," said Cleek, approvingly. "Now, what about this Marie
Vaudrot? I understand that she was found wandering down the corridor
near the place of the murder. Is that so?"
"Yes, alas, it is. Miss Vaudrot was very, very upset when mother
announced her intention of watching in the gallery, because of the
ridiculous story of the servants."
"It was possibly Miss Vaudrot's own story, Laura," put in young
Montelet, excitedly.
Miss Gwynne shook her head at him.
"Mr. Headland must be left to draw his own conclusions, Hubert," she
said, somewhat sharply. "After all, it may be someone else, and I cannot
bear to accuse people behind their backs. Let us leave the matter till
Mr. Headland has been up to the house. Don't you think so yourself, Mr.
Headland?"
"Right you are," said Cleek with a smile and a nod. "I quite appreciate
your feelings in the matter, Miss Gwynne. And, I say, Mr. Narkom,"
looking at his watch, "if I'm going to get up the river to-day, and get
back in town in time to dress for the theatre, don't yer know, I think I
had better come right away and have a peep at this fascinating young
murderess of yours. So if Miss Gwynne has no objection to my going on
with the case, we'd better be moving."
Miss Gwynne was all eagerness to "get on with the case," despite the
report of her desire for letting things go.
"Oh, dear no, Mr. Headland. Please come right along now," she said,
quickly. "It was only my foolish fear of scandal, and perhaps pity for
one of whom my dear mother was so fond, that has caused me to raise even
a slight objection. We are quite close, and in Mr. Narkom's car it would
not take ten minutes."
"Good," said Cleek, stooping suddenly to retie his shoelace close beside
the chair where Mr. Montelet stood, waiting for his companions to move.
"Go on and tell Lennard to get his engine going, Mr. Narkom. I want to
get up the river some time to-day, and the quicker I get through this
blessed report of mine the better."
Two minutes later the limousine was racing away in the golden sunshine,
carrying its passengers to the scene of the mysterious death; and Cleek
was again stooping to retie another shoelace, which apparently was
giving him a lot of trouble.