WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LIBRARY
It was exactly eleven o'clock, and the various clocks in the house were
chiming the hour out from every nook and corner of the Castle when
Cleek, followed by Dollops and Mr. Narkom, made his way to the library,
and found assembled there all the members of that ill-fated family--as
well as those others who had perforce been obliged to stay there
over-night at his orders--and with a polite "good morning" and a stiff
little bow, took his place in the midst of them and glanced around.
They were a wan, white-faced lot. Lady Paula's black eyes were ringed
with violet, Maud Duggan's face was pinched and old-looking in the
morning light, as though the night had seen no sleep for _her_ (which
was true), Johanna McCall's little peaked face was pale as ivory, and
her eyes looked heavy-lidded, as though she had cried overmuch in the
still watches (which was true also), while Cynthia Debenham and
Catherine Dowd sat with set faces and angry eyes, watching him as though
deadly afraid of what he might say or do next. Ross Duggan's countenance
was as lined as an old man's; Captain Macdonald showed by the flare of
nostrils and flash of eye that his temper was still as hot as his
tongue, and not improved for the keeping; and little Cyril--who slipped
in a moment or two late, with Tavish bringing up the rear--had the look
of a boy who was scared half out of his wits.
And scared badly he was, too. Trembling hands showed it; trembling lips
showed it still more. Cleek's eyes narrowed down as he glanced at the
boy's set face, and he found it hard to give him even so much as a
welcoming smile. Like mother like son--that boy. As wily as you make
'em. And untrustworthy, too. He was not so fond of Master Cyril, now
that he knew more of him, as he had been at first meeting.
When they were all seated, with P. C. Mackay keeping watch over the door
and another constable on the outside of it, Cleek turned to them and let
the queer little one-sided smile so indicative of the man travel up his
face.
"Well, my friends," said he in his smooth, low-pitched voice, "I
promised you something when I saw you again, and I'm here to fulfil that
promise. The riddle of Sir Andrew's death is a riddle no longer. If you
will have patience for a short time I shall explain a few things to you,
and then----"
"You know who killed my husband, then? You know?--you know?" bleated out
Lady Paula, starting to her feet with white face and hands clasped
close against her breast. "You have found out the secret of his murder,
Mr. Deland?"
"Yes--and I know who his murderer was, too, Lady Paula," returned Cleek
sharply. "Sit down, Mr. Duggan, I beg of you. The door is guarded, as
you can see--both outside and in--and perhaps it might be as well if I
added caution to care and turned the key in the door--so." Speaking, he
crossed the room in rapid strides, locked the door, and dropped the key
into his pocket. "Prevention is better than cure, you know. Yes, Lady
Paula, I know who murdered Sir Andrew, and I know how it was done. A
dastardly deed at best--an abominable crime upon humanity in return for
a family wrong. The old question of a vendetta--though of so recent a
date as to be a mere matter of seventeen years back. You have been
married that long, have you not? You are surprised, I see. Well, I
confess it, so was I. And when you mix up such other unpleasant
ingredients as a woman's ill-timed ambition, a blackmailer, and the
green-eyed god jealousy, you find a very unpleasant mess of pottage
indeed."
He spoke in his own way, unravelling the riddle in that leisurely
fashion for which he was famous; but to those over-charged minds and
hearts that surrounded him he seemed much like a cat playing with a
mouse--and enjoying its fruitless efforts at escape.
"But the murderer--who?--who?" gave out Maud Duggan in a suddenly shrill
voice, as a little silence held for a moment in that still room. "Tell
us that, Mr. Deland, I implore you----"
"In good time, Miss Duggan. First of all, the ways and means. Look!--see
that spinning wheel. There stands your guilty party in that innocent
guise. The hand that guided that wheel killed Sir Andrew as surely as I
am standing here. And how? An air-pistol. And who owns an air-pistol in
this place but Mr. Ross Duggan?"
"It's a lie--a damned lie! And I'll have you to law for it, too!" Ross
Duggan started to his feet, face crimson, hands knotted, eyes flashing
at this plain implication of himself. "Damn you, whoever you are!--it's
a lie! I did not kill my father! I swear it upon the sacred book itself!
I did not kill him!"
Cleek held up a detaining hand.
"And who, may I ask, said you did, my fiery young friend?" he returned
suavely. "If you will give me a little time to tell my story in my own
way, I shall be extremely obliged. You stand self-confessed as the owner
of an air-pistol. That we have proof of. The rest will follow in due
course. But here is the instrument of death--this simple little spinning
wheel, which, wired by electricity as it is, and with the pistol hidden
inside that wheel with diabolical ingenuity, caused the death of your
father. And who among you, may I ask, has such a perfect knowledge of
electricity as to equip the thing like that?"
Again there was silence; meanwhile each looked at the other and the same
name framed itself unconsciously upon every lip ... Ross Duggan. It was
not spoken aloud, but Cleek could read it as he looked about him. Then
Lady Paula spoke.
"Then--it was Ross? It was that unfilial and cruel son of an unknowing
and innocent old man, just as I knew it to be?" she shrilled excitedly,
jumping to her feet and turning to Ross and seizing him by the shoulder
as though she would tear him limb from limb. "Oh, _sacremento_!
I knew it! I knew it! Wicked, cruel creature that you are!
Ungrateful--beast----"
Cleek caught her sharply by the arm and spun her around as though she
had been made of paper. His face was grim.
"One moment," he cried in a sharp staccato. "This lady is going to give
trouble. Well, then, the moment can be delayed no longer.
Constable--bring in your prisoner."
He gave a shrill whistle, strode across the room, fitted the key into
the lock, and in an instant there was pandemonium.
For of a sudden there was a stifled scream from somewhere in the room--a
hurried breath and a woman's voice shrilled out, "Oh, I cannot bear it
any longer-- I cannot! I cannot!" Then the door flashed open to admit of
two policemen, who had slung between them the stooping figure of a man,
closely handcuffed, and with a dark scrub of beard showing upon his
unshaven chin. Came another scream; a boy's shrill voice lifted
excitedly, "Uncle Antoni!" followed by a scuffling of a man's footsteps.
Cleek took a quick step forward in the midst of all the confusion,
caught at someone's sleeve and held it in a grip like a vice, rapped out
in a sharp voice, "Catch him, Dollops! Catch the beggar before he slips
out through the open door and gives us the 'go-by'--the beastly
blighter!" Then, all in a moment, he was fighting and twisting and
doubling to regain his hold upon the man who was trying to escape; there
was a muttered curse, and a flying foot came out and caught the leg of a
delicate table, sending it toppling over with a crash in the midst of
them; the grating of a key in a lock, and--the end had come!
Brushing a piece of dust from his sleeve as P. C. Mackay snapped the
bracelets upon still another prisoner, Cleek turned and surveyed the
room with flushed cheek and flashing eye.
"Friends," he said blandly, "your man--your murderer. Caught as
red-handed as one could wish--and as innocently as a babe, too!"
And pointed toward the manacled, fighting figure of James Tavish!