THE CALIPH'S DAUGHTER
It was half-past ten on a wet September night when Superintendent
Narkom's limousine pulled up in front of Cleek's house in Clarges
Street, and the superintendent himself, disguised, as he always was when
paying visits to his famous ally, stepped out and with infinite care
assisted a companion to alight.
The figure of this second person, however, was so hidden by the folds of
a long, thickly wadded cloak, the hem of which reached to within an inch
or so of the pavement, that it would have been impossible for a
passer-by to have decided whether it was that of a man or a woman; but
the manner in which it bent, added to a shuffling uncertainty of gait--a
sort of "feeling the way" movement of the feet--as Mr. Narkom guided it
across the pavement to the door, suggested either great age or a state
of total blindness: an affliction, by the way, of such recent date that
the sufferer had not yet acquired that air of confidence and that
freedom of step which is Time's kind gift to the sightless.
In a very few moments, however, all doubt as to the sex and the
condition of the muffled figure was set at rest, for, upon the
superintendent and his companion being admitted by Dollops to the
dimly-lit hall of the house, the bent figure straightened, and it was
easy to see that it was not only that of a man but of a man heavily
blindfolded.
"You may take off the bandage now, Major," said Narkom, as the door
closed behind them and Dollops busied himself with readjusting the
fastenings. "We shall find your master in his sitting-room, I suppose,
my embryo Vidocq?"
"Speaking to me, sir? Lor! You ain't never went and forgot my name after
all these months, have you, Mr. Narkom?" said Dollops, not understanding
the allusion. "Yes, sir; you'll find him there, sir, and frisky as a
spring lamb without the peas, bless his heart! Been to the weddin' of
Lady Chepstow and that there Captain Hawksley this afternoon, sir, and
must have enjoyed hisself, the way he's been a-whistling and a-singing
ever since he come home. What a feed they must of had with all their
money! It seems almost a crime to 'a' missed it. Sent wot was left to
the 'orspittles, I hear, and me as flat as an autumn leaf after six
months' pressin' in the family Bible."
"What! Hungry still, Dollops?"
"Hungry, sir? Lor, Mr. Narkom, a flute's a fool to me for hollowness.
I'm that empty my blessed ribs is a-shaking hands with each other; and
ten minutes ago, when I et a pint of winkles, the noise as they made
a-gettin' by 'em, sir, you'd a thought it was somebody a-tumbling
downstairs. But they say as every dog has his day, so I'm always
a-livin' in hopes, sir."
"Hopes? Hopes of what?"
"That _some_ time you'll come for the guv'ner to investigate a crime
wot's been committed in a cookshop, sir--and _then_, wot ho! But," he
added lugubriously, "they never comes to no violent end, them
food-selling jossers; they always dies in their beds like a parcel of
heathen!"
Narkom made no reply. By this time the man he had addressed as "major"
had removed the bandage from his eyes; and, beckoning him to follow, the
superintendent led the way upstairs, leaving Dollops to mourn alone.
Cleek, who was sitting by a carefully shaded lamp jotting something
down in his diary, closed the book and rose as the two men entered. Late
as the hour was he had not yet changed the garments he had worn at Lady
Chepstow's wedding in the afternoon.
"You are promptness itself, Mr. Narkom," he said gaily, as he glanced at
his watch. "I am afraid that I myself overlooked the passage of time in
attending to--well, other things. You will, perhaps, be interested to
learn, Mr. Narkom, that Miss Lorne has decided to remain in England."
"Indeed, my dear fellow, I never heard that she contemplated going out
of it again. Did she?"
"Oh, yes; I thought you knew. Captain Hawksley has been ordered to India
with his regiment. Of course, that means that, after their honeymoon,
his wife and little Lord Chepstow will accompany him. They wished Miss
Lorne to continue as the boy's governess and to go with them. At the
last moment, however, she decided to remain in England and to seek a new
post here. But, pardon me, we are neglecting your companion, Mr. Narkom.
The aftermath of previous cases cannot, I fear, be of interest to him."
"Yes, my dear chap," agreed Narkom. "Let me introduce Major
Burnham-Seaforth, my dear Cleek. Major, you are at last in the presence
of the one man you desire to put upon the case; if there is anything in
it, be sure that he will get it out."
For just half a moment after he spoke the major's name, Narkom fancied
that it seemed to have a disturbing influence upon Cleek; that there was
a shadow, just a shadow of agitation suggested. But before he could put
his finger upon the particular point which made this suspicion
colourable, it was gone and had left no trace behind.
The major--who, by the way, was a decidedly military-looking man long
past middle life--had been studying Cleek's face with a curious sort of
intentness ever since he entered the room. Now he put forth his hand in
acknowledgment of the introduction.
"I am delighted to have the opportunity of meeting you, Mr. Cleek," he
said. "At first I thought Mr. Narkom's insistence upon my making the
journey here blindfolded singularly melodramatic and absurd. I can now
realize, since you are so little similar to one's preconceived idea of a
police detective, that you may well wish to keep everything connected
with your residence and your official capacity an inviolable secret. One
does not have to be told that you are a man of birth and breeding, Mr.
Cleek. Pardon me if I ask an impertinent question. Have we by any chance
met before--in society or elsewhere? There is something oddly familiar
in your countenance. I can't quite seem to locate it, however."
"Then I shouldn't waste my time in endeavouring to do so, Major, if I
were you," responded Cleek with the utmost _sang-froid_. "It is bound to
end in nothing. Points of resemblance between persons who are in no way
connected are of common occurrence. I have no position in society, no
position of any sort but _this_. I am simply Cleek, the detective. I
have a good memory, however, and if I had ever met you before I should
not have forgotten it."
And with this non-committal response he dismissed the subject airily,
waved the major to a seat, and the business of the interview began.
"My dear Cleek," Narkom began, opening fire without further parley, "the
major has come to ask your aid in a case of singular and mystifying
interest. You may or may not have heard of a music-hall artiste--a sort
of conjuror and impersonator--called 'Zyco the Magician,' who was
assisted in his illusions by a veiled but reputedly beautiful Turkish
lady who was billed on the programmes and posters as 'Zuilika, the
Caliph's Daughter.'"
"I remember the pair very well indeed. They toured the music-halls for
years, and I saw their performance frequently. They were the first, I
believe, to produce that afterward universal trick known as 'The
Vanishing Lady.' As I have not heard anything of them nor seen their
names billed for the past couple of years, I fancy they have either
retired from the profession or gone to some other part of the world. The
man was not only a very clever magician, but a master of mimicry. I
always believed, however, that in spite of his name he was of English
birth. The woman's face I never saw, of course, as she was always veiled
to the eyes after the manner of Turkish ladies. But although a good many
persons suspected that her birthplace was no nearer Bagdad than Peckham,
I somehow felt that she was, after all, a genuine, native-born Turk."
"You are quite right in both suspicions, Mr. Cleek," put in the major
agitatedly. "The man _was_ an Englishman; the lady _is_ a Turk."
"May I ask, Major, why you speak of the lady in the present tense and of
the man in the past? Is he dead?"
"I hope so," responded the major fervently. "God knows I do, Mr. Cleek.
My very hope in life depends upon that."
"May I ask why?"
"I am desirous of marrying his widow!"
"My dear Major, you cannot possibly be serious! A woman of that class?"
"Pardon me, sir, but you have, for all your cleverness, fallen a victim
to the prevailing error. The lady is in every way my social equal, in
her own country my superior. She _is_ a caliph's daughter. The title
which the playgoing public imagined was of the usual bombastic,
just-on-the-programme sort, is hers by right. Her late father, Caliph Al
Hamid Sulaiman, was one of the richest and most powerful Mohammedans in
existence. He died five months ago, leaving an immense fortune to be
conveyed to England to his exiled but forgiven child."
"Ah, I see. Then, naturally, of course----"
"The suggestion is unworthy of you, Mr. Narkom, and anything but
complimentary to me. The inheritance of this money has had nothing
whatever to do with my feeling for the lady. That began two years ago,
when, by accident, I was permitted to look upon her face for the first,
last, and only time. I should still wish to marry her if she were an
absolute pauper. I know what you are saying to yourself, sir: 'There is
no fool like an old fool.' Well, perhaps there isn't. But"--he turned to
Cleek--"I may as well begin at the beginning and confess that even if I
did not desire to marry the lady I should still have a deep interest in
her husband's death, Mr. Cleek. He is--or was, if dead--the only son of
my cousin, the Earl of Wynraven, who is now over ninety years of age. I
am in the direct line, and if this Lord Norman Ulchester, whom you and
the public know only as 'Zyco the Magician,' were in his grave there
would only be that one feeble old man between me and the title."
"Ah, I see!" said Cleek in reply; then, seating himself at the table, he
arranged the shade of the lamp so that the light fell full upon the
major's face while leaving his own in the shadow. "Then your interest in
the affair, Major, may be said to be a double one."
"More, sir, a triple one. I have a rival in the shape of my own son. He,
too, wishes to marry Zuilika, is madly enamoured of her; in fact, so
wildly that I have always hesitated to confess my own desires to him for
fear of the consequences. He is almost a madman in his outbursts of
temper; and where Zuilika is concerned---- Perhaps you will understand,
Mr. Cleek, when I tell you that once when he thought her husband had
ill-used her he came within an ace of killing the man. There was bad
blood between them always, even as boys, and, as men, it was bitterer
than ever because of _her_."
"Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me the whole story, Major,"
suggested Cleek, studying the man's face narrowly. "How did the Earl of
Wynraven's son come to meet this singularly fascinating lady, and
where?"
"In Turkey or Arabia, I forget which. He was doing his theatrical
nonsense in the East with some barn-storming show or other, having been
obliged to get out of England to escape arrest for some shady
transaction a year before. He was always a bad egg; always a disgrace to
his name and connections. That's why his father turned him off and never
would have any more to do with him. As a boy he was rather clever at
conjuring tricks and impersonations of all sorts; he could mimic
anything or anybody he ever saw, from the German Emperor down to a
Gaiety chorus girl, and do it to absolute perfection. When his father
kicked him out he turned these natural gifts to account, and, having
fallen in with some professional dancing woman, joined her for a time
and went on the stage with her.
"It was after he had parted from this dancer and was knocking about
London and leading a disgraceful life generally that he did the thing
which caused him to hurry off to the East and throw in his lot with the
travelling company I have alluded to. He was always a handsome fellow
and had a way with him that was wonderfully taking with women, so I
suppose that that accounts as much as anything for Zuilika's infatuation
and her doing the mad thing she did. I don't know when nor where nor how
they first met; but the foolish girl simply went off her head over him,
and he appears to have been as completely infatuated by her. Of course,
in that land, the idea of a woman of her sect, of her standing, having
anything to do with a Frank was looked upon as something appalling,
something akin to sacrilege; and when they found that her father had got
wind of it and that the fellow's life would not be safe if he remained
within reach another day, they flew to the coast together, shipped for
England, and were married immediately after their arrival."
"A highly satisfactory termination for the lady," commented Cleek. "One
could hardly have expected that from a man so hopelessly unprincipled as
you represent him to have always been. But there's a bit of good in even
the devil, we are told."
"Oh, be sure that he didn't marry her from any principle of honour, my
dear sir," replied the major. "If it were merely a question of that,
he'd have cut loose from her as soon as the vessel touched port.
Consideration of self ruled him in that as in all other things. He knew
that the girl's father fairly idolized her; knew that, in time, his
wrath would give way to his love, and, sooner or later the old man--who
had been mad at the idea of any marriage--would be moved to settle a
large sum upon her so that she might never be in want. But let me get on
with my story. Having nothing when he returned to England, and being
obliged to cover up his identity by assuming another name, Ulchester,
after vainly appealing to his father for help on the plea that he was
now honourably married and settled down, turned again to the stage, and,
repugnant though such a thing was to the delicately nurtured woman he
had married, compelled Zuilika to become his assistant and to go on the
boards with him. That is how the afterward well-known music-hall 'team'
of 'Zyco and the Caliph's Daughter' came into existence.
"The novelty of their 'turn' caught on like wildfire, and they were a
success from the first, not a little of that success being due to the
mystery surrounding the identity and appearance of Zuilika; for, true
to the traditions of her native land, she never appeared, either in
public or in private, without being closely veiled. Only her 'lord' was
ever permitted to look upon her uncovered face; all that the world at
large might ever hope to behold of it was the low, broad forehead and
the two brilliant eyes that appeared above the close-drawn line of her
yashmak. Of course she shrank from the life into which she was forced,
but it had its reward, for it kept her in close contact with her
husband, whom she almost worshipped. So, for a time, she was
proportionately happy; although, as the years passed by and her father
showed no inclination to bestow the coveted 'rich allowance' upon his
daughter, Ulchester's ardour began to cool. He no longer treated her
with the same affectionate deference; he neglected her, in fact, and, in
the end, even began to ill-use her.
"About two years ago matters assumed a worse aspect. He again met Anita
Rosario, the Spanish dancer, under whose guidance he had first turned to
the halls for a livelihood, and once more took up with her. He seemed to
have lost all thought or care for the feelings of his wife, for, after
torturing her with jealousy over his attentions to the dancer, he took a
house adjoining my own--on the borders of the most unfrequented part of
the common at Wimbledon--established himself and Zuilika there, and
brought the woman Anita home to live with them. From that period matters
went from bad to worse. Evidently having tired of the stage, both
Ulchester and Anita abandoned it, and turned the house into a sort of
club where gambling was carried on to a disgraceful extent. Broken
hearted over the treatment she was receiving, Zuilika appealed to me and
to my son to help her in her distress, to devise some plan to break the
spell of Ulchester's madness and to get that woman out of the house. It
was then that I first beheld her face. In her excitement she managed,
somehow, to snap or loosen the fastening which held her yashmak. It
fell, and let my son realize, as I realized, how wondrously beautiful it
is possible for the human face to be!"
"Steady, Major, steady! I can quite understand your feelings, can
realize better than most men!" said Cleek with a sort of sigh. "You
looked into heaven, and--well, what then? Let's have the rest of the
story."
"I think my son must have put it into her head to give Ulchester a taste
of his own medicine, to attempt to excite his jealousy by pretending to
find interests elsewhere. At any rate, she began to show him a great
deal of attention, or, at least, so he says, although I never saw it.
All I know is that she--she--well, sir, she deliberately led _me_ on
until I was half insane over her, and--that's all!"
"What do you mean by 'that's all'? The matter couldn't possibly have
ended there, or else why this appeal to me?"
"It ended for me, so far as her affectionate treatment of me was
concerned; for in the midst of it the unexpected happened. Her father
died, forgiving her, as Ulchester had hoped, but doing more than his
wildest dreams could have given him cause to imagine possible. In a
word, sir, the caliph not only bestowed his entire earthly possessions
upon her, but had them conveyed to England by trusted allies and placed
in her hands. There were coffers of gold pieces, jewels of fabulous
value, sufficient, when converted into English money, as they were
within the week, and deposited to her credit in the Bank of England, to
make her the sole possessor of nearly three million pounds."
"Phew!" whistled Cleek. "When these Orientals do it they certainly do it
properly. That's what you might call 'giving with both hands,' Major,
eh?"
"The gift did not end with that, sir," the major replied with a gesture
of repulsion. "There was a gruesome, ghastly, appalling addition in the
shape of two mummy cases--one empty, the other filled. A parchment
accompanying these stated that the caliph could not sleep elsewhere but
in the land of his fathers, nor sleep _there_ until his beloved child
rested beside him. They had been parted in life, but they should not be
parted in death. An Egyptian had, therefore, been summoned to his
bedside, had been given orders to embalm him after death, to send the
mummy to Zuilika, and with it a case in which, when her own death should
occur, _her_ body should be deposited; and followers of the prophet had
taken oath to see that both were carried to their native land and
entombed side by side. Until death came to relieve her of the ghastly
duty, Zuilika was charged to be the guardian of the mummy and daily to
make the orisons of the faithful before it, keeping it always with its
face toward the East."
"By George! it sounds like a page from the 'Arabian Nights,'" exclaimed
Cleek. "Well, what next? Did Ulchester take kindly to this housing of
the mummy of his father-in-law and the eventual coffin of his wife? Or
was he willing to stand for anything so long as he got possession of the
huge fortune the old man left?"
"He never did get it, Mr. Cleek. He never touched so much as one
farthing of it. Zuilika took nobody into her confidence until everything
had been converted into English gold and deposited in the bank to her
credit. Then she went straight to him and to Anita, showed them proof of
the deposit, reviled them for their treatment of her, and swore that not
one farthing's benefit should accrue to Ulchester until Anita was turned
out of the house in the presence of their guests and the husband took
oath on his knees to join the wife in those daily prayers before the
caliph's mummy. Furthermore, Ulchester was to embrace the faith of the
Mohammedans that he might return with her at once to the land and the
gods she had offended by marriage with a Frankish infidel."
"Which, of course, he declined to do?"
"Yes. He declined utterly. But it was a case of the crushed worm, with
Zuilika. Now was _her_ turn; and she would not abate one jot or tittle.
There was a stormy scene, of course. It ended by Ulchester and the woman
Anita leaving the house together. From that hour Zuilika never again
heard his living voice, never again saw his living face! He seems to
have gone wild with wrath over what he had lost and to have plunged
headlong into the maddest sort of dissipation. It is known, positively
known, and can be sworn to by reputable witnesses, that for the next
three days he did not draw one sober breath. On the fourth, a note from
him--a note which he was _seen_ to write in a public house--was carried
to Zuilika. In that note he cursed her with every conceivable term; told
her that when she got it he would be at the bottom of the river, driven
there by her conduct, and that if it was possible for the dead to come
back and haunt people he'd do it. Two hours after he wrote that note he
was seen getting out of the train at Tilbury and going toward the docks;
but from that moment to this every trace of him is lost."
"Ah, I see!" said Cleek reflectively. "And you want to find out if he
really carried out that threat and did put an end to himself, I suppose?
That's why you have come to me, eh? Frankly, I don't believe that he
did, Major. That sort of a man never commits suicide upon so slim a
pretext as that. If he commits it at all, it's because he is at the end
of his tether, and our friend 'Zyco' seems to have been a long way from
the end of his. How does the lady take it? Seriously?"
"Oh, very, sir, very. Of course, to a woman of her temperament and with
her Oriental ideas regarding the supernatural, etcetera, that threat to
haunt her was the worst he could have done to her. At first she was
absolutely beside herself with grief and horror; swore that she had
killed him by her cruelty; that there was nothing left her but to die,
and all that sort of thing; and for three days she was little better
than a mad woman. At the end of that time, after the fashion of her
people, she retired to her own room, covered herself with sackcloth and
ashes, and remained hidden from all eyes for the space of a fortnight,
weeping and wailing constantly and touching nothing but bread and
water."
"Poor wretch! She suffers like that, then, over a rascally fellow not
worth a single tear. It's marvellous, Major, what women do see in men
that they can go on loving them. Has she come out of her retirement
yet?"
"Yes, Mr. Cleek. She came out of it five days ago, to all appearances a
thoroughly heartbroken woman. Of course, as she was all alone in the
world, my son and I considered it our duty, during the time of her
wildness and despair, to see that a thoroughly respectable female was
called in to take charge of the house and to show respect for the
proprieties, and for us to take up our abode there in order to prevent
her from doing herself an injury. We are still domiciled there, but it
will surprise you to learn that a most undesirable person is there also.
In short, sir, that the woman Anita Rosario, the cause of all the
trouble, is again an inmate of the house; and, what is more remarkable
still, this time by Zuilika's own request."
"What's that? My dear Major, you amaze me! What can possibly have caused
the good lady to do a thing like that?"
"She hopes, she says, to appease the dead and to avert the threatened
'haunting.' At all events, she sent for Anita some days ago. Indeed, I
believe it is her intention to take the Spaniard with her when she
returns to the East."
"She intends doing that, then? She is so satisfied of her husband's
death that she deems no further question necessary? Intends to take no
further step toward proving it?"
"It has been proved to her satisfaction. His body was recovered the day
before yesterday."
"Oho! then he is dead, eh? Why didn't you say so in the beginning? When
did you learn of it?"
"This very evening. That is what sent me to Superintendent Narkom with
this request to be led to you. I learned from Zuilika that a body
answering the description of his had been fished from the water at
Tilbury and carried to the mortuary. It was horribly disfigured by
contact with the piers and passing vessels, but she and Anita--and--and
my son----"
"Your son, Major? Your son?"
"Yes!" replied the major in a sort of half whisper. "They--they took him
with them when they went, unknown to me. He has become rather friendly
with the Spanish woman of late. All three saw the body; all three
identified it as being Ulchester's beyond a doubt."
"And you? Surely when you see it you will be able to satisfy any
misgivings you may have?"
"I shall never see it, Mr. Cleek. It was claimed when identified and
buried within twelve hours," said the major, glancing up sharply as
Cleek, receiving this piece of information, blew out a soft, low
whistle. "I was not told anything about it until this evening, and what
I have done--in coming to you, I mean--I have done with nobody's
knowledge. I--I am so horribly in the dark--I have such fearful thoughts
and--and I want to be sure. I must be sure or I shall go out of my mind.
That's the 'case,' Mr. Cleek. Tell me what you think of it."
"I can do that in a very few words, Major," he replied. "It is either a
gigantic swindle or it is a clear case of murder. If a swindle, then
Ulchester himself is at the bottom of it and it will end in murder just
the same. Frankly, the swindle theory strikes me as being the more
probable; in other words, that the whole thing is a put-up game between
Ulchester and the woman Anita; that they played upon Zuilika's fear of
the supernatural for a purpose; that a body was procured and sunk in
that particular spot for the furtherance of that purpose; and if the
widow attempts to put into execution this plan--no doubt instilled into
her mind by Anita--of returning with her wealth to her native land, she
will simply be led into some safe place and then effectually put out of
the way forever. That is what I think of the case if it is to be
regarded in the light of a swindle; but if Ulchester is really dead,
murder, not suicide, is at the back of his taking off, and---- Oh, well,
we won't say anything more about it just yet awhile. I shall want to
look over the ground before I jump to any conclusions. You are still
stopping in the house, you and your son, I think you remarked? If you
could contrive to put up an old army friend's son there for a night,
Major, give me the address. I'll drop in on you there to-morrow and have
a little look round."
II
When, next morning, Major Burnham-Seaforth announced the dilemma in
which, through his own house being temporarily closed, he found himself
owing to the proposed visit of Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn, son of an
old army friend, Zuilika was the first to suggest the very thing he was
fishing for.
"Ah, let him come here, dear friend," she said in that sad, sweetly
modulated voice which so often wrung his susceptible old heart. "There
is plenty of room, plenty, alas! now, and any friend of yours can only
be a friend of mine. He will not annoy. Let him come here."
"Yes, let him," supplemented young Burnham-Seaforth, speaking with his
eyes on Señorita Rosario, who seemed nervous and ill-pleased by the news
of the expected arrival. "He won't have to be entertained by us if he
only comes to see the pater; and we can easily crowd him aside if he
tries to thrust himself upon us. A fellow with a name like 'Rupert St.
Aubyn' is bound to be a silly ass." And when, in the late afternoon,
"Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn," in the person of Cleek, arrived with his
snub-nosed man-servant, a kitbag, several rugs, and a bundle of golf
sticks, young Burnham-Seaforth saw no reason to alter that assertion.
For, a "silly ass"--albeit an unusually handsome one with his fair,
curling hair and his big blonde moustache--he certainly was: a lisping,
"ha-ha-ing" "don't-cher-know-ing" silly ass, whom the presence of ladies
seemed to cover with confusion and drive into a very panic of shy
embarrassment.
"_Dios!_ but he is handsome, this big, fair lieutenant!" whispered the
Spaniard to young Burnham-Seaforth. "A great, handsome fool--all beauty
and no brains, like a doll of wax!" Then she bent over and murmured
smilingly to Zuilika: "I shall make a bigger nincompoop of this big,
fair sap-head than Heaven already has done before he leaves here, just
for the sake of seeing him stammer and blush!"
Only the sad expression of Zuilika's eyes told that she so much as
heard, as she rose to greet the visitor. Garbed from head to foot in the
deep, violet-coloured stuff which is the mourning of Turkish women, her
little pointed slippers showing beneath the hem of her frock, and only
her dark, mournful eyes visible between the top of the shrouding yashmak
and the edge of her sequined snood, she made a pathetic picture as she
stood there waiting to greet the unknown visitor.
"Sir, you are welcome," she said in a voice whose modulations were not
lost upon Cleek's ears as he put forth his hand and received the tips of
her little, henna-stained fingers upon his palm. "Peace be with you, who
are of his people--he that I loved and mourn!" Then, as if overcome with
grief at the recollection of her widowhood, she plucked away her hand,
covered her eyes, and moved staggeringly out of the room. And Cleek saw
no more of her that day; but he knew when she performed her orisons
before the mummy case--as she did each morning and evening--by the
strong, pungent odour of incense drifting through the house and filling
it with a sickly scent.
Her absence seemed to make but little impression upon him, however, for,
following up a well-defined plan of action, he devoted himself wholly to
the Spanish woman, and both amazed her and gratified her vanity by
allowing her to learn that a man may be the silliest ass imaginable and
yet quite understand how to flirt and to make love to a woman. And so it
fell out that instead of "Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn" being elbowed out
by young Burnham-Seaforth, it was "Lieutenant St. Aubyn" who elbowed
_him_ out. Without being in the least aware of it, the flattered Anita,
like an adroitly hooked trout, was being "played" in and out and round
about the eddies and the deeps until the angler had her quite ready for
the final dip of the net at the landing point.
All this was to accomplish exactly what it _did_ accomplish, namely, the
ill temper, the wrath, the angry resentment of young Burnham-Seaforth.
And when the evening had passed and bedtime arrived, Cleek took his
candle and retired in the direction of the rooms set apart for him, with
the certainty of knowing that he had done that which would this very
night prove beyond all question the guilt or innocence of one person at
least who was enmeshed in this mysterious tangle. He was not surprised,
therefore, at what followed his next step.
Reaching the upper landing he blew out the light of his candle, slammed
the door to his own room, noisily turned the key, and shot the bolt of
another, then tiptoed his way back to the staircase and looked down the
well-hole into the lower hall.
Zuilika had retired to her room, the major had retired to his, and now
Anita was taking up her candle to retire to hers. She had barely touched
it, however, when there came a sound of swift footsteps and young
Burnham-Seaforth lurched out of the drawing-room door and joined her. He
was in a state of great excitement and was breathing hard.
"Anita, Miss Rosario!" he began, plucking her by the sleeve and
uplifting a pale, boyish face--he was not yet twenty-two--to hers with a
look of abject misery. "I want to speak to you. I simply must speak to
you. I've been waiting for the chance, and now that it's come--Look
here! You're not going back on me, are you?"
"Going back on you?" repeated Anita, showing her pretty white teeth in
an amused smile. "What shall you mean by that 'going back on you', eh?
You are a stupid little donkey, to be sure. But then I do not care to
get on the back of one, so why?"
"Oh, you know very well what I mean," he rapped out angrily. "It is not
fair the way you have been treating me ever since that yellow-headed
bounder came. I've had a night of misery, Zuilika never showing herself;
you doing nothing, absolutely nothing, although you promised--you _know_
you did!--and I heard you, I absolutely heard you persuade that St.
Aubyn fool to stop at least another night."
"Yes, of course you did. But what of it? He is good company. He talks
well, he sings well, he is very handsome and--well, what difference can
it make to you? You are not interested in _me_, _amigo_."
"No, no; of course I'm not. You are nothing to me at all--you--oh, I beg
your pardon; I didn't quite mean that. I--I mean you are nothing to me
in that way. But you--you're not keeping to your word. You promised, you
know, that you'd use your influence with Zuilika; that you'd get her to
be more kind to me--to see me alone and--and all that sort of thing. And
you've not made a single attempt. You've just sat round and flirted with
that tow-headed brute and done nothing at all to help me on; and--and
it's jolly unkind of you, that's what!"
Cleek heard Anita's soft rippling laughter; but he waited to hear no
more. Moving swiftly away from the well-hole of the staircase he passed
on tiptoe down the hall to the major's rooms, and opening the door, went
in. The old soldier was standing, with arms folded, at the window
looking silently out into the darkness of the night. He turned at the
sound of the door's opening and moved toward Cleek with a white,
agonized face and a pair of shaking, outstretched hands.
"Well?" he said with a sort of gasp.
"My dear Major," said Cleek quietly. "The wisest of men are sometimes
mistaken. That is my excuse for my own shortsightedness. I said in the
beginning that this was either a case of swindling or a case of murder,
did I not? Well, I now amend my verdict. It is a case of swindling _and_
murder; and your son has had nothing to do with either!"
"Oh, thank God! thank God!" the old man said; then sat down suddenly and
dropped his face between his hands and was still for a long time. When
he looked up again his eyes were red, but his lips were smiling.
"If you only knew what a relief it is," he said. "If you only knew how
much I have suffered, Mr. Cleek. His friendship with that Spanish woman;
his going with her to identify the body--even assisting in its hurried
burial! These things all seemed so frightfully black, so utterly without
any explanation other than personal guilt."
"Yet they all are easily explained, Major. His friendship for the
Spanish woman is merely due to a promise to intercede for him with
Zuilika. She is his one aim and object, poor little donkey! As for his
identification of the body--well, if the widow herself could find points
of undisputed resemblance, why not he? A nervous, excitable, impetuous
boy like that and anxious, too, that the lady of his heart should be
freed from the one thing, the one man, whose existence made her
everlastingly unattainable, in the hands of a clever woman like Anita
Rosario such a chap could be made to identify anything and to believe it
as religiously as he believes. Now, go to bed and rest easy, Major. I'm
going to call up Dollops and do a little night prowling. If it turns out
as I hope, this little riddle will be solved to-morrow."
"But how, Mr. Cleek? It seems to me that it is as dark as ever. You put
my poor old head in a whirl. You say there is swindling; you hint one
moment that the body was not that of Ulchester, and in the next that
murder has been done. Do, pray, tell me what it all means, what you make
of this amazing case?"
"I'll do that to-morrow, Major; not to-night. The answer to the
riddle--the answer that's in my mind, I mean--is at once so simple and
yet so appallingly awful that I'll hazard no guess until I'm sure. Look
here"--he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gold piece--"do
you know what that is, Major?"
"It looks like a spade guinea, Mr. Cleek."
"Right; it is a spade guinea, a pocket piece I've carried for years.
You've heard, no doubt, of vital things turning upon the tossing of a
coin. Well, if you see me toss this coin to-morrow, something of that
sort will occur. It will be tossed up in the midst of a riddle, Major;
when it comes down it will be a riddle no longer."
Then he opened the door, closed it after him, and, before the Major
could utter a word, was gone.
III
The promise was so vague, so mystifying, indeed, so seemingly absurd,
that the Major did not allow himself to dwell upon it. As a matter of
fact, it passed completely out of his mind; nor did it again find
lodgment there until it was forced back upon his memory in a most
unusual manner.
Whatsoever had been the result of what Cleek had called his "night
prowling," he took nobody into his confidence when he and the major and
the major's son and Señorita Rosario met at breakfast the next day
(Zuilika, true to her training and the traditions of her people, never
broke morning bread save in the seclusion of her own bedchamber, and
then on her knees with her face toward the East) nor did he allude to it
at any period throughout the day.
He seemed, indeed, purposely to avoid the major, and to devote himself
to the Spanish woman with an ardour that was positively heartless,
considering that as they two sang and flirted and went in for several
sets of singles on the tennis courts, Zuilika, like a spirit of misery,
kept walking, walking, walking through the halls and the rooms of the
house, her woeful eyes fixed on the carpet, her henna-stained fingers
constantly locking and unlocking, and moans of desolation coming now and
again from behind her yashmak as her swaying body moved restlessly to
and fro. For to-day was memorable. Five weeks ago this coming nightfall
Ulchester had flung himself out of this house in a fury of wrath, and
this time of bitter regret and ceaseless mourning had begun.
"She will go out of her mind, poor creature, if something cannot be done
to keep her from dwelling on her misery like this," commented the
housekeeper, coming upon that restless figure pacing the darkened hall,
moaning, moaning, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing but
walk and sorrow, sorrow and walk, hour in and hour out. "It's enough to
tear a body's heart to hear her, poor dear. And that good-for-nothing
Spanish piece racing and shrieking round the tennis court like a she
tom-cat, the heartless hussy. Her and that simpering silly that's
trotting round after her had ought to be put in a bag and shaken up,
that they ought. It's downright scandalous to be carrying on like that
at such a time."
And so both the major and his son thought, too, and tried their best to
solace the lonely mourner and to persuade her to sit down and rest.
"Zuilika, you will wear yourself out, child, if you go on walking like
this," said the major solicitously. "Do rest and be at peace for a
little time at least."
"I can never have peace in this land. I can never forget the day!" she
answered drearily. "Oh, my beloved! Oh, my lord, it was I who sent thee
to it--it was I, it was I! Give me my own country--give me the gods of
my people; here there is only memory, and pain, and no rest, no rest
ever!"
She could not be persuaded to sit down and rest until Anita herself took
the matter into her own hands and insisted that she should. That was at
tea-time. Anita, showing some little trace of feeling now that Cleek had
gone to wash his hands and was no longer there to occupy her thoughts,
placed a deep, soft chair near the window, and would not yield until the
violet-clad figure of the mourner sank down into the depths of it and
leaned back with its shrouded face drooping in silent melancholy.
And it was while she was so sitting that Cleek came into the room and
did a most unusual, a most ungentlemanly thing, in the eyes of the major
and his son.
Without hesitating, he walked to within a yard or two of where she was
sitting, and then, in the silliest of his silly tones, blurted out
suddenly: "I say, don't you know, I've had a jolly rum experience. You
know that blessed room at the angle just opposite the library, the one
with the locked door?"
The drooping violet figure straightened abruptly, and the major felt for
the moment as if he could have kicked Cleek with pleasure. Of course
they knew the room. It was there that the two mummy cases were kept,
sacred from the profaning presence of any but this stricken woman. No
wonder that she bent forward, full of eagerness, full of the dreadful
fear that Frankish feet had crossed the threshold, Frankish eyes looked
within the sacred shrine.
"Well, don't you know," went on Cleek, without taking the slightest
notice of anything, "just as I was going past that door I picked up a
most remarkable thing. Wonder if it's yours, madam?" glancing at
Zuilika. "Just have a look at it, will you? Here, catch!" And not until
he saw a piece of gold spin through the air and fall into Zuilika's lap
did the major remember that promise of last night.
"Oh, come, I say, St. Aubyn, that's rather thick!" sang out young
Burnham-Seaforth indignantly, as Zuilika caught the coin in her lap.
"Blest if I know what you call manners, but to throw things at a lady is
a new way of passing them in this part of the world, I can assure you."
"Awfully sorry, old chap, no offence, I assure you," said Cleek, more
asinine than ever, as Zuilika, having picked up the piece and looked at
it, disclaimed all knowledge of it, and laid it on the edge of the table
without any further interest in it or him. "Just to show, you know,
that I--er--couldn't have meant anything disrespectful, why--er--you all
know, don't you know, how jolly much I respect Señorita Rosario, by
Jove! and so---- Here, señorita, you catch, too, and see if the blessed
thing's yours." And, picking up the coin, tossed it into her lap just as
he had done with Zuilika.
She, too, caught it and examined it, and laughingly shook her head.
"No, not mine!" she said. "I have not seen him before. To the finder
shall be the keep. Come, sit here. Will you have the tea?"
"Yes, thanks," said Cleek; then dropped down on the sofa beside her, and
took tea as serenely as though there were no such things in the world as
murder and swindling and puzzling police riddles to solve.
And the major, staring at him, was as amazed as ever. He had said, last
night, that when the coin fell the answer would be given, and yet it had
fallen, and nothing had happened, and he was laughing and flirting with
Señorita Rosario as composedly and as persistently as ever. More than
that; after he had finished his second cup of tea, and immediately
following the sound of some one just beyond the veranda rail whistling
the lively, lilting measures of "There's a Girl Wanted There," "the
silly ass" seemed to become a thousand times sillier than ever. He set
down his cup, and, turning to Anita, said with an inane sort of giggle,
"I say, you know, here's a lark. Let's have a game of 'Slap Hand,' you
and I--what? Know it, don't you? You try to slap my hands, and I try to
slap yours, and whichever succeeds in doing it first gets a prize. Awful
fun, don't you know. Come on--start her up."
And, Anita agreeing, they fell forthwith to slapping away at the backs
of each other's hands with great gusto, until, all of a sudden, the
whistler outside gave one loud, shrill note, and--there was a great and
mighty change.
Those who were watching saw Anita's two hands suddenly caught, heard a
sharp, metallic "click," and saw them as suddenly dropped again to the
accompaniment of a shrill little scream from her ashen lips, and the
next moment Cleek had risen and jumped away from her side clear across
to where Zuilika was; and those who were watching saw Anita jump up with
a pair of steel handcuffs on her wrists, just as Dollops vaulted up over
the veranda rail and appeared at one window, whilst Petrie appeared at
another, Hammond poked his body through a third, and the opening door
gave entrance to Superintendent Narkom.
"The police!" shrilled out Anita in a panic of fright. "_Madre de Dios_,
the police!"
The major and his son were on their feet like a shot. Zuilika, with a
faint, startled cry, bounded bolt upright, like an imp shot through a
trap-door; but before the little henna-stained hands could do more than
simply move, Cleek's arms went round her from behind, tight and fast as
a steel clamp, there was another metallic "click," another shrill cry,
and another pair of wrists were in gyves.
"Come in, Mr. Narkom; come in, constables," said Cleek, with the utmost
composure. "Here are your promised prisoners--nicely trussed, you see,
so that they can't get at the little popguns they carry--and a worse
pair of rogues never went into the hands of Jack Ketch!"
"And Jack Ketch will get them, Cleek, if I know anything about it. Your
hazard was right, your guess correct. I've examined the caliph's
mummy-case; the mummy itself has been removed--destroyed---- done away
with utterly--and the poor creature's body is there!"
And here the poor, dumbfounded, utterly bewildered major found voice to
speak at last.
"Mummy-case! Body! Dear God in heaven, Mr. Cleek, what are you hinting
at?" he gasped. "You--you don't mean that she--that Zuilika--killed
him?"
"No, Major, I don't," he made reply. "I simply mean that he killed her!
The body in the mummy-case is the body of Zuilika, the caliph's
daughter! This is the creature you have been wasting your pity on--see!"
With that he laid an intense grip on the concealing yashmak, tore it
away, and so revealed the closely shaven, ghastly hued countenance of
the cornered criminal.
"My God! Ulchester himself!" said the major in a voice of fright and
surprise.
"Yes, Ulchester himself, Major. In a few more days he'd have withdrawn
the money, and got out of the country, body and all, if he hadn't been
nabbed, the rascal. There'd have been no tracing the crime then, and he
and the Señorita here would have been in clover for the rest of their
natural lives. But there's always that bright little bit of Bobby
Burns's to be reckoned with. You know: 'The best laid schemes of mice
and men,' etcetera--that bit. But the Yard's got them, and they'll never
leave the country now. Take them, Mr. Narkom, they're yours!"
* * * * *
"How did I guess it?" said Cleek, replying to the major's query, as they
sat late that night discussing the affair. "Well, I think the first
faint inkling of it came when I arrived here yesterday, and smelt the
overpowering odour of the incenses. There was so much of it, and it was
used so frequently--twice a day--that it seemed to suggest an attempt to
hide other odours of a less pleasant kind. When I left you last night,
Dollops and I went down to the mummy chamber, and a skeleton key soon
let us in. The unpleasant odour was rather pronounced in there. But even
that didn't give me the cue, until I happened to find in the fireplace a
considerable heap of fine ashes, and in the midst of them small lumps of
a gummy substance, which I knew to result from the burning of myrrh. I
suspected from that and from the nature of the ashes that a mummy had
been burnt, and as there was only one mummy in the affair, the inference
was obvious. I laid hands on the two cases and tilted them. One was
quite empty. The weight of the other told me that it contained something
a little heavier than any mummy ought to be. I came to the conclusion
that there was a body in it, injected full of arsenic, no doubt, to
prevent as much as possible the processes of decay, the odour of which
the incense was concealing. I didn't attempt to open the thing; I left
that until the arrival of the men from the Yard, for whom I sent Dollops
this afternoon. I had a vague notion that it would not turn out to be
Ulchester's body, and I had also a distinct recollection of what you
said about his being able to mimic a Gaiety chorus-girl and all that
sort of thing. The more I thought over it the more I realized what an
excellent thing to cover a bearded face a yashmak is. Still, it was all
hazard. I wasn't sure--indeed, I never was sure--until tea-time, when I
caught this supposed 'Zuilika' sitting at last, and gave the spade
guinea its chance to decide it."
"My dear Mr. Cleek, how could it have decided it? That's the thing that
amazes me the most of all. How could the tossing of that coin have
settled the sex of the wearer of those garments?"
"My dear Major, it is an infallible test. Did you never notice that if
you throw anything for a man to catch in his lap, he pulls his knees
together to _make_ a lap, in order to catch it; whereas a woman--used to
wearing skirts, and thereby having a lap already prepared--simply
broadens that lap by the exactly opposite movement, knowing that
whatever is thrown has no chance of slipping to the floor. That solved
it at once. And now it's bed-time, Major. Good-night."