THE RIDDLE OF THE NINTH FINGER
The inn of "The Three Jolly Fishermen," which, as you may know, lies on
the left bank of the Thames, within a gunshot of Richmond, was all but
empty when Cleek, answering the superintendent's note, strolled into it,
and discovered Narkom enjoying his tea in solitary state at a little
round table in the embrasure of a bay window at the far end of the
little private parlour which lies immediately behind the bar-room.
"My dear fellow, do pardon me for not waiting," said the superintendent,
as his famous ally entered, looking like a college-bred athlete in his
boating flannels and his brim-tilted panama, "but the fact is, you're a
little behind time for once, and besides, I was absolutely famishing."
"Share the blame of my lateness with me, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek, as he
tossed aside his hat and threw the fag-end of the cigarette he was
smoking out through the open window. "You said in your note that there
was no immediate necessity for haste, so I improved the shining hour by
another spin down the river. It isn't often that duty-calls bring me to
a little Eden like this. The air is like balm to-day, and as for the
river--oh, the river is a sheer delight!"
Narkom rang for a fresh pot of tea and a further supply of buttered
toast, and, when these were served, Cleek sat down and joined him.
"I dare say," said the superintendent, opening fire at once, "that you
wonder what in the world induced me to bring you out here to meet me,
my dear fellow, instead of following the usual course and calling at
Clarges Street? Well, the fact is, Cleek, that the gentleman with whom I
am now about to put you in touch lives in this vicinity, and is so
placed that he cannot get away without running the risk of having the
step he is taking discovered."
"Humph! He is closely spied upon, then?" commented Cleek. "The trouble
arises from some one or something in his own household?"
"No, in his father's. The 'trouble,' so far as I can gather, seems to
emanate from his stepmother, a young and very beautiful woman, who was
born on the island of Java, where the father of our client met and
married her some two years ago. He had gone there to probe into the
truth of the amazing statement that a runic stone had been unearthed in
that part of the globe."
"Ah, then you need not tell me the gentleman's name, Mr. Narkom,"
interposed Cleek. "I remember perfectly well the stir which that
ridiculous and unfounded statement created at the time. Despite the fact
that scholars of all nations scoffed at the thing and pointed out that
the very term 'rune' is of Teutonic origin, one enthusiastic old
gentleman--Mr. Michael Bawdrey, a retired brewer, thirsting for
something more enduring than malt to carry his name down the
ages--became fired with enthusiasm upon the subject, and set forth for
Java 'hot foot,' as one might say. I remember that the papers made great
game of him; but I heard, I fancy, that, in spite of all, he was a dear,
lovable old chap, and not at all like the creature the cartoonists
portrayed him."
"What a memory you have, my dear Cleek. Yes, that is the party; and he
is a dear, lovable old chap at bottom. Collects old china, old weapons,
old armour, curiosities of all sorts--lots of 'em bogus, no doubt, catch
the charlatans among the dealers letting a chance like that slip
them--and is never so happy as when showing his 'collection' to his
friends and being mistaken by the ignorant for a man of deep learning."
"A very human trait, Mr. Narkom. We all are anxious that the world
should set the highest possible valuation upon us. It is only when we
are underrated that we object. So this dear, deluded old gentleman,
having failed to secure a 'rune' in Java brought back something equally
cryptic--a woman? Was the lady of his choice a native or merely an
inhabitant of the island?"
"Merely an inhabitant, my dear fellow. As a matter of fact, she is
English. Her father, a doctor, long since deceased, took her out there
in her childhood. She was none too well off, I believe: but that did not
prevent her having many suitors, among whom was Mr. Bawdrey's own son,
the gentleman who is anxious to have you take up this case."
"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong rising inflection. "So the lady was of
the careful and calculating kind? She didn't care for youth and all the
rest of it when she could have papa and the money-chest without waiting.
A common enough occurrence. Still, this does not make up an 'affair,'
and especially an 'affair' which requires the assistance of a detective,
and you spoke of 'a case.' What is the case, Mr. Narkom?"
"I will leave Mr. Philip Bawdrey himself to tell you that," said Narkom,
as the door opened to admit a young man of about eight and twenty,
clothed in tennis flannels, and looking very much perturbed. He was a
handsome, fair-haired, fair-moustached young fellow, with frank, boyish
eyes and that unmistakable something which stamps the products of the
'Varsities. "Come in, Mr. Bawdrey. You said we were not to wait tea, and
you see that we haven't. Let me have the pleasure of introducing
Mr.----"
"Headland," put in Cleek adroitly, and with a look at Narkom as much as
to say, "Don't give me away. I may not care to take the case when I hear
it, so what's the use of letting everybody know who I am?" Then he
switched round in his chair, rose, and held out his hand. "Mr. George
Headland, of the Yard, Mr. Bawdrey. I don't trust Mr. Narkom's
proverbially tricky memory for names. He introduced me as Jones once,
and I lost the opportunity of handling the case because the party in
question couldn't believe that anybody named Jones would be likely to
ferret it out."
"Funny idea that!" commented young Bawdrey, smiling and accepting the
proffered hand. "Rum lot of people you must run across in your line, Mr.
Headland. Shouldn't take you for a detective myself, shouldn't even in a
room full of them. College man, aren't you? Thought so. Oxon or Cantab?"
"Cantab--Emmanuel."
"Oh, Lord! Never thought I'd ever live to appeal to an Emmanuel man to
do anything brilliant. I'm an Oxon chap; Brasenose is my alma mater. I
say, Mr. Narkom, do give me a cup of tea, will you? I had to slip off
while the others were at theirs, and I've run all the way. Thanks very
much. Don't mind if I sit in that corner and draw the curtain a little,
do you?" his frank, boyish face suddenly clouding. "I don't want to be
seen by anybody passing. It's a horrible thing to feel that you are
being spied upon at every turn, Mr. Headland, and that want of caution
may mean the death of the person you love best in all the world."
"Oh, it's that kind of case, is it?" queried Cleek, making room for him
to pass round the table and sit in the corner, with his back to the
window and the loosened folds of the chintz curtain keeping him in the
shadow.
"Yes," answered young Bawdrey, with a half-repressed shudder and a
deeper clouding of his rather pale face. "Sometimes I try to make myself
believe that it isn't, that it's all fancy, that she never could be so
inhuman, and yet how else is it to be explained? You can't go behind the
evidence; you can't make things different simply by saying that you will
not believe." He stirred his tea nervously, gulped down a couple of
mouthfuls of it, and then set the cup aside. "I can't enjoy anything; it
takes the savour out of everything when I think of it," he added, with a
note of pathos in his voice. "My dad, my dear, bully old dad, the best
and dearest old boy in all the world! I suppose, Mr. Headland, that Mr.
Narkom has told you something about the case?"
"A little--a very little indeed. I know that your father went to Java,
and married a second wife there; and I know, too, that you yourself were
rather taken with the lady at one time, and that she threw you over as
soon as Mr. Bawdrey senior became a possibility."
"That's a mistake," he replied. "She never threw me over, Mr. Headland;
she never had the chance. I found her out long before my father became
anything like what you might call a rival, found her out as a mercenary,
designing woman, and broke from her voluntarily. I only wish that I had
known that he had one serious thought regarding her. I could have warned
him; I could have spoken then. But I never did find out until it was too
late. Trust her for that. She waited until I had gone up-country to look
after some fine old porcelains and enamels that the governor had heard
about; then she hurried him off and tricked him into a hasty marriage.
Of course, after that I couldn't speak, I wouldn't speak. She was my
father's wife, and he was so proud of her, so happy, dear old boy, that
I'd have been little better than a brute to say anything against her."
"What could you have said if you had spoken?"
"Oh, lots of things; the things that made me break away from her in the
beginning. She'd had other love affairs for one thing; her late father's
masquerading as a doctor for another. They had only used that as a
cloak. They had run a gambling-house on the sly--he as the card-sharper,
she as the decoy. They had drained one poor fellow dry, and she had
thrown him over after leading him on to think that she cared for him and
was going to marry him. He blew out his brains in front of her, poor
wretch. They say she never turned a hair. You wouldn't believe it
possible, if you saw her; she is so sweet and caressing, and so young
and beautiful, you'd almost believe her an angel. But there's Travers in
the background--always Travers!"
"Travers! Who is he?"
"Oh, one of her old flames, the only one she ever really cared for, they
say. She was supposed to have broken with him out there in Java, because
they were too poor to marry; and now he's come over to England, and he's
there, in the house with the dear old dad and me, and they are as thick
as thieves together. I've caught them whispering and prowling about
together, in the grounds and along the lanes, after she has said
'Good-night' and gone to her room and is supposed to be in bed. There's
a houseful of her old friends three parts of the time. They come and
they go, but Travers never goes. I know why"--waxing suddenly excited,
suddenly vehement--"Yes! I know why. He's in the game with her!"
"Game! What game, Mr. Bawdrey? What is it that she is doing?"
"She's killing my old dad!" he answered, with a sort of sob in his
excited voice. "She's murdering him by inches, that's what she's doing,
and I want you to help me bring it home to her. God knows what it is
she's using or how she uses it; but you know what demons they are for
secret poisons, those Javanese, what means they have of killing people
without a trace. And she was out there for years and years. So, too, was
Travers, the brute! They know all the secrets of those beastly
barbarians, and between them they're doing something to my old dad."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know it, that's the worst of it. But I couldn't be surer of it
if they took me into their secrets. But there's the evidence of his
condition; there's the fact that it didn't begin until after Travers
came. Look here, Mr. Headland, you don't know my dad. He's got the
queerest notions sometimes. One of his fads is that it's unlucky to make
a will. Well, if he dies without one, who will inherit his money, as I
am an only child?"
"Undoubtedly you and his widow."
"Exactly. And if I die at pretty nearly the same time--and they'll see
to that, never fear; it will be my turn the moment they are sure of
him--she will inherit everything. Now, let me tell you what's happening.
From being a strong, healthy man, my father has, since Travers's
arrival, begun to be attacked by a mysterious malady. He has periodical
fainting fits, sometimes convulsions. He'll be feeling better for a day
or so; then, without a word of warning, whilst you're talking to him,
he'll drop like a shot bird and go into the most horrible convulsions.
The doctors can't stop it; they don't even know what it is. They only
know that he's fading away--turning from a strong, virile old man into a
thin, nervous, shivering wreck. But I know! I know! They're dosing him
somehow with some diabolical Javanese thing, those two. And
yesterday--God help me!--yesterday I, too, dropped like a shot bird; I,
too, had the convulsions and the weakness and the fainting fit. My time
has begun also!"
"Bless my soul! what a diabolical thing!" put in Narkom agitatedly. "No
wonder you appealed to me!"
"No wonder!" Bawdrey replied. "I felt that it had gone as far as I dared
let it; that it was time to call in the police and to have help before
it was too late. That's the case, Mr. Headland. I want you to find some
way of getting at the truth, of looking into Travers's luggage, into my
stepmother's effects, and unearthing the horrible stuff with which they
are doing this thing; and perhaps, when that is known, some antidote may
be found to save the dear old dad and restore him to what he was. Can't
you do this? For God's sake, say that you can."
"At all events, I can try, Mr. Bawdrey," responded Cleek.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Bawdrey gratefully. "I don't care a
hang what it costs, what your fees are, Mr. Headland. So long as you run
those two to earth, and get hold of the horrible stuff, whatever it is,
that they are using, I'll pay any price in the world, and count it cheap
as compared with the life of my dear old dad. When can you take hold of
the case? Now?"
"I'm afraid not. Mysterious things like this require a little thinking
over. Suppose we say to-morrow noon? Will that do?"
"I suppose it must, although I should have liked to take you back with
me. Every moment's precious at a time like this. But if it must be
delayed until to-morrow--well, it must, I suppose. But I'll take jolly
good care that nobody gets a chance to come within touching distance of
the pater, bless him! until you do come, if I have to sit on the mat
before his door until morning. Here's the address on this card, Mr.
Headland. When and how shall I expect to see you again? You'll use an
alias, of course?"
"Oh, certainly! Had you any old friend in your college days whom your
father knew only by name and who is now too far off for the imposture to
be discovered?"
"Yes. Jim Rickaby. We were as inseparable as the Siamese twins in our
undergrad. days. He's in Borneo now. Haven't heard from him in a dog's
age."
"Couldn't be better," said Cleek. "Then 'Jim Rickaby' let it be.
You'll get a letter from him first thing in the morning saying that
he's back in England, and about to run down and spend the week-end
with you. At noon he will arrive, accompanied by his Borneo servant
named--er--Dollops. You can put the 'blackie' up in some quarter of the
house where he can move about at will without disturbing any of your own
servants and can get in and out at all hours; he will be useful, you
know, in prowling about the grounds at night and ascertaining if the
lady really does go to bed when she retires to her room. As for 'Jim
Rickaby' himself--well, you can pave the way for his operations by
informing your father, when you get the letter, that he has gone daft on
the subject of old china and curios and things of that sort, don't you
know."
"What a ripping idea!" commented young Bawdrey. "I twig. He'll get
chummy with you of course, and you can lead him on and adroitly 'pump'
him regarding her, and where she keeps her keys and things like that.
That's the idea, isn't it?"
"Something of that sort. I'll find out all about her, never fear," said
Cleek in reply. Then they shook hands and parted, and it was not until
after young Bawdrey had gone that either he or Narkom recollected that
Cleek had overlooked telling the young man that Headland was not his
name.
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Time enough to tell him that when it comes
to making out the cheque," said Cleek, as the superintendent remarked
upon the circumstance. Then he pushed back his chair and walked over to
the window, and stood looking silently out upon the flowing river.
Narkom did not disturb his reflections. He knew from past experience, as
well as from the manner in which he took his lower lip between his teeth
and drummed with his finger-tips upon the window ledge, that some idea
relative to the working out of the case had taken shape within his mind,
and so, with the utmost discretion, went on with his tea and refrained
from speaking. Suddenly Cleek turned. "Mr. Narkom, do me a favour, will
you? Look me up a copy of Holman's 'Diseases of the Kidneys' when you go
back to town. I'll send Dollops round to the Yard to-night to get it."
"Right you are," said Narkom, taking out his pocket-book and making a
note of it. "But I say, look here, my dear fellow, you can't possibly
believe that it's anything of that sort, anything natural, I mean, in
the face of what we've heard?"
"No, I don't. I think it's something confoundedly unnatural, and that
that poor old chap is being secretly and barbarously murdered. I think
that--and--I think, too----" His voice trailed off. He stood silent and
preoccupied for a moment, and then, putting his thoughts into words,
without addressing them to anybody: "Ayupee!" he said reflectively;
"Pohon-Upas, Antjar, Galanga root, Ginger and Black Pepper--that's the
Javanese method of procedure, I believe. Ayupee!--yes, assuredly,
Ayupee!"
"What the dickens are you talking about, Cleek? And what does all that
gibberish and that word 'Ayupee' mean?"
"Nothing--nothing. At least, just yet. I say, put on your hat and let's
go for a pull on the river, Mr. Narkom. I've had enough of mysteries for
to-day and am spoiling for another hour in a boat."
Then he screwed round on his heel and walked out into the brilliant
summer sunshine.
II
Promptly at the hour appointed "Mr. Jim Rickaby" and his black servant
arrived at Laburnam Villa and certainly the former had no cause to
complain of the welcome he received at the hands of his beautiful young
hostess.
He found her not only an extremely lovely woman to the eye, but one
whose gentle, caressing ways, whose soft voice and simple girlish charm
were altogether fascinating, and, judging from outward appearances, from
the tender solicitude for her elderly husband's comfort and well-being,
from the look in her eyes when she spoke to him, the gentleness of her
hand when she touched him, one would have said that she really and truly
loved him, and that it needed no lure of gold to draw this particular
May to the arms of this one December.
He found Captain Travers a laughing, rollicking, fun-loving type of
man--at least, to all outward appearances--who seemed to delight in
sports and games and to have an almost childish love of card tricks and
that species of entertainment which is known as parlour magic. He found
the three other members of the little house-party--to wit: Mrs.
Somerby-Miles, Lieutenant Forshay, and Mr. Robert Murdock--respectively,
a silly, flirtatious, little gadfly of a widow; a callow, love-struck,
lap-dog, young naval officer, with a budding moustache and a full-blown
idea of his own importance; a dour Scotchman of middle age, with a
passion for chess, a glowering scorn of frivolities, a deep abiding
conviction that Scotland was the only country in the world for a
self-respecting human being to dwell in, and that everything outside of
the Established Church was foredoomed to flames and sulphur and the
perpetual prodding of red-hot pitchforks. And last, but not least by any
means, he found Mr. Michael Bawdrey just what he had been told he would
find him, namely, a dear, lovable, sunny-tempered old man, who fairly
idolized his young wife and absolutely adored his frank-faced,
affectionate, big boy of a son, and who ought not, in the common course
of things, to have an enemy or an evil wisher in all the world.
The news, which, of course, had preceded Cleek's arrival, that this
whilom college chum of his son's was as great an enthusiast as he
himself on the subject of old china, old porcelain, bric-a-brac, and
curios of every sort, filled him with the utmost delight, and he could
scarcely refrain from rushing him off at once to view his famous
collection.
"Michael, dear, you mustn't overdo yourself just because you happen to
have been a little stronger these past two days," said his wife, laying
a gentle hand upon his arm. "Besides, we must give Mr. Rickaby time to
breathe. He has had a long journey, and I am sure he will want to rest.
You can take him in to see that wonderful collection after dinner,
dear."
"Humph! Full of fakes, as I supposed--and she knows it," was Cleek's
mental comment upon this. And he was not surprised when, finding herself
alone with him a few minutes later, she said, in her pretty, pleading
way:
"Mr. Rickaby, if you are an expert, don't undeceive him. I could not let
you go to see the collection without first telling you. It is full of
bogus things, full of frauds and shams that unscrupulous dealers have
palmed off on him. But don't let him know. He takes such pride in them,
and--and he's breaking down. God pity me, his health is breaking down
every day, Mr. Rickaby, and I want to spare him every pang, if I can,
even so little a pang as the discovery that the things he prizes are not
real."
"Set your mind at rest, Mrs. Bawdrey," promised Cleek. "He will not
find it out from me. He will not find anything out from me. He is just
the kind of man to break his heart, to crumple up like a burnt glove,
and come to the end of all things, even life, if he were to discover
that any of his treasures, anything that he loved and trusted in, is a
sham and a fraud."
His eyes looked straight into hers as he spoke, his hand rested lightly
on her sleeve. She sucked in her breath suddenly, a brief pallor chased
the roses from her cheeks, a brief confusion sat momentarily upon her.
She appeared to hesitate, then looked away and laughed uneasily.
"I don't think I quite grasp what you mean, Mr. Rickaby," she said.
"Don't you?" he made answer. "Then I will tell you some time--tomorrow,
perhaps. But if I were you, Mrs. Bawdrey--well, no matter. This I
promise you: that dear old man shall have no ideal shattered by me."
And, living up to that promise, he enthused over everything the old man
had in his collection when, after dinner that night, they went, in
company with Philip, to view it. But bogus things were on every hand.
Spurious porcelains, fraudulent armour, faked china were everywhere. The
loaded cabinets and the glazed cases were one long procession of faked
Dresden and bogus faience, of Egyptian enamels that had been
manufactured in Birmingham, and of sixth-century "treasures" whose
makers were still plying the trade and battening upon the ignorance of
collectors.
"Now, here's a thing I am particularly proud of," said the gulled old
man, reaching into one of the cases and holding out for Cleek's
admiration an irregular disc of dull, hammered gold that had an
iridescent beetle embedded in the flat face of it. "This scarab, Mr.
Rickaby, has helped to make history, as one might say. It was once the
property of Cleopatra. I was obliged to make two trips to Egypt before I
could persuade the owner to part with it. I am always conscious of a
certain sense of awe, Mr. Rickaby, when I touch this wonderful thing. To
think, sir, to think! that this bauble once rested on the bosom of that
marvellous woman; that Mark Antony must have seen it, may have touched
it; that Ptolemy Auletse knew all about it, and that it is older, sir,
than the Christian religion itself!"
He held it out upon the flat of his palm, the better for Cleek to see
and to admire it, and signed to his son to hand the visitor a magnifying
glass.
"Wonderful, most wonderful!" observed Cleek, bending over the spurious
gem and focussing the glass upon it; not, however, for the purpose of
studying the fraud, but to examine something he had just
noticed--something round and red and angry-looking--which marked the
palm itself, at the base of the middle finger. "No wonder you are proud
of such a prize. I think I should go off my head with rapture if I owned
an antique like that. But, pardon me, have you met with an accident, Mr.
Bawdrey? That's an ugly place you have on your palm."
"That? Oh, that's nothing," he answered gaily. "It itches a great deal
at times, but otherwise it isn't troublesome. I can't think how in the
world I got it, to tell the truth. It came out as a sort of red blister
in the beginning, and since it broke it has been spreading a great deal.
But, really, it doesn't amount to anything at all."
"Oh, that's just like you, dad," put in Philip, "always making light of
the wretched thing. I notice one thing, however, Rickaby, it seems to
grow worse instead of better. And dad knows as well as I do when it
began. It came out suddenly about a fortnight ago, after he had been
holding some green worsted for my stepmother to wind into balls. Just
look at it, will you, old chap?"
"Nonsense, nonsense!" chimed in the old man laughingly. "Don't mind the
silly boy, Mr. Rickaby. He will have it that that green worsted is to
blame, just because he happened to spy the thing the morning after."
"Let's have a look at it," said Cleek, moving nearer the light. Then,
after a close examination, "I don't think it amounts to anything, after
all," he added, as he laid aside the glass. "I shouldn't worry myself
about it if I were you, Phil. It's just an ordinary blister, nothing
more. Let's go on with the collection, Mr. Bawdrey; I'm deeply
interested in it, I assure you. Never saw such a marvellous lot. Got any
more amazing things, gems, I mean, like that wonderful scarab? I
say!"--halting suddenly before a long, narrow case with a glass front,
which stood on end in a far corner, and, being lined with black velvet,
brought into ghastly prominence the suspended shape of a human skeleton
contained within--"I say! What the dickens is this? Looks like a
doctor's specimen, b'gad. You haven't let anybody--I mean, you haven't
been buying any prehistoric bones, have you, Mr. Bawdrey?"
"Oh, that?" laughed the old man, turning round and seeing to what he was
alluding. "Oh, that's a curiosity of quite a different sort, Mr.
Rickaby. You are saying it looks like a doctor's specimen. It is--or,
rather, it was. Mrs. Bawdrey's father was a doctor, and it once belonged
to him. Properly, it ought to have no place in a collection of this
sort, but--well, it's such an amazing thing I couldn't quite refuse it a
place, sir. It's a freak of nature. The skeleton of a nine-fingered
man."
"Of a what?"
"A nine-fingered man."
"Well, I can't say that I see anything remarkable in that. I've got nine
fingers myself, nine and one over, when it comes to that."
"No, you haven't, you duffer!" put in young Bawdrey, with a laugh.
"You've got eight fingers--eight fingers and two thumbs. This bony
Johnny has nine fingers and two thumbs. That's what makes him a freak. I
say, dad, open the beggar's box, and let Rickaby see."
His father obeyed the request. Lifting the tiny brass latch which alone
secured it, he swung open the glazed door of the case, and, reaching in,
drew forward the flexible left arm of the skeleton.
"There you are," he said, supporting the bony hand upon his palm, so
that all its fingers were spread out and Cleek might get a clear view of
the monstrosity. "What a trial he must have been to the glove trade,
mustn't he?" laughing gaily. "Fancy the confusion and dismay, Mr.
Rickaby, if a fellow like this walked into a Bond Street shop and asked
for a pair of gloves in a hurry."
Cleek bent over and examined the thing with interest. At first glance
the hand was no different from any other skeleton hand one might see any
day in any place where they sold anatomical specimens for the use of
members of the medical profession; but as Mr. Bawdrey, holding it on the
palm of his right hand, flattened it out with the fingers of his left,
the abnormality at once became apparent. Springing from the base of the
fourth finger, a perfectly developed fifth appeared, curling inward
toward what had once been the palm of the hand, as though, in life, it
had been the owner's habit of screening it from observation by holding
it in that position. It was, however, perfectly flexible, and Mr.
Bawdrey had no difficulty in making it lie out flat after the manner of
its mates.
The sight was not inspiring--the freaks of Mother Nature rarely are. No
one but a doctor would have cared to accept the thing as a gift, and no
one but a man as mad on the subject of curiosities and with as little
sense of discrimination as Mr. Bawdrey would have dreamt for a moment of
adding it to a collection.
"It's rather uncanny," said Cleek, who had no palate for the abnormal
in Nature. "For myself, I may frankly admit that I don't like things of
that sort about me."
"You are very much like my wife in that," responded the old man. "She
was of the opinion that the skeleton ought to have been destroyed or
else handed over to some anatomical museum. But--well, it is a
curiosity, you know, Mr. Rickaby. Besides, as I have said, it was once
the property of her late father, a most learned man, sir, most learned,
and as it was of sufficient interest for him to retain it--oh, well, we
collectors are faddists, you know, so I easily persuaded Mrs. Bawdrey to
allow me to bring it over to England with me when we took our leave of
Java. And now that you have seen it, suppose we have a look at more
artistic things. I have some very fine specimens of neolithic implements
and weapons which I am most anxious to show you. Just step this way,
please."
He let the skeleton's hand slip from his own, swing back into the case,
and forthwith closed the glass door upon it; then, leading the way to
the cabinet containing the specimens referred to, he unlocked it, and
invited Cleek's opinion of the flint arrow-heads, stone hatchets, and
granite utensils within.
For a minute they lingered thus, the old man talking, laughing, exulting
in his possessions, the detective examining and pretending to be deeply
impressed. Then, of a sudden, without hint or warning to lessen the
shock of it, the uplifted lid of the cabinet fell with a crash from the
hand that upheld it, shivering the glass into fifty pieces, and Cleek,
screwing round on his heel with a "jump" of all his nerves, was in time
to see the figure of his host crumple up, collapse, drop like a thing
shot dead, and lie writhing on the polished floor.
"Dad! Oh, heavens! Dad!" The cry was young Bawdrey's. He seemed fairly
to throw himself across the intervening space and to reach his father in
the instant he fell. "Now you know! Now you know!" he went on wildly,
as Cleek dropped down beside him and began to loosen the old man's
collar. "It's like this always; not a hint, not a sign, but just this
utter collapse. My God, what are they doing it with? How are they
managing it, those two? They're coming, Headland. Listen! Don't you hear
them?"
The crash of the broken glass and the jar of the old man's fall had
swept through all the house, and a moment later, headed by Mrs. Bawdrey
herself, all the members of the little house-party came piling excitedly
into the room.
The fright and suffering of the young wife seemed very real as she threw
herself down beside her husband and caught him to her with a little
shuddering cry. Then her voice, uplifting in a panic, shrilled out a
wild appeal for doctor, servants--help of any kind. And, almost as she
spoke, Travers was beside her, Travers and Forshay and Robert
Murdock--yes, and silly little Mrs. Somerby-Miles, too, forgetting in
the face of such a time as this to be anything but helpful and
womanly--and all of these gave such assistance as was in their power.
"Help me get him up to his own room, somebody, and send a servant
post-haste for the doctor," said Captain Travers, taking the lead after
the fashion of a man who is used to command. "Calm yourself as much as
possible, Mrs. Bawdrey. Here, Murdock, lend a hand and help him."
"Eh, mon, there is nae help but Heaven's in sic a case as this,"
dolefully responded Murdock, as he came forward and solemnly stooped to
obey. "The puir auld laddie! The Laird giveth and the Laird taketh awa',
and the weel o' mon is as naething."
"Oh, stow your croaking, you blundering old fool!" snapped Travers, as
Mrs. Bawdrey gave a heart-wrung cry and hid her face in her hands. "You
and your eternal doldrums! Here, Bawdrey, lend a hand, old chap. We can
get him upstairs without the assistance of this human trombone, I know."
But "this human trombone" was not minded that they should; and so it
fell out that, when Lieutenant Forshay led Mrs. Somerby-Miles from the
room, and young Bawdrey and Captain Travers carried the stricken man up
the stairs to his own bedchamber, his wife flying in advance to see that
everything was prepared for him, Cleek, standing all alone beside the
shattered cabinet, could hear Mr. Robert Murdock's dismal croakings
rumbling steadily out as he mounted the staircase with the others.
For a moment after the closing door of a room overhead had shut them
from his ears, he stood there, with puckered brows and pursed-up lips,
drumming with his finger-tips a faint tattoo upon the framework of the
shattered lid; then he walked over to the skeleton case, and silently
regarded the gruesome thing within.
"Nine fingers," he muttered sententiously, "and the ninth curves inward
to the palm!" He stepped round and viewed the case from all points; both
sides, the front, and even the narrow space made at the back by the
angle of the corner where it stood. And after this he walked to the
other end of the room, took the key from the lock, slipped it in his
pocket, and went out, closing the door behind him, that none might
remember it had not been locked when the master of the place was carried
above.
It was, perhaps, twenty minutes later that young Bawdrey came down and
found him all alone in the smoking-room, bending over the table whereon
the butler had set the salver containing the whisky decanter, the soda
siphon, and the glasses that were always laid out there that the
gentlemen might help themselves to the regulation "night-cap" before
going to bed.
"I've slipped away to have a word in private with you, Headland," he
said in an agitated voice, as he came in. "Oh, what consummate actors
they are, those two. You'd think her heart was breaking, wouldn't you?
You'd think---- Hallo! I say! What on earth are you doing?" For as he
came nearer he could see that Cleek had removed the glass stopper of the
decanter, and was tapping with his finger-tips a little funnel of white
paper, the narrow end of which he had thrust into the neck of the
bottle.
"Just adding a harmless little sleeping-draught to the nightly
beverage," said Cleek, in reply, as he screwed up the paper funnel and
put it in his pocket. "A good sound sleep is an excellent thing, my dear
fellow, and I mean to make sure that the gentlemen of this house-party
have it--one gentleman in particular: Captain Travers."
"Yes; but--I say! What about me, old chap? I don't want to be drugged,
and you know I have to show them the courtesy of taking a 'night-cap'
with them."
"Precisely. That's where you can help me out. If any of them remark
anything about the whisky having a peculiar taste, you must stoutly
assert that you don't notice; and, as they've seen you drinking from the
same decanter--why, there you are. Don't worry over it. It's a very,
very harmless draught; you won't even have a headache from it. Listen
here, Bawdrey. Somebody is poisoning your father."
"I know it. I told you so from the beginning, Headland," he answered,
with a sort of wail. "But what's that got to do with drugging the
whisky?"
"Everything. I'm going to find out to-night whether Captain Travers is
that somebody or not. Sh-h-h! Don't get excited. Yes, that's my game. I
want to get into his room whilst he is sleeping, and be free to search
his effects. I want to get into every man's room here, and wherever I
find poison--well, you understand?"
"Yes," he replied, brightening as he grasped the import of the matter.
"What a ripping idea! And so simple."
"I think so. Once let me find the poison, and I'll know my man. Now, one
other thing: the housekeeper must have a master-key that opens all the
bedrooms in the place. Get it for me. It will be easier and swifter than
picking the locks."
"Right you are, old chap. I'll slip up to Mrs. Jarret's room and fetch
it to you at once."
"No; tuck it under the mat just outside my door. As it won't do for me
to be drugged as well as the rest of you, I shan't put in an appearance
when the rest come down. Say I've got a headache, and have gone to bed.
As for my own 'night-cap'--well, I can send Dollops down to get the
butler to pour me one out of another decanter, so that will be all
right. Now, toddle off and get the key, there's a good chap. And, I say,
Bawdrey, as I shan't see you again until morning--good-night."
"Good-night, old chap!" he answered in his impulsive, boyish way. "You
are a friend, Headland. And you'll save my dad, God bless you! A true,
true friend that's what you are. Thank God I ran across you."
Cleek smiled and nodded to him as he passed out and hurried away; then,
hearing the other gentlemen coming down the stairs, he, too, made haste
to get out of the room and to creep up to his own after they had
assembled, and the cigar cabinet and the whisky were being passed round,
and the doctor was busy above with the man who was somebody's victim.
* * * * *
The big old grandfather clock at the top of the stairs pointed ten
minutes past two, and the house was hushed of every sound save that
which is the evidence of deep sleep, when the door of Cleek's room swung
quietly open, and Cleek himself, in dressing-gown and wadded bedroom
slippers, stepped out into the dark hall, and, leaving Dollops on guard,
passed like a shadow over the thick, unsounding carpet.
The rooms of all the male occupants of the house, including that of
Philip Bawdrey himself, opened upon this passage. He went to each in
turn, unlocked it, stepped in, closed it after him, and lit the bedroom
candle.
The sleeping-draught had accomplished all that was required of it; and
in each and every room he entered--Captain Travers's, Lieutenant
Forshay's, Mr. Robert Murdock's--there lay the occupant thereof
stretched out at full length in the grip of that deep and heavy sleep
which comes of drugs.
Cleek made the round of the rooms as quietly as any shadow, even
stopping as he passed young Bawdrey's on his way back to his own to peep
in there. Yes; he, too, had got his share of the effective draught, for
there he lay snarled up in the bedclothes, with his arms over his head
and his knees drawn up until they were on a level with his waist, and
his handsome boyish face a little paler than usual.
Cleek didn't go into the room, simply looked at him from the threshold,
then shut the door, and went back to Dollops.
"All serene, guv'ner?" questioned that young man in an eager whisper.
"Yes, quite," his master replied, as he turned to a writing-table
whereon there lay a sealed note, and, pulling out the chair, sat down
before it and took up a pen. "Wait a bit, and then you can go to bed.
I'll give you still another note to deliver. While I'm writing it you
may lay out my clothes."
"Slipping off, sir?"
"Yes. You will stop here, however. Now, then, hold your tongue; I'm
busy."
Then he pulled a sheet of paper to him and wrote rapidly:
DEAR MR. BAWDREY--I've got my man, and am off to consult with
Mr. Narkom and to have what I've found analysed. I don't know
when I shall be back--probably not until the day after
to-morrow. You are right. It is murder, and Java is at the
bottom of it. Dollops will hand you this. Say nothing--just
wait till I get back.
This he slipped, unsigned in his haste, into an envelope, handed it to
Dollops, and then fairly jumped into his clothes. Ten minutes later he
was out of the house, and--the end of the riddle was in sight.
III
On the morrow Mrs. Bawdrey made known the rather surprising piece of
news that Mr. Rickaby had written her a note to say that he had received
a communication of such vital importance that he had been obliged to
leave the house that morning before anybody was up, and might not be
able to return to it for several days.
"No very great hardship in that, my dear," commented Mrs. Somerby-Miles,
"for a more stupid and uninteresting person I never encountered. Fancy!
he never even offered to assist the gentlemen to get poor Mr. Bawdrey
upstairs last night. How is the poor old dear this morning, darling?
Better?"
"Yes--much," said Mrs. Bawdrey in reply. "Doctor Phillipson came to the
house before four o'clock, and brought some wonderful new medicine that
has simply worked wonders. Of course, he will have to stop in bed and be
perfectly quiet for three or four days; but, although the attack was by
far the worst he has ever had, the doctor feels quite confident that he
will pull him safely through."
Now although, in the light of her apparent affection for her aged
husband, she ought, one would have thought, to be exceedingly happy
over this, it was distinctly noticeable that she was nervous and ill at
ease, that there was a hunted look in her eyes, and that, as the day
wore on, these things seemed to be accentuated. More than that, there
seemed added proof of the truth of young Bawdrey's assertion that she
and Captain Travers were in league with each other, for that day they
were constantly together, constantly getting off into out-of-the-way
places, and constantly talking in an undertone of something that seemed
to worry them.
Even when dinner was over, and the whole party adjourned to the
drawing-room for coffee, and the lady ought, in all conscience, to have
given herself wholly up to the entertainment of her guests, it was
observable that she devoted most of her time to whispered conferences
with Captain Travers. They kept going to the window and looking up at
the sky, as if worried and annoyed that the twilight should be so long
in fading and the night in coming on. But worse than this, at ten
o'clock Captain Travers made an excuse of having letters to write, and
left the room, and it was scarcely six minutes later that she followed
suit.
But the captain had not gone to write letters, as it had happened.
Instead, he had gone straight to the morning-room, an apartment
immediately behind that in which the elder Mr. Bawdrey's collection was
housed, and from which a broad French window opened out upon the
grounds, and it might have caused a scandal had it been known that Mrs.
Bawdrey joined him there one minute after leaving the drawing-room.
"It is the time, Walter, it is the time!" she said in a breathless sort
of way, as she closed the door and moved across the room to where he
stood, a dimly-seen figure in the dim light. "God help and pity me! but
I am so nervous I hardly know how to contain myself. The note said at
ten to-night in the morning-room, and it is ten now. The hour is here,
Walter, the hour is here!"
"So is the man, Mrs. Bawdrey," answered a low voice from the outer
darkness; then a figure lifted itself above the screening shrubs just
beyond the ledge of the open window, and Cleek stepped into the room.
She gave a little hysterical cry and reached out her hands to him.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you, even though you hint at such awful things,
I am so glad, so glad!" she said. "I almost died when I read your note.
To think that it is murder--murder! And but for you he might be dead
even now. You will like to know that the doctor brought the stuff you
sent by him and my darling is better--better."
Before Cleek could venture any reply to this, Captain Travers stalked
across the room and gripped his hand.
"And so you are that great man Cleek, are you?" he said. "Bully boy!
Bully boy! And to think that all the time it wasn't some mysterious
natural affliction; to think that it was crime, murder, poison. What
poison, man, what poison?"
"Ayupee, or, as it is variously called in the several islands of the
Eastern Archipelago, Pohon-Upas, Antjar, and Ipo," said Cleek in reply.
"The deadly venom which the Malays use in poisoning the heads of their
arrows."
"What! that awful stuff!" said Mrs. Bawdrey, with a little shuddering
cry. "And some one in this house----" Her voice broke. She plucked at
Cleek's sleeve and looked up at him in an agony of entreaty. "Who?" she
implored. "Who in this house could? You said you would tell
to-night--you said you would. Oh, who could have the heart? Ah! who? It
is true, if you have not heard it, that once upon a time there was bad
blood between Mr. Murdock and him; that Mr. Murdock is a family
connection; but even he, oh, even he---- Tell me--tell me, Mr. Cleek?"
"Mrs. Bawdrey, I can't just yet," he made reply. "In my heart I am as
certain of it as though the criminal had confessed; but I am waiting for
a sign, and, until that comes, absolute proof is not possible. That it
will come, and may, indeed, come at any moment now that it is quite
dark, I am very certain. When it does----"
He stopped and threw up a warning hand. As he spoke a queer thudding
sound struck one dull note through the stillness of the house. He stood,
bent forward, listening, absolutely breathless; then, on the other side
of the wall, there rippled and rolled a something that was like the
sound of a struggle between two voiceless animals, and--the sign that he
awaited had come!
"Follow me quickly, as noiselessly as you can. Let no one hear, let no
one see!" he said in a breath of excitement. Then he sprang cat-like to
the door, whirled it open, scudded round the angle of the passage to the
entrance of the room where the fraudulent collection was kept, and went
in with the silent fleetness of a panther. And a moment later, when
Captain Travers and Mrs. Bawdrey swung in through the door and joined
him, they came upon a horrifying sight.
For there, leaning against the open door of the case where the skeleton
of the nine-fingered man hung, was Dollops, bleeding and faint, and with
a score of toothmarks on his neck and throat. On the floor at his feet
Cleek was kneeling on the writhing figure of a man who bit and tore and
snarled like a cornered wolf and fought with teeth and feet and hands
alike in the wild effort to get free from the grip of destiny. A locked
handcuff clamped one wrist, and from it swung, at the end of the
connecting chain, its unlocked mate; the marks of Dollops's fists were
on his lips and cheeks, and at the foot of the case, where the hanging
skeleton doddered and shook to the vibration of the floor, lay a
shattered phial of deep-blue glass.
"Got you, you hound!" said Cleek through his teeth as he wrenched the
man's two wrists together and snapped the other handcuff into place.
"You beast of ingratitude--you Judas! Kissing and betraying like any
other Iscariot! And a dear old man like that! Look here, Mrs. Bawdrey;
look here, Captain Travers; what do you think of a little rat like
this?"
They came forward at his word, and, looking down, saw that the figure he
was bending over was the figure of Philip Bawdrey.
"Oh!" gulped Mrs. Bawdrey, and then shut her two hands over her eyes and
fell away weak and shivering. "Oh, Mr. Cleek, it can't be--it can't! To
do a thing like that?"
"Oh, he'd have done worse, the little reptile, if he hadn't been pulled
up short," said Cleek in reply. "He'd have hanged you for it, if it had
gone the way he planned. You look in your boxes; you, too, Captain
Travers. I'll wager each of you finds a phial of Ayupee hidden among
them somewhere. Came in to put more of the cursed stuff on the ninth
finger of the skeleton, so that it would be ready for the next time,
didn't he, Dollops?"
"Yes, guv'ner. I waited for him behind the case just as you told me to,
sir, and when he ups and slips the finger of the skilligan into the neck
of the bottle, I nips out and whacks the bracelet on him. But he was too
quick for me, sir, so I only got one on; and then, the hound, he turns
on me like a blessed hyena, sir, and begins a-chawin' of me windpipe. I
say, guv'ner, take off his silver wristlets, will you, sir, and lemme
have jist ten minutes with him on my own? Five for me, sir, and five for
his poor old dad!"
"Not I," said Cleek. "I wouldn't let you soil those honest hands of
yours on his vile little body, Dollops. Thought you had a noodle to deal
with, didn't you, Mr. Philip Bawdrey? Thought you could lead me by the
nose, and push me into finding those phials just where you wanted them
found, didn't you? Well, you've got a few more thoughts coming. Look
here, Captain Travers; what do you think of this fellow's little game?
Tried to take me in about you and Mrs. Bawdrey being lovers, and trying
to do away with him and his father to get the old man's money."
"Why, the contemptible little hound! Bless my soul, man, I'm engaged to
Mrs. Bawdrey's cousin. And as for his stepmother, why, she threw the
little worm over as soon as he began making love to her, and tried to
make her take up with him by telling her how much he'd be worth when his
father died."
"I guessed as much. I didn't fancy him from the first moment; and he was
so blessed eager to have me begin by suspecting you two, that I smelt a
rat at once. Oh, but he's been crafty enough in other things. Putting
that devilish stuff on the ninth finger of the skeleton, and never
losing an opportunity to get his poor old father to handle it and to
show it to people. It's a strong, irritant poison--sap of the upas tree
is the base of it--producing first an irritation of the skin, then a
blister, and, when that broke, communicating the poison directly to the
blood every time the skeleton hand touched it. A weak solution at first,
so that the decline would be natural, the growth of the malady gradual.
But if I'd found that phial in your room last night, as he hoped and
believed I had done--well, look for yourself. The finger of the skeleton
is thick with the beastly, gummy stuff to-night. Double strength, of
course. The next time his father touched it he'd have died before
morning. And the old chap fairly worshipping him. I suspected him, and
suspected what the stuff that was being used really was from the
beginning. Last night I drugged him, and then I knew."
"Knew, Mr. Cleek? Why, how could you?"
"The most virulent poisons have their remedial uses, Captain," he made
reply. "You can kill a man with strychnine; you can put him in his grave
with arsenic; you can also use both these powerful agents to cure and to
save, in their proper proportions and in the proper way. The same rule
applies to ayupee. Properly diluted and properly used, it is one of the
most powerful agents for the relief, and, in some cases, the cure, of
Bright's disease of the kidneys. But the Government guards this unholy
drug most carefully. You can't get a drop of it in Java for love nor
money, unless on the order of a recognized physician; and you can't
bring it into the ports of England unless backed by that physician's
sworn statement and the official stamp of the Javanese authorities. A
man undeniably afflicted with Bright's disease could get these
things--no other could. Well, I wanted to know who had succeeded in
getting ayupee into this country and into this house. Last night I
drugged every man in it, and I found out."
"But how?"
"By finding the one who could not sleep stretched out at full length.
One of the strongest symptoms of Bright's disease is a tendency to draw
the knees up close to the body in sleep, Captain, and to twist the arms
above the head. Of all the men under this roof, this man here was the
only one who slept like that last night!" He paused and looked down at
the scowling, sullen creature on the floor. "You wretched little cur!"
he said with a gesture of unspeakable contempt. "And all for the sake of
an old man's money! If I did my duty, I'd gaol you. But if I did, it
would be punishing the innocent for the crimes of the guilty. It would
kill that dear old man to learn this; and so he's not going to learn it,
and the law's not going to get its own." He twitched out his hand, and
something tinkled on the floor. "Get up!" he said sharply. "There's the
key of the handcuffs; take it and set yourself free. Do you know what's
going to happen to you? To-morrow morning Dr. Phillipson is going to
examine you, and to report that you'll be a dead man in a year's time if
you stop another week in this country. You are going out of it, and you
are going to stop out of it. Do you understand? _Stop_ out of it to the
end of your days. For if ever you put foot in it again I'll handle you
as a terrier handles a rat! Dollops?"
"Yes, guv'ner?"
"My things packed and ready?"
"Yes, sir. And all waitin' in the arbour, sir, as you told me to have
'em."
"Good lad! Get them, and we'll catch the first train back. Mrs. Bawdrey,
my best respects. Captain, all good luck to you. The riddle is solved.
Good-night."