THE WIZARD'S BELT
It was exactly three o'clock when the two-forty-seven train from
Victoria set Cleek down at Wandsworth Common, and it was exactly fifteen
minutes later when he was shown into the modest little drawing-room of
17 Sunnington Crescent by Mrs. Culpin herself, handed an afternoon
paper, and left in sole possession of the place.
The letter that drew him to this particular house at this particular
time had come from Mr. Narkom, and was couched in these words:
MY DEAR CLEEK:
A most amazing case--probably the most amazing you have yet
tackled--has just cropped up, and I am all eagerness to have
you hear the astonishing details as expeditiously as possible.
The client is one Captain Morrison, a retired army officer
living solely on his half-pay; so the reward--if any--must of
necessity be small. His daughter, Miss Mary Morrison, a young
and extremely attractive girl, is involved in the amazing
affair, and it is at her earnest appeal that the matter has
been brought to my notice. As the captain is in such weak
health that a journey of any distance is out of the question,
I shall ask you to meet me at Wandsworth Common, where he
lives. Will you, therefore, be at 17 Sunnington Crescent,
Wandsworth, this afternoon between the hours of three and
four? The house is the residence of a Mrs. Culpin, widow of
one of my Yard men who was killed last autumn. I am wiring her
to expect you. But, knowing your reluctance in the matter of
any clue to your identity being circulated, I have given you
the name you adopted in the Bawdrey affair: "George Headland."
I have also taken the same precaution with regard to Captain
Morrison, leaving you to disclose your identity or not, as
you see fit, after you have interviewed him and the other
persons connected with this extraordinary affair.
Yours, etc.,
MAVERICK NARKOM.
Cleek did not even glance at the afternoon paper which Mrs. Culpin had
so considerately left him. Instead, he walked to the open window,
through which the summer sunshine was streaming, and, with his hands
loosely clasped behind his back, stood looking out thoughtfully at the
groups of merry children who were romping on the not far distant common
and making the air melodious with their happy laughter. And so he was
still standing when, some ten or a dozen minutes later, the door behind
him opened and Narkom walked into the room.
"Well, here I am at last, you see, my dear fellow," said the
superintendent, crossing the floor and shaking hands with him. "Ripping
day, isn't it? What are you doing, admiring the view or taking stock of
Mrs. Culpin's roses?"
"Neither. I was speculating in futures," replied Cleek, glancing back at
the sunlit common, and then glancing away again with a faintly audible
sigh. "How happy, how care-free they are, those merry little beggars,
Mr. Narkom. What you said in your letter set my thoughts harking
backward, and ... I was wondering what things the coming years might
hold for them and for their parents. At one time, you know, that fellow
Philip Bawdrey was as innocent and as guileless as any of those little
shavers; and yet in the after years he proved a monster of iniquity, a
beast of ingratitude, and---- Oh, well, let it pass. He paid, as
thankless children always do pay under God's good rule. I wonder what
his thoughts were when his last hour came."
"It did come, then?"
"Yes. I had a letter from Mrs. Bawdrey the other day. News had just come
of his death--from Bright's disease, of course--in Buenos Ayres. His
father never knew of his guilt; never will know now, thank God! He
mourned bitterly, of course, poor, dear old chap; but--well, Heaven
tempers all things with its mercy. The rascal did not die an only son.
There's another now, born three months ago. The longer I live the more
sure I become that straight living always pays, and that Heaven never
forgets to punish and to reward."
"Ten years of Scotland Yard have enabled me to endorse that statement
emphatically," replied Narkom. "'The riddle of the ninth finger' was no
different in that respect from nine hundred other riddles that have come
my way since I took office. Now sit down, old chap, and let us take up
the present case. But I say, Cleek, speaking of rewards reminds me of
what I wrote you. There's very little chance of one in this affair. All
the parties connected with it are in very moderate circumstances. The
sculptor fellow, Van Nant, who figures in it, was quite well to do at
one time, I believe, but he ran through the greater part of his money,
and a dishonest solicitor did him out of the rest. Miss Morrison herself
never did have any, and, as I have told you, the captain hasn't anything
in the world but his pension; and it takes every shilling of that to
keep them. In the circumstances, I'd have made it a simple 'Yard'
affair, chargeable to the Government, and put one of the regular staff
upon it. But it's such an astounding, such an unheard-of thing, I knew
you'd fairly revel in it. And besides, after all the rewards you _have_
won you must be quite a well-to-do man by this time, and able to indulge
in a little philanthropy."
Cleek smiled.
"I will indulge in it, of course," he said, "but not for that reason,
Mr. Narkom. I wonder how much it will surprise you to learn that, at
the present moment, I have just one hundred pounds in all the world?"
"My dear fellow!" Narkom exclaimed with a sort of gasp, staring at him
in round-eyed amazement. "You fairly take away my breath. Why, you must
have received a fortune since you took up these special cases. Fifty or
sixty thousand pounds at the smallest calculation."
"More! To be precise, I have received exactly seventy-two thousand
pounds, Mr. Narkom. But, as I tell you, I have to-day but one hundred
pounds of that sum left. Lost in speculation? Oh, dear no! I've not
invested one farthing in any scheme, company, or purchase since the
night you gave me my chance and helped me to live an honest life."
"Then in the name of Heaven, Cleek, what has become of the money?"
"It has gone in the cause of my redemption, Mr. Narkom," he answered in
a hushed voice. "My good friend--for you really _have_ been a good
friend to me, the best I ever had in all the world--my good friend, let
us for only just this one minute speak of the times that lie behind. You
know what redeemed me, a woman's eyes, a woman's rose-white soul. I
said, did I not, that I wanted to win her, wanted to be worthy of her,
wanted to climb up and stand with her in the light? You remember that,
do you not, Mr. Narkom?"
"Yes, I remember. But, my dear fellow, why speak of your 'Vanishing
Cracksman' days when you have so utterly put them behind you, and for
five whole years have lived a life beyond reproach? Whatever you did in
those times you have amply atoned for. And what can that have to do with
your impoverished state?"
"It has everything to do with it. I said I would be worthy of that one
dear woman, and I never can be, Mr. Narkom, until I have made
restitution; until I can offer her a clean hand as well as a clean
life. I can't restore the actual things that the 'Vanishing Cracksman'
stole; for they are gone beyond recall, but I can, at least, restore the
value of them, and that I have been secretly doing for a long time."
"Man alive! God bless my soul! Cleek, my dear fellow, do you mean to
tell me that all the rewards, all the money you have earned in the past
five years----"
"Have gone to the people from whom I stole things in the wretched old
days that lie behind me," he finished very gently. "It goes back, in
secret gifts, as fast as it is earned, Mr. Narkom. Don't you see the
answers, the acknowledgments, in the 'Personal' columns of the papers
now and again? Wheresoever I robbed in those old days, I am repaying in
these. When the score is wiped off, when the last robbery is paid for,
my hand will be clean, and I can offer it; never before."
"Cleek! My dear fellow! What a man! What a _man_! Oh, more than ever am
I certain _now_ that old Sir Horace Wyvern was right that night when he
said that you were a gentleman. Tell me--I'll respect it--tell me, for
God's sake, man, who are you? What are you, dear friend?"
"Cleek," he made reply. "Just Cleek! The rest is my secret and--God's!
We've never spoken of the past since _that_ night, Mr. Narkom, and, with
your kind permission, we never will speak of it again. I'm Cleek, the
detective, at your service once more. Now, then, let's have the new
strange case on which you called me here. What's it all about?"
"Necromancy--wizardry--fairy-lore--all the stuff and nonsense that goes
to the making of 'The Arabian nights'!" said Narkom, waxing excited as
his thoughts were thus shoved back to the amazing affair he had in hand.
"All your 'Red Crawls' and your 'Sacred Sons' and your 'Nine-fingered
Skeletons' are fools to it for wonder and mystery. Talk about
witchcraft! Talk about wizards and giants and enchanters and the things
that witches did in the days of Macbeth! God bless my soul, they're
nothing to it. Those were the days of magic, anyhow, so you can take it
or leave it, as you like; but this---- Look here, Cleek, you've heard of
a good many queer things and run foul of a good many mysteries, I'll
admit, but did you ever in this twentieth century, when witchcraft and
black magic are supposed to be as dead as Queen Anne, hear of such a
marvel as a man putting on a blue leather belt that was said to have the
power of rendering the wearer invisible, and then forthwith melting into
thin air and floating off like a cloud of pipe smoke?"
"Gammon!"
"Gammon nothing! Facts!"
"Facts? You're out of your head, man. The thing couldn't possibly
happen. Somebody's having you!"
"Well, somebody had _him_, at all events. Young Carboys, I mean--the
chap that's engaged, or, rather, was engaged, to Captain Morrison's
daughter; and the poor girl's half out of her mind over it. He put the
belt on in the presence of her and her father in their own house, mind
you walked into a bedroom, and vanished like smoke. Doors locked,
windows closed, room empty, belt on the floor and man gone. Not a trace
of him from that moment to this; and yesterday was to have been his
wedding day. There's a 'mystery' if you like. What do you make of that?"
Cleek looked at him for an instant. Then:
"My dear Mr. Narkom, for the moment I thought you were fooling," he said
in a tone of deep interest. "But I see now that you are quite in
earnest, although the thing sounds so preposterous, a child might be
expected to scoff at it. A man to get a magic belt; to put it on, and
then to melt away? Why, the 'Seven-league Boots' couldn't be a greater
tax on one's credulity. Sit down and tell me all about it."
"The dickens of it is there doesn't seem to be much to tell," said
Narkom, accepting the invitation. "Young Carboys, who appears to have
been a decent sort of chap, had neither money, position, nor enemies, so
that's an end to any idea of somebody having a reason for wishing to get
rid of him; and, as he was devotedly attached to Miss Morrison, and was
counting the very hours to the time of their wedding, and, in addition,
had no debts, no entanglement of any sort and no possible reason for
wishing to disappear, there isn't the slightest ground for suspecting
that he did so voluntarily."
"Suppose you tell me the story from the beginning, and leave me to draw
my own conclusions regarding that," said Cleek. "Who and what was the
man? Was he living in the same house with his fiancée, then? You say the
disappearance occurred there, at night, and that he went into a bedroom.
Was the place his home as well as Captain Morrison's, then?"
"On the contrary. His home was a matter of three or four miles distant.
He was merely stopping at the Morrisons' on that particular night; I'll
tell you presently why and how he came to do that. For the present,
let's take things in their proper order. Once upon a time this George
Carboys occupied a fair position in the world, and his parents--long
since dead--were well to do. The son, being an only child, was well
looked after, sent to Eton and then to Brasenose, and all that sort of
thing, and the future looked very bright for him. Before he was
twenty-one, however, his father lost everything through unlucky
speculations, and that forced the son to make his own living. At the
'Varsity he had fallen in with a rich young Belgian, named Maurice Van
Nant, who had a taste for sculpture and the fine arts generally, and
they had become the warmest and closest of friends."
"Maurice Van Nant? That's the sculptor fellow you said in the beginning
had gone through his money, isn't it?"
"Yes. Well, when young Carboys was thrown on the world, so to speak,
this Van Nant came to the rescue, made a place for him as private
secretary and companion, and for three or four years they knocked round
the world together, going to Egypt, Persia, India, etcetera, as Van Nant
was mad on the subject of Oriental art, and wished to study it at the
fountain head. In the meantime both Carboys' parents went over to the
silent majority, and left him without a relative in the world, barring
Captain Morrison, who is an uncle about seven times removed, and would,
of course, naturally be heir-at-law to anything he left if he had had
anything to leave, poor beggar, which he hadn't. But that's getting
ahead of the story.
"Well, at the end of four years or so Van Nant came to the bottom of his
purse, hadn't a stiver left; and from dabbling in art for pleasure, had
to come down to it as a means of earning a livelihood. And he and
Carboys returned to England, and, for purposes of economy, pooled their
interests, took a small box of a house over Putney way, set up a regular
'bachelor establishment,' and started in the business of bread winning
together. Carboys succeeded in getting a clerk's position in town; Van
Nant set about modelling clay figures and painting mediocre pictures,
and selling both whenever he could find purchasers.
"Naturally, these were slow in coming, few and far between; but with
Carboys' steady two pounds a week coming in, they managed to scrape
along and to keep themselves going. They were very happy, too, despite
the fact that Carboys had got himself engaged to Miss Morrison, and was
hoarding every penny he could possibly save in order to get enough to
marry on; and this did not tend to make Van Nant overjoyed, as such a
marriage would, of course, mean the end of their long association and
the giving up of their bachelor quarters."
"To say nothing of leaving Van Nant to rub along as best he could
without any assistance from Carboys," commented Cleek. "I think I can
guess a portion of what resulted, Mr. Narkom. Van Nant did not, of
course, in these circumstances have any very tender regard for Miss
Morrison."
"No, he did not. In point of fact, he disliked her very much indeed, and
viewed the approaching wedding with extreme disfavour."
"And yet you say that nobody had an interest in doing Carboys some sort
of mischief in order to prevent that wedding from being consummated, Mr.
Narkom," said Cleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "Certainly, Van Nant
would have been glad to see a spoke put in that particular wheel; though
I freely confess I do not see what good could come of preventing it by
doing away with Carboys, as he would then be in as bad a position as if
the marriage had been allowed to proceed as planned. Either way he loses
Carboys' companionship and assistance; and his one wish would be to
preserve both. Well, go on. What next? I'm anxious to hear about the
belt. Where and how does that come in?"
"Well, it appears that Miss Morrison got hold of a humorous book called
'The Brass Bottle,' a fantastic, farcical thing, about a genie who had
been sealed up in a bottle for a thousand years getting out and causing
the poor devil of a hero no end of worry by heaping riches and honours
upon him in the most embarrassing manner. It happened that on the night
Miss Morrison got this book, and read it aloud for the amusement of her
father and lover, Carboys had persuaded Van Nant to spend the evening
with them. Apparently he enjoyed himself, too, for he laughed as
boisterously as any of them over the farcical tale, and would not go
home until he had heard the end of it. When it was finished, Miss
Morrison tells me, Carboys, after laughing fit to split his sides over
the predicament of the hero of the book, cried out: 'By George! I wish
some old genie would take it into his head to hunt _me_ up, and try the
same sort of a dodge with _me_. He wouldn't find this chicken shying his
gold and his gems back at his head, I can tell you. I'd accept all the
Arab slaves and all the palaces he wanted to thrust on me; and then I'd
make 'em all over to you, Mary, dear, so you'd never have to do another
day's worrying or pinching in all your life. But never you nor anybody
else depend upon an Arab's gratitude or an Arab's generosity. He'll
promise you the moon, and then wriggle out of giving you so much as a
star--just as Abdul ben Meerza did with me.' And upon Miss Morrison
asking what he meant by that, he replied, laughingly: 'Ask Van; he knew
the old codger better than I--knew his whole blessed family, blow
him!--and was able to talk to the old skinflint in his own outlandish
tongue.'
"Upon Miss Morrison's acting on this suggestion, Van Nant told of an
adventure Carboys had had in Persia some years previously. It appears
that he saved the life of a miserly old Arab called Abdul ben Meerza at
the risk of his own; that the old man was profuse in his expressions of
gratitude, and, on their parting, had said: 'By the Prophet, thou shalt
yet find the tree of this day's planting bear rich fruit for thee and
thy feet walk upon golden stones.' But, in spite of this promise, he had
walked away, and Carboys had never heard another word from nor of him
from that hour until three nights ago."
"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "And he did hear of
him, then?"
"Yes," replied Narkom. "Quite unexpectedly, and while he was preparing
to spend a dull evening at home with Van Nant--for the night was, as you
must recollect, my dear fellow, a horribly wet and stormy one--a message
came to him from Miss Morrison, asking him to come over to Wandsworth
without delay, as a most amazing thing had happened. A box marked 'From
Abdul ben Meerza' had been delivered there, of all astonishing places.
The message concluded by saying that as it was such a horrible night the
captain, her father, would not hear of his returning, so begged him to
bring his effects, and come prepared to remain until morning.
"He went, of course, carrying with him a small bag containing his
pyjamas, his shaving tackle, and such few accessories as would be
necessary, since, if he stopped, he must start from there to business in
the morning; and on his arrival was handed a small leather case
addressed as he had been told. Imagining all sorts of wonders, from
jewels of fabulous value to documents entitling him to endless wealth,
he unfastened the case, and found within it a broad belt of blue
enamelled leather secured with a circular brass clasp, on which was
rudely scratched in English the words, 'The wizards of the East grew
rich by being unseen. Whoso clasps this belt about his waist may become
invisible for the wishing. So does ben Meerza remember.'
"Of course, Carboys treated it as the veriest rubbish--who wouldn't?
Indeed, he suspected Van Nant of having played a joke upon him, and
laughingly threw it aside. Then, finding that he had taken an
uncomfortable journey for nothing, got some good out of it by spending a
pleasant evening with the captain and his daughter. A room had been made
ready for him--in fact, although he did not know it, Miss Morrison had
given him hers, and had herself gone to a less attractive one--and in
due time he prepared to turn in for the night. As they parted Miss
Morrison, in a bantering spirit, picked up the belt and handed it to
him, remarking that he had better keep it, as, after marriage, he might
some time be glad to creep into the house unseen. In the same bantering
spirit he had replied that he had better begin learning how the thing
worked in case of necessity, and, taking the belt, clasped it round his
waist, said good-night, and stepped into the room prepared for him. Miss
Morrison and her father heard him close the door and pull down the
blind, and that was the last that was seen or heard of him.
"In the morning the bed was found undisturbed, his locked bag on a
chair, and in the middle of the floor the blue leather belt; but of the
man himself there was not one trace to be found. There, that's the
story, Cleek. Now what do you make of it?"
"I shall be able to tell you better after I have seen the parties
concerned," said Cleek after a moment's pause. "You have brought your
motor, of course? Let us step into it, then, and whizz round to Captain
Morrison's house. What's that? Oh, undoubtedly a case of foul play, Mr.
Narkom. But as to the motive and the matter of who is guilty, it is
impossible to decide until I have looked further into the evidence. Do
me a favour, will you? After you have left me at the captain's house,
'phone up the Yard, and let me have the secret cable code with the East;
also, if you can, the name of the chief of the Persian police."
"My dear chap, you can't really place any credence in that absurd
assertion regarding the blue belt? You can't possibly think that Abdul
ben Meerza really did send the thing?"
"No, I can't," said Cleek in reply. "Because, to the best of my belief,
it is impossible for a dead man to send anything; and, if my memory
doesn't betray me, I fancy I read in the newspaper accounts of that big
Tajik rising at Khotour a couple of months ago, that the leader one
Abdul ben Meerza, a rich but exceedingly miserly merchant of the
province of Elburz, was, by the Shah's command, bastinadoed within an
inch of his life, and then publicly beheaded."
"By Jove! I believe you are right, my dear fellow," asserted Narkom. "I
thought the name had a familiar sound as if I had, somewhere, heard it
before. I suppose there is no likelihood, by any chance, that the old
skinflint could have lived up to his promise and left poor Carboys
something, after all, Cleek? Because, you know, if he did----"
"Captain Morrison would, as heir-at-law, inherit it," supplemented Cleek
dryly. "Get out the motor, Mr. Narkom, and let's spin round and see him.
I fancy I should like a few minutes' conversation with the captain.
And--Mr. Narkom?"
"Yes?"
"We'll stick to the name 'George Headland' if you please. When you are
out for birds it doesn't do to frighten them off beforehand."
II
It did not take more than five minutes to cover the distance between
Sunnington Crescent and the modest little house where Captain Morrison
and his daughter lived; so in a very brief time Cleek had the
satisfaction of interviewing both.
Narkom's assertion that Miss Morrison was "half out of her mind over the
distressing affair" had prepared him to encounter a weeping, red-eyed,
heart-broken creature of the most excitable type. He found instead a
pale, serious-faced, undemonstrative girl of somewhat uncertain age,
sweet of voice, soft of step, quiet of demeanour, who was either one of
those persons who repress all external evidence of internal fires, and
bear their crosses in silence, or was as cold blooded as a fish and as
heartless as a statue. He found the father the exact antithesis of the
daughter: a nervous, fretful, irritable individual (gout had him by the
heels at the time), who was as full of "yaps" and snarls as any Irish
terrier, and as peevish and fussy as a fault-finding old woman. Added to
this, he had a way of glancing all round the room, and avoiding the eye
of the person to whom he was talking. And if Cleek had been like the
generality of people, and hadn't known that some of the best and
"straightest" men in the world had been afflicted in this manner, and
some of the worst and "crookedest" could look you straight in the eyes
without turning a hair, he might have taken this for a bad sign. Then,
too, he seemed to have a great many more wrappings and swaddlings about
his gouty foot than appeared to be necessary, unless it was done to make
his helpless state very apparent, and to carry out his assertion that he
hadn't been able to walk a foot unassisted for the past week, and could
not, therefore, be in any way connected with young Carboys' mysterious
disappearance. Still, even that had its contra aspect. He _might_ be one
of those individuals who make a mountain of agony out of a molehill of
pain, and insist upon a dozen poultices where one would do.
But Cleek could not forget that, as Narkom had said, there was not the
shadow of doubt that in the event of Carboys having died possessed of
means, the captain would be the heir-at-law by virtue of his kinship;
and it is a great deal more satisfactory to be rich oneself than to be
dependent upon the generosity of a rich son-in-law. So, after adroitly
exercising the "pump" upon other matters:
"I suppose, Miss Morrison," said Cleek in a casual, off-hand sort of
way, "you don't happen to know if Mr. Carboys ever made a will, do you?
I am aware, from what Mr. Narkom has told me of his circumstances, that
he really possessed nothing that would call for the execution of such a
document; but young men have odd fancies sometimes, particularly when
they become engaged, so it is just possible that he might have done such
a thing. There might have been a ring or something of that sort he
wanted to make sure of your getting should anything happen to him. Of
course, it is an absurd suggestion, but----"
"It is not so absurd as you think, Mr. Headland," she interrupted. "As
it happens, Mr. Carboys did make a will. But that was a very long time
ago before he knew me, so my name did not figure in it at all. He once
told me of the circumstances connected with it. It was executed when he
was about three-and-twenty. It appears that there were some personal
trinkets, relics of his more prosperous days: a set of jewelled
waistcoat buttons, a scarf-pin, a few choice books and things like that,
which he desired Mr. Van Nant to have in the event of his death (they
were then going to the Orient, and times there were troublous); so he
drew up a will, leaving everything he might die possessed of to Mr. Van
Nant, and left the paper with the latter's solicitor when they bade
good-bye to England. So far as I know, that will still exists, Mr.
Headland; so"--here the faintest suggestion of a quiver got into her
voice--"if anything of a tragical nature had happened to him, and--and
the trinkets hadn't disappeared with him, Mr. Van Nant could claim them
all, and I should not have even one poor little token to cherish in
memory of him. And I am sure, I am very sure that if he had known--if he
had thought----"
"Mary, for goodness' sake don't begin to snivel!" chimed in her father
querulously. "It gets on my nerves. And you know very well how I am
suffering! Of course, it was most inconsiderate of Carboys not to
destroy that will as soon as you and he were engaged, but he knew that
marriage invalidates any will a man may have made previously, and--well,
you can't suppose that he ever expected things to turn out as they have
done. Besides, Van Nant would have seen that you got _something_ to
treasure as a remembrance. He's a very decent chap, is Van Nant, Mr.
Headland, although my daughter has never appeared to think so. But
there's no arguing with a woman, any way."
Cleek glanced at Narkom. It was a significant glance, and said as
plainly as so many words: "What do you think of it? You said there was
no motive, and, provided Carboys fell heir to something of which we know
nothing as yet, here are _two_! If that will was destroyed, one man
would, as heir-at-law, inherit; ditto the other man if it was _not_
destroyed and not invalidated by marriage. And here's the 'one' man
singing the praises of the 'other' one!"
"Collusion?" queried Narkom's answering look. "Perhaps," said Cleek's in
response, "one of these two men has made away with him. The question is,
which? and, also, why? when? where?" Then he turned to the captain's
daughter, and asked quietly: "Would you mind letting me see the room
from which the young man disappeared? I confess I haven't the ghost of
an idea regarding the case, captain; but if you don't mind letting your
daughter show me the room----"
"Mind? Good Lord, no!" responded the captain. "All I want to know is,
what became of the poor boy, and if there's any likelihood of his ever
coming back alive. I'd go up with you myself, only you see how helpless
I am. Mary, take Mr. Headland to the room. And please don't stop any
longer than is necessary. I'm suffering agonies, and not fit to be left
alone."
Miss Morrison promised to return as expeditiously as possible, and then
forthwith led the way to the room in question.
"This is it, Mr. Headland," she said as she opened the door and ushered
Cleek in. "Everything is just exactly as it was when George left it. I
couldn't bring myself to touch a thing until after a detective had seen
it. Father said it was silly and sentimental of me to go on sleeping in
the little box of a hall bedroom when I could be so much more
comfortable if I returned to my own. But I couldn't. I felt that I might
possibly be unconsciously destroying something in the shape of a clue if
I moved a solitary object; and so---- Look! there is the drawn blind
just as he left it; there his portmanteau on that chair by the bedside,
and there----" Her voice sank to a sort of awed whisper, her shaking
finger extended in the direction of a blue semicircle in the middle of
the floor. "There is the belt! He had it round his waist when he crossed
this threshold that night. It was lying there just as you see it when
the servant brought up his tea and his shaving water the next morning,
and found the room empty and the bed undisturbed."
Cleek walked forward and picked up the belt.
"Humph! Unfastened!" he said as he took it up; and Miss Morrison,
closing the door, went below and left them. "Our wonderful wizard does
not seem to have mastered the simple matter of making a man vanish out
of the thing without first unfastening the buckle, it appears. I should
have thought he could have managed that, shouldn't you, Mr. Narkom, if
he could have managed the business of making him melt into thin air?
Hurr-r-r!" reflectively, as he turned the belt over and examined it.
"Not seen much use, apparently; the leather's quite new, and the inside
quite unsoiled. British manufactured brass, too, in the buckle.
Shouldn't have expected that in a Persian-made article. Inscription
scratched on with the point of a knife or some other implement not
employed in metal engraving. May I trouble you for a pin? Thank you.
Hum-m-m! Thought so. Some dirty, clayey stuff rubbed in to make the
letters appear old and of long standing. Look here, Mr. Narkom; metal
quite bright underneath when you pick the stuff out. Inscription very
recently added; leather, American tanned; brass, Birmingham; stitching,
by the Blake shoe and harness machine; wizard, probably born in
Tottenham Court Road, and his knowledge of Persia confined to Persian
powder in four-penny tins."
He laid the belt aside, and walked slowly round the room, inspecting its
contents before turning his attention to the portmanteau.
"Evidently the vanishing qualities of the belt did not assert themselves
very rapidly, Mr. Narkom," he said, "for Mr. Carboys not only prepared
to go to bed, but had time to get himself ready to hurry off to business
in the morning with as little delay as possible. Look here; here are his
pyjamas on the top of this chest of drawers, neatly folded, just as he
left them out of his portmanteau; and as a razor has been wiped on this
towel (see this slim line of dust-like particles of hair), he shaved
before going to bed in order to save himself the trouble of doing so in
the morning. But as there is no shaving mug visible, and he couldn't get
hot water at that hour of the night, we shall probably discover a spirit
lamp and its equipment when we look into the portmanteau. Now, as he had
time to put these shaving articles away after using, and as no man
shaves with his collar and necktie on, if we do not find those, too, in
the portmanteau, we may conclude that he put them on again; and, as he
wouldn't put them on again if he were going to bed, the inference is
obvious: something caused him to dress and prepare to leave the house
voluntarily. That 'something' must have manifested itself very abruptly,
and demanded great haste--either that, or he expected to return; for you
will observe that, although he replaced his shaving tackle in the
portmanteau, he did not put his sleeping suit back with it. While I am
poking about, do me the favour of looking in the bag, Mr. Narkom, and
tell me if you find the collar and necktie there."
"Not a trace of them," announced the superintendent a moment or two
later. "Here are the shaving mug, the brush, and the spirit lamp,
however, just as you suggested and---- Hallo! what have you stumbled
upon now?" For Cleek, who had been "poking about," as he termed it, had
suddenly stooped, picked up something, and was regarding it fixedly as
it lay in the palm of his hand.
"A somewhat remarkable thing to discover in a lady's bedchamber, Mr.
Narkom, unless---- Just step downstairs, and ask Miss Morrison to come
up again for a moment, will you?" And then held out his hand so that
Narkom could see, in passing, that a hempseed, two grains of barley, and
an oat lay upon his palm. "Miss Morrison," he inquired as Mary returned
in company with the superintendent, "Miss Morrison, do you keep
pigeons?"
She gave a little cry, and clasped her hands together, as if reproaching
herself for some heartless act.
"Oh!" she said, moving hastily toward the window. "Poor dears! How good
of you to remind me. To think that I should forget to feed them for
three whole days. They may be dead by now. But at such a time I could
think of nothing but this hideous mystery. My pigeons, my poor, pretty
pigeons!"
"Oh, then you do keep them?"
"Yes; oh, yes. In a wire-enclosed cote attached to the house just
outside this window. Homing pigeons, Mr. Headland. George bought them
for me. We had an even half dozen each. We used to send messages to each
other that way. He would bring his over to me, and take mine away with
him at night when he went home, so we could correspond at any moment
without waiting for the post. That's how I sent him the message about
the arrival of the belt. Oh, do unlock the window, and let me see if
the pretty dears are still alive."
"It doesn't need to be unlocked, Miss Morrison," he replied as he pulled
up the blind. "See, it can be opened easily--the catch is not secured."
"Not secured? Why, how strange. I myself fastened it after I despatched
the bird with the message about the belt. And nobody came into the room
after that until George did so that night. Oh, do look and see if the
pretty creatures are dead. They generally coo so persistently; and now I
don't hear a sound from them."
Cleek threw up the sash and looked out. A huge wistaria with tendrils as
thick as a man's wrist covered the side of the house, and made a
veritable ladder down to the little garden; and, firmly secured to this,
on a level with the window-sill and within easy reach therefrom, was the
dovecote in question. He put in his hand, and slowly drew out four
stiff, cold, feathered little bodies, and laid them on the
dressing-table before her; then, while she was grieving over them, he
groped round in all corners of the cote and drew forth still another.
"Five?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Five? Oh, but there should be only
four, Mr. Headland. It is true that George brought over all six the day
before; but I 'flew' one to him in the early morning, and I 'flew' a
second at night, with the message about the belt; so there should be but
four."
"Oh, well, possibly one was 'flown' by him to you, and it 'homed'
without your knowledge."
[Illustration: SWINGING THE HAMMER, HE STRUCK AT THE NYMPH WITH A FORCE
THAT SHATTERED THE MONSTROUS THING TO ATOMS]
"Yes, but it couldn't get inside the wired enclosure unassisted, Mr.
Headland. See! that spring door has to be opened when it is 'returned'
to the cote after it has carried its message home. You see, I trained
them, by feeding them in here, to come into this room when they were
flown back to me. They always flew directly in if the window was
opened, or gave warning of their presence by fluttering about and
beating against the panes if the sash was closed. And for a fifth pigeon
to be inside the enclosure--I can't understand the thing at all. Oh, Mr.
Headland, do you think it is anything in the nature of a clue?"
"It may be," he replied evasively. "Clues are funny things, Miss
Morrison; you never know when you may pick one up, nor how. I shouldn't
say anything to anybody about this fifth pigeon, if I were you. Let that
be our secret for awhile; and if your father wants to know why I sent
for you to come up here again just say I have discovered that your
pigeons are dead for want of food." And for a moment or two, after she
had closed the door and gone below again, he stood looking at Mr. Narkom
and slowly rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. Then,
of a sudden:
"I think, Mr. Narkom, we can fairly decide, on the evidence of that
fifth pigeon, that George Carboys left this room voluntarily," returned
Cleek; "that the bird brought him a message of such importance it was
necessary to leave this house at once, and that, not wishing to leave it
unlocked while he was absent, and not--because of the captain's
inability to get back upstairs afterward--having anybody to whom he
could appeal to get up and lock it after him, he chose to get out of
this window, and to go down by means of that wistaria. I think, too, we
may decide that, as he left no note to explain his absence, he expected
to return before morning, and that, as he never did return, he has met
with foul play. Of course, it is no use looking for footprints in the
garden in support of this hypothesis, for the storm that night was a
very severe one and quite sufficient to blot out all trace of them;
but---- Look here, Mr. Narkom, put two and two together. If a message
was sent him by a carrier pigeon, where must that pigeon have come
from, since it was one of Miss Morrison's?"
"Why, from Van Nant's place, of course. It couldn't possibly come from
any other."
"Exactly. And as Van Nant and Carboys lived together--kept bachelor
hall--and there was never anybody but their two selves in the house at
any time, why, nobody but Van Nant himself could have despatched the
bird. Look at that fragment of burnt paper lying in the basin of that
candlestick on the washstand. If that isn't all that's left of the paper
that was tied under the pigeon's wing, and if Carboys didn't use it for
the purpose of lighting the spirit lamp by which he heated his shaving
water, depend upon it that, in his haste and excitement, he tucked it
into his pocket, and if ever we find his body we shall find that paper
on it."
"His body? My dear Cleek, you don't believe that the man has been
murdered?"
"I don't know--yet. I shall, however, if this Van Nant puts anything in
the way of my searching that house thoroughly or makes any pretext to
follow me whilst I am doing so. I want to meet this Maurice Van Nant
just as soon as I can, Mr. Narkom, just as soon as I can."
And it was barely two minutes after he had expressed this wish that Miss
Morrison reappeared upon the scene accompanied by a pale, nervous,
bovine-eyed man of about thirty-five years of age, and said in a tone of
agitation: "Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Headland, but this is Mr.
Maurice Van Nant. He is most anxious to meet you, and father would have
me bring him up at once."
Narkom screwed round on his heel, looked at the Belgian, and lost faith
in Miss Morrison's powers of discrimination instantly. On the
dressing-table stood Carboys' picture--heavy-jowled, sleepy-eyed,
dull-looking, and on the threshold stood a man with the kindest eyes,
the sweetest smile, and the handsomest and most sympathetic countenance
he had seen in many a day. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, if
the face is the index of the character, then here was a man weak as
water, as easily led as any lamb, and as guileless.
"You are just the man I want to see, Mr. Van Nant," said Cleek, after
the first formalities were over, and assuming, as he always did at such
times, the heavy, befogged expression of incompetence. "I confess this
bewildering affair altogether perplexes me; but you, I understand, were
Mr. Carboys' close friend and associate, and as I can find nothing in
the nature of a clue here, I should like, with your permission, to look
over his home quarters and see if I can find anything there."
If he had looked for any sign of reluctance or of embarrassment upon Van
Nant's part when such a request should be made, he was wholly
disappointed, for the man, almost on the point of tears, seized his
hand, pressed it warmly, and said in a voice of eager entreaty, "Oh, do,
Mr. Headland, do. Search anywhere, do anything that will serve to find
my friend and to clear up this dreadful affair. I can't sleep for
thinking of it; I can't get a moment's peace night or day. You didn't
know him or you would understand how I am tortured and how I miss him.
The best friend, the dearest and the lightest-hearted fellow that ever
lived. If I had anything left in this world, I'd give it all--all, Mr.
Headland, to clear up the mystery of this thing and to get him back. One
man could do that, I believe, could and would, if I had the money to
offer him."
"Indeed? And who may he be, Mr. Van Nant?"
"The great, the amazing, the undeceivable man, Cleek. He'd get at the
truth of it. Nothing could baffle and bewilder him. But--oh, well, it's
the old, old tale of the power of money. He wouldn't take the case, a
high-and-mighty 'top-notcher' like that, unless the reward was a
tempting one, I'm sure."
"No, I'm afraid he wouldn't," agreed Cleek, with the utmost composure.
"So you must leave him out of your calculations altogether, Mr. Van
Nant. And now, if you don't mind accompanying us and showing the
chauffeur the way, perhaps Mr. Narkom will take us over to your house in
his motor."
"Mind? No, certainly I don't mind. Anything in the world to get at a
clue to this thing, Mr. Headland, anything. Do let us go, and at once."
Cleek led the way from the room. Halfway down the stairs, however, he
excused himself on the plea of having forgotten his magnifying glass,
and ran back to get it. Two minutes later he rejoined them in the little
drawing-room, where the growling captain was still demanding the whole
time and attention of his daughter, and, the motor being ready, the
three men walked out, got into it, and were whisked away to the house
which once had been the home of the vanished George Carboys.
It proved to be a small, isolated brick house in very bad condition,
standing in an out-of-the-way road somewhere between Putney and
Wimbledon. It stood, somewhat back from the road, in the midst of a
little patch of ground abounding in privet and laurel bushes, and it was
evident that its cheapness had been its chief attraction to the two men
who had rented it, although, on entering, it was found to possess at the
back a sort of extension, with top and side lights, which must have
appealed to Van Nant's need of something in the nature of a studio. At
all events, he had converted it into a very respectable apology for one;
and Cleek was not a little surprised by what it contained.
Rich stuffs, bits of tapestry, Persian draperies, Arabian
prayer-mats--relics of his other and better days and of his Oriental
wanderings--hung on the walls and ornamented the floor; his rejected
pictures and his unsold statues, many of them life-sized and all of clay
coated with a lustreless paint to make them look like marble, were
disposed about the place with an eye to artistic effect, and near to an
angle where stood on a pedestal, half concealed, half revealed by
artistically arranged draperies, the life-size figure of a Roman
senator, in toga and sandals, there was the one untidy spot, the one
utterly inartistic thing the room contained.
It was the crude, half-finished shape of a recumbent female figure, of
large proportions and abominable modelling, stretched out at full length
upon a long, low trestle-supported "sculptor's staging," on which also
lay Van Nant's modelling tools and his clay-stained working blouse.
Cleek looked at the huge, unnatural thing, out of drawing, anatomically
wrong in many particulars, and felt like quoting Angelo's famous remark
anent his master Lorenzo's faun: "What a pity to have spoilt so much
expensive material," and Van Nant, observing, waved his hand toward it.
"A slumbering nymph," he explained. "Only the head and shoulders
finished as yet, you see. I began it the day before yesterday, but my
hand seems somehow to have lost its cunning. Here are the keys of all
the rooms, Mr. Headland. Carboys' was the one directly at the head of
the stairs, in the front. Won't you and Mr. Narkom go up and search
without me? I couldn't bear to look into the place and see the things
that belonged to him and he not there. It would cut me to the heart if I
did. Or, maybe you would sooner go alone, and leave Mr. Narkom to search
round this room. We used to make a general sitting-room of it at nights
when we were alone together, and some clue may have been dropped."
"A good suggestion, Mr. Narkom," commented Cleek, as he took the keys.
"Look round and see what you can find, whilst I 'poke about' upstairs."
Then he walked out of the studio. And a few moments later, Narkom going
round and searching every nook and corner, whilst Van Nant, for the want
of something to occupy his mind and hands worked on the nymph, could
hear him moving about overhead in quest of possible clues.
For perhaps twenty minutes Cleek was away; then he came down and walked
into the room looking the very picture of hopeless bewilderment.
"Mr. Narkom," he said, "this case stumps me. I believe there's magic in
it, if you ask me; and as the only way to fight magic is with magic, I'm
going to consult a clairvoyante, and if one of those parties can't give
me a clue, I don't believe the mystery ever will be solved. I know of a
ripping good one, but she is over in Ireland, and as it's a dickens of a
way to go, I shan't be able to get back before the day after to-morrow
at the earliest. But--look here, sir, I'll tell you what! This is
Tuesday evening, isn't it? Now if you and Mr. Van Nant will be at
Captain Morrison's house on Thursday evening at seven o'clock, and will
wait there until I come, I'll tell you what that clairvoyante says, and
whether there's any chance of this thing being solved or not. Is that
agreeable, Mr. Van Nant?"
"Quite, Mr. Headland. I'll be there promptly."
"And stop until you hear from me?"
"And stop until I hear from you."
"Right you are, sir. Now then, Mr. Narkom, if you'll let the chauffeur
whisk me over to the station, I'll get back to London and on to the
earliest possible train for Liverpool, so as to be on hand for the first
Irish packet to-morrow. And while you're looking for your hat, sir--good
evening, Mr. Van Nant--I'll step outside and tell Lennard to crank up."
With that, he passed out of the studio, walked down the hall, and went
out of the house. And half a minute later, when the superintendent
joined him, he found him sitting in the limousine and staring fixedly at
his toes.
"My dear Cleek, did you find anything?" he queried as he took a seat
beside him, and the motor swung out into the road and whizzed away. "Of
course, I know you've no more idea of going to Liverpool than you have
of taking a pot-shot at the moon; but there's something on your mind. I
know the signs, Cleek. What is it?"
The response to this was rather startling.
"Mr. Narkom," said Cleek, answering one question with another, "what's
the best thing to make powdered bismuth stick: lard, cold cream, or
cocoa butter?"
III
If punctuality is a virtue, then Mr. Maurice Van Nant deserved to go on
record as one of the most virtuous men in existence. For the little
Dutch clock in Captain Morrison's drawing-room had barely begun to
strike seven on the following Thursday evening when he put in an
appearance there, and found the captain and his daughter anxiously
awaiting him. But, as virtue is, on most excellent authority, its own
reward, he had to be satisfied with the possession of it, since neither
Narkom nor Cleek was there to meet him.
But the reason for this defection was made manifest when Miss Morrison
placed before him a telegram which had arrived some ten minutes earlier
and read as follows: "Unavoidably delayed. Be with you at nine-thirty.
Ask Mr. Van Nant to wait. Great and welcome piece of news for him,
Narkom."
Van Nant smiled.
"Great and welcome news," he repeated. "Then Mr. Headland must have
found something in the nature of a clue in Ireland, captain, though
what he could find there I can't imagine. Frankly, I thought him a
stupid sort of fellow, but if he has managed to find a clue to poor
George's whereabouts over in Ireland, he must be sharper than I
believed. Well, we shall know about that at half-past nine, when Mr.
Narkom comes. I hope nothing will happen to make him disappoint us
again."
Nothing did. Promptly at the hour appointed the red limousine whizzed up
to the door, and Mr. Narkom made his appearance. But, contrary to the
expectations of the three occupants of the little drawing-room, he was
quite alone.
"So sorry I couldn't come earlier," he said, as he came in, looking and
acting like the bearer of great good news; "but you will appreciate the
delay when I tell you what caused it. What's that, Mr. Van Nant?
Headland? No, he's not with me. As a matter of fact, I've dispensed with
his services in this particular case. Fancy, Miss Morrison, the muff
came back from Ireland this evening, said the clairvoyante he consulted
went into a trance, and told him that the key to the mystery could only
be discovered in Germany, and he wanted me to sanction his going over
there on no better evidence than that. Of course, I wouldn't; so I took
him off the case forthwith, and set out to get another and a better man
to handle it. That's what delayed me. And now, Mr. Van Nant"--fairly
beaming, and rubbing his palms together delightedly--"here's where the
great and welcome news I spoke of comes in. I remembered how your heart
is wrapped up in the solving of this great puzzle and what you said
about it being a question of money alone; and so, what do you think I
did? I went to that great man, Cleek. I laid the matter before him, told
him there was no reward, that it was just a matter of sheer
humanity--the consciousness of doing his duty and helping another fellow
in distress--and, throw up your hat and cheer, my dear fellow, for
you've got your heart's desire: Cleek's consented to take the case!"
A little flurry of excitement greeted this announcement. Miss Morrison
grabbed his hand and burst into tears of gratitude; the captain,
forgetting in his delight the state of his injured foot, rose from his
chair, only to remember suddenly and sit down again, his half-uttered
cheer dying on his lips; and Van Nant, as if overcome by this unexpected
boon, this granting of a wish he had never dared to hope would be
fulfilled, could only clap both hands over his face and sob
hysterically.
"Cleek!" he said, in a voice that shook with nervous catches and the
emotion of a soul deeply stirred, "Cleek to take the case? The great,
the amazing, the undeceivable Cleek! Oh, Mr. Narkom, can this be true?"
"As true as that you are standing here this minute, my dear sir. Not so
much of a money grabber as that muff Headland wanted you to believe, is
he--eh? Waived every hope of a reward, and took the case on the spot.
He'll get at the root of it, Lord, yes! Lay you a sovereign to a
sixpence, Mr. Van Nant, he gets to the bottom of it and finds out what
became of George Carboys in forty-eight hours after he begins on the
case."
"And when will he begin, Mr. Narkom? To-morrow? The next day? Or not
this week at all? When, sir--when?"
"When? Why, bless your heart, man, he's begun already or, at least, will
do so in another hour and a half. He's promised to meet us at your house
at eleven o'clock to-night. Chose that place because he lives at Putney,
and it's nearer. Eleven was the hour he set, though, of course, he may
arrive sooner; there's no counting on an erratic fellow like that chap.
So we'll make it eleven, and possess our souls in patience until it's
time to start."
"But, my dear Mr. Narkom, wouldn't it be better, or, at least, more
hospitable if I went over to meet him, in case he does come earlier?
There's no one in the house, remember, and it's locked up."
"Lord bless you, that won't bother him! Never travels without his tools,
you know, skeleton keys, and all that, and he'll be in the house before
you can wink an eye. Still, of course, if you'd rather be there to admit
him in the regulation way----"
"It would at least be more courteous, Mr. Narkom," Miss Morrison
interposed. "So great a man doing so great a favour---- Oh, yes, I
really think that Mr. Van Nant should."
"Oh, well, let him then, by all means," said Narkom. "Go, if you choose,
Mr. Van Nant. I'd let you have my motor, only I must get over to the
station and 'phone up headquarters on another affair in five minutes."
"It doesn't matter, thank you all the same. I can get a taxi at the top
of the road," said Van Nant; and then, making his excuses to Miss
Morrison and her father, he took up his hat and left the house. As a
matter of fact, it was only courtesy that made him say that about the
taxi, for there is rarely one to be found waiting about in the
neighbourhood of Wandsworth Common after half-past nine o'clock at
night, and nobody could have been more surprised than he when he
actually did come across one, loitering about aimlessly and quite empty,
before he had gone two dozen yards.
He engaged it on the spot, jumped into it, gave the chauffeur his
directions, and a minute later was whizzing away to the isolated house.
It was eight minutes past ten when he reached it, standing as black and
lightless as when he left it four hours ago, and, after paying off the
chauffeur and dismissing the vehicle, he fumbled nervously for his
latchkey, found it, unlocked the door, and went hurriedly in.
"Have you come yet, Mr. Cleek?" he called out, as he shut the door and
stood in the pitch-black hall. "Mr. Cleek! Mr. Cleek, are you here? It
is I--Maurice Van Nant. Mr. Narkom has sent me on ahead."
Not a sound answered him, not even an echo. He sucked in his breath with
a sort of wheezing sound, then groped round the hall table till he found
his bedroom candle, and striking a match, lit it. The staircase leading
to the upper floors gaped at him out of the partial gloom, and he fairly
sprang at it. He was halfway up it when some other idea possessed him,
brought him to a sudden standstill, and, facing round abruptly, he went
back to the lower hall again, glimmering along it like a shadow, with
the inadequate light held above him, and moving fleetly to the studio in
the rear.
The door stood partly open, just as he had left it. He pushed it inward
and stepped over the threshold.
"Mr. Cleek!" he called again. "Mr. Cleek! Are you here?"
And again the silence alone answered him. The studio was as he had seen
it last, save for those fantastic shadows which the candle's wavering
flame wreathed in the dim corners and along the pictured walls. There,
on its half-draped pedestal, the Roman senator stood, dead white against
the purple background, and there, close to the foot of it, the great
bulk of the disproportionate nymph still sprawled, finished and
whitewashed now, and looking even more of a monstrosity than ever in
that waving light.
He gave one deep gulping sigh of relief, flashed across the room on
tiptoe, and went down on his knees beside the monstrous thing, moving
the candle this way and that along the length of it, as if searching for
something, and laughing in little jerky gasps of relief when he found
nothing that was not as it had been--as it should be--as he wanted it to
be. And then, as he rose and patted the clay, and laughed aloud as he
realized how hard it had set, then, at that instant, a white shape
lurched forward and swooped downward, carrying him down with it. The
candle slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor, a pair of
steel handcuffs clicked as they closed round his wrists, a voice above
him said sharply: "You wanted Cleek, I believe? Well, Cleek's got you,
you sneaking murderer! Gentlemen, come in! Allow me to turn over to you
the murderer of George Carboys! You'll find the body inside that
slumbering nymph!"
And the last thing that Mr. Maurice Van Nant saw, as he shrieked and
fainted, the last thing he realized, was that lights were flashing up
and men tumbling in through the opening windows; that the Roman
senator's pedestal was empty, and the figure which once had stood upon
it was bending over him--alive!
And just at that moment the red limousine flashed up out of the
darkness, the outer door whirled open, and Narkom came pelting in.
"He took the bait, then, Cleek?" he cried, as he saw the manacled figure
on the floor, with the "Roman senator" bending over and the policemen
crowding in about it. "I guessed it when I saw the lights flash up. I've
been on his heels ever since he snapped at that conveniently placed taxi
after he left Miss Morrison and her father."
"You haven't brought them with you, I hope, Mr. Narkom? I wouldn't have
that poor girl face the ordeal of what's to be revealed here to-night
for words."
"No, I've not. I made a pretext of having to 'phone through to
headquarters, and slipped out a moment after him. But, I say, my dear
chap"--as Cleek's hands made a rapid search of the pockets of the
unconscious man, and finally brought to light a folded paper--"what's
that thing? What are you doing?"
"Compounding a felony in the interest of humanity," he made reply as he
put the end of the paper into the flame of the candle and held it there
until it was consumed. "We all do foolish things sometimes when we are
young, Mr. Narkom, and George Carboys was no exception when he wrote the
little thing I have just burned. Let us forget all about it. Captain
Morrison is heir-at-law, and that poor girl will benefit."
"There was an estate, then?"
"Yes. My cable yesterday to the head of the Persian police set all doubt
upon that point at rest. Abdul ben Meerza, parting with nothing while he
lived, after the manner of misers in general, left a will bequeathing
something like £12,000 to George Carboys, and his executor communicated
that fact to the supposed friend of both parties, Mr. Maurice Van Nant.
Exactly ten days ago, so his former solicitor informed me, Mr. Maurice
Van Nant visited him unexpectedly, and withdrew from his keeping a
sealed packet which had been in the firm's custody for eight years. If
you want to know why he withdrew it--Dollops!"
"Right you are, guv'ner."
"Give me the sledge-hammer. Thanks! Now, Mr. Narkom, look!" And swinging
the hammer, he struck at the nymph with a force that shattered the
monstrous thing to atoms; and Narkom, coming forward to look when Cleek
bent over the ruin he had wrought, saw in the midst of the dust and
rubbish the body of a dead man, fully clothed, and with the gap of a
bullet-hole in the left temple.
Again Cleek's hands began a rapid search, and again, as before, they
brought to light a paper, a little crumpled ball of paper that had been
thrust into the right-hand pocket of the dead man's waistcoat, as though
jammed there under the stress of strong excitement and the pressure of
great haste. He smoothed it out and read it carefully, then passed it
over to Mr. Narkom.
"There!" he said, "that's how he lured him over to his death. That's the
message the pigeon brought. Would any man have failed to fly to face the
author of a foul lie like that?"
The message ran:
Beloved Mary, come to me again to-night. How sweet of you to
think of such a thing as the belt to get him over and to make
him stop until morning! Steal out after he goes to bed,
darling. I'll leave the studio window unlocked, as usual. With
a thousand kisses,
Your own devoted,
MAURICE.
"The dog!" said Narkom fiercely. "And against a pure creature like Mary
Morrison! Here, Smathers, Petrie, Hammond, take him away. Hanging's too
good for a beastly cur like that!"
* * * * *
"How did I know that the body was inside the statue?" said Cleek,
answering Narkom's query as they drove back in the red limousine toward
London and Clarges Street. "Well, as a matter of fact, I never did know
for certain until he began to examine the thing to-night. From the first
I felt sure he was at the bottom of the affair, that he had lured
Carboys back to the house, and murdered him; but it puzzled me to think
what could possibly have been done with the body. I felt pretty certain,
however, when I saw that monstrous statue."
"Yes, but why?"
"My dear Mr. Narkom, you ought not to ask that question. Did it not
strike you as odd that a man who was torn with grief over the
disappearance of a loved friend should think of modelling any sort of a
statue on that very first day, much less such an inartistic one as that?
Consider: the man has never been a first-class sculptor, it is true,
but he knew the rudiments of his art, he had turned out some fairly
presentable work; and that nymph was as abominably conceived and as
abominably executed as if it had been the work of a raw beginner. Then
there was another suspicious circumstance. Modelling clay is not exactly
as cheap as dirt, Mr. Narkom. Why, then, should this man, who was
confessedly as poor as the proverbial church mouse, plunge into the wild
extravagance of buying half a ton of it--and at such a time? Those are
the things that brought the suspicion into my mind; the certainty,
however, had to be brought about beyond dispute before I could act.
"I knew that George Carboys had returned to that studio by the dry marks
of muddy footprints, that were nothing like the shape of Van Nant's,
which I found on the boards of the veranda and on the carpet under one
of the windows; I knew, too, that it was Van Nant who had sent that
pigeon. You remember when I excused myself and went back on the pretext
of having forgotten my magnifying glass the other day? I did so for the
purpose of looking at that fifth pigeon. I had observed something on its
breast feathers which I thought, at first glance, was dry mud, as though
it had fallen or brushed against something muddy in its flight. As we
descended the stairs I observed that there was a similar mark on Van
Nant's sleeve. I brushed against him and scraped off a fleck with my
fingernails. It was the dust of dried modelling clay. That on the
pigeon's breast proved to be the same substance. I knew then that the
hands of the person who liberated that pigeon were the hands of some one
who was engaged in modelling something or handling the clay of the
modeller, and the inference was clear.
"As for the rest: when Van Nant entered that studio to-night, frightened
half out of his wits at the knowledge that he would have to deal with
the one detective he feared, I knew that if he approached that statue
and made any attempt to examine it I should have my man, and that the
hiding-place of his victim's body would be proved beyond question. When
he did go to it, and did examine it---- Clarges Street at last, and
thank fortune for it, as I am tired and sleepy. Stop here, chauffeur.
The riddle is solved, Mr. Narkom. Good-night!"