It was not until they were aboard the boat and the shores of France were
slipping off into the distance that Miss Lorne saw anything at all of
Dollops. As he had travelled down from Paris to Calais in a separate
compartment there had been no opportunity to do so. He had, too, held
himself respectfully aloof even after they had boarded the steamer; and,
but that once, when a lurch of the vessel had unexpectedly disturbed
Cleek's equilibrium and knocked his hat off, she might not have seen him
even then.
But the manner in which he pounced upon that hat, the tender care with
which he brushed it, and the affectionate interest in both voice and
eyes when he handed it back and inquired eagerly, "Didn't hurt yourself,
Gov'nor, did you, sir?" compelled her to take notice of him, and, in
doing so, to understand the position in which they stood to each other.
"You are travelling with a servant?" she enquired.
"More than a servant--a devoted henchman, Miss Lorne. They say you can't
purchase fidelity for all the money in the world, but I secured the
finest brand of it in the Universe by the simple outlay of two half
crowns. It is the boy of that night on Hampstead Heath--the boy who
stood at the turning point. The Devil didn't get him, you see. He kept
his promise and has been walking the straight road ever since."
She turned round and looked at him; realizing more of the man's
character in that moment than a hundred deeds of bravery, a thousand
acts of gentle courtesy, could ever have made her understand.
"And you took him in?" she said slowly. "You gave him a chance? You
helped him to redeem himself? How good of you."
"How good _for_ me, you mean," he laughed, "It was 'bread on the waters'
with a vengeance, Miss Lorne. I should have lost my life last night but
for that boy."--And told her briefly and airily how the thing had come
to pass.
"Don't think it vindictive of me, but I am sorry, I am very, very sorry
you were not able to hand that dreadful woman, Margot, over to the
authorities, Mr. Cleek," she said, with an expression of great
seriousness. "She is not likely to forget or to forgive what you have
done; and some day, perhaps ... Oh, do be on your guard. It was really
foolhardy to have attempted the thing alone. Surely you might have
appealed for assistance to the Paris police and not only have minimised
your personal risk but made sure of the woman's arrest."
"Not without allowing the authorities to learn exactly what the Baron de
Carjorac was so anxious to keep them _from_ learning, Miss Lorne. They
must have found out what I was after, what really had been lost, if I
had applied to them for assistance. I had either to do the thing alone
or drop the case entirely. And drop it I would not after _you_ had asked
me to accept it, and--Pardon? No, Miss Lorne, I do not know who the
woman Margot really is. Even that name may be fictitious, as was the one
of 'Comtesse de la Tour.' I only know of her that she is one of the
great figures of the Underworld; that money is her game--money alone;
money first, last, and all the time; that her personal history is as
much of a mystery to her closest associates as was--well, no matter;
people of that ilk are not fit subjects to discuss with you. All that I
know of the woman is that she has travelled pretty well over the world;
that some six or eight months ago she was in Ceylon with a--er--a
certain member of her crew, and came within an ace of falling foul of
the law. She had put up a plan to loot the depository of the Pearl
Fisheries Company at a period when there were thousands of pounds worth
of gems awaiting transport. With her usual luck she slipped out of the
net and left the country before she could be arrested. But she will have
found something there that will repay her for the visit in one way or
another. Luck of that kind seems to follow her always."
And a long time afterward he had reason to remember what he said. For
the present, however, he had banished from his mind all things but the
happiness which was his to-day; and gave himself up to that happiness
with his whole heart.
Not once did he again intrude anything that had to do with himself, his
exploits, or his future upon Ailsa's attention until all the voyage
across the channel and all the journey from Dover up to London had come
to an end; and even then, eager though he was to know how matters might
shape themselves for _her_ future--he was tactful, considerate, careful
not to force her into any embarrassing position or to claim from her
more than the merest acquaintance might.
"You are going to your friend at Hampstead, I suppose," he said as he
handed her into a taxicab at Charing Cross. "I shall like to know if you
succeed in getting the position with Lady Chepstow; and if you send no
word to Mr. Narkom, I shall take silence as an assent and know that you
have."
And afterward, when the days grew in number and late April merged into
early May and no word came, he knew that she had succeeded; and was
comforted, thinking of her safely housed and perhaps in a position more
congenial than the last. At any rate, she was in England, she was again
in the same land with him; and that of itself was comfort.
But other comforts were not wanting. The full glory of tulip time was
here; The Yard had no immediate occasion for his services, and time was
his to dawdle in the public parks among the children, the birds, and the
flowers.
"And, lord, how he do love 'em all, bless his heart!" commented Dollops
in confidence to himself as he bustled about, putting the Den in order,
watering the plants and touching lovingly the things that belonged to
the master he adored--his daily task when Cleek was in the Park and had
no need for his services. It was a pleasure to the boy, that service.
His whole heart was in it. He resented anything that interfered with it
even for an instant; and as at this particular time he was in the very
midst of preparing a small surprise against his master's return, he was
by no means pleased when a sharp whirring sound of a telephone bell
shrilled out from the adjoining room and called him from his labour of
love.
"Oh, blow that thing! A body don't have a minute to call his own since
it's been put in," he blurted out disgustedly, and answered the call.
"'Ullo! Yuss; this is Cap'n Burbage's. Wot? No, he aren't in. Dunno when
he will be. Dunno where he is. But if there's any messidge--I say, who
wants him? Wot? Oh, s'elp me. You, is it, Mr. Narkom? Yuss, it's me,
sir--Dollops. Wot? No, sir. Went out two hours ago. Gone to Kensington
Palace Gardens. Tulips is in full bloom and you couldn't hold him
indoors with a chain at tulip-time, bless his heart. Yuss, sir. Top hat,
white spats--same as the 'Cap'n' always wears, sir."
Narkom, at the other end of the line, called back: "If I miss him, if he
comes in without seeing me, tell him to wait; I'll be round before
three. Good-bye!" then hung up the receiver and turned to the gentleman
who stood by the window on the other side of the private office,
agitatedly twirling the end of his thick grey-threaded moustache with
one hand, while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo upon the
broad oaken sill. "Not at home, Sir Henry; but, fortunately, I know
where to find him with but little loss of time," he said, and pressed
twice upon an electric button beside his desk. "My motor will be at the
door in a couple of minutes, and with ordinary luck we ought to be able
to pick him up inside of the next half-hour."
Sir Henry--Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him his full name and
title--a handsome, well-set-up man of about forty years of age, well
groomed, and with the upright bearing which comes of military training,
twisted round on his heel at this and gave the superintendent an almost
grateful look.
"I hope so--God knows I hope so, Mr. Narkom," he said agitatedly. "Time
is the one important thing at present. The suspense and uncertainty are
getting on my nerves so horribly that the very minutes seem endless.
Remember, there are only three days before the race, and if those
rascals, whoever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God help
me--that's all! And if this man Cleek can't probe the diabolical
mystery, they _will_ get at her, too, and put Logan where they put
Tolliver, the brutes!"
"You may trust Cleek to see that they don't, Sir Henry. It is just the
kind of case he will glory in; and if Black Riot is all that you believe
her, you'll carry off the Derby in spite of these enterprising gentry
who--Hallo! here's the motor. Clap on your hat, Sir Henry, and come
along. Mind the step! Kensington Palace Gardens, Lennard--and as fast as
you can streak it."