been the seat of just such a club and just such a proceeding as the
_Morning Star_ stated, nothing was left the _Evening Planet_ but
sneeringly to point out that "the imaginative genius of our esteemed
contemporary should not let it fail to remember that the man
Lovetski--to whom it doubtless refers, and whose mysterious vanishment
some years ago has never been cleared up--had his supporters as well as
his accusers. It was clearly shown at the time that although he dwelt in
the house where the 'club' in question held forth, there never was any
absolute proof that he was himself in any way actually connected with
it, his vocation being that of a maker of dressing for boots, shoes,
ladies' bags, and leather goods generally, which dressing he
manufactured upon the premises."
This statement, being correct, gave the _Morning Star_ a chance to
clinch its argument yet more forcibly and to prove itself better
informed than its rival by coming out in its next issue with the
declaration that "there can no longer be any question relative to the
identity of the murdered man. That he is, or rather was, the
long-vanished Ferdinand Lovetski who was formerly identified with the
club _and_ the boot-dressing industry carried on at 63 Essex Row, is
established beyond all cavil, since the marks smeared upon his shirt
bosom are now known to have been made with shoe-blacking of that variety
which is applied and polished with a cloth, and which has of recent
years almost entirely superseded the brush-applied variety of our
fathers' and grandfathers' days!"
Narkom, much impressed thereby, showed these two articles from the
_Morning Star_ to Cleek.
"An ingenious young man that reporter, Mr. Narkom, and his deductions
regarding those marks reflect great credit upon him," said the latter.
"For it is positively certain that whoever he may or may not have been,
the man certainly was _not_ the Count de Louvisan, for the simple reason
that there is _no_ 'Count de Louvisan' in the Austrian nobility, the
title having lapsed some years ago. The theory that the dead man is that
Ferdinand Lovetski who formerly lived at 63 Essex Row, however, will
bear looking into. It is well thought out. I should, perhaps, be more
impressed with the genius of the chap who worked out so likely a
solution to those mysterious figures if he hadn't made me lose faith in
his powers of observation by the 'shoe blacking' statement. It is not a
bad _guess_, in the circumstances--for each would leave marks very
similar, if one trusted to the eye alone--but I happen to _know_ that
the figures were _not_ smeared on with shoe-blacking, but with a stick
of that greasy, highly scented black cosmetic which some actresses use
for their eyelashes and some men employ to disguise the gray hairs in
the moustache. You know the kind of stuff I mean. It is always wrapped
in a brilliant, ruby-coloured tin foil; is to be found in most barbers'
and hairdressers' establishments, and is very heavily and peculiarly
perfumed. You will remember that, when I wanted to ascertain if the
odour of the _Huile Violette_ emanated from the body of the dead man or
not, I told you he _was_ scented, but _not_ with violets? Very well, the
scent which was upon him was the peculiar spicy fragrance of that
particular kind of cosmetic; and I had only to get one whiff of his
shirt bosom to understand what had been used to make those marks upon
it."
"My dear Cleek, could you be sure of that?" ventured Narkom. "I know the
kind of stuff you mean. But few Englishmen use it these days, though I
remember it was once very popular. It comes in light brown shades for
fair people, as well as in black for dark ones; and the Count was
extremely fair, almost flaxen. Could you be positive then that what you
smelt was not on his hair or moustache? If he had used the light sort it
would not show, remember."
"My dear Mr. Narkom, have you so poor an opinion of my methods that you
fancy I would be likely to be slipshod in my examination, and to pass
over so important a possibility as that? The man had brilliantine on his
hair and moustache, and the latter had been dressed with curling irons!
Believe me, when we find who put those marks upon him, we shall find
some one who is addicted to the use of black cosmetic of the kind which
I have mentioned."
And afterward, when the rush of events had crowded yet more important
ones from his mind, Mr. Maverick Narkom remembered those words and set
that statement down in his diary as another proof of the amazing
thoroughness and the shrewd far-sightedness of this remarkable man.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AILSA LORNE
Mrs. Raynor positively jumped as the premonitory knock trembled on the
door before Johnston the butler opened it and entered. Ordinarily she
was but little given to "nerves" and was by no means easily startled,
but this morning was a decided exception to the rule. And why not? You
don't get called up out of your bed every morning to learn that a
gentleman who had been walking about your tulip beds yesterday afternoon
had been barbarously murdered during the night in a house but a few
yards away. Nor is it pleasant to face the likelihood of getting your
name and your residence mentioned in the daily papers in connection with
a police affair, and to know that before nightfall every groom,
washerwoman, and chambermaid within a fifty-mile radius will have read
exactly what the interior of your home is like, exactly what you wore
when "our representative" called, and will know a good deal more about
you than you ever knew about yourself.
"Begging pardon, madam, but a gentleman----" began Johnston, but was
suffered to get no further.
"If it is a reporter I will not see him," interrupted his mistress with
a decisive wave of the hand. "You know very well that your master and
Mr. Harry have gone over to the scene of the abominable affair to
ascertain if there is or is not any likelihood of its being a case of
mistaken identity; and you ought to know better, Johnston, than to admit
strangers of any sort during their absence."
"Your pardon, madam, but nobody has called--at least at the door,"
replied Johnston with grave politeness. "The gentleman in question is
asking over the telephone to speak with Miss Lorne."
"With me?" exclaimed Ailsa, turning around in the recess of the big bay
window of the morning room where she had been standing with her arm
about Lady Katharine Fordham and looking anxiously down the drive which
led to the Grange gates. "Did you say that somebody was asking over the
telephone for _me_, Johnston? Thank you! I will answer the call
directly."
"My dear, do you think that wise? Do you think it discreet?" said Mrs.
Raynor rather anxiously. "Consider what risks you run. It may be a
reporter--I am told that they are up to all sorts of tricks--and to be
trapped into giving an interview in spite of one's self---- Dearest, you
must not let yourself be dragged into this abominable affair."
"I think it will be a clever man who can do that against my will--and
over the telephone," replied Ailsa gayly. "I shan't be gone more than a
minute or two, Kathie dear; and while I'm away, you might get your hat
and be ready for a stroll in the grounds when I come back. And you, too,
Mrs. Raynor, if you will. The weather is glorious, and one might as well
spend the time waiting for the General's and Mr. Harry's return in the
open air as cooped up here at half-past nine o'clock on a brilliant
April morning."
"My dear, you are wonderful, positively wonderful," said Mrs. Raynor
admiringly. "How _do_ you maintain your composure under such trying
circumstances? Look at Katharine and me--both of us shaking like the
proverbial aspen leaf and looking as washed out as though neither of us
had slept a wink all night; and you as fresh and serene as the morning
itself. No, I don't think I will go out, thank you. There may be people
with cameras you know; and to be snapshotted for the edification of the
readers of some abominable halfpenny paper----"
Ailsa did not wait to hear the conclusion of the remark, but slipped
out, went hastily to the library and the telephone, and lost not a
moment in making her presence known to the caller at the other end of
the line. She had barely spoken three words into the receiver, however,
when she gave a little start, eyes and lips were involved in a radiant
smile, and her face became all red and warm with sudden blushes.
"Yes, yes, of course I recognize your voice!" she said in answer to a
query unheard by any ears but hers. "How wonderful you are! You find out
everything. I had meant to write and tell you, but we came up so
unexpectedly and---- What! Yes, I can hear you very distinctly. Pardon?
Yes. I am listening." Then letting her voice drop off into silence she
stood very, very still, with ever-widening eyes, lips parted, and a look
of great seriousness steadily settling down over her paling countenance.
She had said that she would be absent for but a minute or two; it was
five or six, however, before she came back, to find Lady Katharine and
Mrs. Raynor just as she had left them.
"No, it wasn't a reporter," she said gayly in response to Mrs. Raynor's
inquiring look. "It was a dear old friend"--blushing rosily--"a Mr.
Philip Barch, whom I first met through my uncle, Sir Horace Wyvern, in
the days before his second marriage. Mr. Barch has asked if he may be
permitted to call this morning, and I have taken the liberty of saying
that he may."
"Take a further one, dear, and ask him to stop to luncheon when he
comes," said Mrs. Raynor. "When a girl blushes like that over the mere
mentioning of a man's name---- Oh, well, I wasn't always fifty-two, my
dear, and I flatter myself that I know the duties of a hostess."
Miss Lorne's only response was another and a yet more radiant blush and
an immediate return to the side of the slim, dark girl standing in the
recess of the window.
"Kathie, you are positively lazy," she said. "You haven't budged an inch
since I left, and I distinctly asked you to get your hat."
"I know it," admitted Lady Katharine. "But, Ailsa, dear, I simply
couldn't. I am afraid Uncle John and Harry may return, and you know how
anxious I am."
"Still, Kathie, staying in will make no difference," said Ailsa gently,
"and you will soon know when they arrive."
Reluctantly Lady Katharine let herself be piloted through the open
French windows and out into the grounds, ablaze with flowers.
"I should think Geoffrey would be here, too," said Ailsa, with a swift
glance at her companion's pale face. "He must have heard the news by
this time, but something has evidently delayed him."
A wave of scarlet surged into Lady Katharine's face.
"Oh, if only he would!" she muttered. "I am so tired----"
"I daresay, dear," said Ailsa sympathetically. "You did not sleep well,
darling, did you?"
"Yes, but I did--that's just the strange thing," said Lady Katharine
quickly. "What made you think not, Ailsa?"
"Well, for one thing, I thought I heard your door open and shut in the
night. I came within an ace of getting up to see whether you were ill,
but fell asleep again myself."
Her companion looked puzzled. "It must have been a mistake on your part,
Ailsa. I fell asleep almost directly my head touched the pillow, and
slept like a log until morning. But don't let's talk about last night."
She turned impulsively to Ailsa, her voice thrilling with emotion. "It's
no use," she said. "I simply can't feel sorry over it. I know I ought.
Death is always horrible, and such a death!" She shuddered
involuntarily. "But you don't know what a release it is to me. If this
had not happened, I think I should have died----"
Ailsa pressed her arm in silent sympathy, but before she could speak
Mrs. Raynor appeared on the scene. She had guarded herself against
attacks of possible snapshotters by carrying an open parasol, and Ailsa
was glad to change the topic of conversation.
It was some twenty minutes later, when they were still strolling in the
gardens, that a taxicab halted at the lodge gates, and they saw a tall,
slim figure arrayed in an exceedingly well-cut morning suit, with a rose
in his buttonhole and shiny top hat on his closely cropped fair head,
advancing up the drive toward them with that easy grace and perfect
poise which mutely stands sponsor for the thing called breeding.
"My dears!" began Mrs. Raynor admiringly, "what a distinguished looking
man!" She had time to say no more, for Ailsa, with a face like a rose,
had gone to meet the newcomer--who quickened his steps at sight of her
and was now well within earshot--and was greeting him as a woman greets
but one man ever.
"My dear," said Mrs. Raynor to Lady Katharine, in a carefully lowered
tone, "if I know anything, you will be parting with that dear girl's
companionship for good and all before the summer is over. Look at the
man's eyes: they are positively devouring her. Of course we shall have
to remain to welcome him, but I think we shall earn their gratitude if
we leave them to themselves as soon as we decently can."
A few minutes later the opportunity to do this was offered her; and
having lingered just long enough to be introduced to "Mr. Philip Barch"
and to become even more impressed with him at close quarters as not only
a man good to look at, but as an apt and easy conversationalist, she
suddenly remembered that she and Lady Katharine had promised to gather
some hyacinths for the lunch table, and forthwith spirited her away.
Cleek followed her with his eyes as long as she remained in sight, then
he turned to Ailsa. "A very tender and sensitive girl I should say, Miss
Lorne, although she bears herself so well under the cross of last
night's tragedy. I see by your manner of looking at her that you are
attached to her in many ways."
"Not in many, but in all, Mr. Cleek. She is the dearest girl in the
world."
"We won't go into that, otherwise we should disagree for the first time
in the whole course of our acquaintance. Let me thank you for adhering
so closely to all that I asked over the telephone. I didn't mean to, at
first. My original idea was to come here unknown to all, even to you;
but when I came to think over it, it seemed so disloyal, so
underhanded, as if I didn't trust you in all things, _always_--that I
simply couldn't bring myself to do it."
She looked up at him with grave sweet eyes--the eyes that had lit him
back from the path to destruction, that would light him up to the gates
of heaven evermore--and smiled on him, bewildered.
"I am afraid I do not follow you," she said. "I don't quite grasp what
you mean. Oh!" with sudden fear, "if you thought from my cry of surprise
when I recognized your voice over the telephone, that I was not glad----
Why, I was going to write to you this morning. But I expected it to be
Geoffrey Clavering asking for Kathie, you know----"
The name brought a ridge between Cleek's brows as of a sudden
disconcerting thought.
"Geoffrey Clavering? But he has been over here, this morning, has he
not?" he asked anxiously.
"No, he has not, and that is what seems so strange," said Ailsa.
"Did he write no note to Lady Katharine then--send her no message, Miss
Lorne?"
"No. I see that surprises you, Mr. Cleek, as, to be perfectly frank with
you, it surprises me. I can't make it out. I know that his whole life is
bound up in Kathie, as hers is bound up in him. I know that it nearly
drove him frantic when he was told their engagement would have to come
to an end; so one would naturally think that when there is a rumour that
the man who came between them is dead----And he _must_ have heard by
this time."
"Miss Lorne, let me tell you something," said Cleek gravely. "Geoffrey
Clavering does know of the murder. He has known of it since twelve
o'clock last night, to my certain knowledge."
"Mr. Cleek! And yet he has made no move to communicate with Lady
Katharine! But"--with sudden hopefulness--"perhaps he wishes to make
absolutely sure; perhaps the identity of the murdered man is not yet
wholly established! Perhaps it is not really the Count de Louvisan after
all."
"It _is_ the Count de Louvisan, Miss Lorne! That was settled beyond all
question last night."
"And Geoffrey Clavering knew it then?"
"And Geoffrey Clavering knew it then--yes! The man slain is, or rather
was, the one known as the Count de Louvisan; on his dead body numbers
whose total make up the sum of nine were marked; and--I fancy you
remember what Geoffrey Clavering threatened when the fellow went to
Clavering Close last night."
Ailsa looked at him, her eyes dilating, the colour draining slowly out
of her cheeks and lips. It was impossible not to grasp the significance
of these two circumstances, one of which--the mysterious markings on the
dead man's body--she now heard of for the first time.
"Oh, Mr. Cleek, oh!" she said faintly. "You surely can't think---- A
dear lovable boy like that! You can't believe that Geoffrey Clavering
had anything to do with it?"
"I hope not, for, frankly, I like the boy. But one thing is certain: if
_he_ didn't kill the man, he knows who did; knows, too, that there is a
woman implicated in the crime."
"A woman! Oh, Mr. Cleek, a--a woman?"
"Yes--perhaps two women!"
"Women and--and a deed of violence, a deed of horror, like that? No!
Women couldn't. They would be fiends, not women. I hold too high an
estimate of my sex to let you call them that! And for him, for Geoffrey
Clavering, there is but one woman in all the world! Even you shan't hint
it of _her_! No, not even you."
"Hush! I am hinting nothing. Now that I have seen Lady Katharine I would
almost as soon think evil of you as of her."
There was a little summerhouse close at hand. He saw that she was faint,
shocked, overcome, and gently led her to it, loathing himself that even
for one moment he had brought pain within touch of her.
"Who knows better than I how false appearances may be?" he said. "Who
should be less likely to take suspicious circumstances for proof?"
"Oh, but to suspect, even to _suspect_, Kathie--the dearest and the
sweetest girl on earth."
"Again I dispute that!" he threw back with repressed vehemence. "And
again I declare that I am not swayed by facts, black as they may be,
black as they undoubtedly are. If I believed, should I come here and
openly tell you of these things? My duty is to the law. Should I not
carry proofs there if I believed that they were proofs? But my faith is
as a rock. Shall I prove it to you? Then look! I know that you will tell
me the truth; and it is because of that, because in my heart I know it
is a truth which you can and will face openly and with no cause for
fear, that I have declined to hold this thing of sufficient importance
to be called a clue, and as such to be handed over to the police. Miss
Lorne--Ailsa--tell me, will you--have you ever seen this thing before?"
While he was speaking his hand had gone to his pocket and come forth
tightly shut. Now he opened his closed fingers and let her see that
there was a scrap of pink chiffon edged with rose coloured stitchery
lying on his open palm. Her eyes, fixed earnestly upon his face
heretofore, dropped to the gauzy fragment held out to her, and a ridge
dug itself between her level brows.
CHAPTER NINE
BLIND GROPING
Ailsa Lorne gave a little start as she examined the fragment.
"I thought at first that it was torn from my own dress," she said
frankly, looking up at him, "for, as it happens, I was wearing a pink
dress, but not quite of this shade. I will show it to you if you like."
"There is no need, Miss Lorne," said Cleek, his eyes shining. "If you
tell me that you were not at Gleer Cottage last night, then there is no
more to be said," and with a little laugh of sheer happiness he
carefully replaced the bit of chiffon in his pocketbook. "Just one more
question, please, Miss Lorne. Tell me: has Lady Katharine a certain kind
of bracelet to which there is attached a small capsule by a link of
gold, and which smells adorably of violets?"
"Yes. Anybody that knows her could tell you that. Her father, Lord St.
Ulmer, brought it to her from South America. He had her name and the St.
Ulmer arms engraved upon it. At least, upon what you have called the
'capsule,' which contains some highly concentrated perfume that makes
the whole room fragrant whenever she removes a tiny gold stopper from
the delightful thing."
"Thank you! I supposed as much. Now will you tell me, Miss Lorne, how
long it is since Lady Katharine lost that little golden capsule from her
bracelet? Was it, as I am hoping, on the day when you visited Gleer
Cottage in company with her, or since?"
"What a strange question. She hasn't lost it at all. At least, she has
made no mention of having done so, as I am sure she would if it _had_
been lost. Always, of course, providing it wasn't lost without her
knowledge. At any rate, she wore it last night when we went to Clavering
Close. I know that, because I remarked at the time that she had better
let a jeweller look at it, as the ring of the scent globe was very
nearly worn through."
"Was that before you left the Grange or after?"
"After--a long while after--at Clavering Close; in fact, while we were
taking off our wraps preparatory to going down to the drawing-room."
"Hum-m-m!" said Cleek, puckering up his lips and looking grave. "You are
establishing a very unpleasant fact by that statement. It proves that,
in spite of your belief to the contrary, Lady Katharine revisited Gleer
Cottage last night, and that, too, _after_ the affair at Clavering
Close."
"How perfectly absurd! Why, she wasn't out of my sight for a single
instant."
"Nevertheless, she certainly visited Gleer Cottage last night," repeated
Cleek with calm persistence. "I know that beyond all possible doubt,
Miss Lorne; for I myself found the capsule of that bracelet there,
crushed and broken, but still showing that the St. Ulmer arms and the
name 'Katharine' had been engraved upon it. Don't look at me like that,
please, or you will make me hate myself for having to tell you this."
"But I tell you it is impossible," she still protested. "I tell you she
was never out of my sight for one instant from the time we left this
house to the time we returned. No, not for one, Mr. Cleek, up to the
very moment she left me to go to bed."
"Just so. But after that?"
"After that? After----" she began; and then stopped, and grew very pale
and very, very still, for there had come to her a recollection of that
moment when, as she had said, she fancied she heard Lady Katharine's
door open and shut in the night when all the house was still.
"And after that?" repeated Cleek, driving the question home.
"How should I know?" she gave back, in something akin to panic. "How
could I? We do not sleep together. But"--with sudden brightening--"this
I do know, however: the bracelet was still on her wrist and the scent
globe still attached to it, even then. I saw it with my own eyes."
"A clear proof that, as the capsule was dropped after that time, she
left the house last night without your knowledge, Miss Lorne."
"I can't believe it; I will not believe it!" protested Ailsa loyally. "I
know that she did not! I _know_!"
"How?"
"It is likely that you have not heard it, but Katharine is an
accomplished violoncellist, Mr. Cleek. She loves her instrument, and in
times of sorrow or distress she flies to it for comfort, and plays and
plays until her nerves are soothed. Last night, after she left me, I
heard her playing in her room."
"For long?"
"No. Of a sudden something went snap and the music ceased. She opened
her door and called across the passage to me: 'Ailsa, pray for me. I am
so wretched, so abandoned by fortune, that even the solace of my 'cello
is denied me. I have broken the A-string and have not another in the
house. Good-night, dear. I wish I could break the String of Life as
easily!' After that she closed and locked the door, and I heard her go
to bed."
_The A-string!_
Cleek turned away his head and took his chin between his thumb and
forefinger. _The A-string!_ And it was with a noose of catgut that the
Count de Louvisan had been strangled!
"I'll not believe that she left the house," went on Miss Lorne. "She is
the soul of honour, the very embodiment of truth, and she told me
herself that she 'slept like a log until morning.' If she had gone out
after I left her, after I fell asleep----"