ami_; and I shall remember me last night vair well. And now since
_m'sieur_ shall haf so good a recollection of zis party--_voila_! He may
tell me what he remembers of this one also."
Then in a flash the face was gone, and another--changed utterly and
completely--was there.
"Barch!" exclaimed young Clavering, shrinking back from the man as
though he were uncanny. "And you are that man--Philip Barch, Ailsa
Lorne's friend? You are that man, too?"
"Yes, I am that man, too," replied Cleek. "I have made these silent
confessions that you may know--that you may understand before I make
another and equally candid one. If I had chosen not to let you know the
real identity of Philip Barch, you have seen how easily I could have
kept that secret. Now that you know me you will understand how honestly
and straightforwardly I intend to deal with you. You asked me why I
wanted you to disappear for a night, and I have told you that I may
prove to my own satisfaction whether you are what I hope you are, or are
merely a clever actor and an accomplished liar. If what you said about
your stepmother's reason for following you out upon the Common last
night is as true as you would have had Lady Katharine Fordham believe,
her interest in you must be an abnormal one; and if it is as great as
you represent--ah, well, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Not
all the powers on this earth will be able to keep her indoors should you
be mysteriously missing. But if it is not so great, if you have lied
about that as about other things, Lady Clavering will not come out in
quest of you herself, but will leave that to her husband and her
servants; and I shall know then that you have simply been playing a
part--that you have something to hide and some desperate reason for
hiding it. Now, then, knowing what threatens, knowing what I am up to,
knowing what trap has been set for you, will you give me your parole and
go up to London to-night and face the issue of that act like a man?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A CLEW FROM THE AIR
Cleek did not have to wait for his answer.
"Yes, certainly I will," said Geoff instantly. "If there's nothing more
than that behind it, I'll give you my word of honour and go this moment
if you want me to do so."
"And you will say nothing, absolutely nothing, to any living soul about
this--about me--about anything that has happened here?"
Young Clavering gave his promise promptly; and, with equal promptness,
Cleek walked forward, unlocked the handcuff, and set him free, leading
him back along the passage to the stone steps, and being careful as they
passed through the cell where the murdered Common keeper's clothing lay
that no ray from the torch should disclose his ghastly find. At the foot
of the stone staircase he came to a halt.
"Now go," he said, "and remember that I trust you. Come back when you
like to-morrow and make what explanation you please regarding your
absence. I've trusted you with one or two secrets, and I will trust you
with another: there's good proof, my lad, that what you said about Lady
Katharine Fordham being at Gleer Cottage last night is the truth in
spite of her denial. She dropped the scent capsule from her bracelet
there, and I found it a few minutes before my boy Dollops found you
hiding in the hollow tree. No, no, no! Don't get excited. There's
nothing in that discovery to prove the lady guilty of any part in this
abominable crime. Last night I was inclined to think that that little
golden globe pointed toward her having been at least a confederate;
to-day I have changed my mind, and since I overheard that conversation
between you two, I have come to the conclusion that it proves her
absolutely innocent of any complicity whatsoever."
"But how, Mr. Barch?-- I mean Cleek. You know that she was there; you
know that I, too, was there. It's no use denying that since you're
'Monsieur de Lesparre' as well as what you are. You heard her deny her
presence. You heard her say that she did not show me into the room where
De Louvisan's body was. But she did; as God hears me, she did, though
I'll never believe her guilty"--this in a last wild effort to divert
suspicion from her--"whatever I might have said, whatever you may have
discovered against her."
"I have just said there is nothing against her," said Cleek, with one of
his curious smiles. "I have come to the conclusion that she is not a
criminal, but a martyr. I don't believe she has any more idea of who
murdered De Louvisan, or why, than has a child in its cradle. I know you
say that she showed you into the room where the dead man's body was;
but I don't believe, my friend, that she was there. I don't believe she
ever saw him again after she left Clavering Close, and I do not believe
that she had the slightest idea that the man--either living or dead--was
in Gleer Cottage when she led you into it."
"Then why did she lead me into it? Why did she run away and leave me
there with his dead body? Where did she go? What did she mean by saying
what she did about showing me something that would light the way back to
the land of happiness?"
"I hope to be able to tell you all that to-morrow, my friend," replied
Cleek. "Indeed, I may be able to tell it this very night; for if there
is anything in the Loisette theory of recurring events acting upon a
weary brain and producing similar results when----No matter, we shall
know all about that later. In spite of the fact that that scent capsule
was dropped in the room where the murder was committed, and dropped
before you were shown in there, as proved by the fact that you crushed
it beneath your feet and carried the odour of it from the house with
you, I do not believe that Lady Katharine knew one word of De Louvisan's
death until the news of it was carried to her this morning. There!
That's the last 'secret' I am going to let you into for the present.
Now, then, off with you; and not a word to anybody before to-morrow. But
one last thing"--this as Geoffrey began to run up the steps toward the
open trapdoor--"if you should happen by any chance to catch a glimpse of
Mr. Harry Raynor while you are in town to-night, keep an eye on
him--see whom he meets, see where he goes, and mind that he does not see
you."
"Harry Raynor? I say"--eagerly--"do you think it possible that that
bounder----"
"No, I don't! A worm and a snake are two entirely different things. That
young gentleman never killed anything but time and the respect of decent
men in all the days of his worthless life. He hasn't the necessary grit.
But watch him if you run foul of him. He may know something that is
worth while finding out; and, besides that, somebody or something called
him away very suddenly this afternoon before I could get a chance to
sound him on a most important subject. He knows a person who is very
likely to be somewhere at the bottom of this case, that's all. Good-bye.
And--oh, stop a bit! Just one more word: Happen to know anybody besides
Mr. Harry Raynor who is addicted to the use of black cosmetic for the
moustache?"
"Yes," said Geoffrey, pausing halfway up the staircase, and caught by
the artfulness of this apparently artless question. "Know two other men.
Why?"
"Oh, nothing in particular; only that I'd like to borrow some. Who are
the two men in question?"
"Lord St. Ulmer, for one."
"Lord St.---- Hum-m-m! Just so! Just so! And the other; who's he?"
"Why, my dad. Used it for years, bless his bully old heart!"
"Your---- Good-bye!" said Cleek with a curious "snap" in his voice;
then he faced round suddenly and walked back down the underground
passage and left Geoff to go his way.
But if he said nothing his thoughts were busy; and this new move in the
game, this new fish in the net, troubled him a great deal. He could not
but remember that Sir Philip Clavering was this young man's adoring
father; that he was also Lady Clavering's husband, who, as he had just
heard from her stepson, was an Austrian; that the pseudo Count de
Louvisan was also an Austrian, and after his unexpected appearance at
Clavering Close last night Lady Clavering had had a sudden attack of
illness, had left her guests at supper and retired to her own room, and
afterward had gone out on the Common and had bribed the keeper not to
mention having seen her.
Why did she go out? Of course that was all nonsense about her being
anxious over Geoff; but, still--why? To meet some one? You never could
be quite sure, quite safe, in dealing with those Continental women.
After all, morality is merely a question of geography. Suppose--simply
by way of argument, you know, nothing more--suppose the lady had had a
love affair years before Sir Philip Clavering had met and married her?
Suppose when De Louvisan turned up she had recognized in him, and he had
recognized in her---- Quite so! Quite so! De Louvisan, an adventurer
pure and simple, would be likely to make capital out of a hold obtained
over the wife of an English millionaire. It would be imperative for her
to see him at once and buy his silence if she could. Of course! Of
course! Gleer Cottage was within easy reaching distance; Gleer Cottage
was known to be absolutely deserted; and if one wanted to have a secret
interview---- And to carry the hypothesis further, suppose Sir Philip
Clavering, anxious over his wife's condition, should run up to her room
to inquire about her, and, finding her gone, should trace her movements,
go out after her, follow until he came to Gleer Cottage; and as soon as
she and De Louvisan had parted---- Well, there you are! Then, too, Sir
Philip Clavering was addicted to the use of black cosmetic! And the
marks on the dead man's shirt front were---- Heigho! You never know! You
never know! But for the boy's sake and for the sake of Narkom's fondness
for both----
His thoughts dropped off. He had come again to the cell where the
murdered keeper's clothes lay, just where he had flung them down when
the coming of Geoff and Lady Katharine had attracted his attention and
turned his interest in another direction. Now he had time to turn to
them again.
If, by any chance, it really had been Sir Philip Clavering, how came
these clothes buried in the grounds of Wuthering Grange? Of course the
General's "ruin" was famous all over the district; and, naturally, if a
man of Sir Philip Clavering's keen wits were the assassin, he would take
means to get the things hidden away as expeditiously as possible, and as
far away from his own place as circumstances would permit. He wouldn't
know, of course, that circumstances would arise that would point to an
occupant of Wuthering Grange--Lady Katharine--being implicated and any
search of the place result, and he would be quite free from wishing to
lead the trail in that direction. Of course, when he learned that he had
done so--as learn everybody must in a day or two--he would do his best
to get rid of the things, and when that happened---- Ah, well! poor
devil, it would be the end of one rope and the beginning of another.
It was an old, old trick of the assassin's, this burying things and then
harking back to the spot either to remove them or to see if they were
safe; and this assassin, whosoever he might prove to be, would be sure
to follow the universal precedent. When he did----! Cleek bundled the
clothing back into the hole, took up the spade, shovelled back the
earth, and made the spot look as nearly as possible as it had been when
he stumbled upon it.
"A little bit of spy work for Dollops," was his unspoken thought. "He
can spend a few days down here very profitably, and be ready to give the
signal when the man comes."
He put the spade back in the place where he had found it, and, facing
about, went up the stone steps, and after replacing the movable slab,
made his way out of the ruin; for it was now time to be about the task
of dressing for dinner and what promised to be an eventful evening.
Should he take Miss Lorne into his confidence or not? Yes, he fancied
that he would. For one thing, she knew Lady Clavering and he did not,
and as it would be necessary for him to get out after dark and prowl
about the Common to learn if her ladyship did or did not join in the
search for the missing Geoff----Hullo! What the dickens was that?
A very simple thing, indeed, when he came to investigate it. By this
time he had come abreast of the house itself, and was moving along under
the shadow of the deepening twilight when the circumstances which sent
his thoughts off from the plans he was mapping out occurred. It was
nothing more nor less than the fluttering down through the still air of
a soft flaky substance, which struck him in the face and then dropped
softly upon his sleeve--a small charred scrap of burnt paper. He looked
up, and saw that it had fallen from other charred scraps that clung to
the prickly branches of a huge monkey-puzzle tree close to the angle
where a recently added wing joined the main structure of the house.
A window was above that tree, and a chimney was above that window.
Hum-m-m! Second window from the angle--Lord St. Ulmer's room. What was
Lord St. Ulmer burning papers for? What sort of papers had he that it
was necessary for him--a supposed invalid--to get out of bed and
destroy? And why in the world should he choose this particular day to do
it? And a lot of paper, too, by George! judging from the quantity of
charred scraps clinging to that monkey-puzzle. What an ass the man was
to burn things when there was no wind to carry off the ashes and
when---- He looked down and saw one or two half-burned discs of paper,
which had escaped entire destruction, lying upon the gravel of the path.
[Illustration]
He stooped and picked one up. It was a circular white label, printed on
one side and gummed on the other, just the sort of label which chemists
and proprietors of patent ointments use to affix to the lids of the
round tin boxes containing their wares. The thing was partly burnt away
until, from being originally a complete circle, it was now merely a
"half moon" of white paper with charred fragments clinging to the
fire-bitten gap in it.
He turned the thing over and looked at its printed side. Part of that
printing had been destroyed, but there was still enough of it to show
for what the label had been prepared.
Evidently Lord St. Ulmer had been engaged in burning labels, unused
labels, that had been prepared for boxes containing a patent blacking
for boots, shoes, and leather goods generally.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A BOLD STROKE
Cleek stood a moment holding the burnt label between his thumb and
forefinger and regarding it silently, his face a blank as far as any
expression of his feelings was concerned. Then, of a sudden, his gaze
transferred itself to one of the two other labels which, like this one,
had escaped entire destruction by the fire; and carefully picking them
up, he laid them inside his pocket notebook, gave a casual, offhand
sort of glance at the windows of Lord St. Ulmer's room, and then quietly
resumed his sauntering walk in the direction of the house.
[Illustration]
The twilight was now so rapidly fading that it might be said to be all
but dark when he reached the main entrance to the building and found one
of the footmen busily engaged in lighting up the huge electric
chandelier which served to illuminate the broad hallway of the Grange.
But neither the General nor any of the ladies was visible, all, as he
correctly surmised, being engaged in the matter of dressing for dinner.
"Pardon me, sir," said the footman, turning at the sound of his step as
he came in, "I was just about to step out into the grounds to ascertain
if you might not, by chance, have lost yourself or failed to hear the
dressing gong, sir. It is quite half an hour since Miss Lorne requested
me to be on the lookout for you, and I was getting anxious."
"Extremely kind of you, I must say," said Cleek serenely. "But never
give yourself any uneasiness upon my account so long as I remain here. I
am given to taking my time on all occasions, my man. I think out all the
plots of my novels prowling about in silence and alone, and an
interruption is apt to destroy a train of thought forever." And having
thus given the man an idea that he was an author--and accounted
beforehand for any possible need for prowling about the place when the
others were asleep--he went further, and gave him half a crown to salve
his injured feelings, and won in return for it something which he would
have held cheaply bought at a sovereign.
"Now tell me," he went on, "why did Miss Lorne ask you to be 'on the
lookout' for me? Has anything extraordinary occurred?"
"Oh, no indeed, sir," replied the footman with a full half-crown's worth
of urbanity; the generosity of the gentleman had touched him on his
weakest part. "You see, sir, it being the butler's evening off, and Mr.
Harry having been called away before any arrangements were made with
regard to your sleeping quarters, sir, Miss Lorne requested me to say
that she had spoken to mistress, and you were to have any vacant suite
in the house which might best meet your pleasure, sir. I was to wait
here and conduct you through all the unoccupied ones in the house."
Cleek smiled. Oho! That was it, eh? Well, there was a thoughtful ally
and no mistake! Knowing full well that it would be awkward for him to be
put off into some inconvenient wing of the house, should he have cause
to leave it secretly and to communicate with Dollops and Narkom at any
time, she had taken this step to serve and to assist him. What a woman!
What a gem of a woman she was!
His thoughts worked rapidly, and his mind was made up in a twinkling.
"Quite so, quite so! Very kind and very thoughtful," he said composedly.
"I always prefer the second story of a building--it's a fad of mine,
and Miss Lorne recollects it. So if there are any rooms vacant upon the
second floor----"
"Only one, sir, and it's the least comfortable one in the house, I'm
afraid, being next to that occupied by Lord St. Ulmer."
"Lord St.--oh, ah--yes! That's the gentleman who is ill, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. That's why I spoke of it as being uncomfortable. Butler says
he's a very crochety gentleman. But sick folk are always that, sir; so
maybe you'd be disturbed a deal in the night."
"Hum-m-m! Yes, that is a drawback, certainly. Might take it into his
head to get up and wander about during the night, and so keep one awake.
Does he?"
"I couldn't say, sir; never set eyes on him since he arrived. Nobody in
the house has except master and butler. Don't think he would be likely
to move about much, though, sir, for I've heard his ankle's sprained and
he can't put a foot to the ground. Butler always carries up his meals;
at least, he has done it so far, his lordship having arrived only the
night before last. Like as not I'll have to carry up his dinner
to-night, this being, as I've said, sir, butler's evening off."
Cleek made a mental tally. Then if none of the servants at the Grange
had seen his lordship, with the single exception of Johnston, the
butler---- Quite so, quite so! His lordship wouldn't know what the other
servants were like, so, of course---- He glanced at the footman out of
the tail of his eye. Livery, dark bottle-green--almost black; would pass
for black in anything but a brilliant light. Waistcoat, narrow black and
yellow stripes. No cords, no silver buttons. Hum-m-m! With a
black-and-yellow striped waistcoat and in a none too brilliantly lighted
room--and a sickroom was not likely to be anything else unless the man
was too much of an ass to keep up the illusion by attending to
details--an ordinary suit of evening clothes would do the trick. And he
wouldn't have a doctor and wouldn't see any outsiders, this Lord St.
Ulmer, eh? Oh, well--you never know your luck, my lord; you never do!
Mental processes are more rapid in the action than in the recording. Not
ten seconds had passed from the time the footman ceased speaking when
Cleek answered him.
"Oh, well, if it's a case like that, and his lordship isn't likely to
disturb me by wandering round his room in the night, I dare say I can
risk the rest, as I'm a very sound sleeper. The room's on the second
floor; that's the main thing," he said offhandedly. "So you may show me
to it at once."
"Very good, sir; this way if you please, sir," the footman replied, and
forthwith led him to the room in question.
It was one immediately adjoining that occupied by Lord St. Ulmer, but
unfortunately, having no connection with it, the wall which divided the
two was quite solid. Had there been a door---- But there was not. Cleek
saw at a glance that matters were not to be simplified in that way;
whoever might wish to see into that room must first _get_ into it: there
was no other way.
"All right, this will do; you may go," he said as soon as he was shown
to the place he had chosen; and taking him at his word, the footman
gently closed the door and disappeared. Cleek gave him but a minute or
two to get below stairs, then slipped out on tiptoe and followed,
getting out of the house unseen and running at all speed in the
direction of the stables.
At the angle of the wall he stopped suddenly, and began to whistle
"Kathleen Mavourneen." He hadn't rounded off the third bar before the
wall door clicked and swung open, and Dollops was beside him.
"Kit bag--quick!" whispered Cleek. "Need an evening suit, and the chap
who was going to lend me one went off and forgot all about it. Move
sharp, I'm in a hurry."
"Right ho!" said Dollops, and vanished like a blown-out light. In half a
minute's time he was back again, and the kit bag with him.
"Here you are, gov'ner. Shall I get out the evenin' clothes, and put the
bag back under the hedge, or will you take it with you?"
"I'll take it. There are other things I shall want. Where's Mr. Narkom?"
"Gone back to town, sir--to the Yard. Want him?"
"No, not yet; maybe not to-night at all. Nip off and get yourself
something to eat and be back here by nine o'clock at the latest. I shall
very likely need you. Cut along!" Then he caught up the kit bag, whisked
away with it into the darkness, and five minutes later stood again in
the room which he had so recently left.
Accustomed to rapid dressing, he got into his evening clothes in less
time than it would have taken most men to unpack and lay them out ready
for use when required; and then, taking the half-burnt labels from his
pocketbook, carried them to the light and studied them closely. None was
so big as the one which he had first inspected nor bore so much printed
matter; but fortunately one was a fragment of the exactly opposite side,
so that by joining the two together he was able to make out the greater
part of it.
Clearly, then, the original label, making allowance for what had been
totally destroyed by the flames, must have read:
JETANOLA
AN UNRIVALLED PREPARATION
FOR BOOTS, SHOES, AND ALL LEATHER
GOODS
MANUFACTURED SOLELY BY
FERDINAND LOVETSKI
63 ESSEX ROW
SOHO
After all, the imaginative reporter had not been so far out when he
figured those mysterious markings upon the dead man's shirt bosom to
read "63 Essex Row," an address where one Ferdinand Lovetski once did
manufacture a certain kind of blacking for boots, shoes, etc. Not that
they really did stand for that, of course, or that this ingenious person
had done anything more than work out as a solution to the riddle of the
marks a name and an address that were eventually to come into the
case--as they now had done--but in a totally different manner from what
the author of the theory intended or supposed.
Of two things Cleek was certain beyond all question of error. First:
that the dead man was not Ferdinand Lovetski--not in any way connected
with Ferdinand Lovetski to be precise; second: that the markings on the
shirt were not made with "Jetanola" or any other kind of blacking; and
ingenious as the theory was, he was willing to stake his life that those
marks no more stood for 63 Essex Row than they did for 21 Park Lane. For
one thing, what would be the sense of smearing them on the dead man's
shirt bosom if they merely stood for that? It was all very well for that
imaginative reporter to suggest that it was a sign given by the assassin
to the whole anarchistical brotherhood that a debt of vengeance had been
paid and a traitor punished; but the brotherhood did not need any such
sign. If the man were Lovetski it would know of his death without any
such silly nonsense as that. It knew the men it "marked," and it knew
when those men died, and by whose hand, too; and it did not go about
placarding its victims with clues to their identity or signs of whose
hands had directed the exterminating blow.