Lay: Doin' wot I'm told by my gov'ner. Boss: Mr. 'Amilton Cleek,
_Es_-quire. All other questions I refers to him."
Cleek! The name produced universal excitement. There was not one person
present that had not, at one time or another, heard it and did not
recollect of what it was the synonym. It stood for the Law and the
coming of the Law! And last night a man had been done to death within a
gunshot of this house.
"It is too absurd, too absurd!" said Sir Philip, after a moment,
speaking with a little shaky laugh and looking Dollops up and down with
half-contemptuous interest. "I hope, Raynor, that you----Good heavens
above! What asinine mistakes the law does sometimes make. And it is all
so easily explained. Superintendent Narkom of the Yard will speak for me
if it is necessary. There can, by no shadow of possibility, be anything
to connect me with that abominable case."
It was here that Cleek chose to take part in the affair, and with a
warning glance at Ailsa, who had come up and joined the gathering,
stepped forward and addressed Sir Philip.
"My dear Sir Philip Clavering, allow me to introduce myself," he said
suavely, serene in the confidence that Dollops, hearing, would take the
cue and act accordingly. "My name is Barch; I am at present a guest of
the General's, and I am taking this liberty because I, too, happen to be
a friend of Mr. Narkom's. I have heard him speak of you time and again,
and always with the warmest interest. Perhaps, then, if we question this
young man----" He turned to Dollops, and Dollops looked at him and
never turned a hair! "Boy, what's all this thing about? How came you in
this place, and for what reason?"
"Come in by the garden door, sir, 'arf an hour or so back. Told off by
my gov'ner to lie low and wait for somebody who might come a-sneakin'
about, meanin' to break into the house, I suppose, and with his eye on
the plate."
"I see! Well, better take my advice, my lad, and unlock those handcuffs,
and set this gentleman at liberty before they do come, or you're likely
to have a sharp talking to from Superintendent Narkom. By the way, what
induced you to snap them on him in the first place? You surely do not
expect us to believe that a gentleman of Sir Philip Clavering's standing
was acting suspiciously? What was he doing, if you please, that you
should have gone to such a length?"
"Sneakin' along and feelin' about the bushes like he was huntin' for
somethin'," said Dollops as he unlocked the handcuffs and put them in
his pocket.
"He is quite right in that, Mr. Barch. I _was_ looking for something,"
said Sir Philip, wiping his wrists with his handkerchief, as though to
remove something of the infection with which he felt he had come into
contact. "As a matter of fact, I was looking for my way. I had come into
the grounds from a point where I had never before entered them, and I
was endeavouring to find a path which would lead me to the house. As it
was as black as a pocket, nothing was left me but _to_ feel my way. I
got hopelessly muddled up, and was just telling myself that I would have
done better to make my call in orthodox fashion and by the regular
entrance, when, the first thing I knew, this enterprising young man
jumped out of the dark and pounced on me like a monkey. You see, it was
this way, Raynor," glancing up at the General, who was looking at him
fixedly, and with a curious ridge between his brows, as if, for some
reason, he only half believed him, though for years they had been tried
and trusted friends; "I was in such a dickens of a hurry to see you that
when I came off the Common and found that wall door open----"
"Open? What wall door open?" interposed the General agitatedly.
"The one at the angle of the wall, where your boundary flanks the waste
land between here and the right-of-way across the fields."
"And you found that door open? _Open?_ Why, man alive, it has been
locked and screwed up for years."
"Has it, indeed? Well, it was open to-night, then. As I was saying, when
I found that open, I thought that, possibly, it might be a short cut to
the house, so I dashed in and got into this abominable fix."
"But why did you wish to take a short cut to the house, Clavering? Was
there any reason for such a thing?"
"None but that I was anxious; that I am anxious still, when it comes to
that. About my boy, Geoff, you know."
"About Geoff?"
"Yes, you know how foolish Marise and I are over him. He left to come
over here early this afternoon, and said he would not be long, but he
did not return even for dinner. Of course Marise was disappointed, for
she had said that after so much gloom and depression we must do all that
we could to brighten him up and to appear merry, and even went to the
length of getting out a pink silk frock which he had always admired,
when she dressed for dinner to-night. She was distressed when he didn't
come, and anxiety brought on a splitting headache, so bad, in fact, that
she went to her room to lie down and rest. Later, Celine came down to
tell me she had taken a sleeping draught and there was every likelihood
of her sleeping until morning. I was glad when I heard that, for I knew
how she would worry if she were awake and the boy did not return at a
reasonable hour; and when it crept along to be nine o'clock and after, I
don't mind confessing that I began, myself, to worry."
"Why?" said Cleek, dropping in an unexpected query.
"My dear Mr. Barch, you wouldn't ask that if you knew what a bond of
affection exists between my son and me," Sir Philip replied. And Cleek
heard, or fancied that he heard, the General give a sort of sigh, as if
he were contrasting this man's heir with his own. "Besides, after that
mysterious and abominable affair last night--after a man had been
murdered in this identical neighbourhood, to have my boy out and
alone---- Oh, well, you can understand. I got a bit nervous--a bit
dotty, if you like. I imagined all sorts of things, and when it got to
be half-past nine I set out to walk across the Common to meet him. I
didn't, however, so I suppose he is still here; and in the enjoyment of
Lady Katharine's society and the hope that has so unexpectedly returned
to them both, has forgotten all about the time and the probable worrying
of his silly old dad. That's why I was so anxious to get to the house as
quickly as possible, Raynor, and why I was foolish enough to take what I
fancied might be a short cut. I wanted to be certain that the boy is
still here; I wanted to walk back with him when he goes home. No harm
can possibly come to him then."
Not once during all this had General Raynor's eyes left the man's face,
nor had the faint pallor and the curiously tense look departed from his
own. He stood looking at Sir Philip in intense and unbroken silence, his
lips tightly set, a worried look in his fixed eyes, as if he were trying
to believe this thing and found it difficult to do so. Now, however, he
turned to the assembled servants, ordered them back to the house, made
one or two uneasy turns up and down for a distance of three or four
yards, then halted suddenly and looked into Sir Philip's face again.
"Clavering," he said in his abrupt, direct manner, going straight to the
point, as was his custom. "Clavering, are you sure that you are telling
the truth about this? Are you sure? Will you swear, will you give me
your word of honour, that it was to seek your boy, that and that alone,
which brought you to this place to-night?"
"Raynor! By the Lord Harry, sir----"
"No, don't fly into a passion. Anger is no answer, and an answer is what
I want. A man of honour responds promptly to an appeal to that honour;
and I am asking you on yours if you are telling the truth?"
"On my word of honour, then, I am!" said Sir Philip indignantly.
"And you will swear by it that you came only to meet your son? That you
had no other purpose in coming whatsoever?"
"Yes, decidedly I will swear it. Are you taking leave of your senses,
Raynor? What other reason _could_ I have?"
An expression of intense relief drove that other and darker look from
the General's face and eyes.
"I don't know," he said, fetching a deep sigh; "but I am glad to have
your word for it, glad to say that I accept it. Still, why should I not
ask? Why should I not question everything, any statement, in the face of
to-night?"
"I don't know what you are driving at, I am sure."
"Don't you? Then let me tell you: your boy is not here. He left this
afternoon; came and stayed but a little time, and left so early that
there has been time and to spare for him to get back to Clavering Close
a dozen times over. On the top of that, you tell me that a door in my
garden wall, a door that has been locked up, and screwed up, and even
rusted up, for years was found standing open. And on top of that again,
an emissary of the police, of Scotland Yard, of that man Cleek, is here
in these grounds. Who opened that door? What brings the police to
Wuthering Grange? That is what mystifies me; that is what I want to
know. What brings the police here, of all places in England? Do you
know, Clavering? Do you know, Miss Lorne? Do you know, Mr. Barch?"
"Not the ghost of an idea, I assure you, General," said Cleek serenely.
"Never knew the beggars were here until this young person declared
himself. But, yes, by Jove! We'll have 'em here in full force presently,
I'm afraid, if those sounds go for anything. Coming in answer to that
blessed whistle, I'll lay my life. Here, boy!"--this to Dollops--"nip
off as quickly as you can, and head them off. Tell 'em it's a mistake;
tell 'em you didn't mean to blow that whistle for assistance. Move
sharp; we don't want that lot in here, or---- Hullo! I say, what's the
matter, Sir Philip? A bad turn, is it? Upon my soul, you look as white
as a sheet!"
It was no exaggeration. The moon, coming suddenly out from behind the
clouds at that moment, showed him leaning heavily against a tree and
looking pale as a dead man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT
"My boy?" Sir Philip Clavering made answer, in a wrung voice, a voice
that clearly showed where all his thoughts were, and that he had had
ears for nothing, care for nothing, heart for nothing, from the moment
he had been told that Geoff had left the Grange hours and hours ago.
"What has become of my boy? Where did he go? What has happened to him?
He never came back! He never came back!"
The agony of the man was so intense, so apparent, that Cleek's heart
ached for him, and he made haste to spare him any greater pain.
"Oh, as for that, Sir Philip, you needn't worry an atom," he said. "I
think Miss Lorne has something to tell you about him, and just where he
went, and why he hasn't returned. In fact, I know she has, for he left a
message with her. Went to town on some special matter for Lady Katharine
Fordham, didn't he, and is likely to be very late indeed in returning?"
"Yes," said Ailsa, taking her cue and remembering. "In fact, it is a
matter that may keep him so late it is possible he will stop in town
until morning, Sir Philip. He asked me to send word over to you and
Lady Clavering to relieve you of any possible anxiety; and, indeed, I
should have done so long ago, only----"
"Only that I volunteered to walk over the Common and back with her if
she'd carry the message herself instead of sending it by some one,"
supplemented Cleek, coming to the rescue. "And then, like an idiot, I
sat so long after dinner with young Mr. Raynor that I forgot all about
it until she sent me in word. We were going to start at once, and would
have done so but for this hubbub. Happened to think, however, that as it
was late and the Common very lonely, it would be wisest to carry
something for protection in case of necessity, so ran up to my room to
get a pistol I had given me. That's why you heard me making such a
clatter in running up and down stairs, General, when you popped out of
the library and asked what was up."
The General made no reply, but the expression of his mouth and eyes told
plainly what he thought of a man who had to rely upon firearms for
protection in case of assault by footpads. He gave his shoulders a
significant twitch.
But Sir Philip was too greatly relieved by the good news of his son's
safety to give thought to other details.
"You can't think what a load you've taken off my mind, Mr. Barch," he
said. "I can go home now feeling satisfied. My mind is at rest."
"I wish mine were, then," put in the General. "But to have one's place
invaded--and secretly invaded--by the police! God! If I only knew what
it means. That thing last night, and now this! Who under this roof has
fallen under suspicion--_could_ fall under suspicion? The thing is as
mysterious as it is appalling. Clavering, you know this man Narkom. You
must introduce him to me; he must tell me upon what evidence, what
pretext, this thing has been done. The police do not take action without
_some_ shadow of reason, some good cause, for what they do; and that my
garden door should be secretly unfastened that one of their spies may
enter these grounds---- It is abominable. Why didn't he apply to me for
permission to enter the place if he thought it necessary to do so? I
have my rights as well as any other subject of the king. Why, then,
should he break open my garden door without warrant or privilege and
send his spies in here?"
"Maybe he didn't, General." It was Cleek that spoke. "Come to think of
it, the explanation of that chap who claimed to be attached to the
police was rather fishy, and he was precious sharp about cutting his
lucky when I sent him off. Besides, why _should_ he take orders from
_me_, anyway?"
"My dear Mr. Barch----"
"Catch the point? We've had one sneak thief visit the Grange already,
General. What's the odds that they are not identical? We never knew how
the first one managed to get into the place nor where he went when he
got out of it. Well, then, what about that garden door being the answer?
Why shouldn't it have been he that unfastened it? Why shouldn't this
business of pouncing upon Sir Philip and making an outcry be a clever
dodge to make a safe getaway?"
The General looked up, brightening, as if a load had been lifted from
his shoulders, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"I hadn't thought of that, Mr. Barch," he said, caught by the
feasibility of an argument backed up so plausibly. "We did have a thief
pay us a visit earlier in the evening, to be sure; and, as you say, very
possibly---- Yes, yes, it must be so. There could be no shadow of a
reason for the police coming here, because---- Eh? What's that, Hamer?"
facing round as he heard his name mentioned, and discovering the second
footman, who had just put in an appearance. "Telephone, did you say?"
"Yessir. Somebody asking to speak to Mr. Barch, sir; and I requested him
to hold the line while I came to call the gentleman."
"Somebody calling for me over the telephone?" inquired Cleek, with
sudden deep interest. "You are sure it is for me, Hamer? Sure that the
name was Barch?"
"Yessir, quite. Mr. Philip Barch was the name given, and I was to say
that it's a most important message."
Cleek turned and looked inquiringly at the General.
"Yes, certainly, Mr. Barch, certainly," he said, replying to that look.
"The instrument is in the library, which opens directly off my study.
Hamer will show you the way."
"No, I will," put in Ailsa. "I shall have to be running up to see how
Kathie is, and it will be on my way. Good-night, Sir Philip. Good-night,
General. Come, Mr. Barch, I'll show you the way." She went with him out
of the moonlight in the open to the dark of the shrubbery and the trees
that shut in the path to the house.
"Tell me," she whispered eagerly as they hurried along. "Are you nearer
the end? Is the solution anywhere in sight?"
"I think so," he answered.
"Oh!" with a sharp intaking of the breath. "You found it out at the
garden door, then? You saw the woman and you saw the person she came to
meet?"
"To the contrary, I saw neither. I merely heard the woman speak. It was
a voice I had never heard before. The man said nothing, and never once
showed himself. He might have done both but that they heard you
returning and separated like a shot. But please, we will not speak of
that at present. Wait for me by the shrubbery; I'll tell you a lot when
I meet you there. Just now I am anxious to know who it is that is
telephoning to 'Mr. Philip Barch' and for what. Only two persons outside
of Dollops and yourself know that name and whose identity it covers.
One is Geoffrey Clavering, the other Mr. Narkom. No, please! Don't ask
me any questions now, I can't stop to answer them. But this you may know
if it will ease your mind at all: Lady Katharine Fordham never had
anything to do with it, although she was there. Oh, yes, she was, Miss
Lorne; for all your protestations, I tell you that she was! And, what is
more, I know the man, although I do not as yet know the motive!"
"Oh! You found it out, then, at the garden door?"
"No, I did not. I daren't stop to explain, but believe me, Miss Lorne, I
begin to see light. I only wonder at one thing: What makes Sir Philip
Clavering use black cosmetic? Sheer vanity, I suppose."
"Does he?" cried Ailsa, in surprise.
"Yes, on his moustache. It's wonderful why some of these old men hate
gray moustaches so. Wait for me, I'll be back as quickly as possible,"
and he dived into the house to answer the mysterious telephone call.
Cleek went straight to the library, flashed an inquiring look all round
it as he closed the door, made sure that nobody else was there, and
walking to the telephone took up the receiver and put it to his ear.
"Hallo!" he said somewhat cautiously; then, after a moment: "Yes,
Barch," he added in response to a query from the other end. "What's
that? Speak a little louder, please; I can't hear clearly. And, I say, I
don't recognize your voice. Who are you?"
The voice in question underwent a complete change, showing that the
owner of it had, in the first instance, carefully altered it until sure
of his man, and then over the wire came promptly the two words: "Geoff
Clavering!"
"Eh, what?" exclaimed Cleek, not a little surprised by this revelation,
and not doubting the truth of the statement for an instant now that the
real voice of the speaker sounded. "Why, what the dickens-- I say, where
are you?"
"In London, at the Savoy Hotel, speaking from one of the booths. Got
here twenty minutes ago, and as soon as I registered and got a room, I
hunted up one of the clerks who knew me by sight, and then came in here
and rang you up."
"Why?"
"I wanted you to know that I'd kept faith with you; that I really have
come to London as I promised. If you doubt it, there's the clerk to
prove it any time you like."
"Why, you ripping young---- By George! Well, well! See here: as open
confession's good for the soul, let me say that I don't doubt it, and,
what's more, I never did doubt it, you splendid young pepper pot!"
"Thanks very much, that's jolly nice of you. But listen here,
Mr.--er--Barch. Can't you get word to my pater somehow? He'll worry
himself dotty when midnight comes on and I don't turn up. And I say: how
long have I got to stop up here, anyhow? I hear there's a down train at
four in the morning. Can't I take that, and put on end to the dad's
anxiety as soon as possible?"
"He hasn't any anxiety on the subject whatsoever, my boy. Miss Lorne and
I have seen him, and trumped up a story to cover everything. He doesn't
expect you back until morning. But---- Would you like a pleasant
surprise? Well, you can come back at once if you like and get it. Take
your own time, however; only be sure that you turn up here not later
than twelve, and are waiting just outside the lodge gates of the Grange
when I go there to meet you. What's that? Yes, quite satisfied, quite.
She did come out on the Common to-night, and---- What's that? To look
for you? Yes, of course. What other motive could she have, you silly
fellow? She came out, and your father came out; and--listen and catch
this, Clavering"--sinking his voice--"for it is very important. You
said, did you not, that last night when Lady Katharine took you into
that house she told you she would show you something that would 'light
you back to the land of happiness'?"
"Yes. Those were her words. Why?"
"Well, you be outside the lodge gates at the time I want you, my boy,
and I'll show both of you the way to that land to-night." And he hung up
the receiver before Geoff could say a word.
"The soul of honour, just as I knew he was, the young beggar!" he said,
putting his thoughts into words for once in a way. "A son for any man
to be proud of, that!" And chuckling a little, he prepared to leave the
room.
But as if the sight of that room, with its swinging French window, its
reading desk with an open book upon it and an easy chair beside, brought
back to his memory that other son and that other father, the smile faded
suddenly from his lips, his jaw squared, and a pucker gathered between
his level brows.
What a difference between the two sons of those two men he had left out
there in the grounds! The one clean-lived, clean-minded, honour's very
self. The other a wastrel, a sot, a liar, the consort of evil women and
disreputable men, a poor, paltry worm living in an oak tree's shade.
And to-night the General had wondered why the police should be coming to
Wuthering Grange; what trail from last night's tragedy led to the
threshold of this house! Yet, while he sat here reading, his own son----
Heigho! "'Tis a mad world, my masters," a mad, mad world indeed. Poor
old chap! Poor, blind, unsuspecting old chap, sitting here all alone and
reading! What was it he was reading while his unnatural son was
slandering him to a stranger?
He walked to the reading desk and bent over the open book that lay upon
it, with a pamphlet beside it and a litter of loose papers all round.
"Fruit Culture," by Adolph Bonnaise. And the pamphlet? He took it up to
look at the title page, for the half of it was smothered under loose
papers, one or two of which his act sent fluttering to the floor. The
April number of _The Gardener and Fruit Grower_. Reading of flowers and
of fruits, of Nature's good and beautiful things, and all the while----
Yes, indeed, Shakespeare was right. It _is_ a mad world! Worse than mad:
it is wicked! And the sons of men are the wickedest things in it!
Oh, well, he mustn't stand wasting time here in moralizing and mooning.
Ailsa was waiting.
The papers he had disturbed lay on the floor, close to a half-filled
scrap basket. Unimportant things enough they were: seedsmen's circulars,
soap advertisements, tailors' announcements, all the litter of
loose-leaf insets that are thrust between the covers of monthly
magazines; quite unimportant, and not worth the trouble he was taking to
gather them up and replace them upon the desk. But---- Oh, well, he
shouldn't like the General to think that when he came into the library
to use his telephone he'd been cad enough to look over his papers; so,
of course--That all of them? Any drop into the waste basket by chance?
Perhaps that bit of white paper with the red blob of sealing wax on each
end might have fallen with the rest. He picked it out of the basket,
turned it over, and decided that it hadn't; smelt it, smiled one of his
curious one-sided smiles, and flung it back into the basket.
Even an old soldier may have his foibles and his weaknesses. It is on
record that Bonaparte had a secret love of bonbons; that Washington had
a passion for barley sugar; and that Drake slept always with anise
seeds within easy reach.
He turned away as he tossed the paper back, walked to the door, opened
it, and stepped out. The staircase down which he had run in such hot
haste at the sound of Dollops's whistle was before him. He stopped an
instant and looked up it, then nodded his head in the direction of Lord
St. Ulmer's quarters, and if he had put his thoughts into actual words,
would have said this:
"I'll know your part in it, and I'll see your face by hook or by crook
before this night is over; I promise you that, my man!" Then he turned
again, and went down the hall to the dining-room.
Harry Raynor was still there, lying with his arms sprawled out upon the
table and his head sunk between them.
Cleek stood still and looked at him. Of a certainty, the man had moved
since last he saw him; but whether that movement had been merely the
unconscious stirring of a sleeping man or the fellow had been up and
about in the meantime, it was impossible to say.
Cleek, taking no chances, closed and locked the door, and assuming once
more his "Barch" tone and manner of expression, advanced to his side,
shook him, and said: