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CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
[Illustration: "My only kingdom is here ... in this dear woman's
arms. Walk with me, Ailsa ... as my queen _and_ my wife."]
The International Adventure Library
Three Owls Edition
CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
Detective Stories
by
T. P. Hanshew
Author of "Cleek the Master Detective",
"Cleek's Government Cases" etc.
W. R. Caldwell & Co.
New York
Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian.
Cleek of Scotland Yard
_PROLOGUE_
The Affair of the Man Who Vanished
Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent at Scotland Yard, flung aside
the paper he was reading and wheeled round in his revolving
desk-chair, all alert on the instant, like a terrier that scents a
rat.
He knew well what the coming of the footsteps toward his private
office portended; his messenger was returning at last.
Good! Now he would get at the facts of the matter, and be relieved
from the sneers of carping critics and the pin pricks of overzealous
reporters, who seemed to think that the Yard was to blame, and all
the forces connected with it to be screamed at as incompetents if
every evildoer in London was not instantly brought to book and his
craftiest secrets promptly revealed.
Gad! Let them take on his job, then, if they thought the thing so
easy! Let them have a go at this business of stopping at one's post
until two o'clock in the morning trying to patch up the jumbled
fragments of a puzzle of this sort, if they regarded it as such
child's play--finding an assassin whom nobody had seen and who struck
with a method which neither medical science nor legal acumen could
trace or name. _Then_, by James....
The door opened and closed, and Detective Sergeant Petrie stepped
into the room, removing his hat and standing at attention.
"Well?" rapped out the superintendent, in the sharp staccato of
nervous impatience. "Speak up! It was a false alarm, was it not?"
"No, sir. It's even worse than reported. Quicker and sharper than
any of the others. He's gone, sir."
"Gone? Good God! you don't mean _dead_?"
"Yes, sir. Dead as Julius Caesar. Total collapse about twenty minutes
after my arrival and went off like that"--snapping his fingers and
giving his hand an outward fling. "Same way as the others, only,
as I say, quicker, sir; and with no more trace of what caused it
than the doctors were able to discover in the beginning. That makes
five in the same mysterious way, Superintendent, and not a ghost
of a clue yet. The papers will be ringing with it to-morrow."
"Ringing with it? Can they 'ring' any more than they are doing
already?" Narkom threw up both arms and laughed the thin, mirthless
laughter of utter despair. "Can they say anything worse than they
have said? Blame any more unreasonably than they have blamed? It
is small solace for the overburdened taxpayer to reflect that he
may be done to death at any hour of the night, and that the heads
of the institution he has so long and so consistently supported
are capable of giving his stricken family nothing more in return
than the "Dear me! dear me!" of utter bewilderment; and to prove
anew that the efficiency of our boasted police-detective system
may be classed under the head of "Brilliant Fiction." That sort
of thing, day after day--as if I had done nothing but pile up
failures of this kind since I came into office. No heed of the
past six years' brilliant success. No thought for the manner in which
the police departments of other countries were made to sit up and
to marvel at our methods. Two months' failure and _that_ doesn't
count! By the Lord Harry! I'd give my head to make those newspaper
fellows eat their words--gad, yes!"
"Why don't you, then, sir?" Petrie dropped his voice a tone or
two and looked round over the angle of his shoulder as he spoke;
then, recollecting the time and the improbability of anybody being
within earshot, took heart of grace and spoke up bolder. "There's
no use blinking the fact, Mr. Narkom; it was none of us--none of
the regular force, I mean--that made the record of those years what
it was. That chap Cleek was the man that did it, sir. You know
that as well as I. I don't know whether you've fallen out with
him or not; or if he's off on some secret mission that keeps him
from handling Yard matters these days. But if he isn't, take my
advice, sir, and put him on this case at once."
"Don't talk such rot!" flung out Narkom, impatiently. "Do you think
I'd have waited until now to do it if it could be done? Put him on
the case, indeed! How the devil am I to do it when I don't know
where on earth to find him? He cleared out directly after that
Panther's Paw case six months ago. Gave up his lodgings, sacked
his housekeeper, laid off his assistant, Dollops, and went the
Lord knows where and why."
"My hat! Then that's the reason we never hear any more of him in Yard
matters, is it? I wondered! Disappeared, eh? Well, well! You don't
think he can have gone back to his old lay--back to the wrong 'uns
and his old 'Vanishing Cracksman's' tricks, do you, sir?"
"No, I don't. No backslider about that chap, by James! He's not built
that way. Last time I saw him he was out shopping with Miss Ailsa
Lorne--the girl who redeemed him--and judging from their manner
toward each other, I rather fancied--well, never mind! That's got
nothing to do with you. Besides, I feel sure that if they had, Mrs.
Narkom and I would have been invited. All he said was that he was
going to take a holiday. He didn't say why, and he didn't say where.
I wish to heaven I'd asked him. I could have kicked myself for not
having done so when that she-devil of a Frenchwoman managed to slip
the leash and get off scot free."
"Mean that party we nabbed in the house at Roehampton along with
the Mauravanian baron who got up that Silver Snare fake, don't you,
sir? Margot, the Queen of the Apaches. Or, at least, that's who you
declared she was, I recollect."
"And that's who I still declare she was!" rapped in Narkom, testily,
"and what I'll continue to say while there's a breath left in me.
I never actually saw the woman until that night, it is true, but
Cleek told me she was Margot; and who should know better than
he, when he was once her pal and partner? But it's one of the
infernal drawbacks of British justice that a crook's word's as good
as an officer's if it's not refuted by actual proof. The woman
brought a dozen witnesses to prove that she was a respectable
Austrian lady on a visit to her son in England; that the motor in
which she was riding broke down before that Roehampton house about
an hour before our descent upon it, and that she had merely been
invited to step in and wait while the repairs were being attended
to by her chauffeur. Of course such a chauffeur was forthcoming
when she was brought up before the magistrate; and a garage-keeper
was produced to back up his statement; so that when the Mauravanian
prisoner 'confessed' from the dock that what the lady said was
true, that settled it. _I_ couldn't swear to her identity, and
Cleek, who could, was gone--the Lord knows where; upon which the
magistrate admitted the woman to bail and delivered her over to the
custody of her solicitors pending my efforts to get somebody
over from Paris to identify her. And no sooner is the vixen set at
large than--presto!--away she goes, bag and baggage, out of the
country, and not a man in England has seen hide nor hair of her
since. Gad! if I could but have got word to Cleek at that time--just
to put him on his guard against her. But I couldn't. I've no more
idea than a child where the man went--not one."
"It's pretty safe odds to lay one's head against a brass farthing as
to where the woman went, though, I reckon," said Petrie, stroking
his chin. "Bunked it back to Paris, I expect, sir, and made for her
hole like any other fox. I hear them French 'tecs are as keen to get
hold of her as we were, but she slips 'em like an eel. Can't lay
hands on her, and couldn't swear to her identity if they did. Not one
in a hundred of 'em's ever seen her to be sure of her, I'm told."
"No, not one. Even Cleek himself knows nothing of who and what she
really is. He confessed that to me. Their knowledge of each other
began when they threw in their lot together for the first time, and
ceased when they parted. Yes, I suppose she did go back to Paris,
Petrie--it would be her safest place; and there'd be rich pickings
there for her and her crew just now. The city is _en fete_, you know."
"Yes, sir. King Ulric of Mauravania is there as the guest of the
Republic. Funny time for a king to go visiting another nation, sir,
isn't it, when there's a revolution threatening in his own? Dunno
much about the ways of kings, Superintendent, but if there was a
row coming up in _my_ house, you can bet all you're worth I'd be
mighty sure to stop at home."
"Diplomacy, Petrie, diplomacy! he may be safer where he is. Rumours
are afloat that Prince What's-his-name, son and heir of the late
Queen Karma, is not only still living, but has, during the present
year, secretly visited Mauravania in person. I see by the papers
that that ripping old royalist, Count Irma, is implicated in the
revolutionary movement and that, by the king's orders, he has been
arrested and imprisoned in the Fort of Sulberga on a charge of
sedition. Grand old johnny, that--I hope no harm comes to him. He
was in England not so long ago. Came to consult Cleek about some
business regarding a lost pearl, and I took no end of a fancy to
him. Hope he pulls out all right; but if he doesn't--oh, well, we
can't bother over other people's troubles--we've got enough of
our own just now with these mysterious murders going on, and the
newspapers hammering the Yard day in and day out. Gad! how I wish
I knew how to get hold of Cleek--how I wish I did!"
"Can't you find somebody to put you on the lay, sir? some friend of
his--somebody that's seen him, or maybe heard from him since you
have?"
"Oh, don't talk rubbish!" snapped Narkom, with a short, derisive
laugh. "Friends, indeed! What friends has he outside of myself? Who
knows him any better than I know him--and what do I know of him, at
that? Nothing--not where he comes from; not what his real name may
be; not a living thing but that he chooses to call himself Hamilton
Cleek and to fight in the interest of the law as strenuously as he
once fought against it. And where will I find a man who has 'seen'
him, as you suggest--or would know if he had seen him--when he has
that amazing birth gift to fall back upon? _You_ never saw his
real face--never in all your life. _I_ never saw it but twice, and
even I--why, he might pass me in the street a dozen times a day and
I'd never know him if I looked straight into his eyes. He'd come
like a shot if he knew I wanted him--gad, yes! But he doesn't; and
there you are."
Imagination was never one of Petrie's strong points. His mind moved
always along well-prepared grooves to time-honoured ends. It found
one of those grooves and moved along it now.
"Why don't you advertise for him, then?" he suggested. "Put a
Personal in the morning papers, sir. Chap like that's sure to read
the news every day; and it's bound to come to his notice sooner
or later. Or if it doesn't, why, people will get to knowing that the
Yard's lost him and get to talking about it and maybe he'll learn
of it that way."
Narkom looked at him. The suggestion was so bald, so painfully
ordinary and commonplace, that, heretofore, it had never occurred to
him. To associate Cleek's name with the banalities of the everyday
Agony Column; to connect _him_ with the appeals of the scullery
and the methods of the raw amateur! The very outrageousness of the
thing was its best passport to success.
"By James, I believe there's something in that!" he said, abruptly.
"If you get people to talking.... Well, it doesn't matter, so that
he _hears_--so that he finds out I want him. You ring up the _Daily
Mail_ while I'm scratching off an ad. Tell 'em it's simply got to
go in the morning's issue. I'll give it to them over the line myself
in a minute."
He lurched over to his desk, drove a pen into the ink pot, and made
such good haste in marshalling his straggling thoughts that he had
the thing finished before Petrie had got farther than "Yes; Scotland
Yard. Hold the line, please; Superintendent Narkom wants to speak to
you."
The Yard's requests are at all times treated with respect and
courtesy by the controlling forces of the daily press, so it fell
out that, late as the hour was, "space" was accorded, and, in the
morning, half a dozen papers bore this notice prominently displayed:
"CLEEK--Where are you? Urgently needed. Communicate at
once.--_Maverick Narkom._"
The expected came to pass; and the unexpected followed close upon
its heels. The daily press, publishing the full account of the
latest addition to the already long list of mysterious murders which,
for a fortnight past, had been adding nervous terrors to the public
mind, screamed afresh--as Narkom knew that it would--and went
into paroxysms of the Reporters' Disease until the very paper was
yellow with the froth of it. The afternoon editions were still
worse--for, between breakfast and lunch time, yet another man had
fallen victim to the mysterious assassin--and sheets pink and
sheets green, sheets gray and sheets yellow were scattering panic
from one end of London to the other. The police-detective system
of the country was rotten! The Government should interfere--must
interfere! It was a national disgrace that the foremost city of the
civilized world should be terrorized in this appalling fashion and
the author of the outrages remain undetected! Could anything be
more appalling?
It could, and--it was! When night came and the evening papers
were supplanting the afternoon ones, that something "more
appalling"--known hours before to the Yard itself--was glaring out on
every bulletin and every front page in words like these:
LONDON'S REIGN OF TERROR
APPALLING ATROCITY IN
CLARGES STREET
SHOCKING DYNAMITE
OUTRAGE
Clarges Street! The old "magic" street of those "magic" old times of
Cleek, and the Red Limousine, and the Riddles that were unriddled for
the asking! Narkom grabbed the report the instant he heard that name
and began to read it breathlessly.
It was the usual station advice ticked through to headquarters and
deciphered by the operator there, and it ran tersely, thus:
"4:28 P. M. Attempt made by unknown parties to blow up house in
Clarges Street, Piccadilly. Partially successful. Three persons
injured and two killed. No clue to motive. Occupants, family
from Essex. Only moved in two days ago. House been vacant for
months previously. Formerly occupied by retired seafaring man
named Capt. Horatio Burbage, who----"
Narkom read no farther. He flung the paper aside with a sort of
mingled laugh and blub and collapsed into his chair with his eyes
hidden in the crook of an upthrown arm, and the muscles of his mouth
twitching.
"Now I know why he cleared out! Good old Cleek! Bully old Cleek!"
he said to himself; and stopped suddenly, as though something had got
into his throat and half choked him. But after a moment or two he
jumped to his feet and began walking up and down the room, his face
fairly glowing; and if he had put his thoughts into words they would
have run like this:
"Margot's crew, of course. And he must have guessed that something of
the sort would happen _some_ time if he stopped there after that
Silver Snare business at Roehampton--either from her lot or from the
followers of that Mauravanian johnnie who was at the back of it.
They were after him even in that little game, those two. I wonder
why? What the dickens, when one comes to think of it, could have made
the Prime Minister of Mauravania interest himself in an Apache trick
to 'do in' an ex-cracksman? Gad! she flies high, sometimes, that
Margot! Prime Minister of Mauravania! And the fool faced fifteen
years hard to do the thing and let her get off scot free! Faced it
and--took it; and is taking it still, for the sake of helping her
to wipe off an old score against a reformed criminal. Wonder if
Cleek ever crossed _him_ in something? Wonder if he, too, was on the
'crooked side' once, and wanted to make sure of its never being
shown up? Oh, well, he got his medicine. And so, too, will this
unknown murderer who's doing the secret killing in London, now that
this Clarges Street affair is over. Bully old Cleek! Slipped 'em
again! Had their second shot and missed you! Now you'll come out
of hiding, old chap, and we shall have the good old times once more."
His eye fell upon the ever-ready telephone. He stopped short in his
purposeless walking and nodded and smiled to it.
"We'll have you singing your old tune before long, my friend," he
said, optimistically. "I know my man--gad, yes! He'll let no grass
grow under _his_ feet now that this thing's over. I shall hear
soon--yes, by James! I shall."
His optimism was splendidly rewarded. Not, however, from the quarter
nor in the manner he expected. It had but just gone half-past seven
when a tap sounded, the door of his office swung inward, and the
porter stepped into the room.
"Person wanting to speak with you, sir, in private," he announced.
"Says it's about some Personal in the morning paper."
"Send him in--send him in at once!" rapped out Narkom excitedly.
"Move sharp; and don't let anybody else in until I give the word."
Then, as soon as the porter had disappeared, he crossed the room,
twitched the thick curtains over the window, switched on the electric
light, wheeled another big chair up beside his desk and, with face
aglow, jerked open a drawer and got out a cigarette box which had
not seen the light for weeks.
Quick as he was, the door opened and shut again before the lid of
the box could be thrown back, and into the room stepped Cleek's
henchman--Dollops.
"Hullo! You, is it, you blessed young monkey?" said Narkom gayly,
as he looked up and saw the boy. "Knew I'd hear to-day--knew it, by
James! Sent you for me, has he, eh? Is he coming himself or does he
want me to go to him? Speak up, and--Good Lord! what's the matter
with you? What's up? Anything wrong?"
Dollops had turned the colour of an under-baked biscuit and was
looking at him with eyes of absolute despair.
"Sir," he said, moving quickly forward and speaking in the breathless
manner of a spent runner--"Sir, I was a-hopin' it was a fake, and
to hear you speak like that--Gawd's truth, guv'ner, you don't mean
as it's real, sir, do you? That _you_ don't know either?"
"Know? Know what?"
"Where he is--wot's become of him? Mr. Cleek, the guv'ner, sir.
I made sure that you'd know if anybody would. That's wot made me
come, sir. I'd 'a' gone off me bloomin' dot if I hadn't--after you
a-puttin' in that Personal and him never a-turnin' up like he'd
ort. Sir, do you mean to say as you don't know _where_ he is, and
haven't seen him even yet?"
"No, I've not. Good Lord! haven't you?"
"No, sir. I aren't clapped eyes on him since he sent me off to the
bloomin' seaside six months ago. All he told me when we come to part
was that Miss Lorne was goin' out to India on a short visit to Cap'n
and Mrs. 'Awksley--Lady Chepstow as was, sir--and that directly
she was gone he'd be knockin' about for a time on his own, and I
wasn't to worry over him. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him, sir,
since that hour."
"Nor heard from him?" Narkom's voice was thick and the hand he laid
on the chair-back hard shut.
"Oh, yes, sir, I've heard--I'd have gone off my bloomin' dot if I
hadn't done _that_. Heard from him twice. Once when he wrote and
gimme my orders about the new place he's took up the river--four
weeks ago. The second time, last Friday, sir, when he wrote me the
thing that's fetched me here--that's been tearin' the heart out of me
ever since I heard at Charing Cross about wot's happened at Clarges
Street, sir."
"And what was that?"
"Why, sir, he wrote that he'd jist remembered about some papers as
he'd left behind the wainscot in his old den, and that he'd get the
key and drop in at the old Clarges Street house on the way 'ome.
Said he'd arrive in England either yesterday afternoon or this one,
sir; but whichever it was, he'd wire me from Dover before he took
the train. And he never done it, sir--my Gawd! he never done it in
this world!"
"Good God!" Narkom flung out the words in a sort of panic, his lips
twitching, his whole body shaking, his face like the face of a dead
man.
"He never done it, I tell you!" pursued Dollops in an absolute
tremble of fright. "I haven't never had a blessed line; and now
this here awful thing has happened. And if he done what he said
he was a-goin' to do--if he come to town and went to that house----"
If he said more, the clanging of a bell drowned it completely. Narkom
had turned to his desk and was hammering furiously upon the call
gong. A scurry of flying feet came up the outer passage, the door
opened in a flash, and the porter was there. And behind him Lennard,
the chauffeur, who guessed from that excited summons that there
would be a call for _him_.
"The limousine--as quick as you can get her round!" said Narkom in
the sharp staccato of excitement. "To the scene of the explosion in
Clarges Street first, and if the bodies of the victims have been
removed, then to the mortuary without an instant's delay."
He dashed into the inner room, grabbed his hat and coat down from the
hook where they were hanging, and dashed back again like a man in
a panic.
"Come on!" he said, beckoning to Dollops as he flung open the door
and ran out into the passage. "If they've 'done him in'--_him!_--if
they've 'got him' after all----Come on! come on!"
Dollops "came on" with a rush; and two minutes later the red
limousine swung out into the roadway and took the distance between
Scotland Yard and Clarges Street at a mile-a-minute clip.
* * * * *
Arrival at the scene of the disaster elicited the fact that the
remains--literally "remains," since they had been well-nigh blown
to fragments--had, indeed, been removed to the mortuary; so thither
Narkom and Dollops followed them, their fears being in no wise
lightened by learning that the bodies were undeniably those of men.
As the features of both victims were beyond any possibility of
recognition, identification could, of course, be arrived at only
through bodily marks; and Dollops's close association with Cleek
rendered him particularly capable of speaking with authority
regarding those of his master. It was, therefore, a source of
unspeakable delight to both Narkom and himself, when, after close and
minute examination of the remains, he was able to say, positively,
"Sir, whatever's become of him, praise God, neither of these here two
dead men is him, bless his heart!"
"So they didn't get him after all!" supplemented Narkom, laughing
for the first time in hours. "Still, it cannot be doubted that
whoever committed this outrage was after him, since the people
who have suffered are complete strangers to the locality and had
only just moved into the house. No doubt the person or persons who
threw the bomb knew of Cleek's having at one time lived there as
'Captain Burbage'--Margot did, for one--and finding the house still
occupied, and not knowing of his removal--why, there you are."
"Margot!" The name brought back all Dollops' banished fears. He
switched round on the superintendent and laid a nervous clutch on
his sleeve. "And Margot's 'lay' is Paris. Sir, I didn't tell you,
did I, that it was from there the guv'ner wrote those two letters
to me?"
"Cinnamon! From Paris?"
"Yes, sir. He didn't say from wot part of the city nor wot he was
a-doin' there, anyways, but--my hat! listen here, sir. _They're_
there--them Mauravanian johnnies--and the Apaches and Margot there,
too, and you know how both lots has their knife into him. I dunno
wot the Mauravanians is got against him, sir (he never tells
nothin' to nobody, he don't), but most like it's summink he done
to some of 'em that time he went out there about the lost pearl; but
_they're_ after him, and the Apaches is after him, and between the
two!... Guv'ner!"--his voice rose thin and shrill--"guv'ner, if one
lot don't get him, the other may; and--sir--there's Apaches in
London this very night. I know! I've seen 'em."
"Seen them? When? Where?"
"At Charing Cross station, sir, jist before I went to the Yard
to see you. As I hadn't had no telegram from the guv'ner, like I
was promised, I went there on the off chance, hopin' to meet him when
the boat train come in. And there I see 'em, sir, a-loungin' round
the platform where the Dover train goes out at nine to catch the
night boat back to Calais, sir. I spotted 'em on the instant--from
their walk, their way of carryin' of theirselves, their manner of
wearin' of their bloomin' hair. Laughin' among themselves they was
and lookin' round at the entrance every now and then like as they
was expectin' some one to come and join 'em; and I see, too, as
they was a-goin' back to where they come from, 'cause they'd the
return halves of their tickets in their hatbands. One of 'em, he
buys a paper at the bookstall and sees summink in it as tickled
him wonderful, for I see him go up to the others and point it out
to 'em, and then the whole lot begins to larf like blessed hyenas. I
spotted wot the paper was and the place on the page the blighter
was a-pointin' at, so I went and bought one myself to see wot it
was. Sir, it was that there Personal of yours. The minnit I read
that, I makes a dash for a taxi, to go to you at once, sir, and
jist as I does so, a newsboy runs by me with a bill on his chest
tellin' about the explosion; and then, sir, I fair went off me dot."
They were back on the pavement, within sight of the limousine,
when the boy said this. Narkom brought the car to his side with
one excited word, and fairly wrenched open the door.
"To Charing Cross station--as fast as you can streak it!" he said,
excitedly. "The last train for the night boat leaves at nine sharp.
Catch it, if you rack the motor to pieces."
"Crumbs! A minute and a half!" commented Lennard, as he consulted
the clock dial beside him; then, just waiting for Narkom and Dollops
to jump into the vehicle, he brought her head round with a swing,
threw back the clutch, and let her go full tilt.
But even the best of motors cannot accomplish the impossible. The
gates were closed, the signal down, the last train already outside
the station when they reached it, and not even the mandate of the
law might hope to stay it or to call it back.
"Plenty of petrol?" Narkom faced round as he spoke and looked at
Lennard.
"Plenty, sir."
"All right--_beat it!_ The boat sails from Dover at eleven. I've got
to catch it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. But you could wire down and have her held over till we get
there, Superintendent."
"Not for the world! She must sail on time; I must get aboard without
being noticed--without some persons I'm following having the least
cause for suspicion. Beat that train--do you hear me?--_beat_ it! I
want to get there and get aboard that boat before the others arrive.
Do you want any further incentive than that? If so, here it is for
you: Mr. Cleek's in Paris! Mr. Cleek's in danger!"
"Mr. Cleek? God's truth! Hop in sir, hop in! I'll have you there
ahead of that train if I dash down the Admiralty Pier in flames from
front to rear. Just let me get to the open road, sir, and I'll show
you something to make you sit up."
He did. Once out of the track of all traffic, and with the lights
of the city well at his back, he strapped his goggles tight, jerked
his cap down to his eyebrows, and leaned over the wheel.
"For Mr. Cleek--do you hear?" he said, addressing the car as if it
were a human being. "Now, then, show what you're made of! There! Take
your head! Now _go_, you vixen! GO!"
There was a sudden roar, a sudden leap; then the car shot forward as
though all the gales of all the universe were sweeping it on, and
the wild race to the coast began.
Narkom jerked down the blinds, turned on the light, and flung open
the locker, as they pounded on.
"Dip in. Get something that can be made to fit you," he said to
Dollops. "We can't risk any of those fellows identifying you as
the chap who was hanging round the station to-night. Toss me over
that wig--the gray one--in the far corner there. God knows what
we're on the track of, but if it leads to Cleek I'll follow it to
the end of time!" Then, lifting his voice until it sounded above
the motor's roar, "Faster, Lennard, faster!" he called. "Give it
to her! give it to her! We've got to beat that train if it kills us!"
They did beat it. The engine's light was not even in sight when the
bright glare of the moon on the Channel's waters flashed up out of
the darkness before them; nor was the sound of the train's coming
even faintly audible as yet, when, a few minutes later, the limousine
swung down the incline and came to a standstill within a stone's
throw of the entrance to the pier, at whose extreme end the packet
lay, with gangways down and fires up and her huge bulk rising and
falling with the movements of the waves.
"Beat her, you see, sir," said Lennard, chuckling as he got down and
opened the door for the superintendent to alight. "Better not go
any nearer, sir, with the car. There's a chap down there standing
by the gangplank and he seems interested in us from the way he's
watching. Jumped up like a shot and came down the gangplank the
instant he heard us coming. Better do the rest of the journey afoot,
sir, and make a pretence of paying me--as if I was a public taxi.
What'll I do? Stop here until morning?"
"Yes. Put up at a garage; and if I don't return by the first boat,
get back to town. Meantime, cut off somewhere and ring up the Yard.
Tell 'em where I've gone. Now then, Dollops, come on!"
A moment later the limousine had swung off into the darkness and
disappeared, and what might properly have been taken for a couple
of English curates on their way to a Continental holiday moved
down the long pier between the glimmering and inadequate lamps
to the waiting boat. But long before they reached it the figure
at the gangplank--the tall, erect figure of a man whom the most
casual observer must have recognized as one who had known military
training--had changed its alert attitude and was sauntering up
and down as if, when they came nearer and the light allowed him
to see what they were, he had lost all interest in them and their
doings. Narkom gave the man a glance from the tail of his eye as
they went up the gangplank and boarded the boat, and brief as that
glance was, it was sufficient to assure him of two things: First,
that the man was not only strikingly handsome but bore himself with
an air which spoke of culture, birth, position; second, that he
was a foreigner, with the fair hair and the slightly hooked nose
which was so characteristic of the Mauravanians.
With Dollops at his side, Narkom slunk aft, where the lights were
less brilliant and the stern of the boat hung over the dark, still
waters, and pausing there, turned and looked back at the waiting man.
A French sailor was moving past in the darkness. He stopped the man
and spoke to him.
"Tell me," he said, slipping a shilling into the fellow's hand, "do
you happen to know who that gentleman is, standing on the pier there?"
"Yes, m'sieur. He is equerry to his Majesty King Ulric of Mauravania.
He has crossed with us frequently during his Majesty's sojourn in
Paris."
"Gawd's truth, sir," whispered Dollops, plucking nervously at the
superintendent's sleeve as the sailor, after touching his cap with
his forefinger, passed on. "Apaches at one end and them Mauravanian
johnnies at the other! I tell you they're a-workin' hand in hand for
some reason--workin' against _him_!"
Narkom lifted a silencing hand and turned to move away where there
would be less likelihood of anything they might say being overheard;
for at that moment a voice had sounded and from a most unusual
quarter. Unnoticed until now, a fisher's boat, which for some time
had been nearing the shore, swept under the packet's stern and
grazed along the stone front of the pier.
"Voila, m'sieur," said, in French, the man who sailed it. "Have I
not kept my word and brought your excellency across in safety and
with speed?"
"Yes," replied the passenger whom the fisher addressed. He spoke in
perfect French, and with the smoothness of a man of the better class.
"You have done well indeed. Also it was better than waiting about at
Calais for the morning boat. I can now catch the very first train
to London. Fast is she? There is your money. Adieu!"
Then came the sound of some one leaving the boat and scrambling
up the water stairs, and hard on the heels of it the first whistle of
the coming train. Narkom, glancing round, saw a slouching, ill-clad
fellow whose appearance was in distinct contrast with his voice and
manner of speaking, come into view upon the summit of the pier.
His complexion was sallow, his matted hair seemed to have gone for
years uncombed; a Turkish fez, dirty and discoloured, was on his
head, and over his arm hung several bits of tapestry and shining
stuff which betokened his calling as that of a seller of Oriental
draperies.
This much Narkom saw and would have gone on his way, giving the
fellow no second thought, but that a curious thing happened. Moving
away toward the footpath which led from the pier to the town, the
pedler caught sight suddenly of the man standing at the gangplank;
he halted abruptly, looked round to make sure that no one was
watching, then, without more ado, turned round suddenly on his
heel, walked straightway to the gangplank and boarded the boat.
The Mauravanian took not the slightest heed of him, nor he of the
Mauravanian. Afterward, when the train had arrived, Narkom thought
he knew why. For the present he was merely puzzled to understand why
this dirty, greasy Oriental pedler who had been at the pains to
cross the Channel in a fisher's boat should do so for the apparent
purpose of merely going back on the packet to Calais.
By this time the train had arrived, the pier was alive with people,
porters were running back and forth with luggage, and there was
bustle and confusion everywhere. Narkom looked along the length of
the vessel to the teeming gangway. The Mauravanian was still there,
alert as before, his fixed eyes keenly watching.
A crowd came stringing along, bags and bundles done up in gaudy
handkerchiefs in their hands, laughing, jostling, jabbering together
in low-class French.
"Here they are, guv'ner--the Apaches!" said Dollops in a whisper.
"That's the lot, sir. Keep your eye on them as they come aboard,
and if they are with him--Crumbs! Not a sign; not a blessed one!"
For the Apaches, stringing up the gangplank by twos and threes and
coming within brushing distance of the waiting man, passed on as the
Oriental pedler had passed on, taking no notice of him, nor he of
them, nor yet of how, as they advanced, the pedler slouched forward
and slipped into the thick of them.
"By James! one of them--that's what the fellow is!" said Narkom, as
he observed this. "If during the voyage the Mauravanian speaks to
one man of the lot----"
He stopped and sucked in his breath and let the rest of the sentence
go by default. For of a sudden there had come into sight upon the
pier a dapper little French dandy, fuzzy of moustache, mincing of
gait, with a flower in his buttonhole and a shining "topper" on his
beautifully pomaded head; and it came upon Narkom with a shock of
remembrance that he had seen this selfsame living fashion plate
pass by Scotland Yard twice that very day!
Onward he came, this pretty monsieur, with his jaunty air and his
lovely "wine-glass waist," onward, and up the gangway and aboard the
packet; and there the Mauravanian still stood, looking out over the
crowd and taking no more heed of him than he had taken of anybody
else. But with the vanishing of this exquisite, to whom he had
paid no heed, his alertness and his interest seemed somehow to
evaporate; for he turned now and again to watch the sailors and the
longshoremen at their several duties, and strolled leisurely aboard
and stood lounging against the rail of the lower deck when the call
of "All ashore that's going!" rang through the vessel's length,
and was still lounging there when the packet cast off her mooring,
and swinging her bows round in the direction of France, creamed
her way out into the Channel and headed for Calais.
A wind, unnoticed in the safe shelter of the harbour, played
boisterously across the chopping waves as the vessel forged outward,
sending clouds of spray sweeping over the bows and along the decks,
and such passengers as refrained from seeking the shelter of the
saloon and smoke-room sought refuge by crowding aft.
"Come!" whispered Narkom, tapping Dollops' arm. "We can neither
talk nor watch here with safety in this crowd. Let us go 'forrard.'
Better a drenching in loneliness than shelter with a crowd like this.
Come along!"
The boy obeyed without a murmur, following the larger and heavier
built "curate" along the wet decks to the deserted bows, and
finding safe retreat with him there in the dark shadow cast by a
tarpaulin-covered lifeboat. From this safe shelter they could,
by craning their necks, get a half view of the interior of the
smoke-room through its hooked-back door; and their first glance in
that direction pinned their interest, for the pretty "Monsieur"
was there, smoking a cigarette and sipping now and again at a glass
of absinthe which stood on a little round table at his elbow.
But of the Mauravanian or the Apaches or of the Oriental pedler,
there was neither sight nor sound, nor had there been since the
vessel started.
"What do you make of it?" queried Narkom, when at the end of an hour
the dim outlines of the French coast blurred the clear silver of the
moonlit sky. "Have we come on a wild goose chase, do you think? What
do you suppose has become of the Apaches and of the pedler chap?"
"Travellin' second class," said Dollops, after stealing out and
making a round of the vessel and creeping back into the shadow of
the lifeboat unseen. "Pallin' with 'em, he is, sir. Makin' a play of
sellin' 'em things for their donahs--for the sake of appearances.
One of 'em, he is; and if either that Frenchy or that Mauravanian
johnny is mixed up with them--lay low! Smeller to the ground, sir,
and eyes and ears wide open! We'll know wot's wot now!"
For of a sudden the Mauravanian had come into view far down the wet
and glistening promenade deck and was whistling a curious, lilting
air as he strolled along past the open door of the smoke-room.
Just the mere twitch of "Monsieur's" head told when he heard that
tune. He finished his absinthe, flung aside his cigarette, and
strolled leisurely out upon the deck. The Mauravanian was at the
after end of the promenade--a glance told him that. He set his face
resolutely in the direction of the bows and sauntered leisurely
along. He moved on quietly, until he came to the very end of the
covered promenade where the curving front of the deckhouse looked
out upon the spray-washed forward deck, then stopped and planted his
back against it and stood silently waiting, not ten feet distant
from where Narkom and Dollops crouched.
A minute later the Mauravanian, continuing what was to all
appearances a lonely and aimless promenade round the vessel,
came abreast of that spot and of him.
And then, the deluge!
"Monsieur" spoke out--guardedly, but in a clear, crisp tone that left
no room for doubt upon _one_ point, at least.
"Mon ami, it is done--it is accomplished," that crisp voice said.
"You shall report that to his Majesty's ministers. Voila, it is done!"
"It is not done!" replied the Mauravanian, in a swift, biting,
emphatic whisper. "You jump to conclusions too quickly. Here! take
this. It is an evening paper. The thing was useless--he was not
there!"
"Not there! Grande Dieu!"
"Sh-h! Take it--read it. I will see you when we land. Not here--it
is too dangerous. Au revoir!"
Then he passed on and round the curve of the deckhouse to the
promenade on the other side; and "Monsieur," with the paper hard
shut in the grip of a tense hand, moved fleetly back toward the
smoke-room.
But not unknown any longer.
"Gawd's truth--a woman!" gulped Dollops in a shaking voice.
"No, not a woman--a devil!" said Narkom through his teeth. "Margot,
by James! Margot, herself! And what is he--what is Cleek?--that a
king should enter into compact with a woman to kill him? Margot, dash
her! Well, I'll have you now, my lady--yes, by James, I will!"
"Guv'ner! Gawd's truth, sir, where are you going?"
"To the operator in charge of the wireless--to send a message to the
chief of the Calais police to meet me on arrival!" said Narkom in
reply. "Stop where you are. Lay low! Wait for me. We'll land in a
dozen minutes' time. I'll have that Jezebel and her confederates and
I'll rout out Cleek and get him beyond the clutches of them if I tear
up all France to do it."
"Gawd bless you, sir, Gawd bless you and forgive me!" said Dollops
with a lump in his throat and a mist in his eyes. "I said often you
was a sosidge and a muff, sir, but you aren't--you're a man!"
Narkom did not hear. He was gone already--down the deck to the cabin
of the wireless operator. In another moment he had passed in, shut
the door behind him, and the Law at sea was talking to the Law ashore
through the blue ether and across the moonlit waves.
* * * * *
It was ten minutes later. The message had gone its way and Narkom was
back in the lifeboat's shadow again, and close on the bows the
lamps of Calais pier shone yellow in the blue-and-silver darkness.
On the deck below people were bustling about and making for the
place where the gangplank was to be thrust out presently, and link
boat and shore together. On the quay, customs officials were making
ready for the coming inspection, porters were scuttling about in
their blue smocks and peaked caps, and, back of all, the outlines
of Calais Town loomed, shadowy and grim through the crowding gloom.
The loneliness of the upper deck offered its attractions to the
Mauravanian and to Margot, and in the emptiness of it they met
again--within earshot of the lifeboat where Narkom and the boy lay
hidden--for one brief word before they went ashore.
"So, you have read: you understand how useless it was?" the
Mauravanian said, joining her again at the deckhouse, where she
stood with the crumpled newspaper in her hand. "His Majesty's purse
cannot be lightened of all that promised sum for any such bungle as
this. Speak quickly; where may we go to talk in safety? I cannot
risk it here--I will not risk it in the train. Must we wait until
we reach Paris, mademoiselle? Or have you a lair of your own here?"
"I have 'lairs,' as you term them, in half the cities of France,
Monsieur le Comte," she answered with a vicious little note of
resentment in her voice. "And I do not work for nothing--no, not I! I
paid for my adherence to his Majesty's Prime Minister and I intend
to be paid for my services to his Majesty's self, even though I have
this once failed. It must be settled, that question, at once and
for all--now--to-night."
"I guessed it would be like that," he answered, with a jerk of his
shoulders. "Where shall it be, then? Speak quickly. They are making
the landing and I must not be seen talking with you after we go
ashore. Where, then?"
"At the Inn of the Seven Sinners--on the Quai d'Lorme--a gunshot
distant. Any cocher will take you there."
"Is it safe?"
"All my 'lairs' are safe, monsieur. It overhangs the water. And if
strangers come, there is a trap with a bolt on the under side. One
way: to the town and the sewers and forty other inns. The other:
to a motor boat, always in readiness for instant use. You could
choose for yourself should occasion come. You will not find the
place shut--my 'lairs' never are. A password? No, there is none--for
any but the Brotherhood. Nor will you need one. You remember old
Marise of the 'Twisted Arm' in Paris? Well, she serves at the Seven
Sinners now. I have promoted Madame Serpice to the 'Twisted Arm'.
She will know you, will Marise. Say to her I am coming shortly. She
and her mates will raise the roof with joy, and--la! la! The gangway
is out. They are calling all ashore. Look for me and my lads close
on your heels when you arrive. Au revoir."
"Au revoir," he repeated, and slipping by went below and made his
way ashore.
She waited that he might get well on his way--that none might by any
possibility associate them--then turning, went down after him and
out to the pier, where her crew were already forgathering; and when
or how she passed the word to them that it was not Paris to-night
but the Inn of the Seven Sinners, neither Narkom nor Dollops could
decide, close as they came on after her, for she seemed to speak to
no one.
"No Inn of the Seven Sinners for you to-night, my lady, if my friend
M. Ducroix has attended to that wireless message properly," muttered
Narkom as he followed her. "Look sharp, Dollops, and if you see
a Sergeant de Ville let me know. They've no luggage, that lot,
and, besides, they are natives, so they will pass the customs in a
jiffy. Hullo! there goes that pedler chap--and without his fez or
his draperies, b'gad! Through the customs like a flash, the bounder!
And there go the others, too. And she after them--she, by James! God!
Where are Ducroix and his men? Why aren't they here?"--looking
vainly about for some sign of the Chief of Police. "I can't do
anything without _him_--here, on foreign soil. Why in heaven's name
doesn't the man come?"
"Maybe he hasn't had time, guv'ner--maybe he wasn't on hand when the
message arrived," hazarded Dollops. "It's not fifteen minutes all
told since it was dispatched. So if----"
"There she goes! there she goes! Passed, and through the customs in a
wink, the Jezebel!" interposed Narkom, in a fever of excitement, as
he saw Margot go by the inspector at the door and walk out into the
streets of the city. "Lord! if she slips me now----"
"She shan't!" cut in Dollops, jerking down his hat brim and turning
up his collar. "Wait here till the cops come. I'll nip out after her
and see where she goes. Like as not the cops'll know the place when
you mention it; but if they don't--watch out for me; I'll come back
and lead 'em."
Then he moved hurriedly forward, passed the inspector, and was gone
in a twinkling.
For ten wretched minutes after he, too, had passed the customs and
was at liberty to leave, Narkom paced up and down and fretted and
fumed before a sound of clanking sabres caught his ear and, looking
round, he saw M. Ducroix enter the place at the head of a detachment
of police. He hurried to him and in a word made himself known.
"Ten million pardons, m'sieur; but I was absent when the message he
shall be deliver," exclaimed Ducroix in broken English. "I shall come
and shall bring my men as soon as he shall be receive. M'sieur, who
shall it be this great criminal you demand of me to arrest? Is he
here?"
"No, no. A moment, Ducroix. Do you know a place called the Inn of
the Seven Sinners?"
"Perfectly. It is but a stone's throw distant--on the Quai d'Lorme."
"Come with me to it, then. I'll make you the most envied man in
France, Ducroix: I'll deliver into your hands that witch of the
underworld, Margot, the Queen of the Apaches!"
Ducroix's face lit up like a face transfigured.
"M'sieur!" he cried. "That woman? You can give me that woman? You
know her? You can recognize her? But, yes, I remember! You shall have
her in your hands once in your own country, but she shall slip you,
as she shall slip everybody!"
"She won't slip _you_, then, I promise you that!" said Narkom.
"Reward and glory, both shall be yours. I have followed her across
the channel, Ducroix. I know where she is to be found for a
certainty. She is at the Inn of the Seven Sinners. Just take me
there and I'll turn the Jezebel over to you."
Ducroix needed no urging. The prospect of such a capture made
him fairly beside himself with delight. In twenty swift words he
translated this glorious news to his men--setting them as wild with
excitement as he was himself--then with a sharp, "Come, m'sieur!" he
turned on his heel and led the breathless race for the goal.
Halfway down the narrow, ink-black street that led to the inn they
encountered Dollops pelting back at full speed.
"Come on, guv'ner, come on, all of you!" he broke out as he came
abreast of them. "She's there--they're all there--kickin' up Meg's
diversions, sir, and singin' and dancin' like mad. And, sir, he's
there, too--the pedler chap! I see him come up and sneak in with the
rest. Come on! This way, all of you."
If they had merely run before, they all but flew now; for this
second assurance that Margot, the great and long-sought-for Margot,
was actually within their reach served to spur every man to
outdo himself; so that it was but a minute or two later when
they came in sight of the inn and bore down upon it in a solid
phalanx. And then--just then--when another minute would have
settled everything--the demon of mischance chose to play them a
scurvy trick.
All they knew of it was that an Apache coming out of the building for
some purpose of his own looked up and saw them, then faced round
and bent back in the doorway; that of a sudden a very tornado of
music and laughter and singing and dancing rolled out into the
night, and that when they came pounding up to the doorway, the fellow
was lounging there serenely smoking; and, inside, his colleagues
were holding a revel wild enough to wake the dead.
In the winking of an eye he was carried off his feet and swept on by
this sudden inrush of the law; the door clashed open, the little
slatted barrier beyond was knocked aside, and the police were pouring
into the room and running headlong into a spinning mass of wild
dancers.
The band ceased suddenly as they appeared, the dancers cried out as
if in a panic of alarm, and at Ducroix's commanding "Surrender in the
name of the Law!" a fat woman behind the bar flung up her arms and
voiced a despairing shriek.
"Soul of misfortune! for what, m'sieur--for what?" she cried. "It
is no sin to laugh and dance. We break no law, my customers and I.
What is it you want that you come in upon us like this?"
Ah, what indeed? Not anything that could be seen. A glance round the
room showed nothing and no one but these suddenly disturbed dancers,
and of Margot and the Mauravanian never a sign.
"M'sieur!" began Ducroix, turning to Narkom, whose despair was only
too evident, and who, in company with Dollops, was rushing about the
place pushing people here and there, looking behind them, looking
in all the corners, and generally deporting themselves after the
manner of a couple of hounds endeavouring to pick up a lost scent.
"M'sieur, shall it be an error, then?"
Narkom did not answer. Of a sudden, however, he remembered what had
been said of the trap and, pushing aside a group of girls standing
over it, found it in the middle of the floor.
"Here it is--this is the way she got out!" he shouted. "Bolted, by
James! bolted on the under side! Up with it, up with it--the Jezebel
got out this way." But though Ducroix and Dollops aided him, and
they pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, they could not budge
it one inch.
"M'sieur, no--what madness! He is not a trap--? no, he is not a trap
at all!" protested old Marise. "It is but a square where the floor
broke and was mended! Mother of misfortune, it is nothing but that."
What response Narkom might have made was checked by a sudden
discovery. Huddling in a corner, feigning a drunken sleep, he
saw a man lying with his face hidden in his folded arms. It was
the pedler. He pounced on the man and jerked up his head before
the fellow could prevent it or could dream of what was about to
happen.
"Here's one of them at least!" he cried, and fell to shaking him with
all his force. "Here's one of Margot's pals, Ducroix. You shan't go
empty-handed after all."
A cry of consternation fluttered through the gathering as he brought
the man's face into view. Evidently they were past masters of the
art of acting, these Apaches, for one might have sworn that every
man and every woman of them was taken aback by the fellow's presence.
"Mother of Miracles! who shall the man be?" exclaimed Marise.
"Messieurs, I know him not. I have not seen him in all my life
before. Cochon, speak up! Who are you, that you come in like this and
get a respectable widow in trouble, dog? Eh?"
The man made a motion first to his ears, then to his mouth, then fell
to making movements in the sign language, but spoke never a word.
"La, la! he is a deaf mute, m'sieur," said Ducroix. "He hears not
and speaks not, poor unfortunate."
"Oh, doesn't he?" said Narkom with an ugly laugh. "He spoke well
enough a couple of hours back, I promise you. My young friend here
and I heard him when he paid off the fisherman who had carried him
over to Dover just before he sneaked aboard the packet to come back
with Margot and the Mauravanian."
The eyes of the Apaches flew to the man's face with a sudden keen
interest which only they might understand; but he still stood,
wagging his great head either drunkenly or idiotically, and pointing
to ears and mouth.
"Lay hold of him--run him in!" said Narkom, whirling him across into
the arms of a couple of stalwart Sergeants de Ville. "I'll go before
the magistrate and lay a charge against him in the morning that will
open your eyes when you hear it. One of a bloodthirsty, dynamiting
crew, the dog! Lay fast hold of him! don't let him get away on your
lives! God! to have lost that woman! to have lost her after all!"
It was a sore blow, certainly, but there was nothing to do but to
grin and bear it; for to seek Margot at any of the inns which might
communicate with the sewer trap, or to hunt for her and a motor boat
on the dark water's surface, was in very truth like looking for a
needle in a haystack, and quite as hopeless. He therefore, decided
to go, for the rest of the night, to the nearest hotel; and waiting
only to see the pedler carried away in safe custody, and promising to
be on hand when he was brought up before the local magistrate in the
morning, took Dollops by the arm and dejectedly went his way.
* * * * *
The morning saw him living up to his promise; and long before the
arrival of the magistrate or, indeed, before the night's harvest
of prisoners was brought over from the lockup and thrust into
the three little "detention rooms" below the court, he was there
with Dollops and Ducroix, observing with wonder that groups of
evil-looking fellows of the Apache breed were hanging round the
building as he approached, and that later on others of the same
kidney slipped in and took seats in the little courtroom and kept
constantly whispering one to the other while they waited for the
morning session to begin.
"Gawd's truth, guv'ner, look at 'em--the 'ole blessed place is alive
with the bounders," whispered Dollops. "Wot do you think they are
up to, sir? Makin' a rush and settin' the pedler free when he comes
up before the Beak? There's twenty of 'em waitin' round the door if
there's one."
Narkom made no reply. The arrival of the magistrate focussed all eyes
on the bench and riveted his attention with the rest.
The proceedings opened with all the trivial cases first--the
night's sweep of the dragnet: drunks and disorderlies, vagrants
and pariahs. One by one these were brought in and paid their fines
and went their way, unheeded; for this part of the morning's
proceedings interested nobody, not even the Apaches. The list was
dragged through monotonously; the last blear-eyed sot--a hideous,
cadaverous, monkey-faced wretch whose brutal countenance sickened
Narkom when he shambled up in his filthy rags--had paid his fine, and
gone his way, and there remained now but a case of attempted
suicide to be disposed of before the serious cases began. This latter
occupied the magistrate's time and attention for perhaps twenty
minutes or so, then that, too, was disposed of; and then a voice
was heard calling out for the unknown man arrested last night at the
Inn of the Seven Sinners to be brought forward.
In an instant a ripple of excitement ran through the little court.
The Apache fraternity sat up within and passed the word to the Apache
fraternity without, and these stood at attention--close-lipped,
dark-browed, eager, like human tigers waiting for the word to
spring. Every eye was fixed on the door through which that pretended
mute should be led in; but although others had come at the first
call, he came not even at the second, and the magistrate had just
issued an impatient command for the case to be called yet a third
time, when there was a clatter of hasty footsteps and the keeper of
the detention rooms burst into the court pale as a dead man and
shaking in every nerve.
"M'sieur le Juge!" he cried out, extending his two arms. "Soul of
Misfortunes, how shall I tell? He is not there--he is gone--he is
escape, that unknown one. When I shall unlock the room and call
for Jean Lamareau, the drunkard, at the case before the last,
there shall come out of the dimness to me what I shall think is he
and I shall bring him here and he shall be fine and dismissed. But,
m'sieur, he shall not be Jean Lamareau after all! I shall go now and
call for the unknown and I shall get no answer; I shall go in and
make of the place light, and there he shall be, that real Jean
Lamareau--stripped of his clothes, choked to unconsciousness, alone
on the floor, and the other shall have paid his fine and gone!"
A great cry went up, a wild confusion filled the court. The Apaches
within rose and ran with the news to the Apaches without; and
these, joining forces, scattered and ran through the streets in the
direction the escaped prisoner had been seen to take.
But through it all Narkom sat there squeezing his hands together
and laughing in little shaking gusts that had a heart throb wavering
through them; for to him this could mean but one thing.
"Cleek!" he said, leaning down and shrilling a joyous whisper into
Dollops' ear. "But one man in all the world could have done that
thing--but one man in all the world would have dared. It was he--it
was Cleek! God bless his bully soul!"
"Amen, sir," said Dollops, swallowing something; then he rose at
Narkom's bidding and followed him outside.
A minute later a gamin brushing against them put out a grimy hand
and said whiningly:
"Boulogne, messieurs. Quai des Anges. Third house back from the
waterside; in time for the noon boat across to Folkestone. Give
me two francs, please. The monsieur said you would if I said that to
you when you came out."
The two francs were in his hand almost as he ceased speaking, and in
less than a minute later a fiacre was whirling Narkom and Dollops off
to the railway station and the next outgoing train to Boulogne. It
was still short of midday when they arrived at the Quai des Anges
and made their way to the third house back from the waterside--a
little tavern with a toy garden in front and a sort of bowered
arcade behind--and there under an almond tree, with a cigarette
between his fingers and a bunch of flowers in his buttonhole, they
came upon _him_ at last.
"Guv'ner! Oh, Gawd bless you, guv'ner, is it really you again?" said
Dollops, rushing up to him like a girl to a lover.
"Yes, it is really I," he answered with one of his easy laughs. Then
he rose and held out his hand as Narkom advanced; and for a moment
or two they stood there palm in palm, saying not one word, making
not one sound.
"Nearly did for me, my overzealous friend," said Cleek, after a
time. "I could have kicked you when you turned up with that lot at
the Seven Sinners. Another ten minutes and I'd have had that in my
hands which would have compelled his Majesty of Mauravania to give
Irma his liberty and to abdicate in his consort's favour. But you
came, you dear old blunderer; and when I looked up and recognized
you--well, let it pass! I was on my way back to London when I chanced
to see Count Waldemar on watch beside the gangway of the Calais
packet--he had slipped me, the hound, slipped me in Paris--and I saw
my chance to run him down. Gad! it was a close squeak that, when
you let those Apaches know that I had just crossed over from this
side and had gone aboard the packet because I saw Waldemar. They
guessed then. I couldn't speak there, and I dared not speak in the
court. They were there, on every hand--inside the building and
out--waiting to knife me the instant they were sure. I had to get
out--I had to get past them, and--voila."
He turned and laid an affectionate hand on Dollops' shoulder and
laughed softly and pleasantly.
"New place all right, old chap? Garden doing well, and all my traps
in shipshape order, eh?"
"Yes, sir, Gawd bless you, sir. Everything, sir, everything."
"Good lad! Then we'll be off to them. My holiday is over, Mr. Narkom,
and I'm going back into harness again. You want me, I see, and I
said I'd come if you did. Give me a few days' rest in old England,
dear friend, and then--out with your riddles and I'm your man again."
CHAPTER I
"This will be it, I think, sir," said Lennard, bringing the limousine
to a halt at the head of a branching lane, thick set with lime and
chestnut trees between whose double wall of green one could catch a
distant glimpse of the river, shining golden in the five o'clock
light.
"Look! see! There's the sign post--'To the Sleeping Mermaid'--over
to the left there."
"Anything pinned to it or hanging on it?" Mr. Narkom spoke from the
interior of the vehicle without making even the slightest movement
toward alighting, merely glancing at a few memoranda scribbled on
the back of a card whose reverse bore the words "Taverne Maladosie
Quai des Anges, Boulogne," printed upon it in rather ornate script.
"A bit of rag, a scrap of newspaper, a fowl's feather--anything? Look
sharp!"
"No, sir, not a thing of any sort that I can see from here. Shall
I nip over and make sure?"
"Yes. Only don't give away the fact that you are examining it in case
there should be anybody on the lookout. If you find the smallest
thing--even a carpet tack--attached to the post, get back into your
seat at once and cut off townward as fast as you can make the car
travel."
"Right you are, sir," said Lennard, and forthwith did as he had been
bidden. In less than ninety seconds, however, he was back with word
that the post's surface was as smooth as your hand and not a thing
of any sort attached to it from top to bottom.
Narkom fetched a deep breath of relief at this news, tucked the card
into his pocket, and got out immediately.
"Hang round the neighbourhood somewhere and keep your ears open in
case I should have to give the signal sooner than I anticipate," he
said; then twisted round on his heel, turned into the tree-bordered
lane, and bore down in the direction of the river.
When still short, by thirty yards or so, of its flowered and
willow-fringed brim, he came upon a quaint little diamond-paned,
red-roofed, low-eaved house set far back from the shore, with a
garden full of violets and primroses and flaunting crocuses in
front of it, and a tangle of blossoming things crowding what once
had been a bower-bordered bowling green in the rear.
"Queen Anne, for a ducat!" he commented as he looked at the place
and took in every detail from the magpie in the old pointed-topped
wicker cage hanging from a nail beside the doorway to the rudely
carved figure of a mermaid over the jutting, flower-filled
diamond-paned window of the bar parlour with its swinging sashes and
its oak-beam sill, shoulder high from the green, sweet-smelling earth.
"How the dickens does he ferret out these places, I wonder? And
what fool has put his money into a show like this in these days of
advancement and enterprise? Buried away from the line of traffic
ashore and shut in by trees from the river. Gad! they can't do a
pound's worth of business in a month at an out-of-the-way roost
like this!"
Certainly, they were not doing much of it that day; for, as he
passed through the taproom, he caught a glimpse of the landlady
dozing in a deep chair by the window, and of the back of a
by-no-means-smartly-dressed barmaid--who might have been stone deaf
for all notice she took of his entrance--standing on a stool
behind the bar dusting and polishing the woodwork of the shelves. The
door of the bar parlour was open, and through it Narkom caught a
glimpse of a bent-kneed, stoop-shouldered, doddering old man
shuffling about, filling match-boxes, wiping ash trays, and carefully
refolding the rumpled newspapers that lay on the centre table.
That he was not the proprietor, merely a waiter, the towel over his
arm, the shabby old dress coat, the baggy-kneed trousers would
have been evidence enough without that added by the humble tasks
he was performing.
"Poor devil! And at his age!" said Narkom to himself, as he noted the
pale, hopeless-looking, time-worn face and the shuffling, time-bent
body; then, moved by a sense of keen pity, he walked into the room
and spoke gently to him.
"Tea for two, uncle--at a quarter-past five to the tick if you can
manage it," he said, tossing the old man a shilling. "And say to the
landlady that I'd like to have exclusive use of this room for an hour
or two, so she can charge the loss to my account if she has to turn
any other customers away."
"Thanky, sir. I'll attend to it at once, sir," replied the old
fellow, pocketing the coin, and moving briskly away to give the
order. In another minute he was back again, laying the cloth and
setting out the dishes, while Narkom improved the time of waiting by
straying round the room and looking at the old prints and cases of
stuffed fishes that hung on the oak-panelled walls.
It still wanted a minute or so of being a quarter-past five when
the old man bore in the tea tray itself and set it upon the waiting
table; and, little custom though the place enjoyed, Narkom could
not but compliment it upon its promptness and the inviting quality
of the viands served.
"You may go," he said to the waiter, when the man at length bowed low
and announced that all was ready; then, after a moment, turning
round and finding him still shuffling about, "I say you may go!"
he reiterated, a trifle sharply. "No, don't take the cosy off the
teapot--leave it as it is. The gentleman I am expecting has not
arrived yet, and--look here! will you have the goodness to let
that cosy alone and to clear out when I tell you? By James! if you
don't----Hullo! What the dickens was that?"
"That" was undoubtedly the tingle of a handful of gravel against the
panes of the window.
"A sign that the coast is quite clear and that you have not been
followed, dear friend," said a voice--Cleek's voice--in reply.
"Shall we not sit down? I'm famishing." And as Narkom turned round
on his heel--with the certainty that no one had entered the room
since the door was closed and he himself before it--the tea cosy
was whipped off by a hand that no longer shook, the waiter's bent
figure straightened, his pale, drawn features writhed, blent, settled
into placid calmness and--the thing was done!
"By all that's wonderful--Cleek!" blurted out Narkom, delightedly,
and lurched toward him.
"Sh-h-h! Gently, gently, my friend," he interposed, putting up a
warning hand. "It is true Dollops has signalled that there is no
one in the vicinity likely to hear, but although the maid is both
deaf and dumb, recollect that Mrs. Condiment is neither; and I have
no more wish for her to discover my real calling than I ever had."
"Mrs. Condiment?" repeated Narkom, sinking his voice, and speaking in
a tone of agitation and amazement. "You don't mean to tell me that
the old woman you employed as housekeeper when you lived in Clarges
Street is here?"
"Certainly; she is the landlady. Her assistant is that same deaf and
dumb maid-of-all-work who worked with her at the old house, and is
sharing with her a sort of 'retirement' here. 'Captain Burbage' set
the pair of them up in business here two days after his departure
from Clarges Street and pays them a monthly wage sufficient to make
up for any lack of 'custom.' All that they are bound to do is to
allow a pensioner of the captain's--a poor old half-witted ex-waiter
called Joseph--to come and go as he will and to gratify a whim for
waiting upon people if he chooses to do so. What's that? No, the
'captain' does not live here. He and his henchman, Dollops, are
supposed to be out of the country. Mrs. Condiment does not know
_where_ he lives--nor will she ever be permitted to do so. You may,
some day, perhaps----that is for the future to decide; but not at
present, my dear friend; it is too risky."
"Why risky, old chap? Surely I can come and go in disguise as I did
in the old days, Cleek? We managed secret visits all right then,
remember."
"Yes--I know. But things have changed, Mr. Narkom. You may disguise
yourself as cleverly as you please, but you can't disguise the red
limousine. It is known and it will be followed; so, until you can get
another of a totally different colour and appearance I'll ring you up
each morning at the Yard and we can make our appointments over your
private wire. For the present we must take no great risks. In the
days that lie behind, dear friend, I had no 'tracker' to guard
against but Margot, no enemies but her paltry crew to reckon with
and to outwit. In these, I have many. They have brains, these new
foes; they are rich, they are desperate, they are powerful; and
behind them is the implacable hate and the malignant hand of----No
matter! You wouldn't understand."
"I can make a devilish good guess, then," rapped in Narkom, a trifle
testily, his vanity a little hurt by that final suggestion, and
his mind harking back to the brief enlightening conversation between
Margot and Count Waldemar that night on the spray-swept deck of
the Channel packet. "Behind them is 'the implacable hate and the
malignant hand' of the King of Mauravania!"
"What utter rubbish!" Cleek's jeering laughter fairly stung, it was
so full of pitying derision. "My friend, have you taken to reading
penny novelettes of late? A thief-taker and a monarch! An ex-criminal
and a king! I should have given you credit for more common sense."
"It was the King of Mauravania's equerry who directed that attempt to
kill you by blowing up the house in Clarges Street."
"Very possibly. But that does not incriminate his royal master.
Count Waldemar is not only equerry to King Ulric of Mauravania,
but is also nephew to its ex-Prime Minister--the gentleman who is
doing fifteen years' energetic labour for the British Government
as a result of that attempt to trap me with his witless 'Silver
Snare.'"
"Oh!" said Narkom, considerably crestfallen; then grasped at yet
another straw with sudden, breathless eagerness. "But even then the
head of the Mauravanian Government must have had some reason for
wishing to 'wipe you out,'" he added, earnestly. "There could be no
question of avenging an uncle's overthrow at that time. Cleek!"--his
voice running thin and eager, his hand shutting suddenly upon his
famous ally's arm--"Cleek, trust me! Won't you? Can't you? As God
hears me, old chap, I'll respect it. Who are you? What are you, man?"
"Cleek," he made answer, calmly drawing out a chair and taking his
seat at the table. "Cleek of Scotland Yard; Cleek of the Forty
Faces--which you will. Who should know that better than you whose
helping hand has made me what I am?"
"Yes, but before, Cleek? What were you, who were you, in the days
before?"
"The Vanishing Cracksman--a dog who would have gone on, no doubt,
to a dog's end but for your kind hand and the dear eyes of Ailsa
Lorne. Now give me my tea--I'm famishing--and after that we'll talk
of this new riddle that needs unriddling for the honour of the Yard.
Yes, thanks, two lumps, and just a mere dash of milk. Gad! It's good
to be back in England, dear friend; it's good, it's good!"