May had smiled itself out and June had blushed itself in--the most
wondrous June, in Cleek's eyes, the world had ever seen. For the
long waiting was over, the old order of things had changed, the
little house in the meadowlands had its new tenant, and _she_ was
in England again.
It did not fret him, as it otherwise might have done, that he and
Dollops had been obliged to go back to the old business of lodging
a week here and a week there in the heart of the town, rather than
within reach of the green trees and the fragrant meadows he loved,
for always there was the chance of stealing out to meet her in the
glorious country-lands when the evening came, or of a whole day with
her in the woods and fields when a whole day could be spared; and
to a nature such as his these things were recompense enough.
Not that many days could be spared at present, for, although nothing
had been seen or heard of Waldemar or the Apaches for weeks on end,
these were strenuous times for Mr. Narkom and the forces of the
Yard, and what with the Coronation of his Majesty close at hand,
and every train discharging hordes of visitors into London day in
and day out, and crooks of every description--homemade as well as
imported--from the swell mobsman down to the common lag making it
the Mecca of an unholy pilgrimage--they had their hands filled to
overflowing, and were worked to their utmost capacity.
The result, so far as Cleek was concerned, scarcely needs recording.
It was not in him to be guilty of that form of snobbishness which
is known as "standing on his dignity" at such a time--when the
man who had stood his friend was in need of help, indeed, might lose
his official head if he were found wanting in such a crisis--so
that, naturally, he came to Mr. Narkom's assistance and took a hand
in the "sorting out" process in the manner--yes, and at times, in
the uniform, too--of the ordinary constable, and proved of such
invaluable aid in the matter of scenting out undesirables and
identifying professional crooks that things speedily fell into a
more orderly shape, and he had just begun to look forward to a
resumption of those happy days of wandering in the woods with Ailsa
when out of the lull of coming peace there fell an official bombshell.
It took the form of a cablegram--a belated cipher communication from
the police of America to the police of Great Britain--which on being
decoded, ran thus:
"Just succeeded in tracing 218. Sailed ten days ago on
_Tunisian_--Allan Line--from Canada, under name of Hammond.
Woman with him. Handsome blonde. Passing as sister. Believed
to be 774."
Now as this little exchange of courtesies relative to the movements
of the noted figures of the underworld is of almost daily occurrence
between the police systems of the two countries in question, Mr.
Narkom had only to consult his Code Book to get at the gist of the
matter; and when he did get at it, his little fat legs bent under
him like a couple of straws, his round little body collapsed into
the nearest chair, and he came within a hair's breadth of having a
"stroke."
For the _Tunisian_, as it happened, had docked and discharged
her passengers exactly thirteen hours before, so that it was safe
to declare that the persons to whom those numerals alluded had
unquestionably slipped unchallenged past the guardians of the
port, and were safely housed at this minute within the intricacies
of that vast brick-and-mortar puzzle, London; yet here they were
registered in the Code Book, thus:
"No. 218--Nicholas Hemmingway, popularly known as 'Diamond
Nick.' American. Expert swindler, confidence man and jewel
thief. Ex-actor and very skilful at impersonation. See Rogues'
Gallery for portrait.
"No. 774--Ella Plawsen, variously known to members of the
light-fingered fraternity as 'Dutch Ella' and 'Lady Bell.'
German-American. Probably the most adroit female jewel thief in
existence. Highly educated, exceedingly handsome, and amazingly
plausible and quick witted. Usually does the 'society dodge.'
Natural blonde, and about twenty-five years old. No photograph
obtainable."
Within forty-five minutes after Mr. Narkom had mastered these facts
he had rushed with them to Cleek, and there was a vacancy in the
list of special constables from that time forth.
"Slipped in, have they?" said Cleek when he heard. "Well, be sure of
one thing, Mr. Narkom: they will not have gone to a hotel--at least
in the beginning--they are far too sharp for that. Neither will
they house themselves in any hole and corner where their sallying
forth in fine feathers to make their little clean-up would occasion
comment and so lead to a clue. Indeed, I shouldn't be surprised if
they were far too shrewd to remain together in any place, but will
elect to operate singly, appear to have no connection whatsoever,
while they are here, and to have a sort of 'happy reunion' elsewhere
after their little job has been pulled off successfully. But in
any case, when we find them--if we ever do--depend upon it they will
be located in some quiet, respectable, secluded district, one of
the suburbs, for instance, and living as circumspectly as the most
prudish of prying neighbours could desire.
"Let us then go in for a series of 'walking tours' about the
outlying districts, Mr. Narkom, and see if we can't stumble over
something that will be worth while. It is true I've never met
nor even seen Hemmingway, but I fancy I should know if a man
were made up or not for the role in which he appears. I did,
however, brush elbows with Dutch Ella once. It was that time I went
over to New York on that affair of the Amsterdam diamonds. _You_
remember? When I 'split' the reward with the fellow from Mulberry
Street, whose daughter wanted to study music as a profession and he
couldn't afford to let her. I hobnobbed with some acquaintances of
the--er--old days, over there, and went one night to the big French
Ball at the Academy of Music, where, my companion of the night told
me, there would be 'a smashing big clean-up, as half the swell
crooks in town would be there--for business.'
"They were, I dare say, for he kept pointing out this one and that
to me and saying, 'That's so and so!' as they danced past us. I
shouldn't know any of them again, so far as looks are concerned,
for the annual French Ball in New York is a masked ball, as you
are, perhaps, aware; and I shouldn't know 'Dutch Ella' any better
than the rest, but for one thing--although I danced with her."
"Danced with her, Cleek? Danced?"
"Yes. For the purpose of 'getting a line on her shape,' so to speak,
for possible future reference. I couldn't see her face, for she was
masked to the very chin; but there's a curious, tumor-like lump, as
big as a hen's egg, just under her right shoulder-blade, and there's
the scar of an acid burn on the back of her left hand that she'll
carry to her grave. I shall know that scar if ever I see it again.
And if by any chance I should run foul of a woman bearing one like
it, and that woman should prove to have also a lump under the right
shoulder-blade----Come along! Let's get out and see if we can find
one. 'Time flies,' as the anarchist said when he blew up the clock
factory. Let's toddle."
They "toddled" forthwith, but on a fruitless errand, as it proved.
Nevertheless, they "toddled" again the next day as hopefully as
ever; and the next after that, and the next again, yet at the end of
the fourth they were no nearer any clue to the whereabouts of Dutch
Ella and Diamond Nick than they had been in the beginning. If, as
Cleek sometimes fancied, they had not merely passed through England
on their way to the Continent, but were still here, housed like
hawks in a safe retreat from which they made predatory excursions
under the very noses of the police, there was nothing to signalize
it. No amazing jewel theft, no affair of such importance as one
engineered by them would be sure to be, had as yet been reported to
the Yard; and for all clue there was to their doings or their
whereabouts one might as well have set out to find last summer's
roses or last winter's snow as hope to pick it up by any method as
yet employed.
Thus matters stood when on the morning of the fifth day Cleek
elected to make Hampstead Heath and its environments the scene of
their operations, and at nine o'clock set forth in company with the
superintendent to put them into force in that particular locality,
with the result that by noontime they found themselves in the
thick of as pretty a riddle as they had fallen foul of in many a day.
It came about in this way:
Turning out of St. Uldred's road into a quiet, tree-shaded avenue
running parallel with the historic heath, somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the Vale of Health district, they looked up to
discover that there was but one building in the entire length of the
thoroughfare--a large, imposing residence set back from the road
proper, and encircled by a high stone wall with curiously wrought
iron gates leading into the enclosure--and that before that
building two copper-skinned, turbaned, fantastically clothed Hindus
were doing sentry duty in a manner peculiar unto themselves--the one
standing as motionless as a bronze image before the barred
gateway, and the other pacing up and down before him like a
clockwork toy that had been well wound up.
"The Punjab for a ducat!" declared Cleek as he caught sight of them.
"And the insignia of the Ranee of Jhang, or I'm a Dutchman. I knew
the old girl was over here for the coronation, to be sure, but I'd
no idea of stumbling over some of her attendants in this quarter,
by Jip! Not putting up out here of late, is she, Mr. Narkom?"
"No. She's still at Kensington. And what the dickens those johnnies
are keeping guard over that place for beats us. Know it, don't you?
It's the residence of Sir Mawson Leake--Leake & Leake, you know:
Jewellers, Bond Street. Fine old place, isn't it? Inherited it
from his father, as he did the business, and----What's that? No, not
a young man--not a young man by any means. Grown children--two
sons. One by his first wife, and----Hullo! that's a rum trick, by
James! See that, did you, old chap?"
"See what? The manner in which that clockwork johnnie stopped in his
tracks and eyed us as we passed?"
"No. The woman. All muffled up to the eyes--and in weather like this.
Just stepped out of the house door, saw those two niggers, and then
bolted back indoors as if the Old Boy was after her."
"Caught sight of us, very likely. You know what high-class Brahmans
are where Europeans are concerned. It will be the old Ranee herself,
three to one, paying a morning visit to the jeweller in reference
to some of her amazing gems. That would explain the presence of the
sentries. She travels nowhere without a guard."
"To be sure," admitted the superintendent, and walked on, dropping
the matter from his mind entirely.
Ten minutes later, however, it was brought back to it in a rather
startling manner; for, upon rounding the end of the thoroughfare
along which they had been walking, and coming abreast of an isolated
building (which was clearly the stable of the house they had
recently passed), they were surprised to hear the sound of a muffled
cry within, to catch a whiff of charcoal smoke as the door was flung
wildly open by the same muffled female Mr. Narkom had observed
previously, and something more than merely startled to have her
rush at them the instant she caught sight of them, crying out
distractedly:
"I was afraid of it, I knew it! I knew that he would! Oh, help
me, gentlemen--help me for the love of God! I can't lift him. I
can't drag him out--he is too heavy for me! My husband! In there! In
_there_! He'll die if you don't get him out!"
They understood then, and for the first time, what she was driving
at, and rushed past her into the stable--into what had once been
designed for a coachman's bedroom--to find an apartment literally
reeking with the fumes that poured out from a charcoal furnace on the
floor, and beside that the body of a man--inert, crumpled up, fast
sinking into that hopeless state of unconsciousness which precedes
asphyxiation by charcoal.
In the winking of an eye Cleek had caught up the deadly little
firebrick furnace and sent it crashing through the plugged-up
window into the grounds behind, letting a current of pure air
rush through the place; then, while Narkom, with one hand over his
mouth and nostrils, and the other swinging a pair of handcuffs by
their chain, was doing a like thing with another window in the front
wall, he gathered up the semi-conscious man, swung him sacklike
over his shoulder, carried him out into the roadway, and propped him
up against the side of the stable, while he chafed his hands and
smacked his cheeks and, between times, fanned him with his hatbrim
and swore at him for a "weak-backed, marrowless thing to call
itself a man, and yet go in for the poltroon's trick of suicide!"
The woman was still there, squeezing her hands and sobbing
hysterically, but although she had not as yet uncovered her
face, it did not need that to attest the fact that she was no
Hindu, but white like the man she had spoken of as her husband, and
at the very first words she uttered when she saw that he was
beyond danger, both Cleek and Narkom knew them for what they
were--Sir Mawson and Lady Leake.
"Mawson, how could you!" she said reproachfully, going to him the
very instant he was able to get on his feet, and folding him to her
in an agonized embrace. "I suspected it when you left the house--but,
oh, how could you?"
"I don't know," he made answer, somewhat shamefacedly yet with a
note of agony in his voice that made one pity him in spite of all.
"But it seemed too horrible a disgrace to be lived through. And now
I shall have to face it! Oh, my God, Ada, it is too much to ask a
man to bear! They are there, on guard, those Hindus, protecting me
and mine until the Ranee's steward comes to receive the Ladder of
Light, as promised, at----"
"Sh-h!" she struck in warningly, remembering the presence of the
others, and clapping her hand over his mouth to stay any further
admission; for she had heard Cleek repeat after her husband--but with
a soft significant whistle--"The Ladder of Light!" and supplement
that with, "Well, I'm dashed!" and turned round on him instantly
with a forced smile upon her lips but the look of terror still
lingering in her fast-winking eyes.
"It is rude of me, gentlemen, to forget to thank you for your kind
assistance, and I ask your forgiveness," she said. "I owe you many,
many thanks and I am endeavouring to express them. But as this is
merely a little family affair I am sure you will understand."
It was a polite dismissal. Narkom pivoted his little fat body on his
heel, and prepared to take it. Cleek didn't.
"Your pardon, but the Ladder of Light can never be regarded as a
family affair in _any_ English household whatsoever," he said,
blandly. "I can give you its exact history if you wish it. It is
a necklace said to have once been the property of the Queen of
Sheba and worn by her at the court of King Solomon. It is made up
of twelve magnificent steel-white diamonds, cut semi-square, and
each weighing twenty-eight and one half carats. They are joined
together by slender gold links fitting into minute holes pierced
through the edge of each stone. It is valued at one million pounds
sterling and is the property of the Ranee of Jhang, who prizes it
above all other of her marvellous and priceless jewels. She is not a
pleasant old lady to cross, the Ranee. She would be a shrieking
devil if anything were to happen to that necklace, your ladyship."
She had been slowly shrinking from him as the history of the Ladder
of Light proceeded; now she leaned back against her husband, full
of surprise and despairing terror, and stared and stared in a silence
that was only broken by little fluttering breaths of alarm.
"It is uncanny!" she managed to say at last. "You know of that? Of
the necklace? You know even me?--us?--and yet I have not uncovered
my face nor given you my name. Are you then gifted with clairvoyance,
Mr.--Mr.----"
"Cleek," he gave back, making her a polite bow. "Cleek is the name,
Lady Leake. Cleek of Scotland Yard."
"That man? Dear God! that amazing man?" she cried, her whole face
lighting up, her drooping figure springing erect, revitalized.
"At your ladyship's service," he replied. "We are out this
morning--Superintendent Narkom and I--in quest of what is probably
the most skilful and audacious pair of jewel thieves in the
world--just the one particular pair in all the universe to whom a
loot so valuable as the Ladder of Light would offer the strongest
kind of an appeal. So, if by any chance, something has occurred
which threatens the safety of that amazing necklace--and you and Sir
Mawson are in a position to know the facts----Come! Take me into
your confidence, and--perhaps! Who knows?"
Before he had fairly finished speaking, Lady Leake caught up his
hand, and, holding it fast squeezed in both her own, looked up at
him with bright, wet eyes.
"It must have been heaven itself that sent you to us this morning,"
she cried. "If any man in the world _can_ help us, I believe in
my soul that you are the man. Mawson, you hear, dearest? It is Mr.
Cleek. The wonderful Mr. Cleek. Why didn't we think of _him_ before?
Tell him, Mawson--tell him everything, my dear."
Sir Mawson acted upon the suggestion instantly.
"Mr. Cleek, I beg, I implore you to come to our assistance!" he
exclaimed in a very transport of excitement. "Lady Leake is right.
If any man _can_, you are he! You ask if anything has happened
with regard to that accursed necklace and if I can give you any
information on the subject? To both questions, yes! It is gone! It
is lost! It is stolen!"
"What's that? Stolen? The Ladder of Light? Good heavens! When? Where?
How?"
"Yesterday--from my keeping! From my house! And God have mercy on
me, I have every reason to believe that the thief is my eldest son!"