The "frying" of them took the shape of first going outside and
walking round the Stone Drum, and then of stepping back to the
door and beckoning Narkom and Lord Fallowfield and young James
Drake out to him.
"Anybody in the habit of sitting out here to read or paint or
anything of that sort?" he asked abruptly.
"Good gracious, no!" replied Lord Fallowfield. "Whatever makes you
ask such a thing as that, Mr. Cleek?"
"Nothing, only that I have found four little marks disposed of at
such regular distances that they seem to have been made by the four
legs of a chair resting, with a rather heavy weight upon it, on the
leads of the roof and immediately under one of the bowman's slits
in the Stone Drum. A chair with casters, I should imagine, from the
character of the marks. We are on a level with the sleeping quarters
of the servants in the house proper, I believe, and chairs with
casters are not usual in servants' bedrooms in most houses. Are
they so here?"
"Certainly not," put in young Drake. "Why, I don't believe there
is a chair with casters on the whole blessed floor. Is there, Lord
Fallowfield? You ought to know."
"Yes, there is, Jim. There are three in fact; they all are in the old
armoury. Been there a dog's age; and they so matched the old place
your poor father never had them taken out."
"The 'old armoury'? What's that, your lordship, may I ask?"
"Oh, a relic of the old feudal times, Mr. Cleek. You see, on account
of the position of the Stone Drum, the weapon room, or arming-room,
had to be up here on a level with the wing roof, instead of below
stairs, as in the case of other 'towers.' That's the place over
there--the window just to the left of the door leading into the
building proper. It is full of the old battle flags, knights'
pennants, shields, cross-bows, and the Lord knows what of those old
days of primitive warfare. We Fallowfields always preserved it,
just as it was in the days of its usefulness, for its historical
interest and its old association with the name. Like to have a
look at it?"
"Very much indeed," replied Cleek, and two minutes later he was
standing in the place and revelling in its air of antiquity.
As Lord Fallowfield had declared, the three old chairs which supplied
seating accommodation were equipped with casters, but although
these were the prime reason for Cleek's visit to the place, he
gave them little more than a passing glance, bestowing all his
attention upon the ancient shields and the quaint old cross-bows
with which the walls were heavily hung in tier after tier almost
to the groined ceiling.
"Primitive times, Mr. Narkom, when men used to go out with these
jimcrack things and bang away at each other with skewers!" he
said, taking one of them down and examining it in a somewhat
casual manner, turning it over, testing its weight, looking at its
catch, and running his fingers up and down the propelling string.
"Fancy a chap with one of these things running up against a modern
battery or sailing out into a storm of shrapnel! Back to your hook,
grandfather"--hanging it up again--"times change and we with time.
By the way, your lordship, I hope you will be better able to give
an account of _your_ whereabouts last night than I hear that Mr.
Drake here is able to do regarding his."
"I? Good heavens, man, what do you mean?" flung out his lordship,
so taken aback by the abruptness of the remark that the very breath
seemed to be knocked out of him. "Upon my soul, Mr. Cleek----"
"Gently, gently, your lordship. You must certainly realize that in
the circumstances the same necessity must exist for you to explain
your movements as exists for Mr. Drake. I am told that in the event
of the elder Mr. Drake's death this property was to come to you
wholly unencumbered by any charge or any restrictions whatsoever."
"Good God! So it was. Upon my soul, I'd forgotten all about that!"
exclaimed his lordship with such an air that he was either speaking
the absolute truth or was a very good actor indeed.
"Jim! My boy! Oh, good heavens! I never gave the thing a
thought--never one! No, Mr. Cleek, I can give no account of my
movements other than to say that I went to bed directly I left
the Stone Drum. Or--yes. I can prove that much, by George! I can,
indeed. Ojeebi was with me, or, at least, close at my heels at the
time, and he saw me go into my room, and must have heard me lock
the door."
"Ojeebi? Who is he?"
"My father's Japanese valet," put in young Drake. "Been with him for
the past five years. If he tells you that he saw Lord Fallowfield
go into his room and lock the door after him, you can rely upon that
as an absolute and irrefutable truth. 'Whitest' little yellow man
that ever walked on two feet; faithful as a dog, and as truthful as
they make 'em."
"And they don't make 'em any too truthful, as a rule, in his country,
by Jove!" said Cleek. "Still, of course, as he could not possibly
have anything to gain----Call him up, will you, and let us hear what
he has to say with regard to Lord Fallowfield's statement."
Young Drake rang for a servant, issued the necessary order, and
some five or six minutes later a timid little yellow man with the
kindest face and the most gentle step a man could possess came into
the room, his soft eyes reddened with much weeping, and tear-stains
marking his sallow cheeks.
"Oh, Mr. Jim! Oh, Mr. Jim! the dear, kind old 'boss'! He gone! he
gone!" he broke out disconsolately as he caught sight of his late
master's son, and made as if to prostrate himself before him.
"That's all right, Ojeebi--that's all right, old man!" interrupted
young Drake, with a smothered "blub" in his voice and a twitching
movement of his mouth. "Cut it out! I'm not iron. Say, this gentleman
wants to ask you a few questions, Ojeebi; deliver the goods just as
straight as you know how."
"Me, Mr. Jim? Gentleman want question me?" The small figure turned,
the kindly face lifted, and the sorrowful eyes looked up into Cleek's
unemotional ones.
"Yes," said he placidly; and forthwith told him what Lord Fallowfield
claimed.
"That very true," declared Ojeebi. "The lord gentleman he right ahead
of me. I see him go into his room and hear him lock door. That very
true indeed."
"H'm! Any idea of the time?"
"Yes--much idea. Two minutes a-past twelve. I see clock as I go past
Lady Marj'ie's room."
"What were you doing knocking about that part of the house at that
hour of the night? Your room's up here in the servant's quarters,
isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. But I go take ice-water to the boss's room. Boss never
go to bed nights without ice-water handy, sir. 'Merican boss never
do."
"Yes! Quite so, quite so! Where did you get the ice from--and how?
Chop it from a big cake?"
"No, sir. It always froze to fit bottle. I get him from the ice-make
room downstairs."
"He means the refrigerating room, Mr. Cleek," explained young
Drake. "You know, I take it, what a necessary commodity we Americans
hold ice to be. Indeed, the dear old dad wouldn't think a dinner
was a dinner without ice-water on the table, and ice-cream for
the final course. And as there was no possibility of procuring a
regular and adequate supply in an out-of-the-way spot like this, he
had a complete artificial ice-making plant added to the place, and
overcame the difficulty in that way. That is what Ojeebi means by
the 'ice-make room.' What he means about its being frozen to fit
the bottles is this: The ice which is to be used for drinking
purposes is manufactured in forms or vessels which turn it out in
cubes, so that whenever it is wanted all that a servant has to do
is to go to the plant, and the man in charge supplies him with all
the cubes required."
"Ah, I see," said Cleek, and stroked his chin. "Well, that's all, I
reckon, for the time being. Ojeebi has certainly backed up your
statement to the fullest, your lordship, so we can dispense with him
entirely. And now, if I have your permission, gentlemen, I should
like to feel myself privileged to go poking about the house and
grounds for the next hour or so in quest of possible clues. At the
end of that time I will rejoin you here, and shall hope to have
something definite to report. So if you don't mind my going----Thanks
very much. Come along, Mr. Narkom. I've a little something for you
to do, and--an hour will do it, or I'm a dogberry."
With that he took his departure from the armoury and, with the
superintendent following, went down through the house to the grounds
and out into the screen of close crowding, view-defying trees.
Here he paused a minute to pull out his notebook and scribble
something on a leaf, and then to tear out that leaf and put it
into Mr. Narkom's hand.
"Rush Lennard off to the post-office with that, will you? and have it
wired up to town as soon as possible," he said. "Prepay the reply,
and get that reply back to me as soon as telegraph and motor can get
it here."
Then he swung off out of the screen of the trees and round the angle
of the building, and set about hunting for the refrigerating plant.