"No, Mr. Narkom, no. As an instrument of death the icicle is _not_
new," said Cleek, answering the superintendent's question as the
limousine swung out through the gates of Heatherington Hall and
faced the long journey back to London. "If you will look up the
records of that energetic female, Catherine de Medici, Queen of
France, you will find that she employed it in that capacity upon
two separate occasions; and coming down to more modern times, you
will also find that in the year 1872 the Russian, Lydia Bolorfska,
used it at Galitch, in the province of Kostroma, to stab her
sleeping husband. But as a projectile, it _is_ new--as a _successful_
projectile, I mean--for there have been many attempts made, owing
to its propensity to dissolve after use, to discharge it from
firearms, but never in one single instance have those attempts
resulted in success. The explosion has always resulted in shivering
and dispersing it in a shower of splinters as it leaves the muzzle
of the weapon. There can be no doubt, however, that could it be
propelled in a perfectly horizontal position, the power behind
it would, in spite of its brittle nature, drive it through a pine
board an inch thick. But, as I have said, the motive power always
defeats the object by landing it against the target in a mass of
splinters."
"I see. And the Jap got over that by employing a cross-bow; and that,
of course, did the trick."
"No. I doubt if he would have been able to put enough power behind
that to drive it into the man's body with deadly effect, if, indeed,
he could make it enter it at all. Where Ojeebi scored over all
others lay in the fact that with his plan there was no necessity
to have the icicle enter the victim's body at all. He required
nothing more than just sufficient power of propulsion to break the
skin and establish contact with the blood, and then that hellish
compound on the point of the projectile could be depended upon to
do the rest. It did, as you know, and then dropped to the floor
and melted away, leaving nothing but a little puddle of water
behind it."
"But, Cleek, my dear chap, how do you account for the fact that
when the doctor came to analyze that water he found no trace of
the poison in it?"
"He did, Mr. Narkom, only that he didn't recognize it. Woorali is
extremely volatile, for one thing, and evaporates rapidly. For
another, there was a very small quantity used--a very small quantity
necessary, so malignant it is--and the water furnished by the melting
icicle could dilute that little tremendously. It would not be
able to obliterate all trace of it, however, but the infinitesimal
portion remaining would make spring water give the same answer in
analysis as that given by the water resulting from melted snow. It
was when Doctor Hague mentioned the fact that if it wasn't for the
utter absurdity of looking for such a substance in England in
July, he should have said it _was_ melted snow, that I really got my
first clue. Later, however, when----But come, let's chuck it! I've
had enough of murder and murderers for one day--let's talk of
something else. Our new 'turnout,' here, for instance. You have
'done yourself proud' this time and no mistake--she certainly _is_
a beauty, Mr. Narkom. By the way, what have you done with the old
red one? Sold it?"
"Not I, indeed. I know a trick worth two of that. I send it out,
empty, every day, in the hope of having those Apache johnnies follow
it, and have a plain-clothes man trailing along behind in a taxi,
ready to nip in and follow them if they do. But they don't--that is,
they haven't up to the present; but there's always hope, you know."
"Not in that direction, I'm afraid. Waldemar's a better general than
that, believe me. Knowing that we have discovered his little plan
of following the red limousine just as we discovered his other, of
following me, he will have gone off on another tack, believe me."
"Scotland! You don't think, do you, that he can possibly have found
out anything about the new one and has set in to follow _this_?"
"No, I do not. As a matter of fact I fancy he has started to do
what he ought to have done in the beginning--that is, to keep a
close watch on the criminal news in the papers day by day, and
every time a crime of any importance crops up, pay his respects
to the theatre of it and find out who is the detective handling
the case. A ducat to a doughnut he'd have been on our heels down
here to-day if this little business of the Stone Drum had been made
public in time to get into the morning papers. He means to have
me, Mr. Narkom, if having me is possible; and he's down to the
last ditch and getting desperate. Yesterday's cables from Mauravania
are anything but reassuring."
"I know. They say that unless something happens very shortly to turn
the tide in Ulric's favour and quell the cries for 'Restoration,' the
King's downfall and expulsion are merely a matter of a few days at
most. But what's that got to do with it that you suggest its bearing
upon any need for haste on Waldemar's part?"
"Only that, with matters in such a state, he cannot long defer his
return to the army of his country and the defence of its king,"
replied Cleek, serenely. "And every day he loses in failing to pay
his respects to your humble servant in the manner he desires to do
increases the strain of the situation and keeps him from the service
of his royal master."
"Well, I wish to God something would happen to blow him and his
royal master and their blooming royal country off the map, dammem!"
blazed out Narkom, too savage to be choice of words. "We've never had
a moment's peace, you and I, since the dashed combination came
into the game. And for what, I should like to know? Not that it's
any use asking _you_. You're so devilish close-mouthed a man might
as well ask questions of a ton of coal for all answer he may hope
to get. I shall always believe, however, that you did something
pretty dashed bad to the King of Mauravania that time you were over
there on that business about the Rainbow Pearl, to make the beggar
turn against you, as I believe he _has_."
"Then, you will always believe what isn't true," replied Cleek,
lighting a fresh cigarette. "I simply restored the pearl and his
Majesty's letter to the hands of Count Irma, and did not so much
as see the King while I was there. Why should I?--a mere police
detective, who had been hired to do a service and paid for it like
any other hireling. I took my money and I went my way; that's all
there was about it. If it has pleased Count Waldemar to entertain an
ugly feeling of resentment toward me, I can't help that, can I now?"
"Oh, then, it's really a personal affair between you and him, after
all?"
"Something like that. He doesn't approve of my--er--knowing things
that I do know; and it would be the end of a very promising future
for him if I told. Here--have a cigarette and smoke yourself into
a better temper. You look savage enough to bite a nail in two."
"I'd bite it in four if it looked anything like that Waldemar
johnnie, by James!" asserted the superintendent, vigorously. "And if
ever he lays a hand on _you_----Look here, Cleek: I know it sounds
un-English, very Continental, rotten 'soft' from one man to another,
but--dammit, Cleek, I love you! I'd go to hell for you! I'd die
fighting for you! Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," said Cleek; then he put out his hand and took Mr.
Narkom's in a hard, firm grip, and added, gently: "My friend, my
comrade, my _pal_! Side by side--together--to the end." And the car
ran on for a good half mile before either spoke again.