CLEON REDIVIVUS.
When Madgin Junior averred that he saw Cleon, the mulatto servant of
the late M. Platzoff, on board the steamer which would be due in
Guernsey some two hours later, he stated no more than the truth. That
dusky individual was there, looking as well as ever he had looked in
his life; sprucely, even elegantly dressed; and having a watchful eye
on his two small articles of luggage: a miniature portmanteau, and a
tiny black leather bag. At Guernsey he quitted the steamer, and
waiting on the pier till he saw it fairly under way again for the
sister island, he entered at once into negotiations with some of the
hardy boatmen generally to be found lounging about St. Peter's port.
The result was that a pretty little skiff was brought round, into
which Mr. Cleon and his luggage were carefully stowed, the whole being
taken charge of by a couple of sailors who at once hoisted their sail
and stood out in a straight line for Jersey. The wind was in their
favour, but the tide was against them nearly the whole way, and it was
quite dark before they got under the lee of the lighthouse and found
themselves safely sheltered in the little harbour of St. Helier. It is
quite possible that Mr. Cleon may have had some motive in not wishing
to land by daylight, at all events he seemed in nowise dissatisfied by
his late arrival, but paid his boatmen liberally and dismissed them.
Skirting the head of the harbour cautiously, with his coat collar
turned up and his hat well slouched over his eyes, Cleon entered the
first low public-house to which he came and called for a glass of rum.
A number of men, sailors chiefly, and loafers of various kinds, passed
in and out while he stood at the bar, at each one of whom he glanced
keenly. He waited nearly half an hour before he found the sort of face
he wanted--one in which low cunning and intelligence were combined. He
took the owner of this face aside and held a private parley with him
for full ten minutes. Then the man went away and Mr. Cleon ordered a
private room and some tea.
He was still discussing his chop when the man got back.
"Well--what news? Make your report," said the mulatto.
"All right, captain," with a touch of his forelock. "Found out all you
wanted to know, right slick away. Make you no error on that point. I
promised to do it, and I done it. Oh, yes. There's no flies about what
I'm going to tell you. Captain Ducie is stopping at the 'Royal
George,' and has been stopping there for the last ten days. Up to last
night most of his time was spent with an old gentleman and a young
lady, father and daughter, of the name of Van Loal. But they went away
by this morning's boat, and Captain Ducie has been mooning about all
day, seeming as if he hardly knew what to do with himself. Just now he
is up the town at one of the billiard saloons, and is not expected
home before eleven."
"You know all the billiard rooms in the town. Go and find out at which
one of them Captain Ducie is engaged, and whether he is so fixed that
he is likely to remain there for some time to come."
In less than a quarter of an hour the man was back. "The Captain is
playing pool with a lot more swells at Baxter's rooms, and seems well
fixed for another hour to come."
The mulatto had already paid his bill, and was ready for a start. "Now
show me the 'Royal George' Hotel," said he.
The hotel was pointed out and the man paid and dismissed. Cleon
entered the hotel with the air of a proprietor, and asked to be shown
a private sitting room. He was shown into one on the first floor. It
was small but comfortable. He expressed himself as being perfectly
satisfied with it, and then he ordered dinner.
While the meal was being got ready, Mr. Cleon stated that he should
like to see such bedrooms as were disengaged. He was rather
fastidious, he added, in the choice of a bedroom, and should prefer
making his own selection. He was very pleasant and jocular with the
chambermaid who showed him round.
In all there were five bedrooms in want of occupants, and Mr. Cleon
was not satisfied till he had looked into each of them. "Come, now,"
he said, after peeping into the fifth and last, "if I am rightly
informed, you have a military gentleman stopping in the house, a
Captain----."
"Ducie," added the girl as the mulatto stopped as if in doubt.
"Ah, that is the name. Captain Ducie. Now, soldiers generally know how
to pick out the best quarters, and if I were to choose a bedroom on
the same floor as the captain's I could hardly go far astray. Now, I
dare say you could tell me the number of Captain Ducie's room?"
"The captain's room is number fourteen. Number ten, the next room but
three to it, is empty, and you can have it if you choose."
"I engage number ten on the spot," said Mr. Cleon, emphatically.
"See that the sheets are properly aired, and here are a couple of
half-crowns for your trouble."
Mr. Cleon ate his dinner in solitary state, and retired to his bedroom
at an early hour. To his bedroom, but not to bed. After about five
minutes his candle was put out. A minute or two later the door of his
room was noiselessly opened, and showed him standing on the threshold,
tall and black, like a spirit of evil in the dim starlight. After
listening intently for a little while, he stole gently along the
corridor from his own room to the door of number fourteen. This door
he tried, and found that it yielded at once to his hand. He opened it
a little way and peeped in. The room was dark and empty. Still
listening, with every sense on the alert, he struck a noiseless match.
The tiny flame, bright and clear, and lasting for about half a minute,
was sufficient to enable him to photograph on his memory the position
of every article of furniture in the room. It was also sufficient to
enable him to note something of much greater importance: that there
was not only a stout lock on the door of number fourteen; but that the
door could be still further secured on the inside by means of a strong
bolt. He smothered the malediction that rose to his lips when he saw
this, and then he stole back to his own room with the look of a
baffled wild beast on his face.
Even now he did not go to bed, but sat waiting in the dark, with his
door slightly ajar, for the coming of the tenant of number fourteen.
Upwards of an hour passed away before he heard Captain Ducie's step on
the stair. He seemed to draw back within himself as he heard it: to
crouch as if getting ready for a spring. But the moment Captain Ducie
entered number fourteen, Cleon was at the door of his own room and
listening. He fell back a pace or two and shook his fist savagely in
the air as he heard what he had felt almost sure he should hear. He
heard Captain Ducie double lock the door of number fourteen, and then
shoot home the brass bolt, as though still further to secure himself
against intruders. The mulatto's sharp white teeth clashed together
viciously as the sound met his ear.
"Only wait!" he whispered down the dark corridor. Then he went in, and
shut and locked the door of his own room.
Next morning he ordered breakfast to be taken up to bed to him. He was
very unwell, he said, and should not be able to leave his room all
that day. But his illness, whatever it might be, did not seem to
affect his appetite. Luncheon, and afterwards dinner, were sent up to
him in due course. At nine o'clock he rang his bell and ordered a
bottle of claret. At the same time he instructed the waiter that he
should not want anything more till morning; and that he must on no
account be disturbed till that time.
He had been singularly uneasy and watchful all day, listening
frequently, with his door slightly ajar, to the downstairs noises of
the hotel, sometimes even venturing a few yards down the corridor when
the house was more than usually quiet, but retreating quickly to his
den at the slightest sound of an approaching footstep. Once he had
even penetrated into Captain Ducie's room for a few seconds. "Ah,
scélerat! I shall have you yet," he muttered, as he shut himself out
of the room after his brief survey.
Now that daylight had faded into dusk, and dusk had deepened into
night, his proceedings were still more singular. After finishing his
bottle of wine, he proceeded to take off his ordinary outer clothing,
and in place of it to induct himself into a tight-fitting suit of some
strong dark woven stuff that fitted him like a glove. Round his waist
he buckled a belt of dull black leather, and into this belt he stuck a
small sheathed dagger. Pendent from the belt was a tiny pouch made of
the same material, into which he put some half dozen allumettes, and
two small cones of some red material, each of them about four inches
in height. This done, his toilette was finished. After a last glance
round, he put out the candles, opened the door, and halted on the
threshold for a moment or two to listen.
The night was clear and unclouded, and through the staircase window
the stars shone brightly in. The corridor was filled with their
ghostly light. Midway in it stood the mulatto, black from head to
foot, except for his two ferocious eyes that gleamed redly from under
his heavy brows like danger signals pointing out the road to death. A
pause of a few seconds and then he shut and locked the door of his
room--locked it from the outside and put away the key in the tiny
pouch by his side.
The quiet starlight seemed to fall away from him affrighted as he
moved down the dusky corridor. Now that the door was shut behind him
he went on without hesitation or pause. He had only a few paces to go.
On reaching the door of number fourteen, he turned the handle, went
in, and closed the door softly behind him.