IN THE TIGER'S CLUTCHES
Despite the mysterious fact that the Honourable Miss Cheyne's photo had
been found in the dirty little shop in Crown Court, Drury Lane, Cleek
could find no visible connection between it and the fact of the murder.
Its presence was also speedily accounted for, owing to the information
garrulously volunteered by Mrs. Malone. It appeared that "Madame" had
been in the service of the Honourable Miss Cheyne. "Hupper 'ousemaid,
she were," said that lady, "and when she left to get married, the
mistress gave her half-a-crown and her photo to remind her wot a fool
she was to do it. 'Er very own words, sir, not but what she wasn't 'appy
enough---- Still, it's a man wot's killed 'er, so the old girl wasn't
far out."
"How do you know that?" asked Cleek, to whom she was talking at the
time.
Mrs. Malone bit her lip.
"Stands to reason it was so, sir. I'll not be speaking the black word
against anybody, but sure an' I belave I know the man what did it----"
"What's that? What do you mean?"
"Well, sir," said the woman, "I wasn't 'ere myself all day, but it might
have been the man who used to come in 'ere and pump 'er all about 'er
old 'ome and 'er first place--which was 'er last, too. It were Cheyne
Court itself down on the river somewhere, I don't exactly know where,
but poor 'Madame' was bred and born there, and loved the place like
'ome. This man was always a coming in, after he spotted that dratted
photograph there. Talk, talk, talk 'e would. What was the place like and
how far away was it? And ever so many more such-like questions. But
Madame always shut up and once when 'e offered to buy the picture
itself, she nearly broke his neck with a broom handle."
Cleek sat very still, his eyes half closed. To all appearances he was
half asleep. But his thoughts were racing at topmost speed. So he was
right. There was some connection between this murder and the Cheyne
Court mystery; but what? What was it that this stranger wanted to learn,
and why had he been so persistent in his inquiries? He could find no
answer to his mental queries, and eventually he was obliged to own
himself beaten. But that in nowise prevented his taking the impression
of the finger-prints on the dagger with which the grim deed had been
perpetrated. The case was left in the hands of the jury with the result
that the verdict was one he had prophesied, "wilful murder against
someone or persons unknown." Notwithstanding its practical passing into
oblivion, Cleek felt that the case was connected in some way with the
Cheyne Court mystery, and as he left the grimy regions of Drury Lane
behind him his thoughts went back to Lady Margaret.
Meanwhile, the object of his solicitude was apparently far from needing
it. "Lady Margaret Cheyne, the Honourable Miss Cheyne and maid," the
latter, the furtive-faced "Aggie," had registered their arrival in a
quiet little hotel in Craven Street, W. Once in London Miss Cheyne had
shown an amazing knowledge of its thoroughfares and shopping centres,
despatching the girl, in the company of Aggie, on delightful expeditions
that sent the child, for she was little more, almost delirious with
delight. After being pent up in the austere walls of that convent abroad
it was small wonder that to have all the bewildering splendour of
feminine fashions at her command turned her head a little.
Only one little thing gave her cause for dissatisfaction, and that was
the presence of the ever-watchful Aggie.
"If only you would come, too, Auntie," she cried, on the third morning
of their stay, previous to setting forth on another whirl of
purchasing. "Aggie hasn't an atom of taste, you know. She would
cheerfully let me buy a green hat to go with a mauve skirt, and I don't
think even an orange blouse would upset her equanimity."
"Well, why should it?" demanded Miss Cheyne. "I like a bit of colour
myself."
This coming from her aunt, whose clothes were always of the darkest and
dowdiest combinations of gray or black that could be imagined, left Lady
Margaret almost breathless.
"Don't be too long to-day," said Miss Cheyne, apparently totally
unconscious of the effect her words had produced. "Don't forget that we
have an appointment with the solicitors this afternoon, and I shall want
all my energies to see you are not done out of those jewels."
Lady Margaret laughed gaily.
"No, I don't suppose they will like giving them up after all these
years."
With a little nod she passed out and was soon on her way westward. In
Trafalgar Square she stopped to stare skyward at the Nelson monument. So
absorbed was she that she did not see the start of glad surprise which a
stalwart young man gave as he came rushing to her side.
It was not, indeed, until the sound of her own name spoken in glad,
joyous tones fell on her ears that she came back once more to her
surroundings.
"Edgar," she said breathlessly, clapping her hands like a little child.
"Isn't this just wonderful; meeting you like this? Why, where did you
spring from, and why haven't you been near me?"
Without waiting for his reply she led him round till they found a seat
on the stone steps.
"I jolly well haven't had a chance of seeing you, my darling," said the
young man as he devoured the radiant young face with his eyes. "I've
fairly haunted the grounds of Cheyne Court but didn't dare to face your
old dragon after the drubbing she gave me last week. I suppose she's all
right?" he asked, a little irrelevantly.
Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise.
"Why, of course she is all right. She has been good to me, though she
seems queerer than ever. But, Edgar, what do you think, she says my
jewels will be a good wedding present for us! What do you say to that?"
"What!" cried the young man. "Do you mean you tackled her--you brave
darling. I wonder she didn't snap your pretty head off."
"I did expect an outcry, when I said I was going to marry you," she
said, shaking her fair head, "but she said I might, and should have the
Cheyne Court jewels, too."
"Considering they're your own property, my darling, that's just like her
cheek," retorted Sir Edgar. "But I'm hanged if I can understand it, for
when I saw her last, as I told you, she abused me like a pickpocket."
Lady Margaret laughed aloud in childish glee.
"Well, we'll just take the goods the gods send," said she. "She can keep
the old jewels if she likes, if only she gives her consent to our
marriage."
Her voice dropped tenderly upon the words, and the wild-rose colour
bloomed for a moment in her cheeks until Sir Edgar, impetuous young man
that he was, gave a hasty look round at the practically empty square and
snatched the kiss he had been longing for ever since he had caught sight
of her.
"And now," he said, when Lady Margaret, blushing deeper than ever, had
reproved him for his audacity, "what are you going to do next?"
"Go back to the hotel, Maxell's, in Craven Street, and get ready for
those horrid old lawyers," she responded, laughing, as she surveyed
Aggie's broad figure some distance away. "Auntie won't rest till she
gets those precious jewels home."
"Jove, Meg darling, but you don't mean to tell me you're going to be mad
enough to take the Cheyne jewels back to that old rookery of a place?"
exclaimed Sir Edgar.
"It does seem a bit of a risk," she admitted, "but Auntie is keen on it
and I don't care so long as she lets me see you. I really must go now,
Edgar. I shall have to go right back instead of shopping."
"I'm coming with you," Sir Edgar said, jumping to his feet. "I won't let
you out of my sight if I can help it."
"But you must. I don't want Auntie to be upset again; now be a dear,
sensible Edgar! See, here is Aggie, she's a new servant of Auntie's and
I can see she is getting cross. I will get back, and when we return home
this evening you must meet me on the terrace. I will talk Auntie into
playing the fairy godmother."
There was no gainsaying the wisdom of this line of reasoning, and
unwillingly enough the ardent young lover watched the figure of the girl
he loved run lightly across the great square and vanish, with a parting
wave, in the whirl of the Strand.
Meanwhile, Lady Margaret, back at the hotel, lost no time in acquainting
her aunt of this chance encounter with her lover, but strangely enough,
save for a gruff remark about the waste of time, Miss Cheyne was
apparently content to waive her dislike of the Brenton family. The girl
was too elated at this unexpected abeyance to grumble at her aunt's
non-attention, or the haste with which lunch was partaken of in order to
keep the dreaded legal appointment.
Once in the lawyer's grimy office, Miss Cheyne was curiously subdued,
and her mien was that of one decidedly ill at ease.
It was Mr. Shallcott, the senior partner, a short-sighted old-fashioned
gentleman who shook hands with the ladies and congratulated Lady
Margaret on her "accession to her throne," as he jokingly put it.
His face, however, when she expressed her intentions of removing all the
precious heirlooms down to Cheyne Court, was a study in dire dismay.
"But it's utter madness, my child!" he said gently. "Why, every jewel
thief in Europe will be after them, don't you agree with me, Miss
Cheyne?" he peered over at the old lady as she sat immersed in shadow.
"To a certain extent I do," was the amazing response, and coming from
one who had been so intensely insistent on their removal it caused Lady
Margaret's blue eyes to widen to their fullest extent.
As in a dream she heard her aunt continue blandly:
"But I think the child's whim may be safely granted, Mr. Shallcott, for
I have had special safes made to hold them and they can be returned
into your safe custody directly Lady Margaret is presented."
"Well, of course, my dear lady, it is no business of mine," responded
the little lawyer tersely. "Your dear brother left them entirely at Lady
Margaret's disposal, and if she has made up her mind to have them, well,
I suppose a wilful young woman must have her way, eh?" he smiled a
little at Lady Margaret's preoccupied face. "Perhaps I can persuade her
to change her mind."
"No, no, certainly not," snapped Miss Cheyne. "Now, Margaret, speak up,
and don't act like a child. You do want them, do you not?"
She glared across at the girl, who, fearing the wrath that would
doubtless be vented upon her should she speak out, was impelled to
answer in the affirmative and Mr. Shallcott became reluctantly content.
Therefore, orders were given to the clerk to get the cases out of the
safe wherein they had been placed when fetched from the Safe Deposit
Vault.
"There is no need for that ill-fated pendant, I hope?" he inquired
anxiously.
"The Purple Emperor?" said Miss Cheyne. "Oh, yes, let her have it as
well as the others; not a soul but ourselves will know of their removal
from here, and I promise you they will come to no harm. You see," she
whispered, "I am taking her to a big county ball next week, and, well,
youth is youth, after all. She can only be young once."
Mr. Shallcott nodded in understanding, and with a little sigh of the
futility of argument with a woman, allowed the fatal stone to be
included.
Half an hour later an unpretentious, weather-stained portmanteau was
bundled into the four-wheeler in which Miss Cheyne insisted on being
driven to Waterloo Station. If the cabman had but known what he was
handling, a bag, cheap by reason of its contents at half a million
pounds sterling, he might have regarded it with more interest than he
did.
It was nearly five when they reached Hampton. Lady Margaret's head ached
unceasingly and she felt tired and worn with the strain of things. But
Miss Cheyne was curiously elated. She talked and chuckled over her own
jokes till the girl felt glad that it had given her so much pleasure to
gaze on the family jewels. They might very well have been left to her
during her own lifetime, even if they had to pass on to her niece when
the aunt had gone beyond earthly vanities.
As they crawled down the lane in the cab, toward Cheyne Court, they
passed Sir Edgar Brenton who had travelled down by the same train. His
eyes met Lady Margaret's and she could have cried aloud at the relief
of her lover's nearness.
John was awaiting their arrival and again she felt that twinge of doubt
as she saw the ill-concealed maliciousness upon his face, and caught his
question: "All right?" as he lifted the bag into the hall.
"Quite," was Miss Cheyne's remark. "We are tired, and Lady Margaret
would like a cup of tea in her room, I am sure."
The girl started to deny this, but John had already vanished. Depressed
and filled with sore foreboding, Lady Margaret ascended the staircase.
Once in her own room, she scolded herself for her doubts. "I am like a
nervous cat!" she said to herself. "I don't care what Auntie says now,
she may have the old jewels but I am going to meet Edgar."
Like a guilty schoolgirl, indeed she was little more than a child, she
sped down the stairs, stopping, however, to look into the small ballroom
whence issued sounds of uproarious laughter. And the sight which met her
eyes filled her with unspeakable horror. One illuminating glance was
enough. She turned and fled, speeding to the dining-room window, where
on the terrace outside she knew her lover awaited her.
Her face was white and panic-stricken. Who were these dreadful people
who laughed, joked, and drank with her aunt as though they were equal in
station?
The horror of what she had seen seized her again. Forgetting all else in
her mad desire to break away from this house forever, she jumped out
upon the terrace, her shrill voice raised in despair:
"Edgar, Edgar, save me! save me!" she cried wildly and turned to fly.
But her entry into the ballroom had been noticed by the occupants. They
had stopped in their merriment and stared in dumb amazement at her
unexpected appearance.
Like a flash they were upon her heels out on the terrace, and Sir Edgar
himself, startled by the sudden turn of events, was only just in time to
see the figure of the woman he loved struggling in the arms of a servant
before she was dragged back and lost to his view. His furious assault on
the glass took him into the room but there he was only to find a closed
and locked door.