A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY
Meanwhile Dollops, obedient to Cleek's behest, had been patrolling round
Cheyne Court, and was getting exceedingly tired of that proceeding.
He had been two or three times round the building when he saw the figure
of Constable Roberts travelling swiftly away from the house, but
receiving no signal, like the faithful watchdog he was, he remained at
his post, facing the back of the house. Five minutes passed, and there
was no sound of any kind save the rustling of the branches swayed by the
wind, and the soft drip of moisture from the trees. Still he stood
there, watchful, keen, with every nerve alert for sight or sound.
Five minutes became ten--fifteen--twenty, then, of a sudden, Dollops'
nerves gave a sort of jump and a swift prickle flashed down through the
soft down of hair upon his neck. For a sound had come at last, a quick,
grating sound as of a window being opened. He stood on tiptoe and
flashed the light of his latest and most treasured possession, a
powerful electric torch, all round him.
As the light streamed forth and he flung a shifting circle before him,
there moved across it the figure of a woman, clad in scarlet, her hair
floating over her shoulders and over the intervening space there stole a
strange sweet smell of jasmine.
A woman here, at this hour, and under such strange circumstances! The
thing was so startling that it was little wonder Dollops stood as if
turned to stone. She was gone so soon, just glimmering across the circle
of light and then vanishing into the darkness as suddenly as she had
appeared, that for a brief second he lost his nerve, believing that he
had seen the apparition said by the superstitious villagers to haunt the
grounds. Indeed, as if to make this illusion even more real, there came
an unearthly wailing moan from the earth beneath his feet, a sound that
would have chilled even stronger nerves than Dollops', tired with the
strain of waiting.
With a yell the lad turned and fled down the lane in pursuit of the
speeding figure.
At the end of the path, however, winded and spent, he stopped short, and
as his eyes pierced the gloom in search of his prey, for the second time
that night, his limbs shook beneath him. Looking in all directions he
had turned back and had caught a glimpse of the windows of Cheyne
Court. Here he saw a sight that caused his strained nerves to tremble
like live wires. Something was happening in the old house at last! Over
the low-lying porch half covered with ivy was a great landing window,
one of those which had been kept religiously closed, but was now wide
open, and on the sill of it there appeared the startlingly clear figure
of a woman. She was young, fair-haired, and clad in white with a gold
lace scarf round her head. Lightly and cautiously she balanced herself
on the sill and as lightly let herself down till she reached the ground.
But the terrible sound of a few minutes before had startled others
besides poor Dollops. Mr. Narkom, unable to find him, had returned to
Cleek, whereupon Constable Roberts, who had found the house empty as
regards any human being, had been duly dispatched to the village in the
opposite direction to find Dr. Verrall.
Left to themselves once more, Cleek and Mr. Narkom proceeded to
investigate. The Constable had been gone about ten minutes or so when
the sound of that unearthly wail caused both men to falter in their
work.
"What, in Heaven's name, is it? Supernatural or human?" exclaimed the
Superintendent.
"Neither," rapped out Cleek. "I'll look into that next, but at present
I----" he threw up his head and sniffed violently at the air. "Yes, it's
as I thought. That woman's been here again."
Switching on his heel, he walked over to the dead woman, made a thorough
examination, and the queer little smile fluttered for a moment up his
cheek. Suddenly he bent down and sniffed at her dress, the lace ruffles
on her sleeves, even the dead fingertips, all of which he subjected also
to the closest scrutiny.
Suddenly, too, he rose to his feet, and stood looking down, first at the
body itself, and then at a little shining object that lay near by.
"Hmn," he said musingly, "as I thought, two people at least and one of
them a woman at that----"
"Cleek, my dear fellow!" murmured Mr. Narkom, who had at last succeeded
in lighting a couple of lamps and some wax candles which made the room a
little less gloomy.
"The scent first," flung back that gentleman quickly. "The place reeks
of _Huile de jasmin_, while this," he pointed to the silent figure, "is
a speaking witness, even though dead." A grim smile flickered over his
mobile features as he stood, his lower lip sucked in, his chin pinched
hard between his finger and thumb. "If there isn't a very great surprise
in store for the good people of Hampton shortly I'll miss my guess."
"Cleek!" Mr. Narkom was in a very tremour of excitement. "You have
discovered something. Tell me; what is it?"
"All in good time, my dear friend, remember the old proverb 'set a thief
to catch a thief'! We'll see what our good friend Dr. Verrall has to
say, and if I am not mistaken, here he comes."
And come he did, for a sound of voices and hurried footsteps introduced
him to their presence.
"What is this?" said Dr. Verrall to the Superintendent, whose identity
had evidently been impressed on him by Roberts who hovered obsequiously
in the background. Of Cleek he took no notice, having apparently taken
an unaccountable dislike to the man who had tried so hard to pump him,
on the excuse of a servant's fit of indigestion but a night or two ago.
"What is this the man tells me? Miss Cheyne, the Honourable Miss
Cheyne," he corrected himself as if the dead lady herself had reproved
him for thus forgetting her title, "has been murdered. It is
impossible!"
"Not so impossible," interposed Cleek smoothly, his eyes narrowing down
to mere slits as he noted the doctor's white face and unconsciously
trembling fingers, "as not to be the actual fact, Doctor." He made
mental comment of the doctor's agitation. It was strange to find the
man so upset over the death of an eccentric stranger even if she had
been a patient of his. And how was it he was so quickly on the spot?
Aloud, however, he continued blandly: "She has been murdered some time,
too, Doctor----"
With a little cry of horror, Dr. Verrall passed to the body and bent
over it for a minute. "Humm," he said, meditatingly. "Dead, but within a
couple of hours, I should say."
But Mr. Narkom struck in upon him.
"Impossible," said he, involuntarily, looking over at Cleek, "why, we
heard the shot--you and I, not half an hour ago."
"The doctor is quite right, Mr. Narkom," Cleek replied, an undercurrent
of mockery in his voice. "The corpse----" Dr. Verrall started a little.
"This is the Honourable Miss Cheyne, sir," he said with a quick look of
contempt at the policeman.
"Pardon me, Doctor," was the smooth reply. "The Honourable Miss Cheyne
has been dead nearly a month. I said she had been dead a long time.
_This_," he flung out his foot in scorn, "well, don't you think you had
better remove the wig first?"
"What do you mean?" gasped the Superintendent. Then, without waiting for
a reply, he bent down and touched almost fearfully the mass of golden
hair. It moved under his fingers and with one twitch came away in his
shaking hand, revealing the sleek, close-cropped head of a man, of which
the particularly noticeable feature was a narrow, sloping forehead.
A sudden smile looped up the corner of Cleek's mouth as he turned to the
astonished group about him with a little theatrical gesture. There was a
sort of triumph in his eyes.
"As I thought," he said. He turned suddenly round on the horrified
constable, his voice and features those of the young Lieutenant Deland.
"It was not such a wild-goose chase that night a month ago, after all,
eh?" he said briskly. "Lieutenant Deland, you know, Constable. Miss
Cheyne was lying dead in that room, and this rascal took her clothes and
her place. Heaven help that poor girl!" he added gravely, while both Mr.
Narkom and the constable gazed from him to the grotesque figure, almost
dazed by the sudden turn of events.
Almost as startled as his companions, the doctor tore away the clothes,
revealing the slim body of a man about forty years of age, revealing,
too, something that caused Mr. Narkom to lay a shaking hand upon Cleek's
arm.
"You see what that is, don't you?" he gasped. "Look at his arm. It bears
the sign of the pentacle. He's a member of the gang, at any rate."
Cleek stood still a moment, thinking.
"Yes," Cleek replied in a low voice. "The Purple Emperor has much to
answer for."
"There is something clenched in his hand," said the doctor, who had
proceeded with his task. "Bring the light nearer, please."
As the stiff-ringed fingers were bent back, a little glittering fragment
was displayed.
Cleek grasped it, and twitching back his head sniffed violently two or
three times.
The doctor started in amazement.
"Good Lord, man," said he testily, "you can't tell who it belongs to by
smelling it."
"I'm not so sure of that," responded Cleek smiling. "At any rate, find
me the person who scents himself or herself with _Huile de Jasmin_, and
you will be on the right road."
"_Huile de Jasmin!_" interjected the doctor suddenly. "_Huile de
Jas_--no, no, it is not possible. I will not believe that." He had risen
to his feet and was gazing across at Cleek, his face drawn and white.
"You know some one who uses that scent?" said Cleek quietly. "Come,
Doctor, in her interests, clear the ground first of all; do not delay
matters. There may be nothing in it, but----" His tones were fraught
with significance, and the other man realized their value.
"I have known Miss Jennifer Wynne to use it. She is very fond of the
scent," he said, grudgingly. "But that does not mean she had anything to
do with _this_," he pointed to the floor. "It is rarely that a woman
fires a revolver, and as this wound has clearly been caused by this
weapon here the first thing we have to do is to find the owner of it."
"True," said Cleek, quietly, bending as he spoke and pulling the dead
man's lips down.
"Unfortunately for that theory, my dear Doctor, though the man has
undoubtedly been shot, he was dead before ever that bullet reached him:
killed with prussic acid. See. Here are the remnants of a little pellet,
and I rather fancy if you have it analyzed, you will find it consists of
nearly pure solidified prussic acid. Then again, look at the neck, there
are the marks of long, slender fingers, showing that someone must have
grasped the man by the neck, and forced the pellet into his mouth. Do
you see?"
The doctor did see, and stood frowning heavily at these signs so easily
read by this stranger.
Bending down again, he picked up the revolver which lay at the side. It
bore an initial, that of the letter B.
"Brenton," muttered Mr. Narkom almost involuntarily, seeing one more
link in the chain of fatal evidence against Sir Edgar. "Good lud,
_Brenton_!"
Cleek apparently took no heed either of the remark or the revolver.
"Come," he said suddenly. "We have had enough of this gruesome spot, and
there is nothing to be learned from it. Let us lock it up and have a
look at some of those interesting footprints outside."
They had almost reached the outer gate when the silence was broken by a
babble of angry voices, mingled with the sound of a scuffle, and there
rang out the shrill tones of Dollops.
"No, you don't, my beauty! I've copped yer, and I'm going to keep you
till my guv'nor's seen you. None of your larks, now! None of your
larks!"