THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
The distance between the door of Cheyne Court and the end of the lane,
whence the sounds appeared to issue, was by no means a short one, but at
the first sound of Dollops's voice the four men sped down the centre of
the dark drive and round the corner, the bull's-eye lantern of Constable
Roberts sending a brilliant path of light before them.
Close to the identical spot, where earlier in the evening Constable
Roberts had had his helmet pushed down over his eyes by an unseen
assailant, two figures struggled together. One was vainly endeavouring
to free herself from the clutches of her captor, the other was intent on
bringing her to the ground. Scattered all about were the drawings and
paraphernalia with which Dollops had evidently been carrying out his
usual proceedings. The light of the lantern and Cleek's electric torch
revealed his prisoner to be a slim, fair-haired girl of about three and
twenty, clad in a soft white gown now sadly soiled and torn by the rough
usage she had undergone, while over her shoulders was hanging a
crumpled but unmistakable gold scarf.
It hardly needed the doctor's startled exclamation, "Jennifer!" to tell
the detective that this was indeed the girl of whom he had spoken, for
even from that distance there emanated the sweet fragrance of jasmine.
There before him was the girl the host at the Hampton Arms had gossiped
about, and who was a bitter rival of Lady Margaret Cheyne for the love
of Sir Edgar Brenton.
"Why, Doctor!" she said bravely. "This is a lucky meeting. Who and what
is this disgusting individual? I was just taking a little stroll, when I
was seized hold of and dragged along like a sack of coals, or a criminal
on the way to the police-station."
Cleek noted her voice and tone, and stood watching her. He said nothing,
however, merely removed the pressure of his thumb from the controlling
button of his torch, slipped that useful article into his pocket, and
busied himself with picking up Dollops' papers on which he had obviously
been taking measurements of footprints.
"Here you, whoever you are, just keep your 'ands off my papers," snapped
Dollops with a wink at the Superintendent which passed unnoticed by that
irate individual. "I say, Mr. Narkom sir, don't let that new man take
off my papers, and don't you be took in neither, sir," he added,
earnestly. "I didn't do the young person no 'arm, but she wasn't up to
no good a creeping and watching in the dark."
"Well, you can take it from me, sir," interposed Dr. Verrall, heatedly,
"this lady is a personal friend of mine, and had a perfect right to be
strolling down the lane. She was probably on her way home from Lady
Brenton's; were you not, Miss Wynne?"
"Yes, yes, that's just where I had been," the girl answered, her dark
eyes flashing gratefully at the doctor, "but I refuse to say another
word till you send away this enterprising youth who has bruised my arms
nearly black and blue."
"Certainly, Miss Wynne," said Mr. Narkom. "Dollops, get along back to
the station."
"But, sir, Mr. Narkom----"
"Not another word: do as I say."
Dollops gave a swift glance at Cleek's impassive face, then sullenly
picked up his papers, the bundle of famous "tickle-tootsies" without
which he never budged when on a case, and lounged away into the shadows
of the trees.
"We are anxious to get on with a very important task, Miss Jennifer,"
said the Superintendent. "A very horrible deed has been committed within
the last few hours, and I and my friend and ally----"
"Mr. George Headland," interjected that gentleman, blandly. While
appearing to have been absorbed in dispatching Dollops, Cleek had been
quietly taking in every detail relative to the girl's appearance, and
had decided off-hand that he liked the look of her, despite her
suspicious behaviour. She was just the type of womanhood that to connect
with such a thing as _murder_ was simply impossible. "Surely, Mr.
Narkom, it is hardly necessary to explain if the details are already
known. Perhaps Miss Jennifer had come down to learn any fresh news?"
"That is just what I have done," she said, gratefully, a note of
agitation sounding in her rich voice, despite an effort to keep it calm.
"I was just going for a stroll. I had a splitting headache, and only a
good walk in the open air ever does it any good. All at once I met
Constable Roberts. I stopped him and he told me dear Miss Cheyne had
been murdered. Of course I did not want to be caught, and I was just
trying to get back home when that young beggar set on me, mistaking me,
I suppose, for an accomplice."
"Well, it's very deplorable," put in Cleek, mildly, "but you see, miss,
he'd been told to arrest anybody who came along, and under the
circumstances----" His voice trailed off into silence and the rest of
the sentence went by default.
Miss Wynne nodded her head vigorously.
"Yes, yes, I suppose so; still, it has all been a mistake and now I
think I had better be going home. You will be suspecting me of the
actual murder next.
"Nonsense, Miss Jennifer, we might as well suspect Lady Brenton, or Sir
Edgar, for that matter."
"Why, yes, indeed," said the girl, quickly. "But as Lady Brenton was
confined to her room, also with a headache, and Sir Edgar is not
expected back till the morning, I think we are all quite safe."
The curious one-sided smile moved up Cleek's left cheek, then vanished
as quickly as it had come.
"Quite so, Miss Jennifer," he said, blandly. "Besides, it is not with
women we are concerned but the owner of this revolver that we found on
the spot----"
She saw the revolver and whirled upon him like a mad woman.
"My God! He did lea--Edgar--he said it had been stolen!"
Realizing the effect of her words, she then turned fiercely on them. "If
you dare to suspect Edgar, you are wrong. He was never within miles of
the place! You shan't drag him into this wretched mess, you shan't, I
say, you shan't----"
"Calm yourself, my dear young lady; there is every proof of its being a
woman as much as a man," put in Cleek gently.
"You are absolutely sure you have no knowledge of the murder, no
suspicion?"
For the briefest second she seemed to hesitate. Then she spoke
hysterically:
"Why should I? I shouldn't have come if Roberts had not told me it was
Miss Cheyne."
"There is no more to be said, then," returned Cleek. "We will all say
good-night, and perhaps you will let one of us see you home."
"I will take Miss Jennifer back, myself," responded the doctor with a
pathetic alacrity which Cleek noted, and with a last good-night the two
turned and set off down the lane.
"H'm!" said Cleek, rubbing his chin, "and so a fresh element of mystery
enters. She knew all that had been done this night, I'll swear. There
was no surprise, was there, Roberts, when you told her?"
"Come to think of it, sir, she never turned a hair, might have been a
dead cat I was talking about."
"What do you make of it, Cleek?" Mr. Narkom asked, in a mystified
manner.
"Nothing as yet. Roberts, get a guard round the house, and then turn in.
We'll wait here till relief comes. Good-night."
But after the burly policeman had tramped thankfully away, Cleek turned
to his companion.
"For a liar, commend me to a woman every time," he said. "Miss Jennifer
does know who it was. She knew that it had already been committed, and
every blessed thing of hers smelt of _Huile de jasmin_ strong! Did you
notice the gold lace scarf also?"
"Good Lord! Surely you do not believe----?" Mr. Narkom's voice was full
of anxiety.
"I never 'believe' anything till I get proof. I may have my doubts and I
do think at the moment that the young lady is either in the possession
of dangerous knowledge, or else she is bent on throwing the blame on to
Sir Edgar----"
"Good heavens, Cleek, how, why, what makes you think that?"
"First, because she was so evidently on the spot to be caught; secondly,
her remark about the revolver was not so unstudied as it looked. No, my
friend, you will find that Miss Jennifer knows a little more than you
imagine, and means to turn that little to account in winning the man she
has set her heart upon, much to our good doctor's dismay. I wonder, now,
what poor young Dollops has got to say?"
A shrill whistle speedily brought the boy along, and his face when he
saw that they were alone was a veritable picture of disgust.
"Lor' lumme, sir!" he exclaimed, "you never went and let yerself be
taken in by that young woman's soft soap! Taking a stroll, indeed! Not
she! Why, she climbed right out of one of those winders there, and
dropped to earth like a first-class burglar born."
"In the house itself, did you say?"
"Yes, I did, Mr. Narkom, and I would 'ave told yer if yer 'adn't pitched
into me! In the room over the porch she was, and she slid down the ivy,
right in front of my blessed eyes, and then made out wot it was me that
'ad torn all 'er fings. I was running full tilt after another female,
when I sees 'er, so there!"
"Another woman!" Narkom looked at Cleek, significantly.
"Are you sure it wasn't the same woman in the dark, Dollops?" asked
Cleek, suddenly, "you might have made a mistake, you know."
Dollops gave vent to a little snort of disgust.
"Certain sure, sir, but the other lady wasn't near the house she wasn't.
Sort of floating about under the trees in a kind of red dressing
gown----"
"What's that--red--do you mean scarlet? Was it scarlet satin, Dollops?
Do you think you know?"
"That I do, sir. Shining stuff it were and when I got near, she smelt
something hevingly, like a garden full o' flowers."
"What's that?" rapped out Cleek, suddenly. "_Huile de jasmin_, of
course. It must be the same woman I myself saw a month ago; and yet how
does Miss Jennifer come to be there? If she is innocent, what was she
doing in that room? And she was wearing a gold scarf, a piece of which I
have here and which was clenched in the dead man's hand!"
"Heavens above, man!" snapped Narkom. "It's as clear as crystal. I
should apply for a warrant for her arrest immediately."
"And yet, it was a revolver that had also been used, and one belonging
to Sir Edgar. Miss Jennifer would hardly go so far as to murder the only
obstacle that stood between the man she loved and his marriage to her
rival. What, too, has become of that poor girl?"
"Don't ask me, Cleek," returned the puzzled Superintendent, dolefully.
"It's the most infernal riddle I ever came across, and my head's aching
with it. I'm off to get additional help, if you don't mind, or else we
shall have crowds surging into that room before we know where we are."
"Right, Mr. Narkom, and as I still have a few threads to collect,
Dollops and I will be off, too. We'll meet at the Hampton Arms. Come on,
Dollops, we'll take a few impressions of those footprints before
they're trodden out of existence to-morrow."
"Righto, Guv'nor."
Cleek took out his electric torch and the two set forth on their
appointed task, leaving Mr. Narkom to set a sufficient guard over the
silent figure of a dead man on whose face there rested an inscrutable
smile. It was as if he were smiling over the secret he held and which
was to puzzle many minds, and was one of the greatest riddles Cleek had
ever attempted to solve.
Meanwhile that gentleman and his zealous assistant worked silently and
surely. Not a depressed blade of grass was left before it was subjected
to the keenest scrutiny, while exact outlines were taken of the clearly
defined footprints, with which the lawn was fairly alive. To recognize
the unmistakable imprint of the Government Regulation boot worn by Mr.
Narkom and Constable Roberts was a simple matter. The footprints of
Cleek and Dollops were also distinguishable, for both had early in their
companionship decided to wear boots which would always enable them to
tell their own footprints from any they might be tracking, a precaution
that had stood them in good stead on more than one occasion.
It did so now, but even after having eliminated all the known ones
there yet remained a bewildering number of marks, and a disgusted grunt
broke from Dollops.
"Lor' lumme, the place is alive with them, sir, and they're all about
the same size. They're that young woman's or I'll eat my 'at!"
But Cleek was silent, and as Dollops cautiously flashed his torch so
that the light fell full upon his master's face, he gave a little start.
Cleek was staring fixedly at the imprint of a newcomer, a man who had
evidently come right up to a certain point, then stood still, as if
waiting for something or someone to join him.
"Lor', sir," said Dollops, looking down now in the same direction,
"there's that girl's footmarks, too. They go down the lane side by
side."
An odd look flashed across Cleek's face, an odd smile dwelt for a moment
about his mouth, for it looked as if the lad were right: the girl had
been joined by a companion who had waited while she committed the deed.
Once more Cleek's mind went back to the principals in the grim drama.
Which was it? Jennifer Wynne, whose deception was so obvious; Sir Edgar
Brenton, supposed to be in town; or the unknown stranger whose footprint
they had found? It was a difficult problem, more difficult than he had
at first imagined.
Finally he threw up his chin and faced the earnest young Cockney who was
staring at him.
"Come, Dollops," he said with a little sigh, "there's no more to be done
here. But if we'd only had a crop of your 'tickle-tootsies' we'd have
caught those fine birds by their tail feathers and caged them. However,
we haven't, so let's be off. There's plenty to do and not much time to
do it in, and a walk back to the inn on this beautiful night will do us
both a power of good."