A TWISTED CLUE
Before another quarter of an hour had passed Cleek was the sole inmate
of Cheyne Court. He sat with shoulders hunched up and head thrust
forward, seeking to pierce the cloud that hung over the heads of the two
young people to both of whom he had been undeniably attracted.
He was as anxious to restore Lady Margaret to the arms of her lover as
Sir Edgar himself and it was only because he felt that the discovery of
the Purple Emperor would be bound up in some inexplicable manner with
the girl herself that he had striven to elucidate the puzzle.
He had contrived to get the inquest postponed for a week, for he felt
instinctively that had the case been left to take its course, a verdict
against Sir Edgar Brenton of wilful murder would have been the result.
Like a flash had come back to him the words of Ailsa Lorne about Sir
Edgar's purchase of prussic acid to poison an old dog. And after all, it
had never been used; at least not for that purpose! Had it then been
only a blind? Had the desperate lover conceived the plot to murder the
woman whom he believed to stand in the way of his marriage with Lady
Margaret? Impossible! Yet love is a strange madness. And what had he
been doing with the revolver in his pocket on that first night? Where,
too, did Miss Jennifer and her idiot of a brother come into the puzzle,
_and_ Lady Brenton? Cleek pinched up his chin and stood a moment looking
out of the window across the stretch of straggling, unkempt lawn that
lay beyond it. He was seated in the wide window seat of the ballroom
that had been the scene of the dual tragedy. All at once his trained
ears caught the sound of a footfall on the path outside the window. Not
a man's foot, either! What woman was it that would remain behind in this
place of ill omen? Noiselessly he raised his head and looked out of the
window, but he was unable to see any one. He listened intently, then, of
a sudden, twitched up his head with a jerk, and crouched forward.
For the woman's footfalls had ceased, brought to a stop by others
heavier, yet light in themselves, padding swiftly along the path. No
sooner had they got within hailing distance of the woman than the eager,
frightened voice of Lady Brenton sounded across the silence of the
deserted place.
"Mr. Dall," said that enlightening voice, with the catch of a half-sob
in it. "Thank Heaven you have not gone! This is the only place where we
can meet with safety. Why--oh, why did you mention about those lace
scarves? You don't know how they will gossip now, all the narrow-minded,
evil-thinking folk in the neighbourhood. Why did you want to see me here
like this? Tell me quickly, for I am frightened to death of this place."
"Are you?" the Hindoo's voice was smooth, almost sneering. "My dear
lady, why be more frightened by day than by night? You were not
frightened when you fluttered in by that window barely a month ago. Did
you kill the old lady? I wonder--why were you not honest with me?"
"Kill? Kill whom, Mr. Dall? My God, what are you talking about?"
The sneer in the Hindoo's voice was less veiled than ever.
"Why, the real Miss Cheyne, of course. Why didn't you leave that to me?
I should have done it far better, believe me."
Cleek caught the sound of a strangled breath and his pulses drummed.
"Good Heavens, man!" came Lady Brenton's voice again, "are you mad to
accuse me of such a thing? Why should I murder her, poor creature? And
how?"
Came a cackle of harsh laughter like a shot on a tin roof.
"Well acted, my lady, but it won't work. Don't forget, I saw you in that
very room, when, according to our old friend, Constable Roberts, Miss
Cheyne was dead. Well, who killed her, I say? You did not know I saw you
but I caught sight of your golden scarf as you bent over the body----"
Cleek sucked in his breath hard and a brighter sparkle shone in his
half-shut eyes. So Lady Brenton was there, was she? If this were true,
then Sir Edgar knew more than he professed, and he was shielding someone
other than Lady Margaret--and that someone was his own mother!
Lady Brenton had remained perfectly still, as though dumbfounded at the
charge made against her. Either that was it, or she was striving how
best to free herself from the power of this man who held her guilty
secret.
Then she spoke suddenly.
"You really mean that you think I killed that poor defenceless old
woman?"
Cleek could fairly see the cynical smile that crept over the man's
features, for the tones of his voice betrayed it.
"Dear lady," he answered, "it is what anybody would say if they had seen
you, as I saw you, emerge from that room with a gold lace scarf round
your face. I watched you cross that lawn and vanish in the darkness."
"That is not the truth," she flung back with a sudden awakening from the
kind of stupor which up till now had overcome her. "I never wore that
gold scarf for the simple reason I did not possess one at that time. I
was never near Cheyne Court. If you say you saw me, you are saying what
is absolutely untrue. And there is another thing, since you are so sure
that I was responsible for that horrible deed, what were you doing at
Cheyne Court that night at all?"
Gunga Dall's answer to Lady Brenton's question was given so quickly,
even as Cleek himself echoed the thought in his own mind, that he might
well have been forgiven in believing that it had been prepared
beforehand.
"I followed you, my dear lady----"
"Followed me?" she repeated. "From where, pray? Oh, this is
intolerable!"
"I saw you as I turned into the lane and I rather wondered, as was only
natural, what you were doing at that unearthly hour and place."
"So I should think," responded Lady Brenton with a little sniff of
disdain; "the same might apply to you, Mr. Dall."
That gentleman laughed softly.
"I came to see if I could speak to Lady Margaret Cheyne," he replied,
"you must remember I had met her previously in Paris."
"I do remember, only too plainly, and how you gave me no peace till I
had introduced you, but that is no reason why you should call upon her
at night, after she had had a long journey. Besides, how did you know
she was expected home? I hardly knew myself till quite late and by a
chance word overheard from Miss Cheyne herself in the post office. How
did _you_ come to hear of it?"
That very idea was already formulating itself in Cleek's own mind at the
same time. How, indeed? But Gunga Dall was evidently prepared for the
question.
"In the same way as yourself, my dear lady," he returned, glibly, "the
young lady at the office was busy talking about Lady Margaret's return
and I made up my mind then to pay her a visit, but I had not intended to
call at that hour. I just took a little walk and my steps led me by
accident--or what you English people call Providence--past the house.
Then I saw you, and you beckoned to me, so naturally I followed in your
wake. I saw you enter the house, the front door was open, and I waited
and waited, and at last out of curiosity I, too, went through the door,
and closed it behind me.
"I tell you when I stood in that ballroom, and lit a match for a
cigarette and saw that old woman dead, and you bending over her----"
"It is a _lie_!" threw in Lady Brenton, vehemently. "I was never there!
Never!"
"But you were!" he repeated, emphatically. "What is the use of denying
what we both know? At sight of you there I was staggered--is not that
your word?--and turning on my heel I ran right out of the house. Then I
remembered you were still in the place, and to try and help you, dear
lady, I went back, and peered through that window. I could not have gone
into it--no, not for a thousand rupees! The horror of it all was so
strong! But fortunately you were gone, and so I have bided my time to
tell you what I want, both from you and your interesting son Edgar."
All this time Lady Brenton had remained as if stupefied by this web that
was being woven round her, but the sound of her beloved son's name
aroused her.
"Edgar!" she cried in a high, shrill voice. "What has he got to do with
it?"
"Everything, dear lady," was the smooth reply, "for when I came out of
the grounds I walked nearly up against him, and he was in such a state
of agitation that he never even noticed me till I spoke to him!"
"_Edgar?_" echoed Lady Brenton again, a note of fear as well as
surprise in her voice. "Edgar in the grounds of Cheyne Court on that
night?" and Cleek could have blessed her for the note of doubt which her
tone held, for this was assuredly one of the points which he himself
desired to have explained satisfactorily. "But what was Edgar doing at
such an hour and in such a place? Why, he was at a public dinner, now I
remember, so it is impossible!"
"Not so impossible, dear lady. Sir Edgar himself said that he had come
to meet Lady Margaret."
In the shadow of the window curtain Cleek puckered up his brows and
thoughtfully pinched his chin. So that was the young gentleman's
explanation of his presence in the grounds, was it? Plausible enough,
though it differed greatly from the explanation he had tendered to
Lieutenant Deland. However, that was only to be expected.... After all,
it might be merely a red herring drawn across the path. Surely, the
station was the right place to await a fiancée's return from abroad, not
the grounds of her home--late at night! But then he had little belief in
the young man's guilt, and there was every possibility that Sir Edgar
had followed in his mother's footsteps with a view to finding out her
purpose.
For that Lady Brenton had been in that vicinity, Cleek felt almost
certain despite her vehement denial. The bond between mother and son was
beyond all doubt a very close one. It might well be that the two had
played at cross purposes and been bent on shielding one another. But he
had not thought that Sir Edgar----
Gunga Dall's soft, purring voice broke in upon his thoughts, and Cleek
pricked up his ears to listen.
"It was his mention of Lady Margaret that made me wonder whether you,
too, had gone for that purpose," the Hindoo went on, "that's how I came
to see you there, I suppose----"
"You did not see me there!" she flung back, indignantly. "Really, this
is unbearable! I tell you I was not near Cheyne Court that night, Mr.
Dall, and I will not stop another second to hear such abominable charges
against me! No, please do not follow me, or speak to me, you have done
me injury enough this morning with your foolish blundering remark about
the scarves."
A moment she stood there irresolute, then turned and sped down the path
across the lawn like a fleet shadow. As she went, Cleek heard the sound
of a soft, throaty chuckle which came to him as he crouched in his
hiding place. Then the padding footsteps followed in Lady Brenton's wake
and died away into the silence of the deserted place.
For a moment Cleek sat there, lost in thought. There had been a certain
note of truth in the voice of Gunga Dall which told him instinctively
that Lady Brenton had been there on that night, deny it as she might,
and Sir Edgar, too. That both would fight tooth and nail to keep their
visit a secret to the world he felt no less assured.
But why had either of them--mother or son--been concealed in the house
that night? Could it have been Lady Brenton whose figure had flitted
across the lawn before his startled eyes? True, it had worn a gold scarf
and, according to her ladyship, at that moment she had not possessed
such an article. Still, there was more than one kind of gold scarf in
the world, and even Indian ones were quite easily obtainable.
Then why had she been forced to introduce Gunga Dall to Lady Margaret
when the child had been in Paris? Was there some power that the Hindoo
possessed over the elder woman? All these thoughts raced through his
mind--but----
And then of a sudden he became alert, for out of the silence of the
night and in at the window again came the sound of footsteps tip-toeing
softly by. Even as he stared out with sharp, discerning eyes, a figure
flitted by. It was a figure that made Cleek's heart beat wildly for it
was the figure of Sir Edgar Brenton himself!