"'TIS A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS"
For a minute the young man made neither sound nor movement, and Cleek
was tempted to believe that his presence there was accidental--a mere
trick of chance. But of a sudden, as he peered farther out, he caught a
glimpse of Sir Edgar's face, and that one glance told him that here was
no chance eavesdropper, but one whose hatred of the Hindoo presumably
would carry him very near to murder now, if he had not already committed
that act. His face was white with the passion that kills if need be, and
his twitching hands and lips told their own story. As Cleek's eyes fell
on a little shining instrument in one of those shaking hands, he knew it
was time to act quickly. He leaned over just as Sir Edgar raised the
revolver to aim at Gunga Dall's retreating figure and with a grip of
iron grasped the boy by the shoulder. He swung his slim figure over the
shallow window-sill and into the ballroom before you could say Jack
Robinson.
The strength of his muscles was extraordinary, and as the young man
stood before him, sputtering in fury at this calm proceeding, Cleek gave
a short, sharp laugh.
"Took you rather by surprise didn't I, my friend?" he said as Sir Edgar
turned upon him menacingly. "But quick thought demands quick action, and
my apologies are manifold. Believe me----"
"Who the devil are you and what are you doing here?" cut in Sir Edgar,
angrily, trying to recognize the strangely contorted face of the man who
stood guard over him.
"Who am I?" replied Cleek, with a light chuckle. "Ah, my friend, more
than you would like to have that question answered. What I am doing is
another matter--preventing another murder, I fancy. Anyway----"
He gave a quick spring and there came a swift rustle, a metallic click!
The revolver was on the floor and a band of steel was locked about each
of the young man's wrists.
"You've put handcuffs on me," Sir Edgar cried out, angrily. "How dare
you commit such an outrage! I'll have you arrested--I----"
"Better let that subject alone, young man. I suppose you don't realize
that I overheard all that passed between Gunga Dall and Lady Brenton
just now."
"Well, and you know that he lied," put in Sir Edgar, eagerly. "My mother
wasn't there that night--you must know that."
"On the contrary, my friend, I know that she was," responded Cleek,
serenely.
Sir Edgar made an effort to raise his shackled hands. His face was
passionate.
"It's a lie, an infernal lie, I tell you!" he cried, vehemently. "It was
I who killed the old woman, if you want to know the truth. Not Lady
Brenton!"
"I do want to know the truth," replied Cleek, severely. "But that is not
it, so don't tell any more lies than you are obliged to. If I say Lady
Brenton was here that night, it does not mean that she killed Miss
Cheyne, nor that you did, either, despite the fact that you had a
revolver in your pocket."
A sudden, startled look passed over Sir Edgar's face. His mouth was a
little drawn.
"Then what is the meaning of this outrage? What right have you to arrest
me?" he said with a very creditable attempt at bluster which deceived
Cleek not at all.
"The right of the law, young man. You asked me who I was just now. Well,
I'll tell you as much as the world knows--I am Cleek, Cleek of Scotland
Yard."
"Cleek!" Filled with astonishment and not a little awe, Sir Edgar found
himself looking into a hard, cynical face with narrowed eyes and a
thin-lipped, cruel mouth.
Cleek smiled.
"Perhaps you know this man better," he said, quietly, and in a flash his
features blent, softened, altered, made of themselves yet another mask,
and Sir Edgar found himself gazing into the face of Lieutenant Deland.
"Good heavens! The lieutenant!" he said, with a throb of fear in his
voice. "Then you were that man--and Mr. Narkom knew all the time."
"Yes, Sir Edgar, and perhaps, too, you can tell me of this one, eh?"
In a flash, that face had given place to the bovine stupidity of Mr.
George Headland, as the young man had seen him at Scotland Yard.
"Mr. George Headland!" The name scarcely sounded above a whisper and
Cleek smiled a little as his face now resumed its normal expression.
"All three, my friend," he said, genially. "So you see it is useless to
attempt to deceive me. I have given you these proofs, to drive that
lesson home. Put yourself unreservedly in my hands, and you will be
safe, otherwise--well, remember that the inquest is only postponed, not
settled."
Something of menace in the low tones caused the face of Sir Edgar
Brenton to grow more pale and for a brief moment there was silence. Then
Cleek spoke swiftly.
"Give me your word to work with me, on the side of the law, and I will
see that the one you seek to shield shall not be harmed so much as by a
hair of her head," he said. "Do you believe me?"
"Yes, I do, Mr.----"
"Mr. George Headland, please."
"Very well, Mr. Headland, I place myself in your hands completely, if
you will give me your word of honour to say nothing, absolutely nothing,
to any living soul about this."
"You may safely trust the knowledge with me," responded Cleek, lightly,
as he undid the manacled hands. "And now, Sir Edgar, I want you to tell
me everything that happened that night, and the night when the imposter
was also killed, then go up to town and stay there till I send for you.
Now, fire away!"
Sir Edgar hesitated, then gave a queer little gulp.
"Well, I suppose there is no help for it," he said in a shaken voice,
seating himself beside Cleek on the wide window seat. "I was coming back
from a dinner party, just as I said, but I meant to see Margaret,
despite Miss Cheyne, and I still had that revolver in my pocket. It was
the revolver that Miss Cheyne herself threw at me that same day when,
like a fool, I tried to get her consent to our happiness. How and why
this one was marked with my initial as it was, I don't know, but I'll
swear Mr. Cl--Headland, that the first one was not. I'll take my oath on
that. It was a Smith & Wesson repeater. Well, anyhow, I came back to
Cheyne Court, and after knocking till I was tired, I was about to turn
away and had got to the bottom of the steps when I thought I heard the
sound of footsteps behind me. On turning, to my astonishment, I found
the door ajar. In I went, and as I did so, there came the sound of a
shot--from the ballroom."
"Ah, then it was you I heard, when I knocked?" interposed Cleek.
Sir Edgar nodded.
"Yes, I didn't stop to notice, just rushed into that room, and saw the
old woman dead and not a soul to be seen. Then I heard your knocking
again, and I think I lost my head--I thought it might be the police. I
know I was mad, but I just made a dash for the window and was out and
through it like a shot!"
"H'mn--then there was someone else in the house, too, for it was a woman
who crossed that lawn, one who wore a gold scarf," said Cleek, his
brows knitted. "Well, go on, what next?"
"You can imagine my feelings when you said you had been driven out by
Miss Cheyne herself when I met you in the lane. I thought that in my
fright I had imagined the murder and that she must just have fainted and
come to afterward. I know it was silly, but I was afraid to speak."
"That's all right," said Cleek, quietly. "But now what about the second
murder? How did you come to go to Cheyne Court again? That wants
explaining away, too."
"And it can easily be explained," retorted Sir Edgar, rapidly. "I was
trying to find Lady Margaret, and I caught a glimpse, or thought I did,
of a woman's figure in the grounds and followed it right into the house.
There again I found the body of Miss Cheyne, as naturally I took it to
be, and felt I must have gone out of my senses. There was something
queer and supernatural in finding her again in the same spot. Like a
donkey I took to my heels, and ran straight into Dr. Verrall half-way
down the lane."
Cleek twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.
"Met Dr. Verrall in the lane, did you?"
"Yes. He told me he had come from Miss Wynne's house, he had been to
borrow some drug from the old doctor's surgery or something. Anyway, I
tell you I was tempted to blurt out the truth, but again I was afraid,
for, as a matter of fact, we are not usually the best of friends--you
see, well----" He broke off, finding this position rather more awkward
than the others had been.
A little one-sided smile crept up Cleek's face and he put his hand upon
the young man's shoulder.
"I know," he said, quietly, "he was jealous of you and Miss Wynne,
wasn't he? She--er--entertains somewhat of a liking for you, doesn't
she?"
"Yes, that's just it. Not that there was any cause, for though I have
known Jenny all my life, I have never dreamt of marrying her. And after
I met Margaret, she was the only girl in the world!"
"I know, I know," Cleek said, quietly. "But to return to our muttons,
Sir Edgar. Didn't you meet any one else at all? Just think a moment. No
woman at all--eh?"
For a moment Sir Edgar hesitated. Then his honest eyes met Cleek's, and
read the knowledge in their keen depths.
"Yes," he said in a broken, choked voice, "you seem to know everything,
Mr. Headland. I met my mother. She was doing what I know now she often
had done, when perturbed or upset--walking in her sleep. God knows why
she had chosen that particular part to wander in. But asleep she
certainly was, for she failed to recognize me at all, and I managed to
lead her gently back until she was once more in her bedroom."
Cleek looked at the young man sharply for a moment, as though
questioning the verity of this statement.
Walking in her sleep, eh? That would account for many things. He
remembered that Ailsa had told him about the sound of footsteps in Lady
Brenton's room.... Walking in her sleep, eh? So that was the
explanation, was it? Or was it not likely to have been a case of
hypnotism? Then remembering Lady Brenton's headaches Cleek began to see
daylight at last. So Gunga Dall had not been lying after all when he
said he saw her ladyship, and she had not lied either in replying that
she knew she wasn't there. For if she were walking in her sleep, Lady
Brenton certainly did _not_ know of the fact. And that cleared a good
many things in Cleek's mind.
"You know I'm speaking the truth, Mr. Headland, you _do_ believe me,
don't you?" put in Sir Edgar, suddenly, with a little anxious note in
his voice. "I'd take my oath on it, you know."
"No need for that, my friend," responded Cleek, with a smile, "your word
is enough. But if you want to help me, keep your eye on our young
friend Bobby Wynne when you get to town. His movements will possibly be
somewhat interesting, and I'd like to keep posted regarding them---- So
she was walking in her sleep then, eh? I begin to see light."
"Well, I'm hanged if I do," responded Sir Edgar, with a little shrug of
the shoulders, "still, I'll do my part. And if only you'll find my
Margaret--God! Mr. Headland, I'll do anything in the world to show my
gratitude!"
Their hands met and clasped for a moment in the grip of friendship and
in the next, Sir Edgar was striding away with new hope.
Cleek watched him go from the room and swing down the long path that lay
by the window. Then he faced round suddenly and took up his stand once
more by the broad window-sill to reconsider the changed aspect of
things. Lady Brenton was clearly out of the case now, for it was not
possible that she could have committed the actual murder, even in her
sleep, so the case had narrowed down once more. What was worse, it was
centring on the girl who had worn that gold scarf--Lady Margaret
herself! And yet he would not believe that even desperate as she might
have been made, she could deliberately kill her enemy. Yet if it were
not she, who, then, had worn the scarf in her place? Not Miss Jennifer,
for her scarf had been gold, it is true, but of a different colour and
texture. The thought of her appearance recalled Dr. Verrall and again
Cleek frowned heavily.
Dr. Verrall knew more than he had revealed at the inquest. Instinctively
Cleek realized that the doctor was trying to shield Jennifer Wynne from
discovery, shield the girl he loved despite everything. Jennifer had
access to the old doctor's surgery, and someone had undoubtedly tampered
with the bottle of prussic acid, as he knew already. Dr. Verrall himself
might have climbed up--but the shreds of cloth which Cleek had found
clinging to the ivy were not like any suit Dr. Verrall had worn.
Certainly not like the black broadcloth which he had on the night of the
murder when fetched from the lane where he had lurked so opportunely.
True, he might have changed quickly, but not so quickly as that.
Cleek was still bent on the problem, but not so absorbed that he did not
hear yet another light footfall outside, one that seemed to be
approaching the window where he still sat. It stopped right under the
window, and Cleek did not dare so much as move a finger lest he betray
his presence. Backward and forward paced the light steps, and the rustle
of a skirt told him it was a woman. Two, three, five minutes passed,
and Cleek sat hunched and motionless, unable to see who this new visitor
to the house of mystery might be.
That it was someone keeping a tryst was only too evident; waiting, too,
for someone who had been delayed past an agreed time, as was indicated
by the impatient tapping of one foot on the path. Well, Cleek was
prepared to wait all night if necessary.
A sound came suddenly across the night, the sound of a cuckoo. With a
little cry of relief, the woman outside answered the cry, softly and
clearly.
"Quick! I am here," Cleek heard the words almost gasped out. Then there
came the sound of snapping twigs as if a man were forcing his way
through the dense shrubberies, followed by the sharp crunch of feet on
the gravel. With these came the soft whisper of a man's voice warning
the woman to keep silence as she rushed toward him, in a state bordering
on absolute hysteria.
"Quick!" she said again. "If I am discovered here, or my absence
noticed, all is lost! You don't know what horrors of suspense I have
endured. I was afraid you would think better of your promise and go to
the police, after all. All through the inquest I dreaded every opening
of the door! Tell me you won't give him up. He is so young. Oh, I shall
scream in a minute."
Again came the man's whispered "Hush!" and then he broke forth suddenly
in an excited undertone.
"I tell you I saw him," he said in a voice which was quite unfamiliar to
Cleek. "If you've got the money, all right, if not----"
He let the rest go by default, and Cleek heard a little moan of distress
come from the woman. "All I've got left is here. I can't give you
another penny," she cried, and Cleek heard her fumbling as in a bag.
But now he scarcely noticed her movements. Other and more startling
thoughts were in his mind. A scent of jasmine was in his nostrils.
He did not need to move or see now, he knew that the unseen speaker was
Jennifer Wynne, and that the boy she was trying to save was none other
than the lad she had mothered and watched over--her idle young scamp of
a brother. It was all as plain as a pikestaff. The lad, in the power of
the tipster Blake, had seen through his disguise, and in the quarrel
that must have followed had murdered him!
But with what? The prussic acid had been taken from his father's
dispensary. Had he then gone prepared to kill him? Or was it not Bobby,
after all, for whom Jennifer was allowing herself to be blackmailed.
Could it be Sir Edgar? And who was this man who had discovered her
secret, this man who was keeping back in the shadow of the bushes? What
part was his in this grim tragedy of death?
It was Jennifer herself who gave the answer.
"I tell you this is the last I can give you or get from anywhere or any
one," she said in a low, tense tone. "I knew you were both out for
something, directly I recognized the imposture, but you must be content
and leave me alone. How do I know that you didn't kill him yourself for
that matter? Oh, if I only knew, if I only knew the truth, that it were
not my boy!" Here her voice stopped and for a reason which made Cleek
groan inwardly.
Down at the end of the path there came the sound of feet. He knew and
understood what was happening, what an unkind blow Fate had dealt him.
Dollops was returning to be near his master, lest anything unforeseen
should occur. There was just one little rustle like the sound of notes
crackling. Then Jennifer sped forward along the path that led away from
the house. The bushes crackled and snapped again, and the sound of a
man's running feet echoed faintly from the other side of the hedge.
Cleek was on his feet and over the window-sill like a flash. He ran down
the lane openly, without so much as a look toward Dollops, struck
through the ground, and cut into the meadows adjoining. Yes!--there was
the figure of his quarry. Cleek bent his head and ran on.
It was but a brief second, then he looked up, to find his man again. He
stopped short, as though struck by some invisible force.
Far as eye could see were the smooth green meadows dotted here and there
in the distance with slumbering sheep, but of sign of human being there
was none. The man had disappeared as though the ground or the sky had
opened and swallowed him up. Cleek was alone in that expanse of green
pasture, utterly and entirely alone!