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.
The Cheyne Court affair, as it was to be called afterward in the days of its publicity, had faded in Cleek's mind, but he was to be reminded of it very speedily. Within three weeks of that memorable drive through the moonlit lanes of Hampton he entered the sacred precincts of Mr. Maverick Narkom's room to find him in deep conversation with a fair-haired, slightly built young man in whom he immediately recognized no less a person than Sir Edgar Brenton himself.
In a second of time Cleek had altered his identity so suddenly and completely that, thick-headed, dull-witted George Headland stood where a moment before Cleek had been. Mr. Narkom was quick enough to note the change, and introduced him accordingly. There was an undercurrent of excitement visible in his tones that Cleek was constantly aware of.
"This is Mr. George Headland, Sir Edgar, one of our sharpest men. I don't mind telling you, he'll soon get to the bottom of your little affair." He turned to Cleek and motioned with his hand in the young man's direction. "This is Sir Edgar Brenton. He's come from Hampton where there seems to be some mysterious goings on at a place—— What did you say its name was, Sir Edgar?"
"Cheyne Court, Mr. Narkom, the Honourable Miss Marion Cheyne's place and the home of my fiancée Lady Margaret Cheyne. I tell you," he added excitedly, "she is in danger, and I mean to rescue her from the clutches of that old harridan before another day is over."
Mr. Narkom set the tips of his fingers together and nodded blandly.
"So you shall, Sir Edgar," he assented, as he turned to smooth some papers on his desk.
"Oho!" said Cleek to himself. "So there is that element in the case, eh?" Then he bowed to Sir Edgar. "P'raps you'll be good enough to tell me the facts, sir," he said, looking stolidly across the table.
Sir Edgar restrained himself with evident effort.
"They are only too few, Mr. Headland," he said irritably. "Lady Margaret has just returned from a convent school in Paris. In fact, she came back just three weeks ago to-morrow. I met her more than a year ago when my mother and I—we are neighbours, by the way—were staying in Paris, and we became engaged. I had no idea that Peggy, Lady Margaret I mean, was to return to England till I heard through my servant. For Miss Cheyne dislikes me intensely and——"
"Any reason for that, sir?" queried Mr. Headland with an air of bland politeness.
"Well, to a certain extent, yes," was the grudging reply. "My father, I believe, was engaged to her at one time, but finding her temper intolerable, made his escape, and Miss Cheyne has hated my mother and myself in consequence. When she heard from Peggy that we had met, and fallen in love with each other, she was furious, and kept my dear girl almost imprisoned in that confounded convent. It was impossible for us to hold any communication directly, but when I heard she was expected back, like an ass I rushed over to Cheyne Court, to beg permission to meet her at the station. This was refused. Indeed, the old wretch went so far as to threaten me with a revolver, and I believe she would have attacked me, too, had I not snatched it from her, and beat a retreat."
"And what time did you say that was?" put in Cleek with ill-concealed interest.
An innocent remark enough, but one Sir Edgar seemed to resent strongly.
"What the devil's that to do with you, I should like to know?" he demanded fiercely. "How dare you try to badger me with foolish questions! As a matter of fact, it was quite early in the day. Somewhere near lunch time, if you must know."
A little smile creased Cleek's face, but his tones were quite smooth as he said, "I see, sir; and you didn't go back?"
Again Sir Edgar flushed and frowned.
"No, I did not, sir," he retorted savagely. "I was at a dinner-party. And I haven't come here to be cross-examined by a common policeman. I want to know how I can get my fiancée out of that house."
Here Mr. Narkom flung himself into the breach.
"Has she come of age?" he asked quickly, and thereby voiced the thought that was passing in Cleek's own mind.
"Legally, no, and that is just the difficulty. By Lord Cheyne's will she takes possession of her property on her eighteenth birthday though she can only marry with the consent of Miss Cheyne. Now yesterday was her birthday, and by a sheer piece of good luck here in London I came across Lady Margaret herself and without Miss Cheyne. When she told me that they had come up to fetch all the family jewels and to remove them to Cheyne Court, you can imagine my feelings."
"Good Heavens," blurted out Cleek, involuntarily startled by this announcement. "Do you mean to tell me two helpless women have risked burdening themselves with such priceless jewels down in a lonely place like Cheyne Court? Why, every sneak thief in Europe could attack it——" He broke off sharply, for Sir Edgar was looking at him in a startled way that made Cleek mentally kick himself for having been momentarily thrown off his guard and betraying his own knowledge of the place in question. "Surely someone could have prevented it!" he concluded weakly.
"No, that is just what they could not do," responded Sir Edgar. "I saw the family lawyer but he told me that Peggy has the right to do what she likes with her own fortune, the only thing Lord Cheyne had to leave her, but I certainly agree with Mr. Shallcott that it was at that old harridan of an aunt's instigation."
"What made him think that?" Cleek asked.
Sir Edgar frowned.
"Mr. Shallcott couldn't define it," he responded, "only he felt that if he had seen her alone he could have persuaded her to have left them or at least the bulk of them in safety. Especially the very valuable pendant——"
"Not the Purple Emperor!" blurted out Cleek. Once more he betrayed more knowledge than he had meant to in the beginning.
To his surprise it seemed as if the young man's face became almost gray with fear. "You know of that stone, Mr. Headland?" Cleek scratched his ear.
"Heard of it, sir? Lor, bless yer, we policemen have to pass a regular examination in all the famous jewels of history and that stone is amongst them," he lied glibly. "And if there are thieves who know the 'Emperor' is loose, so to speak, the quicker your young lady and it part company, the better for her, I say."
"Yes, that's it. She is in danger, that's why I came to the Yard. She shrieked out to me, just as I broke the glass in the window."
"What's that?" rapped out Cleek. "Broke the glass of the window, you say? Whose window and why did you break it?"
"Because she was afraid. Because she wanted me to run away with her and keep her safe from those devils in Cheyne Court!"
Cleek's eyes shot a look of sympathy.
"Suppose you tell us all about it, Sir Edgar," he said in a kindly tone, "then we'll be able to get to the bottom of it all the sooner."
"I ran from one side of the house to the other," Sir Edgar went on. "But every door and window seemed to be bolted and barred. At last I smashed in the dining-room door with a spade I found outside and rushed through the house, but it was absolutely empty!"
"Empty!" chimed in Mr. Narkom, excitedly, while Cleek sucked in his breath.
"Absolutely empty!" said Sir Edgar; "as regards human beings, that is. I tell you, man, I went nearly mad with the horror of it, and the fear for my darling girl! There was not a sign, no trap-doors or panels, nothing, and I simply had to give up in the dark, and now I want your help! By Heaven they shall suffer if a hair of that angel's head is so much as touched—the devils. I don't care if Miss Cheyne is killed, she deserves it, but Peggy——"
He broke down, turning his haggard face in his hands and his shoulders shook spasmodically.
A brief moment and Sir Edgar pulled himself together with a jerk.
"Sorry," he gulped, apologetically, "made an ass of myself, but you can't think what a night I've spent——"
"That's all right, sir," said Mr. Headland with an air of the proper respect due from him. "But I don't think as there's anything to be done till me and my mates come down and have a peep at the place. That's about it, don't you think so, sir?" He turned to Mr. Narkom, who, though puzzled by Cleek's strange aloofness, still knew his methods too well to do anything else but agree with him.
"Certainly, Headland," he returned. "We'll go down to Hampton as quickly as you like."
"I think it would be best for the young gentleman to get back to Hampton first, and we'll come down and look round casual like," said Mr. George Headland in an off-hand manner. "Ten chances to one but wot the young lady's tied up in one of the upper rooms, don't you know."
"Now I never thought of that!" threw in Sir Edgar quickly. "Yes, you're right. I will get back and leave it in your hands."
"And you may safely do so," said Mr. Narkom, shaking the young man's hand sympathetically as he took his departure.
"What do you think about it, Cleek?" he cried excitedly, when the door had closed.
"Think? I think a good many things, my dear fellow," retorted that gentleman serenely, "and one of them is, why didn't Sir Edgar break the dining-room door down at once before he made that fruitless rush around the house. He might have known that the doors would be locked at evening time."
"I never thought of that!" said Mr. Narkom. "Still, I don't see what that has to do with it. You are not insinuating that the man would harm his own sweetheart? Where is the incentive?"
"The Purple Emperor might be, or its value," was the reply. "Mind, I am not saying it is so, but I would like to know the young gentleman's financial status. Secondly, I would like to know why he has made no effort to see the girl this past fortnight since she has been back. Don't forget I met him that night, when a murder was committed at Cheyne Court. For I still hold that that woman was dead when I found her in the ballroom and the young gentleman's story about a revolver which he snatched away from her in the afternoon is all tommy-rot. The weapon was lying by her side when I saw her, and I'll take my oath there was a revolver in his own pocket when I lurched up against him in the lane. No, my friend, there are one or two points about Sir Edgar Brenton's tale that I should like to see cleared up satisfactorily, and I think I'll betake myself down to the Hampton Arms where you can join me."
Speaking, he gave a little friendly nod to Mr. Narkom, writhed his features into their semblance of the stolid policeman once more, and strode from the room.
Once outside the portals of Scotland Yard, Cleek looked keenly around at the casual people who invariably appear to haunt the precincts of the law. There was the usual street loafer and errand boy, but half-concealed by an abutting arch there stood the figure of a man, evidently on the watch for someone. Cleek, with his usual caution, slouched past, then crossed so as to get a better view.
For a second Cleek paused, then switching on his heel, turned and walked back, past the watcher once more, and into Scotland Yard. That the man outside was waiting for someone to come out was obvious, but for whom? Cleek gave vent to a little laugh. "A dollar to a ducat but whom he waits for is Lieutenant Deland," he said to himself, "and he shall have his wish."
He dashed lightly up the stairs again to Mr. Narkom's room and locked the door behind him.
"You never mean to let him see you!" said the Superintendent blankly when Cleek had related his story.
"That's just what I do mean. Give me time to make the change. That man saw Lieutenant Deland go in, and he shall see Lieutenant Deland come out. You can follow with the limousine if you like."
A minute later he sallied forth, and the little one-sided smile looped up his face as he saw the watcher detach himself from the shadowing wall and follow in his wake, unconscious, however, that he, too, was being shadowed in his turn by Mr. Narkom in the car. It was not until they emerged upon the open embankment that Cleek turned to see his pursuer. To his supreme astonishment, the man had disappeared!
Cleek laughed to himself as he strode onward toward Mr. Narkom and the limousine which had slowed down some distance ahead. There was certainly something up, but what that something might be he was not so sure.
"Mr. Narkom," he said, as he threw open the door of the car and climbed in beside the Superintendent, "the plot thickens. That man was the butler at Cheyne Court."
Cleek, accompanied by the faithful Dollops, did go down to Hampton that very day, and put up as arranged at the Hampton Arms. He travelled as Mr. George Headland, a commercial traveller for beer, from London, with an inveterate taste for gossip. He speedily learned that since the return of Lady Margaret to Cheyne Court the house had been shut up "worse than ever," for hardly anybody had seen Miss Cheyne, and no one would go near the estate because of the noise.
"What noise?" Cleek's ears pricked up.
"A queer moaning noise, sir. It fair beats me to describe it, but it just lifts the 'air off yer 'ead. You go down the lane past the gates, one dark night, and 'ear that sound. I'll wager yer'd make for the railway station as fast as yer legs could carry yer."
"Hum! now what can that noise be?" Cleek mused. "An old trick to frighten away the superstitious peasants? Old as the hills, that is. I'll hear that noise for myself before I'm many hours older, or I've lost my sense since the Vanishing Cracksman days."
But it was not until the next day that his desire was granted, for Dollops, having been left to himself for a few hours, contrived to get a "scratch meal." This had apparently consisted of pickled walnuts, sheep's feet, steak-and-kidney pudding, and some jam puffs, with an additional helping of nuts as dessert. The effect of this startling combination may be imagined. The result was a fit of indigestion which sent Cleek pounding down the lane at ten o'clock that night to find the nearest doctor. It was not until he was well within sight of Cheyne Court, standing shuttered and dark, that he remembered the innkeeper's words of the morning before. He slackened speed a moment in the dark and all at once, as if from the ground beneath his feet, there issued one of the most horrible and inexplicable sounds that could be imagined. It was neither human nor animal though it contained something of both. No instrument or mechanical thing could possibly have emitted it, and Cleek stood stock still, the very hairs on his head quivering at the sudden unearthly wail. It ceased as quickly as it had begun, and brought back to the immediate needs of his protégé, he went on his way, the memory of that horror-haunting sound still ringing in his ears.
Half an hour later he was back with Dr. Verrall, a stiff and unyielding young man, who evidently held the House of Cheyne and all its ways in the greatest reverence. He refused to discuss the subject of the queer sounds, and as he very soon concocted a nauseous dose that had the desired effect on Dollops, there was nothing else to do but to allow him to proceed on his way home.
On the following day Mr. Narkom arrived at the Hampton Arms. The presence of the great inspector brought Mr. Roberts, bursting with pride to be allowed to speak on any terms with the great official. He clearly had no recollection of ever having seen Mr. George Headland before, and had any one told him that he was in the presence of the very man who had fetched him on a wild-goose chase that night nearly a month before, he would absolutely have refused to believe the evidence of his own senses.
Mr. Narkom, however, listened to all he had to say on the subject of that escapade and commended him for his promptness in obeying the summons.
Another visitor came also to the little inn, and that was Sir Edgar Brenton.
"I am thankful you've come," he said, addressing Mr. Narkom, though he had greeted Mr. Headland civilly beforehand.
"I cannot fathom the mystery at all. I returned to Cheyne Court to make another attempt on the place, but found that the broken window is now barred and shuttered, so there is evidently still someone in the place. Don't you think you could take the law into your own hands and force an entry? Mr. Narkom, when I think that my dear girl may be kept there a prisoner, I go nearly mad with terror of what they may do to her—the devils!"
Mr. Narkom nodded sympathetically, and stole a side glance at Cleek's impassive face.
"I don't doubt it, Sir Edgar," he replied, "but it's a dangerous thing to break into a house, you know. Still, there is the excuse of a forcible abduction of the young lady perhaps, and if it is Miss Cheyne who is at the bottom of it, I don't mind trying to bluff her about burglars being in the neighbourhood, etc. We could say how unsafe it was with those jewels about."
He looked across at his ally for approval and Cleek, with a little smile hovering round his lips, nodded.
"Yes, why not?" he said. "I'd like to have another look at Cheyne Court by daylight and locate that abominable row——"
"Have you heard it, then?" broke in Sir Edgar hastily. "I was beginning to think my brain was giving way, and that the old superstition was right, after all."
"What superstition is that?" asked Cleek.
"Why, Cheyne Court has always been supposed to be haunted by a wailing lady who presages death to the owner, and for the past week nearly everyone seems to have heard her. I refused to believe it till last night, when I couldn't keep away from the place. 'Pon my word, the sound fairly made my blood run cold. What do you think about it, Mr. Headland?"
"A good deal, sir, and that's the truth," responded Cleek. "There's some villainy on foot and I don't take heed of any wailing ladies till I see how it's done. Now if you're ready, sir."
Sir Edgar was ready and the three, with Dollops hovering in the background, made their way to the ill-fated abode. Silent and grim-looking, with its lower windows shuttered, an oppressive silence seemed to overhang it. This was speedily broken by their sending peal after peal from the door-bell ringing through the building.
But no answer came. There was no sound of approaching footsteps and Sir Edgar, pale and despairing, stepped back into the gravelled path and gazed up into the windows. As he did so, he gave a cry and pointed upward. Cleek and Narkom sprang to his side just in time to see the wrinkled and malevolent face of Miss Cheyne looking down on them. That she was bitterly angry they could see, for though they could only guess at the stream of invective pouring from her shaking lips, a frenzied fist shaken in their direction warned them that any liberties taken with her abode would be bitterly resented. She disappeared suddenly from view and Sir Edgar turned upon his companions.
"Help me break the door down," he cried, forgetting all caution. "My dear girl is in there with that harridan, who has perhaps killed her for the sake of those accursed jewels! Some women would sell their very soul for diamonds, and she is one of them."
Cleek pursed up his lips and gave forth a low whistle.
"That's a fact," he assented. "Let's try the back." Recognizing that at least one emissary of the law was on his side, Sir Edgar darted along the terrace and on his way to the rear of the house. All the windows were shuttered and barred but a handy brick smashed the glass of one and their combined assaults on the time-worn shutters behind soon gave them an entry.
Cleek left Dollops on guard outside.
"Don't let a single person escape, Dollops," he said. "Whistle if anybody attempts to come out, but don't let them go."
"Righto, guv'nor," was the cheerful answer. "Don't you worrit; I'll put some of my 'tickle tootsies' along here as I follows yer, an' it'll be a downy old bird wot escapes me and them as well; wot?"
Cleek smiled approvingly and followed his two companions into the house, perfectly content to leave the care of the outside to Dollops. Already he could hear Sir Edgar impetuously racing from floor to floor, making the oak rafters ring with Lady Margaret's name. But no sight or sound of her rewarded his efforts.
Mr. Narkom, pulling down shutter after shutter, let in the gorgeous light of day, but it was soon evident that the house was empty. Neither servants nor mistress rewarded their search. Neither did subsequent tapping and close scrutiny reveal a panel or trap-door. No cornered criminal was to be found; no gagged and bound figure of the girl they sought. There was nothing but the scamper of frightened mice behind the wainscoting. Miss Cheyne had disappeared before their very eyes, mysteriously, inexplicably, but disappeared nevertheless!
As they stood in the empty ballroom, its walls lined with age-old portraits, the furniture dusty and moth-eaten, there came a sound that made even Cleek, to whom it was no stranger, shudder. It was a low, horrible moaning which seemed to permeate the whole house.
For a moment they stood rooted to the spot in horrified silence, then Sir Edgar spoke in a quaking whisper:
"Heavens above! what is it?"
Nobody answered him, for it was a question impossible to answer. All they could do was to search the house again from garret to basement, but Miss Cheyne had apparently disappeared as mysteriously as her niece. Whether by her own will or not, it was impossible to say.
Back once more on the terrace they were compelled to own themselves beaten, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom looked at one another in sympathetic dismay at this set-back to their plans. They both had counted on coming face to face with the eccentric guardian of the girl whose life was in such evident danger. Suddenly Sir Edgar gave a little startled exclamation and turning in the direction of his gaze they saw the figure of a fair and slender woman running toward them.
As she drew near, Cleek's heart gave a little leap of delight, for it was the woman who meant more to him than all the world. A second later he quickened his steps to meet her.
"Oh, I am so worried!" Ailsa said swiftly. "I am thankful I have found you at last. It is that poor girl you drove home that night, Lady Margaret Cheyne, you know. I have tried so many times to see her. I have called and called, but have always been refused admittance. Now this morning I was in the lane when I saw Lady Margaret at a window and she dropped this scrap of paper. See!" She handed Cleek a little screwed-up piece of paper on which was scrawled "Miss Lorne, save me! Margaret." "She was snatched away before I could call to her. What does it mean?" asked Ailsa, wistfully looking from one face to the other.
"I should not be surprised if that dangerous stone, the Purple Emperor, is at the bottom of it all," said Cleek.
Sir Edgar took the scrap of paper from Ailsa's fingers, and read it slowly through. Then he cried vehemently:
"I'll save her, if I commit murder fifty times over."
As he spoke, he plunged along the lane, the ill-fated words lingering in their minds long after he had disappeared.
"It's an absolute mystery at present," said Cleek softly, his chin pinched up in his hand. "There must be some way of getting in and out of that house which we haven't yet fathomed, and I'd like to have a shot at finding it. I think, too, we shall have to keep an eye on our young friend, Sir Edgar, or he will be getting into trouble. Never fear, Ailsa," he added, gently, "I will save the little girl somehow, but I mean to give myself the pleasure of walking back with you first."
The walk was but a brief one, and Cleek on his return to the inn sent an urgent message to the Towers asking Sir Edgar to come down to him. He meant to keep a watchful eye on his movements and prevent further trouble if possible.
Dollops returned half an hour later with the disconcerting news that the master had gone up to town.
Cleek switched on his heel, alert and surprised.
"Gone!" he said excitedly "What does that mean? Does he think he is going to find Lady Margaret wandering about Piccadilly Circus? Well, anyhow, he is safe up there out of reach of doing any mad tricks. Ah, if I could only find the secret of that house I'd go a long way toward restoring that child."
"Well, if you don't find it I'll bet a tanner to a fresh herrin' no one will, guv'nor," exclaimed Dollops indignantly. "There ain't no one in the world wot's got your kind o' brains, and that's a fact. You'll find the secret out all right, sir, if yer only has patience. And in the meantime, if yer don't want me any more, I'll just pop along to the restaurant and have a sandwich, for I'm that empty you can hear me ribs rattle!"
He left the room, and Cleek sat alone, trying to puzzle out the whole awful affair. But it was like some jig-saw puzzle in which all the pieces were odd, and he did not hold the key to the solution.
The case was one that fascinated Cleek, and as it seemed absolutely certain that Sir Edgar would not venture back within the precincts of home that night, both he and Mr. Narkom prepared to make another investigation of Cheyne Court. Constable Roberts and Dollops were patrolling the forked lanes, and thanks to the latter's supply of "tickle tootsies" as he persisted in terming them and which were really an ingenious invention of his own consisting of slabs of brown paper well smothered with molasses, there was no fear of any one being able to approach without being seen.
A brisk two minutes' walk brought them to the picturesque house with its ivy-wrapped walls, dark Gothic windows, and quaintly carved chimney-pots. A medieval appearance was strengthened by a deep moat, long since dried up, but which gave it the air of an old-world castle. A ruined drawbridge completed the resemblance, though the actual date of its erection was certainly not in the bygone ages.
Cleek and Mr. Narkom had hardly approached the western side, where Constable Roberts had been stationed on guard, when that official came rushing toward them, breathing hard with excitement, his eyes nearly starting from his head.
"A shot, sir," he gasped. "As true as I'm 'ere, I heard a shot fired from somewhere, and a man rushed by me in the lane down there, waving his arms wildly, and then 'e vanished."
"Couldn't you catch a glimpse of him?" rapped out Cleek briskly. "What was he, a labourer, gentleman, or what?"
"Couldn't say, sir. I had turned my back, and was looking up at the blessed house, when I 'ears the sound of a shot, be'ind me it seemed, and round I spins, and next I knows was my helmet knocked down on my 'ead, and a man sprinting down the lane for dear life. By the time I'd got it lifted, 'e was gone."
"H'm! Sure it was a man?" asked Cleek, as the three men came out once more into the lane.
"Well!" said the police-constable, startled by this new hypothesis. "Now you speak, sir—the footsteps was light enough and there was a precious fine scent."
Before he could volunteer any further ideas, he caught sight of something which apparently drove them all from his head.
In his excitement he gripped the arm of Mr. Narkom, oblivious for the time being of their relative positions. "Look, sir," he said, "blest if there ain't somebody got into the 'ouse now, though 'ow they've bin and done it, beats me!"
Only a minute before the house had loomed up dark and cheerless, without a single sign of habitation. Now in the lower room known both by Cleek and the superintendent to be the dining room, someone was obviously walking about with a light held in one hand. For a moment all three stood stock-still gaping at one another in blank amazement, then Cleek spoke.
"Come on," said he, through clenched teeth, "not a sound if you can help it, and look if there are any strange footprints."
"The place is alive with footprints!" ejaculated Constable Roberts, as he turned the light of his bull's-eye downward and it revealed unmistakable traces on the soft, yielding earth. They led right up to the edge of the marble terrace. "Look, sir, this is the way he come down the lane, up this path and straight ahead. Come on!"
Straight down the narrow path they went without break or interruption, shielded by the overshadowing trees, their eyes bent on the countless footprints which followed each other down the centre in one long unbroken line leading right to the house.
Suddenly at the front steps they stopped short, and Cleek and Narkom stopped also, for from the steps they took another direction altogether, wheeling about sharply and leading toward the terrace where they seemed to terminate.
But Constable Roberts was keenly on the look-out, being a dutiful policeman if a trifle slow.
"Here they are again, sir," he whispered, pointing to the left along the terrace where, since the previous night's rain, the thick dust had evidently been laid. "See, 'ere's where 'e went, right over this blessed wall. Ten chances to one but what 'e's cut 'isself with all that broken glass at the top. Fancy finding broken glass on a marble bannister!" He snorted under his breath as he lifted himself over the low balustrade after pushing the glass aside. "Mind 'ow you come, gents. Fair copped him out, as sure as guns is guns. Better let me go first, 'e's in there right enough. You can see the light moving about."
A single look was enough to convince Cleek and Mr. Narkom of the truth of the constable's words, and in an instant they had sprung up, gripped the edge of the wall, scrambled over it and dropped down on the marble terrace beneath. In the room, of which Sir Edgar had acknowledged breaking the glass of the window, thin, wavering lines of constantly shifting light could be seen through the chinks of the wooden shutters. But so well had the wooden barriers been nailed up, that it was impossible to see anything more than this shifting streak of light, and Cleek, abandoning the attempt, led a swift flight round to the back of the building. To the intense astonishment of them all they found a small side door, not only unlocked, but ajar. Through this they made their way down a passage and up into the hall to the dining room. The thin streak of light beneath the door told them that their quarry was still there, run to earth at last. They stopped for a moment, their nerves strung to breaking point, their hearts beating wildly as they thought of what lay before them.
Only for a brief second they paused, then Cleek's head went up.
"Now," he whispered, and in they went, with a rush that sent the old panelled door crashing back on its hinges with a queer sort of groan.
But again, as on the previous day, no figure at bay rose to fight them. Once more only the squeal and rustle of countless mice behind the oak-panelled walls came to their listening ears.
To all appearances the dining room was exactly in the same condition as when Cleek had first entered it with the girl they now were seeking so strenuously. The room was empty. A guttering candle contrasted strangely with the rich polished mahogany of the table on which it had been placed, but its faint light revealed no living thing.
They stared at one another in mute astonishment, then Cleek switched on his electric torch and swept it from ceiling to floor.
It swung around like a miniature searchlight, then stopped abruptly, and ejaculations of horror fell from the lips of the watching men.
On the hearth-rug on the opposite side of the room from where they stood, half hidden by the great divan chair, lay the figure of a woman. The life-blood was oozing from a gun-wound above the breast and it needed only one brief glance to tell them that she was already past their aid! Blankly they stared into each other's faces as recognition came.
"Miss Cheyne!"
Hideous fact though it was, there could be no doubt as to her identity. The golden, curled hair, the beringed hands were identically the same as Cleek had seen, and it seemed to his almost dazed senses, seen in the same position—just a month ago in the ballroom! It was the same woman who had driven the constable and himself away, barely an hour after that dreadful discovery and certainly the same who had glared at them so threateningly on the previous day!
Yet here she was in an apparently empty house.
For a moment all three men stood staring in appalled silence.
Then Constable Roberts backed shudderingly away.
"The Lord deliver us," he said in a quaking whisper. "It's Miss Cheyne herself, sir, and dead just as the young officer said a month ago."
At any other time Cleek would have noted this compliment paid to his disguise, but now he stood staring down at the grimly grotesque figure, all the colour drained from his lips and cheeks.
"How and when did she come back? Where did she hide herself yesterday?" said Constable Roberts, in hushed, awed tones. Nobody answered him. Nobody seemed to have heard. For Cleek and Mr. Narkom the discovery threatened to possess an even more tragic importance. In the finding of this woman shot to the heart they recognized that the deed threatened by Sir Edgar Brenton but a few short hours ago had now indeed been committed.
"Good Heavens!" gasped out Mr. Narkom at last, his lips dry, his voice tense and strained, "and so we came too late. No wonder we waited in vain. Poor boy, poor boy, the mystery is at an end."
"On the contrary, my friend," flung back Cleek sharply, a bright spot of colour showing in each cheek, "I venture to think it has only just begun. Constable Roberts, search this house first, then mount guard. Don't let any one enter or leave it. If any living man or woman comes near, arrest them, no matter who they are. But don't leave the place unguarded for a single instant. A doctor must be fetched and Dollops must find him.
"Thank goodness Sir Edgar is in London and can supply an alibi," he added, almost under his breath.
But Constable Roberts turned on his heel as he caught the words, the ruddy colour deserting his face, leaving it white and strained.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that's just what 'e ain't. I passed the station on my way here, and there was Sir Edgar 'imself on top of the steps. 'E must 'ave come in by the 9:10 train and 'e didn't see me, but I see 'im as plain as life. Lord pray someone else saw 'im, too!"
Speaking, he turned and left the room, and as Mr. Narkom gazed at Cleek, their mutual feeling showed only too visibly on their white, tense faces.
So the unhappy boy had taken matters into his own hands after all. That matter was only too clear. He might have gone to town, true enough, but only waited there long enough for it to get dark, that he might be free and undisturbed in his task of revenge.
"There's no help for it, Cleek," said the Superintendent with a little shrug of despair. "I would have given one hundred pounds to have prevented it, but——"
His voice trailed off and he let the rest of the sentence go by default. Without further comment he turned and hurried out of the room. Already he could hear Constable Roberts tramping from floor to floor in a vain search for something in the nature of a murderer, and could not help thinking once more as he went out into the blackness of the night of the tragedy that this hot-headed boy had brought upon his house.
Cleek followed slowly. It took him but a second to get back into the lane, but there was no sign of Dollops, nor did the familiar hoot of a night-owl, Cleek's favourite signal, bring forth any reply. Dollops indeed had vanished as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up.
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!"