Book: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

T >> Thomas W. Hanshew >> Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces




"Upon Cedric!" exclaimed Lady Chepstow, rising in a panic of alarm. "An
operation to be performed upon my baby boy? Oh, Mr. Cleek, in the name
of Heaven--"

"No, your ladyship, in the name of Buddha. Don't be alarmed. It is only
to be a trifling cut--a mere re-opening of that little wound in the
thigh which you dressed and healed so successfully at Trincomalee. You
made a mistake, all of you, that night when the boy was shot. The native
poor Ferralt saw skulking along with the gun was not a mere tribesman
and had not the very faintest thought of discharging that weapon at your
little son, or, indeed, at anybody else in the world. He was the High
Priest Seydama, guardian of the Holy Tooth--the one living being who
dared by right to touch it or to lay hands upon the shrine that
contained it. Fearful, when the false rumour of that intended loot was
circulated, that infidel eyes should look upon it, infidel hands profane
the sacred relic, he determined to remove it from Dambool to the
rock-hewn temple of Galwihara and to enshrine it there. For the purpose
of giving no clue to his movements, he chose to abandon his priestly
vestments, to disguise himself as a common tribesman, and, the better to
defeat the designs of any who might penetrate that disguise and
endeavour to take the sacred relic from him and hold it for ransom, he
hid the Holy Tooth in the barrel of a gun. That gun was in his hands,
your ladyship, when Ferralt rushed out and brained him."

"In his hands? Oh, Mr. Cleek, then--then--" Her voice all but failed her
as a sudden realization came. "That relic, that fetish! If it was in
that gun at that time, then it is now--"

"Embedded in the fleshy part of the boy's thigh," said Cleek, finishing
the sentence for her. "Inclosed, doubtless, in a sac or cyst which
Mother Nature has wrapped round it, the tooth is there--in your little
son's body; and for five whole years he has been the living shrine that
held it!"

It was quite true--as events rapidly and completely proved.

Ten minutes later, the trifling operation was concluded; the boy lay
whimpering in his mother's arms and the long-lost relic was on the
surgeon's palm.

"Take it, Captain Hawksley," said Cleek, lifting it between his thumb
and forefinger and carrying it to him. "There is a man in Soho--one
Arjeeb Noosrut--who will know it when he sees it; and there is a vast
reward. Five lacs of rupees will pay off no end of debts, my friend; and
a man with that balance at his banker's can't be thought a mere
fortune-hunter when he asks for the hand of the woman he loves."

The Captain didn't ask for _his_, however--he simply jumped up and
grabbed it.

"By George, you're a brick!" he said, with something uneven in his
voice--something that was like laughter and tears all jumbled up
together; then he glanced over at Lady Chepstow, and flushed, and
floundered, and stammered confusedly, but went on shaking Cleek's hand
all the time. "It's ripping of you--it's bully, dear chap, but--I say,
you know, it isn't fair. It's jolly uneven. _You_ found out. You ought
at least to have a share in the reward."

"Not I," said Cleek, with an airy laugh. "Like the fellow who was born
with a third leg, 'I have no use for it,' Captain. But if you really
want to give any part of it away, bank a thousand to the credit of my
boy Dollops to be turned over to him when he's twenty-one. And you might
make Mr. Narkom, and, if she will accept the post, Miss Lorne, his
trustees."

Miss Lorne faced round and looked at him; and even from that distance he
could see that her mouth was moving tremulously and there was something
shining in the corner of her eye.

"I accept that position with pleasure, Mr. Cleek," she said. "It is the
act of a man and--a gentleman. Thank you! Thank you." And came down the
long length of the room with her hand outstretched to take his.




CHAPTER XXIV


He took it with that grave courtesy, that gentle dignity of bearing
which at times distinguished his deportment and was, indeed, as puzzling
to her as it was to Mr. Maverick Narkom. It came but rarely, that
peculiar air, but it was very noticeable when it did come, although the
man himself seemed totally oblivious of it. Miss Lorne noticed it now,
just as she had noticed it that day in the train when she had said
banteringly: "I am not used to Court manners. Where, if you please, did
you acquire yours?"

"I can't say how deeply indebted I feel--you must imagine that, Miss
Lorne," he said, bending over the hand that lay in his, with an air that
made Lady Chepstow lift her eyebrows and look at him narrowly. "It is
one of the kindest things you could do for the boy and--for me. I thank
you very, very much indeed. My thanks are due to you, too, Captain; for
I feel that you will gladly do the favour I have asked."

"Do it? Yes, like a shot, old chap. What a ripping fellow you are!"

"I'm a tired one at all events," replied Cleek. "So, if you--and the
ladies"--bowing to them--"will kindly excuse me, I'll be off home for a
needed rest. Lady Chepstow, my very best respects. I feel sure that his
little lordship will be quite all right in a day or two, although I
shall, of course, be glad to learn how he progresses. May I? Perhaps
Miss Lorne might be persuaded to send me a word or two through--Mr.
Narkom."

Lady Chepstow was still looking at him as she had been from the moment
he had taken Ailsa's hand. Now she put out her own to him.

"Why wait for written reports, Mr. Cleek? Why not call in person and
see?" she asked. "It will be more satisfactory than writing; and you
will be welcome always."

"I thank your ladyship," he said gravely--though all the soul of him
rioted and laughed and longed to shout out for sheer joy. "It is a
privilege I shall be happy to enjoy."

But afterward, when he came to take his leave, a dearer one was granted
him; for Ailsa herself accompanied him to the door.

"I couldn't let the butler show you out, Mr. Cleek," she said, as they
stood together in the wide entrance hall. "I couldn't let you go until I
had said something that is on my mind--something that has been pricking
my conscience all evening. I want to tell you that from this night on I
am going to forget those other nights: that one in the mist at
Hampstead, that other on the stairway at Wyvern House--forget them
utterly and entirely, Mr. Cleek. Whatever you may have been _once_, I
know that now you are indeed a man!"

Then gave him her hand again, smiled at him, and sent him home feeling
that he was as near to the threshold of heaven as any mortal thing may
hope to be.

Followed a time of such happiness as only they may know who having lived
in darkness first know that there is such a thing as Light; followed
days and weeks that went like magic things, blest to the uttermost
before they go. For now he was a welcome visitor at the house that
sheltered her; now the armour of reserve had dropped from her, and they
were finding out between them that they had many tastes in common.

It was in August when the first interruption to this happy state of
affairs occurred and they came to know that separation was to be endured
again. Lady Chepstow, planning already for a wedding that was to take
place in the early winter, decided to spend the last few months of her
widowhood at her country house in Devonshire, and retired to it taking
her servants, her little son, and her son's governess with her.

For a day or two, Cleek "mooned" about--restless, lonely despite
Dollops's presence, finding no savour in anything; and it came as a
positive relief when a call from The Yard sent him to a modest little
house in the neighbourhood of Wandsworth Common. The "call" in question
took the shape of a letter from Mr. Narkom.

"My dear Cleek," it ran, "a most amazing case--probably _the_ most
amazing you have yet tackled--has just cropped up. The client is one
Captain Morrison, a retired Army officer living solely on his half pay.
His daughter is involved in the astonishing affair. Indeed, it is at her
earnest appeal that the matter has been brought to my notice. As the
Captain is in too weak a state of health to journey any distance, I am
going to ask you to meet me at No. 17, Sunnington Crescent,
Wandsworth--a house kept by one Mrs. Culpin, widow of one of my Yard
men, at three o'clock this afternoon. Knowing your reluctance to have
your identity disclosed, I have taken the liberty of giving you the name
you adopted in the Bawdrey affair, to wit: 'George Headland.' I have
also taken the same precaution with regard to the Morrisons, leaving you
to disclose your identity or not, as you see fit."

Glad enough for anything to distract his thoughts from the brooding
state of melancholy into which they had sunk, Cleek looked up a
time-table, caught the 2:47 train from Victoria Station; and Narkom,
walking into Mrs. Culpin's modest little drawing-room at two minutes
past three, found him standing in the window and looking thoughtfully
out at the groups of children romping on the near-by common.

"Well, here I am at last, you see, my dear fellow," he said, as he
crossed the room and shook hands with him. "Ripping day, isn't it? What
are you doing? Admiring the view or taking stock of Mrs. Culpin's
roses?"

"Neither. I was speculating in futures," replied Cleek, glancing back at
the sunlit common, and then glancing away again with a faintly audible
sigh. "How happy, how care-free they are, those merry little beggars,
Mr. Narkom. What you said in your letter set my thoughts harking
backward, and ... I was wondering what things the coming years might
hold for them and for their parents. At one time, you know, Philip
Bawdrey was as innocent and guileless as any of those little shavers;
and yet, in after years he proved a monster of iniquity, a beast of
ingratitude, and--Oh, well, let it pass. He paid, as thankless children
always do pay under God's good rule. I wonder what his thoughts were
when his last hour came."

"It did come, then?"

"Yes. Got playing some of his games with those short-tempered chaps out
in Buenos Ayres and got knifed a fortnight after his arrival. I had a
letter from Mrs. Bawdrey yesterday. His father never knew of--well, the
other thing; and never will now, thank God. The longer I live, Mr.
Narkom, the surer I become that straight living always pays; and that
the chap who turns into the other lane gets what he deserves before the
game is played out."

"Ten years of Scotland Yard have enabled me to endorse that statement
emphatically," replied Narkom. "'The riddle of the ninth finger' was no
different in that respect from nine hundred other riddles that have come
my way since I took office. Now sit down, old chap, and let us take up
the present case. But I say, Cleek; speaking of rewards reminds me of
what I wrote you. There's very little chance of one in this affair. All
the parties connected with it are in very moderate circumstances. The
sculptor fellow, Van Nant, who figures in it, was quite well-to-do at
one time, I believe, but he ran through the greater part of his money,
and a dishonest solicitor did him out of the rest. Miss Morrison herself
never did have any, and, as I have told you, the Captain hasn't anything
in the world but his pension; and it takes every shilling of that to
keep them. In the circumstances, I'd have made it a simple 'Yard'
affair, chargeable to the Government, and put one of the regular staff
upon it. But--well, it's such an astounding, such an unheard-of-thing, I
knew you'd fairly revel in it. And besides, after all the rewards you
have won you must be quite a well-to-do man by this time, and able to
indulge in a little philanthropy."

Cleek smiled.

"I will indulge in it, of course," he said, "but not for that reason,
Mr. Narkom. I wonder how much it will surprise you to learn that, at the
present moment, I have just one hundred pounds in all the world?"

"My dear fellow!" Narkom exclaimed, with a sort of gasp, staring at him
in round-eyed amazement. "You fairly take away my breath. Why, you must
have received a fortune since you took up these special cases. Fifty or
sixty thousand pounds at the smallest calculation."

"More! To be precise, I have received exactly seventy-two thousand
pounds, Mr. Narkom. But, as I tell you, I have to-day but one hundred
pounds of that sum left. Lost in speculation? Oh, dear no! I've not
invested one farthing in any scheme, company, or purchase since the
night you gave me my chance and helped me to live an honest life."

"Then in the name of Heaven, Cleek, what has become of the money?"

"It has gone in the cause of my redemption, Mr. Narkom," he answered in
a hushed voice. "My good friend--for you really _have_ been a good
friend to me, the best I ever had in all the world--my good friend, let
us for only just this one minute speak of the times that lie behind. You
know what redeemed me--a woman's eyes, a woman's rose-white soul! I
said, did I not, that I wanted to win her, wanted to be worthy of her,
wanted to climb up and stand with her in the light? You remember that,
do you not, Mr. Narkom?"

"Yes, I remember. But, my dear fellow, why speak of your 'vanishing
cracksman' days when you have so utterly put them behind you, and since
lived a life beyond reproach? Whatever you did in those times you have
amply atoned for. And what can that have to do with your impoverished
state?"

"It has everything to do with it. I said I would be worthy of that one
dear woman, and--I can never be, Mr. Narkom, until I have made
restitution; until I can offer her a clean hand as well as a clean life.
I can't restore the actual things that the 'vanishing cracksman' stole;
for they are gone beyond recall, but--I can, at least, restore the value
of them, and--that I have been secretly doing for a long time."

"Man alive! God bless my soul! Cleek, my dear fellow, do you mean to
tell me that all the rewards, all the money you have earned--"

"Has gone to the people from whom I stole things in the wretched old
days that lie behind me," he finished very gently. "It goes back, in
secret gifts, as fast as it is earned, Mr. Narkom. Don't you see the
answers, the acknowledgments, in the 'Personal' columns of the papers
now and again? Wheresoever I robbed in those old days, I am repaying in
these. When the score is wiped off, when the last robbery is paid for,
my hand will be clean, and--I can offer it; never before."

"Cleek! My dear fellow! What a man! What a _man_! Oh, more than ever am
I certain _now_ that old Sir Horace Wyvern was right that night when he
said that you were a gentleman. Tell me--I'll respect it--tell me, for
God's sake, man, who are you? _What_ are you, dear friend?"

"Cleek," he made reply. "Just Cleek! The rest is my secret and--God's!
We've never spoken of the past since _that_ night, Mr. Narkom, and, with
your kind permission, we never will speak of it again. I'm Cleek, the
detective--at your service once more. Now, then, let's have the new
strange case on which you called me here. What's it all about?"

"Necromancy--wizardry--fairy-lore--all the stuff and nonsense that goes
to the making of 'The Arabian Nights'!" said Narkom, waxing excited as
his thoughts were thus shoved back to the amazing affair he had in hand.
"All your 'Red Crawls' and your 'Sacred Sons' and your 'Nine-fingered
Skeletons' are fools to it for wonder and mystery. Talk about
witchcraft! Talk about wizards and giants and enchanters and the things
that witches did in the days of Macbeth! God bless my soul, they're
nothing to it. Those were the days of magic, anyhow, so you can take it
or leave it, as you like; but this--look here, Cleek, you've heard of a
good many queer things and run foul of a good many mysteries, I'll
admit, but did you ever--in this twentieth century, when witchcraft and
black magic are supposed to be as dead as Queen Anne--did you ever, my
dear fellow, hear of such a marvel as a man putting on a blue leather
belt that was said to have the power of rendering the wearer invisible
and then forthwith melting into thin air and floating off like a cloud
of pipe smoke?"

"Gammon!"

"Gammon nothing! Facts!"

"Facts? You're off your head, man. The thing couldn't possibly happen.
Somebody's having you!"

"Well, somebody had _him_, at all events. Young Carboys, I mean--the
chap that's engaged, or, rather was engaged, to Captain Morrison's
daughter; and the poor girl's half out of her mind over it. He put the
belt on in the presence of her and her father--in their own house, mind
you--walked into a bedroom, and vanished like smoke. Doors locked,
windows closed, room empty, belt on the floor, and man gone. Not a trace
of him from that moment to this; and yesterday was to have been his
wedding-day. There's a 'mystery,' if you like. What do you make of
that?"

Cleek looked at him for an instant. Then:

"My dear Mr. Narkom, for the moment I thought you were fooling," he said
in a tone of deep interest. "But I see now that you are quite in
earnest, although the thing sounds so preposterous, a child might be
expected to scoff at it. A man to get a magic belt, to put it on, and
then to melt away? Why, the 'Seven-league Boots' couldn't be a greater
tax on one's credulity. Sit down and tell me all about it."

"The dickens of it is there doesn't seem to be much to tell," said
Narkom, accepting the invitation. "Young Carboys, who appears to have
been a decent sort of chap, had neither money, position, nor enemies, so
that's an end to any idea of somebody having a reason for wishing to get
rid of him; and, as he was devotedly attached to Miss Morrison, and was
counting the very hours to the time of their wedding, and, in addition,
had no debts, no entanglements of any sort, and no possible reason for
wishing to disappear, there isn't the slightest ground for suspecting
that he did so voluntarily."

"Suppose you tell me the story from the beginning, and leave me to draw
my own conclusions regarding that," said Cleek. "Who and what was the
man? Was he living in the same house with his fiancee, then? You say the
disappearance occurred there, at night, and that he went into a bedroom.
Was the place his home, as well as Captain Morrison's, then?"

"On the contrary. His home was a matter of three or four miles distant.
He was merely stopping at the Morrison's on that particular night; I'll
tell you presently why and how he came to do that. For the present,
let's take things in their proper order. Once upon a time this George
Carboys occupied a fair position in the world, and his parents--long
since dead--were well to do. The son, being an only child, was well
looked after--sent to Eton and then to Brasenose, and all that sort of
thing--and the future looked very bright for him. Before he was
twenty-one, however, his father lost everything through unlucky
speculations, and that forced the son to make his own living. At the
'Varsity he had fallen in with a rich young Belgian--fellow named
Maurice Van Nant--who had a taste for sculpture and the fine arts
generally, and they had become the warmest and closest of friends."

"Maurice Van Nant? That's the sculptor fellow you said in the beginning
had gone through his money, isn't it?"

"Yes. Well, when young Carboys was thrown on the world, so to speak,
this Van Nant came to the rescue, made a place for him as private
secretary and companion, and for three or four years they knocked round
the world together, going to Egypt, Persia, India, _et cetera_, as Van
Nant was mad on the subject of Oriental art, and wished to study it at
the fountain-head. In the meantime both Carboys' parents went over to
the silent majority, and left him without a relative in the world,
barring Captain Morrison, who is an uncle about seven times removed and
would, of course, naturally be heir-at-law to anything he left if he had
anything to leave, poor beggar, which he hadn't. But that's getting
ahead of the story.

"Well, at the end of four years or so Van Nant came to the bottom of his
purse--hadn't a stiver left; and from dabbling in art for pleasure, had
to come down to it as a means of earning a livelihood. And he and
Carboys returned to England, and, for purposes of economy, pooled their
interests, took a small box of a house over Putney way, set up a regular
'bachelor establishment,' and started in the business of bread-winning
together. Carboys succeeded in getting a clerk's position in town; Van
Nant set about modelling clay figures and painting mediocre pictures,
and selling both whenever he could find purchasers.

"Naturally, these were slow in coming, few and far between; but with
Carboys' steady two pounds a week coming in, they managed to scrape
along and to keep themselves going. They were very happy, too, despite
the fact that Carboys had got himself engaged to Miss Morrison, and was
hoarding every penny he could possibly save in order to get enough to
marry on; and this did not tend to make Van Nant overjoyed, as such a
marriage would, of course, mean the end of their long association and
the giving up of their bachelor quarters."

"To say nothing of leaving Van Nant to rub along as best he could
without any assistance from Carboys," commented Cleek. "I think I can
guess a portion of what resulted, Mr. Narkom. Van Nant did not, of
course, in these circumstances have any tender regard for Miss
Morrison."

"No, he did not. In point of fact, he disliked her very much indeed, and
viewed the approaching wedding with extreme disfavour."

"And yet you say that nobody had an interest in doing Carboys some sort
of mischief in order to prevent that wedding from being consummated, Mr.
Narkom," said Cleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "Certainly, Van Nant
would have been glad to see a spoke put in that particular wheel; though
I freely confess I do not see what good could come of preventing it by
doing away with Carboys, as he would then be in as bad a position as if
the marriage had been allowed to proceed as planned. Either way he loses
Carboys' companionship and assistance; and his one wish would be to
preserve both. Well, go on. What next? I'm anxious to hear about the
belt. Where and how does that come in?"

"Well, it appears that Miss Morrison got hold of a humorous book called
'The Brass Bottle,' a fantastic, farcical thing, about a genie who had
been sealed up in a bottle for a thousand years getting out and causing
the poor devil of a hero no end of worry by heaping riches and honours
upon him in the most embarrassing manner. It happened that on the night
Miss Morrison got this book, and read it aloud for the amusement of her
father and lover, Carboys had persuaded Van Nant to spend the evening
with them. Apparently he enjoyed himself, too, for he laughed as
boisterously as any of them over the farcical tale, and would not go
home until he had heard the end of it. When it was finished Miss
Morrison tells me, Carboys, after laughing fit to split his sides over
the predicament of the hero of the book, cried out: 'By George! I wish
some old genie would take it into his head to hunt me up, and try the
same sort of a dodge with me. He wouldn't find this chicken shying his
gold and his gems back at his head, I can tell you. I'd accept all the
Arab slaves and all the palaces he wanted to thrust on me; and then I'd
make 'em all over to you, Mary dear, so you'd never have to do another
day's worrying or pinching in all your life. But never you nor anybody
else depend upon an Arab's gratitude or an Arab's generosity. He'll
promise you the moon, and then wriggle out of giving you so much as a
star--just as Abdul ben Meerza did with me.' And upon Miss Morrison
asking what he meant by that, he replied, laughingly: 'Ask Van, he knew
the old codger better than I--knew his whole blessed family, blow
him!--and was able to talk to the old skinflint in his own outlandish
tongue.'

"Upon Miss Morrison's acting on this suggestion, Van Nant told of an
adventure Carboys had had in Persia some years previously. It appears
that he saved the life of a miserly old Arab called Abdul ben Meerza at
the risk of his own; that the old man was profuse in his expressions of
gratitude, and, on their parting, had said: 'By the Prophet, thou shalt
yet find the tree of this day's planting bear rich fruit for thee and
thy feet walk upon golden stones.' But, in spite of this promise, he had
walked away, and Carboys had never heard another word from nor of him
from that hour until three nights ago."

"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "And he did hear of
him, then?"

"Yes, replied Narkom. "Quite unexpectedly, and while he was preparing to
spend a dull evening at home with Van Nant--for the night was, as you
must recollect, my dear fellow, a horribly wet and stormy one--a message
came to him from Miss Morrison asking him to come over to Wandsworth
without delay, as a most amazing thing had happened. A box marked 'From
Abdul ben Meerza' had been delivered there, of all astonishing places.
The message concluded by saying that as it was such a horrible night,
the Captain, her father, would not hear of his returning, so begged him
to bring his effects, and come prepared to remain until morning.

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