Book: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

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




Cleek accepted the invitation gladly and was not a little surprised on
arriving to find that, in this instance, dinner was to be served in a
little private room and that a third party was also to partake of it.

"Dear chap, pardon me for taking you unawares," said Sir Henry, as Cleek
entered the private room and found himself in the presence of a
decidedly military-looking man long past middle life, "but the fact is
that immediately after I had telephoned you, I encountered a friend and
a--er--peculiar circumstance arose which impelled me to secure a private
room and to--er--throw myself upon your good graces as it were. Let me
have the pleasure, dear chap, of introducing you to my friend, Major
Burnham-Seaforth. Major, you are at last in the presence of the
gentleman of whom I spoke--Mr. Cleek."

"Mr. Cleek, I am delighted," said the Major, offering his hand. "I have
heard your praises sung so continuously the past two hours that I feel
as if I already knew you."

"Ah, you mustn't mind all that Sir Henry says," replied Cleek, as he
shook hands with him. "He makes mountains out of millstones, and would
panegyrize the most commonplace of men if he happened to take a fancy to
him. You mustn't believe all that Sir Henry says and thinks, Major."

"I shall be happy, Mr. Cleek, if I can really hope to believe the half
of it," replied the Major, enigmatically--and was prevented from saying
more by the arrival of the waiter and the serving of dinner.

It was not until the meal was over and coffee and cigars had been served
and the too attentive waiter had taken his departure that Cleek
understood that remark or realised what it portended. But even then, it
was not the Major who explained.

"My dear Cleek," said Sir Henry, lowering his voice and leaning over the
table, "I hope you will not think I have taken a mean advantage of you,
but I have brought the Major here to-night for a purpose. He has, in
fact, come to consult you professionally; and upon my recommendation. Do
you object to that, or may I go on?"

"Go on by all means," replied Cleek. "I fancy you know very well that
there is nothing you might ask of me that I would not at least attempt
to do, dear chap."

"Thanks very much. Well then, the Major has come, my dear Cleek, to ask
you to help in unravelling a puzzle of singular and mystifying interest.
Now you may or may not have heard of a Music Hall artiste--a sort of
conjurer and impersonator combined--called Zyco the Magician, who was
once very popular and was assisted in his illusions by a veiled but
reputedly beautiful Turkish lady who was billed on the programmes and
posters as 'Zuilika, the Caliph's Daughter.'"

"I remember the pair very well indeed," said Cleek. "They toured the
Music Halls for years, and I saw their performance frequently. They were
among the first, I believe, to produce that afterwards universal
illusion known as 'The Vanishing Lady.' As I have not heard anything of
them nor seen their names billed for a couple of years past, I fancy
they have either retired from the profession or gone to some other part
of the world. The man was not only a very clever magician, but a master
of mimicry. I always believed, however, that in spite of his name he was
of English birth. The woman's face I never saw, of course, as she was
always veiled to the eyes after the manner of Turkish ladies. But
although a good many persons suspected that her birthplace was no nearer
Bagdad than Peckham, I somehow felt that she was, after all, a genuine,
native-born Turk."

"You are quite right in both suspicions, Mr. Cleek," put in the Major
agitatedly. "The man _was_ an Englishman; the lady _is_ a Turk."

"May I ask, Major, why you speak of the lady in the present tense and
of the man in the past? Is he dead?"

"I hope so," responded the Major fervently. "God knows I do, Mr. Cleek.
My every hope in life depends upon that."

"May I ask why?"

"I am desirous of marrying his widow!"

"My dear Major, you cannot possibly be serious! A woman of that class?"

"Pardon me, sir, but you have, for all your cleverness, fallen a victim
to the prevailing error. The lady is in every way my social equal--in
her own country my superior. She _is_ a caliph's daughter. The title
which the playgoing public imagined was of the usual bombastic,
just-on-the-programme sort, is hers by right. Her late father, Caliph Al
Hamid Sulaiman, was one of the richest and most powerful Mohammedans in
existence. He died five months ago, leaving an immense fortune to be
conveyed to England to his exiled but forgiven child."

"Ah, I see. Then, naturally, of course--"

"The suggestion is unworthy of you, Sir Henry, and anything but
complimentary to me. The inheritance of this money has had nothing
whatever to do with my feelings for the lady. That began two years ago,
when, by accident, I was permitted to look upon her face for the first,
last, and only time. I should still wish to marry her if she were an
absolute pauper. I know what you are saying to yourself, sir: 'There is
no fool like an old fool.' Well, perhaps there isn't. But--" he turned
to Cleek--"I may as well begin at the beginning and confess that even if
I did not desire to marry the lady I should still have a deep interest
in her husband's death, Mr. Cleek. He is--or was, if dead--the only son
of my cousin, the Earl of Wynraven, who is now over ninety years of age.
I am in the direct line, and if this Lord Norman Ulchester, whom you and
the public know only as 'Zyco the Magician,' were in his grave there
would only be that one feeble old man between me and the title."

"Ah, I see!" said Cleek, in reply; then, seating himself at the table,
he arranged the shade of the lamp so that the light fell full upon the
Major's face while leaving his own in the shadow. "Then your interest
in the affair, Major, may be said to be a double one."

"More, sir--a triple one. I have a rival in the shape of my own son. He,
too, wishes to marry Zuilika--is madly enamoured of her, in fact; so
wildly that I have always hesitated to confess my own desires to him for
fear of the consequences. He is almost a madman in his outbursts of
temper; and where Zuilika is concerned--Perhaps you will understand, Mr.
Cleek, when I tell you that once when he thought her husband had
ill-used her, he came within an ace of killing the man. There was bad
blood between them always--even as boys--and, as men, it was bitterer
than ever because of _her_."

"Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me the whole story, Major,"
suggested Cleek, studying the man's face narrowly. "How did the Earl of
Wynraven's son come to meet this singularly fascinating lady, and
where?"

"In Turkey--or Arabia--I forget which. He was doing his theatrical
nonsense in the East with some barn-storming show or other, having been
obliged to get out of England to escape arrest for some shady
transaction a year before. He was always a bad egg--always a disgrace to
his name and connections. That's why his father turned him off and never
would have any more to do with him. As a boy he was rather clever at
conjuring tricks and impersonations of all sorts--he could mimic
anything or anybody he ever saw, from the German Emperor down to a
Gaiety chorus girl, and do it to absolute perfection. When his father
kicked him out he turned these natural gifts to account, and, having
fallen in with some professional dancing-woman, joined her for a time
and went on the stage with her.

"It was after he had parted from this dancer and was knocking about
London and leading a disgraceful life generally that he did the thing
which caused him to hurry off to the East and throw in his lot with the
travelling company I have alluded to. He was always a handsome fellow
and had a way with him that was wonderfully taking with women, so I
suppose that that accounts as much as anything for Zuilika's infatuation
and her doing the mad thing she did. I don't know when nor where nor
how they first met; but the foolish girl simply went off her head over
him, and he appears to have been as completely infatuated with her. Of
course, in that land, the idea of a woman of her sect, of her standing,
having anything to do with a Frank was looked upon as something
appalling, something akin to sacrilege; and when they found that her
father had got wind of it and that the fellow's life would not be safe
if he remained within reach another day, they flew to the coast
together, shipped for England, and were married immediately after their
arrival."

"A highly satisfactory termination for the lady," commented Cleek. "One
could hardly have expected that from a man so hopelessly unprincipled as
you represent him to have always been. But there's a bit of good in even
the devil, we are told."

"Oh, be sure that he didn't marry her from any principle of honour, my
dear sir," replied the Major. "If it were merely a question of that,
he'd have cut loose from her as soon as the vessel touched port.
Consideration of self ruled him in that as in all other things. He knew
that the girl's father fairly idolised her; knew that, in time, his
wrath would give way to his love, and, sooner or later, the old man--who
had been mad at the idea of any marriage--would be moved to settle a
large sum upon her so that she might never be in want. But let me get on
with my story. Having nothing when he returned to England, and being
obliged to cover up his identity by assuming another name, Ulchester,
after vainly appealing to his father for help on the plea that he was
now honourably married and settled down, turned again to the stage, and,
repugnant though such a thing was to the delicately-nurtured woman he
had married, compelled Zuilika to become his assistant and to go on the
boards with him. That is how the afterwards well-known music-hall 'team'
of 'Zyco and the Caliph's Daughter' came into existence.

"The novelty of their 'turn' caught on like wild fire, and they were a
success from the first, not a little of that success being due to the
mystery surrounding the identity and appearance of Zuilika; for, true
to the traditions of her native land, she never appeared, either in
public or in private, without being closely veiled. Only her 'lord' was
ever permitted to look upon her uncovered face; all that the world at
large might ever hope to behold of it was the low, broad forehead and
the two brilliant eyes that appeared above the close-drawn line of her
yashmak. Of course she shrank from the life into which she was forced;
but it had its reward, for it kept her in close contact with her
husband, whom she almost worshipped. So, for a time, she was
proportionately happy; although, as the years passed by and her father
showed no inclination to bestow the coveted 'rich allowance' upon his
daughter, Ulchester's ardour began to cool. He no longer treated her
with the same affectionate deference; he neglected her, in fact, and, in
the end, even began to ill-use her.

"About two years ago, matters assumed a worse aspect. He again met Anita
Rosario, the Spanish dancer, under whose guidance he had first turned to
the halls for a livelihood, and once more took up with her. He seemed to
have lost all thought or care for the feelings of his wife, for, after
torturing her with jealousy over his attentions to the dancer, he took a
house adjoining my own--on the borders of the most unfrequented part of
the common at Wimbledon--established himself and Zuilika there, and
brought the woman Anita home to live with them. From that period matters
went from bad to worse. Evidently having tired of the stage, both
Ulchester and Anita abandoned it, and turned the house into a sort of
club where gambling was carried on to a disgraceful extent.
Broken-hearted over the treatment she was receiving, Zuilika appealed to
me and to my son to help her in her distress--to devise some plan to
break the spell of Ulchester's madness and to get that woman out of the
house. It was then that I first beheld her face. In her excitement she
managed, somehow, to snap or loosen the fastening which held her
yashmak, and it fell--fell, and let my son realise, as I realised, how
wondrously beautiful it is possible for the human face to be!"

"Steady, Major, steady! I can quite understand your feelings--can
realise better than most men!" said Cleek with a sort of sigh. "You
looked into heaven, and--well, what then? Let's have the rest of the
story."

"I think my son must have put it into her head to give Ulchester a taste
of his own medicine--to attempt to excite his jealousy by pretending to
find interests elsewhere. At any rate, she began to show him a great
deal of attention--or, at least, so he says, although I never saw it.
All I know is that she--she--well, sir, she deliberately led _me_ on
until I was half insane over her, and--that's all!"

"What do you mean by 'that's all'? The matter couldn't possibly have
ended there, or else why this appeal to me?"

"It ended for me, so far as her affectionate treatment of me was
concerned; for in the midst of it the unexpected happened. Her father
died, forgiving her, as Ulchester had hoped, but doing more than his
wildest dreams could have given him cause to imagine possible. In a
word, sir, the caliph not only bestowed his entire earthly possessions
upon her, but had them conveyed to England by trusted allies and placed
in her hands. There were coffers of gold pieces, jewels of fabulous
value--sufficient, when converted into English money, as they were
within the week, and deposited to her credit in the Bank of England, to
make her the sole possessor of nearly three million pounds."

"Phew!" whistled Cleek. "When these Orientals do it they certainly do it
properly. That's what you might call 'giving with both hands,' Major,
eh?"

"The gift did not end with that, sir," the Major replied with a gesture
of repulsion. "There was a gruesome, ghastly, appalling addition in the
shape of two mummy cases--one empty, the other filled. A parchment
accompanying these stated that the caliph could not sleep elsewhere but
in the land of his fathers, nor sleep _there_ until his beloved child
rested beside him. They had been parted in life, but they should not be
parted in death. An Egyptian had, therefore, been summoned to his
bedside, had been given orders to embalm him after death, to send the
mummy to Zuilika, and with it a case in which, when her own death should
occur, _her_ body should be deposited; and followers of the prophet had
taken oath to see that both were carried to their native land and
entombed side by side. Until death came to relieve her of this ghastly
duty, Zuilika was charged to be the guardian of the mummy and daily to
make the orisons of the faithful before it, keeping it always with its
face towards the East."

"By George! it sounds like a page from the 'Arabian Nights,'" exclaimed
Cleek. "Well, what next? Did Ulchester take kindly to this housing of
the mummy of his father-in-law and the eventual coffin of his wife? Or
was he willing to stand for anything so long as he got possession of the
huge fortune the old man left?"

"He never did get it, Mr. Cleek--he never touched so much as one
farthing of it. Zuilika took nobody into her confidence until everything
had been converted into English gold and deposited in the bank to her
credit. Then she went straight to him and to Anita, showed them proof of
the deposit, reviled them for their treatment of her, and swore that not
one farthing's benefit should accrue to Ulchester until Anita was turned
out of the house in the presence of their guests and the husband took
oath on his knees to join the wife in those daily prayers before the
caliph's mummy. Furthermore, Ulchester was to embrace the faith of the
Mohammedans that he might return with her at once to the land and the
gods she had offended by marriage with a Frankish infidel."

"Which, of course, he declined to do?"

"Yes. He declined utterly. But it was a case of the crushed worm, with
Zuilika. Now was _her_ turn; and she would not abate one jot or tittle.
There was a stormy scene, of course. It ended by Ulchester and the woman
Anita leaving the house together. From that hour Zuilika never again
heard his living voice, never again saw his living face! He seems to
have gone wild with wrath over what he had lost and to have plunged
headlong into the maddest sort of dissipation. It is known--positively
known, and can be sworn to by reputable witnesses--that for the next
three days he did not draw one sober breath. On the fourth, a note from
him--a note which he was _seen_ to write in a public house--was carried
to Zuilika. In that note he cursed her with every conceivable term; told
her that when she got it he would be at the bottom of the river, driven
there by her conduct, and that if it was possible for the dead to come
back and haunt people he'd do it. Two hours after he wrote that note he
was seen getting out of the train at Tilbury and going towards the
docks; but from that moment to this every trace of him is lost."

"Ah, I see!" said Cleek reflectively. "And you want to find out if he
really carried out that threat and did put an end to himself, I suppose?
That's why you have come to me, eh? Frankly, I don't believe that he
did, Major. That sort of a man never commits suicide upon so slim a
pretext as that. If he commits it at all, it's because he is at the end
of his tether--and our friend 'Zyco' seems to have been a long way from
the end of his. How does the lady take it? Seriously?"

"Oh, very, sir, very. Of course, to a woman of her temperament and with
her Oriental ideas regarding the supernatural, _et cetera_, that threat
to haunt her was the worst he could have done to her. At first she was
absolutely beside herself with grief and horror; swore that she had
killed him by her cruelty; that there was nothing left her but to die,
and all that sort of thing; and for three days she was little better
than a mad woman. At the end of that time, after the fashion of her
people, she retired to her own room, covered herself with sackcloth and
ashes, and remained hidden from all eyes for the space of a fortnight,
weeping and wailing constantly and touching nothing but bread and
water."

"Poor wretch! She suffers like that, then, over a rascally fellow not
worth a single tear. It's marvellous, Major, what women do see in men
that they can go on loving them. Has she come out of her retirement
yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Cleek. She came out of it five days ago, to all appearances a
thoroughly heart-broken woman. Of course as she was all alone in the
world, my son and I considered it our duty, during the time of her
wildness and despair, to see that a thoroughly respectable female was
called in to take charge of the house and to show respect for the
proprieties, and for us to take up our abode there in order to prevent
her from doing herself an injury. We are still domiciled there, but it
will surprise you to learn that a most undesirable person is there also.
In short, sir, that the woman Anita Rosario, the cause of all the
trouble, is again an inmate of the house; and what is more remarkable
still, this time by Zuilika's own request."

"What's that? My dear Major, you amaze me! What can possibly have caused
the good lady to do a thing like that?"

"She hopes, she says, to appease the dead and to avert the threatened
'haunting.' At all events, she sent for Anita some days ago. Indeed, I
believe it is her intention to take the Spaniard with her when she
returns to the East."

"She intends doing that, then? She is so satisfied of her husband's
death that she deems no further question necessary. Intends to take no
further step toward proving it?"

"It has been proved to her satisfaction. His body was recovered the day
before yesterday."

"Oho! then he is dead, eh? Why didn't you say so in the beginning? When
did you learn of it?"

"This very evening. That is what brings me here. I learned from Zuilika
that a body answering the description of his had been fished from the
water at Tilbury and carried to the mortuary. It was horribly
disfigured--by contact with the piers and passing vessels--but she and
Anita--and--and my son--"

"Your son, Major? Your son?"

"Yes!" replied the Major in a sort of half-whisper. "They--they took him
with them when they went, unknown to me. He has become rather friendly
with the Spanish woman of late. All three saw the body; all three
identified it as being Ulchester's beyond a doubt."

"And you? Surely when you see it you will be able to satisfy any
misgivings you may have?"

"I shall never see it, Mr. Cleek. It was claimed when identified and
buried within twelve hours," said the Major, glancing up sharply as
Cleek, receiving this piece of information, blew out a soft, low
whistle. "I was not told anything about it until this evening, and what
I have done--in coming to you, I mean--I have done with nobody's
knowledge. I--I am so horribly in the dark--I have such fearful thoughts
and--and I want to be sure. I must be sure or I shall go out of my mind.
That's the 'case,' Mr. Cleek--tell me what you think of it."

"I can do that in a very few words, Major," he replied. "It is either a
gigantic swindle or it is a clear case of murder. If a swindle, then
Ulchester himself is at the bottom of it and it will end in murder just
the same. Frankly, the swindle theory strikes me as being the more
probable; in other words, that the whole thing is a put-up game between
Ulchester and the woman Anita; that they played upon Zuilika's fear of
the supernatural for a purpose; that a body was procured and sunk in
that particular spot for the furtherance of that purpose; and if the
widow attempts to put into execution this plan--no doubt instilled into
her mind by Anita--of returning with her wealth to her native land, she
will simply be led into some safe place and then effectually put out of
the way for ever. That is what I think of the case if it is to be
regarded in the light of a swindle; but if Ulchester is really dead,
murder, not suicide, is at the back of his taking off, and--Oh, well, we
won't say anything more about it just yet awhile. I shall want to look
over the ground before I jump to any conclusions. You are still stopping
in the house, you and your son, I think you remarked? If you could
contrive to put up an old army friend's son there for a night, Major,
give me the address. I'll drop in on you to-morrow and have a little
look round."




CHAPTER XXVIII


When, next morning, Major Burnham-Seaforth announced the dilemma in
which, through his own house being temporarily closed, he found himself
owing to the proposed visit of Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn, son of an
old army friend, Zuilika was the first to suggest the very thing he was
fishing for.

"Ah, let him come here, dear friend," she said in that sad, sweetly
modulated voice which so often wrung this susceptible old heart. "There
is plenty of room!--plenty, alas now--and any friend of yours can only
be a friend of mine. He will not annoy. Let him come here."

"Yes, let him," supplemented young Burnham-Seaforth, speaking with his
eyes on Senorita Rosario, who seemed nervous and ill-pleased by the news
of the expected arrival. "He won't have to be entertained by us if he
only comes to see the pater; and we can easily crowd him aside if he
tries to thrust himself upon us--a fellow with a name like 'Rupert St.
Aubyn' is bound to be a silly ass." And when, in the late afternoon,
"Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn," in the person of Cleek, arrived with his
snubnosed manservant, a kit-bag, several rugs and a bundle of golf
sticks, young Burnham-Seaforth saw no reason to alter that assertion.
For, a "silly ass"--albeit an unusually handsome one with his fair,
curling hair and his big blonde moustache--he certainly was; a lisping
"ha-ha-ing" "don't-cher-knowing" silly ass, whom the presence of ladies
seemed to cover with confusion and drive into a very panic of shy
embarrassment.

"_Dios!_ but he is handsome, this big, fair lieutenant!" whispered the
Spaniard to young Burnham-Seaforth. "A great, handsome fool--all beauty
and no brains, like a doll of wax!" Then she bent over and murmured
smilingly to Zuilika: "I shall make a bigger nincompoop of this big,
fair sap-head than Heaven already has done before he leaves here, just
for the sake of seeing him stammer and blush!"

Only the sad expression of Zuilika's eyes told that she so much as
heard, as she rose to greet the visitor. Garbed from head to foot in the
deep violet-coloured stuff which is the mourning of Turkish women, her
little pointed slippers showing beneath the hem of her frock, and only
her dark, mournful eyes visible between the top of the shrouding yashmak
and the edge of her sequined snood, she made a pathetic picture as she
stood there waiting to greet the unknown visitor.

"Sir, you are welcome--you are most welcome," she said in a voice whose
modulations were not lost upon Cleek's ears as he put forth his hand and
received the tips of her little, henna-stained fingers upon his palm.
"Peace be with you, who are of his people--he that I loved and mourn!"
Then, as if overcome with grief at the recollection of her widowhood,
she plucked away her hand, covered her eyes, and moved staggeringly out
of the room. And Cleek saw no more of her that day; but he knew when she
performed her orisons before the mummy case--as she did each morning and
evening--by the strong, pungent odour of incense drifting through the
house and filling it with a sickly scent.

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