Book: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

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




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"How did I know the man?" said Cleek, answering Narkom's query, as they
came down the Tor-side afoot and forged on in the direction of
Lyntonhurst Old Church--whither Captain Morford and the limousine had
long ago preceded them--with the low-dropped sun behind them and
lengthening shadows streaming on before. "Well, as a matter of fact, I
never did know him until I actually touched him. I was certain of the
method, of course; but the man--no. I got my first suspicion of 'Uncle
Phil' when I heard him speak. I knew I had heard that voice somewhere,
and I realised that it was much too young a voice for a man who
appeared--and must be, if he were the real 'Uncle Phil'--extremely old;
but it was only when I saw his hand, and the peculiar knotted and
twisted little finger that I really knew who he was. What's that? The
soap? Well, of course I knew that if, as I suspected, someone in the
house was the real culprit, an attempt would be made to make it look as
though the criminal entered from without, so naturally the window would
be opened, and something of some sort would be smeared on the
sill--something that wouldn't blow away and wouldn't wash off in the
event of a sudden rainstorm coming up. Soap would do--and soap is always
handy in a bedroom. I knew whose hand had made the smear as soon as I
looked at the cake of soap in 'Uncle Phil's' room--it was badly rubbed
on one side where it had been scraped over the stone coping and along
the outer edge of the sill where--Pardon me: this is the turning--I
leave you here. Pick me up at the inn of the Three Desires in an hour's
time, please, and we'll motor back to town together. So long!"

And swung round into the branching lane and down the green slope, and
round under the shadow of Lyntonhurst Old Church to the quiet country
road and the lich-gate where Ailsa Lorne was waiting.




CHAPTER XXXV


She was sitting in the very same place she had occupied when first he
saw her this morning, with the cypress tree and the roof making shadows
above and about her; and now, as then, she rose when she heard the latch
click and came toward him with hands outstretched and eyes aglow and
little gusts of colour sweeping in rose waves over throat and cheeks.

"Oh, to think that you have solved it! To think that it is the end! And
to think that it was he--that dear, kind 'uncle' of whom they all were
so fond!" she said. "I could scarcely believe it when Captain Morford
brought the news. It made me quite faint for the moment--it was so
unexpected, so horrible!"

"And after all, there was nothing to fear from that farm labourer who
frightened you so this morning, you see," he smiled, holding her two
hands in his and looking down at her from his greater height. "Yet I
find your crouching back in the shadow as if you were still frightened
to be seen. Are you?"

"A little," she admitted. "You see, the road is a public one. People are
always passing, and--How good it was of you to come all this long
distance out of your way. Indeed, I am very, very grateful, Mr. Cleek."

"Thank you," he said gravely. "But you need not be. Indeed, the
gratitude should be all on my side. I said I would come if ever you
wanted me, and you gave me an opportunity to keep my word. As for it
being out of my way to come here, it is but a little distance to the
Three Desires and a long one to Lady Chepstow's place, so it is you, not
I, that have 'gone out of the way!' It was good of you to give me this
grace--I should have been sorry to go back to town without saying
good-bye."

"But need you go so soon?" she asked. "Lady Chepstow will feel slighted,
I know, if she hears that you have been in the neighbourhood and have
not called. She is a friend, you know, a warm, true friend--always
grateful for what you did, always glad to see you. Why not stop on a
day or two and call and see her?"

A robin flicked down out of the cypress tree and perched on the gate
top, looked up at Cleek with bright, sharp eyes, flung out a wee little
trill, and was off again.

"I'm afraid it is out of the question--I'm afraid I'm not so deeply
interested in Lady Chepstow as, perhaps, I ought to be," said Cleek,
noticing in a dim subconscious way that the robin had flown on to the
church door and perched there, and was in full song now. "Besides, she
does not know of me what you do. Perhaps, if she did.... Oh, well, it
doesn't matter. Thank you for coming to say good-bye, Miss Lorne. It was
kind of you. Now I must emulate Poor Jo, and 'move on' again."

"And without any reward!" said Ailsa with a smile and a sigh. "Without
expecting any; without asking any; without wanting any!"

He stood a moment, twisting his heel round and round in the gravel of
the pathway, and breathing hard, his eyes on the ground, and his lips
indrawn. Then, of a sudden--"Perhaps I did want one. Perhaps I've always
wanted one. And hoped to get it some day perhaps from--you!" he said.
And looked up at her as a man looks but once at one woman ever.

She had come a step nearer; she was standing there with the shadows
behind her and the light on her face, warm colour in her cheeks, and a
smile on her lips and in her eyes. She spoke no word, made no sound;
merely stood there and smiled and, somehow, he seemed to know what the
smile of her meant and what the bird's note said.

"Miss Lorne--Ailsa," he said, very, very gently, "if some day ... when
all the wrongs I did in those other days are righted, and all that a man
can do on this earth to atone for such a past as mine has been done ...
if then, in that time, I come to you and ask for that reward, do you
think, oh, do you think that you can find it in your heart to give it?"

"When that day dawns, come and see," she said, "if you wish to wait so
long!"




EPILOGUE

THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO HAD BEEN CALLED HAMILTON CLEEK


"Note for you, sir--messenger just fetched it. Addressed to 'Captain
Burbage,' so it'll be from The Yard," said Dollops, coming into the room
with a doughnut in one hand and a square envelope in the other.

Cleek, who had been sitting at his writing-table, with a litter of
folded documents, bits of antique jewellery, and what looked like odds
and ends of faded ribbon lying before him, swept the whole collection
into the table drawer as Dollops spoke and stretched forth his hand for
the letter.

It was one of Narkom's characteristic communications, albeit somewhat
shorter than those communications usually were--a fact which told Cleek
at once that the matter was one of immense importance.

"My dear Cleek," it ran. "For the love of goodness don't let anything
tempt you into going out to-night. I shall call about ten. Foreign
government affair--reward simply enormous. Look out for me. Yours, in
hot haste--MAVERICK NARKOM."

"Be on the lookout for the red limousine," said Cleek, glancing over at
Dollops, who stood waiting for orders. "It will be along about ten.
That's all. You may go."

"Right you are, Gov'nor. I'll keep my eyes peeled, sir. Lor'! I do hope
it's summink to do with a restaurant or a cookshop this time. I could do
with a job of that sort--my word, yes! I'm fair famishin'. And, beggin'
pardon, but you don't look none too healthy yourself this evening,
Gov'nor. Ain't et summink wot's disagreed with you, have you, sir?"

"I? What nonsense! I'm as fit as a fiddle. What could make you think
otherwise?"

"Oh, I dunno, sir--only--Well, if you don't mind my sayin' of it, sir,
whenever you gets to unlocking of that draw and lookin' at them things
you keep in there--wotever they is--you always gets a sort of
solemncholy look in the eyes; and you gets white about the gills, and
your lips has a pucker to 'em that I don't like to see."

"Tommy rot! Imagination's a splendid thing for a detective to possess,
Dollops, but don't let yours run away with you in this fashion, my lad,
or you'll never rise above what you are. Toddle along now, and look out
for Mr. Narkom's arrival. It's after nine already, so he'll soon be
here."

"Anybody a-comin' with him, sir?"

"I don't know--he didn't say. Cut along, now; I'm busy!" said Cleek.
Nevertheless, when Dollops had gone and the door was shut and he had the
room to himself again, and, if he really did have any business on hand,
there was no reason in the world why he should not have set about it, he
remained sitting at the table and idly drumming upon it with his finger
tips, a deep ridge between his brows and a far-away expression in his
fixed, unwinking eyes. And so he was still sitting when, something like
twenty minutes later, the sharp "Toot-toot!" of a motor horn sounded.

Narkom's note lay on the table close to his elbow. He took it up,
crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into his waste basket. "A foreign
government affair," he said with a curious one-sided smile. "A strange
coincidence, to be sure!" Then, as if obeying an impulse, he opened the
drawer, looked at the litter of things he had swept into it, shut it up
again and locked it securely, putting the key into his pocket and rising
to his feet. Two minutes later, when Narkom pushed open the door and
entered the room, he found Cleek leaning against the edge of the
mantelpiece and smoking a cigarette with the air of one whose feet trod
always upon rose petals, and who hadn't a thought beyond the affairs of
the moment, nor a care for anything but the flavour of Egyptian tobacco.

"Ah, my dear fellow, you can't think what a relief it was to catch you.
I had but a moment in which to dash off the note, and I was on thorns
with fear that it would miss you; that on a glorious night like this
you'd be off for a pull up the river or something of that sort," said
the superintendent, as he bustled in and shook hands with him. "You are
such a beggar for getting off by yourself and mooning."

"Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Narkom, I came within an ace of doing
the very thing you speak of," replied Cleek. "It's full moon, for one
thing, and it's primrose time for another. Happily for your desire to
catch me, however, I--er--got interested in the evening paper, and that
delayed me."

"Very glad, dear chap; very glad, indeed," began Narkom. Then, as his
eye fell upon the particular evening paper in question lying on the
writing-table, a little crumpled from use, but with a certain
"displayed-headed" article of three columns length in full view, he
turned round and stared at Cleek with an air of awe and mystification.
"My dear fellow, you must be under the guardianship of some uncanny
familiar. You surely must, Cleek!" he went on. "Do you mean to tell me
that is what kept you at home? That you have been reading about the
preparations for the forthcoming coronation of King Ulric of
Mauravania?"

"Yes; why not? I am sure it makes interesting reading, Mr. Narkom. The
kingdom of Mauravania has had sufficient ups and downs to inspire a
novelist, so its records should certainly interest a mere reader. To be
frank, I found the account of the amazing preparations for the
coronation of his new Majesty distinctly entertaining. They are an
excitable and spectacular people, those Mauravanians, and this time they
seem bent upon outdoing themselves."

"But, my dear Cleek, that you should have chosen to stop at home and
read about that particular affair! Bless my soul man, it's--it's
amazing, abnormal, uncanny! Positively uncanny, Cleek!"

"My dear Narkom, I don't see where the uncanny element comes in, I must
confess," replied Cleek with an indulgent smile. "Surely an Englishman
must always feel a certain amount of interest in Mauravian affairs. Have
the goodness to remember that there should be an Englishman upon that
particular throne. Aye, and there would be, too, but for one of those
moments of weak-backed policy, of a desire upon the part of the
'old-woman' element which sometimes prevails in English politics to keep
friendly relations with other powers at any cost. Brush up your history,
Mr. Narkom, and give your memory a fillip. Eight-and-thirty years ago
Queen Karma of Mauravania had an English consort and bore him two
daughters, and one son. You will perhaps recall the mad rebellion, the
idiotic rising which disgraced that reign. That was the time for England
to have spoken. But the peace party had it by the throat; they, with
their mawkish cry for peace--peace at any price!--drowned the voices of
men and heroes, and the end was what it was! Queen Karma was
deposed--she and her children fled, God knows how, God knows where--fled
and left a dead husband and father, slain like a hero and an Englishman,
fighting for his own, and with his face to the foe. Avenge his death?
Nonsense, declared the old women. He had no right to defy the will of
Heaven, no right to stir up strife with a friendly people and expect his
countrymen to embroil themselves because of his lust for power. It would
be a lasting disgrace to the nation if England allowed a lot of howling,
bloodthirsty meddlers to persuade it to interfere.

"The old women had their way. Queen Karma and her children vanished; her
uncle Duke Sforza came to the throne as Alburtus III., and eight months
ago his son, the present King Ulric, succeeded him. The father had been
a bad king, the son a bad crown-prince. Mauravania has paid the price.
Let her put up with it! I don't think in the light of these things, Mr.
Narkom, there is any wonder that an Englishman finds interest in reading
of the affairs of a country over which an Englishman's son might, and
ought to, have ruled. As for me, I have no sympathy, my friend, with
Mauravania or her justly punished people."

"Still, my dear fellow, that should not count when the reward for taking
up this case is so enormous--and I dare say it will not."

"Reward? Case?" repeated Cleek. "What do you mean by that?"

"That I am here to enlist your services in the cause of King Ulric of
Mauravania," replied Narkom, impressively. "Something has happened,
Cleek, which, if not cleared up before the coronation day--now only one
month hence, as you must have read--will certainly result in his
Majesty's public disgrace, and may result in his overthrow and death!
His friend and chief adviser, Count Irma, has come all the way from
Mauravania, and is at this moment downstairs in this house, to put the
case in your hands and to implore you to help and to save his royal
master!"

"His royal master? The son of the man who drove an Englishman's wife and
an Englishman's children into exile--poverty--misery--despair?" said
Cleek, pulling himself up. "I won't take it, Mr. Narkom! If he offers me
millions, I'll lift no hand to help or to save Mauravania's king!"

The response to this came from an unexpected quarter.

"But to save Mauravania's queen, monsieur? Will you do nothing for her?"
said an excited and imploring voice. And as Cleek, startled by the
interruption, switched round and glanced in the direction of the sound,
the half-dosed door swung inward and a figure, muffled to the very eyes,
moved over the threshold into the room. "Have pardon, monsieur--I could
not but overhear," went on the newcomer, turning to Narkom. "I should
scarcely be worthy of his Majesty's confidence and favour had I remained
inactive. I simply had to come up unbidden. _Had_ to, monsieur"--turning
to Cleek--"and so--" His words dropped off suddenly. A puzzled look
first expanded and then contracted his eyes, and his lips tightened
curiously under the screen of his white, military moustache. "Monsieur,"
he said, presently putting into words the sense of baffling familiarity
which perplexed him. "Monsieur, you then are the great, the astonishing
Cleek? You, monsieur? Pardon, but surely I have had the pleasure of
meeting monsieur before? No, not here, for I have never been in England
until to-day; but in my own country--in Mauravania. Surely, monsieur, I
have seen you there?"

"On the contrary," said Cleek, speaking the simple truth. "I have never
set foot in Mauravania in all my life, sir. And as you have overheard my
words you may see that I do not intend to even now. The difficulties of
Mauravania's king do not in the least appeal to me."

"Ah, but Mauravania's queen, monsieur--Mauravania's queen."

"The lady interests me no more than does her royal spouse."

"But, monsieur, she must--she really must--if you are honest in what you
say, and your sympathies are all with the deposed and exiled ones--the
ex-queen Karma and her children. Surely, monsieur, you who seem to know
so well the history of that sad time cannot be ignorant of what has
happened since to her ex-Majesty and her children?"

"I know only that Queen Karma died in France, in extreme poverty,
befriended to the last by people of the very humblest birth and of not
too much respectability. What became of her son I do not know; but her
daughters, the two princesses, mere infants at the time, were sent, one
to England, where she subsequently died, and the other to Persia, where,
I believe, she remained up to her ninth year, and then went no one seems
to know where."

"Then, monsieur, let me tell you what became of her. The late King
Alburtus discovered her whereabouts, and, to prevent any possible
trouble in the future, imprisoned her in the Fort of Sulberga up to the
year before his death. Eleven months ago she became the Crown Prince
Ulric's wife. She is now his consort. And by saving her, monsieur, you
who feel so warmly upon the subject of the rights of her family's
succession, will be saving her, helping Mauravania's queen, and
defeating those who are her enemies."

Cleek sucked in his breath and regarded the man silently, steadily, for
a long time. Then:

"Is that true, Count?" he asked. "On your word of honour as a soldier
and a gentleman, is that true?"

"As true as Holy Writ, monsieur. On my word of honour. On my hopes of
heaven!"

"Very well, then," said Cleek quietly. "Tell me the case, Count. I'll
take it."

"Monsieur, my eternal gratitude. Also the reward is--"

"We will talk about that afterward. Sit down, please, and tell me what
you want me to do."

"Oh, monsieur, almost the impossible," said the Count despairfully. "The
outwitting of a woman who must in very truth be the devil's own
daughter, so subtle, so appalling are the craft and cunning of her.
That, for one thing. For another, the finding of a paper, which, if
published--as the woman swears it shall be if her terms are not acceded
to--will be the signal for his Majesty's overthrow. And, for the
third"--emotion mastered him; his voice choked up and failed; he
deported himself for a moment like one afraid to let even his own ears
hear the thing spoken of aloud, then governed his cowardice and went
on--"For the third thing, monsieur," he said, lowering his tone until it
was almost a whisper, "the recovery--the restoration to its place of
honour before the coronation day arrives--of that fateful gem,
Mauravania's pride and glory--'the Rainbow Pearl!'"

Cleek clamped his jaws together like a bloodhound snapping and over his
hardening face there came a slow-creeping, unnatural pallor.

"Has that been lost?" he said in a low, bleak voice. "Has he, this
precious royal master of yours, this usurper--has he parted with that
thing--the wondrous Rainbow Pearl?"

"Monsieur knows of the gem, then?"

"Know of it? Who does not? Its fame is world-wide. Wars have been fought
for it, lives sacrificed for it. It is more valuable than England's
Koh-i-noor, and more important to the country and the crown that possess
it. The legend runs, does it not, that Mauravania falls when the Rainbow
Pearl passes into alien hands. An absurd belief, to be sure, but who can
argue with a superstitious people or hammer wisdom into the minds of
babies? And _that_ has been lost--that gem so dear to Mauravania's
people, so important to Mauravania's crown?"

"Yes, monsieur--ah, the good God help my country!--yes!" said the Count
brokenly. "It has passed from his Majesty's hands; it is no longer among
the crown jewels of Mauravania--a Russian has it."

"A Russian?" Cleek's cry was like to nothing so much as the snarl of a
wild animal. "A Russian to hold it--a Russian?--the sworn enemy of
Mauravania--the race most hated of her people! God help your wretched
king, Count Irma, if this were known to his subjects."

"Ah, monsieur, it is that we dread--it is that against which we
struggle," replied the Count. "If that jewel were missing on the
coronation day, if it were known that a Russian holds it--Dear God! the
populace would rise--rise, monsieur, and tear his Majesty to pieces."

"He deserves no better!" said Cleek, through his close-shut teeth. "To a
Russian--a Russian! As heaven hears me, but for his queen--Well, let it
pass. Tell me, how did this Russian get the jewel, and when?"

"Oh, long ago, monsieur--long ago; many months before King Alburtus
died."

"Was it his hand that gave it up?"

"No, monsieur. He died without knowing of its loss, without suspecting
that the stone in the royal parure is but a sham and an imitation,"
replied the count. "It all came of the youth, the recklessness, the
folly of the crown prince. Monsieur may have heard of his--his many wild
escapades--his thoughtless acts, his--his--"

"Call them dissipations, Count, and give them their real name. His acts
as crown prince were a scandal and a disgrace. To whom did he part with
this gem--a woman?"

"Monsieur, yes! It was during the time he was stopping in
Paris--incognito to all but a trusted few. He--he met the woman there,
became fascinated with her--bound to her--an abject slave to her."

"A slave to a Russian? Mauravania's heir and--a Russian?"

"Monsieur, he did not know that until afterward. In a mad freak--there
was to be a masked ball--he yielded to the lady's persuasions to let her
wear the famous Rainbow Pearl for that one night. He journeyed back to
Mauravania and abstracted it from among the royal jewels--putting a mere
imitation in its place so that it should not be missed until he could
return the original. Monsieur, he was never able to return it at any
time, for, once she had got it, the Russian made away with it in some
secret manner and refused to give it up. Her price for returning it was
his royal father's consent to ennoble her, to receive her at the
Mauravanian Court, and so to alter the constitution that it would be
possible for her to become the crown prince's wife."

"The proposition of an idiot. The thing could not possibly be done."

"No, monsieur, it could not. So the crown prince broke from her and bent
all his energies upon the recovery of the pearl and the keeping of its
loss a secret from the king and his people. Bravos, footpads,
burglars--all manner of men--were employed before he left Paris. The
woman's house was broken into, the woman herself waylaid and searched,
but nothing came of it--no clue to the lost jewel could be found."

"Why then did he not appeal to the police?"

"Monsieur, he--he dared not. In one of his moments of madness
he--she--that is--Oh, monsieur, remember his youth! It appears that the
woman had got him to put into writing something which, if made public,
would cause the people of Mauravania to rise as one man and to do with
him as wolves do with things that are thrown to them in their fury."

"The dog! Some treaty with a Russian, of course!" said Cleek
indignantly. "Oh, fickle Mauravania, how well you are punished for your
treasonable choice! Well, go on, Count. What next?"

"Of a sudden, monsieur, the woman disappeared. Nothing was heard of her,
no clue to her whereabouts discovered for two whole years. She was as
one dead and gone until last week."

"Oho! She returned, then?"

"Yes, monsieur. Without hint or warning she turned up in Mauravania,
accompanied by a disreputable one-eyed man who has the manner and
appearance of one bred in the gutters of Paris, albeit he is well
clothed, well-looked after, and she treats him and his wretched
collection of parakeets with the utmost consideration."

"Parakeets?" put in Narkom excitedly. "My dear Cleek, couldn't a
parakeet be made to swallow a pearl?"

"Perhaps; but not this one, Mr. Narkom," he made reply. "It is quite
the size of a pigeon's egg, I believe; is it not, Count?"

"Yes, monsieur, quite. To see it is to remember it always. It has the
changing lights of the rainbow, and--"

"Never mind that; go on with the story, please. This woman and this
one-eyed man appeared last week in Mauravania, you say?"

"Yes, monsieur; and with them a bodyguard of at least ten servants. Her
demand now is that his Majesty make her his morganatic wife; that he
establish her at the palace under the same roof with his queen; and that
she be allowed to ride with them in the state carriage on the coronation
day. Failing that, she swears that she will not only publish the
contents of that dreadful letter, but send the original to the chief of
the Mauravanian police and appear in public with the Rainbow Pearl upon
her person."

"The Jezebel! What steps have you taken, Count, to prevent this?"

"All that I can imagine, monsieur. To prevent her from getting into
close touch with the public, I have thrown open my own house to her, and
received her and her retinue under my own roof rather than allow them to
be quartered at an hotel. Also, this has given me the opportunity to
have her effects and those of her followers secretly searched; but no
clue to the letter, no due to the pearl has anywhere been discovered."

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