Book: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

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




But, though she did not see, he was near her even then.

He knew when she walked out into the light-filled street; he knew when
she found a taxicab; and he did not make an effort to go his way until
he was sure that she was safely started upon hers. Then he screwed round
on his heel and went back into the mist and loneliness of the heath, and
walked, and walked, and walked. Afterward--long afterward: when the
night was getting old and the town was going to sleep, he, too, fared
forth in quest of a taxi, and finding one went _his_ way as she had gone
hers.

In the neighbourhood of Bond Street--now a place of darkness and
slow-tramping policemen--he dismissed the taxi and continued the journey
along Piccadilly afoot. It was close to one o'clock when he came at
length to Clarges Street and swung into it from the Piccadilly end, and
moved on in the direction of the house which sheltered him and his
secrets together. But, though he walked with apparent indifference, his
eye was ever on the lookout for some chance watcher in the windows of
the other houses; for "Captain Horatio Burbage" was supposed, in the
neighbourhood, to be a superannuated seaman who maintained a bachelor
establishment with the aid of an elderly housekeeper and a deaf-and-dumb
maid of all work.

But no one was on the watch to-night; and it was only when he came at
last to the pillared portico of his own residence that he found any sign
of life from one end of the street to the other. He did find it then,
however; for the boy, Dollops, was sitting huddled up on the top step
with the thick shadow of the portico making a safe screen for him.

He had made good use of the two half-crowns, for he had not only
feasted--and was feasting still: on a bag of winkles and a saveloy--but
was washed and brushed and had gone to the length of a shoe-shine and a
collar.

"Been waitin' since eleven o'clock, sir," he said, getting up and
pulling his forelock as Cleek appeared. "Didn't knock and arsk for no
one, though--not me. Twigged as it would be you, sir, on account of your
sayin' to-night. I've read summink of the ways of 'tecs. Wot ho!"

"You seem a sharp little customer, at all events," said Cleek with a
curious one-sided smile--a smile that was peculiar to him. "I somehow
fancy that I've made a good investment, Dollops. Filled up, eh?"

"No, sir--never filled. Born 'ungry, I reckon. But filled as much as you
could fill me, bless your 'eart. I aren't never goin' to forget that,
Gov'nor--no fear. An eater and a scrapper I am, sir; and I'll scrap for
_you_, sir, while there's a bloomin' breff left in my blessed body!
Gimme the tip wot kind of work I _can_ do for you, Gov'nor, will you? I
want to get them two 'arf-crowns off my conscience as quick as I can."

Cleek looked at him and smiled again.

"Yes, I'm _sure_ I made a good bargain, Dollops," he said. "Come in."
And in this way the attachment which existed between them ever afterward
had its beginning.

He took the boy in and up to the little room on the second floor which
he called his den; and, turning on the light, motioned him to a chair,
laid aside his hat and gloves, and was just about to pull up a chair for
himself when he caught sight of an unstamped letter lying upon his
writing-table.

"Sit down there and wait a moment until I read this, my lad," he said;
and forthwith tore the letter open.

It was from Superintendent Narkom. He had known that from the first,
however. No one but Narkom ever wrote him letters. This one was
exceedingly brief. It simply contained these two lines:

"My dear Cleek. The Three Jolly Fishermen, Richmond, at tea-time
to-morrow. An astonishing affair. Yours, M. N."

"Dollops, my lad, I think I'm going to make a man of you," he said as he
tore the letter into a dozen pieces and tossed the fragments into a
waste-basket. "At any rate, I'm going to have a try. Know anything about
Richmond?"

"Yuss, sir."

"Good. Well, we'll have a half-hour's talk and then I'll find a
temporary bed for you for the night, and to-morrow we'll take a pull on
the river at Richmond and see what we shall see."

The half-hour, however, developed into a full one; for it was after two
o'clock when the talk was finished and a bed improvised for the boy; but
Cleek, saying good night to him at last and going to his own bedroom,
felt that it was a long, long way from being time wasted.

What Dollops thought is, perhaps, best told by the fact that he burst
out crying when Cleek came in in the morning to ask how he had slept.

"Slept, Gov'nor!" he said. "Why, bless your 'eart, sir, I couldn't a
slept better on a bed of roses, nor 'ad 'arf such comfort. Feel like I
needed someone to lend me a biff on the coco, sir, to make sure as I
aren't a dreamin'--it's so wot a cove fancies 'Eaven to be like, sir."

And afterward, when the day was older, and they had gone to Richmond,
and Cleek--in his boating flannels--was pulling him up the shining river
and talking to him again as he had talked last night, he felt that it
was even more like Heaven than ever.

It was after four--long after--when they finally separated and Cleek,
leaving the boy in charge of the boat, stepped ashore in the
neighbourhood of the inn of the Three Jolly Fishermen and went to keep
his appointment with Narkom.

He found him enjoying tea at a little round table in the niche of a big
bay window in the small private parlour which lay immediately behind the
bar-room.

"My dear chap, do forgive me for not waiting," said the superintendent
contritely, as Cleek came in, looking like a college-bred athlete in his
boating-flannels and his brim-tilted panama. "But the fact is you are a
little later than I anticipated; and I was simply famishing."

"Share the blame of my lateness with me, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek as he
tossed aside his hat and threw the fag-end of his cigarette through the
open window. "You merely said 'tea-time,' not any particular hour; and I
improved the opportunity to take another spin up the river and to talk
like a Dutch uncle to a certain young man whom I shall introduce to your
notice in due time. It isn't often that duty calls me to a little Eden
like this. The air is like balm to-day; and the river--oh, the river is
a sheer delight."

Narkom rang for a fresh pot of tea and a further supply of buttered
toast, and, when these were served, Cleek sat down and joined him.

"I dare say," said the superintendent, opening fire at once, "that you
wonder what in the world induced me to bring you out here to meet me, my
dear fellow, instead of following the usual course and calling at
Clarges Street? Well, the fact is, Cleek, that the gentleman with whom I
am now about to put you in touch lives in this vicinity, and is so
placed that he cannot get away without running the risk of having the
step he is taking discovered."

"Humph! He is closely spied upon, then?" commented Cleek. "The trouble
arises from someone or something in his own household?"

"No--in his father's. The 'trouble,' so far as I can gather, seems to
emanate from his stepmother, a young and very beautiful woman, who was
born on the island of Java, where the father of our client met and
married her some two years ago, whither he had gone to probe into the
truth of the amazing statement that a runic stone had been unearthed in
that part of the globe."

"Ah, then you need not tell me the gentleman's name, Mr. Narkom,"
interposed Cleek. "I remember perfectly well the stir which that
ridiculous and unfounded statement created at the time. Despite the fact
that scholars of all nations scoffed at the thing, and pointed out that
the very term 'rune' is of Teutonic origin, one enthusiastic old
gentleman--Mr. Michael Bawdrey, a retired brewer, thirsting for
something more enduring than malt to carry his name down the
ages--became fired with enthusiasm upon the subject, and set forth for
Java 'hot foot,' as one might say. I remember that the papers made great
game of him; but I heard, I fancy, that, in spite of all, he was a dear,
lovable old chap, and not at all like the creature the cartoonists
portrayed him."

"What a memory you have, my dear Cleek. Yes, that is the party; and he
_is_ a dear, lovable old chap at bottom. Collects old china, old
weapons, old armour, curiosities of all sorts--lots of 'em bogus, no
doubt; catch the charlatans among the dealers letting a chance like that
slip them--and is never so happy as when showing his 'collection' to his
friends and being mistaken by the ignorant for a man of deep learning."

"A very human trait, Mr. Narkom. We all are anxious that the world
should set the highest possible valuation upon us. It is only when we
are underrated that we object. So this dear, deluded old gentleman,
having failed to secure a 'rune' in Java, brought back something equally
cryptic--a woman? Was the lady of his choice a native or merely an
inhabitant of the island?"

"Merely an inhabitant, my dear fellow. As a matter of fact, she is
English. Her father, a doctor, long since deceased, took her out there
in her childhood. She was none too well off, I believe; but that did not
prevent her having many suitors, among whom was Mr. Bawdrey's own son,
the gentleman who is anxious to have you take up this case."

"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "So the lady was of
the careful and calculating kind? She didn't care for youth and all the
rest of it when she could have papa and the money-chest without waiting.
A common enough occurrence. Still, this does not make up an 'affair,'
and especially an 'affair' which requires the assistance of a detective,
and you spoke of 'a case.' What is the case, Mr. Narkom?"

"I will leave Mr. Philip Bawdrey himself to tell you that," said Narkom,
as the door opened to admit a young man of about eight-and-twenty,
clothed in tennis flannels, and looking very much perturbed, a handsome,
fair-haired, fair-moustached young fellow, with frank, boyish eyes and
that unmistakable something which stamps the products of the 'Varsities.
"Come in, Mr. Bawdrey. You said we were not to wait tea, and you see
that we haven't. Let me have the pleasure of introducing Mr.--"

"Headland," put in Cleek adroitly, and with a look at Narkom as much as
to say, "Don't give me away. I may not care to take the case when I hear
it, so what's the use of letting everybody know who I am?" Then he
switched round in his chair, rose, and held out his hand. "Mr. George
Headland, of the Yard, Mr. Bawdrey. I don't trust Mr. Narkom's
proverbially tricky memory for names. He introduced me as Jones once,
and I lost the opportunity of handling the case because the party in
question couldn't believe that anybody named Jones would be likely to
ferret it out."

"Funny idea, that!" commented young Bawdrey, smiling, and accepting the
proffered hand. "Rum lot of people you must run across in your line, Mr.
Headland. Shouldn't take you for a detective myself, shouldn't even in a
room full of them. College man, aren't you? Thought so. Oxon or Cantab?"

"Cantab--Emmanuel."

"Oh, Lord! Never thought I'd ever live to appeal to an Emmanuel man to
do anything brilliant. I'm an Oxon chap; Brasenose is my alma mater. I
say, Mr. Narkom, do give me a cup of tea, will you? I had to slip off
while the others were at theirs, and I've run all the way. Thanks very
much. Don't mind if I sit in that corner and draw the curtain a little,
do you?" his frank, boyish face suddenly clouding. "I don't want to be
seen by anybody passing. It's a horrible thing to feel that you are
being spied upon, at every turn, Mr. Headland, and that want of caution
may mean the death of the person you love best in all the world."

"Oh, it's that kind of case, is it?" queried Cleek, making room for him
to pass round the table and sit in the corner, with his back to the
window and the loosened folds of the chintz curtain keeping him in the
shadow.

"Yes," answered young Bawdrey, with a half-repressed shudder and a
deeper clouding of his rather pale face. "Sometimes I try to make myself
believe that it isn't, that it's all fancy, that she never could be so
inhuman, and yet how else is it to be explained? You can't go behind the
evidence; you can't make things different simply by saying that you will
not believe." He stirred his tea nervously, gulped down a couple of
mouthfuls of it, and then set the cup aside. "I can't enjoy anything; it
takes the savour out of everything when I think of it," he added, with a
note of pathos in his voice. "My dad, my dear, bully old dad, the best
and dearest old boy in all the world! I suppose, Mr. Headland, that Mr.
Narkom has told you something about the case?"

"A little--a very little indeed. I know that your father went to Java,
and married a second wife there; and I know, too, that you yourself were
rather taken with the lady at one time, and that she threw you over as
soon as Mr. Bawdrey senior became a possibility."

"That's a mistake," he replied. "She never threw me over, Mr. Headland;
she never had the chance. I found her out long before my father became
anything like what you might call a rival, found her out as a mercenary,
designing woman, and broke from her voluntarily. I only wish that I had
known that he had one serious thought regarding her. I could have warned
him; I could have spoken then. But I never did find out until it was too
late. Trust her for that. She waited until I had gone up-country to look
after some fine old porcelains and enamels that the governor had heard
about; then she hurried him off and tricked him into a hasty marriage.
Of course, after that I couldn't speak--I wouldn't speak. She was my
father's wife, and he was so proud of her, so happy, dear old boy, that
I'd have been little better than a brute to say anything against her."

"What could you have said if you had spoken?"

"Oh, lots of things--the things that made me break away from her in the
beginning. She'd had more love affairs than one; her late father's
masquerading as a doctor for another. They had only used that as a
cloak. They had run a gambling-house on the sly--he as the card-sharper,
she as the decoy. They had drained one poor fellow dry, and she had
thrown him over after leading him on to think that she cared for him and
was going to marry him. He blew out his brains in front of her, poor
wretch. They say she never turned a hair. You wouldn't believe it
possible, if you saw her; she is so sweet and caressing, and so young
and beautiful, you'd almost believe her an angel. But there's Travers in
the background--always Travers."

"Travers! Who is he?"

"Oh, one of her old flames, the only one she ever really cared for, they
say. She was supposed to have broken with him out there in Java, because
they were too poor to marry; and now he's come over to England, and he's
there, in the house with the dear old dad and me, and they are as thick
as thieves together. I've caught them whispering and prowling about
together, in the grounds and along the lanes, after she has said 'Good
night,' and gone to her room and is supposed to be in bed. There's a
houseful of her old friends three parts of the time. They come and they
go, but Travers never goes. I know why"--waxing suddenly excited,
suddenly vehement--"yes! I know why. He's in the game with her!"

"Game! What game, Mr. Bawdrey? What is it that she is doing?"

"She's killing my old dad!" he answered, with a sort of sob in his
excited voice. "She's murdering him by inches, that's what she's doing,
and I want you to help me bring it home to her. God knows what it is
she's using or how she uses it; but you know what demons they are for
secret poisons, those Javanese, what means they have of killing people
without a trace. And she was out there for years and years. So, too, was
Travers, the brute! They know all the secrets of those beastly
barbarians, and between them they're doing something to my old dad."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't know it--that's the worst of it. But I couldn't be surer of it
if they took me into their secrets. But there's the evidence of his
condition; there's the fact that it didn't begin until after Travers
came. Look here, Mr. Headland, you don't know my dad. He's got the
queerest notions sometimes. One of his fads is that it's unlucky to make
a will. Well, if he dies without one, who will inherit his money, as I
am an only child?"

"Undoubtedly you and his widow."

"Exactly. And if I die at pretty nearly the same time--and they'll see
to that, never fear; it will be my turn the moment they are sure of
him--she will inherit everything. Now, let me tell you what's happening.
From being a strong, healthy man, my father has, since Travers's
arrival, begun to be attacked by a mysterious malady. He has periodical
fainting-fits, sometimes convulsions. He'll be feeling better for a day
or so; then, without a word of warning, whilst you're talking to him,
he'll drop like a shot bird and go into the most horrible convulsions.
The doctors can't stop it; they don't even know what it is. They only
know that he's fading away--turning from a strong, virile old man into a
thin, nervous, shivering wreck. But I know! I know! They're dosing him
somehow with some diabolical Javanese thing, those two. And
yesterday--God help me!--yesterday, I, too, dropped like a shot bird; I,
too, had the convulsions and the weakness and the fainting-fit. My time
has begun also!"

"Bless my soul! what a diabolical thing!" put in Narkom agitatedly. "No
wonder you appealed to me!"

"No wonder!" Bawdrey replied. "I felt that it had gone as far as I dared
to let it; that it was time to call in the police and to have help
before it was too late. That's the case, Mr. Headland. I want you to
find some way of getting at the truth, of looking into Travers's
luggage, into my stepmother's effects, and unearthing the horrible
stuff with which they are doing this thing; and perhaps, when that is
known, some antidote may be found to save the dear old dad and restore
him to what he was. Can't you do this? For God's sake, say that you
can."

"At all events, I can try, Mr. Bawdrey," responded Cleek.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Bawdrey gratefully. "I don't care a
hang what it costs, what your fees are, Mr. Headland. So long as you run
those two to earth, and get hold of the horrible stuff, whatever it is,
that they are using, I'll pay any price in the world, and count it cheap
as compared with the life of my dear old dad. When can you take hold of
the case? Now?"

"I'm afraid not. Mysterious things like this require a little thinking
over. Suppose we say to-morrow noon? Will that do?"

"I suppose it must, although I should have liked to take you back with
me. Every moment's precious at a time like this. But if it must be
delayed until to-morrow--well, it must, I suppose. But I'll take jolly
good care that nobody gets a chance to come within touching distance of
the pater--bless him!--until you do come, if I have to sit on the mat
before his door until morning. Here's the address on this card, Mr.
Headland. When and how shall I expect to see you again? You'll use an
alias, of course?"

"Oh, certainly! Had you any old friend in your college days whom your
father only knew by name and who is now too far off for the imposture to
be discovered?"

"Yes. Jim Rickaby. We were as inseparable as the Siamese twins in our
undergrad days. He's in Borneo now. Haven't heard from him in a dog's
age."

"Couldn't be better," said Cleek. "Then 'Jim Rickaby' let it be. You'll
get a letter from him first thing in the morning saying that he's back
in England, and about to run down and spend the week-end with you. At
noon he will arrive, accompanied by his Borneo servant,
named--er--Dollops. You can put the 'blackie' up in some quarter of the
house where he can move about at will without disturbing any of your own
servants, and can get in and out at all hours; he will be useful, you
know, in prowling about the grounds at night and ascertaining if the
lady really does go to bed when she retires to her room. As for 'Jim
Rickaby' himself--well, you can pave the way for his operations by
informing your father, when you get the letter, that he has gone daft on
the subject of old china and curios and things of that sort, don't you
know."

"What a ripping idea!" commented young Bawdrey. "I twig. He'll get
chummy with you, of course, and you can lead him on and adroitly 'pump'
him regarding her, and where she keeps her keys and things like that.
That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Something of that sort. I'll find out all about her, never fear," said
Cleek in reply. Then they shook hands and parted, and it was not until
after young Bawdry had gone that either he or Narkom recollected that
Cleek had overlooked telling the young man that Headland was not his
name.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Time enough to tell him that when it comes
to making out the cheque," said Cleek, as the superintendent remarked
upon the circumstance. Then he pushed back his chair and walked over to
the window, and stood looking silently out upon the flowing river.
Narkom did not disturb his reflections. He knew from past experience, as
well as from the manner in which he took his lower lip between his teeth
and drummed with his finger-tips upon the window-ledge, that some idea
relative to the working out of the case had taken shape within his mind,
and so, with the utmost discretion, went on with his tea and refrained
from speaking. Suddenly Cleek turned. "Mr. Narkom, do me a favour, will
you? Look me up a copy of Holman's 'Diseases of the Kidneys' when you go
back to town. I'll send Dollops round to the Yard to-night to get it."

"Right you are," said Narkom, taking out his pocket-book and making a
note of it. "But, I say, look here, my dear fellow, you can't possibly
believe that it's anything of that sort--anything natural, I mean--in
the face of what we've heard?"

"No, I don't. I think it's something confoundedly unnatural, and that
that poor old chap is being secretly and barbarously murdered. I think
that--and--I think, too--" His voice trailed off. He stood silent and
preoccupied for a moment, and then, putting his thoughts into words,
without addressing them to anybody: "Ayupee!" he said reflectively;
"Pohon-Upas, Antjar, Galanga root, Ginger and Black Pepper--that's the
Javanese method of procedure, I believe. Ayupee!--yes, assuredly,
Ayupee!"

"What the dickens are you talking about, Cleek? And what does all that
gibberish and that word 'Ayupee' mean?"

"Nothing--nothing. At least, just yet. I say, put on your hat, and let's
go for a pull on the river, Mr. Narkom. I've had enough of mysteries for
to-day and am spoiling for another hour in a boat."

Then he screwed round on his heel and walked out into the brilliant
summer sunshine.




CHAPTER IV


Promptly, at the hour appointed, "Mr. Jim Rickaby" and his black servant
arrived at Laburnam Villa; and certainly the former had no cause to
complain of the welcome he received at the hands of his beautiful young
hostess.

He found her not only an extremely lovely woman to the eye, but one
whose gentle, caressing ways, whose soft voice and simple girlish charm
were altogether fascinating, and, judging from outward appearances, from
the tender solicitude for her elderly husband's comfort and well-being,
from the look in her eyes when she spoke to him, the gentleness of her
hand when she touched him, one would have said that she really and truly
loved him, and that it needed no lure of gold to draw this particular
May to the arms of this one December.

He found Captain Travers a laughing, rollicking, fun-loving type of
man--at least, to all outward appearances--who seemed to delight in
sports and games and to have an almost childish love of card tricks and
that species of entertainment which is known as parlour magic. He found
the three other members of the little house-party--to wit: Mrs.
Somerby-Miles, Lieutenant Forshay, and Mr. Robert Murdock--respectively,
a silly, flirtatious, little gadfly of a widow; a callow, love-struck,
lap-dog, young army officer, with a budding moustache and a full-blown
idea of his own importance; and a dour Scotchman of middle age, with a
passion for chess, a glowering scorn of frivolities, and a deep and
abiding conviction that Scotland was the only country in the world for a
self-respecting human being to dwell in, and that everything outside of
the Established Church was foredoomed to flames and sulphur and the
perpetual prodding of red-hot pitchforks. And last, but not least by any
means, he found Mr. Michael Bawdrey just what he had been told he would
find him, namely, a dear, lovable, sunny-tempered old man, who fairly
idolised his young wife and absolutely adored his frank-faced,
affectionate, big boy of a son, and who ought not, in the common course
of things, to have an enemy or an evil wisher in all the world.

The news, which, of course, had preceded Cleek's arrival, that this
whilom college chum of his son's was as great an enthusiast as he
himself on the subject of old china, old porcelain, bric-a-brac and
curios of every sort, filled him with the utmost delight, and he could
scarcely refrain from rushing him off at once to view his famous
collection.

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