Book: Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

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







CHAPTER X


By this time he had concluded the alteration in his toilet which was
necessary to assure his entrance into the hotel without occasioning
comment; and as Dollops had followed suit they readily passed muster,
when they alighted, for an ordinary English gentleman accompanied by an
ordinary English manservant.

"What was the charge at the garage?" inquired Cleek of Dollops just
previously to alighting.

"I dunno wot it runs to in this 'ere rum lingo of francs and sous, sir,"
said Dollops, "but the garage gent he said it would amount to two pounds
ten in English money, so I'll have to leave you to work it out for
yourself. The shuvver, he said sommink about 'poor boars'--which I've
heard is wot you has to give 'em as a tip to themselves, Gov'nor--so I
promised him 'arf a crown to stop at 'tother end of that passage leadin'
up from The Twisted Arm till he was wanted, sir. Made it a good tip
because I wanted him to be there sure--it would have been a case of
'nab' for us if he hadn't. Wasn't too much, was it, sir?"

"No," said Cleek--and let him see that it wasn't by giving the chauffeur
a pourboire of ten francs and sending him back to the garage with the
impression that he had had dealings with a millionaire.

Ten minutes later the hotel register bore the record of the arrival of
"Mr. Philip Barch and servant"; and one attendant was engaged in showing
the servant into a neat little bedroom which was to be his resting-place
until morning while another was ushering the master into the suite
engaged by the Baron de Carjorac.

Three persons were there: the Baron, his daughter, and his daughter's
companion; but Cleek saw but one--and that the only one who made no
movement, uttered no sound, when he came into the room. Curiously pale
and curiously quiet, she stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece
and the other hanging by her side, looking at him--looking _for_ him,
in fact--but not saying one word, not making one sound. That she left
wholly to the baron and his daughter.

They, too, maintained, although with an effort, an appearance of
composure so long as the hotel servant was present; but in the moment
the door closed and the man was gone an overpowering excitement seized
and mastered them.

"Monsieur, for the love of God, don't tell me you have failed," implored
the baron. "I have died a hundred deaths of torture and suspense since
your card was carried up. But if I am to hear bad news ... Oh, my
country!"

"Don't cross bridges, baron, until you come to them," said Cleek
composedly. "I gave Miss Lorne my promise that I would not leave France
until I had done what she asked me to do; and--I am returning to England
to-morrow by the noon boat. I have had an exciting evening, but it has
had its compensation. Here is something for you. I had a bit of a fight
for it, baron--look out that it doesn't get into the wrong hands again."

He had taken a small packet of torn papers from his pocket while he was
speaking; now he put it into the baron's hand--not wholly without a
certain sense of gratification, however, in the excitement and delight
which the act called forth; for no man is utterly devoid of personal
vanity, personal pride in his achievements, and this man was no less
human than his kind.

He let the tumult of excitement and joy wear itself out; he suffered the
baron's embraces--even the two rapturous kisses the man planted upon
first one and then the other of his cheeks--he endured Mlle. Athalie's
exuberant hand-clapping and hand-shaking and the cyclonic and wholly
Gallic manner in which she deported herself when comparison with the
fragments which the baron had still retained proved beyond all question
that these were indeed the missing portions of the all-important
document; and not until these things were over did he so much as look at
Ailsa Lorne again.

She had taken no part in the general excitement, moved not one foot from
where she had been standing from the first. Even when Athalie danced
over and hugged her and showed the important fragments; even when she
reproved her with a wondering, "Ah, you strange Anglais--you stone-cold
Anglais! Is it possible that you can have blood in your veins and yet
take wondrous things like this so calmly?"--even then, she merely smiled
and remained standing just as she still was; her pallor not one whit
lessened, her reserve but the merest shadow less apparent than it had
been before.

Cleek chose that moment to walk over to her, to lift his eyes to hers,
and to stand looking at her questioningly. For now that he was close to
her he could see that she was trembling nervously; that her calmness was
merely an outward thing, and that under it nerves writhed and a
frightened heart was beating thick and fast.

Was even the fancied moment in Paradise to be denied him then? That such
a woman could not, all in a moment--could not by just one act of heroism
on his part--be won over and lured into complete forgetfulness of such a
past as his, he realized to the fullest extent. Always he had been
conscious of that; but even so ... Ah, well, the meanest may hope, the
lowest may at least look up; and even saints and angels were not above
saying, "Well done!" to a soul that had struggled, to a sinner that had
done his best.

"I managed it, you see, Miss Lorne," he said, in a slightly lowered
voice, while the baron busied himself in looking for his cheque-book and
Athalie bustled about in quest of ink and a pen. "It wasn't an easy
night's work, and I'm a bit fagged out. So, as I leave in the morning,
it will be good-bye as well as good-night."

She moved for the first time. The hand that lay upon the shelf of the
mantelpiece shook and closed quickly. She lifted up her head and looked
at him. Her eyes were misty and faint clouds of color were coming and
going over her face.

"What is it?" he asked. "Surely, Miss Lorne, you--are not afraid of me?"

"No," she said, averting her face again. "Not of you but of myself.
That is--I--" trying to laugh, but making a parody of it--"I was always
more or less of a coward, Mr. Cleek, but..." She faced round again
sharply and held out her hand to him. "Will you let me thank you? Will
you let me say that I must be merely a little child in intellect since
it is only now that I have begun to understand how natural it is that a
pound of gold should inevitably outweigh an ounce of dirt? And will you
please understand that I am trying to thank you, trying to let you know
that I am very, very sorry if I ever hurt your feelings. I don't think I
meant to. I couldn't see then so clearly as I do now. Please forgive me."

He took the hand she held out to him; and so had his moment in Paradise
after all.

"Hurt me as often as you like, if it will always end like this," he said
with a queer little laugh that seemed to come from the very depths of
his chest. "As for that other time ... How could I have expected that
you would take it in any other way, being what you are and I what I had
been? I am glad I told you. You could never have respected me for an
instant if you had found it out in any other way; and I want your
respect: I want it very, very earnestly, Miss Lorne. If you can ever
give it to me I'll do my best to be worthy of it."

She had withdrawn her hand from his and was drumming with her
finger-tips upon the mantelshelf. A little pucker was between her
eyebrows, she was biting her under lip perplexedly, and appeared to be
hesitating. But of a sudden she twitched round her head sharply and a
sweep of red went up over her face.

"Shall I show you how much I do respect you, then?" she said. "One may
ask of a friend things one would not dream of asking of a mere
acquaintance, and so--Mr. Cleek, this night of horror has been too much
for me. I know now that I can no longer remain in this position in this
dreadful city. I have already resigned my post, and will return to
England, and--if I am not too late for it--make an effort to secure the
post of governess to Lady Chepstow's little son. I shall start in the
morning. Will you play the part of friend and guide and see me safely
across the Channel?"

"Do you mean that?" he asked, his face alight, his eyes shining. "You
will let me have the privilege, the honour? What a queen you are! You
give largesse with both hands when a simple coin would have been enough.
Shall I secure your tickets? When will you have your luggage ready? Is
there anything you will need before you leave?"

She smiled at his enthusiasm, coloured anew, and again held out her
hand.

"We will talk of all that in the morning," she said. "There will be
plenty of time. Mlle. de Carjorac has promised to look after my effects
and to see that they are shipped on to me in due course. But now it
really must be good-night. I shall see you again at breakfast."

"At breakfast?" repeated Cleek, with a happy laugh. "I wonder if you
understand that I shall be kicking my heels on my bedside until it is
ready?--that I shan't sleep a wink all night?"

And as events proved he came respectably close to living up to that
exuberant assertion--merely napping now and again, to wake up suddenly
and "moon" for an hour or so; and, between periodical inspections of his
watch, to wonder if God ever made a night so long and slow-dragging as
this one.

It had its recompense, however; for all--or nearly all--the next day was
passed in company with _her_; and more than that he would not have asked
of Heaven. Long before she rose he had made all arrangements for the
journey to Calais; and she was not a little gratified--yes, and touched
if the truth must be told--on arriving at the train, to find that he had
made no effort to secure accommodations which would compel her to endure
his companionship alone from the Gare du Nord to the steamer, but had
considerately reserved seats in a compartment containing other
travellers, and had done everything in his power to relieve her of any
possible embarrassment and to insure her all possible comforts. Even
magazines and pictorial papers were not omitted, but were there for her
in plenty lest she might prefer an excuse for not indulging much in
conversation; and there was also a huge bunch of La France roses bought
at the temporary flower market beside the Madeleine at daybreak that
morning.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" he said, as he laid them in her lap.
"Will it surprise you to learn that flowers are a passion with me, and
that I am a living refutation of the fallacy that 'there can be nothing
very wrong about a man who can cultivate a garden'?"

She looked up at him and smiled.

"I think nothing about you will surprise me--you are so many-sided
and--if you will pardon me saying it--so different from what one
imagines men of--of your calling to be," she said; and laughed a little,
colouring divinely until her face was like the roses themselves. "You
treat me as if I were a queen; and I am not used to Court manners.
Where, if you please, did you acquire yours?"

"In the vast Kingdom of the World," he made answer, with just a
momentary change of countenance--a mere suspicion of embarrassment:
laughed off before she could be quite sure that it had had any real
existence. "Please remember that to appear to be what one is not, and to
ape manners foreign to one's real self is part of what you have so
nicely, so euphemistically, termed 'my calling.' I am an Actor on the
World's Stage, Miss Lorne; I should be but a very poor one if I could
not accommodate myself to many roles."

"If you play them all so well as you do that of the _preux chevalier_,
it is no wonder you are a success," she replied gaily, slipping thus
into easy conversation with him.

And so it fell out that the magazines and the illustrated papers were
not so much of a boon as both had fancied they might be when Cleek
brought them to her; for they had not even been opened when the train
ran up to the quay side at Calais and brought them almost abreast of the
channel steamer.




CHAPTER XI


It was not until they were aboard the boat and the shores of France were
slipping off into the distance that Miss Lorne saw anything at all of
Dollops. As he had travelled down from Paris to Calais in a separate
compartment there had been no opportunity to do so. He had, too, held
himself respectfully aloof even after they had boarded the steamer; and,
but that once, when a lurch of the vessel had unexpectedly disturbed
Cleek's equilibrium and knocked his hat off, she might not have seen him
even then.

But the manner in which he pounced upon that hat, the tender care with
which he brushed it, and the affectionate interest in both voice and
eyes when he handed it back and inquired eagerly, "Didn't hurt yourself,
Gov'nor, did you, sir?" compelled her to take notice of him, and, in
doing so, to understand the position in which they stood to each other.

"You are travelling with a servant?" she enquired.

"More than a servant--a devoted henchman, Miss Lorne. They say you can't
purchase fidelity for all the money in the world, but I secured the
finest brand of it in the Universe by the simple outlay of two half
crowns. It is the boy of that night on Hampstead Heath--the boy who
stood at the turning point. The Devil didn't get him, you see. He kept
his promise and has been walking the straight road ever since."

She turned round and looked at him; realizing more of the man's
character in that moment than a hundred deeds of bravery, a thousand
acts of gentle courtesy, could ever have made her understand.

"And you took him in?" she said slowly. "You gave him a chance? You
helped him to redeem himself? How good of you."

"How good _for_ me, you mean," he laughed, "It was 'bread on the
waters' with a vengeance, Miss Lorne. I should have lost my life last
night but for that boy."--And told her briefly and airily how the thing
had come to pass.

"Don't think it vindictive of me, but I am sorry, I am very, very sorry
you were not able to hand that dreadful woman, Margot, over to the
authorities, Mr. Cleek," she said, with an expression of great
seriousness. "She is not likely to forget or to forgive what you have
done; and some day, perhaps ... Oh, do be on your guard. It was really
foolhardy to have attempted the thing alone. Surely you might have
appealed for assistance to the Paris police and not only have minimised
your personal risk but made sure of the woman's arrest."

"Not without allowing the authorities to learn exactly what the Baron de
Carjorac was so anxious to keep them _from_ learning, Miss Lorne. They
must have found out what I was after, what really had been lost, if I
had applied to them for assistance. I had either to do the thing alone
or drop the case entirely. And drop it I would not after _you_ had asked
me to accept it, and--Pardon? No, Miss Lorne, I do not know who the
woman Margot really is. Even that name may be fictitious, as was the one
of 'Comtesse de la Tour.' I only know of her that she is one of the
great figures of the Underworld; that money is her game--money alone;
money first, last, and all the time; that her personal history is as
much of a mystery to her closest associates as was--well, no matter;
people of that ilk are not fit subjects to discuss with you. All that I
know of the woman is that she has travelled pretty well over the world;
that some six or eight months ago she was in Ceylon with a--er--a
certain member of her crew, and came within an ace of falling foul of
the law. She had put up a plan to loot the depository of the Pearl
Fisheries Company at a period when there were thousands of pounds worth
of gems awaiting transport. With her usual luck she slipped out of the
net and left the country before she could be arrested. But she will have
found something there that will repay her for the visit in one way or
another. Luck of that kind seems to follow her always."

And a long time afterward he had reason to remember what he said. For
the present, however, he had banished from his mind all things but the
happiness which was his to-day; and gave himself up to that happiness
with his whole heart.

Not once did he again intrude anything that had to do with himself, his
exploits, or his future upon Ailsa's attention until all the voyage
across the channel and all the journey from Dover up to London had come
to an end; and even then, eager though he was to know how matters might
shape themselves for _her_ future--he was tactful, considerate, careful
not to force her into any embarrassing position or to claim from her
more than the merest acquaintance might.

"You are going to your friend at Hampstead, I suppose," he said as he
handed her into a taxicab at Charing Cross. "I shall like to know if you
succeed in getting the position with Lady Chepstow; and if you send no
word to Mr. Narkom, I shall take silence as an assent and know that you
have."

And afterward, when the days grew in number and late April merged into
early May and no word came, he knew that she had succeeded; and was
comforted, thinking of her safely housed and perhaps in a position more
congenial than the last. At any rate, she was in England, she was again
in the same land with him; and that of itself was comfort.

But other comforts were not wanting. The full glory of tulip time was
here; The Yard had no immediate occasion for his services, and time was
his to dawdle in the public parks among the children, the birds, and the
flowers.

"And, lord, how he do love 'em all, bless his heart!" commented Dollops
in confidence to himself as he bustled about, putting the Den in order,
watering the plants and touching lovingly the things that belonged to
the master he adored--his daily task when Cleek was in the Park and had
no need for his services. It was a pleasure to the boy, that service.
His whole heart was in it. He resented anything that interfered with it
even for an instant; and as at this particular time he was in the very
midst of preparing a small surprise against his master's return, he was
by no means pleased when a sharp whirring sound of a telephone bell
shrilled out from the adjoining room and called him from his labour of
love.

"Oh, blow that thing! A body don't have a minute to call his own since
it's been put in," he blurted out disgustedly, and answered the call.
"'Ullo! Yuss; this is Cap'n Burbage's. Wot? No, he aren't in. Dunno when
he will be. Dunno where he is. But if there's any messidge--I say, who
wants him? Wot? Oh, s'elp me. You, is it, Mr. Narkom? Yuss, it's me,
sir--Dollops. Wot? No, sir. Went out two hours ago. Gone to Kensington
Palace Gardens. Tulips is in full bloom and you couldn't hold him
indoors with a chain at tulip-time, bless his heart. Yuss, sir. Top hat,
white spats--same as the 'Cap'n' always wears, sir."

Narkom, at the other end of the line, called back: "If I miss him, if he
comes in without seeing me, tell him to wait; I'll be round before
three. Good-bye!" then hung up the receiver and turned to the gentleman
who stood by the window on the other side of the private office,
agitatedly twirling the end of his thick grey-threaded moustache with
one hand, while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo upon the
broad oaken sill. "Not at home, Sir Henry; but, fortunately, I know
where to find him with but little loss of time," he said, and pressed
twice upon an electric button beside his desk. "My motor will be at the
door in a couple of minutes, and with ordinary luck we ought to be able
to pick him up inside of the next half-hour."

Sir Henry--Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him his full name and
title--a handsome, well-set-up man of about forty years of age, well
groomed, and with the upright bearing which comes of military training,
twisted round on his heel at this and gave the superintendent an almost
grateful look.

"I hope so--God knows I hope so, Mr. Narkom," he said agitatedly. "Time
is the one important thing at present. The suspense and uncertainty are
getting on my nerves so horribly that the very minutes seem endless.
Remember, there are only three days before the race, and if those
rascals, whoever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God help
me--that's all! And if this man Cleek can't probe the diabolical
mystery, they _will_ get at her, too, and put Logan where they put
Tolliver, the brutes!"

"You may trust Cleek to see that they don't, Sir Henry. It is just the
kind of case he will glory in; and if Black Riot is all that you
believe her, you'll carry off the Derby in spite of these enterprising
gentry who--Hallo! here's the motor. Clap on your hat, Sir Henry, and
come along. Mind the step! Kensington Palace Gardens, Lennard--and as
fast as you can streak it."




CHAPTER XII


The chauffeur proved that he could "streak it" as close to the margin of
the speed limit as the law dared wink at, even in the case of the
well-known red limousine, and in a little over ten minutes pulled up
before the park gates. Narkom jumped out, beckoned Sir Henry to follow
him, and together they hurried into the grounds in quest of Cleek.

Where the famous tulip beds made splotches of brilliant colour against
the clear emerald of the closely clipped grass they came upon him--a
solitary figure in the garb of the elderly seaman, "Captain Burbage, of
Clarges Street"--seated on one of the garden benches, his hands folded
over the knob of his thick walking-stick and his chin resting upon them,
staring fixedly at the gorgeous flowers and apparently deaf and blind to
all else.

He was not, however; for as the superintendent approached he, without
altering his gaze or his attitude in the slightest particle, said with
the utmost calmness: "Superb, are they not, my friend? What a pity they
should be scentless. It is as though Heaven had created a butterfly and
deprived it of the secret of flight. Walk on, please, without addressing
me. I am quite friendly with that policeman yonder and I do not wish him
to suspect that the elderly gentleman he is so kind to is in any way
connected with The Yard. Examine the tulips. That's right. You came in
your limousine, of course? Where is it?"

"Just outside the gates, at the end of the path on the right," replied
Narkom, halting with Sir Henry and appearing to be wholly absorbed in
pointing out the different varieties of tulips.

"Good," replied Cleek, apparently taking not the slightest notice. "I'll
toddle on presently, and when you return from inspecting the flowers you
will find me inside the motor awaiting you."

"Do, old chap--and please hurry; time is everything in this case. Let
me introduce you to your client. (Keep looking at the flowers, please,
Sir Henry.) I have the honour to make you acquainted with Sir Henry
Wilding, Cleek; he needs you, my dear fellow."

"Delighted--in both instances. My compliments, Sir Henry. By any chance
that Sir Henry Wilding whose mare, Black Riot, is the favourite for next
Wednesday's Derby?"

"Yes--that very man, Mr. Cleek; and if--"

"Don't get excited and don't turn, please; our friend the policeman is
looking this way. What's the case? One of 'nobbling'? Somebody trying to
get at the mare?"

"Yes. A desperate 'somebody,' who doesn't stop even at murder. A very
devil incarnate who seems to possess the power of invisibility, and who
strikes in the dark. Save me, Mr. Cleek! All I've got in the world is at
stake, and if anything happens to Black Riot, I'm a ruined man."

"Yar-r-r!" yawned the elderly sea captain, rising and stretching. "I do
believe, constable, I've been asleep. Warm weather, this, for May. A
glorious week for Epsom. Shan't see you to-morrow, I'm afraid. Perhaps
shan't see you until Thursday. Here, take that, my lad, and have
half-a-crown's worth on Black Riot for the Derby; she'll win it, sure."

"Thanky, sir. Good luck to you, sir."

"Same to you, my lad. Good day." Then the old gentleman in the top hat
and white spats moved slowly away, passed down the tree-shaded walk,
passed the romping children, passed the Princess Louise's statue of
Queen Victoria, and, after a moment, vanished. Ten minutes later, when
Narkom and Sir Henry returned to the waiting motor, they found him
seated within it awaiting them, as he had promised. Giving Lennard
orders to drive about slowly in the least frequented quarters, while
they talked, the superintendent got in with Sir Henry, and opened fire
on the "case" without further delay.

"My dear Cleek," he said, "as you appear to know all about Sir Henry and
his famous mare, there's no need to go into that part of the subject, so
I may as well begin by telling you at once that Sir Henry has come up to
town for the express purpose of getting you to go down to his place in
Suffolk to-night in company with him, as his only hope of outwitting a
diabolical agency which has set out to get at the horse and put it out
of commission before Derby Day, and in the most mysterious, the most
inscrutable manner ever heard of, my dear chap. Already one groom who
sat up to watch with her has been killed, another hopelessly paralysed,
and to-night Logan, the mare's trainer, is to sit up with her in the
effort to baulk the almost superhuman rascal who is at the bottom of it
all. Conceive if you can, my dear fellow, a power so crafty, so
diabolical, that it gets into a locked and guarded stable, gets in, my
dear Cleek, despite four men constantly pacing back and forth before
each and every window and door that leads into the place and with a
groom on guard inside, and then gets out again in the same mysterious
manner without having been seen or heard by a living soul. In addition
to all the windows being small and covered with a grille of iron, a fact
which would make it impossible for anyone to get in or out once the
doors were closed and guarded, Sir Henry himself will tell you that the
stable has been ransacked from top to bottom, every hole and every
corner probed into, and not a living creature of any sort discovered.
Yet only last night the groom, Tolliver, was set upon inside the place
and killed outright in his efforts to protect the horse; killed, Cleek,
with four men patrolling outside, and willing to swear--each and every
one of them--that nothing and no one, either man, woman, child or beast,
passed them going in or getting out from sunset until dawn."

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