Читать книгу DETECTIVE CLEEK'S GOVERNMENT CASES (Vintage Mystery Series) - Thomas W. Hanshew - Страница 5

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AFTER due reflection over the question of disguise, Cleek determined for the present to revive that of Lieutenant Deland, and it was as that smart young officer that he once more took up his quarters in Clarges Street, in a house not very far from that which had been wrecked by Margot and her gang of Apaches. That they, too, were on his track was ascertained by Dollops, who traced them down to their lairs of Soho like a bloodhound scenting his quarry.

Despite the danger which surrounded him, Cleek insisted on having the rest of their riverside holiday with Ailsa Lorne and Mrs. Hawkesley, who had returned from India on a short visit, in the interests of her little son, Lord Chepstow. Mrs. Hawkesley had been spending her summer on a houseboat with Ailsa Lorne, that friend who by enlisting the aid of Cleek had saved her son's life and given her her newly found married happiness by the sale of the sacred tooth.

Dollops then was the happiest of mortals when, having polished and repolished his beloved telescope, on their return from the riverside retreat, he was given the morning to polishing the mirrors in the great dining-room of Clarges Street. Now, if there was one thing he loved more than another, it was a liberal use of "elbow grease," next, of course, to that everpresent delight of satisfying his appetite, and it was with much relish that he set out to undertake the task. So it may be readily understood that his sensations were not those of unmixed delight when, just as he had got the mirrors thoroughly moist, an imperative postman's knock brought him to earth, literally as well as metaphorically. Tumbling down the high wooden step ladder, he flew to answer the door.

"Orl right, orl right!" he ejaculated, as a still more violent assault took place. "I'm not a blooming caterpillar; only got two legs, you know, like the rest of us."

"Bit of a hurry — I don't think," answered the postman sarcastically, as he handed in a brown cardboard box similar to those sent out by most florists, and marked with all the usual precautionary labels.

"Don't let the lieutenant's buttonhole fade before you take it to him, will you?" And with this parting shot the man departed, leaving Dollops for once too busy reading the half-obliterated stamp to give full rein to his usual gift of repartee.

"Lor' lumme!" he soliloquized, as he ascended the staircase, three steps at a time, and rapped at the study door. "Another flower from Miss Ailsa, bless er! An' won't 'e just jump at it ! "

And jump at it Cleek did. He was writing his usual morning letter to her, but at sight of Dollops's smiling countenance his face lit up, and he fairly snatched the box from him in his hurry.

Meanwhile Dollops, with commendable tact, turned to flick away a particle of imaginary dust on one of the picture frames, and smiled knowingly.

But only for a moment. Came suddenly the sound of a cry, half curse, half snarl, which sent the lad spinning round like a top, and the sight of Cleek's distorted face froze his very marrow.

"Gawd's trufe, guv'nor, but what is it?" he gulped breathlessly, running over to his master and peering anxiously down into the agonized face.

The beads of perspiration stood out upon Cleek's forehead, his fists clenched at his sides.

"The devils! The infernal devils !" he cried fiercely, shaken out of himself by the awfulness of the thing that lay before him. "By Heaven! but they shall suffer for this! Ailsa, my dear, my dear!"

He lifted the little cardboard box from the table, and held it toward Dollops with a look of almost petrified agony. The boy gave vent to a hysterical scream, for, even as he looked, he saw that it contained a finger — a woman's finger — slender and exquisite, encircled with the Maurevanian ring which Cleek had replaced upon Ailsa Lorne's hand such a few short months ago at the Embassy. The box was lined and padded with snowy cotton wool, a fit resting place for so precious though grim a treasure.

"Miss Lorne!" he gulped, passing a hand across his eyes in terrified amazement. "O, Lor' lumme, sir, don't go to say it's 'er! Oh, don't say it, guv'nor, for Gawd's sake, don't!" He snatched up the piece of crested paper which had fallen from it, and scanned it eagerly, feeling at such a time as this that he was one with his master. It bore these words: "With Count Irma's compliments. Miss Lorne releases the King from his engagement, and he will do well to take up his duties immediately, lest worse befall her."

A chalky pallor overspread Cleek's face. His eyes narrowed. "Never!" he rapped out furiously, hitting his hands together and breathing hard, like a spent runner. "From this day I live to avenge myself! Dollops, the 'phone, quick! Ring up Mr. Narkom, and get him to speak to me. Quick as you can, for God's sake!"

It was barely half an hour later when the limousine, travelling at a mile-a-minute clip that sent the police of the neighbourhood blinking and winking like a cat in the sun, dashed up Clarges Street, and drew up before the particular house in that particular row that was owned and lived in by Lieutenant Deland. A somewhat perturbed and crimson-countenanced Superintendent sprang out upon the pavement, flinging a few hurried words over his shoulder to Lennard.

"Leave both doors open, Lennard," he said hastily, grudging the time it took to give instructions. "Don't know which side he'll come in, but don't take any notice. I'm doubtful these days. Then make for the Thames cottage, and drive like the wind. Miss Ailsa is in danger."

Lennard gasped, and then nodded.

"Leave it to me, sir."

Then Mr. Narkom sprang up the stone steps, to find Lieutenant Deland waiting for him, and Cleek's agonized eyes looking out of the frame of his face.

He made no effort to speak, merely beckoned the Superintendent and disappeared, and a second later appeared again, and followed Mr. Narkom down the steps to the limousine, handing him the little cardboard box, with its horrible treasure, as he entered the car.

The Superintendent opened it, then groaned aloud.

"Curse them!" he broke forth excitedly, as the car leaped forward and went thundering off into the distance ahead. "I'll hang 'em, every one, if my life goes for it. The beasts! The devils!" His voice broke, and trailed off into silence; he put a hand out, and touched upon the shoulder the crouching figure in the corner. But Cleek never stirred, never moved, merely sat there with bowed head, while both hands covered his face, and his shoulders drawn up like a whipped thing.

Then the Superintendent leaned forward, and picked up the speaking-tube.

"Streak it," he instructed Lennard; and "streak it" Lennard did, for the car went scudding through the traffic at as mad a pace as the law would dare to wink at.

Soon they were passing down a narrow hawthornhedged lane, field-edged with waving grasses that swayed idly to and fro, and, half way down this, came in sight of another car, standing empty and disabled. The feet of the chauffeur showed grotesquely from beneath it, and the sound of hammering punctured the silence that lay about them.

Lennard flashed a look of mute apology over his shoulder, as he was perforce obliged to slow down; and Mr. Narkom, feverish with anxiety, unlatched the door, and stood ready to descend. It was impossible to pass the disabled car, unless it were pushed right into the hedge.

"Curse the thing !" muttered Mr. Narkom, furious at the unnecessary delay. "Just one minute, my dear chap, and I'll settle it." He did not wait for Cleek to answer, but jumped from the limousine, and went stamping off in the direction of the other car.

Finally, in answer to Lennard's angry demands, the chauffeur decided to come out, and out, too, came something else, for with a paralyzing suddenness, breaking on the calm of the summer morning, shots rang out from behind the flowering hedges, burying themselves in the limousine's front tire with remarkably good aim. And before so much as a word of warning could be uttered, the car itself was surrounded by a crowd of dark, swarthy men, muttering and talking among themselves in some strange, outlandish language which Mr. Narkom rightly assumed to be the Maurevanian native tongue. Hearing this, he spun upon his heel, and with a great fear in his heart went pelting back to the limousine, and thrust his head inside the open window.

"Cleek," he said swiftly, with a little tremor in his tones. "Save yourself, for God's sake!"

But too late. For even as he spoke a couple of men bore down upon him, seized him ruthlessly about his ample waist line, and slung ropes around him, binding him close.

He cursed, he spluttered, he fought bravely and well, hitting out with his fists as they swarmed about him. But the numbers were too unequal. He succumbed, and even as he fell his eyes saw Lennard bound and gagged also, and his heart went out to Cleek in an agony of misgiving.

Yes, there he was! Cleek! Cleek, his pal, his friend, the person he loved best in all the world. They had thrown a cloth over his head, and were bearing him toward the other car, which, for some reason, seemed now to be in perfect working order. The whole miserable plot lay bared before the Superintendent's eyes. He twisted over on his side, and choked uncomfortably. There were tears in his eyes, so that he could barely distinguish the figures that kept passing to and fro in front of him.

At last they were all gone, babbling and laughing triumphantly as the car sped off in the direction of London.

"God!" cried the Superintendent mentally, in a very anguish of soul. "Take care of him! Take care of Cleek, for if he is hurt, I swear he shall be avenged!"

The purr of the car dropped off into the distance, and a silence followed. The sun was scorchingly hot; the Superintendent's forehead streamed with perspiration; every second seemed an hour. Then, as if from some spot quite near him, came a sound that nearly caused his heart to stop beating. It was impossible! Incredible! Just the murmur of a soft laugh, and before he could so much as lurch his heavy weight over in the direction from which it had come, Cleek, Cleek himself, by the powers! stepped out from the limousine, and came toward him, smiling.

"Well played, well played!" said he softly, as he whipped out a pocket-knife, and cut the Superintendent's bonds. "It was a close enough shave, though! I suspected as much. It was a shame to give you such a bad quarter of an hour, dear friend, but there was no other way."

"Cleek, you're safe! Oh, thank God, thank God!"

The Superintendent's voice broke and was silent; he staggered to his feet, and clutched Cleek's hand as a drowning man might clutch at a floating spar; his heart was in his eyes. He drew a shaking hand across them.

"Come," said he, "let's get Lennard free, too. It's too hot a day to enjoy such close captivity. Then we must get on as quickly as possible. There's none hurt, thank fortune!"

"No, none hurt, as you say, and that's something to be thankful for, in all conscience," said Cleek, as having freed Lennard, he drew Narkom's hand in his arm and walked over to the limousine. "But I think I've done for 'em this time, anyway. They were as much taken in with Master Dollops as you were. But the boy's safe enough. He'll take care of himself. When those devils find oat who it is, they'll start hot-foot on my trail again, and run straight into Hammond and Petrie and a posse of others. I rang up the Yard, dear friend, after I had rung up you. I suspected a trick, and I knew the kind I was dealing with. But it was warm under that seat, I can tell you! What's that, Lennard? Got the tires on already? Bully boy! Bully boy!" He sprang into the limousine, followed by a puffing, breathless, somewhat incoherent Mr. Narkom. Then, with a bound like a mad thing, the car plunged forward, and proceeded upon its journey without further mishap.

But there was no sign of Ailsa Lorne when they reached the cottage, and Cleek's heart sank within him when Mrs. Condiment related how her young mistress had gone off "in a grand motor, with a splendid gentleman, with medals all over him, sir, just like my friend, the sergeant."

"Count Irma himself!" rapped out Cleek in answer to this. "He's tricked her somehow. I might have guessed they would hit at me through her." He turned on his heel, and crossed over to the latticed window, looking out with anguished eyes. A minute passed in silence, then a tapping sound attracted his attention. There was a pigeon outside the casement window. He threw open the window with a cry of delight.

"It's a message, a message from her dear self!" he cried, as he pounced upon the bird and whipped a tiny fold of paper tied with yellow silk from its leg. "It's from Ailsa, Mr. Narkom, from Ailsa! Listen!" The words "imprisoned — Sir Lionel Calmount — safe," he read; then looked up into the Superintendent's face with thankful eyes.

But the Superintendent was not so grateful. "Yes, but where is that?" he bleated despairingly, scanning the paper eagerly.

"Wait!" rapped out Cleek. "Calmount, Calmount," he gave a little yap of pleasure, like a terrier that has just seen a rat — "Calmount! Lionel Calmount, Irma's English chum! I've heard of him often; one of the old school — noblesse oblige, and all that sort of thing. And as for letting a poor devil of a monarch marry anything but a princess of the Royal blood — oh, dear, no! Yes, our friend Count Irma knew his man when he sought Calmount's help. But we'll be even with the lot yet. He's got a place in Hampshire, Calmount Castle, I think; that will be it, or else the pigeon couldn't have done the journey." He rushed over to the bookcase. "Here's a road map. Come, let's see! I don't doubt that Lennard will do it all right."

And Lennard did "do it," for in a few minutes the limousine was once more upon its way, with Cleek and Mr. Narkom seated inside it, and the road map in Cleek's hands. Now and again he gave hasty instructions to Lennard through the tube, watching with eager eyes how the distances fell away.

The Superintendent laid a hand upon his arm. "I say, dear chap," said he doubtfully, "but isn't it a bit risky putting your head into the lion's mouth like this, eh?"

"I'd risk fifty lives for her dear sake!" snapped out Cleek sharply, his eyes upon the fleeting vista of fields that swept by the window, "but it's all right, Mr. Narkom. Down with the blinds, and switch on the electrics, and we'll see what Lieutenant Arthur Deland from the Embassy can do with the matter. That'll be best, I think."

Mr. Narkom thought so, too, and said so. For the next half hour the two men worked feverishly, and so it was that Lieutenant Arthur Deland stepped out upon the stage, and found himself playing as strange a part in the drama of existence as had ever fallen to his lot.