Читать книгу DETECTIVE CLEEK'S GOVERNMENT CASES (Vintage Mystery Series) - Thomas W. Hanshew - Страница 7

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CLEEK'S desire to see Captain Wentworth Calmount was speedily granted, for they met at the breakfast table next morning. Cleek guessed instinctively that the captain was inwardly very wroth at the turn of events. He laughed rudely when his aunt timidly volunteered the information that Lieutenant Deland had offered to unravel the mystery.

"There's nothing to discover," he declared, in a loud, grating voice. "One of the servants must have played a trick on you while I was out last night." He glared at the Superintendent. "They know all your superstitious ways, Aunt Helena, from A to Z, and most likely have taken advantage of that fact; still, if it pleases you to tell every one your family history, it's nothing to me."

"Pleases, Wentworth! How dare you say such a thing!" ejaculated Sir Lionel angrily, glaring at him in amazement. "I think you forget yourself, sir, when you address your aunt like that. Lieutenant, sit down."

The meal proceeded forthwith, and Cleek, in the presence of Ailsa, found himself making a big breakfast. Afterward he announced his intention of thoroughly examining the picture gallery by daylight. The whole party filed up to it, talking and chattering as they entered the gallery. Here the sun shone with full brilliance, and as Cleek stood with the handle of the door still beneath his fingers, a shaft of sunlight glinted upon the face of "The Laughing Girl." Then, his shoulders hunched, he gripped the knob firmly, and his mouth set into a thin, hard line.

"Idiot!" he ejaculated forcibly, "blithering idiot that I am! I might have guessed, I might have known!"

"Guessed what?" demanded Gaston interestedly, staring up into Cleek's face with round eyes. "Struck an idea, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, rather! There's no fireplace, you see," he explained, as the rest crowded about him, "and it doesn't look as if these windows are ever opened."

"They are not," said Sir Lionel. "I had them screwed down so there should be no chance of burglars getting in; some of these pictures are of priceless value, you know. I had ventilators put in the wall, and it is the duty of one of the maids to pull the ropes outside in the passage every morning so as to air the gallery thoroughly."

"H'm-m-m — yes, I see," put in Cleek, with a jerk of the head. "That is to say, if these ventilators were not opened, for some reason or other, it would be possible to be suffocated? Oh, no, it wouldn't." He stooped suddenly as his eye caught something at the lower left-hand corner of one of the pictures. "I see you've taken care of that. Here's a hole for ventilation purposes, I presume?"

"What! Impossible!" chimed in Sir Lionel and the captain in one breath.

"Well, I'm blest," said the captain, "so there is. Too big for a mouse hole. Funny we never noticed that before."

"Anyhow, it's no use for ventilation," threw in Sir Lionel nonchalantly, "for it leads right into one of the bedrooms, yours, too, by the way, Wentworth." And he stared at the captain with a strangely startled expression.

Gaston shot a meaning look into Mr. Narkom's face.

"Well, what of it?" demanded the captain irritably. "There's no crime in a hole being in the wainscoting, surely?"

"Not a bit!" said Cleek. "For one thing" — he went down on his knees and sniffed audibly — "it's not an old hole, but one newly bored; new wood smells, don't you know? That's a mouse or a rat hole." Then quite suddenly he seemed to find it difficult to rise. "Oh, Lord. I'm getting stiff in my legs. Old age, eh? Give us a hand, Mr. Narkom. Thanks. What's that? No, no clue at all. Shan't want to come in here again. Let's have a look at these rooms on the other side of the gallery. Yours, captain, and yours, too, Master Gaston, if you don't mind."

They didn't; but beyond establishing the fact that the mouse hole had apparently led right through into Captain Calmount's room, the good lieutenant appeared to be absolutely stumped for a few minutes. Then: "Bully, why didn't I think of it before? Wait a minute. I've a book in my bag that's got a similar kind of story. Some of those writing johnnies, don't you know, aren't half bad."

He was gone before any one could utter so much as a word, and Mr. Narkom's eye lit up, scenting a clue. But the Superintendent was doomed to disappointment, for barely two minutes later Cleek returned looking the picture of sorry dejection. "Can't find it," he said glumly, "must have left it in the limousine. Mr. Narkom, you might nip down and ask Lennard if it is there. Here's the title. I know you'll forget it if I don't write it down."

When Mr. Narkom came back, Cleek turned quickly.

"Did you find it?" he asked rapidly, biting his words off short.

"Yes, yes, you were quite right, dear chap; here it is." He handed over a small red book; but after a glance at its cover, Cleek seemed to lose entire interest in it. He spun around upon his heel.

"It is not always the dog that barks the loudest that fights the best," he went on quietly in a low, even voice. "I'm sorry to have to hurt you, Sir Lionel, but justice is justice." And all in a minute those who were watching him saw a strange thing happen; saw him turn and spring like a crouching lion upon the figure — not of Captain Calmount, but of the twisted, misshapen hunchback, saw him grip the huge shoulders in his two hands, and heard his voice ring out sharp and clear.

"Got you, got you, by Jupiter!" And even as Sir Lionel sprang forward, with a little angry cry, there came the sharp click-click of the handcuffs, and the boy lay snarling and cursing, no longer a white-faced angel, but a writhing, furious thing, biting and struggling.

"You Judas, you!" snarled Cleek, as he leaned over him and surveyed the distorted face. "You beast! To kill the little lads who trusted you — to betray your own flesh and blood!"

"Man alive!" cried Sir Lionel, leaping forward. "What are you saying? It's impossible, utterly! What had he to do with it?"

Cleek surveyed the baronet with stern eyes. "Everything!" he snapped. "Everything! Perhaps you'd like to hear Her Ladyship laugh once more?" He ducked under the rope, and pushing in one of the little carved acorns which ornamented the frame, stood back.

The effect was startling: peal after peal of laughter rang through the hall. Then, as the others in their excitement surged up to the silken rope, Cleek looked down at the handcuffed figure of the hunchback who was watching them almost breathlessly.

"No, you little devil, you, it is quite safe. They won't all fall down, stone-dead, without a sign or mark, as your poor cousins died. See!" He picked up the red rope, and let it drop to the floor with i metallic clang. "I have had the current disconnected."

Lady Calmount gave vent to a little moaning sound, and stared piteously up into Cleek's face. "What does it mean?" she cried.

"It means, dear lady," said Cleek gently, "that it was all part of a plot. He wanted to make himself the heir. Did it never occur to you or to Sir Lionel that, providing he could only continue his crimes without discovery, he could stand in your son's place? He comes from the French branch of the family, does he not? And your life, your sons', and Captain Calmount's stood between him and this inheritance. Look! I will show you the secret of Her Ladyship's laughter. But there will be no more 'wild deaths' in the family, Sir Lionel." He whipped out his knife, and inserting it between the frame and, the oak-panelled wall, caused the whole picture to slide down gently. A deep, hollow recess revealed itself, in which was seen the big brass funnel of a gramophone.

"Here's our 'Laughing Girl,'" he said swiftly, lifting out the instrument and setting it down upon the floor; "and now you can set her laughing when you like. As for you —" Cleek turned to the prisoner, but at sight of him he gave a little cry and darted forward. For the boy was lying in a little crumpled heap, with head dropped and eyes shut. Cleek bent over him. Then, of a sudden, he straightened himself, and passed a quick hand over his eyes.

"Dead," said he. "Dead, poor, malicious thing! Dead before the rest of his malice could find its way out. Heart, I suppose. Couldn't stand the shock of discovery. Off with the handcuffs. No one ever need know. Put back the picture, Sir Lionel, and call up the servants, and let the outside world understand that the boy died suddenly. After all, it's the best thing that could have happened."

He picked up the limp, lifeless body, pillowed it in his strong arms, and then, at a word from Sir Lionel, passed out into the bedroom, and laid it gently upon the bed. Ten minutes later he telephoned for the doctor.

"How did I come to discover it, Mr. Narkom?" said Cleek, an hour later, as they sat together in Cleek's bedroom and the Superintendent was once more questioning him, while Ailsa made ready for her departure.

"Oh, quite a simple riddle, dear chap. I suspected electricity from the very first; only thing possible to kill like that, and always in the same place. Then when I picked up a shred of yellow flexible wiring on the staircase, that 'gave me to think,' as our French cousins say. On top of that came the unmistakable smell of that insulating material called 'Chatterton,' not after the poet, Mr. Narkom, but its inventor; while the sight of that red cable acting as a rope to guard the picture — which was just a metal copper cable, and coloured red, a live wire, in fact — gave me the whole truth. I was uncertain at first whether it was Gaston or the captain who had committed the crime, until I remembered that there was a framed genealogical table in the library; that gave me the clue. That new hole bored through to the captain's room was too obvious, and, besides, Gaston was so over-anxious to fix the blame on his cousin, that when I found every medical book in the library thick with dust, I began to have my doubts. Then I felt pretty certain that that locked cupboard in his room contained batteries, and I was right, was I not, Mr. Narkom?"

"As you always are, dear chap !" put in that gentleman with a glance of admiration.

Cleek sighed and stretched himself. Then, at the sound of a light footstep on the stair, picked up his hat and went swiftly out of the room.

"She's ready!" he called excitedly, like a wild schoolboy. "She's ready, forsooth! And now back to London and home. I'm anxious to know about Dollops, Mr. Narkom, and to assure myself of his safety. Ready, Ailsa? Ready, Mr. Narkom? Ready, the pair of you? Good-bye, Sir Lionel, and good luck. The son will come home to you safe and sound. No, don't thank me; you have taken care of Miss Lorne, that is sufficient for anything I have done. Good-bye, captain; and apologies for any undue rudeness. Good-bye, all of you. Now, then, Leonard, quick as you can, my boy."

Like a mad thing the car leaped forward and went spinning down the long drive, out through the great gateway and on into the soft, green distances ahead. The sun was like fire in the sky, the day was warm, and summer in her merriest mood; the trees swam past the windows of the car like rivers of green.

Within the limousine, with eyes alight, Ailsa was listening to the old, old story from Cleek's lips, and laughing now and again as she glanced tenderly down at the Maurevanian ring upon her finger, while the Superintendent, with commendable tact, gazed from his window at the changing country, and tried to let them think they were alone.