Kitabı oku: «Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories», sayfa 9

“But the other animal? But Chocolate Maid? How could she have got back to the stable, then? She couldn’t have found her way back alone after Farrow was assaulted – at least, she could, of course, but not in the condition she was in when found next morning. She had no harness of any sort upon her. Her saddle was on its peg. She was in her box – tied up, b’gad! and the door of the box was closed and bolted; so that if by any chance – Hullo! I say! What on earth are you smiling in that queer way for? Hang it, man! do you believe that I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Oh, yes, Major. It isn’t that kind of a smile. I have just discovered that four and four make eight when you add them up properly; and the smile is one of consequent satisfaction. A last question, please. At what time in the morning was Farrow found lying unconscious upon the moor?”

“Somewhere between six and seven o’clock. Why?” —

“Oh, nothing in particular. Who found him? Captain MacTavish?”

“No. Maggie McFarland. She was just coming back from milking when – Hang it, man! I wish you wouldn’t smile all up one side of your face in that confounded manner. It makes me think that you must have something up your sleeve.”

“Well, if I have, Major, suppose you drive me over to the stables and give me a chance to take it out?” suggested Cleek, serenely. “A little ‘poking about’ sometimes does wonders, and a half hour in Highland Lassie’s quarters may pick the puzzle to pieces a great deal sooner than you’d believe. Or, stop! Perhaps, on second thought, it will be better for you and her ladyship to go on ahead, as I shall want to have a look at Tom Farrow’s injuries as well, so it will be best to have everything prepared in advance, in order to save time. No doubt Mr. Narkom and I can get a conveyance of some sort here. At any rate – h’m! it is now a quarter to three, I see – at any rate, you may certainly expect us at quarter-past five. You and her ladyship may go back quite openly, Major. There will be no need to attempt to throw dust in Sir Gregory Dawson-Blake’s eyes any longer by keeping the disappearance of the animal a secret. If he’s had a hand in her spiriting away, he knows, of course, that she’s gone; but if he hasn’t – oh, well, I fancy I know who did, and that she will be in the running on Derby Day after all. A few minutes in Highland Lassie’s stable will settle that, I feel sure. Your ladyship, my compliments. Major, good afternoon. I hope if night overtakes us before we get at the bottom of the thing you can manage to put us up at the Abbey until to-morrow that we may be on the spot to the last?”

“With pleasure, Mr. Cleek,” said Lady Mary; and bowed him out of the room.

CHAPTER XIII

It was precisely ten minutes past five o’clock and the long-lingering May twilight was but just beginning to gather when the spring cart of the Rose and Thistle arrived at the Abbey stables, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom descending therefrom found themselves the centre of an interested group composed of the major and Lady Mary, the countryside doctor, and Captain MacTavish.

The captain, who had nothing Scottish about him but his name, was a smiling, debonnaire gentleman with flaxen hair and a curling, fair moustache; and Cleek, catching sight of him as he stood leaning, in a carefully studied pose, against the stable door-post with one foot crossed over the other, one hand in his trousers pocket and the other swinging a hunting crop whose crook was a greyhound’s head wrought in solid silver, concluded that here was, perhaps, the handsomest man of his day, and that, in certain sections of society, he might be guaranteed to break hearts by the hundred. It must be said of him, however, that he carried his manifold charms of person with smooth serenity and perfect poise; that, if he realized his own beauty, he gave no outward evidences of it. He was calm, serene, well-bred, and had nothing of the “Doll” or the “Johnny” element in either his bearing or his deportment. He was at once splendidly composed and almost insolently bland.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cleek. Read a great deal about you one way and another,” he said, when the major made the introduction – a performance which the captain evidently considered superfluous as between an army officer and a police detective. “Sorry I shan’t be able to remain and study your interesting methods, however. Should have been rather pleased to do so, otherwise.”

“And I for my part should have been pleased to have you do so, Captain, I assure you,” replied Cleek, the first intonation of his voice causing the captain to twitch up his head and stare at him as if he were a monstrosity. “Shall you be leaving us, then, before the investigation is concluded?”

“Well, I’m blest! Why, how in the world – oh – er – yes. Obliged to go. Wire from London this afternoon. Regiment sails for India in two days. Beastly nuisance. Shall miss the Derby and all that. By the way, Norcross, if this chap succeeds in finding the filly in time for the race, that little bet of ours stands, of course?”

“Of course,” agreed the major. “Ready are you, Mr. Cleek? Right you are – come along.” And he forthwith led the way into the stable where Chocolate Maid, like a perfect horse in French bronze, stood munching hay in her box as contentedly as if there were no such things in the world as touts and swindlers and horse thieves, and her companion of two days ago still shared the quarters with her.

“Gad! but she’s a beauty and no mistake, Major,” said Cleek as he went over and, leaning across the low barrier of the enclosure, patted the mare’s shoulder and smoothed her glossy neck. “I don’t wonder that you and her ladyship have such high hopes for her future. The creature seems well nigh perfect.”

“Yes, she is a pretty good bit of horseflesh,” replied he, “but not to be compared with Highland Lassie in speed, wind, or anything. There she is, Mr. Cleek; and it’s as natural as life, the beauty!”

Speaking, he waved his hand toward a framed picture of the missing animal – a coloured gift plate which had been given away with the Easter number of The Horseman, and which Farrow had had glazed and hung just over her box. Cleek, following the direction of the indicating hand, looked up and saw the counterfeit presentment of a splendidly proportioned sorrel with a splash of white on the flank and a white “stocking” on the left forefoot.

“A beauty, as you say, Major,” agreed he, “but do you know that I, for my part, prefer the charms of Chocolate Maid? May be bad judgment upon my part but – there you are. What a coat! What a colour! What splendid legs, the beauty! Mind if I step in for a moment and have a look at her?”

The major did not, so he went in forthwith and proceeded to look over the animal’s points – feeling her legs, stroking her flanks, examining her hoofs. And it was then and then only that the major remembered about the visit to the farrier’s over at Shepperton Old Cross and began to understand that it was not all simple admiration of the animal, this close examination of her.

“Oh, by Jove! I say!” he blurted out as he made – with Cleek – a sudden discovery; his face going first red and then very pale under the emotions thus engendered. “She hasn’t any new shoes on, has she? So she can’t have been taken to the farrier’s after all.”

“No,” said Cleek, “she can’t. I half suspected that she hadn’t, so – well, let it go. Let’s have a look round Highland Lassie’s box, please. H’m! Yes! Very nice; very splendid – everything of the best and all in apple pie order. By the way, Major, you surely don’t allow harness to be washed and oiled in here?”

“Certainly not! What in the world could have put such an idea into your head?”

“Merely that bit of rag and that dirty sponge tucked in the corner over there and half covered by the bedding.”

The major went over and touched the things with the toe of his boot.

“It’s one of those imps of stable-boys, the young vandals!” he declared, as he kicked the rag and the sponge out of the box and across the stable floor. “It’s well for them that Farrow isn’t about or there would be some cuffed ears for that sort of presumption, the young beggars! Hullo! Found something else?”

“No,” said Cleek. “That is, nothing of any importance. Merely a bit torn from an old handbill – see? It probably got mixed up with the bedding. It’s of no account, anyhow.” Here he gave his hand a flirt as if flinging the bit of paper over the low barrier of the box, instead of which he cleverly “palmed” it and afterward conveyed it unsuspected to his pocket. “You were right in what you declared this afternoon, Major; for a case of such far-reaching effects it is singularly bald in the matter of detail. At all events there’s no more to be discovered here. By the way, Doctor, am I privileged to go up and see the patient? I should like to do so if I may.”

“By all means, sir, by all means,” replied the doctor. “I am happy to inform you that his condition has considerably improved since my visit at noon, Mr. Cleek, and I have now every hope that he may pull through all right.”

“Excellent!” said Cleek. “But I think I shouldn’t let that good news go abroad just yet a while, Doctor. If you haven’t taken anybody into your confidence regarding it as yet, don’t do so. You haven’t, have you?”

“No. That is, nobody but those who are now present. I told the major and her ladyship on their return this afternoon, of course. And – naturally – Captain MacTavish. He was with me at the time I made the examination, which led me to arrive at the conclusion that the man would survive.”

“Ah!” said Cleek – and the curious, one-sided smile went slowly up his cheek. “Oh, well, everything is all right among friends, of course, but I shouldn’t let it go any farther. And now, if you please, let us go up to Farrow’s room.”

They went up forthwith – Lady Mary alone refraining from joining the group – and a moment or two later Cleek found himself standing beside the bed of the unconscious trainer.

He was a strong, sturdily built man, this Tom Farrow, upon whose integrity the major banked so heavily in his warm, trustful, outspoken way; and if the face is any index to the mind – which, in nine cases out of ten, it isn’t! – that trustfulness and confidence were not misplaced. For Farrow’s was a frank, open countenance which suggested a clear conscience and an honest nature, even though it was now pale and drawn with the lines that come of suffering and injury.

At Cleek’s request the doctor removed the bandages and allowed him to inspect the wound at the back of the head.

“H’m! Made with a heavy implement shaped somewhat after the fashion of a golf stick and almost as heavy as a sledge hammer,” he commented. “Arm broken, too. Probably that was done first, and the man struck again after he was on the ground and unable to defend himself. There are two blows, you see: this one just above the ear, and that crushing one at the back of the head. That’s all I care to see, Doctor, thank you. You may replace the bandages.”

Nevertheless, although he asserted this, it was noticeable that his examination of the stricken trainer did not end here; for while the doctor was busy replacing the bandages he took the opportunity to lift the man’s hands and inspect them closely – parting the fingers and looking at the thin, loose folds of skin between them. A few minutes later, the bandages being replaced and the patient turned over to the nurse in charge, the entire party left the room and filed down the stairs together.

“Any ideas, Mr. Cleek?” questioned the major, eagerly.

“Yes, plenty of them,” replied he. “I rather fancy we shall not have to put you to the trouble of housing us at the Abbey to-night, Major. The case is a shallower one than I fancied at first. Shouldn’t be surprised if we cleared it all up inside of the next two hours.”

“Well, I’ll be – dithered!” exclaimed the major, aghast. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve got at the bottom of the thing? That you’ve found something that leads you to suspect where the animal is?”

“More than suspect, Major. I know where she is. By half-past seven o’clock to-night – if you want me to make you a promise – I’ll put her bridle into your hands and she will be at the other end of it!”

“You will?”

“I certainly will, Major – my word for it.”

“Well, of all the dashed – I’m done! I’m winded! I’m simply scooped dry! Where on earth did you get your clues, man? You never did anything but walk about that I could see; and now to declare – I say, MacTavish, did you hear that? Did you hear what he has promised – eh?”

“I heard,” responded the captain with a laugh. “But I’ll believe when I see. I say, Mr. Inspector, where did you find the secret? Hidden between Farrow’s fingers or wrapped around Chocolate Maid’s legs?”

“Both,” said Cleek serenely. “Tell you something else if you care to hear it. I know who poisoned the dog the other night. Farrow did it himself.”

The major’s exclamation of indignation was quite lost in the peal of the captain’s laughter.

“Hawkshaw out-Hawkshawed!” cried he derisively. “Find out that, too, from Farrow’s fingers?”

“Oh, no – that would be impossible. He washed them before he went out that night and they’ve been washed by the nurse several times since. I found it out from the dog himself – and he’s not the only dog in this little business, believe me – though I’m willing to stake my reputation and my life upon it that neither one nor the other of them had any hand in spiriting away the missing horse.”

“Who did, then, Mr. Cleek? who did?”

“Tom Farrow and Tom Farrow alone, Major,” began Cleek – and then stopped suddenly, interrupted by a painful circumstance.

By this time they had reached the foot of the stairs and were filing out into the stable again, and there by the open door Lady Mary Norcross was standing endeavouring to soothe and to comfort a weeping girl – Maggie McFarland, the dairymaid from Nairn.

“Oh, but say he winna dee – say he winna!” she was crying out distressfully. “If I thoct the sin o’ that wad added to the sair conscience o’ me.” Then with a sudden intaking of the breath, as if drowning, and a sudden paleness that made her face seem ivory white, she cowered away, with hands close shut, and eyes wide with fright as she looked up and saw the gentlemen descending.

“It winna matter – it winna matter: I can come again, my leddy!” she said in a frightened sort of whisper which rose suddenly to a sort of wailing cry as she faced round and ran like a thing pursued.

Cleek glanced round quietly and looked at Captain MacTavish. He was still his old handsome, debonnaire, smiling self; but there was a look in his eyes which did not make them a very pleasant sight at present.

“Upon my word, Seton, I cannot make out what has come over that silly girl,” said Lady Mary as her liege lord appeared. “She came here begging to be allowed to go up and see Farrow and to be assured that he would live, and then the moment you all put in an appearance she simply dashed away, as you saw. I really cannot understand what can be the matter with her.”

“Don’t bother about that just now, Mary; don’t bother about anything, my dear, but what this amazing man has promised,” exclaimed the major excitedly. “Do you know, he has declared that if we give him until half-past seven to-night – ”

Here Cleek interrupted.

“Your pardon, Major – I amend that,” he said. “I know all about the horse and it will not now take so long as I thought to know all about the ‘dog’ as well. Give me one hour, Major – just one, gentlemen, all – and I will give you the answer to the riddle – every part of it: dog’s part as well as horse’s – here on this spot, so surely as I am a living man. Major, all I ask of you is one thing. Let me have a couple of your grooms out there on the moor inside of the next fifteen minutes, please. May I have them?”

“Certainly, Mr. Cleek – as many as you want.”

“Two will do, thanks. Two are enough for fair play in any little bout and – not going to stop and see the finish, Captain? It will all be over in an hour.”

“Sorry, but I’ve got my packing to attend to, my man.”

“Ah, to be sure. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. You know the proverb: ‘If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, why, Mahomet must go to the mountain,’ of course,” said Cleek. “I’ll just slip round to the dairy and have a glass of milk to brace me up for the business and then – in one hour – in just one by the watch – you shall have the answer to the riddle —here.”

Then, with a bow to Lady Mary, he walked out of the stable and went round the angle of the building after Maggie McFarland.

CHAPTER XIV

He lived up to the letter of his promise.

In an hour he had said when he walked out, and it was an hour to the very tick of the minute when he came back.

Mr. Narkom knowing him so well, knowing how, in the final moments of his coups, he was apt to become somewhat spectacular and theatrical, looked for him to return with a flourish of trumpets and carry all before him with a whirlwind rush; so that it came in the nature of a great surprise, when with the calmness of a man coming in to tea he entered the stable with a large stone bottle in one hand and an hostler’s sponge in the other.

“Well, gentlemen, I am here, you see,” he said with extreme calmness. “And” – indicating the bottle – “have brought something with me to do honour to the event. No, not to drink – it is hardly that sort of stuff. It is Spirit of Wine, Major. I found it over in Farrow’s cottage and have brought it with me – as he, poor chap, meant to do in time himself. There are some wonderful things in Tom Farrow’s cottage, Major; they will pay for looking into, I assure you. Pardon, Mr. Narkom? A criminal? Oh, no, my friend – a martyr!”

“A martyr?”

“Yes, your ladyship; yes, Major – a martyr. A martyr to his love, a martyr to his fidelity. As square a man and as faithful a trainer as ever set foot in a stable-yard – that’s Tom Farrow. I take off my hat to him. The world can do with more of his kind.”

“But, my dear sir, you said that it was he that spirited away the animal; that it was he and he alone who was responsible for her disappearance.”

“Quite so – and I say it again. Gently, gently, Major – I’ll come to it in a minute. Personally I should like to put it off to the last, it’s such a fine thing for a finish, by Jove! But – well it can’t be done under the circumstances. In other words, there is a part of this little business this evening which I must ask Lady Mary not to stop to either hear or see; but as she is naturally interested in the matter of Highland Lassie’s disappearance I will take up that matter first and ask her to kindly withdraw after the filly has been restored.”

“Gad! you’ve found her, then? You’ve got her?”

“Yes, Major, I’ve got her. And as I promised that I would put her bridle into your hand with the animal herself at the other end of it, why – here you are!”

Speaking, he walked across to the box where the brown filly was tethered, unbolted it, unfastened the animal and led her out.

“Here you are, Major,” he said, as he tendered him the halter. “Take hold of her, the beauty; and may she carry off the Derby Stakes with flying colours.”

“But, good lud, man, what on earth are you talking about? This is Chocolate Maid – this is Lady Mary’s horse.”

“Oh, no, Major, oh, no! Chocolate Maid is in the stable at Farrow’s cottage – hidden away and half starved, poor creature, because he couldn’t go back to feed and look after her. This is your bonny Highland Lassie – dyed to look like the other and to throw possible horse nobblers and thieves off the scent. If you doubt it, look here.”

He uncorked the bottle, poured some of the Spirit of Wine on the sponge and rubbed the animal’s brown flank. The dark colour came away, the sorrel hide and the white splotch began to appear, and before you could say Jack Robinson, the major and Lady Mary had their arms about the animal’s neck and were blubbing like a couple of children.

“Oh, my bully girl! Oh, my spiffing girl! Oh, Mary, isn’t it clinking, dear? The Lassie – the Highland Lassie – her own bonny self.”

“Yes, her own bonny self, Major,” said Cleek “and you’d never have had a moment’s worry over her if that faithful fellow upstairs had been suffered to get back here that night and to tell you about it in the morning. I’ve had a little talk with – oh, well, somebody who is in a position to give me information that corroborates my own little ‘shots’ at the matter (I’ll tell you all about that later on), and so am able to tell you a thing or two that you ought to have known before this! I don’t know whether Lieutenant Chadwick’s coming here and prying about had any wish to do harm to the horse at the back of it or not. I only know that Farrow thought it had, and he played this little trick to block the game and to throw dust into the eyes of anybody that attempted to get at her. What he did then was to dye her so that she might be mistaken for Chocolate Maid, then to take Chocolate Maid over to his own stable and hide her there until the time came to start for Epsom. That’s what he wanted the pail of water for, Major – to mix the dye and to apply it. I half suspected it from the beginning, but I became sure of it when I found that scrap of paper in the bedding of the box. It was still wet – a bit of the label from the dye-bottle which came off in the operation. Between the poor chap’s fingers I found stains of the dye still remaining. Spirit of Wine would have removed it, but washing in water wouldn’t. Pardon, your ladyship? When did I begin to suspect that Farrow was at the bottom of it? Oh, when first I heard of the poisoned dog. Nobody ever heard it bark when the poisoner approached the stables. That, of course, meant that the person who administered the poison must have been some one with whom it was familiar, and also some one who was already inside the place, since even the first approaching step of friend or foe would have called forth one solitary bark at least. Farrow didn’t do the thing by halves, you see. He meant it to look like a genuine case of horse stealing to outsiders, and killing the dog gave it just that touch of actuality which carries conviction. As for the rest – the major must tell you that in private, your ladyship. The rest of this little matter is for men alone.”

Lady Mary bowed and passed out into the fast coming dusk; and, in the stable the major, Cleek and Narkom stood together, waiting until she was well beyond earshot.

“Now, Major, we will get down to brass tacks, as our American cousins say,” said Cleek, when that time at length came. “You would like to know, I suppose, how poor Farrow came by his injuries and from whose hand. Well, you shall. He was coming back from his cottage after stabling the real Chocolate Maid there when the thing happened; and he received those injuries for rushing to the defence of the woman he loved, and attempting to thrash the blackguard who had taken advantage of her trust and belief in him to spoil her life forever. The woman was, of course, Maggie McFarland. The man was your charming guest, Captain MacTavish!”

“Good God! MacTavish? MacTavish?”

“Yes, Major – the gallant captain who received such a sudden call to rejoin his regiment as soon as he knew that Tom Farrow was likely to recover and to speak. Perhaps you can understand now why Farrow and the girl no longer seemed to ‘hit it off together as formerly.’ The gallant captain had come upon the boards. Dazzled by the beauty of him, tricked by the glib tongue of him, deluded into the belief that she had actually ‘caught a gentleman’ and that he really meant to make her his wife and take her away to India with him, when he went, the silly, innocent, confiding little idiot became his victim and threw over a good man’s love for a handful of Dead Sea Fruit.”

“Never for one instant had Tom Farrow an idea of this; but the night before last as he crossed the moor – he knew! In the darkness he stumbled upon the truth. He heard her crying out to the fellow to do her justice, to keep his word and make her the honest wife he had promised that she should be, and he heard, too, the man’s characteristic reply. You can guess what happened, Major, when you know Tom Farrow. In ten seconds he was up and at that fellow like a mad bull.

“The girl, terrified out of her life, screamed and ran away, seeing the brave captain laying about him with his heavy, silver-headed hunting crop as she fled. She never saw the end of the fight – she never dared; but in the morning when there was no Tom Farrow to be seen, she went out there on the moor and found him. She would have spoken then had she dared, poor creature, but the man’s threat was an effective one. If she spoke he would do likewise. If she kept silent she might go away and her disgrace be safely hidden. Which she chose, we know.”

“The damned hound!”

“Oh, no, Major, oh, no – that’s too hard on hounds. The only houndlike thing about that interesting gentleman was that he made an attempt to ‘get to cover’ and to run away. I knew that he would – I knew that that was his little dodge when he made that little excuse about having to pack up his effects. He saw how the game was running and he meant to slip the cable and clear out while he had the chance.”

“And you let him do it? – you never spoke a word, but let the blackguard do it? Gad, sir, I’m ashamed of you!”

“You needn’t be, Major, on that score at least. Please remember that I asked for a couple of grooms to be stationed on the moor. I gave them their orders and then went on to Farrow’s cottage alone. If they have followed out those orders we shall soon see.”

Here he stepped to the door of the stable, put his two forefingers between his lips and whistled shrilly. In half a minute more the two grooms came into the stable, and between them the gallant captain, tousled and rather dirty, and with his beautiful hair and moustache awry.

“Got him, my lads, I see,” said Cleek.

“Yes, sir. Nabbed him sneakin’ out the back way like you thought he would, sir, and bein’ as you said it was the major’s orders, we copped him on the jump and have been holdin’ of him for further orders ever since.”

“Well, you can let him go now,” said Cleek, serenely. “And just give your attention to locking the door and lighting up. Major, Doctor, Mr. Narkom, pray be seated. The dear captain is going to give you all a little entertainment and the performance is about to begin. As good with your fists as you are with a metal-headed hunting crop, Captain?”

“None of your dashed business what I’m good at,” replied the captain. “Look here, Norcross – ”

“You cut that at once!” roared the major. “If you open your head to me, I’ll bang it off you, you brute.”

“Well, then you, Mr. Policeman – ”

“Ready for you in a minute, Captain; don’t get impatient,” said Cleek, as he laid aside his coat and began to roll up his sleeves. “Rome wasn’t built in a day – though beauty may be wrecked in a minute. You’ll have the time of your life this evening. You are really too beautiful to live, Captain, and I’m going to come as near to killing you as I know how without actually completing the job. You see, that poor little Highland lassie hasn’t a father or brother to do this business for her, so she’s kindly consented to my taking it on in her behalf. I’m afraid I shall break that lovely nose of yours, my gay gallant – and I don’t give a damn if I do! A brute that spoils a woman’s life deserves to go through the world with a mark to record it, and I’m going to put one on you to the best of my ability. All seated, gentlemen? Right you are. Now then, Captain, come on. Come on – you swine!”

It was twenty minutes later.

Lady Mary Norcross – deep in the obligatory business of dressing for dinner – had just taken up a powder puff and was assiduously dabbing the back of her neck, when the door behind her opened softly and the voice of her liege lord travelled across the breadth of the room, saying:

“Mary! May I come in a minute, dear? I just want to get my cheque book out of your writing desk – that’s all.”

“Yes, certainly. Come in by all means,” gave back her ladyship. “I’m quite alone. Springer has finished with me, and oh! Good heavens! Seton! My dear, my dear!”

“All right. Don’t get frightened. It isn’t mine. And it isn’t his, either – much of it. We’ve been having a little ‘set to’ at the stable, and I got it hugging a policeman.”

“Seton!”

“Yes – I know it’s awful, but I simply couldn’t help it. Demmit it, Mary, don’t look so shocked – I’d have kissed the beggar as well, if I thought I could acquire the trick of that heavenly ‘jab with the left’ that way. I haven’t had such a beautiful time since the day I was twenty-one, darling; he fights like a blooming angel, that chap.”

“What chap? What on earth are you talking about?”

“That man Cleek. Weeping Widows! It was the prettiest job you ever saw. We’re sending the beggar over to the hospital – and – Tell you all about it when I get back. Can’t stop just now, dear. Bye, bye!”

Then the door closed with a smack, and man and cheque book were on their way downstairs.