Kitabı oku: «The Riddle of the Night», sayfa 5

CHAPTER NINE
BLIND GROPING

Ailsa Lorne gave a little start as she examined the fragment.

"I thought at first that it was torn from my own dress," she said frankly, looking up at him, "for, as it happens, I was wearing a pink dress, but not quite of this shade. I will show it to you if you like."

"There is no need, Miss Lorne," said Cleek, his eyes shining. "If you tell me that you were not at Gleer Cottage last night, then there is no more to be said," and with a little laugh of sheer happiness he carefully replaced the bit of chiffon in his pocketbook. "Just one more question, please, Miss Lorne. Tell me: has Lady Katharine a certain kind of bracelet to which there is attached a small capsule by a link of gold, and which smells adorably of violets?"

"Yes. Anybody that knows her could tell you that. Her father, Lord St. Ulmer, brought it to her from South America. He had her name and the St. Ulmer arms engraved upon it. At least, upon what you have called the 'capsule,' which contains some highly concentrated perfume that makes the whole room fragrant whenever she removes a tiny gold stopper from the delightful thing."

"Thank you! I supposed as much. Now will you tell me, Miss Lorne, how long it is since Lady Katharine lost that little golden capsule from her bracelet? Was it, as I am hoping, on the day when you visited Gleer Cottage in company with her, or since?"

"What a strange question. She hasn't lost it at all. At least, she has made no mention of having done so, as I am sure she would if it had been lost. Always, of course, providing it wasn't lost without her knowledge. At any rate, she wore it last night when we went to Clavering Close. I know that, because I remarked at the time that she had better let a jeweller look at it, as the ring of the scent globe was very nearly worn through."

"Was that before you left the Grange or after?"

"After – a long while after – at Clavering Close; in fact, while we were taking off our wraps preparatory to going down to the drawing-room."

"Hum-m-m!" said Cleek, puckering up his lips and looking grave. "You are establishing a very unpleasant fact by that statement. It proves that, in spite of your belief to the contrary, Lady Katharine revisited Gleer Cottage last night, and that, too, after the affair at Clavering Close."

"How perfectly absurd! Why, she wasn't out of my sight for a single instant."

"Nevertheless, she certainly visited Gleer Cottage last night," repeated Cleek with calm persistence. "I know that beyond all possible doubt, Miss Lorne; for I myself found the capsule of that bracelet there, crushed and broken, but still showing that the St. Ulmer arms and the name 'Katharine' had been engraved upon it. Don't look at me like that, please, or you will make me hate myself for having to tell you this."

"But I tell you it is impossible," she still protested. "I tell you she was never out of my sight for one instant from the time we left this house to the time we returned. No, not for one, Mr. Cleek, up to the very moment she left me to go to bed."

"Just so. But after that?"

"After that? After – " she began; and then stopped, and grew very pale and very, very still, for there had come to her a recollection of that moment when, as she had said, she fancied she heard Lady Katharine's door open and shut in the night when all the house was still.

"And after that?" repeated Cleek, driving the question home.

"How should I know?" she gave back, in something akin to panic. "How could I? We do not sleep together. But" – with sudden brightening – "this I do know, however: the bracelet was still on her wrist and the scent globe still attached to it, even then. I saw it with my own eyes."

"A clear proof that, as the capsule was dropped after that time, she left the house last night without your knowledge, Miss Lorne."

"I can't believe it; I will not believe it!" protested Ailsa loyally. "I know that she did not! I know!"

"How?"

"It is likely that you have not heard it, but Katharine is an accomplished violoncellist, Mr. Cleek. She loves her instrument, and in times of sorrow or distress she flies to it for comfort, and plays and plays until her nerves are soothed. Last night, after she left me, I heard her playing in her room."

"For long?"

"No. Of a sudden something went snap and the music ceased. She opened her door and called across the passage to me: 'Ailsa, pray for me. I am so wretched, so abandoned by fortune, that even the solace of my 'cello is denied me. I have broken the A-string and have not another in the house. Good-night, dear. I wish I could break the String of Life as easily!' After that she closed and locked the door, and I heard her go to bed."

The A-string!

Cleek turned away his head and took his chin between his thumb and forefinger. The A-string! And it was with a noose of catgut that the Count de Louvisan had been strangled!

"I'll not believe that she left the house," went on Miss Lorne. "She is the soul of honour, the very embodiment of truth, and she told me herself that she 'slept like a log until morning.' If she had gone out after I left her, after I fell asleep – "

"It could be proved and proved easily," interposed Cleek. "The night was moist and foggy, the roads were wet and muddy. Her clothes, the hem of her skirt, the state of her shoes – But I will not ask you to play the spy upon your friend, Miss Lorne."

"Nor would I do it!" she flashed back spiritedly; then stopped and gave a little excited exclamation and laid a shaking hand upon Cleek's sleeve. An automobile had swung suddenly into view in the drive leading up from the gates to the house, and in it were two men: one white of hair and snowy of beard but as erect as a statue; the other slim and young and fashionably dressed, and so clearly of the order "Johnnie" that he who ran might read. The General and his son had returned from their visit to Gleer Cottage.

Miss Lorne made that fact clear to Cleek in a few words.

"Now we shall have the full account of everything in Harry Raynor's original and detestable style," she whispered. "You are so shrewd in guessing riddles, Mr. Cleek, tell me, if you can, why it is that lions so often breed asses, and that heroes so often father clowns? If you were to search the world you could find no truer gentleman, in speech, in manner, in instincts, in everything, than dear old General Raynor; and yet, if you were to search it thrice over, you could find no greater cad than his son."

"From what I can see at this distance he certainly does look like a fine example of the genus bounder, I must confess," said Cleek. "You do not appear to have much of an opinion of the young man, Miss Lorne."

"I have not. I detest him! I never did care for 'scented' men; and when they come down to the 'curling iron' and the 'dye stick' they are simply abominable!"

"The 'dye stick'?"

"Yes. You mustn't be deceived by that waxed and delicately darkened moustache of Mr. Harry Raynor's, Mr. Cleek. It would be as sandy as his hair if the wretched little dandy didn't darken it with black cosmetic because he is ashamed of the cow colour which nature so appropriately bestowed upon it."

Cleek screwed round on his heel and looked at Mr. Harry Raynor with renewed interest.

"I suppose I ought not to have said that," she continued, "but I do detest him so. I think I had better run and tell Kathie that they have come back, but I will not keep you waiting many minutes." She smiled brightly at Cleek, and with a little nod ran lightly off, leaving him to await her return.

But, despite his interest in Mr. Harry Raynor, Cleek dropped discreetly out of sight and into one of the many winding paths with which the grounds abounded. A few minutes' gentle stroll along this particular one brought him to the rear of the house, and before he quite realized it he found himself within the precincts of the stable. The yard itself was deserted save for a single groom who was evidently hard at work polishing a boot, and which, judging from the muddy appearance of its companion, must have proved no easy task.

Cleek gave one look at the expensively cut article of footgear, then he lounged across the yard.

"That's a pretty tough job, isn't it?" said he offhandedly. The groom looked up, but meeting the visitor's disarming smile, only gave vent to a grunt.

"Should think it is a tough job," he muttered. "They're his lordship's boots, an' 'ow 'e comes to make 'em in such a state beats me to fits. Fair caked with mud, and 'im in bed with a sprained ankle. It's that valet of 'is, I s'pose – " He broke off, then looked questioningly at Cleek.

"I've lost my way," he said, plunging his hand into his pocket. "I strolled down a path from the lawns in front of the house. Which one will take me back?"

"First path to the right, sir, and thank you," said the gratified groom, and a minute later found Cleek back at the spot where Ailsa had left him.

He certainly had to admit that the whole affair was most perplexing, and he was still pondering over the various points of the case when Ailsa Lorne returned, and for a few moments they paced the lawn in silence; then Cleek turned with a little smile.

"I suppose we shall have to go and meet the General," said he serenely. "Shall we meet Lady Katharine's father as well?"

"Oh, dear, no! The man's in bed with a sprained ankle. Can't put his foot to the ground."

"Oh! Indeed? Then that explains it, of course. I wondered."

"Explains it? Explains what?"

"Why, his not being about at such a time – not appearing to take any interest in his daughter's affairs, especially her deliverance from a loveless marriage. It struck me as curious when I saw her. But I set it down to the possibility of there being bad blood between them. Is there?"

"No, there is not," said Ailsa, falling unconsciously into the trap. "Kathie is not the kind of girl to hold a grudge against any one, Mr. Cleek. She is intensely emotional, but she is also intensely loyal. The very last person in the world she would be likely to treat spitefully would be her father."

"I see. She is fond of him, then? Probably I have heard the wrong version of the story. Have I? I was told that it was he who compelled her, very much against her will, to accept the attentions of the – er – Count de Louvisan and to become engaged to him. That she begged her father to save her from marrying the man, but he would not – or could not – consent."

"That is quite true. You have not been misinformed. She did just what you have been told. Indeed, I happen to know that she even went so far as to get down on her knees to Lord St. Ulmer and implore him to kill her rather than to compel her to give up Geoff – and especially for a man she loathed as she did the Count de Louvisan. It was useless, however. That same night Lord St. Ulmer asked her to come to him alone in the library at Ulmer Court. They were together for two hours. The next day she accepted the Count de Louvisan."

"I see!" said Cleek. "Of course, his lordship told her something which influenced her beyond her own will and desires. Do you happen to know what that something was?"

"No. She has never told me one word beyond that she went into that library with a breaking heart, and came out of it with a broken one."

"And in spite of all that, she still loves this father who compelled her to give up all that life held, eh?"

"I didn't say that. I said that she was loyal to him, not that she loved him. How could she love a father whom she had not seen since she was a baby – whom she did not even know when he came back to claim her? Why, she hadn't even a picture to tell her what he looked like, and in all the years he was away he never wrote her so much as one line. A girl couldn't love a father like that. She might like him, she might be grateful to him, as Katharine is, for loading her with all the things that money can buy; but to love him – What is the matter, Mr. Cleek? What in the world made you say 'Phew' like that?"

"Nothing! Do you happen to know if the late Count de Louvisan was ever in Argentina, Miss Lorne?"

"No, I do not. Why?"

"Oh, mere idle curiosity, that's all. Turned up suddenly at Ulmer Court, didn't he? Any idea from where?"

"Not the slightest. He called quite unexpectedly one evening after we all – Kathie, his lordship, and I – had been over to the autumn races at Fourfields. That was an unfortunate day altogether. We did not see the conclusion of even the first race. Lord St. Ulmer was suddenly taken ill, although he had been quite well a moment before, and was so bad that we had to leave immediately. Nothing would do him but that we must drive home as quickly as possible, so that he could consult our local doctor."

Cleek glanced at her swiftly. "Hum-m-m! Bad as that, was he?" he asked. "What did the local doctor think caused the illness? Or did his lordship recover on the way home, and find it unnecessary to call him in at all? Ah, he did, eh? Queer things those sudden attacks; you never know when they will come on or when they will go off again. Possibly his present illness came just as suddenly. Did it?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Miss Lorne. "I wasn't there when it happened. Nobody was. Kathie and I had just gone into the refreshment room at the railway station for tea – Lord St. Ulmer said he didn't care for any, and would just step round to the news stall and get an afternoon paper – and when we came out there he was, poor man, sitting on a seat and groaning. He stepped on a banana peel, he said, and turned his ankle. A few minutes later Count de Louvisan put in an appearance. He had arranged to join us at Liverpool Street Station, and, no doubt, would have done so, but at the last minute Lord St. Ulmer had made up his mind to journey up to town by an earlier train than originally arranged. Anyway, his lordship made him go and wire to General Raynor that he was afraid our visit would have to be postponed indefinitely, as he had met with an accident and was going direct to the Savoy Hotel. Of course the General came with his motor, and wouldn't listen to his stopping there; so we all came on, as agreed, to Wuthering Grange. That was the day before yesterday, and Lord St. Ulmer has been in bed ever since."

"Very neat, very neat indeed," commented Cleek. "Couldn't tell me, I suppose, where I might get a peep at – I – er – mean who is the doctor attending to him?"

"He hasn't a doctor. He wouldn't have one. He is a very obstinate man, Mr. Cleek, and simply would not allow General Raynor to call in the local practitioner. Claims that he brought some wonderful ointment with him from Argentina which, as he phrases it, 'beats all the doctors hollow in the matter of sprains and bruises'; and simply will not allow anybody to do anything for him."

Cleek puckered up his brows. Obviously it would be useless to represent himself as an assistant to the local doctor, or even to make himself up to pass muster for that doctor himself, for the purpose of examining a man who would not see any medical man upon any pretext whatsoever. And yet – He gave a little toss of his shoulders, as if to throw away these fresh ideas, and came back again to Lady Katharine. What other proof could he secure? Why had she played the 'cello at all at such a time? Was it to secure that very string? Was it but a cloak to hide her designs? A swift idea flashed across his mind, as he recalled Lennard's story of a lady in an ermine cloak. He turned suddenly to his companion.

"Miss Lorne," he asked, "did Lady Katharine bring her ermine cloak with her when she came up from Suffolk?"

"No," said Ailsa in reply. "And for the very best of reasons: she hasn't one."

"Oh, I see. Know anybody who has?"

"Yes, I have. Lady Chepstowe gave me hers when she went to India. Why?"

"Oh, just a fancy of mine, that's all," replied Cleek with apparent offhandedness. "I seem to fancy that I heard something about Lady Katharine having had her portrait painted wearing a very superb ermine cloak. But, of course, if she hasn't one – or – yes, she might have borrowed yours. You'd lend it to her, I know – lend it like a shot. Did you?"

"I certainly did not. For one thing, she never in her life asked me to; and for another, whoever told you that tale about her having her portrait painted wearing one must be blessed with a very remarkable imagination. She had no such portrait painted. And I never lent her the cloak for any purpose at any time."

"I see. Couldn't have left it lying about where anybody might pick it up, could you?"

"How like a man that is," she said gayly. "Fancy a girl, especially one in my position, being possessed of so valuable a thing as an ermine cloak, and then leaving it about like a fan or a garden hat! No, I did not leave it about. Indeed, I couldn't if I had wanted to."

"Why?"

"For the very good reason that I sent it to the furrier's to have it made into a muff and stole."

"May I ask when? Recently?"

"No; quite two months ago. They are storing it for me, and will make the alterations in time for next winter's wear. As a cloak, of course, it is quite useless to a girl in my position. But really, I must go now. Kathie will think it very heartless of us if we do not fly to hear the General's report. Wait for me here, please. I shall be back directly."

Then she hurried out of the summerhouse and taking a path which led round to the rear of the Grange, passed from sight and left Cleek to his own devices.

CHAPTER TEN
ANOTHER STRAND IN THE WEB

The arrival of Mrs. Raynor and the General upon the scene, with Harry Raynor in their wake, gave a different atmosphere, so to speak, to Cleek's thoughts, and he threw himself, heart and soul, into getting into the good graces of the family. He did not much fancy Mr. Harry Raynor, who was too self-assertive to be pleasant company to a matured man of the world, and just at the age which may be best described in the quotation, "young enough to know everything."

Nevertheless, he had made up his mind to secure an invitation to stay overnight at Wuthering Grange, in order that he might have a peep at Lord St. Ulmer, and he knew that it was only by making himself a boon companion of the young man that he could hope to secure it. About three and twenty, the idol of an adoring mother, if not of his father, that gentleman was of the type that favour the ladies of the ballet with their attentions, and prefer chorus girls, stage doors, and late suppers to home amusements and the like; and it was not long before Cleek had him nicely "managed" and in the desired frame of mind.

A casual remark about a certain dashing musical-comedy actress who had sprung into sudden prominence set the ball rolling; then Cleek expressed in confidence a burning desire to know the lady and deep disappointment over the fact that he knew no one who was in a position to introduce him; and in ten minutes' time he had his fish hooked.

"I say, you know, I'll give you an introduction to her like a shot, old chap, if you really do want to know her," young Raynor imparted to him in deep confidence as he led him outside and got him away from the ladies. "Know her like a book! Rippin' sort! Introduce you any time you like. My hat! yes!"

"Really?" said Cleek with every appearance of boundless delight. "You know her – you actually know her?"

"Yes, rather! Know the whole blessed shoot of 'em from Flossie Twinkletoes down. Get reams of letters from 'em and bushels of photos – all autographed. I say, come up to my den and have a peep. You never saw such a gallery!"

Cleek admitted to himself when he saw them that he never had, for the room was literally smothered under photographs of actresses, gymnasts, ladies of the music-hall persuasion, and public characters in general.

"Always sport my oak, you know," said the young man with a laugh and a wink, as he locked the door behind him. "Pater might see 'em, and then there would be a time of it. Awful old muff, the pater; good sort, you know, but he'd have this lot in the fire in less than no time if he knew. Fearful old fossil. Flowers, fruits, rubber at whist, pipe, and an old army friend – that's his idea of life."

Cleek felt like taking him by the back of the neck and kicking him. He didn't, however. He had other fish to fry; and he succeeded so well that before he left that room he had an invitation to stop the night, and as he had brought no evening clothes with him, the offer of a suit to meet the emergency.

"Look here, I'll tell you what, Barch," said Raynor when this invitation and this offer were accepted, turning round as he spoke – he was at a window which overlooked the drive up from the gates of the Grange "chaps like us don't want to sit in a drawing-room and waste time with a pair of prunes and prisms like Lady Katharine Fordham and that prig of a Lorne girl. If you're in for a lark, we'll slip out and I'll show you a bit of life on the sly. I like you – I'm blest if I don't; so if you're game for a kick up, I'll let you into a secret and give you the time of your life. Now, then, listen here, old chap."

He stopped abruptly as a sudden grating sound of wheels rose from the drive, and looking down, he saw that a vehicle had swung in through the gates and was advancing toward the house.

"Oh Lord! that settles it; now we're in for a visitation!" he said with an expression of deep disgust. "There's that prig of a chap, Geoff Clavering, driving in. Can't stick that fellow at any price!"

Geoff Clavering! Cleek rose as he heard the name, walked to the window, and looked out. So, then, he had not been so far out in his reckoning after all. Geoff Clavering had come at last to seek an interview with the girl of his heart.

Why the boy had delayed until now Cleek could not guess, unless it was because of a shrinking dread of going abroad anywhere at such a time; but that he had nerved himself to come at last for something more than a mere call was apparent at first glance; for his face was white and strained, and it was evident, even from this distance, that he was labouring under strong excitement.

Undoubtedly there would be, as he had surmised, a private interview arranged between those two people, and undoubtedly he must manage to overhear it. What a pity that this should have happened at this particular time, that young Clavering should have arrived while he was up here, out of the way of seeing what happened when Geoff and Lady Katharine first met!

A glance, a movement, a hundred different things, might tell him what he wanted to know if he were there at that moment of first meeting. But perhaps it was not yet too late. The carriage hadn't reached the entrance of the house as yet; perhaps, if he hurried, if he went at once —

"I say, let's go down, Raynor," he said desperately. "I don't know what's come over me, but my head's suddenly begun to swim, and I'm afraid I shall keel over if I don't get out in the air. We can let the lark you were speaking of rest until afterward. Come on, will you? By Jove! you know, I'm in a fearful way."

And from the effort to carry out the impression of extreme giddiness a curious thing came:

Clapping his hand to his head, and wheeling staggeringly round to make his way to the door, he had the good or ill fortune to blunder against a little table, upon which stood what was undoubtedly an earthenware tobacco jar, and to send it crashing to the ground. Instantly and out of it there rolled, on top of the quantity of spilled tobacco which had originally been used to cover it, a little silver box, which flew open as it fell and disgorged a photograph, a couple of letters in a woman's hand, and a fragment of pink gauze.

Cleek had just stooped to pick these things up and to lay them back upon the table, when a yet more curious thing happened.

"I say! You let those things alone!" snapped young Raynor excitedly; and springing forward, whisked them out of his hand. But not before Cleek had made a rather startling discovery: the letters were written in a woman's hand – a hand he recognized the instant he saw it – and the picture which accompanied them was a photograph of Margot. He had no longer a desire to hurry downstairs.

The rudeness of his act and of his manner of speaking seemed to dawn upon young Raynor almost as he snatched the photograph and letters, and he hastened to apologize.

"I say, don't think me stable-bred, Barch," he said, a flush of mortification reddening his face. "Didn't mean to rip out at you like that, b'gad! Fact is, I was a bit excited; forgot for a moment that you're a pal. So don't get your back up, please."

"I haven't the slightest intention of doing so, dear chap," replied Cleek, who, it must be confessed, was a little shaken by the discovery. "Every man has a right to cut up a bit rough when he thinks some other fellow is going to pry into his secrets. And I reckon this is one of your pet mashes – eh, what?"

"Yes, something like that. The latest – and a ripper. French, you know. That's what rattled me for the moment. The dad loathes French women. I'm extra careful to keep this one's picture out of sight. I say! Don't know what you'll think about my manners, but I forgot all about your asking to go down and get out into the air. Sorry, old chap! Come along! Take my arm, and I'll help you."

As the breaking of the tobacco jar had deprived Raynor of again making use of that as a means of hiding the little silver box and its contents, he had, while speaking, crammed the letters, the photograph, and the scrap of pink gauze into an inside pocket of his coat, and now came forward and took Cleek's arm with the amiable intention of leading him from the room.

There was, of course, in the circumstances nothing for it but to go, much as Cleek would have preferred to stop and trace the connection between young Raynor and Margot; but he was far too careful in his methods to cast any doubt regarding the genuineness of that sudden attack of a moment before by pretending that it had begun to abate, and therefore yielded himself to the inevitable.

But he had this consolation in doing it: not only would he now be enabled to witness the meeting between Geoff Clavering and Lady Katharine Fordham after all, but as a man who is ill is always more or less an object of sympathy and attention upon the part of women, he foresaw that he might induce Lady Katharine to hover round him, and thus bring Geoff Clavering within close range for easy and careful studying. Nor did he fear that he had lost all opportunity for pursuing the subject of Harry Raynor's acquaintance with Margot. The mere fact that that young man had the contents of the little silver box upon his person might easily cause an apprehensive inquiry regarding the risk of carrying them about where they might be dropped, and so brought to his father's attention; and from that inquiry it would be simple work getting back to the subject itself without exciting any suspicion regarding his keen interest in it. He therefore allowed young Raynor to lead him from the room.

"Fearfully groggy, old chap, fearfully," he said in answer to young Raynor's inquiry regarding how he felt as they went down the dim passage toward the staircase; "head going round like a teetotum; hope I don't keel over and spoil the evening's sport by having to be put to bed like a kid. Don't want two sick men on one floor, do you, eh? Or is it on this floor that Lord St. Ulmer's room is situated?"

"Yes, that one over there – second door from the wing staircase. Speak low, old chap, or you may disturb him. Sleeps like a cat, they say – one eye and both ears always open. Doesn't do anything but sleep, I imagine, day and night, from the way he keeps to his room. Hullo! I say! What's it? Aren't going to crumple up, Barch, are you?"

This, because Cleek had suddenly lurched against the bannister at the head of the stairs, and swung clean round until his back was resting against it.

"No – that is, I hope not; but I do feel rotten, old chap," replied he. "Just half a second, will you?"

He lolled back his head, gave a sort of groan, and rapidly and silently began to count the doors and to make sure of the location of Lord St. Ulmer's room. "All right; only a passing spasm, I reckon, old chap," he went on as soon as he had discovered that his lordship's door was the third from the end of the passage, and that his window would, therefore, be the second from the angle of the wing in the outer wall of the house. "Come on – let's go down." And leaning heavily upon young Raynor, he descended to the dining-room.