Mary E. Hanshew - The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

M >> Mary E. Hanshew >> The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

He squeezed the hand, manacled so grimly to the other, and smiled a smile
brimming over with hope and promise.

"God bless you, Mr.--Headland," Merriton replied, and as Cleek beckoned
to the two policemen, took his stand between them and entered the closed
vehicle. The door shut, the engine purred, and the car shot away up the
road toward the local police-station, leaving the man and the girl
staring after it, the same mute sorrow and sympathy shining in both pairs
of eyes.

As it disappeared round a corner, 'Toinette turned to Cleek, her whole
agonized heart in her eyes.

"Mr. Headland!" she broke out with a gush of tears. "Oh, m'sieur, if you
did but know--could but understand all that my poor heart suffers for
that innocent boy! It is breaking every minute, every hour. Is there
nothing, nothing that can be done to save him? I'd stake my very life on
his innocence!"

Cleek let his hand rest for a moment upon the fragile shoulder, and
looked down into the pallid face.

"I know you would," he said softly, "for even I know and understand what
the love of a good woman may do to a man. But, tell me. That story of the
revolver--_your_ revolver. You can vouch for it? Your uncle _did_ kill
the dog Franco with it? You can remember? Forgive me for asking, or
questioning for a moment the evidence which Mr. Brellier has given, but
I am anxious to save that boy from the hands of the law, and for that
reason no stone must be left unturned, no secret kept silent. Carry your
mind back to that time, and tell me if that is true."

She puckered her brows together as if in perplexity and tapped one slim,
perfectly-manicured finger against her white teeth.

"Yes," she said at last; "yes, it was every bit of it true--every bit,
Mr. Headland. For the moment, in that room of terror, I had forgotten
poor Franco's death. But now--yes, I can remember it all fully. My uncle
spoke the truth, Mr. Headland--I can promise you that."

Cleek sighed. Then:

"But it was _your_ revolver he used, Miss Brellier? Try to remember. He
said that he told you of it at the time. Can you recollect your uncle
telling you that he used your revolver to shoot the dog with, or not?
That is what I want to know."

She shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands.

"It is so _difficile_. I am trying to remember, and the matter seemed
then so trivial! But there is no reason to doubt my uncle, Mr. Headland,
for he loves Nigel dearly, and if there was any way in which he could
help to unravel this so terrible plot against him--Oh! I am _sure_ he
must have told me so, _sure_! There would be no point in his telling an
untruth over that."

"And yet you can not recall the actual remark that your uncle made, Miss
Brellier?"

"No. But I am sure, sure that what he said was true."

Cleek shrugged his shoulders.

"Then, of course, you must know best. Well, we must try and find some
other loophole. I promised Merriton I'd speak a few words to you, Miss
Brellier, just to tell you to keep up heart--though it's a difficult
task. But everything that can be done, _will_ be done. And--if you should
happen to hear that I have thrown up the case, and gone back to London,
don't be a bit surprised. There are other ways, other means of helping
than the average person dreams of. Don't mention anything I have said to
you to _anybody_. Keep you own counsel, please, and as a token of my
regard for that I will give you my word that everything that _can_ be
done for Merriton will be. Good-bye."

He put out his hand and she laid her slim one in it. For a moment her
eyes measured him, scanning his face as though to trace therein anything
of treachery to the cause which she held so dear. Then her face broke
into a wintry smile.

"I have a feeling, Mr. Headland," she said softly, "that you are going
to be a good friend to us, Nigel and me. It is a woman's intuition that
tells me, and it helps me to bear the too dreadful suspense under which
we are all now labouring. You have my word of honour never to speak of
this talk together, and to keep a guard on my tongue for the future, if
it is to help Nigel. You will let me know how things go on, Mr.
Headland?"

"That I cannot for the present tell. It will depend entirely upon how
events shape themselves, Miss Brellier. You may hear soon--you may not
hear at all. But I believe in his innocence as deeply as you do.
Therefore you must be content that I shall do my best, _whatever_
happens. Good-bye."

He gave her fingers a soft squeeze, held them a moment and then, dropping
them, bowed and swung upon his heel to join Mr. Narkom, who was standing
near by, the last of the group of interested spectators of that
afternoon's ghastly business. Dollops stood a little back from them,
awaiting his orders.

"We'll have some supper at the village 'pub,' my dear Lake," said Cleek
in a loud, clear voice that carried to every corner of the deserted
garden, "and then come back to the Towers long enough to pack up our
traps and clear out of this haunted house altogether. The case is one too
many for me, and I'm chucking it." Mr. Narkom opened his mouth to speak,
but his colleague gave him no opportunity. "It's a bit too fishy for my
liking," he went on, "when the only clues a man's got to go on are a
dancing flame and a patch of charred grass--which, by the way, never
struck me as particularly interesting at the best of times--and when
evidence points so strongly toward young Merriton's guilt. All I can
say is, let's go. That's the ticket for me."

"And for me also, old man!" agreed Mr. Narkom, emphatically, following
Cleek's lead though rather in the dark. "It's back to London for me,
whenever you're ready."

"And that'll be as soon as Dollops can pack my things and get 'em off to
the station."

CHAPTER XXII

A NEW DEPARTURE

The question of packing was a very small matter altogether, and it was
barely seven o'clock when, this finished, Cleek and Mr. Narkom had
collected their coats and hats from the hat-stand, given Borkins the
benefit of their very original ideas as to closing up the house and
clearing out of it as soon as possible, each of them slipped a sovereign
into his hand, and were standing talking a short while at the open front
door. The chill of the evening crept into the house in cold breaths,
turning the gloomy hall into a good representation of a family vault.

"All I can say," said Cleek, chewing a cigar, his hands in his trousers'
pockets, and his feet rocking from toe to heel, "is--get out of it,
Borkins, as soon as you can. I don't mind tellin' you, I'm jolly glad to
be clearin' out myself. It's been a devilish uncanny business from first
to last, and not much to my taste. Now, _I_ like a decent robbery or a
nice, quick-fingered forger that wants a bit of huntin' up. You know,
even detectives have their particular favourites in the matter of crime,
Borkins, and a beastly murder isn't exactly in _my_ line."

Borkins laughed respectfully, rubbing his hands together.

"Nor mine, sir," he made answer. "Though I must say you gentlemen 'aven't
been a bit what I imagined detectives to be. When you first come down,
you know, I spotted something different about you, and--"

"Ought to be on the Force yourself!" supplemented Cleek.

"And not such a bad callin' neither!" returned Borkins with a grin. "But
I knew you wasn't what you said you was, in a manner of speakin'. And if
it 'adn't been for all this unpleasantness, it would 'ave bin a nice
little change for yer, wouldn't it? Sorry to see the last of you, sirs,
I am that. And that young gentleman of your'n. But I must say I'm glad to
be done of the business."

Cleek blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Oh, you'll have another dose of it before you're entirely finished!" he
responded. "When the case comes on in London. _That's_ the ticklish part
of the business. We'll meet there again, I expect, as Mr. Lake and I will
be bound to give our evidence--which is a thankless task at the best of
times.... Hello! Dollops, got the golf-clubs and walking-sticks? That's
a good lad. Now we'll be off to old London again--eh, Lake? Good-bye,
Borkins. Best of luck."

"Good-bye, gentlemen."

The two men got into the taxi Dollops had procured for them, while that
worthy hopped on to the seat beside the driver and gave him the order to
"Nip it for the eight o'clock train for Lunnon, as farst as you kin slide
it, cabby!" To which the chauffeur made some equally pointed remark, and
they were off.

But Borkins either did not realize that the eight-o'clock train for
London was a slow one, or though that it was the most convenient for the
two gentlemen most interested, because he did not give a thought to the
matter that that particular train stopped at the next station, some three
miles away from Fetchworth. And even if he had and could have seen the
two tough-looking sailormen who descended from the first-class
compartment there and stepped on to the tiny platform among one or two
others, he would never have dreamed of associating them with the Mr.
Headland and his man Dollops who had such a short time ago left the
Towers for London.

Which is just as well, as it happened, for it was with Borkins that Cleek
and Dollops were most concerned. Upon the probability of their friendship
with the butler hung the chance of their getting work. They had left Mr.
Narkom to go up to London and keep his eyes open for any clues in the
bank robberies case, and had promised to report to him as soon as
possible, if there were anything to be gleaned at the factory. Mr. Narkom
had expressed his doubts about it, had told Cleek that he really did not
see how any human agency could possibly get Nigel Merriton off, with such
appalling evidence to damn him. And what an electrical factory could have
to do with it...!

"You forget the good Borkins's connection with the affair," returned
Cleek, a trifle sharply, "and you forget another thing. And that is, that
I have found the man who attempted my life, and mean eventually to come
to grips with him. That is the only reason why I did not speak at the
inquest this afternoon. I am going to bide my time, but I'll have the
beggar in the end. If working for a time at an electrical factory is
going to help on matters, then work there I'm going to, and Dollops with
me....

"If there should be need of me, don't forget that I am Bill Jones,
sailorman, once of Jamaica, now of the Factory, Saltfleet. And stick to
the code. A wire will fetch me." He hopped out upon the platform just
here, in his "cut-throat" make-up--a little nastily done, for the time
between the stations had been short--but excellent, nevertheless; then as
Mr. Narkom gripped his hand, he put his head into the carriage again.

"My love to Ailsa if you see her, and tell her all goes well with me,
like a good friend!" whispered Cleek, softly.

Mr. Narkom nodded, waved his hand, and then the two navvies swung away
from the train, gave up their tickets to the porter--having procured
third-class as well as first for just this very arrangement--and after
enquiring just how far it was to Saltfleet Bay, and learning that it was
a matter of "two mile and a 'arf by road, and a couple o' mile by the
fields," strode off through the little gate and on to the highroad. Just
how adventurous their quest was going to turn out to be even they did not
fully realize.

They reached the outskirts of the bay, just as a clock in the church
tower half a mile away struck out nine, in deep-throated, sonorous tones.

To the right of them the "Pig and Whistle" flaunted its lights and its
noise, its hilarious laughter and its coarse-thrown jests. Cleek sighed
as he turned toward it.

"Now for it, boy," he said softly, and then started to whistle and to
laugh alternately, making his way across the cobbles to the brightly-lit
little pub. Someone ran to the doorway and peered out at sound of his
voice, trying to penetrate the darkness and discover who the stranger
might be thus gaily employed.

Cleek sang out a greeting.

"Good evenin' to yer, matey! This 'ers's Bill Jones and 'is pal. 'Ow,
I'll tyke the 'ighroad, and you'll tyke the laow road! and I'll be in
Scotland afore yer'.... 'Ere, Sammie, me lad, come along o' me an' warm
yer witals. I could drink the sea--strite I could!"

He heard the man in the doorway laugh, and then he beckoned to him to
come along. And so they entered the "Pig and Whistle," and were greeted
enthusiastically by the red-headed barmaid, while many voices went up to
greet them, showing that already they had got on the right side of the
men who were to be their fellow-workers.

"Gen'leman 'ere yet?" queried Cleek, jerking his thumb in the direction
where Borkins had stood the night before. "I've what you calls an
appointment wiv 'im, yer know. And.... 'Ere the blighter is! Good
evenin', sir. Pleased ter see yer again, though lookin' a bit pale abaht
the gills, if yer don't mind my sayin' so."

"And so would you be, if you'd been through the ordeal I 'ave this
afternoon," snapped out Borkins in reply. "It's a beastly job a-tellin'
people what yer seen and 'eard. It is indeed!"

"'Arder ter tell 'em wot you _'aven't_ seen an' 'eard, all the syme,
matey," threw in Cleek. "Done that meself, I 'as--bit of sleight-o'-'and
what they'd pulled me up for out Whitechapel way when I was a kid. Seein'
the master ternight, ain't we, sir?"

Borkins slopped down his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth before
replying.

"Seen him already," he answered with a touch of asperity, "and told
'im about you both, I 'ave. 'E says you're ter go up to the foreman
termorrow, say I sent you. Say the master 'as passed you, that'll be
all right. Couple o' quid a week, and the chance of a rise if you're
circumspect and keeps yer mouth closed."

"That's my gyme all right, guv'nor!" struck in Dollops shrilly, clapping
his tankard down upon the bar with a loud bang. "Close as 'ouses we are,
guv'nor. An' me mate's like a hoyster."

"Well, mind you remember it!" retorted Borkins sharply. "Or it'll go
badly with the pair of you. That's fixed, then, ain't it? What's yer
names again? I've forgotten."

"Bill Jones, an' 'im's Sammie Robinson," replied Cleek quickly. "I'm much
obliged to yer, sir. Any one know where we kin get a shake-down for the
night? Time enough ter look for lodgin's termorrer."

It was the barmaid's turn to speak, and she rested her rather heavy
person against the bar and touched Cleek's shoulder.

"Mother, she 'as lodgers, dearie," she said in a coaxing voice. "You kin
come along to us, and stay right along, if you're comfortable. Nice beds
we 'ave, and a good 'ot dinner in the middle uv the day. You kin take yer
breakfast with us. Better come along to 'er ternight."

"Thanks, I will," grunted Cleek in reply, and dug Dollops in the ribs,
just to show him how pleased he was with the arrangement.

And so the evening passed. The lodgings were taken, the charge being
moderate for the kind of living that men in their walk of life were used
to, and the next morning found them both ensconced at their new work.

The overseer proved to be a big, burly man, who, having received the
message from "the gentleman at the inn," immediately set them to work on
the machinery. The task was simple; they had merely to feed the machine
with so much raw material, and the other men and machines did the rest.
But what pleased them more, they were put to work side by side. This gave
Cleek a good opportunity of passing remarks now and then to Dollops and
telling him to take note of things.

The factory was a smallish place, with not too large a payroll, and Cleek
gleaned from that first morning's work that it was run solely for the
purpose of making electrical fittings.

"Where do they ship 'em to, matey?" he asked his next-door neighbour,
a pleasant-faced chap about twenty-three or four.

"Over ter Belgium. Big firm there what buys from the master."

"Oh?" So they were trading with Belgium, were they? That was interesting.
"Well, then, 'ow the dickens do they send 'em out?"

"Boats, idiot!" The man's voice was full of contempt for the nincompoop
who couldn't use his head. Above the clang of the machinery Cleek's voice
rose a trifle higher.

"Well, any fellow would know _that_!" he said with a laugh. "But what I
means is, what sort er boats? Big uns, I should sy, fer stuff like this."

The man looked about him and bent his head. His voice dropped a note or
two.

"_Fishin'_ boats," he said softly, and could be made to say no more, in
spite of the scornful laugh with which Cleek greeted this news.

Fishing boats?... H'm. That was devilish peculiar. Sending out electrical
fittings to Belgium in _fishing boats_! Funny sort of a way to do trade,
though no doubt it was quite permissible up to a point. Well, he must
glean something more out of this good fellow before the day was over.

A glass of beer at the "Pig and Whistle" after dinner worked wonders with
the man's tongue. He was not a favourite, so free drinks did not often
come his way. After the second glass he seemed almost ready to sell
his soul to this amicable newcomer, but Cleek was wise, and bided his
time. He didn't mean to fleece his man of the information in sight and
sound of his fellows. So he simply talked of the topics of the day,
discussed the labour question--from a new view-point--and then, as they
strolled back together to the factory, just as the whistle began to blow
that told the hands the dinner-hour was over, Cleek fired his first shot.

"See 'ere, matey," he began confidentially, "you're a decent sort of
bloke, you are! Tell us a bit more about them there fishin' boats wot you
spoke uv. I'm that interested, I've been fair eaten up with curiosity.
Yer didn't mean the master of this plyce goes and ships electrical
fittin's and such-like out to Belgium in _fishin'_ boats--strite, eh?"

"Yus." Jenkins nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean. Seems sort er
funny, don't it? And I reckon there's somethin' a bit fishy about the
whole thing. But I keep me mouth shut. That overseer's the very devil
'imself. Happen you'll larn ter do likewise. Two chaps who were 'ere
larst thought they'd be a bit smarty like, and told 'im they were goin'
ter tell all they knew--though God knows what it was! I ain't been able
to learn much, and haven't tried neither. But they went--zip! like that!
Never saw 'em no more, and nothin' come of it.... Best to keep your mouth
shut, mate. In this 'ere place, any'ow."

"Oh," said Cleek off-handedly, "I'm not one to blab. You needn't be
afraid o' that. By the way, who's the chap with the black mustache
a-stragglin' all over 'is fyce? An' the narsty eye? Saw 'im with Borkins,
the man wot engaged me night before last."

"That wasn't Borkins, me beauty," returned Jenkins with a laugh. "That
ain't his name. 'Ow did you come ter think of it? That fellow's name's
Piggott. And the other man? We calls 'im Dirty Jim, because 'e does all
the dirty work for the boss; but 'is real name's Dobbs. And if you takes
my word for anything, pal, you won't go rubbin' 'im up the wrong way.
'E's a fair devil!"

H'm! "Dirty Jim," otherwise Jim Dobbs. And he was in the employment of
this very extraordinary firm for the purpose of doing its "dirty work."
Well, there seemed a good deal of employment for him, if that was the
case. And Borkins was _not_ Borkins in this part of the world.

Cleek stepped back to his work a little thoughtful, a little
absent-minded, until the frown upon his forehead caused Dollops
to lean over and whisper anxiously, "Nothin' the matter, is there, sir?"

He shook his head rapidly.

"No, boy, no. Simply thinking, and smelling a rat somewhere."

"Been smellin' of it meself this parst two hours," returned Dollops in
a sibilant whisper. His eye shone for a moment with the light of battle.
"Got summink ter tell you," he whispered under cover of the noise.
"Summink wot ought ter interest yer, I don't fink. 'Ave ter keep till
evenin'. Eh, Bill?"

"Right you are, matey." Cleek's voice rose loudly as the overseer passed,
pausing a moment to watch them at work. "Nice job this, I must sy. Arfter
me own 'eart, strite it is. Soon catch on to it, don't yer?"

"_Ra-ther!_" returned Dollops significantly.

The overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on.

CHAPTER XXIII

PRISONERS

It was not until the evening was fairly far advanced that the opportunity
of speaking to Dollops alone was afforded Cleek. He took it when the "Pig
and Whistle" was filled to overflowing, and hardly a man who worked at
the factory was not inside it or standing outside near the little quay,
holding the usual evening's confab on the affairs of the day. Cleek
caught hold of Dollops as he was making his way into the little bar.

"Come fer a turn up the road, matey," he said loudly. "It's a fine
evenin' wot mykes yer 'omesick fer a sight uf yer own fireside. 'Ave
another drink later, mebbe. Come on."

Dollops linked arms with him, and, smoking and talking, the two men went
off up the dark lane which led from the quayside, and of a night-time was
as black as a pocket. Cleek's torch showed them the pathway, and as they
walked they talked in rapid whispers.

"Now, lad, let's hear all you've got to say!" he rapped out at length, as
the distance grew between themselves and the crowded little pub, and they
were safely out of earshot.

Dollops gulped with pent-up excitement.

"Lor! sir, there's summink wrong, any'ow; I've discovered that much!" he
broke out enthusiastically. "Chummed up with ole Black Whiskers I did,
and promised 'im a 'and ternight at twelve o'clock ter do some loadin'
on ter the fishin' boats wot's on their way ter Belgium. 'You're a
nice-seemin' sort er lad,' he tole me after we'd bin chattin' fer ten
minutes or so. 'Want ter make a bit of extra money by 'oldin' of your
tongue?' I was on it like a knife. 'Ra-_ther!_' I ses. 'Orl right,' ses
'e. 'Come along ter the quayside ternight at twelve o'clock. There's
a bit uf loadin' up ter be done, an' only a few uv the men are required.
I don't choose none wot I don't cotton to.' 'You'll cotton ter me all
right, matey,' I ses, with a sort uv a larf that seemed ter tickle 'im.
'I'm as close as the devil 'imself. Anythink yer doesn't want me ter see,
just tip me the wink.' 'I will that,' ses 'e, and then went off. An' so
'ere I am, sir, fixed up for a busy evenin' along uv ole Black Whiskers.
An' if I don't learn summink this night, well, my name ain't Dollops!"

"Good lad!" said Cleek, giving the boy's arm a squeeze. "That's the way
to do it! And is that all you've got to tell me? I've done a bit myself,
and chummed up with a chap called Jenkins, the tall, thin man who works
on the left of me, and he's let me into the secret of the fishing boat
business. But he's a close-mouthed devil. Either doesn't know anything,
or won't tell. I'm not quite sure which. But he wasted a good deal of
valuable breath endeavouring to teach me to keep my mouth shut. Gad! I'd
give something to have a few moments alone with your friend Black
Whiskers! There's a ripped pillow-case in my portmanteau which ought
to interest him. And what else did you learn, Dollops?"

"Only that what they ships is electric tubin's ter perfect flexible
electric wirin's wot is used for installations, sir," returned Dollops.
"That's what most of the things were wot I set eyes on after
workin'-hours, stacked up all ready ter be loaded on ter the boats. Long,
thin things they were, an' ought ter be easy work, judgin' from their
contents. But why they make all this mystery about it fair beats _me_!"

"And me into the bargain, Dollops," interposed Cleek, with a little sigh.
"But there's an old saying, that there's no smoke without fire, and
ordinary people don't make such a devilish fuss about others knowing
their business if they're on the straight. What all this has got to do
with the 'Frozen Flame' business I must confess somewhat puzzles me to
discover. But that it _has_ something to do with it is proved by that
fishy character Borkins, and the amiable attempt of his friend to murder
so humble a person as myself. Now it's up to me to find the missing link
in the chain.... Hello! here's a gap in the hedge here. Looks like it had
been made on purpose. Let's go and investigate."

He whipped his little torch round and the circle of light flashing over
the ground, revealed to their searching eyes something vastly unexpected
in such a place and yet which, after all, seemed to fit into a place
where so much mystery and secretiveness was in the air. They themselves,
disguised as such rough characters, fitted into the strange picture,
which struck Cleek, even in spite of his many peculiar cases, as very
much out of the ordinary.

A gap in the hedge there was, right enough. And through the gap--someone
must have been working here a very short time before--a square of turf,
cut carefully out and laid upon one side, revealed to their astonished
eyes a wooden trap-door, exactly suggestive of the pirates' den of a
child's imagination, and with a huge iron ring fastened to the centre of
it.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15