Mary E. Hanshew - The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

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For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood
wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low
whispers.

Cleek and Dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping
against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last
glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats. Of a sudden from out the blackness
others appeared. Old Black Whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a
well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the
side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them,
empty-handed. Cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned
voice.

"What now, matey? I'm new at this gyme."

"Oh--unloadin'. Usual thing. Faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the
factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. All the time I bin
'ere--nigh on to two years--it's bin the same. Every lot goes out, some
comes back again with a complaint. Funny thing, ain't it?"

"Yus," responded Cleek shortly. "Damn funny." It certainly was.
Unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves
up to whistle. But no sound came.

And the work of unloading began.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCE

For a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by Cleek or
Dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished,
and though the "Pig and Whistle" got its fair share of their time--for
the sake of appearances--there were long hours afterward, between the
last tattered remnants of the night and the day's dawning, when they did
a vast amount of exploration.

That they made good use of this time was proved by the little note-book
that rested in Cleek's pocket, and in which a rough chart of the country
and the docks was drawn--though there were still some blanks to be filled
in--while opposite it was a rude outline of the secret passage into which
they had blundered three nights before.

"Got to explore that hole from end to end, Dollops," said Cleek on the
fourth evening, as they struck off together toward that gap in the hedge,
soon after the clock in the village had chimed out ten, and the little
bar of the "Pig and Whistle" was slowly emptying itself of its
_habitues_. "I've the main route fairly correct, I think, and a rough
idea of where those sacks stood, and where we took to cover when Black
Whiskers was showing the master of this underworld domain through it.
Happen to have learnt the chap's name yet?"

Dollops nodded.

"Yessir. Brent it is, Jonathan Brent, or so one of the men tells me. Says
he's never seed 'im, though; nobody 'ardly ever does, from all accounts
'e give me. Ole Black Whiskers and our silent-footed friend Borkins is
the main ones wot does 'is work for 'im."

"H'm. Well, that's something gleaned, anyway. Of course we may be able to
find out who he really is, but the chances are small. Men like this chap
don't go giving away anything more than they can help. They lie low and
let their paid underlings stand the racket if it happens to come along.
I know the type. I've come cross it before. Well, here we are. Now for
it--but this time I happen to have brought along a revolver."

He crept through the hedge and crouching behind it ran to the spot where
they had found the open trap-door upon that memorable occasion three
nights before. There was nothing to be seen. The ground presented an
absolutely unbroken appearance, so far as they could make out in the
moon's rays.

"Clever devils!" snapped out Cleek, in angry tribute. "We'll have to use
artificial light after all; but keep your torch light on the ground. It
won't do for any one to spot us just now."

For perhaps a moment or two they explored the ground inch by inch,
crawling round in the long grass upon their hands and knees, until a
little tuft of brown earth sticking up through a piece of turf, like the
upturned corner of a rug, showed them what they were looking for. With
infinite care Cleek lifted up the square of turf and set it upon one
side. The sight of the flat dark surface of the trap-door rewarded them.
He ran his fingers along the two sides of it, and discovered a bolt, shot
this, and then catching the iron ring once more in his hands, swung the
top upward and laid it back upon the grass.

A minute more found them once more in the cavernous, breathless depths.
Cleek handed the torch to Dollops.

"You hold that while I do a bit of sketching," he said, fidgeting in his
coat-pocket for his fountain-pen. He then snapped open the flap of the
note-book and began to sketch rapidly as they moved forward. Cleek was an
adept in drawing to scale. The thing took shape as they continued their
progress, keeping this time to the left instead of to the right. Cleek
paced off the distance and stopped every now and then to check up
results.

The place was as silent as the grave. Obviously no one was about here
upon these nights when there was no loading and unloading going on. In
that, at least, chance had been a good friend to them. They were going
to make the most of it. Through little runways, narrower than the main
route, and so low that they had to bend their necks to get along in
safety, they went, measuring and examining. Every few yards or so they
would come upon another little niche, stacked high with sacks of a
similar hardness to those others back there at the beginning of their
journey. Cleek prodded one with his finger, hesitated, then slipping out
a penknife, slit a fragment of the coarse sacking and inserted his
thumb....

He pulled it out with a look of astonishment upon his face.

"Hello, hello!" he exclaimed. "So that's it, is it? Gad! This is the
approved hiding-place! Then those tubings--Dollops, just a little more
of this wearisome search, just a few telephone calls to be made, and I
believe I shall have untied at least _one_ part of this strange riddle.
And when that knot is unfastened, it will surely lead me to the
rest.... Go on, boy."

They went on, stepping carefully, and hesitating now and again to listen
for any sound of alien footsteps. But the place might have been the grave
for any sign of human habitation that there was. They had it to
themselves that night, and made the most of it.

For some time they walked on, taking the road that most appealed to them,
and in the maze must surely have retraced their own footsteps. Of a
sudden, however, they broke into a sort of rough stone passage, with
concrete floor that ran on for a few yards and ended at a flight of
well-made stone steps, above which was a square of polished oak,
worm-eaten, heavily-carved, and surely not of this generation's
make or structure.

"Now, what the dickens...?" began Cleek, and stopped.

Dollops surveyed it with his head on one side.

"Seems ter me, sir," he began, after a pause, "that this yere's the
genuyne article. One of them old passages what people like King Charles
and Bloody Mary an' a few other of them celebrities you sees at Madame
Tussord's any day in the week, used to 'ide in when things were a-gettin'
too 'ot fer 'em. That's what this is."

"Your history's a bit rocky, but your ideas are all right," returned
Cleek with a little smile, as he stood looking up at the square of black
oak above them. "I believe you're right, Dollops. It must have given the
later arrivals a big start in that tunnelling business, or else they've
been at it, or both. There must be years' work in this system of
passageways. It is marvelous. But if it's a genuine old secret passage,
those stairs will probably lead up into a house, and--let's try 'em. If
the house they lead into is the one I think it is.... Well, we'll be
unravelling the rest of this riddle before the night is out!"

So saying, he fairly leapt up the little flight of stone stairs, and then
let his fingers glide over the smooth polished face of the oak door,
pushing, probing, pressing it, a frown puckering his brows.

"If this _is_ a genuine old secret hiding-place," he remarked, "then
according to all the rules of the game there ought to be some sort of a
spring _this_ side to open it, so that the hidden man might be able to
get out again when he wanted to. But where? Faugh! My fingers must be
losing their cunning, and--Ah, here it is! Bit of wood gives way here,
Dollops. Just a gentle pressure, and--here we are!"

And here they were, indeed, for as he spoke, the door slid back into the
flooring out of sight, and they found themselves looking up into a room
which was lighted by a single gas-jet, which barely illumined it, but
which, when Cleek poked his head up above the flooring and took a casual
survey of the place proved to be no less a place than the back kitchen of
Merriton Towers!

He brought his head down again with a jerk, touched the spring in the
edge of oak-panelling at the left of him, and let the door swing back
across the opening once more; and not till it had slipped into place with
a little _click_ did he turn upon Dollops.

"_Merriton Towers_!" he ejaculated finally. "Merriton Towers! Now, if
young Merriton really _is_ a party to this thing that is going on down
here in the bowels of the earth, why--Dash it, it's going to prove an
even worse case against him than we knew! A chap who plays an underhanded
game like this doesn't mind what he walks over to attain his ends.
But ... Merriton Towers...!"

He stopped speaking suddenly, sucked in his breath, his face turned very
grim. Dollops broke the silence that fell, a tremour of excitement in his
low-pitched voice.

"Yus--but it's the _back-kitchen_, sir," he threw out eagerly, like all
the rest of them anxious if possible to shield the man who seemed to have
won so many hearts. "And the back-kitchen don't spell Sir Nigel, sir.
It's Borkins wot's at the bottom of _that_, and--"

"Maybe, maybe," interposed Cleek, a trifle hastily, but the grim look
did not leave his face. "But if anything as curious as all this affair
turns up in the evidence it won't help the boy any, that is a
certainty.... Merriton Towers!"

He swung upon his heel and quickly retraced his steps, until the little
stone passageway was left behind them, and a few feet ahead loomed up
another of those queer turnings, which led--who knew where?

"We'll take it on chance," said Cleek as they paused, while he marked it
in his chart, "and follow our noses. But I confess I've had a shock. I
never thought--never even dreamt of Merriton Towers being connected with
this smuggling or, whatever it is, Dollops! And if I hadn't been down in
that very kitchen upon a voyage of discovery the other day, I'd have had
more reason to disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes. The light was on,
too. Lucky for us we didn't pop our heads up at the moment when someone
was there. But then the servants are all gone. Borkins is keeping the
house open until after the trial. So it was Borkins who was using that
light, that's pretty obvious; and our necks have been spared by an inch
or two less than I had imagined. We must hurry; time's short, and there's
a good deal to be got through this night, I can tell you!"

"Yessir," said Dollops, not knowing what else to say, for Cleek was
keeping up a sort of running monologue of his ideas of the case. "Don't
think much uv this 'ere passage, anyway, do you?"

"No--narrower than the rest. But it may end just where we want to go.
'Journeys end in lovers' meetings' the poet sings, but not this kind of
a journey--no, not exactly. We'll find the hangman's rope at the end of
this riddle, Dollops, or I'm very much mistaken; and I've an
uncomfortable idea as to who will swing in the noose."

For some time after that they pressed on in silence. Here and there along
the passage the walls opened out suddenly into little cut-out places
filled as ever with their built-up sacks. Each time Cleek passed them he
chuckled aloud, and then--once more his face would become grim. For some
moments they groped along in the gloom, their heads bent, to prevent them
bumping the low mud ceiling, their lips silent, but in the hearts of each
a sort of dull dread. Merriton Towers! Borkins, perhaps. But what if
Borkins and Merriton had been working hand-in-glove, and then, somehow or
other, had had a split? That would account for a good deal, and in
particular the man's attitude toward his master.... Cleek's brain ran on
ahead of his feet, his brows drew themselves into a knot, his mouth was
like a thin line of crimson in the granite-like mask of his face.

Of a sudden he stopped and pointed ahead of him. Still another flight of
stairs met their eyes, but they were of newer, more recent make, and
composed of common deal, unvarnished and mudstained with the marks of
many feet up and down their surface.

Cleek drew a deep breath, and his face relaxed.

"The end of the journey, Dollops," he said softly.

Then, without more ado, he mounted the stairs, and laid his shoulder to
the heavy door.

CHAPTER XXVI

JUSTICE--AND JUSTIFICATION

The court room was crowded on every side. There was barely space for
another person to enter in comfort, and when the news went round in the
street that Sir Nigel Merriton, late of the army, was being tried for his
life, and that things were going pretty black against him, all London
seemed to turn out with a morbid curiosity to hear the sentence of death
passed.

Petrie, stationed at the door, spent most of his time waving a
white-gloved hand, and shaking his head until he felt that it would
shortly tumble off his neck and roll away upon the pavement. Mr. Narkom
had given him instructions that if any one of "any importance in the
affair in question" should turn up, he was to admit him, but to be
adamant in every other case. And so the queue of morbid-minded women and
idle men grew long and longer, and the clamour louder and louder, until
the tempers of the police on guard grew very short, and the crowd was
handled more and more firmly.

The effect of this began to tell. Slowly it thinned out and the people
turned once more into the Strand, sauntering along with their heads half
the time over their shoulders, while Petrie stood and mopped his face and
wondered what had become of Mr. Cleek, or if he had turned up in one of
his many _aliases_, and he hadn't recognized him.

"Like as not that's what's happened," he told himself, stuffing his
thumbs into his policeman's belt and setting his feet apart. "But what
gets over me is, not a sight 'ave I seen of young Dollops. And where Mr.
Cleek is.... Well, that there young feller is bound to be, too. Case is
drawin' to a close, I reckon, by this time. I wouldn't be in _that_ young
lord's shoes!"

He shook his head at the thought, and fell to considering the matter and
in a most sympathetic frame of mind if the truth be told.

Half-an-hour passed, another sped by. The crowd now worried him very
little, and judging from one or two folk that drifted out of the court
room, with rather pale faces and set mouths, as though they had heard
something that sickened them, and were going to be out of it before the
end came, Petrie began to think that that end was approaching very near.

And he hadn't seen Mr. Cleek go into the place, or Dollops either! Funny
thing that. In his phone message that morning, Mr. Cleek had said he
would be at the court sharp at one, and it was half-past two now. Well,
he was sorry the guv'nor hadn't turned up in time. He'd be disappointed,
no doubt, and after all the telephoning and hunting up of directories
that he himself had done personally that very morning, Mr. Cleek would be
feeling rather "off it" if he turned up too late.

Petrie took a few steps up and down, and his eyes roamed the Strand
leisurely. He came to a sudden halt, as a red limousine--_the_ red
limousine he knew so well--whirled up to the pavement's edge, stopped
in front of him with a grinding of brakes, a door flashed open, and he
heard the sound of a sharp order given in that one unmistakable voice.
Mr. Cleek was there, followed by Dollops, close at his heels, and looking
as though they had torn through hell itself to get there in time.

Petrie took a hurried step forward and swung back the big iron gate still
farther.

"In time, Petrie?" Cleek asked breathlessly.

"Just about, sir. Near shave, though, from what I see of the people
a-comin' out. 'Eard the case 'ad gone against Sir Nigel, sir--poor chap.
'Ere, you, Dollops--"

But Dollops was gone in his master's wake, in his arms a huge, ungainly
bundle that looked like a stove-pipe wrapped up in brown paper, gone
through the courtroom door, without so much as passing the time of day
with an old pal. Petrie felt distinctly hurt about it, and sauntered back
to his place with his smile gone, while Cleek, hurrying through the
crowded court room and passing, by the sheer power of his name, the
various court officials who would have stopped him, stopped only as he
reached the space before the judge's bench. Already the jury were filing
in, one by one, and taking their seats. The black cap lay beside Mr.
Justice Grainger's spectacles, a sinister emblem, having its response in
the white-faced man who stood in the dock, awaiting the verdict upon his
life.

Cleek saw it all in one glance, and then spoke.

"Your Lordship," he said, addressing the judge, who looked at him with
raised eyebrows, "may I address the court?" The barristers arose,
scandalized at the interruption, knowing not whether advantage for
prosecution or defence lay in what this man had to say. The clerk of the
court stood aghast ready to order the court officers to eject the
interloper who dared interrupt the course of the majestic law. All stood
poised for a breathless moment, held in check by the power of the man
Cleek, or by uncertainty as to the action of the judge.

A tense pause, and then the court broke the silence, "You may speak."

"Your Lordship, may it please the court," said Cleek, "I have evidence
here which will save this man's life. I demand to show it to the court."

The barristers, held in check by the stern practice of the English law,
which, unlike American practice does not allow counsel to becloud the
issue with objection and technical argument, remained motionless. They
knew Cleek, and knew that here was the crisis of the case they had
presented so learnedly.

"This is an unusual occurrence, sir," at last spoke the judge, "and you
are distinctly late. The jury has returned and the foreman is about to
pronounce the verdict. What is it you have to say, sir?"

"Your Lordship, it is simply this." Cleek threw back his head. "The
prisoner at bar--" He pointed to Merriton, who at the first sound of
Cleek's voice had spun round, a sudden hope finding birth in his dull
eyes, "is _innocent_! I have absolute proof. Also--" He switched round
upon his heel and surveyed the court room, "I beg of your Lordship that
you will immediately give orders for no person to leave this court. The
instigator of the crime is before my eyes. Perhaps you do not know me,
but I have been at work upon this case for some time, and am a colleague
of Mr. Narkom of Scotland Yard. My name is--Cleek--Hamilton Cleek. I
have your permission to continue?"

A murmur went up round the crowded court room. The judge nodded. He
needed no introduction to Cleek.

"The gentlemen of the jury will be seated," declared the court, "the
clerk will call Hamilton Cleek as a witness."

This formality accomplished, the judge indicated that he, himself, would
question this crucial eleventh-hour witness.

"Mr. Cleek," he began, "you say this man is innocent. We will hear your
story."

Cleek motioned to Dollops, who stood at the back of the court, and
instantly the lad pushed his way through the crowd to his master's side,
carrying the long, ungainly burden in his arms. Meanwhile, at the back of
the room a commotion had occurred. The magic name of that most magical of
men--Hamilton Cleek, detective--had wrought what Cleek had known it
would. Someone was pushing for the door with all the strength that was in
him, but already the key had turned, and Hammond, as guardian, held up
his hand.

Cleek knew--but for the time said nothing--and the crowd had hidden
whoever it was from the common view. He simply motioned Dollops to lay
his burden upon the table, and then spoke once more.

"M' Lud," he said clearly, "may I ask a favour of the court? I
should be obliged if you would call every witness in this matter
here--simultaneously. Set them out in a row, if you will, but call
them _now_.... Thanks."

The judge motioned to the clerk, and through the hushed silence of
the court the dull voice droned out: "Anthony West, William Borkins,
Lester Stark, Gustave Brellier, Miss Antoinette Brellier, Doctor
Bartholomew...." And so on through the whole list. As each name was
called the owner of it came forward and stood in front of the judge's
high desk.

"A most unusual proceeding, sir," said that worthy, again settling the
spectacles upon his nose and frowning down at Cleek; "but, knowing who
you are--"

"I appreciate you Lordship's kindness. Now then, all there?" Cleek
whirled suddenly, and surveyed the strange line. "That's good. And at
least every one of them is _here_. No chance of slipping away now. Now
for it."

He turned back to the table with something of suppressed eagerness in his
movements, and a low murmur of excitement went up round the crowded
courtroom. Rapidly he tore off the wrappings from the long, snake-like
bundle, and held one of the objects up to view.

"Allow me to draw your attention to this," he said, in a loud, clear
voice, every note of which carried to the back of the long room. "This,
as you possibly know, sir, is a piece of electric tubing made for the
express purpose of conveying safely delicate electric wirings that are
used for installations, so that they may not be damaged in transit from
the factory to--the agent who sells them. You would like to see the
wirings, I know--" For answer he whipped open the joints of one of the
tubes, set it upon end, and--from inside the narrow casing came a perfect
shower of golden sovereigns clattering to the floor and across the table
in front of the astonished clerk's eyes.

The judge sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes.

"God bless my soul!" he began, and then subsided into silence. The
eyes of young Sir Nigel Merriton nearly leapt from their sockets with
astonishment; and every man in the crowd was gaping.

Cleek laughed.

"Rather of a surprise, I must admit; isn't it?" he said, with a slight
shrug of the shoulders. "And no doubt you're wondering what all this has
to do with the case in hand. Well, that'll come along all in good time.
Golden sovereigns, you see, carefully stacked up to fill the little
tubing to its capacity--and thousands of 'em done the same, too! There's
a perfect fortune down there in that factory at Saltfleet! Mr. Narkom,"
he turned round and surveyed the Superintendent with mirthful eyes, "what
about these bank robberies now, eh? I told you something would crop up.
You see it has. We've discovered the hiding-place of the gold--and the
prime leader in the whole distressing affair. The rest ought to be easy."
He whipped round suddenly toward the line of witnesses, letting his eyes
travel over each face in turn; past Tony West's reddened countenance,
past Dr. Bartholomew's pale intensity, past Borkins, standing very
straight and white and frightened-looking. Then, of a sudden he leapt
forward, his hand clamped down upon someone's shoulder, and his voice
exclaimed triumphantly:

"And here the beauty is!"

Then, before the astonished eyes of the crowd of spectators stood Mr.
Gustave Brellier, writhing and twisting in the clutch of the firm fingers
and spitting forth fury in a Flemish patois that would have struck Cleek
dead on the spot--if words could kill.

A sudden din arose. People pressed forward, the better to see and hear,
exclaiming loudly, condemning, criticising. The judge's frail old hand
brought silence at last, and Antoinette Brellier came forward from her
place and clutched Cleek by the arm.

"It cannot be, Mr.--Cleek!" she said piteously. "I tell you my uncle is
the best of men, truly! He could never have done this thing that you
accuse him of--and--"

"And the worst of devils! That I can thoroughly endorse, my dear young
lady," returned Cleek with a grim laugh. "I am sorry for you--very. But
at least you will have consolation in your future husband's release. That
should compensate you. Here, officer, take hold of this man. We'll get
down to brass tacks now. Take hold of him, and hold him fast, for a more
slippery snake never was created. All right, Sir Nigel; it is all right,
lad. Sit down. This is going to be a long story, but it's got to be told.
Fetch chairs for the witnesses, constable. And don't let any of 'em
go--yet. I want 'em to hear this thing through."

In his quick, easy manner he seemed suddenly to have taken command of the
court. And, knowing that he was Hamilton Cleek, and that Cleek would use
his own methods, or none, Mr. Justice Grainger took the wisest course,
and--let him alone.

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