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CHAPTER XXVIII
THE SECRET OF THE SINGING WHEEL
The scene that followed this startling announcement can well be imagined rather than described. For even as the man stood glowering at them, his mouth muttering the curses that his heart held, came a new diversion from another quarter. For Catherine Dowd had called out sharply, "Quick! quick! some smelling-salts here – and brandy!" and as the women of the party endeavoured to produce one item, while the men more successfully produced the other, it was seen that Johanna McCall was the object of this aid, for she half-lay, half-sprawled upon the floor, mouth open, face twitching, eyes already glazing over, and the white froth forming about her pale lips.
Cleek leaned down and lifted her head in his uninjured arm; and looked down into her upthrown ghastly face.
"Gad!" he said under his breath, "and now the other one – self-confessed! Who'd have thought it? – who, indeed? And for what reason, I wonder?"
"For him – for Ross – for the man I love," the pale lips framed the words brokenly as the strength of the girl sagged and ebbed slowly away. "He would have disinherited him – disinherited Ross, turned him out – penniless! Cruel – wicked – I stabbed him with – the stiletto – the light went out – caught it off the table – wiped it on her dress – must have been mad – mad – but you can't get me. It's poison – arsenic. I had it ready. And I needn't have done it – after all!"
Then she sighed a little, opened her eyes suddenly and closed them again, and then slumped forward in Cleek's arms – dead.
Cleek caught at a cushion, pushed it under the sagging head, slipped his own arm out from under it, and got slowly to his feet. His face was pale, his lips set.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said quietly, pointing a hand at the still figure, so pitifully small and childlike, huddled together upon the floor, "the other – murderer. Poor, misguided little creature! Of such folly can Love only be held to blame. A hopeless passion, a breaking heart, a suddenly maddening resolution made and carried out in a red-hot moment, and – another soul gone to meet its Maker with the red blot of death upon it. Tragic, is it not?.. Lady Paula, take a seat. There is so much more to tell, and this has slightly precipitated matters. Tavish, my friend, you will do better not to glower and struggle like that. The Law has you, and the Law will make you pay– in spite of all your efforts to fix the blame upon someone else. I think, my friends, if we might adjourn to the drawing-room, the rest of the riddle would make easier and better telling. It is hardly fitting – here and now."
"You're right, Mr. Deland, perfectly right," threw in Ross at this juncture, jumping to his feet and catching his fiancée by the arm. "Come, all of you. Out of this room and into the next. I want to hear the end of the tangle, Mr. Deland, and find exactly how you implicated me."
Cleek looked up suddenly with a slight smile.
"Not Deland, my friend, just Cleek – Cleek of Scotland Yard, at your service," he made reply smoothly, smiling at the amazed faces which greeted this statement. "So you see, Tavish, you had greater odds against you than you knew. We'll have your other prisoner, please, Constable. The worthy Antoni Matei shall tell us something before the day is out. Of that I am certain. And I have promised him a good price for his loose tongue. Tavish, never trust a lying comrade. This is the friend who saw you through – and then split afterward upon you. Choose birds of another colour next time you practise such tricks – only, I'm afraid it is a trifle late to start new methods —now."
Speaking, he passed out of that tragic room, waving his hand with a gesture which was almost theatrical to the others to follow him, and when they were all assembled around him in the drawing-room, went on with his amazing story.
"You want to hear the whole story from start to finish? Well, it will make long telling, I'm afraid," he said, as Maud Duggan put the question, glancing a trifle anxiously at the slumped figure of the Italian which stood manacled between two burly constables, waiting his turn to speak up and tell what he knew. "To begin with, I must confess I was a little mistaken in my calculations. To begin with. Circumstantial evidence does not always prove guilt, Miss Duggan, although it's generally a good pointer in a broad way. And your brother had many pieces of evidence against him. That bit of red flexible electric wire, you know, that I picked up in the library that first day you showed me around. I admit I thought it belonged to him, particularly when young Cyril here told such an excellent story of how Sir Ross (I must give you your proper title, you know!) wired the room temporarily, just to show James Tavish how it could be done. But it didn't, you see. That fragment was found in Tavish's own bedroom. Then, when I went down into the dungeons, I discovered – something else."
His hand dived into his pocket and brought forth a crumpled handkerchief, slightly bloodstained, and handed it to her. "Can you identify that?"
She looked up, startled.
"Of course. It's yours, Ross, isn't it? See, here are your initials. And yet you found it down there – with something else, Mr. – Cleek?"
"I certainly did, my dear young lady. With a syphon of soda, a tumbler and a bottle that smelt of very good raw whisky. Rather strong for my liking, but still – we'll let that pass for the present. I'll have something to say about that later which may interest you, Mr. Narkom. I found it there – and, as you say, I found something else, too. And when I saw the initials I naturally thought of your brother – which just goes to prove that human nature is apt to make mistakes, even when it thinks itself pretty expert upon certain subjects. As a matter of fact, Miss McCall had borrowed that handkerchief – she supervises the laundering, you told me, Miss Duggan – for James Tavish when he cut his finger, and he had never given it back, obviously. When I discovered that, that was the first pointer in his direction. The others followed fairly rapidly… Then the air-pistol, you know. You yourself told me your brother had one – and then regretted the telling afterward, like every loving and foolish woman who wants to preserve her kin from possible blame, even in the face of her own suspicions. That was Number Two against him. Number Three came from this young lady here – Miss Dowd – who brought me the stiletto that had been used to stab your poor father, and admitted, strictly against all her scruples, that, as far as she knew, it had been last used by Sir Ross to cut the edges of a book upon Poisons which he had been reading. I don't much admire your taste in literature, Sir Ross, but that is hardly to do with me. A man can choose his own companions and his own library, thank God, although Life itself chooses almost everything else for him. But I must confess that the spinning wheel got me guessing, as our American cousins say. I've Mr. Narkom to thank for that discovery. And he made it in rather a remarkable way. Leaned against the wheel and experienced a slight shock. After that, the thing was as easy as A. B. C. We simply traced the wiring to the window-sill, where we discovered a switch hidden in the ivy, turned it on, and – there you were! I nearly got potted by the devilish contrivance myself, only some sixth sense told me to get out of the way in time. But the aim was amazingly accurate. The second bullet fell a matter of half an inch below the first. A perfect marvel of ingenuity, contrived by a man who had obviously made electricity his study for years – in spite of his confessed ignorance of it. Worked out to a nicety. The failing lights were his idea also, and quite simple to manage, really. The drumming dynamo made a very good imitation of the 'singing of the wheel,' in accordance with the old story. And a less enlightened household than yours, Sir Ross, might have put all sorts of constructions upon that – except, of course, the right one… That, my friends, was how the diabolical thing was done."
For a moment a silence held, fraught with mute astonishment; then exclamations of amazement fell from every one of that little company, and Ross Duggan was just about to speak when Lady Paula broke hurriedly in.
"And my brother? – my poor unfortunate brother?" cried she in a wrung voice. "He had no share in the crime, I'll swear it, Mr. Cleek. Even your magic cannot prove that."
"Not in the crime actually, Lady Paula, but in – other things," he replied a trifle grimly, glancing again at the flushed face of the prisoner. "For as a blackmailer I fancy he is something of an artist. That fact you already know – to your cost, I fancy. And I think I'm not wrong in saying that it was he who suggested to you the stealing of the will and – "
"I begged him not to, Mr. Cleek! I implored. I did – I swear it. And I never stole the will, that I can promise!" she broke in distractedly, beating her hands together. "Antoni suggested – yes – he wished to destroy it, so that my share of the estate might be greater as widow than that which had been apportioned to me, and of course he would have a portion of that, too. But I implored him not – that is true, is it not, Antoni? You can answer to that? I begged you, and you promised! And he threatened me even with exposure if I did not agree to the preposterous idea! I complied, only upon the promise that it should not be destroyed. But who took it I do not know."
"But I think I can pretty well guess," responded Cleek serenely, with a quick look at Cyril's suddenly flushed face. "Your son, Lady Paula, has much of his uncle's blood in his veins. And he acted, no doubt, upon forceful advice, and carried the thing through quite successfully. Perhaps he will tell us just when he decided to steal his own father's will – at the instigation of an unscrupulous relation."
Came a slight pause in the telling, meanwhile a startled exclamation broke from Ross Duggan's lips, while every eye in that little assembly fastened upon the unfortunate boy. He broke into quiet sobbing, darting his eyes here and there for possible sympathy.
"Yes, I took it, sir – when Uncle Antoni told me," he broke out between sobs. "It was – just after it had happened. I heard Mother's scream, and then she ran into my room and told me of – the dreadful thing that had happened! About half an hour afterward Uncle Antoni appeared at the balcony which opens out from my bedroom window, and told me I must steal the will for him. I was terrified – oh, I was! – but he threatened me with – with a pistol – "
"That's a lie!" gave out the prisoner with a maledictory eye upon his unfilial nephew.
"It isn't – it isn't! You told me to get it – just how to get it. That it was lying upon the table-top; and so I slipped down in my stockinged feet, and waited in the passage until I saw Ross slip out of the room after everyone else had gone back to bed, and – and you had come out, Mr. Cleek, and were talking to Maud in the ante-room. So I crept into the room – oh, it was dreadful, with Father lying there – like that – snatched it up and fled back to my bedroom in terror. Uncle Antoni was still waiting on the balcony, and when he got it he climbed down the balustrade again and – and – that is all I know. Oh, I wish – I wish I'd never had anything to do with it!"
Cleek nodded.
"I'm sure you do," he said quietly. "So it was really not your fault, Cyril. You acted under considerable pressure. That I'll admit. But it might have been better if you had confided in – someone else after the deed was done. It would have helped clear up the mystery sooner, at any rate. But that cannot be helped now. To proceed with the story. Here, by the way, is the missing will, Lady Paula. I found it muffling the clapper of Rhea's bell – a very ingenious hiding-place – and in the finding discovered your – er – worthy brother at the same time. That was how I happened to get hold of him. He gave me a few tips of quite useful information afterward, upon promise of a light sentence, and helped to lead me finally to the true murderer. So we will hold that in his favour, at any rate. Sir Ross, I'd prefer you to keep that document until it can be placed in the hands of your family lawyer. We don't want any more disappearing tricks for the present, do we?"
"Hardly. Gad! it's amazing, positively extraordinary how you've found all this out!" threw in that gentleman with deep emphasis. "Please accept my apologies now for those unforgivable things I said to you, Mr. Cleek. But when a chap's just been practically accused of killing his own father – "
"You must expect a little heat. That's all right, my friend. Don't bother about it further. Only, I was obliged to throw the scent upon someone other than the real man – or we'd have lost him. You understand that, of course?"
"Certainly. Only tell us how you traced the murder to its proper source, and why James Tavish should have done such a thing."
"That I will, and in the shortest way possible. But you must let me tell my story in my own particular manner," replied Cleek, with a slight smile and a warmth of feeling toward this very impetuous and generous-hearted young man. "There's still a good deal to be cleared up before you can understand, and I'm afraid some of it won't make particularly good hearing. But that I cannot help. Men are frail things, Sir Ross, where temptation is concerned. And when there is a pretty woman in the question … it's all right, Lady Paula; it all happened long before you entered your husband's life, so that there is nothing for you to forgive – but, as I say, when a pretty woman enters at one door, a man's discretion very often flies out at another.
"I found, among other things yesterday, when I was looking for the will in your father's desk, after having appropriated his keys first, a bundle of old love-letters, written upon paper which I ascertained had been bought in the village, and bearing a post-mark which was local, and signed with the name 'Jeannette.' I confess I did not know just where these entered into the case at all, but something told me that they were a big factor. My intuition – policeman's sixth sense – call it what you will. I looked into the matter, and then discovered, after some probing through my man Dollops (who, by the way, Mr. Narkom, deserves high commendation in this case), that they were actually written by James Tavish's sister, Jeannette, and that – to put it baldly, for which I trust you will forgive me – that your father had been carrying on a secret liaison with this girl for some years, upon promise of marriage, and had, in fact, got her into very unfortunate trouble."
"But he never married her – he married me– I am his legal wife, I swear that!" struck in Lady Paula, in a high-pitched, terrified voice. "I knew nothing of this woman at all – everything in our marriage was in order – "
"Of that there is not the smallest doubt, Lady Paula," returned Cleek gravely. "I said only 'under promise of marriage.' That is where man is unfortunately so unfaithful. He merely left her to bear her trouble alone – after, of course, providing for her and the possible issue of their unhappy union – and, being a faithful woman, it broke her heart, and both she and her child died as a consequence of this neglect. When the wish to live is gone, there is little else to bind one to this earth at such times, my friends, and so she and her unwanted little one passed out to a happier realm. Much of this I have gleaned from those same letters; much I have deduced in the natural course of events. The final clue was discovered in James Tavish's own room, where this photograph, bearing the date of her death and that of her child, and having one word written across the face of it, was discovered in a box on his dressing-table."
He handed the piece of pictured pasteboard across to each of them in turn, watching their faces to see the effect of it upon them individually. Mute astonishment, dull grief showed in Ross and Maud Duggan's eyes as they looked upon it. It was as though they had discovered suddenly that their idol had feet of clay. For across the front of the pictured face was written one word in heavy black scrawl, and the word was "Avenged!"
CHAPTER XXIX
"AS A TALE THAT WAS TOLD"
"My God!" It was Ross Duggan who spoke. "Just to think of it! Just to think! That my father – "
"Don't forget he's dead, Ross, and beyond all chance of your remonstrating with him, and that the dead cannot speak up for themselves!" cried Maud Duggan, in a wrung voice. "Don't say anything you will be sorry for, I beg of you! Mr. Cleek, this has come as something in the nature of a shock to my brother and me, and – and it's going to take some time to let this part of your story sink in. It seems dreadful that one's own father…"
"And yet there are many who have done worse – far worse," threw in Cleek, with uplifted hand, as she paused and looked at him out of anguished eyes. "Youth must learn to forgive, Miss Duggan. That is a lesson which both you and your brother have got to learn, and don't forget, will you, in the learning, that this thing took place more than seventeen years ago – before your father was married to his present wife. Raking up dead ashes is a poor sort of game, and an unprofitable one. I would never have spoken only that therein lay the motive of James Tavish's crime, and for seventeen long years he has worked for it. The unutterable patience of the man! the appalling sense of revenge! For at the end of that time his bitterness to the man who had wronged his sister was even greater than when the thing itself took place. How long has he been in your father's employ?"
"Twelve years."
"And I take it he was well known locally before that?"
"The family was certainly an old local one, Mr. Cleek, and, in fact, I have heard the story go that they were descendants of the original Peasant Girl on her mother's side."
"Oho! Well, that may or may not be. Vendettas are not only carried out in southern climes, Miss Duggan. I've learned that lesson to my cost many times since I took up this profession. And the Scotch temperament is a dour one, and not forgiving. A grudge is a grudge, even if it lasts through several centuries – and who knows but that this belief lent colour to his hatred of your father? At any rate, whether it is true or not, James Tavish killed Sir Andrew because he was the betrayer of his sister – and took seventeen years to bring his vengeance to full maturity. Gad! what a character to bear! It makes one's blood run cold!.. Constables, I think you may remove your prisoner now to the nearest lock-up. We've done with him for the present, thanks."
So saying, he waved his hand toward the door, opened it, and waited until the little cavalcade had taken its dismissal; meanwhile those within the room of that house of discord sat silent as dead people, thinking back over the doings of seventeen years ago, and of a dead man who had betrayed an innocent woman. It was an unpleasant thought at best. They were glad when Cleek came back into the room, closed the door, and took his seat among them again. His pleasant voice dispelled the repellent weavings of their own brains.
"And now," said he, "to continue with our story. It is nearly done, but there are points which I know each one of you would like to have cleared up before I take my leave. What's that, Lady Paula? How did I come to suspect your brother in the first place? Ah, that involves a long story with which I will not bore you, for you have had enough already of this distressing affair, I'm sure. Only this: That I happened to go up into your boudoir yesterday, when you were making your way up the Great Free Road" – he paused a moment as she coloured, and gave a significant smile. "You see, I know more than I tell, eh? Well, I discovered a note screwed up on the floor, and signed 'A. M.' Antoni Matei, we now know it was. Once I suspected Captain Macdonald – simply because the footprints outside of the window of the library were made by his hunting-boots – discovered afterward by my man, mud-caked and hidden in some shrubs near Tavish's cottage. Which leads me, Miss Duggan, to that very particular point of the size of the gentleman's boots. You remember? I won't call that incident to your mind further. Only – you were a little mistaken, that's all. But let that pass. Every woman acts upon the dictates of her own heart, and if those dictates are a trifle mistaken – yes, that was how I found out, Lady Paula. After seeing Captain Macdonald's handwriting I knew that he had not written that note. A further investigation upon the part of my lad Dollops and myself last night led to the elucidation of who it was who had written it. Your brother himself disclosed his relation to you last night, after we had our talk in the village lock-up. After that, the thing was as easy as A B C.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Duggan? And where exactly did Captain Macdonald come in! Why, when one meets a man running agitatedly away from the particular part of the Castle where the crime had taken place – and just after it – one is inclined to be a little suspicious of that man. It is only natural. Though, thank Heaven, my suspicions were soon quieted, after I discovered that your gallant Captain had really come into the grounds – with your having left the gate ajar for him so that Rhea's bell would not sound – to meet you clandestinely, as he had been forbidden the house. Love will always find a way, you know. Only, it was unfortunate at the time that he should have chosen that night of all others to have come to meet you. You knew of the crime, then, Captain? Or what was it that sent you pelting away so hard from the house that held your affianced bride?"
"Simply because I had heard a woman's scream, had seen the lights all over the Castle switch up, and did not want my meeting with Maud to be discovered – lest a more certain means should be taken to keep us apart ever afterward," returned the Captain, a trifle heatedly. "And I must confess that I was a bit nonplussed and – and angered when you mistook me for a murderer and held me under suspicion."
"For which you might readily give your apology, as a better mannered man has already done," apostrophized Cleek inwardly. "Still, we can't help a man's nature, and he seems a likely enough chap, as men go. And she loves him. And it's no affair of mine as to how he behaves himself – so long as he was not the guilty party." Then, aloud, "I see. Well, Miss Duggan will explain to you how your hunting-boots came to be here, and to lead to your being suspected along with the other. Just ask her afterward – eh, Miss Duggan? And love her still more for her womanly sentiment, if I may be permitted to tender any advice.
"I think that is really all. Only, I should like just a word with Sir Ross and Cyril alone, if I may be granted the favour? And then I must be going. Mr. Narkom and I have other affairs to attend to in this neighbourhood which are very pressing and will want a lot of careful handling to bring home to their proper destination… Thanks very much."
He got to his feet instantly as the women arose, followed by Captain Macdonald, and quietly left the room. Only Sir Ross, Cyril, and Mr. Narkom remained. As the door closed behind them, Ross Duggan spoke up.
"What is it that you wish to say, Mr. Cleek?" he said quietly. "I'll be glad if you will go easy with Cyril. He's not a bad boy, you know. Only a trifle misguided, and I shall make it my duty in future to keep a sharper eye upon him. The boy has had no other companions but his books of adventure and his own imagination."
"And a very unfortunate mess those two things have made of him," returned Cleek quietly, crossing over and laying a hand along Cyril's shoulder. "School, and boarding-school, is the best place for him, my friend, and good healthy companionship with others of his own age. It's just the devil of that reading which made him act as he did. I found him out, late last night in company with his uncle, doing some very nefarious work on the hillside below here."
"What?"
"Gently, gently, my friend. Don't forget, will you, that Cyril has not been given the same chances as other boys. And his is an active brain. The work in question was illicit whisky-stills – in fact, the very thing for which I originally came down here, Mr. Narkom. James Tavish and Antoni Matei and Cyril have all had a hand in it. And the still itself, you will find, if you go down to your own dungeon, Sir Ross, to where the Peasant Girl is supposed to have her haunts o' nights."
"Cinnamon! Cleek!"
"Yes – and, by James! Mr. Narkom. And that's the actual truth, too. I discovered it first of all. A little looking on the part of Dollops and me brought the thing to light, through a susceptible maid-servant at present in your employ, Sir Ross. She fell for my Cockney lad's 'ginger 'air.' And he made use of his opportunity. And it was then – even as late as last night – that my suspicions were finally pinned upon James Tavish as the murderer of your father. For I saw him, in company with the Dago, wearing your tweed coat, which I noted hanging on a hook in the passage earlier in the day, and had even seen you wearing during the morning, before you changed into that dark suit yesterday afternoon – and if it hadn't been for me that same tweed coat might have led you into some rather unfortunate feminine revelations from one of the ladies who are at present in your house. But let that pass… Mr. Narkom, we must go. There's a gang to be rounded up, and unfortunately, through a foolish woman, some inkling of our presence here has become known, and it will take us all our time to trace the rest of the participants in this pleasant affair before they have had time to show nothing more than a very clean pair of heels for our benefit. We must be making tracks. Sir Ross, take an older fellow's advice and fight for that boy's rights to go to a decent English school. I've no doubt that the house will be divided now, since these revelations have been made. One could hardly go on living with a woman for a stepmother who – who had even contemplated such things, although she did it for the benefit of her own boy. But – fight for him. And get him away from – unfortunate influence if you can. Or you'll be losing for the Empire an otherwise good little citizen. There's no doubt about the presence of the uncle now – with that whisky-still business on hand, and that's what brought the two men together, no doubt. But get this boy clear of it all. Try a public school where his moral outlook will be as well cared for as his physical, and – get him there quick.
"Good-bye, Cyril – shake hands, won't you? And you might write a line to me now and then, to let me know how you're getting on. I'd have had a boy of your age myself, no doubt, if – if I hadn't made a fool of myself earlier in life, and I've got to make up for it now. But it makes me rather soft for youngsters. Good-bye, Sir Ross, and good luck. Clear out of this ill-fated inheritance for a time, until things blow over. You'll find there'll be a different aspect of affairs when you come back with your vision cleared. Mr. Narkom, come along. At least we've beaten the Coroner at his own business, and that's always a feather in a policeman's cap, eh, old friend?"
And, so speaking, he passed out of that house of discord, which, however, he was to visit later, many times, as friend and confidant of the new owner of it, out into the clear sunshine of an early noon, and the paths that lay ahead.
