Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

  III

  Through all the night its best men sought him, its dragnets fished forhim, its tentacles groped into every hole and corner of London in questof him, but sought and fished and groped in vain. They might as wellhave hoped to find last summer's partridges or last winter's snow as anytrace of him. He had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, and noroyal jewels graced the display of Miss Wyvern's wedding gifts on themorrow.

  But it was fruitful of other "gifts," fruitful of an even greatersurprise, that "morrow." For the first time since the day he had givenhis promise, no "souvenir" from "The Man Who Called Himself HamiltonCleek," no part of last night's loot came to Scotland Yard; and it waswhile the evening papers were making screaming "copy" and glaringheadlines out of this that the surprise in question came to pass.

  Miss Wyvern's wedding was over, the day and the bride had gone, and itwas half-past ten at night, when Sir Horace, answering a hurry call fromheadquarters, drove post haste to Superintendent Narkom's private room,and passing in under a red and green lamp which burned over the doorway,entered and met that "surprise."

  Maverick Narkom was there alone, standing beside his desk, with thecurtains of his window drawn and pinned together, and at his elbow anunlighted lamp of violet-coloured glass, standing and lookingthoughtfully down at something which lay before him. He turned as hisvisitor entered and made an open-handed gesture toward it.

  "Look here," he said laconically, "what do you think of this?"

  Sir Horace moved forward and looked; then stopped and gave a sort ofwondering cry. The electric bulbs overhead struck a glare of light downon the surface of the desk, and there, spread out on the shining oak,lay a part of the royal jewels that had been stolen from Wyvern Houselast night.

  "Narkom! You got him, then--got him after all?"

  "No, I did not get him. I doubt if any man could, if he chose not to befound," said Narkom bitterly. "I did not recover these jewels by any actof my own. He sent them to me; gave them up voluntarily."

  "Gave them up? After he had risked so much to get them? God bless mysoul, what a man! Why, there must be quite half here of what he took."

  "There is half--an even half. He sent them to-night, and with them thisletter. Look at it, and you will understand why I sent for you and askedyou to come alone."

  "There's some good in even the devil, I suppose, if one but knows how toreach it and stir it up," Sir Horace read. "I have lived a life of crimefrom my very boyhood because I couldn't help it, because it appealed tome, because I glory in risks and revel in dangers. I never knew where itwould lead me--I never thought, never cared--but I looked into thegateway of heaven last night, and I can't go down the path to hell anylonger. Here is an even half of Miss Wyvern's jewels. If you and herfather would have me hand over the other half to you, and would have'The Vanishing Cracksman' disappear forever, and a useless lifeconverted into a useful one, you have only to say so to make it anaccomplished thing. All I ask in return is your word of honour (to begiven to me by signal) that you will send for Sir Horace Wyvern to be atyour office at eleven o'clock to-night, and that you and he will grantme a private interview unknown to any other living being. A red andgreen lantern hung over the doorway leading to your office will be thesignal that you agree, and a violet light in your window will be thepledge of Sir Horace Wyvern. When these two signals, these two pledges,are given, I shall come in and hand over the remainder of the jewels,and you will have looked for the first time in your life upon the realface of 'The Man Who Calls Himself Hamilton Cleek.'"

  "God bless my soul! What an amazing creature--what an astoundingrequest!" exclaimed Sir Horace, as he laid the letter down. "Willing togive up ?20,000 worth of jewels for the mere sake of a privateinterview! What on earth can be his object? And why should he includeme?"

  "I don't know," said Narkom in reply. "It's worth something, at allevents, to be rid of 'The Vanishing Cracksman' for good and all; and hesays that it rests with us to do that. It's close to eleven now. Shallwe give him the pledge he asks, Sir Horace? My signal is already hungout; shall we agree to the conditions and give him yours?"

  "Yes, yes, by all means," Sir Horace made answer. And lighting theviolet lamp, Narkom flicked open the pinned curtains and set it in thewindow.

  For ten minutes nothing came of it, and the two men, talking in whisperswhile they waited, began to grow nervous. Then somewhere in the distancea clock started striking eleven, and without so much as a warning sound,the door flashed open, flashed shut again, a voice that was undeniablythe voice of breeding and refinement said quietly: "Gentlemen, mycompliments. Here are the diamonds and here am I!" and the figure of aman, faultlessly dressed, faultlessly mannered, with the slim-loinedform, the slim-walled nose, and the clear-cut features of the bornaristocrat, stood in the room.

  His age might lie anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, his eyeswere straight-looking and clear, his fresh, clean-shaven face wasundeniably handsome, and, whatever his origin, whatever his history,there was something about him, in look, in speech, in bearing, thatmutely stood sponsor for the thing called "birth."

  "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Horace, amazed and appalled to findthe reality so widely different from the image he had drawn. "Whatmonstrous juggle is this? Why, man alive, you're a gentleman! Who areyou? What's driven you to a dog's life like this?"

  "A natural bent, perhaps; a supernatural gift, certainly, Sir Horace,"he made reply. "Look here! Could any man resist the temptation to use itwhen he was endowed by Nature with the power to do this?" His featuresseemed to writhe and knot and assume in as many moments a dozendifferent aspects. "I've had the knack of doing that since the hour Icould breathe. Could any man 'go straight' with a fateful gift like thatif the laws of Nature said that he should not?"

  "And do they say that?"

  "That's what I want you to tell me--that's why I have requested thisinterview. I want you to examine me, Sir Horace, to put me through thosetests you use to determine the state of mind of the mentally fit andmentally unfit; I want to know if it is my fault that I am what I am,and if it is myself I have to fight in future, or the devil that liveswithin me. I'm tired of wallowing in the mire. A woman's eyes have litthe way to heaven for me. I want to climb up to her, to win her, to beworthy of her, and to stand beside her in the light."

  "Her? What 'her'?"

  "That's my business, Mr. Narkom, and I'll take no man into my confidenceregarding that."

  "Yes, my friend, but 'Margot'--how about her?"

  "I'm done with her! We broke last night, when I returned and shelearned--never mind what she learned! I'm done with her--done with thelot of them. My life is changed forever."

  "In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?"

  "Cleek--just Cleek; let it go at that," he made reply. "Whether it's myname or not is no man's business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, isno man's business either. Cleek will do--Cleek of the Forty Faces. Nevermind the past; my fight is with the future, and so--examine me, SirHorace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame for what I am."

  Sir Horace did.

  "Absolutely Fate," he said, when, after a long examination, the man putthe question to him again. "It is the criminal brain fully developed,horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a man simplycould not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that.There's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. Youcan't be honest. You can't rise--you never will rise; it's useless tofight against it!"

  "I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!" he criedout vehemently. "There is a way to put such craft and cunning toaccount; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush himunder the weight of his own gifts, and that way I'll take!"

  "Mr. Narkom"--he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his handoutstretched, his eager face aglow--"Mr. Narkom, help me! Take me underyour wing. Give me a start--give me a chance--give me a lift on the wayup!"

  "Good heaven, man, you--you do
n't mean--?"

  "I do--I do! So help me heaven, I do. All my life I've fought againstthe law--now let me switch over and fight with it. I'm tired of beingCleek, the thief; Cleek, the burglar. Make me Cleek, the detective, andlet us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for thepublic good. Will you, Mr. Narkom? Will you?"

  "Will I? Won't I!" said Narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand."Jove! what a detective you will make. Bully boy! Bully boy!"

  "It's a compact, then?"

  "It's a compact--Cleek."

  "Thank you," he said in a choked voice. "You've given me my chance; nowwatch me live up to it. The Vanishing Cracksman has vanished forever,Mr. Narkom, and it's Cleek, the detective--Cleek of the Forty Faces fromthis time on. Now, give me your riddles--I'll solve them one by one."