CHAPTER XXVIII
When, next morning, Major Burnham-Seaforth announced the dilemma inwhich, through his own house being temporarily closed, he found himselfowing to the proposed visit of Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn, son of anold army friend, Zuilika was the first to suggest the very thing he wasfishing for.
"Ah, let him come here, dear friend," she said in that sad, sweetlymodulated voice which so often wrung this susceptible old heart. "Thereis plenty of room!--plenty, alas now--and any friend of yours can onlybe a friend of mine. He will not annoy. Let him come here."
"Yes, let him," supplemented young Burnham-Seaforth, speaking with hiseyes on Senorita Rosario, who seemed nervous and ill-pleased by the newsof the expected arrival. "He won't have to be entertained by us if heonly comes to see the pater; and we can easily crowd him aside if hetries to thrust himself upon us--a fellow with a name like 'Rupert St.Aubyn' is bound to be a silly ass." And when, in the late afternoon,"Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn," in the person of Cleek, arrived with hissnubnosed manservant, a kit-bag, several rugs and a bundle of golfsticks, young Burnham-Seaforth saw no reason to alter that assertion.For, a "silly ass"--albeit an unusually handsome one with his fair,curling hair and his big blonde moustache--he certainly was; a lisping"ha-ha-ing" "don't-cher-knowing" silly ass, whom the presence of ladiesseemed to cover with confusion and drive into a very panic of shyembarrassment.
"_Dios!_ but he is handsome, this big, fair lieutenant!" whispered theSpaniard to young Burnham-Seaforth. "A great, handsome fool--all beautyand no brains, like a doll of wax!" Then she bent over and murmuredsmilingly to Zuilika: "I shall make a bigger nincompoop of this big,fair sap-head than Heaven already has done before he leaves here, justfor the sake of seeing him stammer and blush!"
Only the sad expression of Zuilika's eyes told that she so much asheard, as she rose to greet the visitor. Garbed from head to foot in thedeep violet-coloured stuff which is the mourning of Turkish women, herlittle pointed slippers showing beneath the hem of her frock, and onlyher dark, mournful eyes visible between the top of the shrouding yashmakand the edge of her sequined snood, she made a pathetic picture as shestood there waiting to greet the unknown visitor.
"Sir, you are welcome--you are most welcome," she said in a voice whosemodulations were not lost upon Cleek's ears as he put forth his hand andreceived the tips of her little, henna-stained fingers upon his palm."Peace be with you, who are of his people--he that I loved and mourn!"Then, as if overcome with grief at the recollection of her widowhood,she plucked away her hand, covered her eyes, and moved staggeringly outof the room. And Cleek saw no more of her that day; but he knew when sheperformed her orisons before the mummy case--as she did each morning andevening--by the strong, pungent odour of incense drifting through thehouse and filling it with a sickly scent.
Her absence seemed to make but little impression upon him, however; for,following up a well-defined plan of action, he devoted himself wholly tothe Spanish woman, and both amazed her and gratified her vanity byallowing her to learn that a man may be the silliest ass imaginable andyet quite understand how to flirt and to make love to a woman. And so itfell out that instead of "Lieutenant Rupert St. Aubyn" being elbowed outby young Burnham-Seaforth, it was "Lieutenant St. Aubyn" who elbowed_him_ out; and without being in the least aware of it, the flatteredAnita, like an adroitly hooked trout, was being "played" in and out andround about the eddies and the deeps until the angler had her quiteready for the final dip of the net at the landing point.
All this was to accomplish exactly what it _did_ accomplish, namely, theill temper, the wrath, the angry resentment of young Burnham-Seaforth.And when the evening had passed and bedtime arrived, Cleek took hiscandle and retired in the direction of the rooms set apart for him, withthe certainty of knowing that he had done that which would this verynight prove beyond all question the guilt or innocence of one person atleast who was enmeshed in this mysterious tangle. He was not surprised,therefore, at what followed his next step.
Reaching the upper landing he blew out the light of his candle, slammedthe door to his own room, noisily turned the key, and shot the bolt ofanother, then tiptoed his way back to the staircase and looked down thewell-hole into the lower hall.
Zuilika had retired to her room, the Major had retired to his, and nowAnita was taking up her candle to retire to hers. She had barely touchedit, however, when there came a sound of swift footsteps and youngBurnham-Seaforth lurched out of the drawing-room door and joined her. Hewas in a state of great excitement and was breathing hard.
"Anita--Miss Rosario!" he began, plucking her by the sleeve anduplifting a pale, boyish face--he was not yet twenty-two--to hers with alook of abject misery. "I want to speak to you--I simply must speak toyou. I've been waiting for the chance, and now that it's come--Lookhere! You're not going back on me, are you?"
"Going back on you?" repeated Anita, showing her pretty white teeth inan amused smile. "What shall you mean by that 'going back on you'--eh?You are a stupid little donkey, to be sure. But then I do not care toget on the back of one--so why?"
"Oh, you know very well what I mean," he rapped out angrily. "It is notfair the way you have been treating me ever since that yellow-headedbounder came. I've had a night of misery--Zuilika never showing herself;you doing nothing, absolutely nothing, although you promised--you _know_you did!--and I heard you, I absolutely heard you persuade that St.Aubyn fool to stop at least another night."
"Yes, of course you did. But what of it? He is good company--he talkswell, he sings well, he is very handsome and--well, what difference canit make to you? You are not interested in _me, amigo_?"
"No, no; of course I'm not. You are nothing to me at all--you--Oh, I begyour pardon; I didn't quite mean that. I--I mean you are nothing to mein that way. But you--you're not keeping to your word. You promised, youknow, that you'd use your influence with Zuilika; that you'd get her tobe more kind to me--to see me alone and--and all that sort of thing. Andyou've not made a single attempt--not one. You've just sat round andflirted with that tow-headed brute and done nothing at all to help meon; and--and it's jolly unkind of you, that's what!"
Cleek heard Anita's soft rippling laughter; but he waited to hear nomore. Moving swiftly away from the well-hole of the staircase he passedon tiptoe down the hall to the Major's rooms, and, opening the door,went in. The old soldier was standing, with arms folded, at the windowlooking silently out into the darkness of the night. He turned at thesound of the door's opening and moved toward Cleek with a white,agonised face and a pair of shaking, outstretched hands.
"Well?" he said with a sort of gasp.
"My dear Major," said Cleek quietly. "The wisest of men are sometimesmistaken--that is my excuse for my own short-sightedness. I said in thebeginning that his was either a case of swindling or a case of murder,did I not? Well, I now amend my verdict. It is a case of swindling _and_murder; and your son has had nothing to do with either!"
"Oh, thank God! thank God!" the old man said; then sat down suddenly anddropped his face between his hands and was still for a long time. Whenhe looked up again his eyes were red, but his lips were smiling.
"If you only knew what a relief it is," he said. "If you only knew howmuch I have suffered, Mr. Cleek. His friendship with that Spanish woman;his going with her to identify the body--even assisting in its hurriedburial! These things all seemed so frightfully black--so utterly withoutany explanation other than personal guilt."
"Yet they are all easily explained, Major. His friendship for theSpanish woman is merely due to a promise to intercede for him withZuilika. She is his one aim and object, poor little donkey! As for hisidentification of the body--well, if the widow herself could find pointsof undisputed resemblance, why not he? A nervous, excitable, impetuousboy like that--and anxious, too, that the lady of his heart should befreed from the one thing, the one man, whose existence made hereverlastingly unattainable--why, in the hands of a clever woman likeAnita Rosario such a chap could be made to identify anything and tob
elieve it as religiously as he believes. Now, go to bed and rest easy,Major. I'm going to call up Dollops and do a little night prowling. Ifit turns out as I hope, this little riddle will be solved to-morrow."
"But how, Mr. Cleek? It seems to me that it is as dark as ever. You putmy poor old head in a whirl. You say there is swindling; you hint onemoment that the body was not that of Ulchester, and in the next thatmurder has been done. Do, pray, tell me what it all means--what you makeof this amazing case."
"I'll do that to-morrow, Major; not to-night. The answer to theriddle--the answer that's in my mind, I mean--is at once so simple andyet so appallingly awful that I'll hazard no guess until I'm sure. Lookhere"--he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gold piece--"doyou know what that is, Major?"
"It looks like a spade guinea, Mr. Cleek."
"Right; it is a spade guinea--a pocket piece I've carried for years.You've heard, no doubt, of vital things turning upon the tossing of acoin. Well, if you see me toss this coin to-morrow, something of thatsort will occur. It will be tossed up in the midst of a riddle, Major;when it comes down it will be a riddle no longer."
Then he opened the door, closed it after him, and, before the Majorcould utter a word, was gone.