CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MYSTERY OF THE "ROPE OF FEAR"
"Let's hope we have a few weeks' peace," said Cleek with a littlegesture of weariness as the car drew up at his lodging, and he tookleave of Mr. Narkom.
But his hope was not to be realized. In fact, no sooner was Mr. Narkomback at the Yard, than Cleek's telephone was ringing and he was beinggiven the details of as complicated a business as the Yard had evertackled.
He groaned in spirit, but promised to be right over as soon as he hadhad some food and a chance "at least to change my collar."
This last had been added in a doleful voice when the Superintendent hadgiven him the news that this new case was to take them to the end,nearly, of England--to Westmoreland.
If you know anything of the county of Westmoreland you will know thechief market-town of Merton Sheppard, and if you know Merton Sheppard,you will know there is only one important building in that town besidesthe massive Town Hall, and that building is the Westmoreland UnionBank--a private concern, well backed by every wealthy magnate in thesurrounding district, and patronized by everyone from the highest to thelowest degree.
Anybody will point the building out to you, because of its imposingexterior, and because everyone in the whole county brings his money toMr. Naylor-Brent, to do with it what he wills. For Mr. Naylor-Brent isthe manager, and besides being known far and wide for his integrity, hisuprightness of purpose, and his strict sense of justice, he acts to thepoorer inhabitants of Merton Sheppard as a sort of father-confessor inall their troubles, both of a social and a financial character.
That afternoon, while Mr. Narkom and his ally were being borne swiftly,if somewhat reluctantly, toward him, Mr. Naylor-Brent was pacing thenarrow confines of his handsomely appointed room in the bank, visiblydisturbed. That he was awaiting the arrival of someone was evident byhis frequent glance at the marble clock which stood on the mantelshelfand which bore across its base a silver plate upon which were inscribedthe names of fifteen or more "grateful customers" whose money had passedsuccessfully through his managerial hands.
At length the door opened, after a discreet knock upon its oaken panels,and an old, bent, and almost decrepit clerk ushered in the portly figureof Mr. Narkom, followed by a heavily built, dull-looking person in navyblue.
Mr. Naylor-Brent's good-looking rugged face took on an expression of thekeenest relief.
"Mr. Narkom himself! This is indeed more than I expected!" he said withextended hand. "We had the pleasure of meeting once in London, someyears ago. Perhaps you have forgotten----?"
Mr. Narkom's bland face wrinkled into a smile of appreciation.
"Oh, no, I haven't," he returned, pleasantly. "I remember quitedistinctly. I decided to answer your wire in person, and bring with meone of my best men--friend and colleague you know--Mr. George Headland."
"Pleased to meet you, sir. And if you'll both sit down we can go intothe matter at once. That's a comfortable chair over there, Mr.Headland."
They seated themselves, and Mr. Narkom, clearing his throat, proceededin his usual official manner to "take the floor."
"I understand from headquarters," said he, "that you have had anexceptionally large deposit of banknotes sent up from London forpayments in connection with your new canal. Isn't that so, Mr. Brent? Itrust the trouble you mentioned in your telegram has nothing to do withthis money."
Mr. Naylor-Brent's face paled considerably, and his voice had an anxiousnote in it when he spoke.
"Gad, sir, but it has!" he ejaculated. "That's the trouble itself. Everysingle banknote is gone--L200,000 is gone and not a trace of it! Heavenonly knows what I'm going to do about it, Mr. Narkom, but that's how thematter stands. Every penny is _gone_!"
"Gone!"
Mr. Narkom drew out a red silk handkerchief and wiped his foreheadvigorously--a sure sign of nervous excitement--while Mr. Headlandexclaimed loudly, "Well, I'm hanged!"
"Someone certainly will be," rapped out Mr. Brent, sharply. "For notonly have the notes vanished, but I've lost the best night-watchman Iever had, a good, trustworthy man----"
"Lost him?" put in Mr. Headland, curiously. "What exactly do you mean bythat, Mr. Brent? Did he vanish with the notes?"
"What? Will Simmons! Never in this world! He's not that kind. The manthat offered Will Simmons a bribe to betray his trust would answer forit with his life. A more faithful servant or better fellow never drewbreath. No, it's dead he is, Mr. Headland, and--I can hardly speak of ityet! I feel so much to blame for putting him on the job at all, but yousee we've had a regular series of petty thefts lately: small sums unableto be accounted for, safes opened in the most mysterious manner, andmoney abstracted--though never any large sums, fortunately--even theclerks' coats have not been left untouched. I have had a constant watchkept but all in vain. So, naturally, when this big deposit came to handon Tuesday morning, I determined that special precautions should betaken at night, and put poor old Simmons down in the vault with thebank's watchdog for company. That was the last time I saw him alive! Hewas found writhing in convulsions, and by the time the doctor arrivedupon the scene, he was dead; the safe was found open, and every note was_gone_!"
"Bad business, indeed!" declared Mr. Headland, with a shake of the head."No idea as to the cause of death, Mr. Brent? What was the doctor'sverdict?"
Mr. Naylor-Brent's face clouded.
"That's the very dickens of it. He didn't quite know. Said it wasevidently a case of poisoning, but was unable to decide further, or tofind out what sort of poison, if any, had been used."
"H'm. I see. And what did the local police say? Have they found anyclues yet?"
The manager flushed, and he gave vent to a forced laugh.
"As a matter of fact," he responded, "the local police know nothingabout it. I have kept the loss an entire secret until I could call inthe help of Scotland Yard."
"A secret, Mr. Brent, with _such_ a loss!" ejaculated Mr. Narkom."That's surely an unusual course to pursue. When a bank loses such alarge sum of money, and in banknotes--the most easily handled commodityin the world--and in addition a mysterious murder takes place, one wouldnaturally expect that the first act would be to call in the officers ofthe law, that is--unless--I see----"
"Well, it's more than I do!" responded Mr. Brent, sadly. "Do you see anylight, however?"
"Hardly that. But it stands to reason that if you are prepared to makegood the loss--a course to which there seems no alternative--there is anobvious possibility that you yourself have some faint idea as to who thecriminal is, and are anxious that your suspicions should not beverified."
Mr. Headland (otherwise Cleek) looked at his friend with considerableadmiration shining in his eyes. "Beginning to use his old head at last!"he thought as he watched the Superintendent's keen face. And then aloud,"Exactly my thought, Mr. Narkom. Perhaps Mr. Brent could enlighten us asto his suspicions, for I'm positive that he has some tucked awaysomewhere in his mind."
"Jove, if you're not almost supernatural, Mr. Headland!" returned thatgentleman with a heavy sigh. "You have certainly unearthed somethingwhich I thought was hidden only in my own soul. That is exactly thereason I have kept silent; my suspicions, were I to voice them,might--er--drag the person accused still deeper into the mire of his ownfoolishness. There's Patterson, for instance, he would arrest him onsight without the slightest compunction."
"Patterson?" threw in Cleek, quickly. "Patterson--the name's familiar.Don't suppose, though, that it would be the same one--it is a commonenough name. Company promoter who made a pile on copper the first yearof the war, and retired with 'the swag'--to put it brutally. 'Tisn'tthat chap, I suppose?"
"The identical man!" returned Mr. Brent, excitedly. "He came here somefive years ago, bought up Mount Morris Court--a fine place having a viewof the whole town--and he has lately started to run an opposition bankto ours, doing everything in his power to overthrow my position here.It's--it's spite, I believe, against myself as well as George. The youngfool had the impudence to ask his dau
ghter's hand, and what was more,ran off with her and they were married, which increased Patterson'shatred of us both almost to insanity."
"H'm. I see," said Cleek. "Who is George?"
"George Barrington, my stepson, Mr. Headland; unfortunately for me, mylate wife's boy by her first marriage. I have to admit it, regretfullyenough, he was the cause of his mother's death. He literally broke herheart by his wild living, and I was only too glad to give him a smallallowance--which, however, helped him with his unhappy marriage--andhoped to see the last of him."
Cleek twitched up an inquiring eyebrow.
"Unhappy, Mr. Brent?" he queried. "But I understood from you a momentago that it was a love match."
"In the beginning it was purely a question of love, Mr. Headland,"responded the manager, gravely. "But as you know, when poverty comes inat the door, love sometimes flies out of the window, and from allaccounts, the former Miss Patterson never ceases to regret the day shebecame Mrs. George Barrington. George has been hanging about here thislast week or two, and I noticed him trying to renew acquaintance withold Simmons only a day or two ago in the bar of the Rose and Anchor.He--he was also seen prowling round the bank on Tuesday night. So nowyou know why I was loath to set the ball rolling; old man Pattersonwould lift the sky to get the chance to have that young wasterimprisoned, to say nothing of defaming my personal character at the sametime.
"Sooner than that I must endeavour to raise sufficient money by privatemeans to replace the notes--but the death of old Simmons is, of course,another matter. His murderer must and shall be brought to justice whileI have a penny piece in my pocket."
His voice broke suddenly into a harsh sob, and for a moment his handscovered his face. Then he shook himself free of his emotion.
"We will all do our best on that score, Mr. Brent," said Mr. Narkom,after a somewhat lengthy silence. "It is a most unfortunate tragedyindeed, almost a dual one, one might say, but I think you can safelytrust yourself in our hands, eh, Headland?"
Cleek bowed his head, while Mr. Brent smiled appreciation of theSuperintendent's kindly sympathy.
"I know I can," he said, warmly. "Believe me, Mr. Narkom, and you, too,Mr. Headland, I am perfectly content to leave myself with you. But Ihave my suspicions, and strong ones they are, too, and I would not mindlaying a bet that Patterson has engineered the whole scheme and isquietly laughing up his sleeve at me."
"That's a bold assertion, Mr. Brent," put in Cleek, quietly.
"But justified by facts, Mr. Headland. He has twice tried to bribeSimmons away from me, and last year offered Calcott, my head clerk, asum of L5,000 to let him have the list of our clients!"
"Oho!" said Cleek in two different tones. "One of that sort is he? Notcontent with a fortune won by profiteering, he must try and ruin others;and having failed to get hold of your list of clients, he tries thebogus game of theft, and gambles on that. H'm! Well, young Barringtonmay be only a coincidence after all, Mr. Brent. I shouldn't worry toomuch about him if I were you. Suppose you tell Mr. Narkom and myself thedetails, right from the beginning, please. When was the murderdiscovered and who discovered it?"
Mr. Naylor-Brent leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily as hepolished his gold glasses.
"For an affair of such tragic importance, Mr. Headland," he said, "it issingularly lacking in details. There is really nothing more to tell youthan that at 6 o'clock, when I myself retired from the bank to myprivate rooms overhead, I left poor Simmons on guard over the safe; athalf-past nine I was fetched down by the inspector on the beat, who hadleft young Wilson with the body. After that----"
Cleek lifted a silencing hand.
"One moment," he said. "Who is young Wilson, Mr. Brent, and why shouldhe instead of the inspector have been left alone with the body?"
"Wilson is one of the cashiers, Mr. Headland--a nice lad. It seems hefound the bank's outer door unlatched, and called up the constable onthe beat; as luck would have it the inspector happened along, and downthey went into the vaults together. But as to why the inspector leftyoung Wilson with the body instead of sending him up for me--well,frankly, I had never given the thing a thought until now."
"I see. Funny thing this chap Wilson should have made straight for thevaults, though. Did he expect a murder or robbery beforehand? Was heacquainted with the fact that the notes were there, Mr. Brent?"
"No. He knew nothing whatever about them. No one did--that is, no onebut the head clerk, Mr. Calcott, myself, and old Simmons. In bankmatters, you know, the less said about such things the better, and----"
Mr. Narkom nodded.
"Very wise, very wise indeed!" he said, approvingly. "One can't be toocareful in money matters, and if I may say so, bank pay being none toohigh, the temptation must sometimes be rather great. I've a couple ofnephews in the bank myself----"
Cleek's eyes silenced him as though there had been a spoken word.
"This Wilson, Mr. Brent," Cleek asked, quietly, "is he a young man?"
"Oh--quite young. Not more than four or five and twenty, I should say.Came from London with an excellent reference, and so far has given everysatisfaction. Universal favourite with the firm, and also with oldSimmons himself. I believe the two used sometimes to lunch together, andwere firm friends. It seems almost a coincidence that the old man shouldhave died in the boy's arms."
"He made no statement, I suppose, before he died, to give an idea of theassassin? But of course you wouldn't know that, as you weren't there."
"As it happens I do, Mr. Headland. Young Wilson, who is frightfullyupset--in fact, the shock of the thing has completely shattered hisnerves, never very strong at the best of times--says that the old manjust writhed and writhed, and muttered something about a rope. Then hefell back dead."
"A rope?" asked Cleek in surprise. "Was he tied or bound then?"
"That's just it. There was no sign of anything whatever to do with arope about him. It was possibly a death delusion, or something of thesort. Perhaps the poor old chap was semi-conscious."
"Undoubtedly. And now just one more question, Mr. Brent, before I tireyour patience out. We policemen, you know, are terrible nuisances. Whattime was it when young Wilson discovered the door of the bankunlatched?"
"About half-past nine. I had just noticed my clock striking thehalf-hour, when I was disturbed by the inspector----"
"And wasn't it a bit unusual for a clerk to come back to the bank atthat hour--unless he was working overtime?"
Mr. Naylor-Brent's fine head went back with a gesture which conveyed toCleek the knowledge that he was not in the habit of working any of hisemployees beyond the given time.
"He was doing nothing of the sort, Mr. Headland," he responded, a triflebrusquely. "Our firm is particularly keen about the question of workinghours. Wilson tells me he came back for his watch which he left behindhim, and----"
"And the door was conveniently unlatched and ready, so he simply fetchedin the inspector, and took him straight down into the vaults. Didn't gethis watch, I suppose?"
Mr. Naylor-Brent jumped suddenly to his feet, all his quietself-possession gone for the moment.
"Gad! I never thought of that. Hang it all, man, you're making a biggerpuzzle of it than ever. You're not insinuating that that boy murderedold Simmons, are you? I can't believe that."
"I'm not insinuating anything," responded Cleek, blandly. "But I have tolook at things from every angle. When you got downstairs with theinspector, Mr. Brent, did you happen to notice the safe or not?"
"Yes, I did. Indeed, I fear that was my first thought--it was natural,with L200,000 Bank of England notes to be responsible for--and at firstI thought everything was all right. Then young Wilson told me that hehimself had closed the safe door.... What are you smiling at, Mr.Headland? It's no laughing matter, I assure you!"
The queer little one-sided smile, so indicative of the man, travelledfor a moment up Cleek's cheek and was gone again in a twinkling.
"Nothing," he responded, briefly. "Just a passing thought. Then you meanto sa
y young Wilson closed the safe. Did he know the notes hadvanished? But of course you said he knew nothing of them. But if theywere there when he looked in----"
His voice trailed into silence, and he let the rest of the sentence goby default. Mr. Brent's face flushed crimson with excitement.
"Why, at any rate," he ejaculated, "the money wasn't stolen until youngWilson sent the inspector up for me. And we let him walk quietly out!You were right, Mr. Headland, if I had only done my duty and toldInspector Corkran at once----"
"Steady, man, steady. I don't say it _is_ so," put in Cleek with a quietlittle smile. "I'm only trying to find light----"
"And making it a dashed sight blacker still, begging your pardon,"returned Mr. Brent, briskly.
"That's as may be. But the devil isn't always as black as he ispainted," responded Cleek. "I'd like to see this Wilson, Mr. Brent,unless he is so ill he hasn't been able to attend the office."
"Oh, he's back at work to-day, and I'll have him here in a twinkling."
And almost in a twinkling he arrived--a young, slim, pallid youngster,rather given to over-brightness in his choice of ties, and somewhatbetter dressed than is the lot of most bank clerks. Cleek noted thepearl pin, the well-cut suit he wore, and for a moment his face wore astrange look.
Mr. Naylor-Brent's brisk voice broke the silence.
"These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, Wilson," he said, sharply, "andthey want to know just what happened here on Tuesday night. Tell themall you know, please."
Young Wilson's pale face went a queer drab shade like newly baked bread.He began to tremble visibly.
"Happened, sir--happened?" he stammered. "How should I know whathappened? I--I only got there just in time and----"
"Yes, yes. We know just when you got there, Mr. Wilson," said Cleek,"but what we want to know is what induced you to go down into the vaultswhen you fetched the inspector? It seemed a rather unnecessary journey,to say the least of it."
"I heard a cry--at least----"
"Right through the closed door of a nine-inch concrete walled vault,Wilson?" struck in Mr. Brent, promptly. "Simmons had been shut in thereby myself, Mr. Headland, and----"
"Shut in, Mr. Brent? Shut in, did you say? Then how did Mr. Wilson hereand the inspector enter?"
Young Wilson stretched out his hand imploringly.
"The door was open," he stammered. "I swear it on my honour. And thesafe was open, and--and the notes were gone!"
"What notes?" It was Mr. Brent's voice which broke the momentarysilence, as he realized the significance of the admission. For answerthe young man dropped his face into his shaking hands.
"Oh, the notes--the L200,000! You may think what you like, sir, but Iswear I am innocent! I never touched the money, nor did I touch my--Mr.Simmons. I swear it, I swear it!"
"Don't swear too strongly, or you may have to 'un-swear' again," struckin Cleek, severely. "Mr. Narkom and I would like to have a look at thevault itself, and see the body, if you have no objection, Mr. Brent."
"Certainly. Wilson, you had better come along with us. We might needyou. This way, gentlemen."
Speaking, the manager rose to his feet, opened the door of his privateoffice, and proceeded downstairs by way of an equally private staircase,to the vaults below. Cleek, Mr. Narkom, and young Wilson--very muchagitated at the coming ordeal--brought up the rear. As they passed thedoor leading into the bank, for the use of the clerks, old Calcott cameout, and paused respectfully in front of the manager.
"If you will excuse me, sir," he said, "I thought perhaps you might liketo see this."
He held out a Bank of England L5 note, and Mr. Brent took it andexamined it critically. Then a little cry broke from his lips.
"A 541063!" he exclaimed. "Good heavens, Calcott, where did this comefrom? Who----?"
Calcott rubbed his old hands together as though he were enjoying atit-bit with much satisfaction.
"Half-an-hour ago, sir, Mr. George Barrington brought it in, and wantedsmaller change."
George Barrington! The members of the little party looked at one anotherin amazement, and Cleek noticed for a moment that young Wilson's tenseface relaxed. Mr. George Barrington, eh! The curious little one-sidedsmile travelled up Cleek's cheek and was gone. The party continued theirway downstairs, somewhat silenced by this new development.
A narrow, dark corridor led to the vault itself, which was by no means alarge chamber, but remarkable for the extreme solidity of its building.It was concrete, as most vaults are, and lit only by a single electriclight, which, when switched on, shone dully against the gray stonewalls. The only ventilation it boasted was provided by means of a row ofsmall holes, about an inch in diameter, across one wall--that nearest tothe passage--and exactly facing the safe. So small were they that itseemed almost as if not even a mouse could get through one of them,should a mouse be so minded. These holes were placed so low down that itwas physically impossible to see through them, and though Cleek's eyesremarked their appearance there in the vault, he said nothing andseemed to pay little attention to them.
A speedy glance round the room gave him all the details of it! The safeagainst the wall, the figure of the old bank servant beside it, sleepinghis last sleep, and guarding the vault in death as he had not been ableto do in life. Cleek crossed toward him, and then stopped suddenly,peering down at what seemed a little twist of paper.
"Hullo!" he said. "Surely you don't allow smoking in the vault, Mr.Brent? Not that it could do much harm, but----"
"Certainly not, Mr. Headland," returned the manager, warmly. "That isstrictly against orders." He glared at young Wilson, who, nervous as hehad been before, became obviously more flustered than ever.
"I don't smoke, sir," he stammered in answer to that managerial look ofaccusation.
"Glad to hear it." Cleek stroked his cigarette-case lovingly inside hispocket as though in apology for the libel. "But it's my mistake; not acigarette end at all, just a twist of paper. Of no account, anyway." Hestooped to pick it up, and then giving his hand a flirt, appeared tohave tossed it away. Only Mr. Narkom, used to the ways of his famousassociate, saw that he had "palmed" it into his pocket. Then Cleekcrossed the room and stood a moment looking down at the body, lyingthere huddled and distorted in the death agony that had so cruelly andmysteriously seized him.
So this was Will Simmons! Well, if the face is any index to thecharacter--which in nine cases out of ten it isn't--then Mr.Naylor-Brent's confidence had certainly not been misplaced. A fine,clean, rugged face this, with set lips, a face that would never fail afriend, and never forgive an enemy. Young Wilson, who had stepped upbeside Cleek, shivered suddenly as he looked down at the body, andclosed his eyes.
Mr. Brent's voice broke the silence that the sight of death so oftenbrings.
"I think," he said, quietly, "if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'll getback to my office. There are important matters at stake just now, so ifyou'll excuse me--it's near closing time, you know, and there are manyimportant matters to see to. Wilson, you stay here with these gentlemen,and render any assistance that you can. Show them round if they wish it.You need not resume work to-day. Anything which you wish to know, pleasecall upon me.
"Thanks. We'll remember." Cleek bowed ceremoniously as the managerretreated. "But no doubt Mr. Wilson here will give us all the assistancewe require, Mr. Brent. We'll make an examination of the body first, andlet you know the verdict!"
The door closed on Mr. Brent's figure, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom andyoung Wilson were alone with the dead.
Cleek went down upon his knees before the still figure, and examined itfrom end to end. The clenched hands were put to the keenest scrutiny,but he passed no comment, only glancing now and again from those samehands to the figure of the young cashier who stood trembling beside him.
"H'm, convulsions," he finally said, softly, to himself, and Mr. Narkomwatched his face with intense eagerness. "Might be aconite--but howadministered?" Again he stood silent, his brain moving swiftly down anavenue of thought, and if
the thoughts could have been seen, they wouldhave shown something like this: Convulsions--writhing--twisting--tied upin knots of pain--a _rope_.
Suddenly he wheeled swiftly upon Wilson, his face a mask for hisemotions.
"Look here," he said, sternly, "I want you to tell me the exact truth,Mr. Wilson. It's the wisest way when dealing with the police, you know.Are you positively certain Simmons said nothing as to the cause of hisdeath? What exactly were his last words to you?"
"I begged him to tell me who it was who had injured him," replied Wilsonin a shaking voice, "but all he could say was, 'The rope--mind therope--the rope of fear--the rope of fear,' and then he was gone. Butthere was no sign of a rope, Mr. Headland, and I can't imagine whatthe--dear--old--man was driving at. And now to think he isdead--dead----"
His voice broke, and was silent for a moment. Once again Cleek spoke:
"And you saw nothing, heard nothing?"
"Well--I hardly know. There was a sound--a faint whisper, reedlike andthin, almost like a long-drawn sigh. I really thought I must haveimagined it, and when I listened again it had gone. After that I rushedto the safe and----"
"Why did you do that?"
"Because he had told me at dinner time about the notes, and made mepromise I wouldn't mention it, and I was afraid someone had stolenthem."
"Is it likely that any one overheard your conversation then? Where wereyou lunching?"
"In the Rose and Crown." Wilson's voice trembled again as though theactual recalling of the thing terrified him anew. "Simmons and I oftenhad lunch together. There was no one else at our table, and the placewas practically empty. The only person near was old Ramagee, the blackchap who keeps the Indian bazaar in the town. He's an old inhabitant,but even now hardly understands English, and most of the time he's sodrugged with opium that if he did hear he'd never understand. He wascertainly blind to the world that lunch time--because my--my friend,Simmons, I mean, noticed it."
"Indeed!" Cleek stroked his chin thoughtfully for some moments. Then hesniffed the air, and uttered a casual remark: "Fond of sweets still, areyou, Mr. Wilson? Peppermint drops or aniseed balls, eh?"
Mr. Narkom's eyes fairly bulged with amazement, and young Wilson flushedangrily.
"I am not such a fool as all that, Mr. Headland," he said, quickly. "IfI don't smoke, I certainly don't go about sucking candy like a kid. Inever cared for it as a youngster and I haven't had any for a cat's age.What made you ask?"
"Nothing, simply my fancy." But, nevertheless, Cleek continued to sniff,and then suddenly, with a little excited sound, went down on his handsand knees and began examining the stone floor.
"It's not possible--and yet--and yet. I must be right," he said, softly,getting to his feet at last. "'A rope of fear' was what he said, wasn'tit? 'A rope of fear.'" He crossed suddenly to the safe, and bending overit, examined the handle and doors critically. And at that moment Mr.Brent reappeared. Cleek switched round upon his heel, and smiled acrossat him.
"Able to spare us a little more of your valuable time, Mr. Brent?" heasked, politely. "Well, I was just coming up. There's nothing really tobe gained here. I have been looking over the safe for fingerprints, andthere's not much doubt about whose they are. Mr. Wilson here had bettercome upstairs and tell us just exactly what he did with the notes,and----"
Young Wilson's face went suddenly gray. He clenched his hands togetherand breathed hard like a spent runner.
"I tell you they were gone," he cried, desperately. "They were gone. Ilooked for them, and didn't find them. They were gone--gone--gone!"
But Cleek seemed not to take the slightest notice of him, and swingingupon his heel followed in the wake of the manager's broad back, whileWilson perforce had to return with Mr. Narkom. Half way up the stairs,however, Cleek suddenly stopped and gave vent to a hurried ejaculation.
"Silly idiot that I am!" he said, crossly. "I have left my magnifyingglass on top of the safe--and it's the most necessary tool we policemenhave. Don't bother to come, Mr. Brent, if you'll just lend me the keysof the vault. Thanks, I'll be right back."
It was certainly not much more than a moment when he did return, and theother members of the little party had barely reached the private officewhen he fairly rushed in after them. There was a look of supremesatisfaction in his eyes.
"Here it is," he said, lifting the glass up for all to see. "And lookhere, Mr. Brent, I've changed my mind about discussing the matter anyfurther here. The best thing you can do is to go down in a cab with Mr.Narkom to the police station and get a warrant for this young man'sarrest--no, don't speak, Mr. Wilson, I've not finished yet--and take himalong with you. I will stay here and just scribble down the facts. It'llsave no end of bother, and we can take our man straight up to Londonwith us, under proper arrest. I shan't be more than ten minutes at themost."
Mr. Brent nodded assent.
"As you please, Mr. Headland," he said, gravely. "We'll go along atonce. Wilson, you understand you are to come with us? It's no use tryingto get away from it, man, you're up against it now. You'd better justkeep a stiff upper lip and face the music. I'm ready, Mr. Narkom."
Quietly they took their departure, in a hastily found cab, leavingCleek, the picture of stolid policemanism, with note-book and pencil inhand, busily inscribing what he was pleased to call "the facts."
Only "ten minutes" Cleek had asked for, but it was nearer twenty beforehe was ushered out of the side entrance of the bank by the oldhousekeeper, and though perhaps it was only sheer luck that nearlycaused him to tumble into the arms of Mr. George Barrington--whom herecognized from the word picture of that gentleman given by Mr. Brentsome time before--it was decidedly by arrangement that, after a fewcareless words on the part of Cleek, Mr. Barrington, his face blankwith astonishment, accompanied this stranger down to the police station.
They found a grim little party awaiting them, but at sight of Cleek'sface Mr. Narkom started forward and put a hand upon his friend's arm.
"What have you found, Headland?" he asked, excitedly.
"Just what I expected to find," came the triumphant reply. "Now, Mr.Wilson, you are going to hear the end of the story. Do you want to seewhat I found, gentlemen? Here it is." He fumbled in his big coat pocketfor a moment and pulled out a parcel which crackled crisply. "Thenotes!"
"Good God!" It was young Wilson who spoke.
"Yes, a _very_ good God--even to sinners, Mr. Wilson. We don't alwaysdeserve all the goodness we get, you know," Cleek went on. "The notesare found, you see; the notes, you murderer, you despicable thief, thenotes which were entrusted to your care by the innocent people whopinned their faith to you."
Speaking, he leaped forward, past the waiting inspector and Mr. Narkom,past the shabby, down-at-heel figure of George Barrington, past theslim, shaking Wilson, and straight at the substantial figure of Mr.Naylor-Brent, as he stood leaning with one arm upon the inspector's highdesk.
So surprising, so unexpected was the attack, that his victim wasoverpowered and the bracelets snapped upon his wrists before any onepresent had begun to realize exactly what had happened.
Then Cleek rose to his feet.
"What's that, Inspector?" he said in answer to a hurriedly spoken query."A mistake? Oh, dear, no. No mistake whatever. Our friend hereunderstands that quite well. Thought you'd have escaped with thatL200,000 and left your confederates to bear the brunt of the wholething, did you? Or else young Wilson here whom you'd so terrorized! Avery pretty plot, indeed, only Hamilton Cleek happened to come alonginstead of Mr. George Headland and show you a thing or two about plots."
"Hamilton Cleek!" The name fell from every pair of lips, and even Brenthimself stared at this wizard whom all the world knew, and whounfortunately had crossed his path when he least wanted him.
"Yes, Hamilton Cleek, gentlemen. Cleek of Scotland Yard. And a very goodthing for you, Mr. Wilson, that I happened to come along. Things lookedvery black for you, you know, and those beastly nerves of yours made itworse. And if it hadn't been for this cad's confederate--
--"
"Confederate, Mr. Cleek?" put in Wilson, shakily. "I--I don'tunderstand. Who could have been his confederate?"
"None other than old Ramagee," responded Cleek. "You'll find him druggedas usual, in the Rose and Crown. I've seen him there only a while ago.But now he is minus a constant companion of his.... And here is theactual murderer."
He put his hand into another capacious pocket, and drew forth asmallish, glass box.
"The Rope of Fear, gentlemen," he said, quietly, "a vicious littlerattler of the most deadly sort. And it won't be long before thatgentleman there becomes acquainted with another sort of rope. Take himaway, Inspector. The bare sight of him hurts an honest man's eyes."
And they took Mr. Naylor-Brent away forthwith, a writhing, furiousThing, utterly transformed from the genial personality which had for solong swindled and outwitted a trusting public.
* * * * *
As the door closed upon them, Cleek turned to young Wilson and held outhis hand.
"I'm sorry to have accused you as I did," he said, softly, with a littlesmile, "but that is a policeman's way, you know. Strategy is part of thegame--though it was a poor trick of mine to cause you additional pain.You must forgive me. I don't doubt the death of your father was a greatshock, although you tried manfully to conceal the relationship. No doubtit was his wish--not yours."
A sudden transformation came over Wilson's pale, haggard face. It waslike the sun shining after a heavy storm.
"You--knew?" he said, over and over again. "You _knew_? Oh, Mr. Cleek,now I can speak out at last. Father always wanted me to be a gentleman,and he's spent every penny he possessed to get me well enough educatedto enter the bank. He was mad for money, mad for anything which wasgoing to better my position. And--and I was afraid when he told me aboutthe notes, he might be tempted----Oh! It was dreadful of me, I know, tothink of it, but I knew he doted on me. I was afraid he might try andtake one or two of them, hoping they wouldn't be missed out of so greatan amount. You see, we'd been in money difficulties and were stillpaying off my college fees after all this time. So I went back to keepwatch with him--and found him dying--though how you _knew_----"
His voice trailed off into silence, and Cleek smiled kindly.
"By the identical shape of your hands, my boy. I never saw two pairs ofhands so much alike in all my life. And then your agitation made me riskthe guess.... What's that, Inspector? How was the murder committed, andwhat did this little rattler have to do with it? Well, quite simple. Thesnake was put in the safe with the notes, and a trail of aniseed--ofwhich snakes are very fond, you know--laid from there to the foot of oldSimmons. The safe door was left ajar--though in the half dusk the oldman certainly never noticed it. I found all this out from those fewwords of Wilson's about 'the rope,' and from his having heard areedlike sound. I had to do some hard thinking, I can tell you. When Iwent downstairs again, Mr. Narkom, after my magnifying glass, I turneddown poor Simmons' sock and found the mark I expected--the snake hadcrawled up his leg and struck home.
"Why did I suspect Mr. Brent? Well, it was obvious almost from the veryfirst, for he was so anxious to throw suspicion upon Mr. Barringtonhere, and Wilson--with Patterson thrown in for good measure. Then againit was certain that no one else would have been allowed into the vaultby Simmons, much less to go to the safe itself, and open it with thekeys. That he did go to the safe was apparent by the fingerprints uponit, and as they, too, smelt of aniseed, the whole thing began to lookdecidedly funny. The trail of aniseed led straight to where Simmons lay,so I can only suppose that after Brent released the snake--the trail, ofcourse, having been laid beforehand, when he was alone--Brent must havestood and waited until he saw it actually strike, and---- How do I knowthat, Mr. Wilson? Well, he smoked a cigarette there, anyhow. The stub Ifound bore the same name as those in his box, and it was smokedidentically the same way as a couple which lay in his ashtray.
"I could only conclude that he was waiting for something to happen, andas the snake struck, he grabbed up the bundle of notes, quiteforgetting to close the safe door, and rushed out of the vault. Ramageewas in the corridor outside, and probably whistled the snake backthrough the ventilating holes near the floor, instead of venturing nearthe body himself. You remember, you heard the sound of that pipe, Mr.Wilson? Ramagee probably made his escape while the Inspector wasupstairs. Unfortunately for him, he ran right into Mr. George Barringtonhere, and when, as he tells me, he later told Brent about seeingRamagee, well, the whole thing became as plain as a pikestaff."
"Yes," put in George Barrington, excitedly, taking up the tale in hisweak, rather silly voice, "my stepfather refused to believe me, and gaveme L20 in notes to go away. I suppose he didn't notice they were some ofthe stolen ones. I changed one of them at the bank this morning, but Ihad no idea how important they were until I knocked into Mr.--Mr. Cleekhere. And he made me come along with him."
Mr. Narkom looked at Cleek, and Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom, and theblank wonder of the Superintendent's eyes caused him to smile.
"Another feather in the cap of foolish old Scotland Yard, isn't it?"said Cleek. "Time we made tracks, I think. Coming our way, Mr. Wilson?We'll see you back home if you like. You're too upset to go on alone.Good afternoon, Inspector, and--good-bye. I'll leave the case with you.It's safe enough in your hands, but if you take my tip you'll put thathuman beast in as tight a lock-up as the station affords."
Then he linked one arm in Mr. Narkom's and the other arm in that of theadmiring and wholly speechless Wilson, and went into the sunshine.