The Riddle of the Mysterious Light

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF ELTON CARLYLE

  "Won't 'old another blessed thing, sir," said Dollops, regretfully,trying hard to stuff a bundle of highly coloured ties and a cocoa-nutinto a Gladstone bag already filled to overflowing.

  Cleek, shirt-sleeves turned up, kneeling before a similar bag, looked upwith a quizzical smile on his face.

  "It certainly won't hold any more cocoanuts, you voracious youngmonkey," he said with an amused laugh. "I should say you've got enoughthings in there to last for a month at the Pole, instead of a couple ofdays on a houseboat. Hurry and get strapped up, or--who knows?--we shallhave Mr. Narkom popping in with another case."

  Dollops hurried up at once, gasping as he did so, "If he does, I'll eatmy 'at. Lor' lumme, sir! but we ain't goin' to be done out of _this_'oliday, are we?"

  Cleek shook his head. But even as he opened his mouth to speak therecame a sound which caused Dollops to assume a most dejectedexpression--a very ordinary sound, too, a hastily driven motor beingsharply drawn up to the curb.

  Cleek sprang to his feet.

  "Lennard! A ducat to a guinea but it's Lennard!" he muttered under hisbreath, as Dollops, with the ease of an acrobat, took a flying leap overboth bags to the window and peeped through the curtains.

  It did not need his heartfelt groan of despair to tell Cleek that hisconjecture was right, and the sound of hurried footsteps in the passageoutside warned him of Mr. Narkom's approach only a minute before thedoor was thrown open and that gentleman stood in the doorway,breathless, but beaming complacently.

  "Thank Heaven I'm in time, old chap," said he with a sigh of relief,advancing toward Cleek.

  "Sorry we can't reciprocate the feeling, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek with arueful smile; "but we can't, can we, Dollops? It's too bad, youinterloper. I've ordered the taxi, there's a boat waiting for us outHampton Court way, and in another quarter of an hour----" He stoppedsignificantly, and threw out his hand with a gesture indicative of themost utter despair.

  Mr. Narkom nodded.

  "It is hard lines," he agreed, "and I wouldn't worry you, only it'ssomething very important. And if _you_ fail me----"

  "Well, old friend, you want me, and here I am. I suppose you are goingto carry me off, so where do we go, and when?"

  "Now, if you will," said Mr. Narkom. "I've got one car here, and Petrieand Hammond have gone off with another, made up so as to take followersoff our trail. I want to catch the one o'clock from Waterloo," he said,consulting his watch, "and unless we hurry, there's no chance."

  "Waterloo? Too far for us to go in the limousine, then?" said Cleek,picking up his light overcoat.

  "Yes, it's just beyond Portsmouth, as a matter of fact, and we shan't bedown there even now until late in the evening, but----"

  "But me no buts," threw in Cleek with a little laugh. "Let's be off.Now, then, Dollops."

  He gave the boy a few hurried instructions, turned upon his heel, seizedMr. Narkom by his substantial arm, and went clattering down the stairslike a schoolboy on the first day of the holidays.

  "Now fire away," he said as he seated himself in the limousine besidethe Superintendent, and drew out his cigarette-case. "Is the matterreally a very important one?"

  "I should think it is," was the emphatic reply. "I had the tip from avery high personage indeed to give the matter close attention. Theactual client is a gentleman of considerable wealth and social standing.You may possibly have heard of him. He is Brian Desmond, the only son ofthe wealthiest banker in the kingdom, and recently made head of hisfather's firm."

  "Of course I have heard of him," said Cleek with a nod. "Who hasn't?Wasn't that the man who owned 'Black Prince,' the last Derby winner? Notonly has he been famous for outdoor sports, but no one can forget thefuss made in the papers over his marriage two years ago with the mostbeautiful debutante of the season, Lady Beryl Summerton."

  "That's the man," said the Superintendent. "But all his sportingdays--and ways--are over, for since he has become head of the greatbanking business he has devoted all his time to straight finance andhard work. Every day he spends at the provincial office in Portsmouth,near which is his country seat."

  "Another case of Prince Hal, eh?" said Cleek, thoughtfully. "All right,old chap, don't worry over your history dates now--go ahead. What'swrong? I saw his cousin, Elton Carlyle, last week. He hasn't given up_his_ sporting proclivities, because he was walking down Bond Streetwith a bookie, I'll stake my life on that."

  "Poor chap!" said Mr. Narkom, softly. "The news of Elton Carlyle's deathcame to me this morning. It's been murder--cunning, crafty, diabolicallyplanned murder. And there is no clue as to how the murderer got into thehouse unseen, much less how he managed to chloroform a man to deathwithout a sign of a struggle. Yet the man evidently died last night. Mr.Desmond sent off for the police, and wrote me fullest particulars."

  "Very thoughtful of him," said Cleek, pinching up his chin. "Should havethought he would have been too upset to have got a letter off in time tocatch the post. That special midnight mail, I presume? H'm!"

  "Yes," agreed the Superintendent. "I never thought of that, I was soglad to get all the facts. I had been in communication with him over therobberies all last week, and was going down when----"

  Cleek sat up suddenly.

  "What's that?" he snapped. "Robberies? What has been stolen from where?"

  "So far, only gold has been taken, but now----Here's Waterloo, and therest must be kept until we are in the train. What's that? Get thetickets and join you on the platform afterward. All right. And the coachnext to the engine if I can manage it? Anything you say goes."

  With this the Superintendent jumped nimbly out of the car and, with someinstructions to Lennard, hastily made for the booking-office. There wereevidently a goodly number of people going to Portsmouth, and Mr. Narkomfrowned and fretted impatiently as he had to take his place in thequeue. He noted with some alarm the presence of one man who wasobviously of French birth, and but for the fact that this person tookhis ticket for a station some fifty miles from Portsmouth, theSuperintendent would have given the fact more attention.

  To his disgust there were no signs of Cleek on the platform, and he wasstill more angered by discovering that there was no empty carriage to beobtained. As a final reason for exasperation the carriage behind theengine was not only marked "Engaged" but was occupied by anotherFrenchman, an individual with long hair and Vandyke beard, who wasleaning out of the window imploring every guard who came within hearingto tell him if "zis was ze right train for Dovaire." As he should havebeen going in exactly the opposite direction, and had been told so byevery official on the platform, and as he still continued to argue thequestion in perfect French, they had, one and all, given him up indespair.

  Mr. Narkom was also in despair as he saw the gate of the platform shutagainst a surging crowd of people who had arrived too late, and stillthere was no sign of Cleek.

  That his ally had failed him intentionally he would not believe, and hehalted disconsolately just outside the Frenchman's reserved carriage.The man had opened the door as if uncertain whether or not to get out atthe last moment, and then as the whistle sounded, a guard, his greenflag aloft, bundled both the Frenchman and Mr. Narkom unceremoniouslyinto the same carriage, and bade them "Fight it out" between them.

  Another shrill whistle, and the train moved out of the station, and Mr.Narkom, to the accompaniment of shrill vituperations from his Frenchfellow-passenger, sank down into the opposite corner, the image ofgloomy despair.

  "Poor old chap! Sorry to----"

  But the soft, laughing voice got no further, for with an acrobatic leap,worthy of Dollops himself, the Superintendent fairly hurled himself onhis companion and tugged at his square black beard.

  "Cleek!" said he in a voice that held some anger and a great deal ofrelief. "I might have known it, but what a scare you gave me!"

  "You'd have had a worse one, my friend, if you had kept your eyes open,as I did," answered Cleek with
a little shrug of disgust. "From thelimousine I saw him. No less a person than Gustave Borelle, Margot'shalf-brother. What do you think of that?"

  Mr. Narkom's brain flew to the booking-office, and his cheeks paled.

  "The Frenchman in the queue!" he ejaculated, mopping his forehead with asilk handkerchief and looking the picture of pathetic despair. "Inoticed him, old chap, but he booked his ticket to Tarrington, so I feltassured."

  "Let's hope it's only pure coincidence," said Cleek, thoughtfully. "Ofcourse, he may have recognized the Yard car, and then again he may not.Anyhow, I don't think he would have recognized me in that get-up. Well,my friend, weren't you telling me something about a series of robberiesin this precious new case of yours?"

  The professional light came into the Superintendent's face, even as theanxious one went out of it.

  "'Pon my soul," he said, briskly, "I was nearly forgetting what I wastravelling for! Yes, robberies from a time-lock safe, in the study ofMr. Brian Desmond, at Desmond House. I expect you know the sort ofthing."

  "H'm, yes," said Cleek. "I ought to," he added, smiling a trifle sadly,"considering the amount of trouble I used to have in opening them. Butthat's another story. Anyhow, I know the apparatus; and one belongs toMr. Desmond, eh? And money has been taken from it despite the time-lockprecautions. Blown, I suppose?"

  "No," replied Mr. Narkom with a grim smile. "For weeks and weeks sums ofmoney have been disappearing from this safe overnight, and the mechanismof the lock has been absolutely intact, without scratch or blemish. Themoney has been put in at night, after the bridge parties are over."

  "What's that?" rapped out Cleek. "Bridge parties? What has thathard-working, pleasure-shunning, late sportsman-banker, Brian Desmond,got to do with bridge parties?"

  "He doesn't play himself. They are his wife's affair. Lady Beryl isdevoted to the game. She gave up everything when she marriedDesmond--she might have married a duke, by the way--friends, parents,hobbies, all except bridge. That she still continued, having peopledown for the week-end solely to play."

  "Oho! And where does Elton Carlyle come in in this pleasant littlemenage? Is he the tame cat of the house, or master of the revels?"

  "Well, something like that," admitted Mr. Narkom with a nod, "though hewas called Brian's secretary. He was always a man-about-town, but he andBrian were inseparable. Now, on top of these robberies comes the newsthis morning of the murder of Elton Carlyle and the disappearance of theEugenie pearl."

  Cleek suddenly showed tremendous interest.

  "What's that? What's that?" he rapped out. "You don't mean to say thatany fool man bought that ill-fated jewel at Christie's last week? Butyes, of course, he did, I remember now. Never anything but trouble hasfollowed in the wake of that unhappy bauble of vanity since it first putin its appearance. It belonged originally to the Duchess Amelia Eugenie,from whom it acquired its name. Some stones seem to reflect theunhappiness of their various owners, and this pearl is the veryembodiment of ill-luck. Desmond, I should think, with superstitiousIrish blood in his veins, might have thought twice before he gave hiswife such a jewel as that!"

  "Well, he didn't," snorted Mr. Narkom, "and now it's gone."

  For a time there was silence in the compartment. Neither spoke, neitherstirred. Then suddenly Cleek jerked himself upright.

  "Then that's what they're after!" said he with a crooked little smile."I wonder. I wonder. It might be, and yet, Margot's no fool--no fool!"

  With that he relapsed into silence again, a silence which lasted almostuntil the express landed them at Portsmouth Station.