Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces

by Charles Felix

  CHAPTER XXV

  It did not take more than five minutes to cover the distance betweenSunnington Crescent and the modest little house where Captain Morrisonand his daughter lived; so in a very brief time Cleek had thesatisfaction of interviewing both.

  Narkom's assertion, that Miss Morrison was "half out of her mind overthe distressing affair" had prepared him to encounter a weeping,red-eyed, heart-broken creature of the most excitable type. He foundinstead a pale, serious-faced, undemonstrative girl of somewhatuncertain age--sweet of voice, soft of step, quiet of demeanour--who waseither one of those persons who repress all external evidence ofinternal fires, and bear their crosses in silence, or was ascold-blooded as a fish and as heartless as a statue. He found the fatherthe exact antithesis of the daughter, a nervous, fretful, irritableindividual (gout had him by the heels at the time), who was as full of"yaps" and snarls as any Irish terrier, and as peevish and fussy as afault-finding old woman. Added to this, he had a way of glancing allround the room, and avoiding the eye of the person to whom he wastalking. And if Cleek had been like the generality of people, and hadn'tknown that some of the best and "straightest" men in the world have beenafflicted in this manner, and some of the worst and "crookedest" couldlook you straight in the eyes without turning a hair, he might havetaken this for a bad sign. Then, too, he seemed to have a great manymore wrappings and swaddlings about his gouty foot than appeared to benecessary--unless it was done to make his helpless state very apparent,and to carry out his assertion that he hadn't been able to walk a footunassisted for the past week, and could not, therefore, be in any wayconnected with young Carboys' mysterious vanishment. Still, even thathad its contra aspect. He might be one of those individuals who make amountain out of a molehill of pain, and insist upon a dozen poulticeswhere one would do.

  But Cleek could not forget that, as Narkom had said, there was not theshadow of doubt that in the event of Carboys having died possessed ofmeans, the Captain would be the heir-at-law by virtue of his kinship;and it is a great deal more satisfactory to be rich oneself than to bedependent upon the generosity of a rich son-in-law. So, after adroitlyexercising the "pump" upon other matters:

  "I suppose, Miss Morrison," said Cleek in a casual off-hand sort of way,"you don't happen to know if Mr. Carboys ever made a will, do you? I amaware, from what Mr. Narkom has told me of his circumstances, that hereally possessed nothing that would call for the execution of such adocument; but young men have odd fancies sometimes--particularly whenthey become engaged--so it is just possible that he might have done sucha thing; that there was a ring or something of that sort he wanted tomake sure of your getting should anything happen to him. Of course, itis an absurd suggestion, but--"

  "It is not so absurd as you think, Mr. Headland," she interrupted. "Asit happens, Mr. Carboys did make a will. But that was a very long timeago--in fact, before he knew me, so my name did not figure in it at all.He once told me of the circumstances connected with it. It was executedwhen he was about three-and-twenty. It appears that there were somepersonal trinkets, relics of his more prosperous days: a set of jewelledwaistcoat buttons, a scarf-pin, a few choice books and things like that,which he desired Mr. Van Nant to have in the event of his death (theywere then going to the Orient, and times there were troublous); so hedrew up a will, leaving everything that he might die possessed of to Mr.Van Nant, and left the paper with the latter's solicitor when they badegood-bye to England. So far as I know, that will still exists, Mr.Headland; so"--here the faintest suggestion of a quiver got into hervoice--"if anything of a tragical nature had happened to him, and--andthe trinkets hadn't disappeared with him, Mr. Van Nant could claim themall, and I should have not even one poor little token to cherish inmemory of him. And I am sure--I am very sure--that if he had known--ifhe had thought--"

  "Mary, for goodness' sake, don't begin to snivel!" chimed in her fatherquerulously. "It gets on my nerves. And you know very well how I amsuffering! Of course, it was most inconsiderate of Carboys not todestroy that will as soon as you and he were engaged; but he knew thatmarriage invalidates any will a man may have made previously, and--well,you can't suppose that he ever expected things to turn out as they havedone. Besides, Van Nant would have seen that you got something totreasure as a remembrance. He's a very decent chap, is Van Nant, Mr.Headland, although my daughter has never appeared to think so. Butthere's no arguing with a woman any way."

  Cleek glanced at Narkom. It was a significant glance, and said asplainly as so many words: "What do you think of it? You said there wasno motive, and, provided Carboys fell heir to something of which we knownothing as yet, here are _two_! If that will was destroyed, one manwould, as heir-at-law, inherit; ditto the other man if it was notdestroyed and not invalidated by marriage. And here's the 'one' mansinging the praises of the 'other' one!"

  "Collusion?" queried Narkom's answering look. "Perhaps," said Cleek's inresponse, "one of these two men has made away with him. The question is,which? and, also, why? when? where?" Then he turned to the Captain'sdaughter, and asked quietly: "Would you mind letting me see the roomfrom which the young man disappeared? I confess I haven't the ghost ofan idea regarding the case, Captain; but if you don't mind letting yourdaughter show me the room--"

  "Mind? Good Lord, no!" responded the Captain. "All I want to know is,what became of the poor boy, and if there's any likelihood of his evercoming back alive. I'd go up with you myself, only you see how helplessI am. Mary, take Mr. Headland to the room. And please don't stop anylonger than is necessary. I'm suffering agonies and not fit to be leftalone."

  Miss Morrison promised to return as expeditiously as possible, and thenforthwith led the way to the room in question.

  "This is it, Mr. Headland," she said as she opened the door and usheredCleek in. "Everything is just exactly as it was when George left it. Icouldn't bring myself to touch a thing until after a detective had seenit. Father said it was silly and sentimental of me to go on sleeping ina little box of a hall bedroom when I could be so much more comfortableif I returned to my own. But--I couldn't! I felt that I might possiblybe unconsciously destroying something in the shape of a clue if I moveda solitary object, and so--Look! there is the drawn blind just as heleft it; there his portmanteau on that chair by the bedside, andthere--" Her voice sank to a sort of awed whisper, her shaking fingerextended in the direction of a blue semi-circle in the middle of thefloor. "There is the belt! He had it round his waist when he crossedthis threshold that night. It was lying there just as you see it whenthe servant brought up his tea and his shaving-water the next morning,and found the room empty and the bed undisturbed."

  Cleek walked forward and picked up the belt.

  "Humph! Unfastened!" he said as he took it up; and Miss Morrison,closing the door, went below and left them. "Our wonderful wizard doesnot seem to have mastered the simple matter of making a man vanish outof the thing without first unfastening the buckle, it appears. I shouldhave thought he could have managed that, shouldn't you, Mr. Narkom, ifhe could have managed the business of making him melt into thin air?Hur-r-r!" reflectively, as he turned the belt over and examined it. "Notseen much use, apparently; the leather's quite new, and the inside quiteunsoiled. British manufactured brass, too, in the buckle. Shouldn't haveexpected that in a Persian-made article. Inscription scratched on withthe point of a knife, or some other implement not employed in metalengraving. May I trouble you for a pin? Thank you. Hum-m-m! Thought so.Some dirty, clayey stuff rubbed in to make the letters appear old and oflong standing. Look here, Mr. Narkom: metal quite bright underneath whenyou pick the stuff out. Inscription very recently added; leather,American tanned; brass, Birmingham; stitching, by the Blake shoe andharness machine; wizard--probably born in Tottenham Court Road, and hisknowledge of Persia confined to Persian powder in four-penny tins."

  He laid the belt aside, and walked slowly round the room, inspecting itscontents before turning his attention to the portmanteau.

  "Evidently the vanishing qualities of the belt did not
assert themselvesvery rapidly, Mr. Narkom," he said, "for Mr. Carboys not only preparedto go to bed, but had time to get himself ready to hurry off to businessin the morning with as little delay as possible. Look here; here are hispyjamas on the top of this chest of drawers, neatly folded, just as helifted them out of his portmanteau; and as a razor has been wiped onthis towel (see this slim line of dust-like particles of hair), heshaved before going to bed in order to save himself the trouble of doingso in the morning. But as there is no shaving-mug visible, and hecouldn't get hot water at that hour of the night, we shall probablydiscover a spirit-lamp and its equipment when we look into theportmanteau. Now, as he had time to put these shaving articles awayafter using, and as no man shaves with his collar and necktie on, if wedo not find those, too, in the portmanteau, we may conclude that he putthem on again; and, as he wouldn't put them on again if he were going tobed, the inference is obvious--something caused him to dress and prepareto leave the house voluntarily. That 'something' must have manifesteditself very abruptly, and demanded great haste--either that, or heexpected to return; for you will observe that, although he replaced hisshaving tackle in the portmanteau, he did not put his sleeping-suit backwith it. While I am poking about, do me the favour of looking in thebag, Mr. Narkom; and tell me if you find the collar and necktie there."

  "Not a trace of them," announced the superintendent a moment or twolater. "Here are the shaving-mug, the brush, and the spirit-lamp,however, just as you suggested; and--Hallo! what have you stumbled uponnow?" For Cleek, who had been "poking about," as he termed it, hadsuddenly stooped, picked up something, and was regarding it fixedly asit lay in the palm of his hand.

  "A somewhat remarkable thing to discover in a lady's bed-chamber, Mr.Narkom, unless--Just step downstairs, and ask Miss Morrison to come upagain for a moment, will you?" And then held out his hand so that Narkomcould see, in passing, that a hempseed, two grains of barley, and an oatlay upon his palm. "Miss Morrison," he inquired as Mary returned incompany with the superintendent, "Miss Morrison, do you keep pigeons?"

  She gave a little cry, and clasped her hands together, as if reproachingherself for some heartless act.

  "Oh!" she said, moving hastily forward toward the window. "Poor dears!How good of you to remind me. To think that I should forget to feed themfor three whole days. They may be dead by now. But at such a time Icould think of nothing but this hideous mystery. My pigeons--my poor,pretty pigeons!"

  "Oh, then you do keep them?"

  "Yes; oh, yes. In a wire-enclosed cote attached to the house justoutside this window. Homing pigeons, Mr. Headland. George bought themfor me. We had an even half dozen each. We used to send messages to eachother that way. He would bring his over to me, and take mine away withhim at night when he went home, so we could correspond at any momentwithout waiting for the post. That's how I sent him the message aboutthe arrival of the belt. Oh, do unlock the window, and let me see if thepretty dears are still alive."

  "It doesn't need to be unlocked, Miss Morrison," he replied, as hepulled up the blind. "See, it can be opened easily--the catch is notsecured."

  "Not secured? Why, how strange. I myself fastened it after I despatchedthe bird with the message about the belt. And nobody came into the roomafter that until George did so that night. Oh, do look and see if thepretty creatures are dead. They generally coo so persistently; and now Idon't hear a sound from them."

  Cleek threw up the sash and looked out. A huge wistaria with tendrils asthick as a man's wrist covered the side of the house, and made averitable ladder down to the little garden; and, firmly secured to this,on a level with the window-sill and within easy reach therefrom, was thedovecote in question. He put in his hand, and slowly drew out fourstiff, cold, feathered little bodies, and laid them on thedressing-table before her; then, while she was grieving over them, hegroped round in all corners of the cote and drew forth still another.

  "Five?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Five? Oh, but there should be onlyfour, Mr. Headland. It is true that George brought over all six the daybefore; but I 'flew' one to him in the early morning, and I 'flew' asecond at night, with the message about the belt; so there should be butfour."

  "Oh, well, possibly one was 'flown' by him to you, and it 'homed'without your knowledge."

  "Yes, but it couldn't get inside the wired enclosure unassisted, Mr.Headland. See! that spring-door has to be opened when it is returned tothe cote after it has carried its message home. You see, I trained them,by feeding them in here, to come into this room when they were flownback to me. They always flew directly in if the window was opened, orgave warning of their presence by fluttering about and beating againstthe panes if the sash was closed. And for a fifth pigeon to be insidethe enclosure--I can't understand the thing at all. Oh, Mr. Headland, doyou think it is anything in the nature of a clue?"

  "It may be," he replied evasively. "Clues are funny things, MissMorrison; you never know when you may pick one up, nor how. I shouldn'tsay anything to anybody about this fifth pigeon if I were you. Let thatbe our secret for awhile; and if your father wants to know why I sentfor you to come up here again--why, just say I have discovered that yourpigeons are dead for want of food." And for a moment or two, after shehad closed the door and gone below again, he stood looking at Mr. Narkomand slowly rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. Then,of a sudden:

  "I think, Mr. Narkom, we can fairly decide, on the evidence of thatfifth pigeon, that George Carboys left this room voluntarily," returnedCleek; "that the bird brought him a message of such importance it wasnecessary to leave this house at once, and that, not wishing to leave itunlocked while he was absent, and not--because of the Captain'sinability to get back upstairs afterward--having anybody to whom hecould appeal to get up and lock it after him, he chose to get out ofthis window, and to go down by means of that wistaria. I think, too, wemay decide that, as he left no note to explain his absence, he expectedto return before morning, and that, as he never did return, he has metwith foul play. Of course, it is no use looking for footprints in thegarden in support of this hypothesis, for the storm that night was avery severe one and quite sufficient to blot out all trace of them;but--Look here, Mr. Narkom, put two and two together. If a message wassent him by a carrier pigeon, where must that pigeon have come from,since it was one of Miss Morrison's?"

  "Why, from Van Nant's place, of course. It couldn't possibly come fromany other place."

  "Exactly. And as Van Nant and Carboys lived together--kept BachelorHall--and there was never anybody but their two selves in the house atany time, why, nobody but Van Nant himself could have despatched thebird. Look at that fragment of burnt paper lying in the basin of thatcandlestick on the washstand. If that isn't all that's left of the paperthat was tied under the pigeon's wing, and if Carboys didn't use it forthe purpose of lighting the spirit-lamp by which he heated hisshaving-water, depend upon it that, in his haste and excitement, hetucked it into his pocket, and if ever we find his body we shall findthat paper on it."

  "His body? My dear Cleek, you don't believe that the man has beenmurdered?"

  "I don't know--yet. I shall, however, if this Van Nant puts anything inthe way of my searching that house thoroughly or makes any pretence tofollow me whilst I am doing so. I want to meet this Maurice Van Nantjust as soon as I can, Mr. Narkom, just as soon as I can."

  And it was barely two minutes after he had expressed this wish that MissMorrison reappeared upon the scene, accompanied by a pale, nervous,bovine-eyed man of about thirty-five years of age, and said in a tone ofagitation: "Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Headland, but this is Mr.Maurice Van Nant. He is most anxious to meet you, and father would haveme bring him up at once."

  Narkom screwed round on his heel, looked at the Belgian, and lost faithin Miss Morrison's powers of discrimination instantly. On thedressing-table stood Carboys' picture--heavy-jowled, sleepy-eyed,dull-looking--and on the threshold stood a man with the kindest eyes,the sweetest smile, and the handsomest and most sympathetic countenanceh
e had seen in many a day. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, ifthe face is the index of the character, then here was a man weak aswater, as easily led as any lamb, and as guileless.

  "You are just the man I want to see, Mr. Van Nant," said Cleek, afterthe first formalities were over, and assuming, as he always did at suchtimes, the heavy, befogged expression of incompetence. "I confess thisbewildering affair altogether perplexes me; but you, I understand, wereMr. Carboys' close friend and associate, and as I can find nothing inthe nature of a clue here, I should like, with your permission, to lookover his home quarters and see if I can find anything there."

  If he had looked for any sign of reluctance or of embarrassment upon VanNant's part when such a request should be made, he was whollydisappointed, for the man, almost on the point of tears, seized hishand, pressed it warmly, and said in a voice of eager entreaty: "Oh, do,Mr. Headland, do. Search anywhere, do anything that will serve to findmy friend and to clear up this dreadful affair. I can't sleep forthinking of it; I can't get a moment's peace night or day. You didn'tknow him or you would understand how I am tortured--how I miss him. Thebest friend, the dearest and the lightest-hearted fellow that everlived. If I had anything left in this world, I'd give it all--all, Mr.Headland, to clear up the mystery of this thing and to get him back. Oneman could do that, I believe, could and would if I had the money tooffer him."

  "Indeed? And who may he be, Mr. Van Nant?"

  "The great, the amazing, the undeceivable man, Cleek. He'd get at thetruth of it. Nothing could baffle and bewilder him. But--oh, well, it'sthe old, old tale of the power of money. He wouldn't take the case--ahigh-and-mighty 'top-notcher' like that--unless the reward was atempting one, I'm sure."

  "No, I'm afraid he wouldn't," agreed Cleek, with the utmost composure."So you must leave him out of your calculations altogether, Mr. VanNant. And now, if you don't mind accompanying us and showing thechauffeur the way, perhaps Mr. Narkom will take us over to your house inhis motor."

  "Mind? No, certainly I don't mind. Anything in the world to get at aclue to this thing, Mr. Headland, anything. Do let us go at once."

  Cleek led the way from the room. Halfway down the stairs, however, heexcused himself on the plea of having forgotten his magnifying glass,and ran back to get it. Two minutes later he rejoined them in the littledrawing-room, where the growling Captain was still demanding the wholetime and attention of his daughter, and, the motor being ready, thethree men walked out, got into it, and were whisked away to the housewhich once had been the home of the vanished George Carboys.

  It proved to be a small, isolated brick house in very bad condition,standing in an out-of-the-way road somewhere between Putney andWimbledon. It stood somewhat back from the road, in the midst of alittle patch of ground abounding in privet and laurel bushes, and it wasevident that its cheapness had been its chief attraction to the two menwho had rented it, although, on entering, it was found to possess at theback a sort of extension, with top and side lights, which must haveappealed to Van Nant's need of something in the nature of a studio. Atall events, he had converted it into a very respectable apology for one;and Cleek was not a little surprised by what it contained.

  Rich stuffs, bits of tapestry, Persian draperies, Arabianprayer-mats--relics of his other and better days and of his Orientalwanderings--hung on the walls and ornamented the floor; his rejectedpictures and his unsold statues, many of them life-sized and all ofclay, coated with a lustreless paint to make them look like marble, weredisposed about the place with an eye to artistic effect, and near to anangle, where stood (on a pedestal, half concealed, half revealed byartistically arranged draperies) the life-size figure of a Romansenator, in toga and sandals, there was the one untidy spot, the oneutterly inartistic thing the room contained.

  It was the crude, half-finished shape of a recumbent female figure, oflarge proportions and abominable modelling, stretched out at full lengthupon a long, low, trestle-supported "sculptor's staging," on which alsolay Van Nant's modelling tools and his clay-stained working blouse.Cleek looked at the huge unnatural thing--out of drawing, anatomicallywrong in many particulars--and felt like quoting Angelo's famous remarkanent his master Lorenzo's faun: "What a pity to have spoilt so muchexpensive material," and Van Nant, observing, waved his hand toward it.

  "A slumbering nymph," he explained. "Only the head and shouldersfinished as yet, you see. I began it the day before, yesterday, but myhand seems somehow to have lost its cunning. Here are the keys of allthe rooms, Mr. Headland. Carboys' was the one directly at the head ofthe stairs, in the front. Won't you and Mr. Narkom go up and searchwithout me? I couldn't bear to look into the place and see the thingsthat belonged to him and he not there. It would cut me to the heart if Idid. Or, maybe, you would sooner go alone, and leave Mr. Narkom tosearch round this room. We used to make a general sitting-room of it atnights when we were alone together, and some clue may have beendropped."

  "A good suggestion, Mr. Narkom," commented Cleek, as he took the keys."Look round and see what you can find whilst I poke about upstairs."Then he walked out of the studio and searching every nook and corner,whilst Van Nant, for the want of something to occupy his mind and hishands, worked on the nymph, and could hear him moving about overhead inquest of possible clues.

  For perhaps twenty minutes Cleek was away; then he came down and walkedinto the room looking the very picture of hopeless bewilderment.

  "Mr. Narkom," he said, "this case stumps me. I believe there's magic init, if you ask me; and as the only way to find magic is with magic, I amgoing to consult a clairvoyante, and if one of those parties can't giveme a clue, I don't believe the mystery will ever be solved. I know of aripping one, but she is over in Ireland, and as it's a dickens of a wayto go, I shan't be able to get back before the day after to-morrow atthe earliest. But--look here, sir, I'll tell you what! This is Tuesdayevening, isn't it? Now if you and Mr. Van Nant will be at CaptainMorrison's house on Thursday evening at seven o'clock, and will waitthere until I come, I'll tell you what that clairvoyante says, andwhether there's any chance of this thing being solved or not. Is thatagreeable, Mr. Van Nant?"

  "Quite, Mr. Headland. I'll be there promptly."

  "And stop until you hear from me?"

  "And stop until I hear from you--yes."

  "Right you are, sir. Now then, Mr. Narkom, if you'll let the chauffeurwhisk me over to the station, I'll get back to London and on to theearliest possible train for Holyhead so as to be on hand for the firstIrish packet to-morrow. And while you're looking for your hat, sir--goodevening, Mr. Van Nant--I'll step outside and tell Lennard to start up."

  With that, he passed out of the studio, walked down the hall, and wentout of the house. And half a minute later, when the superintendentjoined him, he found him sitting in the limousine and staring at histoes.

  "My dear Cleek, did you find anything?" he queried, as he took a seatbeside him, and the motor swung out into the road and whizzed away. "Ofcourse, I know you've no more idea of going to Ireland than you have oftaking a pot-shot at the moon: but there's something on your mind. Iknow the signs, Cleek. What is it?"

  The response to this was rather startling.

  "Mr. Narkom," said Cleek, answering one question with another, "what'sthe best thing to make powdered bismuth stick--lard, cold cream, orcocoa butter?"