CHAPTER I
"This will be it, I think, sir," said Lennard, bringing the limousineto a halt at the head of a branching lane, thick set with lime andchestnut trees between whose double wall of green one could catch adistant glimpse of the river, shining golden in the five o'clocklight.
"Look! see! There's the sign post--'To the Sleeping Mermaid'--overto the left there."
"Anything pinned to it or hanging on it?" Mr. Narkom spoke from theinterior of the vehicle without making even the slightest movementtoward alighting, merely glancing at a few memoranda scribbled onthe back of a card whose reverse bore the words "Taverne MaladosieQuai des Anges, Boulogne," printed upon it in rather ornate script.
"A bit of rag, a scrap of newspaper, a fowl's feather--anything? Looksharp!"
"No, sir, not a thing of any sort that I can see from here. ShallI nip over and make sure?"
"Yes. Only don't give away the fact that you are examining it in casethere should be anybody on the lookout. If you find the smallestthing--even a carpet tack--attached to the post, get back into yourseat at once and cut off townward as fast as you can make the cartravel."
"Right you are, sir," said Lennard, and forthwith did as he had beenbidden. In less than ninety seconds, however, he was back with wordthat the post's surface was as smooth as your hand and not a thingof any sort attached to it from top to bottom.
Narkom fetched a deep breath of relief at this news, tucked the cardinto his pocket, and got out immediately.
"Hang round the neighbourhood somewhere and keep your ears open incase I should have to give the signal sooner than I anticipate," hesaid; then twisted round on his heel, turned into the tree-borderedlane, and bore down in the direction of the river.
When still short, by thirty yards or so, of its flowered andwillow-fringed brim, he came upon a quaint little diamond-paned,red-roofed, low-eaved house set far back from the shore, with agarden full of violets and primroses and flaunting crocuses infront of it, and a tangle of blossoming things crowding what oncehad been a bower-bordered bowling green in the rear.
"Queen Anne, for a ducat!" he commented as he looked at the placeand took in every detail from the magpie in the old pointed-toppedwicker cage hanging from a nail beside the doorway to the rudelycarved figure of a mermaid over the jutting, flower-filleddiamond-paned window of the bar parlour with its swinging sashes andits oak-beam sill, shoulder high from the green, sweet-smelling earth.
"How the dickens does he ferret out these places, I wonder? Andwhat fool has put his money into a show like this in these days ofadvancement and enterprise? Buried away from the line of trafficashore and shut in by trees from the river. Gad! they can't do apound's worth of business in a month at an out-of-the-way roostlike this!"
Certainly, they were not doing much of it that day; for, as hepassed through the taproom, he caught a glimpse of the landladydozing in a deep chair by the window, and of the back of aby-no-means-smartly-dressed barmaid--who might have been stone deaffor all notice she took of his entrance--standing on a stoolbehind the bar dusting and polishing the woodwork of the shelves. Thedoor of the bar parlour was open, and through it Narkom caught aglimpse of a bent-kneed, stoop-shouldered, doddering old manshuffling about, filling match-boxes, wiping ash trays, and carefullyrefolding the rumpled newspapers that lay on the centre table.That he was not the proprietor, merely a waiter, the towel over hisarm, the shabby old dress coat, the baggy-kneed trousers wouldhave been evidence enough without that added by the humble taskshe was performing.
"Poor devil! And at his age!" said Narkom to himself, as he noted thepale, hopeless-looking, time-worn face and the shuffling, time-bentbody; then, moved by a sense of keen pity, he walked into the roomand spoke gently to him.
"Tea for two, uncle--at a quarter-past five to the tick if you canmanage it," he said, tossing the old man a shilling. "And say to thelandlady that I'd like to have exclusive use of this room for an houror two, so she can charge the loss to my account if she has to turnany other customers away."
"Thanky, sir. I'll attend to it at once, sir," replied the oldfellow, pocketing the coin, and moving briskly away to give theorder. In another minute he was back again, laying the cloth andsetting out the dishes, while Narkom improved the time of waiting bystraying round the room and looking at the old prints and cases ofstuffed fishes that hung on the oak-panelled walls.
It still wanted a minute or so of being a quarter-past five whenthe old man bore in the tea tray itself and set it upon the waitingtable; and, little custom though the place enjoyed, Narkom couldnot but compliment it upon its promptness and the inviting qualityof the viands served.
"You may go," he said to the waiter, when the man at length bowed lowand announced that all was ready; then, after a moment, turninground and finding him still shuffling about, "I say you may go!"he reiterated, a trifle sharply. "No, don't take the cosy off theteapot--leave it as it is. The gentleman I am expecting has notarrived yet, and--look here! will you have the goodness to letthat cosy alone and to clear out when I tell you? By James! if youdon't----Hullo! What the dickens was that?"
"That" was undoubtedly the tingle of a handful of gravel against thepanes of the window.
"A sign that the coast is quite clear and that you have not beenfollowed, dear friend," said a voice--Cleek's voice--in reply."Shall we not sit down? I'm famishing." And as Narkom turned roundon his heel--with the certainty that no one had entered the roomsince the door was closed and he himself before it--the tea cosywas whipped off by a hand that no longer shook, the waiter's bentfigure straightened, his pale, drawn features writhed, blent, settledinto placid calmness and--the thing was done!
"By all that's wonderful--Cleek!" blurted out Narkom, delightedly,and lurched toward him.
"Sh-h-h! Gently, gently, my friend," he interposed, putting up awarning hand. "It is true Dollops has signalled that there is noone in the vicinity likely to hear, but although the maid is bothdeaf and dumb, recollect that Mrs. Condiment is neither; and I haveno more wish for her to discover my real calling than I ever had."
"Mrs. Condiment?" repeated Narkom, sinking his voice, and speaking ina tone of agitation and amazement. "You don't mean to tell me thatthe old woman you employed as housekeeper when you lived in ClargesStreet is here?"
"Certainly; she is the landlady. Her assistant is that same deaf anddumb maid-of-all-work who worked with her at the old house, and issharing with her a sort of 'retirement' here. 'Captain Burbage' setthe pair of them up in business here two days after his departurefrom Clarges Street and pays them a monthly wage sufficient to makeup for any lack of 'custom.' All that they are bound to do is toallow a pensioner of the captain's--a poor old half-witted ex-waitercalled Joseph--to come and go as he will and to gratify a whim forwaiting upon people if he chooses to do so. What's that? No, the'captain' does not live here. He and his henchman, Dollops, aresupposed to be out of the country. Mrs. Condiment does not know_where_ he lives--nor will she ever be permitted to do so. You may,some day, perhaps----that is for the future to decide; but not atpresent, my dear friend; it is too risky."
"Why risky, old chap? Surely I can come and go in disguise as I didin the old days, Cleek? We managed secret visits all right then,remember."
"Yes--I know. But things have changed, Mr. Narkom. You may disguiseyourself as cleverly as you please, but you can't disguise the redlimousine. It is known and it will be followed; so, until you can getanother of a totally different colour and appearance I'll ring you upeach morning at the Yard and we can make our appointments over yourprivate wire. For the present we must take no great risks. In thedays that lie behind, dear friend, I had no 'tracker' to guardagainst but Margot, no enemies but her paltry crew to reckon withand to outwit. In these, I have many. They have brains, these newfoes; they are rich, they are desperate, they are powerful; andbehind them is the implacable hate and the malignant hand of----Nomatter! You wouldn't understand."
"I can make a devilish good guess, then," rapped in Narkom, a trifletestily, h
is vanity a little hurt by that final suggestion, andhis mind harking back to the brief enlightening conversation betweenMargot and Count Waldemar that night on the spray-swept deck ofthe Channel packet. "Behind them is 'the implacable hate and themalignant hand' of the King of Mauravania!"
"What utter rubbish!" Cleek's jeering laughter fairly stung, it wasso full of pitying derision. "My friend, have you taken to readingpenny novelettes of late? A thief-taker and a monarch! An ex-criminaland a king! I should have given you credit for more common sense."
"It was the King of Mauravania's equerry who directed that attempt tokill you by blowing up the house in Clarges Street."
"Very possibly. But that does not incriminate his royal master.Count Waldemar is not only equerry to King Ulric of Mauravania,but is also nephew to its ex-Prime Minister--the gentleman who isdoing fifteen years' energetic labour for the British Governmentas a result of that attempt to trap me with his witless 'SilverSnare.'"
"Oh!" said Narkom, considerably crestfallen; then grasped at yetanother straw with sudden, breathless eagerness. "But even then thehead of the Mauravanian Government must have had some reason forwishing to 'wipe you out,'" he added, earnestly. "There could be noquestion of avenging an uncle's overthrow at that time. Cleek!"--hisvoice running thin and eager, his hand shutting suddenly upon hisfamous ally's arm--"Cleek, trust me! Won't you? Can't you? As Godhears me, old chap, I'll respect it. Who are you? What are you, man?"
"Cleek," he made answer, calmly drawing out a chair and taking hisseat at the table. "Cleek of Scotland Yard; Cleek of the FortyFaces--which you will. Who should know that better than you whosehelping hand has made me what I am?"
"Yes, but before, Cleek? What were you, who were you, in the daysbefore?"
"The Vanishing Cracksman--a dog who would have gone on, no doubt,to a dog's end but for your kind hand and the dear eyes of AilsaLorne. Now give me my tea--I'm famishing--and after that we'll talkof this new riddle that needs unriddling for the honour of the Yard.Yes, thanks, two lumps, and just a mere dash of milk. Gad! It's goodto be back in England, dear friend; it's good, it's good!"
Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories Page 2
