CHAPTER XVII
It had gone nine by all the reliable clocks in town when the wildrace to the coast came to an end, and after darting swallowlikethrough the wind-swept streets of Portsmouth, the limousine, mudsplashed and disreputable, rushed up to the guarded entrance of thesuspended dock master's house at Portsea; and precisely one and aquarter minutes thereafter Cleek stood in the presence of the threemen most deeply concerned in the clearing up of this mystifyingaffair.
He found Sir Charles Fordeck, a dignified and courtly gentlemanof polished manners and measured speech, although now, quitenaturally, labouring under a distress of mind which visibly disturbedhim. He found Mr. Paul Grimsdick, his secretary, a frank-faced,straight-looking young Englishman of thirty; Mr. Alexander MacInery,a stolid, unemotional Scotsman of middle age, with a huge knottedforehead, eyebrows like young moustaches, and a face like a face ofgranite; and he found, too, reason to believe that each of thesewas, in his separate way, a man to inspire confidence and respect.
"I can hardly express to you, Mr. Cleek, how glad I am to meet youand to have you make this quick response to my appeal," said theAdmiral Superintendent, offering him a welcoming hand. "I feelthat if any man is likely to get to the bottom of this mysteriousbusiness you are that man. And that you should get to the bottomof it--quickly, at whatever cost, by whatever means--is a thing to bedesired not only in the nation's interest, but for the honour ofmyself and my two colleagues."
"I hardly think that your honour will be called into question, SirCharles," replied Cleek, liking him the better for the manlinesswhich prompted him in that hour of doubt and difficulty to lay asideall questions of position, and by the word "colleague" lift hissecretary to the level of himself, so that they might be judgedupon a common plane as men, and men alone. "It would be a madmanindeed who would hint at anything approaching treason with regardto Sir Charles Fordeck."
"No madder than he who would hint it of either of these," said SirCharles, laying a hand upon the shoulder of the auditor and thesecretary, and placing himself between them. "I demand to be judgedby the same rule, set upon the same plane with them. We three alonewere in this house when that abominable thing happened; we threealone had access to the records from which that information waswired. It never, for so much as the fraction of one second, passedout of our keeping or our sight; if it was wired at all it musthave been wired from this house, from that room, and in that case,one or other of us must positively have been the person to do so.Well, _I_ did not; MacInery did not; Grimsdick did not. And yet,as you know, the 'wiring' was done--we should never stand a chance ofknowing to whom, nor by whom, but for the accident which deflectedthe course of the message."
"H'm! Yes! I don't think," commented Cleek reflectively. "It won'twash, that theory; no, decidedly it won't wash. Pardon? Oh, no,Sir Charles, I am not casting any doubt upon the telegraph operator'sstatement of the manner in which he received the message; it is hisjudgment that is at fault, not his veracity. Of course, there havebeen cases--very rare ones, happily--of one wire automaticallytapping another through, as he suggested, there being a break and anoverlapping of the broken wire on to the sound one; but in thepresent instance there isn't a ghost of a chance of such a thinghaving happened. In other words, Sir Charles, it is as unsound intheory as it is false in fact. Mr. Narkom has been telling me on theway here that the operator accounted for the sudden starting of themessage to the falling of a storm-snapped wire upon an uninjuredone, and for its abrupt cessation to the slipping off of that brokenwire under the influence of the strong gale. Now, as we enteredthe town and proceeded through it, I particularly noted the factthat no broken wires were anywhere visible, nor was there sight orsign of men being engaged in repairing one."
"Ah, yes," agreed Sir Charles, a trifle dubiously, "that may be quiteso, Mr. Cleek; but, if you will pardon my suggesting it, is therenot the possibility of a flaw in your reasoning upon that point?The wire in question may not have been located in that particulardistrict through which you were travelling."
"I don't think there is any chance of my having made an error of thatsort, Sir Charles," replied Cleek, smiling. "Had I been likely todo so, our friend the telegraph operator would have prevented it. Herecognized at once that the communication was coming over thewire from the dockyard, I am told; and I have observed that everyone of the dockyard wires is intact. I fancy when we come down tothe bottom of it we shall discover that it was not the dockyardwire which 'tapped' a message from some other, but that the dockyardwire was being 'tapped' itself, and that the storm, causing amomentary interruption in the carrying on of that 'tapping' process,allowed a portion of the message to slip past and continue to thewire's end--the telegraph office."
"Good lud! Then in that case----"
"In that case, Mr. Narkom, there can be no shadow of a doubt thatthat message was sent by somebody in this house--and over thedockyard's own private wire."
"But how, Mr. Cleek--in the name of all that is wonderful, how?"
"Ah, that is the point, Sir Charles. I think we need not go intothe matter of who is at the bottom of the whole affair, but confineourselves to the business of discovering how the thing was done,and how much information has already gone out to the enemy. I fancywe may set our minds at rest upon one point, however, namely, theidentity of the person whose hand supplied the drawing found uponthe body of the drowned man. That hand was a woman's; that woman, Ifeel safe in saying, was Sophie Borovonski, professionally knownto the people of the underworld as 'La Tarantula.'"
"I never heard of her, Mr. Cleek. Who is she?"
"Probably the most beautiful, unscrupulous, reckless, dare-devilspy in all Europe, Sir Charles. She is a Russian by birth, but ownsallegiance to no country and to no crown. Together with her depravedbrother Boris, and her equally desperate paramour, Nicolo Ferrand,she forms one of the trio of paid bravos who for years have been atthe beck and call of any nation despicable enough to employ them;always ready for any piece of treachery or dirty work, so long astheir price is paid--as cunning as serpents, as slippery as eels, asclever as the devil himself, and as patient. We shall not go farastray, gentlemen, if we assert that the lady's latest disguise wasthat of Miss Greta Hilmann."
"Good God! Young Beachman's fiancee?"
"Exactly, Sir Charles. I should not be able to identify her from aphotograph were one obtainable, which I doubt--she is far too cleverfor that sort of thing--but the evidence is conclusive enough tosatisfy me, at least, of the lady's identity."
"But how--how?"
"Mr. Narkom will tell you, Sir Charles, that from our time ofstarting this morning to our arrival here we made but one stop. Thatstop was at the Portsmouth mortuary before we appeared at thishouse. I wished to see the body of the man who was drowned. I have nohesitation, Sir Charles, in declaring that that man's name isnot, and never was, Axel von Ziegelmundt. The body is that ofNicolo Ferrand, 'La Tarantula's' clever lover. The inference isobvious. 'Miss Greta Hilmann's' anguish and despair were realenough, believe me (that is why it deceived everybody so completely).It is not, however, over the frightful position of young Beachmanthat she sorrowed, but over the death of Ferrand. Had he lived, Ibelieve she has daring enough to have remained here and played herpart to the end, but she either lost her nerve and her mentalbalance--which, by the way, is not in the least like her under anycircumstances whatsoever--or some other disaster of which we knownothing overtook her and interfered with her carrying on the workin conjunction with her brother."
"Her brother?"
"Yes. He would be sure to be about. They all three worked in concert.Gad! if I'd only been here before the vixen slipped the leash--if Ionly had! Let us have the elder Mr. Beachman in, if you please, SirCharles; there's a word or so I want to have with him. You've hadhim summoned, of course!"
"Yes, he and the telegraph operator as well; I thought you mightwish to question both," replied he. "Grimsdick, go--or, no! I'll gomyself. Beachman ought to know of this appalling thing; and it isbest that it should be broken
by a friend."
Speaking, he left the room, coming back a few minutes later incompany with the telegraph operator and the now almost hystericaldock master. He waited not one second for introduction or permissionor anything else, that excited father, but rushed at Cleek andcaught him by the hand.
"It's my boy and you're clearing him--God bless you!" he exclaimed,catching Cleek's hand and wringing it with all his strength. "Itisn't in him to sell his country; I'd have killed him with my ownhand years ago, if I thought it was. But it wasn't--it never was! Myboy! my boy! my splendid, loyal boy!"
"That's right, old chap, have it out. Here on my shoulder, if youwant to, daddy, and don't be ashamed of it!" said Cleek, and reachedround his arm over the man's shoulder and clapped him on the back."Let her go, and don't apologize because it's womanish. A manwithout a strain of the woman in him somewhere isn't worth thepowder to blow him to perdition. We'll have him cleared, daddy--gad,yes! And look here! When he is cleared you take him by the earand tell him to do his sweethearting in England, the young jackass,and to let foreign beauties alone; they're not picking up withyoung Englishmen of his position for nothing, especially if theyare reputed to have money of their own and to be connected withtitled families. If you can't make him realize that by gentlemeans, take him into the garden and bang it into him--hard."
"Thank you, sir; thank you! I can see it now, Mr. Cleek. Not muchuse in shouting 'Rule Britannia' if you're going to ship on a foreigncraft, is there, sir? But anybody would have been taken in withher--she seemed such a sweet, gentle little thing and had suchwinning ways. And when she lost her father, the wife and I simplycouldn't help taking her to our hearts."
"Quite so. Ever see that 'father,' Mr. Beachman?"
"Yes, sir, once; the day before he sailed--or was supposed to havesailed--for the States."
"Short, thick-set man was he? Carried one shoulder a little lowerthan the other, and had lost the top of a finger on the left hand?"
"Yes, sir; the little finger. That's him to a T."
"Boris Borovonski!" declared Cleek, glancing over at Sir Charles."No going to the States for that gentleman with a 'deal' like this onhand. He'd be close by and in constant touch with her. Did she haveany friends in the town, Mr. Beachman?"
"No, not one. She appeared to be of a very retiring disposition, andmade no acquaintances whatsoever. The only outside person I everknew her to take any interest in was a crippled girl who lived withher bedridden mother and took in needlework. Greta heard of the case,and went to visit them. Afterward she used to carry work to themfrequently, and sometimes fruit and flowers."
"Ever see that bedridden woman or that cripple girl?"
"No, sir, never. Harry and I would be busy here most of the days,so she always went alone."
"Did she ever ask Mrs. Beachman to accompany her?"
"Not that I ever heard of, sir. But it would have been to no purposeif she had. The wife is a very delicate woman; she rarely ever goesanywhere."
"Hum-m-m! I see! So, then, you really do not know if there actuallywas a woman or a girl at all? Any idea where the persons weresupposed to live?"
"Yes. They hired a room on the top floor of a house adjoining theOcean Billow Hotel, sir. At least, Reggie--that's my youngest son,Mr. Cleek--saw Greta go in there and look down from one of the topfloor windows one day when he was on his way home from school. Hespoke to her about it at the dinner table that night, and she saidthat that was where her 'pensioners lived.'"
"Pretty good neighbourhood that, by Jove! for people who were'pensioners' to be living in," commented Cleek. "The Ocean BillowHotel is a modern establishment--lifts, electric lights, liveriedattendants, and caters to people of substance and standing."
"Yes," admitted Beachman. "When I was suspended, sir, during theexamination and this house taken over by Sir Charles, I took Mrs.Beachman and Reggie there, and we have remained at the place,nominally under guard, ever since. You see, being convenient andin a straight line, so to speak, it offered extra advantages incase of my being summoned here at a moment's notice."
"H'm! Yes! I see!" said Cleek, stroking his chin. "In a straightline from here, eh? House next door would, of course, offer thesame advantages; and from a room on the top floor a wire-tappingdevice----Yes, just so! I think, Sophie, I think I smell a verylarge mouse, my dear, and I shan't be surprised if we've hit upon theplace of reception for your messages the very first shot."
"Messages, Mr. Cleek? Messages?" interposed Sir Charles. "You surelydo not mean to infer that the woman telegraphed messages from thishouse? Do you forget, then, that there is no instrument, no wire,attached to the place?"
Cleek puckered up his brows. For the moment he had forgotten thatfact.
"Still, there are wires passing over it, Sir Charles," he saidpresently; "and if a means of communication with those wereestablished, the 'tapper' at the other end could receive messageseasily. She is a devil of ingenuity is Sophie. I wouldn't put itbeyond her and her confederates to have rigged up a transmittinginstrument of some sort which the woman could carry on her personand attach to the wire when needed."
Here Sir Charles threw in something which he felt to be in the natureof a facer.
"Quite so," he admitted. "But do not forget, Mr. Cleek, that thedeflected message was sent last night, and that the woman was notthen in this house."
Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories Page 18
