Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories
Page 26
CHAPTER XXV
The sky was all aflame with the glory of one of late June's gorgeoussunsets when he came up over the long sweep of meadowland and sawher straying about and gathering wild flowers to fill the vases inthe wee house's wee little drawing-room, and singing to herself thewhile in a voice that was like honey--thin but very, very sweet--andat the sight something seemed to lay hold of his heart and quickenits beating until it interfered with his breathing, yet brought withit a curious sense of joy.
"Good afternoon, Mistress of the Linnets!" he called out to her ashe advanced (for she had neither seen nor heard his coming) with thebig sheaf of roses he had brought held behind him and the brackenand kingcups smothering him in green and gold up to the very thighs.
She turned at the sound, her face illumined, her soft eyes verybright--those wondrous eyes that had lit a man's way back fromperdition and would light it onward and upward to the end--andgreeted him with a smile of happy welcome.
"Oh, it is you at last," she said, looking at him as a woman looksat but one man ever. "Is this your idea of 'spending the afternoon'with one, turning up when tea is over and twilight about to begin?Do you know, I am a very busy young woman these days"--blushingrosily--"and might have spent a whole day in town shopping butthat Dollops brought me word that I might look for you? But, ofcourse----No! I shan't say it. It might make you vain to hear thatyou had the power to spoil my day."
"Not any vainer than you have made me by telling me other things," heretorted with a laugh. "I am afraid I have spoiled a good many daysfor you in my time, Ailsa. But, please God, I shall make up for themall in the brightness of the ones that are to come. I couldn't helpbeing late to-day--I'll tell you all about that presently--but may Ioffer something in atonement? Please, will you add these to yourbouquet and forgive me?"
"Roses! Such beauties! How good of you! Just smell! How divine!"
"Meaning the flowers or their donor?"--quizzically. "Or, no! Don'telucidate. Leave me in blissful ignorance. You have hurt my vanityquite enough as it is. I was deeply mortified--cut to the quick,I may say, if that will express my sense of grovelling shame anyclearer--when I arrived here and saw what you were doing. Please,mum"--touching his forelock and scraping his foot backward afterthe manner of a groom--"did I make such a bad job of my work inthat garden that when you want a bouquet you have to come out hereand gather wild flowers? I put fifty-eight standard roses on thatterrace just under your bedroom window, and surely there must be abloom or two that you could gather?"
"As if I would cut one of them for anything in the world!" she gaveback, indignantly. Then she laughed, and blushed and stepped backfrom his impetuous advance. "No--please! You fished for that soadroitly that you landed it before I thought. Be satisfied. Besides,Mrs. Condiment is at her window, and I want to preserve as much aspossible of her rapidly depreciating estimate of me. She thinksme a very frivolous young person, 'to allow that young Mr. Hamiltonto call so frequent, miss, and if you'll allow me to say it, at suchunseemly hours. I don't think as dear Captain Burbage would quiteapprove of it if he knew.'"
"Gad! that's rich. What a mimic you are. It was the dear old girlto the life. She hasn't an inkling of the truth, then?"
"Not one. She doesn't quite approve of you, either. 'I likes to seea gent more circumpec', miss, and a trifle more reserved when he'sgettin' on his thirties. Muckin' about with a garden fork and suchamong a trumpery lot of roses, and racin' here, there, and everywhereover them medders after ferns and things, like a schoolboy on aholiday, aren't what I calls dignified deportment in full-grownmen, and in my day they didn't use to do it!' Sometimes I am inmortal terror that she intends to give me notice and to leave me bagand baggage; for she is always saying that she's 'sure dear CaptainBurbage couldn't have known what he was a-doing of, poor, innocent,kind-hearted gentleman--and him so _much_ of a gent, too, and sowonderful quiet and sedate!'"
"Poor old girl!" said Cleek, laughing. "What a shock to her if sheknew the truth. And what on earth _would_ you do if she were tochance to get a peep at Dollops? But then, of course, there's no fearof that--the young beggar's too careful. I told him never to comenear the house when he carries any notes."
"And he never does. Always leaves them under the stone in the paththrough the woods. I go there, of course, twice every day, and Inever know that he has been about until I find one. I am always gladto get them, but to-day's one made me very, very happy indeed."
"Because I told you you might expect me?"
"Yes. But not that alone. I think I cried a little and I _know_ Iwent down on my knees--right there--out in those woods, when I readthose splendid words, 'There is but one more debt to be paid. The"some day" of my hopes is near to me at last.'"
Her voice died off. He uncovered his head, and a stillness came thatwas not broken by any sound or any movement, until he felt her handslip into his and remain there.
"Walk with me!" he said, closing his fingers around hers and holdingthem fast. "Walk with me always. My God! I love you so!"
"Always!" she made answer in her gentle voice; and with her handshut tight in his, passed onward with him--over the green meadowsand into the dim, still woods, and out again into the flower-filledfields beyond, where all the sky was golden after the fierce huesof the sunset had drained away into the tender gleam of twilight,and there was not one red ray left to cross the path of him.
"You have led me this way from the first," he said, breaking silencesuddenly. "Out of the glare of fire, through the dark, into peacefullight. I had gone down to hell but for you--but that you stoopedand lifted me. God!"--he threw back his head and looked upward, withhis hat in his hand and the light on his face--"God, forget me ifever I forget that. Amen!" he added, very quietly, very earnestly;then dropped his chin until it rested on his breast, and was verystill for a long time.
* * * * *
"Yes," he said, taking up the thread of conversation where it hadbeen broken so long a time ago, "there is but one more debt to becleared off: the value of the Princess Goroski's tiara. A thousandpounds will wipe that off--it was not a very expensive one--and Icould have had that sum to-day if I had thought of myself alone.Mr. Narkom thinks me a fool. I wonder what you will think when youhear?" And forthwith he told her.
"If you are again 'fishing'," she replied with a quizzical smile,"then again you are going to be successful. I think you a hero. Kissme, please. I am very, very proud of you. And that was what made youlate in coming, was it?"
"Not altogether that. I might have been earlier but that we ranfoul of Waldemar and the Apaches again, and I had to lose time inshaking them off. But I ought not to have told you that. You willbe getting nervous. It was a shock to Mr. Narkom. He was so surethey had given up the job and returned home."
"I, too, was sure. I should have thought that the rebellion wouldhave compelled that, in Count Waldemar's case at least," sheanswered, gravely. "And particularly in such a grave crisis as hiscountry is now called upon to face. Have you seen to-day's papers?They are full of it. Count Irma and the revolutionists have piledvictory on victory. They are now at the very gates of the capital;the royal army is disorganized, its forces going over in hordes tothe insurgents; the king is in a very panic and preparing, it isreported, to fly before the city falls."
"A judgment, Alburtus, a judgment!" Cleek cried with such vehemencethat it startled her. "Your son drinks of the cup you prepared forKarma's. The same cup, the same result: dethronement, flight, exilein the world's wildernesses, and perhaps--death. Well done, Irma!A judgment on you, Mauravania. You pay! You pay!"
"How wonderful you are--you seem to know everything!" declared Ailsa."But in this at least you appear to be misinformed, dear. I have beenreading the reports faithfully and it seems that death was notthe end of all who shared in Queen Karma's exile and flight. CountIrma is telling a tale which is calling recruits to the standardof the revolutionists hourly. The eldest son--the Crown PrinceMaximilian--is still alive. The count swears
to that; swears thathe has seen him; that he knows where to find him at any moment. Thespecial correspondent of the _Times_ writes that everywhere thedemand is for the Restoration, the battle cry of the insurgents'Maximilian!' and the whole country ringing with it."
"I can quite believe it," he said, with one of his queer, crookedsmiles. "They are an excitable people, the Mauravanians, but,unfortunately, a fickle one as well. It is up to-day and downto-morrow with them. At present the cry is for Maximillian; this timenext month it may be for Irma and a republican form of government,and--Maximillian may go hang for all they want of him. Still, ifthey maintain the present cry--and the House of Alburtus falls--andthe followers of Irma win----But what's the use of bothering aboutit? Let us talk of things that have a personal interest for us,dear. Give me to-morrow, if you can. I shall have a whole day'sfreedom for the first time in weeks. The water lilies are in bloom inthe upper reaches of the Thames and my soul is simply crying for theriver's solitudes, the lilies, the silence, and _you_! I wantyou--all to myself--up there, among God's things. Give me the day,if you can."
She gave him not one but many, as it turned out; for that one dayproved such a magic thing that she was only too willing to repeat it,and as the Yard had no especial need of him, and the plain-clothesman who had been set upon Waldemar's track had as yet nothing toreport, it grew to be a regular habit with him to spend the long daysup in the river solitudes with Ailsa, picnicking among the swans,and to come home to Dollops at night tired, but very happy.
It went on like this for more than ten days, uninterruptedly; but atlength there came a time when an entry in his notebook warned himthat there was something he could not put off any longer--somethingthat must certainly be attended to to-morrow, in town, early--and hewent to bed that night with the melancholy feeling that the next daycould only be a half holiday, not a whole one, and that his hourswith her would be few.
But when that to-morrow came he knew that even these were to bedenied him; for the long-deferred call of the Yard had come, andNarkom, ringing him up at breakfast time, asked for an immediatemeeting.
"In town, dear chap, as near to Liverpool Street and as early as youcan possibly make it."
"Well, I can't make it earlier than half-past ten. I've got alittle private business of my own to attend to, as it happens, Mr.Narkom," he replied. "I'd put it off if I could, but I can't.To-day before noon is the last possible hour. But look here! Ican meet you at half-past ten in Bishopsgate Street, between St.Ethelburga's Church and Bevis Narks, if that will do. Will, eh?All right. Be on the lookout for me there, then. What? The newblue limousine, eh? Right you are. I'm your man to the tick of thehalf hour. Good-bye!"
And he was, as it turned out. For the new blue limousine (aglistening, spic-span sixty-horsepower machine, perfect in everydetail) had no more than come to a standstill at the kerb in theexact neighbourhood stated at the exact half hour agreed upon,when open whisked the door, and in jumped Cleek with the swiftnessand agility of a cat.