CHAPTER XXXVII
Cleek's equanimity did not desert him, however. It was one of hisstrong points that he always kept his mental balance even whenhis most promising theories were deracinated. He therefore showed notthe slightest trace of the disappointment with which this utterlyunexpected discovery had filled him, but, with the most placidexterior imaginable, suffered himself to be introduced to the oldwaxworker, who was at the time working assiduously upon the hugetableau-piece designed for the forthcoming Indian Exhibition, awell-executed assembly of figures which occupied a considerableportion of the rear end of the glass-room, and represented thatmoment when the relief force burst through the stockade at Lucknowand came to the rescue of the beleaguered garrison.
"A couple of gentlemen from Scotland Yard, Loti, who have come tolook into the matter of young Colliver's disappearance," was the wayin which Trent made that introduction. "You can go on with your work;they won't interfere with you."
"Welcome, gentlemen--most welcome," said Loti, with that courtesywhich Continental people never quite forget; then nodded, and wenton with his work as he had been told, adding, with a mournful shakeof the head: "Ah! a strange business that, signori; an exceedinglystrange business."
"Very," agreed Cleek off-handedly and from the other end of the room."Rippin' quarters, these, signor; and now that I've seen 'em I don'tmind confessing that my pet theory has gone all to smash and I'm upa gum-tree, so to speak. I'd an idea, you know, that there mightbe a sliding-panel or a trapdoor which you chaps here might haveoverlooked, and down which the boy might have dropped, or maybe goneon a little explorin' expedition of his own, don't you know, andhadn't been able to get back."
"Well, of all the idiotic ideas--," began Trent, but was suffered toget no further.
"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Cleek, with his best blithering-idiot air."I realize that, now that I see your floor's of concrete. Necessary,I suppose, on account of the chemicals and the inflammable nature ofthe wax? You could have a rippin' old flare-up here if that stuffwas to catch fire from a dropped match or anything of that sort--eh,what? Blest if I can see"--turning slowly on his heel and looking allround the room--"a ghost of a place where the young nipper could havegot. It's a facer for me. But, I say"--as if suddenly struck with anidea--"you don't think that he nipped something valuable and cutoff with it, do you? Didn't miss any money or anything of that sortwhich you'd left lying about, did you, Mr.--er--Lotus, eh?"
"Loti, if you please, signor. I had indeed hoped that my name waswell known enough to--_Pouffe!_ No, I miss nothing--I miss not somuch as a pin. I am told he shall not have been that kind of a boy."And then, with a shake of the head and a pitying glance towardthe author of these two asinine theories regarding the strangedisappearance, returned to his work of putting the finishing touchesto a recumbent figure representing a dead soldier lying in theforeground of the tableau.
"Oh, well, you never can tell what boys will do; and it's an oldsaying that 'a good booty makes many a thief,'" replied Cleek airily."Reckon I'll have to hunt up something a bit more promising, then.Don't mind my poking about a bit, do you?"
"Not in the slightest, signor," replied the Italian, and glancedsympathizingly up at Trent and gave his shoulders a significantshrug, as if to say: "Is this the best that Scotland Yard can turnout?" when Cleek began turning over costume plates and looking underbooks and scraps of material which lay scattered about the floor,and even took to examining the jugs and vases and tumblers in whichthe signor's bunches of cut flowers were placed. There were many ofthem--on tables and chairs and shelves, and even on the platform ofthe tableau itself--so many, in fact, that he was minded, by theirprofusion, of what Trent had said regarding the old waxworker'sgreat love of flowers.
He looked round the room, in an apparently perfunctory manner, butin reality with a photographic eye for its every detail, finding thatit agreed in every particular with the description which Trent hadgiven him.
There were the cheap lace curtains all along the glazed side whichoverlooked the short passage leading down to the narrow alley, butthey were of so thin a quality, and so scantily patterned, that themesh did not obstruct the view in any manner, merely rendering it atrifle hazy; for he could himself see from where he stood the windowin the side of the house opposite, and, seated at that window, Mrs.Sherman and her daughter, busy at their endless sewing.
And there, too, were the blinds--strong blue linen ones runningon rings and cords--with which, as he had been told, it waspossible to arrange the light as occasion required. They werefashioned somewhat after the manner of those seen in the studios ofphotographers--several sectional ones overhead and one long one forthat side of the room which overlooked the short passage; and,as showing how minute was Cleek's inspection for all its seemingindifference, it may be remarked that he observed a peculiarityregarding that long blind which not one person in a hundred wouldhave noticed. That is to say, that, whereas, when one looks at awindow from the interior of a room, one invariably finds that theblinds are against the glass, and that the curtains are so hungas to be behind them when viewed from the street, here was a caseof the exactly opposite arrangement being put into force; towit: It was the lace curtains which hung against the window panes andthe big blind which was next the room, so that, if pulled down, aperson standing within would see no lace curtains at all, while atthe same time they would remain distinctly visible to anybodystanding without.
If this small discrepancy called for any comment, Cleek made noneaudibly; merely glanced at the blind and glanced away again, and wenton examining the books and the vases of flowers, and continued hisapparently aimless wandering about the room.
Of a sudden, however, he did a singular thing, one which was fraughtwith much significance to Mr. Narkom, who knew the "signs" so well.His wandering had brought him within touching distance of the busywaxworker, who, just at that moment, half turned and stretched forthhis hand to pick up a tool which had fallen to the floor, the act ofrecovering which sent his wrist protruding a bit beyond the cuff ofhis working-blouse. What Narkom saw was the quick twitch of Cleek'seye in the direction of that hand, then its swift travelling tothe man's face and travelling off again to other things; and he knewwhat was coming when his great ally began to pat his pockets andrummage about his person as if endeavouring to find something.
"My luck!" said Cleek, with an impatient jerk of the head. "Nota blessed cigarette with me, Mr. Narkom; and you know what a dufferI am if I can't smoke when I'm trying to think. I say--nip out,will you, and get me a packet? There!"--scribbling something on aleaf from his notebook and pushing it into the superintendent'shand--"that's the brand I like. It's no use bringing me any other.Look 'em up for me, will you? There's a good friend."
Narkom made no reply, but merely left the room with the papercrumpled in his shut hand and went downstairs as fast as he couldtravel. What he did in the interval is a matter for furtherconsideration. At present it need only be said that had any onelooked across the short passage some eight or ten minutes after hisdeparture Narkom might have been seen standing in the backgroundof the room at whose window Mrs. Sherman and her daughter stillsat sewing.
Meanwhile Cleek appeared to have forgotten all about the matter whichwas the prime reason for his presence in the place and to have becomeabsorbingly interested in the business of tableau making, for heplied the old Italian with endless questions relative to the onehe was engaged in constructing.
"Jip! You don't mean to tell me that you make the whole blessedthing yourself, do you--model the figures, group 'em, paint theblessed background, and all?" said he, with yokel-like amazement."You _do_? My hat! but you're a wonder! That background's one ofthe best I've ever clapped eyes on. And the figures! I could swearthat that fellow bursting in with a sword in his hand was aliveif I didn't know better; and as for this dead johnnie here in theforeground that you're working on, he's a marvel. What do you stuffthe blessed things with? Or don't you stuff 'em at all?"
"Oh, yes, signor, they are stuffed, all o
f them. There is a wickerframework covered with canvas; and inside cotton waste, old paper,straw."
"You don't mean it! Well, I'm blest! Nothing but waste stuff andstraw? Why, that fellow over there--the Sepoy chap with the gun inhis hands----Oh, good Lord! just my blessed luck! I hope to heavenI haven't spoilt anything!" For, in leaning over to indicate thefigure alluded to, he had blundered against the edge of the lowplatform, lost his balance, and sprawled over so awkwardly andabruptly that, but for the fact that the figure of the dead soldierwas there for his hand to fall upon in time to check it, he musthave pitched headlong into the very heart of the tableau, and done noend of damage. Fortunately, however, not a figure had been throwndown, and even the "dead soldier" had stood the shock uncommonlywell, not even a dent showing, though Cleek had come down ratherheavily and his palm had struck smack on the figure's chest.
"Tut! tut! tut! tut!" exclaimed the Italian with angry impatience."Oh, do have a little care, signor! The bull in a china-shop is alonelike this." And he turned his back upon this stupid blunderer, eventhough Cleek was profuse in his apologies, and looked as sorry as hedeclared. After a time, however, he went off on another tack, forhis quick-travelling glance had shown him Mr. Narkom in the houseacross the passage, and he turned on his heel and walked away rapidly.
"Tell you what it is: it's this blessed glare of light that'saccountable," he said. "A body's likely to stumble over anything withthe light streaming into the place in this fashion. What you wantin here is a bit of shade--like this."
Here he crossed the room hastily and, reaching up, pulled down thelong window blind with a sudden jerk. But before either Trent or theItalian could offer any objection to this interference with theconditions under which the waxworker chose to conduct his labours,he seemed, himself, to realize that the proceeding did not mendmatters, and, releasing his hold upon the blind, let the spring ofthe roller carry it up again to its original position. As he didthis he said with a peculiarly asinine air:
"That's a bit worse than the other, by Jip! Makes the blessed placetoo dashed dark altogether; so it's not the light that's to blameafter all."
"I should have thought even a fool might have known that!" gaveback the waxworker, almost savagely. "The light is poor enough asit is. Look for yourself. It is only the afterglow--and even thatis already declining. _Pouffe!_" And here, as if in disgust toogreat for words, he blew the breath from his lips with a sharp,short gust, and facing about again went back to his work on thetableau.
Cleek made no response; nor yet did Trent. By this time even he hadbegun to think that accident more than brains must have been at thebottom of the man's many successes; that he was, in reality, nothingmore than a blundering muddler; and, after another ten minutes ofputting up with his crazy methods, had just made up his mind toappeal to Narkom for the aid of another detective, when the endwhich was all along being prepared came with such a rush that itfairly made his head swim.
All that he was ever able clearly to recall of it was that therecame a sudden sound of clattering footsteps rushing pell-mell upthe staircase; that the partition door was flung open abruptly toadmit Mr. Maverick Narkom, with three or four of the firm's employeespressing close upon his heels; that the superintendent had but justcried out excitedly, "Yes, man, _yes!_" when there arose a wildclatter of falling figures, a snarl, a scuffle, a cry, and that,when he faced round in the direction of it, there was the Lucknowtableau piled up in a heap of fallen scenery and smashed waxworks,and in the middle of the ruin there was the "signor" lying on hisback with a band of steel upon each wrist, and over him Cleek, with aknee on the man's chest and the look of a fury in his eyes, cryingaloud: "Come out of it! Come out of it, you brute-beast! Your littledodge has failed!"
And hard on the heels of that shock Mr. Trent received another. Forof a sudden he saw Cleek pluck a wig from the man's head and leavea white line showing above the place where the joining paste once hadmet the grease paint with which the fellow's face was coloured, andheard him say as he tossed that wig toward him and rose, "Out of yourown stage properties, Mr. Trent--borrowed to be returned like this."
"Heaven above, man," said Trent in utter bewilderment, "what's themeaning of it all? Who is that man, then, since it's clear he's notLoti?"
"A very excellent actor in his day, Mr. Trent; his name is JamesColliver," replied Cleek. "I came to this place fully convinced thatLoti had murdered him; I now know that he murdered Loti, and thatto that crime he has added a yet more abominable one by killing hisown son!"
"It's a lie! It's a lie! I didn't! I didn't! I never saw the boy!"screeched out Colliver in a very panic of terror. "I've never killedany one. Loti sold out to me! Loti went back to France. I pawned thejewels to get the money to pay him to go."
"Oh, no, you didn't, my friend," said Cleek. "You performed thatoperation to shut Felix Murchison's mouth--the one man who couldswear, and did swear, that James Colliver never left this building onthe day of his disappearance, and who probably would have saidmore if you hadn't made it worth his while to shut his mouth and todisappear. You and I know, my friend, that Loti was the last manon this earth with whom you could come to terms upon anything. Hehad publicly declared that he would have your life, and he'd havekept his word if you hadn't turned the tables and killed him. Youstole his wife, and you were never even man enough to marry her eventhough she had borne you a son and clung to you to the end, poorwretch! You killed Loti, and you killed your own son. No doubt he isbetter off, poor little chap, to be dead and gone rather than to livewith the shadow of illegitimacy upon him; and no doubt, either,that when he came up here yesterday to meet Giuseppe Loti, he sawwhat I saw to-day, and knew you as I knew you then--the scar onthe wrist, which was one of the marks of identification given me atthe time I was sent to hunt you up! And you killed him to shut hismouth."
"I didn't! I didn't!" he protested wildly. "I never saw him. Hewasn't here. The women in the house across the way will swear thatthey saw the empty room."
"Not now!" declared Cleek, with emphasis. "I've convinced them tothe contrary. Mr. Trent, let a couple of your men come over hereand take charge of this fellow, please, and I will convince you aswell. That's right, my lads. Lay hold of the beggar and don't let himget a chance to make a dash for the stairs. Got him fast, have you?Good! Now then, Mr. James Colliver, _this_ is what those deludedwomen saw--this little dodge, which is going to help Jack Ketch tocome into his own."
Speaking, he walked rapidly across to the long blind, pulled it downto its full length, then with a wrench tore it wholly from the rollerand whirled it over, so that they who were within could now seethe outer side.
It bore, painted upon it, a perfect representation of the interiorof the glass-room, even to the little spindle-legged table with avase of pink roses upon it which _now_ stood at that room's far end.
"A clever idea, Colliver, and a good piece of painting," he said."It took me in once--last August--just as it took in Mrs. Shermanand her daughter yesterday. The mistiness of the lace curtainsfalling over it lent just the effect of 'distance' that was requiredto perfect the illusion and to prevent anybody from detecting thepaint. As for the boy----Gently, lads, gently! Don't let the beggarin his struggles make you step on that 'dead soldier.' Under thethick coating of wax a human body lies--the boy's! Hullo! Goneoff his balance, eh, at the knowledge that the game is entirely up?"This as Colliver, with a terrible cry, collapsed suddenly and fellto the floor shrieking and grovelling. "They are a cowardly lotthese brute-beast men when it comes to the wall and the finalcorner. Mr. Trent, break this to Miss Larue as gently as you can.She has suffered a great deal, poor girl, and it is bound to be ashock. She doesn't know that the woman he called his wife neverreally was his wife; she doesn't know about Loti or his threat.If she had she'd have told me, and I might have got on the trail inthe first case instead of waiting to pick it up like this."
He paused and held up his hand. Through all this Colliver had notonce ceased grovelling and screaming; but it was not his cries thathad draw
n that gesture from Cleek. It was the sound of some oneracing at top speed up the outer stairs, and with it the jar ofmany excited voices mingled in a babble of utter confusion.
The door of the glass-room swung inward abruptly, and the headbookkeeper looked in, with a crowd of clerks behind him.
"Mr. Trent, sir, whatever is the matter? Is anybody hurt? I neverheard such screams. The whole place is ringing with them and there'sa crowd gathering about the door."
Cleek left the junior partner to explain the situation, stepped tothe side of the glass-room, looked down, saw that the statement wasquite true, and--stepped sharply back again.
"We shall have to defer removing our prisoner until it gets dark,I fancy, Mr. Narkom," he said, serenely. "And with Mr. Trent'spermission we will make use of the door leading into the alley atthe back when that time comes. Bookkeeper!"
"Yes, sir?"
"You might explain to the constable on duty in the neighbourhood--ifhe comes to inquire, that is--the cause of the disturbance, and thatScotland Yard is in charge and Superintendent Narkom already onthe premises. That's all, thank you. You may close the door and takeyour colleagues below. Hullo! our prisoner seems to be subsidinginto something akin to gibbering idiocy, Mr. Trent. Fright hasturned his brain, apparently. Let us make use of the respite from hisshrieks. You will, of course, wish to hear how I got on the trackof the man, and what were the clues which led up to the solving ofthe affair. Well, you shall. Sit down, and while we are waitingfor the darkness to come I'll give you the complete explanation."
Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories Page 38
