The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

by Thomas W. Hanshew and Mary E. Hanshew

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE SPIN OF THE WHEEL

  Merriton stood at the study window, looking out, and pulling at hiscigar with an air of profound meditation. Upon the hearth-rug DoctorBartholomew, clad in baggy tweeds, stood tugging at his beard and watchedthe man's back with kindly, troubled eyes.

  "Don't like it, Nigel, my boy; don't like it at all!" he ejaculated,suddenly, in his close-clipped fashion. "These detectives are the verydevil to pay. Get 'em in one's house and they're like doctors--including,of course, my humble self--difficult to get out. Part of the profession,my boy. But a beastly nuisance. Seems to me I'd rather have the mysterythan the men. Simpler, anyway. And fees, you know, are heavy."

  Merriton swung round upon his heel suddenly, his brows like a thundercloud.

  "I don't care a damn about that," he broke out angrily. "Let 'em takeevery penny I've got, so long as they solve the thing! But I can't getaway from it--I just can't. Hangs over me night and day like the sword ofDamocles! Until the mystery of Wynne's disappearance is cleared up, Itell you 'Toinette and I can't marry. She feels the same. And--and--we'vethe house all ready, you know, everything fixed and in order, except_this_. When poor old Collins disappeared, too, I found I'd reached mylimit. So here these detectives are, and, on the whole, jolly decentchaps I find 'em."

  Doctor Bartholomew shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Have it your ownway, my boy." But what he really _did_ say was:

  "What are their names?"

  "Young chap's Headland--George or John Headland, I don't remember quitewhich. Other one's Lake--Gregory Lake."

  "H'm. Good name that, Nigel. Ought to be some brains behind it. But Inever did pin my faith on policemen, you know, boy. Scotland Yard's madeso many mistakes that if it hadn't been for that chap Cleek, they'd haveruined themselves altogether. Now, he's a man, if you like! Pity youcouldn't get _him_ while you're about it."

  The impulse to tell who "George Headland" really was to this firm friendwho had been more than a father to him, even in the old days, and who hadmade a point of dropping down upon him, informally, ever since thetrouble over Dacre Wynne's disappearance, took hold of Nigel. But heshook it off. He had given his word. And if he could not tell 'Toinette,then no other soul in the universe should know. So he simply tossed hisshoulders, and, going back to the window, looked out of it, to hide thesomething of triumph which had stolen into his face.

  Truth to tell, he was obsessed with a feeling that something _was_going to happen, and happen soon. The premonition, to one who was notused to such things, carried all the more conviction. With Cleek on thetrack--anything might happen. Cleek was a man for whom things never stoodstill, and his amazing brain was concentrated upon this problem as ithad been concentrated--successfully--upon others. Merriton had a feelingthat it was only a matter of time.

  Then, just as he was standing there, humming something softly beneath hisbreath, the cavalcade, headed by Cleek and Mr. Narkom, rather grim andsilent, reached the gateway. Behind them--Merriton gave a sudden crywhich brought the doctor to his side--behind them three men were carryingsomething--something bulky and large and wrapped in a black oilskintarpaulin. And one of the men was Headland's servant, Dollops! Herecognized that, even as his inner consciousness told him that his"something" was about to happen now.

  "Gad! they've found the body," he exclaimed, in a hoarse, excited voice,fairly running to the front door and throwing it open with a crash thatrang through the old house from floor to rafters, and brought Borkinsscuttling up the kitchen stairs at a pace that was ill-befitting his ageand dignity. Merriton gave him a curt order.

  "Have the morning-room door thrown open and the sofa pulled out fromagainst the wall. My friends have been for a walk across the Fens, andhave found something. You can see them coming up the drive. What d'youmake of it?"

  "Gawd! a haccident, Sir Nigel," said Borkins, in a shaky voice. "'Adn't Ibetter tell Mrs. Mummery to put the blue bedroom in order and 'ave plentyof 'ot water?..."

  "No." Merriton was running down the front steps and flung the answer backover his shoulder. "Can't you use your eyes? It's a body, you fool--abody!"

  Borkins gasped a moment, and then stood still, his thin lips sucked in,his face unpleasant to see. He was alone in the hallway, for DoctorBartholomew's fat figure was waddling in Merriton's wake.

  He put up his fist and shook it in their direction.

  "Pity it ain't your body, young upstart that you are!" he mutteredbeneath his breath, and turned toward the morning room.

  Meanwhile Merriton had reached the solemn little party and was walkingback beside Cleek, his face chalky, the pupils of his eyes a trifledilated with excitement.

  "Found 'em? Found 'em _both_, you say, Mr. Headland?" he kept onrepeating over and over again, as they mounted the steps together. "GoodGod! What a strange--what a peculiar thing! I'll swear there was no sightnor sign of them when I've tramped over the Fens dozens of times. I don'tknow what to make of it, I don't indeed!"

  "Oh, we'll make something of it all right," returned Cleek, with a sharplook at him, for there was one thing he wanted to find out, and he meantto do that as soon as possible. "Two and two, you know, put togetherproperly, always make four. It's only the fools of the world that addwrong. If you'd had as much practice as I've had in dealing withhumanity, you'd find it was an ever-increasing astonishment to see theway things dovetail in.... Who's this, by the way?"

  He jerked his head in the direction of the doctor, who had stopped at thefoot of the steps and waited for them to come up to him.

  "Oh, a very old friend of mine, Mr. Headland. Doctor Bartholomew. Has avery big practice in town, but a trifle eccentric, as you can see atfirst glance."

  Cleek sent his keen eyes over the odd-looking figure in the worn tweeds.

  "I see. Then can you tell me how he finds time to run down here atleisure and visit you? Seems to me a man with a big practice never hasenough time to work it in. At least, that has been my experience ofdoctors."

  Merriton flushed angrily at the tone. He whipped his head round and metCleek's cool gaze hotly.

  "I know you're down here to investigate the case, but I don't thinkthere's any reason for you to start suspecting my friends," he retorted,his eyes flashing. "Doctor Bartholomew has a partner, if you want toknow. And also he's supposed to be retired. But he carries on for thelove of the thing. Best man ever breathed--remember that!"

  Cleek smiled to himself at the sudden onslaught. The young pepper-pot!Yet he liked him for the loyal defence of his friend, nevertheless. Therewere all too few creatures in the world who found it impossible tosuspect those whom they cared for, and who cared for them.

  "Sorry to have given any offence, I'm sure," he said, smoothly. "None wasmeant, right enough, Sir Nigel. But a policeman has an unpleasant duty,you know. He's got to keep his eyes and his ears open. So if you findmine open too far, any time, just tip me the wink and I'll shut 'em upagain."

  "Oh, that's all right," said Merriton, mollified, and a trifle shamefacedat the outburst. Then, with an effort to turn the conversation: "Butthink of findin' 'em both, Mr.--er--Headland! Were they--very awful?"

  "Pretty awful," returned Cleek, quietly; "eh, Mr. Lake?"

  "God bless my soul--_yes_!" threw in that gentleman, with a shudder."Now then, boys, if you don't mind--" He took the attitude of a casualacquaintance with his two assistants who helped to bear the burden. "Comealong inside. This way--that's it. Where did you say, Merriton? Into themorning room? All right. Ah, Borkins has been getting things ready, Isee. That couch is a broad one. Good thing, as there are two of 'em."

  "_Two_ of 'em, sir?" exclaimed Borkins, suddenly throwing up his hands,his eyes wide with horror. Mr. Narkom nodded with something ofprofessional triumph in his look.

  "Two of 'em, Borkins. And the second one, if I don't make any mistake,answers to the description of James Collins--eh, Headland?"

  Cleek gave him a sudden look that spoke volumes. It came over him in aflash that Narkom had said too much;
that it wasn't the casual visitor'splace to know what a servant who was not there at the time of his visitlooked like.

  "At least--that's as far as I can make out from what Sir Nigel told me ofhim the other day," he supplemented, in an effort to make amends. "Nowthen, boys, put 'em there on the couch. Poor things! I warn you, SirNigel, this isn't going to be a pleasant sight, but you've got to gothrough with it, I'm afraid. The police'll want identification made, ofcourse. Hadn't you better 'phone the local branch? Someone ought to behere in charge, you know."

  Merriton nodded. He was so stunned at the actuality of these two men'sdeaths, at the knowledge that their bodies--lifeless, extinct--were herein his morning room, that he had stood like an image, making no move, nosound.

  "Yes--yes," he said, rapidly, waving a hand in Borkins's direction. "Seethat it's done at once, please. Tell Constable Roberts to come along witha couple of his men. Very decent of these chaps to give you a hand, Mr.Lake. That's your man, Dollops, isn't it, Headland? Well, hadn't hebetter take 'em downstairs and give 'em a stiff whisky-and-soda? I expectthe poor beggars have need of it."

  Cleek held up a silencing hand.

  "No," he said, firmly. "Not just yet, I think. They may be needed forevidence when the constable comes. Now...." He crossed over to where thebodies lay, and gently removed the covering. Merriton went suddenlywhite, while the doctor, more used to such sights, bit his lips and laida steadying hand upon the younger man's arm.

  "My God!" cried Sir Nigel, despairingly. "How did they meet their death?"

  Cleek reached down a finger and gently touched a blackened spot uponWynne's temple.

  "Shot through the head, and the bullet penetrated the brain," he said,quietly. "Small-calibre revolver, too. There's your Frozen Flame for you,my friend!"

  But he was hardly prepared for the event that followed. For at thisstatement, Merriton threw a hand out suddenly, as though warding off ablow, took a step forward and peered at that which had once been hisfriend--and enemy--and then gave out a strangled cry.

  "Shot through the head!" he fairly shrieked, as Borkins came quietly intothe room, and stopped short at the sound of his master's voice. "I tellyou it's impossible--_impossible_! It wasn't my shot, Mr. Headland--itcouldn't have been!"