CHAPTER XI
THE SECRET OF THE FLAMES
Fetchworth, as everybody knows, lies in that part of the Fen districtof Lincolnshire that borders on the coast, and in the curve of itsmotherlike arm Saltfleet Bay, a tiny shipping centre with miniatureharbour, drowses its days in pleasant idleness.
And so it was that upon the morning of Cleek's and Mr. Narkom's arrivalat Merriton Towers. They came disguised as two idlers interested in thesurrounding country, after having satiated themselves at the fountain ofLondon's gaieties, and bore the pseudonyms of "George Headland" and "Mr.Gregory Lake" respectively. Cleek himself was primed, so to speak, onevery point of the landscape. He knew all about Fetchworth that there wasto know--saving the secret of the Frozen Flames, and that he was expectedto know very soon--and the traffic of Saltfleet Bay and its tiny harbourwas an open book to him.
Even Withersby Hall and its environs had had the same close intensivestudy, and everything that was to be learnt from guide-books, tourists'enquiry offices and the like, was hidden away in the innermost recessesof his remarkable brain.
Borkins, standing at the smoking-room window--a favourite haunt of hisfrom which he was able to see without too ostensibly being seen--notedtheir coming up the broad driveway, with something of disfavour in hislook. Merriton had given him certain directions only the night before,and Borkins was a keen-sighted man. Also, the little fat johnny at anyrate, didn't quite look the type of man that the Merriton's were in thehabit of entertaining at the Towers.
However, he opened the door with a flourish, and told the gentlemen that"Sir Nigel is in the drorin'-room," whither he led them with much pomp.
Cleek took in the place at a glance. Noted the wide, deep hallway; theold-fashioned outlines of the house, smartened up freshly by the hands ofmodern workmen; the set of each door and window that he passed, andstowed away these impressions in the pigeon-holes of his mind. As heproceeded to the drawing-room he set out in his mind's eye the wholescene of that night's occurrence as had been related to him by Sir Nigel.There was the smoking-room door, open and showing the type of room behindit; there the hall-stand from which Dacre Wynne had fatefully wrenchedhis coat and hat, to go lurching out into oblivion, half-drunk andmaddened with something more than intoxication--if Merriton had told hisstory truly, and Cleek believed he had. It was, in fact, in that verysmoking-room that the legend which had led up to the tragedy had beentold. Hmm. There certainly was much to be cleared up here while he waswaiting for that other business at the War Office to adjust itself. Hewouldn't find time hanging heavily upon his hands there was no doubt ofthat, and the thought that this man who had come to him for help was aone-time friend of Ailsa Lorne's, the one dear woman in the world, addedfuel to the fire of his already awakened interest.
He greeted Merriton with all the bored ennui of the part he had adopted,during such time as he was under Borkins' watchful eye. Even Mr. Narkomplayed his part creditably, and won a glance of approval from his justlycelebrated ally.
"Hello, old chap," said Cleek, extending a hand, and screwing a monoclestill farther into his left eye. "Awfully pleased to see you,doncherknow. Devilish long journey, what? Beastly fine place you'vegot here, I must say. What you think, Lake?"
Merriton gasped, bit his lip, and then suddenly realizing who thegentleman thus addressing him was, made an attempt at the right sort ofreply.
"Er--yes, yes, of course," he responded, though somewhat at random, forthis absolutely new creature that Cleek had become rather took his breathaway. "Afraid you're very tired and all that. Cold, Mr.--er Headland?"
Cleek frowned at the slight hesitation before the name. He didn't wantto take chances of any one guessing his identity and Borkins was stillhalf-way within the room, and probably had sharp ears. His sort of manhad!
"Not very," he responded, as the door closed behind the butler. "At leastthat is, Sir Nigel,"--speaking in his natural voice--"it really waspretty chilly coming down. Winter's setting in fast, you know. That yourman?"
He jerked his head in the direction of the closed door, and twitched anenquiring eyebrow.
Merriton nodded.
"Yes," he said, "that's Borkins. Looks a trustworthy specimen,doesn't he? For my part I don't trust him farther than I can see him,Mr.--er--Headland (awfully sorry but I keep forgetting your namesomehow). He's too shifty-eyed for me. What do you think?"
"Tell you better when I've had a good look at him," responded Cleek,guardedly. "And lots of honest men are shifty-eyed, Sir Nigel, and viceversa. That doesn't count for anything, you know. Well, my dear Mr. Lake,finding your part a bit too much for you?" he added, with a laugh,turning to Mr. Narkom, who was sitting on the extreme edge of his chair,mournfully fingering his collar, which was higher and tighter than thesomewhat careless affair which he usually adopted. "Never mind. As thepoet sings, 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women, etc.'You're simply one of 'em, now. Try to remember that. And remember, also,that the eyes of the gallery are not always upon you. Sir Nigel, I askyou, isn't our friend's make-up the perfection of the--er--elderlyman-about-town?"
Sir Nigel laughingly had to admit that it was, whereupon Mr. Narkomblushed exceedingly, and--the ice was broken as Cleek had intended itshould be.
They adjourned to the smoking-room, where a huge log-fire burnt in thegrate, and easy chairs invited. They discussed the topics of the day withevident relish during such time as Borkins was in the room, and smokedtheir cigars with the air of men to whom the hours were as naught, andlife simply a chessboard to move their little pieces upon as they willed.But how soon they were to cry checkmate upon this case which they wereall investigating, even Cleek did not know. Then of a sudden he looked upfrom his task of studying the fire with knitted brows.
"By the way," he said off-handedly, "I hope you don't mind. My man willbe coming down by the next train with our traps. I never travel withouthim, he's such a useful beggar. You can manage to put him up somewhere,I suppose? I was a fool not to have mentioned it before, but the ladentirely slipped my memory. He helps me, too, in other things, and thereis always a good deal to be learned from the servants' hall, you know,Sir Nigel.... You can manage with Dollops, can't you? Otherwise he canput up at the village inn."
Merriton shook his head decisively.
"Of course not, Mr. Headland. Wouldn't hear of such a thing. Anybody whois going to be useful to you in this case is, as you know, absolutelywelcome to Merriton Towers. He won't get much out of Borkins though,I don't mind telling you."
"Hmm. Well that remains to be seen, doesn't it, Mr. Narkom?" returnedCleek, with a smile. "Dollops has a way. And he knows it. I'll warrantthere won't be much that Borkins can keep from the sharp little devil!Well, it seems to be getting dusk rapidly, Sir Nigel, what about thoseflames now, eh? I'd like to have a look at 'em if it's possible."
Merriton screwed his head round to the window, and noted the gatheringgloom which the fire and the electric lights within had managed toneutralize. Then he got to his feet. There was a trace of excitementin his manner. Here was the moment he had been waiting for, and here themaster-mind which, if anything ever could, must unravel this fiendishmystery that surrounded two men's disappearances and a group of silly,flickering little flames.
He turned from the window with his eyes bright.
"Look here," he said, rapidly. "They're just beginnin' to appear. See'em? Mr. Cleek, see 'em? Now tell me what the dickens they are and howthey are connected with Dacre Wynne's disappearance."
Cleek got to his feet slowly, and strode over to the window. In thegathering gloom of the early winter night, the flames were flashing outone by one, here and there and everywhere hanging low against the grassacross the bar of horizon directly in front of them. Cleek stared at themfor a long time. Mr. Narkom coming up behind him peered out over hisshoulder, rubbed his eyes, looked again and gave out a hasty "God blessmy soul!" of genuine astonishment, then dropped into silence again, hiseyes upon Cleek's face. Sir Nigel, too, was watching that face, his ownnervou
s, a trifle distraught.
But Cleek stood there at the window with his hands in his trousers'pockets, humming a little tune and watching this amazing phenomenon whicha whole village had believed to be witchcraft, as though the thingsurprised him not one whit; as though, in fact, he was a trifle amusedat it. Which indeed he was.
Finally he swung round upon his heels and looked at each of the faces inturn, his own broadening into a grin, his eyes expressing incredulity,wonderment, and lastly mirth. At length he spoke:
"Gad!" he ejaculated with a little whistle of astonishment. "You meanto tell me that a whole township has been hanging by the heels, so tospeak, upon as ridiculously easy an affair as that?" He jerked his thumboutward toward the flames and threw back his head with a laugh. "Whereis your 'general knowledge' which you learnt at school, man? Didn't theyteach you any? What amazes me most is that there are others--forgiveme--equally as ignorant. Want to know what those flames are, eh?"
"Well, rather!"
"Well, well, just to think that you've actually been losing sleep on it!Shows what asses we human beings are, doesn't it? No offence meant, ofcourse. As for you, Mr. Narkom--or Mr. Gregory Lake, as I must rememberto call you for the good of the cause--I'm ashamed of you, I am indeed!You ought to know better, a man of your years!"
"But the flames, Cleek, the flames!" There was a tension in Merriton'svoice that spoke of nerves near to the breaking point. Instantly Cleekwas serious. He reached out a hand and laid it upon the young man'sshoulder. Merriton was trembling, but he steadied under the grip, justas it was meant that he should.
"See here," Cleek said, bluntly, "you oughtn't to work yourself up intosuch a state. It's not good for you; you'll go all to pieces one of thesedays. Those flames, eh? Why I thought any one knew enough about naturalphenomena to answer that question. But it seems I'm wrong. Those flamesare nothing more nor less than marsh gas, Sir Nigel, evolved from thedecomposition of vegetation, and therefore only found in swampy regionssuch as this. Whew! and to think that here is a community that has beenbowing down to these things as symbols from another world!"
"Marsh gas, Mr.--"
"Headland, please. It is wiser, and will help better to remember when thenecessity arises," returned Cleek, with a smile. "Yes, that is all theyare--the outcome of marsh gas."
"But what _is_ marsh gas, Mr.--Headland?" Merriton's voice was stillstrained.
Cleek motioned to a chair.
"Better sit down to it, my young friend," he said, gently. "Because, toone who isn't interested, it is an extremely dull subject. However, it isbetter that you should know--as you don't seem to have learnt it atschool. Here goes: marsh gas, or methane as it is sometimes called, isthe first of the group of hydrocarbons known as paraffins. Whether thatconveys anything to you I don't know. But you've asked for knowledge andI mean you to have it." He smiled again, and Merriton gravely shook hishead, while Mr. Narkom, dropping for the time being his air of pompousboredom, became the interested listener in every line of his ampleproportions.
"Go on, old chap," he said eagerly.
"Methane," said Cleek, serenely, "is a colourless, absolutelyodourless gas, slightly soluble in water. It burns with a yellowishflame--which golden tinge you have no doubt noticed in these famousflames of yours--with the production of carbonic acid and water. In theneighbourhood of oil wells in America, and also in the Caucasus, if mymemory doesn't fail me, the gas escapes from the earth, and in somedistricts--particularly in Baku--it has actually been burning for yearsas sacred fires. A question of atmosphere and education, you see, SirNigel."
"Good Heavens! Then you mean to say that those beastly things out thereare not lit by any human or superhuman agency at all!" exploded Merritonat this juncture. "And that they have nothing whatever to do with thevanishing of Wynne and Collins?"
Cleek shook his head emphatically.
"Pardon me," he said, "but I didn't say that. The first part of thesentence I agree with entirely. Those so-called flames are lit only bythe hand of the Infinite. And the Infinite is always mysterious, SirNigel. But as to whether they have any bearing upon the disappearances ofthose two men is a horse of another colour. We'll look into that lateron. In coal-mines marsh gas is considered highly dangerous, and theminers call it fire-damp. But that is by the way. What enters into theimmediate question is the fact that there is a patch of charred grassupon the Fens where you say the vanished man, Dacre Wynne's footprintssuddenly ended. Hmm."
He stopped speaking suddenly, and getting up again crossed over to thewindow. He stood for a moment looking out of it, his brows drawn down,his face set in the stern lines that betokened concentration of thought.
Mr. Narkom and Merriton watched him with something of wonder in theireyes. To Merriton, at any rate, who really knew so little of Cleek'sunique and powerful mind, the fact of a policeman having such extensiveinformation was surprising in the extreme.
"You don't think, then," he said, breaking the silence that had fallenupon them, "that this--er--marsh gas could have caused the death of Wynneand Collins? Burnt 'em alive, so to speak?"
Cleek did not move at this question. They merely saw his shoulders twitchas though he didn't wish to be bothered at the moment.
"Don't know," he said laconically, "and if that were true, where arethe bodies?... Gad! Just as I thought! Come here, gentlemen, this mayinterest you. See that flame there! It's no more natural marsh gas thanI am! There's human agency all right, Sir Nigel. There's natural marshgas and there are--other things as well. Those marsh lights are beingaugmented. But for what purpose? What reason? That's the thing we've gotto find out."