CHAPTER XIV
THE PLOT THICKENS
The stroll through the leafy lane was a very pleasant one to Cleekthough he strove to keep his thoughts fixed on the case which had calledhim to Hampton and the mysterious events which had taken place there.
"A very fascinating woman, I should say," he said to Ailsa, referring toLady Brenton, who was just behind them.
"Very," was the quick answer, "and she is as good of heart as she isgood to look at. It seems so sad that she should have such trouble, poorthing!"
"Yes, I noticed that she was evidently in some deep distress," respondedCleek, quietly, "and I should say she has spent some sleepless nightsover it, too."
"That is just what I thought," said Ailsa, impulsively, "but she saidshe slept splendidly last night, and yet----" she broke off, evidentlyregretting the impulse under which the words had been uttered.
"Yet what?" prompted Cleek, gently.
Ailsa gave vent to a deep sigh.
"Oh, I expect I must have been mistaken," she said, "but I thought Iheard her moving down the corridor last night. But I couldn't have, ofcourse."
The queer little one-sided smile travelled up Cleek's face, but he madeno comment, and the conversation drifted to other things, until theyreached the gates of "The Towers."
Here, however, his thoughts were recalled to the case of the PurpleEmperor with a little jerk, for the butler, having ushered them into thehall, said:
"Begging pardon, your ladyship, but there is a gentleman awaitin'."
Lady Brenton turned with a frown puckering her smooth brows.
"If it is a reporter, I will not see him!" she said, with a decisivewave of her hand. "You know that, Graves, very well. I told youyesterday not to admit strangers under any pretext."
"Beggin' pardon, my lady, but it is not a stranger. It is the Indiangentleman, Gunga Dall," responded Graves with a reproachful look at hismistress for ever having doubted him. "He was most anxious to see yourladyship and is waiting in the drawing room."
The exclamation that broke from his mistress's lips upon receipt ofthis statement was one of mingled relief and pleasure but a deep frowngathered on her son's face.
"That nigger here again, Mater? I can't think how you can bear him aboutyou," he said, irritably. "I should have thought you had had enough ofthem out in India."
Lady Brenton's face showed signs of evident displeasure.
"Gunga Dall is not a 'nigger,' Edgar. How can you say such a wickedthing!" she expostulated, angrily. "He is a most charming man, and theonly one who has ever cured my headaches for me. I haven't had such anight's rest for years as I had last night."
Cleek's eyes were quick enough to note the expression on Sir Edgar'sface as Lady Brenton turned to lead the way. It showed suchopen-mouthed, intense incredulity that he could not resist a littlesmile on its behalf, nevertheless, as he followed his host and hostessinto the room where awaited with Eastern patience the Hindoo whom SirEdgar had so contemptuously designated "nigger."
If Cleek had expected to find the usual obsequious, cringing half-breed,so familiar to many travellers in India, he was destined to be agreeablydisappointed. Gunga Dall was a Brahmin of high caste and ancientlineage, and his greeting to Lady Brenton was a model of grave reserveand courtesy.
A splendid specimen of the East was Gunga Dall, for his face fairlyradiated good nature and a general belief in humanity, which was stillmore clearly displayed in his conversation. It was no wonder, therefore,that Constable Roberts had said: "'E wouldn't 'urt a fly." He trulylooked that meek part to perfection. Cleek noted his very apparentadmiration of Lady Brenton and wondered a good deal as those familiarlines,
"East is East, and West is West, And never the twain shall meet."
came into his mind. The ball of conversation rolled leisurely, until thetopic that was uppermost in almost every mind found its way to them atlast.
But at the first mention of it Gunga Dall's dark face turned a sort ofdull ivory hue, and he threw up his hands.
"It is all so terrible," he ejaculated, "and we of the East cannot viewdeath as phlegmatically as you English. Such things as murder we cannotso easily discuss. I must beg to be forgiven if I withdraw myself fromyour discussion."
A short while afterward Cleek arose to depart and Ailsa went with him.
"Don't you think Lady Brenton is a dear woman?" she said, impulsively,as they turned into the lane, "and this awful business has completelyupset her. She has simply longed for that poor child, Lady Margaret, tocome back from France, and says she has even tried herself to see MissCheyne, but it has always been in vain."
Cleek rubbed his chin meditatively, and pondered a moment upon theimport of these words. Was that what had taken her ladyship down to thelodge to see Miss Cheyne last night? If she was so fond of LadyMargaret, why had she not gone to the station to meet her? Why had SirEdgar himself taken the foolish trouble of asking Miss Cheyne'spermission when he knew it would be refused?
These were but a few of the thoughts that passed through his mind. Butchiefly he could not drive away remembrance of the gold embroidery whichdecorated the turban of Gunga Dall, the only outward sign as regardsclothes that the Hindoo gentleman wore to mark his Eastern origin.
"Lady Brenton is a very sensitive woman, I should say," he said,finally, "although she bears herself so well after the shock of LadyMargaret's disappearance. I see that you are very much attached to her."
"I am, dear," said Ailsa, enthusiastically. "She has been a very goodfriend to me in every way, and that was why I was so glad you happenedto come along at that psychological moment."
"No gladder than I," said Cleek, reflectively. "Mr. George Headland doesnot perhaps fit in with my attire but who's to know the difference. Iwas afraid you would make it Lieutenant Deland, and I meant to havewritten you a little note and sent it up by Dollops. I do not want SirEdgar to have any suspicions that he is being watched."
Ailsa looked up at him with grave, sweet eyes.
"I am afraid I do not understand. Oh!" with a sudden cry of fear, "doyou mean that you suspect _him_, Sir Edgar, of being concerned? Why, hiswhole life is bound up in Lady Margaret! I can see that now, and it ishardly likely that he would harm her only living relative!"
"And yet," said Cleek, slowly, "he certainly had a revolver in hispocket when I met him in the lane on the night I drove to Hampton, andyou yourself heard his threat of murder the day before yesterday."
Ailsa looked at him, her eyes wide, the colour draining slowly from herlips and cheeks. It was impossible not to grasp the truth as well as thesignificance of these two circumstances, slight evidences of guiltthough they might appear.
"Oh, my dear," she said, faintly, "you surely can't think--a dear boylike Sir Edgar. You surely can't believe that he could have had a handin such a frightful crime?"
"I hope not, Ailsa," responded Cleek, gravely, "for I admit I like theboy. But one thing is certain, if he did not actually commit the crimehimself, he knows who did. Knows, too, that there is a woman likely tobe implicated in the case."
"A woman--a--a woman?"
"Possibly two; at least two women were in Cheyne Court last night."
"Are you hinting at Lady Brenton? That would be too absurd for words!"
"I am hinting nothing," returned Cleek with a smile into her anxiousface. "Now that I have seen her I would almost as soon suspect youyourself, shall we say," he added, smilingly.
He saw that Ailsa was almost overcome by the power of her emotion and hestood still beneath the shadow of the trees.
"Who knows as well as I do the falsity of appearances," he went on inthat same grave tone, "and I am not likely to be swayed bycircumstantial evidence, black as it may appear. What is more, I willprove this to you, for I know that you will help me to the utmost ofyour power. Here is one little clue that will tell heavily againstsomeone. Ailsa, tell me, will you? Have you ever seen this before?"
While he was speaking his hand had gone to his pocket, and he drew
outhis pocketbook. Opening it, he took out a little scrap of gold lace andlet her see it lying on his open palm. Her eyes dropped to theglittering fragment and a puzzled frown appeared on her face. Thensuddenly she gave a little start and bent over it.
"I thought at first it was torn from my own dress," she said frankly,looking up at him with wide-open, serious eyes, "for as it happens Ihave a dress trimmed with embroidery exactly like it. Would you care tosee it?"
"Not in the least, Ailsa mine," responded Cleek, quickly. "I am notgoing to suggest that you were at Cheyne Court last night--anyway, thisfragment smells too strongly of jasmine to belong to you."
She laughed up into his face for a moment.
"Fancy remembering that!" she said, softly. "It is a scent I detest,though strangely enough a favourite one with Lady Brenton. Sir Edgargave her quite a big bottle of it on her birthday, I believe. It is verystrong, and the least drop is sufficient to scent the whole room. That'swhy I dislike it so, it seems somehow so suggestive!"
"Hmn," said Cleek, quietly, "that's strange, rather." _Huile de jasmin_,eh? And it was Lady Brenton's favourite scent. He fell to musing again.If Lady Brenton had been so soundly asleep last night, how came herscarf to be caught in the dead man's hand and the very scent she used tobe permeating the whole place?
"I hope you are not going to think her capable of committing murder,"Ailsa said with a smile, "because she possesses a gold scarf and likesjasmine. As it happens I know she was in her room all the night. It wasnot until the early hours that I fancied I heard a step, and even then Imust have been mistaken."
"Nevertheless, she certainly visited Cheyne Court last night," persistedCleek, calmly. "I know that beyond all possible doubt, for Dollops sawtwo women with gold scarves, and as we caught Miss Jennifer----"
"What?" Ailsa turned sharply as she spoke and Cleek told her of thelittle incident.
"I can believe anything of her," said she, dryly, when he had finished,"for I know how long she has sought to entrap Sir Edgar into anengagement and woo him from his allegiance to Lady Margaret this pastyear. But that Lady Brenton was _there_, at Cheyne Court, I willnot--cannot believe. I am sure she never left the house----" She pausedabruptly, and grew very pale, at the recollection of that swift stepthat had sounded on the polished floor of the corridor when all thehouse was still. In her innermost heart she knew that she had not beenmistaken. And yet, and yet----
"Oh, but she is the soul of honour!" she said, looking up at Cleek withfrightened eyes, "and she told me herself that she slept soundly allnight. If she had gone out after I fell asleep----"
"It could be proved and very easily," put in Cleek, gently. "You knowhow moist the night was. The lane was wet and muddy. Her clothes, herskirt, her shoes---- But I will not suggest that."
"Nor would I do it," replied Ailsa. "Even if she did go out, and I wouldnot admit it even now unless she said so, that does not mean that shehad any ulterior motive. As for the scarf, well, it might be a piecefrom Lady Margaret's own for that matter----"
Cleek stopped short.
"Lady Margaret!" he rapped out in excitement. "Did she possess a goldscarf, then?"
"Yes; one that was given her by her father on one of his few visits tothe convent. She showed it to me during the crossing, and from what Ican see, this certainly looks as if it had been torn from hers."
Cleek's eyes were narrowed down to mere slits. So absorbed was he thathe did not hear the pattering of an animal's feet behind them and hestarted as an old brown retriever flung himself on Ailsa, greeting herboisterously.
"Jock, you dear, I am so glad; he didn't kill you after all. I am soglad!"
She stopped and patted the dog affectionately, then answered the inquiryin Cleek's eyes.
"He is so old," she said, softly, "and Sir Edgar was going to get rid ofhim. He had even bought prussic acid or something, I believe, butevidently poor old Jock is to be allowed to live a little longer."
So absorbed was Ailsa in the animal, that she failed to note the gleamof anxiety in Cleek's eyes.
"Prussic acid, eh?" he said to himself, musingly, "presumably to kill anold dog. Not so old, either, by his running powers." And Sir Edgar hadcertainly been in Cheyne Court for he himself had ascertained that bythe footprints which Dollops had so conscientiously copied. Well, it wasa puzzling case. If Lady Margaret herself, driven to desperation, hadkilled the woman--or man, as she might have discovered him to be--whokept her prisoner? Did Sir Edgar know, and was he shielding her;concealing her in London? Or was it, after all, Lady Brenton?
Struck with a sudden idea, he turned to Ailsa.
"One moment, dear," he said, quietly. "Do you know anybody who has ascarlet cloak, satin, I think?"
"Scarlet satin coat?" echoed Ailsa. "Why, what can that have to do withit? As it happens, I do know, for I possess one myself and very fond ofit I am, too. But why do you ask?"
"Oh, just a fancy of mine, that's all," replied Cleek with apparentirrelevance. "I thought perhaps Lady Brenton had one, but if shehasn't--unless she might have borrowed yours, you'd lend it to her Iknow. Did you?"
"No, that I certainly did _not_. For one thing, why should Lady Brentonwish to wear my things? Anyhow, I know she did not borrow mine with myknowledge."
"Hmn, I see. You couldn't have left it lying around anywhere?"
Ailsa laughed gaily.
"How like a man! As if I should leave satin opera coats lying round.They're much too precious! But of course it is in one of the cupboardsat The Towers. I left it there once, and it has been there ever since."
She was gazing down the lane which wound its way round the fields anddistant houses and now gave a little cry of dismay.
"Oh, here is that dreadful girl again and her brother! I can't help it,dear," she added, impulsively, "but Miss Wynne and I do not get on well.I know her better than I care about."
Cleek looked critically at the pair who were advancing round the bend ofthe lane, and his thoughts readjusted themselves.
"Perhaps you will tell me about them," he said, quietly. "Who and whatare they, this Miss Wynne and her brother?"
Ailsa turned her soft eyes up into his face.
"Miss Wynne, Jennifer is her other name, is the only daughter of old Dr.Wynne. She keeps house for Mr. Bobby Wynne. What he does and how heearns any money is always a mystery to me. For he never appears to doanything."
"If I remember correctly, Dr. Verrall appeared to be rather 'interested'in the lady," Cleek struck in.
Ailsa nodded.
"That's perfectly true," she said, quickly. "Indeed, if it were not forthe fact that she has set her heart upon becoming the future LadyBrenton, I believe she would marry him. For he adores her; that's patentto all."
A slight pause followed this as Cleek's eyes sought hers for a momentwith a look in their depths that brought the warm colour into hercheeks.
"He is not the only one who adores his lady," he put in gently, "andwhat else is there about this interesting couple, pray? I am anxious tohear."
"I know you are," she responded, "and I can understand how every littledetail in the chain of evidence counts. You can rely upon me to supplythem to you as soon as they come my way."
Cleek looked at her gratefully.
"Indeed I do," he said, quietly. "Believe me, Ailsa, any little scrapsof fact or gossip that you can give me I shall be grateful for. You maybe sure no harm will be done, and it may possibly lead to some quickerdiscovery."
It was then to Miss Wynne's advantage, he reflected, to have LadyMargaret out of her path, if only for the time being. With Miss Cheyneout of the reckoning as well there would be an added danger, but itwould be turned to an advantage if Sir Edgar were accused of the murder,and Miss Jennifer alone could save him---- His thoughts trailed away asthis suddenly awakened thought took hold of him. Supposing Sir Edgarwere accused of the murder as he had imagined, and it was in MissWynne's hands to tighten the noose about his neck, or shake it offaltogether? He wondered idly if her woman's heart would actdisin
terestedly in such an event and wondering, quite suddenly he_knew_. It would be as Sir Edgar's wife that Jennifer Wynne would freehim--not otherwise.
He turned to Ailsa again.
"Shall we meet Dr. Wynne as well?" he asked quickly.
"Oh, no, he died more than a year ago; that is why Master Bobby is ableto waste his time and money I expect."
"Hmn--yes, explains Dr. Verrall, too: his presence in the village, Imean," he added, not wishing to voice his suspicions as yet.
"Yes," said Ailsa, "and as he is desperately in love with her, it is tobe hoped that she will not succeed in her endeavours to become thefuture Lady Brenton. Certainly if gifts could win her, Dr. Verrall wouldsucceed, he has simply loaded her with presents. They are unique ones,too: mostly strange things from temples----"
She broke off suddenly as Cleek's lips pursed themselves into a lowwhistle of surprise.
"What is the matter, dear?"
"Nothing. Do you happen to know from where Dr. Verrall came to thisplace?"
"India, I believe. I know he has had a lot of Indian patients down here,and he is a perfect encyclopedia on the subject of precious stones."
Cleek glanced at her swiftly.
Hmn---- Here was another item of interest. Anglo-Indian, was he? Andknew all about precious stones? What about the Eye of Shiva, then? Itmight well be that he was in league with the priests and had beenheavily bribed to secure that stone. He could easily have obtained theprussic acid; who better than a doctor with his own private dispensary?Yes, he must keep an eye on Dr. Verrall--and obtain an entry into hishouse.
He puckered up his brows. Obviously the easiest way would be to become apatient, though it would be useless to expect that the doctor would notspeedily see through his fraud and know that he was an object ofcuriosity. Cleek gave a little impatient toss of his shoulders as if tothrow away these great ideas, and came back again to Miss Jennifer Wynneand her brother who were now within hailing distance of them.