CHAPTER XVII
MISS CHEYNE AGAIN
At the police station Cleek found Mr. Narkom awaiting him.
"You look worried," he said, with a twitch of his head and a lift of theeyebrows in that gentleman's direction.
"I am worried," responded the Superintendent, excitedly. "Cleek, Ithought you were never coming! I've a search warrant here for CheyneCourt." Speaking, he drew Cleek in through the door of ConstableRoberts' private sanctum and shut it sharply behind him. "If we don'tfind something to throw a little light on the matter I will eat myhead."
"And a very indigestible quantity you'll find it, too," retorted Cleekwith a laugh. "We'd better be getting along at once, the sooner thebetter, and try to get to the bottom of this most distressing affair."
For answer Mr. Narkom grabbed his hat, clapped it upon his head andtogether they went out to the red limousine. Petrie and Hammond, whohad arrived and were in the ante room, followed in their wake.
"Cheyne Court, Lennard. When you fellows get there, I want you to searchthat dried-up moat while we do the house," said the Superintendent as heclimbed in after Cleek and shut the door behind them. Like a shot themotor was off, taking a pace which would make the police of theneighbourhood wink with astonishment. In the space of a few minutes thecar drew up outside of Cheyne Court and armed with a bunch of skeletonkeys which would lay every room and cupboard open to them, Cleek and Mr.Narkom jumped out.
Having sent Petrie and Hammond to their respective tasks, they set towork to make a systematic search from the top to the bottom of the big,rambling house.
From room to room and floor to floor they passed, but the broad daylightrevealed no more than their torches had done at night. That there wassome secret entry was obvious, but tap and prod as they might, it wasall in vain. The walls were solid, the cupboards stern realities; and atthe end of an hour, the question as to how the murderer had entered andescaped on that eventful night remained as great a mystery as ever.
Finally, they reached the upper landing, and at a small room at theback, the door of which stood wide open, Cleek stopped short.
"This must be Lady Margaret's own room," he said, turning to Mr. Narkomexcitedly, his eyes alight; "here is the coat she wore when I drove herover on that eventful night."
He lifted a blue travelling cloak from the back of a chair, beside thesmooth, untumbled bed.
"Let's poke about in here for a while and see if we can't get some cluesas to what happened," he continued.
Suiting the action to the word, he dropped on his knees, and commencedexamining every inch of the floor which was covered with cocoanutmatting.
Suddenly Mr. Narkom saw him come to an abrupt halt, every nerve tense,as he sniffed repeatedly at the air.
Then he bent still farther over the matting.
"Humn," he said, ruminatively. "That scent again. _Huile de jasmin_,eh?" There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "_Huile de jasmin!_No wonder it lingered. Look, here is another spot," creeping on allfours in the direction of the perfumed trail, he put his finger upon atiny oily patch and smiled up into the astonished Superintendent's face."Oh, I know this stuff well. At one time its real scent was only usedin the harems of the great Rajahs, and they used to have a few drops putin receptacles attached to the back of their jewels. Sometimes a ringwould bear its odour, sometimes a bracelet or earring. Later, though, itbecame more common and was used in the bazaars."
"Bazaars?" said Mr. Narkom. "Then it's Indian, you mean."
"My dear chap, do you remember that Lady Brenton was born in India? Thatis where Sir Edgar's father met and married her."
Cleek nodded and went on as though Mr. Narkom had not interrupted him.
"I said 'was', remember," he said. "It is still just as generally used,but since the days when the favourites of the Harem alone had permissionto use it, I have no doubt some enterprising Eurasian has manufacturedit, and sells the scent over here. Not but what I am not going to keepan eye on all that little Hindoo gang over the other side of thevillage. I have set Dollops to work, too. I had the pleasure of meetingone of them, a Mr. Gunga Dall, a few hours ago, and before I make up mymind, there are still others. Lady Brenton herself uses the scent; MissJennifer, too, is mighty fond of it--I noticed at lunch. But don'tforget Dr. Verrall is also an Anglo-Indian. Yes, my friend, a good manyroads lead to Rome--still----" His voice trailed off into silence, forhis mind had gone back again to that first eventful journey to CheyneCourt, when, looking out in the March mist, he had seen the figure of awoman cross the lawn.
But was it a woman, or simply a man in the flowing robes of the East? Ifit had been Miss Jennifer, what was she doing that other night when theman was murdered?
His gaze was fixed almost unseeing in its intentness, but suddenly hiseye caught a stray sunbeam which was reflected on something thrown downbeside the white bed. He gave a sort of cry and pounced upon it.
Mr. Narkom fairly gasped in his excitement, at this action.
"Cleek!" Mr. Narkom said, agitatedly. "What is it?"
"This," he made answer. "Something which looks as if there were at leasttwo women in this room last night, and Lady Margaret herself was one ofthem." He held up the object as he spoke. It was a long, glittering goldscarf from the end of which a fragment had been torn violently away.Taking out his pocketbook, Cleek unfolded with trembling fingers thetorn scrap of lace found clutched in the dead hand and fitted it intothe damaged place.
"By James!" Mr. Narkom gasped, letting the scarf drop like a goldensnake to the ground. "It fits; it fits. Cleek! how could that child haveperpetrated a deed like that and escape, vanish without a sound? It isimpossible--utterly and ridiculously impossible!"
Cleek made no reply. His mind sped back over his last chat with Ailsa.What was it that she had said? The scarf had been given Lady Margaret byher dead father. H'mn--a valued possession, then, not likely to be givenup lightly, or even lent, much less left about like this.
"Perhaps someone stole it," suggested Mr. Narkom.
"But who; and why leave it here?" responded Cleek, grimly. "It must bethe identical scarf, the fragment proves that, and yet--Lady Brenton hasone, Miss Jennifer has another----" his words trailed away again as thecomplexities of the clue were borne in on him.
Certainly there had been two women abroad in the neighbourhood of thehouse on the night of the murder. Two, possibly three. But even if onewere Lady Margaret herself this could not absolutely convict her ofmurder. It would take more than a young girl's strength to overpower anactive man, and yet--despair lends strength.
Before, however, either of them could voice the thoughts that wereracing through their minds, the sound of excited voices, and heavytrampling feet coming up the drive toward the house for the moment droveall other thoughts out of their minds.
"Come along down, Cleek," said Mr. Narkom, his voice shaking withexcitement. "It's Hammond and Petrie. I set them to search the groundsand the river. It seems as if they had discovered something startlingfrom the noise."
They found Petrie and Hammond surrounded by a little knot of villagers,and bearing a hidden burden upon a hastily contrived stretcher. Theirfaces were white, and rather frightened.
"Sir," broke out Petrie, as the procession came up with Mr. Narkom, "wesearched the river by the landing stage, and we found this dead body.Almost naked it was, sir, but it's a woman, and shot through the heart.If you would look for yourself----"
Cleek and Narkom did look for themselves. Here, undoubtedly, was thereal Miss Cheyne, robbed of her dress and rings, to clothe the man whohad so ably undertaken her part on that night when Cleek and Roberts hadbeen driven forth by him and his accomplices.
Here, too, was the explanation of that ominous sound of a revolver shotwhich Cleek had heard while he and his innocent charge stood on thethreshold of the ill-fated house. If only he had obeyed his firstinstinct, and driven the girl back to Ailsa Lorne!
The poor old lady had evidently been shot at that moment, and her bodythrown into the
river directly Cleek had left the room, where hisinopportune entry must have caused considerable dismay to the hiddenassassin, or assassins. Hidden; but where? That was still a deepermystery. And through what secret egress had the body disappeared? Andwhy had they not attacked him?
Evidently it was the girl they wanted; the girl and possession of theCheyne jewels. But how, and where, had they escaped? And what had becomeof the girl now? These were questions for which there were no answerssave those which time would show.
Bidding them take the body on its stretcher down to the villagemortuary, Cleek turned on his heel and with a few directions to Mr.Narkom made his way back into the house, once more to wrestle with theproblem of its secret entrance and exit.