CHAPTER XVIII
ENTER CYRIL
Within the space of a half-hour Miss Duggan was back again in the bigdrawing-room, and Cleek, having had a short confidential talk with Mr.Narkom, and gleaned a few of that good gentleman's ideas, entered theroom by the French windows that led on to the terrace just as she camein by the hall door.
"Hello!" he said with a smile. "Brought your bootmaker's department withyou, eh? Now we'll really be able to establish somebody's innocence on_that_! Come, let's have a look at it."
She brought the paper to him, a sort of blank wonderment written in hereyes as they scanned his face.
"It's the strangest thing," she said with a shake of the head, "the verystrangest! But every single man in this establishment has the same-sizefoot, Mr. Deland. There's nothing but tens among them. It seems a queercoincidence, surely!"
Cleek pursed his lips up to a whistle of amazement.
"Gad! it certainly does. Every man-jack of 'em, then? Jarvis, andBatchett, and your bailiff Tavish, and McGubbins? Every one of them?"
"What a memory you have!" she countered amazedly. "Yes, every one ofthem. Except Mr. Tavish. And his are elevens, he tells me."
"Didn't give away any reason for asking, I hope, Miss Duggan?" put inCleek at this juncture, with an arching of the brows and a keen lookinto her upthrown face.
"Indeed I didn't. In fact, I threw them off the scent most successfullyby taking a pair of Ross's boots along with me and pretending I didn'tknow whose they were. Batchett soon put me right. 'Them's Mr.Ross's--Sair Ross, if ye please, m'm,' he said, using Ross's new title(poor old boy! He won't like it a bit, either. He thinks titles areanathema!). But Mr. Tavish, of course, didn't know whose they were, nordid the old gardener, McGubbins, nor Jarvis, either. Only they said theyweren't _theirs_. And then, of course, told me the sizes they took. So,you see, Mr. Deland, you can't blame Angus for _that_, can you?"
He smiled at her and shook his head.
"You've missed your vocation. You ought to have been a lady-detective,using those methods," he replied lightly. "But it's odd--deuced odd!I'll take a look at their feet whenever I get the chance. Don't botherany more, Miss Duggan. I'll get to the bottom of this thing somehow orother, before the next few days, and don't make any mistake about that.That's all you can do for me. So go along, and lie down and have aproper rest. I'm going to interview Mr. Narkom again. What time is tea,by the way?"
"Half-past four. If you'd like it sent to your rooms with Mr.Narkom----"
"No, thanks; we'd prefer to take it with _you_." ("And use our eyes forourselves," he supplemented silently.) Then, without more ado, bowed andleft her, and went off in pursuit of the Superintendent, who had beenspending a quiet hour investigating the scene of last night's tragedy,and trying to solve the riddle of it.
Halfway there Cleek encountered young Cyril, wandering disconsolatelyabout, hands in pockets and head downthrown, and at sight of Cleek hefairly ran up to him, his brows black as thunder, his young mouth setinto an ugly line.
"Look here," he demanded, in his shrill young voice, planting himself inCleek's way and looking up into his face, "they've been telling me yoususpect my stepbrother Ross of murdering my father last night, and I'vebeen waiting to catch you and to tell you it's a damned lie!"
"Easy, easy, my young enthusiast," returned Cleek, with a throb ofadmiration for this fearless young person, nevertheless. "They'll nevermake a detective of _you_ if your methods of attack don't improvehastily. Let's hear what you're worrying over. Now, then, all overagain. I'm going along this way to see the Superintendent, and you cancome with me if you like."
Cyril's face went a dull brick-red at Cleek's bantering tone, and hislips twitched. He swung into step beside Cleek as they traversed thelong hall toward the library.
"They've been telling me," he reiterated, "that you think my stepbrotherRoss killed Father last night, and----"
"Who's 'they,' may I ask?"
"Oh--Mother--Miss Dowd, Cynthia--the whole bally lot of 'em. Said you'dthreatened to arrest Ross and put--put him in prison. But it isn't true,sir, is it?"
Cleek looked down at the eager young face, and sighed.
"Partly," he returned, "and partly not. I've made no accusation, Cyril,but--things point very blackly to your brother, and it will take prettystrong evidence to say he is innocent at this juncture of the case, atany rate. There are--others--whom I doubt, but at the present momentdoubts are all that can be expected of me. Certainties will followlater.... Now, look here, you can help considerably. Tell me, who's beentinkering with the electric switches in the library lately?"
Of a sudden the boy's face went red and whity by turns. Then he avertedhis head and pretended to inspect a fly that was crawling upon theopposite wall.
"Er--I don't really know," he replied in a confused voice. "I haven'tthe faintest----"
"You do!" Cleek had caught him by the shoulders and whirled him aroundso that eye met eye squarely, and he saw that the boy dropped his."Come, now. Play the game. I can't expect to find the true murdererunless you tell the truth. Listen to me, Cyril. Was it your brotherRoss?"
Came a long silence, followed by a quickly drawn breath. Then:
"_I_ have."
"You? What the dickens did you do? Tell me all about it, quickly. Ifound a bit of flexible wire upon the carpet yesterday morning when Iwas looking over the house with your stepsister, and came to theconclusion that someone had been altering the lights. And it was you,was it?"
Again the flushed cheeks and quickly drawn breath. Oh, this quixoticfamily!--that muddled a decent man up in trying to do his duty by theirperpetual affections and efforts to shield one another.
"Yes--and no. It was the day before yesterday. Ross and Mr. Tavish werein the library going over some land accounts and looking at the weeklywages bill, which is part of Ross's work for Father that he's been doingthe past two years. I was there, too, mending a damaged switch whichwouldn't go right, and Ross had promised to help me when his businesswas finished. Well, when it was done, and they had smoked a cigarettetogether-- Mr. Tavish is awfully popular with the whole place, you know,Mr. Deland, and Ross liked him immensely--well, as I was saying, whenthey'd done, they came over to me, where I was tinkering away at theswitch by the wall, and while Ross explained to me what exactly was thematter, Mr. Tavish stood over us and made remarks."
"Can you remember what any of those remarks were?"
"Yes. He said he thought I was growing to be a clever youngster, with aturn for electricity which ought to drive my father nearly mad, and thenhe shook his head, and Ross laughed sort of uncomfortably, and agreedwith him. And then Ross asked Mr. Tavish if he knew anything ofelectricity. 'Not a blessed thing!' Mr. Tavish said, with a loud laugh.'I don't know the difference between a short circuit and a Bath bun.'And of course we all laughed again, and then Ross explained a little ofit to him, and he seemed to catch on awfully quick, and asked some jollyinterestin' questions."
"And what were the 'jolly interestin' questions,' may I ask?"
"Oh-- I've really forgotten. Whether one could get a shock from thatsort of thing when you were working at it, and Ross said you could; andelectricity could kill a person instantly. And then they began to talkabout electrocution and the electric chair which criminals had to sit ininstead of being hanged, as they used to do in the old days. And Ross,who simply loves anything to do with the subject as much as I do, Mr.Deland, began to explain how a man could be killed by leaving a livewire somewhere near where he could grasp hold of it, and then taking along piece of flexible wire in his hands, he wired it along the edge ofthe room from the ground plug to the window, just to show what he meantby it."
"Oh, he did, did he? And what colour was the flexible wire?"
"Crimson. Usual shade. Mr. Tavish was awfully interested at what Rossdid, and Ross got so enthusiastic that he carried the piece of wire upto the window and left the raw edge of the wire exposed, and when he puta piece of stuff against it, it singed up immediately, an
d, my word!there _was_ a stink!"
"Naturally. And then?"
"Ross said a lot of things about the power of electricity that seemed tointerest Mr. Tavish, and of course _I_ was frightfully struck, as youcan imagine, and kept my ears open. And just then, who should come inbut Mother, and of course Ross and all of us stowed the conversation forthe time being, and Ross nipped off the length of unnecessary wire withhis pincers and left Mother with Tavish to discuss some changes shewanted made in the poultry runs. She's rather interested in chickens,you know, sir."
"I see. But this was a bird of another colour, eh? What's that? No, mylad, you've said nothing to incriminate anybody, and I'll keep yourconfidence about this conversation, if you're worrying about it. Now,then, you'd better nip along, as it's nearly tea-time, and when I wasyour age clean hands were an absolute necessity even inthe--er--austerity of my home! I've no doubt they're the same in yours."
"But I haven't said anything to--to incriminate Ross, have I, sir?"reiterated Cyril anxiously. "That thing about shooting a chap with theaid of electricity--of course it couldn't be done, I suppose, and Mr.Tavish didn't know enough about it to contradict Ross--and anyhow he wasonly gassing and not really meaning it at all. I--I'd give my righthand, sir, for Ross. He comes next to my mother in my estimation. Andthat's saying a good deal!"
"Not so much as you might think--if you know that lady as well as I do,my lad," apostrophized Cleek as the boy sped down the passageway andleft him alone. "Gad! here's a new outlook altogether. And thatconversation actually took place! He wasn't lying, the straight youngdevil. And he never realized that he was plunging that precious brotherof his deeper and deeper into the mire!... I say-- Cyril!"
The boy turned at the end of the passage and came slowly back to him.
"Yes, sir?"
"By the way, what size shoes do you take? Gad! your foot's pretty heftyfor a sixteen-year-old, I must say! What's the number of those delicatelittle trotters?"
Cyril laughed self-consciously.
"They are rather huge, aren't they?" he replied. "But they're tens. Samesize as Ross, you know, so that I can often borrow his shoes--andCaptain Macdonald's as well. Funny we should all be the same size, isn'tit?"
"Yes--deuced funny," returned Cleek, sucking in his lips suddenly andhis face gone grim. "Tens--eh? Thought it was sixes for you and sevensfor your brother."
"Who the dickens told you that fairy-tale, sir?"
"Oh, nobody particular. I must have dreamt it, I suppose," returnedCleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "And-- I say, Cyril. Your manJarvis seems to have trotters, too. What size are his boots now, Iwonder?"
Cyril's eyes flew wide.
"You must have made a mistake," he said in a surprised voice. "ForJarvis's feet are awfully small. Eights, I believe. Anyway, I can't get'em on because I tried once. Stole his dress clothes and dressed up in'em. But the mater was furious! Hello! there's the tea-gong. I must beoff!"
Then he went off forthwith. Meanwhile Cleek, with his finger upon hischin, stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway and pinched up hisbrows.
"Now, why the dickens did she lie to me--unless she wanted to shield herprecious brother?" he said ruminatively. "And why in heaven's name arethey all so anxious to pervert Justice and to deny truth?"
But there was no one to give him any answer to that most difficultquestion, and he had perforce to possess his soul in patience for thepresent.