The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel

"Proves what, my dear chap?"

Mr. Narkom's voice was a trifle testy. The whole affair of that morning had got upon his nerves. In the first place, he had had to get up too early after a broken night, and in the second, Cleek hadn't given him time to digest his meal, and then the whole higgledy-piggledy of Cleek's words, from which he could make neither head nor tail, served to irritate him still further.

Cleek laid a hand upon the Superintendent's arm, and spoke in his most coaxing voice.

"Have patience with me, dear friend, as you have done before, and as you will have to do again," he said softly. "It isn't that I don't trust you – haven't I trusted you with life itself before now, and never found you wanting? – but it is that at present my theories are in somewhat of a muddle, and it's only keeping my own counsel that's going to help me to disentangle them."

"I know, I know, old chap," returned the Superintendent, casting aside his rancour at this apology from the man who was his best friend, with his usual heartiness. "I'm a slow-thinking old beggar, and somehow your lightning sketches get the better of my patience. But I'll back you to unravel the knot every time. Think you've come to the end, then?"

"I fancy so. With a little bit of bold guesswork thrown in to make equal measure. That must always be reckoned in the bargain, you know. But if I haven't found the person or persons who have murdered Sir Andrew in that cold-blooded and diabolically clever manner, then my name's not – Arthur Deland. And I know as much about the methods of sleuth-hounds as my old boot!"

So saying, he fell to examining the photograph again, and tossing the two pieces of flexible wire up and down in the palm of one hand, and muttering to himself like a lunatic, while Dollops and Mr. Narkom, in silence, could do nothing more but wonder and look on.

CHAPTER XXVII

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LIBRARY

It was exactly eleven o'clock, and the various clocks in the house were chiming the hour out from every nook and corner of the Castle when Cleek, followed by Dollops and Mr. Narkom, made his way to the library, and found assembled there all the members of that ill-fated family – as well as those others who had perforce been obliged to stay there over-night at his orders – and with a polite "good morning" and a stiff little bow, took his place in the midst of them and glanced around.

They were a wan, white-faced lot. Lady Paula's black eyes were ringed with violet, Maud Duggan's face was pinched and old-looking in the morning light, as though the night had seen no sleep for her (which was true), Johanna McCall's little peaked face was pale as ivory, and her eyes looked heavy-lidded, as though she had cried overmuch in the still watches (which was true also), while Cynthia Debenham and Catherine Dowd sat with set faces and angry eyes, watching him as though deadly afraid of what he might say or do next. Ross Duggan's countenance was as lined as an old man's; Captain Macdonald showed by the flare of nostrils and flash of eye that his temper was still as hot as his tongue, and not improved for the keeping; and little Cyril – who slipped in a moment or two late, with Tavish bringing up the rear – had the look of a boy who was scared half out of his wits.

And scared badly he was, too. Trembling hands showed it; trembling lips showed it still more. Cleek's eyes narrowed down as he glanced at the boy's set face, and he found it hard to give him even so much as a welcoming smile. Like mother like son – that boy. As wily as you make 'em. And untrustworthy, too. He was not so fond of Master Cyril, now that he knew more of him, as he had been at first meeting.

When they were all seated, with P. C. Mackay keeping watch over the door and another constable on the outside of it, Cleek turned to them and let the queer little one-sided smile so indicative of the man travel up his face.

"Well, my friends," said he in his smooth, low-pitched voice, "I promised you something when I saw you again, and I'm here to fulfil that promise. The riddle of Sir Andrew's death is a riddle no longer. If you will have patience for a short time I shall explain a few things to you, and then – "

"You know who killed my husband, then? You know? – you know?" bleated out Lady Paula, starting to her feet with white face and hands clasped close against her breast. "You have found out the secret of his murder, Mr. Deland?"

"Yes – and I know who his murderer was, too, Lady Paula," returned Cleek sharply. "Sit down, Mr. Duggan, I beg of you. The door is guarded, as you can see – both outside and in – and perhaps it might be as well if I added caution to care and turned the key in the door – so." Speaking, he crossed the room in rapid strides, locked the door, and dropped the key into his pocket. "Prevention is better than cure, you know. Yes, Lady Paula, I know who murdered Sir Andrew, and I know how it was done. A dastardly deed at best – an abominable crime upon humanity in return for a family wrong. The old question of a vendetta – though of so recent a date as to be a mere matter of seventeen years back. You have been married that long, have you not? You are surprised, I see. Well, I confess it, so was I. And when you mix up such other unpleasant ingredients as a woman's ill-timed ambition, a blackmailer, and the green-eyed god jealousy, you find a very unpleasant mess of pottage indeed."

He spoke in his own way, unravelling the riddle in that leisurely fashion for which he was famous; but to those over-charged minds and hearts that surrounded him he seemed much like a cat playing with a mouse – and enjoying its fruitless efforts at escape.

"But the murderer – who? – who?" gave out Maud Duggan in a suddenly shrill voice, as a little silence held for a moment in that still room. "Tell us that, Mr. Deland, I implore you – "

"In good time, Miss Duggan. First of all, the ways and means. Look! – see that spinning wheel. There stands your guilty party in that innocent guise. The hand that guided that wheel killed Sir Andrew as surely as I am standing here. And how? An air-pistol. And who owns an air-pistol in this place but Mr. Ross Duggan?"

"It's a lie – a damned lie! And I'll have you to law for it, too!" Ross Duggan started to his feet, face crimson, hands knotted, eyes flashing at this plain implication of himself. "Damn you, whoever you are! – it's a lie! I did not kill my father! I swear it upon the sacred book itself! I did not kill him!"

Cleek held up a detaining hand.

"And who, may I ask, said you did, my fiery young friend?" he returned suavely. "If you will give me a little time to tell my story in my own way, I shall be extremely obliged. You stand self-confessed as the owner of an air-pistol. That we have proof of. The rest will follow in due course. But here is the instrument of death – this simple little spinning wheel, which, wired by electricity as it is, and with the pistol hidden inside that wheel with diabolical ingenuity, caused the death of your father. And who among you, may I ask, has such a perfect knowledge of electricity as to equip the thing like that?"

Again there was silence; meanwhile each looked at the other and the same name framed itself unconsciously upon every lip … Ross Duggan. It was not spoken aloud, but Cleek could read it as he looked about him. Then Lady Paula spoke.

"Then – it was Ross? It was that unfilial and cruel son of an unknowing and innocent old man, just as I knew it to be?" she shrilled excitedly, jumping to her feet and turning to Ross and seizing him by the shoulder as though she would tear him limb from limb. "Oh, sacremento! I knew it! I knew it! Wicked, cruel creature that you are! Ungrateful – beast – "

Cleek caught her sharply by the arm and spun her around as though she had been made of paper. His face was grim.

"One moment," he cried in a sharp staccato. "This lady is going to give trouble. Well, then, the moment can be delayed no longer. Constable – bring in your prisoner."

He gave a shrill whistle, strode across the room, fitted the key into the lock, and in an instant there was pandemonium.

For of a sudden there was a stifled scream from somewhere in the room – a hurried breath and a woman's voice shrilled out, "Oh, I cannot bear it any longer – I cannot! I cannot!" Then the door flashed open to admit of two policemen, who had slung between them the stooping figure of a man, closely handcuffed, and with a dark scrub of beard showing upon his unshaven chin. Came another scream; a boy's shrill voice lifted excitedly, "Uncle Antoni!" followed by a scuffling of a man's footsteps. Cleek took a quick step forward in the midst of all the confusion, caught at someone's sleeve and held it in a grip like a vise, rapped out in a sharp voice, "Catch him, Dollops! Catch the beggar before he slips out through the open door and gives us the 'go-by' – the beastly blighter!" Then, all in a moment, he was fighting and twisting and doubling to regain his hold upon the man who was trying to escape; there was a muttered curse, and a flying foot came out and caught the leg of a delicate table, sending it toppling over with a crash in the midst of them; the grating of a key in a lock, and – the end had come!

Brushing a piece of dust from his sleeve as P. C. Mackay snapped the bracelets upon still another prisoner, Cleek turned and surveyed the room with flushed cheek and flashing eye.

"Friends," he said blandly, "your man – your murderer. Caught as red-handed as one could wish – and as innocently as a babe, too!"

And pointed toward the manacled, fighting figure of James Tavish!

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SECRET OF THE SINGING WHEEL

The scene that followed this startling announcement can well be imagined rather than described. For even as the man stood glowering at them, his mouth muttering the curses that his heart held, came a new diversion from another quarter. For Catherine Dowd had called out sharply, "Quick! quick! some smelling-salts here – and brandy!" and as the women of the party endeavoured to produce one item, while the men more successfully produced the other, it was seen that Johanna McCall was the object of this aid, for she half-lay, half-sprawled upon the floor, mouth open, face twitching, eyes already glazing over, and the white froth forming about her pale lips.

Cleek leaned down and lifted her head in his uninjured arm; and looked down into her upthrown ghastly face.

"Gad!" he said under his breath, "and now the other one – self-confessed! Who'd have thought it? – who, indeed? And for what reason, I wonder?"

"For him – for Ross – for the man I love," the pale lips framed the words brokenly as the strength of the girl sagged and ebbed slowly away. "He would have disinherited him – disinherited Ross, turned him out – penniless! Cruel – wicked – I stabbed him with – the stiletto – the light went out – caught it off the table – wiped it on her dress – must have been mad – mad – but you can't get me. It's poison – arsenic. I had it ready. And I needn't have done it – after all!"

Then she sighed a little, opened her eyes suddenly and closed them again, and then slumped forward in Cleek's arms – dead.

Cleek caught at a cushion, pushed it under the sagging head, slipped his own arm out from under it, and got slowly to his feet. His face was pale, his lips set.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said quietly, pointing a hand at the still figure, so pitifully small and childlike, huddled together upon the floor, "the other – murderer. Poor, misguided little creature! Of such folly can Love only be held to blame. A hopeless passion, a breaking heart, a suddenly maddening resolution made and carried out in a red-hot moment, and – another soul gone to meet its Maker with the red blot of death upon it. Tragic, is it not?.. Lady Paula, take a seat. There is so much more to tell, and this has slightly precipitated matters. Tavish, my friend, you will do better not to glower and struggle like that. The Law has you, and the Law will make you pay– in spite of all your efforts to fix the blame upon someone else. I think, my friends, if we might adjourn to the drawing-room, the rest of the riddle would make easier and better telling. It is hardly fitting – here and now."

"You're right, Mr. Deland, perfectly right," threw in Ross at this juncture, jumping to his feet and catching his fiancée by the arm. "Come, all of you. Out of this room and into the next. I want to hear the end of the tangle, Mr. Deland, and find exactly how you implicated me."

Cleek looked up suddenly with a slight smile.

"Not Deland, my friend, just Cleek – Cleek of Scotland Yard, at your service," he made reply smoothly, smiling at the amazed faces which greeted this statement. "So you see, Tavish, you had greater odds against you than you knew. We'll have your other prisoner, please, Constable. The worthy Antoni Matei shall tell us something before the day is out. Of that I am certain. And I have promised him a good price for his loose tongue. Tavish, never trust a lying comrade. This is the friend who saw you through – and then split afterward upon you. Choose birds of another colour next time you practise such tricks – only, I'm afraid it is a trifle late to start new methods —now."

Speaking, he passed out of that tragic room, waving his hand with a gesture which was almost theatrical to the others to follow him, and when they were all assembled around him in the drawing-room, went on with his amazing story.

"You want to hear the whole story from start to finish? Well, it will make long telling, I'm afraid," he said, as Maud Duggan put the question, glancing a trifle anxiously at the slumped figure of the Italian which stood manacled between two burly constables, waiting his turn to speak up and tell what he knew. "To begin with, I must confess I was a little mistaken in my calculations. To begin with. Circumstantial evidence does not always prove guilt, Miss Duggan, although it's generally a good pointer in a broad way. And your brother had many pieces of evidence against him. That bit of red flexible electric wire, you know, that I picked up in the library that first day you showed me around. I admit I thought it belonged to him, particularly when young Cyril here told such an excellent story of how Sir Ross (I must give you your proper title, you know!) wired the room temporarily, just to show James Tavish how it could be done. But it didn't, you see. That fragment was found in Tavish's own bedroom. Then, when I went down into the dungeons, I discovered – something else."

His hand dived into his pocket and brought forth a crumpled handkerchief, slightly bloodstained, and handed it to her. "Can you identify that?"

She looked up, startled.

"Of course. It's yours, Ross, isn't it? See, here are your initials. And yet you found it down there – with something else, Mr. – Cleek?"

"I certainly did, my dear young lady. With a syphon of soda, a tumbler and a bottle that smelt of very good raw whisky. Rather strong for my liking, but still – we'll let that pass for the present. I'll have something to say about that later which may interest you, Mr. Narkom. I found it there – and, as you say, I found something else, too. And when I saw the initials I naturally thought of your brother – which just goes to prove that human nature is apt to make mistakes, even when it thinks itself pretty expert upon certain subjects. As a matter of fact, Miss McCall had borrowed that handkerchief – she supervises the laundering, you told me, Miss Duggan – for James Tavish when he cut his finger, and he had never given it back, obviously. When I discovered that, that was the first pointer in his direction. The others followed fairly rapidly… Then the air-pistol, you know. You yourself told me your brother had one – and then regretted the telling afterward, like every loving and foolish woman who wants to preserve her kin from possible blame, even in the face of her own suspicions. That was Number Two against him. Number Three came from this young lady here – Miss Dowd – who brought me the stiletto that had been used to stab your poor father, and admitted, strictly against all her scruples, that, as far as she knew, it had been last used by Sir Ross to cut the edges of a book upon Poisons which he had been reading. I don't much admire your taste in literature, Sir Ross, but that is hardly to do with me. A man can choose his own companions and his own library, thank God, although Life itself chooses almost everything else for him. But I must confess that the spinning wheel got me guessing, as our American cousins say. I've Mr. Narkom to thank for that discovery. And he made it in rather a remarkable way. Leaned against the wheel and experienced a slight shock. After that, the thing was as easy as A. B. C. We simply traced the wiring to the window-sill, where we discovered a switch hidden in the ivy, turned it on, and – there you were! I nearly got potted by the devilish contrivance myself, only some sixth sense told me to get out of the way in time. But the aim was amazingly accurate. The second bullet fell a matter of half an inch below the first. A perfect marvel of ingenuity, contrived by a man who had obviously made electricity his study for years – in spite of his confessed ignorance of it. Worked out to a nicety. The failing lights were his idea also, and quite simple to manage, really. The drumming dynamo made a very good imitation of the 'singing of the wheel,' in accordance with the old story. And a less enlightened household than yours, Sir Ross, might have put all sorts of constructions upon that – except, of course, the right one… That, my friends, was how the diabolical thing was done."

For a moment a silence held, fraught with mute astonishment; then exclamations of amazement fell from every one of that little company, and Ross Duggan was just about to speak when Lady Paula broke hurriedly in.

"And my brother? – my poor unfortunate brother?" cried she in a wrung voice. "He had no share in the crime, I'll swear it, Mr. Cleek. Even your magic cannot prove that."

"Not in the crime actually, Lady Paula, but in – other things," he replied a trifle grimly, glancing again at the flushed face of the prisoner. "For as a blackmailer I fancy he is something of an artist. That fact you already know – to your cost, I fancy. And I think I'm not wrong in saying that it was he who suggested to you the stealing of the will and – "

"I begged him not to, Mr. Cleek! I implored. I did – I swear it. And I never stole the will, that I can promise!" she broke in distractedly, beating her hands together. "Antoni suggested – yes – he wished to destroy it, so that my share of the estate might be greater as widow than that which had been apportioned to me, and of course he would have a portion of that, too. But I implored him not – that is true, is it not, Antoni? You can answer to that? I begged you, and you promised! And he threatened me even with exposure if I did not agree to the preposterous idea! I complied, only upon the promise that it should not be destroyed. But who took it I do not know."

"But I think I can pretty well guess," responded Cleek serenely, with a quick look at Cyril's suddenly flushed face. "Your son, Lady Paula, has much of his uncle's blood in his veins. And he acted, no doubt, upon forceful advice, and carried the thing through quite successfully. Perhaps he will tell us just when he decided to steal his own father's will – at the instigation of an unscrupulous relation."

Came a slight pause in the telling, meanwhile a startled exclamation broke from Ross Duggan's lips, while every eye in that little assembly fastened upon the unfortunate boy. He broke into quiet sobbing, darting his eyes here and there for possible sympathy.

"Yes, I took it, sir – when Uncle Antoni told me," he broke out between sobs. "It was – just after it had happened. I heard Mother's scream, and then she ran into my room and told me of – the dreadful thing that had happened! About half an hour afterward Uncle Antoni appeared at the balcony which opens out from my bedroom window, and told me I must steal the will for him. I was terrified – oh, I was! – but he threatened me with – with a pistol – "

"That's a lie!" gave out the prisoner with a maledictory eye upon his unfilial nephew.

"It isn't – it isn't! You told me to get it – just how to get it. That it was lying upon the table-top; and so I slipped down in my stockinged feet, and waited in the passage until I saw Ross slip out of the room after everyone else had gone back to bed, and – and you had come out, Mr. Cleek, and were talking to Maud in the ante-room. So I crept into the room – oh, it was dreadful, with Father lying there – like that – snatched it up and fled back to my bedroom in terror. Uncle Antoni was still waiting on the balcony, and when he got it he climbed down the balustrade again and – and – that is all I know. Oh, I wish – I wish I'd never had anything to do with it!"

Cleek nodded.

"I'm sure you do," he said quietly. "So it was really not your fault, Cyril. You acted under considerable pressure. That I'll admit. But it might have been better if you had confided in – someone else after the deed was done. It would have helped clear up the mystery sooner, at any rate. But that cannot be helped now. To proceed with the story. Here, by the way, is the missing will, Lady Paula. I found it muffling the clapper of Rhea's bell – a very ingenious hiding-place – and in the finding discovered your – er – worthy brother at the same time. That was how I happened to get hold of him. He gave me a few tips of quite useful information afterward, upon promise of a light sentence, and helped to lead me finally to the true murderer. So we will hold that in his favour, at any rate. Sir Ross, I'd prefer you to keep that document until it can be placed in the hands of your family lawyer. We don't want any more disappearing tricks for the present, do we?"

"Hardly. Gad! it's amazing, positively extraordinary how you've found all this out!" threw in that gentleman with deep emphasis. "Please accept my apologies now for those unforgivable things I said to you, Mr. Cleek. But when a chap's just been practically accused of killing his own father – "

"You must expect a little heat. That's all right, my friend. Don't bother about it further. Only, I was obliged to throw the scent upon someone other than the real man – or we'd have lost him. You understand that, of course?"

"Certainly. Only tell us how you traced the murder to its proper source, and why James Tavish should have done such a thing."

"That I will, and in the shortest way possible. But you must let me tell my story in my own particular manner," replied Cleek, with a slight smile and a warmth of feeling toward this very impetuous and generous-hearted young man. "There's still a good deal to be cleared up before you can understand, and I'm afraid some of it won't make particularly good hearing. But that I cannot help. Men are frail things, Sir Ross, where temptation is concerned. And when there is a pretty woman in the question … it's all right, Lady Paula; it all happened long before you entered your husband's life, so that there is nothing for you to forgive – but, as I say, when a pretty woman enters at one door, a man's discretion very often flies out at another.

"I found, among other things yesterday, when I was looking for the will in your father's desk, after having appropriated his keys first, a bundle of old love-letters, written upon paper which I ascertained had been bought in the village, and bearing a post-mark which was local, and signed with the name 'Jeannette.' I confess I did not know just where these entered into the case at all, but something told me that they were a big factor. My intuition – policeman's sixth sense – call it what you will. I looked into the matter, and then discovered, after some probing through my man Dollops (who, by the way, Mr. Narkom, deserves high commendation in this case), that they were actually written by James Tavish's sister, Jeannette, and that – to put it baldly, for which I trust you will forgive me – that your father had been carrying on a secret liaison with this girl for some years, upon promise of marriage, and had, in fact, got her into very unfortunate trouble."

"But he never married her – he married me– I am his legal wife, I swear that!" struck in Lady Paula, in a high-pitched, terrified voice. "I knew nothing of this woman at all – everything in our marriage was in order – "