The Riddle of the Mysterious Light

"No, Marshall, there's nothing wrong at all. Everything, in fact, is quite in order. The Captain forgot, I expect. That's all I wanted to ask you. Better come along upstairs, Digby. I'd like to have a word with your father when I come down, but if you'll be good enough to show me the way upstairs now – "

The dazed look was still upon the Captain's face as he led Cleek upstairs, and at sight of it that gentleman gave vent to a low, amused laugh.

"Don't worry, Captain," he said, softly. "Keep quiet and don't get disturbed about it. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know, and I've an idea that this one has a touch of gold in it."

He said no more, and the two went from room to room, through bedroom and bathroom, nursery and servants' quarters, until at last Cleek expressed himself satisfied, and consented to join Colonel Digby in the library.

They found him engaged in looking over the letters which were to go by that night's post.

"Not a very big 'bag' this evening," he said, smiling up into his son's pale face. "We confine ourselves mostly to postcards – they're easier to censor."

"Can't put much on them certainly, especially the picture ones," remarked Cleek with some amusement. "That's a pretty thing you've got in your hand there, Colonel. The celebrated shrine, isn't it?"

"Yes." Colonel Digby handed it across with a kindly smile. "Another of poor little Miss Smith's attempts. She's always painting the thing, and I should think the little brother to whom she sends them must know it off by heart. He's a cripple, I believe, and very much devoted to his sister. Anyhow, she sends him dozens of these cards. Nothing from you to-night, Kenneth?"

"No, Dad. I haven't felt up to writing," responded the Captain, gloomily.

Meanwhile, Cleek's eyes were dwelling upon the crudely painted little picture of the shrine. It was finished with a conventional hexagonal border, obviously imitated from some old illuminated missal.

Suddenly he turned about and ejaculated with some show of excitement: "I must be right. The Benzene Ring, of course. I might have known. Only give me till to-morrow at three o'clock, Colonel, and if I'm right your son's honour is as safe as the Bank of England. I'll be off at once. I'll take the motor which carries the postbag, if you don't mind. There's no use in wasting fuel these days. Three o'clock to-morrow will find me back again, never fear. Until then, good-night."

He caught up his hat from the table where it had lain since he entered the house, dashed to the door, flashed it open, and was gone in the twinkling of an eyelash. But he left the dawn of hope behind.

If punctuality is the virtue which the world paints it, then Lieutenant Deland was clearly not gifted with that quality, for on the afternoon of the next day the clock on the mantel in the Colonel's library had long ago struck three and was creeping steadily on in the direction of four, and still the lieutenant had not as yet appeared.

The Colonel's usually grave face was grim, and the light of that sudden hope which had made the night so sweet was slowly but gradually dying out of his eyes. His son could not rest a moment, and seemed unable to do anything but pace up and down the long room. Of a sudden came the sound of wheels on the gravel of the drive beneath their window. Both men looked eagerly toward the doorway, where there soon appeared a servant with the announcement that they were needed in the drawing-room.

"Thank God!" said young Digby with a sigh of relief. "The beggar's come at last, has he? All right, Blake, we're coming along at once."

But their hopes were doomed to disappointment for it was not the dapper lieutenant who awaited them, but Mr. Narkom, beaming genially upon them from the chair where he was seated near Mrs. Digby.

"I am sorry you've been kept waiting," he said as he shook hands. "It's all the fault of that idiot Deland. He couldn't make head or tail of the business so I took him off and put a new man on to the job – Mr. George Headland. I expect him down by the next train, and I thought if I could wait here – "

"Why, of course, Mr. Narkom," was the reply. "I didn't expect he would or could discover any solution; it's beyond everybody – "

"We'll give you some tea, Mr. Narkom," gushed Mrs. Digby. "Perhaps your new man will be as amusing as the lieutenant – such a nice boy."

So that was how, when at 4:30 the door opened to admit another arrival, Miss Smith, the children, and all the family were gathered around the tea table. It was, however, Lieutenant Deland who appeared and not the successor the Superintendent had announced.

"Headland couldn't come, Mr. Narkom, so I thought I'd come down and tell you that I was right," that gentleman remarked, casually.

"Good," exclaimed the Superintendent, his face beaming with excitement. "And did you bring the warrant with you?"

"Yes, I – "

"Warrant?" The word was echoed from various pairs of lips, in varying tones of surprise.

"Yes, my friends, the warrant. A traitor in a family is not a pleasant thought," said Cleek in clear, ringing tones, at the sound of which the Colonel and his son started in amazement. "What's that? No, Mr. Wertz, leave that door alone, no one goes out from here now – not even the kiddies. They must put up with it; we can't afford any risks. Perhaps Miss Smith would not mind giving them these pictures to look at to divert their attention."

"Certainly, sir." The timid little black-robed figure advanced, while Cleek gave a watchful glance toward the corner where Mr. Max Brunel was watching him as if fascinated.

"That's right," he said, producing a big package of pictures, adding laughingly, "you'll want both hands." As she extended them he snapped out: "And so shall I, Fraulein Schmidt. Quick, Narkom, the handcuffs – in my pocket. No, you don't, you she-cat. I've got you. Never again will you betray the country that has shielded and paid you. No more painted picture postcards. You see, I smelt the trick – and smelt the gas, too."

Not without considerable difficulty and more than considerable noise Mr. Narkom and his ally overcame the struggling little figure, and before the children had realized what had happened, their governess was escorted from the room by two stalwart policemen. Then they themselves were hustled from the room, as dazed at the occurrence as their elders.

"Sorry to seem to accuse you, Mr. Wertz," said Cleek. "But I was afraid she would recognize Hamilton Cleek even as I recognized her. Then the fat would have been in the fire with a vengeance!"

"Cleek!" came in varying tones of amazement from the group around him. "Cleek!"

"Yes – just Cleek of Scotland Yard. And perhaps it was as well that I came when I did, for Captain Kenneth might not have awakened from the next sleep he took, and – What's that, Colonel? An explanation? Oh, certainly. That's very simple.

"In the first place, I discovered that your laboratory was, as you had said, absolutely proof against all outside observation. Clearly, also, there was only one means of entry and that by the simple method of the door. Here I must admit I was puzzled for a while, until I heard through your son of the nitrous oxide and found a strand of blonde hair caught in that Bunsen burner. That explained everything – your headache, Captain, and the second visit of which you knew nothing. Your tooth-pulling operation gave my lady her chance. Probably she had been provided with tubes of that gas, for all her painting tubes smelt of it. Anyhow, I take it that she secured your tube while pretending to faint. After she had succeeded in sending you to sleep, she dressed herself in your clothes, and went downstairs – it was easy enough in the dim light."

"What's that? She spoke to Marshall, you say? Oh, yes, I remember that quite clearly. But you must remember that I recognized Elsa Schmidt from the first, and knew her to be a male impersonator of no mean order. She used to be a shining star among the Apaches of Montmartre – but that's another story. Anyhow, having secured the formula, she burnt it and – "

"Burnt it?" exclaimed Captain Digby.

"Yes, burnt it. The ashes were beside the Bunsen burner as you will see for yourself next time you enter the laboratory. Then all she had to do was to come back and send a picture postcard to her brother Johann, one of the cleverest spies in Europe. By the way, Colonel, he is no more a cripple than I am!"

Everyone in the room by this time was looking at Cleek in utter amazement.

"Picture postcards you said, Mr. Cleek?" broke in the Colonel, suddenly. "Not those silly little painted things with the fancy borders?"

"The very same. And each time they passed through your hands for the postbag, your son's formula passed, too. But that was not your fault. It was simply a matter of that conventional border she was so fond of painting. Look at this one." He drew one from his pocket. "Evidently in this formula you used a combination of that mobile and highly inflammable liquid known as benzene chemically expressed as C6 H6. Now give a glance at this postcard. You will see that it is bordered with multiples of that Benzene Ring, and the dot and dash message underneath gives the exact proportions. All that the lady had to do was to paint a different border round her picture of that shrine and the thing was done.

"What's that, Mr. Narkom? How did I guess? Well, first of all, her face seemed familiar – though her hair had taken upon itself another colour. However, the strand of gold-dyed hair told me the truth of my suspicions. Secondly, when the children showed me the large quantity and size of these painting tubes, and when I saw the card when the Colonel put it into the postbag yesterday – well, I simply used my brains, and the rest was easy."

He stopped speaking for a moment and smiled into young Digby's face, stretching out his hand.

"Well," he resumed, "here's luck to your next formula, Captain. And at the same time, here's luck to London as well. For we shan't be having any more of our parks destroyed and our kiddies mutilated for the pride of a lustful nation. Johann was clever enough with his experiments – though God alone knows to what a pitch he might have carried them. But I happened to be up on the outer edge of Totting Common when the centre of it blew up yesterday, with hardly a puff of smoke, either. But when it comes to using innocent human life as an experiment—well, it's beyond the conception of the average man!.. Mr. Narkom, whenever you're ready we'll be making tracks. I've an appointment this evening and I'm afraid I shall miss it if we don't hurry. Good-bye, Mrs. Digby. Good-bye, Colonel – and you, too, Captain. Good-bye, all of you."

His hand went out and clasped each hand extended toward him. As Max Brunel's hand met his, he paused a moment.

"If you take my advice, my friend," he said, softly, "you'll never let young Kenneth know of your suspicions of him. I saw it all. I knew, even though you would have shielded him with your own life. But friendship and suspicion can never be in union. Take it from one who knows."

CHAPTER XXI

COUNTESS MARAVITZ ENTERTAINS

Upon what small circumstances will great events hinge! It was barely twenty-four hours later when Ailsa Lorne followed Cleek up to town, and together they spent the next few days rioting in shopping. Ailsa was now preparing for an event which would put an end to these delays and separations, and Cleek, set free for the time being from the Yard by an unexpected absence of Mr. Narkom, was as happy as a schoolboy on leave in term-time.

All thoughts of peril from the Apache friends of Margot seemed to have been banished, and possibly the knowledge that Ailsa was shadowed – unknown to her – by two of the Yard's most trusty men whenever he himself was not with her had much to do with Cleek's peace of mind. Strangely enough, his customary fears seemed to have been transferred to Dollops. Ever since the return of Cleek to London, Dollops had grown nervous and worried. His eyes had a strained, hunted look, and even his appetite had lost something of its voracity – a sure sign of trouble. Cleek, however, was too happy to note the trouble of his young satellite, and thus for the first time in their companionship had cause for regret in view of the event to come.

"Lor lumme, sir, you ain't a-going out again to-night, are ye?" the boy said, anxiously, one evening, as he noted Cleek about to change again into evening clothes.

"Why not, you inquisitive young monkey?" rejoined Cleek, amusedly. "Didn't I hear you say you were going to the theatre yourself? I'm dining with Countess Maravitz this evening, both Miss Lorne and I. Unless you have any objection," he added, ceremoniously. Then noting Dollops' dejected mien, he asked, "What's wrong, old man?"

"Nothing wrong, sir," said the boy, bravely, "only I don't like that 'ere Countess Mara – what's-her-name. 'Er eyes flash too much when she claps 'em onto yer. Besides, I saw 'er talking to too many French-looking characters last week. I didn't mean for to go and worry you," he blurted out. "Thought perhaps it was a mistake, but it ain't."

Cleek's face grew grave and he pinched up his chin thoughtfully.

"Countess Maravitz? Are you sure, Dollops?"

The boy nodded. "In the park it was by the Ash-heels statue, I saw her talking to what was Apaches or I miss my guess. They didn't see me 'cos I nipped round to the back, but I wasn't mistaken nohow. Couldn't yer telephone you was ill, sir?" he added, anxiously.

"No," was the decisive reply. "I'm not going to show the white feather, Dollops. Besides, Miss Lorne will be there, and in the enemies' hands, if you are right. Gad! When will it end!" he added, under his breath. Then he darted into the dressing room again, and it was some ten minutes before he emerged, immaculate as ever, to all appearances the customary fashionable man about town. But there were grim lines about the well-cut, flexible mouth, and a watchful gleam in the eyes that restored more peace to Dollops' heart than he had known for the past week.

"Don't you stay in, old man. You cut along to the Oxford. I'll keep my eyes open, all right. Forearmed is forewarned, thanks to you," said Cleek with a little laugh, as opening his hand he revealed a tiny automatic revolver, as deadly as it was small.

Dollops' eyes gleamed.

"Golly! That's the stuff to give 'em," he said, approvingly, and after Cleek had driven off in a taxi he, too, sallied forth, but not in the direction of any theatre. "Not for me, old thing," he soliloquized to the lamp-post. "Where Mr. Cleek goes is good enough for me. I wonder how the money goes." Under the light he counted his handful of coins and again nodded approvingly as he shot along now in the vicinity of Wardour Street.

Meanwhile, Hamilton Cleek's taxi had joined the string of carriages in Park Lane outside the pretty white house which the Countess Maravitz, a Polish count's widow, had taken for the season.

Once inside the flower-filled hall, Cleek searched anxiously amidst the guests trying to catch a glimpse of Ailsa Lorne.

The Countess Maravitz had evinced a strong liking for her, bringing, so she said, a verbal introduction from Mrs. Hawkesley – once Lady Chepstow – whose son both Ailsa and Cleek had saved from imminent peril.

Cleek's senses, quickened by the information given him by Dollops, noticed almost mechanically that although the number of guests was large they consisted mainly of men. There were very few women, and such as were present were decidedly of foreign aspect. Polish, Belgian – and French. Cleek's heart sank and then pounded violently as his eyes rested on a slender, white-gowned figure shaking hands with their hostess. It was Ailsa, and as several of the guests closed round the group it seemed already to Cleek's strained nerves as if they were closing in on the one woman in the world.

A feeling came over him that right well had they played into their enemies' hands. Would they live to emerge safe? Cleek's fingers tightened instinctively on the pistol in his pocket. Almost he felt inclined to dash forward and at its point to bear Ailsa out of the house into safety. He blamed himself for his blindness – blamed even Dollops for not speaking out before.

Quietly and as unconcernedly as usual, however, to all outward mien, he sauntered across the great ballroom, and gently insinuated his way to Ailsa, who greeted him with that smile of infinite trust that always pierced his very heart. The thought that her life should be in danger because of him was one of his greatest sorrows.

Giving her his arm and in the buzz of talk and laughter, as they commenced to dance a few minutes later, he contrived to whisper: "Dearest, be brave! I fear we are in danger. Keep as close to me as possible and make some excuse to leave early. Laugh now if you can. I feel sure that that woman is watching us!"

"That woman" was the Polish countess, and she was indeed watching them. Just then, whether impelled by the signal of Ailsa's paling and flushing face, or because she actually read the movements of Cleek's lips, she glided over to them as they came to a standstill at one side of the ballroom.

"Ah, mes amis, but you dance so beautifully! You are tired, eh? Miss Lorne, come, do me the pleasure of seeing some pictures of my countrymen. They came to-day!"

She opened a small and almost hidden door behind her and, not knowing for the moment what else to do, Ailsa, with Cleek close behind, followed her as she stepped through the doorway. The room was almost dark, and, blinded by the sudden transition from the brilliantly lighted ballroom, Ailsa stopped short, but too late! The door closed behind them with a little vicious click, and as the Countess gave a low laugh of infinite triumph she switched on the lights. The sudden blaze revealed the presence of half a dozen men, guards evidently, and as Cleek recognized the familiar brand of his implacable enemies, the Paris Apaches, his heart sank.

"My pictures, sir! They came but to-day! Our clansmen, yours and mine, at your service, Cracksman," and she made an ironic curtsey in front of Cleek, his face gray with anger at the trick, his lips set in a thin line.

Ailsa clutched swiftly at his arm. She, too, realized their danger and was prepared to fight with him to the bitter end.

"Enough of this play-acting, Countess," he said, harshly. "You seek queer companions for one of noble birth, but I have been blind indeed."

"Ah, yes, indeed, most impeccable of detectives," she mocked, "and now your eyes are to be opened, eh?" She stamped her foot, and, at what was very obviously a signal, the men with one swift movement seized Cleek's hand even as it clutched the tiny pistol, while others sprang from the darkness behind them and seized Ailsa. In less than a minute the two were separated, helpless, impotent in the hands of their captors.

"It is regrettable, sir," said the Countess more gently, "but I have to obey my orders. When the Queen arrives – !"

"Margot!" cried Cleek. "I might have known! Her influence is everywhere!" Then, seeing that resistance was vain, he submitted to the inevitable with as good a grace as possible. He recognized that both Ailsa's and his own safety lay in the hands of Margot alone, and nothing was to be gained by exhausting either his breath or his strength against a dozen men trained in the service of the most desperate band in Europe.

In secret anguish he watched them bind Ailsa in a huge carved chair at one end of the room, while he was subjected to the same indignity at the other, and again he cursed his stupidity.

It took but a few moments to bind them, and barely had the men stepped back when a knock sounded and the door opened to admit a figure only too familiar to Cleek, and to the men, who saluted with real or mock solemnity. For this was Margot, Queen of the Apaches.

"Good, sister! You have indeed succeeded where I failed," said Margot, as her eyes took in the scene. As Cleek noticed the hatred in the glance she directed at the serene face of Ailsa Lorne, his courage almost failed.

As the woman who had once held so much influence over his life advanced toward Cleek, her face became a mask, and even he, trained to read the motives of all classes of men, was at a loss to tell what emotions were at play behind her steely eyes. Used to her letting her uncontrolled Latin temperament have full sway, this was a new Margot, and his master mind was puzzled.

"I regret this step" – her voice was hard – "but we have sworn an oath that you shall return to the fold. When that happens we will do with you as we will: accept you back into the band, or subject you to a lingering death – both are in our power – but return you must. We have so decreed it."

"I – " began Cleek, indignantly, but she raised her hand for silence, and went calmly on:

"There are many ways we could force you to return and, as for our own safety you must be rendered impotent to work against us, we hope that you will not make it necessary for us to use the one we have chosen – "

A cry of horror burst from Cleek's lips as Margot glanced significantly at Ailsa Lorne, and the meaning of that glance dawned on his senses.

It was not his life that was in danger, but hers, the woman who in Margot's thoughts blocked the way to his return to his old life – and to her. Broken at last by the horror of it, a string of pleas and adjurations came from Cleek's lips.

Margot listened with a scornful smile upon her lips.

"The woman dies, Cracksman, unless you consent to return to Paris with us to-night."

"Why not kill her first, Queen Margot?" put in the slow, seductive voice of one of the men behind them, and Cleek strove impotently at his bonds.

He could not let Ailsa die, as die she would, if he refused. And if he consented, she would be lost to him forever.

It was the cruellest dilemma in which man had ever been placed, and he cried aloud in agony. Margot turned on her heel and dismissed with a few words the grim, waiting members of her band.

"Return to your guests, madame," she said to the Countess whose real identity Cleek would have given much to know. "You have done your work well, and we will not forget. Keep the orchestra playing, and if the sound of a shot reaches you, let no one open the door. Have a carriage at the side gate, and give orders for it to be driven where bidden. That is all, I think. I will write to you for the rest."

The door shut softly and the three were alone!

"You have ten minutes to decide!" Margot drew out a watch and a revolver, which Cleek knew only too well she would not hesitate to use.

"My dear – my dear, forgive me, but you must be saved, whatever happens," he groaned. "And – "

"Death would be preferable to life without you," said Ailsa. "Even if they kill me, they cannot force you to rejoin them. Besides, they would not dare. The police – "

Margot smiled. "Brave words, Miss Ailsa Lorne, but we care not that for these pigs of English police," and she snapped her fingers.

Again Cleek turned, and then a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"A man just come from Paris, with some special news," said the voice of the Countess.

"I will see him," was the curt reply, "but do not let any one come near the room afterward."

The door opened and shut as as desperate looking a character as one could imagine entered with a swaggering mien, his cap pulled low over his eyes. How he could have come through the London streets Cleek found himself wondering, in spite of his own fearful predicament.

"You have a special message for me?" said Margot, concealing the revolver in her hand.

There was dead silence. The messenger evidently was listening to the sound of the retreating footsteps.

"Be queek. I haf not time – " she went on in English as if she wished Ailsa Lorne to know how little she regarded her presence.

"Not 'arf I ain't, lady!" was the astonishing reply, as Dollops hurled himself forward.

With an exclamation Margot whipped out the revolver again. A shot rang out, but Dollops was too quick. Like a veritable human catapult he flung himself on the figure of the woman, the impetus carrying her down on the slippery floor, her head striking against the carved table leg. Then all was silence.

"God bless you, Dollops!" breathed Cleek, as the lad bounded over and slashed furiously at the binding ropes.