The Riddle of the Mysterious Light

Cleek bent over it, and began a minute examination of the body, then said suddenly: "Let me have a little more light, please, Mr. Narkom. It is somewhat dark here, and in such circumstances – "

He stopped short, sucking in his breath with a curious gasping sound, and felt eagerly for his magnifying glass. For his eye had been caught by the slightest of marks on the fingertips of the dead woman. Then he looked at her lips, and stooping, sniffed vigorously. For a moment he stood very still, then with a sort of new dignity rose and faced round on Mr. Montelet, who was watching him with intense eagerness written upon his countenance.

"Do you know if Lady Montelet had anything to drink previous to her retirement to this room?" he said abruptly.

It was Mademoiselle Vaudrot who interposed a reply.

"But, yes, m'sieur; she had a cup of black coffee, so that she should keep awake, and it was I that brought it to her with my own hands. And my dear, dear lady put it down on this little table. See, this one" – pointing to a little Persian stool that stood near the left-hand column – "then she kissed me good-night and locked herself in."

"Locked herself in!" rapped out Cleek. "How, then, was this door opened in the morning?"

"I opened it," said young Montelet in low tones. "I have a duplicate key. When we knocked and knocked and called this morning and could get no answer, I remembered that my father had given me a key to be used in case of accidents, years ago. No one knew I had it. And then I wired for Mr. Narkom."

"I see," said Cleek, stroking his chin pensively. Then he added suddenly: "I've got a book down in the car that I believe might be a bit of a help. It's a new detective story; nothing like a good story to refresh one's mind. If you would get it; here's the title, Mr. Narkom, and exactly where I left it. Run down and get it, there's a good chap."

The "good chap" was out of the room before Mr. Montelet could voice the protest which shone so plainly in his eyes.

"I think, somehow, that we've all been on a wrong tack. What if the old lady – her ladyship – took out the stone, and when the pain at her heart caught her, let the blessed thing drop? Anyhow, I'd like to pull up the rugs – if you've no objection, Miss Gwynne."

"Not in the slightest," answered that lady quickly. "I'll help you if you like, and so shall Miss Vaudrot. We'll all search."

Another minute saw the four people on hands and knees, searching and pulling at the rugs and draperies; and it was thus vainly employed that Mr. Narkom, flushed and excited, found them when he returned.

"Did you find it, Mr. Narkom?" inquired Cleek, jumping briskly to his feet, his example followed by the other three.

"Rather! Just as you said."

"Oh, well, never mind about it now. Shan't want it, after all. I've just struck another idea." And he crossed over to the marble pedestal.

"What's that?" asked young Montelet, interestedly as he followed Cleek's beckoning hand.

"I forgot I hadn't examined the blessed pedestal. A ducat to a guinea that it's hollow, and the beastly stone has slipped down."

As he spoke he plunged his fingers into the casket, to pull them back with a little cry of excitement. "Yes, there's something loose down here; hard and shiny it feels. Feel for yourself, Mr. Montelet."

But before the young man could make a move, Miss Vaudrot pushed forward.

"Oh, m'sieur, let me feel!" she cried, and advanced toward the pedestal.

"No, no," said Cleek. "It is not your place, mademoiselle, is it? Come and see for yourself, Mr. Montelet."

The young man came forward, his face just a little pale; very slowly, one might say unwillingly, he put out his hand, which was shaking visibly, then turned to Cleek. But, to his colossal surprise, Cleek was not looking either at him or the pedestal. With a light of triumph in his eyes he had stepped back, and all in a moment those who were watching saw a startling thing occur: They saw Cleek swerve to one side, heard a sharp clicking sound of snapping steel as he flung himself upon Miss Laura Gwynne, who had been so intent on watching Hubert Montelet's movements that she was too bewildered to offer resistance.

"Got you, my Judas of a woman – got you!" they heard Cleek say as, with a scramble and a snarl, there lay on the floor a biting, clawing, struggling fury, with a pair of handcuffs on her wrists, and her triumphant conqueror kneeling by her.

Young Montelet made a dash at him and tore at his detaining arms. His face was transfigured, furious.

"What do you mean, you fool?" cried he, angrily. "How dare you lay a finger on this lady! She is my future wife!"

"I hope not, Mr. Montelet" – Cleek swung round and looked at him, then was on his feet like a flash – "for you, too, would not live long to enjoy the wealth she has unwillingly endowed you with. No, Miss Gwynne, the pedestal would not have harmed him, for, see, the light is out!"

The eyes of all were directed to the little flame lamp, which was now dark.

"It was a clever trick of your father's, Mr. Montelet, to utilize electricity as 'the fire that knows no heat, and slays in the dark.' It was still more clever of this young lady to manage to abstract the jewel in such a way as not to be struck by the current. You found it, didn't you, Mr. Narkom?" He turned to the Superintendent, who plunged his hand into his pocket and drew forth a cake of yellow toilet soap in which was embedded a reddish-yellow stone. This he handed over to his ally.

Holding it up, Cleek let the light flash through it, till it looked a veritable "eye" of wrath.

Young Montelet looked at it with white, haggard face. The awakening had been too much of a shock.

"But I don't understand," said he, drearily. "Does it mean that Laura stole the stone?"

"Stole! Aye, and committed murder for it, too; though whether she actually killed the other victims I cannot say. Possibly they touched the stone's resting place which was protected by a very heavy electric current. In the case of a person whose heart was already weak, probably it would be sufficient to kill. I guessed it was by the means of electricity when I saw the flame lamp that never went out, and noted Miss Laura Gwynne's rubber soled and heeled shoes, which she had inadvertently put on again this morning. I expect the whole altar part may be rendered active with electricity if the truth be known, and that kept me away from it – while the current was on. Mr. Narkom disconnected it while he was downstairs.

"What's that, Mr. Narkom? Why didn't I suspect Miss Vaudrot here? Oh, for many reasons. First, because if she had only been here for a few months she could not have been responsible for the other deaths; secondly, when I got you all kneeling down on the floor, I could see only Miss Gwynne was wearing rubber-protected shoes – which I had noticed down at the inn."

"At the inn! But how, Mr. Headland?"

"Cleek for a change, Mr. Montelet!"

"Cleek! Good heavens! Are you the great Cleek?"

"No, merely Cleek, the detective – that's all. Yes, my young friend, when I stooped to tie up that bootlace of mine I was inspecting feet. That 'gave me to think' as you would say, Miss Vaudrot." He smiled at the girl, who was watching and listening fascinatedly. "I knew already that the Apaches were on the track of that stone directly I heard of the murder of Antoine Duval in Soho while disguised as an Indian. The different colour of the eyes brought him back to my memory, Mr. Narkom; and the fate of Celestine Merode showed my guess to be a correct one. 'Miss Gwynne' here is probably connected with the gang, and not only managed to send the man, who was their first emissary, away empty-handed, so that he should be killed by the gang for failure, but obviously intended to keep the stone herself. Had she not left the traces of the soap on the casket, I should not have known where it was actually hidden. Of course, it might have been removed; but I was right."

"But you said she had poisoned my dear mother?" cried Mr. Montelet.

"And so she had. There were just the slightest traces of concentrated amylene hydrate on her lips. Probably administered in the coffee, dropped in while Lady Montelet was locking the door, by someone else who knew of the secret opening as well as Miss Vaudrot."

An exclamation burst from the lips of all present.

"The secret opening!" cried young Montelet, as the girl sank down in a crumpled heap. "Good heavens! man, you are mad. Where is there such an opening?"

"Here," said Cleek, crossing the room and tapping the left-hand pillar. "I saw the marks when I got near, and as I thought Miss Vaudrot was taking pains to hide it, I had to wait and see whether she knew, too, of the electric guard over the jewel. Even Lady Montelet could not have known about this for her fingertips showed traces of having been subjected to a shock. Miss Vaudrot cleared herself by being the first to volunteer to search in the pedestal. But why did you seek to conceal the other entrance, mademoiselle?"

A burning flush surged over the pale face.

"I was afraid less someone else should be accused, m'sieur," she said, naïvely. "I heard a sound in the night, and I went down the corridor; but all was quiet, so I returned to my own room. But in the morning I thought all sorts of silly things, and I kept silence in case – in case – " Her voice broke, and the rest of the sentence went by default.

"In case Mr. Hubert might get involved, eh?" finished Cleek, softly, with one of his curious one-sided smiles. "Your ideas of justice, mademoiselle, are common to your sex. Ah, well! I think that is all, Mr. Narkom. And as you disconnected the current downstairs, I should advise that this room be locked up. The police can take away that wretch there. Come, Mr. Narkom; the riddle is solved, and I think I shall get an hour up the river, after all."

Without vouchsafing another look toward the sullen figure of the woman or at young Montelet, who was gazing into the face of Mademoiselle Marie Vaudrot with a new look in his eyes, Cleek walked from the Assyrian gallery in which for a brief time longer would shine the "Eye of Ashtaroth." Two minutes later the limousine was flying at a mile-a-minute clip riverward, where waited Dollops and the launch and the blue sky above – with a brief hour in which all the crime and sordidness of the world could be blotted out.

CHAPTER XXV

THE PRICELESS STATUE THAT VANISHED

It is strange what undue fascination exists for things belonging to the ancient stories of the past, and curiously enough, Dollops had recently developed a deep interest in the British Museum. For days he would haunt that classic building, poring religiously over guide books and catalogues until it seemed as if he must have committed to memory their entire contents. Strangely enough, too, by reason of his very energetic admiration for the arts of the dead peoples of the earth, he was able to bring to Cleek's notice a remarkable case.

With puzzled brows and straining eyes, a day, some weeks later, Dollops sat in the dusk on top of the stairs in the house at Portman Square anxiously awaiting the return of his master.

Since this development of affection for art galleries and museums, Cleek had marked the auspicious event of Dollops' birthday with a copy of a famous classical dictionary. Henceforward the boy had diligently sought out the known statues of every god and goddess mentioned therein, and it was this queer hobby which led to the solution of one of the strangest riddles Cleek had ever been asked to solve.

Dollops had attached himself to the galleries of the Imperial Institute where was being held a special exhibition of sculpture. Priceless statues and examples of the sculptor's art had been gathered from almost every museum and private gallery in the world. When it was learned that the Italian Government had consented to lend the actual statue of the Capitoline Venus, public excitement was raised to fever pitch, and half London had crowded in to see the two-thousand-year-old figure.

Special precautions had been taken against fire or possible theft, for more than one millionaire would have risked a fortune to become even the secret owner of the statue.

Having purchased a subscription ticket for Dollops, Cleek was devoting his own time to Ailsa Lorne, and those exquisite days spent on the river in her company were to remain in his memory for many months to come. It was close on ten o'clock of this certain night that he came quietly up the stairs in Portman Square, nearly breaking his neck stumbling over the recumbent and sleeping figure of Dollops, tired out with waiting and excitement.

"What the deuce is the matter, you young monkey?" was his affectionate greeting, as he noted the excited look of his young protégé.

"Matter enough, Mr. Cleek, sir," stammered forth the boy. "I'm orf my bloomin' nut, sir. That's wot it is. Got no eyes in my 'ead, I don't think, or they're going orf duty. Strike me, sir, but you could 'ave knocked me down wiv a piece of chalk. I tell you, I ain't 'ad a scrap inside me since for thinkin' of it."

Cleek hung up his hat and coat, and sat down to the supper which Dollops hastened to place before him. "Now, then, suppose you tell me what you are talking about," he said good-humouredly. "Where have you been all day?"

"At the Himperial Institute, sir," was the response, "and as merry as a sandbag. Those statues are just immense, sir; and as for that Wenus – the Cap – Cap – or something – she's gorgeous."

"Capitoline, eh?" interposed Cleek, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm. "Well, so she is, Dollops."

"Well, sir, it's the last day, yer know, and I stayed till after the doors were closed and people were all gone. I comes to 'ave one parting look at 'er, but when I gets to the top of the gallery and looked down – Mr. Cleek, sir, she was gone."

"What!" Cleek's knife and fork dropped out of his fingers as he took in the sense of the words. "Nonsense, Dollops! How could as large an object as the Capitoline Venus disappear in broad daylight? Preposterous!"

"Yus, sir. I know that; so I turns and runs off for a policeman, or one of those commissionaire chaps. There was one, Scott – not 'arf a bad fellow, neither – an' he come back wiv me, and nearly larfed his 'ead off, for there was that blessed statue on the pedestal again. He didn't 'arf chaff me, and away I comes, leaving him on guard for the last time. It's all shut up to-day, but – "

Cleek gave a little laugh. "I should think he would laugh. You've got statues on the brain. A great fright you gave me, though it would be an impossibility to steal the Capitoline Venus. You must have been dreaming, my boy."

"I tell you, she wasn't there," said Dollops, stubbornly.

"She was there all right when you came away, wasn't she?" said Cleek. "Well, then, it's indigestion, shall we say?"

But Dollops for the first time in their companionship was indignant at Cleek's teasing, and retired to his own quarters in high dudgeon, leaving the detective to dreams of Ailsa Lorne and love and peace, and all things that make life desirable.

It was not until the following morning, when the whir of a hastily driven motor was heard stopping outside, followed by the hurried appearance of Mr. Narkom himself, that Cleek recalled the incident of the preceding night.

"Haven't come to tell me the Capitoline Venus has disappeared, have you?" he said, jokingly, as the puffing Superintendent strove to get his breath. "Dollops had a nightmare – "

He got no further, for the purple face of Mr. Narkom had turned almost white with the shock of what seemed to him quite supernatural knowledge, and he nodded feebly.

Then it was Cleek's own turn to show amazement, and for a minute he stood transfixed.

"Nonsense, man!" he rapped out. "She was there last night. Here, Dollops – " He flung open the door, but the lad, scenting trouble from the early arrival of the Superintendent, was already tumbling into the room.

"She is all right, ain't she, sir?" he squealed, turning from one man to the other. "The Wenus, I mean. A fair beauty she was."

"That's just it, Dollops; though what you have got to do with it, I don't know," said Narkom, slowly. "But your 'Wenus' has gone, vanished in the night out of that gallery, steel-lined and steel-gated as it is, and with barred windows, Petrie and Hammond outside all night, too, as a special favour to the Italian Government. And there you have it." He looked at Cleek, who stood staring through narrowed eyelids, his face pale and set, his mouth in a straight line. "But what do you know about it, youngster?"

Dollops told his tale of the preceding night with renewed gusto, but the Superintendent only shook his head.

"Only makes matters worse," he said, "for it proves that the thing was safe at closing time. How it's been done beats me! All your invisible deaths and vanishing stones are nothing to it. I've had a good many mysterious cases to deal with, but this beats all. If it wasn't for the blessed lump of marble being so valuable – "

"Valuable?" echoed Cleek, a queer, little one-sided smile flickering round his mouth. "I should just think it is valuable. Why, my dear chap, the Capitoline Venus is more than two thousand years old, and one of the most perfect and uninjured pieces of ancient art ever found. It was discovered in the eighteenth century, carefully bricked up in a cell of masonry, and wonderfully preserved. It is of almost priceless value. I only wonder that it was ever allowed out of the museum at Rome."

"I wish to goodness it hadn't been," groaned Mr. Narkom, wiping his heated brow.

"My dear Narkom," Cleek said, "for a heavy marble statue to melt into air is so preposterous that you may well call it supernatural. Tell me all the details, please. When was the loss discovered, and how?"

"The dickens of it is, there doesn't seem to be much to tell," said Narkom. "There hasn't been a sign of any suspicious character visiting the Institute since the exhibition was opened, and the number of plain-clothes men had been augmented. Not a door or window was touched, there was not the slightest sign of any struggle or upset, yet at nine-thirty this morning, when the secretary came to see about the dispatching of the statues to their respective owners, the Venus was missing. In front of the empty pedestal lay one of the commissionaires, Tom Scott – a member of the force really, only he was wearing the Institute uniform. He had evidently died – "

"What's that?" rapped out Cleek, spinning round in the chair in which he had just seated himself. "Do you mean he was murdered?"

"No," returned the Superintendent. "It was heart disease, so the doctor said. They fetched one in, and then made a quick tour round the building, to see where the burglars had made an entry, or whether any other articles of value were missing. But, as I said before, there isn't a hole or a crack big enough to let a mouse through."

"Hm! what about keys?" said Cleek. "This Scott – if he was out of the way, they could unbolt the doors and walk out."

"That's just it, Cleek. Every door save one has been screwed up, and on the outside. Scott was invariably locked in at night, the keys of the one door remaining with the secretary. Petrie and Hammond remained on duty outside all night, and they swear there was neither suspicious sight nor sound."

"The first thing is to come and look at the place for myself," said Cleek, quietly. "Who is at the head of affairs, by the way?"

"The Marquis of Willingsley is the president of the Institute with a whole host of bigwigs," replied Narkom; "but the man in charge is the secretary, Charles Belthouse, and he's nearly out of his mind over it."

For the second time that morning Cleek sprang up in astonishment.

"Gad, man! Charles Belthouse – Charles Galveston Belthouse?" he cried.

"Yes, I think it is," returned the bewildered Superintendent. "At least his note to me this morning is signed C. G. Belthouse; but what – ?"

For Cleek had sunk down, his two hands planted on his knees, a rueful and sarcastic look on his face.

"Oh! our national intelligence!" he cried. "Charles Galveston Belthouse! The man was kicked out of one of the biggest galleries in America for smuggling in forgeries of well-known masterpieces. And that man, out of all the millions in this city, is in charge of the Capitoline Venus!" He jumped up. "Well, it's no use abusing the jockey after he has sold the race. I presume you have not mentioned my name in the matter?"

"Not a word," returned Mr. Narkom, promptly. "I didn't know whether you were free."

"Ah, well, we'll see what that well-meaning and amiable individual George Headland can do."

CHAPTER XXVI

FLECKS OF WHITE POWDER

It did not take more than twenty minutes to cover the distance between Portman Square and the Imperial Institute, and they found that aristocratic building a veritable whirlwind of repressed excitement. It was closed to the public, and downstairs in the outer hall was already assembled an army of expert packers, ready to despatch the units of the exhibition to their respective galleries. But toward none of these men did the two stolid-looking policemen give even a passing glance.

It was the redoubtable secretary whom Cleek was most anxious to see, and two minutes later found him in that gentleman's presence. Narkom's assertion that Mr. Belthouse was "half out of his mind over the matter" had prepared him to find an excitable, fear-shaken, harassed official, while his own expectations were of seeing a shifty-eyed individual who had succeeded in effecting a clever coup. He found instead a serious-faced, undemonstrative man of about forty-five, with the kindest eyes and the handsomest and most sympathetic countenance he had seen for many a day.

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Headland," he said, heartily, after the first formalities were over; and Cleek, who had assumed, as he always did at first introduction, a heavy, befogged expression indicative of incompetence, felt his suspicions of Charles Galveston Belthouse melting away like snow beneath a winter sun. "This business has me distracted, and if you can hunt up any sort of clue that'll keep the directors quiet for a few days, I'll be only too glad. When I undertook to see this business through for my friend, the Marquis of Willingsley, I didn't expect to run up against the British police."

"It's a pretty tall order, Mr. Belthouse," said Cleek, scratching his head perplexedly, "but I'll have a thorough look around, anyway."

If he had anticipated any sign of confusion upon the part of Mr. Belthouse, he was wholly disappointed, for the man, with a sudden and unexpected burst of enthusiasm, seized his hand and pressed it warmly, saying heartily:

"Oh, do, Mr. Headland, do. Search anywhere, do anything that will get on to the track of the thieves. One blessing is, they cannot offer the statue for sale in open market. It is intrinsically utterly valueless, and what the object of stealing it at all is I can't imagine. Still it must be got back somehow, without the Italian Government's knowing what has happened. Personally, I don't mind saying, I'll give every penny I have in the world, if only you can get it restored safe and sound."

Cleek darted a swift look at the speaker, but the man was evidently in dead earnest.

"Your sentiments do you credit, sir," he said, stolidly, "and I'll do my best. First of all, who was it that discovered the actual loss of the statue?"

"I did, myself," was the prompt reply. "I came early to see which statues were to be sent off first, and although some ten minutes were spent pacifying a confounded woman – "

Cleek twitched an inquiring eyebrow.

"Oh, an indignant female who stayed too late and got locked in all night."

Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom, as if mutely asking why he had not been told of this fact before, and Mr. Narkom looked back blankly at his ally.

"First I've heard of it," he said, quickly, and the secretary looked from one to the other in bewilderment. Then he laughed.

"Why, what's wrong? You don't think that a fat old woman could have smuggled out the Capitoline Venus in her reticule, do you? I never gave thought to her on that score. She says she got locked in one of the distant galleries, and though she hammered and shouted, she couldn't make a soul hear. She went off in a cab that one of our men fetched for her – wouldn't have a taxi, must have a fourwheeler – and swore vengeance against the whole board of directors. She declared it had been done on purpose, and we should hear from her solicitors. Regular old virago, I do assure you."