The Riddle of the Purple Emperor

For the woman's footfalls had ceased, brought to a stop by others heavier, yet light in themselves, padding swiftly along the path. No sooner had they got within hailing distance of the woman than the eager, frightened voice of Lady Brenton sounded across the silence of the deserted place.

"Mr. Dall," said that enlightening voice, with the catch of a half-sob in it. "Thank Heaven you have not gone! This is the only place where we can meet with safety. Why – oh, why did you mention about those lace scarves? You don't know how they will gossip now, all the narrow-minded, evil-thinking folk in the neighbourhood. Why did you want to see me here like this? Tell me quickly, for I am frightened to death of this place."

"Are you?" the Hindoo's voice was smooth, almost sneering. "My dear lady, why be more frightened by day than by night? You were not frightened when you fluttered in by that window barely a month ago. Did you kill the old lady? I wonder – why were you not honest with me?"

"Kill? Kill whom, Mr. Dall? My God, what are you talking about?"

The sneer in the Hindoo's voice was less veiled than ever.

"Why, the real Miss Cheyne, of course. Why didn't you leave that to me? I should have done it far better, believe me."

Cleek caught the sound of a strangled breath and his pulses drummed.

"Good Heavens, man!" came Lady Brenton's voice again, "are you mad to accuse me of such a thing? Why should I murder her, poor creature? And how?"

Came a cackle of harsh laughter like a shot on a tin roof.

"Well acted, my lady, but it won't work. Don't forget, I saw you in that very room, when, according to our old friend, Constable Roberts, Miss Cheyne was dead. Well, who killed her, I say? You did not know I saw you but I caught sight of your golden scarf as you bent over the body – "

Cleek sucked in his breath hard and a brighter sparkle shone in his half-shut eyes. So Lady Brenton was there, was she? If this were true, then Sir Edgar knew more than he professed, and he was shielding someone other than Lady Margaret – and that someone was his own mother!

Lady Brenton had remained perfectly still, as though dumbfounded at the charge made against her. Either that was it, or she was striving how best to free herself from the power of this man who held her guilty secret.

Then she spoke suddenly.

"You really mean that you think I killed that poor defenceless old woman?"

Cleek could fairly see the cynical smile that crept over the man's features, for the tones of his voice betrayed it.

"Dear lady," he answered, "it is what anybody would say if they had seen you, as I saw you, emerge from that room with a gold lace scarf round your face. I watched you cross that lawn and vanish in the darkness."

"That is not the truth," she flung back with a sudden awakening from the kind of stupor which up till now had overcome her. "I never wore that gold scarf for the simple reason I did not possess one at that time. I was never near Cheyne Court. If you say you saw me, you are saying what is absolutely untrue. And there is another thing, since you are so sure that I was responsible for that horrible deed, what were you doing at Cheyne Court that night at all?"

Gunga Dall's answer to Lady Brenton's question was given so quickly, even as Cleek himself echoed the thought in his own mind, that he might well have been forgiven in believing that it had been prepared beforehand.

"I followed you, my dear lady – "

"Followed me?" she repeated. "From where, pray? Oh, this is intolerable!"

"I saw you as I turned into the lane and I rather wondered, as was only natural, what you were doing at that unearthly hour and place."

"So I should think," responded Lady Brenton with a little sniff of disdain; "the same might apply to you, Mr. Dall."

That gentleman laughed softly.

"I came to see if I could speak to Lady Margaret Cheyne," he replied, "you must remember I had met her previously in Paris."

"I do remember, only too plainly, and how you gave me no peace till I had introduced you, but that is no reason why you should call upon her at night, after she had had a long journey. Besides, how did you know she was expected home? I hardly knew myself till quite late and by a chance word overheard from Miss Cheyne herself in the post office. How did you come to hear of it?"

That very idea was already formulating itself in Cleek's own mind at the same time. How, indeed? But Gunga Dall was evidently prepared for the question.

"In the same way as yourself, my dear lady," he returned, glibly, "the young lady at the office was busy talking about Lady Margaret's return and I made up my mind then to pay her a visit, but I had not intended to call at that hour. I just took a little walk and my steps led me by accident – or what you English people call Providence – past the house. Then I saw you, and you beckoned to me, so naturally I followed in your wake. I saw you enter the house, the front door was open, and I waited and waited, and at last out of curiosity I, too, went through the door, and closed it behind me.

"I tell you when I stood in that ballroom, and lit a match for a cigarette and saw that old woman dead, and you bending over her – "

"It is a lie!" threw in Lady Brenton, vehemently. "I was never there! Never!"

"But you were!" he repeated, emphatically. "What is the use of denying what we both know? At sight of you there I was staggered – is not that your word? – and turning on my heel I ran right out of the house. Then I remembered you were still in the place, and to try and help you, dear lady, I went back, and peered through that window. I could not have gone into it – no, not for a thousand rupees! The horror of it all was so strong! But fortunately you were gone, and so I have bided my time to tell you what I want, both from you and your interesting son Edgar."

All this time Lady Brenton had remained as if stupefied by this web that was being woven round her, but the sound of her beloved son's name aroused her.

"Edgar!" she cried in a high, shrill voice. "What has he got to do with it?"

"Everything, dear lady," was the smooth reply, "for when I came out of the grounds I walked nearly up against him, and he was in such a state of agitation that he never even noticed me till I spoke to him!"

"Edgar?" echoed Lady Brenton again, a note of fear as well as surprise in her voice. "Edgar in the grounds of Cheyne Court on that night?" and Cleek could have blessed her for the note of doubt which her tone held, for this was assuredly one of the points which he himself desired to have explained satisfactorily. "But what was Edgar doing at such an hour and in such a place? Why, he was at a public dinner, now I remember, so it is impossible!"

"Not so impossible, dear lady. Sir Edgar himself said that he had come to meet Lady Margaret."

In the shadow of the window curtain Cleek puckered up his brows and thoughtfully pinched his chin. So that was the young gentleman's explanation of his presence in the grounds, was it? Plausible enough, though it differed greatly from the explanation he had tendered to Lieutenant Deland. However, that was only to be expected… After all, it might be merely a red herring drawn across the path. Surely, the station was the right place to await a fiancée's return from abroad, not the grounds of her home – late at night! But then he had little belief in the young man's guilt, and there was every possibility that Sir Edgar had followed in his mother's footsteps with a view to finding out her purpose.

For that Lady Brenton had been in that vicinity, Cleek felt almost certain despite her vehement denial. The bond between mother and son was beyond all doubt a very close one. It might well be that the two had played at cross purposes and been bent on shielding one another. But he had not thought that Sir Edgar —

Gunga Dall's soft, purring voice broke in upon his thoughts, and Cleek pricked up his ears to listen.

"It was his mention of Lady Margaret that made me wonder whether you, too, had gone for that purpose," the Hindoo went on, "that's how I came to see you there, I suppose – "

"You did not see me there!" she flung back, indignantly. "Really, this is unbearable! I tell you I was not near Cheyne Court that night, Mr. Dall, and I will not stop another second to hear such abominable charges against me! No, please do not follow me, or speak to me, you have done me injury enough this morning with your foolish blundering remark about the scarves."

A moment she stood there irresolute, then turned and sped down the path across the lawn like a fleet shadow. As she went, Cleek heard the sound of a soft, throaty chuckle which came to him as he crouched in his hiding place. Then the padding footsteps followed in Lady Brenton's wake and died away into the silence of the deserted place.

For a moment Cleek sat there, lost in thought. There had been a certain note of truth in the voice of Gunga Dall which told him instinctively that Lady Brenton had been there on that night, deny it as she might, and Sir Edgar, too. That both would fight tooth and nail to keep their visit a secret to the world he felt no less assured.

But why had either of them – mother or son – been concealed in the house that night? Could it have been Lady Brenton whose figure had flitted across the lawn before his startled eyes? True, it had worn a gold scarf and, according to her ladyship, at that moment she had not possessed such an article. Still, there was more than one kind of gold scarf in the world, and even Indian ones were quite easily obtainable.

Then why had she been forced to introduce Gunga Dall to Lady Margaret when the child had been in Paris? Was there some power that the Hindoo possessed over the elder woman? All these thoughts raced through his mind – but —

And then of a sudden he became alert, for out of the silence of the night and in at the window again came the sound of footsteps tip-toeing softly by. Even as he stared out with sharp, discerning eyes, a figure flitted by. It was a figure that made Cleek's heart beat wildly for it was the figure of Sir Edgar Brenton himself!

CHAPTER XXI

"'TIS A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS"

For a minute the young man made neither sound nor movement, and Cleek was tempted to believe that his presence there was accidental – a mere trick of chance. But of a sudden, as he peered farther out, he caught a glimpse of Sir Edgar's face, and that one glance told him that here was no chance eavesdropper, but one whose hatred of the Hindoo presumably would carry him very near to murder now, if he had not already committed that act. His face was white with the passion that kills if need be, and his twitching hands and lips told their own story. As Cleek's eyes fell on a little shining instrument in one of those shaking hands, he knew it was time to act quickly. He leaned over just as Sir Edgar raised the revolver to aim at Gunga Dall's retreating figure and with a grip of iron grasped the boy by the shoulder. He swung his slim figure over the shallow window-sill and into the ballroom before you could say Jack Robinson.

The strength of his muscles was extraordinary, and as the young man stood before him, sputtering in fury at this calm proceeding, Cleek gave a short, sharp laugh.

"Took you rather by surprise didn't I, my friend?" he said as Sir Edgar turned upon him menacingly. "But quick thought demands quick action, and my apologies are manifold. Believe me – "

"Who the devil are you and what are you doing here?" cut in Sir Edgar, angrily, trying to recognize the strangely contorted face of the man who stood guard over him.

"Who am I?" replied Cleek, with a light chuckle. "Ah, my friend, more than you would like to have that question answered. What I am doing is another matter – preventing another murder, I fancy. Anyway – "

He gave a quick spring and there came a swift rustle, a metallic click! The revolver was on the floor and a band of steel was locked about each of the young man's wrists.

"You've put handcuffs on me," Sir Edgar cried out, angrily. "How dare you commit such an outrage! I'll have you arrested – I – "

"Better let that subject alone, young man. I suppose you don't realize that I overheard all that passed between Gunga Dall and Lady Brenton just now."

"Well, and you know that he lied," put in Sir Edgar, eagerly. "My mother wasn't there that night – you must know that."

"On the contrary, my friend, I know that she was," responded Cleek, serenely.

Sir Edgar made an effort to raise his shackled hands. His face was passionate.

"It's a lie, an infernal lie, I tell you!" he cried, vehemently. "It was I who killed the old woman, if you want to know the truth. Not Lady Brenton!"

"I do want to know the truth," replied Cleek, severely. "But that is not it, so don't tell any more lies than you are obliged to. If I say Lady Brenton was here that night, it does not mean that she killed Miss Cheyne, nor that you did, either, despite the fact that you had a revolver in your pocket."

A sudden, startled look passed over Sir Edgar's face. His mouth was a little drawn.

"Then what is the meaning of this outrage? What right have you to arrest me?" he said with a very creditable attempt at bluster which deceived Cleek not at all.

"The right of the law, young man. You asked me who I was just now. Well, I'll tell you as much as the world knows – I am Cleek, Cleek of Scotland Yard."

"Cleek!" Filled with astonishment and not a little awe, Sir Edgar found himself looking into a hard, cynical face with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped, cruel mouth.

Cleek smiled.

"Perhaps you know this man better," he said, quietly, and in a flash his features blent, softened, altered, made of themselves yet another mask, and Sir Edgar found himself gazing into the face of Lieutenant Deland.

"Good heavens! The lieutenant!" he said, with a throb of fear in his voice. "Then you were that man – and Mr. Narkom knew all the time."

"Yes, Sir Edgar, and perhaps, too, you can tell me of this one, eh?"

In a flash, that face had given place to the bovine stupidity of Mr. George Headland, as the young man had seen him at Scotland Yard.

"Mr. George Headland!" The name scarcely sounded above a whisper and Cleek smiled a little as his face now resumed its normal expression.

"All three, my friend," he said, genially. "So you see it is useless to attempt to deceive me. I have given you these proofs, to drive that lesson home. Put yourself unreservedly in my hands, and you will be safe, otherwise – well, remember that the inquest is only postponed, not settled."

Something of menace in the low tones caused the face of Sir Edgar Brenton to grow more pale and for a brief moment there was silence. Then Cleek spoke swiftly.

"Give me your word to work with me, on the side of the law, and I will see that the one you seek to shield shall not be harmed so much as by a hair of her head," he said. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. – "

"Mr. George Headland, please."

"Very well, Mr. Headland, I place myself in your hands completely, if you will give me your word of honour to say nothing, absolutely nothing, to any living soul about this."

"You may safely trust the knowledge with me," responded Cleek, lightly, as he undid the manacled hands. "And now, Sir Edgar, I want you to tell me everything that happened that night, and the night when the imposter was also killed, then go up to town and stay there till I send for you. Now, fire away!"

Sir Edgar hesitated, then gave a queer little gulp.

"Well, I suppose there is no help for it," he said in a shaken voice, seating himself beside Cleek on the wide window seat. "I was coming back from a dinner party, just as I said, but I meant to see Margaret, despite Miss Cheyne, and I still had that revolver in my pocket. It was the revolver that Miss Cheyne herself threw at me that same day when, like a fool, I tried to get her consent to our happiness. How and why this one was marked with my initial as it was, I don't know, but I'll swear Mr. Cl – Headland, that the first one was not. I'll take my oath on that. It was a Smith & Wesson repeater. Well, anyhow, I came back to Cheyne Court, and after knocking till I was tired, I was about to turn away and had got to the bottom of the steps when I thought I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. On turning, to my astonishment, I found the door ajar. In I went, and as I did so, there came the sound of a shot – from the ballroom."

"Ah, then it was you I heard, when I knocked?" interposed Cleek.

Sir Edgar nodded.

"Yes, I didn't stop to notice, just rushed into that room, and saw the old woman dead and not a soul to be seen. Then I heard your knocking again, and I think I lost my head – I thought it might be the police. I know I was mad, but I just made a dash for the window and was out and through it like a shot!"

"H'mn – then there was someone else in the house, too, for it was a woman who crossed that lawn, one who wore a gold scarf," said Cleek, his brows knitted. "Well, go on, what next?"

"You can imagine my feelings when you said you had been driven out by Miss Cheyne herself when I met you in the lane. I thought that in my fright I had imagined the murder and that she must just have fainted and come to afterward. I know it was silly, but I was afraid to speak."

"That's all right," said Cleek, quietly. "But now what about the second murder? How did you come to go to Cheyne Court again? That wants explaining away, too."

"And it can easily be explained," retorted Sir Edgar, rapidly. "I was trying to find Lady Margaret, and I caught a glimpse, or thought I did, of a woman's figure in the grounds and followed it right into the house. There again I found the body of Miss Cheyne, as naturally I took it to be, and felt I must have gone out of my senses. There was something queer and supernatural in finding her again in the same spot. Like a donkey I took to my heels, and ran straight into Dr. Verrall half-way down the lane."

Cleek twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.

"Met Dr. Verrall in the lane, did you?"

"Yes. He told me he had come from Miss Wynne's house, he had been to borrow some drug from the old doctor's surgery or something. Anyway, I tell you I was tempted to blurt out the truth, but again I was afraid, for, as a matter of fact, we are not usually the best of friends – you see, well – " He broke off, finding this position rather more awkward than the others had been.

A little one-sided smile crept up Cleek's face and he put his hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"I know," he said, quietly, "he was jealous of you and Miss Wynne, wasn't he? She – er – entertains somewhat of a liking for you, doesn't she?"

"Yes, that's just it. Not that there was any cause, for though I have known Jenny all my life, I have never dreamt of marrying her. And after I met Margaret, she was the only girl in the world!"

"I know, I know," Cleek said, quietly. "But to return to our muttons, Sir Edgar. Didn't you meet any one else at all? Just think a moment. No woman at all – eh?"

For a moment Sir Edgar hesitated. Then his honest eyes met Cleek's, and read the knowledge in their keen depths.

"Yes," he said in a broken, choked voice, "you seem to know everything, Mr. Headland. I met my mother. She was doing what I know now she often had done, when perturbed or upset – walking in her sleep. God knows why she had chosen that particular part to wander in. But asleep she certainly was, for she failed to recognize me at all, and I managed to lead her gently back until she was once more in her bedroom."

Cleek looked at the young man sharply for a moment, as though questioning the verity of this statement.

Walking in her sleep, eh? That would account for many things. He remembered that Ailsa had told him about the sound of footsteps in Lady Brenton's room… Walking in her sleep, eh? So that was the explanation, was it? Or was it not likely to have been a case of hypnotism? Then remembering Lady Brenton's headaches Cleek began to see daylight at last. So Gunga Dall had not been lying after all when he said he saw her ladyship, and she had not lied either in replying that she knew she wasn't there. For if she were walking in her sleep, Lady Brenton certainly did not know of the fact. And that cleared a good many things in Cleek's mind.

"You know I'm speaking the truth, Mr. Headland, you do believe me, don't you?" put in Sir Edgar, suddenly, with a little anxious note in his voice. "I'd take my oath on it, you know."

"No need for that, my friend," responded Cleek, with a smile, "your word is enough. But if you want to help me, keep your eye on our young friend Bobby Wynne when you get to town. His movements will possibly be somewhat interesting, and I'd like to keep posted regarding them – So she was walking in her sleep then, eh? I begin to see light."

"Well, I'm hanged if I do," responded Sir Edgar, with a little shrug of the shoulders, "still, I'll do my part. And if only you'll find my Margaret – God! Mr. Headland, I'll do anything in the world to show my gratitude!"

Their hands met and clasped for a moment in the grip of friendship and in the next, Sir Edgar was striding away with new hope.

Cleek watched him go from the room and swing down the long path that lay by the window. Then he faced round suddenly and took up his stand once more by the broad window-sill to reconsider the changed aspect of things. Lady Brenton was clearly out of the case now, for it was not possible that she could have committed the actual murder, even in her sleep, so the case had narrowed down once more. What was worse, it was centring on the girl who had worn that gold scarf – Lady Margaret herself! And yet he would not believe that even desperate as she might have been made, she could deliberately kill her enemy. Yet if it were not she, who, then, had worn the scarf in her place? Not Miss Jennifer, for her scarf had been gold, it is true, but of a different colour and texture. The thought of her appearance recalled Dr. Verrall and again Cleek frowned heavily.

Dr. Verrall knew more than he had revealed at the inquest. Instinctively Cleek realized that the doctor was trying to shield Jennifer Wynne from discovery, shield the girl he loved despite everything. Jennifer had access to the old doctor's surgery, and someone had undoubtedly tampered with the bottle of prussic acid, as he knew already. Dr. Verrall himself might have climbed up – but the shreds of cloth which Cleek had found clinging to the ivy were not like any suit Dr. Verrall had worn. Certainly not like the black broadcloth which he had on the night of the murder when fetched from the lane where he had lurked so opportunely. True, he might have changed quickly, but not so quickly as that.

Cleek was still bent on the problem, but not so absorbed that he did not hear yet another light footfall outside, one that seemed to be approaching the window where he still sat. It stopped right under the window, and Cleek did not dare so much as move a finger lest he betray his presence. Backward and forward paced the light steps, and the rustle of a skirt told him it was a woman. Two, three, five minutes passed, and Cleek sat hunched and motionless, unable to see who this new visitor to the house of mystery might be.

That it was someone keeping a tryst was only too evident; waiting, too, for someone who had been delayed past an agreed time, as was indicated by the impatient tapping of one foot on the path. Well, Cleek was prepared to wait all night if necessary.

A sound came suddenly across the night, the sound of a cuckoo. With a little cry of relief, the woman outside answered the cry, softly and clearly.

"Quick! I am here," Cleek heard the words almost gasped out. Then there came the sound of snapping twigs as if a man were forcing his way through the dense shrubberies, followed by the sharp crunch of feet on the gravel. With these came the soft whisper of a man's voice warning the woman to keep silence as she rushed toward him, in a state bordering on absolute hysteria.

"Quick!" she said again. "If I am discovered here, or my absence noticed, all is lost! You don't know what horrors of suspense I have endured. I was afraid you would think better of your promise and go to the police, after all. All through the inquest I dreaded every opening of the door! Tell me you won't give him up. He is so young. Oh, I shall scream in a minute."