The Riddle of the Purple Emperor

Again came the man's whispered "Hush!" and then he broke forth suddenly in an excited undertone.

"I tell you I saw him," he said in a voice which was quite unfamiliar to Cleek. "If you've got the money, all right, if not – "

He let the rest go by default, and Cleek heard a little moan of distress come from the woman. "All I've got left is here. I can't give you another penny," she cried, and Cleek heard her fumbling as in a bag.

But now he scarcely noticed her movements. Other and more startling thoughts were in his mind. A scent of jasmine was in his nostrils.

He did not need to move or see now, he knew that the unseen speaker was Jennifer Wynne, and that the boy she was trying to save was none other than the lad she had mothered and watched over – her idle young scamp of a brother. It was all as plain as a pikestaff. The lad, in the power of the tipster Blake, had seen through his disguise, and in the quarrel that must have followed had murdered him!

But with what? The prussic acid had been taken from his father's dispensary. Had he then gone prepared to kill him? Or was it not Bobby, after all, for whom Jennifer was allowing herself to be blackmailed. Could it be Sir Edgar? And who was this man who had discovered her secret, this man who was keeping back in the shadow of the bushes? What part was his in this grim tragedy of death?

It was Jennifer herself who gave the answer.

"I tell you this is the last I can give you or get from anywhere or any one," she said in a low, tense tone. "I knew you were both out for something, directly I recognized the imposture, but you must be content and leave me alone. How do I know that you didn't kill him yourself for that matter? Oh, if I only knew, if I only knew the truth, that it were not my boy!" Here her voice stopped and for a reason which made Cleek groan inwardly.

Down at the end of the path there came the sound of feet. He knew and understood what was happening, what an unkind blow Fate had dealt him.

Dollops was returning to be near his master, lest anything unforeseen should occur. There was just one little rustle like the sound of notes crackling. Then Jennifer sped forward along the path that led away from the house. The bushes crackled and snapped again, and the sound of a man's running feet echoed faintly from the other side of the hedge. Cleek was on his feet and over the window-sill like a flash. He ran down the lane openly, without so much as a look toward Dollops, struck through the ground, and cut into the meadows adjoining. Yes! – there was the figure of his quarry. Cleek bent his head and ran on.

It was but a brief second, then he looked up, to find his man again. He stopped short, as though struck by some invisible force.

Far as eye could see were the smooth green meadows dotted here and there in the distance with slumbering sheep, but of sign of human being there was none. The man had disappeared as though the ground or the sky had opened and swallowed him up. Cleek was alone in that expanse of green pasture, utterly and entirely alone!

CHAPTER XXII

THE TRAP

For the space of ten minutes after that staggering discovery Dollops, who had followed closely on his "Gov'nor's" heels, stood watching him trot round and round that field, not unlike one of the colts on the other side of the hedge.

Presently, as Cleek stood by a clump of golden gorse, Dollops saw him throw back his head and give a little laugh of triumph.

"Dollops," he called to the watching lad, "cut back to the Inn, and tell Mr. Narkom to send Lennard up to Cheyne Court with the car. I'm going back to nose around again, and may need them both."

"Yes, sir," said Dollops, obediently, "and shall I come back?"

"Please yourself," was the laughing reply. "I shall want you to keep an eye on the Wynnes, though. There's something there I'm not quite sure of – "

Dollops showed a sudden outburst of joy.

"You trust 'em to me," he said, excitedly. "I always did say as 'ow that young party was up to no good, but I'll look after 'em all right. You leave 'er to me."

With a little nod, Cleek turned back and Dollops sped off on his errand. At the beginning of the lane, however, his mind always on the alert, he looked back, and like his master a few minutes before, he had the surprise of his life. The field was one unbroken seat of grass and gorse bushes. Cleek, too, had disappeared!

For a moment Dollops stood stunned by the shock. Then he moved as if to turn back, but he had had his orders and as there had been neither sight nor sound of anything suspicious he turned once more, and ran as hard as he could in the direction of the village.

It was some half an hour later when the limousine drew up outside the door of Cheyne Court, and Dollops hopped out of it.

"Gawd send 'e's safe," said he, his teeth chattering like a monkey's.

"It gave me the fair 'ump, Mr. Narkom, when I looks back and 'e was gone, vanished clean off the map, so to speak. Wot if 'e ain't 'ere, after all? S'pose those devils, Pentacle gangers they was fer sure, nipped 'im? I ought never to 'ave left 'im! That's wot I oughtn't to 'ave done. An' if anything 'appens to 'im it'll be all my blooming fault!"

The Superintendent frowned, though to tell the truth, he was as anxious as Dollops himself over Cleek's strange disappearance. He jumped out of the vehicle in Dollops' wake and entered the house.

Just then the ballroom door opened swiftly and Cleek came out, his eyes shining and a look of utter satisfaction on his face.

"Thank goodness you're safe, Cleek!" the Superintendent said, striding up to him, "though how you got here, without being seen beats all, for we had a man on the road you know."

Cleek smiled.

"Precisely, Mr. Narkom," he replied, serenely, a queer little smile on his face. "All roads lead to Rome, you know. By the bye, is Lennard outside?"

"Yes," said Mr. Narkom. "But what is it? Don't tell me you've discovered the truth at last?"

Cleek gave out a little triumphant laugh.

"Discovered?" he said. "No, I am only at the beginning yet," and he fairly pushed Mr. Narkom before him out of the house.

"Lennard," said he, "streak it to the Natural History Museum, Kensington, and drive like the wind. There isn't a moment to spare."

The door of the limousine flashed open and shut again, the car leapt forward and sped down the drive and into the lane. A second later it was on its way Londonward, the astonished Superintendent and Dollops being left to wend their way slowly toward the village.

They found the Inn there filled to overflowing with a crowd of men whose business soon showed itself to be that of ferreting out facts, true or untrue, for an inquisitive world – reporters on every paper in the country that boasted a column of police news. The disappearance of Lady Margaret Cheyne had recalled the romantic history of the whole family, and both Sir Edgar and Lady Brenton writhed at the amount of publicity they were being forced to endure at the hands of the press. When, too, it leaked out that the famous jewels were missing, public excitement ran riot.

Meanwhile Petrie, Hammond, and their satellites kept faithful watch round Cheyne Court, and so concentrated were the efforts of the local police that when late in the afternoon the gaily-painted caravans of a travelling circus camped out on the vacant meadow adjoining the Court estate, for the first time in local history, no notice was taken of it, save by the youthful denizens of the neighbourhood. To them an inquest could hardly be expected to offer the same absorbing interest as the joys of "Professor James' Marsupial Circus," which legend was inscribed on the carts and gaudy placards that were hastily pasted up. Kangaroos, Muskrats, Civet-cats, Opossums, and other specimens of Australian fauna were promised to be shown at the opening performance on Monday, and it was no wonder that the youthful section of Hampton were content to spend every hour of their leisure in a vain effort to quench their sudden thirst for natural history on the cheap.

Constable Roberts, however, had looked with a keenly professional eye at Professor James and his caravans, for these vehicles invariably spelt gypsies, and gypsies and jewel thefts went hand in hand.

Accordingly, when at about five o'clock of the following day Cleek appeared in the neighbourhood of Cheyne Court, that worthy stopped him and begged the favour of a word immediately.

"Gypsies, sir," said he with some disgust in his voice, "they've planked themselves there in this field," he pointed in a general direction, "since this morning and whether to send 'em away or not just beats me."

Cleek stood at the side of the motor, and regarded the Constable with a face as blank as a brick wall.

"Gypsies, eh, Roberts? Surely all circuses are not composed of gypsies, are they?" he said, finally. "It's a funny time of the year to start a circus, I must say. I thought they appeared later in the season!"

"So they does, sir," responded the Constable, emphatically, "an' what makes it more funny still, I don't believe there ain't no animals at all, sir – leastways, not live ones."

"Well," said Cleek. "You don't mean to tell me it's a circus of dead animals, do you? That is a bit too much."

The Constable shrugged his shoulders.

"No, sir, I don't go so far as to say that, but what beats me is that you can't see no signs of any animals about and what's more you can't smell 'em, either. And I never knew no circus wot yer couldn't smell 'arf a mile off."

Cleek laughed, but in an instant was serious again.

"Come to think of it, Roberts," said he, "you're right on that point. I think I'll take a look round on my own before I join the Superintendent. Can you come with me? No, I think it would be better not. We might frighten the birds away, and perhaps it's just as well, if they are not on the straight, to catch them red-handed. As it is, you've done enough to earn promotion twice over." Speaking, he jumped back into the car. With a few words to Lennard, they drove away into the oncoming dusk.

With the blinds pulled down, and Mr. Narkom's faithful locker at his command, Cleek got busy, so that when some few minutes later he had reached the little camp, a burly Australian swagman dismounted from the car. Swaggering up to what was presumably the tent of the proprietor, he gave a loud "Coo-ee!" that might have been heard easily on the other side of the river.

It had the desired effect of bringing out "Professor James," a man of decided Cockney appearance and little trace of ever having been out of the country.

"Cooe-ee," sang out the stranger, "your little bunch of carts is like a sight of home. Say, pard, trot out one of your blessed kangaroos. I'll grease yer palm, all right."

The lined, swarthy countenance of the Professor looked even more glum at this request.

He shook his head.

"Circus not ready yet; can't do anything for you," he said gruffly. Thereupon the stranger plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a £5 note.

"Give us a look of a kangaroo for the sake of old country," he said, roughly, and held the note significantly before the "professor."

The man's eyes gleamed, and it was evident that the offer was a very tempting one. But he had obviously received other orders.

"Clear out," he said, threateningly. "I don't want you or your precious money hanging about here."

He came forward with clenched fist and the stranger recoiled a little, then, turning on his heel, he gave an uncomfortable laugh.

"All right, Guv'nor," he said, "no harm meant. But of course if you're going to be nasty – "

He lurched away in the opposite direction, singing at the top of his voice an old-time music-hall ditty while the "professor" looked after him somewhat regretfully.

It was nearly seven o'clock that evening when Mr. Maverick Narkom, pacing uneasily up and down the little room which he had taken at the Hampton Arms, saw the door swing open and shut again without a suspicion of a sound. He looked up to find Cleek standing within a few paces of him.

"At last!" he ejaculated. "Gad, my dear fellow, I never was so thankful to see you in my life! Things seem to have got into an awful mess somehow since you've been gone. You'll never guess what's happened, Cleek; after all my instructions to that stupid idiot Roberts he's let the Hindoo gang escape. They went up to the station, so I'm told, and made their get-away."

"It does not matter," said Cleek, calmly. "I have come to the end of the riddle at last, my friend."

"The end!" gasped Mr. Narkom. "Man alive, tell me."

Cleek held up a restraining hand and gave a little satisfied laugh.

"Patience, Mr. Narkom. Perhaps I ought not to have said so much, for some few things remain to be discovered," he responded, serenely, "but the first thing to do is to get all the jewels, where they can be easily secured to-morrow in broad daylight."

"What jewels?" exclaimed Mr. Narkom, who had apparently lost sight of that factor of the case, in view of the murders which occupied his mind.

"The Cheyne jewels, of course," replied Cleek, "and most of all, the 'Purple Emperor' – "

"Good Heavens, I had forgotten them. It's that poor young girl I have been thinking about," said Mr. Narkom, excitedly. "Ten chances to one, but what she's murdered, too, and – "

"I think not," responded Cleek. "I have just one more thread to gather up, and then to-morrow I rather fancy she will be in a position to clear things up for herself. But I've so much to tell you, that it's difficult to know quite where to begin. And we can't talk here. Come down to Cheyne Court with me."

"Delighted," responded the Superintendent with alacrity, but once in the car, the two sat in silence, for Mr. Narkom saw how deeply Cleek was absorbed in thought, until the rusty gates were passed. But once the car drew up at the house, Cleek roused himself from his reverie.

His voice full of excitement, he said, "get the constables stationed round the house, right out of the way. Put them and the other men where they won't be able to see or hear what goes on at the back. Then make some excuse of having to examine the body in reference to new evidence that I have brought back with me. I'll join you there in half an hour."

Mr. Narkom gave a nod of comprehension and vanished up the path where his men had been stationed, leaving Cleek to carry out his plans.

Thirty minutes later, with his customary soundlessness, he came up out of the gloom of the neglected gardens and entered Cheyne Court, joining the Superintendent in the ballroom, where in a hastily constructed coffin lay the body of the stranger – a stranger no longer to Cleek.

He stood with frowning brows and regarded the dead man steadily.

"So it was a failure after all, Blake," he said, softly. "After escaping the price all these years, to be caught like a rat in a trap for the sake of a purple stone! Well! life is a queer mixture at best. But you've drunk your glass to the dregs, Blake, and it owes nothing at least to you!"

"Blake," ejaculated Mr. Narkom, "do you mean to say that you have found out – that this – no, no – surely not – not James Blake – the head of the Pentacle gang? The greatest set of rogues that ever saw their names in the calendar. Not that Blake, Cleek?"

Cleek smiled.

"The very same," he responded, gravely. "Give me but a few hours now, and I will put the whole gang into your hands, but now there's something I want to finish up here. I didn't want to do it this morning, and I don't know but what we are too late now. Try and find the very centre of this room for me, there's a good fellow, and stand there while I do a little measuring and counting."

Mr. Narkom took out his torch and sent it sweeping round the great room, until he found what he took to be the exact centre and announced the fact.

"Good!" said Cleek. "We'll make sure to save time. Now, let's see; here is one piece of wood. Now for the five others."

He paced slowly over the floor, marking at regular intervals with a piece of chalk a little dark piece of the parquet flooring.

"Three, four, five, six – the six points right enough. Now to find the centre."

Kneeling down, Mr. Narkom watched him draw long white chalk lines from point to point.

Finally he gave a little satisfied grunt, stood up, and surveyed his handiwork.

"Move a little away, Mr. Narkom, and if we aren't too late, we shall see what we shall see," he cried, excitedly.

Advancing into the centre of the room, he bent down over the centre piece of wood. As he did so, there came the horrible moaning cry, causing even Mr. Narkom's hardened nerves to fail him. With a crash the torch fell from his fingers, leaving them in total darkness!

"I forgot; I ought to have warned you – it's quite all right," said Cleek, taken aback.

"Gad, Cleek, it startled me. What is it?" whispered the Superintendent. "Have I ruined your plans?"

Cleek felt for his own torch and snapped it on so that the little disc of white light fell distinctly upon the floor.

"Never mind," said he, serenely. "It doesn't matter now, I have learnt all I want for the present. Come, let's get out of this. That is the answer to the riddle, and we are only just in time."

CHAPTER XXIII

UNTWISTING THE THREADS

In the big uncurtained ballroom of Cheyne Court the next morning, a plentiful gathering assembled for the inquest which had been postponed from the week before, and Mr. Narkom, who had entered with Cleek and a number of strangers that to an observant eye would have revealed themselves as plain-clothes men, watched the entry of every newcomer with almost morbid expectancy.

Early arrivals were Lady Brenton and Sir Edgar, who at Cleek's request had returned from town that same morning, after a presumably futile search for any trace of Lady Margaret. The boy's face was lined and anxious, his nerves evidently strained to breaking point. Close beside him sat Lady Brenton, her arm clenched tight in his, and Cleek smiled a little as he noticed that she wore a gold scarf – obviously the one which had been given such unwonted publicity the preceding week. It was not exactly morning attire, but she had evidently worn it in defiance of all gossip.

Jennifer Wynne and her brother were there, too, pale both of them, with eyes that told a tale of sleepless nights. Close beside them stood the immaculate, dapper figure of Gunga Dall, his dark eyes flashing from one face to the other, and lingering with a little smile on the perturbed countenance of Lady Brenton. It seemed as though he were quite satisfied with his work.

For a little while Cleek appeared to take no notice whatsoever of his surroundings, and it was not until the Coroner had got through the preliminaries of the inquest and proposed calling a witness that Cleek roused himself from his reverie, and said in a clear, incisive voice:

"Witnesses are unnecessary, Mr. Coroner, for I will venture to call on the murderer himself."

Had a bombshell fallen near the assembly it could not have caused more consternation, and Cleek, as he took the centre of the room, let the queer, one-sided smile travel up his face. There was a theatrical touch in this announcement which pleased him considerably.

"Yes, one murderer," he continued, "the other, fortunately, is dead. No, Mr. Wynne," he continued, rapidly, "please don't try to get to that door, they are all guarded and the windows, too. So if you don't mind – "

Suddenly he leapt swiftly in Bobby Wynne's direction. The startled young man was standing as if rooted to the spot, powerless with terror to move a step further. But with a spring Cleek bore down upon the figure of the man who was sitting smiling and complacent beside him – the figure of the Hindoo, Gunga Dall!

"Got you, you beauty! Got you!" he exclaimed, as the man tried to fight him off. "Thought to evade justice by casting the blame upon another, eh? But you came to the wrong person this time. Here, Petrie, Hammond, snap the bracelets on him, for he's as slippery as the proverbial eel, and I've no desire to have my wrists broken. That's it! Now the fish is caught at last. The game's up, Jimmy my lad."

Speaking he bent forward and stared into the man's dark, furious face. As he did so, the man's lips opened, and from his mouth issued a stream of cockney vituperation which would have shamed a Billingsgate barrow-holder.

"'Ere what yer gettin' at, blarst yer!" ended up the erstwhile Gunga Dall as his breath failed him. "And why does yer call me Jimmy? Just like yer bloomin' cheek, damn yer!"

"And just like my blooming knowledge, too, my friend," responded Cleek with a little harsh laugh. "I don't forget friends quite so soon as you do, Blake. Remember me now?"

Of a sudden his features writhed, twisted, altered, and the man whom he addressed as Blake, looking up into his eyes, turned white and shrank back with a sudden, overpowering fear.

"God! the Cracksman," he ejaculated, and his head fell forward upon his breast.

"Yes, and now – just Cleek, of Scotland Yard," came the reply.

"Cleek!" exclaimed the Coroner in amazement, and the name echoed from every mouth in that crowded room.

"Just Cleek," was the reply.

Suddenly Blake's face underwent a change.

"I don't care who you are, blarst yer! I haven't done nothing but get up as an Indian, and there's nothing criminal in that!"

"No, my friend," said Cleek, quietly. "But there is in murder and when it comes to killing your own brother – what's that? Oh, yes, it is. I know the dead man now: Sam Blake, tipster and member of the Pentacle Club. And you – you are James Blake, head of the Club, the biggest gang of jewel thieves in the world!"

"It's a lie!" shrieked the man. "I am not. I did not kill him!"

"You did," flung back Cleek. "You killed him with a little white pellet of prussic acid. I daresay – yes – they are – " His deft fingers felt in one of the resisting man's pockets.

With a little gasp of triumph, he held up a small box, and opening the lid, showed about a dozen white pellets similar to the fragment found in the mouth of the dead man. His face grew tense and grim as he surveyed them.

"See, here is the weapon," he said, "and if you want further proof, I have it here in finger-prints. These are the official prints of James Blake, and they correspond to the marks on the dead man's throat. One more thing, the footprints – "

Diving into his pocket, Cleek produced the roll of papers over which Dollops had taken such care.

"See," he said in sharp tones, "these are the marks of the footprints which led direct from the body itself. These, too, are the footprints which I found in Miss Jennifer Wynne's garden, at the foot of a certain window. To make things more sure, I think you will find that this" – he held up a scrap of gray tweed material – "is proof that this interesting gentleman climbed up by means of the wistaria plant, and obtained the prussic acid and magnesia from old Dr. Wynne's surgery."

A startled cry burst from the lips of the brother and sister, and their eyes met with such a mutually significant look that a little smile crept into Cleek's eyes for a moment. It so obviously explained the situation between them; each had suspected the other, and each had wished to shield the other.

Then Cleek turned his gaze back to the prisoner, who was a picture of sullen dejection.

"There is one more overwhelming proof of my story," Cleek said, and taking out his notebook, he scribbled something rapidly. Then detaching a leaf, he continued, "If Mr. Narkom will fetch it and if I am right, I do not think Mr. Coroner need hesitate any further."

Mr. Narkom gave but one glance at the scrap of paper in his hand, but those standing near him heard his exclamation of astonishment. Then he was gone, and attention was once more rivetted on Cleek's slim figure.

"You made a mistake, my friend, in drawing my attention to the gold scarves last week for I knew that you lied in saying that you had given Lady Margaret that scarf. It was her father's gift, not yours, so your effort to draw a red herring across the path was a failure," continued that gentleman as he peered into the face of the prisoner. "You made a bigger one to-day in leaving off that seal ring which left its mark on your brother's throat last week."