Cleek, the Master Detective

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CLEEK, THE MASTER DETECTIVE

  by

  T. W. HANSHEW

  Author of"Cleek's Government Cases," "Cleek of Scotland Yard,""Fate and the Man," "The Riddle of the Night"

  Illustrated by Gordon Grant

  "OF A TRUTH YOU ARE A CHARMING FELLOW, MONSIEUR.... WHATA PITY YOU SHOULD BE A POLICE SPY AND UPON SO HOPELESS A CASE"]

  Garden City New YorkDoubleday, Page & Company 1918

  Copyright, 1918, byDoubleday, Page & CompanyAll rights reserved, including that oftranslation into foreign languages,including the Scandinavian

  TO

  NEWMAN FLOWER

  WITH THAT SORT OF ESTEEM A MAN HAS FOR A FRIEND HE RESPECTS, AND THAT SORT OF LOVE HE GIVES TO A COMRADE HE ADMIRES

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK

  II. THE PROBLEM OF THE RED CRAWL

  III. THE RIDDLE OF THE SACRED SON

  IV. THE CALIPH'S DAUGHTER

  V. THE RIDDLE OF THE NINTH FINGER

  VI. THE WIZARD'S BELT

  VII. THE RIDDLE OF THE 5.28

  VIII. THE LION'S SMILE

  IX. THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM

  X. THE RIDDLE OF THE SIVA STONES

  XI. THE DIVIDED HOUSE

  XII. THE RIDDLE OF THE RAINBOW PEARL

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Of a truth you are a charming fellow, monsieur.... What a pity you should be a police spy and upon so hopeless a case."

  Pulling their hair--rubbing their faces with a clean handkerchief in quest of any trace of "make-up" or disguise of any sort

  Swinging the hammer, he struck at the nymph with a force that shattered the monstrous thing to atoms

  With that he stripped down the counterpane, lifted the water-jug from its washstand and emptied its contents over the mattresses

  CLEEK, THE MASTER DETECTIVE

  CHAPTER I

  THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK

  The thing wouldn't have happened if any other constable than Collins hadbeen put on point duty at Blackfriars Bridge that morning. For Collinswas young, good-looking, and knew it. Nature had gifted him with asusceptible heart and a fond eye for the beauties of femininity. So whenhe looked round and saw the woman threading her way through the maze ofvehicles at "Dead Man's Corner," with her skirt held up just enough toshow two twinkling little feet in French shoes, and over them agraceful, willowy figure, and over that an enchanting, if rather toohighly tinted, face, with almond eyes and a fluff of shining hair underthe screen of a big Parisian hat--that did for him on the spot.

  He saw at a glance that she was French--exceedingly French--and hepreferred English beauty, as a rule. But, French or English, beauty isbeauty, and here undeniably was a perfect type, so he unhesitatinglysprang to her assistance and piloted her safely to the kerb, revellingin her voluble thanks and tingling as she clung timidly but ratherfirmly to him.

  "Sair, I have to give you much gratitude," she said in a pretty, wistfulsort of way, as they stepped on to the pavement. Then she dropped herhand from his sleeve, looked up at him, and shyly drooped her head, asif overcome with confusion and surprise at the youth and good looks ofhim. "Ah, it is nowhere in the world but Londres one finds thesedelicate attentions, these splendid sergeants de ville," she added, witha sort of sigh. "You are wonnerful, you are mos' wonnerful, you Anglaispoliss. Sair, I am a stranger; I know not ze ways of this city ofamazement, and if monsieur would so kindly direct me where to find theAbbey of the Ves'minster----"

  Before P. C. Collins could tell her that if that were her destination,she was a good deal out of her latitude, indeed, even before sheconcluded what she was saying, over the rumble of the traffic there rosea thin, shrill, piping sound, which to ears trained to its callpossessed a startling significance.

  It was the shrilling of a police whistle far off down the Embankment.

  "Hullo! That's a call to the man on point," exclaimed Collins, all alertat once. "Excuse me, mum. See you presently. Something's up. One of mymates is a-signalling me."

  "Mates, monsieur? Mates? Signalling? I shall not unnerstand the vords.But yes, vat shall that mean--eh?"

  "Good Lord, don't bother me now! I--I mean, wait a bit. That's the callto 'head off' some one, and---- By George! there he is now, coming headon, the hound, and running like the wind!"

  For of a sudden, through a break in the traffic, a scudding figure hadsprung into sight. It was the figure of a man in a gray frock-coat and ashining "topper," a well-groomed, well-set-up man, with a small,turned-up moustache and hair of a peculiar reddish shade. As he swunginto sight, the distant whistle shrilled again; far off in the distancevoices sent up cries of "Head him off!" "Stop that man!" etcetera; thenthose on the pavement near to the fugitive took up the cry, joined inpursuit, and in a twinkling, what with cabmen, tram-men, draymen, andpedestrians all shouting, there was hubbub enough for Hades.

  "A swell pickpocket, I'll lay my life," commented Collins, as he squaredhimself for an encounter and made ready to leap on the man when he camewithin gripping distance. "Here! get out of the way, madmazelly.Business before pleasure. And, besides, you're like to get bowled overin the rush. Here, chauffeur!"--this to the driver of a big, blackmotor-car which swept round the angle of the bridge at that moment, andmade as though to scud down the Embankment into the thick of thechase--"pull that thing up sharp! Stop where you are! Dead still! Atonce, at once, do you hear? We don't want you getting in the way. Now,then"--nodding his head in the direction of the running man--"come on,you bounder; I'm ready for you!"

  And, as if he really heard that invitation, and really were eager toaccept it, the red-headed man did "come on" with a vengeance. And allthe time, "madmazelly," unheeding Collins's advice, stood calmly andsilently waiting.

  Onward came the runner, with the whole roaring pack in his wake, dodgingin and out among the vehicles, "flooring" people who got in his way,scudding, dodging, leaping, like a fox hard pressed by the hounds,until, all of a moment, he spied a break in the traffic, leapt throughit, and--then there was mischief. For Collins sprang at him like a cat,gripped two big, strong-as-iron hands on his shoulders, and had himtight and fast.

  "Got you, you ass!" snapped he, with a short, crisp, self-satisfiedlaugh. "None of your blessed squirming now. Keep still. You'll get outof your coffin, you bounder, as soon as out of my grip. Got you, gotyou! Do you understand?"

  The response to this fairly took the wind out of him.

  "Of course I do," said the captive gaily; "it's part of the programmethat you should get me. Only, for Heaven's sake, don't spoil the film byremaining inactive, you goat! Struggle with me, handle me roughly, throwme about. Make it look real; make it look as though I actually did getaway from you, not as though you let me. You chaps behind there, don'tget in the way of the camera--it's in one of those cabs. Now, then,Bobby, don't be wooden! Struggle, struggle, you goat, and save thefilm!"

  "Save the what?" gasped Collins. "Here! Good Lord! Do you mean tosay----?"

  "Struggle--struggle--struggle!" cut in the man impatiently. "Can't yougrasp the situation? It's a put-up thing: the taking of a kinematographfilm, a living picture, for the Alhambra to-night! Heavens above,Marguerite, didn't you tell him?"

  "Non, non! There was not ze time. You come so quick, I could not. Andhe--ah, le bon Dieu!--he gif me no chance. Officair, I beg
, I entreat ofyou, make it real! Struggle, fight, keep on ze constant move.Zere!"--something tinkled on the pavement with the unmistakable sound ofgold--"zere, monsieur, zere is de half-sovereign to pay you for zetrouble, only, for ze lof of goodness, do not pick it up while theinstrument, ze camera, he is going. It is ze kinematograph, and youwould spoil everything!"

  The chop-fallen cry that Collins gave was lost in a roar of laughterfrom the pursuing crowd.

  "Struggle, struggle! Don't you hear, you idiot?" broke in the red-headedman irritably. "You are being devilishly well paid for it, so forgoodness' sake make it look real. That's it! Bully boy! Now, once moreto the right, then loosen your grip so that I can push you away andmake a feint of punching you off. All ready there, Marguerite? Keep aclear space about her, gentlemen. Ready with the motor, chauffeur? Allright. Now, then, Bobby, fall back, and mind your eye when I hit out,old chap. One, two, three--here goes!"

  With that he pushed the crest-fallen Collins from him, made a feint ofpunching his head as he reeled back, then sprang toward the spot wherethe Frenchwoman stood, and gave a finish to the adventure that washighly dramatic and decidedly theatrical. For "mademoiselle," seeing himapproach her, struck a pose, threw out her arms, gathered him into them,to the exceeding enjoyment of the laughing throng, then both looked backand behaved as people do on the stage when "pursued," gesticulatedextravagantly, and rushing to the waiting motor, jumped into it.

  "Many thanks, Bobby; many thanks, everybody!" sang out the red-headedman. "Let her go, chauffeur. The camera men will pick us up again atWhitehall in a few minutes' time."

  "Right you are, sir," responded the chauffeur gaily. Then "toot-toot"went the motor-horn as the gentleman in gray closed the door uponhimself and his companion, and the vehicle, darting forward, sped downthe Embankment in the exact direction whence the man himself hadoriginally come, and, passing directly through that belated portion ofthe hurrying crowd to whom the end of the adventure was not yet known,flew on and--vanished.

  And Collins, stooping to pick up the half-sovereign that had been thrownhim, felt that after all it was a poor price to receive for all thejeers and gibes of the assembled onlookers.

  "Smart capture, Bobby, wasn't it?" sang out a deriding voice that setthe crowd jeering anew. "You'll git promoted, you will! See it in allthe evenin' papers--oh, yus! ''Orrible hand-to-hand struggle with adesperado. Brave constable has 'arf a quid's worth out of an infuriatedruffian!' My hat! won't your missis be proud when you take her to seethat bloomin' film?"

  "Move on, now, move on!" said Collins, recovering his dignity andasserting it with a vim. "Look here, cabby, I don't take it kind of youto laugh like that; they had you just as bad as they had me. Blow thatFrenchy! She might have tipped me off before I made such an ass ofmyself. I don't say that I'd have done it so natural if I had known,but---- Hullo! What's that? Blowed if it ain't that blessed whistleagain, and another crowd a-pelting this way; and--no!--yes, by Jupiter!a couple of Scotland Yard chaps with 'em. My hat! what do you supposethat means?"

  He knew in the next moment. Panting and puffing, a crowd at their heels,and people from all sides stringing out from the pavement and troopingafter them, the two "plain-clothes" men came racing through the grinninggathering and bore down on P. C. Collins.

  "Hullo, Smathers, you in this, too?" began he, his feelings softened bythe knowledge that other arms of the law would figure on that film withhim at the Alhambra to-night. "Now, what are you after, you goat? ThatFrench lady, or the red-headed party in the gray suit?"

  "Yes, yes, of course I am. You heard me signal you to head him off,didn't you?" replied Smathers, looking round and growing suddenlyexcited when he realized that Collins was empty-handed and that thered-headed man was not there. "Heavens! you never let him get away, didyou? You grabbed him, didn't you--eh?"

  "Of course I grabbed him. Come out of it. What are you giving me, youjosser?" said Collins, with a wink and a grin. "Ain't you found out evenyet, you silly? Why, it was only a faked-up thing, the taking of akinematograph picture for the Alhambra. You and Petrie ought to havebeen here sooner and got your wages, you goats. I got half a quid for myshare when I let him go."

  Smathers and Petrie lifted up their voices in one despairing howl.

  "When you what?" fairly yelled Smathers. "You fool! You don't mean totell me that you let them take you in like that--those two? You don'tmean to tell me that you had him, had him in your hands, and then lethim go? You did? Oh, you seventy-seven kinds of a double-barrelled ass!Had him--think of it!--had him, and let him go! Did yourself out of ashare in a reward of two hundred quid when you'd only to shut your handsand hold on to it!"

  "Two hundred quid? Two hun---- W--what are you talking about? Wasn't ittrue? Wasn't it a kinematograph picture, after all?"

  "No, you fool, no!" howled Smathers, fairly dancing with despair. "Oh,you blithering idiot! You ninety-seven varieties of a fool! Do you knowwho you had in your hands? Do you know who you let go? It was that devil'Forty Faces,' the 'Vanishing Cracksman,' 'The Man Who Calls HimselfHamilton Cleek'; and the woman was his pal, his confederate, his blessedstool pigeon, 'Margot, the Queen of the Apaches'; and she came over fromParis to help him in that clean scoop of Lady Dresmer's jewels lastweek!"

  "Heavens!" gulped Collins, too far gone to say anything else, too deeplydejected to think of anything but that he had had the man for whomScotland Yard had been groping for a year; the man over whom allEngland, all France, all Germany wondered, close shut in the grip of hishands and then had let him go. He was the biggest and the boldestcriminal the police had ever had to cope with, the almost supernaturalgenius of crime, who defied all systems, laughed at all laws, mocked atall the Vidocqs, and Lupins, and Sherlock Holmeses, whether amateur orprofessional, French or English, German or American, that ever had orever could be pitted against him, and who, for sheer devilry, fordiabolical ingenuity, and for colossal impudence, as well as for anature-bestowed power that was simply amazing, had not his match in allthe universe.

  Who or what he really was, whence he came, whether he was English,Irish, French, German, Yankee, Canadian, Italian, or Dutchman, no manknew and no man might ever hope to know unless he himself chose toreveal it. In his many encounters with the police he had assumed thespeech, the characteristics, and, indeed, the facial attributes of eachin turn, and assumed them with an ease and a perfection that were simplymarvellous and had gained for him the sobriquet of "Forty Faces" amongthe police and of the "Vanishing Cracksman" among the scribes andreporters of newspaperdom. That he came in time to possess another namethan these was due to his own whim and caprice, his own bald, unblushingimpudence; for, of a sudden, whilst London was in a fever of excitementand all the newspapers up in arms over one of his most daring andsuccessful coups, he chose to write boldly to both editors and policecomplaining that the title given him by each was both vulgar and cheap.

  "You would not think of calling a great violinist like Paganini a'fiddler,'" he wrote; "why, then, should you degrade me with the coarseterm of 'cracksman'? I claim to be as much an artist in my profession asPaganini was in his, and I claim also a like courtesy from you. So,then, if in the future it becomes necessary to allude to me, and I fearit often will, I shall be obliged if you do so as 'The Man Who CallsHimself Hamilton Cleek.' In return for the courtesy, gentlemen, Ipromise to alter my mode of procedure, to turn over a new leaf, as itwere, to give you at all times hereafter distinct information, inadvance, of such places as I select for the field of my operations, andof the time when I shall pay my respects to them, and, on the morningafter each such visit, to bestow some small portion of the loot uponScotland Yard as a souvenir of the event."

  And to that remarkable programme he rigidly adhered from that timeforth, always giving the police twelve hours' notice, always evadingtheir traps and snares, always carrying out his plans in spite of them,and always, on the morning after, sending some trinket or trifle toSuperintendent Narkom at Scotland Yard. This trifle would be in a littlepink cardboard box, tied
up with rose-coloured ribbon, and marked, "Withthe compliments of The Man Who Calls Himself Hamilton Cleek."

  The detectives of the United Kingdom, the detectives of the Continent,the detectives of America--each and all had measured swords with him,tried wits with him, spread snares and laid traps for him, and each andall had retired from the field vanquished.

  And this was the man that he, Police Constable Samuel James Collins, hadactually had in his hands, nay, in his very arms, and then had given upfor half a sovereign and let go!

  "Oh, so help me! You make my head swim, Smathers, that you do!" hemanaged to say at last. "I had him--I had the Vanishing Cracksman in myblessed paws and then went and let that French hussy---- But look here;I say, now, how do you know it was him? Nobody can go by his looks; sohow do you know?"

  "Know, you footler!" growled Smathers disgustedly. "Why shouldn't I knowwhen I've been after him ever since he left Scotland Yard half an hourago?"

  "Left what? My hat! You ain't a-going to tell me that he's been there?When? Why? What for?"

  "To leave one of his blessed notices, the dare-devil. What a detectivehe'd 'a' made, wouldn't he, if he'd only a-turned his attention thatway, and been on the side of the law instead of against it? He walked inbold as brass, sat down and talked with the superintendent over somecock-and-bull yarn about a 'Black Hand' letter that he said had beensent to him, and asked if he couldn't have police protection whilst hewas in town. It wasn't until after he'd left that the superintendent hesees a note on the chair where the blighter had been sitting, and whenhe opened it, there it was in black and white, something like this:

  "The list of presents that have been sent for the wedding to-morrow of Sir Horace Wyvern's eldest daughter make interesting reading, particularly that part which describes the jewels sent--no doubt as a tribute to her father's position as the greatest brain specialist in the world--from the Austrian Court and the Continental principalities. The care of such gems is too great a responsibility for the bride. I propose, therefore, to relieve her of it to-night, and to send you the customary souvenir of the event to-morrow morning. Yours faithfully,

  "THE MAN WHO CALLS HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK.

  "That's how I know, dash you! Superintendent sent me out after him, hotfoot; and after a bit I picked him up in the Strand, toddling along withthat French hussy as cool as you please. But, blow him! he must haveeyes all round his head, for he saw me just as soon as I saw him, and heand Frenchy separated like a shot. She hopped into a taxi and flew offin one direction; he dived into the crowd and bolted in another, andbefore you could say Jack Robinson he was doubling and twisting, jumpinginto cabs and jumping out again--all to gain time, of course, for thewoman to do what he'd put her up to doing--and leading me the devil'sown chase through the devil's own tangles till he was ready to bunk forthe Embankment. And you let him go, you blooming footler! Had him andlet him go, and chucked away a third of L200 for the price of half aquid!"

  And long after Smathers and Petrie had left him, the wondering crowd haddispersed, and point duty at "Dead Man's Corner" was just point dutyagain and nothing more, P. C. Collins stood there, chewing the cud ofbitter reflection over those words and trying to reckon up just how manypounds and how much glory had been lost to him.

  II

  "But, damme, sir, the thing's an outrage! I don't mince my words, Mr.Narkom. I say plump and plain the thing's an outrage, a disgrace to thepolice, an indignity upon the community at large; and for Scotland Yardto permit itself to be defied, bamboozled, mocked at in this appallingfashion by a paltry burglar----"

  "Uncle, dear, pray don't excite yourself in this manner. I am quite surethat if Mr. Narkom could prevent the things----"

  "Hold your tongue, Ailsa. I will not be interfered with! It's time thatsomebody spoke out plainly and let this establishment know what thepublic has a right to expect of it. What do I pay my rates and taxesfor--and devilish high ones they are, too, b'gad--if it's not tomaintain law and order and the proper protection of property? And tohave the whole blessed country terrorized, the police defied, andpeople's houses invaded with impunity by a gutter-bred brute of acracksman is nothing short of a scandal and a shame! Call this sort oftomfoolery being protected by the police? God bless my soul! one mightas well be in the charge of a parcel of doddering old women and be donewith it!"

  It was an hour and a half after that exciting affair at "Dead Man'sCorner." The scene was Superintendent Narkom's private room atheadquarters, the dramatis personae, Mr. Maverick Narkom himself, SirHorace Wyvern, and Miss Ailsa Lorne, his niece, a slight, fair-haired,extremely attractive girl of twenty. She was the only and orphaneddaughter of a much-loved sister, who, up till a year ago, had knownnothing more exciting in the way of "life" than that which is to befound in a small village in Suffolk and falls to the lot of an underpaidvicar's only child. A railway accident had suddenly deprived her of bothparents, throwing her wholly upon her own resources without a penny inthe world. Sir Horace had gracefully come to the rescue and given her ahome and a refuge, being doubly repaid for it by the affection and careshe gave him and the manner in which she assumed control of a householdwhich, hitherto, had been left wholly to the attention of servants. LadyWyvern had long been dead, and her two daughters were of that type whichdevotes itself entirely to the pleasures of society and the demands ofthe world. A regular pepperbox of a man, testy, short-tempered,exacting, Sir Horace had flown headlong to Superintendent Narkom'soffice as soon as that gentleman's note, telling him of The VanishingCracksman's latest threat, had been delivered, and, on Miss Lorne'sadvice, had withheld all news of it from the members of his household,and brought her with him.

  "I tell you that Scotland Yard must do something--must! must! must!"stormed he as Narkom, resenting that stigma upon the institution,puckered up his lips and looked savage. "That fellow has always kept hisword, always, in spite of your precious band of muffs, and if you lethim keep it this time, when there's upward of L40,000 worth of jewelsin the house, it will be nothing less than a national disgrace, and youand your wretched collection of bunglers will be covered with deservedridicule."

  Narkom swung round, smarting under these continued taunts, these"flings" at the efficiency of his prided department, his nostrilsdilated, his temper strained to the breaking-point.

  "Well, he won't keep it this time--I promise you that!" he rapped outsharply. "Sooner or later every criminal, no matter how clever, meetshis Waterloo, and this shall be his! I'll take this affair in handmyself, Sir Horace. I'll not only send the pick of my men to guard thejewels, but I'll go with them; and if that fellow crosses the thresholdof Wyvern House to-night, by the Lord, I'll have him. He will have to bethe devil himself to get away from me! Miss Lorne," recollecting himselfand bowing apologetically, "I ask your pardon for this stronglanguage--my temper got the better of my manners."

  "It does not matter, Mr. Narkom, so that you preserve my cousin'swedding gifts from that appalling man," she answered, with a gentleinclination of the head and with a smile that made the superintendentthink she must certainly be the most beautiful creature in all theworld, it so irradiated her face and added to the magic of her gloriouseyes. "It does not matter what you say, what you do, so long as youaccomplish that."

  "And I will accomplish it, as I'm a living man, I will! You may go homefeeling assured of that. Look for my men some time before dusk, SirHorace. I will arrive later. They will come in one at a time. See thatthey are admitted by the area door, and that, once in, not one of themleaves the house again before I put in an appearance. I'll look themover when I arrive to be sure that there's no wolf in sheep's clothingamongst them. With a fellow like that, a diabolical rascal with adiabolical gift for impersonation, one can't be too careful. Meantime,it is just as well not to have confided this news to your daughters,who, naturally, would be nervous and upset; but I assume that you havetaken some one of the servants into your confidence, in order thatnobody may pass them and enter the h
ouse under any pretext whatsoever?"

  "No, I have not. Miss Lorne advised against it, and, as I am alwaysguided by her, I said nothing of the matter to anybody."

  "Was that wrong, do you think, Mr. Narkom?" queried Ailsa anxiously. "Ifeared that if they knew they might lose their heads, and that mycousins, who are intensely nervous and highly emotional, might hear ofit, and add to our difficulties by becoming hysterical and demanding ourattention at a time when we ought to be giving every moment to watchingfor the possible arrival of that man. And as he has always lived up tothe strict letter of his dreadful promises heretofore, I knew that hewas not to be expected before nightfall. Besides, the jewels are lockedup in the safe in Sir Horace's consulting-room, and his assistant, Mr.Merfroy, has promised not to leave the room for one instant before wereturn."

  "Oh, well, that's all right, then. I dare say there is very littlelikelihood of our man getting in whilst you and Sir Horace are here, andtaking such a risk as stopping in the house until nightfall to begin hisoperations. Still, it was hardly wise, and I should advise hurrying backas fast as possible and taking at least one servant--the one you feelleast likely to lose his head--into your confidence, Sir Horace, andputting him on the watch for my men. Otherwise, keep the matter as quietas you have done, and look for me about nine o'clock. And rely upon thisas a certainty: The Vanishing Cracksman will never get away with evenone of those jewels if he enters that house to-night, and never get outof it unshackled!"

  PULLING THEIR HAIR--RUBBING THEIR FACES WITH A CLEANHANDKERCHIEF IN QUEST OF ANY TRACE OF "MAKE-UP" OR DISGUISE OF ANYSORT]

  With that, he suavely bowed his visitors out and rang up the pick of hismen without an instant's delay.

  Promptly at nine o'clock he arrived, as he had promised, at WyvernHouse, and was shown into Sir Horace's consulting-room, where Sir Horacehimself and Miss Lorne were awaiting him and keeping close watch beforethe locked door of a communicating apartment in which sat the six menwho had preceded him. He went in and put them all and severally througha rigid examination in quest of any trace of "make-up" or disguise ofany sort, examining their badges and the marks on the handcuffs theycarried with them to make sure that they bore the sign which he himselfhad scratched upon them in the privacy of his own room a couple of hoursago.

  "No mistake about this lot," he announced, with a smile. "Has anybodyelse entered or attempted to enter the house?"

  "Not a soul," replied Miss Lorne. "I didn't trust anybody to do thewatching, Mr. Narkom. I watched myself."

  "Good. Where are the jewels? In that safe?"

  "No," replied Sir Horace. "They are to be exhibited in the picturegallery for the benefit of the guests at the wedding breakfastto-morrow, and as Miss Wyvern wished to superintend the arrangement ofthem herself, and there would be no time for that in the morning, sheand her sister are in there laying them out at this moment. As I couldnot prevent that without telling them what we have to dread, I did notprotest against it; but if you think it will be safer to return them tothe safe after my daughters have gone to bed, Mr. Narkom----"

  "Not at all necessary. If our man gets in, their lying there in fullview like that will prove a tempting bait, and--well, he'll find there'sa hook behind it. I shall be there waiting for him. Now go and join theladies, you and Miss Lorne, and act as though nothing out of the commonwas in the wind. My men and I will stop here, and you had better put outthe light and lock us in, so that there's no danger of anybody findingout that we are here. No doubt Miss Wyvern and her sister will go to bedearlier than usual on this particular occasion. Let them do so. Send theservants to bed, too. You and Miss Lorne go to your beds at the sametime as the others--or, at least, let them think that you have done so;then come down and let us out."

  To this Sir Horace assented, and, taking Miss Lorne with him, went atonce to the picture gallery and joined his daughters, with whom theyremained until eleven o'clock. Promptly at that hour, however, the housewas locked up, the bride-elect and her sister went to bed, the servantshaving already gone to theirs, and stillness settled down over thedarkened house. At the end of a dozen minutes, however, it was faintlydisturbed by the sound of slippered feet coming along the passageoutside the consulting-room, then a key slipped into the lock, the doorwas opened, the light switched on, and Sir Horace and Miss Lorneappeared before the eager watchers.

  "Now, then, lively, my men, look sharp!" whispered Narkom. "A man toeach window and each staircase, so that nobody may go up or down or inor out without dropping into the arms of one of you. Confine yourattention to this particular floor, and if you hear anybody coming, laylow until he's within reach, and you can drop on him before he bolts. Isthis the door of the picture gallery, Sir Horace?"

  "Yes," answered Sir Horace, as he fitted a key to the lock. "But surelyyou will need more men than you have brought, Mr. Narkom, if it is yourintention to guard every window individually, for there are four to thisroom--see!"

  With that he swung open the door, switched on the electric light, andNarkom fairly blinked at the dazzling sight that confronted him. Threelong tables, laden with crystal and silver, cut glass and jewels, andrunning the full length of the room, flashed and scintillated under theglare of the electric bulbs which encircled the cornice of the galleryand clustered in luminous splendour in the crystal and frosted silver ofa huge central chandelier. Spread out on the middle one of these, adazzle of splintered rainbows, a very plain of living light, lay casketsand cases, boxes and trays, containing those royal gifts of which thenewspapers had made so much and the Vanishing Cracksman had sworn tomake so few.

  Mr. Narkom went over and stood beside the glittering mass, resting hishand against the table and feasting his eyes upon all that opulentsplendour.

  "God bless my soul! it's superb, it's amazing," he commented. "No wonderthe fellow is willing to take risks for a prize like this. You are asplendid temptation, a gorgeous bait, you beauties; but the fish thatsnaps at you will find that there's a nasty hook underneath in the shapeof Maverick Narkom. Never mind the many windows, Sir Horace. Let himcome in by them, if that's his plan. I'll never leave these things forone instant between now and the morning. Good-night, Miss Lorne. Go tobed and to sleep. You do the same, Sir Horace. My 'lay' is here!"

  With that he stooped and, lifting the long drapery which covered thetable and swept down in heavy folds to the floor, crept out of sightunder it, and let it drop back into place again.

  "Switch off the light and go," he called to them in a low-sunk voice."Don't worry yourselves, either of you. Go to bed, and to sleep if youcan."

  "As if we could," answered Miss Lorne agitatedly. "I shan't be able toclose an eyelid. I'll try, of course, but I know I shall not succeed.Come, uncle, come! Oh, do be careful, Mr. Narkom; and if that horribleman does come----"

  "I'll have him, so help me God!" he vowed. "Switch off the light, andshut the door as you go out. This is 'Forty Faces'. Waterloo at last."

  And in another moment the light snicked out, the door closed, and he wasalone in the silent room.

  For ten or a dozen minutes not even the bare suggestion of a noisedisturbed the absolute stillness; then, of a sudden, his trained earcaught a faint sound that made him suck in his breath and rise on hiselbow, the better to listen. The sound came, not from without the house,but from within, from the dark hall where he had stationed his men. Ashe listened he was conscious that some living creature had approachedthe door, touched the handle, and by the swift, low rustle and the soundof hard breathing, that it had been pounced upon and seized. Hescrambled out from beneath the table, snicked on the light, whirled openthe door, and was in time to hear the irritable voice of Sir Horace say,testily, "Don't make an ass of yourself by your over-zealousness. I'veonly come down to have a word with Mr. Narkom," and to see him standingon the threshold, grotesque in a baggy suit of striped pyjamas, with onewrist enclosed as in a steel band by the gripped fingers of Petrie.

  "Why didn't you say it was you, sir?" exclaimed that crestfallenindividual, as the flash
ing light made manifest his mistake. "When Iheard you first, and see you come up out of that back passage, I madesure it was him; and if you'd a-struggled, I'd have bashed your head assure as eggs."

  "Thank you for nothing," he responded testily. "You might haveremembered, however, that the man's first got to get into the placebefore he can come downstairs. Mr. Narkom," turning to thesuperintendent, "I was just getting into bed when I thought of somethingI'd neglected to tell you; and as my niece is sitting in her room withthe door open, and I wasn't anxious to parade myself before her in mynight clothes, I came down by the back staircase. I don't know how inthe world I came to overlook it, but I think you ought to know thatthere's a way of getting into the picture gallery without using eitherthe windows or the stairs, and that way ought to be both searched andguarded."

  "Where is it? What is it? Why in the world didn't you tell me in thefirst place?" exclaimed Narkom irritably, as he glanced round the placesearchingly. "Is it a panel? a secret door? or what? This is an oldhouse, and old houses are sometimes a very nest of such things."

  "Happily, this one isn't. It's a modern innovation, not an ancientrelic, that offers the means of entrance in this case. A Yankee occupiedthis house before I bought it from him, one of those blessed shiveryindividuals his country breeds, who can't stand a breath of cold airindoors after the passing of the autumn. The wretched man put one ofthose wretched American inflictions, a hot-air furnace, in the cellar,with huge pipes running to every room in the house, great tinmonstrosities bigger round than a man's body, ending in openings in thewall, with what they call 'registers' to let the heat in or shut it outas they please. I didn't have the wretched contrivance removed or thoseblessed 'registers' plastered up. I simply had them papered over whenthe rooms were done up (there's one over there near that settee), and ifa man got into this house, he could get into that furnace thing and hidein one of those flues until he got ready to crawl up it as easily asnot. It struck me that perhaps it would be as well for you to examinethat furnace and those flues before matters go any further."

  "Of course it would. Great Scott! Sir Horace, why didn't you think totell me of this thing before?" said Narkom excitedly. "The fellow may bein it at this minute. Come, show me the wretched thing."

  "It's in the cellar. We shall have to go down the kitchen stairs, and Ihaven't a light."

  "Here's one," said Petrie, unhitching a bull's-eye from his belt andputting it into Narkom's hand. "Better go with Sir Horace at once, sir.Leave the door of the gallery open and the light on. Fish and me willstand guard over the stuff till you come back, so in case the man is inone of them flues and tries to bolt out at this end, we can nab himbefore he can get to the windows."

  "A good idea," commented Narkom. "Come on, Sir Horace. Is this the way?"

  "Yes, but you'll have to tread carefully, and mind you don't fall overanything. A good deal of my paraphernalia--bottles, retorts, and thelike--is stored in the little recess at the foot of the staircase, andmy assistant is careless and leaves things lying about."

  Evidently the caution was necessary, for a minute or so after they haddisappeared behind the door leading to the kitchen stairway, Petrie andhis colleagues heard a sound as of something being overturned andsmashed, and laughed softly to themselves. Evidently, too, the danger ofthe furnace had been grossly exaggerated by Sir Horace, for when, a fewminutes later, the door opened and closed, and Narkom's men, glancingtoward it, saw the figure of their chief reappear, it was plain that hewas in no good temper. His features were knotted up into a scowl, and heswore audibly as he snapped the shutter over the bull's-eye and handedit back to Petrie.

  "Nothing worth looking into, superintendent?"

  "No, not a thing!" he replied. "The silly old josser! pulling me downthere amongst the coals and rubbish for an insane idea like that! Why,the flues wouldn't admit the passage of a child; and, even then, there'sa bend, an abrupt 'elbow,' that nothing but a cat could crawl up. Andthat's a man who's an authority on the human brain! I sent the old sillyback to bed by the way he came, and if----"

  There he stopped, stopped short, and sucked in his breath with a sharp,wheezing sound. For, of a sudden, a swift pattering footfall and aglimmer of moving light had sprung into being and drawn his eyes upward.There, overhead, was Miss Lorne coming down the stairs from the upperfloor in a state of nervous excitement, with a bedroom candle in hershaking hand, a loose gown flung on over her nightdress, and her hairstreaming over her shoulders in glorious disarray.

  He stood and looked at her, with ever-quickening breath, withever-widening eyes, as though the beauty of her had wakened some dormantsense whose existence he had never suspected, as though, until now, hehad never known how fair it was possible for a woman to be, how much tobe desired. And whilst he was so looking she reached the foot of thestaircase and came pantingly toward him.

  "Oh, Mr. Narkom, what was it--that noise I heard?" she said in a tone ofdeepest agitation. "It sounded like a struggle, like the noise ofsomething breaking, and I dressed as hastily as I could and came down.Did he come? Has he been here? Have you caught him? Oh! why don't youanswer me, instead of staring at me like this? Can't you see hownervous, how frightened I am? Dear Heaven! will no one tell me what hashappened?"

  "Nothing has happened, Miss," answered Petrie, catching her eye as sheflashed round on him. "You'd better go back to bed. Nobody's been herebut Sir Horace. The noise you heard was me a-grabbing of him, and he andMr. Narkom a-tumbling over something as they went down to look at thefurnace."

  "Furnace? What furnace? What are you talking about?" she criedagitatedly. "What do you mean by saying that Sir Horace came down?"

  "Only what the superintendent himself will tell you, Miss, if you askhim. Sir Horace came downstairs in his pyjamas a few minutes ago to sayas he'd recollected about the flues of the furnace in the cellar beingbig enough to hold a man, and then him and Mr. Narkom went below to havea look at it."

  She gave a sharp and sudden cry, and her face went as pale as a deadface.

  "Sir Horace came down?" she repeated, moving back a step and leaningheavily against the banister. "Sir Horace came down to look at thefurnace? We have no furnace!"

  "What?"

  "We have no furnace, I tell you, and Sir Horace did not come down. He isup there still. I know, because I feared for his safety, and when hewent to his room I locked him in!"

  "Superintendent!" The word was voiced by every man present and six pairsof eyes turned toward Narkom with a look of despairing comprehension.

  "Get to the cellar. Head the man off! It's he, the Cracksman!" heshouted out. "Find him! Get him! Nab him, if you have to turn the houseupside down!"

  They needed no second bidding, for each man grasped the situationinstantly, and in a twinkling there was a veritable pandemonium.Shouting and scrambling like a band of madmen, they lurched to the door,whirled it open, and went flying down the staircase to the kitchen andso to a discovery which none might have foreseen. For almost as theyentered they saw lying on the floor a suit of striped pyjamas, and closeto it, gagged, bound, helpless, trussed up like a goose that was readyfor the oven, gyves on his wrists, gyves on his ankles, their chief,their superintendent, Mr. Maverick Narkom, in a state of collapse andwith all his outer clothing gone!

  "After him! After that devil, and a thousand pounds to the man that getshim!" he managed to gasp as they rushed to him and ripped loose the gag."He was here when we came! He has been in the house for hours. Get him!get him! get him!"

  They surged from the room and up the stairs like a pack of stampededanimals; they raced through the hall and bore down on the picturegallery in a body, and, whirling open the now closed door, went tumblingheadlong in.

  The light was still burning. At the far end of the room a window waswide open, and the curtains of it fluttered in the wind. A collection ofempty cases and caskets lay on the middle table, but man and jewels werealike gone! Once again the Vanishing Cracksman had lived up to hispromise, up to his reputation, up to the very letter of
his name, andfor all Mr. Maverick Narkom's care and shrewdness, "Forty Faces" had"turned the trick," and Scotland Yard was "done!"

  III

  Through all the night its best men sought him, its dragnets fished forhim, its tentacles groped into every hole and corner of London in questof him, but sought and fished and groped in vain. They might as wellhave hoped to find last summer's partridges or last winter's snow as anytrace of him. He had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, and noroyal jewels graced the display of Miss Wyvern's wedding gifts on themorrow.

  But it was fruitful of other "gifts," fruitful of an even greatersurprise, that "morrow." For the first time since the day he had givenhis promise, no "souvenir" from "The Man Who Called Himself HamiltonCleek," no part of last night's loot came to Scotland Yard; and it waswhile the evening papers were making screaming "copy" and glaringheadlines out of this that the surprise in question came to pass.

  Miss Wyvern's wedding was over, the day and the bride had gone, and itwas half-past ten at night, when Sir Horace, answering a hurry call fromheadquarters, drove post haste to Superintendent Narkom's private room,and, passing in under a red-and-green lamp which burned over thedoorway, met that "surprise."

  Maverick Narkom was there alone, standing beside his desk. The curtainsof his window were drawn and pinned together, and at his elbow was anunlighted lamp of violet-coloured glass. Narkom turned as his visitorentered and made an open-handed gesture toward something which laybefore him.

  "Look here," he said laconically, "what do you think of this?"

  Sir Horace moved forward and looked; then stopped and gave a sort ofwondering cry. The electric bulbs overhead struck a glare of light onthe surface of the desk, and there, spread out on the shining oak, lay apart of the royal jewels that had been stolen from Wyvern House lastnight.

  "Narkom! You got him then, got him after all?"

  "No, I did not get him. I doubt if any man could, if he chose not to befound," said Narkom bitterly. "I did not recover these jewels by any actof my own. He sent them to me; gave them up voluntarily."

  "Gave them up? After he had risked so much to get them? God bless mysoul, what a man! Why, there must be quite half here of what he took."

  "There is half--an even half. He sent them to-night, and with them thisletter. Look at it, and you will understand why I sent for you and askedyou to come alone."

  Sir Horace read:

  There's some good in even the devil, I suppose, if one but knows how to reach it and stir it up.

  I have lived a life of crime from my very boyhood because I couldn't help it, because it appealed to me, because I glory in risks and revel in dangers. I never knew, I never thought, never cared, where it would lead me, but I looked into the gateway of heaven last night, and I can't go down the path to hell any longer. Here is an even half of Miss Wyvern's jewels. If you and her father would have me hand over the other half to you, and would have The Vanishing Cracksman disappear forever, and a useless life converted into a useful one, you have only to say so to make it an accomplished thing. All I ask in return is your word of honour (to be given to me by signal) that you will send for Sir Horace Wyvern to be at your office at eleven o'clock to-night, and that you and he will grant me a private interview unknown to any other living being. A red-and-green lantern hung over the doorway leading to your office will be the signal that you agree, and a violet light in your window will be the pledge of Sir Horace Wyvern. When these two signals, these two pledges, are given, I shall come in and hand over the remainder of the jewels, and you will have looked for the first time in your life upon the real face of The Man Who Calls Himself Hamilton Cleek.

  "God bless my soul! what an amazing creature, what an astoundingrequest!" exclaimed Sir Horace, as he laid the letter down. "Willing togive up L20,000 worth of jewels for the mere sake of a privateinterview! What on earth can be his object? And why should he includeme?"

  "I don't know," said Narkom in reply. "It's worth something, at allevents, to be rid of 'The Vanishing Cracksman' for good and all; and hesays that it rests with us to do that. It's close to eleven now. Shallwe give him the pledge he asks, Sir Horace? My signal is already hungout; shall we agree to the conditions and give him yours?"

  "Yes, yes, by all means," Sir Horace made answer. And, lighting theviolet lamp, Narkom flicked open the pinned curtains and set it in thewindow.

  For ten minutes nothing came of it, and the two men, talking in whisperswhile they waited, began to grow nervous. Then somewhere in the distancea clock started striking eleven, and, without so much as a warningsound, the door flashed open, flashed shut again, a voice that wasundeniably the voice of breeding and refinement said quietly,"Gentlemen, my compliments. Here are the diamonds and here am I!" andthe figure of a man, faultlessly dressed, faultlessly mannered, and withthe clear-cut features of the born aristocrat, stood in the room.

  His age might lie anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, his eyeswere straight looking and clear, his fresh, clean-shaven face wasundeniably handsome, and, whatever his origin, whatever his history,there was something about him, in look, in speech, in bearing, thatmutely stood sponsor for the thing called "birth."

  "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Horace, amazed and appalled to findthe reality so widely different from the image he had drawn. "Whatmonstrous juggle is this? Why, man alive, you're a gentleman! Who areyou? What's driven you to a dog's life like this?"

  "A natural bent, perhaps; a supernatural gift, certainly, Sir Horace,"he made reply. "Look here. Could any man resist the temptation to use itwhen he was endowed by Nature with the power to do this?" His featuresseemed to writhe and knot and assume in as many moments a dozendifferent aspects. "I've had the knack of doing that since the hour Icould breathe. Could any man 'go straight' with a fateful gift like thatif the laws of Nature said that he should not?"

  "And do they say that?"

  "That's what I want you to tell me. That's why I have requested thisinterview. I want you to examine me, Sir Horace, to put me throughthose tests you use to determine the state of mind of the mentally fitand mentally unfit. I want to know if it is my fault that I am what Iam, and if it is myself I have to fight in future or the devil thatlives within me. I'm tired of wallowing in the mire. A woman's eyes havelit the way to heaven for me. I want to climb up to her, to win her, beworthy of her, and to stand beside her in the light."

  "Her? What 'her'?"

  "That's my business, Mr. Narkom, and I'll take no man into my confidenceregarding that."

  "Yes, my friend, but 'Margot'?"

  "I'm done with her! We broke last night, when I returned, and shelearned---- Never mind what she learned! I'm done with her, done withthe lot of them. My life is changed forever."

  "In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?"

  "Cleek--just Cleek: let it go at that," he made reply. "Whether it's myname or not is no man's business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, isno man's business, either. Cleek will do, Cleek of the Forty Faces.Never mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so---- Examine me,Sir Horace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame for what I am."

  "Absolutely Fate," Sir Horace said, when, after a long examination, theman put the question to him again. "It is the criminal brain fullydeveloped, horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a mansimply could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ likethat. There's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except bydeath. You can't be honest. You can't rise. You never will rise: it'suseless to fight against it!"

  "I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!" he criedout vehemently. "There is a way to put such craft and cunning toaccount; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush himunder the weight of his own gifts, and that way I'll take!

  "Mr. Narkom"--he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his handoutstretched, his eager face aglow--"Mr. Narkom, help me
! Take me underyour wing. Give me a start, give me a chance, give me a lift on the wayup!"

  "Good heaven, man, you--you don't mean----?"

  "I do. I do. So help me Heaven, I do. All my life I've fought againstthe law, now let me switch over and fight with it. I'm tired of beingCleek, the thief; Cleek, the burglar. Make me Cleek, the detective, andlet us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for thepublic good. Will you, Mr. Narkom? Will you?"

  "Will I? Won't I!" said Narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand."Jove! what a detective you will make. Bully boy! Bully boy!"

  "It's a compact, then?"

  "It's a compact--Cleek."

  "Thank you," he said in a choked voice. "You've given me my chance; nowwatch me live up to it. The Vanishing Cracksman has vanished forever,Mr. Narkom, and it's Cleek, the detective--Cleek of the Forty Faces fromthis time on. Now, give me your riddles, I'll solve them one by one."