Part 15 (1/2)
Mr. Narkom gravely shook his head.
”Don't like the thing at all, Headland,” he supplemented slowly, lighting a fresh cigarette from the stump of the other one, and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. ”There's something here that we haven't got at. Something big. I feel it.”
”Well, you'll have that feeling further augmented before many more days are over, my friend,” returned Cleek, meaningly. ”What did the letter from Headquarters say? I noticed you got one this morning, and recognized it by the way the stamp was set on the envelope-though I must say your secretary is more than discreet. It looked for all the world like a love-letter, which no doubt your curious friend Borkins thought it was.”
But if Cleek appeared in fine fettle at the prospect of a possible exciting evening with Dollops, Mr. Narkom's barometer did not register the same comforting high alt.i.tude. He did not smile.
”Oh, it had to do with these continual bank robberies,” he replied with a sigh. ”They're enough to wear a man right out. Seem so simple, and all that, and yet-never a trace left. Fellowes reports that another one took place, at Ealing. As usual, only gold stolen. Not a bank-note touched. They'll be holding us up in the main road, like d.i.c.k Turpin, if the robbers are allowed to continue on their way like this. It's d.a.m.nable, to say the least! The beggars seem to get off scot-free every time. If this case here wasn't so difficult and important, I'd be off up to London to have a look into things again. Frankly, it worries me.”
Cleek lifted a restraining hand.
”Don't let it do anything so foolish as that to you, old man,” he interposed. ”Give 'em rope to hang themselves, lots of rope. This is just the opportunity they want. Give orders for nothing to be done. Let 'em have a good run for their money, and by-and-by you'll have 'em so they'll eat out of your hand. There's nothing like patience in this sort of a job. They're bound to get careless soon, and then will be your chance.”
”I wish I could feel as confident about it as you do,” returned Mr. Narkom, with a shake of the head. ”But you've solved so many unsolvable riddles in your time, man, so I suppose I'll just have to trust your judgment, and let your opinion cheer me up. Still.... Ah, Borkins! lunch ready? I must say I don't like eating the food of a man I've just placed in prison, but I suppose one must eat. And there are a few very necessary enquiries to be gone into before the coroner's inquest to-morrow. The men have been up from the local morgue, haven't they?”
Borkins, who had tapped discreetly upon the door and then put in a sleek head to announce lunch, came a little farther into the room and replied in the affirmative. Save for a slight light of triumph which seemed to flicker in his close-set eyes, and play occasionally about his narrow lips, there was nothing to show in his demeanour that such an extremely large pebble as his master's conviction for murder had caused the ripples to break on the smooth surface of his life's tenor.
Cleek blew a cloud of smoke into the air and swung one leg across the other with a sort of devil-may-care air that was part of his Headland make-up in this piece.
”Well,” said he, off-handedly, ”all I can say is, I wouldn't like to be in your master's shoes, Borkins. He's guilty-not a doubt of it; and he'll certainly be called to justice.”
”You think so?” An undercurrent of eagerness ran in Borkins's tone.
”Most a.s.suredly I do. Not a chance for him-poor beggar. He'll possibly swing for it, too! Pleasant conjecture before lunch, I must say. And we'll have it all cold if we don't look sharp about it, Lake, old chap. Come along.”
... They spent the afternoon in discussing the case bit by bit, probing into it, tearing it to ribbons, a.n.a.lysing, comparing, rehearsing once more the scene of that fateful night when Dacre Wynne had crossed the Fens, and, according to everyone's but Borkins's evidence, had never returned. By evening Mr. Narkom, note-book in hand, was suffering with writer's cramp, and complained of a headache.
As Cleek rose from this private investigation and stretched his hands over his head, he gave a sudden little laugh.
”Well, you'll be able to rest yourself as much as you like this evening, Mr. Lake,” he said, lightly, trying the muscles of his right arm with his left hand, and nodding as he felt them ride up, smooth and firm as ivory, under his coat-sleeve. ”I'm not in such bad fettle for an amateur, if anything in the nature of a sc.r.a.p comes along, after all. Though I'm not antic.i.p.ating any fighting, I can a.s.sure you. There's the morning's papers, and the local rag with various lurid-and inaccurate-accounts of the whole ghastly affair. Merriton seems to have a good many friends in these parts, and the local press is strong in his favour. But that's as far as it goes. At any rate, they'll keep you interested until we come home again. By the way, you might drop a hint to Borkins that I shall be writing some letters in my room to-night, and don't want to be disturbed, and that if he wants to go out, Dollops will post them for me and see to my wants; will you? I don't want him to 'suspicion' anything.”
Mr. Narkom nodded. He snapped his note-book to, and bound the elastic round it, as Cleek crossed to the door and threw it open.
”I'll be going up to my room now, Lake,” he said, in clear, high tones that carried down the empty hallway to whatever listener might be there to hear them. ”I've some letters to write. One to my fiancee, you know, and naturally I don't want to be disturbed.”
”All right,” said Mr. Narkom, equally clearly. ”So long.”
Then the door closed sharply, and Cleek mounted the stairs to his room, whistling softly to himself meanwhile, just as Borkins rounded the corner of the dining-room door and acknowledged his friendly nod with one equally friendly.
A smile played about the corners of the man's mouth, and his eyes narrowed, as he watched Cleek disappear up the stairs.
”Faugh!” he said to the shadows. ”So much for yer Lunnon policeman, eh? Writin' love-letters on a night like this! Young sap'ead!”
Then he swung upon his heel, and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Upstairs in the dark pa.s.sageway, Cleek stood and laughed noiselessly, his shoulders shaking with the mirth that swayed him. Borkins's idea of a 'Lunnon policeman' had pleased him mightily.
CHAPTER XIX
WHAT TOOK PLACE AT ”THE PIG AND WHISTLE”
It was a night without a moon. Great gray cloud-banks swamped the sky, and there was a heavy mist that blurred the outline of tree and fence and made the broad, flat stretches of the marshes into one impenetrable blot of inky darkness.