Part 23 (2/2)
”Seems ter me, sir,” he began, after a pause, ”that this yere's the genuyne article. One of them old pa.s.sages what people like King Charles and b.l.o.o.d.y Mary an' a few other of them celebrities you sees at Madame Tussord's any day in the week, used to 'ide in when things were a-gettin' too 'ot fer 'em. That's what this is.”
”Your history's a bit rocky, but your ideas are all right,” returned Cleek with a little smile, as he stood looking up at the square of black oak above them. ”I believe you're right, Dollops. It must have given the later arrivals a big start in that tunnelling business, or else they've been at it, or both. There must be years' work in this system of pa.s.sageways. It is marvelous. But if it's a genuine old secret pa.s.sage, those stairs will probably lead up into a house, and-let's try 'em. If the house they lead into is the one I think it is.... Well, we'll be unravelling the rest of this riddle before the night is out!”
So saying, he fairly leapt up the little flight of stone stairs, and then let his fingers glide over the smooth polished face of the oak door, pus.h.i.+ng, probing, pressing it, a frown puckering his brows.
”If this is a genuine old secret hiding-place,” he remarked, ”then according to all the rules of the game there ought to be some sort of a spring this side to open it, so that the hidden man might be able to get out again when he wanted to. But where? Faugh! My fingers must be losing their cunning, and-Ah, here it is! Bit of wood gives way here, Dollops. Just a gentle pressure, and-here we are!”
And here they were, indeed, for as he spoke, the door slid back into the flooring out of sight, and they found themselves looking up into a room which was lighted by a single gas-jet, which barely illumined it, but which, when Cleek poked his head up above the flooring and took a casual survey of the place proved to be no less a place than the back kitchen of Merriton Towers!
He brought his head down again with a jerk, touched the spring in the edge of oak-panelling at the left of him, and let the door swing back across the opening once more; and not till it had slipped into place with a little click did he turn upon Dollops.
”Merriton Towers!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed finally. ”Merriton Towers! Now, if young Merriton really is a party to this thing that is going on down here in the bowels of the earth, why-Dash it, it's going to prove an even worse case against him than we knew! A chap who plays an underhanded game like this doesn't mind what he walks over to attain his ends. But ... Merriton Towers...!”
He stopped speaking suddenly, sucked in his breath, his face turned very grim. Dollops broke the silence that fell, a tremour of excitement in his low-pitched voice.
”Yus-but it's the back-kitchen, sir,” he threw out eagerly, like all the rest of them anxious if possible to s.h.i.+eld the man who seemed to have won so many hearts. ”And the back-kitchen don't spell Sir Nigel, sir. It's Borkins wot's at the bottom of that, and-”
”Maybe, maybe,” interposed Cleek, a trifle hastily, but the grim look did not leave his face. ”But if anything as curious as all this affair turns up in the evidence it won't help the boy any, that is a certainty.... Merriton Towers!”
He swung upon his heel and quickly retraced his steps, until the little stone pa.s.sageway was left behind them, and a few feet ahead loomed up another of those queer turnings, which led-who knew where?
”We'll take it on chance,” said Cleek as they paused, while he marked it in his chart, ”and follow our noses. But I confess I've had a shock. I never thought-never even dreamt of Merriton Towers being connected with this smuggling or, whatever it is, Dollops! And if I hadn't been down in that very kitchen upon a voyage of discovery the other day, I'd have had more reason to disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes. The light was on, too. Lucky for us we didn't pop our heads up at the moment when someone was there. But then the servants are all gone. Borkins is keeping the house open until after the trial. So it was Borkins who was using that light, that's pretty obvious; and our necks have been spared by an inch or two less than I had imagined. We must hurry; time's short, and there's a good deal to be got through this night, I can tell you!”
”Yessir,” said Dollops, not knowing what else to say, for Cleek was keeping up a sort of running monologue of his ideas of the case. ”Don't think much uv this 'ere pa.s.sage, anyway, do you?”
”No-narrower than the rest. But it may end just where we want to go. 'Journeys end in lovers' meetings' the poet sings, but not this kind of a journey-no, not exactly. We'll find the hangman's rope at the end of this riddle, Dollops, or I'm very much mistaken; and I've an uncomfortable idea as to who will swing in the noose.”
For some time after that they pressed on in silence. Here and there along the pa.s.sage the walls opened out suddenly into little cut-out places filled as ever with their built-up sacks. Each time Cleek pa.s.sed them he chuckled aloud, and then-once more his face would become grim. For some moments they groped along in the gloom, their heads bent, to prevent them b.u.mping the low mud ceiling, their lips silent, but in the hearts of each a sort of dull dread. Merriton Towers! Borkins, perhaps. But what if Borkins and Merriton had been working hand-in-glove, and then, somehow or other, had had a split? That would account for a good deal, and in particular the man's att.i.tude toward his master.... Cleek's brain ran on ahead of his feet, his brows drew themselves into a knot, his mouth was like a thin line of crimson in the granite-like mask of his face.
Of a sudden he stopped and pointed ahead of him. Still another flight of stairs met their eyes, but they were of newer, more recent make, and composed of common deal, unvarnished and mudstained with the marks of many feet up and down their surface.
Cleek drew a deep breath, and his face relaxed.
”The end of the journey, Dollops,” he said softly.
Then, without more ado, he mounted the stairs, and laid his shoulder to the heavy door.
CHAPTER XXVI
JUSTICE-AND JUSTIFICATION
The court room was crowded on every side. There was barely s.p.a.ce for another person to enter in comfort, and when the news went round in the street that Sir Nigel Merriton, late of the army, was being tried for his life, and that things were going pretty black against him, all London seemed to turn out with a morbid curiosity to hear the sentence of death pa.s.sed.
Petrie, stationed at the door, spent most of his time waving a white-gloved hand, and shaking his head until he felt that it would shortly tumble off his neck and roll away upon the pavement. Mr. Narkom had given him instructions that if any one of ”any importance in the affair in question” should turn up, he was to admit him, but to be adamant in every other case. And so the queue of morbid-minded women and idle men grew long and longer, and the clamour louder and louder, until the tempers of the police on guard grew very short, and the crowd was handled more and more firmly.
The effect of this began to tell. Slowly it thinned out and the people turned once more into the Strand, sauntering along with their heads half the time over their shoulders, while Petrie stood and mopped his face and wondered what had become of Mr. Cleek, or if he had turned up in one of his many aliases, and he hadn't recognized him.
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