 CHAPTER XXI A murmur of amazement went round the room like the sound of rising wind. The coroner held up his hand for silence. You say it is yours, Miss Bréliès? This is really most remarkable, most remarkable. The revolver is a French make, is it not? You bought it abroad? I did, just before I first came to England. I had been travelling through Tunis before that, and, well, one doesn't like to be without these things. Sir Nigel's revolver came from India, I believe, through the agents of a French firm, the makers. But the coroner's voice was low-pitched, incredulous. Are you trying to tell us you fired a shot that night, Miss Bréliès? She shook her head, smiling. No, that would be impossible, but my revolver has always lain in that little secretaire, and I have never had cause to use it since I have been on this side of the channel. I was in bed early that night with a headache. My uncle will tell you that. He took me to my home and spent the rest of the evening in his study, as you have already heard from him. No, I cannot say I murdered Deca-Winn, though I would say that or anything to save Nigel. But I didn't discover that this little revolver of mine had ever been fired, until yesterday, when I happened to go to my secretary for a letter which I had locked away in that particular drawer. Then I took it up and chanced to examine it. I don't know why. Perhaps because it was the same as Nigel's, I— she choked suddenly and bit at her lips for control. Is there not a loophole here, sir, by which so Nigel might be saved? Surely it must be Trist who used this revolver, who fired the shot from it. Her voice had risen to a piteous note that brought the tears to many eyes in that crowded room. The coroner coughed. Then he glanced inquiringly over at Brellier, who had risen from his seat. You have something to say about this, Mr. Brellier? Brellier made a clicking sound with his tongue. I am afraid my niece has been wasting your time, sir, he said quietly, because I happened to have used that little instrument myself five months ago. We had a dog who was heard—you remember Franco Tuanette— and if you carry your mind back, you will also recollect that he had eventually to be shot, and that I was forced to perform that unpleasant operation myself. He was dear to me, that dog. He was, how do you call it, a true pal. It hurt me to do this thing, but I did it, and with that revolver also it was light. Tuanette must have forgotten that I mentioned the matter to her. I am afraid this can have no bearing upon the case, though the dear God knows that I would do all I could to bring this terrible thing to an end if it lay in my power. That is all, I think. He bowed and sat down again, beckoning his niece back to her seat with a little frown. She cast a piteous look up into the coroner's face. I'm sorry, she said, brokenly. I had forgotten about that. Of course it is tall, as my uncle said, but I was so anxious, so anxious, and there seemed just a chance. You understand? I do, Miss Brelier, and I am sorry that the evidence in this case is of no use to us. Constable, take the prisoner away to await higher justice. I must say that I think no other verdict upon the evidence brought forward could possibly be passed upon the prisoner than I have passed today. I'm sorry, Sir Nigel, but one must do one's duty, you know. We'll be getting back to the office, Mr. Merckford. He beckoned to his clerk, who rose instantly and followed him. Good afternoon, gentlemen. And so the whole wirrisome proceedings were at an end, and Cleak had spoken no word of that would-be-assatin, who had come upon him in the dark watches of the night, and sought his life. He noted that Borkins looked at him in some surprise, but held his counsel. Borkins knew more than he had said upon his oath this day, of that Cleak was certain. Well, he would bide his time. There were other ways to work besides the open-handed fashion of the coroner's court and the policeman's uniform. He was due to meet Borkins that night and discuss the possibilities of being taken on to work at the electrical factory. Something might come out of that. Something must come out of that. It was impossible that the things should be left as it was, and an innocent boy, he was certain of Meriton's innocence in spite of the evidence against him, should be hanged. As he stepped out into the growing twilight, Cleak touched Mr. Narcombe on the arm and then ran over to the van into which the prisoner was stepping, his guardians of the law upon either side of him, his face white, his shoulders bowed. Twanette stood a few steps distant, the tears chasing themselves down her face, and the sobs drowning her broken words of comfort to him. He seemed barely to notice her, but at sight of Cleak he flung himself round and gave a harsh laugh. And a damn lot of good you've done me for all your fine reputation! he said sneeringly, his face reddening. God that there should be such fools allowed to hold the law in their hands! you've made a mistake this time, Mr. Cleak, one moment. Cleak held up a silencing hand as the name almost escaped Meriton's lips. Officer, I'm from Scotland Yard. I'd like a word with the prisoner alone if you don't mind before you take him away. I'll answer for his safety, I promise. Keep your heart up, boy. I've not done yet. This in a low-pitched voice as the two men dropped away from either side. I've not done by a long shot, but evidence has been so confoundly against you. I'd hoped of that IOU, but the whole thing was so simply explained, and there were the proofs, you know. Still, there was no telling how the story would come out, but it was so obviously true. Only keep up your heart, lad. That's what I wanted to tell you. I'd swear on my oath you weren't guilty, and I'll prove it yet. Something like a sob broke in Meriton's voice. He held out an impetuous hand. I'm sorry, sir, he said jerkily, but it's a devilish ordeal. What a life I've led this past week. If you only knew, could only realise. It tears a man's nerves to atoms. I've almost given up hope. Cleak took the hand and held it. Never do that, Meriton. Never do that, he said softly. I've been through the mill myself once, years ago now, but the scar still stays, and it'll be a bit more red hell for the present. But if there's any saving you, any proving this thing right up to the hilt, I'll do it. That's all I wanted to say. Goodbye and buck up. I'm going to speak to the little girl now and cheer her up, too. You'll hear everything as it comes along. He squeezed the hand, manacled so grimly to the other, and smiled a smile, brimming over with hope and promise. God bless you, Mr. Hedlund! Meriton replied, and as Cleak beckoned to the two policemen, took his stand between them and entered the closed vehicle. The door shut, the engine purred, and the car shot away up the road toward the local police station, leaving the man and the girl staring after it, the same mute sorrow and sympathy shining in both pairs of eyes. As it disappeared round a corner, Toonette turned to Cleak, her whole agonized heart in her eyes. Mr. Hedlund! She broke out with a gush of tears. Oh, Monsieur, if you did but know, could but understand all that my poor heart suffers for that innocent boy. It is breaking every minute, every hour. Is there nothing, nothing that can be done to save him? I'd stake my very life on his innocence. Cleak let his hand rest for a moment upon the fragile shoulder, and looked down into the pallid face. I know you would, he said softly, for even I know and understand what the love of a good woman may do to a man. But tell me, that story of the revolver, your revolver, you can vouch for it? Your uncle did kill the dog Franca with it? You can remember? Forgive me for asking, or questioning for a moment the evidence which Mr. Pallier has given, but I am anxious to save that boy from the hands of the law, and for that reason no stone must be left unturned, no secret kept silent. Carry your mind back to that time, and tell me if that is true. She puckered her brows together as if in perplexity, and tapped one slim perfectly manicured finger against her white teeth. Yes, she said at last, yes it was every bit of it true. Every bit, Mr. Headland, for the moment in that room of terror I had forgotten poor Franco's death, but now, yes, I can remember it all fully. My uncle spoke the truth, Mr. Headland, I can promise you that. Clique sighed. Then, but it was your revolver he used, Miss Pallier? Try to remember. He said that he told you of it at the time. Can you recollect your uncle telling you that he used your revolver to shoot the dog with, or not? That is what I want to know. She shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands. It is so difficile. I am trying to remember, and the matter seemed then so trivial. But there is no reason to doubt my uncle, Mr. Headland, for he loves Nigel dearly, and if there was any way in which he could help to unravel this so terrible plot against him, Oh, I am sure he must have told me so, sure. There would be no point in his telling an untruth over that. And yet you cannot recall the actual remark that your uncle made, Miss Pallier. No, but I am sure, sure that what he said was true. Clique shrugged his shoulders. Then, of course, you must know best. Well, we must try and find some other loophole. I promised, Meritan, I'd speak a few words to you, Miss Pallier, just to tell you to keep up heart, though it's a difficult task. But everything that can be done will be done. And if you should happen to hear that I have thrown up the case and gone back to London, don't be a bit surprised. There are other ways, other means of helping than the average person dreams of. Don't mention anything I have said to you to any body. Keep your own counsel, please, and as a token of my regard for that, I will give you my word that everything that can be done for Meritan will be. Goodbye. He put out his hand and she laid her slim one in it. For a moment her eyes measured him, scanning his face as though to trace therein anything of treachery to the cause which she held so dear. Then her face broke into a wintry smile. I have a feeling, Mr. Headland, she said softly, that you are going to be a good friend to us, Nigel and me. It is a woman's intuition that tells me, and it helps me to bear the two dreadful suspense under which we are all now laboring. You have my word of honour, never to speak of this talk together, and to keep a guard on my tongue for the future, if it is to help Nigel. You will let me know how things go on, Mr. Headland. That I cannot for the present tell. It will depend entirely upon how events shape themselves, Miss Brailleur. You may hear soon, you may not hear at all, but I believe in his innocence as deeply as you do. Therefore you must be content that I shall do my best, whatever happens. Goodbye. He gave her fingers a soft squeeze, held them a moment, and then, dropping them, bowed and swung upon his heel to join Mr. Narcombe, who was standing nearby, the last of the group of interested spectators of that afternoon's ghastly business. Dollop stood a little back from them, awaiting his orders. Well, have some supper at the village pub, my dear Lake," said Cleak, in a loud, clear voice that carried to every corner of the deserted garden. And then come back to the towers long enough to pack up our traps, and clear out of this haunted house altogether. The case is one too many for me, and I'm chucking it. Mr. Narcombe opened his mouth to speak, but his colleague gave him no opportunity. It's a bit too fishy for my liking, he went on, when the only clues a man's got to go on are a dancing flame and a patch of charred grass, which, by the way, never struck me as particularly interesting at the best of times, and when evidence points so strongly toward young Meritian's guilt. All I can say is, let's go. That's the ticket for me. And for me also, old man," agreed Mr. Narcombe emphatically, following Cleak's lead, though rather in the dark. It's back to London for me whenever you're ready. And that'll be as soon as dollops can pack my things and get them off to the station. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of The Riddle of the Frozen Flame by Mary E. Hanchu and Thomas W. Hanchu This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 22 A New Departure The question of packing was a very small matter altogether, and it was barely seven o'clock when, this finished, Cleak and Mr. Narcombe had collected their coats and hats from the hat stand, given Borkins the benefit of their very original ideas, as to closing up the house and clearing out of it as soon as possible. Each of them slipped a sovereign into his hand, and were standing, talking a short while, at the open front door. The chill of the evening crept into the house in cold breaths, turning the gloomy hall into a good representation of a family vault. All I can say, said Cleak, chewing a cigar, his hands in his trousers' pockets, and his feet rocking from toe to heel, is get out of it, Borkins, as soon as you can. I don't mind telling you I'm jolly glad to be clear and aren't myself. It's been a devilish uncanny business from first to last, and not much to my taste. Now, I like a decent robbery or a nice quick-fingered forger that wants a bit of hunting up. You know, even detectives have their particular favourites in the matter of crime, Borkins, and a beastly murder isn't exactly in my line. Borkins laughed respectfully, rubbing his hands together. Nor mine, sir, he made answer, though I must say you gentlemen haven't been a bit what I imagined detectives to be. When you first come down, you know I spotted something different about you, and— ought to be on the force yourself, supplemented Cleak, and not such a bad call in neither, returned Borkins with a grin. But I knew you wasn't what you said you was, in a manner of speaking, and if it hadn't been for all this unpleasantness it would have been a nice little change for you, wouldn't it? Sorry to see the last of you, sirs, I am not. I'm that young gentleman of your own, but I must say I'm glad to be done of the business. Cleak blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Oh, you'll have another dose of it before you're entirely finished," he responded, when the case comes on in London. That's the ticklish part of the business. We'll meet there again, I expect, as Mr. Lake and I will be bound to give our evidence, which is a thankless task at the best of times. Hello. Dollops got the golf clubs and walking sticks? There's a good lad. Now we'll be off to old London again, eh, Lake? Goodbye, Borkins. Best of luck. Goodbye, gentlemen. The two men got into the taxi Dollops had procured for them, while that worthy hopped onto the seat beside the driver, and gave him the order to— —nip it for the eight o'clock train for London as fast as you can slide it, cabbie—to which the chauffeur made some equally pointed remark, and they were off. But Borkins either did not realise that the eight o'clock train for London was a slow one, or thought that it was the most convenient for the two gentlemen most interested, because he did not give a thought to the matter that that particular train stopped at the next station, some three miles away from Fetchworth. And even if he had, and could have seen the two tough-looking sailormen who descended from the first-class compartment there and stepped onto the tiny platform among one or two others, he would never have dreamed of associating them with the Mr. Headland and his man Dollops, who had, such a short time ago, left the towers for London. Which is just as well as it happened, for it was with Borkins that Cleak and Dollops were most concerned. Upon the probability of their friendship with the butler hung the chance of their getting work, they had left Mr. Narcombe to go up to London and keep his eyes open for any clues in the bank robberies case, and had promised to report to him as soon as possible if there were anything to be gleaned at the factory. Mr. Narcombe had expressed his doubts about it, had told Cleak that he really did not see how any human agency could possibly get Nigel Meritan off with such appalling evidence to damn him. And what an electrical factory could have to do with it! You'll forget the good Borkins' connection with the affair. Returned Cleak a trifle sharply. And you forget another thing. And that is that I have found the man who attempted my life, and mean eventually to come to grips with him. That is the only reason why I did not speak at the inquest this afternoon. I am going to bide my time, but I'll have the beggar in the end. If working for a time at an electrical factory is going to help on matters, then work there I'm going to, and Dollops with me. If there should be need of me, don't forget that I am Bill Jones, sailor-man, once of Jamaica, now of the factory salt fleet. And stick to the code, a wire will fetch me. He hopped out upon the platform just here in his cutthroat makeup, a little hastily done for the time between the stations had been short, but excellent nevertheless. Then, as Mr. Narcombe gripped his hand, he put his head into the carriage again. I love to ale, sir, if you see her, and tell her all goes well with me, like a good friend, whispered Cleak softly. Mr. Narcombe nodded, waved his hand, and then the two navies swung away from the train, gave up their tickets to the porter, having procured third-class as well as first for just this very arrangement, and after inquiring just how far it was to Salt Fleet Bay, and learning that it was a matter of two-mile and a half by road and a couple of miles by the fields, strode off through the little gate and onto the high-road. Just how adventurous their quest was going to turn out to be, even they did not fully realise. They reached the outskirts of the bay just as a clock in the church tower half a mile away struck out nine in deep-throated, sonorous tones. To the right of them the pig and whistle flaunted its lights and its noise, its hilarious laughter and its coarse-thrown jests. Cleak sighed as he turned toward it. Now for it, boy, he said softly, and then started to whistle and to laugh alternately, making his way across the cobbles to the brightly lit little pub. Someone ran to the doorway and peered out at sound of his voice, trying to penetrate the darkness and discover who the stranger might be, thus gaily employed. Cleak sang out a greeting. Good evening to you, matey. This is Bill Jones and his pal. Oh, I'll take the I-road and you'll take the low road and I'll be in Scotland for you. Here, Sammy me lad, come along on me and warm your whitels. I could drink a sea-stripe, I could. He heard the man in the doorway laugh, and then he beckoned to him to come along, and so they entered the pig and whistle and were greeted enthusiastically by the red-headed barmaid, while many voices went up to greet them, showing that already they had got on the right side of the men who were to be their fellow-workers. Gentlemen near yet, queried Cleak, jerking his thumb in the direction where Borkins had stood the night before. I have what you call an appointment with him, you know. And here the blighter is. Good evening, sir. Pleased to see you again. Though looking a bit pale about the gills, if you don't mind my saying so. And so would you be if you'd been through the ordeal I have this afternoon? Snapped out Borkins in reply. It's a beastly job of telling people what you're seen and heard. It is indeed. Harder to tell them what you haven't seen and heard all the sign, matey, through in Cleak. Done that, me self-fires. Bit of sleight of hand, what they'd pulled me up for out Whitechapel way when I was a kid. Seeing the master tonight, ain't we, sir? Borkins slopped down his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth before replying. Seeing him already, he answered with a touch of asperity. And told him about you both I have. He says you're to go up to the forum and to-morrow. Say I sent you. Say the master has passed you. That'll be all right. Couple of queered a week and a chance of a rise if you're a circumspect and keeps your mouth closed. That's my game, all right, Governor? Struck in dollop shrilly. Clapping his tankard down upon the bar with a loud bang. Closer there as is we are, Governor, and me mates like a oyster. Well, mind you remember it, retorted Borkins sharply. Or it'll go badly with the pair of you. That's fixed, then, ain't it? What's your names again? I've forgotten. Bill Jones and him Sammy Robinson replied clique quickly. I'm much obliged, sir. Anyone know where we can get a shakedown for the night? Time enough to look for lodgings to-morrow. It was the barmaid's turn to speak, and she rested her rather heavy person against the bar and touched clique's shoulder. Mother, she has lodger's, dearie. She said in a coaxing voice, You can come along to us and stay right along if you're comfortable. Nice beds we have, and a good ock dinner in the middle of the day. You can take your breakfast with us. Better come along to her to-night. Thanks, I will, grunted clique in reply, and dug dollops in the ribs just to show him how pleased he was with the arrangement. And so the evening passed. The lodgings were taken, the charge being moderate for the kind of living that men in their walk of life were used to, and the next morning found them both ensconced at their new work. The overseer proved to be a big burly man, who, having received the message from the gentleman at the inn, immediately set them to work on the machinery. The task was simple. They had merely to feed the machine with so much raw material, and the other men and machines did the rest. But what pleased them more, they were put to work side by side. This gave clique a good opportunity of passing remarks now and then to dollops, and telling him to take note of things. The factory was a smallish place, with not too large a payroll, and clique gleaned from that first morning's work that it was run solely for the purpose of making electrical fittings. Where do I ship him to, mighty? He asked his next-door neighbour, a pleasant-faced man about twenty-three or four. Over to Belgium, big firm there, what boys from the master? Oh! So they were trading with Belgium, were they? That was interesting. Well, then, how the dickens did they send him out? Bolts, idiot! The man's voice was full of contempt for the nincompoop who couldn't use his head. Above the clang of the machinery, clique's voice rose a trifle higher. Well, any fellow would know that! He said with a laugh, but what I means is what sort of boats? Big guns, I should say, for stuff like this. The man looked about him and bent his head, his voice dropped to note or two. Fish in bolts! He said softly, and could be made to say no more, in spite of the scornful laugh with which clique greeted this news. Fishing boats! Hmm! That must devilish peculiar! Sending out electrical fittings to Belgium in fishing boats! Funny sort of a way to do trade, though no doubt it was quite permissible up to a point. Well, he must glean something more out of this good fellow before the day was over. A glass of beer at the pig and whistle after dinner worked wonders with the man's tongue. He was not a favourite, so free drinks did not often come his way. After the second glass he seemed almost ready to sell his soul to this amicable newcomer, but clique was wise and bided his time. He didn't mean to fleece his man of the information in sight and sound of his fellows, so he simply talked of the topics of the day, discussed the labour question from a new viewpoint, and then, as they strolled back together to the factory, just as the whistle began to blow that told the hands the dinner hour was over, clique fired his first shot. See here, matey! He began confidentially. You're a decent sort of bloke you are! Tell us a bit more about them there fishing boats, what you spoke of. I'm that interested! I've been fair eating up with curiosity. You didn't mean the master of this place goes and ships electrical fittings and such like out to build them in fishing boats. Stry, eh? Yes, Jenkins nodded. That's exactly what I do mean. Seems sort of funny, don't it? And I reckon there's something a bit fishy about the whole thing, but I keep my mouth shut. That overseer is the very devil himself. That mule learned to do likewise. Two chaps who were here last thought they'd be a bit smarty like and told him they were going to tell all they knew, though God knows what it was. I ain't been able to learn much and haven't tried neither, but they went zip like that. Never saw them no more and nothing come of it. Best to keep your mouth shut, mate, in this ear of place, anyhow. Oh, said Kleecoff handedly. I'm not one to blab. You needn't be afraid of that. By the way, who's the chap with the black moustache who's straggling all over his face and the nasty eye, saw him with balkins to man what engaged me nightfall last? That wasn't balkins, my beauty. Returned Jenkins with a laugh. That ain't his name. How did you come to think of it? That fellow's name's Pigot. And the other man, we calls him Dirty Jim because he does all the dirty work for the boss. But his real name's Dobbs. And if you take my word for anything, pal, you won't go rubbing him up the wrong way. He's a fair devil. Dirty Jim, otherwise Jim Dobbs. And he was in the employment of this very extraordinary firm for the purpose of doing its dirty work. Wow, there seemed a good deal of employment for him if that was the case. And balkins was not balkins in this part of the world. Cleek stepped back to his work, a little thoughtful, a little absent-minded, until the frown upon his forehead caused Dollops to lean over and whisper anxiously, Nothing a matter is there, sir. He shook his head rapidly. No, boy, no. Simply thinking and smelling a rat somewhere. Bane's smelling of it, myself, these past two hours. Returned Dollops in a sibilant whisper. His eyes shone for a moment with the light of battle. Caught something to tell you. He whispered under cover of the noise. Something what ought to interest you are, don't think? Have to keep till evening. Aye, Bill? Right, you are, matey. Cleek's voice rose loudly as the Overseer passed, pausing a moment to watch them at work. Nice job, this, I must say. After me own art, stright it is. Soon catch on to it, don't ya? Rather! Returned Dollops significantly. The Overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on. Chapter 23. Prisoners. It was not until the evening was fairly far advanced that the opportunity of speaking to Dollops alone was afforded a clique. He took it when the pig and whistle was filled to overflowing, and hardly a man who worked at the factory was not inside it or standing outside near the little key, holding the usual evening's confab on the affairs of the day. Cleek caught hold of Dollops as he was making his way into the little bar. Come for a turn up the road, matey. He said loudly. It's a fine evening, what makes your own sick for a sight of your own fireside. Have another drink later, maybe. Come on. Dollops linked arms with him, and smoking and talking, the two men went off up the dark lane which led from the key side, and of the night time was as black as a pocket. Cleek's tort showed them the pathway, and as they walked they torqued in rapid whispers. Now, lad, let's hear all you've got to say. He rapped out at length, as the distance grew between themselves and the crowded little pub, and they were safely out of earshot. Dollops gulped with pent-up excitement. No, sir, there's something wrong anyhow. I discovered that much. He broke out enthusiastically, chummed up with old black whiskers I did, and promised him a hand tonight at twelve o'clock to do some loading onto the fishing boat swats on their way to Belgium. You're a nice seeming sort of lad, he told me, after we'd been chatting for ten minutes or so, want to make a bit of extra money by holding of your tongue? I was on it like a knife, rather, I says. All right, says he. Come along to that key side tonight at twelve o'clock. There's a bit of loading up to be done, and only a few of the men are required. I don't choose none what I don't cotton to. You cotton to me all right, matey, I says, with a sort of a laugh that seemed to tickle him. I'm as close as the devil himself. Anything you're doesn't want me to see, just tip me the wink. I will that, says he, and then went off. And so here I am, sir, fixed up for a busy evening along with old black whiskers. And if I don't learn something this night, well, my name ain't Dollops. Good lad, said Cleek, giving the boy's arm a squeeze. That's the way to do it. And is that all you've got to tell me? I've done a bit myself and chummed up with a chap called Jenkins, the tall, thin man who works on the left of me. And he's let me into the secret of the fishing boat business. But he's a close-mouthed devil, either doesn't know anything or won't tell. I'm not quite sure which. But he wasted a good deal of valuable breath endeavouring to teet me to keep my mouth shut. God, I'd give something to have a few moments alone with your friend black whiskers. There's a ripped pillow case in my portmanteau which ought to interest him. And what else did you learn, Dollops? Only that what they ships is electric tubings. To perfect flexible electric warings, what is used for installations, sir. Returned Dollops. That's what most of the things were, what I set eyes on after working hours. Stacked up, all ready to be loaded onto the boats. Long, thin things they were, and ought to be easy work, judging from their content. But why they make all this mystery about it fair beats me. Oh, and me into the bargain, Dollops. Interposed clique with a little sigh. But there's an old saying that there's no smoke without fire, and ordinary people don't make such a devilish fuss about others knowing their business if they're on the straight. What all this has got to do with the frozen flame business, I must confess somewhat puzzles me to discover. But that it has something to do with it is proved by that fishy character Borkins and the amiable attempt of his friend to murder so humble a person as myself. Now it's up to me to find the missing link in the chain. Hello. Here's a gap in the hedge here. Looks like it had been made on purpose. Let's go and investigate. He whipped his little torch round and the circle of light flashing over the ground revealed to their searching eyes something vastly unexpected in such a place. And yet which, after all, seemed to fit into a place where so much mystery and secretiveness was in the air. They themselves disguised as such rough characters fitted into the strange picture which struck clique even in spite of his many peculiar cases as very much out of the ordinary. A gap in the hedge there was right enough. And through the gap, someone must have been working here a very short time before, a square of turf cut carefully out and laid upon one side revealed to their astonished eyes a wooden trap door exactly suggestive of the pirate's den of a child's imagination and with a huge iron ring fastened to the centre of it. Clique whistled inaudibly and turning round upon dollops a happy light in his eyes and a smile almost of amusement on his lips. Gadd, he exclaimed softly, Game to try this dollops, I'm going to have a shot at it myself. But you ain't got no firearms on you sir, in case of accidents! returned the literal minded dollops and no man in his senses would attempt to go down that thing without him. Well, I've been called a lunatic before this lad and going down it I am this minute. And if you've the least qualms at following me you can just watch up here and warn me with the old signal if you hear anyone coming. But I'm going down to find out where this thing leads to and a dollar to a docket it'll lead to a good deal that means the unraveling of a riddle. The fellow who tangled the threads in the first place has a head anyone might admire but what I want to know is what he's taking all this trouble for. Coming dollops? Dollops sent a reproachful look into Clique's face and sniffed audibly. Of course I'm coming Gavna! he made answer. Do you think I'd be such a dirty blighter as to let you go down there perhaps to your very death alone? Not me sir. Dollops is a following wherever you lead and if you choose his elix self well he's ready to be roasted and fried in a devil's saucepan so long as he keeps your company. Without waiting for the end of this gallant if rather prolonged speech Clique knelt down, set his two hands upon the iron ring and pulled for all he was worth. But the ease with which the door lifted came as something of a surprise. It came up silently almost sending Clique over backward as indeed it would have done a man with less poise but he easily recovered himself. He and dollops cautiously approached the edge and in the half light which the moon shed upon it they did not use Clique's torch saw that a flight of roughly made clay's steps led down into darkness below. They sat back upon their heels and listened. Not a sound. Coming! Whispered Clique in a low tense whisper. Yes sir! Dollops was beside him in an instant. Clique took the first step carefully and very slowly descended into the darkness with dollops close behind him. Down and down they went and on reaching the bottom found the place opened out into a sort of roughly made tunnel just as high as a man's head which ran on straight into the darkness in front of them. God gives you the fair creeps, don't it? muttered dollops as they stood in the gloom and tried to take their bearings. What are you going to do, sir? Find out where it leads to if there's time. Whispered Clique rapidly. We've got to find out what these human moles are burrowing in the earth like this for. I'd give a good deal to know. Hear anything? Not a blinking sound, sir. All right, we'll try the torch and if anyone turns up we'll have to run for it. Now he touched the electric button and a blob of light danced out upon the rough clay floor revealing as it swung in Clique's swift fingers the whole circumference of the place from ground to ceiling. Cleverly made, muttered that gentleman in an admiring whisper. It reminds me of the old twisted arm day as dollops and the tunnels that ran to the sewers, remember? I should just jolly well think I do, Governor. Them were days if you like it. Never knew next minute if you're going to see daylight again. And this little adventure of ours seems a fair imitation of them. Returned Clique with a noiseless laugh. Let's move a bit farther on and get our bearings. Hello. Here's a little sort of cupboard without a door. And look at those sacks standing there against that other side in that little cut-out place dollops. Now I wonder what the devil they contain. Talk about the catacombs. They aren't in it with this affair. Dollops crept up noiselessly and laid a hand upon one of the great sacks that stood one upon the other in three double rows and tried to feel the contents with his fingers. It gave an absolutely unyielding surface as though it might be stuffed with concrete. Oh, there's a ship's biscuit, sir, he ejaculated. Now I wonder what the dick in— His voice trailed off suddenly and he stood a moment absolutely still. Every nerve in his slim young body taught as wire every muscle rigid. For along the passage, not so very far in front of them from where it seemed to terminate, came the thud of men's feet upon the soft clayy ground. The torch went out in an instant. In another, Clique had caught Dollops' arm and drawn him into the narrow aperture where with faces to the wall they stood tense and rigid, listening while the steps came nearer and nearer. They waited in the darkness as men in the Bonne Horge days must have waited for the stroke of Madame Guillotine. The footsteps came forward leisurely. The intruders could hear the sound of muffled voices, one brief, concise, clipping its words short and with a note of cool authority in the low tones. The other, Dollops huddled his shoulders closer and contrived to whisper, Black Whiskers! before the two men came abreast of them. Strange to be walking thus comfortably in the dark, either they were sure of their way that it didn't matter about having a light or else they were afraid to use a torch. You'll see that it is done, Dollops, and done properly tonight. Sounded the brisk tones of Black Whiskers' companion and then the reply, Yes, it'll be done all right. We're sending him off at one o'clock sharp, loading at twelve. No need to worry about that, sir. And these two newcomers, you can vouch for their reliability to keep their masks shut, Dollops. We wouldn't have chance taking them on if we hadn't been so short-handed, but you're sure of them, eh? They could hear Dirty Jim's ugly little chuckle. It seemed laden with sinister purpose. Yes, sound enough, Master, I promise you. He made reply, Ugliest-looking pair of cutthroats you ever laid your peepers on. Seeing Dirty a business than this, I dare swear. And Piggots onto the right kind, all right. Good man, Piggot. The two came opposite them and stopped a moment as though they might be wishing to investigate the contents of the sacks that stood nearby, hidden by the enveloping darkness. The tension under which Cleek and the youthful Dollops laboured was tremendous. Not daring to breathe, they stood there, hugging the wall, there every muscle aching with the strain. And then the two strangers walked on again, still talking in low casual voices, until they had reached the end of the passage where the steps started abruptly upward. Then a patch of light showed suddenly. Steps here, be careful, they're none too easy. Came the cautious voice of Black Whiskers. Oh, God, first those you can follow in with steps. What's this? The door being left open, eh? I'll have a few words with that Jack Jenkins before I'm many days older. Learn him to disobey his orders. Anyone might come along here and drop in casual like the unreliable swine. The light grew less and less as the bearer of it climbed the rude stairs and finally vanished altogether. And as it disappeared, Dollops clutched Cleek's arm, his breath coming in little gasps. The door, sir. He gasped. If they close that way. And even as he spoke, there came a sound of sliding bolts and a thump which told the truth only too well. Did you hear, sir? He almost moaned. The trap door had been closed. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Better men than they might have quailed in such a predicament. Here they were at ten o'clock at night, shut in an underground passage that led heaven only knew where and with, to say the least of it, small chance of escape. They might stay there all night, but the morning would probably bring release and discovery. It was a combination which brought to them very mixed emotions. Black whiskers, should he be their rescuer, might at once assume an entirely different role. Would most likely do so, in fact. There was a grim element in this game of chance which they would just as soon had been absent. Well, here they were, and the next thing would be to try their hands at escape on their own account. Perhaps the trap door hadn't been tightly fastened down. It was a chance, of course. We'll try the trap door end first, lad. Said Cleek. If that doesn't work, I'll have a go at the other. But somehow you must get to the docks by midnight. You may learn the whole secret there and it would be the worst luck in the world if you missed the chance. You mustn't. Come on. I second that motion. Thru in dollops, though in a somewhat forlorn voice. I can just imagine what it must be like to be a ghost, tied up in a family vault. And it fills me with a feeling of sympathy for them creatures what I never felt before. Like a blooming messlinoleum, this is. Mausoleum, you grammatical wonder! Responded Cleek, and even in his anxiety he could not refrain from a laugh. Well, mausoleum, or musculoleum, makes no difference to me, sir. What I want to know is, how do we get out of this charming little country seat? Try the trap door, you says. Right you are. He was up the rough steps like a shot, forgetful of the fact that though the door might be closed, there might also be others strolling along in that secluded spot. Cleek came up now behind him, and with a caution of silence, steadied himself upon the step below, and pressed his shoulder up against the heavy door. He pushed and shoved with all his might, while dollops aided with every ounce of strength in his young body. The door responded not one whit. Black whiskers had done his work well and thoroughly, possibly as an object lesson to the absent Jenkins. And Jenkins, by the way, was the name of Cleek's newfound friend of the factory. Hmm, that was cause for thought. Then Jenkins was more in the know than he had given him credit for. Possibly Black whiskers knew already of their conversation at dinnertime. He'd have to close down on that source of information at any rate, if they ever got out of this business alive. These thoughts passed through Cleek's brain, even while his shoulders and his strength were at work upon the unresponsive door. Only failure marked their efforts. At last, breathless and exhausted from the strain, Cleek descended the steps again. He listened, and hearing nothing, signalled dollops to follow him. They must have got in somewhere, and here's hoping it wasn't through this trapped door, he said evenly. We'll see about it anyway, unless they were as careful with the door at the other end. It's a sporting chance, dollops, my lad, and we've got to take it. I'll use my torch, unless we hear anything. Then we'll have to trust to luck. Heaven alone knows how far this blessed affair runs on. We'll reach London soon, if we go on like this. Yes, and find ourselves in Mr. Narcombe's office, a burrowing under-designest desk. Finished dollops, with a little giggle of amusement. And he wouldn't half be astonished, would he, sir? Crumbs, but the chaps what made this blooming tube did their job fair, didn't I? It goes on forever. Oh, unwinded already. And what you'll be by the end of this affair, goodness knows, my lad," responded Cleek over his shoulder. He was pressing on, hugging the wall, his eyes peering into the gloom ahead. It seems to be continuing for some time. Hello, here's a turning, and the question is, shall we go straight on or turn? Seems as if them two blighters came round a turning, judging from the nearness of their voices, sir, said dollops, with entire sense. Cleek nodded. You are right. More sacks. If I wasn't so anxious to get out of this place, so that you shouldn't be late for your appointment with our friend Black Whiskers, I'd chance my luck and have a look what was in them. But there's no time now. We don't know how long this peculiar journey of ours is going to last. They pressed on steadily along the rough, rudely made floor, on and on and on, the little torch showing always the few feet in front of them to safeguard them against any pitfalls that might be laid for the unwary traveller. It seemed ours that they walked thus, and their wonder at the elaborateness of this extraordinary tunnel system grew. There were turnings every now and again, passageways branching off from the main one into other patches of unbroken gloom, and it was a ticklish job at best. At any moment someone might round the next corner and come upon them, and then the game would be up with a vengeance. At dollop's suggestion, they followed always the turnings upon the right. Always keep to the right, sir, and you'll never go far wrong. That's what they teach you in London, and that's what I always follow. It's no use getting lost, so best make a set rule and follow it. Well, at any rate, there's no harm in doing so. Responded clique a little glumly. We don't know the way out, and we might as well try one plan as another. Seems pretty well closed up for the night, doesn't it? It certainly is a passage, and if the door at the other end is impassable after all this wandering, I'll—I'll—I don't know. Can't do no good by worrytting, sir. Just have to carry on. That's all we can do. Responded dollop's with some effort at comfort. There's something in front of us now. Looks like the end of the blinking cage, doesn't it? Better investigate before we hit it too hard, sir. You're right, dollop's. Clique stepped cautiously forward into the gloom, lighting it up as he progressed. The rays of his tiny torch always sum five feet ahead of him. And the end it proved to be in every sense of the word. For here, leading upward as the other had done, was a similar little flight of clay-hewn steps, while at the top of them, Clique gave a long sigh of relief, showed a square of indigo, a couple of stars, and escape at last. Thank God! murmured Clique as they mounted the rough steps and came out into the open air with a free sky above them and a fine wind blowing that soon dispelled the effects of their underground journey. God, it's good to smell the fresh air again, eh, dollop's? Where on earth are we? I'd say look over there, will you? Dollop's looked, then gasped in wonder, astonishment and considerable awe. The flames, Governor! The blinking frozen flames! Clique laughed. Yes, the flames all right, dollop's, and nearer than we've seen them, too. We must be right in the middle of the fence from the appearance of those lights. So all told we've done a mile or more underground, which isn't so bad, my lad, when you come to look at the time. He brought out his watch and surveyed it in the moonlight. Hmm! ten past eleven. You'll have to look sharp, boy, if you're to get to the docks by twelve. Weave a good four miles' walk ahead of us, and—what was that? That was the sound of a man's feet coming swiftly toward them. They had one second to act and flight over this marshy ground, filled with pitholes as it was, was impossible. No, the best plan was to stay where they were and chance it. Talk, boy! talk! whispered Clique, and began a hasty conversation in a high-pitched cockney voice, to which dollop's bravely made answer in the best tone he could muster under the circumstances. Then a voice snapped out at them across the small distance that separated them from the unseen stranger, and they stiffened instinctively. What the hell are you doing here, it called? Don't you know that it's not safe to be in this district after nightfall? And if you don't, well, a pocketful of lead will perhaps convince you. From the darkness ahead of them a figure followed the voice. Clique could dimly discern a tall, slouchy-shouldered man clad in overalls, with a cap pulled down close over his eyes, and in the grasp of his right hand a very business-like-looking revolver. Clique thought for a moment, then plunged bravely in. Come up from the passage, sir. He responded, curtly, loading up to-night, and some full-locked other end before me and my mate here had finished our work. Had to come along this way, or else spend the rest of the night down there, and we'd do for loading this stuff at the docks at midnight. Master will be devilish mad if he finds us missing. It was a chance shot, but somehow chance often favours the brave. It told. The man lowered his revolver, gave them a quick glance from head to toe, and then swung upon his heel. Well, better clear out while there is no danger. He returned sharply. Two other men are on the watch out for strangers. Take that shot cut there. He pointed to the left, and skirt round to the road, quarter of a mile of bringer. Chaps at your end ought to see to it that none of the special hands stray up this way. It's not safe. Good night. Good night! Responded clique cheerily. Thank you, sir. And taking dollop's arm, swung off in the direction indicated just as quick as his feet could carry him. They walked in silence for a time, their feet making no sound in the marshy ground. When they were well out of earshot, clique spoke in a low tone. Narrow shave, dollop's. It was that, sir. I could fair-feel the razor, a clip in a bit off me chin, so to speak. Having some nice adventures this night, ain't we, governor? We certainly are. Clique's voice was absent-minded for his thoughts were working, and already he was beginning to tie the broken threads of the skein that he had gathered into a rough cord, with here and there a gap that must and should be filled. It was strange enough in all conscience. Here were these underground tunnels leading, if you kept to the right, from a field-out salt-fleet way to the very heart of the fends themselves. And what went on here in these uninhabited reaches of the marshland? Nothing that could be seen by daylight, for he had traversed every step of them and gained no information for his pains. Therefore there could be no machinery or anything of that sort. Hmm. It was a bit of a faser, too, but of one thing he was certain. Somehow, in some way, the frozen flames played their part. That factory at Salt Fleet and the fishing boats and the fends were all linked up in one inexplicable chain, if one could only find the key that unlocked it. And what was a man doing out there at night with a revolver? What business was he up to? And he had said there were two others on the lookout as well. Cleek pulled out a little blackened clay pipe, which was part of his makeup as Bill Jones, and plugging it with tobacco began to smoke steadily. Dollops, casting a sideways glance at his master, knew what this sign meant and spoke never a word until they had left the fends far behind them and were well on their way toward the docks and the appointment with black whiskers at twelve o'clock. Then, noticed anything, Dollops? Cleek asked, slewing round and looking at the boy quizzically. How do you mean, sir? Why, when you got to the top of those little steps and came out into the fends? Only the frozen flame, sir? Why? Oh, nothing. It'll keep. Just a little thing I saw that led me a long way upon the road I'm trying to travel. You'll hear about it later. Time's getting on, Dollops, my lad. You're due with your friend black whiskers in another ten minutes, and we're about that from the dockyard. Wonder if there'd be any chance of me lending a hand. Dollops thought a moment. You might try, sir, to do no harm anyway, he said after a pause. Particular as you're my mate, sir, to speak, ought to be able to work it, I should think. Look, who's a coming now? If it ain't old black whiskers himself. And black whiskers it was, to be sure. He lunged up to them, hands in pockets, hat pulled well down over his eyes, a sinister, ugly figure. He heard an air, and it was by no means a pleasant one. And I, youngster, he called out in a harsh voice, Bane, say in the country, eh? Better for you and your mate if you keep to your eyes well on the ground as part of the world. Never meddling in someone else's business, it don't pay. His voice lowered suddenly, and he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. Mate on the square was you, I suppose. Coming along now? Bet your life I am, responded Dollops heartily, giving him a significant wink. Of course I ain't said nothing to old Bill about what you told me, but I know he's a cuten. No flies on old Bill, Governor, give you a meof on that. What about it now, shall I spring him along too? Just as you says, Governor, seeing as you're the boss, but he's a strong fellow as my mate, and his mouth's like a trap. Black whiskers switched round in his slouchy walk, where he had fallen in step beside Dollops, leaving Cleek on the boy's right hand, and gave the mate a searching look under black brows. In the darkness, with just a thread of moonlight to make patterns upon the black waters, and etch out the outline of mast and funnel and hull against the indigo, Cleek recognised that look, and set his mouth grimly. He'd seen it once before, upon that night when this man had stolen into his room and tried to knife him. Where you off to, matey? With all your fine secrets I'd like to know? He said jokingly, digging Dollops in the ribs and giving a loud guffaw. Some girl, I suppose. Something of more account than women, I can tell ya. Threw in black whiskers, roughly. He's going to help me with a little work. Overtime is what you'll get for it. If you're willing to lend a hand, overtime you'll get two, but you'll keep your mouth shut or clear one or two. It's up to you to choose. Cleek laughed. Call me a fool, matey, but not a damn fool. He said pleasantly, behold Jones knows what side his bread's buttered on. I can tell ya, soft job like this one, what we've nicked on to, ain't gonna slip through his fingers for a little tongue wagging. I'm on, mate. Righto. What's the job? Loading up boats for cargo. Oh, contraband, eh, matey? That's none of your business, my man. And as long as you remember that, you'll hold your job. No more, no less. Hey, pardon, I'm sure. But I've been in the same sort of thing myself out in Jamaica. Used to smuggle things through the customs. Nifty business, it were, too, and I almost got caught twice, but I slipped it somehow. Just loading is our game, then. Just loading. Responded black whiskers significantly. There we are. Now then, get to work. See them two beings over there? Well, they've got to be carried over to that fishing smack drawn up against the dock. There's six of them going tonight, and we've got to be quick. Ain't as easy as it looks, mate, but that's not your business, neither. Get to work. They got to work forthwith, and turned to the pile of electrical tubings which was built up against the side of the dock wall twice as high as a man's head. A pale lantern swung from the edge of the same wall above them, hanging suspended from a nail, another hung on the opposite side from a post. By the light of these two lamps, they could see a knot of men assembled in the centre of the dockyard, talking together in low whispers, while down below, at the water's edge, rocked a fleet of fishing boats awaiting their mysterious cargo. One could hear the men stirring restlessly and shifting sail as they waited for the task to begin. Then the word was given in a low, vibrant voice, and they went to work. Easy job this, matey! Whispered dollops as he and Cleak advanced upon the stack of tubings, and each started to lift one down. I, gold's truth, ain't it, ever? Lord Lummy, now what in blazes? Cleak put up a warning finger and shouldered the thing. Heavy it certainly was, though of such fine metal that its weight seemed incredible, and when one knew that these things carried electric wiring, or did they? Never was made an electric wire that was as heavy as that. Cleak carried one of these tubings to the dock's edge, with the aid of dollops handed it over into the hands that were outstretched to receive it and went back for another one. Back and forth and back and forth they went, lifting, carrying, delivering, until one boat was loaded and another one hoeved into sight in its place. He watched the first one's slow progress out across the murky waters for a moment, making a pretense of mopping his forehead with his handkerchief meanwhile. It was loaded below the watermark. It hung so low in the water that it looked a mere smudge upon the face of it, a ribbon of sail flapping from its slender mast. Electrical tubings, eh? A pretty story that. Two boats were filled, three, four, a fifth came riding up under the very nose of the last and settled itself with a rattle of chains and bumping of sides against the key. That, too, was loaded to its very edge and took its way slowly up beneath their eyes. The sixth took its place after its fellows. For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work and stood wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low whispers. Cleek and dollop stood at the keyside, listening to the water lapping against the iron girders and straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats. All of a sudden, from out the blackness, others appeared. Old black whiskers gave a muttered order and, like a well-drilled army, the men were ready again, this time flocking to the side of the key as the boats rode up and waiting for them empty-handed. Cleek turned to the nearest one and spoke in a low-turned voice. What now, matey? I'm new at this game. Oh, one loading! Use your thing, faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the factory can get the proper gauge for these tubans. All the time I've been here and I onto two years it's been the same. Every lock goes out, comes back again with a complaint. Funny thing, ain't it? Yes, responded Cleek shortly. Damn funny! It certainly was. Unless... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves up to whistle, but no sound came. And the work of unloading began. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of the Riddle of the Frozen Flame by Mary E. Hanshaw and Thomas W. Hanshaw. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 25 The Web of Circumstance For a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by Cleek or Dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished, and though the pig and whistle got its fair share of their time for the sake of appearances, there were long hours afterward between the last tattered remnants of the night and the days dawning when they did a vast amount of exploration. That they made good use of this time was proved by the little notebook that rested in Cleek's pocket and in which a rough chart of the country and the docks was drawn, though there were still some blanks to be filled in. While opposite it was a rude outline of the secret passage into which they had blundered three nights before. Got to explore that hell from end to end, Dollops, said Cleek on the fourth evening as they struck off together toward that gap in the hedge soon after the clock in the village had chimed out ten, and the little bar of the pig and whistle slowly emptying itself of its obituary. I've the main route fairly correct, I think, and a rough idea of where those sacks stood and where we took to cover when black whiskers were showing the master of this underworld domain through it. Happened to have learnt the chap's name yet. Dollops nodded. Yes, sir, Brent it is, Jonathan Brent, or so one of the men tells me. Said he's never seen him, though, nobody oddly ever does from all accounts he gives me. Old black whiskers and his silent footed friend Balkins is the main ones, what does his work for him? Hmm, well, that's something gleaned anyway. Of course we may be able to find out who he really is, but the chances are small. Men like this chap don't go giving away anything more than they can help. They lie low and let their paid underlings stand the racket if it happens to come along. I know the type, I've come cross it before. Well, here we are, now for it, but this time I happen to have brought along a revolver. He crept through the hedge and crouching behind it ran to the spot where they had found the open trapdoor upon that memorable occasion three nights before. There was nothing to be seen. The ground presented an absolutely unbroken appearance so far as they could make out in the moon's rays. Clever devils! Snapped out clique in angry tribute. Well, have to use artificial light after all, but keep your torchlight on the ground it won't do for anyone to spot us just now. For perhaps a moment or two they explored the ground inch by inch crawling round in the long grass upon their hands and knees until a little tuft of brown earth sticking up through a piece of turf like the upturned corner of a rug showed them what they were looking for. With infinite care clique lifted up the square of turf and set it upon one side. The sight of the flat dark surface of the trapdoor rewarded them. He ran his fingers along the two sides of it and discovered a bolt, shot this and then catching the iron ring once more in his hands swung the top upward and laid it back upon the grass. A minute more found them once more in the cavernous, breathless depths. Clique handed the torch to dollops. You hold that while I do a bit of sketching, he said, fidgeting in his coat pocket for his fountain pen. He then snapped open the flap of the notebook and began to sketch rapidly as they moved forward. Clique was an adept in drawing to scale. The thing took shape as they continued their progress keeping this time to the left instead of to the right. Clique paced off the distance and stopped every now and then to check up results. The place was as silent as the grave. Obviously no one was about here upon these nights when there was no loading and unloading going on. In that at least chance had been a good friend to them. They were going to make the most of it. Through little runways narrower than the main route and so low that they had to bend their necks to get along in safety they went measuring and examining. Every few yards or so they would come upon another little niche stacked high with sacks of a similar hardness to those others back there at the beginning of their journey. Clique prodded one with his finger, hesitated, then slipping out a pen knife, slit a fragment of the coarse sacking and inserted his thumb. He pulled it out with a look of astonishment upon his face. Hello, hello! he exclaimed. So that's it, is it? God, this is the approved hiding place. Then those tubings dollops just a little more of this wearisome search just a few telephone calls to be made and I believe I shall have untied at least one part of this strange riddle. And when that knot is unfastened it will surely lead me to the rest. Go on, boy. They went on, stepping carefully and hesitating now and again to listen for any sound of alien footsteps. But the place might have been the grave for any sign of human habitation that there was. They had it to themselves that night and made the most of it. For some time they walked on, taking the road that most appealed to them and in the maze must surely have retraced their own footsteps. All of a sudden, however, they broke into a sort of rough stone passage with concrete floor that ran on for a few yards and ended at a flight of well-made stone steps, above which was a square of polished oak, firm-eaten, heavily carved and surely not of this generation's make or structure. Now what, the dickens? began clique and stopped. Dollops surveyed it with his head on one side. Seems to me, sir, he began after a pause that this year's a genuine article, one of them old passages, what people like King Charles and Bloody Mary and a few other of them celebrities you see at Madame Tussaud's any day in the week used to idling when things were getting too hot for him. That's what this is! Your history is a bit rocky, but your ideas are all right. Returned clique 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 tunneling business, or else they've been at it, or both. There must be years' work in this system of passageways. It is marvellous. But if it's a genuine old secret passage, those stairs will probably lead up into a house. And let's try them. If the house they lead into is the one I think it is, well, we'll be unraveling 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, pushing, 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? My fingers must be losing their cunning. And ah, here it is. Light 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 Cleak 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 Merritton Towers. He brought his head down again with a jerk, touched the spring in the edge of oak paneling 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. Merritton Towers? He ejaculated finally. Merritton Towers? No. If young Merritton 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 Merritton Towers? He stopped speaking suddenly, sucked in his breath, his face turned very grim. Dollops broke the silence that fell, a tremor of excitement in his low-pitched voice. Yes, but it's the back kitchen, sir. He threw out eagerly, like all the rest of them, anxious, if possible, to shield the man who seemed to have won so many hearts. And the back kitchen don't spell, sir, Nigel, sir. It's balking's what's at the bottom of that, and—maybe, maybe—interposed clique at 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's a certainty. Merritton Towers? He swung upon his heel and quickly retraced his steps, until the little stone passageway 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 clique 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 Merritton 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 somebody was there. But then the servants are all gone. Borkins is keeping the house open until after the child. 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. Yes, sir," said dollops, not knowing what else to say, for clique was keeping up a sort of running monologue of his ideas of the case. Don't think much of this here passage, anyway, do you? No, narrower than the rest. But it may end just where we want to go. Journey's 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 have 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 passage the walls opened out suddenly into little cut-out places, filled as ever with their built-up sacks. Each time clique passed 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 bumping the low-mud ceiling, their lips silent, but in the hearts of each a sort of dull dread. Merit and towers. Borkins, perhaps. But what if Borkins and Meriton 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 attitude towards his master. Clique'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. Over-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 mud-stained with the marks of many feet up and down their surface. Clique 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. End of chapter 25