 Chapter thirty-three of Cleak the Man of the Forty Faces. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. Cleak the Man of the Forty Faces by Thomas W. Hanchu. Chapter thirty-three There, Mr. Cleak, resumed the captain after he could master his emotion. That is the case. That is the riddle I am praying to heaven that you may be able to solve. What the mysterious power is, when, where, or how it got into the room and got at the boy, God alone knows. Mr. Armstead will swear that he never let the little fellow out of his arms for one solitary instant between the time of our leaving him just after midnight and Miss Comstock's coming in in the morning. He admits, however, that twice during that period he fell asleep, but it was only for a few minutes each time. And long years of being constantly alert for possible marauders out there in the wilds of Australia have tended to make his sleep so light that anything heavier than a cat's footfall wakes him on the instant. Yet last night something, man or spirit, came and went, and he neither heard nor saw either sound or shape from midnight until morning. One thing I must tell you, however, which may throw some light upon the movements of the appalling thing, were as Mr. Armstead not only closed, but locked, both of the two windows in the room, and pinned the thick plushet curtains of them together, as Miss Comstock and I saw them pinned when we left the room last night. When those curtains came to be drawn this morning, one of the windows was found to be partly open, and there was a smear of something that looked like grease across the sill and the stone coping beyond. Of course, of course, commented Creeke enigmatically, provided my theory is correct I should have expected that. A thing that comes and goes through windows must at some period leave some mark of its passage. Of course that particular window opened upon a balcony or something of that sort, didn't it? No, it is a perfectly unbroken descent from the window sill to the ground, but there's a big tree close by, and the branches of that brush the pane of glass. Ah! I see, I see! All the soap dishes in the house left filled last night and found filled this morning, Captain. Good heavens! I don't know! What on earth can soap dishes have to do with it, man? Possibly nothing. Possibly a great deal, particularly if there's found to be a cake of soap in each. But that we can discover later. Now, one word more. Was that same minute swelling the mark like a gnats bite on the neck of the boy's body too, and had it been on that of the mother's as well? I can't answer either question, Mr. Creeke. I don't remember to have heard about it being remarked in the case of Mrs. Comstock's death, and the murder of Little Paul was such a horrible thing, and so upset everybody that none of us thought to look. An error of judgment that. However, it is one easily rectified, since the body is not yet interred, said Creeke. Ever read Harvey's exarchitatio atomica de motus sanguinis, Captain? The volume in which William Harvey first gave to the world at large, his discovery regarding the circulation of the blood. Good heavens, no! What would I be doing, leading matters of that kind? I'm not a medico, Mr. Creeke, I'm a soldier. I know. But still, well, I thought it just possible that you might have read the work, or at least heard something regarding the contents of the volume. Men who have a hobby are rather given to riding it, and boring other people with discussions and dissertations upon it, and I seem to think that I have heard it said that Sir Gilbert Morford's greatest desire in the time of his youth was to become a medical man. In fact, that he put in two or three years as a student at St. Bartholomew's, and would have qualified, but that the sudden death of his father compelled him to abandon the hope, and to assume the responsibilities of the head of the house of Morford and Morford, tea-importors of Minzing Lane. Yes, that's quite correct. He bitterly resented the compulsion, the pitchforking of a man out of a profession into the abomination of trade, as he always expresses it. But of course he was obliged to yield, and the dream of his life dropped off into nothing but a dream. But the old love and the old recollection still linger, and although he no longer personally follows either trade or profession, he keeps up his laboratory work, subscribes to every medical journal in Christendom, and if you want to tickle his vanity or to get on the right side of him, all you have to do is to address him as doctor. With all due respect to him, he's a bit of a prig, Mr. Clicke, and hates people of no position, people of the lower order, as he always terms them, as the gentleman down under is said to hate holy water, so that he naturally would move heaven and earth to prevent his grandson and heir from marrying a young woman of that class. I see, supplemented Clicke, the dear gentleman would like the name of Morford to go down to posterity linked to duchesses or earls, daughters, and surrounded by a blaze of glory. Ah, it's a queer world, Captain. There is no bitterer hater of the common herd than the snob who has climbed up from it. The snob and the sneaker closely allied, Captain, and men of that stamp have been known to do some pretty ugly things to uphold their pinch-beck dignity and to keep the tinsel of the present over the cheap gingerbread of the past. Good God, man! You don't surely mean to suggest gently, gently, Captain. Your indignation does you credit. But it is never well to have a shot at a rabbit before he's fairly out of the hole, and you are sure that it isn't the ferret you sent in after him. Anything in the way of a convent, handy, Mr. Narcombe? Yes, the limousine. I came down in it yesterday. It's over at the Rose and Crown. Good. Then, perhaps Captain Morford will meet us there in a half-hour's time. Meanwhile, I've got a few things to throw into my kit-bag, and as that's over at the Three Desires, perhaps you won't mind coming along and giving me a hand. Then we'll run over to that house at Dalehampton and have a look at the body of that poor little shaver, as expeditiously as possible. Will you come? Yes, certainly," said Narcombe. And having given a few necessary directions to the Captain, walked on and followed Clicke. He knew very well the suggestion that he should do so was merely an excuse to have a few words with him in private, for no man would be likely to need another man's assistance in simply putting a few things into a bag. And he was rather puzzled to account for Clicke's desire to say anything to him which the Captain was not to hear. However, he kept his curiosity in check and his tongue behind his teeth until they were on the other side of the Lichgate and in the road leading to the Three Desires. There's something you want to say to me, isn't there?" he inquired. Something you want attended to on the quiet. Yes, admitted Clicke tersely. There's a public telephone station a mile or two on the other side of this place. I saw it this morning when I was out tramping. Slip off down there, ring up the head of the Dalehampton constabulary, and tell him to have a man at the house ready to pop up when wanted. I'll be long enough over my supposed packing to cover the time of your going and returning without the Captain's knowledge. Without good heaven, my dear Clicke, you were serious then. You meant it. You really believe that suspicion points to Sir Gilbert Morford? Not any more than it points to Sir Gilbert Morford's grandson, Mr. Narcombe. Good Lord, to him? To that boy? Why, man alive, what possible motive could he have for bringing grief and anguish to Miss Comstock when he's willing to give up a fortune to marry her? Ah, but don't forget that another fortune descends to all the heirs, male and female alike, of the late Mrs. Comstock, Mr. Narcombe. And that if the Captain's fiancée becomes in course of time the only surviving child of that unfortunate lady, the Captain's sacrifice will not be such an overpowering hardship for him after all. Great Scott! I never thought of that before, Clicke, never. Didn't you? Well, don't think too much of it now that you have, for circumstantial evidence is tricky and treacherous, and he meant be the man after all. Meant be, what a beggar you are for damping a man's ardour after you found it up to the blazing point. Any light in the darkness, old chap? Any idea of what and how? Yes," said Clicke quietly, if there's a mark on that poor little shaver's neck, Mr. Narcombe, I shall know the means, and if there's soap on the windowsill, I shall know the man. And then, having reached the doorway of the inn, he dived into it and went up the staircase two steps at a time. CHAPTER 34 The little house at Dalehampton was something more than a mere house of grief they found when the long drive came to an end, and Clicke and his two companions entered it. For the very spirit of desolation and despair seemed to have taken up its abode there, and like an incarnate woe, Miss Comstock paced through the hush and darkness hour in and hour out, as she had been doing since daybreak. My darling, you mustn't, you really mustn't, dear. You'll lose your mind if you brood over the thing like this," said the captain, flying to her the very instant they arrived, and disregarding the presence of his two companions caught her in his arms and kissed her. Miriam, dearest, don't. It breaks my heart. I know it's awful, but do try to have strength and hope. I'm sure we shall get to the bottom of the thing now, sure that there will be no more, that this is truly the end. These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, dearest, and they say it surely will be. Heaven knows, I hope so," replied Miss Comstock, acknowledging the introduction to Clicke and Narcombe by a gentle inclination of the head. But indeed I can't hope, Jim. Indeed I cannot, gentlemen. The tenth of next month will take its toll, as the tenth of this one has done. I feel persuaded that it will. Who can fight a thing unseen and unknown? Her grief was so great, her despair so hopeless, that Clicke forebore attempting to assuage either by any words of sympathy or promise. He seemed to feel that hers was an anguish upon which even the kindliest words must fall only as an intrusion. And the heart of the man, that curiously created heart, which at times could be savage even to the point of brutality, and again tender and sympathetic as any woman's, went out to her in one great surge of human feeling. And two minutes later, when all the law's grim business of inquiry and inquest had been carried out by Narcombe, and she, in obedience to his expressed desire, led them to the room where the dead boy lay, that wave of sympathetic feeling broke over his soul again. For the gentle opening of the door had shown him a small dimly-lit room, a kneeling figure bent of back and bowed of head that lent over a little white bed in a very agony of tearless woe. He can hardly tear himself away for an instant. He loved him so. She said, in a quavering whisper to Clicke, Must we disturb him? It seems almost cruel. I know it, he whispered back, But the place must be searched in quest of possible clues, Miss Comstock. The little boy too must be examined, and it would be cruel as still if he were to stay and see things like that. Lead him out, if you can. It will be for a few minutes only. Tell him so. Tell him he can come back then. And turned his face away from that woeful picture as she went over and spoke to the sorrowing old man. Uncle, she said softly. Uncle Phil, you must come away for a little time, dear. It is necessary. Oh, I can't, Mary. I can't, lovey dear. He answered without lifting his head or loosening his folded hands. My Bonnie, my Bonnie, that I loved so well. Ah, let me have him while I may, Mary. They'll take him from me soon enough. Soon enough, my Bonnie boy. But, dearest, you must. The law has stepped in. Gentlemen from Scotland Yard are here. Jim has brought them. They must have the room for a little time. There's the window to be examined, you know. And if they can find out anything, I'll give them the half of all I have in the world. Broke in the old man with a little burst of tears. Tell them that. The half of everything, everything if they can get at the creature. If they can find out, but collapsing suddenly with his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands. They can't. They can't. Nobody can. It kills and kills and kills, and God help us. We shall all go the same way. It will be my turn, too, some time soon. I wish it were mine now. I wish it had been mine long ago before I lost my Bonnie own. Takes it hard, poor old chap, doesn't he? Glancing round and getting something of a shock when he saw that Creeke, who a moment before had appeared to be almost on the verge of tears, was now fumbling in his coat pockets, and with in-drawn lips and knotted brows was scowling, absolutely scowling, in the direction where Captain Morford stood, biting his lips and drumming with his fingernails upon the edge of the wash stand. But Creeke made no reply. Instead he walked quickly across to the Captain's side, stretched forth his hand, took up a tablet of soap, turned it over, laid it down again, stepped to the window, stepped back, and laid a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. Captain! he said suddenly in sharp, crisp tones that sounded painfully harsh after the old man's broken cries. Captain! there's a little game of cards called Bluff, and it's an excellent amusement if you don't get caught at it. We shan't have to go any further with the search for clues in this case, but I think I shall have to ask you, my friend, a few little questions in private, and in the interests of a gentleman called Jack Ketch. This unexpected outburst produced something like a panic. Miss Comstock, hearing the words, cried out, put both hands to her temples as though her head were reeling. Old Mr. Armstead straightened suddenly and flung a look of blank amazement across the room, and the Captain, twitching away from the man who gripped him, went first deathly white, and then read as any beat. Good God! he gulped. You, I—look here! I fade out. What does this mean? What the dickens are you talking about? Bluff, Captain, simply Bluff, responded clique serenely. And as I said before, it's a clever little game. Stand where you are, keep an eye on him, Mr. Narcombe. What I've got to say to you, my friend, we'll talk about in private, and after I have assisted Miss Comstock to lead her uncle out of the room. With that he swung away from the Captain's side and went over to that of the old man. Come, Mr. Armstead, let me help you to rise. He began. Then stopped as the old man put up a knotted and twisted hand in supplication, and protested agitatedly. But—but, sir, I do not want to go. Good Heaven, what can you be hinting against that poor dear boy? Surely you do not mean—you cannot mean— That the little game of Bluff has worked, Dr. Finch, and you'll never draw a revolver on me. Wrapped in clique, giving him a backward push that carried him to the floor, and in the twinkling of an eye he had pounced upon him like a cat, and was saying as he snapped the handcuffs upon his wrists, Got you, you brute beast! Got you, tight and fast! Do you remember Hamilton, the medical student in New Zealand, eight years ago? Do you? Well, that's the man you're dealing with now. The man, struggling and kicking, biting and clawing like any other cornered wildcat, flung out a cry of utter despair at this and collapse suddenly, and in the winking of an eye clique's hands had flashed into the two pockets of the dressing-garn the fellow was wearing, and flashed out again with a revolver in one and a shining nickel thing in the other. Got your bark, Doctor, and got your bite as well, he said, as he rose to his feet. You would have put a bullet through me at the first word, wouldn't you, but for that little bluff of suspecting and arresting another man? Captain, look to Miss Comstock, I think she has fainted. You wanted the murderer of Mrs. Comstock and her children, didn't you? Well, here he is, the rascal. Good God! Then it—it's not a mistake! You mean it! Mean it! And Uncle Phil! You accuse Uncle Phil! Uncle nothing! flung back clique with a sort of laugh, and hazarding a guess which afterwards was proved to be the truth. I'll lay my life, Captain, that when you apply to the Australian authorities, you will find that old Mr. Philip Harmstead is in his grave, that he was attended in his last illness by one Dr. Frederick Finch, to whom his fortune would revert in the event of Mrs. Comstock and her children dying. Finch is the fellow's name, isn't it, Doctor, eh? Finch! repeated the Captain. Good Heaven! Why, that was the name of the woman who was old Mr. Harmstead's housekeeper. You know, the widow I told you about tonight. Uh-huh! said clique. That's possibly where the threads join, and this little game begins. Or perhaps it may really be said to begin again where shorty the chemist died, and the celebrated spofford mystery ended, eh, Doctor? Look here, Captain. Look here, Mr. Narcombe. You remember what I told you this morning about that case in New Zealand which so strongly resembled this one? That was the spofford mystery. Do you remember what I said about hitting upon a theory, and offering it to the medical fraternity only to get laughed at for my pains? Well, it was to this man, Dr. Frederick Finch, I advanced that theory, and it was Dr. Frederick Finch who jeered at it, but has now made deadly use of it, the hound. Do you want to know how he killed his victims and what he used? Look at this thing that you saw me take from the pocket of his dressing-gown. It is a hypodermic syringe, but there is nothing in it. There never has been anything in it. Air was his poison. Air his shaft of death, and he killed by injecting it into the veins of his victims. The result of air coming into contact with the circulating blood of a human being is the formation of a blood clot, and death is instantaneous the instant the clot reaches either the brain or the heart. That was his method. But thank God it's done with forever now, and the next tenth day of the month will pass over this stricken family, and leave it unscathed. How did I know the man? said Cleek, answering Narcombe's query, as they came down the torso at a foot, and forged on in the direction of Lintonhurst Old Church, with the Captain Morford and the limousine had long ago preceded them, with the low-dropped sun behind them, and lengthening shadows streaming on before. Well, as a matter of fact, I never did know him until I actually touched him. I was certain of the method, of course, but the man, no. I got my first suspicion of Uncle Phil when I heard him speak. I knew I had heard that voice somewhere, and I realised that it was much too young a voice for a man who appeared, and must be if he were the real Uncle Phil, extremely old. But it was only when I saw his hand, and the peculiar knotted and twisted little finger that I really knew who he was. What's that? The soap? Well, of course I knew that if, as I suspected, someone in the house was the real culprit, an attempt would be made to make it look as though the criminal entered from without. So naturally the window would be opened and something of some sort would be smeared on the sill, something that wouldn't blow away and wouldn't wash off in the event of a sudden rainstorm coming up. Soap would do, and soap is always handy in a bedroom. I knew whose hand had made the smear as soon as I looked at the cake of soap in Uncle Phil's room. It was badly rubbed on one side where it had been scraped over the stone coping, and along the outer edge of the sill where— Pardon me, this is the turning. I leave you here. Pick me up at the inn of the three desires in an hour's time, please, and we'll motor back to town together. So long! And swung round into the branching lane and down the green slope, and round under the shadow of Lintonhurst Old Church, to the quiet country road, and the litchgate where Ailsa Lorne was waiting. End of Chapter 34 The Man of the Forty Faces by Thomas W. Hanshaw Chapter 35 She was sitting in the very same place she had occupied when first he saw her this morning, with the cypress tree and the roof making shadows above and about her. And now, as then, she rose when she heard the latch click, and came toward him with hands outstretched, and eyes aglow, and little gusts of colour sweeping in rose waves over throat and cheeks. Oh, to think that you have solved it, to think that it is the end, and to think that it was he, that dear kind uncle of whom they were all so fond, she said. I could scarcely believe it when Captain Morford brought the news. It made me quite faint for the moment. It was so unexpected, so horrible. And after all, there was nothing to fear from that farm labourer who frightened you so this morning, you see. He smiled, holding her two hands in his, and looking down at her from his greater height. Yet I find your crouching back in the shadow as if you were still frightened to be seen. Are you? A little, she admitted. You see, the road is a public one. People are always passing and—how good it was of you to come all this long distance out of your way. Indeed, I am very, very grateful, Mr. Cleak. Thank you," he said gravely, but you need not be. Indeed, the gratitude should be all on my side. I said I would come if ever you wanted me, and you gave me an opportunity to keep my word. As for it being out of my way to come here, it is but a little distance to the three desires, and a long one to Lady Chepstow's place, so it is you, not I, that have gone out of the way. It was good of you to give me this grace. I should have been sorry to go back to town without saying good-bye. But need you go so soon? she asked. Lady Chepstow will feel slighted, I know, if she hears that you have been in the neighbourhood and have not called. She is a friend, you know, a warm, true friend. Always grateful for what you did, always glad to see you. Why not stop on a day or two and call and see her? A robin flicked down out of the cypress tree, and perched on the gate-top, looked up at Cleak with bright, sharp eyes, flung out a wee little trill, and was off again. I'm afraid it is out of the question. I'm afraid I'm not so deeply interested in Lady Chepstow as perhaps I ought to be," said Cleak, noticing in a dim, subconscious way that the robin had flown on to the church door, and perched there, and was in full song now. Besides, she does not know of me what you do. Perhaps if she did. Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Thank you for coming to say good-bye, Miss Lawn. It was kind of you. Now I must emulate poor Joe and move on again. And without any reward, said Ailsa, with a smile and a sigh. Without expecting any, without asking any, without wanting any. He stood a moment, twisting his heel round and round in the gravel of the pathway, and, breathing hard, his eyes on the ground and his lips in drawn. Then, of a sudden, perhaps I did want one, perhaps I've always wanted one, and hoped to get it some day perhaps from you, he said, and looked up at her as a man looks but once at one woman ever. She had come a step nearer. She was standing there with the shadows behind her and the light on her face, warm colour in her cheeks, and a smile on her lips and in her eyes. She spoke no word, made no sound, merely stood there and smiled. And somehow he seemed to know what the smile of her meant, and what the bird's note said, Miss Lawn. Ailsa, he said, very, very gently. If some day, when all the wrongs I did in those other days are righted, and all that a man can do on this earth to atone for such a past as mine, has been done, if then in that time I come to you and ask for that reward, do you think—oh, do you think that you can find it in your heart to give it? When that day dawns, come and see," she said. If you wish to wait so long. Night for you, sir. Messenger just fetched it. Addressed to Captain Burbage so it will be from the yard," said Dollops, coming into the room with a doughnut in one hand and a square envelope in the other. Cleak, who had been sitting at his writing-table with a litter of folded documents, bits of antique jewellery, and what looked like odds and ends of faded ribbon lying before him, swept the whole collection into the table-draw as Dollops spoke, and stretched forth his hand for the letter. It was one of Narcom's characteristic communications, albeit somewhat shorter than those communications usually were, a fact which told Cleak at once that the matter was one of immense importance. My dear Cleak, it ran, for the love of goodness don't let anything tempt you into going out to-night. I shall call about ten. Foreign government affair rewards simply enormous. Look out for me. Yours in hot haste, maverick Narcom." Beyond the look-out for the red limousine," said Cleak, glancing over at Dollops, who stood waiting for orders. It will be along about ten. That's all. You may go. Right, you are, Governor. I'll keep my eyes peeled, sir. Lord, I do hope it's something to do with a restaurant or a cook shop this time. I could do with a job of that sort, my word, yes. I'm fair famishing. And begging pardon, but you don't look none too ill for yourself this evening, Governor. Ain't it something what's disagreed with you, have you, sir? Aye? What nonsense. I must fit as a fiddle. What could make you think otherwise? Oh, I don't know, sir. Only—well, if you don't mind my saying of it, sir, whenever you get to unlocking of that drawer and looking at them things you keep in there, whatever they is, you always get to sort of solemnly look in the eyes, and you get white about the gills and your lips as a pucker to them that I don't like to see. Tell me, rot. Imagination's a splendid thing for a detective to possess, dollops, but don't let yours run away with you in this fashion, my lad, or you'll never rise above what you are. Toddle along now, and look out for Mr. Narcombe's arrival. It's after nine already, so he'll soon be here. Anybody are coming with him, sir? I don't know, he didn't say. Cut along now, I'm busy," said Clicke. Nevertheless, when dollops had gone, and the door was shut, and he had the room to himself again, and if he really did have any business on hand, there was no reason in the world why he should not have said about it. He remained sitting at the table, and idly drumming upon it with his fingertips, a deep ridge between his brows and a faraway expression in his fixed, unwinking eyes, and so he was still sitting when, something like twenty minutes later, the sharp toot-toot of a motor-horn sounded. Narcombe's note lay on the table close to his elbow. He took it up, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into his waist-basket. A foreign government affair, he said, with a curious, one-sided smile. A strange coincidence to be sure. Then, as if obeying an impulse, he opened the drawer, looked at the litter of things he had swept into it, shut it up again, and locked it securely, putting the key into his pocket, and rising to his feet. Two minutes later, when Narcombe pushed open the door and entered the room, he found clique leaning against the edge of the mantelpiece, and smoking a cigarette with the air of one whose feet trod always upon rose-petals, and who hadn't a thought beyond the affairs of the moment, nor a care for anything but the flavour of Egyptian tobacco. Ah, my dear fellow! You can't think what a relief it was to catch you! I had but a moment in which to dash off the note, and I was on thorns with fear that it would miss you. That on a glorious night like this you'd be off for a pull-up the river or something of that sort, said the superintendent, as he bustled in and shook hands with him. You are such a beggar for getting off by yourself and moaning. Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Narcombe, I came within an ace of doing the very thing you speak of, replied clique. It's full moon for one thing, and it's primrose time for another. Happily for your desire to catch me, however, I got interested in the evening paper, and that delayed me. Very glad, dear chap, very glad indeed, began Narcombe. Then, as his eye fell upon the particular evening paper in question, lying on the writing-table, a little crumpled from use, but with a certain displayed-headed article of three columns' length in full view, he turned round and stared at clique with an air of awe and mystification. My dear fellow, you must be under the guardianship of some uncanny familiar. You surely must, clique," he went on. Do you mean to tell me that is what kept you at home? That you have been reading about the preparations for the forthcoming coronation of King Ulrich of Moraviania? Yes, why not? I'm sure it makes interesting reading, Mr. Narcombe. The kingdom of Moraviania has had sufficient ups and downs to inspire a novelist, so its record should certainly interest a mere reader. To be frank, I have found the account of the amazing preparations for the coronation of his new majesty distinctly entertaining. They are an excitable and spectacular people, those Moravianians, and this time they seem bent upon outdoing themselves. But, my dear clique, that you should have chosen to stop at home and read about that particular affair. Bless my soul, man, it's amazing, abnormal, uncanny, positively uncanny, clique. My dear Narcombe, I don't see where the uncanny element comes in, I must confess," replied clique, with an indulgent smile. Surely an Englishman must always feel a certain amount of interest in Moravianian affairs. Have the goodness to remember that there should be an Englishman upon that particular throne. And there would be, too, but for one of those moments of weak-backed policy, of a desire upon the part of the old woman element which sometimes prevails in English politics, to keep friendly relations with other powers at any cost. Brush up your history, Mr. Narcombe, and give your memory of Philip. Eight and thirty years ago Queen Karma of Moraviania had an English consort and bore him two daughters and one son. You will perhaps recall the mad rebellion, the idiotic rising which disgraced that reign. That was the time for England to have spoken, but the peace party had it by the throat. They, with their mawkish cry for peace at any price, drowned the voices of men and heroes, and the end was what it was. Queen Karma was deposed, she and her children fled, God knows how God knows where, fled and left a dead husband and father slain like a hero and an Englishman fighting for his own, and with his face to the foe. Avenge his death, nonsense declared the old woman. He had no right to defy the will of heaven, no right to stir up strife with a friendly people, and expect his countrymen to embroil themselves because of his lust for power. It would be a lasting disgrace to the nation, if England allowed a lot of howling bloodthirsty meddlers to persuade it to interfere. The old women had their way. Queen Karma and her children vanished. Her uncle Duke Svaza came to the throne as Albertus III, and eight months ago his son, the present king Ulrich, succeeded him. The father had been a bad king, the son, a bad crown prince. Morivania has paid the price. Let her put up with it. I don't think in the light of these things, Mr. Narcum, there is any wonder that an Englishman finds interest in reading of the affairs of a country over which an Englishman's son might and ought to have ruled. As for me, I have no sympathy, my friend, with Morivania or her justly punished people. Still, my dear fellow, that should not count when the reward for taking up this case is so enormous, and I dare say it will not. Reward? Case? Repeated clique. What do you mean by that? That I am here to enlist your services in the cause of King Ulrich of Morivania. replied Narcum impressively. Something has happened, clique, which if not cleared up before the coronation day, now only one month hence, as you must have read, will certainly result in His Majesty's public disgrace, and may result in his overthrow and death. His friend and chief advisor Count Elmer has come all the way from Morivania, and is at this moment downstairs in this house to put the case in your hands, and to implore you to help and to save His Royal Master. His Royal Master, the son of a man who drove an Englishman's wife and an Englishman's children into exile, poverty, misery, despair, said clique, pulling himself up. I won't take it, Mr. Narcum, if he offers me millions I'll lift no hand to help or to save Morivania's king. The response to this came from an unexpected quarter. But to save Morivania's queen, will you do nothing for her? said an excited and imploring voice. And as clique, startled by the interruption, switched round and glanced in the direction of the sound, the half-closed door swung inward, and a figure muffled to the very eyes, moved over the threshold into the room. Half-pardon, Monsieur, I could not but overhear, went on the newcomer, turning to Narcum. I should scarcely be worthy of his Majesty's confidence and favour had I remained inactive. I simply had to come up unbidden. Had to, Monsieur, turning to clique. And so his words dropped off suddenly. A puzzled look first expanded and then contracted his eyes, and his lips tightened curiously under the screen of his white military moustache. Monsieur, he said, presently putting into words the sense of baffling familiarity which perplexed him, Monsieur, you there now the great, the astonishing clique. You, Monsieur? Pardon, but surely I have had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur before. No, not here, for I have never been in England until today. But in my own country, in Morivania, surely Monsieur I have seen you there? On the contrary, said clique, speaking the simple truth, I have never set foot in Morivania in all my life, sir, and as you have overheard my words, you may see that I do not intend to even now. The difficulties of Morivania's king do not in the least appeal to me. Ah! but Morivania's queen, Monsieur, Morivania's queen! The lady interests me no more than does her royal spouse. But Monsieur she must, she really must, if you are honest in what you say, and your sympathies are all with the deposed and exiled ones, the ex-queen karma and her children. Surely Monsieur you who seem to know so well the history of that sad time cannot be ignorant of what has happened since to her ex-majesty and her children. I know only that Queen Karma died in France in extreme poverty, befriended to the last by people of the very humblest birth, and of not too much respectability. What became of her son, I do not know, but her daughters, the two princesses, mere infants at the time, were sent one to England where she subsequently died, and the other to Persia, where I believe she remained up to her ninth year, and then when no one seems to know where. Then Monsieur let me tell you what became of her. The late King Albertus discovered her whereabouts, and to prevent any possible trouble in the future imprisoned her in the fort of Sulberga, up to the year before his death. Eleven months ago she became the crown prince Ulrich's wife. She is now his consort. And by saving her, Monsieur, you who feel so warmly upon the subject of the rights of her family's succession will be saving her, helping Moravia's queen, and defeating those who are her enemies. Cleek sucked in his breath, and regarded the man silently, steadily, for a long time. Then, Is that true, Count? he asked. On your word of honour, as a soldier and a gentleman, is that true? As true as holy writ, Monsieur, on my word of honour, on my hopes of heaven. Very well, then, said Cleek quietly. Tell me the case, Count. I'll take it. Monsieur, my eternal gratitude. Also the reward is we will talk about that afterward. Sit down, please, and tell me what you want me to do. Oh, Monsieur, almost impossible, said the Count despairfully. The outwitting of a woman who must, in very truth, be the devil's own daughter. So subtle, so appalling are the craft and cunning of her. That, for one thing. For another the finding of a paper, which, if published, as the woman swears it shall be if her terms are not exceeded to, will be the signal for his Majesty's overthrow. And for the third emotion mastered him, his voice choked up and failed. He deported himself for a moment, like one afraid to let even his own ears hear the things spoken of aloud. Then governed his cowardice and went on. For the third thing, Monsieur, he said, lowering his tone until it was almost a whisper. The recovery is a restoration to its place of honour before the coronation day arrives, of that fateful gem, more of Vania's pride and glory. The rainbow pearl. Cleek clamped his jaws together like a bloodhound, snapping. And over his hardening face there came a slow creeping unnatural pallor. Has that been lost? He said, in a low bleak voice. Has he this precious royal master of yours, this usurper, has he parted with that thing, the wondrous rainbow pearl? Monsieur knows of the gem, then. Though of it, who does not? It's fame is worldwide. Wars have been fought for it, lives sacrificed for it. It is more valuable than England's co-innour, and more important to the country and the crown that possess it. The legend runs, does it not, that Moravania falls when the rainbow pearl passes into alien hands. An absurd belief to be sure, but who can argue with a superstitious people, or hammer wisdom into the minds of babies? And that has been lost? That gem so dear to Moravania's people, so important to Moravania's crown? Yes, Monsieur. Ah, the good God helped my country, yes, said the Count, brokenly. It has passed from His Majesty's hands. It is no longer among the crown jewels of Moravania. A Russian has it. A Russian? Cleek's cry was like to nothing so much as the snarl of a wild animal. A Russian to hold it, a Russian! The sworn enemy of Moravania, the race most hated of her people. God, help your wretched king, Count Irma, if this were known to his subjects. I'm as sure it is what we dread. It is that against which we struggle, replied the Count. If that jewel were missing on the coronation day, if it were known that a Russian holds it, dear God, the populace would rise, rise, Monsieur, and tear His Majesty to pieces. He deserves no better. Said Cleek through his close-shut teeth. To a Russian, a Russian, as Heaven hears me but for His Queen. Well, let it pass. Tell me, how did this Russian get the jewel, and when? Long ago, Monsieur, long ago, many months before King Albertus died. Was it His hand that gave it up? No, Monsieur. He died without knowing of its loss, without suspecting that the stone in the royal parour is but a sham and an imitation, replied the Count. It all came of the youth, the recklessness, the folly of the crown prince. Monsieur may have heard of his many wild escapades, his thoughtless acts. His call them dissipations count, and give them their real name. His actors' crown prince were a scandal and a disgrace. To whom did he part with this gem, a woman? Monsieur, yes, it was during the time he was stopping in Paris, incognito to all but a trusted few. He, he met the woman there, became fascinated with her, bound to her, an abject slave to her. A slave to a Russian? More a venous heir and a Russian? Monsieur, he did not know that until afterward. In a mad freak, there was to be a masked ball, he yielded to the ladies' persuasions to let her wear the famous rainbow pearl for that one night. He journeyed back to Moravania and abstracted it from among the royal jewels, putting a mere imitation in its place, so that it should not be missed until he could return the original. Monsieur, he was never able to return it at any time. For once she had got it, the Russian made away with it in some secret manner and refused to give it up. Her price for returning it was his royal father's consent to ennoble her, to receive her at the Moravian court, and so to alter the constitution that it would be possible for her to become the crown prince's wife. The proposition of an idiot, the thing could not possibly be done. No, Monsieur, it could not. So the crown prince broke from her and bent all his energies upon the recovery of the pearl and the keeping of its loss a secret from the king and his people. Bravo, footpads, burglars, all manner of men were employed before he left Paris. The woman's house was broken into, the woman herself waylaid and surged. But nothing came of it, nor clue to the lost jewel could be found. Why, then, did he not appeal to the police? Monsieur, he-he dared not. In one of his moments of madness he, she, that is, oh Monsieur, remember his youth. It appears that the woman had got him to put into writing something which, if made public, would cause the people of Moraviania to rise as one man and to do with him as wolves do with things that are thrown to them in their fury. They're a dog, some treaty with a Russian, of course, said Clicke indignantly. Oh, fickle Moraviania, how well you are punished for your treasonable choice! Well, go on, Count, what next? All of a sudden, Monsieur, the woman disappeared. Nothing was heard of her, no clue to her whereabouts, discovered for two whole years. She was, as one, dead and gone, until last week. Uh-huh, she returned then. Yes, Monsieur, without hint or warning, she turned up in Moraviania, accompanied by a disreputable one-eyed man who has the manner and appearance of one bred in the gutters of Paris. Albeit he is well closed, well looked after, and she treats him and his wretched collection of parakeets with the utmost consideration. Parakeets? Put in Narcombe excitedly, my dear Clicke, couldn't a parakeet be made to swallow a pearl? Perhaps, but not this one, Mr. Narcombe, he made reply. It is quite the size of a pigeon's egg, I believe, is it not, Count? Yes, Monsieur, quite. To see it is to remember it always. It has the changing lights of the rainbow, and never mind that. Go on with the story, please. This woman and this one-eyed man appeared last week in Moraviania, you say? Yes, Monsieur, and with them a bodyguard of at least ten servants. Her demand now is that his Majesty make her his more kinetic wife, that he establish her at the palace under the same roof with his Queen, and that she be allowed to ride with them in the state carriage on the coronation day. Failing that, she swears that she will not only publish the contents of that dreadful letter, but send the original to the chief of the Moravianian police, and appear in public with the rainbow pearl upon her person. Sir Jezebel, what steps have you taken, Count, to prevent this? All that I can imagine, Monsieur. To prevent her from getting into close touch with the police, I have thrown open my own house to her, and received her and her retinue under my own roof, rather than allow them to be courted at a hotel. Also, this has given me the opportunity to have her effects, and those of her followers secretly searched, but no clue to the letter, no clue to the pearl, has anywhere been discovered. Still she must have both with her, otherwise she could not carry out her threat. No doubt she suspects what motive you had in taking her into your own house, Count. A woman like that is no fool. But tell me, does she show no anxiety, no fear of a search? None, Monsieur. She knows that my people search her effects. Indeed she has told me so, but it alarms her not a whit. As she told me two days ago, I shall find nothing, but if I did it would be useless, for on the moment anything of hers was touched, her servants would see that the finder never carried it from the house. Oh, said Clicke, the strong rising inflection. A little searching party of her own, eh? A lady is clever at all events. The moment either pearl or letter should be removed from its hiding place, her servants would allow nobody to leave the house without being searched to the very skin. Yes, Monsieur, so if by any chance you were to discover either, my friend, set your mind at rest, interposed Clicke. If I find either or both, they will leave the house with me, I promise you. Mr. Narcombe, he turned to the superintendent. Keep an eye on dollops for me, will you? There are reasons why I can't take him, can't take anybody with me in the working-out of this case. I may be a couple of days, or I may be a week, I can't say as yet, but I start with Count Yammer for Moraviania in the morning. And, Mr. Narcombe? Yes, old chap. Do me a favour, please. Be at Charing Cross station when the first boat train leaves tomorrow morning, will you? And bring me a small pot of extract of beef. A very small pot, the smallest they make. Not bigger than a shilling nor thicker than one if they make them that size. What's that? Hide the pearl in it. What nonsense! I don't want one half big enough for that. Besides, they'd be sure to find it when they searched me if I tried any such fools' trick as that. Dollops isn't the only creature in the world that gets hungry, my friend, and beef extract is very sustaining. Very, I assure you, sir. End of the first part of the epilogue. Part two of the epilogue of Cleak, The Man of the Forty Faces. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. Cleak, The Man of the Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshaw. Epilogue, part two. A beautiful city-count, an exceedingly beautiful city, said Cleak, as the carriage which had been sent to meet them at the station rolled into the broad Avenue des Arts, which is at once the widest and most ornate thoroughfare of the capital city of Morovenia Boasts. Ah, what a heritage! No wonder King Ulrich is so anxious to retain his sovereignty. No wonder this, er, Madame Char Novetsky, I think you said the name is. Yes, monsieur. It is oddly spelled, but it is pronounced a little broader than you'll give it. Quite as though it were written Char Novetsky, in fact, with the accent on the third syllable. Ah yes, thanks very much. No wonder she is anxious to become a power here. Morovenia is a fairyland in very truth, and this beautiful avenue with its arches, its splendid trees, its sculpture. Ah, coche, pull up at once. Stop, if you please, stop. Oui, monsieur, replied the driver, raining in his horses and glancing round. Dimeil pardon, monsieur, there is something amiss. Yes, very much amiss from the dog's point of view, replied Cleak, indicating by a wave of the hand a mongrel puppy which crouched for lawn and hungry in the shadow of an imposing building. He should be a socialist among dogs, that little fellow, count. The mere accident of birth has made him what he is, and that poodled monstrosity the Lady Yonder is leading, the patent pride of a thoughtless mistress. I want that little canine outcast, count, and with your permission I will appropriate him and give him his first carriage-ride. With that he stepped down from the vehicle, whistled the kerr to him, and taking it up in his arms, returned with it to his seat. Monsieur, you are to me the most astonishing of men," said the count, noticing how he patted the puppy and settled it in his lap as the carriage resumed its even rolling down the broad, beautiful avenue. One moment upholding the rites of birth, the next rebelling against the injustice of it. Are your sympathies with the unfortunate so keen, Monsieur, that even this stray kerr may claim them? Perhaps," replied Cleak enigmatically, you must wait and see, count, just now I pity him for his forlornity. Tomorrow, next day, of weekends, I may hold it a better course to put an end to his hopeless lot by chloroforming him into a painless and peaceful death. Monsieur, I cannot follow you. You speak in riddles. I deal in riddles, count. You must wait for the solution of them, I'm afraid. I wish I could grasp the solution of one which puzzles me a great deal, Monsieur. What is it that has happened to your countenance? You have done nothing to put on a disguise, yet since we left the train and entered the land of, some subtle changes occurred. What is it? How has it come about? The night before last, when I saw you for the first time, your face was one that impressed me with a sense of familiarity. Now, Monsieur, you are like a different man. I am a different man, count. Like puppy here, I am a wave and a stray. Yet at the same time I have my purpose, and am part of a carefully laid scheme. The count made no reply. He could not comprehend the man at all, and at times, but for the worldwide reputation of him, he would have believed him insane. Not a question as to the great and important case he was on, but merely incomprehensible remarks, trifling fancies, apparently aimless whims. Two nights ago a pot of beef extract, today a mongrel puppy, and all the time the hopes of a kingdom, the future of a monarch resting in his hands. For twenty minutes longer the landlord rolled on, then it came to a halt under the broad port-cauchère of the Villa Irma, and two minutes after that, Klik and the Count stood in the presence of Madame Szanowetsky, her per-blind associate, and her retinue of servant-guards. A handsome woman, this madame, a woman of about two and thirty, with the tar-black eyes and the twilight-coloured tresses of northern Russia, bold as brass, flippant as a French cocotte, steel-nerved and calm-blooded as a professional gambler. It had been her whim that all the women of the Count's family should be banished from the house during her stay, that the great salon of the Villa, a wondrous apartment hung in blue and silver and, lit by a huge crystal chandelier, should be put at her disposal night and day, that the electric lights should be replaced with dozens of wax candles after the manner of the ballrooms of her native Russia, and that her one-eyed companion, with his wicker cage of screeching parakeets, should come and go when and where and how he listed, and that an electric alarm-bell be connected with her sleeping apartment and his. Your hirelings will tamper with his birds and his effects in the night. I know that, Monsieur Le Comte. She had said when she demanded this. He is a nervous fellow, this poor Clapeur, and wish him to be able to ring for help if you and your men go too far. Clapeur was sitting by the window chattering to his birds when Clicke entered, and a glance at him was sufficient to decide two points. First, he was not disguised, nor was his partial blindness in any way a sham, for an idiot could have seen that the droop of the left eyelid over the staring, palpably artificial eye which glazed over the empty socket beneath was due to perfectly natural causes. And second, that the man was indeed what the Count had said he resembled, namely a gutter-bread outcast. French, as Clicke's silent comment upon him, one of those charlatans who infest the streets of Paris with their so-called fortune-telling birds, who for ten centime pick out an envelope with their beaks as a means of telling you what the future is supposed to hold. What has made a woman like this pick up a fellow of his stamp? Hmm, Puppy, I think you are a good move, stroking the ears of the mongrel dog. A very much better move than a cage of useless parakeets that are meant to throw suspicion in the wrong direction, and have a seed-cup so large and so obviously overfilled that it is safe to say there is nothing hidden in it and never has been. And Madame has a fancy for wax-lights, his gaze travelling upward to the glittering chandelier. Hmm, how well they know these women whose beauty is going off that wax-lights show less of time's ravages than gas or electricity. Candles in the chandelier, candles in the sconces, candles on the mantelpieces, this room should be very charming when it is lighted at night. It was, as he learned later. Just now things not quite so charming filled the bill for Madame was jeering at him in a manner not to be understood. A police spy, that is what you are, Monsieur, she said, coming up to him and impudently snapping her fingers under his nose. Such a fool this white-headed old dot-out-of-account to think that he can take me in with a silly yarn about going to visit a nephew and bringing him back here to stay. Monsieur, you are a police spy. Well, good luck to you. Get what the Morrovenian king wants, if you can. Madame replied clique with a deeply deferential bow and with an accent that seemed born of Paris. Madame, that is what I mean to do, I assure you. Ha, do you! she answered with a scream of laughter. You hear that, Claupin? You hear that, my good servitors? This silly French noodle is going to get the things in spite of us. Oh, but you have a fine opinion of yourself, Monsieur. You need work fast too, pretty boaster, I can tell you. For the royal jewelers will require the rainbow pearl very soon to fix it in its place in the crown for the coronation ceremony. And if that thing His Majesty holds is offered to them, how long think you? Will it be before all Morrovenian knows that it is an imitation? Look you, waxing, suddenly vicious. Make it shorter still the time you have to strive. Monsieur Lacourne, take this message to His Majesty from me. If in three days he does not promise to accede to my demands and give me a public proof of it over his royal seal, I leave Morrovenia, the pearl and letter leave with me, and they shall not come back until I return with them for the coronation. For the love of God, madame," said the Count, don't make it harder still. Oh, wait, wait, I beseech you. Not an hour longer than I have now said," she flung back at him, I have waited until I am tired of it, and my patience is one art. Three days, Count, three days, Monsieur, with the puppy-dog, three days and not an instant longer, do you hear? Quite enough, madame," replied Clique with a courtly bar, I promise to have them in two. She threw back her head and fairly shook with laughter. Oh, that truth, Monsieur, you are a candid boaster," she cried. Look, you, my good fellows, and you, too, my poor dumb cloper. Pretty Monsieur here will have the letter and the pearl in two days' time. Look to it that he never leaves this house at any minute from this time forth that you do not search him from top to toe. If he resists, ah, well, a pistol may go off accidentally, and things that Moravania's king would give his life to keep hidden will come to light if any charge of murder is preferred. Monsieur the police spy, I wish you joy of your task. Madame, I shall take joy in it," Clique replied. But why should we talk of unpleasant things when the future looks so bright? Come, may we not give ourselves a pleasant evening. Look, there is a piano, and can't hold my puppy for me, and please see that no one feeds him at any time. I am starving him so that he may devour some of Clopal's parakeets, because I hate the sight of the little beasts. Thank you. Madame, do you like music? Listen, then. I'll sing you Moravania's national anthem. God guard the throne, God shield the right. And dropping down upon the seat before the open instrument, he did so. That night was ever memorable at the villa Irma, for the detective seemed somehow to have given place to the courtier, and so Merry was his mood, so infectious his good nature that even Madame came under the spell of it. She sang with him, she even danced a Russian polka with him. She sat with him at dinner, and flirted with him in the cellar afterward. And when the time came for her to retire, it was he who took her bedroom candle from the shelf, and put it into her hand. Over, choose your a charming fellow, monsieur," she said, when he bent and kissed her hand. What a pity you should be a police spy, and upon so a hopeless a case. Hopeless cases are my delight, Madame. Believe me, I shall not fail. Only three days, remember, cher ami, only three days. Madame is too kind. I have said it. Two will do. On the morning of the third, Madame's passport will be ready, and the rainbow pearl be in the royal jeweller's hands. A thousand pleasant dreams. Bonsoir. And bowed her out, and kissed his hand to her as she went up the stairs to bed. End of the second part of the epilogue. Part three of the epilogue of Clicke, The Man of the Forty Faces. This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Ruth Golding. Clicke, The Man of the Forty Faces by Thomas W. Handshugh. Epilogue, Part Three Thrice, during the next twenty-four hours, Clicke, who seemed to have become so attached to the mongrel dog that he kept it under his arm continually, had reason to leave the house. And Thrice was he seized by Madame's henchmen, bundled unceremoniously into a convenient room, and searched to the very skin before he was suffered to pass beyond the threshold. And if so much as a pin had been hidden upon his person, it must have been discovered. You see, Monsieur, how hopeless it is, said the Count despairfully. One dare not rebel, one dare not lift a finger, for the woman speaks and his Majesty's ruin falls. Oh, the madness of that boast of yours! Only another twenty-four hours, only another day, and then God help his Majesty. God has helped him a great deal better than he deserves, Count, replied Clicke. By tomorrow night, at ten o'clock, be in the square of the aquasola, please. Bring with you the passports of Madame and her companions, also a detachment of the royal guards, and his Majesty's check for the reward I am to receive. Monsieur, you really hope to get the things you really do? Oh, I do more than hope, Count. I have succeeded. I knew last night where both pearl and letter were. Tomorrow night I will let tomorrow tell its own tale. Only be in the square at the hour I mention, and when I lift a lighted candle and pass it across the salon window, send the guard here with the passports. Let them remain outside, within sight, but not within range of hearing what is said and done. You are alone to enter, remember that. To receive the jewel and the letter, eagerly? Or at least to have you point out the hiding-place of them? No, we should be shot down like dogs, if I undertook a mad thing like that. And, Monsieur, how are we to seize them? I'll get them into our possession, His Majesty and I. From my hand, Count, this hand which held them both before I went to bed last night. Monsieur! The Count fell back from him as if from some supernatural presence. You found them, you held them, you took possession of them last night. How did you get them out of the house? I have not done so yet. But can you? Oh, Monsieur! Wizard though you are, can you get them past our guards? Can you, Monsieur? Can you? Watch for the light at the window, Count. It will not be waived unless it is safe for you to come, and the pearl is already out of the house. And the letter, Monsieur? The damning letter? Cleek smiled one of his strange, inscrutable smiles. Ask me that tomorrow, Count, he said. You shall hear something, you and Madame, that will surprise you both. Then twisted round on his heel, and walked hurriedly away. And all that day and all that night he danced attendance upon Madame, and sang to her, and handed her bedroom candle to her as he had done the night before, and gave back jest for jest, and returned her merry badenage in kind. Nor did he change in that when the fateful tomorrow came. From morning to night he was at her side, at her beck and call, doing nothing that was different from the doings of yesterday, save that at evening he locked the mongrel dog up in his room instead of carrying him about. And the dog, feeling its loneliness, or possibly famishing, for he had given it not a morsel of food since he found it, howled and howled until the din became unbearable. Monsieur, I wish you had silenced that beast or else feed it, said Madame, pettishly. The howling of the Regi thing gets on my nerves. Give it some food for pity's sake. Not I, said Clicke. Do you remember what I said, Madame? I'm getting it hungry enough to eat one, or perhaps all, of Clopon's wretched little parakeets. You think they have to do is the hiding of the paper or the pearl, shall I me, eh? I'm sure of it. He would not carry the beastly little things about for nothing. Ah, you are clever, you are very, very clever, Monsieur," she made answer with a laugh. But he must begin his bird-eating quickly that nuisance dog, or it will be too late. See, it is already half past nine. I retire to my bed in another hour and a half as always. And then your last hope he is gone, Clicke, like that. For it will be the end of the second day, Monsieur, and your promise not yet kept. Pestilence, Monsieur, with a little outburst of temper. Do stop the little beast's howl, it is unbearable. I would you to sing to me like last night, but the noise of the dog is maddening. Oh, if it annoys you like that, madame," said Clicke, I'll take him round to the stable and tie him up there, so we may have the song undisturbed. Your men will not want to search me, of course, when I am merely popping out and popping in again like that, I am sure. Nevertheless they did, for although they had heard and did not stir when he left the room and ran up for the dog, when he came done with it under his arm and made to leave the house, he was pounced upon, dragged into an adjoining apartment by half a dozen burly fellows, stripped to the buff and searched, as the workers in a diamond mine are searched, before they suffered him to leave the house. There was neither a sign of a pearl nor a scrap of a letter to be found upon him, they made sure of that before they let him go. An enterprising lot, those lackeys of yours, madame," he said, when he returned from tying the dog up in the stable and rejoined her in the salon, it will be an added pleasure to get the better of them, I can assure you. Oui, if you can," she answered, with a mocking laugh. Clopin, cher ami, your poor little parakeets are safe for the night, unless monsieur grows desperate and eats them for himself. Even that, if it were necessary to get the pearl, madame," said Clique, with the utmost sans-froid. Faw! looking at his watch, a good twenty minutes wasted by the zealousness of those idiotic searches of yours, ten minutes to ten, just time for one brief song. Let us make hay while the sun lasts, madame, for it goes down suddenly in Morovenia, and for some of us it never comes up again. Then, throwing himself upon the piano-seat, he ran his fingers across the keys and broke into the stately measures of the national anthem. And, of a sudden, while the song was yet in progress, the clock in the corridor jingled its musical chimes and struck the first note of the hour. He jumped to his feet and lifted both hands above his head. Morovenia! he cried, Oh Morovenia, for you, for you! Then jumped to the mantelpiece and, catching up a lighted candle, flashed it twice across the window's wits and broke again into the national hymn. Monsieur! cried out, madame. Monsieur, what is the meaning of that? Have you lost your wits? You give a signal. For what, to whom? To the guards of Morovenia's king, madame, in honour of his safe escape from you. He made reply. Then twitched back the window-curtains until the whole expanse of glass was bared. Look, do you see them? Do you, madame? His Majesty of Morovenia sends, madame, Shanovetsky, a command to leave his kingdom since he no longer has cause to fear a wasp whose sting has been plucked out. Her swift glance flashed to the fireplace, then to the corner where Klopin still sat with his jabbering parakeets, then flashed back to clique, and she laughed in his face. I think not, Monsieur, she said with a swaggering air. Totally I think not, my excellent friend. What a pity you only think so, madame. As for me? Ah, welcome, Count, welcome a thousand times. The paper, my friend. You have brought it? Good. Give it to me. Madame, your passport, yours and your associates. You leave Morovenia by the midnight train, and you have but little time to pack your effects. Your passport, madame, and your bedroom candle. Oh, yes, the paper is still round it, see? Slipping off a sheet of note paper that was wrapped round the full length of the candle from top to bottom. But if you will examine it, madame, you will find it is blank. I burned the real letter the night before last when I put this in its place. Your what? she snapped, then caught the tube-shaped covering he had stripped from the candle, uncurled it, and screamed. Blank, madame, quite blank, you see, said clique serenely. For one so clever in other things you should have been more careful. A little pinch of powder in the punch at dinner time, just that, and on the first night too. It was so easy afterward to get into your room, remove the real paper, and wrap the candle in a blank piece while you slept. You, you dog! she snapped out viciously. You drugged me? Yes, madame, you and the one-eyed man as well. Oh, don't excite yourself, don't pull at the poor wretch like that. The false eye will come out quite easily, but I assure you there is only a small lump of beeswax in the socket now. I removed the rainbow pearl from poor Monsieur Clapper's blind eye ten minutes after I burnt the letter, madame, and it passed out of this house tonight. I had never idea to pick up a one-eyed pauper, madame, and hide the pearl in the empty socket of the lost eye. But it was too bad you had to supply a glass eye to keep it in, after the lid and the socket had withered and shrunk from so many years of emptiness. It worried the poor man, madame, he was always feeling it, always afraid that the lump behind would force it out. And what is an added misfortune for your plans, the glass shell did not allow you to see the change when the pearl vanished and the bit of beeswax took its place. Madame Charnovetsky, your passport. I know enough of the King of Morovenia to be sure that your life will not be safe if you are not past the frontier before daybreak. Monsieur Le Comte, no. I thank you, but I cannot wait to be presented to his Majesty, for I too leave Morovenia tonight, and, like Madame Yonder, return to other and more promising fields, said Clicke, an hour later, as he stood on the terrace of the Villa Irma, and watched the slow progress down the moonlit avenue of the carriage which was bearing Madame Charnovetsky and her effects to the railway station. Give me the check, please, I have earned that, and there is good use for it. I thank you, Count. Now do an act of charity, my friend. Give the little dog in the stable a good meal, and then have a surgeon chloroform him into a peaceful and merciful death. They will find the rainbow pearl in his intestines when they come to dissect the body. I starved him, Count, starved him purposely, poor little wretch, so that he could be hungry enough to snap at anything in the way of food and bolted instantly. Tonight, when I went up to take him out to the stable, a thick smearing of beef extract over the surface of the pearl was sufficient. He swallowed it in a gulp. For a double reason, Count, there should be a kerr quartered on the royal arms of this country after tonight. His voice dropped off into silence. The carriage containing Madame had swung out through the gateway, and its shadow no longer blotted the broad, unbroken space of Moonlit Avenue. He turned and looked far out over the square of the aquasola, along the light-lined esplanade to the palace gates and the fluttering flag that streamed against the sky above and beyond them. Oh Moraviania, he said, an Englishman's heritage. Dear country, how beautiful. My love to your queen. My prayers for you. Monsieur exclaimed the Count. Monsieur, what juggle is this? Your face is again the face of that other knight. The face that stirs memory but does not rivet it. Monsieur, speak, I beg of you. What are you? Who are you? Clique, he made answer. Just Clique. It will do. Oh Moraviania, dear land of desolated hopes. Dear grave of murdered joys. Monsieur. Hush, let me alone. There are things too sacred. And this? His hands reached outward as if in benediction. His face upturned was as a face transfigured. And something that Sean as silver gleamed in the corner of his eye. Moraviania, he said. Oh Moraviania, my country, my people. Goodbye. Monsieur. Dear heaven. Majesty. There came a rustling sound, and when Clique had mastered himself and looked down, a figure with hair done covered knelt on one knee at his feet. Get up, Count. He said with a little shaky laugh. I appreciate the honour, but your fancy is playing you a trick. I tell you, I never set foot in Moraviania before, my friend. I know. I know. How should you, Majesty, when it was as a child at Queen Karma's breast Moraviania last saw? Don't leave like this, Majesty. Majesty. God, God, the right. The pearl and the kingdom are here. Long, my good friend. The kingdom is there where you found me in England, and so too is the pearl. For there is no kingdom like the kingdom of love, no pearl like a good woman. Good night, Count, and many thanks for your hospitality. You are a little upset tonight, but no doubt you will be all right again in the morning. I will walk to the station and alone if it is all the same to you. Majesty. Dreams, Count, dreams. The riddle is solved, my friend. Good luck to your country and goodbye. And setting his back to the palace and the light and the fluttering flag, and his face to the land that held her, turned and went his way to the west, to England, and to those things which are higher than crowns, and better than sceptres, and more precious than thrones and ermine, End of Cleak, The Man of the Forty Faces, by Thomas W. Hanshaw.