 6. The cry in the night. Lady Margaret Chain awoke suddenly. As clique had surmised, left to herself she would have slept on undisturbed for hours, but the sharp sound of opening and closing doors, the buzz of voices, and blaze of light, caused the forget-me-not-blue eyes to open and stare daisily round her. For the moment she thought she was back in the seclusion of the convent. Am I late, sister? she murmured drowsily. Then, as she grew wider awake, the recollection of the events of the last hour swept over her, and with this came the memory of her journey and all the misery that it had entailed. With a little cry, half mental pain, half physical tiredness, she started up, and her eyes fell on the figure of the honourable Miss Chain, who stood at the side of the chair, a lamp in hand, looking anxiously down at her. Aunty! cried the girl joyfully, and grasping at the hand put out to her, she remembered only just in time not to kiss her aunt, for Miss Chain had invariably hated caresses. Oh! you are back at last! I missed you at the station. So I should think, my dear, said Miss Chain, grimly. I have had the servants looking for you, such lazy devils, as there are goblers all of them. I have been looking for you, and I find you here all the time. I want to know who the person was who brought you." She finished as she turned to put the lamp down on a table. I don't know who he is, except that his name is Lieutenant the Land, cried Lady Margaret. And that he is a friend of a lady who was on the boat, Miss Ailsa Lawn, who was so good to me. Oh, Aunty! I was so sick. I shall never go back again. I simply couldn't go through it. No, no, you shunt, my dear, said Miss Chain almost amiably for her. You shall have a good time over here. But now you are tired out and must get to bed. I don't keep any servants, so you'll have to set to and do for yourself. The lazy good-for-nots, they ate you out of house and home. Lady Margaret was too tired to argue, even if she had thought of so doing, and she knew of her aunt's parsimonious habits. She certainly did not like the look of John, who leered into her face as he brought a glass of what was presumably lemonade, and a plate of thickly cut bread and butter which she could not touch. She was thirsty, however, and carried the glass quickly to her lips, only to be put down with a shudder as she detected the flavour of strong spirit. I don't think I want anything, Aunty, after all, only just to go to bed. Nonsense, my girl, you drink it up sharp, was the response. You'll catch your death of cold driving about with strange men at night. Come, darn with it. But hurry up, said John significantly, and even Lady Margaret's tired mind took in the strangeness of the remark, coming as it did from her aunt's butler. With a little puzzled frown, the girl took a long gulp of the liquid, then fled up the staircase, pausing at the first landing only long enough to pick up a candle. Good night, Aunty! she called down to the bejeweled and rouged figure standing at the bottom. I'll be better tomorrow. With a little nod she vanished, and the listeners heard her light footfall on the bare staircase of the second flight. A moment later there came the click of a door shut too. Lady Margaret had retired for the night. A sigh of relief came from Miss Chane's lips, and she met the peculiar look of her servant with one equally significant. Send Aggie up to her, she commanded, and don't forget to lock her in. With this remark she turned on her high-heeled shoes and minced painfully back to the dining-room. Whether it was the effects of her journey, or what was more likely the strong spirit in the lemonade, Lady Margaret slept as soundly as the proverbial top till close on midday, when she was awakened by the rough entry of the person designated as Aggie. She was a queer-looking maid, Lady Margaret thought to herself, with rough, unkept hair, and strangely roughened and stained fingers. She did not like the way the woman looked at her, as she banged on the table a cup of weak tea, and some thick slices of bread and butter. Hey, you are Miss! Yeah, ladyship, I mean? She said in harsh cockney tones, which made Lady Margaret wince unconsciously, accustomed as she was to the soft, pure French of the good nuns at Notre-Dame. And the quicker you get up and attend to yourself the better I shall like it. The woman continued muttering more to herself than to the girl. It's a bit more than I bargained for. That will do very well. I shall not require anything more, and please tell my aunt I shall be with her directly. I don't doubt you will," responded the blunt Aggie in a rather surprising manner. Then, without another word, she swung on her heel and stalked out of the room, banging the door behind her. What an awful creature! said Lady Margaret, as she jumped lightly out of her bed. I shall get auntie to discharge her very soon. Oh! I am so thankful to be home! And she ran lightly to the window and looked out. With all the resilience of youth, she seemed a different being this morning from the worn-out fragile child who had been driven home last night by Lieutenant Deland. A few minutes later she ran lightly down the staircase and into the dining-room, where she found the honourable miss-chain deeply absorbed in the morning newspapers. She greeted her niece a little gruffly, but knowing her eccentric ways, Lady Margaret took but scant notice. It was not long, however, before she realised that her future life was not to be entirely a bed of roses. I am going over to see Miss Lawn today, auntie," she said presently, and to thank her for getting me out of my difficulties. Got us into them, you mean?" snapped Miss Chain angrily. She is a designing adventurer, as trying to scrape acquaintance with you, so that she can say she is a friend of Lady Margaret Chain. Oh, I know the breed! She and her blessed accomplice, Beland or Deland or whatever his name is. They were probably on the watch for you and managed to carry you off before I arrived on the scene. I forbid you even to mention their names again, much less speak to them. Oh, auntie! pleaded poor Lady Margaret, her bright young face clouding at this unexpected ban on a friendship to which she had looked forward with such pleasure. I am sure you are mistaken, and Miss Lawn said that she was coming to see you today and explain. Well, if she has the impertinence to come here," snapped Miss Chain angrily, she will not be admitted. Don't you dare to argue with me, child, or back to school you'll go. I'm not going to have you drive about with strange men, just as you like, so don't you think it— I told you last night how it happened," responded Lady Margaret in a little gust of impatience. I slept in the car all the time till I got here. I don't know what I should have done had it not been for Miss Lawn anyway, and especially on board ship. Miss Chain's thin lips set in a straight, grim line. Well, the best thing you can do is to forget her, or else send her some money, probably she'll value that more. She retorted with heat, shaking a finger in the girl's face. Don't forget you have something more important to think of than designing minxes and pertler tenants, if he is really a genuine officer which I doubt. Anyhow, I shall take you up to town next week, out of their reach for one thing and for another to celebrate your coming of age. Then you will have all the chain jewels, don't forget that. Lady Margaret was young enough and human enough to forget temporarily her grief for Miss Lawn's rejected friendship in the idea of seeing, to say nothing of wearing the famous treasures of her family. Oh, Auntie! she cried. I had forgotten them. Are you really going to let me see them? You shall do more than that, my dear," replied her aunt almost amiably. You shall wear them. I mean to have you presented at court, and you will certainly have to wear some jewellery then. I don't suppose you know anything about the pieces themselves. I myself have forgotten. Oh, yes, I do," said Lady Margaret. Don't you remember the list Father gave me in his last letter, in case there was any trouble? I don't remember all of them, but I know there were three strings of pearls, a big diamond necklace and tiara, ever so many rings, and, of course, the purple emperor. Oh, yes, I had not forgotten that," said Miss Chain, dryly. It is something one is not likely to forget. But I don't think there's any need to have that out, Auntie, do you? Asked Lady Margaret with a little tremor of fear in her voice. It's not particularly beautiful. In fact, I don't suppose it looks much different from an amethyst, and Father used to say it was best at the bottom of the sea. That's because he knew no better and spoke like a fool. Snapped Miss Chain, her voice quivering with excitement, and as the girl looked up at her, she saw a face that was changed out of all recognition, distorted as it was with avarice and envy. I want them all, I tell you, all. They ought to have been mine, and I want to see them before I die. Do you hear me? Oh, of course, Aunt Marion," said Lady Margaret, astonished at the unexpected outburst. You can have them and wear them, too. I shan't want them, that is, until— She broke off her face crimsoning. Until what, pray? demanded Miss Chain sharply, switching round and looking at her. Until—well, until I get married. I meant to have told you before long, but I am going to be married some day to Sir Edgar Brenton. She paused, as if waiting for another outburst, but to her intense amazement Miss Chain only laughed. Marry well, so you shall, my dear, if you want to, and your jewels will be a good wedding present. She gave a little chuckle, which mystified the girl still further. Meanwhile, went on Miss Chain, as if to change the subject to other things. You had better get upstairs and unpack your boxes. Don't expect Aggie to help you, she has enough to do downstairs. I don't want Aggie's help," responded Lady Margaret quickly with a rye little smile. She wasn't exactly charming, and I must say I don't quite like the look of her. Can't you get rid of her, aunt? I'm sure she is not honest, and that man, too. If we are going to have the chain jewels here— We are, snapped Miss Chain, and don't you trouble your head about what doesn't concern you, my dear. You leave John and Aggie alone. I'll settle them. Lady Margaret said no more, but ascended to her room, thinking in her innermost heart of many things. She could only dimly remember her aunt when she had been allowed to spend her holidays at Chain Court, but she knew she was eccentric, and because she herself had been jilted in her youth, hated all men. Still she did not mean to be made a prisoner of. She was determined to visit not only Miss Lawn, to whom she had been undeniably attracted, but also—and this she considered far more important—Lady Brenton, the mother of the man she had pledged herself to marry, in those stolen interviews under the walls of Notre Dame. Thanks to Miss Chain's many requests, Lady Margaret had little time to pay visits or write letters that day, and when night did fall she was glad to crawl into bed and sleep the sleep of youths and healthy fatigue. She slept soundly for hours, but all at once she was rudely awakened. From the depths below that supposedly sleeping household came a queer bumping noise, and it seemed to the terrified girl as she sat up in bed that the very house was being torn to pieces. Conquering her natural fears she rose, and donning a dressing-gown unconsciously tried the handle of her door. To her amazement it was locked on the outside—locked! She was a prisoner in her own house. Burglars were Lady Margaret's first thought, and she pulled vigorously at the door. At first it resisted, but to her delight the old lock, rotten with age, gave way under her vigorous onslaught. A second later she was descending the staircase, bent on rousing Miss Chain or obtaining assistance. She had reached the bottom of the first flight amid complete silence, and for a moment she thought she had heard the sounds only in her dream. But at the head of the stairs she stood hesitating when, from all around her, came a sound as of a soul in agony. A horrible moaning cry that chilled her very heart. Startled and terrified she gave a shriek, and losing her balance came hurtling down the shallow staircase. Her slim ankle was twisted under her, and she lay there for some time, a little moaning, rising heap. When Lady Margaret awoke to consciousness it was to find herself once more in her own room, with Aggie, the pert serving maid, bending anxiously over her. What was it? she cried out, clutching feverishly at the grimy, toil-worn hand of the girl. Oh, what was it? Didn't you hear it? She struggled to get up, but sank back with a moan at the pain in her ankle. Hear what? Lorks are massy, but you gave us all a turn, Miss—er, your ladyship? said the woman roughly. But the horrible noise! shuttered the girl. That, why, it was one of the dogs. There's a dog ill down in the cellar, and that's what you heard, retorted Aggie. A nice twist you've given this ankle of yours. It's a good job, Aunty, that Mistress, I mean, knows something about sprains. Does she? asked the girl, wearily, her mind still bent on the horrible sound. Appallingly human it was. No dog could have screamed like that, she felt sure. It was the hurt cry of a human being in pain. Yes, you bet, and here she is. Aggie relinquished her place apparently only too gladly to miss Chaine, who appeared with lotions and bandages, and literally took possession of the patient. Her long, slender fingers manipulated the swollen ankle with the experience and precision of a trained hand. Now, my lady, you'll just have to be still and patient," she said grimly. To Lady Margaret it seemed as if this eccentric relative were by no means ill-pleased at the catastrophe which had overtaken her niece. I thought it was burglars on Marion," said the girl, as Miss Chaine's eye fell on the splintered lock. And that reminds me, I was locked in. Did you know that? You won't dare to keep that woman now. You go off to sleep and I'll inquire into it," was all Miss Chaine would say, and with that the girl was obliged to rest content. But when she fell into an uneasy sleep it was with the profound intention to ask Edgar Brenton's advice at the earliest opportunity. A sprained ankle is not a dangerous occurrence, but it is sufficiently painful and depressing to be worthy of more anxiety than was expended over Lady Margaret. Rendered practically a prisoner, she had only to rely on such books and magazines as Miss Chaine brought up to her, and the days passed very slowly indeed. She wrote letters to Sir Edgar and to Miss Lawn, bribing Aggie with such coins as she possessed to post them unknown to her aunts. No answer came to them, though Aggie swore that they had been sent to the post, and later the girl was not surprised to find them in the possession of Miss Chaine, opened and mutilated. At intervals she heard the dull distant moans, but had schooled herself to believe Aggie's statement. On the first day that she could walk about her room she was almost hysterical with delight. For once, too, Miss Chaine relaxed her firm manner. I suppose you know what tomorrow is, my dear," she said, looking almost furtively at her niece. Lady Margaret thought a moment, then gave a little cry of delight. Why, it's my birthday, of course, and I'm eighteen. Yes, and what is just as important, said Miss Chaine, you are the owner of the chain jewels. We're going up to town in the morning to bring them back. Bring them all here," cried Lady Margaret, startled at the odd look in the black flashing old eyes. Do you think it's safe enough? Thieves might break in. Why not leave them, at least some of them, where they are, Aunt Marion? It is safer, surely? Because I want them, I want to see them," Miss Chaine snapped ferociously. I'm curious, you know, more curious than you are, and I mean to have them here, just as you like, Aunt. I want to see them, too, only I was thinking of the danger. There is no danger. I am having special safes made for them downstairs," said Miss Chaine. If you have them here, you can wear them whenever you like, without having to go up to those thieving lawyers every time you happen to want them. Lady Margaret agreed, but deep down in her own mind, she felt that she would prefer to leave the chain jewels in the safe custody of Mrs. Shawcott Woodward and Company in London. On the other hand, she had gained an unspoken victory in regard to her future marriage. Indeed it seemed to her as if Miss Chaine had but one obsession, to see the chain-court jewels. Her inexplicable antipathy even against Elsa Lawn seemed to have died a natural death. When Lady Margaret, albeit a trifle timidly, ventured to hint at a visit to her newly found friend, Miss Chaine said, pleasantly enough, Yes, if you like, my dear, after we come back from London, then there is no reason at all why you should not see your friends. To say that this lifted a load off the girl's mind is to express the matter in the mildest terms imaginable. Her failure to hear either from Lady Brenton or her lover, as well as from Elsa Lawn herself, had filled Lady Margaret's mind with strange forebodings. She almost felt that she would be willing to lose every stone among the heirlooms if her aunt could be made so much pleasanter to live with. And downstairs Miss Chaine said aloud with a queer little chuckle when the girl had left the room, See your friends, so you shall, my dear, after we come back. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Riddle of the Purple Emperor This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Ruth Golding. The Riddle of the Purple Emperor by Mary E. Hanshu and Thomas W. Hanshu. Chapter 7 In the Tiger's Clutches Despite the mysterious fact that the honourable Miss Chaine's photo had been found in the dirty little shop in Crown Court Drury Lane, Cleak could find no visible connection between it and the fact of the murder. Its presence was also speedily accounted for, owing to the information garrulously volunteered by Mrs Malone. It appeared that Madame had been in the service of the honourable Miss Chaine. Upper Housemaid, she were, said that lady, and when she left to get married, the mistress gave her half a crown and her photo, to remind her what a thought she was to do it. Her very own words, sir. Not but what she wasn't happy enough. Still it's a man what's killed her, so the old girl wasn't far out. How do you know that? asked Cleak, to whom she was talking at the time. Mrs Malone bit her lip. Stands to reason it was so-so. I'll not be speaking the black word against any body, but sure, and I believe I know the man what did it. What's that? What do you mean? Well, sir, said the woman. I wasn't near myself all day, but it might have been the man who used to come in here and pump her all about her old home and her first place, which was her last too. It would chain court itself down on the river somewhere. I don't exactly know where, but poor Madame was bred and born there and loved the place like home. This man was always a coming in after he spotted that dratted photograph there. Talk, talk, talk, he would. What was the place like and how far away was it? And ever so many more such-like questions. But Madame always shut up, and once, when he offered to buy the picture itself, she nearly broke his neck with a broom handle. Clique sat very still, his eyes half closed. To all appearances he was half asleep, but his thoughts were racing at topmost speed, so he was right. There was some connection between this murder and the chain court mystery. But what? What was it that this stranger wanted to learn, and why had he been so persistent in his inquiries? He could find no answer to his mental queries, and eventually he was obliged to own himself beaten. But that in no wise prevented his taking the impression of the fingerprints on the dagger with which the grim deed had been perpetrated. The case was left in the hands of the jury, with the result that the verdict was one he had prophesied. Willful murder against someone or persons unknown. Notwithstanding its practical passing into oblivion, Clique felt that the case was connected in some way with the chain court mystery. And as he left the grimy regions of Dury Lane behind him, his thoughts went back to Lady Margaret. Meanwhile, the object of his solicitude was apparently far from needing it. Lady Margaret Chain, the honourable Miss Chain, and Maid, the latter, the furtive-faced Aggie, had registered their arrival in a quiet little hotel in Craven Street West. Once in London, Miss Chain had shown an amazing knowledge of its thoroughfares and shopping centres, dispatching the girl, in the company of Aggie, on delightful expeditions that sent the child, for she was little more, almost delirious with delight. After being pent up in the austere walls of that convent abroad, it was small wonder that to have all the bewildering splendour of feminine fashions at her command turned her head a little. Only one little thing gave her cause for dissatisfaction, and that was the presence of the ever-watchful Aggie. If only you had come too, auntie! she cried, on the third morning of their stay, previous to setting forth on another whirle of purchasing. Aggie hasn't an atom of taste, you know. She would cheerfully let me buy a green hat to go with a mauve skirt, and I don't think even an orange blouse would upset her equanimity. Well, why should it? demanded Miss Chain. I like a bit of colour myself. This, coming from her aunt, whose clothes were always of the darkest and doudiest combinations of grey or black that could be imagined, left Lady Margaret almost breathless. Don't be too long to-day," said Miss Chain, apparently totally unconscious of the effect her words had produced. Don't forget that we have an appointment with the solicitors this afternoon, and I shall wonder all my energies to see you are not done out of those jewels. Lady Margaret laughed gaily. No! I don't suppose they will like giving them up after all these years. With a little nod she passed out, and was soon on her way westward. In Trafalgar Square she stopped to stare skyward at the Nelson Monument. So absorbed was she that she did not see the start of glad surprise which a stalwart young man gave as he came rushing to her side. It was not, indeed, until the sound of her own name, spoken in glad joyous tones, fell on her ears, that she came back once more to her surroundings. Edgar! she said breathlessly, clapping her hands like a little child. Isn't this just wonderful meeting you like this? Why, where did you spring from, and why haven't you been near me? Without waiting for his reply she led him round till they found a seat on the stone steps. I jolly well haven't had a chance of seeing you, my darling," said the young man, as he devoured the radiant young face with his eyes. I fairly haunted the grounds of Janecourt, but didn't dare to face your old dragon after the drubbing she gave me last week. I suppose she's all right," he asked, a little irrelevantly. Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise. Why, of course she's all right. She has been good to me, though she seems queerer than ever. But Edgar, what do you think? She says my jewels will be a good wedding present for us. What do you say to that? What? cried the young man. Do you mean you tackled her? You brave darling! I wonder she didn't snap your pretty head off. I did expect an outcry when I said I was going to marry you," she said, shaking her fair head. But she said I might, and should have the Janecourt jewels, too. Considering their own property, my darling, that's just like her cheek, retorted Sir Edgar. But I'm hanged if I can understand it, for when I saw her last, as I told you, she abused me like a pickpocket. Lady Margaret laughed aloud in childish glee. Well, we'll just take the goods the gods send," said she. She can keep the old jewels, if she likes, if only she gives her consent to our marriage. Her voice dropped tenderly upon the words, and the wild rose colour bloomed for a moment in her cheeks, until Sir Edgar, impetuous young man that he was, gave a hasty look round at the practically empty square, and snatched the kiss he had been longing for ever since he had caught sight of her. And now, he said, when Lady Margaret, blushing deeper than ever, had reproved him for his audacity. What are you going to do next? Go back to the hotel, Maccells, in Craven Street, and get ready for those horrid old lawyers. She responded, laughing, as she surveyed Aggie's broad figure some distance away. Auntie won't rest till she gets those precious jewels home. Jove, Mac, darling, but you don't mean to tell me you're going to be mad enough to take the chained jewels back to that old rockery of a place? exclaimed Sir Edgar. It does seem a bit of a risk, she admitted, but Auntie is keen on it, and I don't care so long as she lets me see you. I really must go now, Edgar. I shall have to go right back instead of shopping. I'm coming with you," Sir Edgar said, jumping to his feet. I won't let you out of my sight if I can help it. But you must. I don't want Auntie to be upset again, nor be a dear, sensible Edgar. See, here is Aggie. She's a new servant of Auntie's, and I can see she is getting cross. I will get back, and when we return home this evening you must meet me on the terrace. I will talk Auntie into playing the fairy godmother. There was no gain saying the wisdom of this line of reasoning, and unwillingly enough the ardent young lover watched the figure of the girl he loved run lightly across the great square and vanish with a parting wave in the whirl of the strand. And while Lady Margaret, back at the hotel, lost no time in acquainting her aunt of this chance encounter with her lover. But strangely enough, save for a gruff remark about the waste of time, Miss Chain was apparently content to wave her dislike of the Brenton family. The girl was too elated at this unexpected abeyance to grumble at her aunt's non-attention, or the haste with which lunch was partaken of in order to keep the dreaded legal appointment. Once in the lawyer's grimy office Miss Chain was curiously subdued, and her mean was that of one decidedly ill at ease. It was Mr. Shulkott, the senior partner, a short-sighted old-fashioned gentleman, who shook hands with the ladies, and congratulated Lady Margaret on her accession to her throne, as he jokingly put it. His face, however, when she expressed her intentions of removing all the precious heirlooms down to Chain Court, was a study in dire dismay. "'But it's utter madness, my child,' he said gently. "'Why every jewel-thief in Europe will be after them. Don't you agree with me, Miss Chain?' he peered over at the old lady as she sat immersed in shadow. "'To a certain extent I do,' was the amazing response, and coming from one who had been so intensely insistent on their removal, it caused Lady Margaret's blue eyes to widen to their fullest extent. As in a dream she heard her aunt continue blandly. "'But I think the child's whim may be safely granted, Mr. Shulkott. "'For I have had special safes made to hold them, and they can be returned into your safe custody directly, Lady Margaret, is presented.' "'Well, of course, my dear lady, it is no business of mine,' responded the little lawyer, tersely. "'Your dear brother left them entirely at Lady Margaret's disposal, and if she has made up her mind to have them, well, I suppose a wilful young woman must have her way, eh?' He smiled a little at Lady Margaret's preoccupied face. "'Perhaps I can persuade her to change her mind.' "'No, no, certainly not,' snapped Miss Chain. "'Now, Margaret, speak up, and don't act like a child. You do want them, do you not?' She glared across at the girl, who, fearing the wrath that would doubtless bevented upon her, should she speak out, was impelled to answer in the affirmative, and Mr. Shulkott became reluctantly content. Therefore orders were given to the clerk to get the cases out of the safe wherein they had been placed when fetched from the safe deposit vault. "'There is no need for that ill-fated pendant, I hope,' he inquired anxiously. "'The Purple Emperor,' said Miss Chain, "'Oh, yes, let her have it as well as the others. Not a soul but ourselves will know of their removal from here, and I promise you they will come to no harm. "'You see,' she whispered, "'I am taking her to a big county ball next week, and, well, use these youths after all. She can only be young once.' Mr. Shulkott nodded in understanding, and with a little sigh of the futility of argument with a woman, allowed the fatal stone to be included. Half an hour later, an unpretentious weather-stained portmanteau was bundled into the four-wheeler in which Miss Chain insisted on being driven to Waterloo Station. If the cab man had but known what he was handling—a bag, cheap by reason of its contents, at half a million pounds, sterling—he might have regarded it with more interest than he did. It was nearly five when they reached Hampton. Lady Margaret's head ached unceasingly, and she felt tired and worn with the strain of things. But Miss Chain was curiously elated. She talked and chuckled over her own jokes till the girl felt glad that it had given her so much pleasure to gaze on the family jewels. They might very well have been left to her during her own lifetime, even if they had to pass on to her niece when the aunt had gone beyond earthly vanities. As they crawled down the lane in the cab toward Chain Court, they passed Sir Edgar Brenton, who had travelled down by the same train. His eyes met Lady Margaret's, and she could have cried aloud at the relief of her lover's nearness. John was awaiting their arrival, and again she felt that twinge of doubt as she saw the ill-concealed maliciousness upon his face, and caught his question, all right, as he lifted the bag into the hall. Quite was Miss Chain's remark. We are tired, and Lady Margaret would like a cup of tea in her room, I am sure. The girl started to deny this, but John had already vanished. Depressed and filled with sore foreboding, Lady Margaret ascended the staircase. Once in her own room she scolded herself for her doubts. I am like a nervous cat, she said to herself. I don't care what auntie says now. She may have the old jewels, but I am going to meet Edgar. Like a guilty schoolgirl, indeed she was little more than a child, she sped down the stairs, stopping, however, to look into the small ballroom, whence issued sounds of uproarious laughter. And the sight which met her eyes filled her with unspeakable horror. One illuminating glance was enough. She turned and fled, speeding to the dining-room window, where on the terrace outside she knew her lover awaited her. Her face was white and panic-stricken. Who were these dreadful people who laughed, joked, and drank with her aunt, as though they were equal in station? The horror of what she had seen seized her again, forgetting all else in her mad desire to break away from this house forever. She jumped out upon the terrace, her shrill voice raised in despair. Edgar, Edgar, save me, save me! She cried wildly and turned to fly, but her entry into the ballroom had been noticed by the occupants. They had stopped in their merriment and stared in dumb amazement at her unexpected appearance. Like a flash they were upon her heels out on the terrace, and Sir Edgar himself, startled by the sudden turn of events, was only just in time to see the figure of the woman he loved struggling in the arms of a servant before she was dragged back and lost to his view. His furious assault on the glass took him into the room, but there he was only to find a closed and locked door. CHAPTER VIII The Riddle of the Purple Emperor by Mary E. Handshugh and Thomas W. Handshugh CHAPTER VIII. COMPLICATIONS AND COMPLEXITIES The chain-caught affair, as it was to be called afterward in the days of its publicity, had faded in Cleeke's mind, but he was to be reminded of it very speedily. Within three weeks of that memorable drive through the moonlit lanes of Hampton, he entered the sacred precincts of Mr. Maverick Narkham's room, to find him in deep conversation with a fair-haired, slightly built young man in whom he immediately recognized no lesser person than Sir Edgar Brenton himself. In a second of time, Cleeke had altered his identity so suddenly and completely that thick-headed, dull-witted George Headland stood where a moment before Cleeke had been. Mr. Narkham was quick enough to note the change and introduced him accordingly. There was an undercurrent of excitement visible in his tomes that Cleeke was constantly aware of. This is Mr. George Headland, Sir Edgar, one of our sharpest men. I don't mind telling you he'll soon get to the bottom of your little affair. He turned to Cleeke and motioned with his hand in the young man's direction. This is Sir Edgar Brenton, he's come from Hampton, where there seems to be some mysterious goings-on at a place. What did you say its name was, Sir Edgar? Chain caught, Mr. Narkham, the honourable Miss Marion Chain's place, and the home of my fiancee, Lady Margaret Chain. I tell you, he added excitedly, she is in danger, and I mean to rescue her from the clutches of that old harridan before another day is over. Mr. Narkham set the tips of his fingers together and nodded blandly. So you shall, Sir Edgar," he assented, as he turned to smooth some papers on his desk. Oh, ho! said Cleeke to himself. So there is that element in the case, eh? Then he bowed to Sir Edgar. Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me the facts, sir. He said, looking stolidly across the table. Sir Edgar restrained himself with evident effort. There are only too few, Mr. Headland," he said irritably. Lady Margaret has just returned from a conference school in Paris. In fact, she came back just three weeks ago to-morrow. I met her more than a year ago, when my mother and I—we aren't neighbours, by the way—were staying in Paris, and we became engaged. I had no idea that Peggy, Lady Margaret, I mean, was to return to England till I heard through my servant, for Miss Chain dislikes me intensely, and— Any reason for that, sir? queried Mr. Headland with an air of bland politeness. Well, to a certain extent, yes, was the grudging reply. My father, I believe, had engaged her at one time, but finding her temper intolerable, made his escape, and Miss Chain has hated my mother and myself in consequence. When she heard from Peggy that we had met and fallen in love with each other, she was furious and kept, my dear girl, almost imprisoned in that confounded convent. It was impossible for us to hold any communication directly, but when I heard she was expected back, like an ass I rushed over to Chain Court to beg permission to meet her at the station. This was refused. Indeed the old wretch went so far as to threaten me with a revolver, and I believe she would have attacked me too had I not snatched it from her and beat a retreat. And what time did you say that was? put in clique with ill-concealed interest. An innocent remark enough, but once Sir Edgar seemed to resent strongly. What a devil's that to do with you, I should like to know! he demanded fiercely. How dare you try to badger me with foolish questions! As a matter of fact it was quite early in the day, somewhere near lunchtime, if you must know. A little smile creased clique's face, but his tones were quite smooth as he said, I see, sir, and you didn't go back. Again Sir Edgar flushed and frowned. No, I did not, sir! he retorted savagely. I was at a dinner-party, and I haven't come here to be cross-examined by a common policeman. I want to know how I can get my fiancé out of that house. Here Mr. Narcom flung himself into the breach. Has she come of age? he asked quickly, and thereby voiced the thought that was passing in clique's own mind. Legally no, and that is just a difficulty. By Lord Chains' will she takes possession of her property on her eighteenth birthday, though she can only marry with the consent of Miss Chains. Now yesterday was her birthday, and by a sheer piece of good luck here in London, I came across Lady Margaret herself, and without Miss Chains. When she told me that they had come up to fetch all the family jewels, and to remove them to Chains Court, you can imagine my feelings. Good heavens! blurted out clique involuntarily startled by this announcement. Do you mean to tell me two helpless women have risked burdening themselves with such priceless jewels down in a lonely place like Chains' Court? Why every sneak-thief in Europe could attack it? He broke off sharply, for Sir Edgar was looking at him in a startled way that made clique mentally kick himself for having been momentarily thrown off his guard and betraying his own knowledge of the place in question. Surely someone could have prevented it? he concluded weakly. No, that is just what they could not do," responded Sir Edgar. I saw the family lawyer, but he told me that Peggy has the right to do what she likes with her own fortune. The only thing Lord Chains had to leave her. But I suddenly agree with Mr. Chalcot that it was at that old harridan of an aunt's instigation. What made him think that? clique asked. Sir Edgar frowned. Mr. Chalcot couldn't define it, he responded. Only he felt that if he had seen her alone he could have persuaded her to have left them or at least a bulk of them in safety, especially the very valuable pendant. Not that purple emperor! blurted out clique. Once more he betrayed more knowledge than he had meant to in the beginning. To his surprise it seemed as if the young man's face became almost grey with fear. You know of that stone, Mr. Headland? clique scratched his ear. Heard of it, sir? Lord bless you, we policemen have to pass a regular examination in all the famous jewels of history. And that stone is amongst them, he lied glibly. And if there are thieves who know the emperor is loose, so to speak, the quicker your young lady and it part company the better for her, I say. Yes, that's it, she is in danger, that's why I came to the yard. She shrieked out to me just as I broke the glass in the window. What's that? Wrapped out clique, broke the glass of the window, you say. Whose window and why did you break it? Because she was afraid, because she wanted me to run away with her and keep her safe from those devils in chain court. Clique's eyes shot a look of sympathy. Suppose you tell us all about it, Sir Edgar, he said in a kindly tone, then we'll be able to get to the bottom of it all the sooner. I ran from one side of the house to the other, Sir Edgar went on. But every door and window seemed to be bolted and barred. At last I smashed in the dining-room door with a spade I found outside and rushed through the house, but it was absolutely empty. Empty? chimed in Mr. Narkham excitedly, while Clique sucked in his breath. Absolutely empty, said Sir Edgar. As regards human beings that is, I tell you, man, I went nearly mad with the horror of it and the fear for my darling girl. There was not a sign, no trap-doors or panels, nothing, and I simply had to give up in the dark, and now I want your help. By heaven they shall suffer if a hair of that angel's head is so much as touched the devils. I don't care if Miss Chain is killed, she deserves it, but Peggy. He broke down, turning his haggard face in his hands and his shoulders shook spasmodically. A brief moment and Sir Edgar pulled himself together with a jerk. Sorry, he gulped apologetically, made an ass of myself. But you can't think what a night I've spent. That's all right, Sir, said Mr. Hedlund, but I don't think there's anything to be done till me and my mates come down and have a peep at the place. That's about it, don't you think so, Sir? He turned to Mr. Narcombe, who, though puzzled by Creeke's strange aloofness, still knew his methods too well to do anything else but agree with him. Certainly, Hedlund, he returned, we'll go down to Hampton as quickly as you like. I think it would be best for the young gentleman to get back to Hampton first, and we'll come down and look round casual-like," said Mr. George Hedlund in an offhand manner. Ten chances to one, but what the young lady's tied up in one of the upper rooms, don't you know? Now I never thought of that. Threw in, Sir Edgar, quickly. Yes, you're right. I will get back and leave it in your hands. And you may safely do so," said Mr. Narcombe, shaking the young man's hand sympathetically as he took his departure. What do you think about it, Creeke? He cried excitedly when the door had closed. Think. I think a good many things, my dear fellow," retorted that gentleman serenely. And one of them is, why didn't Sir Edgar break the dining-room door down at once before he made that fruitless rush around the house? He might have known that the doors would be locked at evening time. I never thought of that, said Mr. Narcombe. Still, I don't see what that has to do with it. You are not insinuating that the man would harm his own sweetheart. Where is the incentive? The Purple Emperor might be, or its value, was the reply. Mind, I am not saying it is so, but I would like to know the young gentleman's financial status. Secondly, I would like to know why he has made no effort to see the girl this past fortnight since she has been back. Don't forget I met him that night when a murder was committed at Chain Court, for I still hold that that woman was dead when I found her in the ballroom. And the young gentleman's story about a revolver which he snatched away from her in the afternoon is all tommy-rot. The weapon was lying by her side when I saw her, and I'll take my oath there was a revolver in his own pocket when I lurched up against him in the lane. No, my friend, there are one or two points about Sir Edgar Brenton's tale that I should like to see cleared up satisfactorily. And I think I'll be take myself down to the Hampton Arms, where you can join me. Speaking, he gave a little friendly nod to Mr. Narcombe, writhed his features into their semblance of the stolid policeman once more, and strode from the room. Once outside the portals of Scotland Yard, Cleak looked keenly around at the casual people who invariably appear to haunt the precincts of the law. There was the usual street loafer and errand-boy, but half concealed by an abutting arch there stood the figure of a man, evidently on the watch for some one. Cleak, with his usual caution, slouched past, then crossed, so as to get a better view. For a second Cleak paused, then switching on his heel, turned and walked back, past the watcher once more, and into Scotland Yard. That the man outside was waiting for someone to come out was obvious, but for whom? Cleak gave vent to a little laugh. A dollar to a ducket, but whom he waits for, is left tenant to land, he said to himself, and he shall have his wish. He dashed lightly up the stairs again to Mr. Narcombe's room, and locked the door behind him. You never mean to let him see you," said the superintendent, blankly, when Cleak had related his story. That's just what I do mean. Give me time to make the change. That man saw left tenant to land go in, and he shall see left tenant to land come out. You can follow with the limousine, if you like. A minute later he salad forth, and the little one-sided smile looped up his face as he saw the watcher detach himself from the shadowing wall and follow in his wake. Unconscious, however, that he too was being shadowed in his turn by Mr. Narcombe in the car. It was not until they emerged upon the open embankment that Cleak turned to see his pursuer. To his supreme astonishment the man had disappeared. Cleak laughed to himself as he strode onward toward Mr. Narcombe and the limousine which had slowed down some distance ahead. There was certainly something up, but what that something might be, he was not so sure. Mr. Narcombe, he said, as he threw open the door of the car and climbed in beside the superintendent. The plot thickens. That man was the butler at Chaine Court. CHAPTER IX Cleak, accompanied by the faithful dollops, did go down to Hampton that very day and put up as arranged at the Hampton Arms. He travelled as Mr. George Headland, a commercial traveller for beer from London, with an inveterate taste for gossip. He speedily learned that since the return of Lady Margaret to Chaine Court the house had been shut up worse than ever, for hardly anybody had seen Miss Chaine and no one would go near the estate because of the noise. What noise? Cleak's ears pricked up. A queer moaning noise, sir. It fairbeats me to describe it, but it just lifts the air off your head. You go down the lane past the gates one dark night and hear that sound. I'll wager your mate for the railway station as fast as your legs could carry you. Hmm, now what can that noise be? Cleak mused. An old trick to frighten away the superstitious peasants? Old as the hills, that is. I'll hear that noise for myself before I'm many hours older, or I've lost my sense since the vanishing cracksman days. But it was not until the next day that his desire was granted, for dollops, having been left to himself for a few hours, contrived to get a scratch meal. This had apparently consisted of pickled walnuts, sheep's feet, steak and kidney pudding, and some jam puffs, with an additional helping of nuts as deserved. The effect of this startling combination may be imagined. The result was a fit of indigestion which sent Cleak pounding down the lane at ten o'clock that night to find the nearest doctor. It was not until he was well within sight of Chain Court, standing shuttered and dark, that he remembered the innkeeper's words of the morning before. He slackened speed a moment in the dark, and all at once, as if from the ground beneath his feet, there issued one of the most horrible and inexplicable sounds that could be imagined. It was neither human nor animal, though it contained something of both. No instrument or mechanical thing could possibly have emitted it. And Cleak stood stock still, the very hairs on his head quivering, at a sudden unearthly wail. It ceased as quickly as it had begun, and brought back to the immediate needs of his protégé he went on his way, the memory of that horror-haunting sound still ringing in his ears. Half an hour later he was back with Dr. Veryl, a stiff and unyielding young man, who evidently held the House of Chain and all its ways in the greatest reverence. He refused to discuss the subject of the queer sounds, and as he very soon concocted a nauseous dose that had the desired effect on dollops, there was nothing else to do but to allow him to proceed on his way home. On the following day Mr. Narcom arrived at the Hampton Arms. The presence of the great Inspector brought Mr. Roberts, bursting with pride, to be allowed to speak on any terms with the great official. He clearly had no recollection of ever having seen Mr. George Hedlund before, and had anyone told him that he was in the presence of the very man who had fetched him on a wild goose-chase that night nearly a month before, he would absolutely have refused to believe the evidence of his own senses. Mr. Narcom, however, listened to all he had to say on the subject of that escapade, and commended him for his promptness in obeying the summons. Another visitor came also to the little inn, and that was Sir Edgar Brenton. I am thankful you've come," he said, addressing Mr. Narcom, though he had greeted Mr. Hedlund civilly beforehand. I cannot fathom the mystery at all. I returned to Chaincourt to make another attempt on the place, but found that the broken window is now barred and shuttered, so there is evidently still someone in the place. Don't you think you could take the law into your own hands and force an entry? Mr. Narcom, when I think that my dear girl may be kept there a prisoner, I go nearly mad with terror of what they may do to her, the devils! Mr. Narcom nodded sympathetically, and stole a side-glance at Creeke's impassive face. I don't doubt it, Sir Edgar, he replied. But it's a dangerous thing to break into a house, you know. Still, there is the excuse of a forcible abduction of the young lady, perhaps. And if it is Miss Chain, who is at the bottom of it, I don't mind trying to bluff her about burglars being in the neighbourhood, etc. We could say how unsafe it was with those jewels about. He looked across at his ally for approval, and Creeke, with a little smile hovering round his lips, nodded. Yes, why not? he said. I'd like to have another look at Chaincourt by daylight and locate that abominable row. Have you heard it, then? broke in Sir Edgar hastily. I was beginning to think my brain was giving way, and that the old superstition was right after all. What superstition is that? asked Creeke. Why, Chaincourt has always been supposed to be haunted by a wailing lady who presages death to the owner, and for the past week nearly everyone seems to have heard her. I refused to believe it till last night when I couldn't keep away from the place. Upon my word the sound fairly made my blood run cold. What do you think about it, Mr. Headland? A good deal, sir, and that's the truth, responded Creeke. There's some villainy on foot, and I don't take heed of any wailing ladies till I see how it's done. Now, if you're ready, sir. Sir Edgar was ready, and the three, with dollops hovering in the background, made their way to the ill-fated abode. Silent and grim-looking, with its lower windows shuttered, an oppressive silence seemed to overhang it. This was speedily broken by their sending peel after peel from the doorbell ringing through the building. But no answer came. There was no sound of approaching footsteps, and Sir Edgar, pale and despairing, stepped back into the graveled path and gazed up into the windows. As he did so he gave a cry and pointed upward. Creeke and Narcombe sprang to his side just in time to see the wrinkled and malevolent face of Miss Chain looking down on them. That she was bitterly angry they could see, for though they could only guess at the stream of invective pouring from her shaking lips. A frenzied fist shaken in their direction warned them that any liberties taken with her abode would be bitterly resented. She disappeared suddenly from view, and Sir Edgar turned upon his companions. Help me break the door down! he cried, forgetting all caution. My dear girl is in there with that Harrodon, who has perhaps killed her for the sake of those accursed jewels. Some women would sell their very soul for diamonds, and she is one of them. Creeke pursed up his lips and gave forth a low whistle. That's a fact. He assented. Let's try the back. Recognising that at least one emissary of the law was on his side, Sir Edgar darted along the terrace and on his way to the rear of the house. All the windows were shuttered and barred, but a handy brick smashed the glass of one, and their combined assaults on the time-worn shutters behind soon gave them an entry. Creeke left dollops on guard outside. Don't let a single person escape dollops," he said. Whistle, if anybody attempts to come out, but don't let them go. Right, O governor! was the cheerful answer. Don't you worry. I'll put some of my tickle-tuxes along here as I follows you, and it will be a downy old bird what escapes me and them as well. What? Creeke smiled approvingly, and followed his two companions into the house. Perfectly content to leave the care of the outside to dollops. Already he could hear Sir Edgar impetuously racing from floor to floor, making the oak rafter's ring with Lady Margaret's name. But no sight or sound of her rewarded his efforts. Mr. Narcombe, pulling down shutter after shutter, let in the gorgeous light of day, but it was soon evident that the house was empty. Neither servants nor mistress rewarded their search. Neither did subsequent tapping and close scrutiny reveal a panel or trap-door. No cornered criminal was to be found, no gagged and bound figure of the girl they sought. There was nothing but the scamper of frightened mice behind the wainscotting. Miss Chain had disappeared before their very eyes, mysteriously inexplicably, but disappeared nevertheless. As they stood in the empty ballroom, its walls lined with age-old portraits, the furniture dusty and moth-eaten. There came a sound that made even Creeke, to whom it was no stranger, shudder. It was a low, horrible moaning, which seemed to permeate the whole house. For a moment they stood rooted to the spot in horrified silence. Then Sir Edgar spoke in a quaking whisper, Heaven's above what is it! Nobody answered him, for it was a question impossible to answer. All they could do was to search the house again from Garrett to Basement. But Miss Chain had apparently disappeared as mysteriously as her niece. Whether by her own will or not, it was impossible to say. Back once more on the terrace, they were compelled to own themselves beaten, and Creeke and Mr. Narcombe looked at one another in sympathetic dismay at this setback to their plans. They both had counted on coming face to face with the eccentric guardian of the girl whose life was in such evident danger. Suddenly Sir Edgar gave a little startled exclamation, and turning in the direction of his gaze, they saw the figure of a fair and slender woman running toward them. As she drew near, Creeke's heart gave a little leap of delight, for it was the woman who meant more to him than all the world. A second later he quickened his steps to meet her. Oh! I am so worried! Ailsa said swiftly. I am thankful I have found you at last. It is that poor girl you drove home that night, Lady Margaret Chain, you know. I have tried so many times to see her. I have called and called, but have always been refused admittance. Now this morning I was in the lane when I saw Lady Margaret at a window, and she dropped this scrap of paper. See! She handed Creeke a little screwed-up piece of paper on which was scrawled, Miss Lawn, save me, Margaret. She was snatched away before I could call to her. What does it mean? asked Ailsa, wistfully looking from one face to the other. I should not be surprised if that dangerous stone, the purple emperor, is at the bottom of it all, said Creeke. Sir Edgar took the scrap of paper from Ailsa's fingers and read it slowly through. Then he cried vehemently, I'll save her if I commit murder fifty times over. As he spoke he plunged along the lane, the ill-fated words lingering in their minds long after he had disappeared. It's an absolute mystery at present," said Creeke softly, his chin pinched up in his hand. There must be some way of getting in and out of that house which we haven't yet fathomed, and I'd like to have a shot at finding it. I think, too, we shall have to keep an eye on our young friend, Sir Edgar, or he will be getting into trouble. Never fear, Ailsa," he added gently. I will save the little girl somehow. But I mean to give myself the pleasure of walking back with you first. The walk was but a brief one, and Creeke, on his return to the inn, sent an urgent message to the towers, asking Sir Edgar to come down to him. He meant to keep a watchful eye on his movements and prevent further trouble if possible. Dollops returned half an hour later with the disconcerting news that the master had gone up to town. Creeke switched on his heel, alert and surprised. Gone! he said excitedly. What does that mean? Does he think he is going to find Lady Margaret wandering about Piccadilly Circus? Well, anyhow, he is safe up there out of reach of doing any mad tricks. Ah, if I could only find the secret of that house, I'd go a long way toward restoring that child. Well, if you don't find it, I'll bet a tanner to a fresh air in no one will, Governor," exclaimed Dollops indignantly. There ain't no one in the world what's got your kind of brains, and that's a fact. You'll find a secret, all right, Sir, if you're only as patient. And in the meantime, if you don't want me any more, I'll just pop along to the restaurant and have a sandwich. From that empty, you can hear me ribs rattle. He left the room, and Creeke sat alone, trying to puzzle out the whole awful affair. But it was like some jigsaw puzzle in which all the pieces were odd, and he did not hold the key to the solution. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of The Riddle of the Purple Emperor This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding The Riddle of the Purple Emperor by Mary E. Henshaw and Thomas W. Henshaw Chapter 10 A Shot in the Dark The case was one that fascinated Creeke, and as it seemed absolutely certain that Sir Edgar would not venture back within the precincts of home that night, both he and Mr. Narcom prepared to make another investigation of Chain Court. Constable Roberts and Dollops were patrolling the Fort Lanes, and thanks to the latter's supply of tickle-tootsies, as he persisted in terming them, and which were really an ingenious invention of his own, consisting of slabs of brown paper well smothered with molasses, there was no fear of anyone being able to approach without being seen. A brisk two-minute walk brought them to the picturesque house with its ivy-wrapped walls, dark gothic windows, and quintely carved chimney-pots. A medieval appearance was strengthened by a deep moat long since dried up, but which gave it the air of an old-world castle. A ruined drawbridge completed the resemblance, though the actual date of its erection was certainly not in the bygone ages. Cleak and Mr. Narcom had hardly approached the western side, where Constable Roberts had been stationed on guard, when that official came rushing toward them, breezing hard with excitement, his eyes nearly starting from his head. "'A shot, sir!' he gasped. "'As true as I'm here, I heard a shot flying from somewhere, and a man rushed by me in the lane down there, waving his arms widely, and then he vanished.' "'Couldn't you catch a glimpse of him?' Wrapped out, Cleak briskly. "'What was he, a labourer, gentleman, or what?' "'Couldn't say so. I had turned my back and was looking up at the blessed house when I heard the sound of a shot behind me, it seemed. And round I spins, and next I nose was my helmet knocked down on my head, and a man sprinting down the lane for dear life. By the time I'd got it lifted, he was gone.' "'Hmm, sure it was a man,' asked Cleak, as the three men came out once more into the lane. "'Wow!' said the police constable, startled by this new hypothesis. "'Now you speak, sir, the footsteps was light enough, and there was a precious fine scent.' Before he could volunteer any further ideas, he caught sight of something which apparently drove them all from his head. In his excitement he gripped the arm of Mr. Narcombe, oblivious for the time being of their relative positions. "'Look, sir,' he said, "'blast if there ain't somebody got into the house now, though how they've been and done it beats me!' Only a minute before the house had loomed up dark and cheerless without a single sign of habitation. Now, in the lower room known both by Cleak and the superintendent to be the dining-room, someone was obviously walking about with a light held in one hand. For a moment all three stood stock still, gaping at one another in blank amazement. Then Cleak spoke. "'Come on,' said he through clenched teeth, "'not a sound if you can help it, and look if there are any strange footprints.' "'The place is alive with footprints!' It ejaculated Constable Roberts, as he turned the light of his bullseye downward, and it revealed unmistakable traces on the soft yielding earth. They led right up to the edge of the marble terrace. "'Look, sir, this is the way he come down the lane. "'Op this path, and straight ahead. "'Come on!' Straight down the narrow path they went without break or interruption, shielded by the overshadowing trees, their eyes bent on the countless footprints which followed each other down the centre in one long unbroken line, leading right to the house. Suddenly at the front steps they stopped short, and Cleak and Narcom stopped also, for from the steps they took another direction altogether, wheeling about sharply and leading toward the terrace, where they seemed to terminate. Constable Roberts was keenly on the lookout, being a dutiful policeman, if trifle-slow. "'Here they are again, sir,' he whispered, pointing to the left along the terrace, where, since the previous night's rain, the thick dust had evidently been laid. "'See, here's where he went, right over this blessed wall. "'Ten chances to one but what he's cut himself with all that broken glass at the top.' "'Fancy finding broken glass on a marble banister?' "'He snorted under his breath as he lifted himself over the low balustrade after pushing the glass aside. "'Mind how you come, gents?' "'Fair cocked him out, as sure as guns his guns. "'Better let me go first, he's in there right enough. "'You can see the light moving about.'" A single look was enough to convince Cleak and Mr. Narcom both of the Constable's words, and in an instant they had sprung up, gripped the edge of the wall, scrambled over it, and dropped down on the marble terrace beneath. In the room, of which Sir Edgar had acknowledged breaking the glass of the window, thin wavering lines of constantly shifting light could be seen through the chinks of the wooden shutters. But so well had the wooden barriers been nailed up that it was impossible to see anything more than this shifting streak of light, and Cleak, abandoning the attempt, led a swift flight round to the back of the building. To the intense astonishment of them all they found a small side door, not only unlocked, but a jar. Through this they made their way down a passage and up into the hall to the dining-room. The thin streak of light beneath the door showed them that their quarry was still there, run to earth at last. They stopped for a moment, their nerves strung to breaking-point, their hearts beating wildly as they thought of what lay before them. Only for a brief second they paused, then Cleak's head went up. Now he whispered, and in they went with a rush that sent the old panel door upon its hinges with a queer sort of groan. But again, as on the previous day, no figure at bay rose to fight them. Once more only the squeal and rustle of countless mice behind the oak-paneled walls came to their listening ears. To all appearances the dining-room was exactly in the same condition as when Cleak had first entered it with the girl they were now seeking so strenuously. The room was empty. A guttering candle contrasted strangely with the rich polished mahogany of the table on which it had been placed, but its faint light revealed no living thing. They stared at one another in mute astonishment, then Cleak switched on his electric torch and swept it from ceiling to floor. It swung around like a miniature searchlight, then stopped abruptly, and ejaculations of horror fell from the lips of the watching men. On the hearth-rug on the opposite side of the room from where they stood, half hidden by the great devan chair, lay the figure of a woman. The life-blood was oozing from a gun wound above the breast, and it needed only one brief glance to tell them that she was already past their aid. Blankly they stared into each other's faces as recognition came. Miss Chame! hideous fact, though it was, there could be no doubt as to her identity. The golden-curled hair, the beringed hands, were identically the same as Cleak had seen, and it seemed to his almost dazed senses seen in the same position just a month ago in the ballroom. It was the same woman who had driven the constable and himself away barely an hour after that dreadful discovery, and certainly the same who had glared at them so threateningly on the previous day. Yet here she was, in an apparently empty house. For a moment all three men stood staring in appalled silence. Then constable Roberts backed shudderingly away. The Lord deliver us, he said in a quaking whisper. It's Miss Chine herself, sir, and dead just as the young officer said a month ago. At any other time Cleak would have noted this compliment paid to his disguise, but now he stood staring down at the grimly grotesque figure, all the colour drained from his lips and cheeks. How and when did she come back? Where did she hide herself yesterday? said constable Roberts in hushed, awed tones. Nobody answered him. Nobody seemed to have heard. For Cleak and Mr. Narcombe, the discovery threatened to possess an even more tragic importance. In the finding of this woman shot to the heart they recognized that the deed threatened by Sir Edgar Brenton but a few short hours ago had now indeed been committed. Good heavens! gasped out Mr. Narcombe at last, his lips dry, his voice tense and strained. And so we came too late. No wonder we waited in vain. Poor boy, poor boy, the mystery is at an end. On the contrary, my friend, flung back Cleak sharply, a bright spot of colour showing in each cheek. I venture to think it has only just begun. Constable Roberts, search this house first, then mount guard. Don't let anyone enter or leave it. If any living man or woman comes near, arrest them no matter who they are. But don't leave the place unguarded for a single instant. A doctor must be fetched and dollops must find him. Thank goodness Sir Edgar is in London and can supply an alibi, he added, almost under his breath. But Constable Roberts turned on his heel as he caught the words, the ruddy colour deserting his face, leaving it white and strained. Beg in your pardon, sir, but that's just what he ain't. I passed a station on my way here and there was Sir Edgar himself on top of the steps. He must have come in by the nine-ten train and he didn't see me, but I see him as plain as life. Lord pray someone else saw him too. Speaking, he turned and left the room and as Mr. Narcom gazed at clique, their mutual feeling showed only too visibly on their white, tense faces. So the unhappy boy had taken matters into his own hands after all. That matter was only too clear. He might have gone to town true enough, but only waited there long enough for it to get dark that he might be free and undisturbed in his task of revenge. There's no help for it, clique, said the superintendent with a little shrug of despair. I would have given one hundred pounds to have prevented it, but... His voice trailed off and he let the rest of the sentence go by default. Without further comment he turned and hurried out of the room. Already he could hear Constable Roberts tramping from floor to floor in a vain search for something in the nature of a murderer and could not help thinking once more as he went out into the blackness of the night of the tragedy that this hot-headed boy had brought upon his house. Clique followed slowly. It took him but a second to get back into the lane, but there was no sign of dollops. Nor did the familiar hoot of a night owl, clique's favourite signal, bring forth any reply. Dollops, indeed, had vanished as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up. End of chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Riddle of the Purple Emperor This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding The Riddle of the Purple Emperor by Mary E. Handshoe and Thomas W. Handshoe Chapter 11 A terrible discovery. Meanwhile, Dollops, obedient to clique's behest, had been patrolling round Chain Court and was getting exceedingly tired of that proceeding. He had been two or three times round the building when he saw the figure of Constable Roberts travelling swiftly away from the house. But receiving no signal, like the faithful watchdog he was, he remained at his post, facing the back of the house. Five minutes passed, and there was no sound of any kind save the rustling of the branches swayed by the wind and the soft drip of moisture from the trees. Still he stood there, watchful, keen, with every nerve alert for sight or sound. Five minutes became ten, fifteen, twenty, then, of a sudden, Dollops' nerves gave a sort of jump and a swift prickle flashed down through the soft down of hair upon his neck, for a sound had come at last, a quick grating sound as of a window being opened. He stood on Tito and flashed the light of his latest and most treasured possession, a powerful electric torch all round him. As the light streamed forth and he flung a shifting circle before him, there moved across it the figure of a woman clad in scarlet, her hair floating over her shoulders, and over the intervening space there stole a strange sweet smell of jasmine. A woman here, at this hour, and under such strange circumstances, the thing was so startling that it was little wonder Dollops stood as if turned to stone. She was gone so soon, just glimmering across the circle of light and then vanishing into the darkness as suddenly as she had appeared, that for a brief second he lost his nerve, believing that he had seen the apparition said by the superstitious villagers to haunt the Grants. Indeed, as if to make this illusion even more real, there came an unearthly wailing moan from the earth beneath his feet, a sound that would have chilled even stronger nerves than Dollops, tired with the strain of waiting. With a yell the lad turned and fled down the lane in pursuit of the speeding figure. At the end of the path, however, winded and spent, he stopped short, and as his eyes pierced the gloom in search of his prey, for the second time that night his limbs shook beneath him. Looking in all directions he had turned back and had caught a glimpse of the windows of chain court. Here he saw a sight that caused his strained nerves to tremble like live wires. Something was happening in the old house at last. Over the low-lying porch half covered with ivy was a great landing window, one of those which had been kept religiously closed but was now wide open, and on the silhouette there appeared the startlingly clear figure of a woman. She was young, fair-haired, and clad in white with a gold-laced scarf round her head. Lightly and cautiously she balanced herself on the sill, and as lightly let herself down till she reached the ground. But the terrible sound of a few minutes before had startled others besides poor Dollops. Mr. Narcombe, unable to find him, had returned to Cleeke, whereupon Constable Roberts, who had found the house empty as regards any human being, had been duly dispatched to the village in the opposite direction to find Dr. Veryl. Left to themselves once more, Cleeke and Mr. Narcombe proceeded to investigate. The Constable had been gone about ten minutes or so when the sound of that unearthly wail caused both men to falter in their work. "'What in heaven's name is it? Supernatural or human?' exclaimed the superintendent. "'Neither,' rapped out Cleeke. "'I'll look into that next, but at present I—' he threw up his head and sniffed violently at the air. "'Yes, it's as I thought. That woman's been here again.' Switching on his heel, he walked over to the dead woman, made a thorough examination, and the queer little smile fluttered for a moment up his cheek. Suddenly he bent down and sniffed at her dress, the lace ruffles on her sleeves, even the dead fingertips, all of which he subjected also to the closest scrutiny. Suddenly, too, he rose to his feet and stood looking down, first at the body itself, and then at a little shining object that lay nearby. "'Hmmm,' he said musingly, as I thought, two people at least, and one of them a woman at that. "'Cleeke, my dear fellow,' murmured Mr. Narcombe, who had at last succeeded in lighting a couple of lamps and some wax candles, which made the room a little less gloomy. The scent first flung back that gentleman quickly. "'The place reeks of Wiel de Jasmine, while this,' he pointed to the silent figure, is a speaking witness, even though dead. A grim smile flickered over his mobile features as he stood, his lower lips sucked in, his chin pinched hard between his finger and some. "'If there isn't a very great surprise in store for the good people of Hampton shortly, I'll miss my guess.' "'Cleeke,' Mr. Narcombe was in a very tremor of excitement. "'You have discovered something. Tell me, what is it?' "'All in good time, my dear friend. Remember the old proverb, set a thief to catch a thief? We'll see what our good friend Dr. Verrell has to say, and if I am not mistaken, here he comes.' And come, he did, for a sound of voices and hurried footsteps introduced him to their presence. "'What is this?' said Dr. Verrell to the superintendent, whose identity had evidently been impressed on him by Roberts, who hovered obsequiously in the background. Of Cleeke he took no notice, having apparently taken an unaccountable dislike to the man who had tried so hard to pump him on the excuse of a servant's fit of indigestion but a night or two ago. "'What is this?' the man tells me. "'Miss Chaine, the honourable Miss Chaine,' he corrected himself, as if the dead lady herself had reproved him for thus forgetting her title, which has been murdered. It is impossible!' "'Not so impossible,' interposed Cleeke smoothly, his eyes narrowing down to mere slits, as he noted the doctor's white face and unconsciously trembling fingers, as not to be the actual fact, doctor.' He made mental comment of the doctor's agitation. It was strange to find the man so upset over the death of an eccentric stranger, even if she had been a patient of his. And how was it he was so quickly on the spot? Allowed, however, he continued blandly. She has been murdered some time, too, doctor. With a little cry of horror, Dr. Veryl passed to the body and bent over it for a minute. "'Hm,' he said, meditatingly, dead, but within a couple of hours, I should say.' But Mr. Narcombe struck in upon him. "'Impossible,' said he involuntarily, looking over at Cleeke. "'Why, we heard the shot, you and I, not half an hour ago.' The doctor is quite right, Mr. Narcombe.' Cleeke replied, an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. "'The corpse,' Dr. Veryl started a little. "'This is the honourable Miss Chain, sir,' he said, with a quick look of contempt at the policeman. "'Pardon me, doctor,' was the smooth reply. "'The honourable Miss Chain has been dead nearly a month. I said she had been dead a long time. "'This,' he flung out his foot in scorn, "'Well, don't you think you had better remove the wig first?' "'What do you mean?' gasped the superintendent. Then, without waiting for a reply, he bent down and touched almost fearfully the mass of golden hair. It moved under his fingers, and with one twitch came away in his shaking hand, revealing the sleek, close-cropped head of a man, of which the particularly noticeable feature was a narrow, sloping forehead. A sudden smile looped up the corner of Cleeke's mouth as he turned to the astonished group about him with a little theatrical gesture. There was a sort of triumph in his eyes. "'As I thought,' he said. He turned suddenly round on the horrified Constable, his voice and features, those of the young Lieutenant de Land. "'It was not such a wild goose chase that night a month ago after all, eh?' he said briskly. "'Lieutenant de Land, you know, Constable.' Miss Chain was lying dead in that room, and this rascal took her clothes and her place. "'Heaven, help that poor girl,' he added gravely, while both Mr. Narcombe and the Constable gazed from him to the grotesque figure, almost dazed by the sudden turn of events. Almost as startled as his companions, the doctor tore away the clothes, revealing the slim body of a man about forty years of age, revealing, too, something that caused Mr. Narcombe to lay a shaking hand upon Cleak's arm. "'You see what that is, don't you?' he gasped. "'Look at his arm. It bears the sign of the pentacle. He's a member of the gang at any rate.' Cleak stood still a moment, thinking. "'Yes,' Cleak replied in a low voice. "'The purple emperor has much to answer for.' "'There is something clenched in his hand,' said the doctor, who had proceeded with his task. "'Bring the light nearer, please.' As the stiff-ringed fingers were bent back, a little glittering fragment was displayed. Cleak grasped it, and twitching back his head, sniffed violently two or three times. The doctor started in amazement. "'Good Lord Man,' said he, testily, "'you can't tell who it belongs to by smelling it.' "'I'm not so sure of that,' responded Cleak, smiling. "'At any rate, find me the person who scents himself or herself with Wielder Shazma, and you will be on the right road.' "'Wielder Shazma,' interjected the doctor suddenly. "'Wielder Shaz—' "'No, no, it is not possible. I will not believe that.' He had risen to his feet and was gazing across at Cleak, his face drawn and white. "'You know someone who uses that scent?' said Cleak quietly. "'Come, doctor, in her interests clear the ground first of all to not delay matters. There may be nothing in it, but—' His tones were fraught with significance, and the other man realised their value. "'I have known Miss Jennifer Wynne to use it. She is very fond of the scent,' he said grudgingly. "'But that does not mean she had anything to do with this,' he pointed to the floor. "'It is rarely that a woman fires a revolver, and as this wound has clearly been caused by this weapon here, the first thing we have to do is to find the owner of it.' "'Tru,' said Cleak quietly, bending as he spoke and pulling the dead man's lips down. And fortunately for that theory, my dear doctor, though the man has undoubtedly been shot, he was dead before ever that bullet reached him, killed with prussic acid. See, here are the remnants of a little pellet, and I rather fancy if you have it analysed, you will find it consists of nearly pure solidified prussic acid. Then again look at the neck. Here are the marks of long slender fingers showing that someone must have grasped the man by the neck and forced the pellet into his mouth. "'Do you see?' the doctor did see, and stood frowning heavily at these signs so easily read by this stranger. Bending down again he picked up the revolver which lay at the side. It bore an initial, that of the letter B.' "'Brenton,' muttered Mr. Narcombe almost involuntarily, seeing one more link in the chain of fatal evidence against Sir Edgar. "'Good lad, Brenton,' Cleak apparently took no heed either of the remark or the revolver. "'Come,' he said suddenly, "'we have had enough of this gruesome spot and there is nothing to be learned from it. Let us lock it up and have a look at some of those interesting footprints outside.' They had almost reached the outer gate when the silence was broken by a babble of angry voices mingled with the sound of a scuffle, and there rang out the shrill tones of dollops. "'Now you don't, my beauty! I've copped you and I'm going to keep you till my governess seen you. None of your larks now! None of your larks!'' End of chapter 11