Part 9

"Why should he?" I answered coolly. "He must know that you made a mistake."

"Naturally," Duncombe assented. "I still don't think he'd have come to any harm unless he bungled his dive, but I'm glad, all the same, that you noticed the rocks."

That marked the end of the incidents worthy of note connected with the picnic, except that Arthur and Ella stayed away for over an hour, and that when they returned she was clinging to his arm with an almost protective air. That night, for the first time, not a single member from the Grange turned up at our performance.

Somehow or other, when I started for my customary early morning walk on the following day, I knew that there was tragedy in the air. A strange mist, presage of storm and heat, hung like an oppressive curtain over the land and stretched out seawards. I almost regretted, as I stood at the end of the little jetty, that I had not departed from my usual custom and bathed. The thought made me look back towards the shore. Duncombe, in his dressing gown, had just left the gardens of the Grange and was descending the shingle to the sands. I watched him throw off his gown and wade into the water. Presently he turned on his side and began swimming slowly out. Watching him, I felt more than ever inclined to go and fetch my own bathing clothes. Then, as I hesitated, I noticed Arthur, following through the Grange gardens, scramble down the shingle, throw off his dressing gown and also plunge into the sea. Something a little furtive about the manner in which he made his way across the lawn, keeping always to the side of the hedge as though to escape observation, and his subsequent almost crawling progress along the shingle, puzzled me. I had been down here many mornings, but I had never seen Arthur bathing before. He was in the water now, and swimming out with long, powerful strokes towards Duncombe.

Whilst Arthur was still almost undistinguishable in the sea, and Duncombe was lying lazily on his back, as yet unconscious of his pupil's approach, I began to feel my first misgivings. There was something unnatural in the very atmosphere that morning, the sulphurous gloom, the entire absence of sunshine, the still, oily water. I found myself straining my eyes to catch a nearer glimpse of the boy's face, asking myself all the time why he had chosen this particular morning to bathe for the first time before breakfast. Nearer and nearer he came. He passed me within a matter of fifty yards, but he took no notice of my shout of greeting. Then, as he rolled from side to side, I caught a glimpse of his face. He seemed to be swimming in entire unconsciousness of any physical effort. His chin was a little protruded, his eyes were fixed in an unnatural stare upon the spot where Duncombe lay floating. For a moment or two I felt a queer sensation of helplessness. I called out again, and I knew this time, although I would not acknowledge it to myself, that my cry was meant to be a warning to Duncombe. He heard me, turned over on his side, and to my horror began to swim away from the approaching form, to swim away like a man in fear.

I really did all that a man could do. Attached by a rope to the end of the jetty were several rowing boats. I unfastened one, clambered down some steps and jumped into it. As I swung it round, I was just in time to see the boy alter his pace a little, as though to intercept Duncombe, who had made for the jetty. Duncombe, seeing himself cut off, hesitated. I held up my hand and shouted.

"Hullo, there!" I bawled. "Hullo! Duncombe, I'm coming to take you in."

Arthur took not the slightest notice of me. He was now within a yard or so of Duncombe, and he suddenly seemed to raise himself from the water. I had no doubt whatever then but that this was tragedy. His mouth was opened, and his rather prominent teeth showed in a wholly animal fashion. His eyes seemed like specks of fire. He was by the side of Duncombe now, and from where I was I can only say that it seemed to me as though he sprang at him just as a sea cat might have done, if such a creature had ever existed. His arms went round the other man's neck, his legs around his loins. Then for the first time Duncombe cried out, a horrible cry, the cry of a man face to face with a hideous death, a cry which died away only as the water filled his mouth. Very slowly, Duncombe struggling in the other's pitiless clasp like a weakling in the grip of an octopus, the two bodies disappeared. I rowed about for more than half an hour without seeing a sign of either. They were washed up two days later.

* * * * *

The supper at a Midland Hotel, where our chief bade us meet him a few evenings later, was one of the least festive of all our meetings. Our depression was so noticeable that he presently commented upon it.

"For whom this sorrow?" he enquired coldly. "For the tutor or his charge?"

"For the boy," Rose declared. "After all, he was very young."

"I'm sorry for Duncombe," Leonard admitted frankly. "Whatever he'd been up to, it was the most horrible death any one could die."

"I'm sorry for both," I insisted. "I think that somehow we ought to have prevented it."

Mr. Thomson looked at us, one by one, out of his bright piercing eyes. It was obvious that he was out of sympathy with us.

"I continually forget," he said coldly, "that I have to deal with sentimentalists. No person who looked upon life from a sane point of view, and who possessed full knowledge of all the facts, could possibly regret the departure of either of them."

"Was Duncombe's story really true?" Rose asked.

"This one is, at any rate," our host replied. "Arthur Dompers was the orphan son of a Welsh miner. When he was fourteen years of age, a relative in America died intestate and this boy was discovered to be the heir. Some lawyers in London were entrusted with the charge of him. He was sent to four private schools, from each one of which he was expelled. Three tutors one by one relinquished the task of training him up in the way he should go. Duncombe was the fourth."

"Tell us about Mr. Duncombe, please," Rose begged.

"Duncombe was one of those criminals who are too clever to come under the ban of the law," Thomson continued. "He was also a person against whom I had a very strong grievance. When I heard that the boy, Arthur Dompers, had been committed to his charge, I felt that, if carefully watched, Duncombe's time had come at last. By some irony of fate, the fortune left to Arthur Dompers became trebled and quadrupled in the hands of his trustees. Duncombe's appetite for plunder, already insatiable, must have become a fever. He was clever, though. He bided his time. For three years he had charge of Arthur Dompers, and during that three years he improved him immensely. It was perfectly clear what he was waiting for--for the only period when the boy could be of real service to him--namely after his twenty-first birthday. He made his plans a long way ahead. With great cunning he kept secret the day of the boy's majority. You attended a picnic, I think--a birthday party?"

"It was supposed to be his twentieth birthday," Leonard observed.

"In reality his twenty-first," Thomson went on. "On the morning of that day, the boy made his will, leaving the bulk of his estate to Ella Duncombe, and large legacies to the rest of the family. He also left a letter addressed to Ella Duncombe, in which he made clear the relations between them and spoke of their impending marriage. With those documents in his possession, Duncombe had no more use for the boy. There is no doubt, from your report, Lister, that he deliberately made his first attempt upon his life on that very morning. There is no doubt, also, that the boy, half-witted though he was, in his sullen way saw through the whole thing. His hate for Duncombe became a slow-burning passion--and there, I think, is the story of the tragedy."

"And the will?" I asked.

"It was committed to the flames on the morning of the tragedy by Duncombe's sister--also the letter. The estate goes to the Crown."

Rose sighed.

"All that money and no one any better off!"

Mr. Thomson shrugged his shoulders.

"The lawyers to the estate," he told us, "have made over ten thousand pounds to the Duncombe family."

I took my courage into my hands.

"I know your attitude towards questions, sir," I said, "but I feel bound to ask you one concerning this episode. What on earth did you expect to gain by bringing us in touch with it?"

Our host sipped his wine thoughtfully.

"I do not welcome questions," he admitted, "but bearing in mind the fact that this affair has been without any features of interest for you, I will reply. I knew perfectly well that Duncombe would make some attempt upon the life of Arthur Dompers. You were there to watch for it. You succeeded. Your report would have released the boy from Duncombe's control. Events, however, marched too quickly."

"On whose behalf, then, were we acting," Leonard asked, "you and all of us? Were we philanthropists or detectives?"

Our host shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to a cigar.

"That," he replied, "will be Conundrum Number Five."

CONUNDRUM NUMBER SIX

THE DUKE'S DILEMMA

"How does one address a duke?" Rose asked, looking up from the depth of her easy-chair.

"No idea," I replied. "I don't suppose we shall see anything of him."

"I only knew one," Leonard murmured reminiscently. "He was at Harrow and we used to call him Tubby."

"I don't see that that's going to help us," Rose remarked. "However----"

Then the door of our sitting room opened and to our surprise our host entered. He bowed to Rose and nodded to us in friendly fashion.

"Very good of you to come down here and help us along," he said, pleasantly ignoring the fact that we were being paid fifty pounds a week and our expenses to help provide his guests with entertainment. "I hope you're quite comfortable?"

We all three murmured an unqualified affirmative. The arrangements made for our comfort were indeed beyond criticism.

"You're not any relation to the Cotton who started bowling googlies for Harrow in his last term, I suppose?" the Duke queried, addressing Leonard.

Leonard modestly pleaded guilty, and our host showed his first signs of real interest.

"You'll play for the Castle this afternoon?" he begged. "We're playing the rest of the County, and they're bringing a pretty hot side. Our batting's all right but our bowling's rotten."

"I haven't played for two years," Leonard said, a little doubtfully.

"At three o'clock," the Duke announced, ignoring Leonard's hesitation. "You'll find a couple of pros down at the nets if you want a knock first. Don't give your bowling away too much, as some of the enemy are prowling around."

Our host took gracious leave of us. Rose watched him curiously.

"Maurice," she observed, as the door closed, "there's something queer about this place."

"I suppose there must be," I admitted, "or we shouldn't be here."

"Exactly what are our instructions?" Leonard enquired.

"Vague," I replied. "The only letter I received from our chief told me to accept the offer through Keith Prowse, to come here, to sit tight and study conditions."

"What did he mean by 'conditions'?" Rose asked.

"Just get in touch with our environment, I suppose. For instance, here we are with half a dozen others, brought up to Westmoreland to amuse the Duke's house party. We are being treated royally, the house party seems to comprise some of the best-known names in England, and the whole thing seems to be marvellously done."

"But so far no glimmering as to how or where we may come in?" Leonard persisted.

"Not the slightest," I admitted. "Of course, this place is a perfect treasure house. They say that the jewels alone are insured for more than two millions. There may be some robbery scheme on."

"Perhaps," Rose suggested, "we are to be the thieves. In that case, I'll keep one of the famous pink pearls if I have to swallow it."

I looked out across the park and a certain feeling of depression stole over me. We were alone in a little sitting room which had been made over to our exclusive use.

"I can't help wishing," I confessed, "that we knew a little more where we stood. We've been working for Mr. Thomson now for the best part of a year, and there isn't one of us three can tell whether we've been helping the greatest crook the world has ever known, or a master detective."

"I'm not sure that I care," Rose said sweetly.

Leonard helped himself to a cigarette.

"When I think of that night at Cromer," he reflected--"you remember how wet it was, how the wind howled, and we hadn't enough fire in our lodgings, or enough money to buy food?--when I think of those days and realise how life has changed since our mysterious god came out of the machine, I feel very much like Rose. I feel like a pagan, Maurice. We're back again in our old lives, wearing the right sort of clothes, eating and drinking like civilised beings, travelling in comfort, and with a bank account growing all the time. It's good enough for me."

"And for me," Rose echoed.

I fell in with their mood. After all, the sun was shining and a long summer's day lay before us.

"Begone, dull care," I invoked, "at any rate until our next letter of instructions arrives. Into flannels, Leonard, and then to the nets. I suppose they'll let me have a knock."

"I shall come and watch," Rose decided graciously.

Our entertainment at Lorringham Castle was in its way princely. We had a suite of rooms to ourselves, and a dining room which we shared with Charles Jacoty, the leader of the Duke's private orchestra, David Faraday, the famous illusionist, a Mrs. Middleham, widow of the Duke's private chaplain, who arranged the dance programmes and painted the menus, and a young man--Gerald Formby--the son of Sir James Formby, the agent to the estate, who presided at the dinner table and from whom we heard most of the gossip of the place. It was on the evening after the cricket match that we received from him the first inkling as to what the nature of our mission might be.

"Have you seen the Lorringham treasures yet?" he asked Rose.

She shook her head.

"I don't even know what they are."

The young man appeared incredulous.

"You mean to say that you haven't heard of the Lorringham pearls and the seven tiaras?"

"I've heard of them vaguely," she replied. "I didn't even know that they were on view."

Jacoty leaned a little forward in his chair. Faraday also appeared to be interested. The young man lowered his voice a little. There was inherited awe in its inflexion.

"The Lorringham pink pearls," he said, "are the most famous in history, although they are very seldom seen. They were last worn, in fact, by Eleanor, Duchess of Lorringham, at Queen Victoria's wedding. The seven tiaras are famous throughout the world. The earliest dates from the time of Charles the First."

"And they are really on view?" Rose asked.

"Not to the public. Whenever there is a house party here, they are generally shown to the guests."

"They are immensely valuable, these jewels?" Faraday enquired.

"They are insured for two millions," was the young man's portentous reply.

There was a little silence. I chanced to glance at Faraday, and I was almost startled by the gleam in his sunken eyes. He sat like a man in a brown study, tapping the tablecloth with his fingers.

"Has any attempt at robbery ever been made?" Leonard asked.

Gerald Formby shook his head.

"They are too well guarded," he said.

"It is interesting, this," Faraday remarked quietly. "Are the jewels kept in safes?"

The young man smiled.

"The room in which they are is in itself a safe. There are steel shutters to the windows, and steel safes let into the wall. There is a man on guard outside, day and night, and the only key in existence which could unlock the safes is in the possession of the Duke himself."

My eyes met Leonard's. For the first time I understood the only three words of admonition which we had received:

Watch the Duke.

Faraday spoke what was in my own mind.

"That fact may do away with some risk," he observed, "but isn't it rather a danger to his Grace? Fancy being in constant possession of a key which secures a treasure like that!"

"And you mean to say that no one has ever made any attempt to steal them?" Rose asked.

"Once only, twenty-two years ago, in the late Duke's time," Formby admitted. "A gang of burglars--they say that Charles Peace was one of them--broke into the Castle, but they never got anywhere near the room. Soon after that these shutters were built, and the safes let into the wall, and quite recently an American expert came over, who designed the lock. Robbery is now an impossibility."

We gave our first performance later on that evening. The Duke himself came up and congratulated us afterwards. He invited us to join the rest of the guests, a courteous offer of which, however, we did not avail ourselves.

"You will at least join my personally conducted party," he suggested, turning to Rose, "and have a look at the Lorringham treasures? I am taking a few of my guests there at eleven o'clock. I shall expect you three."

We accepted that invitation willingly enough, and the Duke returned to his guests. Afterwards, Faraday gave one of the most astonishing performances of sleight of hand I have ever seen. With scarcely any appliances, he succeeded in puzzling everybody. One of the guests, selected at random, was made to disappear in such a fashion that he himself, when questioned afterwards, was utterly confused about his experience. Later on he brought a locked-up mastiff from his kennel and a singing bird down from the top of the great hall. The Duke, with several of his companions, came up to congratulate the illusionist. Faraday received their compliments with the grave pleasure of one who recognises his supremacy. As the Duke was leaving, he addressed him.

"I heard your Grace inviting Miss Mindel and her companions to inspect the treasure chamber to-night," he said. "May I be permitted to accompany them?"

The Duke seemed on the point of giving a ready consent, then suddenly he hesitated. He looked at Faraday with a dubious smile.

"After that performance of yours, Mr. Faraday," he confessed, "I really don't know what to say. I seem to have a horrible vision of watching my tiaras come out through the steel doors, and my pink pearls drop out from the ceiling into your waistcoat pocket."

Faraday did not smile. It seemed to me that he was very much in earnest.

"I will undertake to refrain from any extempore performance," he said. "As a matter of fact, your Grace, there are limitations to my magic."

The Duke turned away. He seemed rather to resent the other's persistence.

"Another time, perhaps," he promised, a little coldly. "My party to-night is made up."

Faraday was standing a little in the shadows and I watched him eagerly. From that moment our mission to Lorringham Castle seemed to become clearer to me.

An hour or so later, our host led a small company of us to the treasure chamber. We paused outside a green baize door leading into one of the galleries, which was guarded by a servant in the livery of the house. The Duke, with a word of apology, took off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves, disclosing a plain platinum band around his arm.

"This is an American idea," he explained.

He touched a spring in the band, one side opened and disclosed a key, attached to a thin chain of platinum wire. With this he unlocked the door of a small chamber, brilliantly lit. One side of the room seemed to be composed, up to the height of about six feet, of solid steel shutters. The Duke fitted the other end of the key into a concealed crevice. There was a little click, and the whole of the shutters rolled back. From behind windows of solid plate-glass, on a background of black velvet, were displayed the famous tiaras, rows of marvellous pearls, some of them as large as marbles and pink as sea coral, and a further collection of magnificent jewellery. There seemed to be an almost universal gasp of astonishment. The women of the party especially were speechless.

"We keep them like this instead of in coffers," the Duke explained, "so that they can be shown without being handled."

"Supposing you wanted to get at them?" some one asked.

"There is a secret spring," he replied, "which releases these windows. You should look at the diamonds in that Queen Anne tiara, Lady Mordaunt," he added, turning to one of his guests. "The greatest diamond expert in the world, who was here last year, declared that he had never seen stones to match those in his life."

We gazed, we admired, we marvelled. In a few minutes the show was over, the doors locked, the key back in its wonderful hiding place, and the Duke's coat once more hanging from his shapely shoulders.

"I don't wear this platinum affair except when I am down here," he told us. "The rest of the time I leave it at my banker's. Tell me what you are thinking about, Miss Mindel?" he asked, turning to her with a smile.

Rose answered him frankly.

"I was wondering why you wouldn't let Mr. Faraday come with us."

The Duke frowned slightly.

"Well," he admitted, "I suppose it was foolish of me. All the same, the man's performance took away my breath. Of course," he went on, "I know that it was all illusion, and yet it doesn't seem to me any more wonderful to think of his thrusting his hand through my plate-glass windows and helping himself to my pearls, than to perform some of the feats he achieved this evening. The guardianship of several million pounds' worth of family treasures," he concluded, with an apologetic smile, "sometimes tends to make one unreasonable."

Leonard and I turned into the little smoking room assigned to our use, after we had said good night to Rose. Faraday was seated there alone, with a block and pencil in his hand, apparently making idle sketches. He laid the block by his side, face downwards, at our entrance.

"Well," he said, a little ill-naturedly, "I suppose you've seen the treasures?"

"We have," I admitted, helping myself to a whisky and soda.

"Are they as wonderful as report says?" he enquired.

"I'm no judge," I told him, a little shortly.

"By the bye, there's a note for you on the table."

I recognised at once the familiar, typewritten envelope--a message from the chief. Leonard looked over my shoulder as I tore open the envelope:

Watch Faraday. Suspect Edwards, one of the custodians. Registered post to-morrow brings you key of door leading to balcony, end of north gallery.

I tore the note into small pieces. Faraday sat watching me with gloomy curiosity.

"Nothing annoying, I hope?" he queried.

I watched the pieces filter through my fingers into the waste-paper basket.

"Nothing of any importance," I assured him.