The Riddle of the Frozen Flame Read online

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  THE RIDDLE OF THE FROZEN FLAME

  By MARY E. & THOMAS W. HANSHEW

  Author of "Cleek, the Man of Forty Faces," "Cleek of ScotlandYard," "Cleek's Government Cases," "The Riddle of the Night," "The Riddleof the Purple Emperor."

  1929

  A.L. BURT COMPANY New York Published by arrangement with Doubleday, Page & Company

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. The Law

  II. The Frozen Flames

  III. Sunshine and Shadow

  IV. An Evil Genius

  V. The Spectre at the Feast

  VI. A Shot in the Dark

  VII. The Watcher in the Shadow

  VIII. The Victim

  IX. The Second Victim

  X. --And the Lady

  XI. The Secret of the Flames

  XII. "As a Thief in the Night--"

  XIII. A Gruesome Discovery

  XIV. The Spin of the Wheel

  XV. A Startling Disclosure

  XVI. Trapped!

  XVII. In the Cell

  XVIII. Possible Excitement

  XIX. What Took Place at "The Pig and Whistle"

  XX. At the Inquest

  XXI. Questions--and Answers

  XXII. A New Departure

  XXIII. Prisoners

  XXIV. In the Dark

  XXV. The Web of Circumstance

  XXVI. Justice--and Justification

  XXVII. The Solving of the Riddle

  XXVIII. "Toward Morning ..."

  The Riddle of the Frozen Flame

  CHAPTER I

  THE LAW

  Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent of Scotland Yard, sat before thelitter of papers upon his desk. His brow was puckered, his fat face redwith anxiety, and there was about him the air of one who has reached theend of his tether.

  He faced the man opposite, and fairly ground his teeth upon his lowerlip.

  "Dash it, Cleek!" he said for the thirty-third time, "I don't know whatto make of it, I don't, indeed! The thing's at a deadlock. Hammondreports to me this morning that another bank in Hendon--a littleone-horse affair--has been broken into. That makes the third this week,and as usual every piece of gold is gone. Not a bank note touched, nota bond even fingered. And the thief--or thieves--made as clean a get-awayas you ever laid your eyes on! I tell you, man, it's enough to send anaverage person daft! The whole of Scotland Yard's been on the thing, andwe haven't traced 'em yet! What do you make of it, old chap?"

  "As pretty a kettle of fish as I ever came across," responded Cleek, withan enigmatic smile. "And I can't help having a sneaking admiration forthe person who's engineering the whole thing. How he must laugh at thestate of the old Yard, with never a clue to settle down upon, never athread to pick up and unravel! All of which is unbusinesslike of me, I'veno doubt. But, cheer up, man, I've a piece of news which ought to helpmatters on a bit. Just came from the War Office, you know."

  Mr. Narkom mopped his forehead eagerly. The action was one which Cleekknew showed that every nerve was tense.

  "Well, out with it, old chap! Anything to cast some light on theinexplicable thing. What did you learn at the War Office?"

  "A good many things--after I had unravelled several hundred yards of redtape to get at 'em," said Cleek, still smiling. "Chief among them wasthis: Much English gold has been discovered in Belgium, Mr. Narkom, inconnection with several big electrical firms engaged upon work out there.The Secret Service wired over that fact, and I got it first hand. Now itstrikes me there must be some connection between the two things. Thesebank robberies point in one direction, and that is, that the gold is notfor use in this country. Now let's hear the full account of this latestoutrage. I'm all ears, as the donkey said to the ostrich. Fire away."

  Mr. Narkom "fired away" forthwith. He was a bland, round little man,rather too fat for one's conceptions of what a policeman ought to be, yetwith that lightness of foot that so many stout people seem to possess.

  Cleek presented a keen contrast to him. His broad-shouldered,well-groomed person would have adorned any company. His head was well-setupon his neck, and his features at this moment were small and inclined tobe aquiline. He had closely set ears that lay well back against his head,and his hands were slim and exceedingly well-kept. Of his age--well that,like himself, was an enigma. To-day he might have been anything betweenthirty-five and forty--to-morrow probably he would be looking nineteen.That was part of the peculiar birthright of the man, that and a mobilityof feature which enabled him to alter his face completely in the passingof a second, a gift which at least one notorious criminal of history alsopossessed.

  He sat now, playing with the silver-topped cane between his knees, hishead slightly to one side, his whole manner one of polite and tolerantinterest. But Mr. Narkom knew that this same manner marked an intensityof concentration which was positively unique. Without more ado he plungedinto the details of his story.

  "It happened in this wise, Cleek," he said, tapping his fountain-penagainst his blotter until little spouts of ink fell out like jet beads."This is at least the ninth case of the kind we've had reported to uswithin the space of the last fortnight. The first robbery was at a tinybranch bank in Purley, and the bag amounted to a matter of a couple ofhundred or so sovereigns; the second was at Peckham--on the outskirts,you understand; the third at Harrow; the fourth somewhere near ForestHill, and the fifth in Croydon. Other places on the South East side ofLondon have come in for their share, too, as for instance Anerley andSutton. This last affair took place at Hendon, during the evening ofSaturday last--the sixteenth, wasn't it? No one observed anythinguntoward in the least, that is except one witness who relates how he sawa motor car standing outside the bank's premises at half past nine atnight. He gave no thought to this, as he probably imagined, if he thoughtof the coincidence at all, that the manager had called there forsomething he had forgotten in his office."

  "And where, then, does the manager live, if not over the bank itself?"put in Cleek at this juncture.

  "With his wife and family, in a house some distance away. A couple of oldbank people--a porter and his wife who are both thoroughly trustworthy inevery way, so Mr. Barker tells me--act as caretakers. But they positivelyassert that they heard no one in the place that night, and no untowardhappening occurred to their knowledge."

  "And yet the bank was broken into, and the gold taken," supplementedCleek quietly. "And what then, Mr. Narkom? How was the deed done?"

  "Oh, the usual methods. The skeleton keys of a master crook obviouslyopened the door to the premises themselves, and soup was used to crackthe safe. Everything was left perfectly neat and tidy and only the bagsof gold--amounting to seven hundred and fifty pounds--were gone. And nota trace of a clue to give one a notion of who did the confounded thing,or where they came from!"

  "Hmm. Any finger-prints?"

  Mr. Narkom shook his head.

  "None. The thief or thieves used rubber gloves to handle the thing. Andthat was the only leg given us to stand upon, so to speak. For rubbergloves, when they are new, particularly, possess a very strong smell,and this still clung to the door-knob of the safe, and to severalobjects near it. That was how we deduced the rubber-glove theory ofno finger-prints at all, Cleek."

  "And a very worthy deduction too, my friend," responded that gentleman,with something of tolerance in his smile. "And so you have absolutelynothing to go by. Poor Mr. Narkom! T
he path of Law and Justice is by nomeans an easy one to tread, is it? Of course you can count upon me tohelp you in every way. That goes without saying. But I can't helpthinking that this news from the War Office with regard to English goldin Belgium has something to do with these bank robberies, my friend. Thetwo things seem to hang together in my mind, and a dollar to a ducat thatin the long run they identify themselves thus.... Hello! Who's that?" asa tap sounded at the door. "I'll be off if you're expecting visitors. Iwant to look into this thing a little closer. Some time or other thethieves are bound to leave a clue behind. Success breeds carelessness,you know, and if they think that Scotland Yard is giving the businessup as a bad job, they won't be so deuced particular as to clearing upafterward. We'll unravel the thing between us, never fear."

  "I wish I could think so, old chap!" said Mr. Narkom, a trifle gloomily,as he called "Come in!" The door opened to admit Petrie, very straightand business-like. "But you're no end of a help. It does me good just tosee you. What is it, Petrie?"

  "A gentleman to see you, sir," responded the constable in crisp tones. "Agentleman by name of Merriton, Sir Nigel Merriton he said his name was.Bit of a toff I should say by the look of 'im. And wants to see youpartikler. He mentioned Mr. Cleek's name, sir, but I told 'im he wasn'tin at the moment. Shall I show him up?"

  "Quite right, Petrie," laughed Cleek, in recognition of this act of oneof the Yard's subordinates; for everyone was to do everything in hispower to shield Cleek's identity. "I'll stay if you don't mind, Mr.Narkom. I happen to know something of this Merriton. A fine upstandingyoung man, who, once upon a time was very great friends with MissLorne. That was in the old Hawksley days. Chap's lately come into hisinheritance, I believe. Uncle disappeared some five or six years agoand legal time being up, young Merriton has come over to claim his own.The thing made a newspaper story for a week when it happened, but theynever found any trace of the old man. And now the young one is overhere, bearing the title, and I suppose living as master of theTowers--spooklike spot that it is! Needn't say who I am, old chap, untilI hear a bit. I'll just shift over there by the window and read the news,if you don't mind."

  "Right you are." Mr. Narkom struggled into his coat--which he generallydisposed of during private office hours. Then he gave the order for thegentleman to be shown in and Petrie disappeared forthwith.

  But during the time which intervened before Merriton's arrival, Cleek dida little "altering" in face and general get-up, and when he _did_ appearcertainly no one would have recognized the aristocratic lookingindividual of a moment or two before, in an ordinary-appearing,stoop-shouldered, rather racy-looking tout.

  "Ready," said Cleek at last, and Mr. Narkom touched the bell upon histable. Immediately the door opened and Petrie appeared followed closelyby young Sir Nigel Merriton, whose clean-cut face was grim and whosemouth was set forbiddingly.

  And in this fashion was Cleek introduced to the chief character of a casewhich was to prove one of the strangest of his whole career. There wasnothing about Sir Nigel, a well-dressed man about town, to indicate thathe was to be the centre of an extraordinary drama, yet such was to be thecase.

  He was obviously perturbed, but those who sought Mr. Narkom's counselwere frequently agitated; for no one can be even remotely connected withcrime in one form or another without showing excitement to a greater orlesser degree. And so his manner by no means set Sir Nigel apart frommany another visitor to the Superintendent's sanctum.

  Mr. Narkom's cordial nod brought from the young man a demand to see "Mr.Cleek," of whom he had heard such wonderful tales. Mr. Narkom, with oneeye on that very gentleman's back, announced gravely that Cleek wasabsent on a government case, and asked what he could do. He waved a handin Cleek's direction and said that here was one of his men who woulddoubtless be able to help Sir Nigel in any difficulty he might happento be in at the moment.

  Now, as Sir Nigel's story was a long one, and as the young man wastoo agitated to tell it altogether coherently, we will go back for acertain space of time, and tell the very remarkable story, the detailsof which were told to Mr. Narkom and his nameless associate in theSuperintendent's office, and which was to involve Cleek of Scotland Yardin a case which was later to receive the title of the Riddle of theFrozen Flame.

  Much that he told them of his family history was already known to Cleek,whose uncanny knowledge of men and affairs was a by-word, but as thatpart of the story itself was not without romance, it must be told too,and to do so takes the reader back to a few months before his presentvisit to the precincts of the Law, when Sir Nigel Merriton returned toEngland after twelve years of army life in India. A few days he had spentin London, renewing acquaintances, revisiting places he knew--to findthem wonderfully little changed--and then had journeyed to MerritonTowers, the place which was to be his, due to the extraordinarydisappearance of his uncle--a disappearance which was yet to beexplained.

  Ill luck had often seemed to dog the footsteps of his house and even hisjourney home was not without a mishap; nothing serious, as things turnedout, but still something that might have been vastly so. His train was ina wreck, rather a nasty one, but Nigel himself had come out unscathed,and much to be congratulated, he thought, since through that wreck he hasbecome acquainted with what he firmly believed to be the most beautifulgirl in the world. Better yet, he had learned that she was a neighbour ofhis at Merriton Towers. That fact helped him through what he felt wasgoing to be somewhat of an ordeal--his entrance into the gloomy andghost-ridden old house of his inheritance.