The Riddle of the Purple Emperor

"Oh, I expect I must have been mistaken," she said, "but I thought I heard her moving down the corridor last night. But I couldn't have, of course."

The queer little one-sided smile travelled up Cleek's face, but he made no comment, and the conversation drifted to other things, until they reached the gates of "The Towers."

Here, however, his thoughts were recalled to the case of the Purple Emperor with a little jerk, for the butler, having ushered them into the hall, said:

"Begging pardon, your ladyship, but there is a gentleman awaitin'."

Lady Brenton turned with a frown puckering her smooth brows.

"If it is a reporter, I will not see him!" she said, with a decisive wave of her hand. "You know that, Graves, very well. I told you yesterday not to admit strangers under any pretext."

"Beggin' pardon, my lady, but it is not a stranger. It is the Indian gentleman, Gunga Dall," responded Graves with a reproachful look at his mistress for ever having doubted him. "He was most anxious to see your ladyship and is waiting in the drawing room."

The exclamation that broke from his mistress's lips upon receipt of this statement was one of mingled relief and pleasure but a deep frown gathered on her son's face.

"That nigger here again, Mater? I can't think how you can bear him about you," he said, irritably. "I should have thought you had had enough of them out in India."

Lady Brenton's face showed signs of evident displeasure.

"Gunga Dall is not a 'nigger,' Edgar. How can you say such a wicked thing!" she expostulated, angrily. "He is a most charming man, and the only one who has ever cured my headaches for me. I haven't had such a night's rest for years as I had last night."

Cleek's eyes were quick enough to note the expression on Sir Edgar's face as Lady Brenton turned to lead the way. It showed such open-mouthed, intense incredulity that he could not resist a little smile on its behalf, nevertheless, as he followed his host and hostess into the room where awaited with Eastern patience the Hindoo whom Sir Edgar had so contemptuously designated "nigger."

If Cleek had expected to find the usual obsequious, cringing half-breed, so familiar to many travellers in India, he was destined to be agreeably disappointed. Gunga Dall was a Brahmin of high caste and ancient lineage, and his greeting to Lady Brenton was a model of grave reserve and courtesy.

A splendid specimen of the East was Gunga Dall, for his face fairly radiated good nature and a general belief in humanity, which was still more clearly displayed in his conversation. It was no wonder, therefore, that Constable Roberts had said: "'E wouldn't 'urt a fly." He truly looked that meek part to perfection. Cleek noted his very apparent admiration of Lady Brenton and wondered a good deal as those familiar lines,

"East is East, and West is West,
And never the twain shall meet."

came into his mind. The ball of conversation rolled leisurely, until the topic that was uppermost in almost every mind found its way to them at last.

But at the first mention of it Gunga Dall's dark face turned a sort of dull ivory hue, and he threw up his hands.

"It is all so terrible," he ejaculated, "and we of the East cannot view death as phlegmatically as you English. Such things as murder we cannot so easily discuss. I must beg to be forgiven if I withdraw myself from your discussion."

A short while afterward Cleek arose to depart and Ailsa went with him.

"Don't you think Lady Brenton is a dear woman?" she said, impulsively, as they turned into the lane, "and this awful business has completely upset her. She has simply longed for that poor child, Lady Margaret, to come back from France, and says she has even tried herself to see Miss Cheyne, but it has always been in vain."

Cleek rubbed his chin meditatively, and pondered a moment upon the import of these words. Was that what had taken her ladyship down to the lodge to see Miss Cheyne last night? If she was so fond of Lady Margaret, why had she not gone to the station to meet her? Why had Sir Edgar himself taken the foolish trouble of asking Miss Cheyne's permission when he knew it would be refused?

These were but a few of the thoughts that passed through his mind. But chiefly he could not drive away remembrance of the gold embroidery which decorated the turban of Gunga Dall, the only outward sign as regards clothes that the Hindoo gentleman wore to mark his Eastern origin.

"Lady Brenton is a very sensitive woman, I should say," he said, finally, "although she bears herself so well after the shock of Lady Margaret's disappearance. I see that you are very much attached to her."

"I am, dear," said Ailsa, enthusiastically. "She has been a very good friend to me in every way, and that was why I was so glad you happened to come along at that psychological moment."

"No gladder than I," said Cleek, reflectively. "Mr. George Headland does not perhaps fit in with my attire but who's to know the difference. I was afraid you would make it Lieutenant Deland, and I meant to have written you a little note and sent it up by Dollops. I do not want Sir Edgar to have any suspicions that he is being watched."

Ailsa looked up at him with grave, sweet eyes.

"I am afraid I do not understand. Oh!" with a sudden cry of fear, "do you mean that you suspect him, Sir Edgar, of being concerned? Why, his whole life is bound up in Lady Margaret! I can see that now, and it is hardly likely that he would harm her only living relative!"

"And yet," said Cleek, slowly, "he certainly had a revolver in his pocket when I met him in the lane on the night I drove to Hampton, and you yourself heard his threat of murder the day before yesterday."

Ailsa looked at him, her eyes wide, the colour draining slowly from her lips and cheeks. It was impossible not to grasp the truth as well as the significance of these two circumstances, slight evidences of guilt though they might appear.

"Oh, my dear," she said, faintly, "you surely can't think – a dear boy like Sir Edgar. You surely can't believe that he could have had a hand in such a frightful crime?"

"I hope not, Ailsa," responded Cleek, gravely, "for I admit I like the boy. But one thing is certain, if he did not actually commit the crime himself, he knows who did. Knows, too, that there is a woman likely to be implicated in the case."

"A woman – a – a woman?"

"Possibly two; at least two women were in Cheyne Court last night."

"Are you hinting at Lady Brenton? That would be too absurd for words!"

"I am hinting nothing," returned Cleek with a smile into her anxious face. "Now that I have seen her I would almost as soon suspect you yourself, shall we say," he added, smilingly.

He saw that Ailsa was almost overcome by the power of her emotion and he stood still beneath the shadow of the trees.

"Who knows as well as I do the falsity of appearances," he went on in that same grave tone, "and I am not likely to be swayed by circumstantial evidence, black as it may appear. What is more, I will prove this to you, for I know that you will help me to the utmost of your power. Here is one little clue that will tell heavily against someone. Ailsa, tell me, will you? Have you ever seen this before?"

While he was speaking his hand had gone to his pocket, and he drew out his pocketbook. Opening it, he took out a little scrap of gold lace and let her see it lying on his open palm. Her eyes dropped to the glittering fragment and a puzzled frown appeared on her face. Then suddenly she gave a little start and bent over it.

"I thought at first it was torn from my own dress," she said frankly, looking up at him with wide-open, serious eyes, "for as it happens I have a dress trimmed with embroidery exactly like it. Would you care to see it?"

"Not in the least, Ailsa mine," responded Cleek, quickly. "I am not going to suggest that you were at Cheyne Court last night – anyway, this fragment smells too strongly of jasmine to belong to you."

She laughed up into his face for a moment.

"Fancy remembering that!" she said, softly. "It is a scent I detest, though strangely enough a favourite one with Lady Brenton. Sir Edgar gave her quite a big bottle of it on her birthday, I believe. It is very strong, and the least drop is sufficient to scent the whole room. That's why I dislike it so, it seems somehow so suggestive!"

"Hmn," said Cleek, quietly, "that's strange, rather." Huile de jasmin, eh? And it was Lady Brenton's favourite scent. He fell to musing again. If Lady Brenton had been so soundly asleep last night, how came her scarf to be caught in the dead man's hand and the very scent she used to be permeating the whole place?

"I hope you are not going to think her capable of committing murder," Ailsa said with a smile, "because she possesses a gold scarf and likes jasmine. As it happens I know she was in her room all the night. It was not until the early hours that I fancied I heard a step, and even then I must have been mistaken."

"Nevertheless, she certainly visited Cheyne Court last night," persisted Cleek, calmly. "I know that beyond all possible doubt, for Dollops saw two women with gold scarves, and as we caught Miss Jennifer – "

"What?" Ailsa turned sharply as she spoke and Cleek told her of the little incident.

"I can believe anything of her," said she, dryly, when he had finished, "for I know how long she has sought to entrap Sir Edgar into an engagement and woo him from his allegiance to Lady Margaret this past year. But that Lady Brenton was there, at Cheyne Court, I will not – cannot believe. I am sure she never left the house – " She paused abruptly, and grew very pale, at the recollection of that swift step that had sounded on the polished floor of the corridor when all the house was still. In her innermost heart she knew that she had not been mistaken. And yet, and yet —

"Oh, but she is the soul of honour!" she said, looking up at Cleek with frightened eyes, "and she told me herself that she slept soundly all night. If she had gone out after I fell asleep – "

"It could be proved and very easily," put in Cleek, gently. "You know how moist the night was. The lane was wet and muddy. Her clothes, her skirt, her shoes – But I will not suggest that."