Cleek: The Man of the Forty Faces | Page 5

and
flew off in one direction; he dived into a crowd and bolted in another,
and before you could say Jack Robinson he was doubling and twisting,
jumping into cabs and jumping out again--all to gain time, of course,
for the woman to do what he'd put her up to doing--and leading me the
devil's own chase through the devil's own tangle till he was ready to
bunk for the Embankment. And you let him go, you blooming footler!
Had him and let him go, and chucked away a third of £200 for the price
of half a quid!"
And long after Smathers and Petrie had left him, and the wondering
crowd had dispersed, and point duty at "Dead Man's Corner" was just
point duty again and nothing more, P.C. Collins stood there, chewing

the cud of bitter reflection over those words, and trying to reckon up
just how many pounds and how much glory had been lost to him.

II
"But, damme, sir, the thing's an outrage! I don't mince my words, Mr.
Narkom--I say plump and plain the thing's an outrage, a disgrace to the
police, an indignity upon the community at large; and for Scotland
Yard to permit itself to be defied, bamboozled, mocked at in this
appalling fashion by a paltry burglar--"
"Uncle, dear, pray don't excite yourself in this manner. I am quite sure
that if Mr. Narkom could prevent the things--"
"Hold your tongue, Ailsa--I will not be interfered with! It's time that
somebody spoke out plainly and let this establishment know what the
public has a right to expect of it. What do I pay my rates and taxes
for--and devilish high ones they are, too, b'gad--if it's not to maintain
law and order and the proper protection of property? And to have the
whole blessed country terrorised, the police defied, and people's houses
invaded with impunity by a gutter-bred brute of a cracksman is nothing
short of a scandal and a shame! Call this sort of tomfoolery being
protected by the police? God bless my soul! one might as well be in
charge of a parcel of doddering old women and be done with it!"
It was an hour and a half after that exciting affair at "Dead Man's
Corner." The scene was Superintendent Narkom's private room at
headquarters, the dramatis personae, Mr. Maverick Narkom himself,
Sir Horace Wyvern, and Miss Ailsa Lome, his niece, a slight,
fair-haired, extremely attractive girl of twenty, the only and orphaned
daughter of a much-loved sister, who, up till a year ago, had known
nothing more exciting in the way of "life" than that which is to be
found in a small village in Suffolk, and falls to the lot of an underpaid
vicar's only child. A railway accident had suddenly deprived her of
both parents, throwing her wholly upon her own resources, without a
penny in the world. Sir Horace had gracefully come to the rescue and

given her a home and a refuge, being doubly repaid for it by the
affection and care she gave him and the manner in which she assumed
control of a household which hitherto had been left wholly to the
attention of servants, Lady Wyvern having long been dead, and her two
daughters of that type which devotes itself entirely to the pleasures of
society and the demands of the world. A regular pepper-box of a
man--testy, short-tempered, exacting--Sir Horace had flown headlong
to Superintendent Narkom's office as soon as that gentleman's note,
telling him of the Vanishing Cracksman's latest threat, had been
delivered, and, on Miss Lorne's advice, had withheld all news of it from
the members of his household and brought her with him.
"I tell you that Scotland Yard must do something--must! must! must!"
stormed he as Narkom, resenting that stigma upon the institution,
puckered up his lips and looked savage. "That fellow has always kept
his word--always, in spite of your precious band of muffs--and if you
let him keep it this time, when there's upwards of £40,000 worth of
jewels in the house, it will be nothing less than a national disgrace, and
you and your wretched collection of bunglers will be covered with
deserved ridicule."
Narkom swung round, smarting under these continued taunts, these
"flings" at the efficiency of his prided department, his nostrils dilated,
his temper strained to the breaking-point.
"Well, he won't keep it this time--I promise you that!" he rapped out
sharply. "Sooner or later every criminal, no matter how clever, meets
his Waterloo--and this shall be his! I'll take this affair in hand myself,
Sir Horace. I'll not only send the pick of my men to guard the jewels,
but I'll go with them; and if that fellow crosses the threshold of Wyvern
House to-night, by the Lord, I'll have