Cleek of Scotland Yard: Detective Stories

by Thomas W. Hanshew

“Yes, her own bonny self, Major,” said Cleek “and you’d never have had a moment’s worry over her if that faithful fellow upstairs had been suffered to get back here that night and to tell you about it in the morning. I’ve had a little talk with—oh, well, somebody who is in a position to give me information that corroborates my own little ‘shots’ at the matter (I’ll tell you all about that later on), and so am able to tell you a thing or two that you ought to have known before this! I don’t know whether Lieutenant Chadwick’s coming here and prying about had any wish to do harm to the horse at the back of it or not. I only know that Farrow thought it had, and he played this little trick to block the game and to throw dust into the eyes of anybody that attempted to get at her. What he did then was to dye her so that she might be mistaken for Chocolate Maid, then to take Chocolate Maid over to his own stable and hide her there until the time came to start for Epsom. That’s what he wanted the pail of water for, Major—to mix the dye and to apply it. I half suspected it from the beginning, but I became sure of it when I found that scrap of paper in the bedding of the box. It was still wet—a bit of the label from the dye-bottle which came off in the operation. Between the poor chap’s fingers I found stains of the dye still remaining. Spirit of Wine would have removed it, but washing in water wouldn’t. Pardon, your ladyship? When did I begin to suspect that Farrow was at the bottom of it? Oh, when first I heard of the poisoned dog. Nobody ever heard it bark when the poisoner approached the stables. That, of course, meant that the person who administered the poison must have been some one with whom it was familiar, and also some one who was already inside the place, since even the first approaching step of friend or foe would have called forth one solitary bark at least. Farrow didn’t do the thing by halves, you see. He meant it to look like a genuine case of horse stealing to outsiders, and killing the dog gave it just that touch of actuality which carries conviction. As for the rest—the major must tell you that in private, your ladyship. The rest of this little matter is for men alone.”

Lady Mary bowed and passed out into the fast coming dusk; and, in the stable the major, Cleek and Narkom stood together, waiting until she was well beyond earshot.

“Now, Major, we will get down to brass tacks, as our American cousins say,” said Cleek, when that time at length came. “You would like to know, I suppose, how poor Farrow came by his injuries and from whose hand. Well, you shall. He was coming back from his cottage after stabling the real Chocolate Maid there when the thing happened; and he received those injuries for rushing to the defence of the woman he loved, and attempting to thrash the blackguard who had taken advantage of her trust and belief in him to spoil her life forever. The woman was, of course, Maggie McFarland. The man was your charming guest, Captain MacTavish!”

“Good God! MacTavish? MacTavish?”

“Yes, Major—the gallant captain who received such a sudden call to rejoin his regiment as soon as he knew that Tom Farrow was likely to recover and to speak. Perhaps you can understand now why Farrow and the girl no longer seemed to ‘hit it off together as formerly.’ The gallant captain had come upon the boards. Dazzled by the beauty of him, tricked by the glib tongue of him, deluded into the belief that she had actually ‘caught a gentleman’ and that he really meant to make her his wife and take her away to India with him, when he went, the silly, innocent, confiding little idiot became his victim and threw over a good man’s love for a handful of Dead Sea Fruit.”

“Never for one instant had Tom Farrow an idea of this; but the night before last as he crossed the moor—he knew! In the darkness he stumbled upon the truth. He heard her crying out to the fellow to do her justice, to keep his word and make her the honest wife he had promised that she should be, and he heard, too, the man’s characteristic reply. You can guess what happened, Major, when you know Tom Farrow. In ten seconds he was up and at that fellow like a mad bull.

“The girl, terrified out of her life, screamed and ran away, seeing the brave captain laying about him with his heavy, silver-headed hunting crop as she fled. She never saw the end of the fight—she never dared; but in the morning when there was no Tom Farrow to be seen, she went out there on the moor and found him. She would have spoken then had she dared, poor creature, but the man’s threat was an effective one. If she spoke he would do likewise. If she kept silent she might go away and her disgrace be safely hidden. Which she chose, we know.”

“The damned hound!”

“Oh, no, Major, oh, no—that’s too hard on hounds. The only houndlike thing about that interesting gentleman was that he made an attempt to ‘get to cover’ and to run away. I knew that he would—I knew that that was his little dodge when he made that little excuse about having to pack up his effects. He saw how the game was running and he meant to slip the cable and clear out while he had the chance.”

“And you let him do it?—you never spoke a word, but let the blackguard do it? Gad, sir, I’m ashamed of you!”