Cleek: the Man of the Forty FacesHanshew, Thomas W.
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Cleek: the Man of the Forty Faces
Hanshew, Thomas W.
Cleek, Hamilton (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Police -- Great Britain -- Fiction
And it was barely two minutes after he had expressed this wish that Miss
Morrison reappeared upon the scene, accompanied by a pale, nervous,
bovine-eyed man of about thirty-five years of age, and said in a tone of
agitation: "Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Headland, but this is Mr.
Maurice Van Nant. He is most anxious to meet you, and father would have
me bring him up at once."
Narkom screwed round on his heel, looked at the Belgian, and lost faith
in Miss Morrison's powers of discrimination instantly. On the
dressing-table stood Carboys' picture--heavy-jowled, sleepy-eyed,
dull-looking--and on the threshold stood a man with the kindest eyes,
the sweetest smile, and the handsomest and most sympathetic countenance
he had seen in many a day. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, if
the face is the index of the character, then here was a man weak as
water, as easily led as any lamb, and as guileless.
"You are just the man I want to see, Mr. Van Nant," said Cleek, after
the first formalities were over, and assuming, as he always did at such
times, the heavy, befogged expression of incompetence. "I confess this
bewildering affair altogether perplexes me; but you, I understand, were
Mr. Carboys' close friend and associate, and as I can find nothing in
the nature of a clue here, I should like, with your permission, to look
over his home quarters and see if I can find anything there."
If he had looked for any sign of reluctance or of embarrassment upon Van
Nant's part when such a request should be made, he was wholly
disappointed, for the man, almost on the point of tears, seized his
hand, pressed it warmly, and said in a voice of eager entreaty: "Oh, do,
Mr. Headland, do. Search anywhere, do anything that will serve to find
my friend and to clear up this dreadful affair. I can't sleep for
thinking of it; I can't get a moment's peace night or day. You didn't
know him or you would understand how I am tortured--how I miss him. The
best friend, the dearest and the lightest-hearted fellow that ever
lived. If I had anything left in this world, I'd give it all--all, Mr.
Headland, to clear up the mystery of this thing and to get him back. One
man could do that, I believe, could and would if I had the money to
offer him."
"Indeed? And who may he be, Mr. Van Nant?"
"The great, the amazing, the undeceivable man, Cleek. He'd get at the
truth of it. Nothing could baffle and bewilder him. But--oh, well, it's
the old, old tale of the power of money. He wouldn't take the case--a
high-and-mighty 'top-notcher' like that--unless the reward was a
tempting one, I'm sure."
"No, I'm afraid he wouldn't," agreed Cleek, with the utmost composure.
"So you must leave him out of your calculations altogether, Mr. Van
Nant. And now, if you don't mind accompanying us and showing the
chauffeur the way, perhaps Mr. Narkom will take us over to your house in
his motor."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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