Cleek pulled down his brows and pinched up his chin.
"Hum-m-m! I can quite believe it," said he. "But what has the curse to do with that sound we have just heard? For I presume that you have no insane inmate. "
"No, no! That is the forerunner of death — her gypsy ladyship's laughter. I will try to explain. As you, perhaps, know, we are a very old family, one of the first to bear arms with King Richard the Lion-hearted in the Holy War, and we have been settled here in this castle more generations than I can count upon my fingers. Our menfolk have always married women of their own class."
"Noblesse oblige" murmured Cleek, with a whimsical smile, as he met Mr. Narkom's eye.
"Exactly," murmured Sir Lionel approvingly. "All except one. Sir Humphry Calmount, in seventeen-sixty-something, made a second marriage, and mated with a beautiful gypsy girl. It was believed that she was of Spanish descent, but, as a matter of fact, she was one of a travelling band of gypsies who settled on the waste lands just outside the castle gates. Well, to cut a long story short, Humphry Calmount fell in love with her and married her. For a time all went well. Her portrait was painted by "
"Sir Peter Lely," interposed Cleek. "Of course, of course! I remember now. 'The Laughing Girl' was the title he gave it. I saw a print of it only a short time ago."
"Yes," said Sir Lionel, with a shudder. "Her laughter rang incessantly through the old walls, and he got to hate it, just as we do to this day. Well, one day, in a fit of rage, he struck her, and I believe a fearful scene followed. It ended in the lady pulling out a dagger and stabbing herself. Just before she died she cursed the house up and down and ended by declaring that whenever her laughter rang through the castle some disaster should befall one of its sons."
"Hum-m-m!" said Cleek, "am I right in presuming that at different times a wild death, that is to say, a sudden death, has occurred, Sir Lionel?"
"At least once in every generation."
"But a coincidence, surely," threw in Ailsa, her eyes on Cleek's face. "I cannot believe that a dying woman's utterance could have any effect, after all these hundreds of years. Can you, Lieutenant?"
"That's what Wentworth says," moaned Lady Calmount, wiping her eyes with a wisp of real lace, gossamer as a fairy's cobweb. "He is my nephew, you know, Lieutenant Deland, and our heir, after Edward, to the family estates. He has had trouble, poor fellow, and is staying with us for the present, until his plans are more settled."
Cleek's mouth grew grim. Yes, he had heard of the "poor fellow's" trouble. It had something to do with card playing, with a prompt resignation from the army following shortly after.
"Tell me," said he quietly, addressing Sir Lionel, who was watching him with great intentness,"was he here when your two sons died? I do not wish to probe into family affairs, but only, if you will permit me, to help you to unravel this strange affair. And a few facts are necessary. Was Captain Calmount here with you at that time?"
Sir Lionel bowed his head.
"He was. But why do you ask? He was our great prop and comfort."
"You called in the police, of course?" said Cleek, apparently ignoring the last sentence.
"Well, no," admitted Sir Lionel, turning scarlet. "The fact is, as Wentworth said, neither of the lads was over-strong, and Dr. Marsh had advised them to be kept quiet; for that reason they were allowed the run of the house, and spent a great deal of their time in the picture gallery." Cleek lifted his chin. His face wore a curious look.
"Tell me," said he, "did they er — meet their death in the picture gallery — at the same time?"
"Within six months of each other. Harold fretted terribly, and he must have had a fatal attack of heart failure, for his heart was naturally weak; he probably just managed to crawl to the picture when death overtook him. Dr. Marsh was very good to us, and Wentworth did what we all considered to be for the best. I see you are suspecting my nephew of having some connection with that foul deed. I tell you it is impossible. He cared more for those two younger lads than Edward himself; indeed, that is what they quarrelled about." He stopped short, as if regretting having spoken.
"What's that? They quarrelled? What about?" Cleek demanded imperatively.
"Wentworth never did get on with Edward, from boyhood upward," put in Lady Calmount. "But he did care for my poor darlings, and in his brusque way he blamed Edward for going abroad on a pleasure trip, the very one, in fact, from which he is now returning. If anything happens to him -" She stopped abruptly, and let the rest of the sentence go by default.
But Cleek got to his feet, and rubbed his hands together, smiling a little. "I should like to have a look at Her Laughing Ladyship, if it's not too late and it wouldn't trouble you too much, Sir Lionel," he said.
"Certainly, certainly," replied Sir Lionel, and promptly led the way into a long, comparatively narrow gallery, in the middle of which, in fact, right opposite to the door, was a picture, roped off from too close inspection by a dark red, silken rope.
Sir Lionel held up a candle, and proceeded quickly to light others.
"So that's her Laughing Ladyship, is it?" said Cleek, gazing curiously up at the brilliant Spanish beauty smiling down into his eyes.
"You beauty, you!" he apostrophized her. "Have you lured those boys to their death, or is it a trap?" His eyes wandered first to Sir Lionel, who appeared to be watching him almost too eagerly, then around the gallery. Then he turned:
"Nothing to be learned here to-night, Sir Lionel. So it's no use wasting any more time. I don't mind having another look round in the daylight. 'Pon my word I don't wonder you get superstitious up here. Let's get down into the light again. I feel quite creepy."
"I very rarely come here myself," said Sir Lionel, with a bitter laugh. "The place has hateful memories." He stopped suddenly and shook his head. Then, snuffing the candles about the spot, turned on his heel and led the way downstairs once more.
As they passed the music-room door, there came the rich strains of the organ playing the grand choral, "Now Praise We All Our God," so that the house was filled with the sound.
Cleek paused and lifted his head. "A grand thing," he said softly, "a great and grand thing; and the man who can play like that is fit for the angels indeed."
"And that is as true a thing as was ever spoken," put in the baronet, with a sigh of genuine delight. "It is Gaston Calmount, a distant cousin, who lives with us. Poor lad, he is humpbacked, but he is as dear to us as a son."
"Another prop, eh?"
But Sir Lionel did not hear. He had opened the door, and now, coming toward them from the organ, was the figure of the hunchback, with a face that was as beautiful as the angels he emulated.
"Uncle Lal!" he murmured tenderly, his softtoned voice shaking with emotion, "I heard the laughter; I heard, I tell you. Surely now you will take action? You will not let our own Edward be murdered by that devil incarnate! You will not, you will not!"
"Hush, hush, Gaston," struck in Sir Lionel hurriedly. Then, as the boy drew back, ashamed of his outburst, and sent a startled look up into Cleek's face, he explained: "These gentlemen are detectives, Gaston. This is Lieutenant Deland, and he is going to try to protect our lad." "The police! Oh, thank God!" The boy — for he looked but little more, although he must have reached manhood
