Miss Cheyne had been killed--oh, yes, months ago--and this man who had taken her place had murdered Lady Margaret, though it was not to be allowed to leak out. "Oh, no"--with many a wise shake of the head, and knowing wink--"the police knew their business." But what had they done with the girl's body? Ah! that remained to be seen. Meanwhile, if human ingenuity and absolute disregard of time stood for anything, they meant to see the body of the impostor for themselves.
Tongues wagged and heads nodded, but nevertheless, none but the police themselves, and such representatives of the press as were absolutely necessary, had been permitted to cross the threshold of Cheyne Court, or even obtain the merest glimpse of the dead man. Notwithstanding Cleek's reserve, and Mr. Narkom's own restrictions, news had managed to leak out of the mysterious sign of the Pentacle upon the murderer's arm, and as Scotland Yard--as represented by Cleek and the Superintendent--refused to give forth any further knowledge that they might well be supposed to possess, imagination ran riot.
The correspondent of the _Party Lantern_ therefore "discovered" that the murdered man was a famous member of a Royal house, condemned by his seniors to become dead to the world, owing to his having offended the masonic societies of his country. Further details the _Lantern_ refused to give, though hinting darkly at deeds of misconduct that would have made Don Giovanni turn green with envy. As to the whereabouts of Lady Margaret, they again contented themselves with wild hints as to what they might have told, had it not been for their "honour."
On the other hand, the _Evening Tatler_ "discovered" and declared the man to be nothing more exciting than a low-down anarchist, who had tried to do his boon companions out of their share of the loot of the Cheyne jewels. That they were any nearer to the truth, however, than their contemporary, was equally open to query; though when Mr. Narkom pointed out the arguments of the reporter to his ally Cleek gave a little approving nod.
"Best thing we can do is to shut that young man up," he said, tersely. "Get on to the _Evening Tatler_, Mr. Narkom, and tell the news editor that we only want vague eventualities given to the public just now--no facts at all. Otherwise, you know, we shall put the Pentacle Club on guard, and if this is one of its crimes, we want to scotch the whole gang once and for all. That this man was a member of the Club is certain, for the markings of that Pentacle were not branded on, as in former cases where people were murdered from motives of revenge, but finely tattooed, showing that our friend is decidedly an old hand at the game. Personally, I want to find out what Blake is doing."