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CHAPTER XXI
"'TIS A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS"

For a minute the young man made neither sound nor movement, and Cleek was tempted to believe that his presence there was accidental – a mere trick of chance. But of a sudden, as he peered farther out, he caught a glimpse of Sir Edgar's face, and that one glance told him that here was no chance eavesdropper, but one whose hatred of the Hindoo presumably would carry him very near to murder now, if he had not already committed that act. His face was white with the passion that kills if need be, and his twitching hands and lips told their own story. As Cleek's eyes fell on a little shining instrument in one of those shaking hands, he knew it was time to act quickly. He leaned over just as Sir Edgar raised the revolver to aim at Gunga Dall's retreating figure and with a grip of iron grasped the boy by the shoulder. He swung his slim figure over the shallow window-sill and into the ballroom before you could say Jack Robinson.

The strength of his muscles was extraordinary, and as the young man stood before him, sputtering in fury at this calm proceeding, Cleek gave a short, sharp laugh.

"Took you rather by surprise didn't I, my friend?" he said as Sir Edgar turned upon him menacingly. "But quick thought demands quick action, and my apologies are manifold. Believe me – "

"Who the devil are you and what are you doing here?" cut in Sir Edgar, angrily, trying to recognize the strangely contorted face of the man who stood guard over him.

"Who am I?" replied Cleek, with a light chuckle. "Ah, my friend, more than you would like to have that question answered. What I am doing is another matter – preventing another murder, I fancy. Anyway – "

He gave a quick spring and there came a swift rustle, a metallic click! The revolver was on the floor and a band of steel was locked about each of the young man's wrists.

"You've put handcuffs on me," Sir Edgar cried out, angrily. "How dare you commit such an outrage! I'll have you arrested – I – "

"Better let that subject alone, young man. I suppose you don't realize that I overheard all that passed between Gunga Dall and Lady Brenton just now."

"Well, and you know that he lied," put in Sir Edgar, eagerly. "My mother wasn't there that night – you must know that."

"On the contrary, my friend, I know that she was," responded Cleek, serenely.

Sir Edgar made an effort to raise his shackled hands. His face was passionate.

"It's a lie, an infernal lie, I tell you!" he cried, vehemently. "It was I who killed the old woman, if you want to know the truth. Not Lady Brenton!"

"I do want to know the truth," replied Cleek, severely. "But that is not it, so don't tell any more lies than you are obliged to. If I say Lady Brenton was here that night, it does not mean that she killed Miss Cheyne, nor that you did, either, despite the fact that you had a revolver in your pocket."

A sudden, startled look passed over Sir Edgar's face. His mouth was a little drawn.

"Then what is the meaning of this outrage? What right have you to arrest me?" he said with a very creditable attempt at bluster which deceived Cleek not at all.

"The right of the law, young man. You asked me who I was just now. Well, I'll tell you as much as the world knows – I am Cleek, Cleek of Scotland Yard."

"Cleek!" Filled with astonishment and not a little awe, Sir Edgar found himself looking into a hard, cynical face with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped, cruel mouth.

Cleek smiled.

"Perhaps you know this man better," he said, quietly, and in a flash his features blent, softened, altered, made of themselves yet another mask, and Sir Edgar found himself gazing into the face of Lieutenant Deland.

"Good heavens! The lieutenant!" he said, with a throb of fear in his voice. "Then you were that man – and Mr. Narkom knew all the time."

"Yes, Sir Edgar, and perhaps, too, you can tell me of this one, eh?"

In a flash, that face had given place to the bovine stupidity of Mr. George Headland, as the young man had seen him at Scotland Yard.

"Mr. George Headland!" The name scarcely sounded above a whisper and Cleek smiled a little as his face now resumed its normal expression.

"All three, my friend," he said, genially. "So you see it is useless to attempt to deceive me. I have given you these proofs, to drive that lesson home. Put yourself unreservedly in my hands, and you will be safe, otherwise – well, remember that the inquest is only postponed, not settled."

Something of menace in the low tones caused the face of Sir Edgar Brenton to grow more pale and for a brief moment there was silence. Then Cleek spoke swiftly.

"Give me your word to work with me, on the side of the law, and I will see that the one you seek to shield shall not be harmed so much as by a hair of her head," he said. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. – "

"Mr. George Headland, please."

"Very well, Mr. Headland, I place myself in your hands completely, if you will give me your word of honour to say nothing, absolutely nothing, to any living soul about this."

"You may safely trust the knowledge with me," responded Cleek, lightly, as he undid the manacled hands. "And now, Sir Edgar, I want you to tell me everything that happened that night, and the night when the imposter was also killed, then go up to town and stay there till I send for you. Now, fire away!"

Sir Edgar hesitated, then gave a queer little gulp.

"Well, I suppose there is no help for it," he said in a shaken voice, seating himself beside Cleek on the wide window seat. "I was coming back from a dinner party, just as I said, but I meant to see Margaret, despite Miss Cheyne, and I still had that revolver in my pocket. It was the revolver that Miss Cheyne herself threw at me that same day when, like a fool, I tried to get her consent to our happiness. How and why this one was marked with my initial as it was, I don't know, but I'll swear Mr. Cl – Headland, that the first one was not. I'll take my oath on that. It was a Smith & Wesson repeater. Well, anyhow, I came back to Cheyne Court, and after knocking till I was tired, I was about to turn away and had got to the bottom of the steps when I thought I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. On turning, to my astonishment, I found the door ajar. In I went, and as I did so, there came the sound of a shot – from the ballroom."

"Ah, then it was you I heard, when I knocked?" interposed Cleek.

Sir Edgar nodded.

"Yes, I didn't stop to notice, just rushed into that room, and saw the old woman dead and not a soul to be seen. Then I heard your knocking again, and I think I lost my head – I thought it might be the police. I know I was mad, but I just made a dash for the window and was out and through it like a shot!"

"H'mn – then there was someone else in the house, too, for it was a woman who crossed that lawn, one who wore a gold scarf," said Cleek, his brows knitted. "Well, go on, what next?"

"You can imagine my feelings when you said you had been driven out by Miss Cheyne herself when I met you in the lane. I thought that in my fright I had imagined the murder and that she must just have fainted and come to afterward. I know it was silly, but I was afraid to speak."

"That's all right," said Cleek, quietly. "But now what about the second murder? How did you come to go to Cheyne Court again? That wants explaining away, too."

"And it can easily be explained," retorted Sir Edgar, rapidly. "I was trying to find Lady Margaret, and I caught a glimpse, or thought I did, of a woman's figure in the grounds and followed it right into the house. There again I found the body of Miss Cheyne, as naturally I took it to be, and felt I must have gone out of my senses. There was something queer and supernatural in finding her again in the same spot. Like a donkey I took to my heels, and ran straight into Dr. Verrall half-way down the lane."

Cleek twitched up an enquiring eyebrow.

"Met Dr. Verrall in the lane, did you?"

"Yes. He told me he had come from Miss Wynne's house, he had been to borrow some drug from the old doctor's surgery or something. Anyway, I tell you I was tempted to blurt out the truth, but again I was afraid, for, as a matter of fact, we are not usually the best of friends – you see, well – " He broke off, finding this position rather more awkward than the others had been.

A little one-sided smile crept up Cleek's face and he put his hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"I know," he said, quietly, "he was jealous of you and Miss Wynne, wasn't he? She – er – entertains somewhat of a liking for you, doesn't she?"

"Yes, that's just it. Not that there was any cause, for though I have known Jenny all my life, I have never dreamt of marrying her. And after I met Margaret, she was the only girl in the world!"

"I know, I know," Cleek said, quietly. "But to return to our muttons, Sir Edgar. Didn't you meet any one else at all? Just think a moment. No woman at all – eh?"

For a moment Sir Edgar hesitated. Then his honest eyes met Cleek's, and read the knowledge in their keen depths.

"Yes," he said in a broken, choked voice, "you seem to know everything, Mr. Headland. I met my mother. She was doing what I know now she often had done, when perturbed or upset – walking in her sleep. God knows why she had chosen that particular part to wander in. But asleep she certainly was, for she failed to recognize me at all, and I managed to lead her gently back until she was once more in her bedroom."

Cleek looked at the young man sharply for a moment, as though questioning the verity of this statement.

Walking in her sleep, eh? That would account for many things. He remembered that Ailsa had told him about the sound of footsteps in Lady Brenton's room… Walking in her sleep, eh? So that was the explanation, was it? Or was it not likely to have been a case of hypnotism? Then remembering Lady Brenton's headaches Cleek began to see daylight at last. So Gunga Dall had not been lying after all when he said he saw her ladyship, and she had not lied either in replying that she knew she wasn't there. For if she were walking in her sleep, Lady Brenton certainly did not know of the fact. And that cleared a good many things in Cleek's mind.

"You know I'm speaking the truth, Mr. Headland, you do believe me, don't you?" put in Sir Edgar, suddenly, with a little anxious note in his voice. "I'd take my oath on it, you know."

"No need for that, my friend," responded Cleek, with a smile, "your word is enough. But if you want to help me, keep your eye on our young friend Bobby Wynne when you get to town. His movements will possibly be somewhat interesting, and I'd like to keep posted regarding them – So she was walking in her sleep then, eh? I begin to see light."

"Well, I'm hanged if I do," responded Sir Edgar, with a little shrug of the shoulders, "still, I'll do my part. And if only you'll find my Margaret – God! Mr. Headland, I'll do anything in the world to show my gratitude!"

Their hands met and clasped for a moment in the grip of friendship and in the next, Sir Edgar was striding away with new hope.

Cleek watched him go from the room and swing down the long path that lay by the window. Then he faced round suddenly and took up his stand once more by the broad window-sill to reconsider the changed aspect of things. Lady Brenton was clearly out of the case now, for it was not possible that she could have committed the actual murder, even in her sleep, so the case had narrowed down once more. What was worse, it was centring on the girl who had worn that gold scarf – Lady Margaret herself! And yet he would not believe that even desperate as she might have been made, she could deliberately kill her enemy. Yet if it were not she, who, then, had worn the scarf in her place? Not Miss Jennifer, for her scarf had been gold, it is true, but of a different colour and texture. The thought of her appearance recalled Dr. Verrall and again Cleek frowned heavily.

Dr. Verrall knew more than he had revealed at the inquest. Instinctively Cleek realized that the doctor was trying to shield Jennifer Wynne from discovery, shield the girl he loved despite everything. Jennifer had access to the old doctor's surgery, and someone had undoubtedly tampered with the bottle of prussic acid, as he knew already. Dr. Verrall himself might have climbed up – but the shreds of cloth which Cleek had found clinging to the ivy were not like any suit Dr. Verrall had worn. Certainly not like the black broadcloth which he had on the night of the murder when fetched from the lane where he had lurked so opportunely. True, he might have changed quickly, but not so quickly as that.

Cleek was still bent on the problem, but not so absorbed that he did not hear yet another light footfall outside, one that seemed to be approaching the window where he still sat. It stopped right under the window, and Cleek did not dare so much as move a finger lest he betray his presence. Backward and forward paced the light steps, and the rustle of a skirt told him it was a woman. Two, three, five minutes passed, and Cleek sat hunched and motionless, unable to see who this new visitor to the house of mystery might be.

That it was someone keeping a tryst was only too evident; waiting, too, for someone who had been delayed past an agreed time, as was indicated by the impatient tapping of one foot on the path. Well, Cleek was prepared to wait all night if necessary.

A sound came suddenly across the night, the sound of a cuckoo. With a little cry of relief, the woman outside answered the cry, softly and clearly.

"Quick! I am here," Cleek heard the words almost gasped out. Then there came the sound of snapping twigs as if a man were forcing his way through the dense shrubberies, followed by the sharp crunch of feet on the gravel. With these came the soft whisper of a man's voice warning the woman to keep silence as she rushed toward him, in a state bordering on absolute hysteria.

"Quick!" she said again. "If I am discovered here, or my absence noticed, all is lost! You don't know what horrors of suspense I have endured. I was afraid you would think better of your promise and go to the police, after all. All through the inquest I dreaded every opening of the door! Tell me you won't give him up. He is so young. Oh, I shall scream in a minute."

Again came the man's whispered "Hush!" and then he broke forth suddenly in an excited undertone.

"I tell you I saw him," he said in a voice which was quite unfamiliar to Cleek. "If you've got the money, all right, if not – "

He let the rest go by default, and Cleek heard a little moan of distress come from the woman. "All I've got left is here. I can't give you another penny," she cried, and Cleek heard her fumbling as in a bag.

But now he scarcely noticed her movements. Other and more startling thoughts were in his mind. A scent of jasmine was in his nostrils.

He did not need to move or see now, he knew that the unseen speaker was Jennifer Wynne, and that the boy she was trying to save was none other than the lad she had mothered and watched over – her idle young scamp of a brother. It was all as plain as a pikestaff. The lad, in the power of the tipster Blake, had seen through his disguise, and in the quarrel that must have followed had murdered him!

But with what? The prussic acid had been taken from his father's dispensary. Had he then gone prepared to kill him? Or was it not Bobby, after all, for whom Jennifer was allowing herself to be blackmailed. Could it be Sir Edgar? And who was this man who had discovered her secret, this man who was keeping back in the shadow of the bushes? What part was his in this grim tragedy of death?

It was Jennifer herself who gave the answer.

"I tell you this is the last I can give you or get from anywhere or any one," she said in a low, tense tone. "I knew you were both out for something, directly I recognized the imposture, but you must be content and leave me alone. How do I know that you didn't kill him yourself for that matter? Oh, if I only knew, if I only knew the truth, that it were not my boy!" Here her voice stopped and for a reason which made Cleek groan inwardly.

Down at the end of the path there came the sound of feet. He knew and understood what was happening, what an unkind blow Fate had dealt him.

Dollops was returning to be near his master, lest anything unforeseen should occur. There was just one little rustle like the sound of notes crackling. Then Jennifer sped forward along the path that led away from the house. The bushes crackled and snapped again, and the sound of a man's running feet echoed faintly from the other side of the hedge. Cleek was on his feet and over the window-sill like a flash. He ran down the lane openly, without so much as a look toward Dollops, struck through the ground, and cut into the meadows adjoining. Yes! – there was the figure of his quarry. Cleek bent his head and ran on.

It was but a brief second, then he looked up, to find his man again. He stopped short, as though struck by some invisible force.

Far as eye could see were the smooth green meadows dotted here and there in the distance with slumbering sheep, but of sign of human being there was none. The man had disappeared as though the ground or the sky had opened and swallowed him up. Cleek was alone in that expanse of green pasture, utterly and entirely alone!

CHAPTER XXII
THE TRAP

For the space of ten minutes after that staggering discovery Dollops, who had followed closely on his "Gov'nor's" heels, stood watching him trot round and round that field, not unlike one of the colts on the other side of the hedge.

Presently, as Cleek stood by a clump of golden gorse, Dollops saw him throw back his head and give a little laugh of triumph.

"Dollops," he called to the watching lad, "cut back to the Inn, and tell Mr. Narkom to send Lennard up to Cheyne Court with the car. I'm going back to nose around again, and may need them both."

"Yes, sir," said Dollops, obediently, "and shall I come back?"

"Please yourself," was the laughing reply. "I shall want you to keep an eye on the Wynnes, though. There's something there I'm not quite sure of – "

Dollops showed a sudden outburst of joy.

"You trust 'em to me," he said, excitedly. "I always did say as 'ow that young party was up to no good, but I'll look after 'em all right. You leave 'er to me."

With a little nod, Cleek turned back and Dollops sped off on his errand. At the beginning of the lane, however, his mind always on the alert, he looked back, and like his master a few minutes before, he had the surprise of his life. The field was one unbroken seat of grass and gorse bushes. Cleek, too, had disappeared!

For a moment Dollops stood stunned by the shock. Then he moved as if to turn back, but he had had his orders and as there had been neither sight nor sound of anything suspicious he turned once more, and ran as hard as he could in the direction of the village.

It was some half an hour later when the limousine drew up outside the door of Cheyne Court, and Dollops hopped out of it.

"Gawd send 'e's safe," said he, his teeth chattering like a monkey's.

"It gave me the fair 'ump, Mr. Narkom, when I looks back and 'e was gone, vanished clean off the map, so to speak. Wot if 'e ain't 'ere, after all? S'pose those devils, Pentacle gangers they was fer sure, nipped 'im? I ought never to 'ave left 'im! That's wot I oughtn't to 'ave done. An' if anything 'appens to 'im it'll be all my blooming fault!"

The Superintendent frowned, though to tell the truth, he was as anxious as Dollops himself over Cleek's strange disappearance. He jumped out of the vehicle in Dollops' wake and entered the house.

Just then the ballroom door opened swiftly and Cleek came out, his eyes shining and a look of utter satisfaction on his face.

"Thank goodness you're safe, Cleek!" the Superintendent said, striding up to him, "though how you got here, without being seen beats all, for we had a man on the road you know."

Cleek smiled.

"Precisely, Mr. Narkom," he replied, serenely, a queer little smile on his face. "All roads lead to Rome, you know. By the bye, is Lennard outside?"

"Yes," said Mr. Narkom. "But what is it? Don't tell me you've discovered the truth at last?"

Cleek gave out a little triumphant laugh.

"Discovered?" he said. "No, I am only at the beginning yet," and he fairly pushed Mr. Narkom before him out of the house.

"Lennard," said he, "streak it to the Natural History Museum, Kensington, and drive like the wind. There isn't a moment to spare."

The door of the limousine flashed open and shut again, the car leapt forward and sped down the drive and into the lane. A second later it was on its way Londonward, the astonished Superintendent and Dollops being left to wend their way slowly toward the village.

They found the Inn there filled to overflowing with a crowd of men whose business soon showed itself to be that of ferreting out facts, true or untrue, for an inquisitive world – reporters on every paper in the country that boasted a column of police news. The disappearance of Lady Margaret Cheyne had recalled the romantic history of the whole family, and both Sir Edgar and Lady Brenton writhed at the amount of publicity they were being forced to endure at the hands of the press. When, too, it leaked out that the famous jewels were missing, public excitement ran riot.

Meanwhile Petrie, Hammond, and their satellites kept faithful watch round Cheyne Court, and so concentrated were the efforts of the local police that when late in the afternoon the gaily-painted caravans of a travelling circus camped out on the vacant meadow adjoining the Court estate, for the first time in local history, no notice was taken of it, save by the youthful denizens of the neighbourhood. To them an inquest could hardly be expected to offer the same absorbing interest as the joys of "Professor James' Marsupial Circus," which legend was inscribed on the carts and gaudy placards that were hastily pasted up. Kangaroos, Muskrats, Civet-cats, Opossums, and other specimens of Australian fauna were promised to be shown at the opening performance on Monday, and it was no wonder that the youthful section of Hampton were content to spend every hour of their leisure in a vain effort to quench their sudden thirst for natural history on the cheap.

Constable Roberts, however, had looked with a keenly professional eye at Professor James and his caravans, for these vehicles invariably spelt gypsies, and gypsies and jewel thefts went hand in hand.

Accordingly, when at about five o'clock of the following day Cleek appeared in the neighbourhood of Cheyne Court, that worthy stopped him and begged the favour of a word immediately.

"Gypsies, sir," said he with some disgust in his voice, "they've planked themselves there in this field," he pointed in a general direction, "since this morning and whether to send 'em away or not just beats me."

Cleek stood at the side of the motor, and regarded the Constable with a face as blank as a brick wall.

"Gypsies, eh, Roberts? Surely all circuses are not composed of gypsies, are they?" he said, finally. "It's a funny time of the year to start a circus, I must say. I thought they appeared later in the season!"

"So they does, sir," responded the Constable, emphatically, "an' what makes it more funny still, I don't believe there ain't no animals at all, sir – leastways, not live ones."

"Well," said Cleek. "You don't mean to tell me it's a circus of dead animals, do you? That is a bit too much."

The Constable shrugged his shoulders.

"No, sir, I don't go so far as to say that, but what beats me is that you can't see no signs of any animals about and what's more you can't smell 'em, either. And I never knew no circus wot yer couldn't smell 'arf a mile off."

Cleek laughed, but in an instant was serious again.

"Come to think of it, Roberts," said he, "you're right on that point. I think I'll take a look round on my own before I join the Superintendent. Can you come with me? No, I think it would be better not. We might frighten the birds away, and perhaps it's just as well, if they are not on the straight, to catch them red-handed. As it is, you've done enough to earn promotion twice over." Speaking, he jumped back into the car. With a few words to Lennard, they drove away into the oncoming dusk.

With the blinds pulled down, and Mr. Narkom's faithful locker at his command, Cleek got busy, so that when some few minutes later he had reached the little camp, a burly Australian swagman dismounted from the car. Swaggering up to what was presumably the tent of the proprietor, he gave a loud "Coo-ee!" that might have been heard easily on the other side of the river.

It had the desired effect of bringing out "Professor James," a man of decided Cockney appearance and little trace of ever having been out of the country.

"Cooe-ee," sang out the stranger, "your little bunch of carts is like a sight of home. Say, pard, trot out one of your blessed kangaroos. I'll grease yer palm, all right."

The lined, swarthy countenance of the Professor looked even more glum at this request.

He shook his head.

"Circus not ready yet; can't do anything for you," he said gruffly. Thereupon the stranger plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a £5 note.

"Give us a look of a kangaroo for the sake of old country," he said, roughly, and held the note significantly before the "professor."

The man's eyes gleamed, and it was evident that the offer was a very tempting one. But he had obviously received other orders.

"Clear out," he said, threateningly. "I don't want you or your precious money hanging about here."

He came forward with clenched fist and the stranger recoiled a little, then, turning on his heel, he gave an uncomfortable laugh.

"All right, Guv'nor," he said, "no harm meant. But of course if you're going to be nasty – "

He lurched away in the opposite direction, singing at the top of his voice an old-time music-hall ditty while the "professor" looked after him somewhat regretfully.

It was nearly seven o'clock that evening when Mr. Maverick Narkom, pacing uneasily up and down the little room which he had taken at the Hampton Arms, saw the door swing open and shut again without a suspicion of a sound. He looked up to find Cleek standing within a few paces of him.

"At last!" he ejaculated. "Gad, my dear fellow, I never was so thankful to see you in my life! Things seem to have got into an awful mess somehow since you've been gone. You'll never guess what's happened, Cleek; after all my instructions to that stupid idiot Roberts he's let the Hindoo gang escape. They went up to the station, so I'm told, and made their get-away."

"It does not matter," said Cleek, calmly. "I have come to the end of the riddle at last, my friend."

"The end!" gasped Mr. Narkom. "Man alive, tell me."

Cleek held up a restraining hand and gave a little satisfied laugh.

"Patience, Mr. Narkom. Perhaps I ought not to have said so much, for some few things remain to be discovered," he responded, serenely, "but the first thing to do is to get all the jewels, where they can be easily secured to-morrow in broad daylight."

"What jewels?" exclaimed Mr. Narkom, who had apparently lost sight of that factor of the case, in view of the murders which occupied his mind.

"The Cheyne jewels, of course," replied Cleek, "and most of all, the 'Purple Emperor' – "

"Good Heavens, I had forgotten them. It's that poor young girl I have been thinking about," said Mr. Narkom, excitedly. "Ten chances to one, but what she's murdered, too, and – "

"I think not," responded Cleek. "I have just one more thread to gather up, and then to-morrow I rather fancy she will be in a position to clear things up for herself. But I've so much to tell you, that it's difficult to know quite where to begin. And we can't talk here. Come down to Cheyne Court with me."

"Delighted," responded the Superintendent with alacrity, but once in the car, the two sat in silence, for Mr. Narkom saw how deeply Cleek was absorbed in thought, until the rusty gates were passed. But once the car drew up at the house, Cleek roused himself from his reverie.

His voice full of excitement, he said, "get the constables stationed round the house, right out of the way. Put them and the other men where they won't be able to see or hear what goes on at the back. Then make some excuse of having to examine the body in reference to new evidence that I have brought back with me. I'll join you there in half an hour."

Mr. Narkom gave a nod of comprehension and vanished up the path where his men had been stationed, leaving Cleek to carry out his plans.

Thirty minutes later, with his customary soundlessness, he came up out of the gloom of the neglected gardens and entered Cheyne Court, joining the Superintendent in the ballroom, where in a hastily constructed coffin lay the body of the stranger – a stranger no longer to Cleek.

He stood with frowning brows and regarded the dead man steadily.

"So it was a failure after all, Blake," he said, softly. "After escaping the price all these years, to be caught like a rat in a trap for the sake of a purple stone! Well! life is a queer mixture at best. But you've drunk your glass to the dregs, Blake, and it owes nothing at least to you!"

"Blake," ejaculated Mr. Narkom, "do you mean to say that you have found out – that this – no, no – surely not – not James Blake – the head of the Pentacle gang? The greatest set of rogues that ever saw their names in the calendar. Not that Blake, Cleek?"

Cleek smiled.

"The very same," he responded, gravely. "Give me but a few hours now, and I will put the whole gang into your hands, but now there's something I want to finish up here. I didn't want to do it this morning, and I don't know but what we are too late now. Try and find the very centre of this room for me, there's a good fellow, and stand there while I do a little measuring and counting."

Mr. Narkom took out his torch and sent it sweeping round the great room, until he found what he took to be the exact centre and announced the fact.