had crossed the
Fens, and, according to everyone's but Borkins's evidence, had never
returned. By evening Mr. Narkom, note-book in hand, was suffering with
writer's cramp, and complained of a headache.

As Cleek rose from this private investigation and stretched his hands
over his head, he gave a sudden little laugh.

"Well, you'll be able to rest yourself as much as you like this evening,
Mr. Lake," he said, lightly, trying the muscles of his right arm with his
left hand, and nodding as he felt them ride up, smooth and firm as ivory,
under his coat-sleeve. "I'm not in such bad fettle for an amateur, if
anything in the nature of a scrap comes along, after all. Though I'm not
anticipating any fighting, I can assure you. There's the morning's
papers, and the local rag with various lurid--and inaccurate--accounts of
the whole ghastly affair. Merriton seems to have a good many friends in
these parts, and the local press is strong in his favour. But that's as
far as it goes. At any rate, they'll keep you interested until we come
home again. By the way, you might drop a hint to Borkins that I shall be
writing some letters in my room to-night, and don't want to be disturbed,
and that if he wants to go out, Dollops will post them for me and see to
my wants; will you? I don't want him to 'suspicion' anything."

Mr. Narkom nodded. He snapped his note-book to, and bound the elastic
round it, as Cleek crossed to the door and threw it open.

"I'll be going up to my room now, Lake," he said, in clear, high tones
that carried down the empty hallway to whatever listener might be there
to hear them. "I've some letters to write. One to my fiancee, you know,
and naturally I don't want to be disturbed."

"All right," said Mr. Narkom, equally clearly. "So long."

Then the door closed sharply, and Cleek mounted the stairs to his room,
whistling softly to himself meanwhile, just as Borkins rounded the corner
of the dining-room door and acknowledged his friendly nod with one
equally friendly.

A smile played about the corners of the man's mouth, and his eyes
narrowed, as he watched Cleek disappear up the stairs.

"Faugh!" he said to the shadows. "So much for yer Lunnon policeman, eh?
Writin' love-letters on a night like this! Young sap'ead!"

Then he swung upon his heel, and retraced his steps to the kitchen.
Upstairs in the dark passageway, Cleek stood and laughed noiselessly, his
shoulders shaking with the mirth that swayed him. Bo