ady, Mr. Narkom."

Quietly they took their departure, in a hastily found cab, leaving
Cleek, the picture of stolid policemanism, with notebook and pencil in
hand, busily inscribing what he was pleased to call "the facts."

Only "ten minutes" Cleek had asked for, but it was nearer twenty before
he was ushered out of the side entrance of the bank by the old
housekeeper, and though perhaps it was only sheer luck that caused him
to nearly tumble into the arms of Mr. George Barrington--whom he
recognized from the word picture of that gentleman given by Mr. Brent
some time before--it was decidedly by arrangement that, after a few
careless words on the part of Cleek, Barrington, his face blank with
astonishment, accompanied this stranger down to the police station.

They found a grim little party awaiting them but at sight of Cleek's
face Mr. Narkom started forward, and put a hand upon his friend's arm.

"What have you found, Headland?" he asked excitedly.

"Just what I expected to find," came the triumphant reply. "Now, Mr.
Wilson, you are going to hear the end of the story. Do you want to see
what I found, gentlemen? Here it is." He fumbled in his big coat pocket
for a moment and pulled out a parcel which crackled crisply. "The
notes!"

"Good God!"

It was young Wilson who spoke.

"Yes, a _very_ good God--even to sinners, Mr. Wilson. We don't always
deserve all the goodness we get, you know," Cleek went on. "The notes
are found you see; the notes, you murderer, you despicable thief, the
notes which were entrusted to your care by the innocent people who
pinned their faith to you."

Speaking, he leaped forward, past the waiting inspector and Mr. Narkom,
past the shabby, down-at-heel figure of George Barrington, past the
slim, shaking Wilson, and straight at the substantial figure of Mr.
Naylor-Brent, as he stood leaning with one arm upon the inspector's high
desk.

So surprising, so unexpected was the attack, that this victim was
overpowered and the bracelets snapped upon his wrists before anyone
present had begun to realize exactly what had happened.

Then Cleek rose to his feet.

"What's that, Inspector?" he said in answer to a hurriedly spoken query.
"A mistake? Oh dear, no. No mistake whatever. Our friend here
understands that quite well. Thought you'd have escaped with that
L200,000 and left your confederate to bear the brunt of the whole thing,
did you? Or else young Wilson here whom you'd so terrorized! A