s, he passed into the inner room in
company with Narkom, and carried the letter with him. When he returned
it was still in his hand, but there were grayish smudges all over it.

"There's not a finger-print in the lot that is worth anything as a means
of identification, Miss Lorne," he said. "But you and Lady Chepstow may
accept my assurance that Captain Hawksley is not the man. The writer of
this letter belongs to the criminal classes; he is on his guard against
the danger of finger-prints, and he wore rubber gloves when he penned
this message. When I find him, rest assured I shall find a man who has
had dealings with the police before and whose finger-prints are on their
records. I don't know what his game is nor what he's after yet, but I
will inside of a week. I've an idea; but it's so wild a thing I'm almost
afraid to trust myself to believe it possible until I stumble over
something that points the same way. Now, go home with Lady Chepstow, and
begin the work of helping me."

"Helping you? Oh, Mr. Cleek, can we? Is there anything we can do to
help?"

"Yes. When you leave the house, act as though you are in the utmost
state of dejection, and keep that up indefinitely. Make it appear, for I
am certain you will be followed and spied upon, as if I had declined the
case. But don't have any fear about the boy. The two constables will
sleep in the room with him to-night and every night until the thing is
cleared up and the danger past. To-morrow about dusk, however, you,
personally, take him for a walk near the Park, and if, among the other
Cingalese you may meet, you should see one dressed as an Englishman, and
wearing a scarlet flower in his buttonhole, take no notice of how often
you see him nor of what he may do."

"It will be you, Mr. Cleek?"

"Yes. Now go, please; and don't forget to act as if you and her ladyship
were utterly broken-hearted. Also"--his voice dropped lower, his hand
met her hand, and in the darkness of the hall a little silver-plated
revolver was slipped into her palm--"also, take this. Keep it always
with you, never be without it night or day, and if any living creature
offers you violence, shoot him down as you would a mad dog. Good-night,
and--remember!"

And long after she and Lady Chepstow had gone down and passed out into
the night he stood there, looking the situation straight in the face and
thinking his own troubled thoughts.

"A wedding bouquet! A threat against her, and the mentio