llege-bred athlete in his
boating flannels and his brim-tilted panama, "but the fact is, you're a
little behind time for once, and besides, I was absolutely famishing."

"Share the blame of my lateness with me, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek, as he
tossed aside his hat and threw the fag-end of the cigarette he was
smoking out through the open window. "You said in your note that there
was no immediate necessity for haste, so I improved the shining hour by
another spin down the river. It isn't often that duty-calls bring me to
a little Eden like this. The air is like balm to-day, and as for the
river--oh, the river is a sheer delight!"

Narkom rang for a fresh pot of tea and a further supply of buttered
toast, and, when these were served, Cleek sat down and joined him.

"I dare say," said the superintendent, opening fire at once, "that you
wonder what in the world induced me to bring you out here to meet me,
my dear fellow, instead of following the usual course and calling at
Clarges Street? Well, the fact is, Cleek, that the gentleman with whom I
am now about to put you in touch lives in this vicinity, and is so
placed that he cannot get away without running the risk of having the
step he is taking discovered."

"Humph! He is closely spied upon, then?" commented Cleek. "The trouble
arises from some one or something in his own household?"

"No, in his father's. The 'trouble,' so far as I can gather, seems to
emanate from his stepmother, a young and very beautiful woman, who was
born on the island of Java, where the father of our client met and
married her some two years ago. He had gone there to probe into the
truth of the amazing statement that a runic stone had been unearthed in
that part of the globe."

"Ah, then you need not tell me the gentleman's name, Mr. Narkom,"
interposed Cleek. "I remember perfectly well the stir which that
ridiculous and unfounded statement created at the time. Despite the fact
that scholars of all nations scoffed at the thing and pointed out that
the very term 'rune' is of Teutonic origin, one enthusiastic old
gentleman--Mr. Michael Bawdrey, a retired brewer, thirsting for
something more enduring than malt to carry his name down the
ages--became fired with enthusiasm upon the subject, and set forth for
Java 'hot foot,' as one might say. I remember that the papers made great
game of him; but I heard, I fancy, that, in spite of all, he was a dear,
lovable old chap, and not at all like the creatu