ired young chap of about
nineteen--as pure a specimen of the genus Cockney as you could pick up
anywhere from Bow Church to the Guildhall--who acted as a sort of body
servant to the aged captain, and was known by the expressive name of
"Dollops."

"Don't like the goings-on at that house at all," commented the policeman
in a sort of growl. "All sorts of parties coming and going at all hours
of the night. Reported it more than once, I have; and yet Superintendent
Narkom says there's nothing in it and it needn't be watched. I wonder
why?"

He wouldn't have wondered any longer could he have looked into the hall
of the house at that moment; for the man who had just entered had no
sooner closed the lower door than one above flashed open, a stream of
light gushed down the stairs, and a calm, well-modulated voice said
serenely: "Come right up, Mr. Narkom. I knew it would be you before your
motor turned the corner. I'd know the purr of your machine among a
thousand."

"Fancy that!" said Narkom, as he removed the hot wig and beard he wore,
and went up the stairs two at a time. "My dear Cleek, what an abnormal
animal you are! Had you"--entering the room where his now famous ally
(divested of the disguise which served for the role of "Captain
Burbage") stood leaning against the mantelpiece and calmly smoking a
cigarette--"had you by any chance a fox among your forbears?"

"Oh, no. The night is very still, the back window is open, and there's a
trifling irregularity in the operations of your detonator: that's all.
But tell me, you've got something else for me; something important
enough to bring you racing here at top speed in the middle of the night,
so to speak?"

"Yes. An amazing something. It's a letter. It arrived at headquarters by
the nine o'clock post to-night--or, rather, it's last night now. Merton,
of course, forwarded it to my home; but I was away--did not return until
after one, or I should have been here sooner. It's not an affair for
'the Yard' this time, Cleek; and I tell you frankly I do not like it."

"Why?"

"Well, it's from Paris. If you were to accept it, you--well, you know
what dangers Paris would have for you above all men. There's that
she-devil you broke with, that woman Margot. You know what she swore,
what she wrote back when you sent her that letter telling her that you
were done with her and her lot, and warning her never to set foot on
English soil again? If you were to run foul of her; if she