were ever to
get any hint to your real identity----"

"She can't. She knows no more of my real history than you do; no more
than I actually know of hers. Our knowledge of each other began when we
started to 'pal' together; it ended when we split, eighteen months ago.
But about this letter? What is it? Why do you say that you don't like
it?"

"Well, to begin with, I'm afraid it is some trap of hers to decoy you
over there, get you into some unknown place----"

"There are no 'unknown places' in Paris so far as I am concerned. I know
every hole and corner of it, from the sewers on. I know it as well as I
know London, as well as I know Berlin--New York--Vienna--Edinburgh--Rome.
You couldn't lose me or trap me in any one of them. Is that the letter
in your hand? Good--then read it, please."

Narkom, obeying the request, read:

"TO THE SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE, SCOTLAND YARD,

"DISTINGUISHED MONSIEUR:

"Of your grace and pity, I implore you to listen to the prayer
of an unhappy man whose honour, whose reason, whose very life
are in deadly peril, not alone of 'The Red Crawl,' but of
things he may not even name, dare not commit to writing, lest
this letter should go astray. It shall happen, monsieur, that
the whole world shall hear with amazement of that most
marvellous 'Cleek'--that great reader of riddles and unmasker
of evildoers who, in the past year, has made the police
department of England the envy of all nations; and it shall
happen also that I who dare not appeal to the police of France
appeal to the mercy, the humanity, of this great man, as it is
my only hope. Monsieur, you have his ear, you have his
confidence, you have the means at your command. Ah! ask him,
pray him, implore him for the love of God, and the sake of a
fellow-man, to come alone to the top floor of the house number
7 of the Rue Toison d'Or, Paris, at nine hours of the night of
Friday, the 26th inst., to enter into the darkness and say but
the one word 'Cleek' as a signal it is he, and I may come
forward and throw myself upon his mercy. Oh, save me, Monsieur
Cleek--save me! save me!

"There, that's the lot, and there's no signature," said Narkom, laying
down the letter. "What do you make of it, Cleek?"

"A very real, a very moving thing, Mr. Narkom. The cry of a human heart
in deep distress; the agonized appeal of a man so wrought