ubbery; I'll tell you a lot when
I meet you there. Just now I am anxious to know who it is that is
telephoning to 'Mr. Philip Barch' and for what. Only two persons outside
of Dollops and yourself know that name and whose identity it covers.
One is Geoffrey Clavering, the other Mr. Narkom. No, please! Don't ask
me any questions now, I can't stop to answer them. But this you may know
if it will ease your mind at all: Lady Katharine Fordham never had
anything to do with it, although she was there. Oh, yes, she was, Miss
Lorne; for all your protestations, I tell you that she was! And, what is
more, I know the man, although I do not as yet know the motive!"

"Oh! You found it out, then, at the garden door?"

"No, I did not. I daren't stop to explain, but believe me, Miss Lorne, I
begin to see light. I only wonder at one thing: What makes Sir Philip
Clavering use black cosmetic? Sheer vanity, I suppose."

"Does he?" cried Ailsa, in surprise.

"Yes, on his moustache. It's wonderful why some of these old men hate
gray moustaches so. Wait for me, I'll be back as quickly as possible,"
and he dived into the house to answer the mysterious telephone call.

Cleek went straight to the library, flashed an inquiring look all round
it as he closed the door, made sure that nobody else was there, and
walking to the telephone took up the receiver and put it to his ear.

"Hallo!" he said somewhat cautiously; then, after a moment: "Yes,
Barch," he added in response to a query from the other end. "What's
that? Speak a little louder, please; I can't hear clearly. And, I say, I
don't recognize your voice. Who are you?"

The voice in question underwent a complete change, showing that the
owner of it had, in the first instance, carefully altered it until sure
of his man, and then over the wire came promptly the two words: "Geoff
Clavering!"

"Eh, what?" exclaimed Cleek, not a little surprised by this revelation,
and not doubting the truth of the statement for an instant now that the
real voice of the speaker sounded. "Why, what the dickens-- I say, where
are you?"

"In London, at the Savoy Hotel, speaking from one of the booths. Got
here twenty minutes ago, and as soon as I registered and got a room, I
hunted up one of the clerks who knew me by sight, and then came in here
and rang you up."

"Why?"

"I wanted you to know that I'd kept faith with you; that I really have
come to London as I promised. If you doubt it, there's the clerk t