umerals to stand for a
sign of a secret society; but, as you say, the numbers do indeed total
nine--the years of young Clavering's threat, but----"

His voice trailed off; he sat for a moment deep in thought.

"Then there is the 'spike,' that is an old Apache punishment. They
spiked Lanisterre to the wall when he went over to the police. Which is
it? The Apaches or this foolish, hot-headed boy lover?"

Narkom wisely refrained from comment. He knew the ways and methods of
his famous ally only too well, and he sat silent therefore till Lennard
pulled up the limousine sharply in front of Gleer Cottage.

"Here we are at the cottage--unless you would like to see the arch
first?"

"Oh, no," Cleek smiled softly. "That part of the mystery, my friend, is
quite simple. Lead the way, please."

They alighted without further remark, and Narkom was followed by as
complete a specimen of a French dandy as could be found in Paris, from
the gardens of the Tuileries to the benches of the Luxembourg.

CHAPTER FOUR

CLEWS AND SUSPICIONS

A minute more and Cleek was in the house--in the presence of Hammond and
Petrie--and Narkom had introduced him as "Monsieur Georges de Lesparre,
a distinguished French criminologist who had come over to England this
morning upon a matter connected with the French Police Department and
who, in the absence of Mr. Cleek, had consented to take up this peculiar
case."

"My hat! Wouldn't that drive you to drink!" commented Petrie in a
disgusted aside as he eyed this suave and sallow gentleman with open
disapproval. "What will we be importing from the continent next,
Hammond? As if there aren't detectives in England good enough to do the
Yard's work without setting them to twiddling their blessed thumbs
whilst a blooming Froggie runs the show and--beg pardon! what's that?
Yes, Mr. Narkom. Searched the house from top to bottom, sir. Nobody in
it, and nobody been here either, sir, not a soul since you left."

"You are quite sure, monsieur?" This from Cleek. "About the 'nobody in
the house,' I mean, of course. You are quite sure?"

"Of course we're sure!" snapped Hammond savagely. "Been from the top to
the bottom of it--me and Petrie and the constable here--and not a soul
in it anywhere."

"Ah, the constable, eh? You shall tell me, please, Mr. Narkom, is this
the constable who was at the one end of the arch while the keeper was
chasing the man in at the other? Ah, it is, eh? Well--er--shall no