dyship wore at
Clavering Close to-night?"

"I remember it very well indeed. It was a simple white satin frock, very
plain and very girlish, and she wore a bunch of purple pansies with it."

"Ah-h-h!" Cleek's voice was full of relief, his eyes full of sparkle and
life. "Then she did _not_ wear a gown of some soft, gauzy pink material,
eh? An airy sort of gown trimmed at the hem with scalloped embroidery
of rose-coloured silk. Good! Can you remember any lady to-night that
did?"

"Yes," said Narkom promptly. "Miss Ailsa Lorne did. She wore some soft,
gauzy pink stuff--chiffon, I think I've heard the wife call it--with a
lot of rose-coloured silk stitchery on the edges of the flounces, and
she had a band of pink ribbon in her hair."

Cleek made no comment, nor did his countenance betray even the slightest
trace of emotion. He simply put the shut hand that held that gauzy pink
fragment into his pocket and shoved it far down out of sight.

A while ago he could have sworn that Ailsa Lorne's foot had never
crossed the threshold of this house of crime; now he knew that it had,
and if the evidence of this scrap of chiffon stood for anything, crossed
it _after_ she had left Clavering Close--after she had heard that threat
against the Count de Louvisan's life.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE RIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Before Mr. Narkom could ask any questions, the sound of excited voices
and hasty footsteps coming up the drive and making toward the lonely
house drove all other thoughts from his head.

"Come along," he whispered to Cleek. "It's Hammond and Petrie returning
from the keeper's shelter on the Common. I know their voices. And they
have unearthed something startling or they wouldn't be talking so
excitedly."

They had, indeed, as he learned when he hurried out and intercepted them
at the cottage steps; for between them they were supporting a man
stripped of coat, waistcoat, and hat, and wearing bound round his head a
bloodstained handkerchief. His bearded face was bruised and battered,
his shirt and trousers were covered with mud, and he was so weak from
loss of blood that it was next to impossible for him to stand alone.

"Sir," broke out Hammond, as they came up with Mr. Narkom and paused
with this unexpected newcomer before him, "I don't know whether that
French mounseer is a wizard or not, but he copped the lay at the first
guess, Mr. Narkom, and foreigner or not I take off my blessed hat to
him. Here's what we fou