Not a soul, Sir Henry. The doors were all locked; no grille is missing
from any window; no one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no
one in any crook or corner of the place."

"Send for the constable--the justice of the peace--anybody!" chimed in
the Rev. Ambrose Smeer at this. "Henry, will you never be warned, never
take these awful lessons to heart? This sinful practice of racing horses
for money--"

"Oh, hush, hush! Don't preach me a sermon now, uncle," interposed Sir
Henry. "My heart's torn, my mind crazed by this abominable thing. Poor
old Logan! Poor, faithful old chap! Oh!" He whirled and looked over at
Cleek, who still stood inactive, staring at the flour-dusted floor. "And
they said that no mystery was too great for you to get to the bottom of
it, no riddle too complex for you to find the answer! Can't you do
something? Can't you suggest something? Can't you see any glimmer of
light at all?"

Cleek looked up, and that curious smile which Narkom knew so well--and
would have known had he been there was the "danger signal"--looped up
one corner of his mouth.

"I fancy it is _all_ 'light,' Sir Henry," he said. "I may be wrong, but
I fancy it is merely a question of comparative height. Do I puzzle you
by that? Well, let me explain. Lady Wilding there is one height, Mr.
Sharpless is another, and I am a third; and if they two were to place
themselves side by side and, say, about four inches apart, and I were to
stand immediately behind them, the difference would be most apparent.
There you are. Do you grasp it?"

"Not in the least."

"Bothered if I do either," supplemented Sharpless. "It all sounds like
tommy rot to me."

"Does it?" said Cleek. "Then let me explain it by illustration"--and he
walked quietly towards them. "Lady Wilding, will you oblige me by
standing here? Thank you very much. Now, if you please, Mr. Sharpless,
will you stand beside her ladyship while I take up my place here
immediately behind you both? That's it exactly. A little nearer,
please--just a little, so that your left elbow touches her ladyship's
right. Now then"--his two hands moved briskly, there was a click-click,
and after it: "There you are--that explains it, my good Mr. and Mrs.
Filippo Bucarelli; that explains it completely!"

And as he stepped aside on saying this, those who were watching, those
who heard Lady Wilding's scream and Mr. Sharpless's snarling oath and
saw them vainly try to spring apart and dart away,