this lurid bill: "Mademoiselle Marie de Zanoni, the
beautiful and peerless bare-back equestrienne, the most daring lady
rider in the universe," for the one; and for the other, "Chevalier
Adrian di Roma, king of the animal world, with his great aggregation of
savage and ferocious wild beasts, including the famous man-eating
African lion, Nero, the largest and most ferocious animal of its species
in captivity." And under this latter announcement there was a picture of
a young and handsome man, literally smothered with medals, lying at full
length, with his arms crossed and his head in the wide-open jaws of a
snarling, wild-eyed lion.

"My dear chap, you really do make me believe that there actually is such
a thing as instinct," said Narkom, as he came in. "Fancy your selecting
that particular bill out of all the others in the room! What an abnormal
individual you are!"

"Why? Has it anything to do with the case you have in hand?"

"Anything to do with it? My dear fellow, it _is_ 'the case.' I can't
imagine what drew your attention to it."

"Can't you?" said Cleek, with a half-smile. Then he stretched forth his
hand and touched the word "Nero" with the tip of his forefinger. "That
did. Things awaken a man's memory occasionally, Mr. Narkom, and--Tell
me, isn't that the beast there was such a stir about in the newspapers a
fortnight or so ago--the lion that crushed the head of a man in full
view of the audience?"

"Yes," replied Narkom, with a slight shudder. "Awful thing, wasn't it?
Gave me the creeps to read about it. The chap who was killed, poor
beggar, was a mere boy, not twenty, son of the Chevalier di Roma
himself. There was a great stir about it. Talk of the authorities
forbidding the performance, and all that sort of thing. They never did,
however, for on investigation--Ah, the tea at last, thank fortune.
Come, sit down, my dear fellow, and we'll talk whilst we refresh
ourselves. Landlady, see that we are not disturbed, will you, and that
nobody is admitted but the parties I mentioned?"

"Clients?" queried Cleek, as the door closed and they were alone
together.

"Yes. One, Mlle. Zelie, the 'chevalier's' only daughter, a slack-wire
artist; the other, Signor Scarmelli, a trapeze performer, who is the
lady's fiance."

"Ah, then our friend the chevalier is not so young as the picture on the
bill would have us believe he is."

"No, he is not. As a matter of fact, he is considerably past forty, and
is--or, ra