t
round his waist, said good-night, and stepped into the room prepared for
him. Miss Morrison and her father heard him close the door and pull down
the blind, and--that was the last that was seen or heard of him.

"In the morning the bed was found undisturbed, his locked bag on a
chair, and in the middle of the floor the blue leather belt; but of the
man himself there was not one trace to be found. There, that's the
story, Cleek. Now what do you make of it?"

"I shall be able to tell you better after I have seen the parties
concerned," said Cleek, after a moment's pause. "You have brought your
motor, of course? Let us step into it, then, and whizz round to Captain
Morrison's house. What's that? Oh, undoubtedly a case of foul play, Mr.
Narkom. But as to the motive and the matter of who is guilty, it is
impossible to decide until I have looked further into the evidence. Do
me a favour, will you? After you have left me at the Captain's house,
'phone up The Yard, and let me have the secret cable code with the East;
also, if you can, the name of the chief of the Persian police."

"My dear chap, you can't really place any credence in that absurd
assertion regarding the blue belt? You can't possibly think that Abdul
ben Meerza really sent the thing?"

"No, I can't," said Cleek in reply. "Because, to the best of my belief,
it is impossible for a dead man to send anything; and, if my memory
doesn't betray me, I fancy I read in the newspaper accounts of that big
Tajik rising at Khotour a couple of months ago, that the leader, one
Abdul ben Meerza, a rich but exceedingly miserly merchant of the
province of Elburz, was, by the Shah's command, bastinadoed within an
inch of his life, and then publicly beheaded."

"By Jove! I believe you are right, my dear fellow," asserted Narkom. "I
thought the name had a familiar sound--as if I had, somewhere, heard it
before. I suppose there is no likelihood, by any chance, that the old
skinflint could have lived up to his promise and left poor Carboys
something, after all, Cleek? Because, you know, if he did--"

"Captain Morrison would, as heir-at-law, inherit it," supplemented
Cleek, dryly. "Get out the motor, Mr. Narkom, and let's spin round and
see him. I fancy I should like a few minutes' conversation with the
Captain. And--Mr. Narkom!"

"Yes."

"We'll stick to the name 'George Headland,' if you please. When you are
out for birds it doesn't do to frighten them off beforehand."