ter I despatched
the bird with the message about the belt. And nobody came into the room
after that until George did so that night. Oh, do look and see if the
pretty creatures are dead. They generally coo so persistently; and now I
don't hear a sound from them."

Cleek threw up the sash and looked out. A huge wistaria with tendrils as
thick as a man's wrist covered the side of the house, and made a
veritable ladder down to the little garden; and, firmly secured to this,
on a level with the window-sill and within easy reach therefrom, was the
dovecote in question. He put in his hand, and slowly drew out four
stiff, cold, feathered little bodies, and laid them on the
dressing-table before her; then, while she was grieving over them, he
groped round in all corners of the cote and drew forth still another.

"Five?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Five? Oh, but there should be only
four, Mr. Headland. It is true that George brought over all six the day
before; but I 'flew' one to him in the early morning, and I 'flew' a
second at night, with the message about the belt; so there should be but
four."

"Oh, well, possibly one was 'flown' by him to you, and it 'homed'
without your knowledge."

"Yes, but it couldn't get inside the wired enclosure unassisted, Mr.
Headland. See! that spring-door has to be opened when it is returned to
the cote after it has carried its message home. You see, I trained them,
by feeding them in here, to come into this room when they were flown
back to me. They always flew directly in if the window was opened, or
gave warning of their presence by fluttering about and beating against
the panes if the sash was closed. And for a fifth pigeon to be inside
the enclosure--I can't understand the thing at all. Oh, Mr. Headland, do
you think it is anything in the nature of a clue?"

"It may be," he replied evasively. "Clues are funny things, Miss
Morrison; you never know when you may pick one up, nor how. I shouldn't
say anything to anybody about this fifth pigeon if I were you. Let that
be our secret for awhile; and if your father wants to know why I sent
for you to come up here again--why, just say I have discovered that your
pigeons are dead for want of food." And for a moment or two, after she
had closed the door and gone below again, he stood looking at Mr. Narkom
and slowly rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. Then,
of a sudden:

"I think, Mr. Narkom, we can fairly decide, on the evid