ammer, he struck at the nymph with a force that shattered
the monstrous thing to atoms; and Narkom, coming forward to look when
Cleek bent over the ruin he had wrought, saw in the midst of the dust
and rubbish the body of a dead man, fully clothed, and with the gap of a
bullet-hole in the left temple.

Again Cleek's hands began a rapid search, and again, as before, they
brought to light a paper, a little crumpled ball of paper that had been
thrust into the right-hand pocket of the dead man's waistcoat, as though
jammed there under the stress of strong excitement and the pressure of
great haste. He smoothed it out and read it carefully, then passed it
over to Mr. Narkom.

"There!" he said, "that's how he lured him over to his death. That's the
message the pigeon brought. Would any man have failed to fly to face the
author of a foul lie like that?"

"Beloved Mary," the message ran, "come to me again to-night. How sweet of
you to think of such a thing as the belt to get him over and to make him
stop until morning! Steal out after he goes to bed, darling. I'll leave
the studio window unlocked, as usual. With a thousand kisses.

"Your own devoted,

"MAURICE."

"The dog!" said Narkom fiercely. "And against a pure creature like Mary
Morrison! Here, Smathers, Petrie, Hammond, take him away. Hanging's too
good for a beastly cur like that!"

* * * * *

"How did I know that the body was inside the statue?" said Cleek,
answering Narkom's query, as they drove back in the red limousine toward
London and Clarges Street. "Well, as a matter of fact, I never did know
for certain until he began to examine the thing to-night. From the first
I felt sure he was at the bottom of the affair, that he had lured
Carboys back to the house, and murdered him; but it puzzled me to think
what could possibly have been done with the body. I felt pretty certain,
however, when I saw that monstrous statue."

"Yes, but why?"

"My dear Mr. Narkom, you ought not to ask that question. Did it not
strike you as odd that a man who was torn with grief over the
disappearance of a loved friend should think of modelling any sort of a
statue on that very first day, much less such an inartistic one as that?
Consider: the man has never been a first-class sculptor, it is true, but
he knew the rudiments of his art, he had turned out some fairly
presentable work; and that nymph was as abominably conceived and as
abominably execut