room and to--er--throw myself upon your good graces as it were. Let me
have the pleasure, dear chap, of introducing you to my friend, Major
Burnham-Seaforth. Major, you are at last in the presence of the
gentleman of whom I spoke--Mr. Cleek."

"Mr. Cleek, I am delighted," said the Major, offering his hand. "I have
heard your praises sung so continuously the past two hours that I feel
as if I already knew you."

"Ah, you mustn't mind all that Sir Henry says," replied Cleek, as he
shook hands with him. "He makes mountains out of millstones, and would
panegyrize the most commonplace of men if he happened to take a fancy to
him. You mustn't believe all that Sir Henry says and thinks, Major."

"I shall be happy, Mr. Cleek, if I can really hope to believe the half
of it," replied the Major, enigmatically--and was prevented from saying
more by the arrival of the waiter and the serving of dinner.

It was not until the meal was over and coffee and cigars had been served
and the too attentive waiter had taken his departure that Cleek
understood that remark or realised what it portended. But even then, it
was not the Major who explained.

"My dear Cleek," said Sir Henry, lowering his voice and leaning over the
table, "I hope you will not think I have taken a mean advantage of you,
but I have brought the Major here to-night for a purpose. He has, in
fact, come to consult you professionally; and upon my recommendation. Do
you object to that, or may I go on?"

"Go on by all means," replied Cleek. "I fancy you know very well that
there is nothing you might ask of me that I would not at least attempt
to do, dear chap."

"Thanks very much. Well then, the Major has come, my dear Cleek, to ask
you to help in unravelling a puzzle of singular and mystifying interest.
Now you may or may not have heard of a Music Hall artiste--a sort of
conjurer and impersonator combined--called Zyco the Magician, who was
once very popular and was assisted in his illusions by a veiled but
reputedly beautiful Turkish lady who was billed on the programmes and
posters as 'Zuilika, the Caliph's Daughter.'"

"I remember the pair very well indeed," said Cleek. "They toured the
Music Halls for years, and I saw their performance frequently. They were
among the first, I believe, to produce that afterwards universal
illusion known as 'The Vanishing Lady.' As I have not heard anything of
them nor seen their names billed for a couple of years past, I fancy
they