I came, is
no man's business either. Cleek will do--Cleek of the Forty Faces. Never
mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so--examine me, Sir
Horace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame for what I am."

Sir Horace did.

"Absolutely Fate," he said, when, after a long examination, the man put
the question to him again. "It is the criminal brain fully developed,
horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a man simply
could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that.
There's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. You
can't be honest. You can't rise--you never will rise; it's useless to
fight against it!"

"I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!" he cried
out vehemently. "There is a way to put such craft and cunning to
account; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush him
under the weight of his own gifts, and that way I'll take!"

"Mr. Narkom"--he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his hand
outstretched, his eager face aglow--"Mr. Narkom, help me! Take me under
your wing. Give me a start--give me a chance--give me a lift on the way
up!"

"Good heaven, man, you--you don't mean--?"

"I do--I do! So help me heaven, I do. All my life I've fought against
the law--now let me switch over and fight with it. I'm tired of being
Cleek, the thief; Cleek, the burglar. Make me Cleek, the detective, and
let us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for the
public good. Will you, Mr. Narkom? Will you?"

"Will I? Won't I!" said Narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand.
"Jove! what a detective you will make. Bully boy! Bully boy!"

"It's a compact, then?"

"It's a compact--Cleek."

"Thank you," he said in a choked voice. "You've given me my chance; now
watch me live up to it. The Vanishing Cracksman has vanished forever,
Mr. Narkom, and it's Cleek, the detective--Cleek of the Forty Faces from
this time on. Now, give me your riddles--I'll solve them one by one."

CHAPTER I

The sound came again--so unmistakably, this time, the sound of a
footstep in the soft, squashy ooze on the Heath, there could be no
question regarding the nature of it. Miss Lorne came to an instant
standstill and clutched her belongings closer to her with a shake and a
quiver; and a swift prickle of goose-flesh ran round her shoulders and up
and down the backs of her hands. There was good, brave blood in her, it