her husband and the
children would be thrown out of work. She loves her husband--that's
certain--and she's a good little woman; and, Scarmelli?"

"Yes, Mr. Cleek?"

"There's nothing better than a good woman on this earth, my lad. Always
remember that. I think you, too, have got one. I hope you have. I hope
you will be happy. What's that? Owe me? Not a rap, my boy. Or, if you
feel that you must give me something, give me your prayers for equal
luck when my time comes, and send me a slice of the wedding cake. The
riddle's solved, old chap. Good-night!"

FOOTNOTE:

[O] Reprinted by special permission from "Cleek, the Master Detective."
Copyright, 1918, by Doubleday, Page and Company.

[Illustration]

XVII.--The Roll-Call of The Reef[P]

_By A. T. Quiller-Couch_

"YES, sir," said my host, the quarryman, reaching down the relics from
their hook in the wall over the chimney-piece; "they've hung there all
my time, and most of my father's. The women won't touch 'em; they're
afraid of the story. So here they'll dangle, and gather dust and smoke,
till another tenant comes and tosses 'em out o' doors for rubbish. Whew!
'tis coarse weather, surely."

He went to the door, opened it, and stood studying the gale that beat
upon his cottage-front, straight from the Manacle Reef. The rain drove
past him into the kitchen, aslant like threads of gold silk in the
shine of the wreck-wood fire. Meanwhile, by the same firelight, I
examined the relics on my knee. The metal of each was tarnished out of
knowledge. But the trumpet was evidently an old cavalry trumpet, and the
threads of its parti-colored sling, though fretted and dusty, still hung
together. Around the side-drum, beneath its cracked brown varnish, I
could hardly trace a royal coat-of-arms and a legend running, "Per Mare
Per Terram"--the motto of the marines. Its parchment, though black and
scented with woodsmoke, was limp and mildewed; and I began to tighten up
the straps--under which the drumsticks had been loosely thrust--with the
idle purpose of seeing if some music might be got out of the old drum
yet.

But as I turned it on my knee, I found the drum attached to the
trumpet-sling by a curious barrel-shaped padlock, and paused to examine
this. The body of the lock was composed of half a dozen brass rings, set
accurately edge to edge; and, rubbing the brass with my thumb, I saw
that each of the six had a series of letters engraved around it.

I knew the tri