ight, Lennard--let her go."

Then the door of the car closed with a smack, and he was off and
away--so openly and at such a leisurely pace that it was clear he
had neither need nor desire to effect a getaway unobserved.

"Well, I'll be dashed!" was Mr. Narkom's unspoken comment upon the
proceeding--for, under his hat, he had come to the conclusion that
Cleek had, in some way, by some unconfessed means, learned that
Waldemar or the Apache had come back into the game and were again
on his heels, but had said nothing for fear of worrying him. "Walking
off as cool as you please and never the first attempt to come any
of his old Vanishing Cracksman's dodges. Amazing beggar! What's he up
to now, I wonder?"

It is just possible that could he have followed he would have
wondered still more, for Cleek was bearing straight down upon the
populous portions of the town, and about ten minutes after the two
had parted, struck into the High Street, walked along it for a
short distance, studying the signs over the various buildings until,
sighting one which announced that it was the Guildford Office of the
Royal British Life Assurance Society, he crossed the street, and
with great deliberation passed in under it, and disappeared from
sight.

It was one of the contradictory points of his singularly
contradictory character, that whereas he had chafed under the delay
in getting away from the Royal dockyard at Portsea because he was
eager to get back to his work in the little old walled garden, and
all his thoughts were with the flowers he was preparing for _her_,
in the end he did not see the place until after the moon was up,
and all hope of gardening for that day had to be abandoned
entirely, yet--he came back to Dollops whistling and as happy as a
sandboy.

He was up with the first cock crow next morning, and dawn found him
plying fork and rake and trowel among the flowers, and positively
bubbling over with enthusiasm; for the budding roses were just
beginning to show colour and to give promise of full bloom for the
day of days--and more than that he did not ask of heaven.

Indeed, it was written that he might not, for the balance had again
swung over, the call of Nature again sounded, and the Great Mother,
taking him to her bosom, had again merged the Man in the Idealist
and cradled him into forgetfulness of all spells but hers. So that
all through the day he went in and out among his flowers whistling
and singing and living i