tendants in this quarter,
by Jip! Not putting up out here of late, is she, Mr. Narkom?"

"No. She's still at Kensington. And what the dickens those johnnies
are keeping guard over that place for beats us. Know it, don't you?
It's the residence of Sir Mawson Leake--Leake & Leake, you know:
Jewellers, Bond Street. Fine old place, isn't it? Inherited it
from his father, as he did the business, and----What's that? No, not
a young man--not a young man by any means. Grown children--two
sons. One by his first wife, and----Hullo! that's a rum trick, by
James! See that, did you, old chap?"

"See what? The manner in which that clockwork johnnie stopped in his
tracks and eyed us as we passed?"

"No. The woman. All muffled up to the eyes--and in weather like this.
Just stepped out of the house door, saw those two niggers, and then
bolted back indoors as if the Old Boy was after her."

"Caught sight of us, very likely. You know what high-class Brahmans
are where Europeans are concerned. It will be the old Ranee herself,
three to one, paying a morning visit to the jeweller in reference
to some of her amazing gems. That would explain the presence of the
sentries. She travels nowhere without a guard."

"To be sure," admitted the superintendent, and walked on, dropping
the matter from his mind entirely.

Ten minutes later, however, it was brought back to it in a rather
startling manner; for, upon rounding the end of the thoroughfare
along which they had been walking, and coming abreast of an isolated
building (which was clearly the stable of the house they had
recently passed), they were surprised to hear the sound of a muffled
cry within, to catch a whiff of charcoal smoke as the door was flung
wildly open by the same muffled female Mr. Narkom had observed
previously, and something more than merely startled to have her
rush at them the instant she caught sight of them, crying out
distractedly:

"I was afraid of it, I knew it! I knew that he would! Oh, help
me, gentlemen--help me for the love of God! I can't lift him. I
can't drag him out--he is too heavy for me! My husband! In there! In
_there_! He'll die if you don't get him out!"

They understood then, and for the first time, what she was driving
at, and rushed past her into the stable--into what had once been
designed for a coachman's bedroom--to find an apartment literally
reeking with the fumes that poured out from a charcoal furnace on the
floor, and beside that the bo