he made answer. "I entered into her service under the name of
George Headland, Mr. Carruthers--the service of a good woman whom I
misjudged far enough to give her a fictitious name. I entered into
yours by one to which I have a better right--Hamilton Cleek!"

"Cleek!" Both her ladyship and her son were on their feet like a
flash; there was a breath of silence and then: "Well, I'm dashed!"
blurted out young Essington. "Cleek, eh? the great Cleek? Scotland!"
And sat down again, overcome.

"Yes, Cleek, my friend; Cleek, ladies and gentlemen all. And now
that the mask is off, let me tell you a short little story which--no!
Pardon, Mr. Essington, don't leave the room, please. I wish you,
too, to hear."

"Wasn't going to leave it--only going to shut the door."

"Ah, I see. Allow me. It is now, ladies and gentlemen, exactly
fourteen days since our friend Doctor O'Malley here, coming up
from Portsmouth on his motorcycle after attending a patient who that
day had died, was overcome by the extreme heat and the exertion of
trying to fight off a belligerent magpie which flew out of the woods
and persistently attacked him, and, falling to the ground, lost
consciousness. When he regained it, he was in the Charing Cross
Hospital, and all that he knew of his being there was that a
motorist who had picked him and his cycle up on the road had carried
him there and turned him over to the authorities. He himself was
unable, however, to place the exact locality in which he was
travelling at the time of the accident, otherwise we should not have
had that extremely interesting advertisement which Mr. Essington
read out this evening. For the doctor had lost a small black bag
containing something extremely valuable, which he was carrying at
the time and which supplies the solution to this interesting riddle.
How, do you ask? Come with me--all of you--to Mr. Carruthers'
room, where his little lordship is sleeping, and learn that for
yourselves."

They rose at his word and followed him upstairs; and there, in a
dimly lit room, the sleeping child lay with an old rag doll hugged up
close to him, its painted face resting in the curve of his little
neck.

"You want to know from where proceed these mysterious attacks--who
and what it is that harms the child?" said Cleek as he went forward
on tiptoe and, gently withdrawing the doll, held it up. "Here it
is, then--this is the culprit: this thing here! You want to know
how? Then by this means--l