thing all over again, please. I've one or two questions I'd like to ask."

Merriton left Scotland Yard an hour later, lighter in heart than he
had been for some time--ever since, in fact, Dacre Wynne's tragic
disappearance had cast such a gloom over his life's happiness. He had
unburdened his soul to Cleek--absolutely. And Cleek had treated the
confession with a decent sort of respect which was enough to win any chap
over to him. Merriton in fact had found in Cleek a friend as well as a
detective. He had been a little astonished at his general get-up and
appearance, but Merriton had heard of his peculiar birthright, and felt
that the man himself was capable of almost anything. Certainly he proved
full of sympathetic understanding.

Cleek understood the ground upon which he stood with regard to his
friendship with Dacre Wynne. He had, with a wonderful intuition, sensed
the peculiar influence of the man upon Nigel--this by look and gesture
rather than by use of tongue and speech. And Cleek had already drawn his
own conclusions. He heard of Nigel's engagement to Antoinette Brellier,
and of how Dacre Wynne had taken it, heard indeed all the little personal
things which Merriton had never told to any man, and certainly hadn't
intended telling to this one.

But that was Cleek's way. He secured a man's confidence and by that
method got at the truth. A bond of friendship had sprung up between them,
and Cleek and Mr. Narkom had promised that before a couple of days were
over, they would put in an appearance at Fetchworth, and look into things
more closely. It was agreed that they were to pose as friends of Sir
Nigel, since Cleek felt that in that way he could pursue his
investigations unsuspected, and make more headway in the case.

But there was but one thing Nigel hadn't spoken of, and that was the very
foolish and ridiculous action of his upon that fateful evening of the
dinner party. Only he and Doctor Bartholomew--who was as close-mouthed
as the devil himself over some things--knew of the incident of the
pistol-shooting, so far as Merriton was aware. And the young man was too
ashamed of the whole futile affair and what it very apparently proved to
the listener--that he had certainly drunk more than was good for him--to
wish any one else to share in the absurd little secret. It could have no
bearing upon the affair, and if 'Toinette got to hear of it, well, he'd
look all sorts of a fool, and possibly be treated to a sermon