that softened their keenness,
something settled down over his countenance, wiping away the mirth and
the grim lines together. He sighed.

"Heigho!" he said, softly, spinning round upon his heel and surveying Mr.
Narkom with a half-smile upon his lips. "I will be careful, dear friend.
I promise. And I have given my word to--her--as well. And that the life
of Hamilton Cleek should be so precious to any such angel as that--well,
it 'fair beats me', as Dollops would say.... I'll be careful, all right.
You may depend upon it. But Dollops and I are going to have a little
outing on our own. We'll ransack the 'make-up' box after lunch and see
what it can produce. And if we don't bring back something worth hearing
to you on our return to-night, then I'll retire from Scotland Yard
altogether and take a kindergarten class.... Gad! I feel sorry for young
Merriton. But there's no other course open to us at present but to keep
him where he is. Coroner's inquest takes place to-morrow afternoon, and
a lot may happen in the meantime."

Mr. Narkom gravely shook his head.

"Don't like the thing at all, Headland," he supplemented slowly, lighting
a fresh cigarette from the stump of the other one, and blowing a cloud of
smoke into the air. "There's something here that we haven't got at.
Something _big_. I feel it."

"Well, you'll have that feeling further augmented before many more days
are over, my friend," returned Cleek, meaningly. "What did the letter
from Headquarters say? I noticed you got one this morning, and recognized
it by the way the stamp was set on the envelope--though I must say your
secretary is more than discreet. It looked for all the world like a
love-letter, which no doubt your curious friend Borkins thought it was."

But if Cleek appeared in fine fettle at the prospect of a possible
exciting evening with Dollops, Mr. Narkom's barometer did not register
the same comforting high altitude. He did not smile.

"Oh, it had to do with these continual bank robberies," he replied with a
sigh. "They're enough to wear a man right out. Seem so simple, and all
that, and yet--never a trace left. Fellowes reports that another one took
place, at Ealing. As usual, only gold stolen. Not a bank-note touched.
They'll be holding us up in the main road, like Dick Turpin, if the
robbers are allowed to continue on their way like this. It's damnable, to
say the least! The beggars seem to get off scot-free every time. If this
case here was