d
out upon the Fens--the entrance to it, by the way, was marked by a patch
of charred grass about the size of a small round table (you remember,
Dollops, I asked you if you noticed anything then?), that lifted up, if
one had keen enough eyes to discover it, and revealed the trap-door
beneath--Dollops and I set out on another tour of investigation. We were
determined to take a sporting chance on being winged by the watchful
guards and have a look round behind those flames for ourselves. We did
this. It happened that we slipped the guard unobserved, having knowledge,
you see, of at least part of the whole diabolical scheme, and getting
within range of the flames without discovery, or, for that matter, seeing
any one about, we got down on our hands and knees and dug into the earth
with our penknives."

"What suggested this plan to you?"

Cleek smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Why, I had a theory, you see. And, like you, I wanted to find out if
Merriton were telling the truth about that other light he had seen or
not. This was the only way. Marsh-gas was there in plenty, though there
is no heat from the tiny flames, as you know, from which fact, no doubt,
our friend Brellier derived the very theatrical name for them, but the
light of which Merriton spoke I took to be something bigger than that.
And I had noticed, too, that here and there among the flames danced
brilliant patches that seemed, well--_more_ than natural. So our
penknives did the trick. Dollops was digging, when something suddenly
exploded, and shot up into our faces with a volume of gassy smoke. We
sprang back, throwing our arms up to shield our eyes, and after the fumes
had subsided returned to our task. The penknife had struck a bladder
filled with gas, which, sunk into the ground, produced the larger lights,
one of which Sir Nigel had seen upon the night that Wynne disappeared.
Even more clever, isn't it? I wonder whose idea it originally was."

He spun round slowly upon his heel and faced the line of seated
witnesses. His eyes once more travelled over the group, face to face,
eye to eye, until he paused suddenly and pointed at Borkins's chalk-white
countenance.

"That's the man who probably did the job," he said casually. "Brellier's
right-hand man, that. With a brain that might have been used for other and
better things."

The judge leaned forward upon his folded elbows, pointing his pen in
Borkins's direction.

"Then you say this man is part