broken into, and the gold taken," supplemented
Cleek quietly. "And what then, Mr. Narkom? How was the deed done?"

"Oh, the usual methods. The skeleton keys of a master crook obviously
opened the door to the premises themselves, and soup was used to crack
the safe. Everything was left perfectly neat and tidy and only the bags
of gold--amounting to seven hundred and fifty pounds--were gone. And not
a trace of a clue to give one a notion of who did the confounded thing,
or where they came from!"

"Hmm. Any finger-prints?"

Mr. Narkom shook his head.

"None. The thief or thieves used rubber gloves to handle the thing. And
that was the only leg given us to stand upon, so to speak. For rubber
gloves, when they are new, particularly, possess a very strong smell,
and this still clung to the door-knob of the safe, and to several
objects near it. That was how we deduced the rubber-glove theory of
no finger-prints at all, Cleek."

"And a very worthy deduction too, my friend," responded that gentleman,
with something of tolerance in his smile. "And so you have absolutely
nothing to go by. Poor Mr. Narkom! The path of Law and Justice is by no
means an easy one to tread, is it? Of course you can count upon me to
help you in every way. That goes without saying. But I can't help
thinking that this news from the War Office with regard to English gold
in Belgium has something to do with these bank robberies, my friend. The
two things seem to hang together in my mind, and a dollar to a ducat that
in the long run they identify themselves thus.... Hello! Who's that?" as
a tap sounded at the door. "I'll be off if you're expecting visitors. I
want to look into this thing a little closer. Some time or other the
thieves are bound to leave a clue behind. Success breeds carelessness,
you know, and if they think that Scotland Yard is giving the business
up as a bad job, they won't be so deuced particular as to clearing up
afterward. We'll unravel the thing between us, never fear."

"I wish I could think so, old chap!" said Mr. Narkom, a trifle gloomily,
as he called "Come in!" The door opened to admit Petrie, very straight
and business-like. "But you're no end of a help. It does me good just to
see you. What is it, Petrie?"

"A gentleman to see you, sir," responded the constable in crisp tones. "A
gentleman by name of Merriton, Sir Nigel Merriton he said his name was.
Bit of a toff I should say by the look of 'im. And wants to see you
par