e of the inn, with the street and then the valley
and the hillside on which it stood between.

Cleek waved a hand toward it now.

"Which is your own window?" he asked softly.

She pointed. "Fourth from the left. That tall, narrowish slit-like one.
It has mullioned panes--see? There are only three others like that on
this side. The fourth from the left is mine. Why?"

"Because," said Cleek meaningly, "if you want me, put a light in that
window--a red light, for preference, as at this distance it would be
easier to see. And light and re-light it three times. I shall be on the
watch. And if not I, my man Dollops. Until to-morrow morning, when I
shall call. Remember--three times, if you want me, and I shall come
immediately--in my professional guise or not, as you like. And keep up
your heart, Miss Duggan. Things may not be as black as you think. Fourth
from the left, isn't it?"

"Fourth from the left. How kind you are! I shall never be able to thank
you for all your interest. And I have a little disused bicycle lamp in
my cupboard. It has a red slide. I will flash that--if I need you.
Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Cleek, smiling, and standing bareheaded in the early
morning sunshine.

The carriage drove on up the hill, turning at the corner and winding
down again into the valley, and from the outer wall of the street upon
the opposite side one could watch its progress as one watched the
movements of a fly upon an adjacent bank. Cleek crossed the road and
stopped there, head bent, arms folded upon the low stone top of the
wall. Round along the tortuous hill road it went creeping along, at an
incredibly slow pace it seemed from his position above it, on and on and
on into the valley, and then up, up, up, the opposite hillside, through
bushes and shrubs that screened it now and again from view, and betwixt
immense boulders, until eventually it came abreast of the huge
wrought-iron gates of the place and passed between them out of sight.

And as it disappeared Cleek turned upon his heel with a deep-drawn sigh.

"Gad! what an inheritance!" he mentally commented as he crossed the road
and entered the portals of the inn itself. "Enough to fight for, indeed!
Mr. Narkom, old friend, this is one of those subtle things which your
middle-class upbringing could never understand. One of those things
which belong to the few and the chosen. Heigho! And Esau bartered his
birthright for a mess of pottage. She'd fight for it--and so