the letter down
on a table as he spoke, and Narkom, glancing at it, saw printed in rude,
illiterate letters upon the envelope the one word "Cleek." The identity
of "Captain Burbage" was known to some one, and the secret of the house
in Clarges Street was a secret no longer!

"Purposely disguised, you see. No one, not even a little child, would
make such a botch of copying the alphabet as that," Cleek said, as he
took the letter up and opened it. The sheet it contained was lettered in
the same uncouth manner and bore these words:

"Cleek, take a fool's advice and don't accept the Chepstow case. Be
warned. If you interfere, somebody you care about will pay the price.
You'll find it more satisfactory to buy a wedding bouquet than a funeral
wreath!"

"Oh!" shuddered the two ladies in one breath. "How horrible! How
cowardly!" And then, feeling that her last hope had gone, Lady Chepstow
broke into a fit of violent weeping and laid her head on Ailsa's
shoulder.

"Oh, my baby! My darling baby boy!" she sobbed. "And now they are
threatening somebody that you, too, love. Of course, Mr. Cleek, I can't
expect you to risk the sacrifice of your own dear ones for the sake of
me and mine, and so--and so---- Oh, take me away, Miss Lorne! Let me go
back to my baby and have him while I may."

"Good-night, Mr. Cleek," said Ailsa, stretching out a shaking hand to
him. "Thank you so much for what you would have done but for this. And
you were our last hope, too!"

"Why give it up then, Miss Lorne?" he said, holding her hand and looking
into her eyes. "Why not go on letting me be your last hope--your only
hope?"

"Yes, but they--they spoke of a funeral wreath."

"And they also spoke of a wedding bouquet! I am going to take the case,
Miss Lorne--take it, and solve it, as I'm a living man. Thank you!" as
her brimming eyes uplifted in deep thankfulness and her shaking hand
returned the pressure of his. "Now, just give me five minutes' time in
the next room--it's my laboratory, Lady Chepstow--and I'll tell you
whether I shall begin with Captain Hawksley or eliminate him from the
case entirely. You might go in ahead, Mr. Narkom, and get the acid bath
and the powder ready for me. We'll see what the finger-prints of our
gentle correspondent have to tell, and, if they are not in the records
of Scotland Yard or down in my own private little book, we'll get a
sample of Captain Hawksley's in the morning."

Then, excusing himself to the ladie