stling softly the opening bars of the national
anthem at the other end of the wire cut in upon his words and filled him
with a sudden deep and startled interest.

"Oh, s'help me!" he said, with a sort of gasp. "The Yard!" Then,
lowering his voice to a shrill whisper, "That you, Mr. Narkom? Beg yer
pardon, sir. Yus, it's me--Dollops. Wot? No, sir. Went out two hours
ago. Gone to Kensington Palace Gardens. Tulips is out, and you couldn't
hold him indoors with a chain at tulip time. Yus, sir--top hat, gray
spats; same's the captain always wears, sir."

Narkom, at the other end of the line, called back: "If I miss him, if he
comes in without seeing me, tell him to wait; I'll be round before
three. Good-bye!" then hung up the receiver and turned to the gentleman
who stood by the window on the other side of the private office
agitatedly twirling the end of his thick gray-threaded moustache with
one hand, while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo upon the
broad oaken sill. "Not at home, Sir Henry; but fortunately I know where
to find him with but little loss of time," he said, and pressed twice
upon an electric button beside his desk. "My motor will be at the door
in a couple of minutes, and with ordinary luck we ought to be able to
pick him up inside of the next half hour."

Sir Henry--Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him his full name and
title--a handsome, well-set-up man of about forty years of age, well
groomed, and with the upright bearing which comes of military training,
twisted round on his heel at this and gave the superintendent an almost
grateful look.

"I hope so, God knows, I hope so, Mr. Narkom," he said agitatedly. "Time
is the one important thing at present. The suspense and uncertainty are
getting on my nerves so horribly that the very minutes seem endless.
Remember, there are only three days before the race, and if those
rascals, whoever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God help me,
that's all! And if this man Cleek can't probe the diabolical mystery,
they _will_ get at her, too, and put Logan where they put Tolliver, the
brutes!"

"You may trust Cleek to see that they don't, Sir Henry. It is just the
kind of case he will glory in; and if Black Riot is all that you believe
her, you'll carry off the Derby plate in spite of these enterprising
gentry who---- Hallo! here's the motor. Clap on your hat, Sir Henry, and
come along. Mind the step! Kensington Palace Gardens, Lennard--and as
fast