direction. But stop
a bit! These boards run up and down the room, not across it; and as it
is undoubted that the measurement goes to the left, why, two and four
make six. Hum-m-m! Six feet from the corner of the mantelpiece
to----Hullo! that brings me exactly opposite to where you stand, doesn't
it? And counting the board between us runs to--one, two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight, nine! Exactly nine boards across the room! Got
it, by Jupiter! Three paces from the body bring one to the mantelpiece.
And paces are usually designated in a diagram by X's. And nine boards
across the room does the trick! Letters, she said, letters! That was the
first clue. Letters that might fall into Margot's hands; and as that
dead wretch was Margot's ally once upon a time, and might threaten to
give the things over to her if his demands were not acceded to----
Victoria! He will have hidden them there, unless I'm the biggest kind of
an ass, and can no longer put two and two together!"

Speaking, he moved rapidly across the room to the spot where Narkom
stood, knelt, and in five minutes' time had the board up. Under it there
lay something tied up in an old white silk handkerchief; and when the
knots of that were unfastened three thick packets of yellow,
time-discoloured letters, tied up with old neckties and frayed silken
shoelaces, tumbled out upon the floor. One and all were addressed to "M.
Anatole de Villon," and were written in a woman's hand.

Cleek snapped the binding of the first bundle, looked at the signature
appended to the letters, and then passed them over to Narkom.

"There is the answer to the riddle," he said. "Poor soul--poor, poor
unhappy soul! Under God, she shall suffer no more from this night on!
And he would have sold her--sold her for money had he lived."

Narkom made no reply in words. He simply glanced at the signature
attached to the first letter, then sucked in his breath with a sort of
shuddering sigh, and grew very, very still.

"Let's get out!" said Cleek in a sharp, biting voice. "I can't breathe
in the presence of that dead beast any longer. 'Who breaks pays!' Yes,
by God, he does!"

He turned and got out of the room, out of the house, and forged back
through the darkness toward the spot where the limousine waited.

Halfway up the lane Narkom overtook him.

"Cleek, dear chap," he said, plucking him by the sleeve, "in the name of
heaven, what is to be done now? The man is my friend. He believes i