ge."

"Couldn't be better," said Cleek. "Then 'Jim Rickaby' let it be. You'll
get a letter from him first thing in the morning saying that he's back
in England, and about to run down and spend the week-end with you. At
noon he will arrive, accompanied by his Borneo servant,
named--er--Dollops. You can put the 'blackie' up in some quarter of the
house where he can move about at will without disturbing any of your own
servants, and can get in and out at all hours; he will be useful, you
know, in prowling about the grounds at night and ascertaining if the
lady really does go to bed when she retires to her room. As for 'Jim
Rickaby' himself--well, you can pave the way for his operations by
informing your father, when you get the letter, that he has gone daft on
the subject of old china and curios and things of that sort, don't you
know."

"What a ripping idea!" commented young Bawdrey. "I twig. He'll get
chummy with you, of course, and you can lead him on and adroitly 'pump'
him regarding her, and where she keeps her keys and things like that.
That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Something of that sort. I'll find out all about her, never fear," said
Cleek in reply. Then they shook hands and parted, and it was not until
after young Bawdry had gone that either he or Narkom recollected that
Cleek had overlooked telling the young man that Headland was not his
name.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Time enough to tell him that when it comes
to making out the cheque," said Cleek, as the superintendent remarked
upon the circumstance. Then he pushed back his chair and walked over to
the window, and stood looking silently out upon the flowing river.
Narkom did not disturb his reflections. He knew from past experience, as
well as from the manner in which he took his lower lip between his teeth
and drummed with his finger-tips upon the window-ledge, that some idea
relative to the working out of the case had taken shape within his mind,
and so, with the utmost discretion, went on with his tea and refrained
from speaking. Suddenly Cleek turned. "Mr. Narkom, do me a favour, will
you? Look me up a copy of Holman's 'Diseases of the Kidneys' when you go
back to town. I'll send Dollops round to the Yard to-night to get it."

"Right you are," said Narkom, taking out his pocket-book and making a
note of it. "But, I say, look here, my dear fellow, you can't possibly
believe that it's anything of that sort--anything natural, I mean--in
the face of