"Oh!" said Narkom, considerably crestfallen; then grasped at yet another straw with sudden, breathless eagerness. "But even then the head of the Mauravanian Government must have had some reason for wishing to 'wipe you out,'" he added, earnestly. "There could be no question of avenging an uncle's overthrow at that time. Cleek!"--his voice running thin and eager, his hand shutting suddenly upon his famous ally's arm--"Cleek, trust me! Won't you? Can't you? As God hears me, old chap, I'll respect it. Who are you? What are you, man?" "Cleek," he made answer, calmly drawing out a chair and taking his seat at the table. "Cleek of Scotland Yard; Cleek of the Forty Faces--which you will. Who should know that better than you whose helping hand has made me what I am?" "Yes, but before, Cleek? What were you, who were you, in the days before?" "The Vanishing Cracksman--a dog who would have gone on, no doubt, to a dog's end but for your kind hand and the dear eyes of Ailsa Lorne. Now give me my tea--I'm famishing--and after that we'll talk of this new riddle that needs unriddling for the honour of the Yard. Yes, thanks, two lumps, and just a mere dash of milk. Gad! It's good to be back in England, dear friend; it's good, it's good!" CHAPTER II "Five men, eh?" said Cleek, glancing up at Mr. Narkom, who for two or three minutes past had been giving him a sketchy outline of the case in hand. "A goodish many that. And all inside of the past six weeks, you say? No wonder the papers have been hammering the Yard, if, as you suggest, they were not accidental deaths. Sure they are not?" "As sure as I am that I'm speaking to you at this minute. I had my doubts in the beginning--there seemed so little to connect the separate tragedies--but when case after case followed with exactly, or nearly exactly, the same details in every instance, one simply _had_ to suspect foul play." "Naturally. Even a donkey must know that there's food about if he smells thistles. Begin at the beginning, please. How did the affair start? When and where?" "In the neighbourhood of Hampstead Heath at two o'clock in the morning. The constable on duty in the district came upon a man clad only in pajamas lying face downward under the wall surrounding a corner house--still warm but as dead as Queen Anne." "In his pajamas, eh?" said Cleek, reaching for a fresh slice of toast. "Pretty clear evidence that that poor beggar's trouble, whatever it was, must have overtaken him in bed and that that bed was either in the vicinity of the spot where he was found, or else the man had been carried in a closed vehicle to the place where the constable discovered him. A chap can't walk far in that kind of a get-up without attracting attention. And the body was warm, you say, when found. Hum-m! Any vehicle seen or heard in the vicinity of the spot just previously?"