"Her? What 'her'?" "That's my business, Mr. Narkom, and I'll take no man into my confidence regarding that." "Yes, my friend, but 'Margot'--how about her?" "I'm done with her! We broke last night, when I returned and she learned--never mind what she learned! I'm done with her--done with the lot of them. My life is changed forever." "In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?" "Cleek--just Cleek; let it go at that," he made reply. "Whether it's my name or not is no man's business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, is no man's business either. Cleek will do--Cleek of the Forty Faces. Never mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so--examine me, Sir Horace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame for what I am." Sir Horace did. "Absolutely Fate," he said, when, after a long examination, the man put the question to him again. "It is the criminal brain fully developed, horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a man simply could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that. There's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. You can't be honest. You can't rise--you never will rise; it's useless to fight against it!" "I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!" he cried out vehemently. "There is a way to put such craft and cunning to account; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush him under the weight of his own gifts, and that way I'll take!" "Mr. Narkom"--he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his hand outstretched, his eager face aglow--"Mr. Narkom, help me! Take me under your wing. Give me a start--give me a chance--give me a lift on the way up!" "Good heaven, man, you--you don't mean--?" "I do--I do! So help me heaven, I do. All my life I've fought against the law--now let me switch over and fight with it. I'm tired of being Cleek, the thief; Cleek, the burglar. Make me Cleek, the detective, and let us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for the public good. Will you, Mr. Narkom? Will you?" "Will I? Won't I!" said Narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand. "Jove! what a detective you will make. Bully boy! Bully boy!" "It's a compact, then?" "It's a compact--Cleek." "Thank you," he said in a choked voice. "You've given me my chance; now watch me live up to it. The Vanishing Cracksman has vanished forever, Mr. Narkom, and it's Cleek, the detective--Cleek of the Forty Faces from this time on. Now, give me your riddles--I'll solve them one by one." CHAPTER I