"Lucky thing that doctor friend of yours was at hand," he said, irrelevantly. "Known him long, by the way?" "Well, no, not what you might call long," was the surprised reply. "We came over on board the same ship together a few months ago. He's a French-Canadian doctor, only on a visit, I believe. A charming man----" But his words apparently fell on deaf ears, for Cleek was again bending over the body, and before either of the men could save him his foot had caught on something and he measured his length on the polished floor, his wrist doubled beneath him. He was on his feet, immediately, with Narkom's assistance, but he surveyed his wrist with a rueful smile. "It's a pity he isn't here now," he ejaculated. "I've done for my wrist this time--broken it, I think." The secretary uttered a little sound indicative of mild sympathy. "He'll turn up in a minute. I'll 'phone through to him. He is lodging quite near." And turning, Mr. Belthouse ran to the office on the other side of the hall. "Is it broken, Cleek?" asked Mr. Narkom, anxiously, as he looked into his ally's face. A significant wink was the only response. "I'd like to see that doctor who calls curari poisoning heart disease," he whispered. "Look." He turned and pulled down the collar of the dead man, showing a tiny red spot just under the chin, so small as to be hardly noticeable. "Poisoned," he whispered, "but whether by our excellent secretary or the good doctor remains to be seen." Two minutes later Mr. Belthouse rushed back into the room. "I got him," he announced, triumphantly, "and I've sent for the caretaker and told her to bring some hot water and bandages. Nothing like hot water for sprains." Cleek expressed himself in thorough agreement with this theory, and stood nursing his aching wrist until the caretaker herself entered with the articles. She was a middle aged woman with a pale face and deft hands, and Cleek gladly submitted his wrist to her manipulations, wincing slightly as her fingers touched the strained tendons. His eyes were fixed on the ground, watching the drops of water splashing on to the polished floor that had brought him to grief. "Did you hear our prisoner last night, Mrs. Perry?" said Belthouse, genially. "One of the blessed British public got shut in and said she almost knocked the place down trying to get help." Mrs. Perry looked up placidly. "The walls are very thick, sir, and we were tired out with packing, I expect. I certainly never heard a sound. There, sir, I think that's right." She looked at Cleek. "Thank you, that will be all right now," he said, but without giving her another glance. Mrs. Perry had left the room as silently as she entered it, when all at once Cleek gave a little cry of delight. "Scotland!" he cried, his face lighting up with relief. "I've got it!" "What?" exclaimed the secretary. "A clue?"