On the following day Mr. Narkom arrived at the Hampton Arms. The presence of the great inspector brought Mr. Roberts, bursting with pride to be allowed to speak on any terms with the great official. He clearly had no recollection of ever having seen Mr. George Headland before, and had any one told him that he was in the presence of the very man who had fetched him on a wild-goose chase that night nearly a month before, he would absolutely have refused to believe the evidence of his own senses. Mr. Narkom, however, listened to all he had to say on the subject of that escapade and commended him for his promptness in obeying the summons. Another visitor came also to the little inn, and that was Sir Edgar Brenton. "I am thankful you've come," he said, addressing Mr. Narkom, though he had greeted Mr. Headland civilly beforehand. "I cannot fathom the mystery at all. I returned to Cheyne Court to make another attempt on the place, but found that the broken window is now barred and shuttered, so there is evidently still someone in the place. Don't you think you could take the law into your own hands and force an entry? Mr. Narkom, when I think that my dear girl may be kept there a prisoner, I go nearly mad with terror of what they may do to her--the devils!" Mr. Narkom nodded sympathetically, and stole a side glance at Cleek's impassive face. "I don't doubt it, Sir Edgar," he replied, "but it's a dangerous thing to break into a house, you know. Still, there is the excuse of a forcible abduction of the young lady perhaps, and if it is Miss Cheyne who is at the bottom of it, I don't mind trying to bluff her about burglars being in the neighbourhood, etc. We could say how unsafe it was with those jewels about." He looked across at his ally for approval and Cleek, with a little smile hovering round his lips, nodded. "Yes, why not?" he said. "I'd like to have another look at Cheyne Court by daylight and locate that abominable row----" "Have you heard it, then?" broke in Sir Edgar hastily. "I was beginning to think my brain was giving way, and that the old superstition was right, after all." "What superstition is that?" asked Cleek. "Why, Cheyne Court has always been supposed to be haunted by a wailing lady who presages death to the owner, and for the past week nearly everyone seems to have heard her. I refused to believe it till last night, when I couldn't keep away from the place. 'Pon my word, the sound fairly made my blood run cold. What do you think about it, Mr. Headland?" "A good deal, sir, and that's the truth," responded Cleek. "There's some villainy on foot and I don't take heed of any wailing ladies till I see how it's done. Now if you're ready, sir."