"Together with an old element--yes," responded Cleek softly, with a stab at his heart for her pathetic appearance. "Just that. No more. I can tell nothing until I have you all there before me, and then--well, perhaps I shall be able to unravel the mystery for you, and put an end to your sufferings in _that_ direction, at any rate. Would you be good enough, as you're passing, to ask the constable on duty outside the library door to come to me a moment? Mr. Narkom and I want to question him about one or two things. There's another one _inside_ the room, so there's no chance of any one getting in and falsifying clues while he's away. Thanks very much." She passed out, pale-faced, utterly forlorn, and the sagging droop of her shoulders sent another stab of pity through Cleek's heart, while Mr. Narkom--tender-hearted as a chicken, as he himself often put it--blew his nose loudly and passed the handkerchief surreptitiously across his eyes, and turned a sad face to his famous ally's. "Poor girl, Cl--Deland, poor, poor, unhappy girl! It goes to my heart to see any woman so desolate as that. And a good-looking woman, too! She feels the whole wretched affair keenly. And if you'd only explained to me some of those wonderful theories of yours and given me some inkling of what you're going to say to 'em, I might have been a bit of help to her, you know. Human sympathy's a comforting thing----" "But not always so comforting when it emanates from the police, who will probably wring her heart dry," returned Cleek with a twisted smile. "No, no, my friend. Bless your tender heart for the kind thought, but in this case it's up to me to tread warily. And the least suspicious glance cast at a guilty party, the least flutter of eyelid or brow in expression of one's knowledge--and the cat would be out of the bag, and all our trouble taken for nothing. I'm going to play 'possum to-day and lay low. And you've just got to forgive me beforehand and put up with it. I've no doubt your own theories coincide with mine but---- Here's P. C. Mackay. Good morning, Constable. Mr. Narkom and I just wanted to have a few words with you, with reference to what arrangements you made for me last night. You followed out my instructions?" P. C. Mackay, who was a slight, wiry, light-rooted chap, and so chosen by Cleek for the very work he had been given to do, nodded his head, and his hand came to the salute. "I did that, sir." "Good. No names mentioned, Constable ... but you found some clues there, I take it?" "Yessir. _This._" He looked from side to side of the room, as though uncertain how to produce the clue in case of discovery. But the door was shut, and only they four were within the confines of the small place. Then he put his hand into his breast-pocket and drew forth a little bit of crimson-covered flexible electric wire. Cleek's face fell a little. "That all?"