DETECTIVE CLEEK'S GOVERNMENT CASES (Vintage Mystery Series). Thomas W. Hanshew

      CHAPTER I.

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      IT WAS June — June with the world abloom, rioting with colour, fragrant as a lady's linen-chest, exquisite, golden. And of all spots most conducive to the full enjoyment of the month, a kindly Providence has created for that purpose the pleasant Thames Valley, where the river winds its idle way like a thread of silver, through golden pasture land and shady forest, and the sky above lies like a sapphire canopy over the sun-drenched splendour of hill and dale.

      And it was upon just such an afternoon as this that Cleek, clad in the immaculate flannels that good taste, and better judgment, dictate for such weather, lay stretched upon a particularly green, particularly well-cared-for piece of lawn, shelving down to the river's edge, and breaking there into a riot of rose-foam that wound downward to the tiny landing stage. Beside him in a deck chair was Ailsa Lorne; and, some distance away, Dollops, engaged in polishing his latest acquisition, a huge brass telescope, which Mr. Maverick Narkom had given him, fortified his labours at very frequent intervals by the consumption of green gooseberries.

      "A long job, eh, Dollops?" said Cleek, with a twitch of the head in his direction, and a healthy, happy laugh. For he was happy, was this man, happier than he had ever thought it possible to be. From now on, he need no longer adopt the disguise that had hidden him from a curious world, for with the renunciation of the throne of Maurevania for the sake of the one dear woman who sat beside him, had come simultaneously a slackening of the search parties of Apaches who had hitherto made his life an exciting and somewhat perilous game.

      Lor' lumme, sir," returned Dollops briskly, she's a fair old turkey gobbler for polish, but she's a rare beauty, and it beats me why you can see every blessed object, large as life and twice as natural, as you might say."

      Speaking, he put the instrument to his eye, and then gave out a little cry of dismay.

      "It's a motor, Mr. Cleek," he broke out anxiously, jumping to his feet. "Don't go for to say it's Mr. Narkom a-coming to spoil the first blessed holiday we've had."

      "I shouldn't be surprised," responded Cleek, with a rueful little laugh. "Eh, sweetheart? 'When you come to the end of a perfect day,' as the song say, you've got to face what the evening must bring forth That's

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