white and shaking, the unrestrained tears coursing down her anguished face, as her trembling lips struggled to frame the words to tell her plight.
"Miss Lorne; why, God bless me . . . what is wrong?" gasped the Superintendent. "Come, come; tell me — it is not —"
"Yes, yes, he's gone — gone!"
"Gone! Good God! do you mean Cleek? Not dead!"
She gave out a little sob at that, then strove pitifully to regain composure, finally getting out some of the facts, and as the Superintendent realized what the danger meant to his beloved ally and invaluable detective, he collapsed into a chair, with his face hidden in the palm of an upthrown hand, and his eyes wet with tears.
"Cleek! My God! and we thought. . . . But who was to think of Count Irma?" he muttered at last, in a heart-wrung voice. "They'll never dare to touch a hair of his head! They can't! And after all the precautions, to be taken like a first offence safe-robber! Gad! but he shall be found, Miss Lorne. I swear it! I swear it! The whole kingdom shall be searched, house to house, so that he shall return to us at last!"
His eye fell on the telephone and, fairly flinging himself upon it, he seized the receiver in one shaking hand and let a stream of words issue from his pale lips, his face white now as Ailsa's own.
In precisely ten minutes' time there wasn't a railway station, port, or terminus but was on the lookout for all suspicious characters. Then a red and perspiring Mr. Narkom turned to Ailsa and put out a shaking hand.
"It is Dollops I can't understand," he broke out bitterly, replacing the receiver. "If only I could get an explanation of him; it seems so impossible, so unlike the lad."
Even as he spoke, there came a tap at the door, it opened inward, and Hammond stepped into the room, removing his hat and standing at attention.
"Well?" rapped out the Superintendent, in the sharp staccato of anxiety. "What is it? What do you want?"
"Beg yer pardon, sir, for disturbing you, but I thought you ought to know; it's something to do with Mr. Cleek."
"Cleek!" flung out the Superintendent sharply. "Speak up, man! If it's a clue, speak up!"
Hammond "spoke up" forthwith. "I was on point duty, just off Kensington High Street, sir," he began, "when a motor-car passed, exceeding the speed limit something awful. I tried to stop it, but to my surprise young Dollops was on the front seat, and when 'e sees me, 'e puts his 'and in his pocket, says something to a foreign-looking chap on the seat beside him, throws me this, and they drives on quicker than ever."
Mr. Narkom snatched "this" from the outstretched hand. It proved to be a scrap of paper twisted round a sovereign. The coin fell unheeded from Mr. Narkom's shaking fingers, however, for it was the grimy scrap of paper that he clutched. On it were the scrawled words: "God's sake and Cleek's, take this to Mr. Narkom, Scot. Yd. Car L 404. Dollops. Safe."
"What does it mean?" cried Ailsa, her hands clinging to Mr. Narkom's arm. "Tell me, Mr. Narkom! For God's sake, what does it mean?"
Mr. Narkom's eyes fairly gleamed.
"The bully boy! The splendid lad! Got him as safe as houses!" he retorted with half a laugh and half a sob. "Thought it was a funny thing if that young shaver turned out a crook. That's the number of the car, Miss Lorne, so don't you worry. We'll have Cleek back again safe and sound before you can turn round."
He said no more, simply turned back to the telephone, stopping only to toss the sovereign over to Hammond as he told him that Cleek was in danger, and instructed him to find the car of that number.
It did not take long to ascertain that L 404 belonged to the Ritz Hotel, and even as the news was borne to Narkom the clanging of his bell brought not only the porter, but Lennard himself, who had just heard the news.
"The limousine, as quick as you can. What's that? Ready? Good man! To the Ritz, then." He dashed to a hook on which hung his hat and coat; grabbing them, he beckoned to Miss Lorne, and flung open the door. "If only we're in time! If only it's possible to save him! Come on, Miss Lorne; come on, my dear, to Cleek's victory!"
Miss Lorne "came on" with such a surprising suddenness that three minutes later the blue limousine shot out of the precincts of the Yard, and took the distance between it and Piccadilly at a mile a minute clip.
The arrival of the well-known car and its still more familiar Superintendent brought the manager on the scene, only too willing to answer such inquiries as the English law, embodied in the portly person of Superintendent Narkom, should demand of him. "Count Irma of Maurevania? Of a surety, yes, he was staying here, occupying one of the finest suites the hotel offered. Yes, he would send up and ask for an interview. . . ."
Mr. Narkom, his cheeks pink with suppressed excitement, mopped his forehead briskly. His foe could not escape him, for all round the Ritz was drawn a cordon of plain-clothes men, on the alert for all out-goers, and the Count himself should be held hostage for the man he had kidnapped.
The few minutes which elapsed seemed like hours to Ailsa, her fears yet unallayed, despite her companion's optimism. The return of the manager brought with it therefore no disappointment to her.
"But an hour ago, monsieur," he said with many bows of solicitude, "I find that one of his equerries was taken ill while out driving, and the Count himself, like the kind master he is, drove him away to a hospital. He will return later."
Mr. Narkom's banished fears arose in all intensity. Only too well did he know how many chances there were of Count Irma's return. Money would be sent, but Irma himself would not come; he was already making his way out of the country with all expeditiousness, and, with him, Cleek. To search the hospitals was, of course, futile; they had come up against a blank wall, and the Superintendent met Ailsa's agonized gaze with a mute appeal for a renewal of her faith in his resources.
Without further delay they passed out into the courtyard, and were back on the pavement beside the limousine, when a paper-boy, to all intents and purposes bent on selling them the latest edition of the evening paper, sidled up closer and whispered to Mr. Narkom:
"A chap said 'e was Dollops, sir, if you're Mr. Narkom — paper, sir?" he broke off; "paper, sir? Buy a paper?"
"Yes, yes!" gasped the Superintendent, feeling for a coin.
"If you come 'ere, I was to give you this and get a shillin'."
The shilling appeared forthwith, and with the copy of the paper Mr. Narkom clutched another and still grimier scrap than that other one he had received.
Instantly his eyes were on the alert. He glanced down at it, without seeming to do so, and read these words: "Tower House at London Bridge Docks, sailing to-night. 6. Dollops. He's awl rite."
With one excited nod, Mr. Narkom fairly wrenched open the door of the limousine, and waving Miss Lorne inside, leaned over to Lennard.
The docks at London Bridge," he said excitedly. As fast as you can streak it, Lennard, my boy! For Mr. Cleek, for me! We've got to get there before six, or it's all up."
"Right you are, sir!" responded Lennard heartily.
Then, with a glance at the little clock before him: "Half an hour! Crumbs! but it's a close shave." Then they were off and away at a pace that ate up the distance like a cat lapping cream.
But the age for
