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AFTER due reflection over the question of disguise, Cleek determined for the present to revive that of Lieutenant Deland, and it was as that smart young officer that he once more took up his quarters in Clarges Street, in a house not very far from that which had been wrecked by Margot and her gang of Apaches. That they, too, were on his track was ascertained by Dollops, who traced them down to their lairs of Soho like a bloodhound scenting his quarry.
Despite the danger which surrounded him, Cleek insisted on having the rest of their riverside holiday with Ailsa Lorne and Mrs. Hawkesley, who had returned from India on a short visit, in the interests of her little son, Lord Chepstow. Mrs. Hawkesley had been spending her summer on a houseboat with Ailsa Lorne, that friend who by enlisting the aid of Cleek had saved her son's life and given her her newly found married happiness by the sale of the sacred tooth.
Dollops then was the happiest of mortals when, having polished and repolished his beloved telescope, on their return from the riverside retreat, he was given the morning to polishing the mirrors in the great dining-room of Clarges Street. Now, if there was one thing he loved more than another, it was a liberal use of "elbow grease," next, of course, to that everpresent delight of satisfying his appetite, and it was with much relish that he set out to undertake the task. So it may be readily understood that his sensations were not those of unmixed delight when, just as he had got the mirrors thoroughly moist, an imperative postman's knock brought him to earth, literally as well as metaphorically. Tumbling down the high wooden step ladder, he flew to answer the door.
"Orl right, orl right!" he ejaculated, as a still more violent assault took place. "I'm not a blooming caterpillar; only got two legs, you know, like the rest of us."
"Bit of a hurry — I don't think," answered the postman sarcastically, as he handed in a brown cardboard box similar to those sent out by most florists, and marked with all the usual precautionary labels.
"Don't let the lieutenant's buttonhole fade before you take it to him, will you?" And with this parting shot the man departed, leaving Dollops for once too busy reading the half-obliterated stamp to give full rein to his usual gift of repartee.
"Lor' lumme!" he soliloquized, as he ascended the staircase, three steps at a time, and rapped at the study door. "Another flower from Miss Ailsa, bless er! An' won't 'e just jump at it ! "
And jump at it Cleek did. He was writing his usual morning letter to her, but at sight of Dollops's smiling countenance his face lit up, and he fairly snatched the box from him in his hurry.
Meanwhile Dollops, with commendable tact, turned to flick away a particle of imaginary dust on one of the picture frames, and smiled knowingly.
But only for a moment. Came suddenly the sound of a cry, half curse, half snarl, which sent the lad spinning round like a top, and the sight of Cleek's distorted face froze his very marrow.
"Gawd's trufe, guv'nor, but what is it?" he gulped breathlessly, running over to his master and peering anxiously down into the agonized face.
The beads of perspiration stood out upon Cleek's forehead, his fists clenched at his sides.
"The devils! The infernal devils !" he cried fiercely, shaken out of himself by the awfulness of the thing that lay before him. "By Heaven! but they shall suffer for this! Ailsa, my dear, my dear!"
He lifted the little cardboard box from the table, and held it toward Dollops with a look of almost petrified agony. The boy gave vent to a hysterical scream, for, even as he looked, he saw that it contained a finger — a woman's finger — slender and exquisite, encircled with the Maurevanian ring which Cleek had replaced upon Ailsa Lorne's hand such a few short months ago at the Embassy. The box was lined and padded with snowy cotton wool, a fit resting place for so precious though grim a treasure.
"Miss Lorne!" he gulped, passing a hand across his eyes in terrified amazement. "O, Lor' lumme, sir, don't go to say it's 'er! Oh, don't say it, guv'nor, for Gawd's sake, don't!" He snatched up the piece of crested paper which had fallen from it, and scanned it eagerly, feeling at such a time as this that he was one with his master. It bore these words: "With Count Irma's compliments. Miss Lorne releases the King from his engagement, and he will do well to take up his duties immediately, lest worse befall her."
A chalky pallor overspread Cleek's face. His eyes narrowed. "Never!" he rapped out furiously, hitting his hands together and breathing hard, like a spent runner. "From this day I live to avenge myself! Dollops, the 'phone, quick! Ring up Mr. Narkom, and get him to speak to me. Quick as you can, for God's sake!"
It was barely half an hour later when the limousine, travelling at a mile-a-minute clip that sent the police of the neighbourhood blinking and winking like a cat in the sun, dashed up Clarges Street, and drew up before the particular house in that particular row that was owned and lived in by Lieutenant Deland. A somewhat perturbed and crimson-countenanced Superintendent sprang out upon the pavement, flinging a few hurried words over his shoulder to Lennard.
"Leave both doors open, Lennard," he said hastily, grudging the time it took to give instructions. "Don't know which side he'll come in, but don't take any notice. I'm doubtful these days. Then make for the Thames cottage, and drive like the wind. Miss Ailsa is in danger."
Lennard gasped, and then nodded.
"Leave it to me, sir."
Then Mr. Narkom sprang up the stone steps, to find Lieutenant Deland waiting for him, and Cleek's agonized eyes looking out of the frame of his face.
He made no effort to speak, merely beckoned the Superintendent and disappeared, and a second later appeared again, and followed Mr. Narkom down the steps to the limousine, handing him the little cardboard box, with its horrible treasure, as he entered the car.
The Superintendent opened it, then groaned aloud.
"Curse them!" he broke forth excitedly, as the car leaped forward and went thundering off into the distance ahead. "I'll hang 'em, every one, if my life goes for it. The beasts! The devils!" His voice broke, and trailed off into silence; he put a hand out, and touched upon the shoulder the crouching figure in the corner. But Cleek never stirred, never moved, merely sat there with bowed head, while both hands covered his face, and his shoulders drawn up like a whipped thing.
Then the Superintendent leaned forward, and picked up the speaking-tube.
"Streak it," he instructed Lennard; and "streak it" Lennard did, for the car went scudding through the traffic at as mad a pace as the law would dare to wink at.
Soon they were passing down a narrow hawthornhedged lane, field-edged with waving grasses that swayed idly to and fro, and, half way down this, came in sight of another car, standing empty and disabled. The feet of the chauffeur showed grotesquely from beneath it, and the sound of hammering punctured the silence that lay about them.
Lennard flashed a look of mute apology over his shoulder, as he was perforce obliged to slow down; and Mr. Narkom, feverish with anxiety, unlatched the door, and stood ready to descend. It was impossible to pass the disabled car, unless it were pushed right into the hedge.
"Curse the thing !" muttered Mr. Narkom, furious at the unnecessary delay. "Just one minute, my dear chap, and I'll settle it." He did not wait for Cleek to answer, but jumped from the limousine, and went stamping off in the direction of the other car.
Finally, in answer to Lennard's angry demands, the chauffeur decided to come out, and out, too, came something else, for with a paralyzing suddenness, breaking on the calm of the summer morning, shots rang
