— fairly flung himself at Cleek, and laid a trembling hand upon his arm. "Oh, save us, Lieutenant! Save us!" he cried despairingly, "before he kills us all. It is Wentworth's hand that has done the dastardly deed. It is his wicked desire to become master here that is at the root of it. He has hushed up the first two, but, mark my words, Edward will be killed in some way or other. It is not for nothing that he has been poring over the medical books in the library. Oh, yes, I know; I watched. I may have done wrong, but Edward is as dear to me as though he were my own brother, and if anything happens to him "
Cleek gave vent to a low whistle of surprise. "Medical books, eh? Queer literature that for an officer, Sir Lionel!"
"I've heard of queerer," broke in Sir Lionel fiercely, with a sudden display of temper. "I can't believe it, and I won't. It is one of Gaston's foolish notions, simply because he hates Wentworth. That is all it is."
"Steady, steady," said Cleek softly, with a quick smile. " Circumstantial evidence isn't the best rod to lean on, though I'm inclined to think you're right. Anyhow, we're all safe for to-night, and, to tell you the truth, Sir Lionel, I'm getting deuced tired. I... I..." he turned suddenly, sniffed the air, then gave vent to a tremendous sneeze. "There's a draught somewhere. I think, if you would make my adieux to the ladies, I would like to retire."
"Certainly, certainly." The baronet hurried off, as if glad to escape from further parley with so curious an individual. And, left to himself, Cleek turned to the bowed figure of the hunchback, and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
" My dear young sir," said he briskly, " why didn't you wait till you got me alone before breaking out like that? So you want Mr. Edward to escape death, do you?"
The other looked up.
"Then you believe it, too," he said abruptly, not answering the question.
"Don't see a shadow of doubt," responded Cleek. "You leave it to me."
Then, turning upon his heel, he yawned wearily, wished the boy a sleepy "Good-night," and followed Mr. Narkom up the broad staircase to their allotted rooms.
CHAPTER IV.
CLEEK'S desire to see Captain Wentworth Calmount was speedily granted, for they met at the breakfast table next morning. Cleek guessed instinctively that the captain was inwardly very wroth at the turn of events. He laughed rudely when his aunt timidly volunteered the information that Lieutenant Deland had offered to unravel the mystery.
"There's nothing to discover," he declared, in a loud, grating voice. "One of the servants must have played a trick on you while I was out last night." He glared at the Superintendent. "They know all your superstitious ways, Aunt Helena, from A to Z, and most likely have taken advantage of that fact; still, if it pleases you to tell every one your family history, it's nothing to me."
"Pleases, Wentworth! How dare you say such a thing!" ejaculated Sir Lionel angrily, glaring at him in amazement. "I think you forget yourself, sir, when you address your aunt like that. Lieutenant, sit down."
The meal proceeded forthwith, and Cleek, in the presence of Ailsa, found himself making a big breakfast. Afterward he announced his intention of thoroughly examining the picture gallery by daylight. The whole party filed up to it, talking and chattering as they entered the gallery. Here the sun shone with full brilliance, and as Cleek stood with the handle of the door still beneath his fingers, a shaft of sunlight glinted upon the face of "The Laughing Girl." Then, his shoulders hunched, he gripped the knob firmly, and his mouth set into a thin, hard line.
"Idiot!" he ejaculated forcibly, "blithering idiot that I am! I might have guessed, I might have known!"
"Guessed what?" demanded Gaston interestedly, staring up into Cleek's face with round eyes. "Struck an idea, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, rather! There's no fireplace, you see," he explained, as the rest crowded about him, "and it doesn't look as if these windows are ever opened."
"They are not," said Sir Lionel. "I had them screwed down so there should be no chance of burglars getting in; some of these pictures are of priceless value, you know. I had ventilators put in the wall, and it is the duty of one of the maids to pull the ropes outside in the passage every morning so as to air the gallery thoroughly."
"H'm-m-m — yes, I see," put in Cleek, with a jerk of the head. "That is to say, if these ventilators were not opened, for some reason or other, it would be possible to be suffocated? Oh, no, it wouldn't." He stooped suddenly as his eye caught something at the lower left-hand corner of one of the pictures. "I see you've taken care of that. Here's a hole for ventilation purposes, I presume?"
"What! Impossible!" chimed in Sir Lionel and the captain in one breath.
"Well, I'm blest," said the captain, "so there is. Too big for a mouse hole. Funny we never noticed that before."
"Anyhow, it's no use for ventilation," threw in Sir Lionel nonchalantly, "for it leads right into one of the bedrooms, yours, too, by the way, Wentworth." And he stared at the captain with a strangely startled expression.
Gaston shot a meaning look into Mr. Narkom's face.
"Well, what of it?" demanded the captain irritably. "There's no crime in a hole being in the wainscoting, surely?"
"Not a bit!" said Cleek. "For one thing" — he went down on his knees and sniffed audibly — "it's not an old hole, but one newly bored; new wood smells, don't you know? That's a mouse or a rat hole." Then quite suddenly he seemed to find it difficult to rise. "Oh, Lord. I'm getting stiff in my legs. Old age, eh? Give us a hand, Mr. Narkom. Thanks. What's that? No, no clue at all. Shan't want to come in here again. Let's have a look at these rooms on the other side of the gallery. Yours, captain, and yours, too, Master Gaston, if you don't mind."
They didn't; but beyond establishing the fact that the mouse hole had apparently led right through into Captain Calmount's room, the good lieutenant appeared to be absolutely stumped for a few minutes. Then: "Bully, why didn't I think of it before? Wait a minute. I've a book in my bag that's got a similar kind of story. Some of those writing johnnies, don't you know, aren't half bad."
He was gone before any one could utter so much as a word, and Mr. Narkom's eye lit up, scenting a clue. But the Superintendent was doomed to disappointment, for barely two minutes later Cleek returned looking the picture of sorry dejection. "Can't find it," he said glumly, "must have left it in the limousine. Mr. Narkom, you might nip down and ask Lennard if it is there. Here's the title. I know you'll forget it if I don't write it down."
When Mr. Narkom came back, Cleek turned quickly.
"Did you find it?" he asked rapidly, biting his words off short.
"Yes, yes, you were quite right, dear chap; here it is." He handed over a small red book; but after a glance at its cover, Cleek seemed to lose entire interest in it. He spun around upon his heel.
"It is not always the dog that barks the loudest that fights the best," he went on quietly in a low, even voice. "I'm sorry to have to hurt you, Sir Lionel, but justice is justice." And all in a minute those who were watching him saw a strange thing happen; saw him turn and spring like a crouching lion upon the figure — not of Captain Calmount, but of the twisted, misshapen hunchback, saw him grip the huge shoulders in his two hands, and heard his voice ring out sharp and clear.
