“But, my dear fellow, both his little lordship and the nurse saw the man, and, as you have heard, they both agree that he was dark-skinned and quite Oriental in appearance.”

“One of the easiest possible disguises, Mr. Narkom.  A wig, a stick of grease-paint, a threepenny twist of crepe hair, and there you are!  No, I do not believe that the man is a Cingalese at all; and, far from his having any connection with what you were pleased to term just now a change of front on the part of the Buddhists who have so long held the little chap as something sacred, I don’t believe that they know anything about him.  I base that upon the fact that the child is still treated with homage whenever he goes out, according to what Miss Lorne says, and that, with the single exception of that one woman who tried to poison him, nobody but just one man—­this particular one man—­has ever made any attempt to harm the boy.  Fanatics, like those Cingalese, cleave to an idea to the end, Mr. Narkom; they don’t cast it aside and go off at another tangent.  You have heard what Lady Chepstow says the native women told her; the boy was sacred; their priests had commanded them to appease Buddha by doing homage to him until the tooth was found, and the tooth has not been found up to the present day!  That means that nothing on earth could change their attitude toward him, that not one of the Buddhist sect would harm a solitary hair of his head for a king’s ransom; so you may eliminate the Cingalese from the case entirely so far as the attempts upon the child’s life are concerned.  Whoever is making the attempts is doing so without their knowledge and for a purely personal reason.”

“Then, in that case, this Captain Hawksley—­”

“I’ll have a look at that gentleman before I tumble into bed to-night, and you shall have my views upon that point to-morrow morning, Mr. Narkom.  Frankly, things point rather suspiciously in the captain’s direction, since he is apparently the only person likely to be benefited by the boy’s death, and if a motive cannot be traced to some other person—­” He stopped abruptly and held up his hand.  Outside in the dim halls of the house a sudden noise had sprung into being, the noise of someone running upstairs in great haste, and, stepping quickly to the door, Cleek drew it sharply open.  As he did so, Dollops came puffing up out of the lower gloom, a sheep’s trotter in one hand, and a letter in the other.

“Law, Gov’nor!” groaned he, from midway on the staircase, “I don’t believe as I’m ever goin’ to be let get a square tuck-in this side of the buryin’ ground!  Jist finished wot was left of that there steak and kidney puddin’, sir, and started on my seckint trotter, when I sees a pair o’ legs nip parst the area railin’s to the front door, and then nip off again like greased lightnin’, and when I ups and does a flyin’ leap up the kitchen stairs, there was this here envellup in the letter-box, and them there blessed legs nowheres in sight.  I say, sir,” agitatedly, “look wot’s wrote on the envellup, will yer?  And us always keepin’ of it so dark.”