“Yes, certainly,” said Narkom; and having given a few necessary directions to the Captain walked on and followed Cleek.  He knew very well the suggestion that he should do so was merely an excuse to have a few words with him in private—­for no man would be likely to need another man’s assistance in simply putting a few things into a bag—­and he was rather puzzled to account for Cleek’s desire to say anything to him which the Captain was not to hear.  However, he kept his curiosity in check and his tongue behind his teeth until they were on the other side of the lich-gate and in the road leading to the Three Desires.

“There’s something you want to say to me, isn’t there?” he inquired.  “Something you want attended to on the quiet?”

“Yes,” admitted Cleek, tersely.  “There’s a public telephone station a mile or two on the other side of this place—­I saw it this morning when I was out tramping.  Slip off down there, ring up the head of the Dalehampton Constabulary, and tell him to have a man at the house ready to pop up when wanted.  I’ll be long enough over my supposed ‘packing’ to cover the time of your going and returning without the Captain’s knowledge.”

“Without—­Good Heaven!  My dear Cleek, you were serious, then?  You meant it?  You—­you really believe that suspicion points to Sir Gilbert Morford?”

“Not any more than it points to Sir Gilbert Morford’s grandson, Mr. Narkom.”

“Good Lord!  To him?  To that boy?  Why, man alive, what possible motive could he have for bringing grief and anguish to Miss Comstock when he’s willing to give up a fortune to marry her?”

“Ah, but don’t forget that another fortune descends to all the heirs, male and female alike, of the late Mrs. Comstock, Mr. Narkom, and that if the Captain’s fiancee becomes, in course of time, the only surviving child of that unfortunate lady, the Captain’s sacrifice will not be such an overpowering hardship for him, after all.”

“Great Scott!  I never thought of that before, Cleek—­never.”

“Didn’t you?  Well, don’t think too much of it now that you have.  For circumstantial evidence is tricky and treacherous, and he mayn’t be the man, after all!”

“Mayn’t be?  What a beggar you are for damping a man’s ardour after you’ve fanned it up to the blazing point.  Any light in the darkness, old chap?  Any idea of what—­and how?”

“Yes,” said Cleek, quietly.  “If there’s a mark on that poor little shaver’s neck, Mr. Narkom, I shall know the means.  And if there’s soap on the window sill I shall know the man!” And then, having reached the doorway of the inn, he dived into it and went up the staircase two steps at a time.

CHAPTER XXXIV

The little house of Dalehampton was something more than a mere house of grief, they found, when the long drive came to an end and Cleek and his two companions entered it, for the very spirit of desolation and despair seemed to have taken up its abode there; and, like an Incarnate Woe, Miss Comstock paced through the hush and darkness, hour in and hour out, as she had been doing since daybreak.