“My darling, you mustn’t—­you really mustn’t, dear.  You’ll lose your mind if you brood over the thing like this,” said the Captain, flying to her the very instant they arrived; and, disregarding the presence of his two companions, caught her in his arms and kissed her.  “Miriam, dearest, don’t!  It breaks my heart.  I know it’s awful; but do try to have strength and hope.  I am sure we shall get at the bottom of the thing now—­sure that there will be no more—­that this is truly the end.  These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, dearest, and they say it surely will be.”

“Heaven knows I hope so,” replied Miss Comstock, acknowledging the introduction to Cleek and Narkom by a gentle inclination of the head.  “But indeed, I can’t hope, Jim—­indeed, I cannot, gentlemen.  The tenth of next month will take its toll as the tenth of this one has done.  I feel persuaded that it will.  For who can fight a thing unseen and unknown?”

Her grief was so great, her despair so hopeless, that Cleek forbore attempting to assuage either by any words of sympathy or promise.  He seemed to feel that hers was an anguish upon which even the kindliest words must fall only as an intrusion, and the heart of the man—­that curiously created heart, which at times could be savage even to the point of brutality, and again tender and sympathetic as any woman’s—­went out to her in one great surge of human feeling.  And two minutes later—­when all the Law’s grim business of inquiry and inquest had been carried out by Narkom, and she, in obedience to his expressed desire, led them to the room where the dead boy lay—­that wave of sympathetic feeling broke over his soul again.  For the gentle opening of the door had shown him a small, dimly lit room, a kneeling figure, bent of back and bowed of head, that leant over a little white bed in a very agony of tearless woe.

“He can hardly tear himself away for an instant—­he loved him so!” she said in a quavering whisper to Cleek.  “Must we disturb him?  It seems almost cruel.”

“I know it,” he whispered back; “but the place must be searched in quest of possible clues, Miss Comstock.  The—­the little boy, too, must be examined, and it would be crueller still if he were to stay and see things like that.  Lead him out if you can.  It will be for a few minutes only.  Tell him so—­tell him he can come back then.”  And turned his face away from that woeful picture as she went over and spoke to the sorrowing old man.

“Uncle!” she said softly.  “Uncle Phil!  You must come away for a little time, dear.  It is necessary.”

“Oh, I can’t, Mirry—­I can’t, lovie, dear!” he answered without lifting his head or loosening his folded hands.  “My bonnie, my bonnie, that I loved so well!  Ah, let me have him while I may, Mirry—­they’ll take him from me soon enough—­soon enough, my bonnie boy!”

“But, dearest, you must.  The—­the Law has stepped in.  Gentlemen from Scotland Yard are here.  Jim has brought them.  They must have the room for a little time.  There—­there’s the window to be examined, you know; and if they can find out anything—­”