Cleek made the round of the rooms as quietly as any shadow, even stopping as he passed young Bawdrey’s on his way back to his own to peep in there.  Yes; he, too, had got his share of the effective draught, for there he lay snarled up in the bed-clothes, with his arms over his head and his knees drawn up until they were on a level with his waist, and his handsome, boyish face a little paler than usual.

Cleek didn’t go into the room, simply looked at him from the threshold, then shut the door, and went back to Dollops.

“All serene, Gov’nor?” questioned that young man, in an eager whisper.

“Yes, quite,” his master replied, as he turned to a writing-table whereon there lay a sealed note, and, pulling out the chair, sat down before it and took up a pen.  “Wait a bit, and then you can go to bed.  I’ll give you still another note to deliver.  While I’m writing it you may lay out my clothes.”

“Slipping off, sir?”

“Yes.  You will stop here, however.  Now, then, hold your tongue; I’m busy.”

Then he pulled a sheet of paper to him and wrote rapidly: 

“DEAR MR. BAWDREY: 

“I’ve got my man, and am off to consult with Mr. Narkom and to have what I’ve found analysed.  I don’t know when I shall be back—­probably not until the day after to-morrow.  You are right.  It is murder, and Java is at the bottom of it.  Dollops will hand you this.  Say nothing—­just wait till I get back.”

This he slipped, unsigned in his haste, into an envelope, handed it to Dollops, and then fairly jumped into his clothes.  Ten minutes later, he was out of the house, and—­the end of the riddle was in sight.

CHAPTER V

On the morrow, Mrs. Bawdrey made known the rather surprising piece of news that Mr. Rickaby had written her a note to say that he had received a communication of such vital importance that he had been obliged to leave the house that morning before anybody was up, and might not be able to return to it for several days.

“No very great hardship in that, my dear,” commented Mrs. Somerby-Miles, “for a more stupid and uninteresting person I never encountered.  Fancy! he never even offered to assist the gentlemen to get poor Mr. Bawdrey upstairs last night.  How is the poor old dear this morning, darling?  Better?”

“Yes—­much,” said Mrs. Bawdrey, in reply.  “Doctor Phillipson came to the house before four o’clock, and brought some wonderful new medicine that has simply worked wonders.  Of course, he will have to stop in bed and be perfectly quiet for three or four days; but, although the attack was by far the worst he has ever had, the doctor feels quite confident that he will pull him safely through.”