He knew that red limousine, and he knew that chauffeur.  Both belonged to Mr. Maverick Narkom.

He stood waiting until the motor was abreast of him—­had, in fact, come to a standstill—­then spoke in a guarded tone: 

“What is it, Lennard?” he asked.  “The Yard?”

“Yessir.  Young Dollops told us where to look for you.  Hop in quickly, sir.  Superintendent inside.”

Cleek opened the door of the vehicle at once, stepped in, shut it after him, and sat down beside Mr. Narkom with the utmost composure.

“My dear fellow, I have had a chase!” said the superintendent, with a long deep breath of relief, as the limousine swung out into the roadway, and pelted off westward at a pace that brushed the very fringes of the speed limit.  “I made certain I should find you at home.  Fairly floored when I discovered that you weren’t.  If it hadn’t been for that boy, Dollops—­bright young button, that Dollops, Cleek; exceedingly bright, b’gad.”

“Yes,” agreed Cleek, quietly.  “Bright, faithful, and—­inventive.”

“Really?  What has the young beggar invented, then?”

“An original appliance which may possibly be of a good deal of service one of these days.  But, never mind that at present.  It is fair to suppose, from your rushing out here in quest of me, that you’ve got something on hand, isn’t it?”

“Yes—­rather!  An amazing ‘something,’ old chap.  It’s a letter.  Arrived at headquarters about an hour and a half ago.  Not an affair for The Yard this time, Cleek, but a thing you must take up on your own, if you take it up at all; and I tell you frankly, I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, it’s from Paris; and—­well, you know what dangers Paris would have for you.  There’s that she-devil you broke with—­that woman Margot.  You know what she swore, what she wrote when you sent her that letter telling her that you were done with her and her lot, and warning her never to set foot on English soil again?  If you were to run foul of her—­if she were ever to get any hint of your real identity—­”

“She can’t.  She knows no more of my real history than you do; no more than I actually know of hers.  Our knowledge of each other began when we started to ‘pal’ together—­it ended when we split, eighteen months ago.  But about that letter?  What is it?  Why do you say that you don’t like it?”

“Well, to begin with, I’m afraid it is some trap of hers to decoy you over there—­get you into some unknown place—­”

“There are no ‘unknown places’ in Paris so far as I am concerned.  I know every hole and corner of it, from the sewers on.  I know it as well as I know London, as well as I know Berlin—­New York—­Vienna—­Edinburgh—­Rome.  You couldn’t lose me or trap me in any one of them.  Is that the letter in your hand?  Good—­then read it, please.”

“To the Superintendent of Police, Scotland Yard,” read Narkom, obeying the request.