Sir Henry—­Sir Henry Wilding, Bart., to give him his full name and title—­a handsome, well-set-up man of about forty years of age, well groomed, and with the upright bearing which comes of military training, twisted round on his heel at this and gave the superintendent an almost grateful look.

“I hope so—­God knows I hope so, Mr. Narkom,” he said agitatedly.  “Time is the one important thing at present.  The suspense and uncertainty are getting on my nerves so horribly that the very minutes seem endless.  Remember, there are only three days before the race, and if those rascals, whoever they are, get at Black Riot before then, God help me—­that’s all!  And if this man Cleek can’t probe the diabolical mystery, they will get at her, too, and put Logan where they put Tolliver, the brutes!”

“You may trust Cleek to see that they don’t, Sir Henry.  It is just the kind of case he will glory in; and if Black Riot is all that you believe her, you’ll carry off the Derby in spite of these enterprising gentry who—­Hallo! here’s the motor.  Clap on your hat, Sir Henry, and come along.  Mind the step!  Kensington Palace Gardens, Lennard—­and as fast as you can streak it.”

CHAPTER XII

The chauffeur proved that he could “streak it” as close to the margin of the speed limit as the law dared wink at, even in the case of the well-known red limousine, and in a little over ten minutes pulled up before the park gates.  Narkom jumped out, beckoned Sir Henry to follow him, and together they hurried into the grounds in quest of Cleek.

Where the famous tulip beds made splotches of brilliant colour against the clear emerald of the closely clipped grass they came upon him—­a solitary figure in the garb of the elderly seaman, “Captain Burbage, of Clarges Street”—­seated on one of the garden benches, his hands folded over the knob of his thick walking-stick and his chin resting upon them, staring fixedly at the gorgeous flowers and apparently deaf and blind to all else.

He was not, however; for as the superintendent approached he, without altering his gaze or his attitude in the slightest particle, said with the utmost calmness:  “Superb, are they not, my friend?  What a pity they should be scentless.  It is as though Heaven had created a butterfly and deprived it of the secret of flight.  Walk on, please, without addressing me.  I am quite friendly with that policeman yonder and I do not wish him to suspect that the elderly gentleman he is so kind to is in any way connected with The Yard.  Examine the tulips.  That’s right.  You came in your limousine, of course?  Where is it?”

“Just outside the gates, at the end of the path on the right,” replied Narkom, halting with Sir Henry and appearing to be wholly absorbed in pointing out the different varieties of tulips.

“Good,” replied Cleek, apparently taking not the slightest notice.  “I’ll toddle on presently, and when you return from inspecting the flowers you will find me inside the motor awaiting you.”