“Murple is the groom who was paralysed, is he not?” said Cleek, after a moment.  “Singular thing, that.  What paralysed him, do you think?”

“Heaven knows.  He might just as well have been killed as poor Tolliver was, for he’ll never be any use again, the doctors say.  Some injury to the spinal column, and with it a curious affection of the throat and tongue.  He can neither swallow nor speak.  Nourishment has to be administered by tube, and the tongue is horribly swollen.”

“I’m of the opinion, Cleek,” put in Narkom, “that strangulation is merely part of the procedure of the rascal who makes these diabolical nocturnal visits.  In other words, that he is armed with some quick-acting infernal poison, which he forces into the mouths of his victims.  That paralysis of the muscles of the throat is one of the symptoms of prussic acid poisoning, you must remember.”

“I do remember, Mr. Narkom,” replied Cleek enigmatically.  “My memory is much stimulated by these details, I assure you.  I gather from them that, whatever is administered, Murple did not get quite so much of it as Tolliver, or he, too, would be dead.  Sir Henry”—­he turned again to the baronet—­“do you trust everybody else connected with your establishment as much as you trust Logan?”

“Yes.  There’s not a servant connected with the hall that hasn’t been in my service for years, and all are loyal to me.”

“May I ask who else is in the house besides the servants?”

“My wife, Lady Wilding, for one; her cousin, Mr. Sharpless, who is on a visit to us, for another; and, for a third, my uncle, the Rev. Ambrose Smeer, the famous revivalist.”

“Mr. Smeer does not approve of the race track, of course?”

“No, he does not.  He is absurdly ‘narrow’ on some subjects, and ‘sport’ of all sorts is one of them.  But, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable old fellow, of whom I am amazingly fond.”

“Hum-m-m!  And Lady Wilding and Mr. Sharpless—­do they, too, disapprove of racing?”

“Quite to the contrary.  Both are enthusiastic upon the subject, and both have the utmost faith in Black Riot’s certainty of winning.  Lady Wilding is something more than attached to the mare; and as for Mr. Sharpless, he is so upset over these rascally attempts that every morning when the steel room is opened and the animal taken out, although nothing ever happens in the daylight, he won’t let her get out of his sight for a single instant until she is groomed and locked up for the night.  He is so incensed, so worked up over this diabolical business, that I verily believe if he caught any stranger coming near the mare he’d shoot him in his tracks.”

“Hum-m-m!” said Cleek abstractedly, and then sat silent for a long time, staring at his spats and moving one thumb slowly round the breadth of the other, his fingers interlaced and his lower lip pushed upwards over the one above.

“There, that’s the case, Cleek,” said Narkom, after a time.  “Do you make anything out of it?”