The judge sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes.

“God bless my soul!” he began, and then subsided into silence.  The eyes of young Sir Nigel Merriton nearly leapt from their sockets with astonishment; and every man in the crowd was gaping.

Cleek laughed.

“Rather of a surprise, I must admit; isn’t it?” he said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.  “And no doubt you’re wondering what all this has to do with the case in hand.  Well, that’ll come along all in good time.  Golden sovereigns, you see, carefully stacked up to fill the little tubing to its capacity—­and thousands of ’em done the same, too!  There’s a perfect fortune down there in that factory at Saltfleet!  Mr. Narkom,” he turned round and surveyed the Superintendent with mirthful eyes, “what about these bank robberies now, eh?  I told you something would crop up.  You see it has.  We’ve discovered the hiding-place of the gold—­and the prime leader in the whole distressing affair.  The rest ought to be easy.”  He whipped round suddenly toward the line of witnesses, letting his eyes travel over each face in turn; past Tony West’s reddened countenance, past Dr. Bartholomew’s pale intensity, past Borkins, standing very straight and white and frightened-looking.  Then, of a sudden he leapt forward, his hand clamped down upon someone’s shoulder, and his voice exclaimed triumphantly: 

“And here the beauty is!”

Then, before the astonished eyes of the crowd of spectators stood Mr. Gustave Brellier, writhing and twisting in the clutch of the firm fingers and spitting forth fury in a Flemish patois that would have struck Cleek dead on the spot—­if words could kill.

A sudden din arose.  People pressed forward, the better to see and hear, exclaiming loudly, condemning, criticising.  The judge’s frail old hand brought silence at last, and Antoinette Brellier came forward from her place and clutched Cleek by the arm.

“It cannot be, Mr.—­Cleek!” she said piteously.  “I tell you my uncle is the best of men, truly!  He could never have done this thing that you accuse him of—­and—­”

“And the worst of devils!  That I can thoroughly endorse, my dear young lady,” returned Cleek with a grim laugh.  “I am sorry for you—­very.  But at least you will have consolation in your future husband’s release.  That should compensate you.  Here, officer, take hold of this man.  We’ll get down to brass tacks now.  Take hold of him, and hold him fast, for a more slippery snake never was created.  All right, Sir Nigel; it is all right, lad.  Sit down.  This is going to be a long story, but it’s got to be told.  Fetch chairs for the witnesses, constable.  And don’t let any of ’em go—­yet.  I want ’em to hear this thing through.”

In his quick, easy manner he seemed suddenly to have taken command of the court.  And, knowing that he was Hamilton Cleek, and that Cleek would use his own methods, or none, Mr. Justice Grainger took the wisest course, and—­let him alone.