“Hmm.  Any finger-prints?”

Mr. Narkom shook his head.

“None.  The thief or thieves used rubber gloves to handle the thing.  And that was the only leg given us to stand upon, so to speak.  For rubber gloves, when they are new, particularly, possess a very strong smell, and this still clung to the door-knob of the safe, and to several objects near it.  That was how we deduced the rubber-glove theory of no finger-prints at all, Cleek.”

“And a very worthy deduction too, my friend,” responded that gentleman, with something of tolerance in his smile.  “And so you have absolutely nothing to go by.  Poor Mr. Narkom!  The path of Law and Justice is by no means an easy one to tread, is it?  Of course you can count upon me to help you in every way.  That goes without saying.  But I can’t help thinking that this news from the War Office with regard to English gold in Belgium has something to do with these bank robberies, my friend.  The two things seem to hang together in my mind, and a dollar to a ducat that in the long run they identify themselves thus....  Hello!  Who’s that?” as a tap sounded at the door.  “I’ll be off if you’re expecting visitors.  I want to look into this thing a little closer.  Some time or other the thieves are bound to leave a clue behind.  Success breeds carelessness, you know, and if they think that Scotland Yard is giving the business up as a bad job, they won’t be so deuced particular as to clearing up afterward.  We’ll unravel the thing between us, never fear.”

“I wish I could think so, old chap!” said Mr. Narkom, a trifle gloomily, as he called “Come in!” The door opened to admit Petrie, very straight and business-like.  “But you’re no end of a help.  It does me good just to see you.  What is it, Petrie?”

“A gentleman to see you, sir,” responded the constable in crisp tones.  “A gentleman by name of Merriton, Sir Nigel Merriton he said his name was.  Bit of a toff I should say by the look of ’im.  And wants to see you partikler.  He mentioned Mr. Cleek’s name, sir, but I told ’im he wasn’t in at the moment.  Shall I show him up?”

“Quite right, Petrie,” laughed Cleek, in recognition of this act of one of the Yard’s subordinates; for everyone was to do everything in his power to shield Cleek’s identity.  “I’ll stay if you don’t mind, Mr. Narkom.  I happen to know something of this Merriton.  A fine upstanding young man, who, once upon a time was very great friends with Miss Lorne.  That was in the old Hawksley days.  Chap’s lately come into his inheritance, I believe.  Uncle disappeared some five or six years ago and legal time being up, young Merriton has come over to claim his own.  The thing made a newspaper story for a week when it happened, but they never found any trace of the old man.  And now the young one is over here, bearing the title, and I suppose living as master of the Towers—­spooklike spot that it is!  Needn’t say who I am, old chap, until I hear a bit.  I’ll just shift over there by the window and read the news, if you don’t mind.”