“An extraordinary rigmarole altogether!” Meeting Merriton’s astonished eyes with his own keen ones, he went on:  “The flames, of course, are a plant of some sort.  That goes without saying.  But the thing to find out is what they’re there for to hide.  When you’ve discovered that, you’ll have got half way to the truth, and the rest will follow as a matter of course....  What’s that, Mr. Narkom?  Yes, I’ll take the case, Sir Nigel.  My name’s Cleek—­Hamilton Cleek, at your service.  Now let’s hear the thing all over again, please.  I’ve one or two questions I’d like to ask.”

Merriton left Scotland Yard an hour later, lighter in heart than he had been for some time—­ever since, in fact, Dacre Wynne’s tragic disappearance had cast such a gloom over his life’s happiness.  He had unburdened his soul to Cleek—­absolutely.  And Cleek had treated the confession with a decent sort of respect which was enough to win any chap over to him.  Merriton in fact had found in Cleek a friend as well as a detective.  He had been a little astonished at his general get-up and appearance, but Merriton had heard of his peculiar birthright, and felt that the man himself was capable of almost anything.  Certainly he proved full of sympathetic understanding.

Cleek understood the ground upon which he stood with regard to his friendship with Dacre Wynne.  He had, with a wonderful intuition, sensed the peculiar influence of the man upon Nigel—­this by look and gesture rather than by use of tongue and speech.  And Cleek had already drawn his own conclusions.  He heard of Nigel’s engagement to Antoinette Brellier, and of how Dacre Wynne had taken it, heard indeed all the little personal things which Merriton had never told to any man, and certainly hadn’t intended telling to this one.

But that was Cleek’s way.  He secured a man’s confidence and by that method got at the truth.  A bond of friendship had sprung up between them, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom had promised that before a couple of days were over, they would put in an appearance at Fetchworth, and look into things more closely.  It was agreed that they were to pose as friends of Sir Nigel, since Cleek felt that in that way he could pursue his investigations unsuspected, and make more headway in the case.

But there was but one thing Nigel hadn’t spoken of, and that was the very foolish and ridiculous action of his upon that fateful evening of the dinner party.  Only he and Doctor Bartholomew—­who was as close-mouthed as the devil himself over some things—­knew of the incident of the pistol-shooting, so far as Merriton was aware.  And the young man was too ashamed of the whole futile affair and what it very apparently proved to the listener—­that he had certainly drunk more than was good for him—­to wish any one else to share in the absurd little secret.  It could have no bearing upon the affair, and if ’Toinette got to hear of it, well, he’d look all sorts of a fool, and possibly be treated to a sermon—­a prospect which he did not relish in the slightest.