“Not very,” he responded, as the door closed behind the butler.  “At least that is, Sir Nigel,”—­speaking in his natural voice—­“it really was pretty chilly coming down.  Winter’s setting in fast, you know.  That your man?”

He jerked his head in the direction of the closed door, and twitched an enquiring eyebrow.

Merriton nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s Borkins.  Looks a trustworthy specimen, doesn’t he?  For my part I don’t trust him farther than I can see him, Mr.—­er—­Headland (awfully sorry but I keep forgetting your name somehow).  He’s too shifty-eyed for me.  What do you think?”

“Tell you better when I’ve had a good look at him,” responded Cleek, guardedly.  “And lots of honest men are shifty-eyed, Sir Nigel, and vice versa.  That doesn’t count for anything, you know.  Well, my dear Mr. Lake, finding your part a bit too much for you?” he added, with a laugh, turning to Mr. Narkom, who was sitting on the extreme edge of his chair, mournfully fingering his collar, which was higher and tighter than the somewhat careless affair which he usually adopted.  “Never mind.  As the poet sings, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women, etc.’  You’re simply one of ’em, now.  Try to remember that.  And remember, also, that the eyes of the gallery are not always upon you.  Sir Nigel, I ask you, isn’t our friend’s make-up the perfection of the—­er—­elderly man-about-town?”

Sir Nigel laughingly had to admit that it was, whereupon Mr. Narkom blushed exceedingly, and—­the ice was broken as Cleek had intended it should be.

They adjourned to the smoking-room, where a huge log-fire burnt in the grate, and easy chairs invited.  They discussed the topics of the day with evident relish during such time as Borkins was in the room, and smoked their cigars with the air of men to whom the hours were as naught, and life simply a chessboard to move their little pieces upon as they willed.  But how soon they were to cry checkmate upon this case which they were all investigating, even Cleek did not know.  Then of a sudden he looked up from his task of studying the fire with knitted brows.

“By the way,” he said off-handedly, “I hope you don’t mind.  My man will be coming down by the next train with our traps.  I never travel without him, he’s such a useful beggar.  You can manage to put him up somewhere, I suppose?  I was a fool not to have mentioned it before, but the lad entirely slipped my memory.  He helps me, too, in other things, and there is always a good deal to be learned from the servants’ hall, you know, Sir Nigel....  You can manage with Dollops, can’t you?  Otherwise he can put up at the village inn.”

Merriton shook his head decisively.

“Of course not, Mr. Headland.  Wouldn’t hear of such a thing.  Anybody who is going to be useful to you in this case is, as you know, absolutely welcome to Merriton Towers.  He won’t get much out of Borkins though, I don’t mind telling you.”