The early morning cup of tea, brought at eight by a dainty chambermaid in cap and starched blue dress, supplied the need quite nicely.  He nodded to her as she left the room, and then, when the door closed, upset the cup on the coverlet, letting the liquid soak through.  Then he got up and dressed himself with something like a smile upon his lips.

At breakfast, a housemaid waited upon them, and Cleek ate lustily, with the appetite that is born of good health, and a mind at peace with the world.  Toward the end of the meal, however, Borkins came in.  He glanced casually over the group at the table, let his eyes rest for a moment upon Cleek, and then—­dropped an empty dish he was carrying.  As he stooped to recover it, all chance of seeing how the appearance of the man who had so nearly met his death last night affected him, was gone.  He came up again still the same, quiet, dignified Borkins of yore.  Not a gleam of anything but the most obsequious interest in the task before him marred the tranquillity of his features.  If the man knew anything, then he was a fine actor.  But—­did he?  That was the question that interested Cleek during the remainder of the meal.

After it was over, Mr. Narkom and Sir Nigel went off to the smoking room for a quiet cigarette before setting to the real business of the day, and Cleek was left to follow them at his leisure.  Borkins was pottering about the table as the two men left the breakfast room, and Cleek stood in the doorway.

“Peaceful night, last night, eh, Borkins?” he said with a slight laugh.  “That’s the best of this blessed country life of yours.  Chap rests so well.  Talk about the simple life—­” He broke off and laughed again, watching Borkins pick up a clean fork and carry it to the plate-basket upon the sideboard.

The man retained his perfect dignity and ease of manner.

“Quite so, sir.  Quite so.  I trust you slept well.”

“Pretty well—­for a strange bed,” returned Cleek with emphasis, and turned upon his heel.  “If you see my man you might send him along to me.  I want to arrange with him about suits that are coming down from my tailor’s.”

“Very good, sir.”

Cleek joined the two men with something akin to admiration for the butler’s impassiveness in his heart.  If he knew anything, then he was a past master in the art of repression.  On the other hand perhaps he didn’t—­and there was really no reason why he should.  Eavesdropping was a common enough fault with the best of servants, and curiosity a failing of most men.  Borkins might be—­and possibly was—­absolutely innocent of any knowledge of last night’s affair.  And yet, how did the knowledge, that he was not altogether what he seemed, leak out?  It was a puzzle to which, as yet, Cleek could find no answer.

Mr. Narkom greeted Cleek enthusiastically when he joined him.

“I’m off on a tour of investigation in a few minutes,” he announced.  “Petrie and Hammond arrived last night, as you know, and are putting up at the village inn.  I’m meeting them at the edge of the Fens at ten o’clock.  Then we’re going to have a good look to see if we can find the bodies of the two men who have vanished.  You coming along?”