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"Good!" said Cleek. "We'll make sure to save time. Now, let's see; here is one piece of wood. Now for the five others."

He paced slowly over the floor, marking at regular intervals with a piece of chalk a little dark piece of the parquet flooring.

"Three, four, five, six – the six points right enough. Now to find the centre."

Kneeling down, Mr. Narkom watched him draw long white chalk lines from point to point.

Finally he gave a little satisfied grunt, stood up, and surveyed his handiwork.

"Move a little away, Mr. Narkom, and if we aren't too late, we shall see what we shall see," he cried, excitedly.

Advancing into the centre of the room, he bent down over the centre piece of wood. As he did so, there came the horrible moaning cry, causing even Mr. Narkom's hardened nerves to fail him. With a crash the torch fell from his fingers, leaving them in total darkness!

"I forgot; I ought to have warned you – it's quite all right," said Cleek, taken aback.

"Gad, Cleek, it startled me. What is it?" whispered the Superintendent. "Have I ruined your plans?"

Cleek felt for his own torch and snapped it on so that the little disc of white light fell distinctly upon the floor.

"Never mind," said he, serenely. "It doesn't matter now, I have learnt all I want for the present. Come, let's get out of this. That is the answer to the riddle, and we are only just in time."

CHAPTER XXIII
UNTWISTING THE THREADS

In the big uncurtained ballroom of Cheyne Court the next morning, a plentiful gathering assembled for the inquest which had been postponed from the week before, and Mr. Narkom, who had entered with Cleek and a number of strangers that to an observant eye would have revealed themselves as plain-clothes men, watched the entry of every newcomer with almost morbid expectancy.

Early arrivals were Lady Brenton and Sir Edgar, who at Cleek's request had returned from town that same morning, after a presumably futile search for any trace of Lady Margaret. The boy's face was lined and anxious, his nerves evidently strained to breaking point. Close beside him sat Lady Brenton, her arm clenched tight in his, and Cleek smiled a little as he noticed that she wore a gold scarf – obviously the one which had been given such unwonted publicity the preceding week. It was not exactly morning attire, but she had evidently worn it in defiance of all gossip.

Jennifer Wynne and her brother were there, too, pale both of them, with eyes that told a tale of sleepless nights. Close beside them stood the immaculate, dapper figure of Gunga Dall, his dark eyes flashing from one face to the other, and lingering with a little smile on the perturbed countenance of Lady Brenton. It seemed as though he were quite satisfied with his work.

For a little while Cleek appeared to take no notice whatsoever of his surroundings, and it was not until the Coroner had got through the preliminaries of the inquest and proposed calling a witness that Cleek roused himself from his reverie, and said in a clear, incisive voice:

"Witnesses are unnecessary, Mr. Coroner, for I will venture to call on the murderer himself."

Had a bombshell fallen near the assembly it could not have caused more consternation, and Cleek, as he took the centre of the room, let the queer, one-sided smile travel up his face. There was a theatrical touch in this announcement which pleased him considerably.

"Yes, one murderer," he continued, "the other, fortunately, is dead. No, Mr. Wynne," he continued, rapidly, "please don't try to get to that door, they are all guarded and the windows, too. So if you don't mind – "

Suddenly he leapt swiftly in Bobby Wynne's direction. The startled young man was standing as if rooted to the spot, powerless with terror to move a step further. But with a spring Cleek bore down upon the figure of the man who was sitting smiling and complacent beside him – the figure of the Hindoo, Gunga Dall!

"Got you, you beauty! Got you!" he exclaimed, as the man tried to fight him off. "Thought to evade justice by casting the blame upon another, eh? But you came to the wrong person this time. Here, Petrie, Hammond, snap the bracelets on him, for he's as slippery as the proverbial eel, and I've no desire to have my wrists broken. That's it! Now the fish is caught at last. The game's up, Jimmy my lad."

Speaking he bent forward and stared into the man's dark, furious face. As he did so, the man's lips opened, and from his mouth issued a stream of cockney vituperation which would have shamed a Billingsgate barrow-holder.

"'Ere what yer gettin' at, blarst yer!" ended up the erstwhile Gunga Dall as his breath failed him. "And why does yer call me Jimmy? Just like yer bloomin' cheek, damn yer!"

"And just like my blooming knowledge, too, my friend," responded Cleek with a little harsh laugh. "I don't forget friends quite so soon as you do, Blake. Remember me now?"

Of a sudden his features writhed, twisted, altered, and the man whom he addressed as Blake, looking up into his eyes, turned white and shrank back with a sudden, overpowering fear.

"God! the Cracksman," he ejaculated, and his head fell forward upon his breast.

"Yes, and now – just Cleek, of Scotland Yard," came the reply.

"Cleek!" exclaimed the Coroner in amazement, and the name echoed from every mouth in that crowded room.

"Just Cleek," was the reply.

Suddenly Blake's face underwent a change.

"I don't care who you are, blarst yer! I haven't done nothing but get up as an Indian, and there's nothing criminal in that!"

"No, my friend," said Cleek, quietly. "But there is in murder and when it comes to killing your own brother – what's that? Oh, yes, it is. I know the dead man now: Sam Blake, tipster and member of the Pentacle Club. And you – you are James Blake, head of the Club, the biggest gang of jewel thieves in the world!"

"It's a lie!" shrieked the man. "I am not. I did not kill him!"

"You did," flung back Cleek. "You killed him with a little white pellet of prussic acid. I daresay – yes – they are – " His deft fingers felt in one of the resisting man's pockets.

With a little gasp of triumph, he held up a small box, and opening the lid, showed about a dozen white pellets similar to the fragment found in the mouth of the dead man. His face grew tense and grim as he surveyed them.

"See, here is the weapon," he said, "and if you want further proof, I have it here in finger-prints. These are the official prints of James Blake, and they correspond to the marks on the dead man's throat. One more thing, the footprints – "

Diving into his pocket, Cleek produced the roll of papers over which Dollops had taken such care.

"See," he said in sharp tones, "these are the marks of the footprints which led direct from the body itself. These, too, are the footprints which I found in Miss Jennifer Wynne's garden, at the foot of a certain window. To make things more sure, I think you will find that this" – he held up a scrap of gray tweed material – "is proof that this interesting gentleman climbed up by means of the wistaria plant, and obtained the prussic acid and magnesia from old Dr. Wynne's surgery."

A startled cry burst from the lips of the brother and sister, and their eyes met with such a mutually significant look that a little smile crept into Cleek's eyes for a moment. It so obviously explained the situation between them; each had suspected the other, and each had wished to shield the other.

Then Cleek turned his gaze back to the prisoner, who was a picture of sullen dejection.

"There is one more overwhelming proof of my story," Cleek said, and taking out his notebook, he scribbled something rapidly. Then detaching a leaf, he continued, "If Mr. Narkom will fetch it and if I am right, I do not think Mr. Coroner need hesitate any further."

Mr. Narkom gave but one glance at the scrap of paper in his hand, but those standing near him heard his exclamation of astonishment. Then he was gone, and attention was once more rivetted on Cleek's slim figure.

"You made a mistake, my friend, in drawing my attention to the gold scarves last week for I knew that you lied in saying that you had given Lady Margaret that scarf. It was her father's gift, not yours, so your effort to draw a red herring across the path was a failure," continued that gentleman as he peered into the face of the prisoner. "You made a bigger one to-day in leaving off that seal ring which left its mark on your brother's throat last week."

A string of vile expletives followed this statement as the bound man strove feebly to wrench his hand from the firm grasp which held it.

At this, a little cry burst from the lips of Dr. Verrall, and again Cleek smiled.

"You jumped to the conclusion too quickly that it was Miss Jennifer's ring, Doctor," he said, softly. "Not even a strong woman could have subjugated a man like Blake."

Dr. Verrall gave a little groan as he met Cleek's quizzical eyes, but Jennifer, who was standing near, stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. Then she said almost under her breath:

"Oh, Edgar, you thought that I – that it was poor old Dad's ring on my hand. Is that why you wanted me to put it away?"

Swiftly Dr. Verrall turned to her and even as he did so, the attention of the people around was speedily withdrawn, for the door of the room was opened, and Mr. Narkom stood in the doorway.

"Was I right?" said Cleek, a trifle anxiously.

"Right as a trivet," was the complacent reply. "And here she is – "

He stepped aside, and then a cry arose, for framed in the doorway, pale and worn, but otherwise unharmed, stood the missing heiress, Lady Margaret Cheyne herself!

A scramble ensued, but it was Sir Edgar who reached her first, and disregarding the surging crowd around them gathered her bodily into his arms.

"Margaret, my darling!" he said in a choked, broken voice.

Cleek smiled.

"You found her where I said?" he asked, addressing the Superintendent who stood breathless but triumphant beside him.

The query reduced the roomful of people to a state of breathless silence as Mr. Narkom nodded vigorously.

"Yes," said he, briskly. "She was in Gunga Dall's house, and bound and gagged, poor child, although she seems to have recovered herself very well now."

He smiled at her as she stood crimson and shy beside the upright figure of her lover, and she gave him a smile in return.

"Yes," she said in a soft voice, looking up into Sir Edgar's eyes, "I am perfectly recovered, thank you!.. No, Edgar, you mustn't," as that gentleman sprang forward in Gunga Dall's direction and made as if to attack him; "he will meet with the justice he deserves, dear, soon enough."

"Well said," threw in Cleek with an approving smile at this philosophical young person, "I agree with Sir Edgar's sentiments, Lady Margaret, so long as they remain sentiments and nothing else. But now what about that story which we are all waiting so breathlessly for? Do you feel up to relating your adventures, just to clear away the curiosity which I see written on every face?"

He set a chair for her and she thanked him with a gesture. Seating herself, she blushed crimson at the sight of the crowd that surrounded her.

"Of course I will tell you my story," she began in a low voice, "but first of all I want you to believe that I did not kill that man. I truly did not!"

"What man, my dear young lady?" asked the startled Coroner before any one else could speak.

"Why, the man who impersonated my poor aunt!" she responded, tearfully. "But Mr. Dall said everybody was looking for me, and he intended to take me out of the country. I did not want to go – it is all too wicked!" She clung trembling to Sir Edgar, who was divided between his longing to wreak his vengeance on the prisoner who stood sullen and discomforted and his efforts to restore Lady Margaret.

"You need not fear any trouble on that score, Lady Margaret," said Cleek, quietly, smiling at her. "It was Gunga Dall himself who murdered the man, his own brother. And all we want to find out is how your scarf came to be involved. When did you discover the trick that had been played?"

"I never thought of there being any trick," she said with a little shiver. "Poor Auntie was always very queer and undemonstrative, even when I was a child, and, too, she always disliked me. That was why she kept me so long at school. So I never thought of its being any one else till I came down to meet Edgar – on the terrace. Then the sound of the laughter, and all men's laughter, caused me to look into the room. When I saw what I had believed to be my aunt, with her wig half off, smoking a big cigar and holding up my jewels – " She broke off with a little shudder and Ailsa Lorne, who stood near, leaned forward and took Lady Margaret's shaking hand into her own.

"What happened afterward, Lady Margaret?" Cleek then asked. "Can you tell us? It is necessary evidence, you know – "

"Yes," she said, bravely, "they gagged me and bound my eyes and laid me on a couch in the ballroom… I don't know what happened then, but I found myself at last in the wine-cellar with the servant Aggie keeping watch over me. It seemed ages and ages before Gunga Dall came to me, and while Aggie was sleeping – she had been drinking all the time she was with me – he got me through the window, and out into the lane, where he had a carriage waiting. He said he was going to drive me to Lady Brenton, but when I found he was not, I got frightened and wondered if you had got the bit of paper I slipped from the window when I saw you. Did you get it?" she turned to Ailsa, who nodded.

"Yes, dear, and gave it to Sir Edgar."

"Oh, I am so glad!" she said in a broken voice. "Well, after that he drove me to his own house, and promised to fetch Lady Brenton to me!"

"The devil!" burst out Sir Edgar, impetuously, his face crimson with fury, his whole figure shaking, "as if he couldn't have brought you direct to us if he had wanted to – "

"I never thought of that," she responded. "All I thought of was getting away from Cheyne Court. He said then that all the countryside was looking for me as I was accused of having murdered that awful creature whom I had believed to be my aunt. I wanted to confront them, but he wouldn't let me go. At last he said if I would give him my gold scarf, it would be the means of setting me free…"

A little one-sided smile crept up Cleek's face as he listened to the girlish recital.

"The clever devil!" he ejaculated. "He went straight back to Blake, not knowing perhaps that the jewels were already in their possession and took the scarf as a proof that he had Lady Margaret in his power…"

Then he turned on his heel and faced the prisoner.

"Come, Blake, own up – the truth. It will serve you best."

The prisoner scowled blackly and stared into Cleek's eyes with hatred in his own.

"What's the good?" he muttered, angrily. "You seem to know it all just as if you were there. It's true enough. I went to Sam, who had no business to have acted without me, and told him I'd got the girl and would let on to the police if he didn't give me a share. I didn't know it wasn't the old girl herself, till the day before when I followed them up to London, then I recognized Sammy. Considering I had been away in Paris for over a year planning how to get hold of them jewels, and even joined up with that there crowd of Hindoo niggers, in order to have assistance – they only wanted the 'Purple Emperor,' said I could have what I liked if I helped them to get that, without their having to take life – well, it isn't surprising that I didn't mean to be bested by Sam and his pals."

Cleek nodded as if in approval, though it was really the proof of the correctness of his own theories that caused the unconscious movement.

"But the law was one too many for both of you, Jimmy my lad," he interrupted, "and you came to grief at last. But what I want to know is how did you get into Cheyne Court?"

"Through a secret entrance hidden in the wall, if yer wants ter know!" replied James Blake, sullenly. "Might as well know it first as last. There's a hole in the dried-up moat what leads to the foundations and I happened to discover it when I was hiding there. So I nipped in and then stumbled upon Lady Margaret, lying in the cellar, and saw it was a chance to get even with Sammy. But he only laughed at me when I said I'd got her and told me I'd never find the jewels where he'd hidden 'em. Blast 'im, I never have. But we came to blows then and he clutched at the scarf I held and nicked a piece out of it, just as he fell, then I scuttled upstairs and threw it back into the girl's room – and that's all the blooming story."

"Back into her room?" ejaculated Sir Edgar, furiously, at the end of this recital. "So he threw suspicion on my dear girl. Well, I'll wring his damned neck for him as a little return for his trouble!"

He leapt forward, but Cleek caught at his shoulder, and with a smile drew him back.

"A very creditable performance, my friend," said he, serenely, "but I don't think I should carry it out. As Lady Margaret herself suggested the law will take its course and mete out full justice. Meanwhile, there is still more work to be done. This part of the case is clear enough. This man, James Blake is his right name, although we have all known him as Gunga Dall, is the head of the Pentacle Club, and the murdered man Sam, his brother, was also a member of the gang. As you see, it has been a deeply laid plot on their part to secure that ill-fated 'The Purple Emperor,' and as I have long imagined, the Hindoo priests are still on its track. When I went up to London to find out about James Blake, I learned by chance of the existence of this brother and then I knew what had happened. There is no doubt, as I shall prove to you, that Sam had made ingenious arrangements to get the jewels safely away before the return of his brother, and it was the knowledge of a safe hiding place which led him to be defiant, and that was obviously the cause of his death.

"However, there is one thing to console ourselves with, and that is that he but anticipated the law. There is little doubt that he was the murderer of Miss Cheyne, and also the perpetrator of another crime in the East of London – the murder of an 'ole clo' woman. He stabbed her to death for a bundle of second-hand clothing and a wig. That shows the nature of the man, doesn't it? But that is the way he obtained the clothing to dress his part, and the little second-hand clothes dealer's case passed out of the public eye under the screen of 'found murdered by person or persons unknown.' But her death and Miss Cheyne's are avenged. We have Mr. James Blake to thank for that!"

He paused a moment and looked about him at the expectant faces of the audience, then bent and whispered something to Mr. Narkom, who nodded vigorously and spoke to the Coroner.

Then Cleek spoke again.

"I don't think there is anything more to be done now so far as the public is concerned," he said in a clear voice which penetrated to the ends of the crowded room, "and I think they may safely consider the case at an end. I shall be glad, therefore, if they will leave this room as quickly and as quietly as possible."

They left forthwith, as the prisoner was led away, but once out in the spring sunshine, it came to them suddenly that that very clever gentlemen had left off at the most critical point – and that the hiding place of the famous Cheyne Court jewels had never been revealed.

CHAPTER XXIV
AN UNEXPECTED CONTRETEMPS

A hubbub of voices sounded for a few minutes as the crowd wended its way out of the house and toward the village, there to relate the amazing occurrences of the morning, and in the ballroom there fell a momentary hush. Still almost dazed by the trend of events, the little knot of people present looked at Cleek who stood gazing fixedly at the floor.

Then he gave a little shake of his shoulders.

"And now, my friends, having cleared up one part of the mystery, there is still a question of the jewels' hiding place… What's that, Sir Edgar? How did I find out where Lady Margaret was hidden and by whom? Well, Blake gave himself away finally last week by his efforts to throw suspicion on the owner of that gold lace scarf. It seemed clear to me that had he Lady Margaret in his power, the evidence of her scarf would be a dangerous weapon against her, and one that would enable him to retain a hold over her. Then, again, I had recognized from the beginning that he was not an Asiatic; his eyes, dark though they were, had no yellow tinge, nor were they set Eastern fashion. His accent, in moments of excitement, left much to be desired. As to his brother and the Pentacle Club: they had evidently meant to make this house their headquarters, and they took advantage of its construction in order to make what would have been a safe deposit bank for their loot.

"Poking about here, I discovered that the cellars, below this, were in reality kitchens and there is no doubt that originally this room was a huge dining room, to which food was brought up from below. What's that, Lady Brenton; impossible without a lift? Wait just one moment. Look down on this parquet floor. Do you see over here, for instance, a little piece of the wood, darker than the rest?"

Every eye turned in Cleek's direction searching the big floor carefully.

"Yes, and here's another," cried Jennifer Wynne, suddenly.

"And another!" put in Dr. Verrall with some excitement. A minute or so later and three more were discovered joining what at first sight seemed to be a disconnected circle.

But Cleek took out a piece of chalk from his pocket.

"I need hardly tell you that a pentacle is a six-sided star very frequently used in masonry and the East," he said as they looked at him in some mystification.

"I knew that the murdered man was a member of the notorious Pentacle Club, since a pentacle was tattooed on his arm – Dr. Verrall will bear me out in that – and the pentacle was therefore in my mind's eye when I did this."

Kneeling, he swiftly joined up the points, and beneath the eyes of the interested watchers the white chalk marks, standing out clearly on the dark floor, grew into the ancient sign of a huge pentacle which spread across the centre of the room.

"Now," said Cleek, after they had surveyed his handiwork in amazement, "let us find the centre. And now look at this – "

Standing in the centre of the pentacle he stooped down and pressed hard on one of the little pieces of dark parquet.

As he did so a cry of astonishment broke from all those present, for a section of the floor, about the size of the space covered by a large tray, very gently sank in front of them, and they saw Cleek carried noiselessly and gently down into the darkness beneath.

Another minute and he was up again, a little smile on his face.

"When I discovered this," he went on, "it gave me plenty of food for thought and my further explorations still further solved the mystery. Mr. Narkom, if you will add your torch's gleam to mine it will give us light enough to complete my task. Come, you need not fear the lift will give way, it has carried down bigger and stranger burdens, I promise you."

A little hesitating murmur came from the ladies, but their curiosity overcame their fears, and two by two they descended down to the bottom of what looked like a well, lit as it was by the circle of light given out by Mr. Narkom's torch. Once down, however, they discovered that they were in an underground vault, which had certainly been used as a kitchen, for the old-fashioned stoves still stood against one side.

"You see," said Cleek, in quiet, reassuring tones, "having once discovered this arrangement it is no wonder that Blake conceived this method of getting hold of the Cheyne jewels. With only poor eccentric Miss Cheyne to dispose of, the task was an easy one. It only remained to get them into his possession through the agency of Lady Margaret, and if she had not discovered the trick that was being played on her, all would have gone off smoothly. As it was, however, Blake probably did not know whether she had contrived to warn someone or not!"

Lady Margaret herself intervened here in a quick, agitated voice.

"That's just it," she said. "I told him Sir Edgar knew and Lieutenant Deland and Miss Lorne as well and I said that you would all come after me and get the jewels back, too, which seemed to make him furious."

"That accounts for his plan to hide them securely, then," said Cleek, squaring his shoulders. "I see. But surely he conceived the strangest method of concealment that ever entered man's mind."

As if in illustration of his words, there suddenly burst forth the horrible sound, like the wailing of a dog in his death agonies, which had swept over the ballroom upon that first day of the inquest.

Jennifer and Lady Brenton both shrieked aloud and Cleek had as much as he could manage to silence them.

"It is all right, don't be afraid," he said, serenely. "For that is the jewel-case of the Pentacle Club."

"Jewel-case!" cried Dr. Verrall, excitedly, at this strange remark. "What are you talking about? That was a living animal's cry, I'll take my oath."

"Quite right, Doctor; look for yourself."

With a swift step toward a door back of him, Cleek threw it open and disclosed another room into which he beckoned them.

Here the morning light streamed in through windows and gratings let into the walls, and it was evident that they gave upon the old moat outside. But this they hardly noticed, for an amazing sight met their eyes. Round the walls were ranged cages big and small, every one with a living occupant. Cage after cage contained small kangaroos, oppossums, civet-cats, in fact, every variety of marsupial animal.

"Good Heavens," gasped Sir Edgar, "what is it? Are we mad or dreaming? It's like a circus."

"Which is what it would have been," said Cleek, complacently, "but if Mr. Narkom's men have done their work properly, Professor James out in the meadow will wait in vain for his opportunity to transfer these creatures to his friendly caravans."

"Professor James?" said Bobby Wynne, speaking for the first time since the disappearance of Gunga Dall. "What has he to do with it, Mr. Headland?"

"Everything, as you will see for yourself," said Cleek, "but for the moment, I want to rescue some of the Cheyne jewels which, if I am not mistaken, would have vanished forever after to-night."

"But where are they?" said Jennifer.

"Here in front of you, for the most part," responded Cleek, serenely, "surely in the strangest jewel-case that was ever conceived." Speaking, he darted over to the cage of one of the small kangaroos, and with the aid of his coat succeeded in catching fast the struggling animal. Plunging his hand into the pouch he withdrew it, holding up a shining pendant in his fingers. A little gasp came from all present.

"Good Heavens!" said Sir Edgar. "Do you mean to tell me the jewels are hidden like that?"

"I do," said Cleek. "It is no wonder that Sammy Blake felt assured of his booty, for unless his accomplices betrayed him he was safe beyond all discovery. He knew that between the police searching for them, and his own pals thirsting for revenge, he would stand a very poor chance of getting them away hidden in any ordinary manner. Hence the circus. It was ingenious, to say the least of it!"

"But how did he get them in?" asked Lady Brenton.

"Very simply, as I will show you. But first I will try and relieve some of these animals of their burden. Sir Edgar, Doctor, and Mr. Wynne, if you will lend me a hand – "

Suiting the action to the word, they made the round of the cages. In nearly every case Cleek abstracted some valuable jewel from its occupant's pouch. He had left the cage containing one kangaroo to the last. The animal was a large one, and it took the united efforts of the men to overpower it. But at last they succeeded, and Cleek gave a little cry of triumph as he held up to their astonished gaze a huge amethyst-coloured stone, flashing and quivering in the dim light of the torches.

"The Purple Emperor," cried Lady Margaret, breathlessly, and Cleek, with a little bow, passed it to her.

"Yes, Lady Margaret, and the quicker you get that into custody of the bank the safer your life will be, and – "

He stopped short, alert and intent, for a sound had come to his trained ears. Someone else had entered the vault. Quickly he stepped back into the shadow of the cages where he was hidden from view. There came a sound at the back of the room, a snarl, half human, half animal. But it was a man's figure that leaped across and snatched the great jewel away from the soft hands of Lady Margaret. Both the girl and her companions were too dazed by the sudden appearance of this uncouth being, his clothes covered with green mould, his hair dishevelled, his eyes glaring, to do anything but stare at him in utter astonishment.

"It's mine at last!" he shrieked, and turned to go back the way he had come.

But Cleek was in front of him and the entry closed. Noiselessly and swiftly he had worked his way round, and now stood looking at the man who but a few short hours back had had him trussed and bound in the wine-cellar on the other side of the house.

"Not so fast, my friend!" he said. "Your circus must wait awhile. Up with your hands."

He drew a revolver, and held it in front of the man's face. His shaking arms went slowly upward, his furious crimson countenance turned a sort of pale drab, he swayed a moment, tried to regain his balance, staggered, and then dropped to his knees. Mr. Narkom promptly snapped the bracelets upon his wrists.

Cleek hauled him promptly into the circle of light.

"Curse you!" snarled the man. "Why didn't I kill you the other day?"

"Yes, why?" said Cleek, lightly, "a mistake on your part." Stooping down he took possession once more of the Purple Emperor. "No stone is worth imperilling your life for, my good John."

A little cry broke from the blanched lips of Lady Margaret as she peered at the dishevelled figure.

"Why, it is the butler, the man who watched over me alternately with Aggie in that awful cellar!" she cried.