Even Mr. Narkom
played his part creditably, and won a glance of approval from his justly
celebrated ally.
"Hello, old chap," said Cleek, extending a hand, and screwing a monocle
still farther into his left eye. "Awfully pleased to see you,
doncherknow. Devilish long journey, what? Beastly fine place you've
got here, I must say. What you think, Lake?"
Merriton gasped, bit his lip, and then suddenly realizing who the
gentleman thus addressing him was, made an attempt at the right sort of
reply.
"Er--yes, yes, of course," he responded, though somewhat at random, for
this absolutely new creature that Cleek had become rather took his breath
away. "Afraid you're very tired and all that. Cold, Mr.--er Headland?"
Cleek frowned at the slight hesitation before the name. He didn't want
to take chances of any one guessing his identity and Borkins was still
half-way within the room, and probably had sharp ears. His sort of man
had!
"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.
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