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"The Riddle of the Frozen Flame"


Petrie carried upon his arm a roll of rope. They swung into step behind
the detectives, across the uneven, marshy ground.
It was a chilly morning, and inclined to rain. Across the flat horizon
the mist hung in wraithlike forms of cloudy gray, and the deep grass into
which they plunged their feet was beaded with dew. For a time they walked
on quietly until they had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then Cleek
halted.
"Better separate here," he said, waving his arm out across the sweep of
flat country. "Dollops, you take the right with Petrie. Hammond, you'd
better try the left. Mr. Narkom and I will go straight ahead together.
Any discovery made, just give the usual signal."
They separated at once, their feet upon the thick marshy ground leaving
numberless footprints in the moist rank grass, which crushed under them
like wet hay. Their heads were bent, their eyes fixed upon the ground,
their faces bearing a look of utter concentration. Cleek watched them
moving slowly across the wide, flat reaches of the Fens, stopping now and
then to poke among the rank marsh-grass, and prod into the earth, and
then turned to Mr.


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