By evening Mr. Narkom, note-book in hand, was suffering with
writer's cramp, and complained of a headache.
As Cleek rose from this private investigation and stretched his hands
over his head, he gave a sudden little laugh.
"Well, you'll be able to rest yourself as much as you like this evening,
Mr. Lake," he said, lightly, trying the muscles of his right arm with his
left hand, and nodding as he felt them ride up, smooth and firm as ivory,
under his coat-sleeve. "I'm not in such bad fettle for an amateur, if
anything in the nature of a scrap comes along, after all. Though I'm not
anticipating any fighting, I can assure you. There's the morning's
papers, and the local rag with various lurid--and inaccurate--accounts of
the whole ghastly affair. Merriton seems to have a good many friends in
these parts, and the local press is strong in his favour. But that's as
far as it goes. At any rate, they'll keep you interested until we come
home again. By the way, you might drop a hint to Borkins that I shall be
writing some letters in my room to-night, and don't want to be disturbed,
and that if he wants to go out, Dollops will post them for me and see to
my wants; will you? I don't want him to 'suspicion' anything.
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