"
Mr. Narkom nodded. He snapped his note-book to, and bound the elastic
round it, as Cleek crossed to the door and threw it open.
"I'll be going up to my room now, Lake," he said, in clear, high tones
that carried down the empty hallway to whatever listener might be there
to hear them. "I've some letters to write. One to my fiancee, you know,
and naturally I don't want to be disturbed."
"All right," said Mr. Narkom, equally clearly. "So long."
Then the door closed sharply, and Cleek mounted the stairs to his room,
whistling softly to himself meanwhile, just as Borkins rounded the corner
of the dining-room door and acknowledged his friendly nod with one
equally friendly.
A smile played about the corners of the man's mouth, and his eyes
narrowed, as he watched Cleek disappear up the stairs.
"Faugh!" he said to the shadows. "So much for yer Lunnon policeman, eh?
Writin' love-letters on a night like this! Young sap'ead!"
Then he swung upon his heel, and retraced his steps to the kitchen.
Upstairs in the dark passageway, Cleek stood and laughed noiselessly, his
shoulders shaking with the mirth that swayed him.
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