"Narrow shave, Dollops!"
"It was that, sir. I could fair feel the razor aclippin' a bit off me
chin, so ter speak. 'Avin' some nice adventures this night, ain't we,
guv'nor?"
"We certainly are." Cleek's voice was absent-minded, for his thoughts
were working, and already he was beginning to tie the broken threads of
the skein that he had gathered into a rough cord, with here and there a
gap that must--and should--be filled. It was strange enough, in all
conscience. Here were these underground tunnels leading, "if you kept to
the right," from a field out Saltfleet way, to the very heart of the Fens
themselves. And what went on here in these uninhabited reaches of the
marshland? Nothing that could be seen by daylight, for he had traversed
every step of them, and gained no information for his pains. Therefore
there could be no machinery, or anything of that sort. H'm. It was a bit
of a facer, true; but of one thing he was certain. Somehow, in some way,
the Frozen Flames played their part. That factory at Saltfleet and the
fishing boats and the Fens were all linked up in one inexplicable chain,
if one could only find the key that unlocked it.
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