"Merely an inhabitant, my dear fellow. As a matter of fact, she is
English. Her father, a doctor, long since deceased, took her out there
in her childhood. She was none too well off, I believe; but that did not
prevent her having many suitors, among whom was Mr. Bawdrey's own son,
the gentleman who is anxious to have you take up this case."

"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "So the lady was of
the careful and calculating kind? She didn't care for youth and all the
rest of it when she could have papa and the money-chest without waiting.
A common enough occurrence. Still, this does not make up an 'affair,'
and especially an 'affair' which requires the assistance of a detective,
and you spoke of 'a case.' What is the case, Mr. Narkom?"

"I will leave Mr. Philip Bawdrey himself to tell you that," said Narkom,
as the door opened to admit a young man of about eight-and-twenty,
clothed in tennis flannels, and looking very much perturbed, a handsome,
fair-haired, fair-moustached young fellow, with frank, boyish eyes and
that unmistakable something which stamps the products of the 'Varsities.
"Come in, Mr. Bawdrey. You said we were not to wait tea, and you see
that we haven't. Let me have the pleasure of introducing Mr.--"

"Headland," put in Cleek adroitly, and with a look at Narkom as much as
to say, "Don't give me away. I may not care to take the case when I hear
it, so what's the use of letting everybody know who I am?" Then he
switched round in his chair, rose, and held out his hand. "Mr. George
Headland, of the Yard, Mr. Bawdrey. I don't trust Mr. Narkom's
proverbially tricky memory for names. He introduced me as Jones once,
and I lost the opportunity of handling the case because the party in
question couldn't believe that anybody named Jones would be likely to