Mr. Narkom mopped his forehead eagerly. The action was one which Cleek
knew showed that every nerve was tense.

"Well, out with it, old chap! Anything to cast some light on the
inexplicable thing. What did you learn at the War Office?"

"A good many things--after I had unravelled several hundred yards of red
tape to get at 'em," said Cleek, still smiling. "Chief among them was
this: Much English gold has been discovered in Belgium, Mr. Narkom, in
connection with several big electrical firms engaged upon work out there.
The Secret Service wired over that fact, and I got it first hand. Now it
strikes me there must be some connection between the two things. These
bank robberies point in one direction, and that is, that the gold is not
for use in this country. Now let's hear the full account of this latest
outrage. I'm all ears, as the donkey said to the ostrich. Fire away."

Mr. Narkom "fired away" forthwith. He was a bland, round little man,
rather too fat for one's conceptions of what a policeman ought to be, yet
with that lightness of foot that so many stout people seem to possess.

Cleek presented a keen contrast to him. His broad-shouldered,
well-groomed person would have adorned any company. His head was well-set
upon his neck, and his features at this moment were small and inclined to
be aquiline. He had closely set ears that lay well back against his head,
and his hands were slim and exceedingly well-kept. Of his age--well that,
like himself, was an enigma. To-day he might have been anything between
thirty-five and forty--to-morrow probably he would be looking nineteen.
That was part of the peculiar birthright of the man, that and a mobility
of feature which enabled him to alter his face completely in the passing