conveys anything to you I don't know. But you've asked for knowledge and
I mean you to have it." He smiled again, and Merriton gravely shook his
head, while Mr. Narkom, dropping for the time being his air of pompous
boredom, became the interested listener in every line of his ample
proportions.

"Go on, old chap," he said eagerly.

"Methane," said Cleek, serenely, "is a colourless, absolutely
odourless gas, slightly soluble in water. It burns with a yellowish
flame--which golden tinge you have no doubt noticed in these famous
flames of yours--with the production of carbonic acid and water. In the
neighbourhood of oil wells in America, and also in the Caucasus, if my
memory doesn't fail me, the gas escapes from the earth, and in some
districts--particularly in Baku--it has actually been burning for years
as sacred fires. A question of atmosphere and education, you see, Sir
Nigel."

"Good Heavens! Then you mean to say that those beastly things out there
are not lit by any human or superhuman agency at all!" exploded Merriton
at this juncture. "And that they have nothing whatever to do with the
vanishing of Wynne and Collins?"

Cleek shook his head emphatically.

"Pardon me," he said, "but I didn't say that. The first part of the
sentence I agree with entirely. Those so-called flames are lit only by
the hand of the Infinite. And the Infinite is always mysterious, Sir
Nigel. But as to whether they have any bearing upon the disappearances of
those two men is a horse of another colour. We'll look into that later