and legal time being up, young Merriton has come over to claim his own.
The thing made a newspaper story for a week when it happened, but they
never found any trace of the old man. And now the young one is over
here, bearing the title, and I suppose living as master of the
Towers--spooklike spot that it is! Needn't say who I am, old chap, until
I hear a bit. I'll just shift over there by the window and read the news,
if you don't mind."

"Right you are." Mr. Narkom struggled into his coat--which he generally
disposed of during private office hours. Then he gave the order for the
gentleman to be shown in and Petrie disappeared forthwith.

But during the time which intervened before Merriton's arrival, Cleek did
a little "altering" in face and general get-up, and when he _did_ appear
certainly no one would have recognized the aristocratic looking
individual of a moment or two before, in an ordinary-appearing,
stoop-shouldered, rather racy-looking tout.

"Ready," said Cleek at last, and Mr. Narkom touched the bell upon his
table. Immediately the door opened and Petrie appeared followed closely
by young Sir Nigel Merriton, whose clean-cut face was grim and whose
mouth was set forbiddingly.

And in this fashion was Cleek introduced to the chief character of a case
which was to prove one of the strangest of his whole career. There was
nothing about Sir Nigel, a well-dressed man about town, to indicate that
he was to be the centre of an extraordinary drama, yet such was to be the
case.

He was obviously perturbed, but those who sought Mr. Narkom's counsel