“No, Mr. Narkom, no. As an instrument of death the icicle is not new,” said Cleek, answering the superintendent’s question as the limousine swung out through the gates of Heatherington Hall and faced the long journey back to London. “If you will look up the records of that energetic female, Catherine de Medici, Queen of France, you will find that she employed it in that capacity upon two separate occasions; and coming down to more modern times, you will also find that in the year 1872 the Russian, Lydia Bolorfska, used it at Galitch, in the province of Kostroma, to stab her sleeping husband. But as a projectile, it is new—as a successful projectile, I mean—for there have been many attempts made, owing to its propensity to dissolve after use, to discharge it from firearms, but never in one single instance have those attempts resulted in success. The explosion has always resulted in shivering and dispersing it in a shower of splinters as it leaves the muzzle of the weapon. There can be no doubt, however, that could it be propelled in a perfectly horizontal position, the power behind it would, in spite of its brittle nature, drive it through a pine board an inch thick. But, as I have said, the motive power always defeats the object by landing it against the target in a mass of splinters.”

“I see. And the Jap got over that by employing a cross-bow; and that, of course, did the trick.”

“No. I doubt if he would have been able to put enough power behind that to drive it into the man’s body with deadly effect, if, indeed, he could make it enter it at all. Where Ojeebi scored over all others lay in the fact that with his plan there was no necessity to have the icicle enter the victim’s body at all. He required nothing more than just sufficient power of propulsion to break the skin and establish contact with the blood, and then that hellish compound on the point of the projectile could be depended upon to do the rest. It did, as you know, and then dropped to the floor and melted away, leaving nothing but a little puddle of water behind it.”

“But, Cleek, my dear chap, how do you account for the fact that when the doctor came to analyze that water he found no trace of the poison in it?”

“He did, Mr. Narkom, only that he didn’t recognize it. Woorali is extremely volatile, for one thing, and evaporates rapidly. For another, there was a very small quantity used—a very small quantity necessary, so malignant it is—and the water furnished by the melting icicle could dilute that little tremendously. It would not be able to obliterate all trace of it, however, but the infinitesimal portion remaining would make spring water give the same answer in analysis as that given by the water resulting from melted snow. It was when Doctor Hague mentioned the fact that if it wasn’t for the utter absurdity of looking for such a substance in England in July, he should have said it was melted snow, that I really got my first clue. Later, however, when——But come, let’s chuck it! I’ve had enough of murder and murderers for one day—let’s talk of something else. Our new ‘turnout,’ here, for instance. You have ‘done yourself proud’ this time and no mistake—she certainly is a beauty, Mr. Narkom. By the way, what have you done with the old red one? Sold it?”

“Not I, indeed. I know a trick worth two of that. I send it out, empty, every day, in the hope of having those Apache johnnies follow it, and have a plain-clothes man trailing along behind in a taxi, ready to nip in and follow them if they do. But they don’t—that is, they haven’t up to the present; but there’s always hope, you know.”

“Not in that direction, I’m afraid. Waldemar’s a better general than that, believe me. Knowing that we have discovered his little plan of following the red limousine just as we discovered his other, of following me, he will have gone off on another tack, believe me.”

“Scotland! You don’t think, do you, that he can possibly have found out anything about the new one and has set in to follow this?”

“No, I do not. As a matter of fact I fancy he has started to do what he ought to have done in the beginning—that is, to keep a close watch on the criminal news in the papers day by day, and every time a crime of any importance crops up, pay his respects to the theatre of it and find out who is the detective handling the case. A ducat to a doughnut he’d have been on our heels down here to-day if this little business of the Stone Drum had been made public in time to get into the morning papers. He means to have me, Mr. Narkom, if having me is possible; and he’s down to the last ditch and getting desperate. Yesterday’s cables from Mauravania are anything but reassuring.”

“I know. They say that unless something happens very shortly to turn the tide in Ulric’s favour and quell the cries for ‘Restoration,’ the King’s downfall and expulsion are merely a matter of a few days at most. But what’s that got to do with it that you suggest its bearing upon any need for haste on Waldemar’s part?”

“Only that, with matters in such a state, he cannot long defer his return to the army of his country and the defence of its king,” replied Cleek, serenely. “And every day he loses in failing to pay his respects to your humble servant in the manner he desires to do increases the strain of the situation and keeps him from the service of his royal master.”“Well, I wish to God something would happen to blow him and his royal master and their blooming royal country off the map, dammem!” blazed out Narkom, too savage to be choice of words. “We’ve never had a moment’s peace, you and I, since the dashed combination came into the game. And for what, I should like to know? Not that it’s any use asking you. You’re so devilish close-mouthed a man might as well ask questions of a ton of coal for all answer he may hope to get. I shall always believe, however, that you did something pretty dashed bad to the King of Mauravania that time you were over there on that business about the Rainbow Pearl, to make the beggar turn against you, as I believe he has.”

“Then, you will always believe what isn’t true,” replied Cleek, lighting a fresh cigarette. “I simply restored the pearl and his Majesty’s letter to the hands of Count Irma, and did not so much as see the King while I was there. Why should I?—a mere police detective, who had been hired to do a service and paid for it like any other hireling. I took my money and I went my way; that’s all there was about it. If it has pleased Count Waldemar to entertain an ugly feeling of resentment toward me, I can’t help that, can I now?”

“Oh, then, it’s really a personal affair between you and him, after all?”

“Something like that. He doesn’t approve of my—er—knowing things that I do know; and it would be the end of a very promising future for him if I told. Here—have a cigarette and smoke yourself into a better temper. You look savage enough to bite a nail in two.”

“I’d bite it in four if it looked anything like that Waldemar johnnie, by James!” asserted the superintendent, vigorously. “And if ever he lays a hand on you——Look here, Cleek: I know it sounds un-English, very Continental, rotten ‘soft’ from one man to another, but—dammit, Cleek, I love you! I’d go to hell for you! I’d die fighting for you! Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” said Cleek; then he put out his hand and took Mr. Narkom’s in a hard, firm grip, and added, gently: “My friend, my comrade, my pal! Side by side—together—to the end.” And the car ran on for a good half mile before either spoke again.