Twenty minutes later he presented himself once more at the back door, and asked in scathing accents for Mr. Jarvis, dangling the keys of the wine-cellar in one careless hand.

That gentleman appeared to him, changed for his evening duties in the dining-room, and with one eye upon the clock, clapped him upon the shoulder and guffawed into his face.

"Blinkin' idiot!" thought Dollops, as he grinned back. "Might er frightened me into foamin' at the mouth like a bloomin' 'oss, he might." Then, aloud: "Nice practical joke ter play upon a feller, eh, Mr. Jarvis? Nah! if I'd been sufferin' wiv me nerves and 'avin' calisthenics wot's so fashionable just at presint, you could of sent me to my coffin—strite."

"But you're alive an' kickin' now, me 'earty!" returned Jarvis, with another guffaw, "an' lookin' in the pink, I must s'y. What about them bottles of port?—or didn't yer stop ter look into the wine-cellar? Didn't bring 'em up, I notice."

"No." Dollops's smile was catching. "But I nearly brought up sumthink else, I kin tell yer—an' that's me 'eart, for it were a-sittin' in me mouf like as though it would choke me! I've 'arf a mind ter cut you out of me will, Mr. Jarvis. But, seriously speakin', where's my gentleman? I've a note fer 'im if 'e's engaged, and if not, I'd like ter see 'im. Say it's important."

"News from the Front, eh? Fahnd out 'oo committed that there crime last night, I don't think," said Jarvis, with his heavy humour. "Well, I'll send along Minnie after him. Dinner's bein' prepared, and no doubt your boss'll be dressin'. If 'e ain't nosin' round after clues, with that there fat Superintendent. Wot's 'e, anyway?—your Mr. Deland? Amachoor detective?"

Dollops nodded.

"That's the line. Tell 'im I've got summink ter say about his blue trousers wot I've been a-pressing at the Three Fishers. An' it's most important."

"Oh!—very. Blue trousers is an important matter when a man's been murdered in 'is own 'ome, I take it. Orl right, orl right; don't lose yer temper, sporty. I'll see to it at once. Like ter go up to 'is room, would yer?"

"No. Rather wait 'ere for 'is message."

"Very well. Sit down and make yerself comfortable, and no doubt there'll be a bite er dinner fer yer, if you're patient. Won't say 'no' to a nibble er chicken, I lay, follered with a dash er Peach Melba?... I thought not."

So saying, the garrulous Jarvis proceeded kitchenward to summon Minnie and entrust her with the message for Mr. Deland, and then returned to the servants' hall and passed the rest of the time with Dollops, talking of London—a subject which appeared to be dear to both their hearts, and which certainly gave them something in common with each other.

Minnie returned in ten minutes bearing a little note upon her silver salver, which she presented to the smiling Dollops with a mock bow and a courtesy. She was a pert little country thing, with a trick of the eye that took a man's heart.

"'Ere's a note fer yer lordship," she said smartly. "Your gentleman says 'e's sorry 'e can't get down, and it don't matter about the blue trousies a particle. And 'e don't need you this evenin', so that you kin explore the countryside if yer want to. Wot say to a little walk, Mr. Ginger-'Air? It's my evenin' out, and I don't mind if I do."

Dollops winked and nudged her with his elbow.

"You're a pretty piece, you are, and if we was in Lunnon I'd be takin' you to the pickshurs," he returned with a grin. "But I've an appointment rahnd about ten o'clock up in the village. I'm yer man till then, Saucer-Eyes. No, Mr. Jarvis, a bit of dinner, as you s'y, wouldn't go quite amiss. I'm that 'ungry me insides rattle."

And while Jarvis was carving the chicken for the servants' hall, and giving him a generous portion, and Minnie was off to her room to prink up and change for the evening, Dollops opened his master's letter and scanned the few lines written upon it.

"Be under the big gate by twelve o'clock to-night," it said. "Hear all news then. Burn this."

So when Jarvis returned Dollops was lighting a cigarette from a twist of note-paper, which, upon sight of the big plate of steaming-hot chicken that awaited him, he promptly threw into the fire, watching absent-mindedly until it had become a charred fragment, and then set to upon the feast with a vengeance.

Meanwhile Cleek, dinner at last over—a meal passed in sober silence, with the shadow of that dead Thing still hanging over the diners and wiping the joy of life from their faces—went with Mr. Narkom out upon the terrace, cigars alight, and discussed with him the probabilities and possibilities of the whole affair, comparing notes with the Superintendent and jotting down in his business-like way any ideas that occurred to him as they talked together, until his cuff was covered over with pencil scrawls and the furrow between his eyes had deepened considerably.

Slowly the evening wore itself away, the presence of the silent-watching constabulary in the house making all friendliness between hosts and unwanted guests a matter of impossibility. Women and men drew together in little knots, discussing the affair in low-pitched voices, and even Maud Duggan's eyes held something of accusation now when they dwelt upon Cleek's face, so that at length he took Mr. Narkom by the arm and drew him toward the door.

"Come, old friend," he said quietly. "We are intruders here, you and I. These other poor folk cannot be at rest in our presence. Come along to the library once more, and have a look about it. The place draws me, I must say. For I still believe that the secret of the whole terrible thing lies there. To-morrow afternoon is to be Coroner's Inquest—a hateful proceeding, to say the least of it—and I've given myself just that time to solve the mystery."

"Cinnamon! And you don't imagine you're going to, do you, Cleek?" returned Mr. Narkom excitedly, as they passed down the passage together and entered the room. "That's rather a tall order, I must say. Seems as if we'd scoured this room from end to end."

"And yet, from what I heard from Master Cyril a short while ago, that is exactly what we have not done," rejoined Cleek, dropping to his knees and examining the wall plug which had interested him before. Meanwhile, Mr. Narkom strolled to the other side of the room, leaned against the spinning wheel in an attitude of ease, and then ... as Cleek's fingers began to trace an invisible path along the edge of the carpet, the Superintendent gave out a sudden little cry and jumped as though he had been shot.

"Eh?—what's the matter, old friend?" Cleek was on his feet in an instant, for the Superintendent had gone a little pale, and was running his hands up and down his back in a curious fashion.

"Pins and needles! Funniest sensation I've ever come across. Brrh! Just like a slight electric shock."

Electric shock! Cleek was beside him in an instant, his face suddenly alight, and his hands searching over the instrument, here, there, and everywhere. Electric shock, eh? That was peculiar, to say the least of it.

Then he stopped suddenly and sucked in his breath, and, whipping round upon his heel, clapped the Superintendent upon the shoulder.

"And it takes you, after all, to lead us to the actual secret!" he said affectionately, smiling into Mr. Narkom's astonished face. "For here's the thing in a nutshell. What a blind fool I've been all the time, old friend. Here's the murderer, the perpetrator of last night's crime—the mechanical means of doing away with human life in such a perplexing manner. Here—right here. See?"

"What the—what are you driving at, my dear chap?" ejaculated the Superintendent excitedly, stooping at the pressure of Cleek's arm upon his shoulder. "This—spinning-wheel thing? You don't mean to tell me that It murdered Sir Andrew, do you? Because I'm not fool enough to believe that story—and not dunderhead enough to be taken in by a practical joke. What do you mean, old chap? I'm on pins and needles to know."

"And it's just those particular pins and needles of yours which have found the thing out," returned Cleek in the sharp staccato of excitement. "Look here! It's as easy as ABC—once you've got the hang of it. And that sensation of yours was an electric shock all right. And it was just this spinning wheel which gave it to you. The thing's wired—see? Devilishly well done, too, and disguised very successfully. But here it is. Under the wheel. And see that funny box-like thing attached, which looks as though it belonged to a part of the machinery?—and doesn't. That's a battery, by all that's good! Now, what the dickens does that battery do, I'd like to know?... 'A whirring sound'—'hum-hum-hum!' That's how they described it to me this morning, do you remember? Gad! And this is the thing that produced that supernatural sound, then! Just a touch of a switch somewhere, and the thing sets in motion. Now let's follow this wiring along to its destination, and that will tell us a good deal."

He traced the line of palish flexible wire—so nearly the colour of the old wood as to be hardly discernible unless one really knew of its presence, round the wheel, and down on to the floor—the thing stood a mere matter of inches from the window-sill—and then disappeared up through a narrow piece of oak-coloured woodwork which was entirely unnoticed from the panelling it covered, until it reached the window-ledge and ended at the extreme right-hand corner of the middle window, and vanished in a cluster of ivy which clung about the outside of it, sending its tendrils right up to the edge of the sill itself.

Mr. Narkom followed the thing with fascination, poking a finger here and there to help discern its threadlike and imperceptible progress, and was almost as quick as Cleek in leaping out through the low sill to the flower-bed below upon which those tell-tale footprints had made such a strong impression. Then, of a sudden, they both stopped and stared blankly at each other. For the end of the thing lay beneath the ivy covering, in a little home-made switch which, touched by the finger, obviously set the whole contraption in motion.

Cleek hopped back into the room to see that no one was about, but the constable in charge stood outside the door, not in it, and they had closed that door carefully behind them upon entrance. Then he leaned out over the top of the window-sill and spoke softly to Mr. Narkom.

"Put your finger upon the switch when I say 'Go,'" he said in a tense whisper, "and I'll stay inside here and watch how the thing works. Now then.... Go!"

Mr. Narkom applied his finger forthwith, while to Cleek within came a soft whirring, drumming sound, and then—an almost imperceptible "click" and—the most amazing of all these amazing matters came instantly to pass! For as he leapt out of the path of it, led by some mysterious, intuitive impulse, a bullet sped rapidly past his ear, and lodged itself in the woodwork, just a fraction of an inch below the spot where that other bullet had lodged, and—the secret was out at last!