He paced slowly over the floor, marking at regular intervals with a piece of chalk a little dark piece of the parquet flooring.
"Three, four, five, six—the six points right enough. Now to find the centre."
Kneeling down, Mr. Narkom watched him draw long white chalk lines from point to point.
Finally he gave a little satisfied grunt, stood up, and surveyed his handiwork.
"Move a little away, Mr. Narkom, and if we aren't too late, we shall see what we shall see," he cried, excitedly.
Advancing into the centre of the room, he bent down over the centre piece of wood. As he did so, there came the horrible moaning cry, causing even Mr. Narkom's hardened nerves to fail him. With a crash the torch fell from his fingers, leaving them in total darkness!
"I forgot; I ought to have warned you—it's quite all right," said Cleek, taken aback.
"Gad, Cleek, it startled me. What is it?" whispered the Superintendent. "Have I ruined your plans?"
Cleek felt for his own torch and snapped it on so that the little disc of white light fell distinctly upon the floor.