"In league with the Evil One himself, eh?" finished Cleek, the queer, one-sided smile travelling over his face. "No, it's quite simple, my dear fellow. At your side you have a book, 'Famous Stones and Their History.' In front of you is a lapidary's glass. Clearly you have been examining stones of some kind, real or artificial, see?"
"Yes, I do see," muttered Mr. Narkom. "And you're right Cleek, devilish right. It is a jewel theft. As a matter of fact, it's a series of thefts, all by the same gang, and Heaven alone knows how or from where they operate."
"Oho!" said Cleek, with a strong rising inflection. "A gang, eh? Now I wonder if I know. There's the French gang, headed by our old friend Margot; the Viennese gang, by Mr. Von Henri, and the Lambeth Walk gang that have called themselves the Pentacle Club——"
"That's the set. But how you knew beats me! Petrie and Hammond will have it they are at the bottom of these cases. There have been one after the other, jewels stolen from travellers at railway stations, jewels from shops, jewels at balls. There is a constant inrush of fresh cases, and I am almost beside myself with anxiety. In two instances, in fact, murder has been done, and the body found marked with a kind of six-pointed star."
Cleek's voice went up, and his brows came down. "Star, you say," he ejaculated rapidly. "Star? As you know, my friend, the Pentacle is a star formed by two equilateral triangles intersecting so as to form a six-pointed star. Properly it should be a five-pointed object, from the Greek pente, five, like a pentagram, or pentagon, but as applied to a magical figure it is probably a corruption of pendre, to hang, and that is a very appropriate sign for our friends to have chosen. This gang, too, if I remember rightly, used to be led by a man known as Snaky Jim, though I believe James Blake was his real name. At any rate, that was the name under which he served time. All this is by the way, so now you give me such facts as you have to hand, and you may be sure you can rely upon my doing my best to help you."
"Well, it will certainly be a hanging matter this time if we catch the culprit, for when it comes to committing murder in broad daylight within an ace of Bond Street Police Station itself, it is a bit too thick. Why any one should have murdered a harmless old theatrical wardrobe keeper in Drury Lane anyway, just beats me."
"What's that?" said Cleek. "Do you mean to tell me that a person attached to the theatre has been killed? Or—no—no, let me see, a seller of second-hand clothes is a wardrobe keeper, is he not?"
"Yes," responded Mr. Narkom, "it was my mistake, though in this case it was a woman. As I said before, what they wanted to kill the old dame for is past comprehension. There wasn't an article worth ten shillings in the place and yet they took the trouble, to say nothing of the risk, of carrying off all the old wigs and gowns that the shop contained. It was a regular clean sweep I'm told."
Cleek sat up suddenly. "What's that? Murdered an old woman for the sake of a few 'old clo'? Why, Mr. Narkom, the thieves must have been mad. When did this peculiar outrage take place; at what time; and when? But perhaps you don't know."