Speaking, he went up to the group of constables and, flashing out his torch, sent its spotlight upon the man's scowling face.
And it was just as he did this that Dollops let out a yell of amazement, and stared at him—mouth open, eyes wide.
"Gawblimey! and pink sossidges!" he exclaimed, whirling round upon Cleek in astonishment, "if this 'ere ain't the giddy limit! Why, that's ole Dirty Dick the Dago 'isself!"
"And this," said Cleek, as he glanced down at the crumpled bit of parchment which he still held, and smiled into Mr. Narkom's serious face, "is the missing will, or I'm a Dutchman! Quite a little bit of excitement for one night's entertainment, I must say! Who says anything about killing two birds with one stone? Men, I'm coming along with you to the lock-up. It's a bit late in the evening, or early in the morning, to be more literal, but I'm going to have a conversation with your prisoner which is going to elucidate many things for me. Mr. Narkom, I should advise you to go back to bed and take a rest. To-morrow is likely to be a heavy day."
Then, smiling, but still a trifle pale, Cleek swung into step with Dollops behind the little cavalcade which was wending its way slowly through the great gateway and out upon the road beyond—toward the goal of many imaginings and the proper elucidation of the riddle at last.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE END IN SIGHT
Cleek spent an hour in the "lock-up" with the man they had captured, and had what he scathingly called a proper heart-to-heart talk with him, coming away with the contemptuous feeling in his heart which all clean men must find there upon discovering a fellow creature who, to save his own skin if possible, is willing to split upon a pal.
He wended his way toward the Inn of the Three Fishers, with Dollops beside him, head downward, every faculty concentrated upon the proper unravelling of the riddle that confronted him. If two and two made four, then he had the answer pretty well elucidated at last. One had to fill in the gaps with a bit of imagination, but—he patted the pocket where the missing will lay, lying close against that packet of love-letters that he had found in Sir Andrews's' desk. Funny how papers so often proved things where human flesh-and-blood failed. Clues—both of 'em. Strong clues. And likely to give surprise to one or two people he knew of. Lady Paula, for instance—and Ross Duggan.