“I’ve turned the trick at last, Superintendent,” he cried. “The silly josser played straight into my hands, sir. The minute he was out of jail he made a beeline for Soho, and me after him, and there he ‘takes to earth’ in a rotten little restaurant in the worst part of the district; and when I nips over and has a look inside, there he was shakin’ hands with a lot of Frenchies of his own kind, and them all prancin’ about and laughin’ like they’d gone off their bloomin’ heads. I sees there aren’t no back door to the place, and I knows from that that he’d have to come out the same way as he went in, so off I nips over to the other side of the street and lays in wait for him.
“After about ten minutes or so, out he comes—him and another of the lot—moppin’ of his mouth with his coat-sleeve, and off they starts in a great hurry, and me after them. They goes first to a barber shop, where the man I was followin’ nips in, has a shave, a hair-cut and a wash-up, while the chap that was with him toddles off and fetches him a clean shirt and a suit of black clothes. In about fifteen minutes out my man comes again, makin’ a tolerable respectable appearance, sir, after his barberin’ and in his clean linen and decent clothes. Him and his mate stands talkin’ and grinnin’ for a minute or so, then they shakes hands and separates, and off my man cuts it, westward.
“Sir, I sticks to him like a brother. I follers him smack across to the Strand and along that to the Hotel Cecil, and there the beggar nips in and goes up the courtyard as bold as you please, sends up his name to a gent, the gent sends down word for him to be showed up at once, and in that way I spots my man. For when I goes up to the clerk and shows my badge and asks who was the party my johnnie had asked for, he tells me straight and clear: ‘Gentleman he’s making a suit of clothes for—Baron Rodolf de Montravenne, an Austrian nobleman, who has been stopping here for weeks!”
Cleek twitched round his eye and glanced at Narkom.
“‘Things least hidden are best hidden,’” he quoted, smiling. “The dear count knows a thing or two, you perceive. You have done very well indeed, Kibblewhite. Here is your ten-pound note and many thanks for your services. Good evening.”
Kibblewhite took the money and his departure immediately; but so long as he remained within hearing distance—so long as the echo of his departing steps continued to sound—Cleek remained silent, and the curious crooked smile made a loop in his cheek. But of a sudden:
“Mr. Narkom,” he said, quietly “I shan’t be found in any of my usual haunts for the next few days. If, however, you should urgently need me, call at the Hotel Cecil and ask for Captain Maltravers—and call in disguise, please; our friend the count is keen. Remember the name. Or, better still, write it down.”
“But, good God! Cleek, such a risk as that——”
“No—please—don’t attempt to dissuade me. I want that man, and I’ll get him if getting him be humanly possible. That’s all. Thanks very much. Good-bye.”
Then the door opened and shut, and by the time Mr. Narkom could turn round from writing down the name he had been given, he was quite alone in the room.