Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent of Scotland Yard, sat before the litter of papers upon his desk. His brow was puckered, his fat face red with anxiety, and there was about him the air of one who has reached the end of his tether. He faced the man opposite, and fairly ground his teeth upon his lower lip. "Dash it, Cleek " he said for the thirty-third time, "I don't know what to make of it, I don't, indeed The thing's at a deadlock. Hammond reports to me this morning that another bank in Hendon-a little one-horse affair-has been broken into. That makes the third this week, and as usual...

Hamilton Cleek, the Man of Forty Faces, and once known to the police as "The Vanishing Cracksman." Superintendent Narkom, of Scotland Yard. Lennard, his chauffeur. Hammond } Detective Sergeants. Petrie } Constable Roberts, Police Officer at Hampton Village. Dollops, Cleek's trusted friend and protege."

There are days, even in the capricious climate of London, when the whole world seems at peace; when the blue of the summer sky, the fragrance of some distant flower brought in by a passing breeze, and the contented chirp of the birds, all unite to evoke a spirit of thankfulness for the very gift of life itself.

Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent of Scotland Yard, looked up from the letter he was perusing, a wrinkle in his brow and one hand spread out over the sheet to keep it open, as the sound of a soft knock broke through the stillness, and with an exasperation born of the knotty problem upon which he was at work, called out an irritable "Come in." Inspector Petrie's head appeared in the aperture, stiff hand at the salute. "I know you wasn't to be disturbed, sir," he began apologetically, "but there's a leddy come to see you. Seemed distressed, and said it was urgent, and begged me for the love...