With that, he passed out of the studio, walked down the hall, and went out of the house.  And half a minute later, when the superintendent joined him, he found him sitting in the limousine and staring at his toes.

“My dear Cleek, did you find anything?” he queried, as he took a seat beside him, and the motor swung out into the road and whizzed away.  “Of course, I know you’ve no more idea of going to Ireland than you have of taking a pot-shot at the moon:  but there’s something on your mind.  I know the signs, Cleek.  What is it?”

The response to this was rather startling.

“Mr. Narkom,” said Cleek, answering one question with another, “what’s the best thing to make powdered bismuth stick—­lard, cold cream, or cocoa butter?”

CHAPTER XXVI

If punctuality is a virtue, then Mr. Maurice Van Nant deserved to go on record as one of the most virtuous men in existence.  For the little Dutch clock in Captain Morrison’s drawing-room had barely begun to strike seven on the following Thursday evening when he put in an appearance there, and found the Captain and his daughter anxiously awaiting him.  But, as virtue is, on most excellent authority, its own reward, he had to be satisfied with the possession of it, since neither Narkom nor Cleek was there to meet him.

But the reason for this defection was made manifest when Miss Morrison placed before him a telegram which had arrived some ten minutes earlier and read as follows:  “Unavoidably delayed.  Be with you at nine-thirty.  Ask Mr. Van Nant to wait.  Great and welcome piece of news for him.—­NARKOM.”

Van Nant smiled.

“Great and welcome news,” he repeated.  “Then Mr. Headland must have found something in the nature of a clue in Ireland, captain, though what he could find there I can’t imagine.  Frankly, I thought him a stupid sort of fellow, but if he has managed to find a clue to poor George’s whereabouts over in Ireland, he must be sharper than I believed.  Well, we shall know about that at half-past nine, when Mr. Narkom comes.  I hope nothing will happen to make him disappoint us again.”

Nothing did.  Promptly at the hour appointed, the red limousine whizzed up to the door, and Mr. Narkom made his appearance.  But, contrary to the expectations of the three occupants of the little drawing-room, he was quite alone.

“So sorry I couldn’t come earlier,” he said, as he came in, looking and acting like the bearer of great good news; “but you will appreciate the delay when I tell you what caused it.  What’s that, Mr. Van Nant?  Headland?  No, he’s not with me.  As a matter of fact, I’ve dispensed with his services in this particular case.  Fancy, Miss Morrison, the muff came back from Ireland this evening, said the clairvoyante he consulted went into a trance, and told him that the key to the mystery could only be discovered in Germany, and he wanted