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He knew all about Fetchworth that there was to know saving the secret of the Frozen Flames, and that he was expected to know very soon and the traffic of Saltfleet Bay and its tiny harbour was an open book to him.
Narkom had promised that before a couple of days were over, they would put in an appearance at Fetchworth, and look into things more closely. It was agreed that they were to pose as friends of Sir Nigel, since Cleek felt that in that way he could pursue his investigations unsuspected, and make more headway in the case.
He got out at Fetchworth station three hours later, hailed the only hack that stood there for he had forgotten to apprise any one at the Towers of his quick return and drove straightway to Withersby Hall. 'Toinette was at the window as he swung open the great gate. When she saw him she darted away and came flying down the drive to meet him.
There was no smile upon his lips as he clanged the great front door to behind him. Fetchworth, as everybody knows, lies in that part of the Fen district of Lincolnshire that borders on the coast, and in the curve of its motherlike arm Saltfleet Bay, a tiny shipping centre with miniature harbour, drowses its days in pleasant idleness. And so it was that upon the morning of Cleek's and Mr.
"'Aystack?" she repeated. "There ain't no 'aystack along this road from 'ere to Fetchworth. Bit orf the track, ain't yer?" Cleek retrieved himself at once. "Ain't there? Well, wot if there ain't? The place wot I calls a 'aystack an' wot Lunnoners calls a 'aystack too is the nearest bit of shelter wot comes your way. Manner of speakin', that's all." "Oh!
Wynne would have vanished in the ordinary way, as Collins vanished afterward, and the superstitious horror would have gone on until there was not one person left in the village of Fetchworth who would have dared to venture an investigation of the flames. Then the work at the factory would have continued, with a possibly curtailed payroll. No need for high-handed pirates armed with revolvers then.
To which the chauffeur made some equally pointed remark, and they were off. But Borkins either did not realize that the eight-o'clock train for London was a slow one, or thought that it was the most convenient for the two gentlemen most interested, because he did not give a thought to the matter that that particular train stopped at the next station, some three miles away from Fetchworth.
So this question of the Frozen Flame was as urgent as all that, was it? To attempt to murder him, here in the house of the Squire of Fetchworth. He wriggled out of his hiding place, a little stiff from the cramped position he had held, and guardedly lit his candle. Then he surveyed the bed with set mouth and narrowed eyes.
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