are given, I shall come in and hand over the remainder of the jewels,
and you will have looked for the first time in your life upon the real
face of 'The Man Who Calls Himself Hamilton Cleek.'"

"God bless my soul! What an amazing creature--what an astounding
request!" exclaimed Sir Horace, as he laid the letter down. "Willing to
give up £20,000 worth of jewels for the mere sake of a private
interview! What on earth can be his object? And why should he include
me?"

"I don't know," said Narkom in reply. "It's worth something, at all
events, to be rid of 'The Vanishing Cracksman' for good and all; and he
says that it rests with us to do that. It's close to eleven now. Shall
we give him the pledge he asks, Sir Horace? My signal is already hung
out; shall we agree to the conditions and give him yours?"

"Yes, yes, by all means," Sir Horace made answer. And lighting the
violet lamp, Narkom flicked open the pinned curtains and set it in the
window.

For ten minutes nothing came of it, and the two men, talking in whispers
while they waited, began to grow nervous. Then somewhere in the distance
a clock started striking eleven, and without so much as a warning sound,
the door flashed open, flashed shut again, a voice that was undeniably
the voice of breeding and refinement said quietly: "Gentlemen, my
compliments. Here are the diamonds and here am I!" and the figure of a
man, faultlessly dressed, faultlessly mannered, with the slim-loined
form, the slim-walled nose, and the clear-cut features of the born
aristocrat, stood in the room.