Cleek, the Master Detective   By: Thomas W. Hanshew (1857-1914)

by

T. W. HANSHEW

Author of "Cleek's Government Cases," "Cleek of Scotland Yard," "Fate and the Man," "The Riddle of the Night"

Illustrated by Gordon Grant

[Illustration: "OF A TRUTH YOU ARE A CHARMING FELLOW, MONSIEUR.... WHAT A PITY YOU SHOULD BE A POLICE SPY AND UPON SO HOPELESS A CASE"]

Garden City New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1918

Copyright, 1918, by Doubleday, Page & Company All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian

TO

NEWMAN FLOWER

WITH THAT SORT OF ESTEEM A MAN HAS FOR A FRIEND HE RESPECTS, AND THAT SORT OF LOVE HE GIVES TO A COMRADE HE ADMIRES

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK

II. THE PROBLEM OF THE RED CRAWL

III. THE RIDDLE OF THE SACRED SON

IV. THE CALIPH'S DAUGHTER

V. THE RIDDLE OF THE NINTH FINGER

VI. THE WIZARD'S BELT

VII. THE RIDDLE OF THE 5.28

VIII. THE LION'S SMILE

IX. THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL ROOM

X. THE RIDDLE OF THE SIVA STONES

XI. THE DIVIDED HOUSE

XII. THE RIDDLE OF THE RAINBOW PEARL

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"Of a truth you are a charming fellow, monsieur.... What a pity you should be a police spy and upon so hopeless a case."

Pulling their hair rubbing their faces with a clean handkerchief in quest of any trace of "make up" or disguise of any sort

Swinging the hammer, he struck at the nymph with a force that shattered the monstrous thing to atoms

With that he stripped down the counterpane, lifted the water jug from its washstand and emptied its contents over the mattresses

CLEEK, THE MASTER DETECTIVE

CHAPTER I

THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK

The thing wouldn't have happened if any other constable than Collins had been put on point duty at Blackfriars Bridge that morning. For Collins was young, good looking, and knew it. Nature had gifted him with a susceptible heart and a fond eye for the beauties of femininity. So when he looked round and saw the woman threading her way through the maze of vehicles at "Dead Man's Corner," with her skirt held up just enough to show two twinkling little feet in French shoes, and over them a graceful, willowy figure, and over that an enchanting, if rather too highly tinted, face, with almond eyes and a fluff of shining hair under the screen of a big Parisian hat that did for him on the spot.

He saw at a glance that she was French exceedingly French and he preferred English beauty, as a rule. But, French or English, beauty is beauty, and here undeniably was a perfect type, so he unhesitatingly sprang to her assistance and piloted her safely to the kerb, revelling in her voluble thanks and tingling as she clung timidly but rather firmly to him.

"Sair, I have to give you much gratitude," she said in a pretty, wistful sort of way, as they stepped on to the pavement. Then she dropped her hand from his sleeve, looked up at him, and shyly drooped her head, as if overcome with confusion and surprise at the youth and good looks of him. "Ah, it is nowhere in the world but Londres one finds these delicate attentions, these splendid sergeants de ville," she added, with a sort of sigh. "You are wonnerful, you are mos' wonnerful, you Anglais poliss. Sair, I am a stranger; I know not ze ways of this city of amazement, and if monsieur would so kindly direct me where to find the Abbey of the Ves'minster "