“Sorry,” the Chief Constable apologized. “My finger must have shifted the switch on the torch. Out of the way, Inspector, please. There’s nothing more to be seen here.”
Inspector Armadale wriggled back into the passage again as Sir Clinton made a movement as though to come out of his perch in the recess.
“So this is where Maurice got to when he left the museum?” the Chief Constable said, reflectively. “Well, he isn’t here now, that’s plain. We’ll need to look elsewhere, Inspector, according to your scheme. If he wasn’t elsewhere he was to be here. But as he isn’t here he’s obviously elsewhere. And now I think we’ll make our way up to the museum again. Wait a moment! We’ve got to get back into that passage with our heads in the right direction. Once we’re into the tunnel there won’t be room to turn round.”
It took some manœuvring to arrange this, for the tiny chamber was a tight fit for even three men; but at last they succeeded in getting back into the tunnel in a position which permitted them to creep forwards instead of backwards. They finally accomplished the long journey without incident, and emerged through the gaping panel into the museum once more.
“Now we’ll turn our backs again, Inspector, and let Mr Chacewater close the panel.”
Again the sharp click notified them that they could turn round. The panelling seemed completely solid.
“There are just a couple of points I’d like to know about,” Sir Clinton said, turning to Cecil. “You don’t know the combination that opens the safe over there, I believe?”
Cecil Chacewater seemed both surprised and relieved to hear this question.
“No,” he said. “Maurice kept the combination to himself.”
Sir Clinton nodded as though he had expected this answer.
“Just another point,” he continued. “You may not be able to remember this. At any time after you and Foxton Polegate had planned that practical joke of yours, did Foss ask you the time?”
Cecil was obviously completely taken aback by this query.
“Did he ask me the time? Not that I know of. I can’t remember his ever doing that. Wait a bit, though. No, he didn’t.”
Sir Clinton seemed disappointed for a moment. Then, evidently, a fresh idea occurred to him.
“On the night of the masked ball, did anyone ask you the time?”
Cecil considered for a moment or two.
“Now I come to think of it, a fellow dressed as a cow-boy came up and said his watch had stopped.”
“Ah! I thought so,” was all Sir Clinton replied, much to the vexation of Inspector Armadale.
“By the way,” the Chief Constable went on, “I’d rather like to get to the top of one of those turrets up above.” He made a gesture indicating the roof. “There’s a stair, isn’t there?”
Armadale had difficulty in concealing his surprise at this unexpected demand. Cecil Chacewater made no difficulties, but led them upstairs and opened the door of the entrance to a turret. When they reached an open space at the summit, Sir Clinton leaned on the parapet and gazed over the surrounding country with interest. As the space was restricted, Cecil remained within the turret, at the top of the stair; but the Inspector joined his Chief on the platform.
“Splendid view, isn’t it, Inspector?”
“Yes, sir. Very fine.”
Armadale was evidently puzzled by this turn of affairs. He could not see why Sir Clinton should have come up to admire the view instead of getting on with the investigation. The Chief Constable did not seem to notice his subordinate’s perplexity.
“There’s Hincheldene,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “With a decent pair of glasses one could read the time on the clock-tower on a clear day. These woods round about give a restful look to things. Soothing, that greenery. Ah! Just follow my finger, Inspector. See that white thing over yonder? That’s one of these Fairy Houses.”
He searched here and there in the landscape for a moment.
“There’s another of them, just where you see that stream running across the opening between the two spinneys—yonder. And there’s a third one, not far off that ruined tower. See it? I wonder if we could pick up any more. They seem to be thick enough on the ground. Yes, see that one in the glade over there? Not see it? Look at that grey cottage with the creeper on it; two o’clock; three fingers. See it now?”
“I can’t quite make it out, sir,” the Inspector confessed.
He seemed bored by Sir Clinton’s insistence on the matter; but he held up his hand and tried to discover the object. After a moment or two he gave up the attempt and, turning round, he noticed his Chief slipping a small compass into his pocket.
“Quite worth seeing, that view,” Sir Clinton remarked, imperturbably, as he made his way towards the turret stair. “Thanks very much, Cecil. I don’t think we need trouble you any more for the present; but I’d like to see your sister, if she’s available. I want to ask her a question.”
Cecil Chacewater went in search of Joan, and after a few minutes she met them at the foot of the stair.
