He went forward and covered the face of the body with his handkerchief.
“It’s Roger, obviously; and stone dead. Nothing more to do here. Let’s try the other centre next. Skene, you needn’t come. Keep your eye on this fellow till we come back.”
He led Howard through the alleys once more and in a short time they entered the second centre of the Maze.
“This is Neville Shandon, true enough,” the secretary reported. The identification had taken longer, since the body lay on its face. “Mustn’t disturb anything, Torrance. The police may be able to make something out of it if we leave things alone.”
He rose from his knees and mechanically dusted his trousers as he spoke. Howard was struck by the extraordinary matter-of-fact way in which Stenness had treated the whole affair. One might have expected some sign of emotion, surprise at the very least; but Stenness had gone through the whole business without showing the slightest disturbance. But as Howard reflected on the matter, he was forced to admit that, after all, it was much what one might have anticipated. Stenness, he remembered, had always been chary of showing any emotion whatever. Probably this was just a case of carrying the normal to an extreme where it became noticeable. Stenness, doubtless, took a pride in that mask of coolness.
The secretary stooped for a moment over Neville Shandon’s body and examined the left hand which lay clenched on the grass.
“There’s a piece of paper there. It looks as if it had been wrenched out of his hand and a scrap left in his grip. Let’s see what one can make of it without touching it.”
He knelt down and scrutinised the fragment painfully.
“Some of his notes on the Hackleton case, perhaps. I can read ‘Hackl …’ on it plain enough.”
Howard did not trouble to look at the paper at close range.
“What do you make of it?” he demanded, as the secretary rose to his feet again.
“I? Nothing much. It might be someone trying to put Neville Shandon out of business while the Hackleton case is on. That might account for the notes being taken. Or it might be someone with a grudge against Roger. He had some enemies. A threatening letter came from a man only the other day.”
Howard digested these suggestions for a few moments without speaking; then he offered an objection.
“But d’you think it’s likely that two murderers would choose an identical moment for their attacks. Two simultaneous crimes is a bit of a record, it seems to me.”
“Think so?” the secretary responded, carelessly. “It’s happened this time, for all that.”
Howard had to admit the truth of this.
Stenness looked at his watch.
“I must be getting off to the outside of the Maze. The police will be here very soon, and they’ll need a guide. I’ll take you back to Skene, if you like.”
Howard nodded assent and once more Stenness led the way through a tangle of alleys.
“Here’s Helen’s Bower,” he said, nodding towards its entrance. “You can sit down there till I bring the police.”
Howard watched his figure disappear round a corner of the corridor and then turned his steps to the entrance of the little enclosure where Roger Shandon’s body lay. As he entered it, he was surprised to see Skene on his knees at the foot of the hedge, evidently collecting some small objects.
“What are you after, Skene?” he demanded. “I thought you were supposed to be watching this fellow.”
Skene rose to his feet, rather sulky at being reproved.
“He ain’t escaped yet. I’m ’tween him and the door.”
Howard acknowledged the truth of both statements.
“What are you grubbing in the hedge for?” he continued, after he had made his apology.
Skene extended an earthy palm on which rested some small objects.
“ ’Tis the lid of a tin box—one o’ these round ’uns. And here’s some darts that Mr. Hawkhurst uses for that airgun o’ his when he’s shootin’ at a target. Let’s see … one … two … three …”
He laboriously counted up to seven and held out his hand for confirmation.
“Put ’em in the box-lid, Skene, and lay ’em down somewhere safe. You found them where I saw you searching?”
“Just in there, among the roots o’ the hedge. Like enough the other bit o’ the box’ll be outside in the alley. I’ll have a look.”
“Don’t bother, Skene. We mustn’t disturb anything till the police get here, you know. If there’s anything more, they’ll prefer to hunt for it themselves. What you’ve got to remember is that you found these seven things—seven, remember—at that point in the hedge. Better mark it with a stick or something, so that you’ll know the exact spot again.”
The sight of the darts had put a thought into his mind. He went over to Roger Shandon’s body and examined it carefully. But so far as the exposed portions were concerned, he found no trace of the thing for which he was searching; and he did not care to take the responsibility of altering the posture of the corpse.
As he rose to his feet once more he heard the note of a motor horn in the distance.
“The police, I expect,” he said to Skene. “They’ll be here in a minute or two. Mr. Stenness has gone to lead them in through the Maze.”
IV
The Chief Constable
As Stenness picked his way through the convolutions of the Maze, his face showed that his mind was at work on some puzzling problem.
“Things haven’t worked out quite according to plan,” he commented to himself as he walked along. “I’ve missed that train, now; and I may as well see the business through on the spot. If only I’d aimed for the earlier train, I might have pulled it off.”
His frown of annoyance faded out suddenly, as a new idea crossed his mind.
“Perhaps it’s all for the best after all. I never thought of that point. Nobody can swear to it: and it leaves me absolutely on velvet—safer than
