He seemed to consider something for a moment, then he added:
“By the way, I suppose you won’t mind putting me up for the night? I’m taking all the responsibility I’ve any use for, as it is; and I think I ought to be able to say I was here tonight.”
Ernest seemed to be rendered completely owlish by this last request; but he assented willingly enough.
“And Wendover, too, of course,” added Sir Clinton.
He paused for a moment as though in doubt, before speaking again.
“I think I’d better ring up the police station, if you don’t mind, Mr. Shandon. I’ll do it now.”
Ernest, with a shameless curiosity, followed him to the instrument and waited until he got the connection.
“Sir Clinton Driffield speaking. Sergeant, will you be good enough to buy me another tin of Navy Cut—same as the last you got—first thing tomorrow morning? I’ve run out of tobacco. Send a man up with it, will you? Yes, Navy Cut. Thanks.”
Sir Clinton turned away from the instrument and noticed his host hovering close beside him.
“It’s a handy thing to be a Chief Constable, isn’t it? I’d run out of tobacco and I won’t have time to go down to the village tomorrow morning. I shall arrest that fellow first thing after breakfast; and the formalities may take some time, you know.”
XVII
The Siege in the Maze
Wendover was awakened next morning in an unfamiliar bedroom to find Sir Clinton at his side. The Chief Constable’s eyes were tired, as though he had had very little sleep; but otherwise he seemed as alert as usual.
“Come on, Squire!” he said. “Dress as quick as you can. You needn’t mind shaving for once. You’ve been clamouring for the arrest of the murderer for long enough now, so I thought you’d like to be in at the death. I’ve got an appointment with him this morning; so you’d better hurry up if you want to see the last scenes in the Whistlefield dramatic entertainment.”
Wendover had been rubbing his eyes rather sleepily when he awoke; but Sir Clinton’s words stimulated him into activity.
“Go on with your dressing and don’t talk,” Sir Clinton replied to his questions. “I haven’t time to explain things just now. There’ll be a good deal of explaining to be done in the end,” he added, gloomily, “so we may as well make one bite at it!”
Wendover hurried over his toilet, and soon he and Sir Clinton descended the stair and made their way to the front door. The figure of Stenness was plainly visible in the light of the early morning.
“So it was Stenness? Somehow I thought it might have been he,” Wendover whispered, while they were still at a distance.
“I’ve got appointments with several people this morning,” Sir Clinton said, sharply. “Ardsley’s another of them. You needn’t start suspecting everyone, Squire, or you’ll have a busy time. No! No questions till later!”
He stepped forward and greeted the secretary.
“Where’s the gun-room, Stenness? It may be as well to pick up something useful!”
The secretary led them down some passages. If he was surprised by Sir Clinton’s methods, he showed no visible sign. When they reached the gun-room, each selected a shotgun and ammunition under Sir Clinton’s orders. Wendover noticed that the Chief Constable picked out a couple himself.
“One’s for Ardsley,” he explained in answer to Wendover’s glance of surprise. “Come along! He’ll be waiting for us outside, I expect.”
When they reached the front door again, Ardsley was just stepping out of his car. Sir Clinton motioned him back into the driving seat and directed the others to get into the motor.
“The Maze, if you please, Ardsley,” he said, when they had seated themselves.
Wendover was completely at sea for a few moments. It was plain that both Ardsley and Stenness must be regarded as cleared in the eyes of the Chief Constable, or he would not have brought them there and taken the trouble to arm them. But if they were excluded, the murderer must belong to a very small group. And suddenly Wendover saw his way through the whole intricacy of the Whistlefield case.
“Of course! Young Torrance! He’s the man!”
But he was careful not to utter his views aloud, fearing to draw the fire of Sir Clinton, who was sitting beside him with drawn brows. Wendover felt it better to pursue his line of thought silently.
“What an ass I’ve been! Young Torrance was in the Maze when the two Shandons were killed. He was somewhere or other about, probably, when Ernest was attacked. Clinton has most likely tracked him down without saying anything about it. And when Sylvia was shot, he wasn’t with us in the room; they said he was playing billiards by himself. Quite likely he sneaked out of the billiard room window, crept round, did the shooting, and got back under cover while we were all too taken aback by the business to do anything. If I’d been a shade quicker, that night, I’d have got him! And last night, when Arthur was attacked, Torrance had gone for a walk alone. It’s obvious! And like an idiot, I didn’t see it. All one needed was a pencil and paper and a list of the people who were actually on hand on each occasion; and then, by elimination, one was bound to get at him straight away.”
He pondered over his own obtuseness for a time, while the car ran down the road towards the Maze; but his train of thought was interrupted by Ardsley pulling up at a word from Sir Clinton. A uniformed constable stepped forward from the shelter of a clump of bushes, and Wendover saw with surprise that he had a revolver in his belt.
“Everything all right?” demanded Sir Clinton, as the constable saluted.
“Yes, sir. It went exactly as you told us. About a quarter of an hour ago we saw
