“An hour and a half, walking,” said the looker. “Maybe twenty minutes by car—I don’t know.”
“I suppose they’d see a car coming for miles over this place,” said the detective inspector. “It’s as flat as the palm of your hand. And I’d bet something that they’ll be keeping a good lookout today.”
“If you’re bent on going, guv’nor,” said Malone, and his tone conveyed that he thought it a totally unnecessary venture, “why not take the car as far as you think wise and walk the rest. There won’t be any cover for you though. Why not wait?”
“No, I’ll go and have a scout round. You can be easy, Bill. I won’t take any risks I can help. Let’s go.”
For a mile or so they pushed the car along one of the rough tracks of the marsh. As the looker explained, the detour was even more extensive than if they had gone on foot, and the roughness of the going made the driver wary of anything in the nature of speed. The detective and his guide descended when the latter observed that within the next mile they would come within sight of Mope’s Bottom. They made their way over the pastures and dykes on foot by a more direct, but still devious route.
Presently they were within view of the dark mass of the house. They lay on the edge of a dyke and studied it for a while. Through his glasses Labar could see nothing that gave the slightest indication of life. There was not even a wisp of smoke from the chimneys, and the windows were tight-closed. From where they were the angle of the wall hid a distinct view of the gate, but the detective rapped out an oath as he tried to confirm an impression that it was open. Could it be that after all he was too late?
There had always been that possibility, but Labar at the back of his mind had refused to recognise it as likely. There had been but the most slender margin of time in which his quarry could have safely got away. It would be the most uncanny luck if he had succeeded.
He rose to his feet, and with the looker by his side strode on to where he could get a closer view of the place. This time there was no doubt. The big wall gates were open.
Labar snapped the glasses into their case and turned to the looker. “You can get back, my lad. Tell Mr. Malone, or whoever you meet, that I think our birds have made their getaway. Anyway I’m going on to see what has happened. Get some of my men to come on the moment they are ready. Now which is my nearest way to the house?”
He strode on reckless of everything now. He was convinced that the house was empty. Certain it was that neither Larry nor any of his associates would have permitted any carelessness at this time. There could only be one explanation of the outer defences of the place remaining unguarded when they must know that the forces of the law would be upon them at any minute.
As he drew nearer his conviction became more certain. But as he reached the gates some instinct of caution made him step more warily. They might have left the Alsatian. He pulled out an automatic which he had procured at Rye, though he had little faith in his ability to use it effectively, and passed between the gates with his senses vividly on the alert.
Once within he halted for a second or two and listened with strained intentness. There was not a sound. Moving on velvet feet, ready to shoot at the instant, he tried the door of the house. It was fastened, and he turned his attention to the windows. But whoever had forgotten the gates the house was tight-sealed. A swift examination showed him that none of the simple devices by which the fastenings of an ordinary house might be overcome would suffice here.
With a grim smile he recalled that he had neglected to obtain a search warrant. He had not even had the warrant for Larry’s arrest endorsed by a local magistrate. But the strict formalities of the law have at times to be ignored or many rogues would escape. Time enough to put himself right on these technicalities later. He reversed his pistol and smashed with the butt through the glass of the morning-room window. Thrusting his hand carefully through the jagged pane he undid the fastening and entered the room. It was meticulously neat and tidy. No sign of any hurried departure here.
Completely satisfied that no living person remained in the house he pushed his pistol back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. There was nothing to hurry about now. He would have to wait till his men arrived in any event.
He moved about the house taking for the moment a superficial if methodical survey. But as he entered room after room to find each in applepie order, with nothing that could in any manner be construed to fit with his theory that the house was a depot for stolen goods, he puffed more fiercely at his cigarette and his eyebrows drew more closely together.
“If Larry’s had the stuff here he’s made a clean sweep or he’s hidden it pretty tight,” he muttered. “But he can’t have got away with it. It isn’t possible.”
Something that Penelope Noelson had said recurred to him, and he made his way back to the panelled room that he judged to have been Larry’s study. Taking a pencil from his pocket he proceeded to tap methodically inch by inch upon the walls. A quarter of an hour passed in this manner and he was stooping to make a fresh start from the bottom of the wall when he became aware of some slight sound behind him. He gave no sign that
