“It’s likely to be a troublesome business,” the Chief Constable admitted as his subordinate came up. “The bottom’s very irregular and the chances are that the grapnel will stick, two times out of three. However, the sooner we get to work, the better.”
He considered for a moment or two.
“Tack a light line to the grapnel as well as the rope. Get the raft out past the cave and let a constable pitch the grapnel in there. Then when you’ve dragged, or if the grapnel sticks, he can pull the hook back again with the light line and start afresh alongside the place where he made the last cast. But it’s likely to be a slow business, as you say.”
The Inspector agreed and set his constables to work at once. Sir Clinton withdrew to a little distance, sat down on a small hillock from which he could oversee the dragging operations, and patiently awaited the start of the search. His eyes, wandering with apparent incuriosity over the group at the water’s edge, noted with approval that Armadale was wasting no time.
Having made his instructions clear, the Inspector came over to where the Chief Constable was posted.
“Sit down, Inspector,” Sir Clinton invited. “This may take all day, you know, and it’s as cheap sitting as standing.”
When the Inspector had seated himself, the Chief Constable turned to him with a question.
“You’ve seen to it that no one has gone up on to the terrace?”
Inspector Armadale nodded affirmatively.
“No one’s been up on top,” he explained, “I’d like to go and have a look round myself; but since you were so clear about it, I haven’t gone.”
“Don’t go,” Sir Clinton reiterated his order. “I’ve a sound reason for letting no one up there.”
He glanced for a moment at the group of constables.
“Another thing, Inspector,” he continued. “There’s no secrecy about that matter. In fact, it might be useful if you’d let it leak out to the public that no one has been up above there and that no one will be allowed to go until I give the word. Spread it round, you understand?”
Slightly mystified, apparently, the Inspector acquiesced.
“Do you see your way through the case, Sir Clinton?” he demanded. “You’ve given me the facts, but we’ll need a good deal more, it seems to me.”
Sir Clinton pulled out his cigarette-case and thoughtfully began to smoke before answering the question. When he spoke again, his reply was an indirect one.
“There’s an old jurist’s saying that I always keep in mind,” he said. “It helps to clarify one’s ideas in a case:
Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando?
That puts our whole business into a nutshell.” He glanced at the Inspector’s face. “Your Latin’s as feeble as my own, perhaps? There’s an English equivalent:
What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where,
How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?
How many of these questions can you answer now, offhand, Inspector? The rest of them will tell you what you’ve still got to ferret out.”
Inspector Armadale pulled out a notebook and pencil.
“Would you mind repeating it, Sir Clinton? I’d see through it better if I had it down in black and white.”
The Chief Constable repeated the doggerel and Armadale jotted it down under his dictation.
“That seems fairly searching,” he admitted, rereading it as he spoke.
“Quite enough for present purposes. Now, Inspector, how much do you really know? I mean, how many answers can you give? There are only seven questions in all. Take them one by one and let’s hear your answers.”
“It’s a pretty stiff catechism,” said the Inspector, looking again at his notebook. “I’ll have a try, though, if you give me time to think over it.”
Sir Clinton smiled at the qualification.
“Think it over, then, Inspector,” he said. “I’ll just go and set them to work with the dragging. They seem to be ready to make a start.”
He rose and walked down to the group at the edge of the pool.
“You know what’s wanted?” he asked. “Well, suppose we make a start. Get the raft out to about ten yards or so beyond the cave-mouth and begin by flinging the grapnel in as near the cliff-edge as you can. Then work gradually outwards. If it sticks, try again very slightly off the line of the last cast.”
He watched one or two attempts which gave no result and then turned back to the hillock again.
“Well, Inspector?” he demanded as he sat down and turned his eyes on the group engaged with the dragging operations. “What do you make of it?”
Inspector Armadale looked up from his notebook.
“That’s a sound little rhyme,” he admitted. “It lets you see what you don’t know and what you do know.”
Sir Clinton suppressed a smile successfully.
“Or what you think you know, perhaps, Inspector?”
“Well, if you like to put it that way, sir. But some things I think one can be sure of.”
Sir Clinton’s face showed nothing of his views on this question.
“Let’s begin at the beginning,” he suggested. “ ‘What was the crime?’ ”
“That’s clear enough,” the Inspector affirmed without hesitation. “These three electrotypes have been stolen. That’s the crime.”
Sir Clinton seemed to be engrossed in the dragging which was going on methodically below them.
“You think so?” he said at length. “H’m! I’m not so sure.”
Inspector Armadale corrected himself.
“I meant that I’d charge the man with stealing the replicas. You couldn’t charge him with anything else, since nothing else is missing. At least, that’s what you told me. He wanted the real medallions, but he didn’t pull that off.”
Sir Clinton refused to be drawn. He resorted to one of his indirect replies.
“ ‘What was the crime?’ ” he repeated. “Now, I’ll put a case to you, Inspector. Suppose that you saw two men in the distance and that you could make out that one of them was struggling and the second man was beating him on the head. What crime would you call that? Assault and battery?”
“I suppose so,” Armadale admitted.
“But suppose, further,
