Rather dashed, Michael admitted the justice of this.
“I’m a public servant, Mr. Clifton,” Sir Clinton pointed out, his manner taking the edge off the directness of his remarks, “and I get my information officially. Obviously it wouldn’t be playing the game if I scattered that information around before the public service has had the use of it.”
“I see that well enough,” Michael protested. “All I asked was what your own views are.”
Sir Clinton smiled and there was a touch of mischief in his eye as he replied.
“Seeing that my conclusions are based on the evidence—at least I like to think so, you know—they’re obviously part and parcel of my official knowledge. Hence I don’t divulge them till the right moment comes.”
He paused to let this sink in, then added lightly:
“That’s a most useful principle, I find. One often makes mistakes, and of course one never divulges them either, until the right time comes. It’s curious, but I’ve never been able yet to satisfy myself that the right time has come in any case of the sort.”
Michael smiled in his turn; and Sir Clinton went on:
“But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t draw your own conclusions and give me the benefit of them. I’m not too proud to be helped, you know.”
For a moment Michael kept silence, as if considering what his next move should be. Sir Clinton had given him what might have looked like a snub; but Michael had acuteness enough to tell him that the matter was one of principle with the Chief Constable and not merely a pretext devised on the spur of the moment to suppress inconvenient curiosity.
“It just occurred to me,” he confessed, “that there’s a possible explanation of that thing they’ve fished up. Do you remember that I found Maurice in the Fairy House up above there”—he indicated the cliff-top with a gesture—“and when I left him there he was still wearing a white costume like this one?”
“So you told us last night,” Sir Clinton confirmed.
“Now when Maurice turned up in the museum later on,” Michael continued, “he was wearing ordinary evening clothes. He’d got rid of the Pierrot dress in the meantime.”
“That’s true,” Sir Clinton agreed.
“Isn’t it possible,” Michael went on, “that after I left him, Maurice got over his troubles, whatever they were, and pitched his disguise over the edge here. This may quite well be it.”
“Rather a rum proceeding, surely,” was Sir Clinton’s comment. “Can you suggest any earthly reason why he should do a thing like that?”
“I can’t,” Michael admitted, frankly. “But the whole affair last night seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason in it; and after swallowing the escape of that beggar we were after, I’m almost prepared for anything in this neighbourhood. I just put the matter before you. I can’t fake up any likely explanation to account for it.”
Sir Clinton seemed to be reflecting before he spoke again.
“To tell you the truth, I was rather disappointed with the result of that drag. Quite obviously—this isn’t official information, for you can see it with your own eyes—quite obviously that Pierrot costume must have been wrapped round some weight or other, or it wouldn’t have sunk to the bottom. And in the dragging the weight fell out. I could make a guess at what the weight was; but I wish we’d fished it up. It doesn’t matter much, really; but one likes to get everything one can.”
Michael, unable to guess what lay behind this, kept silent in the hope that there was more to come; but the Chief Constable swung off to a fresh subject.
“Did you take a careful note of the costumes of the gang who helped you in the attempt to round the beggar up? Could you make a list of them if it became necessary?”
Michael considered for the best part of a minute before answering.
“Some of them I could remember easily enough; but not all, I’m sure. It was a bit confused, you know; and some of the crew turned up pretty late, when all my attention was focused on the final roundup. I really couldn’t guarantee to give you an accurate list.”
Sir Clinton’s nod indicated approval.
“That’s what I like,” he said. “I’d rather have a definite No than a faked-up list that might mean nothing at all. But there’s one point that’s really important. Did you notice, among your assistants, anybody in white like the man you were hunting?”
Michael apparently had no need to pause before replying.
“No,” he said definitely, “I saw nobody of that sort. I suppose you mean Maurice. He certainly wasn’t in the cordon when it went into the spinney or when it came out on the terrace. I’m absolutely sure of my ground there. But of course he may have been one of the latecomers. Almost as soon as we got to the terrace we had to sprint off down to the lake side, you see; and he might quite well have been a bit slow in the chase and have reached the top only after we’d come down here.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Sir Clinton, with a finality which prevented any angling for further information.
Michael evidently had no desire to outstay his welcome, for in a few minutes he rose to his feet.
“I think I’ll go over to Ravensthorpe now,” he said. “I suppose you’re not going to leave here for a while?”
The words recalled to Sir Clinton the fact that he had not yet congratulated Michael on his engagement. He hastened to repair the oversight.
“I was looking for you at the dance last night,” he explained, after Michael had thanked him, “but before I got hold of you, this burglary business cropped up, and I’ve had hardly a minute to spare since then. By the way, if you’re going over to the house, you might tell Joan that I shall probably have to pay them a visit shortly, but I’ll ring up and let them know when I’m coming.”
Michael
