through the newspapers in every possible combination of face and profile. A chestnut tree, new and rich with foliage, threw a dense shadow on the edge of the grass; but Pennik - his eyes on the house - moved out from under it. . He was hatless, and his face (perhaps from a trick of the moonlight) looked bloated like a drowned man's. Riddle saw him slide his hand into his pocket and draw something out. Despite the vast whisper of wind in foliage, all sounds were whittled down to such a fine point that- Riddle distinctly heard the click, and saw moonlight run along the blade, as Pennik pressed the button of the clasp-knife.
Then Pennik, slipping the open knife into his pocket, moved out softly towards the house.
P.C. Riddle moved with him - sideways in shadow as Pennik-moved forward. When Pennik put his foot on the first step of the iron stairway, Riddle was close enough to breathe on him. He almost put his hand on Pennik's as the latter took hold of the hand-rail. But Riddle did not do that; he waited until Pennik was half a dozen steps up, and followed.
That grotesque, monkey-like climb in the dark was done in silence. Pennik did not look round. Or at least Riddle hoped it was done in silence. If he had any thought at all, it was a confused shouting to himself that he had been right after all. He ought to have rung up Billy Wynne. Might have done himself a bit of good.
Never mind. Leonard Riddle had his own satisfaction. He could tell 'em a thing or two, if he wanted to. So again Pennik was in two places at once, was he? No, he wasn't. Len Riddle could tell 'em why he wasn't. In London they might know a lot about detective work, but they didn't know anything about poachers...
The iron stairway creaked faintly. Pennik ahead was almost up to the first floor; Riddle could see the windows against the dingy whitewash. Then Pennik stopped, and Riddle also stopped so abruptly that he almost made the whole stairway shake. There was another man on the balcony just over their heads.
Riddle could not make out the face of the other man, who was of medium size and wore a soft hat and had his hand on the rail of the balcony. Riddle had a feeling that he was young; he also had a-feeling that Pennik, as Pennik's head appeared like a jack-in-the-box over the edge of the balcony, gave the other man a shock he refused to acknowledge. The two faced each other, and seemed to brace themselves.
In barely a whisper, so that it was difficult to distinguish the words, Pennik spoke. t
'Good evening, Dr Sanders,' he said.
(Sanders ? Sanders ? Wasn't that name familiar ?)
The young man moved out and stood squarely at the top of the stairs. He also spoke in a whisper.
'What are you doing here?'
'I have come to settle matters, Dr Sanders,' said Pennik.
In the distance, muffled by the night mutter, the bell of St Ald's Church struck the quarter-hour to ten. Pennik, throwing back his head and lifting his wrist, strained his eyes to peer at his wrist-watch in the dark. What he saw seemed to give him great satisfaction.
'Quite correct,' he whispered. 'And what are
'I wish I knew,' said the other man, taking a hard grip on the rail of the balcony. 'I wish to God I knew. I wish they'd tell me.'
'I can tell you,' Pennik answered, and made a bound for the top step.
This was where P.C. Riddle acted. He was not dramatic about it; it was not in his nature to be dramatic. He merely took the remaining steps at a couple of long, efficient strides, and tapped Pennik smartly on the shoulder, from behind. At the same time he unhooked the bull's-eye lantern from his belt, switched it on, and turned the beam into Pennik's face as the latter swung round.
‘Now, then,' said P.C. Riddle. 'What's all this?'
The question was rhetorical. What answer he expected he did not know himself. But the last thing he expected was the expression of the face turned round towards him in the beam of his lantern. So stealthy had been Pennik's movements that the result was startling and almost shocking. Pennik's face looked queer and bloated because the man had been crying; crying like a child; crying until his eyelids were puffy and the whites of the eyes showed streaked with pink. He put up a hand to shield those eyes from the light. The corners of his mouth turned down - and he whimpered.
There was a stir of footsteps on the iron plates of the balcony. They were cautious steps, but plain as a noise of rats. The beam of an electric torch appeared and fastened on Riddle.
'What in hell's name are you doing?' muttered a voice, and it seemed impossible to get so much concentrated savagery of exasperation in words spoken under the breath. 'Put out that light!'
Both lights vanished after Riddle had turned his upwards. But what he saw so startled him that he risked one more gleam again afterwards to make sure. The speaker had been Chief Inspector Masters, who pulled his bowler hat down on his head and brushed the light away as though he were brushing something off his face. Beside him stood the old gentleman Riddle remembered from the Lancaster Mews row. Then, on the breezy balcony of a lightless house, P.G. Riddle tried to gather together his wits.
'What is it?' muttered Masters. 'What do you want?'
'Gate open, sir -' replied Riddle automatically. Then the more important matter wormed uppermost. 'I've got Pennik,' he added, and fastened his free hand on Pennik's collar.
'Yes, yes, that's all right. Hop it now, d'ye hear? Hop it! No, stand by; we may need you.'
'Sir, this is Pennik. He's not in Paris. I know how he did it. The same as the poachers did in Lancashire. My dad -'
'Let him go! What do you think you're doing?'
'Begging your pardon, sir. I was going to get in touch with Billy Wynne, but I'd like you to listen to me. They were twin brothers, the finest poaching team that ever devilled the magistrates. Tom and Harry Godden; one of them would clean up Sir Mark Wilman's park under the keeper's nose, but he'd have an alibi because the other would be at the pub with a dozen witnesses to prove -'
'Are you off your chump ?'
'There's two of Pennik,' persisted Riddle tightening his grip. 'I thought it was so before, sir; and I know it now.'
'Steady, son,' interposed a heavy voice. Riddle heard Sir Henry Merrivale breathe in the gloom. 'Keep your shirt on, Masters. Y'know, in a way he's quite right.'
'Thank you, sir. My dad -'
'Now, now! But let him go, son; take your hand off him. He hasn't done anything.'
'But these murders, sir -'
'He hasn't done any murders, son.'
Riddle's hand fell, the more so as this time there was no mistaking the look about Chief Inspector Masters in the gloom. It was the young man called Sanders who spoke. He spoke quietly and reasonably; yet Riddle had a feeling that he meant to be answered, and Riddle would have been impelled to answer him if he could.
Sanders said: 'Look here, sir, this has got to be a showdown. The time for hocus-pocus is past. You tell me what I'm to do, and I do it; you tell me how deeply I'm involved, and what to be careful of, and how I must help you; but it's only fair to give me a shot at what's going on.'
'Uh-huh. Well? What is it?’
'Do you say now that Pennik didn't do the murders?'
'He didn't do anything,' returned the heavy voice, dully and rather wearily. 'He didn't do any murders; he don't even know a thing about any murders. He's absolutely innocent of crime or complicity in crime of any kind at all.'
Below them on the tall balcony, wind frothed in the leaves of the garden.
'There,' pursued the heavy, eerie voice. 'There you are. That's the hobgoblin that's been frettin' you, and frettin' the world, for nearly a week. But come along with me. I’ll show you a real hobgoblin, if you like.'
He moved along towards the iron stairway towards the balcony of the floor above. For all his breadth and lumbering movement he made little noise. Sanders followed him.
'But this is the Constables' flat! This one. Here, on this floor. This is where they lived. Why are we going upstairs?'
That whole unnatural colloquy, taking place in explosive whispers, was beginning to wear on the nerves of everyone present. The steep stairway creaked, H. M. went ahead, and the others followed. Up at the top floor there
