“Clive! Come down here! Come down in a rush! The thief’s found!”
Again Vail took a furious step in pursuit, but again the constable stepped officiously in front of him. And a second later the front door slammed.
“Stay where you are, everybody!” commanded the chief, a new sternness in his voice, as Willis Chase succeeded in working his way around the constable and Vail and made for the hall. “Where are you going, Mr. Chase?”
“I’m going to catch that swine!” yelled Willis, wrathfully, over his shoulder, pausing in the living room doorway as he cleared the last obstacle and sprang toward the hall. “I’m going to find him and bring him back by the scruff of the neck. And—”
The constable took a belated step to stop him. Chase turned and bolted. But as he did so, he collided violently with Clive Creede. Clive had come downstairs at his brother’s shouted summons, just in time to receive Chase’s catapult rush.
Under the impact the sick man staggered and would have fallen had not Chase caught him. At the same time Thaxton Vail called sharply:
“Willis! Come back here! Don’t make a fool of yourself! Come back. I don’t need any one to fight my battles for me. I can attend to this myself.”
Apologizing to the breathless Clive for the unintended collision and helping to steady the shaken man on his feet, Chase abandoned his plan to overtake and drag Osmun back by force. Sullenly he returned to the living room, Clive at his side. To the invalid’s puzzled questions he returned no answer.
As they came in, Quimby was on his feet. His deferential manner was gone. The glint of the man hunt shimmered beneath his shaggy gray brows.
“Sit down, everybody!” he commanded. “Mr. Vail, I said, sit down! This case has taken a different turn. Let nobody leave the room. Whitcomb,” to the constable, “stand at the door. Now then, we’ll tackle all this from another angle. The time for kid glove questioning is past.”