“He has escaped,” answered Gatliffe.
“Escaped!” iterated the inspector. “Surely you have not been foolish enough to let him get away. How did it happen?”
“You shall hear. I had him in this room and kept guard over the entrance. He pleaded for mercy, but I told him I had a duty to perform. All at once, after remaining quiet and submissive for some time, he sprang towards the door. I caught hold of him to arrest his passage; in doing so my foot slipped, and he lost no time in taking advantage of this accident, and succeeded in releasing himself from my grasp. It was all done in less time than it takes me to tell it. He flew downstairs.”
“Well, you followed, of course?”
“Yes.”
“And could not overtake him?”
“I had very nearly done so, when he rushed into the back parlour, closed the door, and locked it. I ran round the conservatory, searched everywhere I could think of, but was unable to find him. Oh! he has escaped, but it is no fault of mine.”
This, as the reader may guess, was not a truthful statement, but it was the only course Gatliffe had left to get himself out of the difficulty.
The inspector looked at the constable—then they both gave a glance at Gatliffe, who, as a natural consequence, felt greatly disconcerted.
No. 7.