Vernon thought for a second. "Is your Inspector in the house?"
"Yes, sir, but you can't see him."
"I must see him, and at once. I believe I know who killed Mr. Dimsdale."
"Oh, you do, do you?" said the policeman with a subtle change of manner. "Then you come along with me."
"Wait till I pay my cabman," muttered Vernon, and, the policeman making no objection to this, he gave the chauffeur the promised fare. When the vehicle had disappeared down the road, diminishing blackly in the moonlight, he returned, to find that the constable was holding open the gate.
"What name am I to give?" asked the man gruffly, for it was evident that he regarded Vernon with suspicion owing to what he had admitted.
"My name doesn't matter; the Inspector does not know me," said Vernon impatiently. "Hurry up, man! hurry up! Every moment is of value."
Impressed by his imperious manner, the policeman knocked at the closed front door, which was immediately thrown open by a second constable on guard in the hall. By this individual Vernon was introduced into the Jacobean dining-room, after a few hurried words of explanation. Inspector Drench--the constable had informed Vernon of the name--was seated at the table taking notes, and Miss Hest, looking pale and anxious, stood at his elbow. She was the first to speak.
"Mr. Vernon," she exclaimed hoarsely, "you have come at last. Poor Mr. Dimsdale was asking for you all the night. And now----" she broke down.
"How did you get in, sir?" questioned Inspector Drench imperiously, and nodding to the policeman that he should leave the room. "I gave orders that nobody was to be admitted."