The man at the foot of the stairs turned and was gone like a flash into the kitchen. Under cover of the noise made by the second man Amberley had opened the larder door. When the hooded man's torch swept the kitchen it was empty. The man was wearing rubber soles, and his feet made no sound on the stone floor. He reached the back door, twisted the key round in the lock and a moment later was gone.
Mr. Amberley came out of the larder and strode to meet the second man, who had scrambled in at the window and was making for the kitchen. "You blithering idiot!" he said in a voice of rage. "You fat-headed, blundering ass!"
"Good Lord!" gasped Anthony Corkran, blinking in the glare of Mr. Amberley's torch. "You don't mean to say it was you? What the devil are you doing here?"
Amberley turned to call up the stairs. "You can come down, Sergeant. The game's up."
Corkran jumped. "What? Sergeant Gubbins up there? Where's Miss Brown? I say, you know! Tut-tut!"
"Anthony," said Mr. Amberley with dangerous calm, "you are very near death. Don't provoke me too far!"
The sergeant came clumping down the stairs. "What's happened, sir?" he demanded.
"Nothing," said Amberley bitterly. "My friend Mr. Corkran has seen to that."
The sergeant's torch discovered Anthony; he looked at him with a kindly eye. "Well, I don't know that I'm altogether sorry," he said.
"But, I say, look here!" began Anthony, and broke off. "What on earth's the stink?"