"Well, why can't you let them look for him? It's their work, not yours."
"Quite. But on the other hand he may not have bolted. I'm going to find out."
"You may go to the devil!" said Sir Humphrey, and turned over on the other side.
Mr. Amberley thanked him and withdrew.
When the sergeant and two enthusiastic young constables arrived, they found Amberley waiting for them in his car; he made them leave their bicycles in the drive and get into the Bentley. The sergeant climbed in beside him, leaving his subordinates to sit in the back, and said without much hope that he trusted Mr. Amberley wasn't going to travel at ninety miles an hour, because he was a married man.
He need have had no qualms. Mr. Amberley was driving very slowly indeed; so slowly, in fact, that the sergeant, suspicious of a leg-pull, asked whether it was a funeral. "And if it's all the same to you, sir, where are we going?"
"On the road to Norton Manor. Somewhere round about eight o'clock, Sergeant, Collins was at Greythorne. This is not to be repeated. He ransacked my room."
"Ransacked your room?" echoed the sergeant. "You saw him?"
"No. But I know it was he."
"Good Lord!" said the sergeant. "But what was he after?"