"Something he thought I had. We're going to look for him."
"But, Mr. Amberley, sir!" protested the sergeant. "If you say he was at Greythorne at eight o'clock he's had time to get back to the manor a dozen times over!"
"Yes - if he did go back," replied Amberley. Just keep a lookout, will you? Take the spot-lamp."
The car crept on; the two constables, who had heard of Mr. Amberley's predilection for speed, were frankly disappointed.
The sergeant held the spot-lamp at the end of its cable and studied the side of the road. "Going to search the woods, sir?"
"Perhaps. But he was riding a bicycle. That looks like the road. All preserves, this?"
"Most of it," said the sergeant. "General Tomlinson's land, this is. Runs alongside Mr. Fountain's preserves. We took up a poacher today. The general's keeper got him."
The car swung round a bend. "Mr. Fountain's land starts hereabouts," said the sergeant. "Hitchcock's had bad luck with his pheasants this year, so he told me.
"Poachers?"
"Them, and the gapes - lost a lot of young birds, he has. Hullo, what's that?"