Inspector Wensdale was sitting bolt upright in his chair, gazing at Malcolm Sage as if he had been requested to supply two lorry-loads of archangels.
"It will be moonlight, and caps might fall off," explained Malcolm Sage. "You cannot very well ask a man to black his head. Above all," he continued evenly, "be sure you give no indication to anyone why you want the men, and tell them not to talk. You follow me?" he queried.
"Yes," said the inspector, "I—I follow."
"Don't go down Hempdon way again, and tell no one in the neighbourhood; no one, you understand, is to know anything about it. Don't tell the general, for instance."
"Him!" There was a world of hatred and contempt in the inspector's voice. Then he glanced a little oddly at Malcolm Sage.
Malcolm Sage went on to elaborate his instructions. The men were to be divided into two parties, one to form a line north of the scene of the last outrage, and the other to be spread over a particular zone some three miles the other side of Hempdon. They were to blacken their faces and hands, and observe great care to show no light colouring in connection with their clothing. Thus they would be indistinguishable from their surroundings.
"You will go with one lot," said Malcolm Sage to the inspector, "and my man Finlay with the other. Thompson and I will be somewhere in the neighbourhood. You will be given a pass-word for purposes of identification. You understand?"
"I think so," said the inspector, in a tone which was suggestive that he was very far from understanding.
"I'll have everything typed out for you, and scale-plans of where you are to post your men. Above all, don't take anyone into your confidence."
Inspector Wensdale nodded and looked across at Thompson, as if to assure himself that after all it really was not some huge joke.