“Oh, yes, the machine’s just down the passage from here, as it happens.”
Sir Clinton went on with his breakfast; but Wendover could see that he was listening for the ringing of the bell. Just as they had finished, it rang sharply.
“I’ll go,” said Sir Clinton. “It’s almost certain to be Whistlefield ringing up.”
As he rose from the table Wendover could see a look of acute anxiety on his face. He left the door open as he went out, and the sound of his voice at the telephone came back into the room.
“Driffield speaking . . . Did you say burglar or burglars? . . . All right, don’t bother to tell me any more now. I’m coming across at once. Good-bye.”
Sir Clinton came back to Wendover. The anxiety on his face was as deeply marked as ever; but the prospect of action seemed to have raised his spirits slightly.
“Come on, Wendover. Get the car out, will you? There’s been a burglary at Whistlefield last night. I’ll need to go across and look into the affair.”
When they reached Whistlefield, they were shown into the study where they found Ernest Shandon and Stenness waiting for them.
“Now you might give me the whole story, Mr. Shandon,” Sir Clinton requested as soon as he had greeted the two. “It may be a case where time means a good deal; and we want to get our hands on these fellows at once, if we can.”
Ernest pulled out his cigarette-case. He seemed to be in a very nervous condition.