“Well, you can lock a door from either side, can’t you?”
Wendover reflected for a moment.
“It’s a pity Stenness didn’t think of searching the house when they found no one in the room.”
“Much too late by that time, Squire. No hunted burglar would wait on the premises a second longer than he could help. He’d be off downstairs at once and get out of the ground floor windows on the opposite side of the house.”
“But then he’d leave an unlatched window behind him.”
“So he may have done. No one can swear that all the windows were made fast yesterday evening. They’re a careless lot up at Whistlefield.”
Wendover’s mind fastened upon the thing which seemed to him of most importance.
“What did the burglar want? What was he after, Clinton?”
Sir Clinton’s face became inscrutable, though Wendover could not help seeing irony in his reply.
“ ‘What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions are not beyond all conjecture,’ ” he quoted. “Sir Thomas Browne knew what he was talking about. What thing the burglar sought, though puzzling is not beyond conjecture, Squire. The field’s open, if you wish to enter for the competition.”