“Then we’ll leave it at that,” said Sir Clinton, and his tone closed the discussion on that point.
For a time they sat in silence. Wendover could not quite understand Sir Clinton’s manœuvres. Quite obviously he had given Arthur the last spur which had driven him into this expedition to the Maze; and Wendover was inclined to agree with Ernest that it was a foolhardy business. He waited with some anxiety for the boy’s return.
All at once they heard the sound of hasty footsteps in the hall, and the door was flung open, and Arthur hurried into the room. Wendover noticed that, though excited, he was in no panic.
“You were right enough, uncle!” he exclaimed, still standing with the handle of the door in his hand. “The beggar had a shot at me just at the entrance to the Maze.”
Ernest nodded his head with an attempt at sapience.
“I told you so,” he said. “I told you so! But of course you wouldn’t believe me. No, you knew more about it than I did. But you see now . . .”
“Come along, the lot of you,” Arthur cried. “We’ll nab the beggar this time. He can’t be far away yet.”
“Sit down!” Sir Clinton ordered calmly. “He’s had any amount of time to get clear away. We’d never catch him in the dark. I must hear how it happened, first of all. Now give me every detail you can think of.”
Arthur seemed sobered by the matter-of-fact air of the Chief Constable. He sat down and began his story without more ado.
“I took out the two-seater from the garage,” he explained, “and bucketted down to the Maze as quick as I could. It’s a dark night outside, not even a star showing. I left the headlights on when I stopped the car; and I left the engine running as well. It wasn’t going to take me any time to get to Helen’s Bower. I got out, and crossed over to the entrance to the Maze that’s nearest the road. It was pretty dark; but I could find my way all right.”