“No one must get into the room, of course.”
“No one shall,” said Ardsley, definitely.
Sir Clinton seemed to be satisfied; and Ardsley left the room. The Chief Constable had one more private conversation still to carry through. He took Ernest Shandon into the study and closed the door.
“I can put my hand on the murderer now, Mr. Shandon, so you needn’t be nervous about that. But I’m rather troubled about one point. This is going to lead to the devil of a scandal if I arrest him. Are you anxious for that?”
Ernest seemed staggered by this way of looking at things.
“Well, really, I don’t quite see what you mean. It’s a bit obscure, isn’t it? I must confess I don’t quite follow you, if you understand me?”
“I’ll put it this way. I could arrest the fellow to-night. I know where he is. I’d have no trouble over that. But I think I can make surer of him if I wait till to-morrow morning. I’ve got to risk his bolting. I’ve that possibility in view. He might get away. But if he got away, would you worry much? Think of the scandal it would save—and it’s going to be a big one. And the trial will be a most laborious affair, too. What do you think? Shall I arrest him now, or wait till the morning and risk his getting away?”
Ernest pondered over the problem, but he seemed incapable of giving any help.
“I really don’t know,” he said. “You’re too deep for me, really. I can’t make out what you’re driving at.”
Sir Clinton’s face showed disappointment.