“I promised myself to square up for Sylvia, and I’ll do that, no matter who the man is.”
He dropped his rifle to the order and waited patiently for the next move, keeping his eyes fixed on the impenetrable hedges of the Maze.
Sir Clinton waited for a few minutes longer. Then he seemed to have exhausted the limit which he had set for himself.
“You see the situation?” he demanded, turning to the others. “He’s in there. He refuses to come out. We’ve got to get him.”
“I suppose you’re going to starve him out?” Wendover inquired, as Sir Clinton stopped short.
“Too risky. He might get away in the dark when night comes on. I don’t say he could; but I’m going to take no risks.”
“Then I suppose we’ll need to go into the Maze and dig him out,” Wendover suggested, philosophically.
Sir Clinton dissented with a nod.
“I’m responsible for the lives of my constables,” he said. “I can take some brands of responsibility quick enough; but I won’t shoulder the liability of sending good men to hunt armed vermin through a maze like that. They know nothing about its paths. He knows every inch of it. It would be sheer murder if I gave orders of that sort. No, there’s a better way. But bear in mind that I gave him the chance of surrender first of all.”
Arthur fidgeted with his rifle.