“Oh, keep it, certainly,” Stenness agreed, with a certain dull indifference.
Sir Clinton continued his search; but the only thing of interest was a tin box which he opened carefully and held out for inspection.
“More of these darts, you see?”
He counted them rapidly.
“Yes, that’s right. This represents the balance of the lot after deducting the ones he used in the attack on Miss Hawkhurst and last night.”
He replaced the cover on the box and transferred the thing to his pocket.
“That’s all we need do. You’d better have a look at the body, Ardsley. We’ll need your evidence at the inquest. I’ll send a constable in here to look after things until we can get the body removed.”
When Ardsley had finished his examination, they left the Maze.
“Go back to the house now,” Sir Clinton directed, as they emerged from the entrance gate. “I’ll have to pilot my men in to the centre, you know. You can send the car down to meet me if you like.”
He turned back with the constables, while the rest of the party got into the motor. No one seemed inclined to talk, as they made their way up to the house. The events of the morning had been too bizarre to merge easily into everyday affairs. To Wendover, it seemed as though he had spent the last hour or two in some world lying far beyond the normal bounds of probability—already the siege of the Maze was passing into the realm of the unreal in his mind; and he had difficulty in forcing himself to remember that it had cost the life of a man.