Then, as Costock opened his mouth in protest, Sir Clinton cut him short abruptly:
“I’d keep my mouth shut, if I were you. Nobody’s asking you to incriminate yourself.”
The hint was sufficient for the ex-I.D.B. expert. His protest died on his lips. Sir Clinton paid no further attention to him, but set about a careful examination of the body of Roger Shandon. As he rose to his feet again, Stenness came forward.
“This is Mr. Howard Torrance, Sir Clinton, a guest at the house. He was in the Maze at the moment when the murder was done. Torrance, this is the Chief Constable.”
He turned to the gardener.
“This is Skene, Sir Clinton, one of the gardeners on the estate. He came with me here as soon as we learned what had happened.”
Sir Clinton nodded a brief appreciation of Stenness’s explanations. The secretary had wasted no words over the business, and yet had given all the information necessary at the moment.
Howard Torrance, thus brought to the front, seized the opportunity offered to him.
“Some darts here. Skene found them at the foot of the hedge. Lid of a tin box was lying beside them as well.”
Sir Clinton picked up the lid and inspected the tiny missiles which had been collected.