At the foot of the stairs, Armadale excused himself.
“Better have some breakfast, inspector,” Sir Clinton suggested. “You've been up all night, and you must be hungry.”
Rather to Wendover's relief, Armadale rejected the implied invitation.
“I'll pick up a sandwich, probably, later on, sir; but I've something I want to make sure about first, if you don't mind. Will you be ready again in half an hour or so?”
Sir Clinton glanced at his watch.
“We'll hurry, inspector. After all, it's about time that we took Billingford out of pawn. The constable may be getting wearied of his society by this stage.”
Inspector Armadale seemed to have no sympathy in stock so far as either Billingford or Sapcote was concerned.
“Staveley's body has to be collected, too,” he pointed out. “I've a good mind to 'phone for some more men. We really can't cover all the ground as we are.”
“I should, if I were you, inspector. Get them sent over by motor; and tell them to meet us at Lynden Sands. A sergeant and three constables will probably be enough.”
“Very good, sir.”