Sir Clinton brushed the matter aside.
“That's good, inspector. We'll have that gang in our hands before long. But Lord knows what damage they may do in the meanwhile. I'd give a lot to have them under lock and key at this minute.”
At the hotel, Sir Clinton wasted no time on ceremony, but darted up the stairs to the Fleetwoods' room. As they entered, Stanley Fleetwood looked up in surprise from a book which he was reading.
“Well——” he began in an angry tone.
Sir Clinton cut him short.
“Where's Mrs. Fleetwood?”
Stanley Fleetwood's eyebrows rose sharply.
“Really, Sir Clinton——”
“Don't finesse now,” the chief constable snapped. “I'm afraid something's happened to Mrs. Fleetwood. Tell us what you know, and be quick about it. Why did she leave the hotel to-night?”
Stanley Fleetwood's face showed amazement, with which fear seemed to mingle as Sir Clinton's manner convinced him that something was far wrong. He pulled himself up a little on the couch.