Sir Clinton shook his head.
“I doubt it. You'll need to try, of course; best do it with grappling-irons from a boat, I suppose. But I shouldn't think you're likely to succeed. It doesn't matter much, anyhow. He's got his deserts. Now for the other man. Come along!”
They went back to the car and got aboard. Sir Clinton seemed to have decided on his next move, for he drove along the sands in the direction of the hotel. Rather to the inspector's surprise, they did not turn off on to the road at Neptune's Seat, but went still farther along the shore, making for the headland on which the Blowhole was situated.
Armadale was still in ignorance of much that had happened in the last hour. When they had reached Peter Hay's cottage, Sir Clinton had detached the inspector to search for the car which had brought their quarry; and, as this had been carefully concealed, Armadale had spent some time in hunting for it. In the meanwhile, Sir Clinton and Wendover had gone cautiously to the cottage. The next thing the inspector heard was the sound of shooting; and two men had come upon him before he had time even to think of disabling the fugitives' car. They had shot him in the hand, flung him down, and escaped in the car before he had time to do anything to hinder them. His entry into the cottage had failed to enlighten him as to what had been going on; and Sir Clinton had hurried him off again almost before he had time to get his bearings.
“That's as far as we can go with the car,” Sir Clinton announced, opening the door and getting out.
The moon shone out just at that moment, as a passing cloud slipped away from its face; and Sir Clinton, gazing along the shore, uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
“We're in luck, inspector! See him? Yonder, just under the cliff. He hasn't been able to get far.”
He pulled out his automatic.
“I've often wondered how far these things carry. I don't want to hurt him, and it seems safe enough at this range. A scare's all we need, I think. He's making for the mouth of the cave below the headland.”
He lifted the pistol and fired in the direction of the figure. At the sound of the shot, the fugitive turned and, seeing his pursuers, ran stumblingly over the rocks where the edge of the tide was washing close up against the cliff.