“I understand, inspector.” The chief constable answered his unspoken query. “There's no room for fooling at present. This is a case where we're up against time. Come along!”
As he stood aside to let the inspector leave the room in front of him, Sir Clinton was struck by a fresh idea.
“Just knock up Mr. Wendover, inspector. He's next door—No. 90. Tell him to dress and follow on after us. I'll get my car out, and that will save us a minute or two in getting to the place.”
Armadale hesitated most obviously before turning to obey.
“Don't you see, inspector? All these tracks will be washed out in an hour or two. We'll be none the worse of having an extra witness to anything we find; and your fishermen pals would never understand what was important and what wasn't. Mr. Wendover will make a useful witness if we ever need him. Hurry, now!”
The inspector saw the point, and obediently went to wake up Wendover, whilst Sir Clinton made his way to the garage of the hotel.
In a few minutes the inspector joined him.
“I waked up Mr. Wendover, sir. I didn't wait to explain the thing to him; but I told him enough to make him hurry with his dressing. He says he'll follow in less than five minutes.”
“Good! Get in.”
Armadale jumped into the car, and, as he slammed the door, Sir Clinton let in the clutch.