“What was to hinder Polegate, during that breathing-space, getting back into the spinney? It was a moonlight night. You know what the spinney would be like under a full moon: it would be all dappled with spots of moonlight coming through the trees. And against a setting of that sort the Harlequin costume would be next door to invisible. He’d only have to stand still in some chequered spot and no one would detect him. They were all hunting for a man dressed in white. None of them noticed him. None of them saw him, I guess.”
Much to the Inspector’s surprise, Sir Clinton shook his head.
“I’d be prepared to bet pretty heavily that someone saw him,” he affirmed.
The Inspector looked at his Chief for a moment, obviously taken aback.
“You think some one saw him?”
Then a flood of light from a fresh angle in his mind seemed to illuminate the question.
“You mean he had a confederate in the cordon? Some one who let him through and kept it dark? I never thought of that! You had me beaten there, Sir Clinton. And of course, now I see it, that’s the simplest solution of the whole affair. If we can get a list of the people in the cordon, we’ll be able to pick out the confederate before long.”
Sir Clinton damped his enthusiasm slightly.
“It won’t be so easy to get that list, Inspector. Remember the confusion of the whole business: the hurry, the effect of moonlight, the masks, the costumes, and all the rest of it. You may be able to put a list together; but you’ll have some difficulty yourself in believing that you’ve tracked down every possible person who was in the line. And if you miss one . . .”
“He may be the man, you mean? Well, there’s no harm in trying. I’ll turn a sergeant on to gather all the news he can get.”