“It’ll be a good test of his capacity, then, even if nothing else comes out of it,” Sir Clinton certified, carelessly.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Murder in the Museum
Sir Clinton cut short the shrill ringing of his desk telephone by picking up the receiver.
“The Chief Constable speaking,” he informed his inquirer.
Michael Clifton’s voice sounded over the wire.
“Can you come up to Ravensthorpe at once, Sir Clinton, or send Inspector Armadale? There’s a bad business here. Mr. Foss has been murdered. I’ve taken care that no one has got off the premises; and I’ve seen to it that his body has been left as it was found.”
Sir Clinton glanced at his wrist-watch.
“I’ll drive across as soon as possible. See that things are left undisturbed, please. And collect all the people who can give any evidence, so that we needn’t waste time hunting for them. Good-bye.”
He shifted the switch of his telephone and spoke again.
“Is Inspector Armadale here just now?” he asked the constable who answered his call. “Tell him I wish to see him in my room immediately.”