“No, sir.”
“Very well. That will do. By the way, Inspector,” Sir Clinton turned round, preventing the Inspector from making any comments while the chauffeur was standing by, “I’d clean forgotten the patrolling of the place up yonder. I’ve never found time to go up there; but it’s really a bit out of date now. I think we can dispense with the patrol after to-night. And the same holds for that guard on the museum. There’s no need for either of them.”
“Very good, sir,” Armadale responded, mechanically.
The Inspector was engaged in condemning his own stupidity. Why had he not seen the possibilities involved in that repair of the hood? With the extra foot of elevation of course the chauffeur could see further into the museum than a man standing on the ground. And here was the damning evidence that Marden’s story was a lie. And the Inspector had missed it. He almost gritted his teeth in vexation as he thought of it. The keystone of the case: and the Chief Constable had taken it under his nose!
Sir Clinton turned to Cecil as the chauffeur retired.
“I shall be here about one o’clock in the morning, Cecil,” he said, lowering his voice. “I want you to be on the watch and let me in without any one getting wind of my visit. Can you manage it?”
“Easily enough.”
“Very well. I’ll be at the door at one o’clock sharp. But remember, it’s an absolutely hush-hush affair. There must be no noise of any sort.”
“I’ll see to that,” Cecil assured him.
Sir Clinton turned to the Inspector.