“The front of Ravensthorpe,” he answered.
“Some windows?”
“Yes.”
“Well, one of them’s the window of the museum; and this happens to be one of the few points from which you can see right into the room. If the lights were on there, you’d find that we’re looking squarely on to the door of the safe.”
With this help the Inspector was able to pick out the window which evidently he was expected to watch.
“It’ll be a slow business,” Sir Clinton said in a bored tone. “But one of us has got to keep an eye on that window for the next hour or two at least. We can take it in turn.”
They settled down to their vigil, which proved to be a prolonged one. The Inspector found his perch upon the branch anything but comfortable; and it grew more wearisome as the time slipped past.
“Fantasy!” he commented bitterly to himself as he shifted his position for the twentieth time. “Cramp’s more likely.”
But at last their tenacity was rewarded. It was during one of the Inspector’s spells of watching. Suddenly the dark rectangle of the window flashed into momentary illumination and faded again.
“There he is!” exclaimed the Inspector. “He’s carrying a flash-lamp.”