He gazed through his glasses at the main door.
“There he goes, Inspector!”
A dark figure emerged suddenly on the threshold, hesitated for a moment, and then ran down the steps. Armadale instinctively started forward; but the cool voice of the Chief Constable recalled him.
“There’s no hurry, Inspector! You’d better hang your glasses on the tree here. They’ll only hamper you in running.”
Hurriedly the Inspector obeyed; and Sir Clinton leisurely hung up his own pair. Armadale turned again and followed the burglar with his eyes.
“He’s making for the old quarry, sir.”
“So I see,” Sir Clinton assured him. “I want the fellow to have a good start, remember. I don’t wish him to be pressed. Now we may as well get the chase organized.”
Followed by the Inspector, he hurried towards the front of Ravensthorpe.
“I think that’s a fair start to give him,” he estimated aloud. Then, lifting his whistle, he blew a second blast.
Almost immediately the figures of Cecil Chacewater and Michael Clifton emerged from the main door, while a few seconds later the police squad rounded the corner of the house.