“Leave it to Armadale. It’s his affair. We’re only spectators, really.”
“I want the beggar caught,” Cecil grumbled, but he obeyed Sir Clinton’s orders and slowed down slightly.
A few seconds brought them to the fringe of the wood; and far ahead of them they could see the form of the burglar running steadily up the track.
“Just the same as before?” Sir Clinton demanded from Michael.
“Just the same.”
Through the wood they went behind the police squad. At the brow of the hill, where the trees began to thin, Armadale called a halt. They could hear him giving orders for the formation of his cordon. When his men began to move off under his directions the Inspector came over to Sir Clinton.
“He’ll not slip through our hands this time, sir. I’ll beat every bit of cover in that spinney. He can’t get away on either side without being spotted. We’ll get our hands on him in a few minutes now. I suppose he’s armed?”
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“I should doubt that.”
The Inspector failed to conceal his surprise.