Michael obeyed her at once and launched into an account of the moonlight chase of the fugitive. Sir Clinton listened attentively, but interposed no questions until Michael had finished his story.
“Let’s have this quite clear,” the Chief Constable said, when the tale had been completed. “You had him hemmed in at the cliff top; you heard a splash, but there was no sign of any one swimming in the lake; you discovered a rope tied to the balustrade and lying down the cliff-face to the cave-mouth; he wasn’t in the cave when you looked for him there. Is that correct?”
“That’s how it happened.”
“You’re sure he didn’t break back through your cordon?”
“Certain.”
“And you found Maurice in one of the Fairy Houses in the spinney?”
“Yes. He seemed in a queer state.”
Sir Clinton, glancing at Cecil’s face, was surprised to see on it the same expression of almost malicious glee which he had surprised on the day when they examined that very Fairy House during their walk. Quite obviously Cecil knew something more than the Chief Constable did.
“Does that suggest anything to you, Cecil?” he demanded point-blank.
At the query, Cecil’s face came back to normal suddenly.