"It means," replied Wallion, "that McTuft, who is stubborn, is getting his own way, that the black car won't be running much further, and that the Golden Snake Hotel is much too interesting to be passed by..."
He pounced upon the sleepy man and caught him somewhat savagely by the arm.
"What is your job here?" he asked gruffly.
"Night watchman," came the sullen answer.
"Good," said Wallion, hustling the man in front of him along the gravel path towards the hotel.
"Then, of course, you can tell me what sort of people have been here recently and which of them have only just left." He pointed to the path where half obliterated marks of many feet were still to be seen.
The man's knees began to shake and he opened his mouth in dumb despair.
"Look here, my man, we are detectives, so you had better keep a civil tongue in your head. Well, you say that Dixon had a chauffeur in readiness here and that the black car went on again with that same chauffeur at the wheel?"
"Yes," stammered the man. Wallion seized and shook him like a rat.
"Now about Dixon himself, he got out here, didn't he? And his party as well; don't try to deny it," said Wallion, in a voice that nearly scared the man out of his wits. "They got out here; where are they now?"