"Brodie can motor to the Inspector's office, an' tell him wot he knows, stoppin' on the way to send Jenkins here. Some of us must search the woods thoroughly, while others watch the open park, to make sure no one escapes without bein' seen. It's my firm belief that the man who fired that rifle is still hidin' among those trees. He may be sneakin' off now, but we'd see him if we're quick in reachin' the other side. Will you do as I ask, sir?"
Farrow was already in motion when Fenley's dazed mind recalled something the policeman ought to know.
"I've telephoned to Scotland Yard half an hour ago," he said.
"That's all right, sir. The main thing now is to search every inch of the woods. If nothing else, we may find footprints."
"And make plenty of new ones."
"Not if the helpers do as I tell 'em, sir."
"I can't argue. I'm not fit for it. Still, some instinct warns me you are not adopting the best course. I think you ought to go in the car and put the police into combined action."
"What are they to do, sir? The murderer won't carry a rifle through the village, or along the open road. I fancy we'll come across the weapon itself in the wood. Besides, the Inspector will do all that is necessary when Brodie sees him. Reelly, sir, I know I'm right."
"But should that artist be questioned?"