"Bob is adopting the supposed tactics of the ostrich when pursued," he said.
"But no one is pursuing him."
"I am speaking metaphorically, of course. He is in distress, and hides behind the first bush. He has no moral force—never had. Physically he doesn't know what fear is, but the specters of the mind loom large in his eyes. And now, Superintendent, I am just on the point of leaving for London. I shall return about six thirty. Do you remain?"
"No, sir. I shall return to town almost immediately. Mr. Furneaux will stop here. Can he have a bedroom in the house?"
"Certainly. Tomlinson will look after him. You are not going cityward, I suppose?"
"No, sir. But if you care to have a seat in my car——"
"No, thanks. The train is quicker and takes me direct to London Bridge. Much obliged."
Fenley hurried to the cloakroom, which was situated under the stairs, but on a lower level than the hall. The telephone box was placed there, and Furneaux emerged as the other ran down a few steps. The little man hailed him cheerfully.
"I suppose, now," he said, "that hot headed brother of yours thinks he has dodged Scotland Yard till it suits his convenience to be interviewed. Strange how people insist on regarding us as novices in our own particular line. Now you wouldn't make that mistake, sir."
"What mistake? I wouldn't run away, if that is what you mean."