But Constable Roberts was keenly on the look-out, being a dutiful policeman if a trifle slow.
"Here they are again, sir," he whispered, pointing to the left along the terrace where, since the previous night's rain, the thick dust had evidently been laid. "See, 'ere's where 'e went, right over this blessed wall. Ten chances to one but what 'e's cut 'isself with all that broken glass at the top. Fancy finding broken glass on a marble bannister!" He snorted under his breath as he lifted himself over the low balustrade after pushing the glass aside. "Mind 'ow you come, gents. Fair copped him out, as sure as guns is guns. Better let me go first, 'e's in there right enough. You can see the light moving about."
A single look was enough to convince Cleek and Mr. Narkom of the truth of the constable's words, and in an instant they had sprung up, gripped the edge of the wall, scrambled over it and dropped down on the marble terrace beneath. In the room, of which Sir Edgar had acknowledged breaking the glass of the window, thin, wavering lines of constantly shifting light could be seen through the chinks of the wooden shutters. But so well had the wooden barriers been nailed up, that it was impossible to see anything more than this shifting streak of light, and Cleek, abandoning the attempt, led a swift flight round to the back of the building. To the intense astonishment of them all they found a small side door, not only unlocked, but ajar. Through this they made their way down a passage and up into the hall to the dining room. The thin streak of light beneath the door told them that their quarry was still there, run to earth at last. They stopped for a moment, their nerves strung to breaking point, their hearts beating wildly as they thought of what lay before them.
Only for a brief second they paused, then Cleek's head went up.
"Now," he whispered, and in they went, with a rush that sent the old panelled door crashing back on its hinges with a queer sort of groan.
But again, as on the previous day, no figure at bay rose to fight them. Once more only the squeal and rustle of countless mice behind the oak-panelled walls came to their listening ears.
To all appearances the dining room was exactly in the same condition as when Cleek had first entered it with the girl they now were seeking so strenuously. The room was empty. A guttering candle contrasted strangely with the rich polished mahogany of the table on which it had been placed, but its faint light revealed no living thing.
They stared at one another in mute astonishment, then Cleek switched on his electric torch and swept it from ceiling to floor.
It swung around like a miniature searchlight, then stopped abruptly, and ejaculations of horror fell from the lips of the watching men.
On the hearth-rug on the opposite side of the room from where they stood, half hidden by the great divan chair, lay the figure of a woman. The life-blood was oozing from a gun-wound above the breast and it needed only one brief glance to tell them that she was already past their aid! Blankly they stared into each other's faces as recognition came.