"A silly idea," he said, "clever but silly."
"If you have a better——"
Mr. Torrington put his fingers together and continued slowly.
"My method would be to go out through the main entrance wearing no hat and carrying a few letters for the post. There might be a cab waiting at the pillar box—to be exact there is, I ordered one."
"That's the idea," cried Almont. "Sweet and simple."
"That cab would dodge about the streets a while and eventually make its way to Wimbledon. At Wimbledon it would deposit Barraclough at Number 14a, Medina Road. He would enter the house and change into running shorts and a vest having appointed himself underneath with rather a large pneumatic stomach. Also he would wear a beard and a perfectly bald head. This done he would emerge from the house and start running in the middle of the road in whatever direction he likes with a man on a push bicycle pedalling behind him.
"But I can't see——" Cassis began.
"Precisely," said Mr. Torrington, "and nor could anyone else. Nobody sees the extraordinary individuals who run at night, they only laugh at them."
"If you ask me," said Cassis, drumming his fingers on the mantelpiece, "I am of opinion that we are merely losing time with all this talk and the sooner we get Barraclough away the better."
Mr. Torrington's eyes looked him coldly up and down.