“Creature!” said Smith, his gray eyes ablaze now—“you said creature!”
“I used the word deliberately,” replied Weymouth, “because Burke seems to have the idea that it goes on all fours.”
There was a short and rather strained silence. Then:
“In descending a sloping roof,” I suggested, “a human being would probably employ his hands as well as his feet.”
“Quite so,” agreed the inspector. “I am merely reporting the impression of Burke.”
“Has he heard no other sound?” rapped Smith; “one like the cracking of dry branches, for instance?”
“He made no mention of it,” replied Weymouth, staring.
“And what is the plan?”
“One of his cousin’s vans,” said Weymouth, with his slight smile, “has remained behind at Covent Garden and will return late this afternoon. I propose that you and I, Mr. Smith, imitate Burke and ride down to Upminster under the empty boxes!”
Nayland Smith stood up, leaving his breakfast half finished, and began to wander up and down the room, reflectively tugging at his ear. Then he began to fumble in the pockets of his dressing-gown and finally produced the inevitable pipe, dilapidated pouch, and box of safety matches. He began to load the much-charred agent of reflection.