Getting out of the car, he climbed carefully over the gate, and moved up the field with the stealthiness of a poacher, until his burly figure was gradually lost to sight amid the shadows of the bushes.
He reappeared again after an absence of several minutes, and both Colin and Joe leaned eagerly forward from their seats as he clambered back and dropped lightly down beside them.
"Everything's in darkness this side of the house," he announced, "and, as far as I can see, there's no way of getting out of the garden. We'd better make tracks for the front gate and hear what Bentley's got to report."
Leaving the car as it was, the three of them stole silently back under the shelter of the fence, and came to a halt beneath the branches of a draggled-looking holly tree which overhung the drive.
After a brief wait they were joined by the sergeant, who emerged furtively from the side turning and advanced on tiptoe to where they were standing.
"I've found another entrance down the lane," he informed them. "It leads to a yard at the back, where there's a big shed that looks like a garage."
"A garage, eh?" rejoined Marsden. "Well, I guess somebody will have to keep an eye on that side of the house while the rest of us find some way of getting in at the front." He paused for a moment, and then added quietly: "We'll take a look at the job first, and make up our minds exactly how we're going to tackle it. Unless we can drop in on 'em unexpectedly it's likely to be a pretty awkward business."
Followed by the others, he started cautiously forward up the drive, and, skirting the edge of the shrubbery, came out on to a neglected strip of grass, which at some remote period had evidently been a tennis lawn.
Facing them was the house, an old-fashioned two-storey residence, with a tumble-down verandah half covered in ivy. From the French windows in the centre a broad patch of light streamed out hospitably through the drawn blinds.
Marsden's gaze travelled thoughtfully from one end of the building to the other.