Satisfied with our bona fides, the police-officers looked inquiringly at the smashed lock.
“Well—and whose work is this?” one of the rural constables asked.
“Mine,” Whichelo answered. “Some one, probably the men you want, locked us in. The only way to get out was to smash the lock. And so I smashed it. I advise you to be careful in your search. Most likely they are armed, and probably they will be desperate at finding themselves entrapped. How did you find out they were here, officer?”
“Two men and a woman, all answering the circulated description of Paulton, Henderson and the woman Coudron, were seen to alight at Oakham station from the last down express last night. They were followed. They hired a conveyance. Its driver was cross-questioned. And so we soon discovered their whereabouts.”
Whichelo had, indeed, done well to warn the police-officers to exercise caution in their search—as it afterwards proved. For a quarter of an hour no trace could be found of the “wanted” men and woman, though the cellars, as well as all the rooms on the ground floor, on the first floor, and the second floor were searched.
In all, there were seven policemen. Whichelo and I accompanied them on their search, and I began to feel excited.
“What about the attics?” Whichelo suggested at last.
“I don’t think they’ll be there,” the police-inspector answered. “I expect they’ve got off into the woods. Still, we may as well go up and see.”
The attics, which constituted the servants’ sleeping-rooms at Houghton, were very large and airy. A long, narrow corridor ran between the rows of rooms. Facing the end of this corridor was a door. This was the door of the largest room of all.
Some of the doors were locked—some not. Whichelo had keys belonging to all the rooms. The door at the end of the corridor the searchers approached last.