Michael apparently had no need to pause before replying.
“No,” he said definitely, “I saw nobody of that sort. I suppose you mean Maurice. He certainly wasn’t in the cordon when it went into the spinney or when it came out on the terrace. I’m absolutely sure of my ground there. But of course he may have been one of the late-comers. Almost as soon as we got to the terrace we had to sprint off down to the lake side, you see; and he might quite well have been a bit slow in the chase and have reached the top only after we’d come down here.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Sir Clinton, with a finality which prevented any angling for further information.
Michael evidently had no desire to outstay his welcome, for in a few minutes he rose to his feet.
“I think I’ll go over to Ravensthorpe now,” he said. “I suppose you’re not going to leave here for a while?”
The words recalled to Sir Clinton the fact that he had not yet congratulated Michael on his engagement. He hastened to repair the oversight.
“I was looking for you at the dance last night,” he explained, after Michael had thanked him, “but before I got hold of you, this burglary business cropped up, and I’ve had hardly a minute to spare since then. By the way, if you’re going over to the house, you might tell Joan that I shall probably have to pay them a visit shortly, but I’ll ring up and let them know when I’m coming.”
Michael nodded and turned away, skirting the lake-let on his way to Ravensthorpe. Sir Clinton sauntered over to the waterside and watched the dragging operations which were still going on. When he made his way back to the hillock again, Inspector Armadale followed him.
“There’s another point that occurred to me, sir,” he explained. “I think you told me that Polegate was wearing a Harlequin’s costume last night?”
“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And what then?”
“One difficulty I’ve had,” the Inspector went on, was to explain how the fellow in white got away from them all so neatly. I think I see now how it was done.”
Sir Clinton made no effort to conceal his interest.
“Yes, Inspector?”
Armadale obviously took this as complimentary.
“This is how I figure it out, sir. Polegate had a white jacket and Pierrot trousers on over his Harlequin costume. At the end of the chase he bolted into the spinney and out on to the terrace above here. That gave him a breathing-space. It took Mr Clifton a minute or two to organize his cordon; and during that time the thief was hidden from them by the trees.”
“That’s obviously true,” Sir Clinton admitted. “If he did change his costume, it must have been at that moment.”
“I expect he had a weight of some sort ready on the terrace,” the Inspector continued. “When he’d stripped off his jacket and trousers, he wrapped them round the weight and pitched them over into the pool. That would make the splash they all heard.”
“And after that?”
The Inspector was evidently delighted with his idea.
“That leaves us with Polegate in Harlequin dress on the terrace, with a minute or two to spare before the cordon was ready to move forward into the spinney.”
“Admitted.”
“Do you remember the camouflaged ships in the War, Sir Clinton?”
“I sailed in one, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, you know what they were like: all sorts of cock-eyed streaks and colours mixed up in a regular tangle to destroy their real outlines. And what’s a Harlequin’s costume? Isn’t it the very same thing?”
Sir Clinton confirmed this with an historical allusion.
“You’re quite correct, Inspector. As a matter of fact, the Harlequin’s dress was originally designed to represent Invisibility. Nobody except Columbine was supposed to be able to see Harlequin, you know.”
Inspector Armadale hurried to his conclusion.
“What was to hinder Polegate, during that breathing-space, getting back into the spinney? It was a moonlight night. You know what the spinney would be like under a full moon: it would be all dappled with spots of moonlight coming through the trees. And against a setting of that sort the Harlequin costume would be next door to invisible. He’d only have to stand still in some chequered spot and no one would detect him. They were all hunting for a man dressed in white. None of them noticed him. None of them saw him, I guess.”
Much to the Inspector’s surprise, Sir Clinton shook his head.
“I’d be prepared to bet pretty heavily that someone saw him,” he affirmed.
The Inspector looked at his Chief for a moment, obviously taken aback.
“You think someone saw him?”
Then a flood of light from a fresh angle in his mind seemed to illuminate the question.
“You mean he had a confederate in the cordon? Someone who let him through and kept it dark? I never thought of that! You had me beaten there, Sir Clinton. And of course, now I see it, that’s the simplest solution of the whole affair. If we can get a list of the people in the cordon, we’ll be able to pick out the confederate before long.”
Sir Clinton damped his enthusiasm slightly.
“It won’t be so easy to get that list, Inspector. Remember the confusion of the whole business: the hurry, the effect of moonlight, the masks, the costumes, and all the rest of it. You may be able to put a list together; but you’ll have some difficulty yourself in believing that you’ve tracked down every possible person who was in the line. And if you miss one . . .”
“He may be the man, you mean? Well, there’s no harm in trying. I’ll turn a sergeant on to gather all the news he can get.”
“It’ll be a good test of his capacity, then, even if nothing else comes out of it,” Sir Clinton certified, carelessly.
Chapter Eight. THE MURDER IN THE MUSEUM
SIR CLINTON cut short the shrill ringing of his desk telephone by picking up the receiver.
“The Chief Constable speaking,” he informed his inquirer.
Michael Clifton’s voice sounded over the wire.
“Can you come up to Ravensthorpe at once, Sir Clinton, or send Inspector Armadale? There’s a bad business here. Mr Foss has been murdered. I’ve taken care that no one has got off the premises; and I’ve seen to it that his body has been left as it was found.”
Sir Clinton glanced at his wrist-watch.
“I’ll drive across as soon as possible. See that things are left undisturbed, please. And collect all the people who can give any evidence, so that we needn’t waste time hunting for them. Good-bye.”
He shifted the switch of his telephone and spoke again.
“Is Inspector Armadale here just now?” he asked the constable who answered his call. “Tell him I wish to see him in my room immediately.”
While waiting for Armadale, Sir Clinton had a few moments in which to consider the information he had just received.
“This looks like Part II of the Ravensthorpe affair,” he reflected. “Foss’s only connection with Ravensthorpe was the business of these Medusa Medallions. First one has the theft of the replicas; now comes the murder of this American agent. It’s highly improbable that two things like that could be completely independent.”
His cogitation was interrupted by the entry of Armadale, and in a few words Sir Clinton gave him the fresh information which had come to hand.
“We’ll go up there at once in my car, Inspector. Get the necessary things together, please. Don’t forget the big camera. We may need it. And the constable who does photography for us had better come along also.”
Inspector Armadale wasted no time. In a very few minutes they were on the road. As he drove, Sir Clinton was silent; and Armadale’s attempt to extract further information from him was a complete failure.