“Now in the older type of combination locks, if the dial was carefully manipulated, a person with sharp hearing might just be able to detect a faint click when a tumbler fell into place in the course of a circuit; and by making a note of the state of the dial corresponding to each click the combination could finally be discovered. In the modern patterns of locks this has been got round. They’ve introduced a thing called a balanced fence arbour, which is lifted away from the tumblers as soon as the lock spindle is revolved; so in this new pattern there’s no clicking such as the older locks give.”
“I see now,” said the Inspector.” That’s an old pattern lock; and you were using the otophone to magnify the sound of the clicks?”
“Exactly,” Sir Clinton agreed. “It made the thing mere child’s play. Each click sounded like a whip-crack, almost.”
“So that’s why Foss brought the otophone along? He meant to pick the lock of the safe and get the medallions out of it?”
“That was one possibility, of course,” Sir Clinton said, with a grave face. “But I shouldn’t like to say that it was the only possibility.”
He smoked for a few moments in silence, then he turned to Cecil.
“Now I’ve a piece of work for you to do; and I want you to do it convincingly. First thing to-morrow morning you’re to find some way of spreading the news that you’ve recovered all the genuine medallions and that they’re in the safe. Don’t give any details; but see that the yarn gets well abroad.”
“But all the real medallions are gone!” said Cecil in disgust. “And whoever’s got them must know they’re gone.”
“There’s nothing like a good authoritative lie for shaking confidence,” Sir Clinton observed, mildly. “That’s your share in the business. You’d better mention it at breakfast time to as many people as you can; and you can telephone the glad news to me, with the door of the telephone box open so that anyone can hear it. Yell as loud as you please, or louder if possible. It won’t hurt me at the other end. In any case, see that the happy tidings wash the most distant shores.”
“Well, since you say so, I’ll do it. But it’s sure to be found out, you know, sooner or later.”
“All I want is a single day’s run of it. My impression is that, if things go well, I’ll have the whole Ravensthorpe affair cleared up by this time to-morrow. But I don’t promise that as a certainty.”
“And this yarn is part of your scheme?”
“I’m setting a trap,” Sir Clinton assured them. “And that lie is the bait I’m offering.”
As they reached the car, he added:
“See that your constable doesn’t say a word about this affair to-night—to anyone. That’s important, Inspector.”
Chapter Fourteen. THE SECOND CHASE IN THE WOODS
“I’VE made all the necessary arrangements, sir,” Inspector Armadale reported to the Chief Constable on the following evening. “A dozen constables—two with rubber-soled shoes—and a couple of sergeants. They’re to be at the Ravensthorpe gate immediately it’s dark enough. The sergeants have the instructions; the constables don’t even know where they’re going when they leave here.”
“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “Let’s see. That’s fourteen altogether. Less two, twelve. Plus you and myself, fourteen. I think we’ll add to our number. Nothing like being on the safe side. Mr Chacewater’s personally interested in the affair; I think we’ll take him in also. And Mr Clifton might reasonably claim some share in the business. That makes sixteen. You’re detaching two constables to watch that lakelet. Well, surely fourteen of us ought to be able to pick up the scoundrel without difficulty.”
“You’re sure that he’ll make for the terrace over the pool, sir?”
“Nothing’s sure in this world, Inspector. But I think there’s a fair chance that he’ll make in that direction. And if he doesn’t, why, then, we can run him down wherever he goes.”
“If he goes up there, we’ll have him,” the Inspector affirmed. “There’ll be no amateur bungling this time, like the last affair. I’ll see to that myself. He won’t slip through a constabulary cordon as he did when he’d only a lot of excited youngsters to deal with.”
“I leave that part of the business entirely in your hands, Inspector,” the Chief Constable assured him.
“What I can’t see,” the Inspector continued, with a faint querulousness in his tone, “is why you’re going about the thing in this elaborate way. Why not arrest him straight off and be done with it?”
“Because there’s one little party that you’ve omitted to take into your calculations, Inspector—and that’s the jury. Suspicion’s not good enough for us at this stage. Criminal trials aren’t conducted on romantic lines. Everything’s got to be proved up to the hilt. Frankly, in this case, you’ve been scattering your suspicions over a fairly wide field, haven’t you?”
“It’s our business to be suspicious of everybody,” the Inspector pleaded in extenuation.
“Oh, within limits, within limits, Inspector. You started by suspecting Foxton Polegate; then you branched off to Marden; after that you hovered a bit round Maurice Chacewater; and at the end you were hot on Cecil Chacewater’s heels. There’s too much of the smart reader of detective stories about that. He suspects about six of the characters without having any real proof at all; and then when the criminal turns up clearly in the last chapter he says: ‘Well, that fellow was on my list of suspects.’ That style of thing’s no use in real criminal work, where you’ve got to produce evidence and not merely some vague suspicions.”
“You’re a bit hard, sir,” the Inspector protested.
“Well, you criticized my methods, remember. If I were to arrest the fellow just now, I doubt if I could convince a jury of his guilt. And they’d be quite right. It’s their business to be sceptical and insist on definite proof. It’s that proof that I expect to get out of to-night’s work.”
“It will be very instructive for me, sir,” Inspector Armadale commented, with heavy irony.
“You take things too seriously,” Sir Clinton retorted, with an evident double meaning in the phrase. “What you need, Inspector, is a touch of fantasy. You’ll get a taste of it to-night, perhaps, unless my calculations go far astray. Now I’m going to ring up Mr Chacewater and make arrangements for to-night.”
And with that he dismissed the Inspector.
Armadale retired with a grave face; but when he closed the door behind him his expression changed considerably.
“There he was, pulling my leg again, confound him!” he reflected. “A touch of fantasy, indeed! What’s he getting at now? And the worst of it is I haven’t got to the bottom of the business yet myself. He’s been quite straight in giving me all the facts. I’m sure of that. But they seem to me just a jumble. They don’t fit together anyhow. And yet he’s not the bluffing kind; he’s got it all fixed up in his mind; I’m sure of that, whether he’s right or wrong. Well, we’ll see before many hours are over.”
And with reflections like these Inspector Armadale had to content himself until nightfall.
As they drove up to the Ravensthorpe gates the Inspector found Sir Clinton in one of his uncommunicative moods. He seemed abstracted, and even, as the Inspector noted with faint malice, a little anxious about the business before them. When they reached the gates they found the constabulary squad awaiting them. Sir Clinton got out of the car, after running it a little way up the avenue.
“Now, the first thing you’ve got to remember,” he said, addressing the squad, “is that in no circumstances are you to make the slightest noise until you hear my second whistle. You know what you’re to do? Get up behind the house at the end opposite to the servants’ wing and stay there till you get my signal. Then you’re to come out and chase the man whom the Inspector will show you. You’re not to try to catch him. Keep a hundred yards behind him all the time; but don’t lose sight of him. The Inspector will give you instructions after you’ve chased for a while. Now which of you are the two with tennis shoes?”