“Now we’ll go back to the house,” he proposed, when he rejoined the others at the car. “That thread led me to the boat-house.” “So the attack was made from the river?” Wendover asked. “It’s strange that he didn’t pitch his gun into the water, isn’t it?” Sir Clinton said. “One might have expected him to get rid of it in the easiest way.” “I expect he got a bit of a shock,” Arthur suggested. “He must have known that he hit me squarely and yet nothing happened. That would be a bit of a surprise to him, wouldn’t it. Perhaps he got rattled.” “Lucky for you there wasn’t a second shot,” was Sir Clinton’s comment. “You could hardly expect your cigar-case to save you twice running.” When they reached Whistlefield again, they found Ardsley talking to Torrance, who had returned from his walk. He had been out alone, it appeared. Vera had gone to her own room when Ardsley had given his news about Sylvia and had not reappeared again. Sir Clinton took Ardsley aside for a moment. “You’ve got a nurse upstairs in that room?” Ardsley assented. “One of them’s going to watch all night. There’s a superstition some people have that one shouldn’t leave a dead person alone. I don’t mind being superstitious for once, if it’s in a good cause.” “No one must get into the room, of course.” “No one shall,” said Ardsley, definitely. Sir Clinton seemed to be satisfied; and Ardsley left the room. The Chief Constable had one more private conversation still to carry through. He took Ernest Shandon into the study and closed the door. “I can put my hand on the murderer now, Mr. Shandon, so you needn’t be nervous about that. But I’m rather troubled about one point. This is going to lead to the devil of a scandal if I arrest him. Are you anxious for that?” Ernest seemed staggered by this way of looking at things. “Well, really, I don’t quite see what you mean. It’s a bit obscure, isn’t it? I must confess I don’t quite follow you, if you understand me?” “I’ll put it this way. I could arrest the fellow to-night. I know where he is. I’d have no trouble over that. But I think I can make surer of him if I wait till to-morrow morning. I’ve got to risk his bolting. I’ve that possibility in view. He might get away. But if he got away, would you worry much? Think of the scandal it would save—and it’s going to be a big one. And the trial will be a most laborious affair, too. What do you think? Shall I arrest him now, or wait till the morning and risk his getting away?” Ernest pondered over the problem, but he seemed incapable of giving any help. “I really don’t know,” he said. “You’re too deep for me, really. I can’t make out what you’re driving at.” Sir Clinton’s face showed disappointment. “There are some things that a police official can’t put into plain words, you know. I can’t say outright that I’d be glad to see the beggar off the premises. Can’t you see what I mean?” But Ernest shook his head dully; and Sir Clinton gave up the effort.