“Oh, very well,” he said. “The responsibility’s mine in any case. I’ll wait till to-morrow and chance it. But I can’t say I’ve got much help from you, Mr. Shandon. When the scandal comes, you needn’t blame me.” He seemed to consider something for a moment, then he added: “By the way, I suppose you won’t mind putting me up for the night? I’m taking all the responsibility I’ve any use for, as it is; and I think I ought to be able to say I was here to-night.” Ernest seemed to be rendered completely owlish by this last request; but he assented willingly enough. “And Wendover, too, of course,” added Sir Clinton. He paused for a moment as though in doubt, before speaking again. “I think I’d better ring up the police-station, if you don’t mind, Mr. Shandon. I’ll do it now.” Ernest, with a shameless curiosity, followed him to the instrument and waited until he got the connection. “Sir Clinton Driffield speaking. Sergeant, will you be good enough to buy me another tin of Navy Cut—same as the last you got—first thing to-morrow morning? I’ve run out of tobacco. Send a man up with it, will you? Yes, Navy Cut. Thanks.” Sir Clinton turned away from the instrument and noticed his host hovering close beside him. “It’s a handy thing to be a Chief Constable, isn’t it? I’d run out of tobacco and I won’t have time to go down to the village to-morrow morning. I shall arrest that fellow first thing after breakfast; and the formalities may take some time, you know.” CHAPTER XVII. The Siege of the Maze Wendover was awakened next morning in an unfamiliar bedroom to find Sir Clinton at his side. The Chief Constable’s eyes were tired, as though he had had very little sleep; but otherwise he seemed as alert as usual. “Come on, Squire!” he said. “Dress as quick as you can. You needn’t mind shaving for once. You’ve been clamouring for the arrest of the murderer for long enough now, so I thought you’d like to be in at the death. I’ve got an appointment with him this morning; so you’d better hurry up if you want to see the last scenes in the Whistlefield dramatic entertainment.” Wendover had been rubbing his eyes rather sleepily when he awoke; but Sir Clinton’s words stimulated him into activity. “Go on with your dressing and don’t talk,” Sir Clinton replied to his questions. “I haven’t time to explain things just now. There’ll be a good deal of explaining to be done in the end,” he added, gloomily, “so we may as well make one bite at it!” Wendover hurried over his toilet, and soon he and Sir Clinton descended the stair and made their way to the front door. The figure of Stenness was plainly visible in the light of the early morning. “So it was Stenness? Somehow I thought it might have been he,” Wendover whispered, while they were still at a distance.