“Yes, sir. It went exactly as you told us. About a quarter of an hour ago we saw him hurrying along the road.” “Just so,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “I watched him leaving the house.” “He went into the Maze, sir; and as soon as he was well inside, we followed your orders and put the padlocks on all the gates. He’s tried to get out once, sir; but as soon as he saw us he ran back into the Maze.” “You didn’t try to catch him, of course?” “No, sir. Your orders were strict about that; and we kept to them.” “Quite right. Now you’ve got the stuff up, haven’t you?” “It’s over there, sir.” “Well, bring me the megaphone. We’ll need to talk to him before we can do anything further.” While the constable was fetching the instrument, they got out of the car. Wendover, when he found himself on the road, gazed across at the green barriers of the Maze, behind which the murderer was lurking. Sir Clinton’s tactics were plain enough in their final phase, though Wendover could not understand how the Chief Constable had been so sure of running the miscreant down in the particular way he had chosen. He turned at the sound of steps, to find the constable had come back with the megaphone, a battered instrument which had probably seen service at police sports in the past. Sir Clinton took it from his subordinate and then called the attention of the group about the car. “I want you people to take careful note of what happens, from now onwards. You may have to give evidence about it, so please pay attention to everything that happens.” Wendover noticed that Sir Clinton’s voice had lost its usual tinge of humour. Quite obviously he regarded the situation as grave; and his tone was that of a man who sees difficulties ahead, but means to overcome them if possible. As soon as he was certain that all the group were on the alert, the Chief Constable raised the megaphone and spoke towards the Maze. “Ernest Shandon! I have a warrant here for your arrest. I call on you to surrender. Come to the gate nearest the road within five minutes and give yourself up.” “He’s got a pistol, sir,” the constable hastened to add to his previous report, “and an air-gun, too. He had them in his hands as he went into the Maze.” Sir Clinton raised the megaphone again. “Before you come to the gate, you must throw your weapons over the hedge. You can’t get away, Shandon, you may as well come out quietly.” His voice echoed across the lawns, but from the recesses of the Maze came no reply. “Five minutes from now,” Sir Clinton said finally, and put down the megaphone. He glanced at his wristwatch as he did so. “He won’t come out, of course; but I’m anxious to do everything in a justifiable way,” he explained. “He’s had fair warning.”