They stood uneasily about, furtively consulting their watches until the five-minute period had elapsed; but no sign came from the Maze. Wendover was completely puzzled by the turn of events. How could Ernest Shandon be the murderer? When the attempt had been made on Arthur, Ernest Shandon had been sitting within ten feet of Wendover himself, under the eye of Sir Clinton; and the attack had been carried out here, at the entrance to the Maze. Then, floating through his mind, came a recollection of Sir Clinton’s hint that a man might be “on both halves of the map simultaneously.” But that was impossible! No man could be in two places at once. The whole affair seemed to verge on a nightmare inconsistency. And yet, Sir Clinton had evidently foreseen the attempt to escape and had taken precautions to prevent it being successful. And undoubtedly it must be Ernest Shandon in the Maze, for the local constables must have recognised him from their hiding-places as he went in. When the five minutes’ grace had elapsed, Sir Clinton turned round; but as he did so, his eye was caught by a new figure which was advancing over the lawns. “Oh, damnation!” he exclaimed angrily. “Here’s the very thing I wanted to avoid.” Wendover, following Sir Clinton’s glance, recognised Arthur Hawkhurst hurrying towards them; and as he approached, the Squire could see that he was carrying a sporting rifle in his hand. “You gave me the slip,” Arthur said reproachfully, as he came up to them. “But I spotted what you were after. Heard you moving about and dressed in next to no time. I’m a bit out of breath with the hurry.” Sir Clinton looked at him sternly. “If you come here at all, Mr. Hawkhurst, you come under my orders. If you can’t agree to that, I’ll have to see that you’re sent back to the house.” Arthur frowned heavily; then, after a moment’s thought, he evidently made up his mind to accept the inevitable. “Very well, then. If you put it like that, there’s no more to be said. But if the beggar attempts to escape, I suppose I may wing him?” He touched his rifle as he spoke. “You’ll do exactly as you’re told.” Sir Clinton evidently had no wish to be distracted from his main problem. His voice had a ring in it which impressed even Arthur. “What’s it all about?” he demanded from Wendover, in a lowered tone. “Your uncle’s the murderer, it seems; and Sir Clinton’s got him trapped in the Maze.” Arthur looked at him in amazement. “I say, you know, Wendover, that’ll take a bit of thinking over, won’t it?” He said no more; and Wendover could believe that Arthur, like himself, was conning over the whole of the Whistlefield case, and being brought up against the apparent impossibilities of the Chief Constable’s solution of the problem. At length Arthur lifted his head again. “Well, if he didn’t do it, he has only to come out and say so. If he didn’t do it. . . .” His voice died away into silence. Then he added: