“There’s nobody else that I can think of. Sylvia Hawkhurst was paying a visit to some people in the afternoon and didn’t get home till it was all over. Ernest Shandon was off the premises, too, probably sitting by the roadside and cursing the nail in his boot at the very time his brothers were being murdered. And then there’s Stenness. He was up at the house when the affair took place. Miss Forrest found him there when she went to give the alarm.” “Stenness,” said Sir Clinton reflectively. “Stenness is a very efficient fellow.” Wendover thought he detected something behind the phrase. “What do you think?” he demanded. Sir Clinton looked at him mildly. “I think it’s about time we were going to bed, Squire. We may have to be up early to-morrow. At least, I may.” CHAPTER IX. The Burglary at Whistlefield When Sir Clinton came down to breakfast on the following morning, Wendover thought that he looked tired and worried, though he was doing his best to show his normal composure. “You look as if you’d been up all night, Clinton; and yet you cleared me off to bed fairly early.” The Chief Constable forced a smile, but it was obvious that he had something on his mind which was troubling him. “Not _all_ night,” he said, qualifying Wendover’s suggestion by a slight emphasis. “But I’ve certainly lost a good deal of sleep over this Whistlefield business.” “I can’t see what you’ve got to worry about just now,” his host retorted. “Until one gets more evidence than we have just now, there’s nothing that can be done, so far as I can see. You practically admitted as much yourself, last night.” “Last night and this morning are two different things,” Sir Clinton pointed out, rather gloomily. “A lot may happen in six hours.” “Well, if they have happened, they have happened; and you couldn’t have prevented them happening.” “That sounds like a truism,” the Chief Constable commented, “and I wish it were one. But it isn’t.” He seemed almost on the verge of a confidence at last; but to Wendover’s disappointment he contented himself with adding: “I’ve taken a big risk in this affair, Squire; and if the game goes against me, I’d never be able to forgive myself. It’s as serious as that.” From his tone, it was evident that he was gravely perturbed; and Wendover could find nothing to say which seemed likely to be helpful. In a moment or two, Sir Clinton broke the silence. “They’re on the ’phone at Whistlefield, aren’t they?” “Yes. Are you expecting a message?” “One never can tell,” was all that Sir Clinton would vouchsafe. “Can you hear your telephone bell from this room?” “Oh, yes, the machine’s just down the passage from here, as it happens.” Sir Clinton went on with his breakfast; but Wendover could see that he was listening for the ringing of the bell. Just as they had finished, it rang sharply. “I’ll go,” said Sir Clinton. “It’s almost certain to be Whistlefield ringing up.”