Neville Shandon’s room bore out Stenness’s description of it. Everything seemed to have been turned over and left higgledy-piggledy. The floor was littered with a confused mass of clothes, papers, contents of drawers, and other things. It seemed as though the whole place had been searched in frantic haste for some object or other; but whether the seeker had succeeded or not was apparently an insoluble problem. Sir Clinton stepped over to the still open window and examined the sill. “The marks of the ladder-ends are there, clear enough,” he pointed out to Wendover, “and there’s the ladder itself down on the ground.” He beckoned Stenness to his side. “One of your own ladders, I suppose?” Stenness examined it. “Yes, I happen to recognise it. The gardeners use it, and it’s kept somewhere about the place.” “Some soil on the window-sill,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “They must have picked it up on their boots from the flower-bed where the end of the ladder rests.” “There’s some on the floor here, as well,” Stenness pointed out. “So I see,” Sir Clinton confirmed, “but that might have been brought up by Mr. Shandon when you and he came in here. One can’t attach much importance to it.” He said nothing more, and contented himself with a careful inspection of the room. “I think I’ve seen all I want to see,” he said at last. “By the way, you haven’t a key of the Maze, have you? I noticed the iron gates at each entrance had locks on them. I want to go down there now and look round.” “I can get you a key, I think,” Stenness said, doubtfully, “but the place is always left open. It’s never been locked at any time, to my knowledge.” “Oh, that’s all right then,” Sir Clinton hastened to say. “Now, Wendover, I think we’ll be getting along.” A thought seemed to strike him at the last moment. “If you’re afraid of being worried by any more burglars, Mr. Shandon, I’ll detach a couple of constables to look after Whistlefield. But I really don’t think it’s the least likely that you’ll have any further attempts of the sort. They seem to have made a thorough business of this one, to judge by the state they left the place in.” Ernest seemed rather shamefaced at the Chief Constable’s proposal. Quite obviously he recognised that he had not shone as a hero in the business of the night. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think we need them, Sir Clinton. I think we’ll manage without them, really. Of course, one feels a little nervous. I think it’s quite understandable, when things have been happening all together like this. But still, I don’t think we really need a guard. If you think it’s not likely to happen again, I’m quite ready to take your view of it, quite ready, I assure you. As you say, there’s no reason why they should come back at all. They must have got what they wanted. They’re sure to have got it, I think. No, they’re hardly likely to come back again.” As they made their way downstairs Sylvia Hawkhurst met them.