“I’ve been looking for you, Sir Clinton. Guess what you left behind you last night.” Sir Clinton shook his head doubtfully. “I never succeed in these guessing competitions, Miss Hawkhurst. What was it?” “The box of darts! You put it down on the mantlepiece of the museum; and I happened to notice it this morning when I went in.” Sir Clinton’s face betrayed his annoyance at his blunder. It was so obvious that no one cared to say anything on the subject. “I’ll get it for you in a moment,” Sylvia said, as she hurried off. Stenness looked at the Chief Constable, and it seemed as if his estimate of Sir Clinton was undergoing revision. Wendover was completely taken aback by the turn of events. “Here it is,” Sylvia said, as she came back to them again. “It was just where you left it. You’d better count the darts to make sure I haven’t lost any—though I haven’t opened the box at all. I was too much afraid of them.” Sir Clinton obeyed and found the total correct. He shut the box carefully and stowed it away in his pocket. “Thanks, Miss Hawkhurst. It was very careless of me. But there’s no harm done, since you’ve taken care of them for me.” And after a few words about the affairs of the night, he took his leave. “Take the road to the East Gate, Squire,” he requested, as Wendover let in the clutch. “_You_’re a bright detective,” his friend retorted scornfully. “Here you’ve been racing and chasing to cut off a possible source of curare; and in the middle of the job you leave a whole tin of lethal darts lying about for Tom, Dick or Harry to pick up. The limit, I’d call it!” “It was very careless,” Sir Clinton admitted, biting his lip. “Careless!” Wendover echoed, contemptuously. “I can’t think how you managed to do it. My godfathers! Leaving stuff like that on a mantelpiece!” Sir Clinton flushed. “Look here, Squire, I can say ‘You’re a damned fool,’ just as often as I need to hear it just now, without your help. You can’t guess how I feel about it. Don’t rub it in, there’s a good chap.” Wendover had never seen his friend so disturbed before. He stopped his denunciations at once. In a few moments they reached the Maze, and both left the car. Sir Clinton led the way to the entrance through which they had gone on the previous afternoon. “I’d better take the lead,” said Wendover. “I know the Maze and you don’t. Just follow me.” Sir Clinton paid no attention but kept in front. To Wendover’s surprise he showed no hesitation, but threaded his way through the labyrinth without difficulty. When he reached the centre he turned to his companion. “That’s merely to show you that anyone can find their way through here if they keep their heads. I memorised the thing as Stenness was guiding us yesterday—first right, third left, and so on. So you see the murderer could have got up it easily enough if he had someone to show him the ropes at the start.”