“No broken twigs where the murderer rested his air-gun?” Sir Clinton inquired. “Have a good look; the price is the same for two peeps as for one. Special terms by the hour, if you care to . . . Ugh! Damn these spiders! That gossamer’s all over the place—filthy, filmy stuff!” He rubbed his hand on the hedge while Wendover grinned at his annoyance. “Serves you right, Clinton! It’ll take your mind off all this persiflage business.” Sir Clinton seemed engrossed in removing the remaining filaments from his hand. “Pity Sherlock isn’t here,” he let fall in a regretful tone. “He turned into an entomologist of sorts when he retired. Perhaps he could tell us what earthly use spiders can be.” “They keep down flies,” said Wendover, instructively. “So they do. Illuminating idea! I wish I’d thought of it myself. They keep down flies!” “When you’ve quite finished being funny, perhaps you’ll get on with your job, Clinton. You’re supposed to be detecting murderers, not delivering lectures on insects.” Sir Clinton dropped his jesting tone at once. “Quite right. We ought to be getting along to the police-station now.” “Aren’t you going to do any more here?” “No.” “What about bringing up that dog of yours and seeing if it can do anything?” “The dog could do nothing in this case,” said Sir Clinton, definitely. “It would be a mere waste of time.” “Well, you seem to know your own mind about that,” Wendover said rather wonderingly. “I suppose you know best. But I’d have thought it worth trying.” Sir Clinton made no reply, but led the way through the Maze to the car. “We’ll call at the police-station on the road home, Squire, if you’ll run us round there. I’m expecting some more reports. And some men must come up here and search for anything left about—not that it really matters. By the way,” he added, casually, “I suppose you know who the murderer is by this time?” Wendover could only express astonishment at the question. “Well, you’ve had every chance,” was all that Sir Clinton would vouchsafe. “If you know who he is, why don’t you arrest him at once?” Wendover demanded. “There’s a big gap between knowing a thing and proving it,” said Sir Clinton, cautiously. At the police-station the Chief Constable got out of the car and went in to interview his subordinates. In a minute or two he was back again, with some papers in his hands; and they drove on to the Grange. “I’ve just time to ring up Ardsley before going upstairs,” he said, when they arrived; and he disappeared in the direction of the telephone. Wendover noticed that this time Sir Clinton closed the door of the room behind him, instead of leaving it ajar as he had done on the previous occasions; so that no sound came out during the conversation. “I wonder what he’s up to with that confounded Jack-the-Ripper,” Wendover speculated uneasily, as he went upstairs to dress. “Well, perhaps he’ll tell me something after dinner.”