After Armadale had examined the silver surfaces from every direction, Wendover had his turn. When he raised himself again, he shook his head. Sir Clinton glanced at the inspector, who also made a negative gesture. “Then we all see the same,” Sir Clinton said finally. “One might assume from that, without overstraining probability, one thing at least.” “And that is?” demanded Wendover, forestalling the inspector. “That there's nothing there to see,” Sir Clinton observed mildly. “I thought you'd have noticed that for yourself, squire.” Behind Wendover's back the inspector enjoyed his discomfiture, thanking providence the while that he had not had time to put the question himself. The chief constable turned to Sapcote. “I suppose Peter Hay kept the keys of Foxhills—those that he needed, at any rate—somewhere handy?” “He kept them in his pocket, always, sir; a small bunch of Yale keys on a ring, I remember.” “You might get them, inspector, I think we'd better go up there next and see if we can find anything worth noting. But, of course, we can't go rushing in there without permission.” He turned back to Sapcote: “Go off now, constable, as soon as we've locked up this place, and get hold of some of the Foxhills people who are staying at the hotel. Ask them to come up here. Tell them we want to go over Foxhills on account of something that's been taken from the house. Explain about things, but don't make a long yarn of it, remember. Then leave a message for Dr. Rafford to say that we'll probably need a P. M. When you come up here again, you'd better bring a cart to take away these beasts in their cages.” He gave Sapcote some further instructions about the disposal of Peter Hay's body, then he turned to the inspector. “I suppose, later on, you'd better take Peter Hay's fingerprints. It's only a precaution, for I don't think we'll need them; but we may as well have them on record. There's nothing more for us to do here at present so far as I can see.” He led the way out of the cottage. The constable locked the door, pocketed the key, produced a bicycle from behind the house, and cycled off in haste down the avenue. Sir Clinton led his companions round to the back of the cottage; but an inspection of the dead man's menagerie yielded nothing which interested any of them, so far as the matter in hand was concerned. “Let's sit down on the seat here,” the chief constable suggested, as they returned to the front garden. “We'll have to wait for these people from the hotel; and it won't do any harm to put together the facts we've got, before we pick up anything further.” “You're sure it isn't a mare's nest then?” Armadale inquired cautiously. “I'm surprised that Dr. Rafford didn't go a bit further with his ideas,” Sir Clinton returned indifferently. “In any case, there's the matter of that Foxhills' silver to be cleared up now.” Chapter IV What Happened in the Night