“Yes. That looked funny at first sight; but if the two shots were fired almost simultaneously, then it would have been a bit difficult to say whether there was a double report or not.” “That's so squire. You're getting devilish acute these days, I must admit.” But, from his friend's tone, the compliment did not sound so warm as the words suggested. Wendover imagined that he detected a tinge of irony in Sir Clinton's voice; but it was so faint that he could not feel certain of it. “I'm getting too much into a groove,” the chief constable went on. “This was supposed to be holiday; and yet I'm spending almost every minute of it in rushing about at Armadale's coat-tails. I really must have some relaxation. There's some dancing at the hotel to-night and I think I'll join. I need a change of occupation.” Wendover was not a dancing man, but he liked to watch dancers; so after dinner he found his way to the ballroom of the hotel, ensconced himself comfortably in a corner from which he had a good view of the floor, and prepared to enjoy himself. He had a half-suspicion that Sir Clinton's sudden humour for dancing was not wholly explicable on the ground of a mere relaxation, though the chief constable was undoubtedly a good dancer; and he watched with interest to see what partners his friend would choose. Any expectations he might have had were unfulfilled, however. Sir Clinton seemed to pay no particular attention to any of his partners; and most of them obviously could have no connection with the tragedies. Once, it is true, he sat out with Miss Staunton, whose ankle was apparently not sufficiently strong to allow her to dance; and Wendover noted also that three others on Armadale's list—Miss Fairford, Miss Stanmore, and Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux—were among his friend's partners. Shortly before midnight, Sir Clinton seemed to tire of his amusement. He took leave of Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux, with whom he had been dancing, and came across the room to Wendover. “Profited by your study of vamps, I hope, Clinton?” Sir Clinton professed to be puzzled by the inquiry. “Vamps? Oh, you mean Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux, I suppose. I'm afraid she found me poor ground for her talents. I made it clear to her at the start that she was far above rubies and chief constables. All I had to offer was the purest friendship. It seems it was a new sensation to her—never met anything of the sort before. She's rather interesting, squire. You might do worse than cultivate her acquaintance—on the same terms as myself. Now, come along. We'll need to change before Armadale turns up, unless you have a fancy to dabble your dress trousers in the brine down there.” They left the room and made their way towards the lift. In the corridor they encountered Cargill, who stopped them.