He could not deny that the personal attractions of Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux were much above the average; and, despite himself, he felt a tinge of uneasiness in his mind. After all, even the cleverest men get caught occasionally; and it was plain enough that Sir Clinton was doing his best to make friends with the Frenchwoman. They had just entered the hotel grounds when Wendover saw approaching them down the drive the figure of Cargill. The Australian seemed to have something to say to them, for he quickened his pace when he caught sight of Sir Clinton. “I've come across something else that might be of importance,” he said, addressing the chief constable without a glance at the others. “It's a——” He broke off abruptly, with a glance at Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux. It seemed almost as though he had not seen before that she was there, or as if he had just recognised her. “I'll let you see it later on,” he explained rather confusedly. “I'll have to hunt it out. I find I've left it in the pocket of another jacket.” Sir Clinton successfully repressed any signs of a curiosity which he might have felt. “Oh, any time you like,” he suggested, without betraying much interest in the matter. By an almost imperceptible manœuvre he broke the group up into two pairs, and moved on towards the hotel entrance with Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux, leaving Wendover and the Australian to follow if they chose. It was almost dinner-time as they entered the building; and Wendover took the opportunity of shaking off Cargill, who seemed inclined to cling to him more than he wished. Rather to Wendover's surprise, Sir Clinton showed no inclination, after dinner, to plunge into further investigations. “We mustn't be greedy, squire,” he argued. “We must leave the inspector a fair share of the case, you know. If amateurs like ourselves bustle around too much, the professional would have no practice in his art at all.” “If you ask me,” Wendover retorted, “the professional's spending all his time barking furiously at the foot of the wrong tree.” “You think so? Well, if the cats up the tree insist on making a noise like a murderer, you can't blame him, can you?” “I don't like his damned flat-footed way of going about his job,” Wendover protested angrily. “One always supposed that people were treated as innocent until they were convicted; but your inspector interviewed that girl as if he were measuring her for a rope.” “He's built up a wonderfully convincing case, squire; don't forget that.” “But you admitted yourself that there's a flaw in it, Clinton. By the way, what _is_ the flaw?” But Sir Clinton did not rise to the bait.