"He must be somewhere about," said the detective. "We know the door is locked on the inside. A man cannot go out of a room, shut a door, and lock it on the inside, can he?" The room was in a fairly tidy state. A white table-cloth covered the table. On it were the remains of a meal, and a box of cigars that Sir Silas recognised as containing his special brand. A sporting paper and a copy of one of the county journals with an account of the supposed burglary lay on one of the chairs, the former apparently having been dropped there when the butler received his orders to attend upon Sir Silas. His watch was hanging from a hook by the side of the large mantelpiece. All pointed to the fact that Tassh's departure had been hurriedly performed; at the same time the question arose, how did he manage it? "Well, Polglaze?" "This knocks me, Sir Silas," replied the detective, rubbing his shoulder that was beginning to forcibly remind him that oaken doors cannot be charged with impunity. "Shall I see what those Scouts make of it?" asked the baronet, with a grim sense of humour. "Let 'em have a shot at it, by all means, Sir Silas," said Polglaze. "This beats cockfighting." But the Scouts had to own themselves beaten for the time being at least. They tried the walls, floor, chimney, and everything they could think of, but without success. "I believe he got out by the chimney," suggested Sergeant Coombes, who, since his tumble, had judiciously kept silent in order to regain his breath. "The soot hasn't been disturbed," said Atherton. "That's what I particularly noticed." "All the same I say it's the chimney, young man," said the sergeant, with a brave show of dignity. "And until you prove to my satisfaction that 'tain't, well then, 'tis the chimney, I say." "Don't stand there laying down the law, Coombes," said the detective. "Every minute Tassh is no doubt getting farther and farther away. Gregory, hurry back to the village and telephone through to all the stations nearabouts. Give the full details, although I'll stake my life there's hardly a policeman within twenty miles who doesn't know Paul Tassh." At Mr Buckley's suggestion the Scouts made a complete circuit of the house, examining the ground for possible trails; but all to no purpose. At three o'clock the lads bade farewell to their host, at the same time expressing their sympathy at the loss, and their regret at their inability to do anything of service in the matter. As the patrol descended the hill leading to the village, Baker pointed to Seal Island. "Look," he exclaimed. "There's something wrong with the 'Wolves,' I do declare." CHAPTER XIV PHILLIPS' DISCOVERY As soon as his comrades of the "Otters" had embarked on the first stage of their journey to Wadebridge Station to meet their temporary Scoutmaster, Jack Phillips sallied forth on his shooting expedition.