A fat chuckle sounded at the other end of the wire. "I believe you, sir. A master criminal, that's what you'd be."
"Don't waste time flattering me. Get on with your story."
"I told you all I know, sir. Mr. Fountain says when he went up to bed there wasn't anything got ready for him, and no sign of Collins. So he rung, and the butler came up and said he hadn't seen Collins since before dinner. Well, it isn't his evening off, so Mr. Fountain had Baker go and look in his room. He wasn't there. Mr. Fountain sat up to wait for him, and when it got near three o'clock he rung up the station, like I told you. He said he couldn't get it out of his head how we all suspected Collins of having shoved young Brown into the river, and that's why he thought he'd best let us know before the morning. That's all, sir."
Mr. Amberley was staring at the wall ahead of him, his .,yes narrowed, considering. After a moment the sergeant's voice asked if he was there.
"Yes. Be quiet. I'm thinking."
"Not a doubt about it, sir; he's properly got the wind up," said the sergeant, disregarding the behest.
There was a pause. Then Amberley transferred his attention to the telephone. "You may be right, Sergeant. Did you ask whether any clothes were missing from his rooms?"
"I did, sir. Mr. Fountain said he didn't think so, but couldn't say for certain."
"Any car or bicycle missing from the garage?"
"Yes, sir; his own push-bike. Mr. Fountain had that from the butler."
"I see. You'll have to notify Carchester, I suppose. Tell them from me to find out whether Collins took a ticket for town, or elsewhere, from any of the stations within, say, a ten-mile radius, after half-past eight this evening. If so, follow him up. Meanwhile by the time you get here I shall be ready."
"By the time I do what, sir?" asked the sergeant, startled.
"Get here," repeated Mr. Amberley maliciously. "On your bicycle. Immediately."
"Me come out to Greythorne at this hour?" gasped the sergeant. "What would I do that for?"
"To pick me up. I'll have the car waiting."
"Yes, but, Mr. Amberley, sir, I don't want to go joyriding at this hour of night!" objected the sergeant. "What's the idea?"
"Furthermore," said Amberley, "I want you to bring a couple of men with you."
"But what for?" insisted the sergeant.
"For the simple reason that I think it just possible that Collins has not bolted. We're going to try and find him. Are you coming?"
"Yes," said the sergeant gloomily. "I'm coming, but whatever I was thinking about when I begged you to take on this case fair beats me."
"You were thinking of promotion, Sergeant, and you'll probably get it," said Amberley encouragingly, and rang off.
For a moment he sat still at the desk, reaching out his hand mechanically for the cigarette box beside him. He lit a cigarette and got up and began to walk slowly up and down the room, his brain busy with this new problem. When the cigarette was finished he stubbed it out and went upstairs again. He did not go at once to his own room, but opened Sir Humphrey's door and inquired whether his uncle was awake.
A grunt came from the bed. Mr. Amberley switched on the light. "Sorry, sir, but I'm going out. So don't pay any attention to uncouth noises."
Sir Humphrey raised himself on his elbow. "God bless the boy, what next? Why are you going out? What has happened?"
"Fountain's valet is missing. The police think he has bolted."
"Well, why can't you let them look for him? It's their work, not yours."
"Quite. But on the other hand he may not have bolted. I'm going to find out."
"You may go to the devil!" said Sir Humphrey, and turned over on the other side.
Mr. Amberley thanked him and withdrew.
When the sergeant and two enthusiastic young constables arrived, they found Amberley waiting for them in his car; he made them leave their bicycles in the drive and get into the Bentley. The sergeant climbed in beside him, leaving his subordinates to sit in the back, and said without much hope that he trusted Mr. Amberley wasn't going to travel at ninety miles an hour, because he was a married man.
He need have had no qualms. Mr. Amberley was driving very slowly indeed; so slowly, in fact, that the sergeant, suspicious of a leg-pull, asked whether it was a funeral. "And if it's all the same to you, sir, where are we going?"
"On the road to Norton Manor. Somewhere round about eight o'clock, Sergeant, Collins was at Greythorne. This is not to be repeated. He ransacked my room."
"Ransacked your room?" echoed the sergeant. "You saw him?"
"No. But I know it was he."
"Good Lord!" said the sergeant. "But what was he after?"
"Something he thought I had. We're going to look for him."
"But, Mr. Amberley, sir!" protested the sergeant. "If you say he was at Greythorne at eight o'clock he's had time to get back to the manor a dozen times over!"
"Yes - if he did go back," replied Amberley. Just keep a lookout, will you? Take the spot-lamp."
The car crept on; the two constables, who had heard of Mr. Amberley's predilection for speed, were frankly disappointed.
The sergeant held the spot-lamp at the end of its cable and studied the side of the road. "Going to search the woods, sir?"
"Perhaps. But he was riding a bicycle. That looks like the road. All preserves, this?"
"Most of it," said the sergeant. "General Tomlinson's land, this is. Runs alongside Mr. Fountain's preserves. We took up a poacher today. The general's keeper got him."
The car swung round a bend. "Mr. Fountain's land starts hereabouts," said the sergeant. "Hitchcock's had bad luck with his pheasants this year, so he told me.
"Poachers?"
"Them, and the gapes - lost a lot of young birds, he has. Hullo, what's that?"
The headlights showed the road running straight ahead. Something lay at the side, half across the grass border.
One of the constables was standing up and peering ahead. "It's a bicycle!"
The car shot forward. "It's something more than a bicycle, my friend," said Amberley.
There was something dark beside the bicycle. As the car drew nearer the sergeant gave a sharp exclamation. The curious heap on the roadside was the body of a man lying in a crumpled attitude, half hidden by the uncut grass that grew beside the ditch.
Amberley pulled up. His face was very grim. "Take a look, sergeant."
The sergeant was already out of the car and bending over the still body, his torch in his hand. He recoiled suddenly and turned rather white about the gills. "My Gawd!" he said.
Amberley got down onto the road and walked towards the huddled figure.
"It's not — very nice, sir," said the sergeant gruffly, and burned his torch on again.
Amberley stood looking. down at what remained of Albert Collins. "The top of his head's been blown right ()fl;' the sergeant said in rather a hushed voice.
"Shotgun," said Amberley briefly. "Close range."
There was a slight sound behind him. One of the young constables had retired to the ditch. The other stood his ground, but he did not look very happy.
The sergeant switched off the torch. "Nasty sight," he said. "Come along now, Henson! Easy to seeyou wasn't in Flanders." He turned to Amberley. "This was what you were looking for, sir?"
Amberley nodded.
"Who did it, sir?"
"I wasn't here, Sergeant," said Amberley gently.
The sergeant looked at him. "Takes a lot to upset you, sir, don't it?"
Amberley glanced down at the dead man. "It would take more than the murder of that creature," he said. His voice grated. "I find this rather a comforting sight. I was afraid he'd escape the noose. I've no sympathy to waste on him."
The sergeant stared. "It's a nasty way to die, sir."
Amberley walked back to the car. "Very, Sergeant. And entirely appropriate," he said.