“Sorry, sir,” replied the constable, “but you will have to see Inspector Aylesbury.”
My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but, turning aside:
“Very well, constable,” he muttered; “I suppose I must submit. Our friend, Aylesbury,” he added to me, as we walked away, “would appear to be a martinet as well as a walrus. At every step, Knox, he proves himself a tragic nuisance. This means waste of priceless time.”
“What had you hoped to do, Harley?”
“Prove my theory,” he returned; “but since every moment is precious, I must move in another direction.”
He hurried on through the opening in the box hedge and into the courtyard. Manoel had just opened the doors to a sepulchral-looking person who proved to be the coroner’s officer, and:
“Manoel!” cried Harley, “tell Carter to bring a car round at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I haven’t time to fetch my own,” he explained.
“Where are you off to?”
“I am off to see the Chief Constable, Knox. Aylesbury must be superseded at whatever cost. If the Chief Constable fails I shall not hesitate to go higher. I will get along to the garage. I don’t expect to be more than an hour. Meanwhile, do your best to act as a buffer between Aylesbury and the women. You understand me?”
“Quite,” I returned, shortly. “But the task may prove no light one, Harley.”
“It won’t,” he assured me, smiling grimly. “How you must regret, Knox, that we didn’t go fishing!”
With that he was off, eager-eyed and alert, the mood
