Harley crossed to the entrance, and was about to descend the steps,
when the constable on duty there held out his arm.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but I have orders to admit no one to this
part of the garden."
"Oh," said Harley, pulling up short, "but I am acting in this case. My
name is Paul Harley."
"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.
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