‘No doubt!’ said the Inspector. ‘Who’s Mr Galloway?’

‘Mr Galloway, Inspector, is the head-gardener, a very respectable man. The late Mr Herriard employed two under-gardeners, and a Boy, but they, if I may say so, Do Not Count.’

The Inspector gathered from the gracious bestowal of a title upon the head-gardener that he was a person to be reckoned with, but being wholly uninterested in the niceties of social distinctions in the servants’ hall he said disrespectfully: ‘Well, where does this Galloway keep his ladder?’

‘Mr Galloway,’ said Sturry, impersonating an iceberg, ‘keeps all his tools under Lock and Key. Being Scotch,’ he added, in explanation of this idiosyncrasy.

‘Where does he keep the key?’

‘I am sure I could not take it upon myself to say,’ said Sturry repressively.

‘Well, what happens when he’s off duty, and someone wants a pair of clippers, or something?’

‘That,’ said Sturry, ‘is an eventuality which Mr Galloway does not Hold With, him being very particular, and Gentlemen notoriously careless with tools.’

The Inspector eyed him smoulderingly. ‘Did you ever read the story of the frog that burst?’ he asked ominously.

‘No,’ replied Sturry, meeting his gaze squarely.

‘You should,’ said the Inspector.

Sturry bowed. ‘I will bear it in mind, if ever I should have the leisure,’ he said, and withdrew in what Hemingway was forced to admit was good order.

‘I’m sorry for you, my lad,’ Hemingway told his Sergeant. ‘It looks as though you’ll have to go and call on this Galloway, and find out if he’s got the key of the stables on him. I’ll have a look at the place first, though.’

Together they left the house, and made their way through the melting snow to the stableyard. A modern garage had been built on one side of this, with a flat above it for the chauffeur; at right angles to it a rather dilapidated building presented forbiddingly shut doors, and small windows, thickly coated on the inside with dust and cobwebs. One permitted a peep into an old harness-room; another enabled the Inspector to obtain a restricted view into the stable, and there, sure enough, laid flat along one wall, was a substantial ladder, quite tall enough to reach to the upper storey of the Manor.

Having felt under the door-sill, looked for a cache under the penthouse roof, and even searched two potting-sheds and a row of glass-houses, the Inspector, baulked in his quest for the key, looked carefully at the stable-window. It was a small sash-window, and although it would not have required any great degree of skill to have slipped a knife-blade between the two halves, and to have forced back the bolt, even the most confirmed optimist must have rejected this solution. It was plain that the window had not been opened for many a long day. Had any further proof than the undisturbed dust been needed, it would have been found in the presence, on the interior, of a cobweb of great size and antiquity.