"Anyone can see that," retorted the officer, sorely annoyed, for the position of affairs reflected no credit on his brains. "Holl! Fairburn! What is the meaning of this?"
The two policemen protested that they were not in fault. Fairburn, on guard at the door of the death-chamber, exonerated himself by pointing out that the corpse, which he had been set to watch, was still in the room, while Holl vehemently stated that he had heard no sound likely to lead him to believe in an intended escape.
"I did not hear the window being opened," said Holl, decisively.
"Why didn't you station a policeman under the window?" asked Browne, while the Inspector fretted and fumed, and wondered inwardly what the authorities would say to his negligence.
"Two men--villagers, were posted there," he said angrily. "I'll see them at once."
He ran hastily down the stairs, and out of the front door into the side garden, where the two men had been stationed. Finding no one there, he returned to the tap-room, and discovered the watchers busy with pots of beer.
"Why are you not at your posts, men?" he asked in a loud domineering voice.
"We got tired," said one bovine agriculturalist, explaining on behalf of himself and his friend, "and the damp was giving we the blamed rheumatics."
"What the devil does that matter, you fools? You should have remained where I placed you."
"You bean't our master," grumbled the spokesman, "and there weren't no money given to we."
Trent stamped, but could not gainsay this speech. It was his own fault, as he recognised plainly enough, for it was his duty to have posted official guards.
"Twenty minutes to half an hour," said the yokel, drawing his sleeve across his mouth, as he set down an empty pewter. "Bill, here, and me 'ull go back, if it be as you'll give we money."
"You can save yourself the trouble," retorted Trent sharply, swinging round on his heel, "the prisoner has escaped."
Immediately the tap-room was in commotion, and everyone rose in consternation. It was not pleasant to think that a murderer was at large and in the neighbourhood. Narby, from force of habit, felt for his revolver.
"Guess he can't hev gone far," said he, in his nasal American way, "th' fog 'ud stop him."