They were not a good fit, but he could get them on and the idea in
his mind was that if the police of the district began searching, as
very likely they would, for Mr. John Clive's assailant, and if they
had discovered any clues in the shape of footprints or torn bits of
clothing or buttons--and Dunn knew his attire had suffered
considerably during the struggle--then it would be as well that
such clues should lead not to him, but to this other man, who, if
he were innocent on that score, had at any rate been guilty of
attempting to carry out a much worse offence.

"I'm afraid your luck's out, old chap," Dunn muttered, apostrophizing
the unconscious man. "But you did your best to brain me, and that
gives me a sort of right to make you useful. Besides, if the police
do run you in, it won't mean anything worse than a few questions it'll
be your own fault if you can't answer. Anyhow, I can't afford to run
the risk of some blundering fool of a policeman trying to arrest me
for assaulting the local magnate."

Much relieved in mind, for he had been greatly worried by a fear that
this encounter with John Clive might lead to highly inconvenient legal
proceedings, he left the unlucky burglar lying in the shelter of the
furze bushes and returned to the house.

All was as he had left it, the open window gaped widely, almost
inviting entrance, and he climbed silently within. The apartment
in which he found himself was apparently the drawing-room and he
felt his way cautiously and slowly across it, moving with infinite
care so as to avoid making even the least noise.