That night, Inspector Brown confided his disappointment in the ways of
Scotland Yard to the wife of his bosom. He was a conscientious man; and
it seemed to him that, in the face of Mr. Jacobs' obvious incapacity, it
behoved him, Mr. Brown, to follow the case with renewed energy. So far
as the worthy Inspector could see, Mr. Jacobs was doing absolutely
nothing, save eat his meals, smoke his cigar, and stroll about the
grounds and admire the scenery. Therefore, the Inspector enjoined his
men to keep a careful watch; and he himself, when not in Mr. Jacobs'
company, patrolled the woods and, following the clue Lord Heyton had
offered him, had visited the gipsy encampment and examined the members
of the tribe. He came upon nothing to rouse his suspicions of them;
indeed, he hit upon no clue whatever; but he still kept up a kind of
patrol and scrutinised every person who approached the Hall.

If Mr. Jacobs was aware of the Inspector's renewed vigilance, he made no
remark; and whenever they were together, and the Inspector wanted to
talk of the case, Mr. Jacobs politely and quite inoffensively--in fact,
he always listened most respectfully--led the conversation away from the
subject. Once or twice, the Inspector was absolutely on the point of
asking the famous detective why on earth he was lingering at the Hall;
but his courage always failed him; for, notwithstanding the detective's
boyish face and innocent-looking eyes, there was something about him
which inspired a kind of respect in Inspector Brown.