Explore "Tragedy at Ravensthorpe" by J.J. Connington on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I was afraid of it," Sir Clinton observed, as he lifted the dripping pole with which he had been sounding the water of the lakelet. "The net will be no good, Inspector. With these spikes of rock jutting up from the bottom all over the place, you couldn't get a clean sweep; and if there's anything here at all, it's pretty sure to have lodged in one of the cavities between the spikes."
It was the morning after the masked ball at Ravensthorpe. The Chief Constable had made all his arrangements overnight, so that when he reached the shore of the artificial lake, everything was in readiness. The decrepit raft had been strengthened; a large net had been brought for the purpose of dragging the pool; and several grapnels had been procured, in case the net turned out to be useless. Sir Clinton had gone out on the raft to sound the water and discover whether the net could be utilized; but the results had not been encouraging.