At eleven o'clock next morning a motor car drove up to Keldale House and an exceedingly affable and pleasing stranger delivered a note from Mr. Simon Rattar to Mr. James Bisset. Even without an introduction, Mr. Carrington would have been welcome, for though Mr. Bisset's sway over Keldale House was by this time almost despotic, he had begun to find that despotism has its lonely side, and to miss "the gentry." With an introduction, Mr. Carrington quickly discovered that Mr. Bisset and the mansion he supervised were alike entirely at his disposal.
The preliminary discussion on the sporting possibilities of the estate and the probability of its being let next season impressed Mr. Bisset very favourably indeed with his visitor; and then when the conversation had passed very naturally to the late tragedy in the house, he was still further delighted to find that Mr. Carrington not only shared his own detective enthusiasm, but was vastly interested in his views on this particular mystery.
"Come along here, sir," said he, "we can justhave a look at the library and I'll explain to you the principles of the thing."
"I'd like to see the actual scene of the crime immensely!" cried Mr. Carrington eagerly. "You are sure that Lady Cromarty won't object?"
"Not her," said Bisset. "She's never in this part of the house now. She'll be none the wiser anyhow."
This argument seemed to assure Mr. Carrington completely, and they went along to the library.
"Now," began Bisset, "I'll just explain to you the haill situation. Here where I'm laying this sofie cushion was the corp. Here where I'm standing the now was the wee table, and yon's the table itself."
To the disquisition that followed, Mr. Carrington listened with the most intelligent air. Bisset had by this time evolved quite a number of new theories, but the one feature common to them all was the hypothesis that the murderer must have come in by the window and was certainly not an inmate of the household. His visitor said little till he had finished, and then he remarked:
"Well, Bisset, you don't seem to put much faith in the current theory, I see."
"Meaning that Sir Malcolm and Miss Farmond were concerned?" said Bisset indignantly. "That's just the ignorance of the uneducated masses, sir! The thing's physically impossible, as I've just been demonstrating!"
Carrington smiled and gently shook his head.
"I don't know much about these things," said he, "but I'm afraid I can't see the physical impossibility. It was very easy for any one in the house to come downstairs and open that door, and if Sir Reginald knew him, it would account for his silence and the absence of any kind of a struggle."
"But yon table and the windie being unfastened! And the mud I picked up myself—and the hearth brush!"
"They scarcely make it impossible," said Carrington.
"Well, sir," demanded the butler, "what's your own theory?"
Carrington said nothing for several minutes. He strolled up and down the room, looked at the table and the window, and at last asked:
"Do you remember quite distinctly what Sir Reginald looked like when you found him—the position of the body—condition of the clothes—and everything else?"
"I see him lying there every night o' my life, just as plain as I see you now!"
"The feet were towards the door, just as though he had been facing the door when he was struck down?"
"Aye, but then my view is the body was moved——"
He was interrupted by a curious performance on Mr. Carrington's part. His visitor was infact stretching himself out on the floor on the spot where Sir Reginald was found.
"He lay like this?" he asked.
"Aye, practically just like that, sir."
"Now, Bisset," said the recumbent visitor, "just have a very good look at me and tell me if you notice any difference between me and the body of Sir Reginald."
Bisset looked for a few seconds and then exclaimed:
"Your clothes are no alike! The master's coat was kind of pulled up like about his shoulders and neck. Oh, and I mind now the tag at the back for hanging it up was broken and sticking out."
Carrington sprang to his feet with a gleam in his eye.
"The tag was not broken before he put on the coat?"
"It certainly was not that! But what's your deduction, sir?"
Carrington smiled at him.
"What do you think yourself, Bisset? You saw how I threw myself down quite carelessly and yet my coat wasn't pulled up like that."
"God, sir!" cried the butler. "You mean the corp had been pulled along the floor by the shoulders!"
Carrington nodded.
"Then he had been killed near the windie!"
"Not too fast, not too fast!" smiled Carrington. "Your own first statement which I happenedto read in a back number of the newspaper the other day said that the windows were all fastened when Sir Reginald came into the room."
"Ah, but I've been altering my opinion on that point, sir."
Carrington shook his head.
"I'm afraid because a fastened window doesn't suit your theory."
"But the master might have opened it to him, thinking it was some one he knew."
"Sounds improbable," said Carrington thoughtfully.
"But not just absolutely impossible."
"No," said Carrington, still very thoughtfully, "not impossible."
"Sir Reginald might never have seen it was a stranger till the man was fairly inside."
Carrington smiled and shook his head.
"Thin, Bisset; very thin. Why need the man have been a stranger at all?"
Bisset's face fell.
"But surely you're not believing yon story that it was Sir Malcolm and Miss Farmond after a'?"
His visitor stood absolutely silent for a full minute. Then he seemed suddenly to banish the line of thought he was following.
"Is it quite certain that those two are engaged?" he asked.
Bisset's face showed his surprise at the question.
"They all say so," said he.
"Have either of them admitted it?"
"No, sir."
"Why don't they acknowledge it now and get married?"
"They say it's because they daurna for fear of the scandal."
"'They' say again!" commented Carrington. "But, look here, Bisset, you have been in the house all the time. Did you think they were engaged?"
"Honestly, sir, I did not. There's nae doubt Sir Malcolm was sweet on the young lady, but deil a sign of sweetness on him did I ever see in her!"
"Do they correspond now?"
Bisset shook his head.
"Hardly at a'. But of course folks just say they are feared to now."
"Has anybody asked either of them if they are—or ever were—engaged?"
"No, sir. But if they denied it now, folks would just say the same thing."
"Yes. I see—naturally. Lady Cromarty believes it and is keeping Miss Farmond under her eye, the gossips tell me. Is that so?"
"Oh, that's true right enough, sir."
"Who told Lady Cromarty?"
"That I do not know, sir."
Again the visitor seemed to be thinking, and again to cast his thoughts aside and take up a new aspect of the case.
"Supposing," he suggested, "we were to draw the curtains and light these candles for a fewminutes? It might help us to realise the whole thing."
This suggestion pleased Mr. Bisset greatly and in a minute or two the candles were lit and the curtains drawn.
"Put the table where it stood," said Carrington. "Now which was Sir Reginald's chair? This?"
He sat in it and looked slowly round the darkened, candle-lit library.
"Now," said he, "suppose I was Sir Reginald, and there came a tap at that window, what would I do?"
"If you were the master, sir, you'd go straight to the windie to see who it was."
"I wouldn't get in a funk and ring the bell?"
"No fears!" said Bisset confidently.
"And any one who knew Sir Reginald at all well could count on his not giving the alarm then if they tapped at the window?"
"They could that."
Carrington looked attentively towards the window.
"Those curtains hang close against the window, I see," he observed. "A very slight gap in them would enable any one to get a good view of the room, if the blinds were not down. Were the blinds down that night?"
Bisset slapped his knee.
"The middle blind wasn't working!" he cried. "What a fool I've been not to think on the extraordinar' significance of that fac'! My, the deductionsto be drawn! You've made it quite clear now, sir. The man tappit at that windie——"
"Steady, steady!" said Carrington, smiling and yet seriously. "Don't you go announcing that theory! If there's anything in it—mum's the word! But mind you, Bisset, it's only a bare possibility. There's no good evidence against the door theory yet."
"Not the table being cowpit and the body moved?"
"They might be explained."
He was thoughtful for a moment and then said deliberately:
"I want—I mean you want certain evidence to exclude the door theory. Without that, the window theory remains a guess. Sir Malcolm is in London, I understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Likely to be coming north soon?"
"No word of it, sir."
Mr. Carrington reflected for a moment and then rose and went towards the window.
"We can draw back the curtains now," said he.
He drew them as he spoke and on the instant stepped involuntarily back and down went the small table. Miss Cicely Farmond was standing just outside, evidently arrested by the drawn curtains. Her eyes opened very wide indeed at the sight of Mr. Carrington suddenly revealed. Her lips parted for an instant as though she would cry out, and then she hurried away.
Mr. Carrington seemed more upset by thisincident than one would expect from such a composed, easy-going young man.
"What will they think of me!" he exclaimed. "You must be sure to tell Miss Farmond—and Lady Cromarty too if she hears of this—that I came solely to enquire about the shootings and not to poke my nose into their library! Make that very explicit, Bisset."
Even though assured by Bisset that the young lady was the most amiable person imaginable, he was continuing to lay stress on the point when his attention was abruptly diverted by the sight of another lady in deep black walking slowly away from the house.
"Is that Lady Cromarty?" he asked, and no sooner had Bisset said "yes" than the window was up and Mr. Carrington stepping out of it.
"I really must explain and apologise to her ladyship," said he.
"Her ladyship will never know——!" began Bisset, but the surprising visitor was already hastening after the mourning figure. Had the worthy man been able to hear the conversation which ensued he would have been more surprised still.
"Lady Cromarty, I believe?" said the stranger in a deferential voice.
She turned quickly, and her eyes searched him with that hard glance they wore always nowadays.
"Yes, I am Lady Cromarty," she said.
"Pardon me for disturbing you," said he. "Itis a mere brief matter of business. I represent an insurance company to which Sir Malcolm Cromarty has made certain proposals. We are not perfectly satisfied with his statements, and from other sources learn that he is engaged to be married. I have come simply to ascertain whether that is the case."
Lady Cromarty was (as Mr. Carrington had shrewdly divined) no better versed in the intricate matter of insurance than the majority of her sex, and evidently perceived nothing very unusual in this enquiry. It may be added in her excuse that the manner in which it was put by the representative of the company was a perfect example of how a business man should address a lady.
"It is the case," said she.
"May I ask your ladyship's authority—in strict confidence of course?" enquired the representative firmly, but very courteously.
"I learned it from my own man of business," said she.
"Thank you," said the insurance representative. "I beg that your ladyship will say nothing of my call, and I shall undertake not to mention the source of my information," and with an adequate bow he returned to the house.
Before disappearing through her library window, Mr. Carrington saw that her ladyship's back was turned, and he then gave this candid, if somewhat sketchy, account of his interview to her butler.
"It suddenly struck me," said he, "that LadyCromarty might think it somewhat unseemly of me to come enquiring about shooting so soon after her bereavement; so I gave her a somewhat different explanation. She is not likely to make any further enquiries about me and so you need say nothing about my visit."
He was careful however to impress on his friend Mr. Bisset that he actually had come from purely sporting motives. In fact he professed some anxiety to get in touch with Sir Malcolm on the subject, even though assured that the young baronet had nothing to do with the shootings.
"Ah, but it will gratify him, Bisset," said he, "and I think it is the nice thing to do. Could you give me his London address?"
He jotted this down in his pocket book, and then as he was leaving he said confidentially:
"You tell me that you think Sir Malcolm is interested in Miss Farmond, though she seemed not so keen on him?"
"That was the way of it to my thinking," said Bisset. "And what deduction would you draw from that, sir?"
"I should deduce," said this sympathetic and intelligent visitor, "the probable appearance of certain evidence bearing on our theories, Bisset."
Mr. Bisset thought he had seldom met a pleasanter gentleman or a more helpful assistant.
The car took Mr. Carrington straight back to the town and dropped him at the door of Mr. Rattar's office.
"I shall want you again at two o'clock sharp," he said to the chauffeur, and turned in to the office.
He caught the lawyer just before he went out to lunch and said at once:
"I want to see Sir Malcolm Cromarty. Can you arrange for him to run up here for a day?"
Simon stared at him hard, and there seemed to be even more caution than usual in his eye; almost, indeed, a touch of suspicion. The lawyer was not looking quite as well as usual; there was a drawn look about the upper part of the face and a hint of strain both in eyes and mouth.
"Why do you want to see Sir Malcolm?" he enquired.
"Well," said Carrington, "the fact of the matter is, Mr. Rattar, that, as you yourself said, the direct evidence is practically nil, and one is forced to go a good deal by one's judgment of the people suspected or concerned."
Simon grunted sceptically.
"Very misleading," he said.
"That depends entirely on one's judgment, or rather on one's instinct for distinguishing bad eggs from good. As a matter of observation I don't find that certain types of men and women commit certain actions, and I do find that they are apt to commit others. And contrariwise with other types."
"Very unsafe doctrine," said Simon emphatically.
"Extremely—in the hands of any one who doesn't know how to apply it. On the other hand, it can be made a short and commonsense cut to the truth in many cases. For instance, the man who suspected Mr. Bisset of committing the crime would simply be wasting his time and energy, even if there seemed to be some evidence against him."
"Any man can commit any crime," said Simon dogmatically.
Carrington smiled and shook his head.
"Personally," said he, "if you had a young and pretty wife, I am capable of running away with her, and possibly even of letting her persuade me to abscond with some of your property, but I am not capable of laying you out in cold blood and rifling that safe. And a good judge of men ought to be able to perceive this and not waste his time in trying to convict me of an offence I couldn't commit. On the other hand, if the crime was one that my type is apt to commit he would be a fool to acquit me off-hand, even if there was next to no evidence against me."
"Then you simply go by your impressions of people?"
"Far from it. A complete absence of motive would force me to acquit even the most promising looking blackguard, unless of course there were some form of lunacy in his case. One must have motive and one must have evidence as well, but character is the short cut—if the circumstances permit you to use it. Sometimes of course they don't, but in this case they force me to depend on it very largely. Therefore I want to see Sir Malcolm Cromarty."
The lawyer shook his head.
"No, no, Mr. Carrington," he said, "I can't bring him down here on such trivial grounds."
"But you yourself suspect him!"
For a moment the lawyer was silent.
"I think suspicion points to him; but what is wanted isevidence. You can't get evidence merely by bringing him here. You don't suppose he will confess, do you?"
"Have you ever studied the French methods of getting at the truth?" enquired Carrington, and when Simon shook his head contemptuously, he added with some significance: "We can learn a good deal from our neighbours."
"Trivial grounds!" muttered Simon. "No, no!"
Carrington became unusually serious and impressive.
"I am investigating this case, Mr. Rattar, andI want to see Sir Malcolm. Will you send for him or not?"
"He wouldn't come."
"It depends on the urgency of the message."
"I can't invent bogus urgent messages to my clients."
Carrington smiled.
"I might do the inventing for you."
Again the lawyer stared at him and again there was the same extreme caution in his eye, mingled with a hint of suspicion.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"I want to see him immediately."
"Call again to-morrow morning."
Carrington's manner altered at once into his usual easy-going air.
"Very well, then, Mr. Rattar," said he as he rose.
"By the way," said Simon, "you have been out at Keldale this morning, I presume?"
"Yes," said Carrington carelessly, "but there is really nothing new to be found."
Simon looked at him hard.
"No fresh evidence?"
Carrington laughed.
"Not likely, after you and your sleuth hounds had been over the ground!"
He went to the door, and there Simon again spoke.
"What are you doing next?"
"Upon my word, I am rather wondering. I must think about it. Good morning."
For a man who was rather wondering, Mr. Carrington's next movements were remarkably prompt. He first went straight to the Post Office and dispatched a wire. It was addressed to Sir Malcolm Cromarty and it ran—"Come immediately urgent news don't answer please don't delay." The only thing that seemed to indicate a wondering and abstracted mind was the signature to this message. Instead of "Carrington" he actually wrote "Cicely Farmond."
He then hurried to the hotel, which he reached at one-fifty. In ten minutes he had bolted a hasty lunch and at two o'clock was sitting in the car again.
"To Stanesland Castle," he commanded. "And be as quick as you can."
Mr. Carrington's interview with the laird of Stanesland began on much the same lines as his talk with Bisset. The amiable visitor was shown into the laird's smoking room—an apartment with vast walls like a dungeon and on them trophies from the laird's adventurous days, and proceeded to make enquiry whether Mr. Cromarty was disposed to let his shootings for next season, or, if not, whether he could recommend any others.
As the visitor was in no hurry, he declared, to fix anything up, it was very natural that this conversation, like the morning's, should eventually turn on to the subject of the great local mystery. Through it all Mr. Carrington's monocle was more continually fixed on the other than usual, but if he were looking for peculiarities in the laird's manner or any admissions made either by tongue or eye, he was disappointed. Cromarty was as breezy and as direct as ever, but even when his visitor confessed his extreme interest in such cases of remarkable crime, he (to all seeming) scented nothing in this beyond a not uncommon hobby. There was no doubt, however, of his keenness to discuss the subject. Carringtongave him an entertaining account of his efforts to assist Mr. Bisset, and then Ned asked:
"Well, what do you think of his theory that the man came in by the window?"
Carrington smiled.
"Bisset is evidently extremely anxious to save the credit of the family."
Ned Cromarty was aroused now.
"Good God!" he cried. "But do you mean to say that you think that story will hold water?"
"What story?" enquired Carrington mildly.
"You know what I mean—the scandal that Sir Malcolm and—and a lady were concerned in the murder."
"They are said to have actually committed it, aren't they?"
Ned's eye began to look dangerous.
"Do you think it's credible?" he asked brusquely.
"You know them better than I. Do you think it is?"
"Not for an instant!"
"I haven't met Sir Malcolm," said Carrington, wiping his eyeglass on his handkerchief. "I can't judge of him. What sort of a fellow is he?"
"A bit of a young squirt," said Ned candidly. "But I'll not believe he's a murderer till I get some proof of it."
"And Miss Farmond? Is she at all a murderous lady?"
He fixed his monocle in his eye just in time tosee his host control himself after what seemed to have been a somewhat violent spasm.
"I'll stake my life on her innocence!" said Ned, and it was hard to know whether his manner as he said this should be termed fierce or solemn.
For the space of perhaps two seconds Carrington's eyeglass stared very straight at him, and immediately afterwards was taken out for cleaning again, while its owner seemed to have found some new food for thought. The silence was broken by Ned asking brusquely:
"Don't you believe me?"
Again his visitor fixed the monocle in his eye, and he answered now very quietly and deliberately:
"I happened to meet a young lady one afternoon, whom I discovered to be Miss Farmond. My own impression—for what it is worth—is that it would be a mere waste of time to investigate the suspicion against her, supposing, that is, that one were a detective or anything of that kind engaged in this case."
"You think she is innocent?" asked Ned eagerly.
"I am quite certain of it, so far as I am any judge."
Ned heaved a sigh of relief, and for an instant a smile flitted across Carrington's face. It seemed as though he were amused at such a tribute to the opinion of a mere chance visitor.
"And Sir Malcolm?" enquired Ned.
Carrington shook his head.
"I have no means of judging—yet."
Ned glanced at him quickly.
"Do you expect to get hold of a means?"
Carrington's smile was his only answer to the question. And then, still smiling, he said:
"I rather wonder, Mr. Cromarty, that you who have taken so much interest in this case, and who are, I am told, the head of the family, don't get some professional assistance to help you to get at the bottom of it."
Ned's mouth shut hard and his eyes turned to the fire. He said nothing for a moment and then remarked:
"Well, I guess that's worth thinking over."
Carrington's shoulders moved in an almost imperceptible shrug, but he made no comment aloud. In a moment Ned said:
"Supposing those two are scored out, there doesn't seem to be anybody else inside the house who could have committed the crime, does there? You wouldn't suspect Lady Cromarty or Bisset, would you?"
"Lady Cromarty is physically incapable of giving her husband the blow he must have received. Besides, they were a very devoted couple, I understand, and she gained nothing by his death—lost heavily, in fact. As for Bisset——" Carrington let his smile finish the sentence.
"Then it must have been some one from outside—but who?"
"Can you think of any one?" asked Carrington.
Ned shook his head emphatically.
"Can you?" he asked.
"Me?" said his visitor with an innocent air, and yet with a twinkle for an instant in his eye. "I am a mere stranger to the place, and if you and Mr. Rattar and the police are baffled, what can I suggest?"
Ned seemed for a moment a trifle disconcerted. Then he said:
"That's so, of course, Mr. Carrington. But since we happen to be talking about it—well, I guess I'm quite curious to know if any ideas have just happened to occur to you."
"Well," said the other, "between ourselves, Mr. Cromarty, and speaking quite confidentially, one idea has struck me very forcibly."
"What's that?" asked Ned eagerly.
"Simply this, that though itmightbe conceivable to think of somebody or other, the difficulty that stares me in the face is—motive!"
Ned's face fell.
"Well, that's what has struck all of us."
"Sir Reginald was a popular landlord, I hear."
"The most popular in the county."
"This isn't Ireland," continued Carrington. "Tenants don't lay out their landlords on principle, and in this particular instance they would simply stand to lose by his death. Then take his tradesmen and his agent and so on, they all stand to lose too. An illicit love affair and a vengeful swain might be a conceivable theory, if his character gave colour to it; but there's not a hint ofthat, and some rumour would have got about for certain if that had been the case."
"You may dismiss that," said Ned emphatically.
"Then there you are—what's the motive?"
"If one could think of a possible man, one could probably think of a possible motive."
On Carrington's face a curious look appeared for an instant.
"I only wish one could," he murmured.
A gong sounded and Ned rose.
"That means tea," said he. "I always have it in my sister's room. Come up."
They went up the stone stair and turned into Miss Cromarty's boudoir. On her, Mr. Carrington produced a favourable impression that was evident at once. At all times she liked good-looking and agreeable gentlemen, and lately she had been suffering from a dearth of them. She had been suffering also from her brother's pig-headed refusal to reconsider his decision not to buy a car; and finally from the lack of some one to sympathise with her in this matter. In the opulent-looking and sportingly attired Mr. Carrington she quickly perceived a kindred spirit, and having a tongue that was not easily intimidated even by the formidable looking laird, she launched into her grievance. They had been talking about the long distances that separated most of the mansions in the county.
"Isn't it ridiculous, Mr. Carrington," said she, "we haven't got a car!"
"Absurd," agreed Mr. Carrington, helping himself to cake.
"Do you know, this brother of mine here has actually come into a fortune, and yet he won't buy me even one little motor car!"
Ned frowned and muttered something that might have checked their visitor's reply, had he noticed the laird's displeasure, but for the moment he seemed to have become very unobserving.
"Come into a fortune?" said he. "What a bit of luck! How much—a million—two million?"
"Oh, not as much as that, worse luck! But quite enough to buy at least three decent cars if he was half a sportsman! And he won't get one!"
Mr. Carrington was now trying to balance his cake in his saucer and was evidently too absorbed in his efforts to notice his host's waxing displeasure.
"In my experience," said he, "you can't get a decent car much under four hundred."
"Well," said she, "that's just the figure it would bring it to."
"Lilian!" muttered her brother wrathfully.
But at that moment Mr. Carrington coughed, evidently over a cake crumb, and failed to hear the expostulation.
"But perhaps he is going to buy you something even handsomer instead," he suggested.
"Is he!" she scoffed, with a defiant eye on her brother. "I believe he's going to blue it in something too scandalous to talk about in mixed society!Anyhow it's something too mysterious to tell me!"
By this time Ned's face was a thundercloud in which lightning was clearly imminent, but Mr. Carrington now recovered his wonted tact as suddenly as he had lost it.
"That reminds me of a very curious story I heard at my club the other day," he began, and in a few minutes the conversation was far away from Miss Cromarty's grievances. And then, having finished his cup of tea, he looked at his watch with an exclamation and protested that he must depart on the instant.
As he lay back in his car he murmured with a satisfied smile:
"That's settled anyhow!"
And then for the whole drive home he fell very thoughtful indeed. Only one incident aroused him, and that but for a moment. It was quite dark by this time, and somewhere between the Keldale House lodge and the town, the lamps of the car swept for an instant over a girl riding a bicycle in the opposite direction. Carrington looked round quickly and saw that she was Miss Cicely Farmond.
On the morning after his visit from Mr. Carrington, Ned Cromarty took his keeper with him and drove over to shoot on a friend's estate. He stayed for tea and it was well after five o'clock and quite dark when he started on his long drive home. The road passed close to a wayside station with a level crossing over the line, and when they came to this the gates were closed against them and the light of the signal of the up line had changed from red to white.
"Train's up to time," said Ned to the keeper. "I thought we'd have got through before she came."
There was no moon, a fine rain hung in the air, and the night was already pitch dark. Sitting there in the dogcart before the closed gates, behind the blinding light of the gig lamps, they were quite invisible themselves; but about thirty yards to their left they saw the station platform plainly in the radiance of its lights, and, straight before them in the radiance of their own, they could see less distinctly the road beyond the line.
At first, save for the distant rumble of the southward bound train, there was no sign of life or of movement anywhere, and then all at oncea figure on a bicycle appeared on the road, and in a moment dismounted beside the station. It was a girl in black, and at the sight of her, Ned bent forward suddenly in his driving seat and stared intently into the night. He saw her unstrap a small suit case from the bicycle and lead the bicycle into the station. A minute or two passed and then she emerged from the ticket office on to the platform carrying the suit case in her hand. The bicycle she had evidently left in the station, and it seemed manifest that she was going by this train.
"That's Miss Farmond, sir, from Keldale House!" exclaimed the keeper.
His master said nothing but kept his eye intently fixed on the girl. One of the platform lamps lit her plainly, and he thought she looked the most forlorn and moving sight that had ever stirred his heart. There was something shrinking in her attitude, and when she looked once for a few moments straight towards him, there seemed to be something both sad and frightened in her face. Not another soul was on the platform, and seen in that patch of light against an immensity of dark empty country and black sky, she gave him such an impression of friendlessness that he could scarcely stay in his seat. And all the while the roar of the on-coming train was growing louder and ever louder. In a few minutes she would be gone—"Where?" he asked himself.
"I'm wondering where she'll be going at thistime o' night with nae mair luggage than yon," said the keeper.
That decided it.
"Take the trap home and tell Miss Cromarty not to expect me to-night," said his master, quickly. "Say I've gone—oh, anywhere you derned well like! There's something up and I'm going to see what it is."
He jumped quietly on the road just as the engine thundered between the gates in front. By the time the train was at rest, he was over the gate and making his way to the platform. He stopped in the darkness by the rear end of the train till he saw the figure in black disappear into a carriage, and then he stepped into a compartment near the guard's van.
"Haven't got a ticket, but I'll pay as I go along," he said to the guard as he passed the window.
The guard knew Mr. Cromarty well and touched his cap, and then the train started and Mr. Cromarty was embarked upon what he confessed to himself was the blindest journey he had ever made in all his varied career.
Where was she going—and why was she going? He asked himself these questions over and over again as he sat with a cigar between his teeth and his long legs stretched out on the opposite seat, and the train drove on into an ever wilder and more desolate land. It would be very many miles and a couple of hours or more before they reached any sort of conceivable destination forher, and as a matter of fact this train did not go beyond that destination. Then it struck him sharply that up till the end of last month the train had continued its southward journey. The alteration in the timetable was only a few days old. Possibly she was not aware of it and had counted on travelling to—where? He knew where she had got to stop, but where had she meant to stop? Or where would she go to-morrow? And above all, why was she going at all, leaving her bicycle at a wayside station and with her sole luggage a small suit case? Ned shook his head, tried to suck life into his neglected cigar, and gave up the problem in the meanwhile.
As to the question of what business he had to be following Miss Farmond like this, he troubled his head about it not at all. If she needed him, here he was. If she didn't, he would clear out. But very strong and very urgent was the conviction that she required a friend of some sort.
The stations were few and far between and most desolate, improbable places as endings for Cicely Farmond's journey. He looked out of the window at each of them, but she never alighted.
"She's going to find herself stuck for the night. That's about the size of it," he said to himself as they left the last station before the journey ended.
Though their next stop was the final stop, he did not open the carriage door when the trainpulled up. He did not even put his head far out of the window, only just enough to see what passed on the platform ahead.
"I'm not going to worry her if she doesn't need me," he said to himself.
He saw the slip of a figure in black talking to the stationmaster, and it was hardly necessary to hear that official's last words in order to divine what had happened.
"Weel, miss," he overheard the stationmaster say, "I'm sorry ye're disappointed, but it's no me that has stoppit the train. It's aff for the winter. If ye turn to the left ye'll fin' the hotel."
The girl looked round her slowly and it seemed to Ned that the way she did it epitomised disappointment and desolation, and then she hurried through the station buildings and was gone.
He was out of the carriage and after her in an instant. Beyond the station the darkness was intense and he had almost passed a road branching to the left without seeing it. He stopped and was going to turn down it when it struck him the silence was intense that way, but that there was a light sound of retreating footsteps straight ahead.
"She's missed the turning!" he said to himself, and followed the footsteps.
In a little he could see her against the sky, a dim hurrying figure, and his own stride quickened. He had never been in this place before, but he knew it for a mere seaboard village with an utterly lonely country on every inland side.She was heading into a black wilderness, and he took his decision at once and increased his pace till he was overhauling her fast.
At the sound of his footsteps he could see that she glanced over her shoulder and made the more haste till she was almost running. And then as she heard the pursuing steps always nearer she suddenly slackened speed to let him pass.
"Miss Farmond!" said he.
He could hear her gasp as she stopped short and turned sharply. She was staring hard now at the tall figure looming above her.
"It's only me—Ned Cromarty," he said quietly.
And then he started in turn, for instead of showing relief she gave a half smothered little cry and shrank away from him. For a moment there was dead silence and then he said, still quietly, though it cost him an effort.
"I only mean to help you if you need a hand. Are you looking for the hotel?"
"Yes," she said in a low frightened voice.
"Well," said he, "I guess you'd walk till morning before you reached an hotel along this road. You missed the turning at the station. Give me your bag. Come along!"
She let him take the suit case and she turned back with him, but it struck him painfully that her docility was like that of a frightened animal.
"Where are you bound for?" he enquired in his usual direct way.
She murmured something that he could notcatch and then they fell altogether silent till they had retraced their road to the station and turned down towards a twinkling light or two which showed where the village lay.
"Now, Miss Farmond," said he, "we are getting near this pub and as we've both got to spend the night there, you'll please observe these few short and simple rules. I'm your uncle—Uncle Ned. D'you see?"
There was no laugh, or even a smile from her. She gave a little start of surprise and in a very confused voice murmured:
"Yes, I see."
"My full name is Mr. Ned Dawkins and you're Louisa Dawkins my niece. Just call me 'Uncle Ned' and leave me to do the talking. We are touring this beautiful country and I've lost my luggage owing to the derned foolishness of the railroad officials here. And then when we've had a little bit of dinner you can tell me, if you like, why you've eloped and why you've got a down on me. Or if you don't like to, well, you needn't. Ah, here's the pub at last."
He threw open the door and in a loud and cheerful voice cried:
"Well, here we are, Louisa. Walk right in, my dear!"
His friends would scarcely have picked out Mr. Ned Cromarty of Stanesland as likely to make a distinguished actor, but they might have changed their opinion had they heard him breezily announce himself as Mr. Dawkins from Liverpool and curse the Scottish railways which had lost his luggage for him. It is true that the landlord looked at him a trifle askance and that the landlady and her maid exchanged a knowing smile when he ordered a room for his niece Louisa, but few people shut up in a little country inn with such a formidable looking, loud voiced giant, would have ventured to question his statements openly, and the equanimity of Mr. Dawkins remained undisturbed.
"Sit right down, Louisa!" he commanded when dinner was served; and then, addressing the maid, "You needn't wait. We'll ring when we need you."
But the moment she had gone he checked a strong expression with an effort.
"Damn—confound it!" he cried. "I ought to have remembered to say grace! That would have given just the finishing touch to the Uncle Nedbusiness. However, I don't think they've smelt any rats."
Cicely smiled faintly and then her eyes fell and she answered nothing. Their only other conversation during dinner consisted in his expostulations on her small appetite and her low-voiced protests that she wasn't hungry. But when it was safely over, he pushed back his chair, crossed his knees, and began:
"Now, Louisa, I'm going to take an uncle's privilege of lighting my pipe before I begin to talk, if you don't mind."
He lit his pipe, and then suddenly dropping the rôle of uncle altogether, said gently:
"I don't want to press you with any questions that you don't want to answer, but if you need a friend of any sort, size, or description, here I am." He paused for a moment and then asked still more gently: "Are you afraid of me?"
For the first time she let her long-lashed eyes rest full on his face and in her low voice, she answered:
"Partly afraid."
"And partly what else?"
"Partly puzzled—and partly ashamed."
"Ashamed!" he exclaimed with a note of indignant protest. "Ashamed of what?"
"The exhibition I've made of myself," she said, her voice still very low.
"Well," he smiled, "that's a matter of opinion. But why are you afraid?"
"Oh," she exclaimed. "You know of course!"
He stared at her blankly.
"I pass; I can't play to that!" he replied. "I honestly do not know, Miss Farmond."
Her eyes opened very wide.
"That's what I meant when I said I was puzzled. Youmustknow—and yet——!"
She broke off and looked at him doubtfully.
"Look here," said he, "some one's got to solve this mystery, and I'll risk a leading question. Why did you run away?"
"Because of what you have been doing!"
"Mebeen doing! And what have I been doing?"
"Suspecting me and setting a detective to watch me!"
Ned's one eye opened wide, but for a moment he said not a word. Then he remarked quietly:
"This is going to be a derned complicated business. Just you begin at the beginning, please, and let's see how things stand. Who told you I was setting a detective on to you?"
"I found out myself I was being watched."
"How and when?"
She hesitated, and the doubtful look returned to her eyes.
"Come, Louisa!" he said. "No nonsense this time! We've got to have this out—or my name's Dawkins!"
For the first time she smiled spontaneously, and the doubtful look almost vanished. Just a trace was left, but her voice, though still very low, was firmer now.
"I only discovered for the first time the wicked suspicion about poor Malcolm," she said, "when I met a gentleman a few days ago who told me he had heard Malcolm was arrested for the murder of Sir Reginald."
"But that's not true!" cried Ned.
"No, and he admitted it was only a story he had heard at the hotel, but it suddenly seemed to throw light on several things I hadn't been able to understand. I spoke to Lady Cromarty about it, and then I actually found that I was suspected too!"
"Did she tell you so?"
"Not in so many words, but I knew what was in her mind. And then the very next day I caught the same man examining the library with Bisset and I saw him out of the window follow Lady Cromarty and speak to her, and then I knew he was a detective!"
"How did you know?"
"Oh, by instinct, and I was right! The position was so horrible—so unbearable, that I went in to see Mr. Rattar about it."
"Why Rattar?"
"Because he is the family lawyer and he's also investigating the case, and I thought of course he was employing the detective. And Mr. Rattar told me you were really employing him. Are you?"
There was a pleading note in this question—a longing to hear the answer "No" that seemed to affect Ned strangely.
"It's all right, Miss Farmond!" he said. "Don't you worry! I got that man down here to clear you—just for that purpose and no other!"
"But——" she exclaimed, "Mr. Rattar said you suspected Malcolm and me and were determined to prove our guilt!"
"Simon Rattar said that!"
There was something so menacing in his voice that Cicely involuntarily shrank back.
"Do you mean to tell me, honour bright, that Simon Rattar told you that lie in so many words?"
"Yes," she said, "he did indeed. And he said that this Mr. Carrington was a very clever man and was almost certain to trump up a very strong case against us, and so he advised me to go away."
He seemed almost incapable of speech at this.
"He actually advised you to bolt?"
She nodded.
"To slip away quietly to London and stay in an hotel he recommended till I heard from him. He said you had sworn to track down the criminals and hang them with your own hands, and so when I saw you suddenly come up behind me in that dark road to-night—oh, you've no idea how terrified I was! Mr. Rattar had frightened away all the nerve I ever had, and then when I thought I was safely away, you suddenly came up behind me in that dark road!"
"You poor little——" he began, laying his hand upon hers, and then he remembered Sir Malcolm and altered his sentence into: "You know nowthat was all one infernal pack of lies, don't you?"
Though he took away his hand, she had not moved her own, and she gave him now a look which richly rewarded him for his evening's work.
"I believe every word you tell me," she said.
"Well then," said Ned, "I tell you that I got this fellow Carrington down to take up the case so that I could clear you in the first place and find the right man in the second. So as to give him an absolutely clear field, he wasn't told who was employing him, and then he could suspect me myself if he wanted to. As a matter of fact, I rather think he has guessed who's running him. Anyhow, yesterday afternoon he told me straight and emphatically that he knew you were innocent. So you've run away a day too late!"
She laughed at last, and then fell serious again.
"But what did Mr. Rattar mean by saying you had engaged the detective because you suspected Malcolm and me?"
"That's precisely what I want to find out," said Ned grimly. "He could guess easy enough who was employing Carrington, because I had suggested getting a detective, only Simon wouldn't rise to it. But as to saying I suspected you, he knew that was a lie, and I can only suspect he's getting a little tired of life!"
They talked on for a little longer, still sitting by the table, with her eyes now constantly smiling into his, until at last he had to remind himself so vigorously of the absent and lucky baronet that the pleasure began to ebb. And thenthey said good-night and he was left staring into the fire.
Next morning they faced one another in a first class carriage on a homeward bound train.
"What shall I say to Lady Cromarty?" she asked, half smiling, half fearfully.
He reflected for a few minutes.
"Tell her the truth. Lies don't pay in the long run. I can bear witness to this part of the story, and to the Carrington part if necessary, though I don't want to give him away if I can help it."
"Oh no!" she said, "we mustn't interfere with him. But supposing Lady Cromarty doesn't believe——"
"Come straight to Stanesland! Will you?"
"Run away again?"
"It's the direction you run in that matters," said he. "Now, mind you, that's understood!"
She was silent for a little and then she said:
"I can't understand why these horrible stories associate Malcolm and me. Why should we have conspired to do such a dreadful thing?"
He stared at her, and then hesitated.
"Because—well, being engaged to him——"
"Engaged to Malcolm!" she exclaimed. "Whatever put that into people's heads?"
"What!" he cried. "Aren't you?"
"Good gracious no! Wasthatthe reason then?"
He seemed too lost in his own thoughts to answer her; but they were evidently not unhappy thoughts this time.
"Who can have started such a story?" she demanded.
"Who started it?" he repeated and then was immersed in thought again; only now there was a grim look on his face.
"Well anyhow," he cried, in a minute or two, "we're out of that wood! Aren't we, Louisa?"
"Yes, Uncle Ned," she smiled back.
He stirred impulsively in his seat and then seemed to check himself, and for the rest of the journey he appeared to be divided between content with the present hour and an impulse to improve upon it. And then before he had realised where they were, they had stopped at a station, and she was exclaiming:
"Oh, I must get out here! I've left my bike in the station!"
"Look here," said he, with his hand on the door handle, "before you go you've got to swear that you'll come straight to Stanesland if there's another particle of trouble. Swear?"
"But what about Miss Cromarty?" she smiled.
"Miss Cromarty will say precisely the same as I do," he said with a curiously significant emphasis. "So now, I don't open this door till you promise!"
"I promise!" said she, and then she was standing on the platform waving a farewell.
"I half wish I'd risked it!" he said to himself with a sigh as the train moved on, and then he ruminated with an expression on his face that seemed to suggest a risk merely deferred.
Ned Cromarty found his sister in her room.
"Well, Ned," she asked, "where on earth have you been?"
He shut the door before he answered, and then came up to the fireplace, and planted himself in front of her.
"Who told you that Cicely Farmond was engaged to Malcolm Cromarty?" he demanded.
She made a little grimace of comic alarm, but her eye was apprehensive.
"Don't eat my head off, Neddy! How can I remember?"
"You've got to remember," said her brother grimly. "And you'd better be careful what you tell me, for I'll go straight to the woman, or man, you name."
She looked at him boldly enough.
"I don't know if you are aware of it, but this isn't the way I'm accustomed to be talked to."
"It's the way you're being talked to now," said he. "Who told you?"
"I absolutely refuse to answer if you speak to me like that, Ned!"
"Then we part company, Lilian."
There was no doubt about the apprehension inher eye now. For a moment it seemed to wonder whether he was actually in earnest, and then to decide that he was.
"I—I don't know who told me," she said in an altered voice.
"Did anybody tell you, or did you make it up?"
"I never actually said they were engaged."
He looked at her in silence and very hard, and then he spoke deliberately.
"I won't ask you why you deceived me, Lilian, but it was a low down trick to play on me, and it has turned out to be a damned cruel trick to play on that girl. I mentioned the engagement as a mere matter of course to somebody, and though I mentioned it confidentially, it started this slander about Malcolm Cromarty and Cicely Farmond conspiring to murder—tomurder, Lilian!—the man of all men they owed most to. That's what you've done!"
By this time Lilian Cromarty's handkerchief was at her eyes.
"I—I am very sorry, Ned," she murmured.
But he was not to be soothed by a tear, even in the most adroit lady's eye.
"The latest consequence has been," he said sternly, "that through a mixture of persecution and bad advice she has been driven to run away. Luckily I spotted her at the start and fetched her back, and I've told her that if there is the least little bit more trouble she is to come straight here and that you will give her as good a welcome as I shall. Is that quite clear?"
"Yes," she murmured through her handkerchief.
"Otherwise," said he, "there's no room for us both here. One single suggestion that she isn't welcome—and you have full warning now of the consequences!"
"When is she coming?" she asked in an uncertain voice.
"When? Possibly never. But there's some very fishy—and it looks to me, some very dirty business going on, and this port stands open in case of a storm. You fully understand?"
"Of course I do," she said, putting away her handkerchief. "I'm not quite a fool!"
And indeed, none of her friends or acquaintances had ever made that accusation against Lilian Cromarty.
"Well, that's all," said Ned, and began to move across the room.
But now the instinct for finding a scapegoat began to revive.
"Who did you tell it to, Ned?" she asked.
"Simon Rattar."
"Thenhehas spread this dreadful story!" she exclaimed with righteous indignation.
Her brother stopped and slowly turned back.
"By heaven, I've scarcely had time to think it all out yet—but it looks like it!"
"Itmustbe that nasty grumpy old creature! If you told nobody else—well, it can't be anybody else!"
"But why should he go and spread such a story?"
"Because he wants to shelter some one else!"
"Who?"
"Ah, that's for the police to find out. But I'm quite certain, Ned, that that pig-headed old Simon with his cod-fish eyes and his everlasting grunt is at the bottom of it all!"
He stared thoughtfully into space.
"Well," he said slowly, "he has certainly been asking for trouble in one or two ways, and this seems another invitation. But he'll get it, sure! At the same time—what's his object?"
His sister had no hesitation.
"Either to make money or hide something disgraceful. You really must enquire into this, Ned!"
He dropped into a chair and sat for a few minutes with his face in his hands. At last he looked up and shook his head.
"I'm out of my depth," he said. "I guess I'd better see Carrington."
"Mr. Carrington?" she exclaimed.
"I had a long talk with him," he explained. "He seems an uncommon shrewd fellow. Yes, that's the proper line!"
She looked at him curiously but evidently judged it tactful in the present delicate situation to ask no more. He rose now and went, still thoughtful, to the door.
"What a dreadful thing of Simon Rattar todo! Wasn't it, Ned?" she said indignantly, her eyes as bright as ever again.
He turned as she went out.
"The whole thing has been damnable!"
As the door closed behind him she made a little grimace again and then gave a little shrug.
"He's going to marry her!" she said to herself, and acting immediately on a happy inspiration, sat down to write a long and affectionate letter to an old friend whose country house might, with judicious management, be considered good for a six months' visit.