The unexpected energy displayed by her charming guest in bustling all over the country had surprised and a little perplexed Miss Peterkin, but she now decided that it was only a passing phase, for on the day following his visits to Keldale and Stanesland he exhibited exactly the same leisurely calm she had admired at first. He sought out the local golf course and for an hour or two his creditable game confirmed his reputation as a sportsman, and for the rest of the time he idled in a very gentlemanly manner.
In the course of the afternoon he strolled out and gradually drifted through the dusk towards the station. Finding the train was, as usual, indefinitely late, he strolled out again and finally drifted back just as the signals had fallen at last. It was quite dark by this time and the platform lamps were lit, but Mr. Carrington chanced to stand inconspicuously in a background of shadows. As the engine hissed ponderously under the station roof and the carriage doors began to open, he still stood there, the most casual of spectators. A few passengers passed him, and then came a young man in a fur coat, on whom some very curious glances had been thrown when he alighted from his first class compartment.Mr. Carrington, however, seemed to take no interest either in him or anybody else till the young man was actually passing him, and then he suddenly stepped out of the shadows, touched him on the shoulder and said in a much deeper and graver voice than usual:
"Sir Malcolm Cromarty, I believe!"
The young man started violently and turned a pale face.
"Ye—es, I am," he stammered.
"May I have a word with you?" said Carrington gravely.
With a dreadfully nervous air Sir Malcolm accompanied him out into the dark road, neither speaking, and then the young man demanded hoarsely:
"What do you want with me?"
Carrington's voice suddenly resumed its usual cheerful note.
"Forgive me," he said, "for collaring you like this, but the fact is I am very keen to see you about the Keldale shootings."
Sir Malcolm gave a gasp of relief.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed. "Good Lord, what a fright you gave me!"
"I say I'm awfully sorry!" said Carrington anxiously. "How frightfully stupid I must have been!"
The young man looked at him, and, like most other people, evidently found his ingenuous face and sympathetic manner irresistibly confidence inspiring.
"Oh, not at all," he said. "In fact you must have wondered at my manner. The fact is Mr.—er——"
"Carrington."
"Mr. Carrington, that I'm in a most awful position at present. You know of course that I'm suspected of murder!"
"No!" exclaimed Carrington, with vast interest. "Not really?"
"It's an absolute fact—suspected of murder! Good God, just imagine it!"
The young baronet stopped and faced his new acquaintance dramatically. In spite of his nervousness, it was evident that his notoriety had compensations.
"Yes," he said, "I—the head of an ancient and honourable house—am actually suspected of having murdered my cousin, Sir Reginald Cromarty!"
"What, that murder!" exclaimed Carrington. "By Jove, of course, I've heard a lot about the case. And you are really suspected?"
"So much so," said the baronet darkly, "that when you touched me on the shoulder I actually thought you were going to arrest me!"
Carrington seemed equally astounded and penitent at this unfortunate reading of his simple and natural action in stepping suddenly out of the dark and tapping a nervous stranger on the shoulder.
"How very tactless of me!" he repeated morethan once. "Really, I must be more careful another time!"
And then he suddenly turned his monocle on to the baronet and enquired:
"But how do you know you are suspected?"
"How do I know! My God, all fingers are pointing at me! Even in my club in London I feel I am a marked man. I have discussed my awful position with all my friends, and by this time they tell me that everybody else knows too!"
"That is—er—not unnatural," said Carrington drily. "But how did you first learn?"
The young man's voice fell almost to a whisper and he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder as he spoke.
"I knew I should be suspected the moment I heard of the crime! The very night before—perhaps at the actual moment when the deed was being done—I did a foolish thing!"
"You don't say so!" exclaimed his new friend with every appearance of surprise.
"Yes, you may not believe me, but I acted like a damned silly ass. Mind you, I am not as a rule a silly ass," the baronet added with dignity, "but that night I actually confided in a woman!"
"What woman?"'
"My relative Miss Cicely Farmond—a charming girl, I may mention; there was every excuse for me, still it was a rotten thing to do, I quite admit. I told her that I was hard up and feeling desperate, and I even said I was going to sit up late! And on top of that Sir Reginald was murderedthat very night. Imagine my sensations for the next few days, living in the same house with the woman who had heard me saythat! She held my fate in her hands, but, thank God, she evidently had such faith in my honour and humanity that she forebore to—er——"
"Peach," suggested Carrington, "though as a matter of fact, I fancy she had forgotten all about the incident."
"Forgotten my words!" exclaimed the baronet indignantly. "Impossible! I can never forget them myself so long as I live!"
"Well," said Carrington soothingly, "let us suppose she remembered them. Anyhow she said nothing, and, that being so, how did you first actually know that you were suspected?"
"My own man of business thought it his duty to drop me a hint!" cried the baronet.
This piece of information seemed to produce quite as much impression on his new acquaintance as his first revelation, though he took it rather more quietly.
"Really!" said he in a curious voice. "And what course of action did he advise?"
"He advised me to keep away from the place. In fact he even suggested I should go abroad—and, by Gad, I'm going too!"
To this, Carrington made no reply at all. His thoughts, in fact, seemed to have wandered entirely away from Sir Malcolm Cromarty. The baronet seemed a trifle disappointed at his lack of adequate interest.
"Don't you sympathise with me," he enquired.
"I beg your pardon," said Carrington, "my thoughts were wandering for the moment. I do sympathise. By the way, what are you going to do now?"
The baronet started.
"By Gad, my own thoughts are wandering!" said he, "though I certainly have some excuse! I must get down to the Kings Arms and order a trap to take me out to Keldale House as quickly as I can." And then he added mysteriously, "I only came down here because I was urgently wired for by some one who—well, I couldn't refuse."
"I'm going to the Kings Arms, too. We'll walk down together, if you don't mind."
"Delighted," said the baronet, "if you don't mind being seen with such a marked man."
"I rather like them marked," smiled Carrington.
All the way to the hotel the notorious Sir Malcolm pursued what had evidently become his favourite subject:—the vast sensation he was causing in society and the pain it gave a gentleman of title and position to be placed in such a predicament. When they reached the Kings Arms, his new acquaintance insisted in a very friendly and confident way that there was no immediate hurry about starting for Keldale, and that the baronet must come up to his sitting room first and have a little refreshment.
The effect of a couple of large glasses of sloegin was quickly apparent. Sir Malcolm became decidedly happier and even more confidential. He was considerably taken aback, however, when his host suddenly asked, with a disconcertingly intense glance:
"Are you quite sure you are really innocent?"
"Innocent!" exclaimed the baronet, leaping out of his chair. "Do you mean to tell me you doubt it? Do you actually believe I am capable of killing a man in cold blood? Especially the honoured head of my own house?"
Carrington seemed to suppress a smile.
"No," said he, "I don't believe it."
"Then, sir," said the baronet haughtily, "kindly do not question my honour!"
This time Carrington allowed his smile to appear.
"Sit down, Sir Malcolm," he said, "pull yourself together, and listen to a few words."
Sir Malcolm looked extremely surprised, but obeyed.
"What I am going to say is in the strictest confidence and you must give me your word not to repeat one single thing I tell you."
His serious manner evidently impressed the young man.
"I give you my word, sir," said he.
"Well then, in the first place, I am a detective."
For a few seconds Sir Malcolm stared at him in silence and then burst into a hearty laugh.
"Good egg, sir!" said he. "Good egg! If Ihad not finished my sloe gin I should drink to your health!"
It was Carrington's turn to look disconcerted. Recovering himself he said with a smile:
"You shall have another glass of sloe gin when you have grasped the situation. I assure you I am actually a detective—or, rather, a private enquiry agent."
Sir Malcolm shook a knowing head.
"My dear fellow," said he, "you can't really pull my leg like that. I can see perfectly well you are a gentleman."
"I appreciate the compliment," said Carrington, "but just let me tell you what was in the telegram which has brought you here. It ran—'Come immediately urgent news don't answer please don't delay. Cicely Farmond.'"
Sir Malcolm's mouth fell open.
"How—how do you know that?" he asked.
"Because I wrote it myself. Miss Farmond is quite unaware it was sent."
The baronet began to look indignant.
"But—er—why the devil, sir——"
"Because I am a detective," interrupted Carrington, "and I wished to see you."
Sir Malcolm evidently began to grasp the situation at last.
"What about?" he asked, and his face was a little paler already.
"About this murder. I wanted to satisfy myself that you were—or were not—innocent."
"But—er—how?"
"By your actions, conversation, and appearance. I am now satisfied, Sir Malcolm."
"That I am innocent."
"Yes."
"Then will this be the end of my—er—painful position?"
"So far as your own anxiety goes; yes. You need no longer fear arrest."
The first look of relief which had rushed to the young man's face became clouded with a suggestion of chagrin.
"But won't people then—er—talk about me any longer?"
"I am afraid I can't prevent that—for a little longer."
The last of the baronet's worries seemed to disappear.
"Ah!" he said complacently. "Well, let them talk about me!"
Carrington rose and rang the bell.
"You deserve a third sloe gin!" said he.
While the third sloe gin was being brought, he very deliberately and very thoughtfully selected and lit a cigarette, and then he said:
"You tell me specifically that Mr. Rattar was the first person to inform you that suspicion was directed against you, and that he advised you to keep away, and for choice to go abroad. There is no doubt about that, is there?"
"Well," said Sir Malcolm, "he didn't specifically advise me to go abroad, but certainly his letter seemed to suggest it."
"Ah!" said Carrington and gazed into space for a moment.
"I am now going to take the liberty of suggesting your best course of action," he resumed. "In the first place, there is no object in your going out to Keldale House, so I think you had better not. In the second place, you had better call on Mr. Rattar first thing to-morrow and consult him about any point of business that strikes you as a sufficient reason for coming so far to see him. I may tell you that he has given you extremely bad advice, so you can be as off-hand and brief with him as you like. Get out of his office, in fact, as quick as you can."
"That's what I always want to do," said the baronet. "I can't stick the old fellow at any price."
"If he asks you whether you have seen me, say you have just seen me but didn't fancy me, and don't give him the least idea of what we talked about. You can add that you left the Kings Arms because you didn't care for my company."
"But am I to leave it?" exclaimed the young man.
Carrington nodded.
"It's better that we shouldn't stay in the same hotel. It will support your account of me. And finally, get back to London by the first train after you have seen Mr. Rattar."
"Then aren't you working with old Simon?" enquired Sir Malcolm.
"Oh, in a sense, I am," said Carrington carelessly, "but I daresay you have found him yourselfan arbitrary, meddlesome old boy, and I like to be independent."
"By Gad, so do I," the baronet agreed cordially. "I am quite with you about old Silent Simon. I'll do just exactly as you suggest. He won't get any change out of me!"
"And now," said Carrington, "get your bag taken to any other hotel you like. I'll explain everything to Miss Peterkin."
Sir Malcolm by this time had finished his third sloe gin and he said farewell with extreme affability, while his friend Mr. Carrington dropped into the manageress' room and explained that the poor young man had seemed so nervous and depressed that he had advised his departure for a quieter lodging. He added with great conviction that as a sporting man he would lay long odds on Sir Malcolm's innocence, and that between Miss Peterkin and himself he didn't believe a word of the current scandals.
That evening Mr. Carrington joined the choice spirits in the manageress' room, and they had a very long and entertaining gossip. The conversation turned this time chiefly on the subject of Mr. Simon Rattar, and if by the end of it the agreeable visitor was not fully acquainted with the history of that local celebrity, of his erring partner, and of his father before him, it was not the fault of Miss Peterkin and her friends. Nor could it fairly be said to be the visitor's fault either, for his questions were as numerous as they were intelligent.
On the morning after Sir Malcolm's fleeting visit to the Kings Arms, the manageress was informed by her friend Mr. Carrington that he would like a car immediately after breakfast.
"I really must be a little more energetic, or I'll never find anything to suit me," he smiled in his most leisurely manner. "I am thinking of running out to Keldale to have another look at the place. It might be worth taking if they'd let it."
"But you've been to Keldale already, Mr. Carrington!" said Miss Peterkin. "I wonder you don't have a look at one of the other places."
"I'm one of those fellows who make up their minds slowly," he explained. "But when we cautious fellows do make up our minds, well, something generally happens!"
Circumstances, however, prevented this enthusiastic sportsman from making any further enquiry as to the letting of the Keldale shootings. When Bisset appeared at the front door consternation was in his face. It was veiled under a restrained professional manner, but not sufficiently to escape his visitor's eye.
"What's up?" he asked at once.
Bisset looked for a moment into his sympathetic face, and then in grave whisper said:
"Step in, sir, and I'll tell ye."
He led him into a small morning room, carefully closed the door, and announced,
"Miss Farmond has gone, sir!"
"Gone. When and how?"
"Run away, sir, on her bicycle yesterday afternoon and deil a sign of her since!"
"Any luggage?"
"Just a wee suit case."
"No message left, or anything of that kind?"
"Not a word or a line, sir."
"The devil!" murmured Carrington.
"That's just exac'ly it, sir!"
"No known cause? No difficulty with Lady Cromarty or anything?"
"Nothing that's come to my ears, sir."
Carrington stared blankly into space and remained silent for several minutes. Bisset watched his assistant with growing anxiety.
"Surely, sir," he burst forth at last, "you're not thinking this goes to indicate any deductions or datas showing she's guilty?"
"I'm dashed if I know what to think," murmured Carrington still lost in thought.
Suddenly he turned his eyeglass on the other.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "the day before yesterday I passed that girl riding on a bicycle towards Keldale House after dark! Do you know where she had been?"
"Into the town, sir. I knew she was out, ofcourse, and she just mentioned afterwards where she had been."
"Have you any idea whom she saw or what she did?"
Bisset shook his head.
"I have no datas, sir, that's the plain fac'."
"But you can't think of any likely errand to take her in so late in the afternoon?"
"No, sir. In fact, I mind thinking it was funny like her riding about alone in the dark like yon, for she's feared of being out by hersel' in the dark; I know that."
Carrington reflected for a few moments longer and then seemed to dismiss the subject.
"By the way," he asked, "can you remember if, by any chance, Sir Reginald had any difficulty or trouble or row of any kind with anyone whatever during, say, the month previous to his death? I mean with any of the tenants, or his tradesmen—or his lawyer? Take your time and think carefully."
Carrington dismissed his car at Mr. Rattar's office. When he was shown into the lawyer's room, he exhibited a greater air of keenness than usual.
"Well, Mr. Rattar," said he, "you'll be interested to hear that I've got rather a new point of view with regard to this case."
"Indeed?" said Simon, and his lips twitched a little as he spoke. There was no doubt that he was not looking so well as usual. His face hadseemed drawn and worried last time Carrington had seen him; now it might almost be termed haggard.
"I find," continued Carrington, "that Sir Reginald displayed a curious and unaccountable irritability before his death. I hear, for instance, that a letter from you had upset him quite unduly."
Carrington paused for an instant, and his monocle was full on Simon all the time, and yet he did not seem to notice the very slight but distinct start which the lawyer gave, for he continued with exactly the same confidential air.
"These seem to me very suggestive symptoms, Mr. Rattar, and I am wondering very seriously whether the true solution of his mysterious death is not—" he paused for an instant and then in a low and earnest voice said, "suicide!"
There was no mistake about the lawyer's start this time, or about the curious fact that the strain seemed suddenly to relax, and a look of relief to take its place. And yet Carrington seemed quite oblivious to anything beyond his own striking new theory.
"That's rather a suggestive idea, isn't it?" said he.
"Very!" replied Simon with the air of one listening to a revelation.
"How he managed to inflict precisely those injuries on himself is at present a little obscure," continued Carrington, "but no doubt a really expert medical opinion will be able to suggest anexplanation. The theory fits all the other facts remarkably, doesn't it?"
"Remarkably," agreed Simon.
"This letter of yours, for instance, was a very ordinary business communication, I understand."
"Very ordinary," said Simon.
"Of course, you have a copy of it in your letter book—and also Sir Reginald's reply?"
There was a moment's pause and then Simon's grunt seemed to be forced out of himself. But he followed the grunt with a more assured, "Certainly."
"May I see them?"
"You—you think they are important?"
"As bearing on Sir Reginald's state of mind only."
Simon rang his bell and ordered the letter book to be brought in. While Carrington was examining it, his eyes never left his visitor's face, but they would have had to be singularly penetrating to discover a trace of any emotion there. Throughout his inspection, Carrington's air remained as imperturbable as though he were reading the morning paper.
"According to these letters," he observed, "there seems to have been a trifling but rather curious misunderstanding. In accordance with written instructions of a fortnight previously, you had arranged to let a certain farm to a certain man, and Sir Reginald then complained that you had overlooked a conversation between those dates in which he had cancelled these instructions.He writes with a warmth that clearly indicates his own impression that this conversation had been perfectly explicit and that your forgetfulness or neglect of it was unaccountable, and he proposes to go into this and one or two other matters in the course of a conversation with you which should have taken place that afternoon. You then reply that you are too busy to come out so soon, but will call on the following morning. In the meantime Sir Reginald is murdered, and so the conversation never takes place and no explanation passes between you. Those are the facts, aren't they?"
He looked up from the letter book as he spoke and there was no doubt he noticed something now. Indeed, the haggard look on Simon's face and a bead of perspiration on his forehead were so striking, and so singular in the case of such a tough customer, that the least observant—or the most circumspect—must have stared. Carrington's stare lasted only for the fraction of a second, and then he was polishing his eyeglass with his handkerchief in the most indifferent way.
A second or two passed before Simon answered, and then he said abruptly:
"Sir Reginald was mistaken. No such conversation."
"Do you mean to tell me literally thatnosuch conversation took place? Was it a mere delusion?"
"Er—practically. Yes, a delusion."
"Suicide!" declared Carrington with an air ofprofound conviction. "Yes, Mr. Rattar, that is evidently the solution. The unfortunate man had clearly not been himself, probably for some little time previously. Well, I'll make a few more enquiries, but I fancy my work is nearly at an end. Good-morning."
He rose and was half way across the room, when he stopped and asked, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to him:
"By the way, I hear that Miss Farmond was in seeing you a couple of days ago."
Again Simon seemed to start a little, and again he hesitated for an instant and then replied with a grunt.
"Had she any news?" asked the other.
Simon grunted again and shook his head, and Carrington threw him a friendly nod and went out.
He maintained the same air till he had turned down a bye street and was alone, and only then he gave vent to his feelings.
"I'm dashed!" he muttered, "absolutely jiggered!"
All the while he shook his head and slashed with his walking stick through the air. There was no doubt that Mr. Carrington was thoroughly and genuinely puzzled.
Carrington's soliloquy was interrupted by the appearance of someone on the pavement ahead of him. He pulled himself together, took out his watch, and saw that it was still only twenty minutes past twelve. After thinking for a moment, he murmured:
"I might as well try 'em!"
And thereupon he set out at a brisk walk, and a few minutes later was closeted with Superintendent Sutherland in the Police Station. He began by handing the Superintendent a card with the name of Mr. F. T. Carrington on it, but with quite a different address from that on the card he had sent up to Mr. Rattar. It was, in fact, his business card, and the Superintendent regarded him with respectful interest.
After explaining his business and his preference for not disclosing it to the public, he went briefly over the main facts of the case.
"I see you've got them all, sir," said the Superintendent, when he had finished. "There really seems nothing to add and no new light to be seen anywhere."
"I'm afraid so," agreed Carrington. "I'm afraid so."
In fact he seemed so entirely resigned to this conclusion that he allowed, and even encouraged, the conversation to turn to other matters. The activity and enterprise of the Procurator Fiscal seemed to have particularly impressed him, and this led to a long talk on the subject of Mr. Simon Rattar. The Superintendent was also a great admirer of the Fiscal and assured Mr. Carrington that not only was Mr. Simon himself the most capable and upright of men, but that the firm of Rattar had always conducted its business in a manner that was above reproach. Mr. Carrington had made one or two slightly cynical but perfectly good-natured comments on lawyers in general, but he got no countenance from the Superintendent so far as Mr. Rattar and his business were concerned.
"But hadn't he some trouble at one time with his brother?" his visitor enquired.
The Superintendent admitted that this was so, and also that Sir Reginald Cromarty had suffered thereby, but he was quite positive that this trouble was entirely a thing of the past. There was no doubt that this information had a somewhat depressing effect even on the good-humoured Mr. Carrington, and at last he confessed with a candid air:
"The fact is, Superintendent, that I have a theory Sir Reginald was worrying about something before his death, and as all his business affairs are conducted by Mr. Rattar, I was wondering whether he had any difficulties in that direction.Now about this bad brother of Mr. Rattar's—there couldn't be trouble still outstanding, you think?"
"Mr. George Rattar was out of the firm, sir, years ago," the Superintendent assured him. "No, it couldna be that."
"And Mr. George Rattar certainly died a short time ago, did he?"
"I can show you the paper with his death in it. I kept it as a kind of record of the end of him."
He fetched the paper and Carrington after looking at it for a few minutes, remarked:
"I see here an advertisement stating that Mr. Rattar lost a ring."
"Yes," said the Superintendent, "that was a funny thing because it's not often a gentleman loses a ring off his hand. I've half wondered since whether it was connected with a story of Mr. Rattar's maid that his house had been broken into."
"When was that?"
"Curiously enough it was the very night Sir Reginald was murdered."
Carrington's chair squeaked on the floor as he sat up sharply.
"The very night of the murder?" he repeated. "Why has this never come out before?"
The stolid Superintendent looked at him in surprise.
"But what connection could there possibly be, sir? Mr. Rattar thought nothing of it himself and just mentioned it so that I would know it wasa mere story, in case his servants started talking about it."
"But you yourself seemed just now to think that it might not be a mere story."
"Oh, that was just a kind o' idea," said the Superintendent easily. "It only came in my mind when the ring was never recovered."
"What were the exact facts?" demanded Carrington.
"Oh," said the Superintendent vaguely, "there was something about a window looking as if it had been entered, but really, sir, Mr. Rattar paid so little attention to it himself, and we were that taken up by the Keldale case that I made no special note of it."
"Did the servants ever speak of it again?"
"Everybody was that taken up about the murder that I doubt if they've minded on it any further."
Carrington was silent for a few moments.
"Are the servants intelligent girls?" he enquired.
"Oh, quite average intelligent. In fact, the housemaid is a particular decent sort of a girl."
At this point, Mr. Carrington's interest in the subject seemed to wane, and after a few pleasant generalities, he thanked the Superintendent for his courtesy, and strolled down to the hotel for lunch. This time his air as he walked was noticeably brisker and his eye decidedly brighter.
About three o'clock that afternoon came a ring at the front door bell of Mr. Simon Rattar'scommodious villa. Mary MacLean declared afterwards that she had a presentiment when she heard it, but then the poor girl had been rather troubled with presentiments lately. When she opened the front door she saw a particularly polite and agreeable looking gentleman adorned with that unmistakeable mark of fashion, a single eyeglass; and the gentleman saw a pleasant looking but evidently high strung and nervous young woman.
"Is Mr. Simon Rattar at home?" he enquired in a courteous voice and with a soothing smile that won her heart at once; and on hearing that Mr. Rattar always spent the afternoons at his office and would not return before five o'clock, his disappointment was so manifest that she felt sincerely sorry for him.
He hesitated and was about to go away when a happy idea struck him.
"Might I come in and write a line to be left for him?" he asked, and Mary felt greatly relieved at being able to assist the gentleman to assuage his disappointment in this way.
She led him into the library and somehow or other by the time she had got him ink and paper and pen she found herself talking to this distinguished looking stranger in the most friendly way. It was not that he was forward or gallant, far from it; simply that he was so nice and so remarkably sympathetic. Within five minutes of making his acquaintance, Mary felt that she could tell him almost anything.
This sympathetic visitor made several appreciative remarks about the house and garden, and then, just as he had dipped his pen into the ink, he remarked:
"Rather a tempting house for burglars, I should think—if such people existed in these peaceable parts."
"Oh, but they do, sir," she assured him. "We had one in this very house one night!"
The sympathetic stranger almost laid down his pen, he was so interested by this unexpected reply.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Really a burglary in this house? I say, how awfully interesting! When did it happen?"
"Well, sir," said Mary in an impressive voice, "it's a most extraordinary thing, but it was actually the very self same night of Sir Reginald's murder!"
So surprised and interested was the visitor that he actually did lay down his pen this time.
"Was it the same man, do you think?" he asked in a voice that seemed to thrill with sympathetic excitement.
"Indeed I've sometimes wondered!" said she.
"Tell me how it happened!"
"Well, sir," said Mary, "it was on the very morning that we heard about Sir Reginald—only before we'd heard, and I was pulling up the blinds in the wee sitting room when I says to myself. 'There's been some one in at this window!'"
"The wee sitting room," repeated her visitor. "Which is that?"
He seemed so genuinely interested that beforeshe realised what liberties she was taking in the master's house, she had led him into a small sitting room at the end of a short passage leading out of the hall. It had evidently been intended for a smoking room or study when the villa was built, but was clearly never used by Mr. Rattar, for it contained little furniture beyond bookcases. Its window looked on to the side of the garden and not towards the drive, and a grass lawn lay beneath it, while the room itself was obviously the most isolated, and from a burglarious point of view the most promising, on the ground floor.
"This is the room, sir," said Mary. "And look! You still can see the marks on the sash."
"Yes," said the visitor thoughtfully, "they seem to have been made by a tacketty boot."
"And forbye that, there was a wee bit mud on the floor and a tacket mark in that!"
"Was the window shut or open?"
"Shut, sir; and the most extraordinary thing was that it was snibbed too! That's what made the master say it couldna have been a burglar at all, or how did he snib the window after he went out again?"
"Then Mr. Rattar didn't believe it was a burglar?"
"N—no, sir," said Mary, a little reluctantly.
"Was anything stolen?"
"No, sir; that was another funny thing. But it must have been a burglar!"
"What about the other windows, and the doors? Were they all fastened in the morning?"
"Yes, sir, it's the truth they were," she admitted.
"And what did Mr. Rattar do with the piece of mud?"
"Just threw it out of the window."
The sympathetic stranger crossed to the window and looked out.
"Grass underneath, I see," he observed. "No footprints outside, I suppose?"
"No, sir."
"Did the police come down and make enquiries?"
"Well, sir, the master said he would inform the pollis, but then came the news of the murder, and no one had any thoughts for anything else after that."
The sympathetic visitor stood by the window very thoughtfully for a few moments, and then turned and rewarded her with the most charming smile.
"Thank you awfully for showing me all this," said he. "By the way, what's your name?" She told him and he added with a still nicer smile, "Thank you, Mary!"
They returned to the library and he sat down before the table again, but just as he was going to pick up the pen a thought seemed to strike him.
"By the way," he said, "I remember hearing something about the loss of a ring. The burglar didn't take that, did he?"
"Oh, no, sir, I remember the advertisement was in the paper before the night of the burglary."
He opened his eyes and then smiled.
"Brilliant police you've got!" he murmured, and took up the pen again.
"There was another burglar here and he might have taken it!" said Mary in a low voice.
The visitor once more dropped the pen and looked up with a start.
"Another burglar!" he exclaimed.
"Well, sir, this one didn't actually burgle, but—"
She thought of the master if he chanced to learn how she had been gossiping, and her sentence was cut short in the midst.
"Yes, Mary! You were saying?" cooed the persuasive visitor, and Mary succumbed again and told him of that night when a shadow moved into the trees and footprints were left in the gravel outside the library window, and the master looked so strangely in the morning. Her visitor was so interested that once she began it was really impossible to stop.
"How very strange!" he murmured, and there was no doubt he meant it.
"But about the master's ring, sir—" she began.
"You say he looked as though he were beingwatched?" he interrupted, but it was quite a polite and gentle interruption.
"Yes, sir; but the funny thing about losing the ring was that he never could get it off his finger before! I've seen him trying to, but oh, it wouldn't nearly come off!"
Again he sat up and gazed at her.
"Another mystery!" he murmured. "He lost a ring which wouldn't come off his finger? By Jove! That's very rum. Are there any more mysteries, Mary, connected with this house?"
She hesitated and then in a very low voice answered:
"Oh, yes, sir; there was one that gave me even a worse turn!"
By this time her visitor seemed to have given up all immediate thoughts of writing his note to Mr. Rattar. He turned his back to the table and looked at her with benevolent calm.
"Let's hear it, Mary," he said gently.
And then she told him the story of that dreadful night when the unknown visitor came for the box of old papers. He gazed at her, listening very attentively, and then in a soothing voice asked her several questions, more particularly when all these mysterious events occurred.
"And are these all your troubles now, Mary?" he enquired.
He asked so sympathetically that at last she even ventured to tell him her latest trouble. Till he fairly charmed it out of her, she had shrunk from telling him anything that seemed to reflect directly on her master or to be a giving away of his concerns. But now she confessed that Mr. Rattar's conduct, Mr. Rattar's looks, and even Mr. Rattar's very infrequent words had been troubling her strangely. How or why his looks and words should trouble her, she knew not precisely,and his conduct, generally speaking, she admitted was as regular as ever.
"You don't mean that just now and then he takes a wee drop too much?" enquired her visitor helpfully.
"Oh, no, sir," said she, "the master never did take more than what a gentleman should, and he's not a smoking gentleman either—quite a principle against smokers, he has, sir. Oh, it's nothing like that!"
She looked over her shoulder fearfully as though the walls might repeat her words to the master, as she told him of the curious and disturbing thing. Mr. Rattar had been till lately a gentleman of the most exact habits, and then all of a sudden he had taken to walking in his garden in a way he never did before. First she had noticed him, about the time of the burglary and the removal of the papers, walking there in the mornings. That perhaps was not so very disturbing, but since then he had changed this for a habit of slipping out of the house every night—every single night!
"And walking in the garden!" exclaimed Mr. Carrington.
"Sometimes I've heard his footsteps on the gravel, sir! Even when it has been raining I've heard them. Perhaps sometimes he goes outside the garden, but I've never heard of anyone meeting him on the road or streets. It's in the garden I've heard the master's steps, sir, and if you had been with him as long as I've been, andknew how regular his habits was, you'd know how I'm feeling, sir!"
"I do know, Mary; I quite understand," Mr. Carrington assured her in his soothing voice, and there could be no doubt he was wondering just as hard as she.
"What o'clock does he generally go out?" he asked.
"At nine o'clock almost exactly every night, sir!"
Mr. Carrington looked thoughtfully out of the window into the garden, and then at last looked down at the ink and paper and pen. Not a word was written on the paper yet.
"Look here, Mary," he said very confidentially. "I am a friend of Mr. Rattar's and I am sure you would like me to try and throw a little light on this. Perhaps something is troubling him and I could help you to clear it up."
"Oh, sir," she cried, "you are very kind! I wish you could!"
"Perhaps the best thing then," he suggested, "would be for me not to leave a note for him after all, and for you not even to mention that I have called. As he knows me pretty well he would be almost sure to ask you whether I had come in and if I had left any message and so on, and then he might perhaps find out that we had been talking, and that wouldn't perhaps be pleasant for you, would it?"
"Oh, my! No, indeed, it wouldn't!" she agreed. "I'm that feared of the master, sir, I'dnever have him know I had been talking about him, or about anything that has happened in this house!"
So, having come to this judicious decision, Mr. Carrington wished Mary the kindest of farewells and walked down the drive again. There could be no question he had plenty to think about now, though to judge from his expression, it seemed doubtful whether his thoughts were very clear.
The laird of Stanesland strode into the Kings Arms and demanded:
"Mr. Carrington? What, having a cup of tea in his room? What's his number? 27—right! I'll walk right up, thanks."
He walked right up, made the door rattle under his knuckles and strode jauntily in. There was no beating about the bush with Mr. Cromarty either in deed or word.
"Well, Mr. Carrington," said he, "don't trouble to look surprised. I guess you've seen right through me for some time back."
"Meaning—?" asked Carrington with his engaging smile.
"Meaning that I'm the unknown, unsuspected, and mysterious person who's putting up the purse. Don't pretend you haven't tumbled to that!"
"Yes," admitted Carrington, "I have tumbled."
"I knew my sister had given the whole blamed show away! I take it you put your magnifying glass back in your pocket after your trip out to Stanesland?"
"More or less," admitted Carrington.
"Well," said Ned, "that being so, I may as welltell you what my idea was. It mayn't have been very bright; still there was a kind of method in my madness. You see I wanted you to have an absolutely clear field and let you suspect me just as much as anybody else."
"In short," smiled Carrington, "you wanted to start with the other horses and not just drop the flag."
"That's so," agreed Ned. "But when my sister let out about that £1200, and I saw that you must have spotted me, there didn't seem much point in keeping up the bluff, when I came to think it over. And since then, Mr. Carrington, something has happened that you ought to know and I decided to come and see you and talk to you straight."
"What has happened?"
Ned smiled for an instant his approval of this prompt plunge into business, and then his face set hard.
"It's a most extraordinary thing," said he, "and may strike you as hardly credible, but here's the plain truth put shortly. Yesterday afternoon Miss Farmond ran away." Carrington merely nodded, and he exclaimed, "What! You know then?"
"I learned from Bisset this morning."
"Ah, I see. Did you know I'd happened to see her start and gone after her and brought her back?"
Carrington's interest was manifest.
"No," said he, "that's quite news to me."
"Well, I did, and I learnt the whole story from her. You can't guess who advised her to bolt?"
"I think I can," said Carrington quietly.
"Either you're on the wrong track, or you've cut some ice, Mr. Carrington. It was Simon Rattar!"
"I thought so."
"How the devil did you guess?"
"Tell me Miss Farmond's story first and I'll tell you how I guessed."
"Well, she spotted you were a detective—"
Carrington started and then laughed.
"Confound these women!" said he. "They're so infernally independent of reason, they always spot things they shouldn't!"
"Then she discovered she was suspected and so she got in a stew, poor girl, and went to see Rattar. Do you know what he told her? That I was employing you and meant to convict Sir Malcolm and her and hang them with my own hands!"
"The old devil!" cried Carrington. "Well, no wonder she bolted, Mr. Cromarty!"
"But even that was done by Simon's advice. He actually gave her an address in London to go to."
"Pretty thorough!" murmured Carrington.
"Now what do you make of that? And what ought one to do? And, by the way, how did you guess Simon was at the bottom of it?"
Carrington leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment before answering.
"We are in pretty deep waters, Mr. Cromarty,"he said slowly. "As to what I make of it—nothing as yet. As to what we are to do—also nothing in the meantime. But as to how I guessed, well I can tell you this much. I had to get information from someone, and so I called on Mr. Rattar and told him who I was—in strict confidence, by the way, so that he had no business to tell Miss Farmond or anybody else. I had started off, I may say, with a wrong guess: I thought Rattar himself was probably either my employer or acting for my employer, and when I suggested this he told me I was right."
"What!" shouted Ned. "The grunting old devil told you that?" He stared at the other for a moment, and then demanded, "Why did he tell you that lie?"
"Fortune played my cards for me. Quite innocently and unintentionally. I tempted him. I said if I could be sure he was my employer I'd keep him in touch with everything I was doing. I had also let him know that my employer had made it an absolute condition that his name was not to appear. He evidently wanted badly to know what I was doing, and thought he was safe not to be given away."
"Then have you kept him in touch with everything you have done?"
Carrington smiled.
"I tell you, Mr. Cromarty, my cards were being played for me. Five minutes later I asked him who benefited by the will and I learned that you had scored the precise sum of £1200."
"I hadn't thought of that when I made my limit £1200!" exclaimed Ned. "Lord, you must have bowled me out at once! Of course, you spotted the coincidence straight off?"
"But Rattar didn't! I pushed it under his nose and he didn't see it! Inside of one second I'd asked myself whether it was possible for an astute man like that not to notice such a coincidence supposing he had really guaranteed me exactly that sum—an extraordinarily large and curious sum too."
"I like these simple riddles," said Ned with a twinkle in his single eye. "I guess your answer to yourself was 'No!'"
Carrington nodded.
"That's what I call having my cards played for me. I knew then that the man was lying; so I threw him off the scent, changed the subject, and didnotkeep Mr. Simon Rattar in touch with any single thing I did after that."
"Good for you!" said Ned.
"Good so far, but the next riddle wasn't of the simple kind—or else I'm even a bigger ass than I endeavour to look! What was the man's game?"
"Have you spotted it yet?"
Carrington shook his head.
"Mr. Simon Rattar's game is the toughest proposition in the way of puzzles I've ever struck. While I'm at it I'll just tell you one or two other small features of that first interview."
He lit a cigarette and leant over the arm of hischair towards his visitor, his manner growing keener as he talked.
"I happened to have met Miss Farmond that morning and my interview had knocked the bottom out of the story that she was concerned in the crime. I had satisfied myself also that she was not engaged to Sir Malcolm."
"How did you discover that?" exclaimed Ned.
"Her manner when I mentioned him. But I found that old Rattar was wrong on both these points and apparently determined to remain wrong. Of course, it might have been a mere error of judgment, but at the same time he had no evidence whatever against her, and it seemed to suggest a curious bias. And finally, I didn't like the look of the man."
"And then you came out to see me?"
"I went out to Keldale House first and then out to you. I next interviewed Sir Malcolm."
"Interviewed Malcolm Cromarty!" exclaimed Ned. "Where?"
"He came up to see me," explained Carrington easily, "and the gentleman had scarcely spoken six sentences before I shared your opinion of him, Mr. Cromarty—a squirt but not homicidal. He gave me, however, one very interesting piece of information. Rattar had advised him to keep away from these parts, and for choice to go abroad. I need hardly ask whether you consider that sound advice to give a suspected man."
"Seems to me nearly as rotten advice as he gave Miss Farmond."
"Exactly. So when I heard that Miss Farmond had flown and discovered she had paid a visit to Mr. Rattar the previous day, I guessed who had given her the advice."
Carrington sat back in his chair with folded arms and looked at his employer with a slight smile, as much as to say, "Tell me the rest of the story!" Cromarty returned his gaze in silence, his heaviest frown upon his brow.
"It seems to me," said Ned at last, "that Simon Rattar is mixed up in this business—sure! He has something to hide and he's trying to put people off the scent, I'll lay my bottom dollar!"
"What is he hiding?" enquired Carrington, looking up at the ceiling.
"What do you think?"
Carrington shook his head, his eyes still gazing dreamily upwards.
"I wish to Heaven I knew what to think!" he murmured; and then he resumed a brisker air and continued, "I am ready to suspect Simon Rattar of any crime in the calendar—leaving out petty larceny and probably bigamy. But he's the last man to do either good or evil unless he saw a dividend at the end, and where does he score by taking any part or parcel in conniving at or abetting or concealing evidence or anything else, so far as this particular crime is concerned? He has lost his best client, with whom he was on excellent terms and whose family he had served all his life, and he has now got instead an unsatisfactory young ass whom he suspects, or says hesuspects, of murder, and who so loathes Rattar that, as far as I can judge, he will probably take his business away from him. To suspect Rattar of actually conniving at, or taking any part in the actual crime itself is, on the face of it, to convict either Rattar or oneself of lunacy!"
"I knew Sir Reginald pretty well," said Ned, "but of course I didn't know much about his business affairs. He hadn't been having any trouble with Rattar, had he?"
Carrington threw him a quick, approving glance.
"We are thinking on the same lines," said he, "and I have unearthed one very odd little misunderstanding, but it seems to have been nothing more than that, and, apart from it, all accounts agree that there was no trouble of any kind or description."
He took a cigarette out of his case and struck a match.
"There must besomemotive for everything one does—even for smoking this cigarette. If I disliked cigarettes, knew smoking was bad for me, and stood in danger of being fined if I was caught doing it, why should I smoke? I can see no point whatever in Rattar's taking the smallest share even in diverting the course of justice by a hair's breadth. He and you and I have to all appearances identical interests in the matter."
"You are wiser than I am," said Ned simply, but with a grim look in his eye, "but all I can sayis I am going out with my gun to look for Simon Rattar."
Carrington laughed.
"I'm afraid you'll have to catch him at something a little better known to the charge-sheets than giving bad advice to a lady client, before it's safe to fire!" said he.
"But, look here, Carrington, have you collected no other facts whatever about this case?"
Carrington shot him a curious glance, but answered nothing else.
"Oh well," said Ned, "if you don't want to say anything yet, don't say it. Play your hand as you think best."
"Mr. Cromarty," replied Carrington, "I assure you I don't want to make facts into mysteries, but when theyaremysteries—well, I like to think 'em over a bit before I trust myself to talk. In the course of this very afternoon I've collected an assortment either of facts or fiction that seem to have broken loose from a travelling nightmare."
"Mind telling where you got 'em?" asked Ned.
"Chiefly from Rattar's housemaid, a very excellent but somewhat high-strung and imaginative young woman, and how much to believe of what she told me I honestly don't know. And the more one can believe, the worse the puzzle gets! However, there is one statement which I hope to be able to check. It may throw some light on the lady's veracity generally. Meantime I am like a man trying to build a house of what may be bricks or may be paper bags."
Ned rose with his usual prompt decision.
"I see," said he. "And I guess you find one better company than two at this particular moment. I won't shoot Simon Rattar till I hear from you, though by Gad, I'm tempted to kick him just to be going on with! But look here, Carrington, if my services will ever do you the least bit of good—in fact, so long as I'm not actually in the way—just send me a wire and I'll come straight. You won't refuse me that?"
Carrington looked at the six feet two inches of pure lean muscle and smiled.
"Not likely!" he said. "That's not the sort of offer I refuse. I won't hesitate to wire if there's anything happening. But don't count on it. I can't see any business doing just yet."
Ned held out his hand, and then suddenly said, "You don't see any business doing just yet? But you feel you're on his track, sure! Now, don't you?"
Carrington glanced at him out of an eye half quizzical, half abstracted.
"Whose track?" he asked.
Ned paused for a second and then rapped out:
"Was it Simon himself?"
"If we were all living in a lunatic asylum, probably yes! If we were living in the palace of reason, certainly not—the thing's ridiculous! What we are actually living in, however, is—" he broke off and gazed into space.
"What?" said Ned.
"A blank fog!"