"I'm not sure what to think till I've had another look into yon
carriage," said the superintendent cautiously.
"We're slowing doon the noo!" cried Mr. MacAlister, "God, George, I'll
come and hae a look wi' you!"
The train was hardly in the platform before the superintendent was out,
with Mr. MacAlister after him, and the door of the next compartment
was open almost as soon as the train was at rest. Never had the
superintendent been more vigilant; and never had his honest face
looked blanker.
"God! It's empty!" he murmured.
"God save us!" murmured Mr. MacAlister, and then he was visited by an
inspiration which struck his relative afterwards as one of the
unhappiest he had ever suffered from. "This canna be the richt
carriage!" he cried. "Come on, Geordie, let's hae a look in the ithers!"
By the time they had looked into all the compartments of the carriage,
the guard was waving his flag and the two men climbed hurriedly in
again. The brooding silence of the superintendent infected even Mr.
MacAlister, and neither spoke for several minutes. Then the
superintendent said bitterly:
"It was you hurrying me off to look in thae other carriages, Robbie!"
"What was?" inquired Mr. MacAlister a little nervously.
"I ought to have stopped and looked under the seats!"
Mr. MacAlister shook his head and declared firmly:
"There was naething under the seats. I could see that fine. And onyhow
we can hae a look at the next stop."
"As if he'll be waiting for us, now he kens we're looking for him!"
"But there was naething there!" persisted Mr. MacAlister.
"Then what's come over the man? Here were we sitting next the platform.
He can't have got out afore we started, or we'd have seen him. Folks
don't disappear into the air! I'll try under the seats, though I doubt
the man will have been up and out while we were wasting our time in yon
other carriages."
At the next station they searched that mysterious compartment earnestly
and thoroughly, but there was not a sign of the muffled stranger, under
the seats or anywhere else. Again the superintendent was silent for a
space, and then he said confidentially:
"I'm just wondering if it's worth while reporting the thing, Robbie. The
fiscal might have a kin' of unpleasant way of looking at it. Besides,
there's really naething to report. Anyhow I'll think it over. And that
being the case, the less said the better. I can tell ye all that's known
about the case, Robbie; knowing that you'll be discreet."
"Oh, you can trust me," said Mr. MacAlister earnestly,--"I'll no breathe
a word o' yon man. Weel, now, you were saying you'd tell me the haill
story."
By this judicious arrangement Mr. MacAlister got his money's worth of
sensational disclosures, and the superintendent was able to use his
discretion and think the incident over. He thought over it very hard and
finally decided that he was demonstrating his vigilance quite
sufficiently without mentioning the trifling mystery of the empty
compartment.
XX
THE SPORTING VISITOR
In summer and autumn, visitors were not uncommon in this remote
countryside; mostly shooting or fishing people who rented the country
houses, raised the local prices, and were described by the tradesmen as
benefiting the county greatly. But in late autumn and winter this
fertilising stream ceased to flow, and when the trains from the south
crawled in, the porters and the boots from the hotels resigned
themselves to welcoming a merely commercial form of traveller.
It was therefore with considerable pleasure and surprise that they
observed one afternoon an unmistakeably sporting gentleman descend from
a first class compartment and survey them with a condescending yet
affable eye.
"Which is the best of these hotels?" he demanded with an amiable smile,
as he surveyed through a single eyeglass the names on the caps of the
various boots.
His engaging air disarmed the enquiry of embarrassment, and even when he
finally selected the Kings Arms Hotel, the other boots merely felt
regret that they had not secured so promising a client. His luggage
confirmed the first favourable impression. It included a gun case, a
bag of golf clubs, and one or two handsome leather articles. Evidently
he meant to make more than a passing visit, and as he strolled down the
platform, his leisurely nonchalant air and something even in the way in
which he smoked his cigarette in its amber holder, suggested a gentleman
who, having arrived here, was in no hurry to move on. On a luggage label
the approving boots noted the name of "F. T. Carrington."
When he arrived at the Kings Arms, Mr. Carrington continued to produce
favourable impressions. He was a young man, apparently a little over
thirty, above middle height, with a round, ingenuous, very agreeable
face, smooth fair hair, a little, neatly trimmed moustache, and a
monocle that lent just the necessary touch of distinction to what might
otherwise have been a too good-humoured physiognomy. His tweed suit was
fashionably cut and of a distinctly sportive pattern, and he wore a pair
of light spats. In short, there could be no mistaking him for anything
but a gentleman of position and leisure with strong sporting
proclivities, and his manner amply confirmed this. It was in fact almost
indolent in its leisurely ease.
Miss Peterkin, the capable manageress of the Kings Arms, was at
first disposed to think Mr. Carrington a trifle too superior, and,
as she termed it, "la-de-da," but a very few minutes' conversation
with the gentleman completely reassured her. He was so polite and so
good-humoured and so ready to be pleased with everything he saw and
anything she suggested, that they became firm friends within ten minutes
of his arrival, and after Mr. Carrington had disposed of his luggage in
the bedroom and private sitting room which he engaged, and partaken of a
little dinner, she found herself welcoming him into her own sitting room
where a few choice spirits nightly congregated.
It is true that these spirits, though choice, were hardly of what she
called Mr. Carrington's "class," but then in all her experience she had
never met a gentleman of such fashion and such a superior air, who
adapted himself so charmingly to any society. In fact, "charming" was
the very adjective for him, she decided.
About his own business he was perfectly frank. He had heard of the
sporting possibilities of the county and had come to look out for a bit
of fishing or shooting; preferably fishing, for it seemed he was an
enthusiastic angler. Of course, it was too late in the season for any
fishing this year, but he was looking ahead as he preferred to see
things for himself instead of trusting to an agent's description. He had
brought his gun just on the chance of getting a day somewhere, and his
club in case there happened to be a golf links. In short, he seemed
evidently to be a young man of means who lived for sport; and what other
question could one ask about such a satisfactory type of visitor?
Absolutely none, in Miss Peterkin's opinion.
As a matter of fact, she found very early in the evening, and continued
to find thereafter, that the most engaging feature of Mr. Carrington's
character was the interest he took in other people's business, so that
the conversation very quickly strayed away from his own concerns--and
remained away. It was not that he showed any undue curiosity; far from
it. He was simply so sympathetic and such a good listener and put
questions that showed he was following everything you said to him in a
way that really very few people did. And, moreover, in spite of his
engaging frankness, there was an indefinable air of discretion about him
that made one feel safe to tell him practically everything. She herself
told him the sad story of her brother in Australia (a tale which, as a
rule, she told only to her special intimates) before he had been in her
room half an hour.
But with the arrival of three or four choice spirits, the conversation
became more general, and it was naturally not long before it turned on
the greatest local sensation and mystery within the memory of man--the
Cromarty murder. Mr. Carrington's surprise was extreme when he realised
that he was actually in the county where the tragedy had occurred,
within a very few miles of the actual spot, in fact. Of course, he had
read about it in the papers, but only cursorily, it seemed, and he had
no idea he was coming into the identical district that had acquired such
a sinister notoriety.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed more than once when he had made this discovery,
"I say, how interesting!"
"Oh," said Miss Peterkin with becoming pride, "we are getting quite
famous, I can assure you, Mr. Carrington."
"Rather so!" cried he, "I've read quite a lot about this Carnegie
case----"
"Cromarty," corrected one of the spirits.
"Cromarty, of course, I mean! I'm rather an ass at names, I'm afraid."
The young man smiled brightly and all the spirits sympathised. "Oh yes,
I've seen it reported in the papers. And now to think here I am in the
middle of it, by George! How awfully interesting! I say, Miss Peterkin,
what about these gentlemen having another wee droppie with me, all
round, just to celebrate the occasion?"
With such an appreciative and hospitable audience, Miss Peterkin and the
choice spirits spent a long and delightful evening in retailing every
known circumstance of the drama, and several that were certainly unknown
to the authorities. He was vastly interested, though naturally very
shocked, to hear who was commonly suspected of the crime.
"Do you mean to say his own heir--and a young girl like that----? By
Jove, I say, how dreadful!" he exclaimed, and, in fact, he would hardly
believe such a thing conceivable until all the choice spirits in turn
had assured him that there was practically no doubt about it.
The energetic part played by Mr. Simon Rattar in unravelling the dark
skein, or at least in trying to, was naturally described at some length,
and Mr. Carrington showed his usual sympathetic, and, one might almost
say, entranced appreciation of the many facts told him concerning that
local celebrity.
Finally Miss Peterkin insisted on getting out the back numbers of the
local paper giving the full details of the case, and with many thanks he
took these off to read before he went to bed.
"But mind you don't give yourself the creeps and keep yourself from
going to sleep, Mr. Carrington!" she warned him with the last words.
"By Jove, that's an awful thought!" he exclaimed, and then his eyes
twinkled. "Send me up another whisky and soda to cure the creeps!" said
he.
Miss Peterkin thought he was quite one of the pleasantest, and promised
to be one of the most profitable gentlemen she had met for a very long
time.
Next morning he assured her he had kept the creeps at bay sufficiently
to enjoy an excellent night's sleep in a bed that did the management
credit. In fact, he had thoroughly enjoyed reading the mystery and had
even begun to feel some curiosity to see the scene of the tragedy. He
proposed to have a few walks and drives through the neighbouring
country, he said, looking at its streams and lochs with an eye to
sporting possibilities, and it would be interesting to be able to
recognise Keldale House if he chanced to pass near it.
Miss Peterkin told him which road led to Keldale and how the house might
be recognised, and suggested that he should walk out that way this very
morning. He seemed a little doubtful; spoke of his movements as things
that depended very much on the whim of the moment, just as such an
easy-going young man would be apt to do, and rather indicated that a
shorter walk would suit him better that morning.
And then a few minutes later she saw him saunter past her window,
wearing a light gray felt hat at a graceful angle and apparently taking
a sympathetic interest in a small boy trying to mount a bicycle.
XXI
MR. CARRINGTON'S WALK
Mr. Carrington's easy saunter lasted till he had turned out of the
street on which the Kings Arms stood, when it passed into an easy walk.
Though he had seemed, on the whole, disinclined to go in the Keldale
direction that morning, nevertheless he continued to head that way till
at last he was on the high road with the little town behind him; and
then his pace altered again. He stepped out now like the sportsman he
was, and was doing a good four miles an hour by the time he was out of
sight of the last houses.
For a man who had come out to gather ideas as to the sporting
possibilities of the country, Mr. Carrington seemed to pay singularly
little attention to his surroundings. He appeared, in fact, to be
thinking about something else all the time, and the first sign of
interest he showed in anything outside his thoughts was when he found
himself within sight of the lodge gates of Keldale House, with the
avenue sweeping away from the road towards the roofs and chimneys amid
the trees. At the sight of this he stopped, and leaning over the low
wall at the road side gazed with much interest at the scene of the
tragedy he had heard so much of last night. The choice spirits, had
they been there to see, would have been gratified to find that their
graphic narratives had sent this indolent looking gentleman to view the
spot so swiftly.
From the house and grounds his eye travelled back to the road and then
surveyed the surrounding country very attentively. He even stood on top
of the wall to get a wider view; and then all of a sudden he jumped down
again and adopted the reverse procedure, bending now so that little more
than his head appeared above the wall. And the reason for this change of
plan appeared to be a figure which had emerged from the trees and began
to move along a path between the fields.
Mr. Carrington studied this figure with concentrated attention, and as
it drew nearer and became more distinct, a light leapt into his eye that
gave him a somewhat different expression from any his acquaintances of
last night had observed. He saw that the path followed a small stream
and ran at an angle to the high road, joining it at last at a point some
little distance back towards the town. He looked quickly up and down the
road. Not a soul was in sight to see his next very curious performance.
The leisurely Mr. Carrington crossed to the further side, where he was
invisible from the path, and then set out to run at a rapid pace till he
reached the junction of path and road. And then he turned down the path.
But now his bearing altered again in a very extraordinary way. His gait
fell once more to a saunter and his angling enthusiasm seemed suddenly
to have returned, for he frequently studied the burn as he strolled
along, and there was no sign of any thoughtfulness on his ingenuous
countenance. There were a few willows beside the path, and the path
itself meandered, and this was doubtless the reason why he appeared
entirely unconscious of the approach of another foot passenger till they
were within a few yards of one another. And then Mr. Carrington stopped
suddenly, seemed to hesitate, pulled out his watch and glanced at it,
and then with an apologetic air raised his hat.
The other foot passenger was face to face with him now, a slim figure in
black, with a sweet, serious face.
"Excuse me," said Mr. Carrington, "but can you tell me where this path
leads?"
He was so polite and so evidently anxious to give no offence, and his
face was such a certificate to his amiable character that the girl
stopped too and answered without hesitation:
"It leads to Keldale House."
"Keldale House?" he repeated, and then the idea seemed to arouse
associations. "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Really? I'm an utter stranger
here, but isn't that the place where the murder took place?"
Had Mr. Carrington been a really observant man, one would think he would
have noticed the sudden change of expression in the girl's face--as if
he had aroused painful thoughts. He did seem to look at her for an
instant as he asked the question, but then turned his gaze towards the
distant glimpse of the house.
"Yes," she murmured and looked as though she wanted to pass on; but Mr.
Carrington seemed so excited by his discovery that he never noticed this
and still stood right in her path.
"How very interesting!" he murmured. "By Jove, how very interesting!"
And then with the air of passing on a still more interesting piece of
news, he said suddenly, "I hear they have arrested Sir Malcolm
Cromarty."
This time he kept his monocle full on her.
"Arrested him!" she cried. "What for?"
This question, put with the most palpable wonder, seemed to disconcert
Mr. Carrington considerably. He even hesitated in a very unusual way for
him.
"For--for the murder, of course."
Her eyes opened very wide.
"For Sir Reginald's murder? How ridiculous!"
Again Mr. Carrington seemed a little disconcerted.
"Er--why is it ridiculous?" he asked. "Of course, I--I know nothing
about the gentleman."
"Evidently!" she agreed with reproach in her eyes. "If Sir Malcolm
really has been arrested, it can only have been for something quite
silly. He couldn't commit a murder!"
The fact that this tribute to the baronet's innocence was not wholly
devoid of a flavour of criticism seemed to strike Mr. Carrington, for
his eye twinkled for an instant.
"You are acquainted with him then?" said he.
"I am staying at Keldale; in fact, I am a relation."
There was no doubt of her intention to rebuke the too garrulous
gentleman by this information, and it succeeded completely. He passed at
once to the extreme of apology.
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea. Really, I hope
you will accept my apologies, Miss--er--Cromarty."
"Miss Farmond," she corrected.
"Miss Farmond, I mean. It was frightfully tactless of me!"
He said it so nicely and looked so innocently guilty and so contrite,
that her look lost its touch of indignation.
"I still can't understand what you mean about Sir Malcolm being
arrested," she said. "How did you hear?"
"Oh, I was very likely misinformed. An old fellow at the hotel last
night was saying so."
Her eye began to grow indignant again.
"What old fellow?"
"Red hair, shaky knees, bit of a stammer, answers to the name of Sandy,
I believe."
"Old Sandy Donaldson!" she exclaimed. "That drunken old thing! He was
simply talking nonsense as usual!"
"He seemed a little in liquor," he admitted, "but you see I am a mere
stranger. I didn't realise what a loose authority I quoted. There is
nothing in the report, I am certain. And this path leads only to Keldale
House? Thank you very much. Good morning!"
How Mr. Carrington had obtained this erroneous information from a person
whose back he had merely seen for a couple of minutes the night before,
as the reprobate in question was being ejected from the Kings Arms, he
did not stop to explain. In fact, at this point he showed no inclination
to continue the conversation, but bowing very politely, continued his
stroll.
But the effect of the conversation on him remained, and a very marked
effect it appeared to be. He took no interest in the burn any longer,
but paced slowly on, his eyes sometimes on the path and sometimes
staring upwards at the Heavens. So far as his face revealed his
sensations, they seemed to be compounded of surprise and perplexity.
Several times he shook his head as though some very baffling point had
cropped up in his thoughts, and once he murmured:
"I'm damned!"
When the path reached the policies of the house, he stopped and seemed
to take some interest in his surroundings once more. For a moment it was
clear that he was tempted to enter the plantations, and then he shook
his head and turned back.
All the way home he remained immersed in thought and only recovered his
nonchalant air as he entered the door of the Kings Arms. He was the same
easy-going, smiling young man of fashion as he passed the time of day
with Miss Peterkin; but when he had shut the door of his private sitting
room and dropped into an easy chair over the fire, he again became so
absorbed in thought that he had to be reminded that the hour of luncheon
had passed.
Thought seemed to vanish during lunch, but when he had retired to his
room again, it returned for another half hour. At the end of that time
he apparently came to a decision, and jumping up briskly, repaired to
the manageress' room. And when Miss Peterkin was taken into his
confidence, it appeared that the whole problem had merely concerned the
question of taking either a shooting or a fishing for next season.
"I have been thinking," said he, "that my best plan will perhaps be to
call upon Mr. Simon Rattar and see whether he knows of anything to let.
I gather that he is agent for several estates in the county. What do you
advise?"
Miss Peterkin decidedly advised this course, so a few minutes later Mr.
Carrington strolled off towards the lawyer's office.
XXII
MR. CARRINGTON AND THE FISCAL
The card handed in to Mr. Simon Rattar contained merely the name "Mr. F.
T. Carrington" and the address "Sports Club." Simon gazed at it
cautiously and in silence for the better part of a minute, and when he
glanced up at his head clerk to tell him that Mr. Carrington might be
admitted, Mr. Ison was struck by the curious glint in his eye. It seemed
to him to indicate that the fiscal was very wide awake at that moment;
it struck him also that Mr. Rattar was not altogether surprised by the
appearance of this visitor.
The agreeable stranger began by explaining very frankly that he thought
of renting a place for next season where he could secure good fishing
and a little shooting, and wondered if any of the properties Mr. Rattar
was agent for would suit him. Simon grunted and waited for this overture
to develop.
"What about Keldale House?" the sporting visitor suggested. "That's the
place where the murder was committed, isn't it?" and then he laughed.
"Your eye betrays you, Mr. Rattar!" said he.
The lawyer seemed to start ever so slightly.
"Indeed?" he murmured.
"Look here," said Carrington with a candid smile, "let's put our cards
on the table. You know my business?"
"Are you a detective?" asked the lawyer.
Mr. Carrington smiled and nodded.
"I am; or rather I prefer to call myself a private enquiry agent. People
expect so much of a detective, don't they?"
Simon grunted, but made no other comment.
"In a case like this," continued Carrington, "when one is called in
weeks too late and the household broom and scrubbing brush and garden
rake have removed most of the possible clues, and witnesses'
recollections have developed into picturesque legends, it is better to
rouse as few expectations as possible, since it is probably impossible
to find anything out. However, in the capacity of a mere enquiry agent I
have come to pick up anything I can. May I smoke?"
He asked in his usual easy-going voice and with his usual candid smile,
and then his eye was arrested by an inscription printed in capital
letters, and hung in a handsome frame upon the office wall. It ran:
"MY THREE RULES OF LIFE,
"1. I DO NOT SMOKE.
2. I LAY BY A THIRD OF MY INCOME.
3. I NEVER RIDE WHEN I CAN WALK."
Beneath these precepts appeared the lithographed signature of an eminent
philanthropist, but it seemed reasonable to assume that they also formed
the guiding maxims of Mr. Simon Rattar.
His visitor politely apologised for his question.
"I had not noticed this warning," said he.
"Smoke if you like. My clients sometimes do. I don't myself," said the
lawyer.
His visitor thanked him, placed a cigarette in his amber holder, lit it,
and let his eyes follow the smoke upwards.
Mr. Rattar, on his part, seemed in his closest, most taciturn humour.
His grunt and his nod had, in fact, seldom formed a greater proportion
of his conversation. He made no further comment at all now, but waited
in silence for his visitor to proceed.
"Well," resumed Carrington, "the simple facts of the case are these. I
have been engaged through a certain firm of London lawyers, whose name I
am not permitted to mention, on behalf of a person whose name I don't
know."
At this a flash of keen interest showed for an instant in Simon's eye;
and then it became as cold as ever again.
"Indeed?" said he.