figure, which is so handsome that it gives me practically a free hand,
so far as that is concerned. On the other hand, the arrangement entails
certain difficulties which I daresay you, Mr. Rattar, as a lawyer, and
especially as a Procurator Fiscal accustomed to investigate cases of
crime, will readily understand."
"Quite so; quite so," agreed Mr. Rattar, who seemed to be distinctly
relaxing already from his guarded attitude.
"I arrived last night, put up at the Kings Arms--where I gathered
beforehand that the local gossip could best be collected, and in the
course of the evening I collected enough to hang at least two people;
and in the course of a few more evenings I shall probably have enough to
hang half a dozen--if one can believe, say, a twentieth of what one
hears. This morning I strolled out to Keldale House and had a look at it
from the road, and I learned that it was a large mansion standing among
trees. That's all I have been able to do so far."
"Nothing more than that?"
Mr. Carrington seemed to have a singularly short memory.
"I think that's the lot," said he. "And what is more, it seems to me the
sum total of all I am likely to do without a little assistance from
somebody in possession of rather more authentic facts than my friend
Miss Peterkin and her visitors."
"I quite understand," said the lawyer; and it was plain that his
interest was now thoroughly enlisted.
"Well," continued Mr. Carrington, "I thought things over, and rightly or
wrongly, I came to this decision. My employer, whoever he is, has made
it an absolute condition that his name is not to be known. His reasons
may have been the best imaginable, but it obviously made it impossible
for me to get any information out of _him_. For my own reasons I always
prefer to make my enquiries in these cases in the guise of an
unsuspected outsider, whenever it is possible; and it happens to be
particularly possible in this case, since nobody here knows me from
Adam. But I must get facts--as distinguished from the Kings Arms'
gossip, and how was I to get them without giving myself away? That was
the problem, and I soon realised that it was insoluble. I saw I must
confide in somebody, and so I came to the decision to confide in you."
Simon nodded and made a sound that seemed to indicate distinctly his
opinion that Mr. Carrington had come to a sensible decision.
"You were the obvious person for several reasons," resumed Carrington.
"In the first place you could pretty safely be regarded as above
suspicion yourself--if you will pardon my associating even the word
suspicion with a Procurator Fiscal." He smiled his most agreeable smile
and the Fiscal allowed his features to relax sympathetically. "In the
second place you know more about the case than anybody else. And in the
third place, I gather that you are--if I may say so, a gentleman of
unusual discretion."
Again he smiled pleasantly, and again Mr. Rattar's features relaxed.
"Finally," added Carrington, "I thought it long odds that you were
either actually my employer or acting for him, and therefore I should
be giving nothing away by telling you my business. And when I mentioned
Keldale House and the murder I saw that I was right!"
He laughed, and Simon permitted himself to smile. Yet his answer was as
cautious as ever.
"Well, Mr. Carrington?" said he.
"Well," said Carrington, "if you actually are my employer and we both
lay our cards on the table, there's much to be gained, and--if I may say
so--really nothing to be lost. I won't give you away if you won't give
me."
The lawyer's nod seemed to imply emphatic assent, and the other went on:
"I'll keep you informed of everything I'm doing and anything I may
happen to discover, and you can give me very valuable information as to
what precisely is known already. Otherwise, of course, one could hardly
exchange confidences so freely. Frankly then, you engaged me to come
down here?"
Even then Simon's caution seemed to linger for an instant. The next he
answered briefly but decidedly:
"Yes."
"Very well, now to business. I got a certain amount of literature on the
case before I left town, and Miss Peterkin gave me some very valuable
additions in the shape of the accounts in the local papers. Are there
any facts known to you or the police beyond those I have read?"
Simon considered the question and then shook his head.
"None that I can think of, and I fear the local police will be able to
add no information that can assist you."
"They are the usual not too intelligent country bobbies, I suppose?"
"Quite so," said Simon.
"In that case," asked Mr. Carrington, still in his easy voice, but with
a quick turn of his eyeglass towards the lawyer, "why was no outside
assistance called in at once?"
For a moment Simon Rattar's satisfaction with his visitor seemed to be
diminished. He seemed, in fact, a little disconcerted, and his reply
again became little more than a grunt.
"Quite satisfied with them," seemed to be the reading of his answer.
"Well," said Carrington, "no doubt you knew best, Mr. Rattar."
His eyes thoughtfully followed the smoke of his cigarette upwards for a
moment, and then he said:
"That being so, my first step had better be to visit Keldale House and
see whether it is still possible to find any small point the local
professionals have overlooked."
Mr. Rattar seemed to disapprove of this.
"Nothing to discover," said he. "And they will know what you have come
about."
Mr. Carrington smiled.
"I think, Mr. Rattar, that, on the whole, my appearance provokes no
great amount of suspicion."
"Your appearance, no," admitted Simon, "but--"
"Well, if I go to Keldale armed with a card of introduction from you, to
make enquiry about the shootings, I think I can undertake to turn the
conversation on to other matters without exciting suspicion."
"Conversation with whom?" enquired the lawyer sceptically.
"I had thought of Mr. Bisset, the butler."
"Oh--" began Mr. Rattar with a note of surprise, and then pulled himself
up.
"Yes," smiled Mr. Carrington, "I have picked up a little about the
household. My friends of last night were exceedingly communicative--very
gossipy indeed. I rather gather that omniscience is Mr. Bisset's foible,
and that he is not averse from conversation."
The look in Simon's eye seemed to indicate that his respect for this
easy-going young man was increasing; though whether his liking for him
was also increased thereby was not so manifest. His reply was again a
mere grunt.
"Well, that can easily be arranged," said Carrington, "and it is
obviously the first thing to do."
He blew a ring of smoke from his lips, skilfully sent a second ring in
chase of it, and then turning his monocle again on the lawyer, enquired
(though not in a tone that seemed to indicate any very acute interest in
the question):
"Who do you think yourself murdered Sir Reginald Cromarty?"
XXIII
SIMON'S VIEWS
"Well," said Mr. Rattar deliberately, "I think myself that the actual
evidence is very slight and extremely inclusive."
"You mean the direct evidence afforded by the unfastened window,
position of the body, table said to have been overturned, and so forth?"
"Exactly. That evidence is slight, but so far as it goes it seems to me
to point to entry by the door and to the man having been in the house
for some little time previously."
"Well?" said Carrington in an encouraging voice.
"So much for the direct evidence. I may be wrong, but that is my decided
opinion. No bad characters are known to the police to have been in the
county at that time, and there was no robbery."
"Apparently confirming the direct evidence?"
"Decidedly confirming it--or so it seems to me."
"Then you think there is something in the popular theory that the
present baronet and Miss Farmond were the guilty parties?"
Simon was silent for a moment, but his face was unusually expressive.
"I fear it looks like it."
"An unpleasant conclusion for you to come to," observed Mr. Carrington.
"You are the family lawyer, I understand."
"Very unpleasant," Mr. Rattar agreed. "But, of course, there is no
absolute proof."
"Naturally; or they'd have been arrested by now. What sort of a fellow
is Sir Malcolm?"
"My own experience of him," said the lawyer drily, "is chiefly confined
to his visits to my office to borrow money of me."
"Indeed?" said Carrington with interest. "That sort of fellow, is he? He
writes, I understand."
Simon nodded.
"Any other known vices?"
"I know little about his vices except that they cost him considerably
more than he could possibly have paid, had it not been for Sir
Reginald's death."
"So the motive is plain enough. Any evidence against him?"
Simon pursed his lips and became exceedingly grave.
"When questioned next morning by the superintendent of police and
myself, he led us to understand that he had retired to bed early and was
in no position to hear or notice anything. I have since found that he
was in the habit of sitting up late."
"'In the habit,'" repeated Carrington quickly. "But you don't suggest
he sat up that night in particular?"
"Undoubtedly he sat up that night."
"But merely as he always did?"
"He might have been waiting for his chance on the previous nights."
Carrington smoked thoughtfully for a moment and then asked:
"But there is no evidence that he left his room or was heard moving
about that night, is there?"
"There is not yet any positive evidence. But he was obviously in a
position to do so."
"Was his room near or over the library?"
"N--no," said the fiscal, and there seemed to be a hint of reluctance in
his voice.
Carrington glanced at him quickly and then gazed up at the ceiling.
"What sort of a girl is Miss Farmond?" he enquired next.
"She is the illegitimate daughter of a brother of the late Sir
Reginald's."
Carrington nodded.
"So I gathered from the local gossips. But that fact is hardly against
her, is it?"
"Why not?"
Carrington looked a little surprised.
"Girls don't generally murder their uncles for choice, in my own
experience; especially if they are also their benefactors."
"This was hardly the usual relationship," said the lawyer with a touch
of significance.
"Do you suggest that the irregularity is apt to breed crime?"
Simon's grunt seemed to signify considerable doubt as to the morals of
the type of relative.
"But what sort of girl is she otherwise?"
"I should call Miss Farmond the insinuating type. A young man like
yourself would probably find her very attractive--at first anyhow."
Mr. Carrington seemed to ponder for a moment on this suggestive
description of Miss Farmond's allurements. And then he asked:
"Is it the case that she is engaged to Sir Malcolm?"
"Certainly."
"You are sure?"
Something in his voice seemed to make the lawyer reflect.
"Is it called in question?" he asked.
Carrington shook his head.
"By nobody who has spoken to me on the subject. But I understand that it
has not yet been announced."
"No," said Simon. "It was a secret engagement; and marriage would have
been impossible while Sir Reginald lived."
"So there we get the motive on her part. And you yourself, Mr. Rattar,
_know_ both these young people, and you believe that this accusation
against them is probably well founded?"
"I believe, Mr. Carrington, that there is no proof and probably never
will be any; but all the evidence, positive and negative, together with
the question of motive, points to nobody else. What alternative is
possible?"
"That is the difficulty, so far," agreed Carrington, but his thoughts at
the moment seemed to be following his smoke rings up towards the
ceiling. For a few moments he was silent, and then he asked:
"What other people benefited by the will and to what extent?"
The lawyer went to his safe, brought out the will, and read through the
legacies to the servants, mentioning that the chauffeur and gardener
were excluded by circumstances from suspicion.
"That leaves Mr. Bisset," observed Carrington. "Well, I shall be seeing
him to-morrow. Any other legatees who might conceivably have committed
the crime?"
Simon looked serious and spoke with a little reluctance that he seemed
to make no effort to conceal.
"There is a relative of the family, a Mr. Cromarty of Stanesland, who
certainly benefited considerably by the will and who certainly lives in
the neighbourhood--if one once admitted the possibility of the crime
being committed by some one outside the house. And I admit that it is a
possibility."
"Ah!" said Carrington. "I heard about him last night, but so far
suspicion certainly hasn't fastened on him. What sort of a fellow is
he?"
"He has lived the greater part of his life in the wilder parts of
America--rather what one might call a rough and ready customer."
It was apparent that Mr. Carrington, for all his easy-going air, was
extremely interested.
"This is quite interesting!" he murmured. "To what extent did he benefit
by the will?"
"L1,200."
"L1,200!" Carrington repeated the words with an odd intonation and
stared very hard at the lawyer. There was no doubt that his interest was
highly excited now, and yet it seemed to be rather a different quality
of interest this time.
"A considerable sum," said Simon.
"That is the only point about it which strikes you?"
Simon was manifestly puzzled.
"What else?" he enquired.
"No coincidence occurs to you?"
The lawyer's puzzled look remained, and the next instant Carrington
broke into a hearty laugh.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rattar," he cried. "What an owl I am! I have
just been dealing lately with a case where that sum of money was
involved, and for the moment I mixed the two up together!" He laughed
again, and then resuming his businesslike air, asked: "Now, what else
about this Mr. Cromarty? You say he is a relation. Near or distant?"
"Oh, quite distant. Another branch altogether."
"Younger branch, I presume."
"Poorer but not younger. He is said to be the head of the family."
"Really!" exclaimed Mr. Carrington, and this information seemed to have
set him thinking again. "He is the head of the family, and I hear he
took up the case with some energy."
Simon's grunt seemed to be critical.
"He got in our way," he said.
"Got in your way, did he?"
Carrington was silent for a few moments, and then said:
"Well I am afraid I have taken up a great deal of your time. May I have
a line of introduction to Mr. Bisset before I go?"
While the line was being written he walked over to the fire and cleared
the stump of his last cigarette out of the holder. This operation was
very deliberately performed, and through it his eyes seemed scarcely to
note what his hands were doing.
He put the note in his pocket, shook hands, and then, just as he was
going, he said:
"I want to understand the lie of the land as exactly as possible. Your
own attitude, so far has been, I take it--no proof, therefore no arrest;
but a nasty family scandal left festering, so you decided to call me in.
Now, I want to know this--is there anybody else in the neighbourhood who
knows that I have been sent for?"
Mr. Rattar replied with even more than his usual deliberation, and after
what is said by foreigners to be the national habit, his reply
consisted of another question.
"You say that your employer made a particular point of having his
identity concealed?"
"Yes, a particular point."
"Doesn't that answer your question, Mr. Carrington?"
"No," said Carrington, "not in the least. I am asking now whether there
is any other employer in this neighbourhood besides yourself. And I may
say that I ask for the very good reason that it might be awkward for me
if there were and I didn't know him, while if I did know him, I could
consult with him if it happened to be advisable. Is there any one?"
He seemed to hang on the lawyer's answer, and Simon to dislike making
the answer.
Yet when he did make it, it was quite emphatic.
"No," he replied.
"That's all right then," said Mr. Carrington with his brightest smile.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Rattar."
The smile faded from his ingenuous face the moment the door had closed
behind him, and it was a very thoughtful Mr. Carrington who slowly went
downstairs and strolled along the pavement. If his morning's interview
had puzzled him, his afternoon's interview seemed to have baffled him
completely. He even forgot to relapse into the thoughtless young
sportsman when he entered the hotel, and his friend the manageress,
after eyeing him with great surprise, cried archly:
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Carrington! About shooting or fishing,
I'm sure!"
Mr. Carrington recovered his pleasant spirits instantly.
"Quite right," said he. "I was thinking about fishing--in very deep
waters."
XXIV
MR. BISSET'S ASSISTANT
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 just have 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 in fact 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 happened to 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 few minutes? 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.