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
murdered that very night. Imagine my sensations for the next few days,
living in the same house with the woman who had heard me say _that_! 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 sloe gin 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 I had 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 yourself an 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.
XXXI
THE LETTER AGAIN
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, of course, 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 had
seemed 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 an explanation. 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 that _no_ such conversation took
place? Was it a mere delusion?"
"Er--practically. Yes, a delusion."
"Suicide!" declared Carrington with an air of profound 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.
XXXII
THE SYMPATHETIC STRANGER
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 was
a 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's commodious 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."