Simon

by J. Storer Clouston

  XXVI

  AT STANESLAND

  Mr. Carrington's interview with the laird of Stanesland began on muchthe same lines as his talk with Bisset. The amiable visitor was showninto the laird's smoking room--an apartment with vast walls like adungeon and on them trophies from the laird's adventurous days, andproceeded to make enquiry whether Mr. Cromarty was disposed to let hisshootings for next season, or, if not, whether he could recommend anyothers.

  As the visitor was in no hurry, he declared, to fix anything up, it wasvery natural that this conversation, like the morning's, shouldeventually turn on to the subject of the great local mystery. Through itall Mr. Carrington's monocle was more continually fixed on the otherthan usual, but if he were looking for peculiarities in the laird'smanner or any admissions made either by tongue or eye, he wasdisappointed. Cromarty was as breezy and as direct as ever, but evenwhen his visitor confessed his extreme interest in such cases ofremarkable crime, he (to all seeming) scented nothing in this beyond anot uncommon hobby. There was no doubt, however, of his keenness todiscuss the subject. Carrington gave him an entertaining account of hisefforts to assist Mr. Bisset, and then Ned asked:

  "Well, what do you think of his theory that the man came in by thewindow?"

  Carrington smiled.

  "Bisset is evidently extremely anxious to save the credit of thefamily."

  Ned Cromarty was aroused now.

  "Good God!" he cried. "But do you mean to say that you think that storywill hold water?"

  "What story?" enquired Carrington mildly.

  "You know what I mean--the scandal that Sir Malcolm and--and a lady wereconcerned in the murder."

  "They are said to have actually committed it, aren't they?"

  Ned's eye began to look dangerous.

  "Do you think it's credible?" he asked brusquely.

  "You know them better than I. Do you think it is?"

  "Not for an instant!"

  "I haven't met Sir Malcolm," said Carrington, wiping his eyeglass on hishandkerchief. "I can't judge of him. What sort of a fellow is he?"

  "A bit of a young squirt," said Ned candidly. "But I'll not believe he'sa murderer till I get some proof of it."

  "And Miss Farmond? Is she at all a murderous lady?"

  He fixed his monocle in his eye just in time to see his host controlhimself after what seemed to have been a somewhat violent spasm.

  "I'll stake my life on her innocence!" said Ned, and it was hard to knowwhether his manner as he said this should be termed fierce or solemn.

  For the space of perhaps two seconds Carrington's eyeglass stared verystraight at him, and immediately afterwards was taken out for cleaningagain, while its owner seemed to have found some new food for thought.The silence was broken by Ned asking brusquely:

  "Don't you believe me?"

  Again his visitor fixed the monocle in his eye, and he answered now veryquietly and deliberately:

  "I happened to meet a young lady one afternoon, whom I discovered to beMiss Farmond. My own impression--for what it is worth--is that it wouldbe a mere waste of time to investigate the suspicion against her,supposing, that is, that one were a detective or anything of that kindengaged in this case."

  "You think she is innocent?" asked Ned eagerly.

  "I am quite certain of it, so far as I am any judge."

  Ned heaved a sigh of relief, and for an instant a smile flitted acrossCarrington's face. It seemed as though he were amused at such a tributeto the opinion of a mere chance visitor.

  "And Sir Malcolm?" enquired Ned.

  Carrington shook his head.

  "I have no means of judging--yet."

  Ned glanced at him quickly.

  "Do you expect to get hold of a means?"

  Carrington's smile was his only answer to the question. And then, stillsmiling, he said:

  "I rather wonder, Mr. Cromarty, that you who have taken so much interestin this case, and who are, I am told, the head of the family, don't getsome professional assistance to help you to get at the bottom of it."

  Ned's mouth shut hard and his eyes turned to the fire. He said nothingfor a moment and then remarked:

  "Well, I guess that's worth thinking over."

  Carrington's shoulders moved in an almost imperceptible shrug, but hemade no comment aloud. In a moment Ned said:

  "Supposing those two are scored out, there doesn't seem to be anybodyelse inside the house who could have committed the crime, does there?You wouldn't suspect Lady Cromarty or Bisset, would you?"

  "Lady Cromarty is physically incapable of giving her husband the blow hemust have received. Besides, they were a very devoted couple, Iunderstand, and she gained nothing by his death--lost heavily, in fact.As for Bisset----" Carrington let his smile finish the sentence.

  "Then it must have been some one from outside--but who?"

  "Can you think of any one?" asked Carrington.

  Ned shook his head emphatically.

  "Can you?" he asked.

  "Me?" said his visitor with an innocent air, and yet with a twinkle foran instant in his eye. "I am a mere stranger to the place, and if youand Mr. Rattar and the police are baffled, what can I suggest?"

  Ned seemed for a moment a trifle disconcerted. Then he said:

  "That's so, of course, Mr. Carrington. But since we happen to be talkingabout it--well, I guess I'm quite curious to know if any ideas have justhappened to occur to you."

  "Well," said the other, "between ourselves, Mr. Cromarty, and speakingquite confidentially, one idea has struck me very forcibly."

  "What's that?" asked Ned eagerly.

  "Simply this, that though it _might_ be conceivable to think of somebodyor other, the difficulty that stares me in the face is--motive!"

  Ned's face fell.

  "Well, that's what has struck all of us."

  "Sir Reginald was a popular landlord, I hear."

  "The most popular in the county."

  "This isn't Ireland," continued Carrington. "Tenants don't lay out theirlandlords on principle, and in this particular instance they wouldsimply stand to lose by his death. Then take his tradesmen and his agentand so on, they all stand to lose too. An illicit love affair and avengeful swain might be a conceivable theory, if his character gavecolour to it; but there's not a hint of that, and some rumour wouldhave got about for certain if that had been the case."

  "You may dismiss that," said Ned emphatically.

  "Then there you are--what's the motive?"

  "If one could think of a possible man, one could probably think of apossible motive."

  On Carrington's face a curious look appeared for an instant.

  "I only wish one could," he murmured.

  A gong sounded and Ned rose.

  "That means tea," said he. "I always have it in my sister's room. Comeup."

  They went up the stone stair and turned into Miss Cromarty's boudoir. Onher, Mr. Carrington produced a favourable impression that was evident atonce. At all times she liked good-looking and agreeable gentlemen, andlately she had been suffering from a dearth of them. She had beensuffering also from her brother's pig-headed refusal to reconsider hisdecision not to buy a car; and finally from the lack of some one tosympathise with her in this matter. In the opulent-looking andsportingly attired Mr. Carrington she quickly perceived a kindredspirit, and having a tongue that was not easily intimidated even by theformidable looking laird, she launched into her grievance. They had beentalking about the long distances that separated most of the mansions inthe county.

  "Isn't it ridiculous, Mr. Carrington," said she, "we haven't got a car!"

  "Absurd," agreed Mr. Carrington, helping himself to cake.

  "Do you know, this brother of mine here has actually come into afortune, and yet he won't buy me even one little motor car!"

  Ned frowned and muttered something that might have checked theirvisitor's reply, had he noticed the laird's displeasure, but for themoment he seemed to have become very unobserving.

  "Come into a f
ortune?" said he. "What a bit of luck! How much--amillion--two million?"

  "Oh, not as much as that, worse luck! But quite enough to buy at leastthree decent cars if he was half a sportsman! And he won't get one!"

  Mr. Carrington was now trying to balance his cake in his saucer and wasevidently too absorbed in his efforts to notice his host's waxingdispleasure.

  "In my experience," said he, "you can't get a decent car much under fourhundred."

  "Well," said she, "that's just the figure it would bring it to."

  "Lilian!" muttered her brother wrathfully.

  But at that moment Mr. Carrington coughed, evidently over a cake crumb,and failed to hear the expostulation.

  "But perhaps he is going to buy you something even handsomer instead,"he suggested.

  "Is he!" she scoffed, with a defiant eye on her brother. "I believe he'sgoing to blue it in something too scandalous to talk about in mixedsociety! Anyhow it's something too mysterious to tell me!"

  By this time Ned's face was a thundercloud in which lightning wasclearly imminent, but Mr. Carrington now recovered his wonted tact assuddenly as he had lost it.

  "That reminds me of a very curious story I heard at my club the otherday," he began, and in a few minutes the conversation was far away fromMiss Cromarty's grievances. And then, having finished his cup of tea, helooked at his watch with an exclamation and protested that he mustdepart on the instant.

  As he lay back in his car he murmured with a satisfied smile:

  "That's settled anyhow!"

  And then for the whole drive home he fell very thoughtful indeed. Onlyone incident aroused him, and that but for a moment. It was quite darkby this time, and somewhere between the Keldale House lodge and thetown, the lamps of the car swept for an instant over a girl riding abicycle in the opposite direction. Carrington looked round quickly andsaw that she was Miss Cicely Farmond.