“That leaves Mr. Bisset,” observed Carrington. “Well, I shall be seeing him tomorrow. 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 someone 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 easygoing air, was extremely interested.
“This is quite interesting!” he murmured. “To what extent did he benefit by the will?”
“£1,200.”
“£1,200!” 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 anyone?”
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
