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 tomorrow 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 offhand 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
