“Don’t quite see the bearing of that.”
“Well, on my hypothesis it was to avoid leaving finger marks. You see George was an ex-convict. It was a very judicious precaution too, and made it extremely difficult to catch him out by that means, for one could scarcely approach a respectable solicitor and ask him for an impression of his fingers! And anyhow, nothing could be definitely proved against him until we had found Simon’s body. That was the next problem. Where had he hidden it?”
“And how did you get at that?”
“Guessed it. At first my thoughts went too far afield, but when I went over the times mentioned in the maid’s story of the man who took away the papers, and the fact that she heard no sound of a wheeled vehicle, I realised that he must have simply planted it in one of the flower beds. This morning I prodded them all with a stout walking stick and found the spot. Then I talked like a father to old Sutherland and fixed everything up with him. And then I sent my wire to you.”
“And you deliberately tell me you got there as much by good luck as good guidance?”
Carrington’s eyes thoughtfully followed his smoke rings.
“I can see the luck at every turn,” he answered, “and though I’d like to believe in the guidance, I’m hanged if it’s quite as distinct!”
“If you are telling me the neat, unvarnished truth, Carrington,” said his admiring employer, “I can only say that you’ve a lot to learn about your own abilities—and I hope to Heaven you’ll never learn it!”
“But I assure you there are some people who think me conceited!”
“There are guys of all sorts in the world,” said Ned. “For instance there’s a girl who has mistaken me for a daisy, and I’ve got to get back to her now. Good night! I won’t say ‘Thanks’ because I can’t shout it loud enough.”
When his gig lamps had flashed up the silent street and Carrington had turned back from the pavement into the hotel, he met his friend Miss Peterkin.
“Mr. Cromarty’s late tonight,” said she. “A fine gentleman that! I always say there are few like Mr. Cromarty of Stanesland.”
“That’s lucky for me,” said Carrington with a smile that puzzled her a little. “My business in life would be gone if there were!”
Colophon
Simon
was published in by
J. Storer Clouston.
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