whom I had seen
two or three times when we had business at the Assizes, and whom Mr.
Lindsey evidently knew pretty well, judging by their familiar manner of
greeting each other.

"What's all this, Lindsey?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe, as soon as he walked
in, and without any preliminaries. "Your wire says Sir Gilbert and Lady
Carstairs have disappeared. Does that mean--"

"Did you read your newspaper yesterday?" interrupted Mr. Lindsey, who
knew that what we had read in the _Dundee Advertiser_ had also appeared
in the _Newcastle Daily Chronicle_. "Evidently not, Portlethorpe, or
you'd have known, in part at any rate, what my wire meant. But I'll tell
you in a hundred words--and then I'll ask you a couple of questions
before we go any further."

He gave Mr. Portlethorpe an epitomized account of the situation, and Mr.
Portlethorpe listened attentively to the end. And without making any
comment he said three words:

"Well--your questions?"

"The first," answered Mr. Lindsey, "is this--How long is it since you saw
or heard from Sir Gilbert Carstairs?"

"A week--by letter," replied Mr. Portlethorpe.

"The second," continued Mr. Lindsey, "is much more important--much! What,
Portlethorpe, do you know of Sir Gilbert Carstairs?"

Mr. Portlethorpe hesitated a moment. Then he replied, frankly and with
evident candour.

"To tell you the truth, Lindsey," he said, "beyond knowing that he is Sir
Gilbert Carstairs--nothing!"

CHAPTER XXVI

MRS. RALSTON OF CRAIG

Mr. Lindsey made no remark on this answer, and for a minute or two he and
Mr. Portlethorpe sat looking at each other. Then Mr. Portlethorpe bent
forward a little, his hands on his knees, and gave Mr. Lindsey a sort of
quizzical but earnest glance.

"Now, why do you ask that last question?" he said quietly. "You've
some object?"

"It's like this," answered Mr. Lindsey. "Here's a man comes into these
parts to take up a title and estates, who certainly had been out of
them for thirty years. His recent conduct is something more than
suspicious--no one can deny that he left my clerk there to drown, without
possibility of help! That's intended murder! And so I ask, What do you,
his solicitor, know of him--his character, his doings during the thirty
years he was away? And you answer--nothing!"

"Just so!" assented Mr. Portlethorpe. "And nobody does hereabouts. Except
that he is Sir Gilbert Carstairs, nobody in these parts knows anything
about him--how should t