At the end of this speech Simon shut his mouth tight and leaned back in
his chair. For a moment it seemed as though Ned Cromarty was impressed
by the lawyer's view of the case. But when he replied, his voice, though
deliberate had a fighting ring in it, and his single eye, a fighting
light.

"Then you propose to leave this young couple under the most damnable
cloud of suspicion that a man and a woman could lie under--simply leave
'em there, and let that be the end of it?"

Simon seemed to be divided between distaste for this way of putting the
case, and anxiety still to convince his visitor.

"I propose to avoid the painful family scandal which further disclosures
and more publicity would almost certainly bring about; so long as I am
justified as Procurator Fiscal in taking this course. And until I get
more evidence, I am not only justified but forced to take this course."

Ned suddenly jumped to his feet.

"I'm no lawyer," said he, "but to me you seem to be arguing in the
damnedest circle I ever met. You won't do anything because you can't
get more evidence. And you won't look for more evidence because you
don't want to do anything."

There was more than a hint of temper in Simon's eye and his answer was
rapped out sharply.

"I certainly do not _want_ to cause a family scandal. I haven't said all
I could say about Sir Malcolm if I were pressed."

"Why not?"

"I've told you. Suspicion is not evidence, but if I do get evidence,
those who will suffer by it had better beware!"

Ned turned at the door and surveyed him with a cool and caustic eye.

"That's talk," he said, "and something has got to be _done_."

He was gone, and Simon Rattar was left frowning at the closed door
behind him. The frown remained, but became now rather thoughtful than
indignant. Then he sprang up and began to pace the floor, deliberately
at first, and then more rapidly and with increasing agitation.

XVIII

L1200

Ned Cromarty had returned home and was going upstairs, when he heard a
voice cry:

"Ned!"

The ancient stone stair, spiralling up round the time-worn pillar that
seemed to have no beginning or end, gave at intervals on to doors which
looked like apertures in a cliff. Through one of these he turned and at
the end of a brief passage came to his sister's sitting room. In that
mediaeval setting of ponderous stone, it looked almost fantastic in its
daintiness. It was a small room of many cushions and many colou