The lawyer shook his head.

"No, no, Mr. Carrington," he said, "I can't bring him down here on such
trivial grounds."

"But you yourself suspect him!"

For a moment the lawyer was silent.

"I think suspicion points to him; but what is wanted is _evidence_. You
can't get evidence merely by bringing him here. You don't suppose he
will confess, do you?"

"Have you ever studied the French methods of getting at the truth?"
enquired Carrington, and when Simon shook his head contemptuously, he
added with some significance: "We can learn a good deal from our
neighbours."

"Trivial grounds!" muttered Simon. "No, no!"

Carrington became unusually serious and impressive.

"I am investigating this case, Mr. Rattar, and I want to see Sir
Malcolm. Will you send for him or not?"

"He wouldn't come."

"It depends on the urgency of the message."

"I can't invent bogus urgent messages to my clients."

Carrington smiled.

"I might do the inventing for you."

Again the lawyer stared at him and again there was the same extreme
caution in his eye, mingled with a hint of suspicion.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"I want to see him immediately."

"Call again to-morrow morning."

Carrington's manner altered at once into his usual easy-going air.

"Very well, then, Mr. Rattar," said he as he rose.

"By the way," said Simon, "you have been out at Keldale this morning, I
presume?"

"Yes," said Carrington carelessly, "but there is really nothing new to
be found."

Simon looked at him hard.

"No fresh evidence?"

Carrington laughed.

"Not likely, after you and your sleuth hounds had been over the ground!"

He went to the door, and there Simon again spoke.

"What are you doing next?"

"Upon my word, I am rather wondering. I must think about it. Good
morning."

For a man who was rather wondering, Mr. Carrington's next movements were
remarkably prompt. He first went straight to the Post Office and
dispatched a wire. It was addressed to Sir Malcolm Cromarty and it
ran--"Come immediately urgent news don't answer please don't delay." The
only thing that seemed to indicate a wondering and abstracted mind was
the signature to this message. Instead of "Carrington" he actually wrote
"Cicely Farmond."

He then hurried to the hotel, which he reached at one-fifty. In ten
minutes he had bolted a hasty lunch and at two o'clock was sitting in
the car again.

"To Stanesland Castle," he commanded. "And be as quick as y