eft his visitor's face, but
they would have had to be singularly penetrating to discover a trace of
any emotion there. Throughout his inspection, Carrington's air remained
as imperturbable as though he were reading the morning paper.

"According to these letters," he observed, "there seems to have been a
trifling but rather curious misunderstanding. In accordance with written
instructions of a fortnight previously, you had arranged to let a
certain farm to a certain man, and Sir Reginald then complained that you
had overlooked a conversation between those dates in which he had
cancelled these instructions. He writes with a warmth that clearly
indicates his own impression that this conversation had been perfectly
explicit and that your forgetfulness or neglect of it was unaccountable,
and he proposes to go into this and one or two other matters in the
course of a conversation with you which should have taken place that
afternoon. You then reply that you are too busy to come out so soon, but
will call on the following morning. In the meantime Sir Reginald is
murdered, and so the conversation never takes place and no explanation
passes between you. Those are the facts, aren't they?"

He looked up from the letter book as he spoke and there was no doubt he
noticed something now. Indeed, the haggard look on Simon's face and a
bead of perspiration on his forehead were so striking, and so singular
in the case of such a tough customer, that the least observant--or the
most circumspect--must have stared. Carrington's stare lasted only for
the fraction of a second, and then he was polishing his eyeglass with
his handkerchief in the most indifferent way.

A second or two passed before Simon answered, and then he said abruptly:

"Sir Reginald was mistaken. No such conversation."

"Do you mean to tell me literally that _no_ such conversation took
place? Was it a mere delusion?"

"Er--practically. Yes, a delusion."

"Suicide!" declared Carrington with an air of profound conviction.
"Yes, Mr. Rattar, that is evidently the solution. The unfortunate man
had clearly not been himself, probably for some little time previously.
Well, I'll make a few more enquiries, but I fancy my work is nearly at
an end. Good-morning."

He rose and was half way across the room, when he stopped and asked, as
if the idea had suddenly occurred to him:

"By the way, I hear that Miss Farmond was in seeing you a couple of days
ago."

Again Simon seeme