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 you can."
Mr. Carrington's interview with the laird of Stanesland began on much the same lines as his talk with Bisset. The amiable visitor was shown into the laird's smoking room--an apartment with vast walls like a dungeon and on them trophies from the laird's adventurous days, and proceeded to make enquiry whether Mr. Cromarty was disposed to let his shootings for next season, or, if not, whether he could recommend any others.
As the visitor was in no hurry, he declared, to fix anything up, it was very natural that this conversation, like the morning's, should eventually turn on to the subject of the great local mystery. Through it all Mr. Carrington's monocle was more continually fixed on the other than usual, but if he were looking for peculiarities in the laird's manner or any admissions made either by tongue or eye, he was disappointed. Cromarty was as breezy and as direct as ever, but even when his visitor confessed his extreme interest in such cases of remarkable crime, he (to all seeming) scented nothing in this beyond a not uncommon hobby. There was no doubt, however, of his keenness to discuss the subject. Carrington gave him an entertaining account of his efforts to assist Mr. Bisset, and then Ned asked:
"Well, what do you think of his theory that the man came in by the window?"
"Bisset is evidently extremely anxious to save the credit of the family."
"Good God!" he cried. "But do you mean to say that you think that story will hold water?"
"What story?" enquired Carrington mildly.
"You know what I mean--the scandal that Sir Malcolm and--and a lady were concerned in the murder."
"They are said to have actually committed it, aren't they?"
"Do you think it's credible?" he asked brusquely.
"You know them better than I. Do you think it is?"
"I haven't met Sir Malcolm," said Carrington, wiping his eyeglass on his handkerchief. "I can't judge of him. What sort of a fellow is he?"
"A bit of a young squirt," said Ned candidly. "But I'll not believe he's a murderer till I get some proof of it."