Part 41 (1/2)
A MARKED MAN
The unexpected energy displayed by her charming guest in bustling all over the country had surprised and a little perplexed Miss Peterkin, but she now decided that it was only a pa.s.sing phase, for on the day following his visits to Keldale and Stanesland he exhibited exactly the same leisurely calm she had admired at first. He sought out the local golf course and for an hour or two his creditable game confirmed his reputation as a sportsman, and for the rest of the time he idled in a very gentlemanly manner.
In the course of the afternoon he strolled out and gradually drifted through the dusk towards the station. Finding the train was, as usual, indefinitely late, he strolled out again and finally drifted back just as the signals had fallen at last. It was quite dark by this time and the platform lamps were lit, but Mr. Carrington chanced to stand inconspicuously in a background of shadows. As the engine hissed ponderously under the station roof and the carriage doors began to open, he still stood there, the most casual of spectators. A few pa.s.sengers pa.s.sed him, and then came a young man in a fur coat, on whom some very curious glances had been thrown when he alighted from his first cla.s.s compartment. Mr. Carrington, however, seemed to take no interest either in him or anybody else till the young man was actually pa.s.sing him, and then he suddenly stepped out of the shadows, touched him on the shoulder and said in a much deeper and graver voice than usual:
”Sir Malcolm Cromarty, I believe!”
The young man started violently and turned a pale face.
”Ye--es, I am,” he stammered.
”May I have a word with you?” said Carrington gravely.
With a dreadfully nervous air Sir Malcolm accompanied him out into the dark road, neither speaking, and then the young man demanded hoa.r.s.ely:
”What do you want with me?”
Carrington's voice suddenly resumed its usual cheerful note.
”Forgive me,” he said, ”for collaring you like this, but the fact is I am very keen to see you about the Keldale shootings.”
Sir Malcolm gave a gasp of relief.
”Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed. ”Good Lord, what a fright you gave me!”
”I say I'm awfully sorry!” said Carrington anxiously. ”How frightfully stupid I must have been!”
The young man looked at him, and, like most other people, evidently found his ingenuous face and sympathetic manner irresistibly confidence inspiring.
”Oh, not at all,” he said. ”In fact you must have wondered at my manner.
The fact is Mr.--er----”
”Carrington.”
”Mr. Carrington, that I'm in a most awful position at present. You know of course that I'm suspected of murder!”
”No!” exclaimed Carrington, with vast interest. ”Not really?”
”It's an absolute fact--suspected of murder! Good G.o.d, just imagine it!”
The young baronet stopped and faced his new acquaintance dramatically.
In spite of his nervousness, it was evident that his notoriety had compensations.
”Yes,” he said, ”I--the head of an ancient and honourable house--am actually suspected of having murdered my cousin, Sir Reginald Cromarty!”
”What, that murder!” exclaimed Carrington. ”By Jove, of course, I've heard a lot about the case. And you are really suspected?”
”So much so,” said the baronet darkly, ”that when you touched me on the shoulder I actually thought you were going to arrest me!”