d Mr. Lindsey and
Mr. Portlethorpe and myself when he came to us on his lying mission, only
the previous midnight. There they all were--the presents that had been
given to various of the Carstairs baronets by royal donors--carefully
packed and bestowed. And at sight of them, Mr. Lindsey looked
significantly at me, and then at Murray.

"He was a wily and a clever man, this fellow that's lying behind us," he
muttered. "He pulled our hair over our eyes to some purpose with his tale
of Lady Carstairs and her bicycle--but I'm forgetting," he broke off, and
drew me aside. "There's another thing come out since you left me and
Smeaton tonight," he whispered. "The police have found out something for
themselves--I'll give them that credit. That was all lies--lies, nothing
but lies!--that Hollins told us,--all done to throw us off the scent. You
remember the tale of the registered letter from Edinburgh?--the police
found out last evening from the post folks that there never was any
registered letter. You remember Hollins said Lady Carstairs went off on
her bicycle? The police have found out she never went off on any
bicycle--she wasn't there to go off. She was away early that morning; she
took a train south from Beal station before breakfast--at least, a veiled
woman answering her description did,--and she's safe hidden in London, or
elsewhere, by now, my lad!"

"But him--the man--Sir Gilbert, or whoever he is?" I whispered. "What of
him, Mr. Lindsey?"

"Aye, just so!" he said. "I'm gradually piecing it together, as we go on.
It would seem to me that he made his way to Edinburgh after getting rid
of you, as he thought and hoped--probably got there the very next
morning, through the help of yon fisherman at Largo, Robertson, who, of
course, told us and the police a pack of lies!--and when he'd got the
last of these securities from Paley, he worked back here, secretly, and
with the help of Hollins, and has no doubt kept quiet in this old tower
until they could get away with that gold! Of course, Hollins has been in
at all this--but now--who's killed Hollins? And where's the chief
party--the other man?"

"What?" I exclaimed. "You don't think he killed Hollins, then?"

"I should be a fool if I did, my lad," he answered. "Bethink
yourself!--when all was cut and dried for their getting off, do you
think he'd stick a knife in his confederate's throat? No!--I can see
their plan, and it was a good one. Hollins would have run those cas