, in the person of Mr. Gavin
Smeaton, was, in all probability, its real owner, the real holder of the
ancient title, who was coming to his lawful rights in this strange
fashion. The other was of the contrast between my own coming at that
moment and the visit which I had paid there, only a few evenings
previously, when Hollins had regarded me with some disfavour and the
usurper had been so friendly. Now Hollins was lying dead in the old ruin,
and the other man was a fugitive--and where was he?

Murray had brought us there to do something towards settling that point,
and he began his work at once by assembling every Jack and Jill in the
house and, with the help of the London detective, subjecting them to a
searching examination as to the recent doings of their master and
mistress and the butler. But Mr. Lindsey motioned Mr. Elphinstone, and
Mr. Gavin Smeaton, and myself into a side-room and shut the door on us.

"We can leave the police to do their own work," he remarked, motioning
us to be seated at a convenient table. "My impression is that they'll
find little out from the servants. And while that's afoot, I'd like to
have that promised story of yours, Mr. Elphinstone--I only got an idea of
it, you know, when you and Murray came to my house. And these two would
like to hear it--one of them, at any rate, is more interested in this
affair than you'd think or than he knew of himself until recently."

Now that we were in a properly lighted room, I took a more careful look
at the former steward of Hathercleugh. He was a well-preserved,
shrewd-looking man of between sixty and seventy: quiet and observant, the
sort of man that you could see would think a lot without saying much. He
smiled a little as he put his hands together on the table and glanced at
our expectant faces--it was just the smile of a man who knows what he is
talking about.

"Aye, well, Mr. Lindsey," he responded, "maybe there's not so much
mystery in this affair as there seems to be once you've got at an idea.
I'll tell you how I got at mine and what's come of it. Of course, you'll
not know, for I think you didn't come to Berwick yourself until after I'd
left the neighbourhood--but I was connected with the Hathercleugh estate
from the time I was a lad until fifteen years ago, when I gave up the
steward's job and went to live on a bit of property of my own, near
Alnwick. Of course, I knew the two sons--Michael and Gilbert; and I
remember well enough when, ow