ge-sheets than giving bad advice to a lady client, before
it's safe to fire!" said he.

"But, look here, Carrington, have you collected no other facts whatever
about this case?"

Carrington shot him a curious glance, but answered nothing else.

"Oh well," said Ned, "if you don't want to say anything yet, don't say
it. Play your hand as you think best."

"Mr. Cromarty," replied Carrington, "I assure you I don't want to make
facts into mysteries, but when they _are_ mysteries--well, I like to
think 'em over a bit before I trust myself to talk. In the course of
this very afternoon I've collected an assortment either of facts or
fiction that seem to have broken loose from a travelling nightmare."

"Mind telling where you got 'em?" asked Ned.

"Chiefly from Rattar's housemaid, a very excellent but somewhat
high-strung and imaginative young woman, and how much to believe of what
she told me I honestly don't know. And the more one can believe, the
worse the puzzle gets! However, there is one statement which I hope to
be able to check. It may throw some light on the lady's veracity
generally. Meantime I am like a man trying to build a house of what may
be bricks or may be paper bags."

Ned rose with his usual prompt decision.

"I see," said he. "And I guess you find one better company than two at
this particular moment. I won't shoot Simon Rattar till I hear from you,
though by Gad, I'm tempted to kick him just to be going on with! But
look here, Carrington, if my services will ever do you the least bit of
good--in fact, so long as I'm not actually in the way--just send me a
wire and I'll come straight. You won't refuse me that?"

Carrington looked at the six feet two inches of pure lean muscle and
smiled.

"Not likely!" he said. "That's not the sort of offer I refuse. I won't
hesitate to wire if there's anything happening. But don't count on it. I
can't see any business doing just yet."

Ned held out his hand, and then suddenly said, "You don't see any
business doing just yet? But you feel you're on his track, sure! Now,
don't you?"

Carrington glanced at him out of an eye half quizzical, half abstracted.

"Whose track?" he asked.

Ned paused for a second and then rapped out:

"Was it Simon himself?"

"If we were all living in a lunatic asylum, probably yes! If we were
living in the palace of reason, certainly not--the thing's ridiculous!
What we are actually living in, however, is--" he broke off and gazed