e village to see an old man
who was dying. That was the story we told them, sir."

"And in the meantime the Leithcourts were in the express going to
Carlisle?"

"Yes, sir. They say in Dumfries that the police telegraphed after them,
but they had reached Carlisle and evidently changed there, and so got
away."

By the administration of a judicious tip I was allowed to go up to Miss
Muriel's room, an elegantly furnished little chamber in the front of the
fine old place, with a deep old-fashioned window commanding a
magnificent view across the broad Nithsdale.

The room had been tidied by the maids, but allowed to remain just as she
had left it. I advanced to the window, in which was set the large
dressing-table with its big swing-mirror and silver-topped bottles, and
on gazing out saw, to my surprise, it was the only window which gave a
view of that corner of Rannoch Wood where the double tragedy had taken
place. Indeed, any person standing at the spot would have a clear view
of that one distant window while out of sight of all the rest. A light
might be placed there at night as signal, for instance; or by day a
towel might be hung from the window as though to dry and yet could be
plainly seen at that distance.

Another object in the room also attracted my attention--a pair of long
field-glasses. Had she used these to keep watch upon that spot?

I took them up and focused them upon the boundary of the wood, finding
that I could distinguish everything quite plainly.

"That's where they found the man who was murdered," explained the
servant, who still stood in the doorway.

"I know," I replied. "I was just trying the glasses." Then I put them
down, and on turning saw upon the mantelshelf a small, bright-red
candleshade, which I took in my hand. It was made, I found, to fit upon
the electric table-lamp.

"Miss Muriel was very fond of a red light," explained the young woman;
and as I held it I wondered if that light had ever been placed upon the
toilet-table and the blind drawn up--whether it had ever been used as a
warning of danger?

As I expressed a desire to see the young lady's boudoir, the maid
Cameron took me down to the luxurious little room where, the first
moment I entered, one fact struck me as peculiar. The picture of Elma
Heath was no longer there. The photograph had been taken from its frame,
and in its place was the portrait of a broad-browed, full-bearded man in
a foreign military uniform--a pictur