Ned shook his head emphatically.
"Can you?" he asked.
"Me?" said his visitor with an innocent air, and yet with a twinkle for an instant in his eye. "I am a mere stranger to the place, and if you and Mr. Rattar and the police are baffled, what can I suggest?"
Ned seemed for a moment a trifle disconcerted. Then he said:
"That's so, of course, Mr. Carrington. But since we happen to be talking about it—well, I guess I'm quite curious to know if any ideas have just happened to occur to you."
"Well," said the other, "between ourselves, Mr. Cromarty, and speaking quite confidentially, one idea has struck me very forcibly."
"What's that?" asked Ned eagerly.
"Simply this, that though it might be conceivable to think of somebody or other, the difficulty that stares me in the face is—motive!"
Ned's face fell.
"Well, that's what has struck all of us."
"Sir Reginald was a popular landlord, I hear."
"The most popular in the county."
"This isn't Ireland," continued Carrington. "Tenants don't lay out their landlords on principle, and in this particular instance they would simply stand to lose by his death. Then take his tradesmen and his agent and so on, they all stand to lose too. An illicit love affair and a vengeful swain might be a conceivable theory, if his character gave colour to it; but there's not a hint of
