"Well, I did, and I learnt the whole story from her. You can't guess who advised her to bolt?"
"I think I can," said Carrington quietly.
"Either you're on the wrong track, or you've cut some ice, Mr. Carrington. It was Simon Rattar!"
"I thought so."
"How the devil did you guess?"
"Tell me Miss Farmond's story first and I'll tell you how I guessed."
"Well, she spotted you were a detective—"
Carrington started and then laughed.
"Confound these women!" said he. "They're so infernally independent of reason, they always spot things they shouldn't!"
"Then she discovered she was suspected and so she got in a stew, poor girl, and went to see Rattar. Do you know what he told her? That I was employing you and meant to convict Sir Malcolm and her and hang them with my own hands!"
"The old devil!" cried Carrington. "Well, no wonder she bolted, Mr. Cromarty!"
"But even that was done by Simon's advice. He actually gave her an address in London to go to."
"Pretty thorough!" murmured Carrington.
"Now what do you make of that? And what ought one to do? And, by the way, how did you guess Simon was at the bottom of it?"
Carrington leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment before answering.
"We are in pretty deep waters, Mr. Cro-
