ing of the wind the only sound. And then came footsteps on the gravel and the ringing of a bell.
"We'll probably learn something now," said Ned, but the other still said nothing, and only a quick glance towards the door gave a hint of his thoughts.
There was no announcement this time. Superintendent Sutherland entered first, then the constable, and Carrington last. The superintendent went straight up to the lawyer, his large face preternaturally solemn. Touching him on the shoulder he said:
"I arrest you in the King's name!"
The man in the chair half started up and then fell back again.
"What for?" he asked huskily.
"The murder of Simon Rattar."
The lawyer took it as one who had seen the sword descending, but not so Ned Cromarty.
"Of Simon Rattar!" he shouted. "What the—then who the devil is this?"
Carrington answered. He spoke with his usual easy smile, but his triumphant eye betrayed his heart.
"The superintendent has omitted part of the usual formalities," he said. "This person should have been introduced as Mr. George Rattar."
"George!" gasped Ned. "But I thought he was dead!"
"So did I," said Carrington, "but he wasn't."
"What proof have you of this story?" de-demanded the man in the chair suddenly.
