# Simon/Chapter 30

XXX
A MARKED MAN
The unexpected energy displayed by her charming guest in bustling all over the country had surprised and a little perplexed Miss Peterkin, but she now decided that it was only a passing phase, for on the day following his visits to Keldale and Stanesland he exhibited exactly the same leisurely calm she had admired at first. He sought out the local golf course and for an hour or two his creditable game confirmed his reputation as a sportsman, and for the rest of the time he idled in a very gentlemanly manner.
In the course of the afternoon he strolled out and gradually drifted through the dusk towards the station. Finding the train was, as usual, indefinitely late, he strolled out again and finally drifted back just as the signals had fallen at last. It was quite dark by this time and the platform lamps were lit, but Mr. Carrington chanced to stand inconspicuously in a background of shadows. As the engine hissed ponderously under the station roof and the carriage doors began to open, he still stood there, the most casual of spectators. A few passengers passed him, and then came a young man in a fur coat, on whom some very curious glances had been thrown when he alighted from his first class ​compartment. Mr. Carrington, however, seemed to take no interest either in him or anybody else till the young man was actually passing him, and then he suddenly stepped out of the shadows, touched him on the shoulder and said in a much deeper and graver voice than usual:
"Sir Malcolm Cromarty, I believe!"
The young man started violently and turned a pale face.
"Ye—es, I am," he stammered.
"May I have a word with you?" said Carrington gravely.
With a dreadfully nervous air Sir Malcolm accompanied him out into the dark road, neither speaking, and then the young man demanded hoarsely:
"What do you want with me?"
Carrington's voice suddenly resumed its usual cheerful note.
"Forgive me," he said, "for collaring you like this, but the fact is I am very keen to see you about the Keldale shootings."
Sir Malcolm gave a gasp of relief.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed. "Good Lord, what a fright you gave me!"
"I say I'm awfully sorry!" said Carrington anxiously. "How frightfully stupid I must have been!"
The young man looked at him, and, like most other people, evidently found his ingenuous face and sympathetic manner irresistibly confidence inspiring.
​"Oh, not at all," he said. "In fact you must have wondered at mv manner. The fact is Mr.—er——"
"Carrington."
"Mr. Carrington, that I'm in a most awful position at present. You know of course that I'm suspected of murder!"
"No!" exclaimed Carrington, with vast interest. "Not really?"
"It's an absolute fact—suspected of murder! Good God, just imagine it!"
The young baronet stopped and faced his new acquaintance dramatically. In spite of his nervousness, it was evident that his notoriety had compensations.
"Yes," he said, "I—the head of an ancient and honourable house—am actually suspected of having murdered my cousin, Sir Reginald Cromarty!"
"What, that murder!" exclaimed Carrington. "By Jove, of course, I've heard a lot about the case. And you are really suspected?"
"So much so," said the baronet darkly, "that when you touched me on the shoulder I actually thought you were going to arrest me!"
Carrington seemed equally astounded and penitent at this unfortunate reading of his simple and natural action in stepping suddenly out of the dark and tapping a nervous stranger on the shoulder.
"How very tactless of me!" he repeated more ​than once. "Really, I must be more careful another time!"
And then he suddenly turned his monocle on to the baronet and enquired:
"But how do you know you are suspected?"
"How do I know! My God, all fingers are pointing at me! Even in my club in London I feel I am a marked man. I have discussed my awful position with all my friends, and by this time they tell me that everybody else knows too!"
"That is—er—not unnatural," said Carrington drily. "But how did you first learn?"
The young man's voice fell almost to a whisper and he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder as he spoke.
"I knew I should be suspected the moment I heard of the crime! The very night before—perhaps at the actual moment when the deed was being done—I did a foolish thing!"
"You don't say so!" exclaimed his new friend with every appearance of surprise.
"Yes, you may not believe me, but I acted like a damned silly ass. Mind you, I am not as a rule a silly ass," the baronet added with dignity, "but that night I actually confided in a woman!"
"What woman?"'
"My relative Miss Cicely Farmond—a charming girl, I may mention; there was every excuse for me, still it was a rotten thing to do, I quite admit. I told her that I was hard up and feeling desperate, and I even said I was going to sit up late! And on top of that Sir Reginald was ​murdered that very night. Imagine my sensations for the next few days, living in the same house with the woman who had heard me say that! She held my fate in her hands, but, thank God, she evidently had such faith in my honour and humanity that she forebore to—er——"
"Peach," suggested Carrington, "though as a matter of fact, I fancy she had forgotten all about the incident."
"Forgotten my words!" exclaimed the baronet indignantly. "Impossible! I can never forget them myself so long as I live!"
"Well," said Carrington soothingly, "let us suppose she remembered them. Anyhow she said nothing, and, that being so, how did you first actually know that you were suspected?"
"My own man of business thought it his duty to drop me a hint!" cried the baronet.
This piece of information seemed to produce quite as much impression on his new acquaintance as his first revelation, though he took it rather more quietly.
"Really!" said he in a curious voice. "And what course of action did he advise?"
"He advised me to keep away from the place. In fact he even suggested I should go abroad—and, by Gad, I'm going too!"
To this, Carrington made no reply at all. His thoughts, in fact, seemed to have wandered entirely away from Sir Malcolm Cromarty. The baronet seemed a trifle disappointed at his lack of adequate interest.
​"Don't you sympathise with me," he enquired.
"I beg your pardon," said Carrington, "my thoughts were wandering for the moment. I do sympathise. By the way, what are going to do now?"
The baronet started.
"By Gad, my own thoughts are wandering!" said he, "though I certainly have some excuse! I must get down to the Kings Arms and order a trap to take me out to Keldale House as quickly as I can." And then he added mysteriously, "I only came down here because I was urgently wired for by some one who—well, I couldn't refuse."
"I'm going to the Kings Arms, too. We'll walk down together, if you don't mind."
"Delighted," said the baronet, "if you don't mind being seen with such a marked man."
"I rather like them marked," smiled Carrington.
All the way to the hotel the notorious Sir Malcolm pursued what had evidently become his favourite subject:—the vast sensation he was causing in society and the pain it gave a gentleman of title and position to be placed in such a predicament. When they reached the Kings Arms, his new acquaintance insisted in a very friendly and confident way that there was no immediate hurry about starting for Keldale, and that the baronet must come up to his sitting room first and have a little refreshment.
The effect of a couple of large glasses of sloe ​gin was quickly apparent. Sir Malcolm became decidedly happier and even more confidential. He was considerably taken aback, however, when his host suddenly asked, with a disconcertingly intense glance:
"Are you quite sure you are really innocent?"
"Innocent!" exclaimed the baronet, leaping out of his chair. "Do you mean to tell me you doubt it? Do you actually believe I am capable of killing a man in cold blood? Especially the honoured head of my own house?"
Carrington seemed to suppress a smile.
"No," said he, "I don't believe it."
"Then, sir," said the baronet haughtily, "kindly do not question my honour!"
This time Carrington allowed his smile to appear.
"Sit down, Sir Malcolm," he said, "pull yourself together, and listen to a few words."
Sir Malcolm looked extremely surprised, but obeyed.
"What I am going to say is in the strictest confidence and you must give me your word not to repeat one single thing I tell you."
His serious manner evidently impressed the young man.
"I give you my word, sir," said he.
"Well then, in the first place, I am a detective."
For a few seconds Sir Malcolm stared at him in silence and then burst into a hearty laugh.
"Good egg, sir!" said he. "Good egg! If I ​had not finished my sloe gin I should drink to your health!"
It was Carrington's turn to look disconcerted. Recovering himself he said with a smile:
"You shall have another glass of sloe gin when you have grasped the situation. I assure you I am actually a detective—or, rather, a private enquiry agent."
Sir Malcolm shook a knowing head.
"My dear fellow," said he, "you can't really pull my leg like that. I can see perfectly well you are a gentleman."
"I appreciate the compliment," said Carrington, "but just let me tell you what was in the telegram which has brought you here. It ran—'Come immediately urgent news don't answer please don't delay. Cicely Farmond.'"
Sir Malcolm's mouth fell open.
"How—how do you know that?" he asked.
"Because I wrote it myself. Miss Farmond is quite unaware it was sent."
The baronet began to look indignant.
"But—er—why the devil, sir—"
"Because I am a detective," interrupted Carrington, "and I wished to see you."
Sir Malcolm evidently began to grasp the situation at last.
"What about?" he asked, and his face was a little paler already.
"About this murder. I wanted to satisfy myself that you were—or were not—innocent."
"But—er—how?"
​"By your actions, conversation, and appearance. I am now satisfied, Sir Malcolm."
"That I am innocent."
"Yes."
"Then will this be the end of my—er—painful position?"
"So far as your own anxiety goes; yes. You need no longer fear arrest."
The first look of relief which had rushed to the young man's face became clouded with a suggestion of chagrin.
"But won't people then—er—talk about me any longer?"
"I am afraid I can't prevent that—for a little longer."
The last of the baronet's worries seemed to disappear.
"Ah!" he said complacently. "Well, let them talk about me!"
Carrington rose and rang the bell.
"You deserve a third sloe gin!" said he.
While the third sloe gin was being brought, he very deliberately and very thoughtfully selected and lit a cigarette, and then he said:
"You tell me specifically that Mr. Rattar was the first person to inform you that suspicion was directed against you, and that he advised you to keep away, and for choice to go abroad. There is no doubt about that, is there?"
"Well," said Sir Malcolm, "he didn't specifically advise me to go abroad, but certainly his letter seemed to suggest it."
​"Ah!" said Carrington and gazed into space for a moment.
"I am now going to take the liberty of suggesting your best course of action," he resumed. "In the first place, there is no object in your going out to Keldale House, so I think you had better not. In the second place, you had better call on Mr. Rattar first thing to-morrow and consult him about any point of business that strikes you as a sufficient reason for coming so far to see him. I may tell you that he has given you extremely bad advice, so you can be as offhand and brief with him as you like. Get out of his office, in fact, as quick as you can."
"That's what I always want to do," said the baronet. "I can't stick the old fellow at any price."
"If he asks you whether you have seen me, say you have just seen me but didn't fancy me, and don't give him the least idea of what we talked about. You can add that you left the Kings Arms because you didn't care for my company."
"But am I to leave it?" exclaimed the young man.
Carrington nodded.
"It's better that we shouldn't stay in the same hotel. It will support your account of me. And finally, get back to London by the first train after you have seen Mr. Rattar."
"Then aren't you working with old Simon?" enquired Sir Malcolm.
"Oh, in a sense, I am," said Carrington carelessly, "but I daresay you have found him ​yourself an arbitrary, meddlesome old boy, and I like to be independent."
"By Gad, so do I," the baronet agreed cordially. "I am quite with you about old Silent Simon. I'll do just exactly as you suggest. He won't get any change out of me!"
"And now," said Carrington, "get your bag taken to any other hotel you like. I'll explain everything to Miss Peterkin."
Sir Malcolm by this time had finished his third sloe gin and he said farewell with extreme affability, while his friend Mr. Carrington dropped into the manageress' room and explained that the poor young man had seemed so nervous and depressed that he had advised his departure for a quieter lodging. He added with great conviction that as a sporting man he would lay long odds on Sir Malcolm's innocence, and that between Miss Peterkin and himself he didn't believe a word of the current scandals.
That evening Mr. Carrington joined the choice spirits in the manageress' room, and they had a very long and entertaining gossip. The conversation turned this time chiefly on the subject of Mr. Simon Rattar, and if by the end of it the agreeable visitor was not fully acquainted with the history of that local celebrity, of his erring partner, and of his father before him, it was not the fault of Miss Peterkin and her friends. Nor could it fairly be said to be the visitor's fault either, for his questions were as numerous as they were intelligent.