Simon

by J. Storer Clouston

  XXXII

  THE SYMPATHETIC STRANGER

  Carrington's soliloquy was interrupted by the appearance of someone onthe pavement ahead of him. He pulled himself together, took out hiswatch, and saw that it was still only twenty minutes past twelve. Afterthinking for a moment, he murmured:

  "I might as well try 'em!"

  And thereupon he set out at a brisk walk, and a few minutes later wascloseted with Superintendent Sutherland in the Police Station. He beganby handing the Superintendent a card with the name of Mr. F. T.Carrington on it, but with quite a different address from that on thecard he had sent up to Mr. Rattar. It was, in fact, his business card,and the Superintendent regarded him with respectful interest.

  After explaining his business and his preference for not disclosing itto the public, he went briefly over the main facts of the case.

  "I see you've got them all, sir," said the Superintendent, when he hadfinished. "There really seems nothing to add and no new light to be seenanywhere."

  "I'm afraid so," agreed Carrington. "I'm afraid so."

  In fact he seemed so entirely resigned to this conclusion that heallowed, and even encouraged, the conversation to turn to other matters.The activity and enterprise of the Procurator Fiscal seemed to haveparticularly impressed him, and this led to a long talk on the subjectof Mr. Simon Rattar. The Superintendent was also a great admirer of theFiscal and assured Mr. Carrington that not only was Mr. Simon himselfthe most capable and upright of men, but that the firm of Rattar hadalways conducted its business in a manner that was above reproach. Mr.Carrington had made one or two slightly cynical but perfectlygood-natured comments on lawyers in general, but he got no countenancefrom the Superintendent so far as Mr. Rattar and his business wereconcerned.

  "But hadn't he some trouble at one time with his brother?" his visitorenquired.

  The Superintendent admitted that this was so, and also that Sir ReginaldCromarty had suffered thereby, but he was quite positive that thistrouble was entirely a thing of the past. There was no doubt that thisinformation had a somewhat depressing effect even on the good-humouredMr. Carrington, and at last he confessed with a candid air:

  "The fact is, Superintendent, that I have a theory Sir Reginald wasworrying about something before his death, and as all his businessaffairs are conducted by Mr. Rattar, I was wondering whether he had anydifficulties in that direction. Now about this bad brother of Mr.Rattar's--there couldn't be trouble still outstanding, you think?"

  "Mr. George Rattar was out of the firm, sir, years ago," theSuperintendent assured him. "No, it couldna be that."

  "And Mr. George Rattar certainly died a short time ago, did he?"

  "I can show you the paper with his death in it. I kept it as a kind ofrecord of the end of him."

  He fetched the paper and Carrington after looking at it for a fewminutes, remarked:

  "I see here an advertisement stating that Mr. Rattar lost a ring."

  "Yes," said the Superintendent, "that was a funny thing because it's notoften a gentleman loses a ring off his hand. I've half wondered sincewhether it was connected with a story of Mr. Rattar's maid that hishouse had been broken into."

  "When was that?"

  "Curiously enough it was the very night Sir Reginald was murdered."

  Carrington's chair squeaked on the floor as he sat up sharply.

  "The very night of the murder?" he repeated. "Why has this never comeout before?"

  The stolid Superintendent looked at him in surprise.

  "But what connection could there possibly be, sir? Mr. Rattar thoughtnothing of it himself and just mentioned it so that I would know it wasa mere story, in case his servants started talking about it."

  "But you yourself seemed just now to think that it might not be a merestory."

  "Oh, that was just a kind o' idea," said the Superintendent easily. "Itonly came in my mind when the ring was never recovered."

  "What were the exact facts?" demanded Carrington.

  "Oh," said the Superintendent vaguely, "there was something about awindow looking as if it had been entered, but really, sir, Mr. Rattarpaid so little attention to it himself, and we were that taken up by theKeldale case that I made no special note of it."

  "Did the servants ever speak of it again?"

  "Everybody was that taken up about the murder that I doubt if they'veminded on it any further."

  Carrington was silent for a few moments.

  "Are the servants intelligent girls?" he enquired.

  "Oh, quite average intelligent. In fact, the housemaid is a particulardecent sort of a girl."

  At this point, Mr. Carrington's interest in the subject seemed to wane,and after a few pleasant generalities, he thanked the Superintendent forhis courtesy, and strolled down to the hotel for lunch. This time hisair as he walked was noticeably brisker and his eye decidedly brighter.

  About three o'clock that afternoon came a ring at the front door bell ofMr. Simon Rattar's commodious villa. Mary MacLean declared afterwardsthat she had a presentiment when she heard it, but then the poor girlhad been rather troubled with presentiments lately. When she opened thefront door she saw a particularly polite and agreeable looking gentlemanadorned with that unmistakeable mark of fashion, a single eyeglass; andthe gentleman saw a pleasant looking but evidently high strung andnervous young woman.

  "Is Mr. Simon Rattar at home?" he enquired in a courteous voice and witha soothing smile that won her heart at once; and on hearing that Mr.Rattar always spent the afternoons at his office and would not returnbefore five o'clock, his disappointment was so manifest that she feltsincerely sorry for him.

  He hesitated and was about to go away when a happy idea struck him.

  "Might I come in and write a line to be left for him?" he asked, andMary felt greatly relieved at being able to assist the gentleman toassuage his disappointment in this way.

  She led him into the library and somehow or other by the time she hadgot him ink and paper and pen she found herself talking to thisdistinguished looking stranger in the most friendly way. It was not thathe was forward or gallant, far from it; simply that he was so nice andso remarkably sympathetic. Within five minutes of making hisacquaintance, Mary felt that she could tell him almost anything.

  This sympathetic visitor made several appreciative remarks about thehouse and garden, and then, just as he had dipped his pen into the ink,he remarked:

  "Rather a tempting house for burglars, I should think--if such peopleexisted in these peaceable parts."

  "Oh, but they do, sir," she assured him. "We had one in this very houseone night!"