"God, but that's possible, Mr. Cromarty! I hadna thought of that! Well, it'll fit into the facts all right, you'll see. My theory was that either the man threw something at the master and knocked him down that way, or he was able to reach out and give him a bat on the heid without moving from the curtains." "He must have been an awkward customer." "He was that! A great tall man with long arms. And what had he at the end of them? Either a club such as savages use or something to throw like a boomerang. And he could imitate animals, and as you say, he was probably a ventriloquist. And he was that active and strong he could get into the house through one of the windies, just like a great monkey. Now what's the history of that man?" "Pretty wild, I guess." "Ah, but one can say more than that, sir. He was not an ordinary Englishman or Scotchman. He was from the Colonies or America or one of thae wild places! Is that not a fair deduction, sir?" "It all points to that," said Ned, with a curious look. "It points to that indeed, sir. Now where's he hidden himself? It should not be difficult to find him with all that to go on." "A tall active strong man who has lived in the Colonies or America; one ought to get him. Has he only one eye, by any chance?" The reasoner gazed petrified at his counsellor. "God, but I've just described yoursel', sir!" he cried in an unhappy voice. "You're determined to hang one of us, Bisset." For a moment Bisset seemed to find conversation difficult. Then he said miserably: "So it's no good, and all the alternatives just fa' to pieces." The extreme dejection of his voice struck the other sharply. "Alternatives to what?" he asked. For a few seconds Bisset did not answer. "What's on your mind, man?" demanded Cromarty. "The reason, sir, I've got that badly off the rails with my deductions is just that I _had_ to find some other theory than the story that's going about." "What story?" "You've no heard it, sir?" Ned shook his head. "I hardly like to repeat it, sir; it's that cruel and untrue. They're saying Sir Malcolm and Miss Farmond had got engaged to be married." "Well?" said Ned sharply, and he seemed to control his feelings with an effort. "A secret engagement, like, that Sir Reginald would never have allowed. But there I think they're right, sir. Sir Reginald was unco' taken up with Miss Farmond, but he'd have looked higher for his heir. And so as they couldn't get married while he was alive--neither of them having any money, well, sir, this story says--" He broke off and neither spoke for an instant. "Good God!" murmured Cromarty. "They actually accuse Malcolm Cromarty and Miss Cicely of--?" He paused too, and Bisset nodded. "Who is saying this?" "It seems to be the clash of the haill country by this time, sir." He seemed a little frightened at the effect of his own words; and it was small wonder. Ned Cromarty was a nasty looking customer at that moment. "Who started the lie?"