“H’m! Yes! I don’t think! What ‘trail’ was he to find, please, when you just now told me that there wasn’t so much as a hoofprint to tell the tale? Or was that an error?”
“No, it wasn’t. The entire stable-yard is paved with red tiles, and we’ve had such an uncommon spell of dry weather lately that the earth of the surrounding country is baked as hard as a brickbat. An elephant couldn’t make a footmark upon it, much less a horse. But, gravy, man! instead of making the thing clearer, I’m blest if you’re not adding gloom to darkness, and rendering it more mysterious than ever. What under the four corners of heaven could Farrow have followed, then, if the ‘trail’ is to be eliminated entirely?”
“Maybe his own inclination, Major—maybe nothing at all,” said Cleek, enigmatically. “If your little theory of his returning and finding Highland Lassie stolen were a thing that would hold water I am inclined to think that Mr. Tom Farrow would have raised an alarm that you could hear for half a mile, and that if he had started out after the robbers he would have done so with a goodly force of followers at his heels and with all the lanterns and torches that could be raked and scraped together.”
“Good lud, yes! of course he would. I never thought of that. Did you, Mary? His whole heart and soul were bound up in the animal. If he had thought that anything had happened to her, if he had known that she was gone, a pitful of raging devils would have been spirits of meekness beside him. Man alive, you make my head whiz. For him to go off over the moor without word or cry at such a time——I say, Mr. Cleek! For God’s sake, what do you make of such a thing as that at such a time, eh?”
“Well, Major,” replied Cleek, “I hate to destroy any man’s illusions and to besmirch any man’s reputation, but—que voulez vous? If Mr. Tom Farrow went out upon that moor after the mare was stolen, and went without giving an alarm or saying a word to anybody, then in my private opinion your precious trainer is nothing in the world but a precious double-faced, double-dealing, dishonourable blackguard, who treacherously sold you to the enemy and got just what he deserved by way of payment.”
Major Norcross made no reply. He simply screwed up his lips until they were a mere pucker of little creases, and looked round at his wife with something of the pain and hopeless bewilderment of an unjustly scolded child.
“You know, Seton, it was what Captain MacTavish suggested,” ventured she, gently and regretfully. “And when two men of intellect——” Then she sighed and let the rest go by default.
“Demmit, Mary, you don’t mean to suggest that I haven’t any, do you?”
“No, dear; but——”
“Buts be blowed! Don’t you think I know a man when I run foul of him? And if ever there was a square-dealing, honest chap on this earth——Look here, Mr. Cleek. Gad! you may be a bright chap and all that, but you’ll have to give me something a blessed sight stronger than mere suspicion before you can make me believe a thing like that about Tom Farrow.”
“I am not endeavouring to make you believe it, Major. I am merely showing you what would certainly be the absolute truth of the matter if Tom Farrow had done what you suggested, and gone out on that moor alone and without a word or a cry when he discovered that the animal was stolen. But, my dear sir, I incline to the belief that he never did go out there after any person or any living thing whatsoever.”
“Then, dash it, sir, how in thunder are you going to explain his being there at all?”
“By the simple process, Major, of suggesting that he was on his way back to the Abbey at the time he encountered his unknown assailant. In other words, that he had not only never returned to the place after you and her ladyship saw him leaving it at a quarter to eleven, but was never permitted to do so.”
“Oh, come, I say! That’s laying it on too thick. How the dickens can you be sure of such a thing as that?”
“I’m not. I am merely laying before you the only two things possible to explain his presence there. One or the other of them is the plain and absolute truth. If the man went out there after the filly was stolen he is a scoundrel and a liar. If he is innocent, he met with his injuries on the way back to his quarters above Highland Lassie’s stall.”
“But the other animal? But Chocolate Maid? How could she have got back to the stable, then? She couldn’t have found her way back alone after Farrow was assaulted—at least, she could, of course, but not in the condition she was in when found next morning. She had no harness of any sort upon her. Her saddle was on its peg. She was in her box—tied up, b’gad! and the door of the box was closed and bolted; so that if by any chance——Hullo! I say! What on earth are you smiling in that queer way for? Hang it, man! do you believe that I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“Oh, yes, Major. It isn’t that kind of a smile. I have just discovered that four and four make eight when you add them up properly; and the smile is one of consequent satisfaction. A last question, please. At what time in the morning was Farrow found lying unconscious upon the moor?”
“Somewhere between six and seven o’clock. Why?”——
“Oh, nothing in particular. Who found him? Captain MacTavish?”
“No. Maggie McFarland. She was just coming back from milking when——Hang it, man! I wish you wouldn’t smile all up one side of your face in that confounded manner. It makes me think that you must have something up your sleeve.”
“Well, if I have, Major, suppose you drive me over to the stables and give me a chance to take it out?” suggested Cleek, serenely. “A little ‘poking about’ sometimes does wonders, and a half hour in Highland Lassie’s quarters may pick the puzzle to pieces a great deal sooner than you’d believe. Or, stop! Perhaps, on second thought, it will be better for you and her ladyship to go on ahead, as I shall want to have a look at Tom Farrow’s injuries as well, so it will be best to have everything prepared in advance, in order to save time. No doubt Mr. Narkom and I can get a conveyance of some sort here. At any rate—h’m! it is now a quarter to three, I see—at any rate, you may certainly expect us at quarter-past five. You and her ladyship may go back quite openly, Major. There will be no need to attempt to throw dust in Sir Gregory Dawson-Blake’s eyes any longer by keeping the disappearance of the animal a secret. If he’s had a hand in her spiriting away, he knows, of course, that she’s gone; but if he hasn’t—oh, well, I fancy I know who did, and that she will be in the running on Derby Day after all. A few minutes in Highland Lassie’s stable will settle that, I feel sure. Your ladyship, my compliments. Major, good afternoon. I hope if night overtakes us before we get at the bottom of the thing you can manage to put us up at the Abbey until to-morrow that we may be on the spot to the last?”
“With pleasure, Mr. Cleek,” said Lady Mary; and bowed him out of the room.
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