“I have brought you a visitor,” the minister was saying. “This is Mr. Grant. I found him fishing, but catching6 nothing, so I brought him in to get some hot tea. My sister, Mrs. Dinmont. My niece, Miss Dinmont. And a friend of ours, Mr. Lowe. Now, where will you sit?”
Grant was given a seat beside Miss Dinmont and facing Lamont. Lamont had bowed to him when introduced, but so far gave no sign of ill-meditated action. Either he was paralysed or he was going to take things quietly. And then as he sat down Grant saw the thing that made his heart leap. Lamont’s cup was on the wrong side of his plate. The man was left-handed.
“I am so glad you didn’t wait, Agnes,” Mr. Logan said in a tone which clearly said, I think you might have waited. “It was such a fine evening that I crossed by the swing bridge and came home by the other side of the river.”
“Well, we’re glad you did,” said his niece, “because you’ve brought Mr. Grant, and that makes an uneven7 number, and so we can put it to the vote. We’ve been having a fight as to whether a mixture of race in a person is a good thing or not. I don’t mean black and white, but just different stocks of white. Mother says that a single-stock person is the best, of course, but that is because she is solid Highland8, back to the flood and before. Logans are Maclennans, you know, and there never was a Maclennan who hadn’t a boat of his own. But my father was a Borderer and my grandmother English, and Mr. Lowe’s grandmother was an Italian, so we are very firmly on the other side. Now, Uncle Robert is sure to side with Mother, being a pure-bred Highlander9 and having in a pure-bred degree all the stubbornness and stinking10 pride of his race. So we are looking to you for support. Do say that your ancestry11 is tartan.”
Grant said, quite honestly, that he thought a mixed strain of more value than a pure-bred one. That was, talking of purebred as it can exist today. It gave a man a many-sidedness instead of giving him a few qualities in excess, and that was a good thing. It tended to cleverness and versatility12, and consequently broad-mindedness and wide sympathies. On the whole, he endorsed13 Miss Dinmont’s and Mr. — er — Lowe’s point of view.
In view of the lightness of the conversation Grant was astonished at the vehemence14 and seriousness with which Mr. Logan contradicted him. His race was a fetish with him, and he compared it at length with most of the other nations in western Europe, to their extreme detriment15. It was only towards the end of tea that Grant found, to his intense amusement, that Mr. Logan had never been out of Scotland in his life. The despised Lowlanders he had met only during his training for the ministry16 some thirty years ago, and the other nations he had never known at all. Frustrated17 in his effort — nobly seconded by Miss Dinmont — to make light conversation, Grant played the part of a Greek chorus to Mr. Logan, and let his thoughts deal with Lamont.
The Levantine was beginning to look a little better. He met Grant’s eyes squarely, and except for the antagonism18 in his own, there was nothing remarkable19 about him. He made no attempt to hide the small scar on his thumb, though he must have known, as he knew about his telltale cup, that it was damning evidence. He had evidently decided20 that the game was up. It remained to be seen, though, whether he would come quietly when the time came. At least Grant was glad to see that flicker21 of antagonism in his eyes. It is an unlovely job to arrest a craven. A police officer would much sooner be hacked22 on the shins than clasped about the knees. There would quite obviously be no knee-clasping on this occasion.
One thing caused Grant’s heart to harden against the man: the strides he seemed to have made in Miss Dinmont’s regard in the three days of his stay. Even yet his quick smile came out to answer hers, and his eyes sought hers oftener than those of any one else at table. Miss Dinmont looked a girl who would be quite able to take care of herself — she had all a red-haired person’s shrewdness and capability23 — but that did not excuse Lamont’s lack of decent feeling. Had he merely been preparing an ally? A man on the run for murder does not usually have the spare interest for love-making — more especially if he is an amateur in crime. It was a blatant25 and heartless piece of opportunism. Well, he should have no chance of appealing to his ally; Grant would see to that. Meanwhile he kept his place in the conversation, and did justice to the fried trout26 which was the pièce de résistance of five-thirty tea at the manse. The Levantine ate, too, and Grant caught himself wondering what degree of effort was required to swallow each of these mouthfuls. Did he care, or had he got past that? Was his impudent27 “Don’t you think so, Mr. Grant?” a bluff28 or the real thing? His hands were quite steady — that thin, dark left hand that had put an end to his friend’s life — and he did not shirk his part in the conversation. There was obviously to the others no difference between the man who sat there now and the man who had sat there at lunch. The Levantine was doing it well.
At the end of tea, when they began to smoke, Grant offered Miss Dinmont a cigarette, and she raised her eyebrows29 in mock horror.
“My dear man,” she said, “this is a Highland manse. If you like to come out and sit on a stone by the river, I’ll have one, but not under this roof.”
The “under this roof’ was obviously a quotation30, but her uncle pretended not to hear.
“There’s nothing I’d like better,” Grant said, “but it’s getting late, and as I am walking to Garnie, I think I’d better start. I’m so grateful to you all for the good ending to my day. Perhaps Mr. Lowe would walk a bit of the way with me? It’s early yet, and very fine.”
“Certainly,” said the Levantine, and preceded him into the hall. Grant’s adieux to his hostess were cut short by the fear that Lamont would have disappeared, but he found him in the hall calmly hoisting31 himself into the trench-coat he had worn that morning. And then Miss Dinmont came out to join her uncle, who was seeing them off the premises32, and Grant had a sudden fear that she was going to offer to accompany them. Perhaps the resolute33 way in which Lamont kept his back turned to her daunted34 her a little. It would have been so natural for him to say, “Won’t you come along too?”
But he said nothing. Kept his back turned, though he knew she was there. That could only mean that he didn’t want her, and the suggestion she had been on the point of making died on her lips. Grant breathed again. He had no desire for a scene with a hysterical35 female, if it could be avoided. At the gate both men turned to acknowledge the presence of the two at the door. As Grant was replacing his battered36 hat he saw Lamont’s salutation. It was a mere24 doffing37 his cap and donning it again, but Grant had not known that any gesture could be so eloquent38 of farewell.
They walked in silence up the first slight ascent39 of road until they were well out of sight of the house, at the parting of the ways where the high road went up the hill and the track to the crofts branched off along the river. There Grant halted and said, “I think you know what I want you for, Lamont?”
“What exactly do you mean?” asked Lamont, facing him calmly.
“I am Inspector40 Grant from Scotland Yard, and I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Albert Sorrell in the Woffington queue on the night of the 13th. I must warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you. I want to see that you have nothing on you. Will you take your hands out of your pockets a moment and let me run you over?”
“You’ve made a mistake, Inspector,” the lean said. “I said I’d go a bit of the way with you, but I didn’t say how far. This is where I get off.” His left hand shot out of his pocket, and Grant, expecting a revolver, knocked his hand up as it lifted, but, even as his eyes closed instinctively41, he saw and recognized the blue pepper-pot from the manse tea-table. Helpless, half blind, coughing and sneezing, he heard the man’s flying feet on the moor42-track, and desperately43 tried to control himself so that he could hear the direction of the retreating sounds. But it was at least two minutes before he could see well enough to be able to follow. A remembrance of that evening in the Strand44 came to him, and he decided to take his time. No man, even as lightly built as the Levantine was, could run for more than a limited time. There was a radius45 of possibility bounded by the circumstance of exhaustion46 point. And judging by the direction he had chosen, when he reached that exhaustion point, the Levantine would be in a country that offered him little means of escape. And, of course, he would be shrewd enough to recognize that. Therefore, the more likely procedure would be that he should repeat the tactics of the Strand evening: lie hidden, probably till darkness made it safe to move, and then return to a better means of escape.
Well, Grant thought, the man who has the higher ground commands the situation. A few yards farther on, a small trickle47 of water came down the hillside. The valley it made was not deep enough to afford him cover standing49 up, but, if he bent50, it hid his progress up the hillside from any one farther along the moor-tract. With as keen a scrutiny51 round him as his still smarting eyes would permit, he took to the small gully and, bent double, scrambled52 up it, stopping every few yards to make sure that nothing was in sight and that he himself was still in adequate cover. Farther up, the gully was bordered by stunted53 birch, and still farther up it ran through a small plateau thinly wooded with larger birch. Birch in its first mist of green is not ideal cover, but the plateau afforded a first-rate outlook, so Grant decided to risk it. Circumspectly54 he raised himself from the sandy bank of the stream to the fine turf of the plateau, and crawled across it to the fringe of thick heather that bordered a drop of several feet in the face of the hillside. From this vantage he had the whole immediate55 sweep of the valley before him, with the exception of a slab56 to his right, which was hidden by one of the rectangular patches of firwood so typical of the country. The sight of the firwood reassured57 him. The firwood would be to Lamont what the door on the other side of Bedford Street had been. He had not the faintest doubt that Lamont was lying there now, waiting for him to declare himself on the road somewhere. What puzzled him was what Lamont thought was going to take the place of the busses and the taxis. What hope had he other than the darkness? And he must realize that, if he waited till dark, Grant would have given the alarm. Already the light was beginning to go. Should he abandon his hiding-place and give the alarm, or was that the very thing that Lamont wanted? Would he be playing into Lamont’s hands now if he abandoned the watch and went back to raise beaters? He wished he could make up his mind — could see Lamont’s play. The more he thought of it, the surer he felt that Lamont was counting on his going back to give the alarm. It was the obvious thing to do. He had given Lamont his chance of going quietly, and he had not taken it, even though his resistance had meant the publication of his true standing; most assuredly, then, he would expect the inspector to be squeamish no longer about his or other people’s feelings, and to go back for help in his capture. That being so, Grant would stay where he was and keep an eye on the country.
For a long time he lay there in the dampish, withered58 heather, looking through the parted fronds59 at a tranquil60 strath. Once the brakes of a car squealed61 away to his left, where the high road came down the hill, and later he saw the car cross the bridge before the village, run like a small black spider along the road at the back of Carninnish House, and disappear up the coast road to the north. A sheep bleated62 far away on the hill, and a late lark63 sang high in the air, where the sun still was. But nothing moved in the valley but the river, and the slow northern twilight64 began to settle on it. And then something moved. Down by the river it was. Nothing more definite than the sudden flash of water in the river itself, there and gone again. But it was not the river; something had moved. Breathlessly he waited, his heart, pressed against the turf, beating time with the blood in his ears. He had to wait awhile, but what he saw he saw distinctly this time. From behind a huge twelve-foot boulder65 by the river his quarry slid into sight and disappeared again under the bank. Grant waited again patiently. Was he going to ground there, or was he making for somewhere? Even in his anxiety he was conscious of that amused indulgence with which a human being watches an unconscious wild animal busy about its own affairs — that “tickled” feeling that all human beings have when they are spying. And presently a gentle movement farther downstream advertised the fact that Lamont was not stationary66. He was heading somewhere. And for a townsman he was making a wonderful job of cover. But then, of course, there had been the War — Grant had forgotten that Lamont was old enough to have seen active service. He probably knew all that was to be known about the art of taking cover. Grant had seen nothing that second time — he had merely been conscious of movement. He would probably have seen nothing the first time if there had been a better method of getting from that rock to the shelter of the bank than coming into the open. There was no further sign of movement, and Grant remembered that the left bank of the river would afford good shelter nearly all the way. It was time that he abandoned his seat on the dais and went down into the arena67. What could Lamont’s plan be? If he held to his present course, he would be back at the manse in a quarter of an hour. Was that where he was making for? Was he going to take advantage of the tenderness he had aroused so farseeingly in the Dinmont girl? A pretty enough plan. If he, Grant, had done as Lamont had suspected, and gone back for help, the last place any one would look for him would be in the manse itself.
Grant swore, and let himself down the gully again as quickly as the going and his desire to remain in cover would allow. He regained68 the moor-track and hesitated, wondering which was the better plan. Between him and the river stretched a piece of moor, boulder-strewn certainly, but without cover for anything bigger than a rabbit. Only the firwood farther on had enabled Lamont to reach the river unobserved by him. Well, what about going back now and giving the alarm? And catch the man being hidden by the minister’s niece? asked the looker-on in him. Well, why not? he demanded angrily of himself: If she hides him, she deserves all that’s coming to her. But there’s no need for publicity69 even yet, urged his other half. Make sure it is to the manse he has gone, and then follow and arrest him there.
That seemed sensible enough, and Grant, hoping that no one as far down the river as Lamont was could see him, crossed the little moor to the river at the double. What he wanted was to cross the river. To follow the man down the river-bed was to court certain discovery. He did not want the man to run; he wanted him to go peacefully to ground in the manse, so that he could be pounced70 upon comfortably. If by any chance he could cross the river, he could keep an eye on the man’s progress from the high ground on the other side, could even move parallel with him, if he could come up with him, without the man’s being aware that he was being stalked. He looked at the torrent71. Time was precious, and a wetting was nothing now. It is one thing to dip oneself in icy water in the cold blood of a high resolution and quite another to plunge72 into a flood in the heat of a chase. Grant chose a spot where the river was divided into three parts by two large boulders73. If he could succeed in negotiating the first one, he could take the second and the bank in a flying leap, and it would not matter very much if he missed the bank as long as his hands caught at it. He would be across. He stepped back a pace or two and measured the distance to the first boulder with his eye. The first was the flatter of the two, and offered a landing-place; the second was pointed74, and must be taken on the run. With an inarticulate prayer he launched himself into space, felt his nailed boots slip as they met the stone, recovered himself, felt the stone heeling over to the black pool beneath, leaped again, but knew even as he leaped that the slipping stone had lacked purchase for his spring, met the second stone sideways, and felt his hands on the far bank just in time to prevent himself going in farther than to his waist. Thankful and breathless, he pulled himself out, hastily wrung75 as much of the water from his heavy tweed trousers as would prevent him from being hampered76 by its weight, and made for the high ground beyond. Never had the moor appeared so treacherous77. Dry tussocks of grass melted under his feet into bog78, dead brambles clung with a living tenacity79 to his wet tweed, hidden branches of birch rose and hit him as he stepped on the nearer end, holes waited for his feet among the heather. It was more like a music-hall turn, he thought ferociously80, than a serious attempt to overtake a criminal. Panting, he came to a turn of the river, and flung himself down to reconnoitre. There was his man, about fifty yards above the manse, moving very slowly and cautiously. It occurred to Grant that he, the pursuer, was having the rough time of it, while the pursued kept a pleasant and well-planned course in the open. Well, it wouldn’t be for long. The minute the man turned into that little back gate that they were laughing so serenely81 over this morning, he, Grant, would be out of the heather and doubling down the cart-track by the river as hard as he could go. He had a small automatic in his pocket and a pair of handcuffs, and this time he would use them — both if necessary. His man wasn’t armed or he wouldn’t have stolen the pepper-pot from the tea-table, but he wasn’t taking risks any longer. No one’s feelings would be considered any more in this case — his own least of all. Let every female from here to Land’s End have hysterics at once — he wouldn’t care.
Grant was still fuming82 and glowering83 and promising84 himself all sorts of fancy retributions when the man passed the gate. I have always wished that I could have seen Grant’s face at that moment — seen the disgruntled anger and resentment85 of a man who had tried to do things decently, only to have had his decency86 taken advantage of, change to the sheer unbelieving astonishment87 of a small boy beholding88 his first firework. He blinked hard, but the picture remained the same; what he saw was real. The man had passed the gate. He was now at the end of the manse wall, and making for the bridge. What was the fool doing? Yes, Grant thought of him as a fool. He had worked out a perfectly89 good way of escape for him — to appeal to Miss Dinmont and lie doggo at the manse — and the fool wasn’t taking advantage of it. He was near the bridge now. What was he doing? What was in his head? There was purpose in every movement. It was not an aimless or even a particularly furtive90 progress. He seemed to be too wrapped up in the thought of the business ahead to pay much attention to his present circumstances, beyond an occasional glance behind him up the river-bed. Not that there would be much good looking for cover so near the village. Even at this deserted91 hour, when every one was eating his evening meal and no one was abroad until, an hour later, they came to smoke pipes in the dusk at the bridge-end, there was always the chance of a passer-by, and any appearance of deliberate hiding would defeat its own ends. The man climbed on to the road beside the bridge, but went neither north to the right nor left towards the village. He crossed the road and disappeared on to the river-bank again. What could he get there? Was he going to work round to the hotel, which stood on the point where the river joined the sea, and try to steal the Ford48? But he had obviously expected Grant to give the alarm. He would never venture up from the shore to the garage after waiting so deliberately92 to let Grant give warning. The shore?
Shore! Good heavens, he’d got it! The man had gone for a boat. They would be lying on the deserted shore, out of sight of the village. The tide was in — just on the ebb93, in fact — and not a soul, child or adult, would be abroad to witness his departure. Grant hurled94 himself down the hillside, cursing in a reluctant admiration95 of the man’s ingenuity96. Grant knew the west coaster, and he had a shrewd idea how often these boats were used. If you stay in a west-coast village, you find that the scarcest commodity of all is fresh fish. It might be literally97 days before any one discovered that MacKenzie’s boat was missing, and even then they would decide that some one had borrowed it, and would save up “the rough side of their tongues”— a course which involved no expenditure98 of energy — for the borrower when he should put it back. Had Lamont sat and thought all that out at the tea at the manse, Grant thought, as his feet touched the cart-track, or was it a Heaven-sent inspiration in the moment of need? If he had planned it, he thought, racing99 down the road to the bridge that seemed so strangely distant, then he had also planned that murder in the queue. When one came to think of it, even if one’s grandmother was an Italian, one doesn’t carry daggers100 about on the off-chance of their being useful. The man was a more accomplished101 villain102 than he had given him credit for, in spite of his lack of self-control on two occasions.
Long before Grant had reached the cart-track in his first avalanche103 down the hillside he had decided on his course of action. This morning, when he had emerged from Carninnish House with Drysdale, he had noticed a boathouse just beyond the house itself, and protruding104 from it, alongside the little jetty that led from its shelter to the sea, was what Grant in retrospect105 was sure was the stern of a motorboat. If he was right, and Drysdale was at home, and the light held, then Lamont was as good as caught. But there were three ifs in the affair.
By the time he reached the bridge he was very nearly winded. He had come from the other side of the valley, and now down this one in his heavy fishing boots, with his wet tweeds weighing him down. Keen as he was, it required a real effort of will to make him double that last hundred yards up the north road to the gates of Carninnish House. Once there, the worst was over; the house lay only a few yards inside the gate, in the narrow strip between the road and the sea. When Drysdale’s butler beheld106 a damp and breathless man at the door, he immediately jumped to conclusions.
“It is the master?” he said. “What’s wrong? Is he drowned?”
“Isn’t he here?” said Grant. “Damn! Is that a motorboat? Can I have a loan of it?” He waved a none too accurate hand towards the boathouse, and the butler looked suspiciously at him. None of the servants had been present at Grant’s arrival in the morning.
“No, you cannot, my lad,” said the butler, “and the sooner you get out of this, the better it will be for you. Mr. Drysdale will make you look pretty small when he comes, I can tell you.”
“Is he coming soon? When is he coming?”
“He’ll be here any minute.”
“But any minute’s too late!”
“Get out!” said the butler. “And have one less next time.”
“Look here,” said Grant, gripping him by the arm, “don’t be a fool. I’m as sober as you are. Come down here where you can see the sea.”
Something in his tone arrested the man’s attention, but it was with obvious fear of personal violence that he approached the sea in company with the madman. Out in the middle of the loch was a rowing-boat, being rapidly propelled seawards down the narrow estuary108 on the ebbing109 tide.
“Do you see that?” Grant asked. “I want to overtake that boat, and I can’t do it in a rowing-boat.”
“No, you can’t,” said the man. “The tide goes out there like a mill stream.”
“That’s why I must have the motorboat. Who runs the motor? Mr. Drysdale?”
“No; I do usually when he goes out.”
“Come on, then. You’ll have to do it now. Mr. Drysdale knows all about me. I’ve been fishing the river all day. That man has a stolen boat, to begin with, and we want him very badly for other reasons, so get busy.”
“Are you going to take all the responsibility of it if I go?”
“Oh, yes; you’ll have the law on your side all right. I promise you that.”
“Well, I’ll just have to leave a message”— and he darted110 into the house.
Grant put out a hand to stop him, but was too late. For a second he was afraid that he was not, after all, convinced, and was merely making his escape; but in a moment he was back and they were running across the long, narrow lawn to the boathouse, where Master Robert floated. Drysdale had evidently christened the boat after the horse whose winning of the National had provided the money for her purchase. As the butler was fiddling111 with the engine, which uttered tentative spurts112, Drysdale came round the end of the house with his gun, evidently just back from an afternoon on the hill, and Grant hailed him joyfully113, and hurriedly explained what had happened. Drysdale said not a word, but came back to the boathouse with him and said, “It’s all right, Pidgeon; I’ll see to that, and take Mr. Grant out. Will you see that there is a good dinner waiting for two — no, three — when we get back?”
Pidgeon came out of the boat with an alacrity114 he took no trouble to hide. He gave Master Robert a push, Drysdale set the engine going, and with a roar they shot away from the jetty out into the loch. As they swerved115 round into their course down the loch, Grant’s eyes fixed116 themselves on the dark speck117 against the pale yellow of the western sky. What would Lamont do this time? Come quietly? Presently the dark speck altered its course. It seemed to be making in to the land on the south side, and as it went away from the lighted skyline it became invisible against the background of the southern hills.
“Can you see him?” Grant asked anxiously. “I can’t.”
“Yes; he’s making in to the south shore. Don’t worry; we’ll be there before he makes it.”
As they tore along, the south shore came up to meet them in fashion seemingly miraculous118. And in a moment or two Grant could make out the boat again. The man was rowing desperately for the shore. It was difficult for Grant, unacquainted with distances on water, to measure how far he was from the shore and how far they were from him, but a sudden slackening in Master Robert’s speed told him all he wanted to know. Drysdale was slowing up already. In a minute they would have overhauled119 him. When the boats were about fifty yards apart, Lamont suddenly stopped rowing. Given it up, thought Grant. Then he saw that the man was bending down in the boat. Does he think we’re going to shoot? thought Grant, puzzled. And then, when Drysdale had shut down the engine and they were approaching him with a smooth leisureliness120, Lamont, coatless and hatless, sprang to his feet and then to the gunnel, as if to dive. His stockinged foot slipped on the wet gunnel, his feet went from under him. With a sickening crack that they heard quite distinctly, the back of his head hit the boat and he disappeared under water.
Grant had his coat and boots off by the time they were up to him.
“Can you swim?” asked Drysdale calmly. “If not, we’ll wait till he comes up.”
“Oh yes,” Grant said, “I can swim well enough when there is a boat there to rescue me. I think I’ll have to go for him if I want him. That was a terrific crack he got.” And he went over the side. Six or seven seconds later a dark head broke the surface, and Grant hauled the unconscious man to the boat, and with Drysdale’s help pulled him in.
“Got him!” he said, as he rolled the limp heap on the floor.
Drysdale secured the rowing-boat to the stern of Master Robert and set the engine going again. He watched with interest while Grant perfunctorily wrung his wet clothes and painstakingly121 examined his capture. The man was completely knocked out, and was bleeding from a cut on the back of the head.
“Sorry for your planking,” Grant apologized as the blood collected in a little pool. “Don’t worry,” Drysdale said. “It will scrub. This the man you wanted?”
“Yes.”
He considered the dark, unconscious face for a while.
“What do you want him for, if it isn’t an indiscreet question?”
“Murder.”
“Really?” said Drysdale, very much as though Grant had said “sheep-stealing.” He considered the man again. “Is he a foreigner?”
“No; a Londoner.”
“Well, at the moment he looks very much as if he would cheat the gallows122 after all, doesn’t he?”
Grant looked sharply at the man he was tending. Was he as bad as that? Surely not!
As Carninnish House swam up to them from across the water Grant said, “He was staying with the Logans at the manse. I can’t very well take him back there. The hotel is the best place, I think. Then the Government can bear all the bother of the business.”
But as they floated swiftly in to the landing-stage, and Pidgeon, who had been on the lookout123 for their return, came down to meet them, Drysdale said, “The man we went for is a bit knocked out. Which room was the fire lit in for Mr. Grant?”
“The one next yours, sir.”
“Well, we’ll carry this man there. Then tell Matheson to go over to Garnie for Dr. Anderson, and tell the Garnie Hotel people that Mr. Grant is staying the night with me, and bring over his things.”
Grant protested at this unnecessary generosity124. “Why, the man stuck his friend in the back!” he said.
“It isn’t for him I’m doing it,” Drysdale smiled, “though I wouldn’t condemn125 my worst enemy to the hotel here. But you don’t want to lose your man now that you’ve got him. Judging entirely126 by appearances, you had a very fine time getting him. And by the time they had lit a smoking fire in one of the glacial bedrooms over there”— he indicated the hotel on the point across the river —“and got him to bed, your man would be as good as dead. Whereas here there is the room you would have had to wash in, all warm and ready. It is far easier and better to dump the man there. And, Pidgeon!” as the man was turning away, “keep your mouth entirely closed. This gentleman met with an accident while boating. We observed it, and went out to his assistance.”
“Very good, sir,” said Pidgeon.
So Grant and Drysdale, between them, carried the limp heap upstairs, and rendered first aid in the big firelit bedroom; and then, between them, Pidgeon and Grant got him to bed, while Drysdale wrote a note to Mrs. Dinmont explaining that her guest had met with a slight accident and would stay here for the night. He was suffering from slight concussion127, but would they not be alarmed.
Grant had just changed into some things of his host’s, and was waiting at the bedside until dinner should be announced, when there was a knock at the door, and in answer to his “Come in,” Miss Dinmont walked into the room. She was bareheaded and carried a small bundle under her arm, but appeared to be completely self-possessed.
“I’ve brought down some things of his,” she said, and went over to the bed and dispassionately examined Lamont. For the sake of saying something, Grant said that they had sent for the doctor, but it was in his — Grant’s — opinion a simple concussion. He had a cut on the back of the head.
“How did it happen?” she asked. But Grant had been facing this difficulty all the time he was changing out of his own wet things.
“We met Mr. Drysdale, and he offered to take us out. Mr. Lowe’s foot slipped on the edge of the jetty, and the back of his head came in contact with it as he fell.”
She nodded. She seemed to be puzzling over something and not to be able to make herself articulate. “Well, I’m going to stay and look after him tonight. It’s awfully128 good of Mr. Drysdale to take him in.” She untied129 her bundle matter-of-factly. “Do you know, I had a presentiment130 this morning when we were going up the river that something was going to happen. I’m so glad it’s this and nothing worse. It might have been somebody’s death, and that would have been incurable131.” There was a little pause, and, still busy, she said over her shoulder, “Are you staying the night with Mr. Drysdale too?”
Grant said “Yes,” and on the word the door opened and Drysdale himself came in.
“Ready, Inspector? You must be hungry,” he said, and then he saw Miss Dinmont. From that moment Grant always considered Drysdale a first-class “intelligence” man wasted. He didn’t “bat an eyelid132.”
“Well, Miss Dinmont, were you anxious about your truant133? There isn’t any need, I think. It’s just a slight concussion. Dr. Andersen will be along presently.”
With another woman it might have passed muster134, but Grant’s heart sank as he met the Dinmont girl’s intelligent eye. “Thank you for having him here,” she said to Drysdale. “There isn’t much to do till he comes round. But I’ll stay the night, if you don’t mind, and look after him.” And then she turned to Grant and said deliberately, “Inspector of what?”
“Schools,” said Grant on the spur of the moment, and then wished he hadn’t. Drysdale, too, knew that it was a mistake, but loyally backed him up.
“He doesn’t look it, does he? But then inspecting is the last resort of the unintellectual. Is there anything I can get you before we go and eat, Miss Dinmont?”
“No, thank you. May I ring for the maid if I want anything?”
“I hope you will. And for us if you want us. We’re only in the room below.” He went out and moved along the corridor, but, as Grant was following, she left the room with him and drew the door to behind her.
“Inspector,” she said, “do you think I’m a fool? Don’t you realize that for seven years I have worked in London hospitals? You can’t treat me as a country innocent with any hope of success. Will you be good enough to tell me what the mystery is?”
Drysdale had disappeared downstairs. He was alone with her, and he felt that to tell her another untruth would be the supreme135 insult. “All right, Miss Dinmont, I’ll tell you the truth. I didn’t want you to know the truth before because I thought it might save you from — from feeling sorry about things. But now it can’t be helped. I came from London to arrest the man you had staying with you. He knew what I had come for when I came in at teatime, because he knows me by sight. But when he came with me as far as the top of the road he bolted. In the end he took to a boat, and it was in diving from the boat when we followed that he cut his head open.”
“And what do you want him for?”
It was inevitable136. “He killed a man in London.”
“Murder!” The word was a statement, not a question. She seemed to understand that, if it had been otherwise, the inspector would have said manslaughter. “Then his name is not Lowe?”
“No; his name is Lamont — Gerald Lamont.”
He was waiting for the inevitable feminine outburst of “I don’t believe it! He wouldn’t do such a thing!” but it did not come.
“Are you arresting him on suspicion, or did he do the thing?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t any doubt about it,” Grant said gently.
“But my aunt — is she — how did she come to send him here?”
“I expect Mrs. Everett was sorry for him. She’d known him some time.”
“I only met my aunt once in the time I’ve been in London — we didn’t like each other — but she didn’t strike me as a person to be sorry for a wrongdoer. I’d be much more likely to believe she did the thing herself. Then he isn’t even a journalist?”
“No,” Grant said; “he’s a bookmaker’s clerk.”
“Well, thank you for telling me the truth at last,” she said. “I must get things ready for Dr. Anderson now.”
“Are you still going to look after him?” Grant asked involuntarily. Was the outburst of disbelief coming now?
“Certainly,” said this remarkable girl. “The fact that he is a murderer doesn’t alter the fact that he has concussion, does it? — nor the fact that he abused our hospitality alter the fact that I’m a professional nurse? And even if it weren’t for that, perhaps you know that in the old days in the Highlands a guest received hospitality and sanctuary137 even if he had his host’s brother’s blood on his sword. It isn’t often I boost the Highlands,” she added, “but this is rather a special occasion.” She gave a little catch of her breath that might have been a laugh or a sob107, and was probably half one, half the other, and went back into the room to look after the man who had so unscrupulously used herself and her home.
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1
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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2
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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4
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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5
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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7
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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10
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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13
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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14
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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15
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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16
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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17
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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18
antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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19
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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20
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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21
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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22
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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23
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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26
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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27
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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28
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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29
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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30
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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31
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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32
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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33
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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34
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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36
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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37
doffing
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| n.下筒，落纱v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的现在分词 ) | |
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38
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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39
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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40
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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41
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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42
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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43
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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44
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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45
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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46
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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47
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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48
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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49
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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52
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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53
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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54
circumspectly
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| adv.慎重地，留心地 | |
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55
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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56
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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57
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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58
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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59
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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60
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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61
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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63
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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64
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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65
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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66
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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67
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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68
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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69
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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70
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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71
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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72
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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73
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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74
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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75
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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76
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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78
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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79
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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80
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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81
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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82
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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83
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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84
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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85
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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86
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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87
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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88
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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89
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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90
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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91
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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92
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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93
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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94
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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95
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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96
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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97
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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98
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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99
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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100
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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101
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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102
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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103
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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104
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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105
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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106
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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107
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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108
estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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109
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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111
fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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113
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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114
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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115
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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117
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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118
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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119
overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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120
leisureliness
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| n.悠然，从容 | |
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painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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122
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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124
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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125
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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126
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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127
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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129
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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132
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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133
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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134
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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135
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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136
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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137
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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