He lived up to the letter of his promise.

In an hour he had said when he walked out, and it was an hour to the very tick of the minute when he came back.

Mr. Narkom knowing him so well, knowing how, in the final moments of his coups, he was apt to become somewhat spectacular and theatrical, looked for him to return with a flourish of trumpets and carry all before him with a whirlwind rush; so that it came in the nature of a great surprise, when with the calmness of a man coming in to tea he entered the stable with a large stone bottle in one hand and an hostler’s sponge in the other.

“Well, gentlemen, I am here, you see,” he said with extreme calmness. “And”—indicating the bottle—“have brought something with me to do honour to the event. No, not to drink—it is hardly that sort of stuff. It is Spirit of Wine, Major. I found it over in Farrow’s cottage and have brought it with me—as he, poor chap, meant to do in time himself. There are some wonderful things in Tom Farrow’s cottage, Major; they will pay for looking into, I assure you. Pardon, Mr. Narkom? A criminal? Oh, no, my friend—a martyr!”

“A martyr?”

“Yes, your ladyship; yes, Major—a martyr. A martyr to his love, a martyr to his fidelity. As square a man and as faithful a trainer as ever set foot in a stable-yard—that’s Tom Farrow. I take off my hat to him. The world can do with more of his kind.”“But, my dear sir, you said that it was he that spirited away the animal; that it was he and he alone who was responsible for her disappearance.”

“Quite so—and I say it again. Gently, gently, Major—I’ll come to it in a minute. Personally I should like to put it off to the last, it’s such a fine thing for a finish, by Jove! But—well it can’t be done under the circumstances. In other words, there is a part of this little business this evening which I must ask Lady Mary not to stop to either hear or see; but as she is naturally interested in the matter of Highland Lassie’s disappearance I will take up that matter first and ask her to kindly withdraw after the filly has been restored.”

“Gad! you’ve found her, then? You’ve got her?”

“Yes, Major, I’ve got her. And as I promised that I would put her bridle into your hand with the animal herself at the other end of it, why—here you are!”

Speaking, he walked across to the box where the brown filly was tethered, unbolted it, unfastened the animal and led her out.

“Here you are, Major,” he said, as he tendered him the halter. “Take hold of her, the beauty; and may she carry off the Derby Stakes with flying colours.”

“But, good lud, man, what on earth are you talking about? This is Chocolate Maid—this is Lady Mary’s horse.”

“Oh, no, Major, oh, no! Chocolate Maid is in the stable at Farrow’s cottage—hidden away and half starved, poor creature, because he couldn’t go back to feed and look after her. This is your bonny Highland Lassie—dyed to look like the other and to throw possible horse nobblers and thieves off the scent. If you doubt it, look here.”

He uncorked the bottle, poured some of the Spirit of Wine on the sponge and rubbed the animal’s brown flank. The dark colour came away, the sorrel hide and the white splotch began to appear, and before you could say Jack Robinson, the major and Lady Mary had their arms about the animal’s neck and were blubbing like a couple of children.

“Oh, my bully girl! Oh, my spiffing girl! Oh, Mary, isn’t it clinking, dear? The Lassie—the Highland Lassie—her own bonny self.”

“Yes, her own bonny self, Major,” said Cleek “and you’d never have had a moment’s worry over her if that faithful fellow upstairs had been suffered to get back here that night and to tell you about it in the morning. I’ve had a little talk with—oh, well, somebody who is in a position to give me information that corroborates my own little ‘shots’ at the matter (I’ll tell you all about that later on), and so am able to tell you a thing or two that you ought to have known before this! I don’t know whether Lieutenant Chadwick’s coming here and prying about had any wish to do harm to the horse at the back of it or not. I only know that Farrow thought it had, and he played this little trick to block the game and to throw dust into the eyes of anybody that attempted to get at her. What he did then was to dye her so that she might be mistaken for Chocolate Maid, then to take Chocolate Maid over to his own stable and hide her there until the time came to start for Epsom. That’s what he wanted the pail of water for, Major—to mix the dye and to apply it. I half suspected it from the beginning, but I became sure of it when I found that scrap of paper in the bedding of the box. It was still wet—a bit of the label from the dye-bottle which came off in the operation. Between the poor chap’s fingers I found stains of the dye still remaining. Spirit of Wine would have removed it, but washing in water wouldn’t. Pardon, your ladyship? When did I begin to suspect that Farrow was at the bottom of it? Oh, when first I heard of the poisoned dog. Nobody ever heard it bark when the poisoner approached the stables. That, of course, meant that the person who administered the poison must have been some one with whom it was familiar, and also some one who was already inside the place, since even the first approaching step of friend or foe would have called forth one solitary bark at least. Farrow didn’t do the thing by halves, you see. He meant it to look like a genuine case of horse stealing to outsiders, and killing the dog gave it just that touch of actuality which carries conviction. As for the rest—the major must tell you that in private, your ladyship. The rest of this little matter is for men alone.”

Lady Mary bowed and passed out into the fast coming dusk; and, in the stable the major, Cleek and Narkom stood together, waiting until she was well beyond earshot.

“Now, Major, we will get down to brass tacks, as our American cousins say,” said Cleek, when that time at length came. “You would like to know, I suppose, how poor Farrow came by his injuries and from whose hand. Well, you shall. He was coming back from his cottage after stabling the real Chocolate Maid there when the thing happened; and he received those injuries for rushing to the defence of the woman he loved, and attempting to thrash the blackguard who had taken advantage of her trust and belief in him to spoil her life forever. The woman was, of course, Maggie McFarland. The man was your charming guest, Captain MacTavish!”

“Good God! MacTavish? MacTavish?”

“Yes, Major—the gallant captain who received such a sudden call to rejoin his regiment as soon as he knew that Tom Farrow was likely to recover and to speak. Perhaps you can understand now why Farrow and the girl no longer seemed to ‘hit it off together as formerly.’ The gallant captain had come upon the boards. Dazzled by the beauty of him, tricked by the glib tongue of him, deluded into the belief that she had actually ‘caught a gentleman’ and that he really meant to make her his wife and take her away to India with him, when he went, the silly, innocent, confiding little idiot became his victim and threw over a good man’s love for a handful of Dead Sea Fruit.”

“Never for one instant had Tom Farrow an idea of this; but the night before last as he crossed the moor—he knew! In the darkness he stumbled upon the truth. He heard her crying out to the fellow to do her justice, to keep his word and make her the honest wife he had promised that she should be, and he heard, too, the man’s characteristic reply. You can guess what happened, Major, when you know Tom Farrow. In ten seconds he was up and at that fellow like a mad bull.

“The girl, terrified out of her life, screamed and ran away, seeing the brave captain laying about him with his heavy, silver-headed hunting crop as she fled. She never saw the end of the fight—she never dared; but in the morning when there was no Tom Farrow to be seen, she went out there on the moor and found him. She would have spoken then had she dared, poor creature, but the man’s threat was an effective one. If she spoke he would do likewise. If she kept silent she might go away and her disgrace be safely hidden. Which she chose, we know.”

“The damned hound!”

“Oh, no, Major, oh, no—that’s too hard on hounds. The only houndlike thing about that interesting gentleman was that he made an attempt to ‘get to cover’ and to run away. I knew that he would—I knew that that was his little dodge when he made that little excuse about having to pack up his effects. He saw how the game was running and he meant to slip the cable and clear out while he had the chance.”

“And you let him do it?—you never spoke a word, but let the blackguard do it? Gad, sir, I’m ashamed of you!”

“You needn’t be, Major, on that score at least. Please remember that I asked for a couple of grooms to be stationed on the moor. I gave them their orders and then went on to Farrow’s cottage alone. If they have followed out those orders we shall soon see.”

Here he stepped to the door of the stable, put his two forefingers between his lips and whistled shrilly. In half a minute more the two grooms came into the stable, and between them the gallant captain, tousled and rather dirty, and with his beautiful hair and moustache awry.

“Got him, my lads, I see,” said Cleek.

“Yes, sir. Nabbed him sneakin’ out the back way like you thought he would, sir, and bein’ as you said it was the major’s orders, we copped him on the jump and have been holdin’ of him for further orders ever since.”

“Well, you can let him go now,” said Cleek, serenely. “And just give your attention to locking the door and lighting up. Major, Doctor, Mr. Narkom, pray be seated. The dear captain is going to give you all a little entertainment and the performance is about to begin. As good with your fists as you are with a metal-headed hunting crop, Captain?”

“None of your dashed business what I’m good at,” replied the captain. “Look here, Norcross——”

“You cut that at once!” roared the major. “If you open your head to me, I’ll bang it off you, you brute.”

“Well, then you, Mr. Policeman——”

“Ready for you in a minute, Captain; don’t get impatient,” said Cleek, as he laid aside his coat and began to roll up his sleeves. “Rome wasn’t built in a day—though beauty may be wrecked in a minute. You’ll have the time of your life this evening. You are really too beautiful to live, Captain, and I’m going to come as near to killing you as I know how without actually completing the job. You see, that poor little Highland lassie hasn’t a father or brother to do this business for her, so she’s kindly consented to my taking it on in her behalf. I’m afraid I shall break that lovely nose of yours, my gay gallant—and I don’t give a damn if I do! A brute that spoils a woman’s life deserves to go through the world with a mark to record it, and I’m going to put one on you to the best of my ability. All seated, gentlemen? Right you are. Now then, Captain, come on. Come on—you swine!”

It was twenty minutes later.

Lady Mary Norcross—deep in the obligatory business of dressing for dinner—had just taken up a powder puff and was assiduously dabbing the back of her neck, when the door behind her opened softly and the voice of her liege lord travelled across the breadth of the room, saying:

“Mary! May I come in a minute, dear? I just want to get my cheque book out of your writing desk—that’s all.”

“Yes, certainly. Come in by all means,” gave back her ladyship. “I’m quite alone. Springer has finished with me, and oh! Good heavens! Seton! My dear, my dear!”

“All right. Don’t get frightened. It isn’t mine. And it isn’t his, either—much of it. We’ve been having a little ‘set to’ at the stable, and I got it hugging a policeman.”

“Seton!”

“Yes—I know it’s awful, but I simply couldn’t help it. Demmit it, Mary, don’t look so shocked—I’d have kissed the beggar as well, if I thought I could acquire the trick of that heavenly ‘jab with the left’ that way. I haven’t had such a beautiful time since the day I was twenty-one, darling; he fights like a blooming angel, that chap.”

“What chap? What on earth are you talking about?”

“That man Cleek. Weeping Widows! It was the prettiest job you ever saw. We’re sending the beggar over to the hospital—and——Tell you all about it when I get back. Can’t stop just now, dear. Bye, bye!”

Then the door closed with a smack, and man and cheque book were on their way downstairs.