Cleek sat forward in his seat suddenly, every nerve alert at this somewhat startling piece of news. Oho! So Ross Duggan was the only person possessing an air-pistol—and the laird had been killed by means of one, shot through the head in a dastardly fashion. Gad! it certainly wanted looking into! And the moment had been chosen with such precision that the alteration in that self-same will had never been made, and Ross Duggan still stood as chief heir to his father's estates!

That was a queer thing—a very queer thing! He flung up his eyebrows and twitched the corner of his mobile mouth.

"Your brother, Miss Duggan? I see. And how long ago was it that he bought that pistol, may I ask? And for what purpose?"

She gave an uneasy laugh which ended in a little sob that brought a look of pity to his eyes.

"Oh—ages and ages! Quite a couple of years ago, I think. Ross and a fellow-officer who was here for the fishing got it together. Ross had thought of a new idea for killing the big salmon after they had been played so long, and though exhausted were brought to shore alive. Everyone laughed at him, of course, and the thing never turned out to be anything; but Ross's idea was to shoot them as soon after swallowing the hook as was possible, and the soundless pistol wouldn't frighten the other fish. It was a ridiculous idea—but Ross imagined it would be more humane, though not nearly so much sport from the fisherman's point of view, as you know, Mr. Deland—and he tried it only once. He was teased out of it after that."

"And the pistol?"

"I really don't know ... what became of it. I never saw it again, and, in fact, forgot all about it. But of course, Mr. Deland, Ross couldn't—couldn't!—oh, I beg of you, don't think of such a terrible thing for one instant! Ross adored his father always, in spite of the bad blood between them of later years."

"Quite so. Only, naturally, in the pursuit of duty one must ask all manner of irrelevant questions. You understand that, Miss Duggan, I hope? Of course your brother Ross would not think of such a thing. But if he is the only possessor of an air-pistol, well, naturally, circumstantial evidence will be rather unpleasant for him—unless something else turns up. I'd like to see your brother, if you please, and have a little chat with him. And then he will show me the—your father, and let me make a little perfunctory examination.... By the way, how far away is the nearest police-station?"

"A matter of three miles. But the men have motorcycles, and should be here at any moment. Hark! that's Rhea's bell, isn't it? No doubt they have already come. Oh, Mr. Deland, what shall I say to them? I don't feel as though I could face a stranger now!"

Cleek laid his hand upon her shoulder as he rose to his feet.

"And you're not going to—have no fear of that," he replied kindly. "Remember, I represent Scotland Yard, Miss Duggan. This thing lies in my hands, and I am in command of it. I shall see the police-sergeant and make all necessary arrangements. The formalities will have to be observed, of course, for to-night, at any rate. No one must leave this house under any pretext whatever—neither servant nor guest. All doors and windows must be locked, and I shall set a guard about the place. But that will be my duty to attend to—not yours. So go and rest a little, if you can—and emulate your worthy stepmother (who, by the way, I want to see as soon as possible), after you have taken me to your brother, and we have had a little talk together.... Would you mind conducting me to him now?"

She bowed her head dumbly, and passed out in front of him, down the long narrow passage with its armoured figures standing out in niches cut into the wall and its air of brooding mystery which so well fitted this tragic affair and lent still further colour to it. At last they reached the library. At the door of it she paused, hesitated, put her hand upon the handle of it, and then drew back with an involuntary shiver.

"I can't—I can't!" she said brokenly. "It's asking too much to go in and see him now—not until he has been placed as he ought to be, poor dear old Daddy! But Ross is in there with him, Mr. Deland. So if you just knock, and then enter, and tell him who you are, that will be all right.... Those men are coming in, I know. I can hear them at the door now. Oh, please, please don't let me see them— I don't feel as if I could!"

"And you shan't—have no fear of that," he replied. "So be off with you as quick as you can, and lie down for half an hour, at any rate. And if I have need of you I'll send someone along with a message.... Ah! they're coming.... Good evening, Sergeant. You've been exceedingly prompt in coming along, I must say. And brought four men with you, too? That's good. We shall want 'em in this place. There's been a murder here—old Sir Andrew Duggan has been done to death in a mysterious manner—shot and stabbed at the same time. I've not yet looked at the body, but shall do so presently. Mr. Narkom will be down in the morning."

"Mr. Narkom? The Chief Superintendent, eh? Then—then may I ask who you are, sir?" responded Sergeant Campbell, in a deep, ringing voice which exactly fitted the huge figure of him.

Cleek bowed. He looked keenly into the gray eyes under the beetling brows, came to the rapid conclusion that here was a man who could keep his tongue in leash if required, and then with a glance over the four police-constables standing behind him, handed him a card upon which he had scribbled one word, and then watched the effect of it with dawning amusement as the knowledge soaked into the Inspector's consciousness.

"Name's Deland," he said with a knowing wink, speaking in the nick of time, before the Sergeant in his astonishment and admiration for this man who stood before him, and whose name was a household word upon the tongue of every policeman the world over, had quite given the show away to the rest of his followers. "Arthur Deland. You've probably heard of me, Sergeant, if you follow the doings of Scotland Yard at all. Came up here under Mr. Narkom's orders to handle another case, and then dropped—plop!—upon this one. Better come along now. I want you to set a couple of men before the library door, where the thing took place—nothing to be moved, of course, or touched in any way, until Mr. Narkom arrives—and then send another of your men back to fetch ten more reserves, and stand guard all round the house from the outside. Tell 'em to report to you every half hour, and if there's anything doing bring it along to me at once. You understand?"

"Yessir. Certainly, sir."

"Then come along."

He led the way through the long hall, past the gaping butler to whom this stranger, whom his master had entertained at lunch, and who was now so mysteriously in charge of affairs, seemed suddenly to have assumed a principal part in the affair, and to be showing his "nerve" in a good many ways; and with a quick order to him to see that all doors and windows were securely bolted and locked, so that no one could get in or out of the house save at the instigation of the Law and the Law's minions, Cleek passed on to that chamber of death where the old laird lay, and turning the handle softly, led the way in.

There was a light shining in the centre of the room from an old-fashioned lamp which stood upon the desk-top and sent a soft effulgence round and about it that lay like a halo upon the peace of that silent place. At the desk sat Ross Duggan, head in hands, shutting out the sight of the Thing that faced him in all the majesty of death, that Thing which so short a time back had been his own father, and now sat huddled forward in a fallen attitude in the swing-back office chair opposite Ross, transparent hands lying aimlessly upon the desk-top, head downthrown, jaw dropped, and with a little sinister blackened puncture in the temple telling the tale of the air-pistol's accurate aim only too well.

Cleek went up to the desk and laid his hand upon Ross's shoulder. In an instant the young man sprang to his feet, eyes ablaze, face chalk-white, startled and not a little displeased at this intrusion upon him and his dead by a man whom he had met only casually a few hours back, and who had witnessed that never-to-be-forgotten quarrel between him and his father which would sear his memory now forever.

"I— I—— This is hardly the hour and the time, Mr. Deland," he began in a hushed voice; but Cleek silenced him, the queer little one-sided smile travelling up his cheek, and his eyes serious and not a little sad as they rested upon the haggard face of this heir to an unhappy inheritance.

"That's all right, my dear chap—really," he said in his clear, low-pitched voice. "You see, my profession happens to be that of a detective, and I stand at present as official representative of Scotland Yard. The Sergeant here has come to do his unpleasant duty, and place a guard over the body. It would be better for you, really, to go and lie down. After such a terrible shock...."

"I'll go, and gladly!" returned Ross with a grim nod of the head and a sudden warming of colour in the pale cheeks of him. "It's not been the pleasantest task sitting here with—him—like that, Mr. Deland. And as you happen to have jumped up from nowhere and taken matters so entirely in hand, I'll relinquish my trust. But I didn't somehow like to leave—him—alone. After what's happened—the strange method of his death—and all the rest of this ghastly affair, I meant to keep the rest of the world away from him, if possible, and if the murderer should chance to come back!"—a sudden light flashed into his eyes and involuntarily his body stiffened—"then I should be ready for him."

"Spoken like a soldier and a gentleman," said Cleek softly, with a nod of understanding. "Now I want to have a look at your father, Mr. Duggan. And I'd like it if you could just find it in your heart to stay here with me for a moment or two, and acquaint me with the facts. Your sister has told me the rough outline, and——"

"My sister?" His voice showed the surprise which this news elicited. "How did you see her, then?"

"That is a long story, which you shall hear some other time. At present she simply sent for me in a very quick and excellent manner, and I came at once. The worthy Sergeant and his men followed.... Now, Sergeant, place your men as I told you, and I'll get on to the business of examination. I only want to get a rough idea of the true method of death, and glean what clues I can for Mr. Narkom, who will arrive in the morning.... And, gad!" He glanced up at the huge clock which was ticking away the minutes and hours with sonorous voice. "It's getting on that way now. Now, Sergeant, if you can get one of your men to give me a hand with the body——"

Speaking, he moved it gently, until it lay half upon the pedestal desk-top, so that the light shone full upon the ghastly face, and rolled it tenderly over. There was a thin trickle of blood still oozing thickly from the left side of the breast, where the fine puncture of some almost needle-like instrument showed how successfully it had done its horrible duty. Cleek tore away the coat and waistcoat, stripped back the shirt from the frail body, and examined the wound through his little glass. In size it was no more than what might have been caused by a heavy bodkin, and in depth—so deep that it had no doubt punctured the inner walls of the heart, and, if successful in this method, caused immediate death to its victim.

He looked up quickly into Ross's downbent face, his own rather grim.

"A stiletto wound," he gave out in the sharp staccato of excitement. "See that fine, clean-cut edge? I've seen similar ones in Italy and in the southern parts of America. The blade's squarish, not flat as in the cases of most daggers. And it is amazingly sharp. That blow would cause a death-wound, undoubtedly. But I understand there was a shot fired as well—from an air-pistol, I imagine, as there was no sound. Now, the question is, where is that bullet, and from what direction was the shot fired? That'll tell us a lot."

Ross Duggan's face changed suddenly, as though a shadow had passed over it.

"That's the question, Mr. Deland," he replied in a tense voice. "If we could find out that, we could find out a good deal. But why this double crime should have been committed, Heaven alone can tell. My father had many enemies—but none who would have stooped to kill him—of that I am positive. And it is obvious that two have tried to do so. Look, here is the wound in the temple, just above the left eye. And it has gone clean through the head. Poor old Dad! Poor, misguided old Dad! How I hate that woman Paula and all her wiles and ways! If any one's at fault in this dastardly business, Mr. Deland, you can count upon her! Her father swung for a similar crime (she doesn't know I know that) and if she has done this terrible thing she, too, shall swing, as he did! Whoever has done this cruel, wicked thing, Mr. Deland, shall be brought to justice, if I have to scour the world over for the murderer."

"Ah—who? That is the question, my friend," returned Cleek quietly, stooping over the bowed white head with its thatch of snowy hair, and tracing the path of the bullet through it in his mind's eye. "H'm! Went through here and came out— Gad! here's the puncture! Right here! So that somewhere in this room that bullet has lodged itself, and when that is found we shall have our finger upon the pulse of this dreadful tragedy more surely than we know.... Heigho! It's two-thirty, and in this semi-darkness little to be done until the morning sends us its kindly rays. So we must leave things as they are for the present, and later go over the whole thing with clear heads and rested minds.... Sergeant, I put you in charge. A man outside of the window there, please, and another one in this room, and still another outside the door, and if any one tries to get in or out, blow your whistle and I'll be with you in a jiffy.... Come, Mr. Duggan. You're looking terribly white and fagged. Let's have a whisky-and-soda—if you'd be so good as to extend your hospitality so far—and then I'll make myself a shake-down in the next room, if you've no objection. I've given orders for no one to be allowed to leave the house until morning and until parole is given to do so, so you need have no fear of one of the murderers escaping."

"I— I—— What's that you say?" stammered out Ross, swinging round and looking at Cleek with drawn brows and flashing eyes. "You've given orders in my house! I say, you know, this is a bit thick; and—and who the dickens do you think would have done the thing in this place, may I ask? You're rather overstepping the bounds of common hospitality, Mr. Deland, in your role of private detective. And I must ask you to leave the ordering of things to me."

"And that, I am afraid, is exactly what I can't do, my friend," replied Cleek serenely, with a crooked smile. "Simply because, according to your somewhat one-eyed and one-sided English law, every one is a suspect until he is proved innocent. You, your sister, your stepmother, even your fiancÉe—who, I suppose, is spending the night here with her cousin Miss Dowd, under the present circumstances as my orders were issued a little earlier in the evening—every member of this household comes under the unwilling stigma of a possible perpetrator of this crime."

"Damn it!— I say—how dare you——"

"We policemen dare everything, Mr. Duggan, because that is our duty, you know," he responded smoothly. "And, besides, there's one thing more. Someone here has an air-pistol, and the owner of that has got to be found. I've an inkling, supplemented by a few words dropped by your sister, but we'll let that pass. Only, the owner of the air-gun is not going to escape this house to-night. That's all, I fancy. Sergeant, good-night. Or, rather, good morning. You'll call me if necessary, won't you? I shall be in the very next room. And— Mr. Duggan, if you don't happen to have that whisky handy, you needn't bother. I've a flask in my pocket."