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I made you understand how repulsive it was to me to think that this girl might be my child, and begged you to sift the matter as far as was possible, and to find out if there were not a chance that I was mistaken in thinking it was Countess Romaninov who had been Lena Meredith's friend." "Yes," said Gimblet, "and all I could discover at first was that the two ladies had indeed been acquainted.
Side by side were the rifles used by the uncle and nephew for stalking, Gimblet knew from Mark that the Mannlicher was his, while Lord Ashiel had apparently used a Mauser or Ross sporting rifle, as there was one of each in the case. Gimblet lifted down the Mannlicher and laid it on the table. This, then, was the kind of weapon with which the deed had been done.
"Hasn't she come back?" asked Gimblet, answering her question by another. "No sign of her. What can have happened? Mr. Gimblet, I am really getting dreadfully anxious. She must have gone on to the hills and lost her way in the mist." "She is sure to get back in time," Gimblet tried to reassure her, though he himself was beginning to wonder at the girl's absence.
The lady had lifted her veil and displayed the features of the girl he had watched in the library on the preceding night. Gimblet had seen enough. He turned away, and found Juliet at his elbow. She would have passed him by, absorbed in her sorrow for the father she had found and lost in the space of one short hour, but he laid her hand upon her arm.
Then ensued a series of weary long weeks for Juliet, in which she had no trouble in convincing herself that David had forgotten her. She heard nothing from him directly, though indirectly news of him filtered through in letters they received from Lady Ruth and Gimblet.
No, I seldom hae an American bidin' here; they maistly gang doon the loch," said the innkeeper. "I thought," said Gimblet, "that was a foreign-looking man whom I saw a little while ago, coming out of the hotel." "We hae ae gintleman bidin' here wha belongs tae foreign pairts," the landlord admitted. "A Polish gintleman, he is, Count Pretovsky, a vary nice gintleman.
A little wind had risen, and the sound of a million leaves rustling gently on the trees of the woods around was added to the distant murmur of the burn, so that the night seemed full of noises, and every bush alive and watching. Keeping on the grass, and with every precaution of silence, Gimblet crept along till he thought he was outside the drawing-room.
Mark McConachan, or rather Lord Ashiel, as he had now become, was in the act of ending a solitary meal, when Gimblet was announced. He went to meet the detective, forcing to his trouble-lined face a smile of welcome that lit up the large melancholy eyes with an expression few people could resist.
And pike, mair's the peety," he added. "Dear me," said Gimblet, "just what my friend wants. I'm sorry you can't take him in. I must tell him to write in good time next year if he wants a room."
Brother Hawkyard then said, in a livelier strain, 'You must know, George, that Brother Gimblet and I are going to make our two businesses one. We are going into partnership. We are settling it now. 'D.V.! said Brother Gimblet, with his right fist firmly clinched on his right leg. 'There is no objection, pursued Brother Hawkyard, 'to my reading this aloud, George?
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