Down the steep hill to the Scarwater I followed the fugitive, crossing the old footbridge near Penpont, and then up a wild winding glen towards the Cairnsmore of Deugh.  For a couple of miles or more I was close behind, until, at a turn in the dark wooded glen where it branched in two directions, I lost all trace of the person who flew from me.  Whoever it was they had very cleverly gone into hiding in the undergrowth of one or other of the two glens—­which I could not decide.

I stood out of breath, the perspiration pouring from me, undecided how to act.

Was it Leithcourt himself whom I had surprised?

That idea somehow became impressed upon me and I suddenly resolved to go boldly across to Rannoch and ascertain for myself.  Therefore, with the excuse that I was belated on my walk home, I turned back down the glen, and half an hour afterward entered the great well-lighted hall of the castle where the guests, ready dressed, were assembling prior to dinner.

I was welcomed warmly, as I was always by the men of the party, who seeing my muddy plight at once offered me a glass of the sportsman’s drink in Scotland, and while I was adding soda to it Leithcourt himself joined his guests, ready dressed in his dinner jacket, having just descended from his room.

“Hulloa, Gregg!” he exclaimed heartily, holding out his hand.  “Had a long day of it, evidently.  Good sport with Carmichael—­eh?”

“Very fair,” I said.  “I remained longer with him than I ought to have done, and have got belated on my way home, so looked in for a refresher.”

“Quite right,” he laughed merrily.  “You’re always welcome, you know.  I’d have been annoyed if I knew you had passed without coming in.”

And Muriel, a pretty figure in a low-cut gown of turquoise chiffon, standing behind her father, smiled secretly at me.  I smiled at her in return, but it was a strange smile, I fear, for with the knowledge of that additional mystery within me—­the mystery of the woman lying unconscious or perhaps dead, up in the wood—­held me stupefied.

I had suspected Leithcourt because of his constant trysts at that spot, but I had at least proved that my suspicions were entirely without foundation.  He could not have got home and dressed in the time, for I had taken the nearest route to the castle while the fugitive would be compelled to make a wide detour.

I only remained a few minutes, then went forth into the darkness again, utterly undecided how to act.  My first impulse was to return to the woman’s aid, for she might not be dead after all.

And yet when I recollected that hoarse cry that rang out in the darkness, I knew too well that she had been struck fatally.  It was this latter conviction that prevented me from turning back to the wood.  You will perhaps blame me, but the fact is I feared that if I went there suspicion might fall upon me, now that the real culprit had so ingeniously escaped.