“Nice goings on up at Rannoch!  Have you heard of them?”

“No.  What?” I cried breathlessly, staring at him.

“Well, my suspicions that those Leithcourts were utter outsiders turns out to be about correct.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a very funny story, and there are a dozen different distorted versions of it,” he said.  “But from what I can gather the true facts are these:  About seven o’clock the night before last, as Leithcourt and his house-party were dressing for dinner, a telegram arrived.  Mrs. Leithcourt opened it, and at once went off into hysterics, while her husband, in a breathless hurry, slipped off his evening clothes again and got into an old blue serge suit, tossed a few things into a bag, and then went along to Muriel’s room to urge her to prepare for secret flight.”

“Flight!” I gasped.  “What, have they gone?”

“Listen, and I’ll tell you.  The servants have described the whole affair down in the village, so there’s no doubt about it.  Leithcourt showed Muriel the telegram and urged her to fly.  At first she refused, but for her father’s sake was induced to prepare to accompany him.  Of course, the guests were in ignorance of all this.  The brougham was ordered to be ready in the stable-yard and not to go round, while Mrs. Leithcourt’s maid tried to bring the lady back to her senses.  Leithcourt himself, it seemed, rushed hither and thither, seizing the jewel-cases of his wife and daughter and whatever valuables he could place his hand upon, while the mother and daughter were putting on their things.  As he rushed down the main staircase to the library, where his check-book and some ready cash were locked in the safe, he met a stranger who had just been admitted and shown into the room.  Leithcourt closed the door and faced him.  What afterwards transpired, however, is a mystery, for two hours later, after he and the two women had escaped, leaving the house-party to their own diversions, the stranger was found locked in a large cupboard and insensible.  The sensation was a tremendous one.  Cowan, the doctor, was called, and declared that the stranger had been drugged and was suffering from some narcotic.  The servant who admitted him declared that the man had said he had an appointment with his master, and that no card was necessary.  He, however, gave the name of Chater.”

“Chater!” I cried, starting up.  “Are you certain of that name?”

“I only know what Cowan told me,” was my uncle’s reply.  “But do you know him?”

“Not at all.  Only I’ve heard that name before,” I said.  “I knew a man out in Italy of the same name.  But where is the visitor now?”

“In the hospital at Dumfries.  They took him there in preference to leaving him alone at Rannoch.”

“Alone?”