“Sir Gilbert!” I exclaimed.  “You’re sure it was Sir Gilbert?”

“Of course I’m sure!” she replied.  “Who else?  And I made out they were afraid of my letting out that I’d seen them—­it was Sir Gilbert himself said they could run no risks.”

“You’ve seen him since?” I asked.  “He’s been in here?”

“No—­not since last night,” she answered.  “And Hollins not since this morning when he brought me some food—­I’ve not wanted for that,” she went on, with a laugh, pointing to things that had been set on the table.  “And he said, then, that about midnight, tonight, I’d hear the key turned, and after that I was free to go, but I’d have to make my way home on foot, for he wasn’t wanting me to be in Berwick again too soon.”

“Aye!” I said, shaking my head.  “I’m beginning to see through some of it!  But, Maisie, you’ll be a good girl, and just do what I tell you?—­and that’s to stay where you are until I fetch you down.  For there’s more dreadfulness below—­where Sir Gilbert may be, Heaven knows, but Hollins is lying murdered on the stair; and if I didn’t see him murdered, I saw him take his last breath!”

She, too, shook a bit at that, and she gripped me tighter.

“You’re not by yourself, Hugh?” she asked anxiously.  “You’re in no danger?”

But just then Chisholm called up the stair of the turret, asking was Miss Dunlop safe, and I bade Maisie speak to him.

“That’s good news!” said he.  “But will you tell Mr. Hugh to come down to us?—­and you’d best stop where you are yourself, Miss Dunlop—­there’s no very pleasant sight down this way.  Have you no idea at all who did this?” he asked, as I went down to him.  “You were with him?”

“Man alive, I’ve no more idea than you have!” I exclaimed.  “He was making off somewhere in yon car that’s below—­he threatened me with the loss of my life if I didn’t agree to let him get away in peace, and he was going down the stairs to the car when it happened.  But I’ll tell you this:  Miss Dunlop says Sir Gilbert was here last night!—­and it was he and Hollins imprisoned her above there—­frightened she’d let out on them if she got away.”

“Then the Glasgow tale was all lies?” he exclaimed.  “It came from this man, too, that’s lying dead—­it’s been a put-up thing, d’ye think, Mr. Hugh?”

“It’s all part of a put-up thing, Chisholm,” said I.  “Hadn’t we better get the man in here, and see what’s on him?  And what made you come here yourselves?—­and are there any more of you about?”

“We came asking some information at the house,” he answered, “and we were passing round here, under the wall, on our way to the road, when we heard that car throbbing, and then saw your bit of a light.  And that’s a good idea of yours, and we’ll bring him into this place and see if there’s aught to give us a clue.  Slip down,” he went on, turning to the other man, “and bring the headlights off the car, so that we can see what we’re doing.  Do you think this is some of Sir Gilbert’s work, Mr. Hugh?” he whispered when we were alone.  “If he was about here, and this Hollins was in some of his secrets—?”