“Well—­er—­not precisely news, gentlemen,” he replied.  “The fact is, I wanted to see you privately, Mr. Lindsey, sir—­but, of course, I’ve no objections to speaking before Mr. Portlethorpe, as he’s Sir Gilbert’s solicitor.  Perhaps I can come in with you, Mr. Lindsey?—­the truth is, I’ve been waiting about, sir—­they said you’d gone to Newcastle, and might be coming back by this last train.  And—­it’s—­possibly—­of importance.”

“Come in,” said Mr. Lindsey.  He let us all into his house with his latch-key, and led us to his study, where he closed the door.  “Now,” he went on, turning to the butler.  “What is it?  You can speak freely—­we are all three—­Mr. Portlethorpe, Mr. Moneylaws, and myself—­pretty well acquainted with all that is going on, by this time.  And—­I’m perhaps not far wrong when I suggest that you know something?”

The butler, who had taken the chair which Mr. Lindsey had pointed out, rubbed his hands, and looked at us with an undeniable expression of cunning and slyness.

“Well, sir!” he said in a low, suggesting tone of voice.  “A man in my position naturally gets to know things—­whether he wants to or not, sometimes.  I have had ideas, gentlemen, for some time.”

“That something was wrong?” asked Mr. Portlethorpe.

“Approaching to something of that nature, sir,” replied the butler.  “Of course, you will bear in mind that I am, as it were, a stranger—­I have only been in Sir Gilbert’s Carstairs’ employ nine months.  But—­I have eyes.  And ears.  And the long and short of it is, gentlemen, I believe Sir Gilbert—­and Lady Carstairs—­have gone!”

“Absolutely gone?” exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe.  “Good gracious, Hollins!—­you don’t mean that!”

“I shall be much surprised if it is not found to be the case, sir,” answered Hollins, whose name I now heard for the first time.  “And—­incidentally, as it were—­I may mention that I think it will be discovered that a good deal has gone with them!”

“What—­property?” demanded Mr. Portlethorpe.  “Impossible!—­they couldn’t carry property away—­going as they seem to have done—­or are said to have done!”

Hollins coughed behind one of his big, fat hands, and glanced knowingly at Mr. Lindsey, who was listening silently but with deep attention.

“I’m not so sure about that, sir,” he said.  “You’re aware that there were certain small matters at Hathercleugh of what we may term the heirloom nature, though whether they were heirlooms or not I can’t say—­the miniature of himself set in diamonds, given by George the Third to the second baronet; the necklace, also diamonds, which belonged to a Queen of Spain; the small picture, priceless, given to the fifth baronet by a Czar of Russia; and similar things, Mr. Portlethorpe.  And, gentlemen, the family jewels!—­all of which had been reset.  They’ve got all those!”

“You mean to say—­of your own knowledge—­they’re not at Hathercleugh?” suddenly inquired Mr. Lindsey.