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"I shouldn't
think a police officer's life is a very safe one among all those secret
murder societies I've read about."
"Ah! what you read about them is often very much exaggerated," I assured
him. "It is the vendetta which is such a stain upon the character of the
modern Italian; and depend upon it this affair in Rannoch Wood is the
outcome of some revenge or other--probably over a love affair."
"But you will assist us, sir?" he urged. "You know the Italian language,
which will be of great advantage; besides, the victim was your servant."
"Be discreet," I said. "And in return I will do my very utmost to assist
you in hunting down the assassin."
And thus we made our compact. Half-an-hour after I was driving in the
dog-cart through the pouring rain up the hill out of gray old Dumfries
to my uncle's house.
As I descended from the cart and gave it over to a groom, old Davis, the
butler, came forward, saying in a low voice:
"There's Miss Leithcourt waiting to see you, Mr. Gordon. She's in the
morning-room, and been there an hour.


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