"Except what?"
"Except in one particular—the cause, as you very well know, of my presence here to-night."
"I am quite at a loss to understand what you mean, Mr.——." He hesitated for the other to supply the name.
"Carrington, as you are also well aware."
"Carrington! Oh, indeed! No relation, I suppose, to Major Harold Carrington, who was formerly stationed at Madras?"
"No; I have not heard of any relative who was an Indian officer. Curiously enough, though, my father is Harold Carrington. But pray let us put an end to all this twaddle. I was forgetting that you know as well as I do all about my unfortunate father."
"Really, Mr. Carrington, you amaze me. I can't imagine what you mean when you speak as you do. I was formerly intimately acquainted with a Major Carrington (who, as I have already stated, was an Indian officer of repute) when I was living at Madras, but since you say that your father is not that Harold Carrington, I regret that I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance, though you so persistently declare that I have."
Laurence did not reply for a moment. He was more than astonished at the convincing manner in which the Major spoke. Was he a marvellous actor, or was it possible that he had no connection with the Squire's would-be assassin? The latter idea was impossible. Had not he proved—and Lena, too—that there could be no doubt of the Major's close connection with the person whose headquarters seemed to be the Manse barn?
No, the man must be acting a part, as he might naturally be expected to do. And he was acting it so cleverly that Laurence was almost inclined to believe him to be ignorant of the terrible plot that was thickening round the unhappy Squire.
The man had already confessed—or had practically done so—that his name was not Major Jones-Farnell. He had been visibly concerned at the mention of the dog-whip. What did it mean? The first discovery clearly proved that the man was playing a part. The second surely pointed to the fact that he was not speaking sincerely.