‘Have you seen our host yet?’
‘No,’ said Bude, ‘I was just going to him.’
They found the millionaire seated at a table, his head in his hands. On their approach he roused himself.
‘Any news?’ he asked Bude, who shook his head. He explained how he had himself sent various telegrams, and Mr. Macrae thanked him.
‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Some electric disturbance has cut us off from our London correspondent. We sent messages in the usual way, but there has been no reply. You sent to Scotland Yard for detectives, I think you said?’
‘I did.’
‘But, unluckily, what can London detectives do in a country like this?’ said Mr. Macrae.
‘I told them to send one who had the Gaelic,’ said Bude.
‘It was well thought of,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘but this was no local job. Every man for miles round has been examined, and accounted for.’
‘I hope you have slept well, Mr. Merton?’ he asked.