‘I would rather not speak about it,’ said Merton.
‘I had meant to go myself on the Monday. Then came the affair of Sunday night,’ and he sighed.
‘Then the somebody before was another somebody?’
‘Yes,’ said Merton, turning rather red.
‘Men have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love,’ muttered Logan.
IV. The Adventure of Eachain of the Hairy Arm
On arriving at the Castle Logan and Merton found poor Mr. Macrae comparatively cheerful. Bude and Lady Bude had told what they had gleaned, and the millionaire, recognising his daughter’s hair-pin, had all but broken down. Lady Bude herself had wept as he thanked her for this first trace, this endearing relic, of the missing girl, and he warmly welcomed Merton, who had detected the probable meaning of the enigmatic ‘Seven Hunters.’
‘It is to you,’ he said, ‘Mr. Merton, that I owe the intelligence of my daughter’s life and probable comfort.’
Lady Bude caught Merton’s eye; one of hers was slightly veiled by her long lashes.
The telegrams of the day had only brought the usual stories of the fruitless examination of yachts, and of hopes unfulfilled and clues that led to nothing. The outermost islets were being searched, and a steamer had been sent to St. Kilda. At home Mr. Gianesi had explained to Mr. Macrae that he and his partner were forced, reluctantly, by the nature of the case, to suspect treason within their own establishment