"Yes," said Gimblet. "She met me at the station. I'm afraid I'm rather late on the scene. I hear that the Glasgow police have come and gone, taking with them the author of the crime."
"It is a dreadful business altogether," returned young Ashiel. "I don't know which part of it is the worst. There's my uncle dead, shot down like a rat by some cold-blooded scoundrel; and now my cousin David, poor chap, in jail, and under charge of murder. It seems impossible to believe it of him, and yet, what is one to believe? One can only suppose that he must have been off his head if he did it. But have you had lunch, Mr. Gimblet? Sit down and have something to eat first of all; you can ask me any questions you wish while you are eating."
And he insisted on Gimblet's doing as he suggested.
"The household is naturally a bit disorganized," he said when the servants had left the room and the detective was busy with some cold grouse. "I had a cold lunch myself to save trouble; would you rather have something hot? I expect that a chop or something could be produced, if you are cold after your journey."
Gimblet assured him that he could like nothing better than what he already had.
"You have had Macross up here, haven't you?" he asked. "It is really disappointing to find the whole thing over before I arrive. I am afraid there is nothing left for me to do."
Mark looked at him quickly. Was it possible he accepted Macross's verdict without inquiring further himself?
"We are hoping you will undo what has been done," he said. "I look to you to get my cousin out of prison. Surely there must be some other explanation than that he did it. I simply won't believe it."
"If there is any other explanation," said Gimblet, "I will try and find it; but the affair looks bad against Sir David Southern from what I can hear."
"Why should he have shot through the window?" said Ashiel. "They were both in the same house. Why should my cousin go into the garden, when he had nothing to do but to open the library door and shoot, if he wanted to?"
"Oh," said Gimblet, "ordinary caution would suggest the garden. He did not know perhaps, whether his uncle would be alone; and as a matter of fact, he was not, was he?"