And now what? Go to the house when he returned and arrest him straight away? He had the warrant in his pocket. But suddenly he wanted to be assured — assured beyond the possibility of doubt — that Lamont was the man who had murdered Sorrell. They knew that he was the man who had quarrelled with Sorrell before his death. But that was not proof. The link that connected him with the knife was still missing. Before he would risk executing the warrant he wanted to find out if Lamont's left hand bore the scar made by the knife. If it did not, then his case fell to pieces. However certain he himself might be, there must be no gaps in the evidence that would be put before a jury, and as long as there was a possible gap in the evidence, Grant had no intention of arresting any one. He must get himself invited to the manse. It should not be difficult. If all else failed, he could fall into the river and appeal to them to dry him.
He was eating the sandwiches provided by the Garnie Hotel, on a boulder half in and half out of the water, when the couple came back. They went swinging past him down to the bridge and into the village, and presently he saw them reappear and come back to the manse by the high road. It was lunchtime. They were safely occupied for an hour at least, and directly under his eye.
He was carefully wrapping up the remaining sandwiches against a lean time to come when the local policeman appeared from upriver pushing a punctured push-bicycle. He slowed down when he saw Grant — if his previous leisurely progress could admit of any retarding without bringing him to a stop — and as Grant looked up, the last semblance of progression ceased.
"Having any luck, sir?" asked the policeman. He had a face like a very pink waxwork, round and devoid of expression, and one glance at him made Grant thankful for the discovery of Drysdale. His pale blue eyes were fringed like a doll's, with fine black lashes, and an unconvincing moustache of silky black made a line on his upper lip. His fat, soft body could neither hurry nor take cover; that slow brain would be of no use whatever in an emergency.
Grant admitted that he had caught nothing, but added that he had hardly expected to on such a bright morning.
"Yes, that's so," said the man; "but it won't be long like that. There's never a day but there's some rain here. You'll catch a fish before night."
Grant recognized this as the Highlander's usual desire to say the thing he thinks will be acceptable to his hearer. "You haven't had the best of luck yourself," he said, indicating the tire.
"Indeed, I have not. These ro'ds are the very ruin on tires. Not but what I get an allowance for them, you know, but there's others isn't so lucky. Mr. Logan, the minister" — he jerked his head over at the manse — "was just saying to me the other day that ministers should have a tire-allowance as well as the pollis. He had three tires of his car punctured in one week. It would put even a minister in a temper."
"Are there many motors in Carninnish?"
"Well, Mr. Drysdale has two, as I expect you know, and Mr. Logan has one, but that's all. The other minister has a sidecar."
But when some one wanted to hire, what did they do?
Oh, as to that, the hotel had a Ford for visitors. They hired out that when they weren't needing it themselves. A Ford in the constable's opinion evidently did not come under the heading "cars."
Presently the constable said, "There's Mr. Logan away to see the new twins east at Arkless," and Grant saw a rather heavy figure appear on the high road on the Garnie side of the manse and proceed upriver at a businesslike pace.
"I thought that road led only over the hill to Garnie," Grant said.
"Oh yes, the high road. But where the high road begins to go up the hill there's a track goes off along the river to the crofts you can see from the ro'd. That's where he's going evernow, Mr. Logan. And that's why he's walking. He's not very fond of walking."