“Someone told me he was ill.”
“I’ll bet he’s back on duty and nastier than ever. That man’s got the most resilient kidneys and liver in the world. If he dies and there’s ever an autopsy and they take those organs out, they’ll be able to bounce them along the floor like rubber balls.”
“We must try to think of something,” said Priscilla.
Despite his worry, Hamish was warmed by that ‘we.’
“Somehow,” Priscilla went on, “we’ve got to think of a way of finding a bit of proof within the next few hours.”
“It is a self-imposed deadline, Priscilla. I could always put it off for another day.”
“I don’t think you can put off Father’s bit of proof. I know he’ll be in trouble, but Ionides mustn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
They sat in silence. If only this case were solved, thought Hamish. If only we could sit here like in the old days.
Priscilla sat up straight. “The bottle bank,” she said. “The one with the paper.”
“What about it?”
“I went to Patel’s last Sunday to buy the papers, and you know what the Sunday papers are like, full of stuff nobody wants to read, supplement after supplement. They’ve got as big as American papers. I remember reading once that there was a newspaper strike in New York, and they sold the British papers on the street, and one man lifted a whole pile thinking it must be like The New York Times, and the bundle he took must be all the one paper. Anyway, I put the papers in the car and took out all the bits I didn’t want to read to put in the bottle bank. There was even an article in one about saving the forests, and yet I had a whole tree’s worth to throw away.”
“Where’s this leading, Priscilla?”
“The bottle bank was full. It hadn’t been emptied.”
“You mean, any stuff from the hotel might have been shoved in there?”
“It’s a long shot.” Priscilla sank back in her chair. “But the bottle bank weighs a ton. How could we ever get the stuff out?”
“Tarn Gillespie over at Braikie’s got a crane.”
“The phone’s over there, Hamish. Let’s get started.”
“Won’t Ionides smell a rat when he sees all the activity?”
“Someone said he took off in his helicopter. With any luck, he won’t be back until morning at the latest.”
“Right!” Hamish sat down at Priscilla’s desk and pulled the phone towards him. He phoned Tarn Gillespie. “Tarn, it’s Hamish here. It’s an emergency. I need you to bring your crane down to Lochdubh to lift up the bottle bank. There’s evidence in there that might save some people in the village from a lot of trouble.”
A voice quacked at the other end. Hamish turned to Priscilla. “He says he can lift it up, but we’ll need something to open it at the bottom.”
“A crowbar,” said Priscilla calmly. Hamish turned back to the phone. “Chust bring the crane along, Tarn. We’ll do the rest.” He replaced the receiver and then said, “Now we need searchers.”
“Let’s go for broke and get out the whole village,” said Priscilla. “Move over. I’m going to phone Mrs. Wellington.”
“She’ll never go for anything illegal like this!”
“She will if I ask her.”
Priscilla changed places with Hamish and dialled the number of the minister’s wife. “Mrs Wellington,” began Priscilla. “We – that is, Hamish Macbeth and myself – are having the bottle bank with the papers opened up. We need to collect any correspondence to the new hotel for evidence.”
Hamish heard Mrs. Wellington’s booming voice asking questions. “If we don’t,” said Priscilla when the voice at the other end of the line had finally fallen silent, “then some of our own could be under suspicion. I feel we all have a God-given duty to help the righteous.” Priscilla winked at Hamish.
Then Hamish heard her say: “That’s very good of you. The fishermen? But they’re out at the fishing. Oh, I’ll tell Hamish.”
When she rang off, she said, “We’ll need to be quick. The fishermen haven’t gone out because there’s a storm forecast.”
“Good, let me have the phone, and I’ll call Archie and get the men rounded up.”
After Hamish had given Archie instructions, he said, “I’d better get going.”
“I’m coming with you. Wait till I find a sweater.”
When Priscilla and Hamish drove down into Lochdubh, figures were appearing at doors of cottages. Other figures were making their way along the waterfront towards the bottle bank. It looked as if the whole village was on the move.
They gathered around the bottle bank. Hamish stood up on the seawall beside the bottle bank and said, “I am looking for any correspondence to do with the new hotel. I need your help to go through everything and give me anything you can find.”
In the faces looking up at him in the starlight, he saw Mrs. McClellan, Mrs. Docherty and Josie Darling. He had a momentary pang of doubt. But then he steeled himself. It must be Ionides.
They waited in silence. Hamish began to fret. “Where is that crane?” he asked Priscilla.
“It’ll be here soon,” said Priscilla in a comforting voice. “Remember, his top speed is probably ten miles an hour.”
Archie Maclean looked up at the starry sky. “I think that forecast got it wrong,” he grumbled. “Not even a breath of wind.”
Still they waited. The crowd began to murmur and shift restlessly.
Then they could hear the drone of an engine coming over the hills and soon the small crane driven by Tarn came into view, its long neck nodding like some prehistoric creature.
Tarn jumped down and surveyed the bottle bank. “It’s a big beastie,” he said. “You break my crane, Hamish, and you’ll have to pay for a new one.”
They all waited while Tarn started to operate the crane. “You’ll need to reach up and fix the ring o’ the bank to the crane.”
Hamish leapt up on the harbour wall again and fixed the hook of the crane on to the ring on the top of the bottle bank. The bell-shaped bank swung up and over. Tarn switched off his engine. “Now what?” he called.
Hamish stood on tiptoe and studied the underside of the bank. “We need a crowbar.”
“Here,” said Priscilla, handing one up to him. “I put it in the car before we left.”
Hamish was always amazed at Priscilla’s efficiency. “I’ll need something to stand on,” he called, almost as if he expected Priscilla to produce a ladder from her handbag.
“I’ll get a ladder,” shouted Archie. They waited until he came back with a metal stepladder. Hamish climbed up. Callum didn’t have the necessary tools to release the bottom of the bottle bank. The bank was to be cleared separately by men from Strathbane. He sweated and strained until Geordie Liddell, champion caber tosser, shouted, “Gie me a try, Hamish.”
Hamish relinquished his place to Geordie.
Geordie climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his great weight. He gave a gigantic thrust at the crowbar. There was a crack. The bottom of the bank opened and papers hurtled down to the ground.
“Don’t rush!” shouted Mrs. Wellington, coming forward. “We’ll put all this stuff into bundles, and then we’ll all start searching.”
“A bottle of whisky to anyone who finds hotel correspondence,” said Hamish.
They all crowded forward, paying no heed to Mrs. Wellington, and began searching. “Can’t see a thing,” someone said. People left for their cottages and returned carrying torches and hurricane lamps. Some women carried a trestle table out from the church hall and other women started laying out cups and cutting sandwiches.
“It’s getting like a party,” mourned Hamish to Priscilla.