Blair stared at the boy, who was white with anger.
Hamish, who had fallen asleep in the shirt and flannels he had worn the night before, swung his legs quickly out of bed.
“Into the kitchen with you, Charlie,” he said. “What time will you be wanting me at the hotel, sir?”
“Six o’clock,” snapped Blair. “And tell that kid to mind his manners.” He stomped off where he could shortly be heard haranguing MacNab and Anderson in Hamish’s office.
“I’ve prepared breakfast for you, Mr Macbeth,” said Charlie shyly. “It’s on the table.”
“Aye, you’ve done very well,” said Hamish, tucking into charred bacon and rubbery egg. “Quite the wee housewife. Aren’t you going fishing?”
“I thought you might run up to the Marag with me,” said Charlie. “You see, I have to thank you. Mother left in a rage. I don’t know what you said or what Auntie said to her afterwards, but I’m to stay.”
“Isn’t that the great thing,” smiled Hamish.
“Och, your ma’s a decent body, but she worries overmuch about everything.”
“Perhaps we’ll catch the murderer together, Mr Macbeth.”
“We might at that. Wait till I put on my uniform and we’ll be off.”
There was a festival air about the fishing school. Even Daphne seemed to have stopped her bitchy behaviour. All of them had come to the conclusion at breakfast that none of them had done it and Lady Jane had probably come across a poacher or some itinerant madman. Tomorrow, they would all return home with a story they could dine out on for years.
Alice drew Hamish aside and showed him a silver and cairngorm ring she was wearing on a string around her neck. “Jeremy gave this to me,” she said. “He bought it at the gift shop this morning. I was going to put it on my finger, but he said to keep it secret for the moment.”
“Why?” asked Hamish curiously. “It is not as if the man is married.”
“Oh, you men are so secretive,” laughed Alice.
“If I were to be married to the lady of my choice,” said Hamish slowly, “I would shout it from the mountain top.”
But Alice only giggled happily and walked away. Hamish went to sit on a rock where he could get a view of everyone in the fishing school and there he stayed for the whole of the day. At last, at five o’clock, he walked up to Heather and said, “You are all expected in the hotel at six o’clock, Mrs Cartwright. They will want to wash and change. Mr Blair wants me to take your names and addresses, and myself will be having a bit of a word with you.”
“All right,” said Heather, looking curiously at Hamish’s face. “I’ll get them together.”
“I will go on,” said Hamish, “and make sure that no other guests are allowed in the lounge.”
At the hotel, Hamish found Blair, MacNab and Anderson waiting for him. “They are coming,” said Hamish, “and will be in the lounge at six. I am just going to tell Mr Johnson to keep other guests out of the lounge. You see, I am going to find your murderer for you, Mr Blair.”
MacNab sniggered, and Jimmy Anderson said, “You’ve been reading too many detective stories, Hamish. Great detective gathers suspects in the library and unmasks killer.”
“Aye, chust so,” said Hamish, walking off.
“He’s mad,” growled MacNab. “I’ll tell him to go home and have some black coffee.”
“No,” said Blair. “Let him get on with it. I want him to make a right fool of himself. I’ll have him out of his cushy job in a week.”
And so Hamish found Blair surprisingly mild and cooperative when he returned. Yes. Blair grinned. MacNab would guard the door and Anderson the window.
At last, one by one, the members of the fishing party entered the lounge. Hamish stood with his back to the empty fireplace and waited until they were all seated.
“Before I take down your addresses and send you on your way tomorrow,” he said, “there’s just a few things I have to say.” MacNab stifled a laugh.
“It was a wee bit difficult for me to see at first which one of you had done the murder because you all seemed to have a motive.”
“Get on with it.” Daphne Gore yawned. “I’m dying for a drink.”
“John and Heather Cartwright,” went on Hamish, ignoring the interruption. “A bad press might have ruined your school, and there was no doubt that Lady Jane meant to give you a bad write-up. You had a letter from friends in Austria telling you how she had managed to ruin them. Mr Cartwright lives for this fishing school and Mrs Cartwright lives for her husband. Both could have committed the murder…or one of them.”
“Marvin and Amy Roth…”
“I’m not going to listen to any more of this,” said Heather. She half rose from her chair, her face flushed with distress, changed her mind, and sat down again, looking not at Hamish, but at her husband.
“Marvin Roth,” said Hamish, “was involved in a scandal some years ago when he was charged with running sweatshops in the garment district of New York and employing illegal aliens. He did not want his past raked up just when he was set on entering politics, and he guessed from a remark Lady Jane made that she knew all about his past.”
“Then Amy Roth. Always talking about being a Blanchard from Augusta, except you aren’t a Blanchard by birth. You married Tom Blanchard ten years ago and the marriage only lasted a few weeks, but you kept his name and background. Lady Jane must have known that.”
Marvin polished the top of his bald head. “Look here,” he said desperately. “Amy didn’t say anything about being a Blanchard by birth, now did you, hon?”
“Oh, yes, she did,” said Daphne. “Right down to the last mint julep.”
“You misheard,” said Marvin, giving Daphne a cold, pale look.
“Then we come to Major Peter Frame,” said Hamish.
“Not again,” said the major, burying his face in his hands.
“You care very much for your reputation as an officer and a gentleman,” said Hamish. “You have an excitable temper and you were heard to threaten Lady Jane’s life. You were never in the war, nor have you a particularly upper-class background. Lady Jane gave you a rough time.”
“Alice Wilson.” Alice smiled tremulously at Jeremy, who frowned and looked at the door. “You got into minor trouble as a child and it’s plagued you ever since. There was a big reason why you did not want the matter to get out. Perhaps you might have killed because of it.”
Nobody moved, but they seemed to shrink away from Alice.
“I wouldn’t,” gasped Alice. “Jeremy, please…”
“Charlie Baxter,” went on Hamish. “Well, you had a bad time with her ladyship, and boys of your age can do terrible things under stress.”
“Jeremy Blythe. I think you are a ruthless, ambitious, selfish man. You messed up two women in your Oxford days and God knows how many more. You want to be elected a member of the Conservative party, and Lady Jane’s story, had it appeared, would have meant the end of your ambitions.”
“This is cruel,” thought Alice wildly. “He could have taken us aside one at a time. It’s like some horrible game of truths, bringing all our skeletons out of the closet,” She looked angrily at Hamish, who was consulting a sheaf of notes. He raised his eyes and looked around the room. “He doesn’t know who did it!” thought Alice with a sudden flash of intuition. “He’s looking for some sign that will betray the murderer.”
“Daphne Gore. Lady Jane knew all about you. I won’t go into the details of your background that landed you under psychiatric care, but I think you are unbalanced enough to kill someone, given enough stress.”
There was a shocked silence. “If your little game is over, Macbeth,” said Blair, “we’ll get those addresses and…”
Hamish ignored him.