‘Well, I’m blessed!’ said Laura, her marriage to Detective Chief-Inspector Robert Gavin having freed her from the average citizen’s awe of the police. ‘I thought you lot had finished here a couple of weeks ago!’
‘Gin ye’ll step inside, ladies, the Inspector would be glad of the favour of a word wi’ ye. We spied ye from the window,’ said the policeman, holding the door wide open and standing aside. ‘He’ll be in the dining-room. That is the door, on the right there.’
They entered the dining-room and a tall inspector of police looked round and then stood up.
‘I am very glad to see you, Dame Beatrice,’ he said gravely. ‘This saves me the trouble of running you to earth. It seems you have been travelling half over Scotland since your Conference ended.’
‘Yes, Mrs Gavin and I have had some enjoyable journeys,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Inspector…?’
‘MacCraig, of the Edinburgh police. Please to sit down.’
They took chairs and he seated himself (uncharacteristically in the presence of witnesses) in the chair which he had been occupying when they came in. This caused him to face the window.
‘As Mrs Gavin remarked to your sergeant at the front door, we thought you had left this house for good,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Ah, well, you’ll note I’m from Edinburgh. Now, we have in our files a story which Mrs Gavin told to one of our men on point duty about a man being deliberately pushed under a car and killed. Well, very recently that story has received confirmation from a reliable source and it ties up, we fancy, with the murder of Mr Bradan of this house, whose body, as you well know, was found stabbed and in a hogshead or barrel which had contained rum.’
‘Not whisky,’ said Laura. ‘Most unpatriotic.’
‘No, it wouldn’t have been whisky,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘What causes you to say that?’ asked the inspector.
‘There is a good deal of symbolism mixed up in this business, Inspector. You saw the significance of the fabulous beasts, of course?’
‘I am not aware that they had significance, Dame Beatrice. See here, now. We ken very well that you and Mrs Gavin have interested yourselves in this queer business. We know, from her own report to the Inverness police, and also from another source, that Mrs Gavin was in this house for some hours on the night when Mr Bradan was killed, and we also know of your connection with the Home Office and that Mrs Gavin is the wife of a C.I.D. officer at present on so-called leave. We have heard from Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin. He is not spending all his time fishing for barracuda, as Mrs Gavin, I take it, knows perfectly well, or you and she would not be chasing murderers in Scotland.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Laura. ‘I’ve heard only once from my husband since he went on leave, and that was before Dame Beatrice went to Edinburgh for the Conference.’
‘Did you not think his leave was an extended one?’ The inspector watched her closely.
‘I hadn’t thought much about him at all. He’s never been a good correspondent and he has a very busy couple of years’ work behind him, so I took it for granted that he would get a fair amount of leave and would simply let me know when he was coming home.’
‘Ah,’ said the inspector. ‘Well, well!’
‘You are making me very curious, Inspector. What is Gavin up to, then? Is he on a job?’
‘He is that, then. But since he has not told you anything about it, I must respect his confidence.’ His ordinarily grave face creased suddenly into a smile. ‘All the same,’ he added, ‘by the time Dame Beatrice and I have put our heads together and maybe pooled our ideas, an intelligent lady such as yourself will know how many beans make nine.’
‘Am I allowed to ask whether it was a young newspaper reporter named Grant who confirmed my story of the street murder in Edinburgh?’
‘It was. He also told us that you were here that night and that you could give him an alibi for the time of the murder of Mr Bradan.’
‘But I can’t, as I’ve told him myself, and this is for the good and sufficient reason that I haven’t any idea of the time when that murder was committed.’
‘There was a mention of the skirling of pipes.’
‘But there’s not necessarily any connection between that and the time of the murder, is there?’
‘As a matter of fact, there may well be a connection. At the enquiry – as you know, we do not hold inquests as they do south of the Border – the evidence was carefully edited for the Press, and trouble was taken for some details to be scamped if not suppressed, notably the limits of time between which the death may have taken place, and the fact that the barrel in which the body was found had contained rum. Now, young Mr Grant is very ambitious, or so he told us, and there is no doubt that he wanted a scoop for his paper big enough to allow him to try for a job on an Edinburgh journal. He not only saw the Edinburgh murder committed. He also knew by sight one of the two men who committed it.’
‘Did they also recognise him?’ demanded Laura.
‘He thinks not. He lives at Crioch, you see, and works in Freagair, and there is nothing to connect these men with either place. Except that he is a reporter and so gets to find out a good deal about local affairs, I do not suppose he would have known either of them. Unfortunately he cannot name the man. He knew him by sight, but not by name.’
‘Could he describe him?’ asked Dame Beatrice.
‘Not very well. The description would have fitted a thousand men – maybe a hundred thousand. There was nothing in it that would help us.’
‘I see. Of course, he may not have wanted to describe him very clearly.’
‘What would you be meaning by that, ma’am?’
‘That the man may have borne the same surname as Grant himself. Just a while ago, Inspector, you suggested that we pool our ideas. I have one in particular which I am prepared to present to you. I am wondering whether the man involved was the Grant who lives at a house called Coinneamh Lodge, between here and Tigh-Osda.’
‘Any relation, would you say, to young reporter Grant?’
‘I doubt it very much. But there is a psychological angle here. Either one betrays a person of one’s own name with a certain amount of enthusiasm – a revenge reaction, let us say – or one cannot bear to bring the clan name into disrepute. In the case of young Mr Grant, I think he would take the latter view.’
‘It might well be. I shall see him again and put the point to him. Of course, he may be telling the truth when he says that he cannot name the man. Only one thing troubles me. The laird of Tannasgan is dead: murdered. What way is it that this Grant of Coinneamh Lodge is still alive? The murder of Bradan must have been an act of revenge. There can be little doubt of that. What way, then, has Grant escaped the murderer’s hand?’
‘Because he murdered Bradan, perhaps,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘That is, if you are right, and the murder was an act of revenge for the loss of the Saracen.’
‘Do you tell me that? Where is your proof?’
‘There is no proof that a court of law would accept. The psychological proof would lie in the remark which you yourself have just made. If Bradan’s death was an act of revenge, then Grant could not possibly have escaped the murder’s vengeance either, unless he himself is the murderer.’
‘That sounds logical, I admit. We ourselves have had strong suspicions of Mr Bradan’s son, but I am bound to admit that we have nothing on him at present.’
‘Is it not true that his father disinherited him?’
‘He says so, and as we know that Bradan was a wealthy man it seems likely that the laddie got his own back on him.’