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"I'm sure he does."

Murdoch changed down and swung in through gates following a narrow drive to the house beyond, lights at the window. He braked to a halt. "Ardmurchan Lodge."

It was raining again, rattling against the windscreen. Morgan said, "It does that a lot, six days out of seven, driving in from the Atlantic."

"Just think," Asta said, "we could be in Barbados."

"Oh, it has its points, I'm sure," Dillon said.

She took his hand. "I hope to get a chance to thank you properly. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Morgan said, "Plenty of time for that, I'll fix something up. You both need a chance to settle in."

As Dillon got out, Morgan followed him. "I'll see you to the door."

At that moment it opened and Ferguson appeared. "Good God, Sean, is that you? We got your message at Arisaig, but I was beginning to get worried. What happened?"

"A long story, I'll tell you later. Can I introduce our neighbor, Carl Morgan?"

"What a pleasure." Ferguson took Morgan's hand. "Your reputation precedes you. Will you have a drink before you go?"

"No, I must get my daughter home," Morgan said. "Another time."

"I believe we'll be sharing the shooting," Ferguson said genially.

"Yes, they didn't tell me that when I took the lease," Morgan told him.

"Dear me, I trust there won't be a problem."

"Oh, I don't see why there should be as long as we're not shooting from opposite sides." Morgan smiled. "Good night." He got back in the Shogun and it drove away.

"He knows," Dillon said.

"Of course he does," Ferguson told him. "Now come in out of this appalling rain and tell me what you've been up to."

When the Shogun arrived at Loch Dhu Castle, Morgan helped Asta out and said to Murdoch, "You come too, we need to talk."

"Very well, Mr. Morgan."

The great iron-banded oak door was opened by Marco Russo wearing a black alpaca jacket and striped trousers. "My God, Marco," Asta said. "I can't believe it, a butler now?"

She was probably the only human being he ever smiled for, and he did now. "A short engagement only, Miss Asta."

"Tell the maid to run a bath," Morgan said and turned to Murdoch. "You wait in the study."

He took Asta through the magnificent baronial hall and placed her in the great oak chair beside the log fire that crackled in the open hearth.

"Right," he said, "Dillon. He followed you over the mountain. Why?"

"He told you."

"That's a load of tripe."

"Well, he knew who I was and where I was going, but not because of my luggage labels."

"Explain."

Which she did-the Brazilian Embassy Ball, the write-up in the Daily Mail's social column, everything.

"I might have known," Morgan said when she finished.

"Why do you say that?"

"As soon as I heard about the new tenant at Ardmurchan Lodge I had him checked. Brigadier Charles Ferguson, Asta, is head of a very elite section of British Intelligence, usually involved with anti-terrorism and responsible to the Prime Minister only."

"But I don't understand."

"They know," he said. "The Chungking Covenant."

"My God!" she said. "And Dillon works for him?" She nodded. "It makes sense now."

"What does?"

"Well, I told you Dillon saved me from that beast Hamish Hunt at the ball. What I didn't tell you was that Hunt grabbed me in Park Lane afterwards. He was terribly drunk, Carl, and pretty foul."

His face was pale again. "And?"

"Dillon appeared and beat him up. I've never seen anything like it. He was so economical."

"He would be, a real pro. I thought so." Morgan smiled. "So I owe him not once, but twice." He helped her up. "Off you go and get your bath, we'll have some supper later." As he walked away, he called, "Marco?"

The Sicilian appeared from the shadows. "Signore?"

"Listen to this." Very quickly Morgan gave him a resume of events in Italian.

When he was finished, Marco said, "He sounds hot stuff, this Dillon."

"Get on to London now. I want answers and they've only got an hour, make that clear."

"As you say, Signore."

He walked away and Morgan went and opened the study door. It was a pleasant room, lined with books, French windows to a terrace, and as in the hall, a fire burned on the hearth. Murdoch was standing staring down into it and smoking a cigarette.

Morgan sat at the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a check book. "Over here."

"Yes, Mr. Morgan." Murdoch crossed the room and Morgan wrote a check and handed it to him. The factor looked at it in astonishment. "Twenty-five thousand pounds. But what's this for, Mr. Morgan?"

"Loyalty, Murdoch, I like greedy people and I've formed the opinion that that's what you are."

Murdoch was stunned. "If you say so, sir."

"Oh, but I do, and here's the good news, Murdoch. When I leave, you get the same amount, for services rendered, naturally."

Murdoch had control of himself now, a slight smile on his face. "Of course, sir, anything you say."

Morgan said, "For several hundred years the Lairds of Loch Dhu took a silver Bible into battle. It was always recovered, even when they died. It was with the old Laird when his plane crashed in India in nineteen forty-four. I've reason to believe it was returned to the castle, but where is it, Murdoch, that's the thing?"

"Lady Katherine, sir…"

"Knows nothing, hasn't seen it in years. It's here, Murdoch, tucked away somewhere, and we're going to find it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Discuss it with the servants. Just tell them it's a valuable family heirloom and there's a reward for whoever finds it."

"I will, sir."

"You can go now." Murdoch had the door open when Morgan called, "And Murdoch?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Brigadier Ferguson and Dillon, they're not on our side."

"I understand, sir."

"Good and don't forget. I want to know where that bastard Fergus Munro is to be found, preferably tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"One more thing. Is there anyone on the estate staff who works at Ardmurchan Lodge?"

"Ferguson has his own man, sir, this Ghurka body servant. There's Lady Katherine's gardener, Angus. He sees to the garden and the daily wood supply."

"Can he be bought?"

Murdoch nodded. "I'd say so."

"Good. Eyes and ears is what I want. See to it, and find Fergus."

"I will, sir." Murdoch went out, closing the door.

Morgan sat there for a while, then noticed a library ladder. On impulse he got up, pushed it to one end of the shelves on one of the walls, and mounted. He climbed to the top and started to remove the books a few at a time, peering behind.

EIGHT

Dillon,having bathed and changed into a comfortable track suit, sprawled in front of the fire, Hannah Bernstein in the chair opposite. He had just finished his account of the day's events and Ferguson was pouring drinks at the cabinet in the corner.

"Anything for you, Chief Inspector?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Well, the boy here could do with a brandy, I'm sure."

"It was rather a long walk," Dillon said and accepted the glass. "What do you think?"

"About Morgan? Oh, he knows, that was totally apparent from our little exchange."

"So what will his next move be?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not sure, we'll see what tomorrow brings." Ferguson sat down. "It's an interesting situation, by the way, the shooting rights and the fishing. Kim tells me he was fishing in Loch Dhu on the day before we arrived when some damn rascals who work for this Murdoch fellow as keepers turned up and suggested he leave and not too pleasantly."

"Who are they?"

"I've made inquiries. Tinkers-the last remnants of a broken clan. You know, a touch of all that Scottish romantic nonsense. They've wandered the Highlands since Culloden and all that sort of tosh. Old Hector Munro and his brood. I saw them in Ardmurchan Village yesterday and there's nothing romantic about them. Bunch of ragged, foul-smelling rogues. There's old Hector, Fergus…"