Midnight Never Comes

'We did, sir. The guard gave us your message.'

Chavasse turned to Donner. 'I'd ask you in for a drink, but under the circumstances…'

Donner squeezed his arm. 'I'm the one who'll be supplying the drinks, sport. I'll be in touch.'

He hurried back to the Land Rover. Chavasse stood there, watching it drive away and when he turned, George drew himself stiffly to attention.

'Mr. Chavasse? George Gunn, late Company Sergeant Major, Scots Guards. If you'll come this way, sir. Colonel Craig's waiting in the library.'

7

Council of war

Colonel Duncan Craig, D.S.O., M.C. and bar, carried his seventy years well and when he pushed back his chair, stood up and walked to the fireplace, he moved with the physical assurance of a man many years his junior.

He filled his pipe from a tobacco jar and turned to face Chavasse, the lamplight shining in his white hair. 'Have another brandy, my boy. You look as if you could do with it.'

'It was rather a long walk,' Chavasse said.

'At least you've accomplished stage one of this operation as I see it, which was to get to know the girl. Under the circumstances, I should imagine we'll be good for a dinner invitation to Donner's place at the very least.'

'You sound as if you're looking forward to the prospect.'

'Eagerly, my boy. Eagerly. There I was, rotting away by inches in Edinburgh with only old George Gunn for company and then Graham Mallory appeared from out of the blue and asked me to go to work again. It's been like a new lease of life, I can tell you. You've read my report?'

'With interest. There seems to be little doubt in your mind that Donner's up to no good, and yet you haven't given a single concrete reason.'

The old man shrugged. 'I spent thirty-five years in Military Intelligence, Chavasse. After a while, you get an instinct for things, a sort of sixth sense that tells you when something isn't quite as it should be. You must know what I mean.'

Chavasse nodded. 'I think I could say it's saved my life on more than one occasion, but I'd still like to hear your reasons.'

At that moment, the door opened and George Gunn came in with the coffee. Colonel Craig accepted a cup and settled himself comfortably into the armchair by the fire.

'To start with, I can't find any real reason for Donner's being here. Oh, he's been out after the deer of course, but the season's very short as you probably know. He hasn't bothered with the grouse at all and he doesn't fish. There just isn't anything else to do in this sort of country and he looks to me to be the last sort of man to want to bury himself in the wilds.'

'How many times have you met him?'

'Half a dozen-no more. He's always been perfectly civil, but he's refused my invitations and hasn't offered any in return. Now that just doesn't make sense, not in a place like this. Another thing-I don't like the kind of people he's surrounded himself with.'

'Who do you mean exactly?'

'Take this fellow Murdoch for a start. I suppose you'll have read his file? He was a captain in a good regiment. Cashiered for embezzlement. I understand he was mixed up in some shady affair in London that ended in a man's death.'

Chavasse nodded. 'He was tried at the Old Bailey for manslaughter five years ago and acquitted. He went to work for Donner almost immediately afterwards.'

'And then his house servants are a rum bunch. When I first moved in, I called to pay my respects. The man who answered the door was as ugly a looking customer as I've ever seen, I'd say he would have been more at home as chucker-out in a waterfront saloon.'

'Was he English?' Chavasse said.

'That's the strange thing. I couldn't tell. You see he never opened his mouth, simply waved me in and disappeared. I waited in the hall and finally Murdoch arrived and told me Donner wasn't in residence which was a lie because I'd seen that plane of his fly in the same morning.'

'So all your meetings with Donner have been purely by chance?'

'No, he called once to ask me not to fish in Loch Dubh.'

'Now this really does interest me,' Chavasse said and he took the ordnance survey map of Moidart from his pocket and spread it out on the table. 'You said in your report that you thought something odd was taking place on an island in the middle of the loch.'

'That's right,' Craig said. 'I was fishing at the lochside one day when some damned rascals Donner has taken on as keepers turned up and escorted me off the estate. They didn't give me much option in the matter either.'

'Who are these people?'

'Old Hector Munro and his sons. They're tinkers-the last remnants of a broken clan. They've wandered the high roads since Culloden, but there's nothing romantic about them, believe me. There's old Hector, Fergus …'

'Will he be the one I had the run-in with earlier this evening?'

'That's right. He's got one brother-Rory. A big, dark-haired lad and as wild as they come.'

'And you say they ran you off the estate?'

Duncan Craig nodded. 'Fergus knocked George down when he tried to stop them. I wrote a stiff letter of complaint to Donner, mainly because I think it would have looked suspicious if I hadn't. I told him I was considering laying a complaint before the County Constabulary.'

'What happened?'

'He was on my doorstep next morning, smooth as paint, that secretary of his with him to turn on the charm. Now she's a nice lass if you like, though she seems to think the sun shines out of him. Pretty obvious what he keeps her around for.'

'And what did he have to say about Loch Dubh?'

'Gave me some cock and bull story about Arctic Terns nesting in the area and how he didn't want them to be disturbed and he apologised for the Munros. Said he'd kick their backsides and so forth. There wasn't really much I could say. After all, Loch Dubh is on his land.'

Chavasse examined the map and George, in the act of clearing the table, paused to point out the loch with a jab of his finger.

'The Black Loch, sir, and black it is, too. About a quarter of a mile wide. That's the island in the centre. There's an old castle there. Built in the fifteenth century by Angus McClaren. Apparently he was known as the Wolf of Moidart.'

'It's ruined, I suppose?'

'Only partially, sir. Myself, I believe he's got someone living out there.'

'I mentioned that in my report,' Craig said.

Chavasse nodded and glanced up at George. 'Why do you think that?'

'The rogue thought he'd have a try for a salmon one night,' Colonel Craig cut in and chuckled. 'With a gaff, you understand. Strictly illegal.'

'I saw a light in the ruins, sir,' George said. 'No doubt about it. And I've seen it since on two other occasions.'

Chavasse turned to Craig. 'What about you?'

Craig shook his head. 'It would certainly explain Donner's anxiety to keep outsiders away.'

Chavasse stood up, crossed to the fireplace and looked down into the flames, a frown on his face. 'But what could be out there, that's the thing?'

Craig shrugged. 'The end of the pipe-line. Perhaps that's where he keeps them before shipping them