He laughed in spite of himself, tucking her arm into his, turning to go inside. 'You can read me like a book, damn you. Yes, Colonel Craig turned out to be just about the handiest man with a cue I've seen in many a long day.'
Duncan Craig already had his coat on when they went inside and stood by the fire, a drink in his hands. There was no sign of Murdoch.
'There you are, Paul. Hope you don't mind if we go now. It's been rather a heavy day and I'm not getting any younger unfortunately.'
'That's all right, uncle.' Chavasse turned to Asta and her step-father. 'Perhaps we can return the hospitality before very long.'
'We'll look forward to that,' Asta said.
Donner cut in quickly. 'Anyway, I'm sure Colonel Craig must be tired.' He took the old man's arm. 'I'll see you to your car.'
Chavasse turned at the door to wave and then he was gone and Asta walked to the fireplace and stared down into the dying embers, suddenly tired. She heard the car start up and move away, there was a quick step in the hall and Donner came in.
She turned to face him, smiling brightly. 'I'm tired myself. Colonel Craig was right. It's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed.'
To her surprise, he didn't argue. 'You look as if you could do with about twelve solid hours,' he said and kissed her on the forehead. 'You go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.'
He walked out into the hall with her and watched her mount the great staircase. When she reached the top and looked back, he was already turning away, moving towards the library door.
As he reached it, the front door opened and Murdoch came in. Donner went to meet him and Asta drew back into the shadows. When they spoke, the voices sounded very clear, but strangely remote in the stillness.
'We've got him,' Murdoch said.
Donner glanced up towards the dark landing and moved closer. 'Where is he?'
'Stavrou's taken him in through the back entrance. Where do you want him?'
'The cellar,' Donner said and his voice sounded cold and hard. 'And don't either of you lay a finger on him. He's my meat. I'll join you in a few minutes.'
Asta hurried along the landing, opened the door and went inside. She leaned against it in the darkness for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts and then she snapped on the light and took off her dress and underskirt quickly.
When she let herself out of the room five minutes later, she was wearing ski-pants, a heavy Norwegian sweater and suede chukka boots. She moved cautiously to the head of the stairs, paused and changing her mind, hurried back along the landing.
A door at the far end gave access to the servants' stairs and she went down quickly, pausing outside the kitchen door. It was then that she first became aware of the noise, faintly in the distance, like some animal in pain and she moved along the corridor and opened the door to the cellars.
The noise rose to meet her, the same strange muffled cries mixed in with the sound of blows. And then it ceased. A moment later, she heard voices and moved back into the corridor. There was a broom cupboard on the other side and she went inside quickly, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The cellar door opened and Murdoch came out looking strangely subdued. Stavrou followed and Donner appeared a moment or two later wiping blood from his hands with a handkerchief. Stavrou closed the door and they all walked away.
Asta waited until their footsteps had faded along the corridor before venturing outside. She felt no fear when she opened the cellar door and went down the steps, because in some strange way, she knew that what she found below would resolve once and for all, the fears and doubts of years.
The light was still on and she moved along a broad white-washed passage that turned into another, off- shoots running into the darkness. She had not been prepared for quite such an extensive system and paused, wondering which way to go. And then she saw blood on the floor.
There was a trail of it, bright splashes that led to a large oak door, its key in the lock. She opened it gently, peered into darkness, then fumbled for the light switch.
The man who hung by his wrists from a hook in the ceiling was Fergus Munro, she was able to tell that much, but only just. The blood from his broken body had gathered into a pool beneath his feet and one look at the ghastly eyes, fixed for all eternity, told her that he was dead.
And again she was strangely calm, knowing only that she had to get out of that place, leaving all as she had found it. Get out and go to Paul at Ardmurchan Lodge.
She locked the door quickly, went back along the passage and mounted the steps. All was quiet as she moved past the kitchen, opened the back door and let herself out. She hurried across to the garage and then paused. If she took one of the Land Rovers they would hear her leave. She hesitated and then remembered the old bicycle she had seen Jack Murdoch using about the place. She found it leaning against a bench at the back of the garage and wheeled it outside quickly. A moment later, she was riding away through the darkness.
It was all of five miles to Ardmurchan Lodge, but the road was surprisingly good and the full moon gave her perfect visibility. It was little more than half an hour later that she topped a small rise and looked down at the lodge in the hollow below.
There was a light at the rear where French windows stood open to the terrace and when she rode in through the front gate, she parked the bicycle against a tree and walked round.
As she turned the corner, she drew back sharply into the shadows. Chavasse had moved out on to the terrace wearing a black rubber skin-diving suit, the hood giving him a strangely medieval appearance. There was a rucksack on his back and he carried a large canvas grip in one hand.
Colonel Craig moved out and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Good luck, my boy, and don't try to win the war on your own. All we need is some conclusive proof, remember.'
Chavasse smiled once, turned and moved away across the lawn and the old man went back inside and closed the French windows. Asta waited until he pulled the curtains, cutting off all light and then went after Chavasse, silent on crepe soles.
10
Chavasse covered the two miles from the lodge to the loch in exactly twenty minutes, following the track beside the river, clear in the moonlight. Already the weather was changing and when he looked beyond the mountains, a blanket of dark moved in from the sea snuffing out the stars one by one. All he needed now was a little rain for conditions to be near perfect and with luck he might even get that before very long.
He moved away from the river as he neared the loch, cutting across the moor to drop down into the quiet bay from which he had fished that morning. The moon still shone brightly and he put down the canvas grip, took off his rucksack and crouched on the edge of the water, looking out towards the island.
The north end was the place to make a landing, rocks and sandbanks scattered over a wide area, bushes growing down to the shoreline. He marked it well and as clouds started to pass across the face of the moon, turned and set to work.
He opened the rucksack and took out the aqualung that he might or might not need, depending on what happened. The collapsible boat came next. He took it out of the canvas grip, activated the compression cylinders and the boat started to inflate with a soft hiss.
He had been aware of the movement in the heather behind him for at least two full minutes and when he turned and jumped into darkness, it was with the speed of a tiger. His hands gripped soft flesh savagely and Asta gasped his name.
'Paul! Paul, it's me!'
A cloud moved away from the face of the moon and he gazed down at her for a moment and then sat back,
