“It’s in a small sandalwood box with the bracelet Hamish gave me and the onyx studs that belonged to my father. Or it was-why did they go through my things and take my mother’s pin?” There was anguish in her face.
“Did you have the brooch with you in Brae?”
“Yes, of course I had it in Brae! You can ask Mrs. Davison.”
“And it came to Duncarrick with you?”
“Yes, I told you, it is-was-kept in the tall chest in my room at The Reivers. In the second drawer. I didn’t wear it often. I was afraid I might lose it working in the bar.”
Rutledge said, “Can you think of anyone in Duncarrick who might have seen you wear the brooch within the past year? Constable McKinstry, for one?”
She considered his question, then took a deep breath. “I remember now the last time I wore it. On my mother’s birthday in June of this year. Yes, and again in early July, when I attended church. Will that do?” She read the answer in his face. “But it was there. I swear it was there when I was arrested!”
“But you can’t be sure?”
“I-no, I had no reason to look for it. I wouldn’t have brought it here!”
“No.” He considered how much to tell her about how and where the brooch was found, then said instead, “How could you be so certain it was your mother’s brooch?”
“It has to be-my father had it made up as his wedding gift to her. There couldn’t be another like it.”
“You didn’t need to read the inscription on the back?”
“What inscription?”
“There’s a name. ‘MacDonald.’ Just under the pin.”
She frowned. “Are you trying to trick me?”
“Why should I?”
“Because there’s no inscription on the brooch. There never was.”
“There are six people who could tell you the name is engraved there. I’m one of them.”
Frightened, Fiona said, “Will you take me to the inn? Please? Will you let me go there and see for myself? It has to be there-! ”
“Oliver won’t let you go. But I’ll look. You’re sure that it’s kept in the sandalwood box?”
Her face answered him.
“Then I’ll bring the box to you,” he told her. “Unopened.”
He turned and went out the door, locking it behind him and then pocketing the key.
Oliver looked up as Rutledge came down the passage. He said, “Finished?”
“No. I need to fetch my notes. I’d like to read Mrs. Atwood’s statement to Miss MacDonald.”
“Suit yourself.”
Rutledge went out the station door and walked briskly in the direction of the hotel. Damn -he had forgotten that his motorcar was not there.
He reached The Reivers out of breath from the brisk pace he’d set himself. Please God Drummond is at home-! He has the other key.
Rutledge knocked at the door of Drummond’s house, and to his relief saw that his quarry was there.
“Come outside. I need to speak to you.”
“What about?” Drummond demanded, not moving from the doorway.
“Come outside, I tell you! Unless you’re willing to shout to the world what this is about.” A clear reference to his sister. Reluctantly, Drummond obeyed.
“Look, I need to go to the inn and search again. I want a witness there when I do. And I don’t want that witness to be a policeman. Or someone who is unfriendly to Miss MacDonald. Will you help me? Will you unlock the door and come with me?”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t be a bloody fool! I need to get into that inn- time’s short!”
“Ask Inspector Oliver to lend you his key.” Drummond read the answer in Rutledge’s face, and it seemed to persuade him. “All right, then. If it’s a trick, I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”
“It’s not a trick.” They walked quickly to the inn, and Drummond took out his key. Unlocking the door, he blocked the way.
“Tell me where.”
“Upstairs in the wing the family used. Fiona’s room.”
Drummond grunted and led the way. Clarence came to greet them, stretching and yawning broadly. Drummond ignored the cat and stopped on the threshold of Fiona’s bedroom.
“I’m waiting.”
Rutledge said, “The tall bureau. Go to it and open the second drawer from the top. Go on, man, this is no time to be fussy about such things.”
Drummond reluctantly crossed the room to the chest and then pulled open the second drawer from the top. “I won’t touch her things!”
“No. You shouldn’t have to. There’s a small sandalwood box there. Do you see it? Probably the color of honey now. Perhaps a little darker. Just a small wooden box.”
Drummond grunted. “I don’t see it.”
“Look, man!”
With a rough forefinger, Drummond pushed at the contents of the drawer. “It’s here.”
“Then take it out. Take it over to the bed.”
Drummond did as he was told. The box was no more than six inches long, four wide, and perhaps not quite four deep. The color of the wood was a dark amber.
“All right. Open it. I don’t want to see the contents. But tell me, if you will, what is inside.”
He could hear the little silvery sound of things falling onto the coverlet of the bed. “Trinkets,” Drummond said.
“Name them.” Rutledge could feel his heart beating and hear the clamor from Hamish as Drummond pawed among Fiona’s jewelry.
“There’s a bracelet. Here are studs, onyx, from the look of them. A small teething hoop, silver, at a guess-it’s tarnished. A ring or two. Here’s a brooch. And that’s the lot.”
Rutledge could feel his heart stop.
“Describe it. The brooch.”
“I’m not one to describe a woman’s gewgaws-”
“Damn it, tell me what it looks like!”
“It’s gold, three strands twisted into three circles. Like loops. There’s a small stone in the center. A pearl. I’ve seen Ealasaid wear that of a Sunday.”
“And that’s all?” He was breathing again.
“That’s the lot. I told you.”
“Then put it all back into the box and close the lid.”
“What’s this in aid of?”
“I can’t tell you. If you’d found what I had hoped was there, it could have saved Fiona from the hangman. Now-” He put the box that Drummond gave him into his pocket and went to shut the drawer in the chest.
Drummond said, “I won’t have you taking her belongings!”
“I’m taking them to her. I’ll bring them back shortly. She wants to know if her mother’s brooch is still there.”
“But that’s Ealasaid’s brooch-”
“Yes,” Rutledge said as he led the way down the stairs. “And it isn’t enough!”
Twenty minutes later, Rutledge was back at the police station. Oliver wasn’t there, but Pringle was. Rutledge explained what he wanted and was allowed to go alone to the cell.
When he was sure that the door was firmly closed behind him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sandalwood box.
Fiona took it with trembling fingers, then smiled at him over the lid as she lifted it. “It’s so good to touch my own things again. Even if it’s for just a little while. I hate wearing these dresses, dreary and plain as this room!
