‘What else? Boat-hire is my husband’s livelihood.’
‘When was this?’
‘It can have nothing to do with this missing man.’
‘You mean he wasn’t the person who made the enquiry?’
‘Of course not. The only boat a coach-driver would be interested in is the ferry from Mallaig or Kyle of Lochalsh over to Skye. My husband lets out motor-boats and small yachts, or takes parties down the loch or across to Mull.’
‘So, if it wasn’t the driver, who was it? I assume that people usually hire from Fort William, not from this house.’
‘I have no idea who it was, but you are wrong in supposing that people do not hire from this house. We have an understanding with Mr MacDonald at the hotel. He takes a small percentage when he recommends any of the hotel guests to my husband.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Do you know whether this particular man came from the hotel?’
‘No, he didn’t. He was staying at the motel down the road, or so he said.’
‘Can you describe him to me?’
‘No, that I can’t. I didn’t see him. My husband mentioned him, that’s all.’
‘For any special reason?’
‘No, except that he said we did not often get enquiries for boats from the motel.’
‘Their clients being birds of passage, I suppose. Did your husband happen to mention whether the enquirer was an Englishman?’
‘He said he thought he was a foreigner.’
‘Your husband isn’t at home, of course?’
‘He is in his office down at the boatyard, as usual. This is near the end of our busy time of year.’
‘Do you know whether this man did actually hire a boat?’
‘I suppose he did. My husband didn’t say. I took it for granted that he did.’
‘Well, thank you very much, Mrs White.’
‘I’ll see you to the door. My maid is out shopping for me in Fort William this morning.’
Laura felt that Mrs White deserved some compensation for help which, however grudgingly, had at least been given and might be valuable, so she said:
‘Perhaps you won’t spread it about just yet – tell your husband, if you like, of course – but there has been a second murder. Another coach-driver belonging to the same company was found dead three or four days ago. That is why we are so concerned about this third driver and why my employer and I have been called in to make some enquiries. My employer is the psychiatric consultant to the Home Office and will be called to testify when we catch the murderer.’
‘You don’t mean he is this foreigner?’
‘Nobody knows – yet.’
‘Well!’ said Mrs White. ‘Well! To think we may have had a murderer in this very house!’
‘Oh, we mustn’t jump to conclusions, you know,’ said Laura. ‘All the same, I would very much like to speak to your husband and get a description of this foreigner. Can you tell me how to find his boatyard?’
‘No need,’ said Mrs White, now expansive, excited and genial. ‘He’ll be here for his lunch at half-past one. I’ll tell him to expect you at half-past two. That will give you time to have your own lunch, won’t it?’
Laura, feeling she had misjudged the woman, returned cock-a-hoop to the hotel and then, as she reached the entrance, she remembered that she had not interviewed Carstairs. She decided to remedy this omission forthwith, but discovered that she might have saved herself a second climb up the hill. There was a notice, kept in place by a large stone, lying on the outside sill.
‘Bread or milk, no doubt,’ said Laura to herself. ‘Oh, well, lucky to get it delivered in a place this distance from the town. Wonder whether Carstairs went away before or after Knight and his coach got to the hotel?’
She joined Dame Beatrice for lunch and at half-past two they climbed up to the Whites’ bungalow. Mrs White, all graciousness this time, admitted them and introduced her husband. MacGregor White was a plump, broad- featured man who looked as though he ought to be genial but who turned out to be taciturn and morose. No, he did not keep a register of those who hired his boats. He entered dates and payments, but not names. No, he did not remember a foreigner calling at the house on any particular day, but, if his wife said so, they could take her word for it. Yes, the police had questioned him about a missing coach-driver and little joy they had gained from it! During the summer months numbers of people hired boats and on the day in question he must have had several enquiries. He did not even answer all of them himself. His assistant might have taken some of the bookings. No, they could not speak to his assistant. It was so near the end of the season that he had laid him off, as usual, until the following summer.
‘It’s seasonal work, you’ll understand,’ he said, suddenly apologetic as he caught Dame Beatrice’s sardonic eye.
‘Well, where does he hang out when he’s not with you?’ asked Laura. Grudgingly White supplied this information. It turned out that the man, whose name was McFee, had a small shop in Portree on Skye.
‘Anyone will tell you,’ said Mrs White, shepherding Dame Beatrice and Laura to the door, ‘where it is. I’ve never been there myself.’
‘Portree?’ said Laura, as they walked down the slope towards the hotel. ‘That’s where the coach-party went before Knight disappeared, isn’t it? We might pick up something there, don’t you think? We know the hotel where
