They were saved from watching Daphne kill her fish by a yell from the opposite shore. The major was standing there in full fishing rig.

He waded across to join them.

Hamish watched his approach. He would have expected the major to bluster, to scream about the disgrace of being taken along to the police station, but the major’s eyes were riveted on Daphne and her salmon.

“By Jove, where did you get that?”

“Over there,” panted Daphne.

“What fly were you using?”

“A Gore Inexpressible. It’s one of my father’s inventions.”

“Where does he fish?”

“He’s got an estate in Argyll he uses in the summer. Wouldn’t even let me try, which is why I came here. I want one hundred photos to send to him.”

Heather opened her mouth to sympathize with the major over his treatment at the hands of the police, but he was already back in the water, a fanatical gleam in his eye, his whole concentration bent on the foaming water.

Then she noticed the still, intent sort of look on Jeremy’s face. Oh dear, thought Heather. That remark of Daphne’s about her father having an estate in Argyll really got home. Poor Alice.

“Coo-ee!”

The slim figure of Priscilla Halburton-Smythe could be seen on the opposite shore. “Mr Macbeth,” she called.

“Better put your pants on first,” said Marvin Roth to Hamish, but Hamish was already off and wading across the loch in Priscilla’s direction.

“Sheesh!” said Marvin. “She’ll scream the place down when she sees him.”

“Your Highlander is very prudish about some things,” said Heather. “But any state of undress doesn’t seem to embarrass them, and I’m sure the Halburton-Smythes have become used to it by now.”

“You’re all wet,” giggled Priscilla as Hamish waded out. “I came rushing over to tell you that Daddy’s in a fearful rage. He’s had collect calls from the States and from London. Lucy Hanson, the secretary, accepted the calls and messages thinking they were something to do with the estate. I asked Daddy to give them to me to pass on, but he won’t.”

“Maybe if we went now we could take a look in the office when he’s not around,” said Hamish, water dripping down his long, red-haired legs.

“We might be lucky. Everyone’s out in the garden having tea. Haven’t you got anything to dry yourself with? You look like something out of a Carry On film.”

“If we open the windows of the car, I’ll dry soon enough,” said Hamish. “It is just my legs that are wet. The water did not reach my bum.”

“We’ll take my car,” said Priscilla, “then I’ll drop you off back here. Anyone catch anything?”

So as they drove along, Hamish told her about Daphne’s catch, and Priscilla threw back her head and laughed. She was wearing a simple pink cotton sheath, and her slim, tanned legs ended in white sandals with thin straps and very high heels. Her legs were like satin. Hamish wondered if she shaved them or whether they were naturally smooth. He wondered what it would be like to run a hand down – or up – all that silky smoothness.

“Stop dreaming,” said Priscilla. “We’re here.”

“I should have put my trousers on at a quiet bit down the road,” said Hamish. “But there doesn’t seem to be anyone about so I’ll just pop them on.”

“Well, hurry up. Oh, lor!”

Hamish had got his socks on and had his trousers draped on the gravel drive preparatory to putting them on when Colonel and Mrs Halburton-Smythe and five guests including John Harrington rounded the corner of the house.

The colonel goggled at Hamish, who stood frozen, one leg in his trousers and one out. He’s going to say, “What the hell is the meaning of this?” thought Hamish.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” screamed the colonel. Mrs Halburton-Smythe, who was younger than the colonel and had rather pretty, if faded, blonde good looks, shouted, “Come here this minute, Priscilla.”

Priscilla thought wildly of the crazy explanations about Daphne’s salmon and said hurriedly, “I’ll tell you about it later. Get in the car, Mr Macbeth.”

The colonel started his wrathful advance.

Hamish leapt into the car, still half in and half out of his trousers. Priscilla jumped in the other side and they fled off before the colonel could reach them.

“Now I’m for it,” said Priscilla gloomily. “He will never listen, you know, which is why no one ever really tells him anything.”

Hamish wriggled into his trousers. “And what will you tell your young man? Your father told me – warned me off in fact – that you were about to become engaged.”

“I suppose I’d better get engaged to someone,” said Priscilla, concentrating on her driving and therefore missing the look of pain on her companion’s face. “After all, they did take me to London to do the Season and a fat lot of good that was. It cost them a lot of money. All the other girls seemed content to marry someone suitable. My friend, Sarah, was wild about this chap, but she married someone else. She said as she walked up to the altar, she thought, “I wish it could have been so-and-so,” but she’s got a baby now and seems pretty happy.”

“I should think it would be hell to be married to someone you didn’t love,” said Hamish, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Really? One never thinks of bobbies as being romantic somehow,” said Priscilla carelessly, and the drive back continued in silence.

“Tell your father I caught his poacher,” said Hamish, “or rather he left Lochdubh before I could arrest him, but Colonel Halburton-Smythe will not be troubled by that poacher again.”

“That might calm him down. I suppose you really have to get those messages. Look, you’d better sneak around about midnight and I’ll let you in. I’ll try to get them out of the desk for you.”

Hamish nodded and raised his hand in a sort of salute as she drove away. He turned his attention to the fishing party. Alice was sitting by the shore of the loch, plaiting a wreath of wild flowers, like some modern-day Ophelia, while Jeremy and Daphne could be seen out in the boat, talking eagerly. There was no sign of the Roths or the Cartwrights. Hamish took off his tunic and, using it as a pillow, stretched his long, lanky length out on the grass. He ran the whole fishing party through his brain, remembering incidents, remembering expressions, remembering what Lady Jane had said. After a time, they all became jumbled together in his head as he fell asleep.

The noise of the fishing party packing up for the day awoke him. The major had caught a salmon, not quite as big as Daphne’s, but big enough to make him look as if he had just found the Holy Grail.

Charlie came rushing up. “What did you say to my mother, Mr Macbeth?”

“There’s no use me telling you now, laddie, in case things don’t work out. Just say your prayers. Hop in and I’ll take you home.”

So Alice travelled back with the Cartwrights, worried and lost. If only Jeremy would sleep with her that evening, then she would be sure.

Hamish found Blair waiting for him on his return. The detective was setting out for the hotel for another round of interrogation. Blair was in a fury because he had been so sure at first of the major. He took that fury out on Hamish, calling him lazy, half-witted, and useless, while Hamish stood stolidly to attention, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Blair was also at his worst with the members of the fishing party that evening. They huddled together at dinner, all now wishing they could go home. Blair had said that they might leave on the Sunday morning but that they could expect further calls from the police when they got home.

No one even had the heart to raise a smile at Marvin Roth’s appearance. The American had arrived at dinner in full Highland dress, from plaid and kilt to skean-dhu in his stocking top.

Hamish decided to pass the evening hours by going for a long walk. There was no hope of using the phone in his office, since Blair had announced his intention of staying there himself most of the night to sift through the evidence again and make phone calls.

Alice waited in her room after dinner. And waited.

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