“And when you saw her?”
“It was all right.” His voice held a note of amazement. “She not only had Paul, she had the village women in her control. The lodgings were comfortable and the place is pretty. I’ve got a lot of work done.”
Hamish looked at the typewriter. The author was beginning chapter ten of a book, witness to the fact he spoke the truth. “Luke Mulligan,” Hamish read, “smiled down at Lola who was holding on to his stirrup and an odd look of tenderness flitted across his craggy features.”
Beside him on the desk lay a pile of manuscript with the title page on the top. It read, “The Amazon Women of Zar.”
Hamish pointed to it. “Doesn’t sound like a Western.”
John Parker’s grey, neat features took on an even more closed look. “It’s science fiction,” he said curtly. He rose and picked up the manuscript and opened a battered suitcase and popped it inside. All at once Hamish longed to see what it was about.
“What were the relations between Mr and Mrs Thomas?” he asked.
“Fair enough,” said John. “Regular marriage. She fussed over him like a mother hen, but he seemed to like it.”
Hamish stood up. “I suppose you have been told not to leave the village.”
“Yes. That man, Blair, is determined to accuse me of the murder. In fact, he would have done so if I hadn’t threatened to sue him for wrongful arrest.” Hamish stood up to leave. His eyes roamed around the room. Whatever antique furniture Trixie had managed to get from the locals, she must have taken it all down to the auction rooms. John’s room furnishings were white and modern, the sort of units bought in Inverness and assembled at home.
“I believe from the village gossip that you’re a friend of the Halburton-Smythes,” said John Parker.
Hamish looked surprised. “I am by way of being a friend of the daughter,” he said. “Colonel Halburton-Smythe does not have much time for me. Why do you ask?”
“I would like a look around the castle.”
“It’s not very old,” said Hamish. “It’s one of those Gothic monstrosities built in Victorian times.”
“Nonetheless, I might be able to use it in a book.”
Hamish thought quickly. If he could be sure John Parker was up at the castle, then he might be able to get a look at that manuscript he had been so anxious to hide.
“I think I could fix that for you,” said Hamish. “What about tomorrow?”
“Suits me.”
“I’ll phone Miss Halburton-Smythe and then come back and tell you what she says.”
Hamish went back to the police station just as the detective, Jimmy Anderson, was arriving.
“Let’s have another drink,” pleaded Anderson. “Blair’s fuming and shouting. It was arsenic, all right, in that old fortune-teller’s bottle.”
“That’ll bring the press in droves,” said Hamish gloomily. “Good story. I Saw My Own Death, Says Seer. So what’s Blair up to?”
“He’s threatening to arrest Angus Macdonald tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Impeding the polis. He says the auld gnaff put the stuff in the whisky hisself so as to get the press to write about him.”
“Could be.”
“Now Daviot’s breathing fire and vengeance. Says if Blair doesn’t wrap up the case fast, he’ll put someone else on it.”
Hamish shook his head sadly. “It’s a daft thing to say to a man like Blair. He’ll now arrest the first person he thinks of.”
“Well, let’s have that drink.”
They sat talking about the case until Anderson realized that Blair would be anxious to get back to Strathbane and would be looking for him.
After he had left, Hamish phoned Tommel Castle and asked to speak to Priscilla.
“Miss Halburton-Smythe is not at home,” said Jenkins.
“Look, get her to the phone, you horrible snob, and do it fast or I’ll come up there and knock your teeth in,” said Hamish pleasantly.
When Priscilla answered the phone, she said, “What did you say to Jenkins? He was cringing and creeping and saying he didn’t know I was in the castle and yet he’d just served me a drink before you called.”
“Never mind. I want you to do something for me.” Hamish told her about John Parker and asked her to keep him at the castle for an hour at least.
“Oh, very well,” said Priscilla. “What about having dinner with me at the hotel tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know if I’ll manage to be free by that time,” said Hamish. “I feel I’m getting on to something on this case.”
There was a short silence and then Priscilla said, “All right. Another time, maybe.”
Hamish thanked her and put the phone down. Priscilla stood by the phone, looking thoughtfully at the receiver before she replaced it. Hamish Macbeth would never have turned down an invitation to dinner before. Perhaps he had a girlfriend. Priscilla suddenly felt very bad-tempered indeed and went off to give the butler a lecture about lying to friends who tried to get her on the telephone.
Hamish picked up his cap, called to Towser, and went out on his rounds. It was Friday night and he would need to go to the pub to make sure no-one was thinking of drinking and driving.
As he was passing the Maclean’s cottage, he heard angry voices and then a woman screamed loudly. He ran to their door, opened it, and walked in.
Archie and his wife were standing on either side of the kitchen table. She was holding her cheek as if she had just been struck.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Hamish.
“You interferin’ bastard,” howled Archie. He came round the table towards Hamish with his fists raised. Towser crept under the kitchen table and lay down. Hamish stretched out a long arm and seized Archie by the wrist and then deftly twisted his arm up his back. “Tell me what’s going on, Archie, or I’ll break your arm.”
“Leave my man alone,” screeched Mrs Maclean. “We were having a wee bit row, that’s all.” Hamish’s quick eye noticed she was standing, holding something behind her back, and he was sure that if she had not been so determined to conceal that something then she would have leapt to her husband’s defence.
“Aye, leave us be,” growled Archie.
Hamish released him and shoved him into a kitchen chair. He took out his notebook and pencil. “Begin at the beginning,” he ordered. “What happened?”
“Whit are you taking notes fur?” raged Archie. “I’ll have you fur this, MacBeth. Have you a search warrant? Whit right have you to walk into a man’s home?”
One minute it seemed to the Macleans as if Hamish was standing at his ease, looking down at his notebook; the next, he had moved like a flash around the back of Mrs Maclean and wrested what she was holding from her hand. She shouted something and tried to claw his face, but he jumped back. Under the table Towser whimpered dismally.
Hamish looked at the can in his hand. Dead-O Rat Poison.
“Well, now,” he said quietly, looking at their stricken faces. “Well, now.”
“It’s naethin’s to dae with this,” said Mrs Maclean. “We hae the rats. I got that frae the grocers the other dav.”
“You realize I shall question Mr Patel and find out exactly when you bought it,” said Hamish.
There was a long silence. “She didnae get it from him,” said Archie at last. “I got it myself from Iain Gunn over at Coyle.” He rounded on his wife. “If you had kept your mouth shut…”
“Me!” she said furiously. “Then whit was it doing at the back o’ your drawer o’ underpants?” She put her hands up to her mouth and stared at Hamish with frightened eyes.
“Well, Archie?” asked Hamish, and when he did not reply, “It’s tell me or come with me to Strathbane and tell Blair.”
“I’ll tell ye,” said Archie wearily. He looked at his wife. “I found it at the back o’ the kitchen cupboard, hidden in that old tin marked
