My Bones Will Keep

‘In other words,’ said Laura, ‘Grant was lying, so all we shall be doing is wasting our time.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Something may transpire. What we propose to do is really no business of ours, anyway, and it is always interesting to behave abominably.’

‘Yes, so it is. Well, we seem to have ironed out quite a number of these establishments, and that’s a comfort. Where shall we begin?’

They began and ended at the first boarding-house to which they applied. Grant was well known there, was well spoken of and had stayed for three days (unusual, this) during the dates in question. He had business interests in Leith and used the boarding-house as a pied-a-terre before setting off by rail for the Edinburgh seaport.

It was impossible to doubt the sincerity and good faith of the landlady, neither did she appear to take it amiss that she was questioned. Dame Beatrice’s story of a favourite nephew was accepted without difficulty or comment, and Grant’s home address was readily supplied and proved to be the correct one. Anything less like the haunt of thugs it was impossible to imagine, and, apart from his wild story, Grant appeared to be a respectable citizen.

‘So he was up to n.b.g.,’ said Laura, as they went back to pick up the car. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘To the police, child.’

The police received them with courtesy and an understandable degree of aloofness. They had no knowledge of Grant and pointed out that any further enquiries had better be made in Dingwall, the county town of Western Ross. Dame Beatrice, however, thought otherwise.

‘Before we go to the police in Dingwall,’ she said, ‘we shall add up our assets. Now, it seems to me that we have five suspects. That is to say, I am counting the married Grants and the Corries as one each, not two. In spite of what you say about Mrs Grant, the wives may have nothing to do with their husbands’ secrets, although I have a feeling that there you are right.’

The Corries?’

‘We can scarcely leave them out. They were employed – or so we suppose – at the time of the murder and must surely know something about it.’

‘I like the Corries,’ said Laura. ‘I feel positively certain they’re all right. It’s only a hunch, of course.’

‘And, as such, has some claim on our attention, but we cannot dismiss them at present I also have a hunch – considerably more far-fetched than yours, I may add.’

‘Spill?’

‘Let us first name the rest of the suspects.’

‘Young reporter Grant? That tale of his struck me as containing a fair quantity of baloney. What did you think?’

‘That what he said was the truth, but not the whole truth. However, now that we know where he lives, and what he does for a living, we can see him later. I do not consider him a vital link in our chain of evidence.’

‘He saw murder committed in Edinburgh.’

‘And knows the guilty party. So much is evident. There remain the mysterious young man who arranged for the boat to take you on to Tannasgan that night and, of course, our extraordinary acquaintance Malcolm Donalbain Macbeth.’

‘What about motives? Yes, I can see what the last-named could have been up to. He inherits.’

‘If he does! We have his word for it, I know, but I should wish for confirmation of that.’

‘Why should he say he does, if he doesn’t? It’s a most dangerous ploy. The police always think the lowest motives are the strongest. Does he want to be convicted?’

‘He is a strange character and a most intriguing one. I revert continually to thoughts of his absorbing interest in fabulous beasts.’

‘Oh, he’s quite crazy, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Like Hamlet, only north-north-west, I fancy. He knows a hawk from a handsaw. However, let us see what possible motives for murder we may attribute to the rest of our suspects.’

‘All right,’ said Laura, grinning. ‘Keep yourself to yourself, but it ain’t very sociable, you know. What about the married Grants?’

‘There are two possibilities, if not more. The laird may have uncovered what Mr Grant, whose story of the kidnapping – a misnomer, surely? – we have no longer any reason to believe….’

‘We never did believe it! Kidnapping and general skull-duggery in Inverness! It doesn’t make sense!’

‘The laird,’ pursued Dame Beatrice patiently, ‘may have found out what Mr Grant really did in Inverness and (if his wife is to be believed) in Edinburgh, too, and Mr Grant may have been sufficiently concerned about this to wish the laird out of the way.’

‘If wishes were horses…’

‘In Mazeppa’s case, of course, they were. Did you ever have to learn those fearful verses?’

‘Don’t think so. Anyway, you think the laird was a blackmailer?’

‘Well, I mentioned a while ago that I had what you call a hunch. It may seem farfetched, but did it never occur to you that Mr Macbeth (for want of his real name) was trying to find out from you, that evening you spent on Tannasgan, whether the names of fabulous animals had for you anything more than a slight academic interest?’

‘Good heavens, no! I just thought the poor old red-beard was bats.’