My Bones Will Keep

‘Teething, perhaps?’ suggested Dame Beatrice, whose children were a good many years older than Laura’s little son. The door was opened quietly, and yet dramatically, by a girl of about seventeen.

‘Yes, please you?’ she said. Dame Beatrice enquired for Mrs Grant and was informed that she and her husband were both at home. As this exchange was taking place, Mrs Grant came into the hall. She greeted Laura first and then looked a little doubtfully at Dame Beatrice before she led them into the dining-room. Grant stood up and said:

‘I take it you’re interested in the papers.’

‘To some extent,’ Dame Beatrice replied. ‘At the moment I am much more interested in Newhaven.’

She allowed this name to sink in, but it was evident from his demeanour that it had touched no chord in Grant.

‘Newhaven?’ he said at last ‘And what will Newhaven have to do with it?’

‘Well, that is just what I’d like to know,’ said Dame Beatrice briskly. ‘Come, now, Mr Grant! Admit that your story of the kidnapping was a fake.’

Grant glanced at his wife and then grinned.

‘A fake?’ he said. ‘Well, well, perhaps the less said about that the better. I was hard pressed. You see, there are a number of people who think I may have killed the laird. Maybe you are one of them.’

‘One of many?’

‘Ay. You remember reading about the loss of a ship called the Saracen.’

‘Do you not mean the Salamander?’

Grant looked startled.

‘I see that you know it all,’ he said. Dame Beatrice, pleased at the result of a shot in the dark, shook her head.

‘Oh, no, Mr Grant, I do not. I wish I did,’ she said. ‘Why did she blow up?’

‘I dinna ken. Christie, some tea for the ladies.’

‘You don’t know?’ said Dame Beatrice, as Mrs Grant went out of the room. Mr Grant’s face darkened.

‘It was listed as “an unfortunate incident” in our official files, but it was sabotage,’ he said. ‘I have no doubt about that. My only brother was lost when the Salamander or, when she was in Scottish waters, the Saracen, blew up.’

‘If you know it was sabotage, you must have some idea of who was responsible.’

‘An idea is not a proof, Dame Beatrice.’

Dame Beatrice wagged her head in acceptance of this view.

‘Very true,’ she agreed, ‘so I will not press for your opinion.’

‘Oh, you are welcome to my opinion. I think Bradan arranged it all.’

‘Why should you think that?’

‘He believed we had an informer aboard that ship. You see, our trade would not bear too close an inspection.’

‘Really?’

‘I shall say no more about that.’

‘I cannot blame you. The cargoes which came back to this country…’

‘Were innocent enough. Ah, here comes Christie with the tea.’

‘I soon found out that you were not employed on the hydro-electrical project,’ said Dame Beatrice conversationally. Grant laughed.

‘You did that! Ay, it was not a very effective smoke-screen that I put up there.’ He handed over the cups of tea as his wife poured them out. ‘But I dinna fash myself about that, as some people say.’

‘Of course not. Well, it is very kind of you to have us here and give us tea when our object – I will not mince matters – is to find out, if we can, whether one or both of you slaughtered the laird of Tannasgan.’

Laura gasped at hearing this frank statement, but Grant laughed again and turned to his wife.

‘Did you hear that Christie? What will folk think of next?’

‘We have found out why you were stranded at Tigh-Osda station,’ Dame Beatrice went on. ‘The station- master’s car was out of action owing to a faulty clutch.’

‘Even if it had not been out of action it would have been of no use to us,’ said Grant ‘Nobody at the station would have been willing to leave his work to drive Christie home, and I could not have done it myself for fear of missing my train.’

‘How long had you been at the station when I turned up?’ asked Laura. Grant considered the question.

‘About a quarter of an hour, I would say,’ he replied.

‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘By the way, who did kill Mr Bradan?’

Grant put down his cup.

‘I have told you that my brother went down with the Saracen.’