My Bones Will Keep

‘By the murderer, you mean the man who killed Mr Bradan, of course?’

‘Whom else should I mean?’

‘Do you not remember confirming Mrs Gavin’s report of the Edinburgh murder?’

‘Oh, yes, certainly. But there would be no reason to suspect Cosmo Bradan of being concerned in that. I told you I saw who did it, and I told you that I should certainly recognise him again.’

‘Well, let us have your story. Is it to be the whole truth this time? I must tell you that we know all about the skian-dhu.’

‘You do?’

‘And, to clear up a point which has baffled us, do tell us how Mr Bradan was killed.

‘I will, so. And this time you shall hear the whole truth. I shall begin with the trouble in Edinburgh. As I told you, I was there to report the Conference in which, Dame Beatrice, you (if I may say so) were a leading light. Well, that left me, as I have also said, with time on my hands, and it was in one of those times that I met a man from Newhaven named Dorg. When he knew that I was a journalist and worked in Freagair he said he had a news item for me. Well, I have ambitions, like most people, so I bought him some drinks and, with them, his information. I was disappointed, in a way, for there seemed nothing to print of what he said. He was telling me about some tramp steamers that he thought were gey mysterious in their comings and goings. I speired at him in what way they were mysterious, but, although I plied him with enough whisky to loosen the tongue of anybody but a Dutchman, I could get nothing out of him but an invitation to go and see for myself. I went, but there was nobody able to tell me anything, so I telephoned the Edinburgh office of the Caledonia and asked them what they knew of ships under the names Dorg had given me. They had nothing to tell me except that they were owned by a man named Bradan of Tannasgan.

‘Well, this has some sort of local interest for the people of my district, I thought, so I thanked them for their information and went back to my lodgings to write up my piece about the Conference and another (rather imaginative) piece about the ships.’

‘Which was never published?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

‘Luckily for me, I’m beginning to think. No, I needed something straight from the horse’s mouth – that is, from Bradan himself.’

‘Ah, yes, now.’ Dame Beatrice, who had produced her notebook, turned back to a former entry. ‘Let me remind you of a statement you made at Inversnaid.’

‘Please do not!’

‘I am not teasing. You claimed that Cu Dubh, as Mr Bradan was sometimes called, died just as you were tying up the boat to set Mrs Gavin ashore. That was, or was not, true?’

‘It was not true. That is, it may have been, but I just don’t know.’

‘I suppose it was because of the skian-dhu that you were anxious to persuade Mrs Gavin to give you an alibi. We know a considerable amount about that visit of yours to Tannasgan. That, I may tell you, is a warning.’

‘Spare me! I’ve promised to tell the whole truth.’

‘And I am prepared to help you to do so,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘We must clear away the mist.’

‘By which token, it’s stopped raining,’ said Laura. ‘And what about all that phoney stuff you told us about Corrie being your uncle and getting you a job as saboteur at the hydro-electric works near Tigh-Osda?’

Young Grant laughed uncomfortably.

‘I didna really think you’d swallow that,’ he said. ‘Anyhow, it was put right afterwards, when you found out what my real job was.’

‘No thanks to you that we did,’ said Laura sternly. ‘You seem to have acted as a liar and a fool all the way through.’

‘I was able to back up your story about the man who was murdered in Edinburgh by being pushed under a car, though, was I not?’

‘Pity you don’t know who he was.’

‘But I do know. It was Dorg.’

‘Really?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I saw the report in the Edinburgh papers. It was not given much prominence and I should not have been particularly interested except for Mrs Gavin’s insistence that it was murder. The name of the dead man was given’ – she flipped back another two or three pages – ‘as Grant. Quite a coincidence, I feel.’

‘It was Dorg,’ insisted Grant, ‘and one of his murderers was employed by Cu Dubh, as I told you.’

‘That sounds as though Dorg was one of Bradan’s men, then,’ said Laura. ‘I wonder who named him as Grant?’

‘He might have had papers on him in that name.’

‘If he was mixed up in something shady, that’s quite likely, I suppose. Do you think he was killed because he had been seen talking to you and perhaps giving away secrets?’

‘I do not. If that had been the case, they would not have waited until now to shoot at me. Oh, no! I am certain in my own mind that Macbeth was behind that gun.’

‘I suppose the shot was intended for you? You don’t think it may have been some misguided sportsman potting at something on the other side of the road?’

Young Grant shook his head.

‘I do not.’