and south, which had been indulged in so far, it was not until they arrived in Carlisle by way of Grantham and Appleby that Dame Beatrice had the car pulled up for the night stop, and it was barely five minutes past nine when they were off again on the following morning. They lunched in Glasgow and the second night was spent at Blair Atholl. On the third day they drove through the quiet town of Freagair to the shores of Loch na Greine.
Here, to Laura’s astonishment, Dame Beatrice did nothing at first except gaze across at Tannasgan and An Tigh Mor through the field-glasses which she had brought with her. ‘Do you see anything, Sister Ann?’ she enquired, handing the glasses to Laura.
‘What am I expected to see?’ enquired Laura, obediently training the glasses on to the island.
‘No, no. You must keep an open mind.’
‘Well, I don’t see anything at all that I haven’t seen before, i.e. the boathouse and An Tigh Mor. Shall I signal the island in the usual manner?’
‘It might be a little difficult,’ Dame Beatrice pointed out. Laura lowered the glasses and became aware that the tarpaulin and its stones, the handbell it had protected and the red and green lantern had all disappeared.
‘So old Macbeth
‘At any rate, someone is still at An Tigh Mor, for there is smoke arising from the house.’
‘Well, anyway, how do we get across now that the bell and the lantern have gone? Do you want me to yodel or something?’
Dame Beatrice gazed at her in admiration.
‘What an excellent idea,’ she said. ‘Yodel, by all means. I had no idea that you could, and that is no reflection upon your not inconsiderable gifts.’
‘Do you mean it? Then here goes,’ said Laura. The ensuing sounds cleft the air and, it was soon obvious, reached the other side of the loch. A man came hurrying down to the boathouse. It was Corrie. ‘It’s not Macbeth anyway,’ said Laura, ‘so it looks as though he isn’t here.’
‘We must wait and see,’ said Dame Beatrice.
Corrie pushed off from the island and rowed across to them.
‘What would ye?’ he enquired, when he had tied up the boat and approached them.
‘Speech with the laird,’ said Dame Beatrice, eyeing him in a way he did not like.
‘The laird? Ye’ll be fortunate. I dinna ken the whereabouts of the laird.’
‘What about
‘I dinna ken what ye’re speiring about.’
‘No?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘But I think you do, you know. Tell me, once and for all, what is the meaning of those fabulous animals on the wooded island?’
‘Fabulous animals? What kind of fabulous animals?’
‘I suppose you were not the other man concerned in the Edinburgh murder?’
This question seemed to shake Corrie.
‘What would that have been?’ he asked feebly. Dame Beatrice pressed home what seemed to be an advantage.
‘There are two independent witnesses of what you did, you and Grant of Coinneamh,’ she said. ‘The two of you pushed a man under a fast car. The man stood no chance of surviving. What have you to say about that?’
Corrie looked dumbfounded.
‘But I have naething to say about it. I didna do it. I had nae part in it,’ he said.
‘All the same, you knew about it,’ said Dame Beatrice, implacably. ‘You overheard something.’
‘I did, yes,’ Corrie looked even more unhappy. ‘But the old laird said that I should keep quiet.’
‘The old laird is dead. What have you to tell us?’
‘That there are things you’d never guess.’
‘Really? There you are wrong, you know. I think that by this time we have guessed nearly everything. Why was the bronze or brass delineation of the basilisk the most important piece of sculpture on the wooded island over there? Moreover, what is the significance of the maze?’
Corrie shook his head.
‘I dinna ken.’
‘About the metal serpent, or the maze?’
‘I hae nae knowledge of either. Will it please you to step into the boat?’
It will.’
He handed them in with aloof, punctilious courtesy and sat at the oars. His choppy, almost vicious, strokes soon carried them across the water.
‘Ye’ll be for the house?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘We are for speaking with Mr Macbeth.’
Dame Beatrice replied. Corrie shook his head again.
