So saying, the sergeant stood up to speed this tiresome time—wasting enquirer on his way. As he walked across the floor, Faro observed that he was lame and that the effort cost him some discomfort.
He decided he would like to know a lot more about the Elrigg police and their curious hierarchy.
Chapter 7
Constable Dewar's reception of Mr Jeremy Faro, insurance assessor, was considerably more encouraging than that of Sergeant Yarrow. His eyes brightened, his eagerness to be helpful confirmed Faro's suspicions of a daily round with nothing more exciting than stranded animals or pursuit of the local poacher.
Faro produced an official-looking notebook and said he wished to be taken to the scene of Sir Archie Elrigg's demise. Dewar regarded this activity with nervous anxiety. His eyes widened on being informed that this was the usual procedure when violent death was involved to which there had been no witnesses.
'Coroner said there were no suspicious circumstances, if that's what you're inferring, sir. And he is His Lordship's cousin,' Dewar added indignantly, his tone implying that such an eminent member of the family could not be in question on points of law.
'Besides,' he continued, ‘I’d have never thought the family would need things like insurance, what with all their wealth. Death insurances seem to be only for common folk like us.' With a sigh, he added, 'Aye well, ye live and learn.'
'We do indeed. The site of the accident - is it far?'
'No, sir, but we can drive there.' Dewar stood up. 'If you'll follow me.'
The police vehicle turned out to be a pony trap. As they jogged up the hill at a leisurely pace, with an ancient horse who, Faro decided, would be as inept as the constable at pursuing a fleeing criminal, he used the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding the Elrigg constabulary.
'Do you see a great deal of crime?'
Dewar laughed merrily at such a ridiculous idea. 'What - here? Not on your life. The local poacher keeps us busy and that's about all.'
'I should have imagined that an experienced constable like yourself would be all that was needed to keep order.'
'Indeed that was the case. Sergeant Yarrow came to us from the Metropolitan Police Force a few years back. Very badly shot up in one of their murder hunts. Cornered the villains, single-handed. Got an award for it,' he added proudly, 'but he was finished for active service.'
Dewar sighed. 'End of a promising career. Refused to retire. Asked for a quiet country posting up north, where he came from. His Lordship thought highly of him although he was appointed by the Northumberland Constabulary.'
'Isn't that the usual procedure?' Faro asked.
Dewar shook his head. 'His Lordship has the last word, makes the decisions. Only right and proper, since it is his property we are looking after. However, the Sergeant was personally recommended by the Chief Constable, who is kin to Sir Archie.'
Before Faro could comment, Dewar continued. 'Old wounds plague him a bit, poor fellow. But he's a good just man, well liked and respected by everyone.'
And a good man to have around, thought Faro, if it's a murder we're investigating. An experienced officer I can trust should an emergency arise.
They had reached the summit of the hill where the landscape was once more dominated by the weird stone circle.
Faro pointed to it. 'Interesting?'
'The headless women, sir,' said Dewar.
'I can see the reason for that. They look like sawn-off torsos.'
'Some say they were Celtic princesses, five sisters. Decapitated by the Romans and turned into stone.' Dewar chuckled. 'You should hear them crying, sir. When the wind's in the north, it echoes through the gulleys and channels. Makes your blood run cold to hear it.'
Faro looked back towards the village nestling peaceful and serene at the base of the hill. Smoke from its peat fires climbed wraithlike into the still air.
Constable Dewar smiled at him. 'Folk hereabouts believe the old superstition that the headless women are calling for vengeance.'
Between the standing stones and the road a line of trees marched sharply downwards to a grass-covered plateau.
'That's the old hillfort, sir,' said Dewar. 'Just below - see, there's the wild cattle.'
Distant white shapes grazed peacefully about three hundred yards and one substantial fence away as Faro descended from the pony trap whose ancient horse was being sympathetically patted by Dewar.
'Out of breath, old fellow? You take a good rest now.'
What would Superintendent Mcintosh make of the Elrigg Police and their archaic mode of transport, thought Faro, used to the swift well-trained horses of the Edinburgh City Police, drawing the police carriage as it rattled across the cobblestones of the High Street, striking fear into the hearts of its citizens as it carried the guilty to justice?
Following Dewar to the site of the accident, keeping a watchful eye on the empty, bleak pastureland that lay between the cattle and the safety of the road they had just left, he was relieved to set foot inside the only shelter offered, a tiny copse of birch trees and bushes.
'The Elrigg shooting parties go mainly for game birds, foxes and the like,' the constable explained. 'Occasionally the guests are allowed to kill some of the wild cattle, if numbers have to be kept down, that is.'
Safe within the copse, Faro breathed again.
'They look just like an ordinary herd of cows,' he said.
Dewar nodded. 'You don't see many all-white herds, sir. When you get closer you'll see they're very different, smaller than our beef and dairy cattle. And with those horns,' he laughed, 'a lot more dangerous.'
Suddenly sober, remembering their mission, he said quietly: 'This is where I found His Lordship. There's the gate that was left open. That's how the beast got in at him.'
'A moment, Constable. Can we back to the beginning, if you please? Two gentlemen out riding, one of them is thrown by his horse. His companion suspects he is badly injured, goes for help...'
As he spoke,
