'Old Duffy's lying with his face in the burn...'
Chapter 20
Faro sprang over the fence and followed the two lads down the slope to swift-flowing water.
Half hidden by the overgrowing banks, Duffy lay motionless.
'He looks bad, doesn't he, mister?'
He did. Turning Duffy over, Faro said to the younger of the two who had the look of brothers: 'Go and keep a sharp look out for Constable Dewar. He's on the road somewhere. Send him over.' And to the other: 'Run and get Sergeant Yarrow. Fast as you can.'
'Will he be all right, mister?'
‘I don't know.'
'Shall I get me father, sir? He's the vicar.'
'Yes, tell him. But get the Sergeant first.'
Obviously the Cairncross lad recognised the signs of death. And, left alone, Faro knew Duffy was dead. Drowned.
The signs were unmistakable, as was the smell of whisky about him.
Faro knelt by the body. Only another unfortunate accident, to be dismissed as one more coincidence, he told himself. And no connection with any information that, according to Bowden, Duffy had been anxious to impart (or sell) to the 'insurance mannie'.
Of course it was an accident, Yarrow and Dewar would say reassuringly. They knew Duffy well, the kind of man he was. Everyone had been expecting something like this. He drank too much, one day he'd keel over, fall into the river.
As Faro looked down at him, he noticed that from one clenched hand a thread hung. As he tugged, what at first glance was a silver coin rolled on the ground.
Faro picked it up, turned it over. If this meant what he thought it did, then Duffy's death was no accident. He had been murdered.
He was still thinking about the implications of his discovery when a horse and rider came into view. It was Yarrow, shortly followed by Dewar, the vicar, his sons and a couple of estate workers.
Reverend Cairncross knelt by the body, took the cold hands in his and murmured a prayer.
Almost roughly, Yarrow pushed him aside and also bent over the body. 'You can smell the drink on him.'
Faro leaned over and sniffed. 'You can that, Sergeant.'
'As if it had been poured over him,' sighed the vicar.
Yarrow gave him a sharp look, asked: 'Has he been moved?'
Faro indicated the Cairncross brothers. 'They found him. While they went for help, naturally I examined him to see if there were any signs of life.'
'Naturally,' echoed Yarrow sourly and turned to Dewar who was ready with the stretcher carried in the pony cart for emergencies, its use seldom required apart from farming accidents.
Reverend Cairncross said: 'I can do nothing here.'
'Has he any family?' Faro asked.
Yarrow answered, 'Not in these parts. There's a woman looks after his cottage.' And to Dewar, 'Best take him there till we make the proper arrangements. I'll walk back with Mr Faro.'
It wasn't a great distance, but Yarrow was slow on his feet and insisted on leading his horse. Faro's silence (related to whether this was an opportune moment to hand over the notes in his pocket) was presumed by Yarrow to be the layman's first sight of a drowned man or a corpse.
'You get used to it in time,' he said sympathetically.
Faro could think of no suitable reply and Yarrow continued: 'Are you to be staying long in Elrigg?'
'Not much longer. My investigations are complete and my stepson is arriving today. We will probably take a few days' holiday before returning to Edinburgh.'
'That is awkward.'
Faro was conscious of Yarrow's intense gaze. 'Indeed?'
Yarrow cleared his throat apologetically. 'I might have to call on you to give evidence as you were the first on the scene, the first to touch the body. A passer-by, of course, nothing to worry about,' he added hastily as if Faro's silence was an indication of guilt.
'I hope it won't take too long.'
Yarrow shook his head. 'Just routine, Mr Faro. Paperwork, that's all.' In a voice elaborately casual, he added, 'When did you last see Duffy alive, by the way?'
'A couple of days ago.'
'Oh! I thought you had a meeting arranged with him last night. At the inn. Heard Bowden discussing it with you.'
True. But he failed to appear. As you know,' he reminded him gently.
Yarrow considered that for a moment, nodded. 'Have you any idea what it was he wanted to talk to you about?'
'None at all.'
'You've talked to him before? Privately, I mean.'
'Never. Bowden suggested that he probably wanted to borrow money.'
There was a slight pause. 'Can you think of any reason why he should imagine that a stranger to the district would be willing to give him money?'
'I haven't the least idea, Sergeant.'
Yarrow stared ahead, frowning. 'May I ask your whereabouts yesterday evening?'
'Certainly. I was at the inn. As you know.' Faro's laugh held a note of exasperation. What was Yarrow getting at?
Yarrow did not share his amusement. He continued to eye him sternly. 'You were seen in the vicinity near where Duffy was found.'
'I might well have been. I had an evening stroll.' And Faro turned to him, his laughter now disbelieving. He was being cross-examined. Detective Inspector Faro was a suspect.
His mirth faded at Yarrow's expression.
'It was the earlier part of the evening I was considering - before we met.'
'Oh, I have an alibi for that too, if that's what you're asking, I was visiting Miss Halliday. She will vouch for me. We had tea together and she was most informative on the history of the village - and her clever pupils. We talked about Sir Walter Scott and I admired some of her paintings. She's very good.'
Yarrow nodded. 'So I've heard. Could have made a name for herself.'
Relieved at this change of subject and return to normal conversation, Faro said: That I can believe. There was one portrait - of a young lad, one of her pupils, a brilliant lad by all accounts - killed in a shooting accident. He looked ready to speak - it was remarkably lifelike...'
Yarrow frowned. 'That would be one of the beaters. They still
