'Drastic measures, miss.'
She regarded him dolefully. 'I know. I see now what a mad scheme that was. But, as I said, Amelie is a creature of impulse.'
There was nothing Faro could think of as an appropriate response. Worried by his silence, she said: 'You will respect my confidence, please, Inspector - I must beg of you -'
'Of course, you have my word, miss. I was just wondering about these jewels. Any idea where they might be?'
'Under the waters of the River Forth by now. With all our other possessions,' she said bitterly.
'Including the photograph she was taking to Her Majesty, I believe.'
'That too.'
'Is there nothing more you can tell me about your mistress? Anything that distinguishes her in particular?'
Miss Fortescue shook her head. 'It is so difficult, Inspector, when you have been with someone every day, practically all your life, to try and say exactly what they look like. There are lots of photographs in the palace at Luxoria, of course.'
And utterly useless by the time they reached Edinburgh, Faro thought grimly. A germ of an idea had grown out of this conversation though. Was it too fantastic, he wondered?
This coachman. What did he look like?'
'The coachman?’ she repeated, surprised by the question. Shaking her head she laughed lightly. 'You know, I haven't the least idea. He just looked like, well, a coachman.'
Faro tried again. 'Was he young or old?'
'Of middle age, I expect,' was the prompt reply.
'Short or tall. Stout or thin?' Faro persisted.
'Middle height.' She looked at Faro's withdrawn expression and added apologetically. 'Well, you see, I only saw him very fleetingly.'
Obviously Faro was expected to know that coachmen, like soldiers and policemen, all looked alike. How foolish of him to expect otherwise. So much for McQuinn's theory that servants had intimate knowledge of one another.
'Had he served long in your mistress's employ?'
Miss Fortescue frowned. 'Oh, no. He merely met us when we disembarked at North Berwick. As a matter of fact, I hardly saw his face.'
Ah, then perhaps his idea wasn't so fantastic after all.
Thee were now spots of rain, an ominous sky. Faro hoped the approaching storm would contain itself for a little longer.
'I'm truly sorry about the photograph, Inspector. So much was lost that night.' Her sigh made Faro feel just a little ashamed of his concern for what must seem to her of little consequence. There was a slight pause before he asked: 'What was your mistress wearing when the accident happened?'
'Wearing?' Miss Fortescue repeated. 'I think - yes, a woollen travelling cape. Yes, it was violet, her favourite colour, velvet trimmed.'
Progress at last, thought Faro. 'And underneath -?'
But before Miss Fortescue could reply, the storm broke above their heads, a jagged streak of lightning split the sky, followed by a thunder-clap. The spots of rain turned into a steady flow.
'Oh dear. Oh dear, I must leave you, Inspector. I must run -'
Aware that she could never run anywhere in those slippers, Faro in a gallant gesture removed his cape and slipped it around her shoulders.
Her tender, grateful smile was his reward. 'You are so kind, Inspector, so very kind.'
'You had better hurry, miss.'
'But your cape - you will get wet.'
‘I’ll get it later. Go - quickly -'
He watched her disappear as the deluge broke, and turning, he ran swiftly towards the railway halt, which afforded little shelter beyond an ancient oak tree.
He was greatly relieved to hear the distant sound of a train approaching. By good fortune it was on time, but too late to save him from a drenching.
As the train steamed to a halt, a carriage door was flung open to allow a man to descend to the platform.
The passenger was the historian, Stuart Millar.
Chapter 10
'Why, Inspector Faro. What are you doing here?' Stuart Millar demanded.
Faro explained that he had been visiting the Lethies.
'But you are soaked through, man. You must come back with me.' He pointed. 'That's my cottage over there.'
The guard blew his whistle. Millar put his hand on Faro's arm. 'I won't take no for an answer. Elspeth will have supper ready, I'll get you some dry clothes and you can get the later train.'
Faro considered his wet clothes and the tempting invitation. Tempting and convenient, too, since it would give him a chance to find out what the historian knew about the Lethies and Major Weir.
Millar put up his umbrella and they raced through the rain.
At the cottage, Elspeth was absent. A note said that his supper was in the oven. Taking Faro's coat to the kitchen to be dried, Millar returned with a smoking jacket: 'Put this on. My apologies, Inspector. This is my sister's guild evening. Dear, dear. And I'm playing cards with friends - but never mind. We have an hour or so -'
Faro did not mind in the least. In fact he was grateful for this unique opportunity that the storm had brought his way. It was no difficult task to lead the conversation towards the slums of Edinburgh and the proposed demolition of the West Bow.
'Major Weir? We don't know much about the Major's early life except that he was born near Carluke and was an officer in the Puritan army in 1641. He served with Montrose during his Covenanting campaign and after the execution of Charles I he retired and settled in Edinburgh and became Captain of the City Guard.'
Millar paused and smiled at him. 'I expect .all this is well-known to you. And that the City Guard was not as blameless or efficient as our present-day police force. According to legend, however, it was based on an ancient secret society whose original members were present at the
