Faro climbed the steps to the main door, where an ancient butler asked his business and ushered him somewhat breathlessly up a wide stone staircase, considerably worn, not only by many generations of human feet but doubtless by processions of horses and sundry animals.
'If you wait in here, sir, I will see if Her Ladyship is able to receive you.'
Faro looked around. This then was the Great Hall. A stone fireplace stood at each end, massive enough to have comfortably roasted an ox. The high, vaulted ceiling was of rough stone, as were the walls with sconces for illumination by burning brands or torches. At one end a raised stone dais, for this was the scene of the barony courts where the Elriggs dispensed justice.
And everywhere, suspended if by magic, a legion of ragged flags from which all colour and delineation had long since vanished. Tributes, he guessed, to every battle that warrior Elriggs of former glory had borne triumphantly from the field.
The sound of light footsteps on stone announced the arrival of Her Ladyship. Her sudden presence was as if the sun had come down to earth.
Later, Faro remembered his quick intake of breath at her radiance. Honey-coloured hair, richly dressed, eyes startlingly blue in a flawless complexion, all enhanced by a jet-encrusted black-velvet gown, which he later described to Vince as fittingly medieval in design.
Expecting the ex-actress to put on a decent performance of Sorrowing Widow, he found instead that he was bowing over the hand of one of the young riders he had seen dallying in the grounds, a young woman who exuded warmth and laughter.
When she spoke her voice was resonant with a marvellous cadence, the lyrical quality of pure music. He thought how beautifully she might have played Shakespeare's heroines. She held out hands untouched by that chilly hall, so soft and welcoming that he found himself clinging to them longer than politeness dictated.
The heavy words of condolence he had rehearsed faded. As he stammered them out, she smiled and, as if aware of his embarrassment, she patted his arm gently, as one would offer a small child a gesture of consolation.
Thank you, sir. I shall miss Archie. He was a kind man.' And, as if that was her last word on the subject, 'I am sure you would like tea, or perhaps something a little stronger. It is a cold, tedious journey from the railway station.'
A tall, thin maid with the same colourless anonymity as the butler appeared silently and put down a tray set for the ritual of afternoon tea.
Faro, invited to sit down opposite Lady Elrigg, prepared to leave the talking to her. A shrewd detective, he knew from experience, can learn a lot about character from apparent irrelevancies. People give much away in trivialities, if one is sharp enough to observe. Gestures too can be revealing.
She talked fondly about the countryside, deplored the weather, loved springtime. There was nothing there for Faro who watched as he listened and had to bite his lip on what he was best at - asking questions.
Suddenly the door opened and the young man, her archery companion, strode in. Faro did not miss the frowning glance the two exchanged, a warning from Lady Elrigg could not have been more clearly expressed if the words had been shouted across the room.
Then smiling, calm, she was introducing Faro to the newcomer.
This is Mark, Archie's stepson.'
'My mother was an Elrigg cousin,' Mark explained.
As they shook hands, Faro realised that not only were the years between the two less than a decade but also that they brought into that bleak cold hall a substantial aura of affection and intimacy, which they made no attempt to conceal.
If this was illicit love, was that devotion strong enough for murder? Oh yes, Faro knew it was. He had learned through twenty-five years of criminal cases, that love was the strongest of human passions, one ruthlessly to stamp out ties of blood and duty. From the dawn of history man had been fully aware of its potential long before Cain destroyed his brother Abel.
Frowning, Lady Elrigg handed Mark the card which had been hastily printed for Faro in Edinburgh.
'Mr Faro's here about the missing pictures, Mark,' she added rather loudly with a slight emphasis on the words.
Mark opened his mouth but, before he could speak, she said, still smiling: 'Archie apparently told the insurance assessors - this gentleman's people - that the pictures were missing.'
And to Faro: 'This is all rather a surprise to us.'
It was indeed, thought Faro, for Mark continued to look not only surprised but quite dumbfounded.
Taking up the theme of the missing paintings and hoping to sound businesslike and convincing, Faro had a very nasty moment as Mark, studying the card, looked at his stepmother and said sharply: 'He never mentioned any insurance people to me.'
Lady Elrigg shook her head and smiled at Faro. She did not seem in the least perturbed that the paintings had not yet been recovered and her manner of indifference confirmed Faro's own growing suspicion.
'I can show you the place where they used to hang, if you like. There is still a mark on the wall.' She laughed as he and Mark followed her upstairs into the dining room with its massive refectory table stretching the entire length of the room.
As they entered, from every wall the faces of ancestral Elriggs glared down at them. Expressions of arrogance, suspicion, mild astonishment and rarely any degree of pleasure suggested that the steely-eyed gazes of these ancient warlords might have set the digestion of sensitive diners at a disadvantage.
'Over here.' Lady Elrigg pointed to the space between several sporting prints of indifferent merit and two large
