Vince's expression said that he was unimpressed and Faro went on hastily, 'Look, I neither want, nor do I expect does she want, any lasting relationship. Not even a transient one, for that matter. There are too many mysteries surrounding that lady and her mistress.'
'Dangerous waters, I'd say,' Vince agreed. 'Best steer clear of them.'
Faro sighed. 'And talking of dangerous waters and the advisability of discretion, Cousin Leslie brought up the subject of our missing Duchess.' He stopped, reluctant to accuse Vince of betraying his trust.
But Vince merely smiled. 'Did he indeed?' What was he on about? 'I didn't realise you had confided in him?' He sounded surprised.
'I hadn't. But apparently you had,' Faro said angrily.
Vince's mouth dropped open and Faro cut short his protests.
'I gather you had rather a lot to drink and, well - in absolute confidence with a relative, of course - you let slip the whole damned business of the Royal disappearance.'
'I did WHAT?' Vince shook his head. 'I swear to you, Stepfather, I never mentioned it. I wouldn't, would I, for heaven's sake.'
'Not in the normal scheme of things, lad, but you know as well as I do what you're like when you have taken a drink. Throw all your cares away and all discretion to the winds. You've never overcome your student recklessness -'
'Wait a minute. My own secrets, I grant you. I can't be guaranteed to keep them. But not confidences relating to your criminals - or my patients. Such are sacrosanct.'
'Well, someone told him -'
'Honestly, Stepfather. I didn't. You must believe me. I never said a word -'
'Not that you remember, anyway,' said Faro coldly.
And Vince's further protests were cut short as the front doorbell rang and Mrs Brook admitted the doctor's first patient of the day.
Chapter 17
Hurt and angry at Vince's lack of discretion, Faro gathered his notes on the case which he would read on the train to Aberlethie.
As he glanced through them, there was something at the back of his mind, a significant fact or comment that had failed to register when he had heard it. Of the utmost importance, he felt this was the vital clue that still eluded him and held the solution of the mystery.
He sat down. The morning train to North Berwick was forgotten as in his precise neat handwriting he added to his notes an account of the death of Sandy Dunnock and his purchase of the violet cloak -
As he wrote, the scene came vividly before him -
The jewellery Miss Fortescue had told him that her mistress was wearing on that fatal night. He drew out the list, checked the items again.
‘A gold chain with its eight-sided cross -' The same chain which he suspected was the one he had recovered from the Wizard's House lay in the open drawer beside him.
‘A gold bracelet with a snake's head and ruby eyes -'
He threw down the pen with an exclamation of triumph. For he knew where he had seen the bracelet. On Mrs Dunnock's wrist as she leaned over the stairhead in Bowhead's Wynd, brandishing a fist at Leslie and himself, screaming abuse -
He saw it again slipping from her arm, falling at their feet. Saw Leslie throw it back to her -
The violet cloak, the visit to Aberlethie could wait. They were suddenly of minor importance compared to a visit to Bowhead's Wynd and a confrontation with Sandy's mother.
It was not an interview Faro looked forward to as he climbed the odorous stairs. The door was opened a couple of inches and one of the Dunnock children peered out.
From inside, a shout: 'Who is it?'
'A man - I dinna ken him.'
‘Tell him yer ma's no weel.'
Faro pushed his way in. 'I must talk to her.’
The room was crowded with mourners and Faro hated intruding on the woman's grief. Sandy had been coffined. He lay on a trestle-table at one end of the room, his countenance pale and angelic in the face of death.
As Faro removed his hat and stared down at the lad, had he been able to lay hands on Batey at that moment, he would have dragged him here, forced him to look at this pathetic sight. Surely even his cold heart would have felt remorse for this sad waste of a young life.
Pushing his way through the neighbours, he observed that there was food and drink in plenty at this wake. Those he encountered knew who he was. They stepped aside hastily, averting their heads as if to avoid recognition or the touch of his shadow. He was unpleasantly aware of murmurs and hostile stares, of fists shaken after him.
Mrs Dunnock regarded him dully. 'What do ye want wi' us now? Have ye no' done enough?'
'I'm sorry, Mrs Dunnock. I bitterly regret what happened, but my men weren't responsible for your lad's death. You ken that fine well. The man chasing your lad had naught to do with us.'
Watching her closely he opened the bag, took out the violet cloak. He had the satisfaction of seeing recognition - and fear - as he asked:
'Is this yours?'
'Mine? Chance would be a grand thing.' She laughed harshly. 'I didn't steal it either if that's what you're getting at. I had nothing to do with that.'
That was all Faro needed to know. She had confirmed his suspicions of some connection between Sandy's family and their cronies regarding the disposal of the dead woman's garments. They had guessed their resale value and without too many scruples had removed them and substituted a beggar's ragged gown.
He guessed that whatever had happened, her clothes had not suffered from immersion in the water as had Roma Fortescue's. It fitted into the pattern that, terrified, she had died of a heart attack.
He held up the cape again to let Mrs Dunnock have a good look. 'Did Sandy find it, then?' he asked gently.
In answer she turned her face away. 'I dinna ken - I dinna ken anything
