activity but all it does is harm, and it can damage the kidneys badly.”

“I’ve heard a lot of the men have been visiting Catriona Beldame,” said Hamish. “Do you think she’s been supplying the stuff?”

“I tried to get them to admit it but not one of them would. I believe they think she’s a witch thanks to Angus shooting his mouth off. People here are still very superstitious.”

“I’ll get up to her place right away,” said Hamish. “Either she lets me examine what she’s got in those bottles or I’ll get a search warrant.”

Hamish hurried to the police station to get some material and put in a request for a search warrant, deciding it would be a good idea to get one in case she proved difficult. Then he went along the waterfront, stopping abruptly at the sight of Archie Maclean hurling a small glass bottle into the loch.

“What are you doing?” asked Hamish, hurrying up to him.

“Naethin’. Chust some medicine that didnae work.”

“You got it from the Beldame woman. You, Archie? Wanting to improve your sexual prowess?”

Archie hung his head. “It seemed like the good idea, but, och, herself wasnae having any of it. “Leave me alone,” she says, “or I’ll throw ye in the loch.” I went tae the doctor and he telt me to get rid of it.”

“I wish you’d kept it,” said Hamish. “I’m off up there now to put a stop to her. God, I could kill that woman.”

¦

After Hamish strode off, Archie went into the bar on the waterfront and bought himself a pint of Export. “She’s getting her comeuppance,” he said to the men gathered at the bar. “Our Hamish says he’s going tae kill her.”

¦

Once again Catriona opened the door to Hamish and invited him in. “This is not a social call,” said Hamish, taking out a number of glassine envelopes. “Either you let me examine what you have in those jars or I’ll get a search warrant.”

“My dear man, go right ahead. I have nothing to hide.” Her eyes widened as Hamish took out packets of glassine envelopes and a small spoon. “I’ll just collect a bit of each,” he said, moving towards the shelves.

She darted in front of him.

“Get the search warrant,” she hissed, “and a curse on you.”

“So you do have something to hide.”

“I’ve nothing to hide,” she panted. “I don’t like you ferreting around and poking your nose into my affairs. Get out!”

¦

On his return to the police station, Hamish got a message to phone Blair. Reluctantly, he called police headquarters and was put through to Blair.

“Whit’s this about a search warrant?” chuckled Blair.

“It’s important,” said Hamish.

“Important, what?”

“Important, sir. The damn woman is poisoning the village.”

“You’re all sae backwards up there, it’s a wonder ye ken the difference.”

“I wanted to examine her potions,” said Hamish patiently, “and she refused to let me take samples.”

“Anyone died?”

“No, but…”

“Listen, laddie, we’ve got real crimes here – gangs and drugs and mayhem. Until you’ve got yourself a real crime, forget it.”

“What do I have to do?” raged Hamish. “Kill her?”

Blair slammed down the phone.

Hamish sat until his rage had died down. He decided to make himself some comfort food for dinner. He boiled a small haggis and served it with mashed turnip and mashed potatoes. His pets had already been fed and were fast asleep.

He allowed himself one small glass of whisky while he wondered what he could do about the witch.

I’ll threaten her, he decided. I’ll go up there right now and tell her I’ll make her life one hell on earth unless she either leaves or quits selling quack medicine.

The wind had dropped. There was a clear starry sky and frost glittering on the ground as he set off.

But although there was a light shining through her cottage window, there was no reply to his knock.

¦

Ina Braid was sixty-three. She was married to Fergus, who worked at a paper mill over in Strathbane.

Theirs had always appeared to be a comfortable marriage. Tucked up beside her husband in their double bed that evening, Ina opened a romance called Highland Heart, removed the bookmark, and settled against the pillows to read. She had just got to the exciting bit where the laird grabbed the village girl in his strong arms and bent his head to hers.

“What about a wee bit o’ a cuddle,” said Fergus, trying to put his arms round her.

“Get off!” snapped Ina. “What’s come over ye?”

“We havenae done – you know – in a long while.”

“Because neither of us has wanted to. Leave me alone!”

“I want ma marital rights. Come here!” Ina leapt out of bed and stood there, panting. “Keep away from me or I’ll stab ye wi’ the bread knife.”

“Ye frigid wee hoor!” roared Fergus.

¦

Something very like that confrontation went on behind several closed doors in the village of Lochdubh.

Hamish was approaching his station from a field at the back where he had been giving his small flock of sheep their winter feed when he found the minister’s wife waiting for him.

Mrs. Wellington was the epitome of Highland respectability from her waxed coat and brogues to the felt hat with the pheasant’s feather in it on her head.

“Come ben,” said Hamish. “Trouble?”

“Bad trouble,” said Mrs. Wellington.

“Coffee?”

“Strong, black, and with a dram in it.”

“Bad night?”

“Up most of the night with calls from distressed women.”

“Wait till I get your coffee and you can tell me all about it.” Hamish put on the kettle and took a half bottle of whisky down from a shelf.

When he had served Mrs. Wellington, he asked, “Now, what is going on?”

Mrs. Wellington took a fortifying pull of her brew and said, “Sex.”

“Sex?”

“I am being asked for help by some women in the village whose husbands have started pestering them just when they thought all that nonsense was over. Just imagine it, Hamish. A woman settling down for the night as she has done for years with a good book and being subjected to…that.”

Poor old minister, thought Hamish.

“I think I know what’s at the back of it,” said Hamish, “and yes, I can put a stop to it. Tomorrow is the Sabbath. Tell your man I want to borrow his pulpit to make an announcement.”

“What about?”

“I’d rather break the news all at once.”

¦

After the opening hymn was sung on Sunday, the villagers looked in surprise as Hamish climbed up to the pulpit.

“This may hardly seem a fit topic for a church,” said Hamish, “but as it is causing misery in the village, I want to give all the men of Lochdubh a warning. If you have been going to a Miss Beldame for a potion to help your sexual prowess, it is the firm belief of Dr. Brodie that what you have been taking is Spanish fly. This does not

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