knew I had a reward out for information, phoned me up and gave me his new name. He’d sobered up the next day and taken fright and got on a plane to Scotland. I missed him in Glasgow, but picked up his trail north. Probably thought the last place I would look for him was back in Scotland. I’ve got my reputation to think of. The underworld has to know that no one, no one, crosses Gentleman Jim and gets away with it.”
He is nothing but a common criminal, thought Priscilla bleakly. How could I be so stupid!
Betty came into the room. “Okay,” she said. “Thank God for the rain. No one will be hanging outside when we take her out. But to make sure, I’ve parked the car at the foot of the back stairs. Listen, you are going to let her go? I mean, there’s been enough killing.”
“Of course,” said John. “Now, let’s wait.”
¦
There was a mobile phone in the car but Hamish decided not to phone Priscilla. If she knew the real identity of the murderer, she might betray herself. Anyway, Strathbane would soon be racing over to the hotel, but just in case there was any hold-up, he had to try to get there.
He phoned the airport manager and asked if there was any plane about to take off to Inverness and was told only a private, jet belonging to Mr. Motion of the Hillington Electronics Company. Hamish asked to be put through to him and Mr. Morton listened intrigued to Hamish’s urgent Highland voice telling him why he had to get north in a hurry. “I’ll take you,” said Mr. Morton. “Come straight out on the runway. Then can take you up by helicopter from Inverness.”
He told Hamish how to get to the runway he was on. Hamish turned on the blue light and the siren and weaved his way through the traffic on the road to the airport.
He looked at his watch. Only ten in the morning! A lifetime seemed to have passed since they went to that tower block.
¦
“What’s the time?” asked Betty. John looked at the heavy gold watch on his wrist. “Early yet,” he said laconically.
“I’m worried,” said Betty. “Someone’s bound to come.”
“Did you hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside the door?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ve got the room until twelve. We’ll wait until their lunch is over and then take her out.”
“What if we meet someone in the corridor? You can’t keep a gag on her.”
“She’ll have a gun in her ribs. She won’t even squeak if she wants to stay alive.” He smiled at Priscilla. “Will you, sweetie?”
Priscilla looked at him with hate. She was so sure he was going to kill her that she felt she ought to be brave enough to go down in flames. But such a villain would simply shoot anyone who tried to come to her aid.
¦
They tried to prevent Hamish Macbeth from driving onto the tarmac: police car or not, he was told he needed clearance. A pig-faced policeman at the barrier leading to the runway said pontifically, “You jist wait where you are, laddie, white I make a few phone calls.”
Hamish watched his fat retreating back in a fury. At the far end of the runway, he could see a Learjet, Mr. Morton’s jet. He made up his mind. He got out of the car, dived under the barrier and began to run, running as he had run at the Cnofhan games, pounding along the runway, deaf to the shouts behind him. He gained the jet and climbed in next to Mr. Morion, who was just getting the all clear for take-off. As the plane roared off down the runway, Mr. Morton said uneasily, “There seems to be a lot of activity.”
“Don’t pay any attention,” urged Hamish. “Urgent police business.”
But Hamish expected any minute that there would be a message from the control tower to turn back. When no such call came, he could only assume that the police, determined to catch this Gentleman Jim, had told the airport authorities to let him go. Thanks to Mr. Morton, he would get there quickly, in under an hour; but even so, Strathbane would be there and Blair would be desperate to claim the credit.
¦
Blair had phoned the manager of the hotel and told him that John Glover was a dangerous criminal and not to be approached, as he was armed and dangerous. Staff should keep out of his way. They would shortly have the hotel surrounded. But the excited Blair in the race to Lochdubh from Strathbane put on the police siren. Up in the hotel room, John heard that distant wail.
“Trouble,” he said to Betty. “Untie her, ungag her, and let’s get her down the back stairs.”
“We don’t need her,” hissed Betty, her face a muddy colour with fright.
“We may need a hostage. Leave the luggage. Leave the guns. I’ve got my pistol.”
“But there’s a fortune in clothes in my bags!” wailed Betty.
He slapped her so violently across the face that she went staggering across the room. “Do as you’re told,” he said.
Tight lipped, Betty got to work, ripping the gag from Priscilla’s mouth and untying her bonds.
With a pistol shoved into her side, Priscilla was hustled out and along the corridor. Betty’s breath came in ragged gasps. Priscilla heard that wail of the siren in the distance and prayed the police would arrive in time.
Outside the back door, she blinked in the blaze of sunlight. The rain had stopped. “Sit in the back of the car with her,” John ordered Betty. “Here, take the gun and keep her covered.”
Priscilla kept her eyes on the gun now in Betty’s hand. There was no sign of that hand wavering or Betty becoming distracted.
They raced off down the drive and swung out through gates and along the one-track road.
“They’ll have road-blocks,” said Betty.
“I know,” he said calmly. “But while you were romancing that idiot of a copper, I’ve been doing my homework, There’s plenty of places to hide out, and the closer to the hotel, the better.” The car sped up into the hills and then John suddenly slowed. “This is the place,” he said. He turned off to the left along a farm track. “There’s a deserted building along here,” he said. “We’ll wait until dark. I’ve got one of those three-wheel dune- buggy-type vehicles they use for rounding up sheep. We can take off across the hills and avoid the roads.”
“Where to?”
“You’ll find out.”
He stopped finally outside a deserted farm building. “Out,” he commanded.
He urged them into the building. “Now keep her there a minute, Betty,” he said. “I’m going to take a look around outside.”
Betty and Priscilla faced each other across the bare room. Sun slanted through the broken windows.
“Did you really work in that bank?” Priscilla asked. She thought furiously: get her talking and she might drop her guard.
“Oh, yes,” said Betty. “For fifteen years.”
“Fifteen years!” exclaimed Priscilla. “Then that means you weren’t a criminal until this.”
Betty stared at her mulishly.
“Why?” pursued Priscilla. “Why now? You may as well tell me because he’s going to kill me.”
“No, he’s not,” said Betty contemptuously. “He’ll set you free as soon as we decide to move.”
“He’ll kill me, just the way he killed the real John Glover.”
“Jim didn’t kill Glover.”
“Oh, and how did you get his credit cards and bank-book? Ask him to hand them over?”
“Jim got one of his friends to keep a guard on him while we came up here. He’ll be released as soon as we get back to Glasgow.”
“Do you know this for a fact? He killed Duggan. You can’t be naive enough to think he let Glover live, or that he’s going to let me live…or even you!”
Betty laughed. “Don’t try and pull that one on me. Jim and me are an item.”
“But you were engaged to John Glover, the late John Glover,” said Priscilla, hoping to frighten her, hoping to get her angry.
“Stop saying that! Duggan deserved to die. He was nothing more than a common criminal.”
“And your Jim is an uncommon criminal?”
There was a long silence. The wind of Sutherland howled around the deserted farmhouse like a banshee. The
