anything you can find.”
In the faces looking up at him in the starlight, he saw Mrs. McClellan, Mrs. Docherty and Josie Darling. He had a momentary pang of doubt. But then he steeled himself. It must be Ionides.
They waited in silence. Hamish began to fret. “Where is that crane?” he asked Priscilla.
“It’ll be here soon,” said Priscilla in a comforting voice. “Remember, his top speed is probably ten miles an hour.”
Archie Maclean looked up at the starry sky. “I think that forecast got it wrong,” he grumbled. “Not even a breath of wind.”
Still they waited. The crowd began to murmur and shift restlessly.
Then they could hear the drone of an engine coming over the hills and soon the small crane driven by Tarn came into view, its long neck nodding like some prehistoric creature.
Tarn jumped down and surveyed the bottle bank. “It’s a big beastie,” he said. “You break my crane, Hamish, and you’ll have to pay for a new one.”
They all waited while Tarn started to operate the crane. “You’ll need to reach up and fix the ring o’ the bank to the crane.”
Hamish leapt up on the harbour wall again and fixed the hook of the crane on to the ring on the top of the bottle bank. The bell-shaped bank swung up and over. Tarn switched off his engine. “Now what?” he called.
Hamish stood on tiptoe and studied the underside of the bank. “We need a crowbar.”
“Here,” said Priscilla, handing one up to him. “I put it in the car before we left.”
Hamish was always amazed at Priscilla’s efficiency. “I’ll need something to stand on,” he called, almost as if he expected Priscilla to produce a ladder from her handbag.
“I’ll get a ladder,” shouted Archie. They waited until he came back with a metal stepladder. Hamish climbed up. Callum didn’t have the necessary tools to release the bottom of the bottle bank. The bank was to be cleared separately by men from Strathbane. He sweated and strained until Geordie Liddell, champion caber tosser, shouted, “Gie me a try, Hamish.”
Hamish relinquished his place to Geordie.
Geordie climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his great weight. He gave a gigantic thrust at the crowbar. There was a crack. The bottom of the bank opened and papers hurtled down to the ground.
“Don’t rush!” shouted Mrs. Wellington, coming forward. “We’ll put all this stuff into bundles, and then we’ll all start searching.”
“A bottle of whisky to anyone who finds hotel correspondence,” said Hamish.
They all crowded forward, paying no heed to Mrs. Wellington, and began searching. “Can’t see a thing,” someone said. People left for their cottages and returned carrying torches and hurricane lamps. Some women carried a trestle table out from the church hall and other women started laying out cups and cutting sandwiches.
“It’s getting like a party,” mourned Hamish to Priscilla.
“Just keep searching,” said Priscilla.
Time passed. After an hour, Hamish looked up at the sky. Black clouds were beginning to stream across the stars, although there was still no wind at ground level.
The papers that had been searched were being laid aside, newspapers, letters, comics, but nothing from the hotel.
“It was a good idea, Priscilla,” groaned Hamish. “But there’s practically nothing left, and now I’m in bad trouble for having wrecked a bottle bank.”
“That bottle bank swung out in an arc,” said Priscilla. “Maybe some of the stuff went over the harbour wall.”
Hamish thrust his torch in his pocket and vaulted over the harbour wall and down onto the stony shore of the sea loch. He took out his torch and swung it in a wide arc.
Then he saw a large manila envelope lying near the water. He walked to it and picked it up. Holding his torch under his armpit, he opened the envelope. It was stuffed with letters and faxes, headed IONIDES PLC. He sat down on the shingle and began to go through them.
Then he found one from Ionides’s London office. “Dear George,” he read. “How’s the work on the hotel going? I mean, your rival. I know you’re mad about fishing, but it’s an expensive gamble, and what if them up at the Tommel Castle carry on regardless, even after you’ve pinched their staff and poisoned their water? Besides, you’ll be stuck with two hotels in the back of beyond. Then what about that other business? Are you sure the police aren’t sniffing around? To risk so much just for fishing! Anyway, let me know if I can help. Your loving brother, Harry.”
He tucked it carefully into his pocket and read the others. There was a fax. “Dear Harry. Everything is OK. Don’t worry. The police here are morons and the one in this village is subnormal. Come up, soon. Once I get the Tommel Castle, I can restock the river. Love, George.”
“Gotcha!” said Hamish.
He ran to the wall and heaved himself up over the top. “It’s all right, folks,” he called. “I’ve got what I wanted.”
“What did you find?” asked Priscilla.
“One incriminating letter. One incriminating fax. I’ll have Jimmy and the boys up here in the morning.”
People were yawning and drifting away.
“What about all this paper?” demanded Mrs. Wellington.
“We’ll see to it in the morning,” said Hamish.
Tarn released his crane from the bell bank and then backed off, shouting a warning. The great bell bank fell to the ground with a hollow clang and rolled on its side and then lay there, mouth gaping.
“I’ll be down in the morning,” said Priscilla. “Don’t worry about running me home, Hamish. Mrs. Wellington says if you want to phone, she’ll take me back.”
Hamish nodded and then sprinted for the police station. He phoned Jimmy at home and rapidly described what he had found. “Grand!” said Jimmy. “Got the bastard. I’ll be along with the men in the morning, and I’ll hae a search warrant.”
“I don’t think Ionides is back yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll get that secretary of his to open up everything.”
“What time will you be here?”
“The earliest I can manage.”
“I’m beat. I’ll set the alarm.”
Hamish stretched and yawned. There was a pile of fax paper lying by the machine. He could see it was headed STRATHBANE COUNCIL. That damn woman again. She could wait.
¦
As Hamish slept with Lugs curled against his side and through the wall Clarry, unaware of the drama, slept as well, the wind of Sutherland rose outside. It hurtled down the waterfront. Paper danced elaborate entrechats in the air. Paper stuck to fences and garden walls. Paper hung from lamp standards. And then, as if satisfied with the chaos it had caused, the wind roared away to the east and a quiet dawn rose above Lochdubh.
¦
Mrs. Freda Fleming sat at her dressing table in the morning, anxiously surveying her makeup. It was certainly very heavy, but she would look all right on camera. She had tried to contact Hamish Macbeth the day before but had failed to get him. She had then phoned Callum, who had reported that the village looked clean and neat. Anyway, she had faxed Macbeth exact instructions of what was to be expected. She hoped he had found a photogenic child to present the bouquet. It was a pity the London papers had shown no interest, but Grampian television had said they would cover the Greening of Lochdubh. The local papers were coming, and some of the Glasgow newspapers were sending their local men. She had memorised her speech over and over again. She had been worried about the weather, but it was a beautiful morning.
¦
Hamish was awakened by a ferocious knocking at the door. He opened it and found an excited Jimmy Anderson on the step. “Come on, Hamish, and see the fun. That secretary, Miss Stathos, is yelling and shouting in Greek.”
