Death of a Chimney Sweep

dithering about.

“What’s this?” exclaimed Hamish. “Never say they’ve put you back to reporting.”

“Take me inside and buy me a drink and I’ll give you the whole sad story. I’m weary. I’ve been travelling all night,” said Elspeth.

“I’d better see if my animals are all right.”

“For heaven’s sake, Hamish. Can’t they look after themselves for a moment?”

“No,” said Hamish curtly. He checked on Sonsie and Lugs, then walked with Elspeth into the hotel bar.

Hamish listened to Elspeth as she poured out her worries about the new programme, Pandora’s Box, and her fears that the blonde would take away her news presenting job.

“I wish you could solve this one quickly, Hamish,” she said.

“It’s going to be difficult. There are four men here, friends of Captain Davenport, and they all have alibis.”

“Tell me about the case.”

Hamish settled back in his chair, gathered his thoughts, and told her everything he knew.

“Look,” said Elspeth, “it’s bound to be one of those four.” Her odd silver eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Why?”

“They must have hated him for diddling them out of their money and yet they turn up for his funeral.”

“I’ve thought of that. I’m going over to Drim early to wait. If I’m not mistaken, they’ll wait until they think Mrs. Davenport is alone and then tell her she owes them the money. When she says she hasn’t got it, they’ll tell her to sell the house and divide up the proceeds amongst them.”

“Would they be so hardhearted, right after the funeral?”

“I think so. I want to go back to the police station and go over their alibis. Jimmy has sent them over. There might be something there. If only I could go to Guildford and snoop around.”

“I might go to Guildford for you. But for now, I’ll go with you to Drim. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

Hamish shifted awkwardly. “Like old times. Look, Elspeth, about Corsica…”

“Oh, never mind that. Let’s go.”

In the police station, Hamish printed off the alibis. “I’ll take Castle and Bromley and you take Sanders and Prosser.”

Ferdinand Castle, he read, ran a small electronics firm which he had inherited on the death of his father. He had been seen by staff all day in his office; in the evening, he and his wife had dined at a local restaurant. Loads of witnesses.

In fact all of them had dined at the restaurant. Thomas Bromley and his wife had invited John Sanders and his wife, Charles Prosser and Mrs. Prosser, along with the Castles, for dinner on the evening of the day of the murder. Thomas Bromley ran a chain of men’s clothing stores, John Sanders repaired computers, and Charles Prosser ran a chain of supermarkets.

“Read about the dinner party?” he asked Elspeth. “They could be covering for one another.”

“Yes, I thought of that, but John Sanders’s neighbours reported all the comings and goings.”

“I wonder about that dinner party. I wonder if they got another old army buddy who looks like one of them to stand in. Now, apart from Castle, one of the others could have taken a flight up to Glasgow, hired a car, and driven up there, then back again late the next day. That’s what’s missing. What were they all doing the day after? Whoever it was would need time to cover his tracks.”

“I was promised unlimited expenses to get this show on the road,” said Elspeth. “What if I take my team over after I see them leave the hotel and film them coming out? Then I could go down to Guildford and start to dig.”

“Elspeth! That could be verra dangerous. One of them or all of them are psychopaths. If Davenport had just been shot… but to stuff him up his own chimney and then attack the poor sweep.”

“It’s very hard to get at me with a big television van, a soundman, a cameraman, and a wee researcher.”

“You have a researcher! She could be a help.”

“Betty Close is a wimp. She works hard but never seems to come up with anything useful. She’ll need to come with us.”

“Maybe she can do some foot slogging. Send her out to the regiment’s headquarters and see if she can dig up anything out there.”

“Maybe. Drive me back to the hotel, Hamish. I could do with a rest.”

“Could you tip me off when you see them leave?”

“Will do.”

“Oh, Elspeth, I’ve been meaning to explain about Corsica…”

“Another time. I’m too weary.”

She went out and shut the door behind her.

At least I’m not that attracted to her now, thought Hamish with a feeling of relief. But he remembered Elspeth when she used to work on the Highland Times: Elspeth with her thrift shop clothes and frizzy hair and those big grey eyes which turned silver, Gypsy eyes, and he felt a little pang. The new Elspeth was sophisticated, and there was a hardness about her.

Chapter Four

I would like to be there, were it but to see how the cat jumps.

—Sir Walter Scott

The following morning, Hamish drove to Drim. Milly nervously called through the door, “Who is it?”

“Hamish Macbeth.”

He had to wait until locks were opened and a chain removed.

“You’re getting well protected,” he said, taking off his cap and following her into the kitchen.

“The villagers are so kind. There’s a retired locksmith here and he came and put new locks all over the place, even on the windows.”

“Grand. Now, the reason I am here is because I think those four men will be back this morning, seeing if they can get any money out of you.”

“Right after the funerals! Surely not.”

“We’ll see. Could you take them into the drawing room and then I’ll listen at the door to make sure you’re all right?”

“I’ve known them all before,” said Milly, “and their wives. We were all such friends.”

“Nonetheless, it’s better to be safe. I hear the sound of a car. I’ll wait in here until they’re all safely in the drawing room.”

There was a knock at the door. Hamish listened hard. He could hear Milly welcoming the men. He waited until the voices went into the drawing room and he heard Milly shut the door. Then he nipped across the hall and pressed his ear to the panels.

They sat around at first, murmuring the usual platitudes about how sad and peculiar the death of Captain Davenport had been.

Then Thomas Bromley said in a coaxing voice: “The sad thing is, Milly, that Henry owed us all money. We are sure you are going to honour your dead husband’s debts.”

“It’s an awful lot of money,” quavered Milly, “and I don’t have that much left.”

“Then you’ll need to sell this house,” said John Sanders. “I am sure you would not want people to think badly of your husband.”

Enough, thought Hamish. He pushed open the door and went in. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “What is the reason for this call?”

“Just to give the lady our condolences.”