not see a computer. John slumped in an armchair by the fireplace.
“How long have you known?” asked Hamish.
“Months,” said John wearily. “The chemo didn’t work. I’ve come home to die.”
“How long have you got?”
“Weeks, maybe months if I’m lucky.” There was an oxygen tank beside his chair. John fumbled with it and attached tubes to his nose.
“Why didn’t you tell me, man? I don’t see a computer.”
“Fact is, Hamish, I never learned how to use a computer and my old associates, them that aren’t dead, couldn’t help me.”
“But the wasted time? You should have said something. Why didn’t you?”
“I did try my best. It took my mind off my troubles. I felt important. I told the neighbours I was working for the police.”
“Are you getting home help?”
“Yes, I’ve got a carer. She’s off at the shops and the doctor calls regularly.”
There was silence. The oxygen machine sent out a rhythmic clicking sound. John lay back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Hamish curbed his temper. He could hardly shout about the wasted time, not when the poor man was dying.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll be off.”
John opened his eyes and said faintly, “Do you think there is a God?”
“Maybe,” said Hamish, but once outside he muttered to himself, “Not right now, I don’t.”
Hamish drove to police headquarters in Strathbane, confident that at least he would not run into Blair as, last heard, the man had still been suspended. Jimmy was not around so Hamish went to Jimmy’s favourite pub and found the detective sitting at a table in the corner.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” snapped Hamish, who was still furious over the time John McFee had wasted.
“I’m on my break,” said Jimmy mildly. “Sit down and stop looming over me.”
“Any news on Scots Entertainment?”
“It’s controlled by a company registered in the Ukraine. That’s as far as we’ve got. How’s your expert getting on?”
Hamish told him about John McFee.
“Poor auld sod,” said Jimmy. “Never mind. Your telly appeal has galvanised the experts and we should get something soon, but thae shell companies are the devil.”
Hamish sat down, removed his cap, and put it on the table. “I’ve been thinking, Jimmy.”
“Bad sign. Have a drink.”
“I’m driving. I’ve been thinking that say those four men were involved and got cheated out of some really serious money. It must have been some sort of big scam, and I think the clue lies in Edinburgh. Maybe it was something other than that gold mine. Now, I mind there’s a businessmen’s club there, called the Merlin. I wish I could get in there.”
“Aye, and if one of the famous four is there as well and spots you, you might not get back to Lochdubh in one piece.”
“I could go in disguise. I’m a rare hand at the disguises.”
Jimmy looked cynically at Hamish’s flaming red hair. “I could spot ye a mile off. Forget it, Hamish. Remember the tongue twister? The Leith police dismisseth us? It’ll be nothing to what Edinburgh police’ll do if you poach on their territory. There’s already been rumblings about you snooping around the Canongate and Scots Entertainment without telling them. They learned about that somehow.”
“Just an idea,” said Hamish vaguely. “Let me know as soon as you get anything.”
Back at the police station, he phoned David Harrison, who owned a large factory outside Edinburgh which manufactured goods for the tourist trade. David had once been on holiday in Lochdubh, and they had spent some time fishing together.
Hamish explained that he’d like to disguise himself as a wealthy businessman, Scottish but visiting from Canada, to get an entree to the Merlin Club. “I could take you along tomorrow for lunch and get you booked in as a temporary member,” said David. “I’m busy at the moment, but meet me there and tell me all about it tomorrow.”
When he had rung off, Hamish rang Elspeth. “We’re just about to leave,” she said.
“I want the services of your make-up artist,” said Hamish. He rapidly told her his plan.
“That sounds exciting. We’ll hang on. I’ll tell them it’s for amateur theatricals.”
At the hotel, he spoke to the manager first. “Does Priscilla’s uncle, Bartholomew Smythe, still keep some of his stuff here?”
“Aye, it’s in a trunk in the basement.”
“Priscilla,” lied Hamish, “said it would be all right if I borrowed a few things.”
“Go ahead. Here’s the key to the cellar. It’s the big black steamer trunk in the corner. What are you up to?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s all over.”
In the cellar, Hamish selected two suits and a tuxedo, two shirts, and two pairs of shoes, grateful that the uncle took the same size in footwear. He left them all in reception, then phoned Elspeth and said he was ready. He finally emerged from the ministrations of the make-up artist with black hair, a thin black moustache, a large pair of spectacles, and pads to pump up his cheeks.
Back at the police station, he phoned Willie at the restaurant and begged him to take care of Sonsie and Lugs on the following day.
The next day, with his now black hair carefully brushed and then pads making his face look fatter and with a pair of glasses with plain glass, he put on a beautifully cut tweed suit and brogues. The suit looked as if it had been tailored for him. Now for Edinburgh, he thought.
David Harrison stared in amazement at Hamish. “I wouldn’t have recognised you! Now, what’s it all about?”
As Hamish told him, his eyes ranged over the other diners. The club was situated in Charlotte Square in the New Town. Expensive men in expensive suits, Rolex watches, well-fed faces, discreet murmur of voices.
“See anyone?” asked David.
“No,” said Hamish, thinking miserably that it had all been a waste of time and effort.
“You keep talking about four men. Why don’t you give me their names? I might recognise one of them.”
“John Sanders, Charles Prosser, Thomas Bromley, and Ferdinand Castle.”
“One of those names rings a bell. Stop looking so miserable and eat your steak and let me think.”
David was a very small man, just five feet tall, with thick brown hair and a clever face: shrewd little black eyes with deep pouches under them, a sharp beak of a nose, and a long mouth.
“I’ve got it! Bromley. The men’s outfitters. He’s just opened a store in Frederick Street. You know the street. It cuts across Herriot Row.”
“How can I meet him? I can’t spend too much time away from my station.”
“Trouble is, I don’t know the man.”
“Can you find out where his office is?”
“Wait. I see Johnny Heather over there. He knows everyone and everything.”
David was gone only a few minutes.
“His office, as far as Johnny knows, is in his shop. He doesn’t know the number of the shop but if you take a walk along Frederick Street, he says you can’t miss it. What will you do?”
“I’ll go and talk to him. Say I own fish farms in Canada and I am bursting with wealth to invest. See what happens. I might need to stay overnight.”
“I’ve got a wee flat in Abercrombie Place. I’ll take you round there after lunch. You can use it if you’re stuck in town. If the phone rings, don’t answer it. It might be a lady.”
“Aha, that’s why you’ve got a wee flat in town. Does the wife know?”
“God forbid.”
