Henry’s voice, coming over the loudspeaker system, startled them all. “I think, for the sake of all the people of Lochdubh who have worked to make this fair a success,” he said, “we should go on and not let this terrible murder spoil our day. There is nothing we can do. If Mr Lewis will bring that splendid marrow of his back up to the platform, he will receive his prize. Now, Mr Lewis, tell the folks how you managed to achieve this giant.”
“What happened?” Priscilla found Jessica and Diana standing beside her. “We’ve just arrived,” said Jessica, “and someone said someone has been arrested.”
“Freddy,” said Priscilla. “They’ve arrested Freddy for the murder.”
Both girls exchanged startled glances. Then Jessica let out a slow breath of relief. “Of course, it must have been him,” she said. “He must have found out about Vera and Peter. That old bag, Vera, will be swanning all over the place now, saying Freddy killed for her sake.”
“I am very sorry for Vera,” said Priscilla. “It came as a terrible shock.”
“She’ll get over it.” Diana shrugged. “She’ll be drooping around the castle by tonight, trying to queen it over the rest of us as if she’s some sort of femme fatale, instead of the worn-out old trollop she really is.”
“The pair of you make me sick,” said Priscilla, shaken out of her normal calm. “If Mummy doesn’t tell you to pack and leave, then I shall.”
“Don’t get so uppity,” said Diana, with a drunken giggle. “We weren’t going to stay anyway. That dump of a castle is enough to make anyone commit murder. Come on, Jessica. Let’s have a beer.”
They ambled off, arm in arm.
Priscilla began to feel the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes. The whole scene took on an air of unreality. Flags and striped awnings fluttered in the bright sunshine, the music from the carousel blared out, almost drowning Henry’s voice. Henry. That was the only bright spot in this horrible day, thought Priscilla, with a sudden rush of affection for her fiancé. Although he looked as shocked and strained as the rest of them, he was manfully standing out in the glare of the sun, taking time over each presentation, compering the Highland dancing, accepting the judges’ reports for the piping competition, and making the children laugh by pretending a set of bagpipes had come to life and was trying to strangle him.
“I’ll tell Hamish I can’t make it tonight,” thought Priscilla, and looked about for the tall figure of the policeman. But there was no sign of Hamish Macbeth.
Hamish was sitting in the beer tent with Diana and Jessica. They had already told him that they had both known all along it was Freddy, although, said Diana, “At one time I thought it might be Priscilla.”
“Now why on earth would Miss Halburton-Smythe want to murder Captain Bartlett?” asked Hamish.
“There’s always been something creepy about Priscilla,” said Diana. “These repressed virgins can be dangerous.”
“How do you know she’s a virgin?” asked Hamish curiously.
“You can always tell,” hiccupped Jessica. “That frozen touch-me-not look always gives them away.”
“And is there something so terrible in being a virgin in your early twenties?”
“It’s weird, that’s what it is,” said Diana. “I think Henry’s waking up to the fact she’s a cold fish. Anytime he calls at her bedroom door, she keeps him standing outside.”
“You’re getting away from the murder,” said Hamish.
“No, I’m not. I’ve seen Priscilla out on the moors with a gun and she handles it like a man.”
“She’s all right,” said Hamish, “but by no means an expert.”
“Known her a long time?” asked Diana slyly.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sweet on her,” teased Jessica.
“Aye, I am that, me and the rest of the folk in Lochdubh. We haff always known Miss Halburton-Smythe to be decent and kind, qualities that are as admired in the Highlands as they are anywhere else. It makes a nice change when you think of the silly bitches you sometimes find yourself stuck with. Good day to you, ladies.”
“What’s got into him?” asked Jessica, staring after his retreating back.
“Who cares? We’d better put our heads together and find some way to bring Vera down a peg. It’s not as if she ever cared a rap for old Freddy.”
Hamish walked out of the beer tent. He had a sudden feeling as he made his way through the crowd that Priscilla was looking for him to cancel their dinner date. He did not look round but hurried as fast as he could to his car. Perhaps if he avoided her, she might change her mind.
Jeremy Pomfret was leaning up against his Volvo in the car-park. He was smoking a cigarette and beaming drunkenly about him. He hailed Hamish like an old friend.
“Tremendous news about Freddy, hey?”
“I seem to be the only person who’s sorry for the man,” said Hamish. “Why are you so delighted, Mr Pomfret?”
“It’s all been hanging over us. I mean, I always knew it must have been one of us. Blair thought I was the prime suspect because of the bet. It’s great to know we can all go home now and forget about it.”
“I don’t think he did it,” said Hamish abruptly.
“Here, you can’t go around saying things like that!” exclaimed Jeremy, turning pale. “The police said he did it, Freddy said he did it, so it’s all wrapped up nice and tight.”
“In my opinion,” said Hamish, “the murderer’s still on the loose.”
“You’d better be careful,” said Jeremy. “You’d better be very careful, Macbeth. Halburton-Smythe don’t like you. He’s already had Blair in trouble with the Chief Constable. Blair’s a detective. He can stand a bit of aggro. But you’re nothing but the village bobby.” Jeremy’s normally pleasant expression had changed to one of dislike and suspicion.
Hamish touched his cap and turned away.
“Keep out of it,” Jeremy shouted after him. “Just keep out of it! D’you hear?”
Hamish got in his car and drove down to the police station. Priscilla’s car was still parked outside. Her parents must have run her down to the village in the morning.
He went into his office, sat down at his desk, and called police headquarters at Strathbane. He was told Chalmers was busy and could not come to the phone.
Hamish sighed and took out his notebook, where he had jotted down odd fragments of information about the house guests. He read them over and over again, and then put his large regulation boots up on the desk and thought hard.
The sharp ringing of the phone a half hour later startled him. He snatched it, expecting the call to be from Chalmers, but it was only Mrs Wellington, the minister’s wife, demanding his help in carrying tables and chairs back to the church hall.
Hamish was just leaving when the phone rang again. But before he picked it up, he had a feeling that the caller was Priscilla, still trying to cancel the dinner date.
He put on his cap and left the police station, leaving the phone ringing.
“Where have you been?” asked Henry Withering as Priscilla walked up to him.
“I’ve just been to the phone box down the road to call someone in the village,” said Priscilla. “It’s someone I promised to visit this evening and I wanted to tell…her I couldn’t make it.”
“I should think not,” said Henry with a grin. “You’ve got me to look after.”
“You don’t seem to need much looking after.” said Priscilla. “You’ve been marvellous today, Henry. The fair would have been a disaster without you.”
“I think I’ve done enough,” said Henry. “Let’s get back to the castle and have a nice cool drink. Where’s your car?”
“It’s down in the village, but anyone in the car-park will give us a lift.”