"There wax that incident at Druids' Circle, two years ago," McLeod pointed out.
"That hardly counts," Philippa said, shaking her head. "I very much doubt much serious energy was raised on that occasion. 'A mere ripple in the Force,' as your young lolo might say."
"Perhaps you're right," Adam agreed. "But the episode does tell us one thing of value. It tells us that Evans apparently has nothing but a deep and withering contempt for all modern interpreters of Druid tradition - which suggests that his own esoteric roots go back to very ancient sources."
"How so?" Peregrine asked.
"Well, leaving the Callanish incident aside for the moment, everything else Noel has been able to discover about Evans makes him out to be a solitary recluse who, for whatever reason, shuns contact with the rest of the world. He has, as far as we can tell, no family, no friends, and no known associates. His whole life would seem to be centered in his work as an occultist - and up till now, that is something he has pursued alone and in secret, never seriously venturing outside the hidden hallow he has created for his own private use.
"Callanish, on the other hand, was a large-scale operation. It simply could not have been carried out by one man on his own. We know from Peregrine's drawings that Evans was there, in full ceremonial regalia, presumably as the director of the ritual. But there were a number of others present as well - a fact which raises several important questions."
He began ticking off items on his fingers. "To begin with, what could have motivated Evans to come out hiding after all these years spent in apparently deliberate obscurity? Next, why Callanish, rather than someplace closer to home? And finally, was Evans himself the instigator, summoning outside support for a venture of his own devising, or was he himself recruited as figurehead for an operation conceived by someone else?"
"That's a lot of questions," Peregrine said. "So far, we're not even sure if Evans is this fellow's real name."
"True," Philippa agreed. "But your comment about other Hunting Lodges has made me think of someone who might be able to give us some answers. He himself doesn't work in a Druid tradition, but he'll know who does - both the legitimate ones and those who skate closer to the Abyss." Her dark eyes shifted to meet Adam's. "Do you want to phone him, or shall I?"
"I will," Adam said.
"Phone who?" Peregrine asked.
But Adam was already moving toward the telephone on the desk. A quick flick through his desktop Rolodex gave him the number he wanted. After three rings, he got a response.
"Oakwood," said a discreet male voice.
"Hello, Linton. This is Adam Sinclair, ringing from Scotland. If he's available, I'd like a word with Sir John."
He glanced back at them as he waited for the call to be relayed to Gen. Sir John Graham.
"Adam! This is a delightful surprise! What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Gray. I wish I could say that this was purely a social call, but the truth of the matter is, I'm hoping you can give me some information."
"Ah, looking to put the old warhorse back into harness, are you?" Graham said equably. "I'll do my best to oblige. What kind of information are you after?''
"I'm trying to locate a man who calls himself Griffith Evans."
"Griffith Evans." Graham paused a beat. "No, I can't say that the name rings any bells. Could it be a pseudonym?"
"How about Taliere?" Adam ventured.
"Now, that sounds a bit more familiar. Welsh, maybe - but so is Griffith Evans. What's the context?"
"We have reason to believe that this Evans may have been involved in an incident that took place up here in the Hebrides about a week before the new year," Adam said. "It may not have made the papers down in London, but it caused quite a stir up here. There were certain - ah - Druidic aspects," he added carefully.
"I see," Graham replied, in a tone that conveyed full understanding and attention. "Please go on."
"Well, we haven't been able to establish for certain that Taliere and this Evans are one and the same," Adam said, "but two of my colleagues were able to trace Evans as far as a cottage in North Wales. Unfortunately, Mr. Evans himself was nowhere to be found, so the trail peters out there. We do have a set of his fingerprints, courtesy of the police in Conwy, and we can connect him to a couple of very minor incidents in the last ten years, but the usual police sources run dry beyond that point."
"So you're hoping for alternative sources of information," Graham said.
"I am," Adam replied, smiling to himself. "I seem to recall that you have or had access to certain sources that - ah - are not available to the civilian authorities. That being so, I was hoping I might prevail upon you to do some checking on our behalf."
"I'll be more than happy to assist," came Graham's response, "though I can't guarantee success, with so little to go on."
"There is one more item that may help," Adam said. "We have a mug shot of Evans, and also an artist's impression of what Taliere looks like, done up at Callanish by Peregrine Lovat."
"Ah, young Lovat. From what I recall of your young artist-friend's abilities, that ought to be as good as a photograph. Yes, those and a set of fingerprints should suffice to get me started. Do you have access to a fax machine?"
"I can send through the material within the hour," Adam promised. "Is it the same number?"
"One digit after."
"Right. Thank you, Gray. I appreciate your help, as always."
"Happy to oblige. Incidentally, I don't suppose your mother is there, by any chance? I've been meaning to ring you since the new year. I had a very vivid dream about her."
Adam turned to grin at Philippa, who had risen expectantly from her chair.
"She's here with me now, Gray. I'll put her on."
After handing the phone to Philippa, Adam took McLeod and Peregrine off to the kitchen to fetch fresh tea and to give his mother privacy. She was back at her needlework by the time they returned with the new pot of tea and a tray of fresh scones and sandwiches, but she offered no details of her conversation with John Graham. While she distributed the tea, Adam assembled the documents to be faxed through to Graham and sent them. Ximena and Julia returned shortly thereafter, effectively ending the morning's business; but until Graham came up with a new direction for their investigations, further speculation was unlikely to produce any useful results.
No inspiration came during sleep to change Adam's estimation of the situation. Aware that it might well take time for Sir John to complete his research, Adam drove in to work the following morning with no expectation of any immediate breakthroughs. After teaching rounds, he saw patients for the rest of the day, with hardly a break for lunch, and by four o'clock had finally retreated to his office to update his case notes for the day. He answered the buzz of his phone somewhat distractedly, but immediately shifted focus on hearing the voice at the other end of the line.
"Hello, Adam, it's Gray. Are you alone?"
"I am," Adam replied, "but you know this line."
"Yes, I do." A note of suppressed tension clipped the voice of Sir John Graham. "I have some information for you, but I'd rather not relay it by telephone. Could we meet up face to face to discuss it?"
"Certainly," Adam said, turning the page of his desk calendar. "I've got two therapy sessions scheduled for tomorrow morning, but I could probably catch the noon shuttle and be with you for tea tomorrow afternoon."
"I'd rather discuss it sooner than that," Graham said. "If you were to call upon me tonight, you would find the door open."
Adam caught his breath slightly as he realized that the senior Adept was not proposing a physical meeting, but one on the astral plane, as one Adept to another.
"I am entirely at your disposal," he said carefully. "Just tell me when and where to seek you out."