‘Both, I hope,’ her employer replied. ‘The stonework has been so badly damaged already that I feel we may be forgiven for adding to the destruction. The basilisk may be left until the last, for it seems clear that the money is not in his possession. George and Corrie must work in partnership with one another and carefully dig up the centre of the maze, by which I mean all the earth except that on which the statues have been standing, for they would appear to be too heavy for one man to have moved when he wanted to uncover his cache. You, my dear Laura, may do what you will with your hammer. When you are tired, you may hand it over to me.’
The Amazonian Laura grunted. She did not tire easily. The three then went to work. The ground in the centre of the maze had been well trampled and digging was not easy. Soon each man removed his coat and was perspiring freely. Laura swung her hammer with zeal tempered by discretion, for it was her firm, although unspoken, opinion that some, at any rate, of Bradan’s treasure might be in the form of precious stones, a kind of wealth which had worldwide currency.
A couple of hours passed. The men had dug up most of the centre of the maze to a depth of a couple of spits. First Corrie had broken up the soil with his fork, to be followed by George prospecting with the spade. Every half-hour they had exchanged tools, as the work with the fork was considerably more exhausting than that performed with the spade. Laura had broken up the werewolf and was attacking the gryphon when an overcast sky, which had been threatening rain for the past hour, discharged a true West Highland deluge. Hastily the men retrieved their coats and Dame Beatrice, rising from the remains of the salamander (which had suffered destruction, she supposed, when the ship he represented had blown up) announced firmly that work was over until the rain ceased. So the party hastened back to the boat and made across the lake for Tannasgan and An Tigh Mór.
‘Well,’ said Laura, damp-haired and wearing a change of clothing, ‘that’s put paid to that for the rest of the day, I suppose. Wonder what’s for lunch? The usual mutton, I expect.’ She was at the window watching the rain sweeping over the loch. ‘I love my native land, but I do think it could do with a little less rain.’
‘It may clear up this afternoon,’ said Dame Beatrice. She mended the fire with more peats. ‘In any case, I am beginning to wonder…’
‘Whether your hunch has gone wrong? Oh, I don’t know. There’s still quite a bit of digging to be done, and I’ve hardly touched the gryphon yet. I had a feeling that the stuff would be in the werewolf’s tummy. That’s why I tackled him first. Do you think the police have got hold of the right man? You know, I still don’t believe Corrie had told us the whole truth about that night.’
‘I think he has told it as far as he knows it. What he has said now checks pretty well with what we already know. If the rain eases off a little this afternoon, I propose to drive in to Tigh-Osda and have another talk with the lad Ian.’
‘If it eases off, I’m going to have another go with my hammer, then. I don’t mind confessing, childish though it may seem, that treasure-hunt fever is on me.’
‘Tak’ tent!’ said Mrs Corrie, coming in to lay the table. ‘Ye’re blethering, lassie!’
Laura grinned and Dame Beatrice said:
‘The treasure can wait. It won’t run away. Besides, I should like you to be with me when I talk to Ian. I may need a translator if he becomes excited and decides to address me in Gaelic.’
Laura began to look mulish. She saw through this flimsy reason for not leaving her behind on Tannasgan with nobody but the Corries in the house.
‘You won’t need me. The station-master can translate for you,’ she said.
‘Ah, but I don’t choose that he should,’ said Dame Beatrice implacably. Laura laughed.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You win. But’ – she lowered her voice, for the door into the hall was ajar to facilitate Mrs Corrie’s re-entry with the soup – ‘don’t you think the C’s may get up to something while we’re away?’
‘I don’t think it matters if they do, child. As the discovery of the hoard cannot possibly benefit either you or me in any way, it does not really matter who discovers it.’
‘It does to me. I’m simply longing to find it. All my life I’ve wanted to find treasure or some cave paintings or something, and now you don’t care if the cup is dashed from my lips.’
Mrs Corrie carried in a steaming tureen, said, ‘Saumon tae follow,’ and marched out again.
‘Terrible as an army with banners,’ said Dame Beatrice absently, going to the head of the table.
‘I say!’ said Laura, dismayed. ‘you don’t really think that, do you?’
‘Think what, child?’
‘That Mrs Corrie is mixed up in any funny business.’
‘I think she knows one thing that Corrie does not know. Sit down.’ Dame Beatrice removed the lid from the tureen. ‘I always look upon Scotch broth as a meal in itself,’ she added.
‘Well,’ said Laura, abandoning an abortive argument, ‘I suppose, in poor homes, it had to be. It’s what they call, in England, filling, nourishing and cheap. Anyway, in my opinion, it had Irish stew licked to a frazzle. Serve me a good deep plateful, please. My demolition job has made me hungry.’
When lunch was over, the rain was still coming down and a grey mist had settled on the loch. Laura stood at the window and stared moodily out at the weather. By three o’clock, however, there was a primose-coloured promise in the sky, and by half-past three it had stopped raining and Dame Beatrice announced her intention of repairing forthwith to Tigh-Osda. Corrie was summoned to row the boat back and forth, George warned that the car was required and at four o’clock precisely the car moved off from the loch-side and headed for the west.
From every hillside narrow waterfalls cascaded on to the road and were received by deep drains. Heavy cloud hung over the mountains, obliterating all the peaks and giving the impression of an improbable stage-set seen from the back of the gallery. Except for the sound of the waterfalls and the almost undetectable sound of the car, an eerie silence brooded everywhere. Laura, gazing out of the window and sometimes through the windscreen behind George’s solid, broad-shouldered back, wondered whether, or to what extent, the mystery of two violent deaths was about to be cleared up. Dame Beatrice was thinking about the lion and the unicorn, who were fighting for the crown. She had remembered that the royal arms had been introduced into England by that oddity King James I on the strength of his believing the rhyme to be a Scottish story, a strangely patriotic gesture for the son of the half-English Lord Darnley and the half-French Mary, Queen of Scots.
As they passed the private trackway which led to Coinneamh Lodge, Laura remarked:
‘I suppose we shall never know why she borrowed my car that night I stayed there.’
‘I do not despair of finding that out, child,’ responded Dame Beatrice. George drew in at a passing-place to give an estate wagon a clear road.
‘The Grants,’ said Laura, on whose right-hand side the estate wagon had passed them. ‘Wonder where they’re going?’
‘It is Friday,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Yes, but we understood that he always goes to Inverness by train and that she never goes with him.’
‘Aliud alia dicunt, puella.’
‘They jolly well do say different things! One trouble about this case is that no two people concerned in it seem to speak the same language.’
No other traffic was encountered on the road, and the car drew up sedately outside Tigh-Osda station. Ian was available, since no train was expected for some time, and he greeted the visitors shyly.
‘The same old story,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘We are still concerned with the death of Mr Bradan of Tannasgan. Now you will remember that he had ordered your station-master’s car and that you drove him to the shores of Loch na Gréine.’