Dauncey had already decided the man was a hypocritical creep and wondered how much of the cash had actually stuck to his fingers, but he decided to play the game.
‘We’re glad to be of help. Now what’s all this on Saturday? Some kind of demonstration in London? I hear you’re going.’
‘Indeed we are. Liberty in Europe Day! The United Anarchist Front has organized it.’
‘Really? I thought there already was liberty in Europe. Well, never mind. So your rosy-cheeked students are going to take part.’
‘Of course.’
‘You know the police don’t like demonstrations in Whitehall. They can so easily turn into riots.’
‘The police can’t stop us. The voice of the people will be heard!’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rupert agreed dryly. ‘Are you leading this thing or are you just one of the marchers?’
Percy stirred uneasily. ‘Actually, I, uh, I won’t be able to be there on Saturday…I have a prior commitment.’
I just bet you have, Rupert Dauncey thought, but he smiled. ‘Do me a favour. That nice girl over there, I heard her speaking as I passed. I believe she’s American. Is she one of your members?’
‘Yes on both counts. Helen Quinn. Rhodes Scholar. Charming girl. Her father is actually a senator.’
Rupert, who knew very well who she was, and even knew the boy’s name, said, ‘Introduce me on the way out, won’t you? I love meeting fellow Americans abroad.’
‘Of course.’ Percy got up and led the way. ‘Hello, you two. Helen, I’d like you to meet Rupert Dauncey, a countryman of yours.’
She smiled. ‘Hi there, where are you from?’
‘Boston.’
‘Me too! That’s great. This is Alan Grant.’
Grant obviously saw the whole thing as an intrusion and had turned sullen. He pointedly ignored Dauncey. Rupert carried on. ‘You’re a student here?’ he asked her.
‘St Hugh’s.’
‘Ah, an excellent college, I’m told. Professor Percy tells me you’re going to this rally on Saturday.’
‘Absolutely.’ She was full of enthusiasm.
‘Well, take care, won’t you? I’d hate to see anything happen to you there. Goodbye. I hope to see you again.’
He walked out with Percy, and Grant said in a cockney accent, ‘Posh git, who does he think he is?’
‘I thought he was nice.’
‘Well, that’s women for you.’ He touched a button in his pocket, and Rupert’s voice rang out: ‘I’d hate to see anything happen to you there.’
‘I know what he’d like to see happen to you,’ he grumbled. ‘Felt like punching him in the nose.’
‘Oh, Alan, stop it!’ Honestly, sometimes Alan just went too far, Helen thought.
For Hannah Bernstein and Dillon, the flight to Moidart crossed the Lake District, the Solway Firth and the Grampian Mountains, and soon the islands of Eigg and Rum came into view, the Isle of Skye to the north. They descended to an old World War II airstrip with a couple of decaying hangars and a control tower. An estate car was parked outside the tower, a man in a tweed suit and cap beside it. Lacey taxied the Lear toward him and switched off. Parry opened the door, dropped the steps, and Lacey led the way down. The man came forward.
‘Squadron Leader Lacey, sir?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Sergeant Fogarty. They’ve sent me from Oban.’
‘Good man. The lady is Detective Superintendent Bernstein from Scotland Yard. She and Mr Dillon here have important business at Loch Dhu Castle. Take them there and do exactly what the Superintendent tells you. You’ll bring them back here.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Lacey turned to the others. ‘See you later.’
They approached the castle in twenty minutes, still as imposing as they remembered it, and set well back from the road. The walls were ten feet high, and smoke curled up from the chimney of the lodge. The gates were shut. Dillon and Hannah got out, but there were no handles, and when he pushed, nothing happened.
‘Electronic. That’s an improvement from the old days.’
The front door opened and a man with a hard, raw-boned face appeared. He wore a hunting jacket and carried a sawn-off shotgun under his left arm.
‘Good afternoon,’ Hannah said.
He had a hard Scots voice. ‘What do you want?’ He sounded decidedly unfriendly.
‘Now then,’ Dillon told him. ‘This is a lady you’re dealing with, so watch your tone. And who might you be, son?’
The man stiffened, as if sensing trouble. ‘My name’s Brown. I’m the factor here, so what do you want?’
‘Mr Dillon and I were here some years ago for the shooting,’ Hannah told him. ‘We rented Ardmurchan Lodge.’
‘We know you’re running adventure courses for young people at the castle these days,’ Dillon said, ‘but we wondered if Ardmurchan Lodge might not still be available. My boss – General Ferguson – would love to rent it for the shooting again.’
‘Well, it isn’t, and the shooting season’s over.’
‘Not the kind I’m interested in,’ Dillon told him amicably.
Brown took the shotgun from under his arm. ‘I think you’d better leave.’
‘I’d be careful with that – I’m a police officer,’ Hannah said.
‘Police officer, my arse. Get out of here.’ He cocked the shotgun.
Dillon raised a hand. ‘We don’t want any problems. Obviously, the lodge isn’t available. Come on, Hannah.’
They went back to the car. ‘Drive on just out of sight of the gate,’ Dillon told Fogarty.
‘What happened back there is an intelligence matter, Sergeant, you understand?’ Hannah said.
‘Of course, ma’am.’
‘Good, then pull in,’ Dillon told him. ‘I’m going over the wall and you can give me a push.’
They stopped and got out, Fogarty joined his hands together, and Dillon put his left foot in them. The big sergeant lifted, and Dillon pulled himself over the wall, dropped into the trees on the other side and moved towards the lodge.
Brown was in the kitchen, the gun on the table, and dialling
