Stormy Petrel (15 page)

I said that it was, and they were welcome to come in. He thanked me, and introduced himself as Detective-Sergeant Fraser, and his companion as Detective-Constable Campbell.

I unlocked the door and led the way in. Ewen came, with a shrug and a smile and a lifted eyebrow, and the two detectives close behind him. Neil followed them in and shut the door. He was rather pale, and tended to watch the policemen rather than Ewen. I noticed that Ewen did not look in his direction.

‘“On information received?”' he said, looking from one detective to the other. ‘From whom, and about what? It must be serious, to have brought you out on that TV-type chase? And why the Customs people? Just what is this all about?'

The sergeant consulted a notebook. ‘You hired the boat
Stormy Petrel
on June fifteenth from one Hector McGillivray of Uig on the island of Faarsay?'

‘Yes. At least, I suppose it was the fifteenth . . . It was three days after – Yes, the fifteenth. So what? I paid him, didn't I?'

‘We have reason to believe,' said the sergeant, taking no notice of the question, ‘that this boat has recently been involved in illegal traffic, and that the said operation was centred on the island of Faarsay.'

‘Illegal traffic?' Ewen looked taken aback, then he laughed. ‘Faarsay? Do you mean that old Hector's been poaching salmon again? But how does that affect me? I've only had the boat since the fifteenth, and before that I was –' A quick glance at me. ‘I don't need to tell you where I was, do I?'

Once again the sergeant ignored the question. He watched Ewen steadily, while the constable, who had seated himself at the kitchen table, was taking notes. I thought that Neil, still over by the door, had a puzzled look. He glanced from time to time out of the window, as if to see what was happening down at the jetty.

‘Not salmon,' said the sergeant. ‘No. That would not bring the Customs here. They are looking for drugs.'

‘
Drugs
?' This time, unmistakably, the shock was genuine. Ewen went as white as paper, and jerked upright in his chair. ‘Drugs? What are you talking about? What's it got to do with me? Do you mean that that bloody fool Hector McGillivray fobbed me off with a boat that's – that's been—?' He stopped abruptly, biting his lip. The two detectives watched him, unmoved. Ewen sat back in the chair, and managed, very creditably I thought, a wry little smile. ‘No wonder I got the damned boat cheaply,' he said. ‘That comes of trusting chaps you've known all your life. Like Neil here. Well? Just when did all this so-called traffic take place? While I was safely locked away, I hope? As far as I'm concerned, I went to Hector because I knew him and I knew he'd let me have a boat cheaply, and I've used it since then – since the fifteenth – for pleasure, and now to come over and look my people up. So the Customs can search all they like; they won't find a thing.' And he included Neil, and then me, in the smile.

‘Thank you, sir.' The sergeant glanced across at his colleague, saw him busily writing, then turned back to Ewen. ‘You must understand that the boat's history is the affair of the Customs officers. They will talk to you later. We have our own inquiries to make. The launch gave us a lift over, to save us waiting for the ferry in the morning, that is all. But their search of your boat will save us time, as well. We have been lucky there.'

‘Haven't you just?' said Ewen. ‘Search for what, since you're not after all the heroin, or whatever I'm supposed to have been ferrying around the islands for a week?'

‘We have reason to believe that you recently broke into Taigh na Tuir, the house belonging to Mr Hamilton here, and that you know something of the whereabouts of two valuable guns.'

‘Guns?' repeated Ewen blankly. ‘What guns? And who gave you reason to believe—?'

‘I did,' said Neil.

The surprise and shock registered yet again on Ewen's face were so real that even I, if this time I had not known better, would have thought them genuine. He turned to face Neil, and their eyes met. Ewen's were wide, injured, unbelieving; Neil's stony, but I could see the effort that kept them level. He was hating this. So, as a matter of fact, was I. I took the woman's way out. I retreated to the scullery to fill the kettle for a cup of tea.

‘All right,' said Ewen to Neil. ‘So supposing you explain. When am I supposed to have broken into the house, and why on earth should you think I know anything about any of the guns?' He sat back, apparently at his ease now, and crossed his legs. He was sitting in the same chair he had had before, on that late-night chat. ‘Go on, Mr Parsons. Explain.'

There was a slight flush on Neil's cheekbones, and he seemed to be avoiding Ewen's eye. In view of the latter's steady, incredulous gaze, I could not blame him. He spoke to the hearthrug.

‘I have already told Sergeant Fraser what happened. I was in the house the night you came back, and I watched you try the french windows, and then go round to the back to find the kitchen window locked, too. Possibly this made you uneasy, or possibly, with the storm blowing up, you did not want to take your boat across to the mainland again, so you decided to let things alone, and not risk taking any stolen goods on board. I watched you make off along the cliff path, as if you were making for Otters' Bay. The lawyers had told me that the cottage was let to a girl, who was here alone. For all I knew she was with you, but if she was just a visitor, I had to make sure she would be all right. So I followed you over, and found you here in the cottage. You had told Dr Fenemore that you thought your parents still lived here. That may have been true, but for the moment it's irrelevant.'

‘That's wonderful!' Ewen was letting anger show now through the hurt. ‘Anything that “may be true” is irrelevant! I'll tell you what is irrelevant, all that breaking and entering bit. You've just said yourself that all I did was try the windows. And why not? I'd been welcome in that house for as long as you had – longer, because you were away and I just about lived there. So go right ahead. What's all this about stolen goods and, for God's sake, guns?'

‘Only that it wasn't your first visit since my great-aunt's death,' said Neil. ‘You heard me say you “came back”. I don't know when the first visit was, but it must have been very recent, possibly within a few days of your, er, release.' He paused, and looked across at Fraser.

The sergeant nodded. ‘We know you hired a boat,' he said, ‘straight away after you came out of prison, and came up to Oban. It was possible that you would come over to Moila, and of course there was nothing suspicious about that. And of course, to start with, we knew nothing about the boat's history. That, if you will allow the word, is also, for the moment, irrelevant.' An explosive sound from Ewen, which was ignored. The sergeant continued: ‘But then Mr Hamilton found the valuable guns missing from Taigh na Tuir, and he reported that, with the story of your attempt to get into the house last Wednesday night. So our inquiries – and possibly the search of your boat—'

‘Will get you nowhere. In fact,' said Ewen, and was there just a shade of genuine relief in his tone? ‘you don't know anything at all. And as for the guns that are supposed to be missing from Taigh na Tuir, I can tell you all you want to know about that. When the Colonel was alive, he always took me shooting with him, and I helped look after his guns. He had quite a few, half a dozen there in the gunroom, with the light one he got for Neil as a boy, and I used to use. Mrs Hamilton hated guns, and never shot.' He looked up at Neil. ‘Nor did you, when you could get out of it. And I was here when the Colonel died. You were in Australia, but even if you didn't know, the police here should have known . . . The guns were sold. There were some that were quite valuable, a Churchill, I think, and a Boss, but they were sent to his gunsmith in Glasgow, Peterson and Briggs, and they were sold. As far as I know, the gunroom's been empty ever since. You should know, inspector. Don't you have to check them all nowadays, ever since the Hungerford affair?'

It was Neil who answered. ‘You haven't mentioned the Purdeys.'

‘Purdeys?'

‘Don't pretend you didn't know about them. His favourite guns, the “specials” that were made for his father, my grand-uncle, in 1906, in the great days of shooting-parties. He shot once with King Edward. You knew all that, it was one of his favourite stories, and you must have known all about the guns. If they were valuable when Uncle Fergus died, they're astronomical now.'

‘Well, and so what about them? Of course I remember them. He would never let me touch them, always cleaned them himself. They were sold with the rest, weren't they?'

‘No. They were never sold, though the lawyers thought they had gone with the others. My great-aunt may even have deceived them deliberately; I don't know. I know she would never have parted with them. Her husband had asked her to keep them for me – keep them in the family, that is, but she didn't want to be troubled with all the precautions and inspections since the Firearms Acts. In fact I'm not sure that she even attempted to understand them. She merely packed the pair of Purdeys away in a trunk in the attic, locked the trunk, and told no one, and it must have been assumed that they were sold with the rest of his things. She left a letter for me, and she did include the Purdeys in her Will, and told us where to look. I looked, yesterday, and found the trunk empty. So I went to the mainland to report it, and we have been in touch with the lawyers, the gunsmiths, and the salerooms. No trace, but from our description one saleroom – it was Christie's – quoted us about thirty thousand pounds.'

‘So?' Ewen's air was still jaunty, but the syllable came tightly.

‘So it occurred to me that you, as my great-uncle's ghillie, might even have known what his plans were for his “specials”. And putting that together with your visits to the house, and the guns' disappearance—'

Ewen had himself in hand again. He appealed to the sergeant. ‘Do you hear that? And you call this grounds –
grounds
for suspicion? Isn't it time you either made a charge and got it over with, or you damned well got out of here, and Mister Bloody Hamilton with you?'

The sergeant did not answer. His head was turned towards the door, where we could hear footsteps approaching. I glanced at Ewen, relaxed once more in his chair, as the door opened and one of the Customs men came in.

His eyes sought the sergeant's, and he shook his head. ‘Nothing. Of course it's only a rummage-search, but as far as we've gone, there's nothing in that boat at all that hasn't a right to be there.'

It seemed as good a moment as any for a change of scene. I carried a tray across and set it down on the table in the window. Outside it was full daylight. Soon the sun would break through the mist. I sat down by the table and lifted the pot.

‘Would anyone like a cup of tea?'

16

It seemed that the cliché of the detective story – that a policeman drinks nothing when on duty – did not apply in the islands. After that sea-trip through the damp mists of early morning, I didn't blame them. The sergeant accepted a cup of tea, then gave a nod to the detective-constable which the latter seemed to understand. He took the cup I gave him over to Ewen, who accepted it politely, shook his head to the sugar-bowl, and then sat sipping, for all the world as if this were a normal tea-party and he was waiting for someone to start the conversation.

As, of course, he was. For him, so far so good. Plenty of talk, but no proof of anything but a misdemeanour, so keep quiet and let the opposition make the running . . .

I poured tea for the four of them, then went to refill the pot. When I had filled my own cup and sat down again by the table, the sergeant was speaking to Neil.

‘So would you tell us, sir, what happened tonight after you got back to Moila? You did appear to be pursuing Mr Mackay's boat. Have you any reason, other than the suspicions you have told us of, and Mr Mackay's visit to your house, when you say he did
not
break in, for pursuing him here, and in what looked like a dangerous manner?'

I saw Ewen smile into his teacup, and spoke. ‘Mr Fraser – Sergeant – may I tell you what happened before Mr Hamilton got back here to Moila tonight?'

He looked surprised. ‘Then you were not on the mainland with Mr Hamilton?'

‘That's right. I was not. I didn't even know he had gone to the mainland. When I saw his boat wasn't in the boathouse I thought he might have gone fishing. I spent the night on the island where the broch is.' I set my cup down. ‘I can't pronounce its name. The one opposite Mr Hamilton's house. In English it's Seal Island.'

‘I know the one. Eilean na Roin. Yes, Miss Fenemore?'

The constable, Jimmy, was writing busily. I did not look at Ewen, but was conscious that he had gone very still. I cleared my throat. ‘I won't make a long story of it, but I went across there after lunch, to the House. I thought I might see Mr Hamilton there. He has told you about his first visit here; we have met since that day, and he asked me to go over whenever I wanted to. Well, I wanted to visit the island – Seal Island – because Mr Hamilton had told me there really were seals there at low tide. I went to the house first, and he wasn't there. Then I found that the boathouse was empty, so I assumed he was away with it, perhaps on the island, looking at the rocks on the far side – you know he's a geologist, I suppose? – or else out fishing. Well, I went across and the seals were there and I watched them. A bit later I found that my watch had stopped, and I had misjudged the tide. When I found that I couldn't cross by the causeway I went up to Mr Hamilton's tent and made myself some supper.' I looked at Neil. ‘I didn't think you'd mind.'