The Hill of the Red Fox (15 page)

“Maybe I do, Alasdair,” was all he said.

“Then why don’t you go to the police?” I demanded.

Duncan Mòr stopped and faced me.

“It is no good me going to the
polis
,” he said firmly. “I may know more than you, Alasdair, but most of it is guesswork. If I wore a gold chain on my waistcoat they would listen to me, but they would never take heed of any wild story from the likes o’ me. No, no, you are safe enough if you accuse a tinker of lifting a hen, but it is another story, as the other man said, when it is the lads with gold chains on their waistcoats you are after.”

We walked on in silence and I followed him into the house. The bed of red peats in the fireplace cast a dim, cosy glow about the room. Glen met us at the door, and he was growling, but I did not notice the man in the chair until he stood up.

The buttons of his jacket caught the light and sparkled, and I saw that he was wearing the uniform of the Inverness-shire Constabulary.

Duncan Mòr’s late night visitor was a policeman.

If Duncan Mòr was surprised, he did not show it. He walked over to the fireplace and wedged some fresh peats on the red embers of the dying fire and lit the lamp. When the mantle had heated he turned up the wick, and I screwed up my eyes against the bright light.

The policeman remained standing.

He cleared his throat, and said, “You are Duncan MacDonald?”

“Aye, that’s me,” said Duncan Mòr.

He was sitting on the corner of the kitchen table, calmly filling his pipe, but I noticed that his eyes were wary.

“You are the tenant of number four Mealt?”

Duncan Mòr was lighting his pipe and he looked at the
policeman
over the flaming match and nodded.

I was standing with my back to the door, and I saw the
policeman
looking at me curiously. I glanced down and saw that I had a nasty cut on my right knee. The blood had congealed and the skin around the cut was puffy and discoloured. I must have struck my knee against the iron bar of the bridge support, but in the shock of the fall I had not felt it.

“What happened to the boy?” asked the policeman.

“He had an accident,” said Duncan Mòr shortly.

Without another word, he went into the scullery and came back with a basin of water and a roll of bandage. He cleaned and bathed my leg and bandaged it, and sat me down in the old armchair by the fire. I sat on the edge of the chair, scraping my nails along the frayed moquette of the arms, and watched the policeman. Duncan Mòr resumed his seat on the table. His pipe had gone out and he lit it again. He seemed quite unconcerned.

The policeman was studying a thick black notebook. He shut it deliberately and snapped the elastic band in place and put it back in
his tunic pocket. I wished he would speak. The silence was nerve racking. I did not know then that he intended it to be.

Finally, he said, “Can you give an account of your movements between nine and ten o’clock on Tuesday night?”

“Why should I?” said Duncan Mòr calmly.

The policeman’s lips tightened.

“I should warn you,” he said coldly, “that a serious charge has been preferred against you. You can do yourself no good by refusing to answer questions.”

“What is the charge?” said Duncan Mòr.

The policeman cleared his throat. “The charge is theft,” he said. “A considerable sum of money was stolen from Achmore Lodge on the night of Tuesday last, and I have reason to believe that you are responsible for the theft.”

I started forward in my chair. Theft! The very idea was
ridiculous
. As if Duncan Mòr would steal from Achmore Lodge or from anywhere else for that matter. But there was a terrible finality in the policeman’s words, and I had a sudden feeling of helplessness at the thought that all the power of the law was against us.

“Well, well,” said Duncan Mòr slowly. “Theft, eh? I doubt you are in for a hard job before you can manage to prove that.”

“Where were you at nine o’clock on Tuesday night?” asked the policeman.

“I had just finished milking the cow, and I was sitting in the kitchen reading a piece in the
People’s Journal
about our police force,” answered Duncan Mòr. “It seems that the police are costing an awful amount of money, and little wonder too, if they can afford to be chasing backwards and forwards from Portree on daft errands like this. Just you tell me who accused me o’ thievin’ and I will save you a job. I would break him in two and hand you the pieces.”

“You were in the house at nine o’clock on Tuesday night?”
persisted
the policeman. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have a caller from the Lodge?”

“Aye, that poor
truaghan
of a gamekeeper,” said Duncan Mòr.
“The poor
cratur’s
so fat he could hardly waddle in the door. But don’t be thinking he was here laying down the law. Oh, no. It was Duncan this and Duncan that and Duncan would you be so kind as to accompany me to the Lodge. I am telling you, I have seen some gamekeepers in my day but never the equal o’ yon fellow.”

“So you had a visit from Mr Judge, the gamekeeper?”

“Yes.”

“What time would that be?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“Why did he want you to go to the Lodge?”

Duncan Mòr scratched his head.

“Well, he hummed and hawed for a while, and then he told me the Major would like a word with me.”

“Did he say why the Major wanted to speak to you?”

“Yes, he told me the Major was after getting worried about the way his salmon were disappearing from the pool.”

“But you wouldn’t know anything about that?” said the
policeman
sarcastically.

“I’m not paid to look after the Major’s salmon,” retorted Duncan Mòr coolly. “That is the gamekeeper’s job. I told him so.”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, he said he wasn’t accusing me of poaching salmon, but he thought it would be better for me to have a friendly chat with the Major, as the poor man was terrible worried about the poaching.”

“So you accompanied Mr Judge to the Lodge?”

“Yes.”

“What time did you arrive there?”

“About half past nine. Maybe a wee bit later than that.”

“Were you taken straight to see Major Cassell?”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Duncan Mòr thoughtfully. “The keeper showed me to the Major’s study. He told me to wait while he went away and got him.”

“You were left alone in the study?”

“Aye.”

“Nobody came in while you were there, apart from Major
Cassell?”

“No, but Murdo Ruadh was coming out when I went in,” said Duncan Mòr, and his teeth clamped down on his pipe so hard that I thought he had bitten through the stem.

I had been listening anxiously to the quick flow of question and answer, and I sensed, rather than knew, that the policeman was gently prompting Duncan Mòr towards a pit from which there would be no escape. But all my fears lifted at the mention of Murdo Beaton’s name. Everything was going to be all right after all. If Murdo Beaton had been in the Lodge on Tuesday night, there could be no doubt that he had stolen the money. Had I not seen him counting the notes when I peered through the kitchen window? No wonder he had been furious and tried to kill me.

“Murdo who?” queried the policeman.

“Murdo Beaton,” replied Duncan Mòr. “He has a croft in Achmore, the next township.”

“And you actually saw this man Beaton coming out of Major Cassell’s study?”

“Well, no, not coming out of the study. But he was coming away from it.”

“Did you see him shutting the study door?”

“No, but he was just a yard or two away from it.”

“Whereabouts is the study?”

Duncan Mòr’s keen grey eyes surveyed the policeman warily.

“I’m sure you know well enough,” he said.

I watched the policeman closely, but he showed no surprise.

“The study door is in the middle of a passage,” he said, “and at the end of the passage is the door to the library. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So the man you saw — this man Beaton — could have been coming from the library?”

“Yes, but I would say he was coming from the study.”

“But that’s just your opinion.”

“Well, yes. That is my opinion, and I don’t doubt the same fellow will swear blind that he never went near the study.”

The policeman consulted his notebook again.

“When Mr Judge showed you into the study, how long were you left alone before Major Cassell came in?”

Duncan Mòr considered for a moment.

“A few minutes, I reckon,” he said at length.

“Was it not nearer a quarter of an hour?”

“It might have been. I don’t make a habit of timing myself when I am waiting for folk.”

“Did you see a roll top desk in the study?”

“Aye.”

“Was it open or closed?”

“I don’t mind.”

“You mean to say you were in the study for fifteen minutes and you can’t remember if the desk was open or closed?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do when you were in the study?”

“I just waited.”

“And looked around?”

“I suppose so.”

“But you didn’t notice if the desk was open or closed?”

“No.”

The policeman studied his nails for a moment, then said
suddenly
, “How many salmon fishing stations has Major Cassell got on Skye?”

I could not see the point of the question, but I was to know all too soon.

“He has five in Skye and one in Raasay,” said Duncan Mòr.

“How many men do you suppose he employs on them?”

“About thirty.”

“So that with his household staff he would have a weekly wage bill for forty people?”

“I suppose so.”

“Do you know when they get paid?”

“Who? The salmon fishermen?”

“Yes.”

“They get paid on a Wednesday.”

“So you knew there would be a considerable sum of money in the house on Tuesday night?”

There was an angry glint in Duncan Mòr’s eyes, and he took a step forward. For a moment, I thought he was going to seize the policeman by the throat, and I started up in the chair, but he
controlled
himself and leaned back against the table.

“You knew there would be a considerable sum of money in the house on a Tuesday night,” persisted the policeman.

“Just bide a while,” barked Duncan Mòr, and I wondered if the policeman realized how near he had been to being pitched out of the door neck and crop. “It is one thing to know the day the men are paid, but it is another altogether to wonder where the money is coming from. I just never gave it a thought, and that is the God’s honest truth.”

“What would you say if I told you there were forty five-pound notes in a drawer of the desk, as well as smaller notes and two bags of silver?”

“What do you expect me to say?” he retorted angrily. “That I pocketed the lot and walked out? Tuts, man, there could have been a thousand pounds in the desk for all I knew or cared.”

“Where were you standing when Major Cassell came into the study?”

“I believe I had my back to the desk. Aye, I looked across at the door when I heard it open.”

“You didn’t have one hand on the desk?”

“I may have done.”

“But you didn’t notice if it was open or closed?”

The words flashed out, like the thrust of a rapier, but Duncan Mòr remained unmoved.

“No,” he said calmly.

“What did Major Cassell say to you?”

“He told me he’d had reports that I was lifting his salmon from the pool and he told me I could expect no mercy if I was caught.”

“What did you say?”

Duncan Mòr laughed. “I told him if his gamekeeper tried using his legs for a change instead of his tongue, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry so much about his salmon.”

“You were insolent to Major Cassell.”

“Not at all. I just told him what I thought.”

“You parted on bad terms?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say the Major was very pleased, but it didn’t put me up or down.”

“What time did you leave the Lodge?”

“I suppose it would be near ten.”

“And at ten o’clock,” said the policeman deliberately, “Major Cassell discovered that two hundred pounds in five-pound notes was missing from his desk in the study. Do you insist that you left the Lodge without that money?”

“Certainly I insist,” declared Duncan Mòr. “I came out o’ the Lodge the way I went in, and you’ll never get me to say otherwise.”

“I warn you that the numbers of the notes are known. You can never hope to get away with this.”

“I’m not trying to get away with anything,” said Duncan Mòr flatly. “You can take it from me that you are wasting your time here.”

“I have reason to believe that you have the money hidden in this house,” stated the policeman.

“Well, well,” said Duncan Mòr calmly, “I suppose you thought I would come strolling back from the Lodge like a great daft loon and plant the money in the tea-caddy just so it would be easy for you to find it. Go ahead and have a look,” he went on mockingly. “I always keep my five-pound notes there.”

He pointed to the large tin tea-caddy in the centre of the
mantelpiece
. There was a painting of King George V on the front of it, and the lid did not fit properly.

“If you think you can pull that old dodge on me, you are
mistaken
,” said the policeman curtly. He took down the tea-caddy and carried it over to the table.

“Have you any objections to me opening it?” he asked.

“Not at all,” said Duncan Mòr. “But you will find nothing there
but a few bills and a form for the calf subsidy.”

The bills and the form were certainly there, but underneath them were two bundles of crisp new banknotes. The policeman spread them on the table and carefully checked the numbers with a
typewritten
list he produced from his pocket.

I was dumbfounded. I just sat and stared. Even Duncan Mòr had lost his composure. His forehead was creased in a worried frown, and I could see his teeth biting at his lower lip.

The policeman placed the notes carefully in his tunic pocket and stood up. He could not keep the elation out of his voice.

“The numbers correspond,” he said. “These are the notes that were stolen from Achmore Lodge. Do you still deny that you had anything to do with it?”

“Yes,” said Duncan Mòr firmly.

“Then how do you account for the fact that they were hidden in this house?”

“I can’t account for it,” said Duncan Mòr slowly, “but I have a good idea, and when I lay hands on the fellow responsible he will know all about it.”

“Get your coat,” said the policeman curtly. “You will be charged and taken into custody in Portree.”

Duncan Mòr looked down at his blue denim trousers. From the knees downwards they were black with rain.

“This is no way to be going to Portree,” he said, “even supposing it is the jail I am bound for. I must just put on a decent suit and a collar and tie.”

He crossed the room and opened the door to his bedroom, and I hated to see the dejected droop of his shoulders.

“Five minutes,” said the policeman. “No more.”