The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (20 page)

'As for Mark. I'll tell you more when I meet him, but I'd be surprised because it doesn't sound likely, from what I've heard of him through the Gilchrists. And from what you've told me,
there is no real evidence of guilty lovers.'

Vince gestured with his fork. 'I wonder why there are no children to the Elrigg marriage. As a doctor, that intrigues me
most. Not only the first marriage to Mark's mother, which
proves she could bear children, but what about the second to
this nubile young woman? Could it be, do you think, that Sir
Archie was impotent? That he knew it and that's why he was
prepared, even eager, to make his stepson, who had a dash of
the genuine Elrigg blood, his heir?'

'You could be right, Vince lad. That possibility had never
occurred to me, and it's certainly an interesting one. Explains a
lot of things.'

'Who else have we?' Vince looked down at Faro's notes lying beside his plate. 'You do this uncommonly well, Stepfather. You
are to be congratulated on a masterpiece of clarity. Sergeant
Yarrow will be grateful, I'm sure. Let's see...

'Hector Elrigg, the disgruntled archaeologist who believes
that he was cheated out of his inheritance by a reprobate father.
He would be my best bet, he has the most impressive motive, a
wound festering over the years. I realise you haven't much
in the way of evidence, but still - there may be something
important we've missed.'

As Vince flicked back through the notes, Faro shook his
head. 'You may be right, yet I have a feeling - no more than that
- just a feeling that we're dealing with the dedicated historian
who is keener on getting on with his work of digging the hillfort
and the standing stones, than being laird of Elrigg.'

'Meanwhile, of course,' said Vince, 'we may have a number
of dissatisfied tenants whose activities as well as their names are
unknown to you, since there has been neither time nor
opportunity to conduct a thorough investigation. I appreciate
that distances to be travelled single-handed are somewhat
daunting.'

And rubbing his chin thoughtfully, 'What about the good Dr
Brand whose daughter drowned in the ornamental lake? If she
was seduced by the laird, he would have good reason for killing
him off.'

'But since you've suggested the impotence factor, the
pregnancy fits in with the lover who was sent away in disgrace.'

'True,' said Vince. 'Then who are we left with? The unfortunate
poacher, Duffy.'

'No, but I do think he knew something, or had seen
something.'

'Perhaps he gossiped and was overheard?'

Faro agreed. 'Not a man of discreet habits, I gather from
Bowden. Blackmail would be a profitable business for him.'

Vince consulted the list again. 'I think we can safely cross off
the Reverend Cairncross in spite of his daughter's odd reaction
to the Elriggs. And, as a victim, Miss Halliday.'

'I can't see any reason why she would want to murder Sir
Archie,' said Faro.

'But there's always Miss Imogen Crowe and your latest foray
into a different sort of crime. What was her motive for stealing
the portrait?'

'It wasn't the portrait, Vince. It was Sir Walter Scott's letter.'
Faro frowned. 'I keep going over that scene in Miss Halliday's
kitchen. There's something there, if only I could remember.
Something I saw.'

'It'll come, I'm sure,' said Vince soothingly. 'The only link I can see is that she is Irish and so was Philip Gray - But that's a
bit tenuous.'

Vince was aware that he no longer had his stepfather's
attention. 'What's wrong?'

Faro shook his head. 'Just an idea I've had.'

He was silent so long that Vince laid aside the papers and
said: 'By the way, the carriage is coming for us in the morning.
There's to be a Maytime pageant at Branxton, with a
celebration of Miss Gilchrist's birthday among other things.
There'll be floats, so I'm told, with the children performing
scenes from history, a monologue written about the Battle of
Flodden. What do you think, Stepfather?'

'Think?' Faro came back to him with a start. ‘I don't know,'
he said lamely. 'What was it you were saying?'

Patiently Vince repeated the programme of the day's
activities and Faro shook his head very firmly. 'No, Vince lad.
Absolutely not. I'll save my energies for the festivities at the Castle. I just might have to have my wits about me then.'

Vince considered him. 'Anything you'd like to share,
Stepfather? Some new observations?'

Faro smiled. 'Only when I can give them substance and that
may take some time.'

Next morning, having seen Vince off, Faro was deciding how he
could most profitably spend his day when Sergeant Yarrow
arrived at the inn. After a perfunctory greeting he saluted Faro
gravely and said: 'Sir, I owe you an apology.'

Faro smiled vaguely. 'Ah, you have decided to remove me
from your list of suspects?'

Yarrow looked contrite. 'Dewar has just told me who you
are, sir. I cannot tell you-'

Think nothing of it, Sergeant. It's the sort of mistake any
policeman worth his salt might make. You are to be commended for that.'

Yarrow smiled wryly. 'It's the lesson we all learn, isn't it? First on the scene most often is the prime suspect.'

'And a stranger in the neighbourhood, too,' said Faro.

Yarrow held out his hand. 'May I take this opportunity of
welcoming your assistance, sir? Anything at all you may have
observed during your time here might be of considerable help
to us.'

When Faro didn't reply immediately, Yarrow continued to
regard him quizzically. 'You think Sir Archie was murdered?
Political, maybe. Equerry to the Prince of Wales and that sort of
thing?'

Faro remained silent, and Yarrow shrugged. 'Come now, sir,
that is obviously the real reason why you are here. We do know
something of your background -'

'Not in this instance, Sergeant. Such matters - crimes or
political investigations, if you wish - in Elrigg are entirely the
province of the Northumberland Constabulary or the Metropolitan Police, you know that. And Edinburgh City
Police would have no right to interfere.'

Yarrow's eyebrows raised mockingly. 'I can hardly believe
that a man as important as yourself would have been sent down
here to investigate some missing paintings.'

'You must take my word for that. Let us say I was here on
behalf of a very important client. That is all I can tell you, I'm
afraid.'

Sergeant Yarrow looked thoughtful. 'I wonder if you have
any ideas about Miss Halliday's attacker.'

'None at all. Living here you must know a great deal more
than any stranger about likely suspects.'

'True. There aren't many, I can assure you. Take the man
Duffy, he's the nearest we get to criminal activities, he's well
known as a petty thief, but we never have been able to pin
anything big on him, he was too wily for that.'

Faro remembered Dewar's words. 'You think he might have
attacked Miss Halliday first - before his accident?'

Yarrow nodded eagerly. 'I'm positive that's the way of it.
Miss Halliday's homemade wine was famous. He couldn't resist
drink of any kind. Might have sampled a bottle with dire
effects. She caught him at it - and we know the rest.'

Faro looked at him. There had been no evidence of empty bottles or glasses in that disturbed room. 'You are seriously
considering this theory?'

'Except that we have no record of Duffy ever being violent,
or of breaking and entering a private residence. A genial rogue
rather than a genuine criminal.'

'What about the gypsies? Have you considered that there might be less genial rogues among them and that their arrival
coincided with Miss Halliday's attack and Duffy's death?'

Yarrow shook his head. 'Assault and battery isn't their style
at all. Like Duffy, it's more clothes off lines and a hen or two.'
After a long pause, he added: 'There is, however, one matter
which is perturbing me greatly at the moment. A matter that is
well out of our province, but perhaps with your greater
experience you could advise me.'

'If I can.'

Again Yarrow hesitated before continuing: 'It concerns the
woman Imogen Crowe. Did you know, by any chance, that she
has a police record?'

Faro shook his head. This was a surprise - or was it?

'What did she do?'

'Went to gaol for harbouring Fenian terrorists. I've been
keeping an eye on Miss Crowe's activities. I don't suppose you
remember the case in Scotland. There was a Brendan Crowe -
her uncle and guardian, so she claimed - who took a shot at the
Queen riding in St James's Park.'

Faro sighed. 'I vaguely remember the case. There have been
similar incidents. About twelve years ago, wasn't it?'

Yarrow regarded him admiringly. 'Correct first time, sir.
Year after the Prince Consort died and Her Majesty had gained a great deal of public support and sympathy, her being a widow
and so forth. Crowe was shot and wounded by us - we
cornered him but he managed to escape to his lodgings. Topped
himself before he could be arrested -'

'And his niece - Miss Crowe?'

'She was in the house with him, fought the arresting officers
tooth and nail. Protested that she knew nothing about his
political activities. We didn't believe a word of it, naturally, so
she was sentenced as accessory. Lucky for her that he never
stood trial or she might have been hanged.'

'She must have been very young at the time,' said Faro.

'Not all that young, sir, eighteen. Old enough to know right
from wrong, I'd say.'

It was a situation Faro knew well and one that he deplored. A public outcry means that the police are expected to produce a scapegoat, someone the mob could vent their anger on. An
eighteen-year-old girl, terrified and confused, horrified by her
guardian's death, would do excellently.

'She was very probably speaking the truth,' he said.

'Once a terrorist, always a terrorist.' Yarrow gave him a
hard look. Clearly, he did not share Faro's sentiments. 'An eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' he added grimly. 'The Bible got
it right, you know.'

When Faro said nothing, Yarrow added: 'We put her behind
bars for a couple of years.'

'What is she doing in Elrigg then?' asked Faro, already
knowing the answer.

'She writes books.'

'Romances?'

Yarrow laughed. 'Hardly, sir. About Women's Rights, the
sort of thing females who have been in prison write if they are literate, encouraging other women to believe that they've been
ill-treated - all that sort of nonsense. Shouldn't be allowed.'

Faro felt a fleeting compassion for Imogen Crowe, knowing
only too well the notorious conditions of women's prisons in
London: verminous, ill-treated prisoners, starved and beaten. Unthinkable that she might have been innocent, as she claimed.

Yarrow was regarding him shrewdly. 'When Dewar told me
about you, my first thought was: is he here in connection with
Imogen Crowe? And your very important client has confirmed
that for me. You can rely on my discretion, of course, sir, and
you don't need to say whether I’m right or wrong. I'll understand perfectly.'

When Faro smiled, he continued: 'I'd hazard a guess that the
authorities believe, with the Prince of Wales being a frequent
visitor to the Castle, that there might be a Fenian plot and that
she's here to spy for them.'