The desk was soon opened and revealed a pile of papers.

As the papers were sorted out of the pile, Adrian commented on the contents, just loud enough for those standing near the desk to hear.

There was a thick file marked Pinkertons. Another marked British Bauxite. A thinner file marked Bastable Textiles, with a single word written across the front, seemingly in red crayon: "Bankrupt."

"We found additional papers from the Pinkerton agency in the Tartan Room when we were looking for the cross earlier," said Adrian. "That one was simply a receipt marked 'Paid in Full.' Mr. Warren, is there any indication in the file as to why they were hired?"

There was also another salacious novel, written by E. N. Brownlow. Unlike the ones in the bedroom, this seemed to have been read.

"Who knew that the deceased had such prurient taste?" remarked Adrian

There were a series of folded notes (created from words cut out of newspapers and stuck down) pushed in a brown envelope. Oswald Skeffington-Nottle pulled one out, and then frowned, looking across at Colin.

"It seems Mr MacKenzie-Brown was being blackmailed. And ... from the details of where he was to leave the money - by someone on this island."

"Mr Skeffington-Nottle, may I examine that envelope?" asked Adrian .

Oswald handed it over. It was a perfectly plain envelope, with no postage marks. It seemed to be a new envelope that had been utilised for storing these notes.

There were half a dozen notes inside. They were all composed from letters cut out from magazines - possibly Picture Post, possibly Punch, possibly the Illustrated London News. Several houses on the island took one of more of these magazines.

The notes mentioned George Yohe (as had been read out). After that, at weekly intervals, they were calm, factual demands for money, to be left at various locations on the island.

There was no sign of the Will.

"Sir Colin," said Adrian , "I think we should go check the safe now - and sooner, rather than later. Say, as soon as the Verrisay Cross has been returned to the joint custody of Dr. Marsden and yourself?"

"Agreed," said Colin.

"He was being blackmailed also?" Dr. Marsden asked curiously, yet without a tremendous amount of surprise in her expression. She leaned back against the arm of a chair along the wall. "I wonder if it's the same blackmailer who was blackmailing Selina... What was he being blackmailed for?" she asked the Rector.

"It doesn't say," said Oswald Skeffington-Nottle. "Wait ... here's another one."

He read it aloud. "'I know all about George Yohe.' That's all it says."

Adrian looked inquisitively, first at Mr. Warren and then at Sir Colin. He said nothing yet, watching their reactions to both the Oswald's reading and to his look.

Garreth seemed surprised at the name and looks to Adrian . He asked, "Didn't you say that Doug went to school with someone by that name?"

"I said I believe that he went to school with a George Yohe, after you asked me whether I had heard of him. What I remember is hearing that Master Yohe was killed in a grouse hunting accident the summer before Uncle Patrick, Aunt Cassandra, and Douglas left for America ."

Garreth nodded, agreeing with Adrian 's recollection.

Selina shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing to do with me," she said. "I figured. If it had, he wouldn't have wasted a second making me as miserable as he could about it. I don't know any George Yohe. Douglas never mentioned him."

"Am I right in thinking that your blackmailer was an American, Mrs La Pierre?" asked Oswald Skeffington-Nottle. "This one seems to possess considerable knowledge of local topography. The cairn where he wishes the money to be left in this note ... is actually very little known to non-islanders - unless they happen to have a keen interest in Celtic archaeology."

Mary shook her head no, but didn't voice it. Her hand reached out for the book, and she took it up, flipping through the pages.

"Perhaps something about it's hidden somewhere," she suggested as she frowned at the passing text.


Garreth turned to the Laird and suggested, "Perhaps the safe would answer more questions, as the desk only seems to have created more."

 

"What do you know about the efficacy of soap as a stain remover, Mrs. St. Pierre?" The voice well over her shoulder was Lord Eversham's; though his timbre framed the question as gently, as an invitation, his gaze was all cold scrutiny.

Will said, "She's a cold cream gal, actually. And really, I don't know why you keep focusing on Selina. She couldn't have murdered the butler, she was out cold all night, everyone knows that. Or do you think we have two separate murderers working here? One for upstairs and one for downstairs?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself, St. Pierre ," Eversham replied. "I never accused anyone of anything. I indicated that you and Mr. Arthur were hiding something that should come out into the open -- not knowing it bore any connexion to your wife.

"Just now, I believe there is an inconsistency between your wife's story about Christmas Eve and the facts. I'm inviting an explanation; I don't have the evidence to support an accusation."

He offered a very slight, wintry smile Will's way. "You're awfully quick to the defensive, St. Pierre ."

Selina drew herself upright in her chair and met Lord Eversham's gaze squarely, chasing the dim lethargy out of her countenance. "Soap doesn't work, Lord Eversham," she said. "It took bleaching cream to get the berry-stains from the wreaths off my hands this morning. I soaked my gloves, but just in cold water. The stains will still be there, and the lace is all picked out of shape from the branches. Would you like me to let you in to collect them?"

She stood up. Even in the practical flat-heeled ballet slippers she wore, she had height, did Selina St. Pierre -- and even in degradation, she had presence and dignity, far more than she had had as Douglas MacKenzie-Brown's chattering, half-witted trophy wife. "You can probably put me away for killing Douglas, my lord. I had access to the poison. God knows I had reason to kill him. God also knows I didn't do it. I'm guilty of enough. Jail me for that; I'm ready. But it won't help you when the next person dies."

"Why did you cover up this morning," Lord Eversham asked, careful not to lose his mark, "when you said you didn't have stains merely because you'd handled the wreaths carefully?"

"Leave her alone, damn you!" Will shouted. "She didn't kill him, she couldn't kill anyone, she's a good person! She went along with my... improvisation, but she didn't see the harm in it. But God, can't you see, she's a good, kind woman. She wouldn't kill anyone. She wouldn't harm a whisker on that little boy's rat!"

Selina put her hand on Will's shoulder. "Willie. Don't. It doesn't help." Perfectly in control of herself, she answered Lord Eversham. "I was careful, and it did help, but I didn't even know I had to be careful until the first few wreaths left stains. Do you want my gloves, my lord, or not?"


"What makes you think someone else is going to die, Selina?" Garreth asked with uncommon familiarity. "At the moment the murderer has nothing to gain by exposing his or herself again."

Selina's composure abruptly crumbled. "I don't know. I've just been out of my mind afraid that whoever killed Douglas would want me dead too."

She put shaking hands over her face. "It's almost funny, how the things we're scared of don't happen -- just the things we should have been scared of."

Willie sat down again and put his arm around her. Their secret was out, there was nothing to be lost now by comforting her...

Josette shook her head, indicating she had never heard of George Yohe, then joined Mary in her perusal of the book.

"Ohhh...I just love these books," she gushed eagarly, "They are sooo...passionate. I gave them to Douglas as a Christmas gift! My favorite is the one that takes place in the on an island just like Verriasy! There is even a Laird named Colin. Although, Mr.MacKenzie, I'm sure you'd never get up to those sort of things," Josette added with a naughty laugh in his direction "Whoever writes them must lead a very exciting life, don't you think? Have you ever read them?" she asked Mary."

Miss Tawney's gaze sharpened with curiosity behind her spectacles. "Could I see that?" she asked. "When you're through with it, that is."

Mary hesitated, her eyes caught on some turn of phrase. She snapped the book shut, then handed it over.

"It seemed a strange thing for a man to read."

Will was about to say something to Selina when something struck him. "Miss Belseur, did you just say you gave the books to Douglas for Christmas? The same man you just said you never met before yesterday?"

"I was his guest!" Josette explained indignantly, "I had to bring him something for Christmas!" Josette favored the room with a mischievious smile, "I thought he might find them amusing."

Miss Tawney shrugged as she took the book and began to flip through it. "There's no accounting for taste..."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be thumbing through that... since it is potential evidence," Dr. Marsden said mildly.

Mabel rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You can't get much evidence from a book, Dr. Marsden, without looking inside it."

"Did he leave a bookmark in it? Or dog-ear any of the pages?" Patience asked from the safe haven of David's side.

"No bookmarks," Mabel said. "One of the pages is turned down, though." She opened the book to the indicated page and scanned it. Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. "I don't think that's evidence of anything but a dirty mind!" she said, and snapped the book shut.

Josette grinned, "You should read page 208. It'll make your toes curl," she informed Mabel.

Mary coughed, backing away from the book to take her husband's arm again. She realized he had wandered off, though, to stand with the other safe-openers. She crossed her arms across her middle, swallowed once, and tried not to pay the reading women too much mind.

"Well, I would think," Mabel said more loudly, the color still in her cheeks, "that anyone who lives in such an interesting place as Verrisay could find something more edifying to write about. Even if this sort of thing is," she sniffed, "lucrative."

Mary coughed, her fist rising to her mouth. She shifted the weight on her left foot to her right, and her eyes seemed to be suddenly fascinated with an elk's head nailed to the wall.

"Being in show business I know many writers. And you know what they say...write what you know,"Josette offered authoritatively.

Patience moved next to Mary and asked softly, "Could we speak privately a moment, in the hall?"

Mary, who had been studying the crossbeams over the ceiling with utter fascination, jumped. "Well... Of course," she said, and moved to follow Patience to the hall, trying to look as though talks in the hallway were the most normal thing to do in the world.

Once they were in the hallway, Patience spoke softly, her voice calm. "I am so sorry to ask such a personal question... but it is probably best to be blunt now and honest, as hiding can only seem suspicious..." She paused a moment, her voice dropping another notch. "You are E.N. Brownlow... correct? My question is... did you have occasion to know what the Laird kept beneath his kilt? Your reaction to the book is telling, and were anyone to wonder why he flagged that passage... true or not, someone else might become suspicious."

Mary stiffened, her lips pressing in a thin line. Something about the gentleness of the woman's tone, though, made it impossible for her to stay that way for very long.

"I-- am. But there's a very good reason for it!" Her eyes were wide, and there was something of desperation in them, a need for understanding, from a fellow lady of the church. "I... never did those things in the books. I've been a faithful wife..."

Her eyes fell to her hands, knotted before her. "They're about the previous laird. I started off wanting to write historic romances... The nice kind, with good, honest people getting married at the end and truly deserving white. But... those kind don't sell. And we need the money..."

Her voice was very small. "You won't tell my husband, will you?"

Patience shakes her head, a soft smile lighting her lips. "There are always some things that husbands do not need to know... I won't say a word. But... you say they are about the previous laird? How did you know..." she flushes slightly, "the details for the story?"

Mary flushed completely red, and only through the will of a small prayer did she keep from covering her face.

"It wasn't... personally. But we kept a maid, a poor local girl who had once been the old laird's maid. She came with his highest recommendations... And I found out why.

"Sometimes..." Now, Mary did hide her face. She shook a moment, but then lowered her hands to her side again. "Sometimes, it is easier to confide in a lady of the church, rather than a man..."

"I know exactly what you mean... it happened often while David and I worked,that women might come to me instead of him," Patience confided. "And I am so sorry to have pried... but your face is an open book. And it may come up again. Perhaps, by speaking here, you will be able to speak of it again if you need to. Although I hope you will not need to."

"Oh, thank you--" Mary clasped the woman's hand, her hands thin and, yes, covered in a writer's calluses. "I hope I do not-- It would tear into my husband so badly. He's such a good man--" She peered into the other room, frowning. "Perhaps we should join them... "

Patience nodded.

"And... you know..." She gave Patience an earnest look. "Should I ever be able to return the favour... you have but to ask."

Patience's smile was sweet. "I thank you for that, it is appreciated. And so good to know that we have made new friends this trip, despite the dire happenings."

She too glances back to the room. "Yes, we should rejoin them... I find myself loathe to be separated from David too long here."

And with that, Patience and Mary returned to the room.

"Has anyone here... aside from the potential blackmailer, that is, ever heard or known George Yohe?" Dr. Marsden asked the room.

"Yes," said Colin. "We ... " He glanced at Quinn and Warren. "We have reason to believe that George Yohe was the man you all knew as Douglas MacKenize-Brown."

Dr. Marsden's jaw literally dropped at that statement. She started to say something, then stopped and turned to watch everyone else's reaction.

Mabel Tawney looked up from her perusal of the book. "Are you telling us the Laird is a changeling? Or was, perhaps I should say."

Quinn stepped forward. "Allow me to elaborate. My cousin Douglas had a birthmark on his right arm, about two fingers-width above the top of where is right shirt cuff would be, shaped rather like a filled-in figure 8. When Sir Colin and I retrieved the keys to the desk and safe from the Print Room this morning, one arm fell to the floor as we were leaving. As I replaced the arm across the body, the sleeve crept to where I should have been able to see the birthmark, if it were truly present. Sir Colin and I rolled up both sleeves to the elbow in order to be certain that it was missing. We found no birthmark.

"Combined with the notes found locked in the desk, it might appear that young Master Yohe in fact killed Douglas, switched clothes, and then assumed his place. Having never met him, I am unable to say how closely they might have resembled each other in appearance. Nor am I able to comment on a possible motive for the event."

Will St. Pierre threw back his head and began to laugh. It was a rich, full-bodied laugh, the first he'd found in himself since all this had started...

Eversham had always secretly suspected something of the kind -- one knew one's own. Yet the imposture was so perfect, and, in regard to dealings with BNB irrelevant, that he'd never bothered to look into it. If only he had -- he might have had a better handle on this situation, now.

He considered his memory of the dead man -- the arrogant who had been so short with his guests, so abrasive, so callous -- and the crumpled lump of excruciated flesh at the bottom of the drawing-room stairs. And all he felt inside was contempt.

~Fool~ he thought. ~You tried to take too much. That was your mistake, and now you have your full reward~

Patience's brow furrowed in thought. "Why would you think that? And who was he when he was still George Yohe?" Her eyebrows popped up suddenly, and she added in a bit of surprise, "And does that mean that Douglas MacKenzie-Brown was murdered long before last night?"

Josette stood speechless at this revelation, but she did manage a wide eyed glance in Selina's direction.

Continuing in a rather more authoritative mode than he had been most of the evening, Quinn continued, "If and when the Rector and Mrs Skeffington-Nottle retrieve the Cross, I believe that then Mr. Warren, Sir Colin, and I should go search the safe in the Tartan Room for the presence or absence of a will. There's always the possibility that it's in a safe-deposit box with a bank on the mainland, but at the moment I think I'd rather prefer that a will not be found at all. It would save a great deal of headache with the courts."

"Of course," Garreth agreed, even as he looked to Laird Colin for approval.

"Perhaps the people going to check the safe should be individuals that have little vested interest if the will is there, one way or another," Dr. Marsden said as she pushed herself off the chair and stepped forward. "Rather than three people who might be more than happy to find nothing in there at all..."

Sandra gave Colin an somewhat apologetic glance. "After all... you can't deny you have a vested interest in what happens. And Mr. Warren is your friend... Perhaps I, the Rector, and... Mr. Arthur should check the safe?"

Zap blinked. "Me? Well, yes, anything I can do to help..."

"A good point Sandra, but you've an interest too, in how certain sites are to be dealt with on this isle," Garreth said, his voice apologetic. "In fact, the only ones that I could think that don't have an interest at the moment are the Skeffington-Nottles. Anyone else, well... there's enough secrets that anyone could be harboring some bias."

"Hmmmm... very true," Sandra agreed, somewhat wryly.

"Perhaps a group of divergent interests, or a representative of each of the interests?" he suggested.

"As the current local authority on the island, Colin should represent himself, no matter how curious I am to examine the contents."

"I'm more than happy for Davis MacKenzie to represent me," said Colin.

"Sir." Davis said flatly, accepting the order, unless someone objected.

Quinn's tone was firm. "I have no objection to your being present, Dr. Marsden. However, as the -real- [emphasis unmistakable] Douglas Mackenzie-Brown's kin, and as one who has no possibility of inheriting Verrisay and the titles appurtaining thereto, I insist on being present.

"As the Rector and Mrs. Skeffington-Nottle have yet to return from the Blue Room, I'd prefer that we delay the trip to the safe long enough for the Cross to be returned here. That done, I am at your disposal."

"And I feel Oswald would be an excellent impartial observer," Sandra stated, returning to her seat. "He does have crime scene experience," she said with a touch of black humor as she looked over at the dectective.

Oswald gave a little bow. "I'd be happy too."

At this point, the Rector and Lucinda Skeffington-Nottle returned. Lucinda was carefully carrying an object wrapped in a handkerchief. When she reached colour, she lifted a corner of the handkerchief to reveal the Cross.

"What should I do with it, Sir Colin?" she asked.

"Give it to Dr Marsden," said Colin. "That is ... if no-one objects?"

He glanced round inquiringly.

Adrian Quinn shook his head. After all, he had already suggested Dr Marsden as custodian for the Cross.

"I'm of half a mind to request you put it directly into the safe," Dr. Marsden said as she came over to inspect the cross as Lucinda held it. "That might be a safer course..."

It was undoubtedly the genuine Verrisay Cross that had been displayed to them the night before.

"I agree," said Colin. "Certainly until this mess is cleared up."

"Well ..." Dr Campbell hesitated. "Professor Marsden could be the blackmailer. She knows the island archaelogical sites as well as a local. And she might be in need of funds ... a friend of mine at the British Museum wrote me recently. Someone died on a dig in Mesopotamia . It was ruled an accident - but the Professor leading the dig was suspended. Were you suspended, Professor Marsden?

"In any case, the Cross belongs to Sir Colin." He finished firmly.

"The cross," Dr. Marsden started to say hotly, then she swallowed. "The cross belongs to the British Government," she finished with some more control, not looking at Dr. Campbell. "Not to Sir Colin, Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown, or any individual on this island."

Then Sandra straightened and turned to face Dr. Campbell. There a bright spot of colour in her cheeks as she looked at him. "And if you must know... yes... I was suspended," she said tightly. "Not because there was a death... but because the Museum wasn't willing to support a woman archaeologist. Not with the trustees not wanting someone on their staff who had ... embarrassed them," she said tightly.

She turned and resumed her seat. "As for blackmail... since I'd not even heard of the MacKenzie-Browns before I came here, nor met them nor even cared about them before Christmas eve, I rather doubt I was the blackmailer," she said coolly. "And since I do not get any publications and I've not visited any of the other inhabitants on the island outside the institute, I suspect it would be rather difficult for me to get the newscripts required to create the blackmail notes, yes? Not to mention deliver them in an inconspicuous manner." Dr. Marsden pulled out her cigarette case and extracted another cigarette, her hands barely trembling as she tried to light it.

"I am sorry, professor. I thought it best to get things out in the open. Your explanation satisfies most of my doubts ... though clearly any of us could have gotten access to the periodicals. Punch is hardly native to Verrisay." Dr. Campbell apologized, but still felt constrained to point out the facts. The facts, he was certain, would eventually lead them to the murderer. No one was in the clear yet.

"In the circumstances," said Oswald Skeffington-Nottle, "perhaps it might be best if we followed your suggestion, Doctor, and placed the Cross in the safe."

David finally spoke up, giving Patience's hand a squeeze.

"I might not have a stake in it, since Patience and I aren't from the Island or even Scotland." he began. "But I think I would feel better if the Cross was in a safe place, rather than in anyone's possession. There have been two murders and the murderer still loose. I'd hate to give the villain another tempting target by bestowing it on any one person."

"Put it in the safe." David urged.

"Yes... that should make everyone more comfortable here," Sandra replied with a touch of wryness as she finally got her cigarette lit. She took a drag and stood up. "To the safe, then?" she asked.

"Actually... what's in the Pinkerton Report?" Dr. Marsden asked. "Maybe some of the questions raised are in there. We should look at all the evidence here before we move on," she said firmly.

Oswald opened the file, and then looked up at Will and Selina.

"It appears that Mr MacKenzie-Brown - or whatever he was called - was investigating Mr and Mrs St Pierre 's background. He had a private detective endeavouring to find out all he could about them ... and the detective uncovered the fact that they were married, not siblings.

"He must have known this ... several days before Christmas," Oswald added.

Willie, arm still firmly around Selina, said nothing. If accusations were made, he would address them. At this moment, he had nothing to say.

As the party to explore the safe left, Colin spoke.

"I suggest we put all this back in the desk, and seal it again," he said, with a glance at Warren . "Then we might as well go back to the Great Hall."

The Rector, however, approached Dr Cameron, Brian Shea by his side.

"I wonder if we might have a quiet word," he said.

"Of course." Dr Campbell led the pair towards the library.

"Yes, indeed," said the Rector. He then began to speak very quietly.

In a voice that should not be overheard by any one else in the room, the Rector said, "Tell the Doctor what you saw in the Armoury, Brian."

Hesitantly, Brian explained.

It had happened earlier the previous evening when he was looking for his rat, just after everyone had gone into the library from the Great Hall. He was looking for Mr Barfard in the armoury. He heard the click of a woman's high heels on the stone floor. He hid beneath a table, because he wasn't meant to be there. He couldn't see the woman, but he heard a strange grinding noise, like stone rubbing on stone. It lasted for about a minute - and then he heard a scratching scraping nose. Then he heard the footsteps going away.

At first he hadn't told anyone, because he thought that the Laird had killed Mr Barfard and he was glad something bad had happened to him. But then he learned that Zap Arthur and Ewan MacKenzie between them had spared Mr Barfard, and the the butler had died - and now he was very sorry that he hadn't said last night.

"I think," said the Rector to Dr Campbell, "we should take a look in the armoury."

Their search of the armoury at first yielded nothing. It was only when they looked more closely that they found a small pestle and mortar, hidden under a helm. It was stained a deep prurple, and there were the remains of ground seeds in the base.

"This was it," said the Rector solemnly. "And the woman Brian heard was the murderer."

Brian's eyes were round.

"Brian," said his uncle, "do you think that you would recognise that woman's steps again if you were to hear them?"

"I don't know," said Brian. "There were heels that went clicketty-click. Not Aunt Mary's."

"At all events," said the Rector to the Doctor, "I think it's worth a try. We'll get Brian to sit under the table again - and have each of the women parade past in turn. If any object ... it might be telling."

"Let's join the others in the Great Hall."

And so they did.
 

End of Chapter 16

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