On a blustery wet Saturday morning, Professor Gold stood at the window in his office and watched Harry's red sports car pull up at the distant security checkpoint at the main gate.  While Harry hurried into the guardhouse to be searched, three Ministry of Defence policemen came out and thoroughly went over the car.  Gold's eyes were screwed up over his half-rim glasses in intense concentration, almost as if he were willing the policemen to find something incriminating either in the car or on Harry's person.  But ten minute later, Harry emerged from the guardhouse and gave the police a cheery wave as he drove away across the island to the tiny harbour.

Gold watched the red and white striped barrier pole close across the entrance and turned away, digging his well-manicured fingernails into his waxy palms with clammy frustration.  He sat at his desk and stared across at the Van Gogh picture, his face growing darker and darker like the lowering sky outside.  Suddenly he snatched up the telephone and stabbed at the keys with a stubby signet-ringed finger.

'Miss Bird?  Tell the Maintenance Department I want this damned picture taken away first thing Monday,' he bellowed.  'It's beginning to depress me.'


As he drove the long way round the sunlit Dead Loch towards Castle Mackie, Harry hoped against hope that Samantha would be there to help justify his visit.  After all, she had invited him, and she had seemed pretty keen to see him again.  He stopped the car about a mile away along the shore road and studied the castle through a pair of powerful naval binoculars.  He could just make out a lone Volvo Estate car parked in the courtyard; otherwise the castle looked deserted.  He watched for a while and then drove on up the winding track and through the gateless archway into the bailey yard, which was surrounded on three sides by the castle buildings and on the fourth side by the outer wall.  He parked near the arch to ensure a quick escape if necessary and then walked slowly towards the huge open door, hoping that his open-necked shirt, blazer, ducks and cravat would give him a relaxed and casual appearance.  The weather had brightened and the warm sunny sky gave him confidence as he stepped into the dark, vaulted entrance hall.

'Hello there.  I say, is there anyone at home?' he called cheerfully.  He listened and then repeated his enquiry, but there wasn't a sound except for the leisurely ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.  The eerie deer heads adorning the rough stone walls seemed to follow him with their glassy amber eyes as he tip-toed across the threadbare carpet to the huge wooden staircase.  He started to climb, but stopped immediately as the ancient timbers emitted a cacophony of complaining creaks under his plimsolled tread.  He listened again and then called out a third time, but still there was no response.  Cautiously he went on up.

When he reached the L-shaped landing which stretched round two sides of the hall like a gallery, Harry found that one side led into a corridor with a curved staircase at the far end.  He instantly recognised the door to Shire's study on the far side of the stone stairwell.  Tingling with excitement, he advanced along the passage past several closed doors, expecting each one to fly open and disgorge a bunch of Highland warriors armed to the teeth!  Reaching the stairwell, he listened intently at the study door and then knocked smartly on the heavy oak panelling.  The knocking echoed round and round inside the tower and Harry reckoned that it must be audible all over the castle.  But still there was no response.  With every nerve taut as a spring, he turned the handle and opened the door.