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turning up nothing more helpful than a copy of the Duke’s last driving license, James gave up and packed it in. He shoved back from the table in weary disappointment and glanced up at the clock above the stove. Damn! It was past two o’clock — much too late to call Jenny now. She’d have been asleep hours ago.
    He stood, retrieved his one genuine find — the shooting party photo — and slipped it carefully back in its place inside the accounts book, put the book inside the box and closed the lid, then stumbled from the kitchen, pausing in the doorway long enough to snap off the light. He shuffled to his room at the back of the house, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed into bed.
    The radio alarm roused James at six o’clock to a bleak, sleety morning black as midnight. Four hours of fretful thrashing on his pillow had done nothing to improve his increasingly edgy mood. He was tired and out of sorts; he could feel the nervous energy zinging through him, making him fidgety and anxious. The bizarre meeting on the hilltop had disturbed him more than he imagined. That, combined with the discovery of the photo, made for a restless night as his mind kept turning the thing over and over, revolving like a pinwheel and with as much purposeful resolution.
    He lay in bed and listened to ice pellets spattering on the window, and then stirred himself. Entering the kitchen, he saw the untidy heap of documents on the table and, to one side, the box holding the accounts book with the photo and business card atop it. On a whim, he picked up the card and stepped to the phone hanging beside the refrigerator and dialed the number below the name.
    The phone rang once, twice… before it occurred to him that it was only six in the morning, and Embries would not have had time to get back to London. He decided to hang up and try again that evening, but as he made to replace the receiver, a voice said, “Hello?”
    Snatching the receiver back to his ear, James replied, “Hello — who is this?”
    “James?” The voice on the other end sounded calm and in control.
    “Is that Embries?”
    The speaker did not respond to the question. Instead, he said, “I am glad you kept my card. Listen carefully; there is not much time. I want you to come to London. Will you do that?”
    “Why?”
    “Let us say that all your questions can be answered here more easily than anywhere else.”
    “Not good enough,” James declared. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know what you’re up to. Until I start getting some answers, I’m not going anywhere.”
    Embries remained unfazed by this blunt refusal. “There is more to this affair than you know; however, I am not prepared to go into it over the phone.” He paused. “There is a direct train to King’s Cross from Pitlochry at 10:21 this morning. Can you make it?”
    “I suppose so,” James replied hesitantly. “But I’d have to hear a better reason than what you’ve told me so far.”
    “Come to London, James,” countered Embries quietly. “Two days. That’s all I ask. The rest will be up to you. I give you my word.”
    For some reason, and against his better judgment, James believed him. Worn down, his natural resistance low from fighting the case on his own, perhaps the offer of help, from whatever quarter, seemed too good to reject out of hand. After all, he thought, what else did he have going for him? In that moment, James decided to take Embries at his word. “All right,” he agreed.
    “Good. Now then, it would be best if you did not travel alone. You need a companion, someone you can trust. Do you have a friend who could come with you?”
    “I don’t know. It’s pretty short notice. I’ll try.”
    “Yes, do try.” Embries paused. “It is important, James. Someone you can trust,” he repeated earnestly.
    “I understand.”
    “Tickets will be waiting for you at the station. When you disembark, go to the head of the platform and wait. I will have someone meet you there.