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in from the hotel that the Sunday Gloria disappeared, the colonel and his lady were over in Caithness at Lord Clardey’s shooting party. They left on the Friday and did not get back to the hotel until the Monday, so what’s the silly man worried about?”
    “When there’s a murder, ma’am,” said Charlie sententiously, “everyone feels guilty.”
    “You are a very wise young man,” Fiona said, while Hamish felt like howling, What in the name o’ the wee man is so damn clever about that?
    Fiona looked around. “You are two very big men and this is a small station. How do you both fit in?”
    “We manage, ma’am,” said Charlie quickly.
    “I see the statement from Colonel Halburton-Smythe was made to you, Charlie.”
    Oh, first names, is it? thought Hamish.
    “I’ll go up to the hotel and put his fears at rest,” continued Fiona. “You come with me, Charlie. Macbeth, tomorrow, get back up to those cliffs. You have a reputation for finding out what everyone else misses.”
    “How did you get on with Mr. Harrison?” asked Charlie.
    “He’d got himself a new slab-faced nurse who protects him like a rottweiler. When we approached him, his eyes were closed and the nurse, a Helen Mackenzie, said he had just had one of his turns and to please leave. I was about to insist that we wait until he felt better when she said if Mr. Harrison died because of our harassing him, his son would sue our socks off. He’d already been on to Daviot, so I got a phone call from the super to order me out of there.”
    “The lawyer didn’t block the search team, surely,” said Charlie.
    “No, that went ahead. Couldn’t find a thing.”
    When they had left, Lugs stared up at his master with his odd blue eyes.
    “I hope she disnae find out Charlie’s living at the hotel,” said Hamish. “Oh, to hell with it. Come on. I’m going to the Italian restaurant. I could do wi’ comfort food.”
      
    Charlie had failed to tell the colonel that his bosses did not know he was living at the hotel. The colonel greeted Charlie warmly and Fiona nervously. “Is there somewhere we can sit?” asked Fiona as they stood in the entrance hall.
    And to Charlie’s horror, he heard the colonel say, “We can use Charlie’s place. I lit the fire.”
    Fiona said nothing until they were in the little apartment and Charlie had arranged chairs for the three of them in front of the fire.
    “Peat fires are supposed to send out a pleasant scent,” said Fiona, “but I always think they smell like old socks. Right, Colonel. According to Charlie here, you are worried about your dinner with the dead woman. But you have a cast-iron alibi.”
    “Gloria kissed me in front of the staff,” mumbled the colonel, staring at the worn hearthrug.
    “The dead woman had a reputation of being a shameless flirt at best and a nymphomaniac and gold digger at the worst. I am not here to interrogate you. I am here to ask you to go upstairs and gather the staff, such as are not on duty, in the reception. I want to ask them questions.”
    “Certainly.” The colonel beamed at Charlie. “Follow me up. I think your best bet is the maids. They have rooms at the top. I would start with them first. The waiters will be serving dinner.”
      
    The most forthcoming maid was, to Fiona’s relief, Scottish, and prepared to talk freely, unlike the other three who hailed from Eastern Europe. Her name was Elsie Dunbar, a small girl with a mop of black hair and a spotty face.
    “I can tell you about one man,” she said. “It was Mr. Fitzwilliam. He’s left now. I went to clean the room because he was due to leave and it was past the checkout time. I heard an angry voice and a woman shouting.”
    “And you listened at the door?” prompted Charlie.
    She blushed. “Oh, well, I was that curious. I heard a woman shouting, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing for nothing.’ Then I heard the man say nastily, ‘Get out, you slut.’ She came out crying and nearly knocked me