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the shirts.
    Priscilla had been right about Angela Brodie. She had the soul of an academic. Good intelligence there and absolutely no commonsense whatsoever. Incapable of judging character. Hamish fervently hoped for both the Brodies’ sakes that Angela would revert back to her old self. But would she? She had become accustomed to interests outside her books.
    Hamish rose and ambled into the office and searched through a file of phone numbers that he had jotted down from time to time in the hope that they would prove useful. At last he found what he wanted. He phoned the Open University in Milton Keynes and said he was phoning for a Mrs Brodie who was interested in taking a science degree and would they send her the necessary papers? When he put down the phone, he had a feeling of satisfaction. Studying for a degree at home would be just the thing for Angela Brodie and a science degree would give her something difficult and practical to work on. The Open University enabled men and women to work for University degrees at home.
    He returned to his deck chair.
    He lay back and closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the village, the chugging of a donkey engine on a boat out on the loch, snatches of song from a radio, the harsh scream of the wheeling seagulls, and the lazy drone of a car winding its way through the hills behind. It was a pity, he thought, that all the skylarks seemed to have gone. He could remember them in his youth, the very sound of summer, climbing to the heavens and sending down a cascade of glorious sound. No one could remain an atheist with larks around, he thought dreamily.
    ‘Wouldnae that make ye sick,’ said a harsh voice, and a shadow fell across him.
    Hamish opened his eyes and struggled up. Blocking out the sun was the square bulk of Detective Chief Inspector Blair. Standing behind him were his two sidekicks, Detectives Jimmy Anderson and Harry MacNab.
    Blair was in a bad temper. Daviot had said the prices at the Lochdubh Hotel were much too high and so Blair and his team must commute daily from Strathbane, a drive of an hour and a half over twisting Highland roads. The sight of Hamish lounging at his ease in the sun did nothing to help his temper.
    ‘We’ve jist had the lab report,’ said Blair. ‘Thon Thomas woman was poisoned wi’ arsenic.’
    ‘Arsenic!’ Hamish got to his feet. ‘What from? Rat poison?’
    ‘Straight arsenic as far as I know,’ said Blair.
    ‘What were the contents of the stomach?’
    ‘Curry, rice, bread and cake. They think it was probably in the curry.’
    Hamish hesitated. It was his duty to tell Blair about the odd behaviour of the doctor. He liked Dr Brodie and did not like to think of him being bullied by Blair. On the other hand, Dr Brodie was well able to take care of himself. Perhaps the best thing was to suggest that he, Hamish, should interview the doctor.
    ‘I’d better tell you about this,’ said Hamish. ‘When Dr Brodie first examined the body, he was going to sign a death certificate saying she had died of a heart attack. I stopped him doing that.’
    ‘Whit!’ Blair’s piggy eyes gleamed.
    ‘So maybe I had better go along to the surgery and see him,’ said Hamish.
    ‘Listen, laddie, you jist go aboot your rural duties,’ said Blair with a fat grin. ‘But I tell ye what – I’ll let ye in on the case. Go down to Inverness tomorrow and interview that dentist Paul Thomas went to see.’
    ‘One phone call to Inverness police could get that done now,’ said Hamish with surprise.
    ‘Do as you’re told,’ snapped Blair. He marched off, a squat figure, sweating in a heavy tweed suit, and followed by his two detectives.
    Hamish sighed. He may as well just look forward to a pleasant day in Inverness. Let Blair solve this one. He did not care very much who had murdered Trixie.
    But as he looked along the road, he could see the slumped figure of Paul Thomas, sitting on his garden wall. Calling to Towser, Hamish went along to talk to