suggestion to police headquarters that central heating was installed. Instead of going straight home, he turned into the drive leading to Tommel Castle Hotel. Landowner Colonel Halburton-Smythe had turned his home into an hotel after he had lost a great deal of money. The suggestion had come from Hamish. The hotel had quickly become a great success, but the colonel never gave Hamish Macbeth any credit for the idea, perhaps because he frowned on the village bobby’s friendship with his daughter Priscilla.
The guests had finished dining and were having their coffee in the hotel lounge, formerly the castle drawing room. Jenkins, once butler, now maître de , frowned at the sight of Hamish, for Jenkins was a snob, but reluctantly said that Priscilla could be found in the bar. The bar was in a room off the entrance hall. What had it been before? wondered Hamish, trying to remember. Priscilla was behind the bar checking some accounts.
‘Still working?’ said Hamish. ‘I thought now that Mr Johnson had taken over as hotel manager you would be able to lead a life of ease.’
‘There’s still a lot to do,’ said Priscilla, shutting a ledger with a firm bang. ‘Besides, the barman’s off with flu – not that the bar gives me much work. This party of guests like their drinks in the lounge and the waiters cope with that. Mr Johnson and I have finally talked Daddy into getting a computer for the accounts. Have a whisky on the house, and tell me your news.’
Hamish watched her as she poured him a shot of whisky. She was as cool, blonde and competent as ever in a severe black dress and black high heels.
‘I refuse to stand behind the bar any longer,’ said Priscilla with a sigh. ‘It’s been a long day. Let’s take our drinks over to the table at the window. If anyone comes in, I’ll get Jenkins to find one of the waiters to take over.’
‘The morning room,’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘I couldnae remember what room this used to be.’
‘Changed times,’ said Priscilla. ‘We’re making money hand over fist and we’re booked up all year round, but if I suggest to Daddy that he might now go back to being lord of the manor, he turns green at the gills with fright. Losing that money scared the hell out of him. What brings you here?’
‘I wanted to see you,’ said Hamish, remembering briefly the time when he had been so much in love with her that he would have been unable to say anything as honest as that. ‘Besides, I’ve got a murder. Arrat House. I’ve been there all day. It was the thought o’ going back to that freezing police station, apart from wanting to see you, that brought me here.’
‘Where’s Towser?’ asked Priscilla. Towser was Hamish’s dog.
‘At the station, but Priscilla, that animal doesn’t feel the cold.’
‘Hamish, you are so lazy! A fire takes no time to get going. Drink up and we’ll both go to the station and warm that poor dog and feed it.’
‘Towser can look after himself,’ pleaded Hamish, but Priscilla replied that she was going to fetch her coat.
Proof that the mongrel could indeed take care of itself was discovered when they found Towser snuggled down under the blankets on Hamish’s bed. Hamish wanted to tell her about the case but had to wait until she had lit the kitchen stove and prepared food for Towser.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘that’s better,’ and Hamish wondered again how it was that someone so elegant and with such a pampered upbringing should have turned out to be such an efficient housekeeper.
He told her all about the murder and she listened intently. ‘You see,’ finished Hamish, ‘there’s one thing I’m sure of. Not one of them knew what was in that will. If just one of them looked or sounded as if they knew and if that someone turned out to be the beneficiary, then I think I would find the murderer.’
‘You mean, his millions are the reason for the murder?’
‘What else?’
‘Well, his jokes, Hamish. You’ve forgotten something. He
The guests had finished dining and were having their coffee in the hotel lounge, formerly the castle drawing room. Jenkins, once butler, now maître de , frowned at the sight of Hamish, for Jenkins was a snob, but reluctantly said that Priscilla could be found in the bar. The bar was in a room off the entrance hall. What had it been before? wondered Hamish, trying to remember. Priscilla was behind the bar checking some accounts.
‘Still working?’ said Hamish. ‘I thought now that Mr Johnson had taken over as hotel manager you would be able to lead a life of ease.’
‘There’s still a lot to do,’ said Priscilla, shutting a ledger with a firm bang. ‘Besides, the barman’s off with flu – not that the bar gives me much work. This party of guests like their drinks in the lounge and the waiters cope with that. Mr Johnson and I have finally talked Daddy into getting a computer for the accounts. Have a whisky on the house, and tell me your news.’
Hamish watched her as she poured him a shot of whisky. She was as cool, blonde and competent as ever in a severe black dress and black high heels.
‘I refuse to stand behind the bar any longer,’ said Priscilla with a sigh. ‘It’s been a long day. Let’s take our drinks over to the table at the window. If anyone comes in, I’ll get Jenkins to find one of the waiters to take over.’
‘The morning room,’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘I couldnae remember what room this used to be.’
‘Changed times,’ said Priscilla. ‘We’re making money hand over fist and we’re booked up all year round, but if I suggest to Daddy that he might now go back to being lord of the manor, he turns green at the gills with fright. Losing that money scared the hell out of him. What brings you here?’
‘I wanted to see you,’ said Hamish, remembering briefly the time when he had been so much in love with her that he would have been unable to say anything as honest as that. ‘Besides, I’ve got a murder. Arrat House. I’ve been there all day. It was the thought o’ going back to that freezing police station, apart from wanting to see you, that brought me here.’
‘Where’s Towser?’ asked Priscilla. Towser was Hamish’s dog.
‘At the station, but Priscilla, that animal doesn’t feel the cold.’
‘Hamish, you are so lazy! A fire takes no time to get going. Drink up and we’ll both go to the station and warm that poor dog and feed it.’
‘Towser can look after himself,’ pleaded Hamish, but Priscilla replied that she was going to fetch her coat.
Proof that the mongrel could indeed take care of itself was discovered when they found Towser snuggled down under the blankets on Hamish’s bed. Hamish wanted to tell her about the case but had to wait until she had lit the kitchen stove and prepared food for Towser.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘that’s better,’ and Hamish wondered again how it was that someone so elegant and with such a pampered upbringing should have turned out to be such an efficient housekeeper.
He told her all about the murder and she listened intently. ‘You see,’ finished Hamish, ‘there’s one thing I’m sure of. Not one of them knew what was in that will. If just one of them looked or sounded as if they knew and if that someone turned out to be the beneficiary, then I think I would find the murderer.’
‘You mean, his millions are the reason for the murder?’
‘What else?’
‘Well, his jokes, Hamish. You’ve forgotten something. He
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