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man. A few more loose ends to tie up and I expect to make the arrest within the next day or two.'
    'Oh, indeed.' Faro waited hopefully for Purdie to reveal the suspect's name. Instead he merely shook his head mysteriously, without offering any further information.
    'I gather you have very few crimes like this one round here,' Faro said to Whyte. 'It must have caused quite a sensation.'
    It was Whyte's turn to smile pityingly. 'They're a peaceful lot in these parts, Inspector, not like your city mob. Must be fifty years since the last murder.'
    'Were you the first to examine the body?' Faro asked.
    'Aye, sir. Jock, from Duncan's farm, found her in the ditch. Came straight for me. Never touched a thing.'
    'What were the nature of her injuries?'
    'She was stabbed to death, sir.'
    'Were there many wounds?'
    'No. Just the one.' Whyte touched his chest. 'Just here. Right to the heart. She must have died instantly.'
    'Indeed? Now that is very interesting. Tell me, have there been any other incidents in the neighbourhood?'
    'What kind of incidents had you in mind, sir?'
    'Incidents involving loss of life, let us say.'
    Faro realised he was going to have to spell this one out. Giving Whyte time to think, he watched Purdie who, clearly bored with the conversation, was trying to light a pipe. This was no easy task in that unsteady carriage, but one he managed with great expertise and without removing his leather gloves.
    'What about the river in spate?' he asked Whyte. 'Doesn't that claim a victim or two? There was a poem I remember when I stayed here as a lad—went something like "Blood-thirsty Dee each year needs three, But Bonny Don, she needs none."'
    And to Purdie, 'Perhaps you remember it too.'
    Purdie frowned, shook his head while Whyte's response was to regard Faro blankly.
    Deciding to prompt the sergeant's memory. Faro continued, 'My aunt told me that just a few days before the murder, Morag Brodie was nearly drowned, falling out of the cradle crossing to Crathie. The fellow with her who was drowned was also a servant at the Castle. A footman.'
    Whyte looked mutinous and said reproachfully, 'That's all past history, Inspector. Lessing's dead and buried, poor laddie. Nothing to do with the case,' he added huffily.
    'We've been all over this ground, Craig and myself. Very carefully, I assure you,' Purdie intervened gently. 'Believe me, we've explored every possible avenue.'
    'I do apologise,' said Faro abruptly.
    'Not at all, we're delighted to have your keen powers of observation on our side—'
    'Now that you ask for it, sir, here is another observation which I am sure has already occurred to you. Is it not strange that the lad who went to the trouble of rescuing her from drowning should have then risked his neck to murder her? I gather from your unspoken comments and other information that has come my way that your prime suspect is Lachlan Brown.'
    'That is correct,' said Purdie. 'The Brodie girl had jilted young Brown for the footman who was drowned.'
    'Jilting implies that there was talk of marriage.'
    Purdie shrugged. 'Country matters, Faro. Let us say rather that the two had been on intimate terms.'
    Faro was silent, remembering the evidence of a lovers' assignation in the upstairs room at the mill. With the footman Lessing dead, who else but Lachlan Brown could Morag have been waiting for?
    'I should have thought that the answer was rather obvious,' Purdie continued. 'Consider the workings of human nature, if you please. When Brown rescued her and at the same time let her lover drown,' he added emphasising the words, 'he had hopes. When she refused to go back to him, with heaven knows what reproaches, well then, that was that,' he concluded, with an expressive gesture across his throat.
    And Faro realised that the Inspector's speculation fitted perfectly his deductions at the mill.
    They were in sight of Bella's cottage. 'This is where I leave you,' he said.
    A handsome closed carriage stood in the roadway outside the