Death by the Mistletoe (15 page)

“Don’t I know it!” rapped out Mr. Archibald MacLean, who, it appeared to James, was somewhat envious of the Chief Constable’s flow of cold, incisive argument.

“But, my dear fellow,” returned Major Dallas, “we still have almost a week in which to work. Even though we get no further information from Professor Campbell, surely we shall ourselves light on some valuable facts relevant to the case.”

“What puzzles me,” said James, “is how that High Priest — or whatever he is — manages, with his satellites, to eke out an existence in the cave. And how have they been able to live there — obviously for several months at least — without having raised suspicions in the parish? How do they get their food, clothes, petrol, everything? And how do visitors manage to enter the cave without being spotted? How did they manage to get that engine and dynamo down into the cave? Although they did assemble them inside, they certainly couldn’t have brought in all the parts through the Kiel, Bengullion or Mull entrances. They are too narrow. The easy chairs, too, that McKay and I saw in the side cave, couldn’t have been carried through the ‘lobby’ — for the same reason. The bed — were it taken to pieces — and the electric fire might have been.”

Major Dallas, to a casual observer intent only upon his driving, nodded.

“Which simply brings us back to the point from which we have wandered,” he said. “We must discover another entrance to the cave, one which, unlike the openings at Kiel, Bengullion and the Mull, is large enough to admit the passage of an engine and dynamo. And I think it is clear that such an entrance must connect with some private house, whose owner is himself one of the ‘well-meaning ones.’ There can be no other explanation of what we discovered this morning. It would be a simple matter for men to exist in the cave — for a short time at any rate — under such conditions. They could suddenly appear in the house as guests, and take their exercise in the grounds without inconvenience and without arousing suspicion. Food, clothes, and oil for the engine could be bought by the owner as if for the use of his own household … Yes, we must discover another entrance to the cave.”

“There’s a hell of a lot that we have to discover,” snapped Mr. Archibald MacLean.

He was anxious and worried, and his heavy, domineering face had become strained and lined since the previous night. James felt he could not blame him too much for the bitterness in his tone.

“Allan couldn’t have been murdered in the cave, I suppose,” he inquired as an afterthought, “and his body carried to Lagnaha?”

“I donʼt think so, MacLean,” replied Major Dallas.

“We have Professor Campbell’s assurance for that. He was killed, according to the Professor, at the secret shrine in Blaan. And the secret shrines of the ‘well-meaning ones’ are always located in the open — in a grove of trees, or behind the shoulder of a hill. There must also be there a rude altar of stone on which to strap the victims before the electrocution.

“Another thing: it must be a comparatively simple matter for members of the cult in this lonely part of the country to bring about the electrocution of their sacrifices. All they have to do is to charge up their batteries in the cave and then carry them to the shrine. Anyone with the most elementary knowledge of electricity could fix up the necessary wiring in five minutes.”

“The main lines of our investigations, then, are clear,” said the Fiscal glumly. “Discover the secret shrine and the other entrance to the cave — the private house of your fertile imagination, Dallas — and our task is over. A simple matter, indeed!”

The Chief Constable, who was inwardly in sympathy with the other’s feelings, took no heed of the sarcasm. He concentrated on his driving.

“Could you not set your men to explore the whole of Blaan before Wednesday?” suggested the Fiscal presently.

Major Dallas, still staring in front, shook his head.

“In the first place,” he said, “Blaan is an extensive parish, consisting for the most part of wild, rough country, and Iʼm afraid it would take more than a week to explore it thoroughly. In the second place, I don’t suppose we should recognise the shrine, even though we did accidentally light upon it. The ʻwell-meaning ones’ must be extraordinarily careful in removing all traces of their festivals, or they would have been detected long ago. In the third place — and I have the same objection to MacPherson’s plan for digging into the cave — such an action would at once arouse the suspicions of the cult, and our work would probably go for nothing.”

“Then what — ”

The Fiscal tried to interrupt, but Major Dallas, calm-eyed, flowed on. A muscle in his upper lip twitched his moustache.

“Our best method of procedure, as far as I see it, is for us to make diligent inquiries into the ancient folk-lore of the district. I’m almost certain that by such means we may find some hint — ”

“Wait a moment!” exclaimed James. He sat bolt upright beside Major Dallas, and his temporarily disfigured face had grown pale. “Don’t you remember — just before he was stopped — that the Professor mentioned a book, which, he said, explained about the secret shrine? What was the name of that book? … I can’t — ”

“Yes!” said the Fiscal. “You’re right, MacPherson! Let me think … Oh, damn it!”

James brought his hand down with a thump on the side of the car.

“I’ve got it!” he cried. “
The
Book
of
Dalriada.
”

“That’s it!” agreed Major Dallas. “But what or where is
The
Book
of
Dalriada
?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” admitted the Fiscal.

James shook his head.

“Nor have I,” he admitted.

“Miss Campbell — ”

Major Dallas was about to make a suggestion, but James butted in like a flash. His ringcraft was of an expert kind.

“She’ll know,” he agreed. “I’ll go down this afternoon if you like and inquire.”

The Chief Constable, manoeuvring the car through the increasing traffic outside Campbeltown, did not move a muscle.

“Very well,” he said.

Bur Mr. Archibald MacLean brought his podgy hand down on James’s shoulder, and actually chuckled.

“Aren’t you helpful, James?” he remarked, and the editor of the
Gazette
had the grace to remain silent.

*

After having had a bath and a change of clothing, James gave his landlady a bowdlerised account of his adventures and immediately sallied forth to his office. There he found Big Peter raving and blaspheming at his late arrival. The head printer’s huge form shook and trembled with righteous indignation, and James had to compose two lengthy articles — one on the threatened drought in Campbeltown and another on the need for extended air-services between Renfrew and the burgh — before his wrath was appeased. The editor, of course, wrote nothing as yet concerning his adventures of the previous night. He had a vague idea that he might incorporate a version of them into a mighty and startling feature, to be written early on the following Thursday morning and included in that day’s issue of the
Gazette
.

The daily newspapers arrived in Campbeltown shortly before mid-day, and James saw the results of his news-spreading scheme.

At first he was gratified by the publicity which the
Gazette
had received, for, without exception, the original source of their information was acknowledged by the journals, and his own name was printed in large type in the great majority of the newspapers. The articles in the
Daily
Mail
, the
Daily
Express
, the
News
-
Chronicle
, and the
Daily
Record
followed generally the lines of James’s own effusion, though
The Times
, the
Daily
Telegraph
,
The
Scotsman
and the
Glasgow
Herald
gave
more guarded versions. But in every case the particular feature was one to fill the whole country with dismay. And, indeed, until the inner secret of the amazing series of murders was divulged on the following Thursday, Britain was considerably disturbed. Though, of course, no mention was made of
Na
Daoine
Deadh
Ghinn
, the mere fact of the murders was sufficient to bring about such a result. Sensational articles criticising police methods were published, questions were asked in both Houses of Parliament, and reporters swarmed in all directions. And James himself was placed in constant danger. His life, it became obvious, would be the price which he must pay for the widespread fame of the
Gazette
.

It was when he at last realised all the possible effects of his action that James grew appalled. And suddenly he acknowledged the justice of the dressing-down which the Fiscal had given him. All at once he knew himself to be very young, very inexperienced and very lonely. He felt for the first time in his career as if he needed someone always at his side to advise him in serious matters; someone with whom he could discuss problems such as had confronted him two days before. And James had no difficulty in imagining the kind of person in whom he longed to confide; upon whose advice he felt he would gladly lean for the remainder of his days. She had blue eyes and dark brown hair, and she had called him James … His sensitive mouth grew tender, while the strained look vanished from his face.

Hitherto, it was clear, he had depended too much on his own resources. He had imagined himself a “big man,” as Peter had said, always over-confident and contemptuous of the advice of others. And this had been the result: the whole country would be panic-stricken, and the ‘well-meaning ones’ might now immediately change their plans and render completely ineffective the careful arrangements of the police. Though he tried to excuse himself to a certain extent on the ground that had he known in time of the amazing story of
Na
Daoine
Deadh
Ghinn
, he would never have written his dangerous article nor dispatched copies of the
Gazette
to the outside papers, he felt that he had committed a grave error of judgement. Others besides James thought this; but, as it happened, these others were wise enough to understand his position, and the outburst of the Fiscal was the only serious blame expressed against him, in his hearing, from first to last.

*

Throughout that morning the editor of the
Gazette
was bombarded with telephone and telegraph messages from the various newspapers to which he had sent copies of his journal; but he steadily refused to give away any further details concerning the local murder. As a consequence reporters from the Scottish daily press and from news agencies began to arrive that afternoon by ʼplanes on the usual service run from Renfrew. And for a period they made his life constant misery by calling upon him and demanding scraps of local colour and information at all hours of the day. This kind of thing continued, as a matter of fact, until the whole bizarre story had drawn to its climax. The various youthful journalists had sensed something mysterious in the guarded replies vouchsafed them both by the police and by the editor of the
Gazette
, and they hung on like limpets. James came to loathe the sight of their waisted jackets and pointed shoes. Even their genial and kindly attitude to life in general failed to strike a responsive chord in his heart.

All day he grew steadily more depressed. He hated himself and all his old foibles with an intensity which he could not before have believed possible. And the funeral of the Rev. Archibald Allan, which had taken place at two o’clock and which he attended in sober garb, had not tended to remove his heavy humour. The ceremony had been witnessed by a huge concourse of townsfolk, for the short and stocky minister had been generally respected and beloved in the town of his adoption. Further, the articles in the local
Gazette
and in that day’s newspapers had engendered an uneasy and morbid interest in the event. The cortege, following the traditional route through Main Street, by the ancient Iona-stone cross in the centre of the town and along Kirk Street to the cemetery at Kilkerran, stretched half a mile in length. And the lower slopes of Bengullion sheltered the bared heads of the mourners, and the wail of the seagulls on the nearby shore was a last requiem … James felt an unaccustomed lump in his throat.

But late that afternoon when, preparatory to setting out for Blaan, he started up his old Morris, which had been left by the police in Messrs. Hewitt’s garage, his mood changed for the better.

The old familiar roar of the engine and the quick rush of the car through the sunshine blew a number of cobwebs from his harassed brain. He had changed into a blue blazer and flannels, too, and he felt less cramped and restricted. And there was Eileen to meet and speak with at Dalbeg. Come to think of it, Eileen was to a great extent responsible for his better spirits. But he hoped fervently that the disturbing fellow Nicholson had gone home to his Manse.

He need not have been afraid. The Rev. Duncan Nicholson was not at Dalbeg when he arrived, and he was welcomed by Eileen with considerable warmth. But perhaps, after all, she was glad to see him, merely because the only company which she had were two constables … James could not be quite sure with regard to this point.