Midnight Never Comes

7

Colonel Duncan Craig, D.S.O., M.C. and bar, carried his seventy years well and when he pushed back his chair, stood up and walked to the fireplace, he moved with the physical assurance of a man many years his junior.

He filled his pipe from a tobacco jar and turned to face Chavasse, the lamplight shining in his white hair. 'Have another brandy, my boy. You look as if you could do with it.'

'It was rather a long walk,' Chavasse said.

'At least you've accomplished stage one of this operation as I see it, which was to get to know the girl. Under the circumstances, I should imagine we'll be good for a dinner invitation to Donner's place at the very least.'

'You sound as if you're looking forward to the prospect.'

'Eagerly, my boy. Eagerly. There I was, rotting away by inches in Edinburgh with only old George Gunn for company and then Graham Mallory appeared from out of the blue and asked me to go to work again. It's been like a new lease of life, I can tell you. You've read my report?'

'With interest. There seems to be little doubt in your mind that Donner's up to no good, and yet you haven't given a single concrete reason.'

The old man shrugged. 'I spent thirty-five years in Military Intelligence, Chavasse. After a while, you get an instinct for things, a sort of sixth sense that tells you when something isn't quite as it should be. You must know what I mean.'

Chavasse nodded. 'I think I could say it's saved my life on more than one occasion, but I'd still like to hear your reasons.'

At that moment, the door opened and George Gunn came in with the coffee. Colonel Craig accepted a cup and settled himself comfortably into the armchair by the fire.

'To start with, I can't find any real reason for Donner's being here. Oh, he's been out after the deer of course, but the season's very short as you probably know. He hasn't bothered with the grouse at all and he doesn't fish. There just isn't anything else to do in this sort of country and he looks to me to be the last sort of man to want to bury himself in the wilds.'

'How many times have you met him?'

'Half a dozen-no more. He's always been perfectly civil, but he's refused my invitations and hasn't offered any in return. Now that just doesn't make sense, not in a place like this. Another thing-I don't like the kind of people he's surrounded himself with.'

'Who do you mean exactly?'

'Take this fellow Murdoch for a start. I suppose you'll have read his file? He was a captain in a good regiment. Cashiered for embezzlement. I understand he was mixed up in some shady affair in London that ended in a man's death.'

Chavasse nodded. 'He was tried at the Old Bailey for manslaughter five years ago and acquitted. He went to work for Donner almost immediately afterwards.'

'And then his house servants are a rum bunch. When I first moved in, I called to pay my respects. The man who answered the door was as ugly a looking customer as I've ever seen, I'd say he would have been more at home as chucker-out in a waterfront saloon.'

'Was he English?' Chavasse said.

'That's the strange thing. I couldn't tell. You see he never opened his mouth, simply waved me in and disappeared. I waited in the hall and finally Murdoch arrived and told me Donner wasn't in residence which was a lie because I'd seen that plane of his fly in the same morning.'

'So all your meetings with Donner have been purely by chance?'

'No, he called once to ask me not to fish in Loch Dubh.'

'Now this really does interest me,' Chavasse said and he took the ordnance survey map of Moidart from his pocket and spread it out on the table. 'You said in your report that you thought something odd was taking place on an island in the middle of the loch.'

'That's right,' Craig said. 'I was fishing at the lochside one day when some damned rascals Donner has taken on as keepers turned up and escorted me off the estate. They didn't give me much option in the matter either.'

'Who are these people?'

'Old Hector Munro and his sons. They're tinkers-the last remnants of a broken clan. They've wandered the high roads since Culloden, but there's nothing romantic about them, believe me. There's old Hector, Fergus …'

'Will he be the one I had the run-in with earlier this evening?'

'That's right. He's got one brother-Rory. A big, dark-haired lad and as wild as they come.'

'And you say they ran you off the estate?'

Duncan Craig nodded. 'Fergus knocked George down when he tried to stop them. I wrote a stiff letter of complaint to Donner, mainly because I think it would have looked suspicious if I hadn't. I told him I was considering laying a complaint before the County Constabulary.'

'What happened?'

'He was on my doorstep next morning, smooth as paint, that secretary of his with him to turn on the charm. Now she's a nice lass if you like, though she seems to think the sun shines out of him. Pretty obvious what he keeps her around for.'

'And what did he have to say about Loch Dubh?'

'Gave me some cock and bull story about Arctic Terns nesting in the area and how he didn't want them to be disturbed and he apologised for the Munros. Said he'd kick their backsides and so forth. There wasn't really much I could say. After all, Loch Dubh is on his land.'

Chavasse examined the map and George, in the act of clearing the table, paused to point out the loch with a jab of his finger.

'The Black Loch, sir, and black it is, too. About a quarter of a mile wide. That's the island in the centre. There's an old castle there. Built in the fifteenth century by Angus McClaren. Apparently he was known as the Wolf of Moidart.'

'It's ruined, I suppose?'

'Only partially, sir. Myself, I believe he's got someone living out there.'

'I mentioned that in my report,' Craig said.

Chavasse nodded and glanced up at George. 'Why do you think that?'

'The rogue thought he'd have a try for a salmon one night,' Colonel Craig cut in and chuckled. 'With a gaff, you understand. Strictly illegal.'

'I saw a light in the ruins, sir,' George said. 'No doubt about it. And I've seen it since on two other occasions.'

Chavasse turned to Craig. 'What about you?'

Craig shook his head. 'It would certainly explain Donner's anxiety to keep outsiders away.'

Chavasse stood up, crossed to the fireplace and looked down into the flames, a frown on his face. 'But what could be out there, that's the thing?'

Craig shrugged. 'The end of the pipe-line. Perhaps that's where he keeps them before shipping them out.'

Chavasse looked up. 'You know about the latest one of course?'

'This fella Souvorin, the rocket expert?' Craig nodded. 'Yes, there isn't much Mallory hasn't told me.'

'Any sign of his arrival?'

Craig shook his head. 'Impossible to tell. The plane's flown in and out on three separate occasions during the past four days, but it lands on a field behind Glenmore House and it's impossible to get close enough to see anything. Another thing, that damned dog of his roams around the place at will.'

Chavasse nodded. 'It seems as if the island is the place to start, then. At least that was my immediate impression after reading your report.'

'And, just how do you propose to do that?'

'Simple enough with the right equipment. You did pick up my luggage at Lochailort?'

Duncan Craig nodded. 'I was intrigued by that damned great cabin trunk. What have you got in there, for God's sake?'

'Various bits of skin-diving equipment, an aqualung and a collapsible rubber boat.'

'Commando stuff, eh? An assault by night?'

'That's the general idea. But first, I think I'll put my head in the jaws of the tiger, just to see what happens. There's plenty of trout in Loch Dubh, I suppose?'

'Quarter pounders-or occasional pounders-not much else.'

'Good enough for my purpose. I'll borrow a rod if I may and give them a try after breakfast.'

'The Munros will prove unpleasant if they catch you, especially after your bout with Fergus. They don't take kindly to being beaten at anything.'

'Neither do I,' Chavasse said. 'At least I'll get a look at the island and there's nothing like stirring the pot a little. It'll suit me well enough to be dragged off to Glenmore House as a trespasser. I don't think Asta's going to like that. Donner's going to have to be very nice indeed to make up for the indignity. It might even clinch that dinner invitation you mentioned.'

Craig knocked the ashes from his pipe into the hearth and hesitated. 'What about the girl, by the way? You're sure she isn't mixed up in this?'

Chavasse nodded. 'It's like you said earlier, Colonel Craig. One develops an instinct for this sort of game. She's clean, I'll stake my life on it.'

'No need to sound quite so fervent,' the old man said, 'or is there? Ah well, I'll be able to see her for myself perhaps before very much longer.' He got to his feet. 'Well, I'm for bed, my boy. If you take my advice, you won't be far behind.'

'Ten minutes,' Chavasse said. 'I'm just going to have a last cigarette.'

The door closed behind the old man as he went out and Chavasse got to his feet, crossed to the french windows and drew the curtain. A bare two miles away through the darkness was the loch. Within a few hours he might be in great danger. The rain hammered on the glass, driven by the wind and a sudden spark of excitement moved inside him. He smiled softly, turned and left the room.

On the other side of the hill in his study at Glenmore House, Max Donner sat at his desk, the Admiralty Chart for the Western Isles spread before him. The door opened, and Murdoch came in, unbuttoning a black oilskin coat that streamed with rain.

Donner looked up and leaned back in his chair. 'Well?'

Murdoch shook his head. 'No luck, I'm afraid. That old bastard Hector was as immovable as a rock. Said Fergus had gone off on his evening rounds and they hadn't seen him since. He was lying of course.'

'What did you do?'

'Searched the caravans.' His face wrinkled in distaste at the memory. 'God, if I could only get the stench of them out of my nostrils.'

Donner's hand slammed down hard on the desk. 'I want Fergus, Jack. I want him here where I can get my hands on him, do you understand? My God, when I think of that filthy animal putting his hands on Asta …'

His face became congested and he wrenched at his collar as if he found difficulty in breathing. Murdoch moved to the sideboard, poured whisky into a glass quickly and returned to the desk.

Donner took it down in one easy swallow, then he hurled the glass into the fireplace. 'Right, Jack, you know what to do.'

He leaned over the map again and Murdoch turned towards the door and then hesitated. 'What about Asta, Mr. Donner?'

Donner looked up with a slight frown. 'What do you mean?'

'I should have thought this was just about the worst possible time she could have picked to turn up,' Murdoch said awkwardly. 'I mean, what happens if she notices things she shouldn't?'

'You mind your own damned business,' Donner said coldly. 'I'll look after Asta personally. Now get to hell out of here.'

The door closed softly and Donner sat there at the desk for a moment before getting to his feet and crossing to the fire. He took a cigar from a box on the mantelpiece and lit it carefully, staring down into the flames, thinking about her.

The door clicked open again and the man who entered carrying a tray was taller even than Donner with a scarred, hairless head and a great flat-boned face whose slanted eyes and open nostrils gave him an almost Mongolian cast.

He placed the tray on the desk and turned enquiringly. 'Coffee, Mr. Donner?'

Donner shook his head. 'No, I don't think so, Stavrou. I'll go straight to bed.' He moved to the door, opened it, then he turned and said in Russian: 'Not long now, old friend. Not long.'

He closed the door, crossed the hall and mounted the great staircase. As he turned along the landing, a door opened and Ruth Murray came out. She stood waiting for him, the door behind her slightly ajar.

'How is she?' Donner said eagerly.

'Sleeping like a baby. She'll be fine in the morning.' She put a hand on his sleeve. 'Are you coming to bed?'

He brushed her hand away impatiently. 'Not tonight, Ruth. I've got work to do.' She started to turn and he added quickly, 'Just a minute, there's something I want you to do for me. This man Chavasse. Get on to Essex University. See what you can find out about him.'

'You think he might be an agent?' she said.

'I'm not sure, but one thing's for certain. He handled Fergus too damned competently for any university lecturer. Go on, off you go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.'

Ruth Murray hurried away, filled with a sudden aching fury and when she reached her room, flung herself facedown on the bed in an agony of rage and frustration. The girl-that damned girl. It was just as it always was-the moment she appeared, everything else faded into insignificance. It was as if he had forgotten her very existence.

And Asta, having heard every word of the conversation outside her door, lay very still in her own bed, eyes closed, aware of Donner peering in. And when at last the door closed and his footsteps faded, she reached out to switch on the lamp and sat up, a frown on her face. Suddenly, and for no accountable reason, she was afraid.