The Hill of the Red Fox

by Allan Campbell McLean

  “Did he say why the Major wanted to speak to you?”

  “Yes, he told me the Major was after getting worried about the way his salmon were disappearing from the pool.”

  “But you wouldn’t know anything about that?” said the policeman sarcastically.

  “I’m not paid to look after the Major’s salmon,” retorted Duncan Mòr coolly. “That is the gamekeeper’s job. I told him so.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Oh, he said he wasn’t accusing me of poaching salmon, but he thought it would be better for me to have a friendly chat with the Major, as the poor man was terrible worried about the poaching.”

  “So you accompanied Mr Judge to the Lodge?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time did you arrive there?”

  “About half past nine. Maybe a wee bit later than that.”

  “Were you taken straight to see Major Cassell?”

  “No, I wasn’t,” said Duncan Mòr thoughtfully. “The keeper showed me to the Major’s study. He told me to wait while he went away and got him.”

  “You were left alone in the study?”

  “Aye.”

  “Nobody came in while you were there, apart from Major Cassell?”

  “No, but Murdo Ruadh was coming out when I went in,” said Duncan Mòr, and his teeth clamped down on his pipe so hard that I thought he had bitten through the stem.

  I had been listening anxiously to the quick flow of question and answer, and I sensed, rather than knew, that the policeman was gently prompting Duncan Mòr towards a pit from which there would be no escape. But all my fears lifted at the mention of Murdo Beaton’s name. Everything was going to be all right after all. If Murdo Beaton had been in the Lodge on Tuesday night, there could be no doubt that he had stolen the money. Had I not seen him counting the notes when I peered through the kitchen window? No wonder he had been furious and tried to kill me.

  “Murdo who?” queried the policeman.

  “Murdo Beaton,” replied Duncan Mòr. “He has a croft in Achmore, the next township.”

  “And you actually saw this man Beaton coming out of Major Cassell’s study?”

  “Well, no, not coming out of the study. But he was coming away from it.”

  “Did you see him shutting the study door?”

  “No, but he was just a yard or two away from it.”

  “Whereabouts is the study?”

  Duncan Mòr’s keen grey eyes surveyed the policeman warily.

  “I’m sure you know well enough,” he said.

  I watched the policeman closely, but he showed no surprise.

  “The study door is in the middle of a passage,” he said, “and at the end of the passage is the door to the library. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the man you saw — this man Beaton — could have been coming from the library?”

  “Yes, but I would say he was coming from the study.”

  “But that’s just your opinion.”

  “Well, yes. That is my opinion, and I don’t doubt the same fellow will swear blind that he never went near the study.”

  The policeman consulted his notebook again.

  “When Mr Judge showed you into the study, how long were you left alone before Major Cassell came in?”

  Duncan Mòr considered for a moment.

  “A few minutes, I reckon,” he said at length.

  “Was it not nearer a quarter of an hour?”

  “It might have been. I don’t make a habit of timing myself when I am waiting for folk.”

  “Did you see a roll top desk in the study?”

  “Aye.”

  “Was it open or closed?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You mean to say you were in the study for fifteen minutes and you can’t remember if the desk was open or closed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do when you were in the study?”

  “I just waited.”

  “And looked around?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But you didn’t notice if the desk was open or closed?”

  “No.”

  The policeman studied his nails for a moment, then said suddenly, “How many salmon fishing stations has Major Cassell got on Skye?”

  I could not see the point of the question, but I was to know all too soon.

  “He has five in Skye and one in Raasay,” said Duncan Mòr.

  “How many men do you suppose he employs on them?”

  “About thirty.”

  “So that with his household staff he would have a weekly wage bill for forty people?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Do you know when they get paid?”

  “Who? The salmon fishermen?”

  “Yes.”

  “They get paid on a Wednesday.”

  “So you knew there would be a considerable sum of money in the house on Tuesday night?”

  There was an angry glint in Duncan Mòr’s eyes, and he took a step forward. For a moment, I thought he was going to seize the policeman by the throat, and I started up in the chair, but he controlled himself and leaned back against the table.

  “You knew there would be a considerable sum of money in the house on a Tuesday night,” persisted the policeman.

  “Just bide a while,” barked Duncan Mòr, and I wondered if the policeman realized how near he had been to being pitched out of the door neck and crop. “It is one thing to know the day the men are paid, but it is another altogether to wonder where the money is coming from. I just never gave it a thought, and that is the God’s honest truth.”

  “What would you say if I told you there were forty five-pound notes in a drawer of the desk, as well as smaller notes and two bags of silver?”

  “What do you expect me to say?” he retorted angrily. “That I pocketed the lot and walked out? Tuts, man, there could have been a thousand pounds in the desk for all I knew or cared.”

  “Where were you standing when Major Cassell came into the study?”

  “I believe I had my back to the desk. Aye, I looked across at the door when I heard it open.”

  “You didn’t have one hand on the desk?”

  “I may have done.”

  “But you didn’t notice if it was open or closed?”

  The words flashed out, like the thrust of a rapier, but Duncan Mòr remained unmoved.

  “No,” he said calmly.

  “What did Major Cassell say to you?”

  “He told me he’d had reports that I was lifting his salmon from the pool and he told me I could expect no mercy if I was caught.”

  “What did you say?”

  Duncan Mòr laughed. “I told him if his gamekeeper tried using his legs for a change instead of his tongue, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry so much about his salmon.”

  “You were insolent to Major Cassell.”

  “Not at all. I just told him what I thought.”

  “You parted on bad terms?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say the Major was very pleased, but it didn’t put me up or down.”

  “What time did you leave the Lodge?”

  “I suppose it would be near ten.”

  “And at ten o’clock,” said the policeman deliberately, “Major Cassell discovered that two hundred pounds in five-pound notes was missing from his desk in the study. Do you insist that you left the Lodge without that money?”

  “Certainly I insist,” declared Duncan Mòr. “I came out o’ the Lodge the way I went in, and you’ll never get me to say otherwise.”

  “I warn you that the numbers of the notes are known. You can never hope to get away with this.”

  “I’m not trying to get away with anything,” said Duncan Mòr flatly. “You can take it from me that you are wasting your time here.”

  “I have reason to believe that you have the money hidden in this house,” stated the policeman.

  “Well, well,” said Duncan Mòr calmly, “I suppose you though
t I would come strolling back from the Lodge like a great daft loon and plant the money in the tea-caddy just so it would be easy for you to find it. Go ahead and have a look,” he went on mockingly. “I always keep my five-pound notes there.”

  He pointed to the large tin tea-caddy in the centre of the mantelpiece. There was a painting of King George V on the front of it, and the lid did not fit properly.

  “If you think you can pull that old dodge on me, you are mistaken,” said the policeman curtly. He took down the tea-caddy and carried it over to the table.

  “Have you any objections to me opening it?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” said Duncan Mòr. “But you will find nothing there but a few bills and a form for the calf subsidy.”

  The bills and the form were certainly there, but underneath them were two bundles of crisp new banknotes. The policeman spread them on the table and carefully checked the numbers with a typewritten list he produced from his pocket.

  I was dumbfounded. I just sat and stared. Even Duncan Mòr had lost his composure. His forehead was creased in a worried frown, and I could see his teeth biting at his lower lip.

  The policeman placed the notes carefully in his tunic pocket and stood up. He could not keep the elation out of his voice.

  “The numbers correspond,” he said. “These are the notes that were stolen from Achmore Lodge. Do you still deny that you had anything to do with it?”

  “Yes,” said Duncan Mòr firmly.

  “Then how do you account for the fact that they were hidden in this house?”

  “I can’t account for it,” said Duncan Mòr slowly, “but I have a good idea, and when I lay hands on the fellow responsible he will know all about it.”

  “Get your coat,” said the policeman curtly. “You will be charged and taken into custody in Portree.”

  Duncan Mòr looked down at his blue denim trousers. From the knees downwards they were black with rain.

  “This is no way to be going to Portree,” he said, “even supposing it is the jail I am bound for. I must just put on a decent suit and a collar and tie.”

  He crossed the room and opened the door to his bedroom, and I hated to see the dejected droop of his shoulders.

  “Five minutes,” said the policeman. “No more.”

  “Right,” said Duncan Mòr, meekly closing the door behind him.

  I was stunned by the suddenness of the blow, and Duncan Mòr’s resigned acceptance of it. I had expected him to rage and storm; indeed, it would not have surprised me if he had leapt on the policeman and overpowered him, but I never thought he would submit without a struggle. I looked at the policeman and wondered if I should tell him my story. But what was the use? I had no evidence, and he would think I was lying to help Duncan Mòr.

  The policeman lit a cigarette and paced up and down the room. He was a young man with a red face and cold blue eyes, and I did not like the evident swagger in his walk.

  He caught my eyes on him, and said, “Are you his son?”

  “No, I’m staying here on holiday,” I said.

  “Where are you from?”

  “London.”

  “Where did you hurt your knee?” he asked.

  “Down the road,” I said evasively.

  “Down at the pool more likely,” he retorted. “If your parents had any sense they’d have kept you in London. There is no respect for the law here. People think they can do as they please, and I can see you’ll be getting as bad as them.”

  I looked down at the floor and saw the coloured label of a tobacco wrapper. It was lying in front of the bedroom door and it started to drift across the floor. The policeman saw it too, but he went on pacing up and down the room. It has always pleased me that I realized what had happened before he did. He crossed the floor twice before the meaning of the moving paper became clear to him.

  When he rushed across the room and flung open the bedroom door, I was only a few paces behind him. The bedroom window was wide open and the curtains were billowing back from the wall.

  The room was empty. Duncan Mòr had vanished.

  Chapter 19

  The policeman never moved for a full minute. He seemed to be rooted to the spot, and his red face had turned a deep crimson. I drew back a pace, when he wheeled round, and he glowered at me.

  “It’s the handcuffs for MacDonald when I get him,” he snapped.

  I did not say anything, and he dashed out of the room leaving the door wide open behind him. I closed the door and went into the bedroom. I leaned out of the window and saw the light of the policeman’s torch as he searched the byre and the stackyard. The rain had stopped and the sky was lightening in the east. I saw the policeman go up the river bank to the ruins of an old black house, and I saw his torch flashing as he circled back to the track beyond the dyke.

  I heard the door of his car slam and the whirr of the starter. The engine throbbed into life and his headlights lanced the darkness. I saw the car move slowly along the rough track and turn right at the main road. It was hidden from view where the road dipped sharply to the bridge, and although I watched for a long time I never saw it climb out of the hollow. I guessed that the policeman had stopped and switched out the lights. He would be making his way back on foot to watch the house in case Duncan Mòr returned.

  I closed the bedroom window and went out to the byre to look for Glen. The byre door was open and although I whistled and shouted, the dog never came. He must have gone off after his master.

  I returned to the kitchen and sat in the chair and looked around the room. It was strange to be sitting there without Duncan Mòr on the other side of the fire, but all the things he prized most were around me. It was a bare, untidy sort of room, and Aunt Evelyn would have said that it was full of lumber, but I loved it because it was such a man’s room.

  Duncan Mòr’s split cane rod lay along the back of the bench, and his twelve bore shotgun was propped up in a corner, its well-oiled barrel gleaming in the light. There was a small table under the window and it was littered with snaring wire and dozens of brass eyelets, tins of fishing hooks, two screw-drivers and a pair of pliers, a pair of binoculars and several volumes of Admiralty Charts in their faded blue covers.

  There was a pail of sheep dip at one end of the bench and a pair of white rubber thigh boots propped up against the other end. Two long shepherd’s crooks, with ornamental handles that Duncan Mòr had carved himself, stood in the corner by the door, and several boxes of cartridges lay along the dresser top. A calendar from a seed merchant in Greenock hung on the wall above the bench, and on the opposite wall was a photograph of the crew of the Empire Rose with my father in the centre. Catalogues and price lists for seed oats, potatoes, fertilizers, feeding-stuffs, fishing tackle, farming implements and oilskin coats were scattered everywhere. It was not a room I could ever be lonely in.

  I remembered how he had told me he never let the fire go out, and I went outside to the peat stack and selected two damp peats from the top of the stack. I flattened them down on top of the red peats, and pulled the old easy-chair closer to the fire. I turned out the lamp and curled up in the chair and shut my eyes.

  Something dug into my back and I felt round the chair and pulled out a pointed wooden peg. There was a length of wire attached to it and I felt the eyelet at the other end of the wire making a noose. It was a rabbit snare. I thrust it into my pocket and closed my eyes again.

  It is strange how your body can be dog-tired and yet your mind remains alert and active. All the events of the day flashed before my eyes in a series of vivid pictures. The climax could not be long delayed. Sooner or later we would have to come out into the open against Murdo Beaton, and the sooner the better if Duncan Mòr was to be cleared of the charge hanging over him.

  I marvelled at the cunning of Murdo Beaton. He had tried to kill me, and he intended having Duncan Mòr imprisoned to get him out of the way. Duncan Mòr was afraid the police would never believe him, and certainly they would never listen to him so long as t
hey believed he was guilty of theft from the Lodge. I would have to tell my story to Major Cassell. No matter how strongly he felt about poachers, he was bound to acknowledge Duncan Mòr’s innocence when I explained everything to him. I would go to the Lodge first thing in the morning. Once Major Cassell heard my story, it would not be long before the secret of the Hill of the Red Fox was uncovered, and Murdo Beaton was safely behind bars.

  With that reassuring thought in my mind, I drifted off to sleep.

  I was stiff and cold when I awoke and I had cramp in my right leg and arm. The fire had gone out. That worried me more than my own discomfort. It was the first time the fire had gone out since Duncan Mòr came home from sea. The crofter’s fire never goes out, that was what he had told me, and there was something splendid about it, something heartwarming and stirring. The dead peats in the black hearth looked like a bad omen, but I laughed at myself. Mairi would say I was being as superstitious as the cailleach.

  There was a pail of water in the scullery and I poured some into the basin and hurriedly swilled my face. The fire would have to wait until I got back from the Lodge. With a last glance at the cold hearth, I left the house.

  At close quarters Achmore Lodge was much bigger than I had imagined. It was built of grey stone but the bleakness of the stone was lightened by the creeper-covered walls. Three wide stone steps led up to a large square porch, and I climbed the steps and stood outside the door. There was an old-fashioned brass bell-pull by the side of the door and, after a moment’s hesitation, I reached up and pulled it. I heard the ting-a-ling-ling of the bell echoing inside the house, and felt suddenly nervous and unsure of myself.

  The door was opened by a large, egg-shaped man. His head, which was completely bald, looked like the highly polished top of an egg. He looked at me curiously and I tried to tear my eyes away from his bald head.

  I gulped, and said, “I want to see Major Cassell, please.”

  “Major Cassell hasn’t breakfasted yet,” said the man at the door, “but if you will leave a message I’ll see that he gets it.”

  “I … I can’t leave a message,” I stammered. “I must see him. It’s terribly important.” The man did not seem impressed, and I added desperately, “It’s a matter of life and death.”