e arrived at the private dining room after an absence of a little over an hour. To Holmes’s dismay the door stood open and the room was empty. Only Inspector Grégoire remained, and after a brief word with this gentleman in the corridor, Holmes rejoined me, closing the door behind him. Isla McLaren was nowhere to be found.
I regarded the table, which had not yet been cleared. Napkins were thrown onto empty dessert plates, and two chairs had been overturned by hasty departures. The many candles in the two candelabra in the centre of the table, left alight, now guttered. A wave of exhaustion overcame me and I sat. Holmes paced in front of the large windows, lost in thought.
‘The police, as I expected, gleaned nothing from the family,’ said he after a moment. ‘They refused to be interviewed and returned to their rooms. And they depart for Scotland in the morning.’
‘Surely you did not expect them to wait here for us to return?’ I asked.
‘I had hoped.’
‘Where next, Holmes? Shall we interview each in his room?’
‘I doubt they will cooperate. The chase is over for this evening,’ he remarked, continuing to pace. I turned back to the view. The flickering candles were reflected faintly in the large windows. Below us the Mediterranean flashed silver in the moonlight.
‘What of the man who brought the head in on the train?’
‘Grégoire has sent officers to inquire at all the local train stations. Of course the villain or his messenger will have changed his disguise and be long gone by now.’
‘What then, Holmes? Some coffee, perhaps?’ It was now after midnight and we had yet to return to Nice. I had begun to flag. At least the gold sovereigns would see us home in comfort.
But Holmes continued, on fire with this outré mystery.
‘You saw the reaction at the table, Watson. I am quite sure there was genuine grief from the laird, and possibly Charles as well,’ he said. ‘But the precise nature of their affection for the victim has yet to be determined.’
‘Holmes, you cannot think that the laird could have been in love with the girl?’
‘I must remain impartial. The head was sent as a message for someone in the room. Most probably the intended recipient is a man.’
Mrs McLaren’s words about Fiona filtered up to my consciousness for the first time since the head had made its shocking appearance.
‘Holmes, I do not understand why you refused Isla McLaren’s offer. She seems a very astute young woman, and may offer insight into the family.’
‘I did not refuse, but rather set her on a somewhat mundane task. She is quite underfoot.’ Holmes stopped pacing and turned to look at me with a small smile. ‘You are attracted to Mrs McLaren the younger. Now, that, dear Watson, is unworthy of you, married as you both are.’
I flushed uncomfortably. ‘Not attracted. Intrigued. Respectful. And yes, I do like her,’ said I. ‘I sense a young woman of intelligence and spirit.’
‘Let us remain impartial. No one at this point is above suspicion.’
‘But our own client—’
‘She is not our client,’ said Holmes. ‘Laird Robert is, if I proceed with the case.’
‘But I am on your side, Mr Holmes,’ said a female voice behind us. We turned to see the lady in question, who had opened the door noiselessly and now stood just inside the room. ‘Thank you, Dr Watson, for your kind remarks,’ said the lady. She smiled, then turned to Holmes. ‘But “Mrs McLaren the younger” has a somewhat gothic ring, do you not think?’
‘What have you found out, madam?’ said he, with more than a tinge of irritation.
‘I followed your instructions, more or less, Mr Holmes. Fainting was not in my character and would not have been believed, creative as that suggestion was. So instead I followed them to their rooms sequentially in the order of my own suspicions. I began with Charles and Catherine, listened at their door and can tell you that these two began a row about his indiscretion. Next I listened at the laird’s and, I am sad to report, he sobbed himself to sleep, or so it sounded. My own Alistair retired immediately and slept, as he always does, without sound.’
‘He did not await your own return?’ asked Holmes, one eyebrow raised. ‘And why is that?’
‘Alistair and I keep different hours. He is used to retiring well in advance of my own bedtime.’
‘Where would he assume you were tonight, then?’ asked Holmes.
‘He would neither assume nor care. I am accustomed to taking a stroll in the evenings when we visit here. It settles my mind, and gives me time to think. As I said, it would not be unusual. Alistair always retires before me.’
‘Even after the shocking events of this evening?’
‘Even then.’
There was a pause. I will admit to a fleeting curiosity about the state of their marriage. Isla McLaren slowly walked to the table and sat down across from me. It was as though she presumed to join our team. Behind me Holmes remained standing and cleared his throat. I sensed his sudden unease.
‘And so, gentlemen, what are the results of your inquiries?’ she asked.
‘Mrs McLaren, that is of no concern of yours,’ said Holmes. ‘I shall give my report to the laird. And to the French police.’
‘Holmes!’ I said. ‘Madam, forgive us. We are greatly fatigued.’
But she seemed unaffected by my friend’s inexplicable rudeness. ‘The police are back with the concierge now,’ said the lady. ‘Presumably they will follow your own path of inquiry, in their clumsy fashion. I have thought of something that may help.’
‘We would be most appreciative,’ said I. ‘Would you care for some coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ said she. ‘Eventually I hope to sleep. But I cannot until I have had my say. While I am saddened by Fiona’s death, it did not surprise me. The bizarre display of this evening, however, is another matter. This has to do with what I spoke to you about in Baker Street. Thank you, by the way, for not giving away our little secret.’
‘Your ruse was pointless. The laird was aware of your indiscretion,’ said Holmes.
‘He misses little,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had hoped—’
‘Yet he did not predict the arrival of this singular dessert,’ said Holmes acidly. ‘What can you offer us that may help, Mrs McLaren?’
She appeared not to hear. ‘Are you certain that Fiona was murdered elsewhere?’ she asked, looking at me pointedly.
‘Much is unclear,’ I said. ‘I could not ascertain the time of death as the head was frozen.’
‘A pathologist will examine the head tonight, and will determine what he can. Now, madam, how long had the lady been missing from the estate?’ asked Holmes, seizing control of our wild conjectures.
‘Since Tuesday.’
‘And she eloped, it is said, with the groundsman’s son?’ pressed Holmes.
‘Upon reflection, she must not have done so,’ said the lady.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because he is, or was, incapable of such that we saw here tonight. That is what I wished to tell you. The boy is simple. But then how could her head have arrived in Nice, Mr Holmes? Could she have travelled here alive, and accompanied by her murderer?’
‘How does this eliminate the boy with whom she ran away?’ said Holmes. ‘Murders have been committed by people of impaired abilities before.’ He turned to me. ‘How long would it take to freeze a head all the way through, Watson?’
‘At least two days, I suppose. Longer, perhaps.’
He nodded, then resumed pacing in front of the windows.
Isla McLaren stared at my friend with keen interest. Suddenly she rose from her seat and approached Holmes. She placed her hand gently upon his sleeve. He started and stepped away from her.
‘Mr Holmes, will you commit to this case and come to Braedern? I am sure the answer awaits us there. This is an act of pure evil and cunning villainy. There is no one more suited than yourself to help us.’
‘Mrs McLaren! I will take this case. But you must leave detection to the professionals!’ he said.
Before she could reply, I stepped towards her and took her arm, guiding her gently to the door. ‘Mrs McLaren, do understand that we have your best interests at heart,’ I said gently. ‘Whoever is behind this may begin to resent your curiosity. But we will come, won’t we, Holmes?’
There was silence. Isla McLaren stared frankly at Holmes, awaiting his answer.
He nodded once.
‘You are a cold man, Mr Holmes,’ she said, finally. ‘But I do look forward to seeing you soon. We are booked on the Train Bleu tomorrow. I shall see you at the station in Nice. Good evening.’ She swept from the room.
Holmes and I stood silent for a moment. He approached the door and looked into the hall, then closed it behind him. ‘Just making sure she has actually left.’ He smiled and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. I lit it for him. I noticed that his action had caused the corner of an envelope to protrude from that same pocket.
‘To Scotland, then, tomorrow?’ I asked. ‘And what is that in your pocket?’
‘Of course, Watson.’ He ignored my question, and nodded, inhaling with satisfaction. ‘Now give me those sovereigns and let us return to Nice.’
We made our way to the front portico of the hotel, Holmes stopping once more to confer with Inspector Grégoire and to arrange for the head to be returned to us at our hotel by morning.
As we awaited a carriage, I turned to Holmes. ‘You seem to have a marked aversion to Isla McLaren which I do not understand.’
‘She is irritating, that is all. The sovereigns, please. They are, after all, my earnings.’
I pointed at his pocket once again.
‘Oh, this,’ he said, pulling out the envelope as if he had forgotten it was there. ‘Wired by Mycroft today for the work in Montpellier.’
Despite my fatigue and the horrors of the evening, a flood of relief came over me. We were free at last. But then … ‘Holmes! At dinner you could easily have walked away!’ I said. ‘You did not need these sovereigns.’ I patted my jacket, still heavy with those painful earnings.
‘That is true, Watson. But we would have missed all the fun.’
‘Fun! Remind me never to play you at cards.’
‘I do not gamble – at least not at the game tables. Watson, stay away from that casino. In fact, give me those sovereigns now.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
We left the Grand Hôtel du Cap in adamant, if childish disagreement on the matter.