01-05 - The Sebastian Symes Mysteries by Colkitto G W

Author:Colkitto, G W [Colkitto, G W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cThriller, historical, amazon
Amazon: B07YFXRRPC
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-09-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

We take Thomson to the Old Inn. At the rear of the older part are three small disused bedrooms. One is commandeered as a jail and Thomson installed.

Symes, Inspector McIntyre and I leave him to his thoughts. I am glad to be out from the dark fetid room and in the sunshine. The three worthies sit puffing their pipes by the door. The children from the morning have cleared their stall and chase each other round the pier.

‘A good man brought low is a sad sight, Mr Symes,’ says McIntyre.

‘He sees no sin in it.’ Symes sighs. ‘Let God be his judge.’

‘He has confessed all so his trial will be quick,’ says McIntyre.

‘Now Inspector McIntyre to return the Chalice to its owner.’

‘The man who delivered the coup de grace.’

‘Robertson is ready to row us out to the Tam Linn.’

We walk down to the harbour in silence. Robertson has the skiff waiting at the steps and Symes sits at the bow and Inspector McIntyre and I settle at the stern.

‘Guid day, Mr Symes, Major. This i’ll be the Inspector.’

Inspector McIntyre touches his hat. ‘Robertson. Good of you to row us out.’

‘It’s a bad business. Sooner done sooner forgotten.’

We speak little on the way to the yacht. The waters of the loch are calm. Wavelets lap along the hull and there is the rhythmic the splash of the oars. I wondered if we should have offered to assist but see that Robertson’s expertise makes that unnecessary. We glide along at a good speed. Soon the Tam Linn rises above us and we tie-up at the foot of an accommodation ladder. Robertson stays in the boat and we three climb aboard.

From the shore the yacht looks beautiful and on deck I am more impressed. It is well maintained, brasses bright and wood-work fresh varnished. I smell pitch.

‘The deck has been recently caulked,’ I say to Symes.

‘The source of the pitch in McNeill’s room. I noted traces of it on Thomson’s shoes when we were carrying out our search.’

A steward takes our cards, shows us to the main saloon. I hear the tap, tap of Alistair Morton approaching and he enters. His wooden leg is hidden by his trousers. He is broad in build with powerful shoulders. It is easy to see how a blow from a Claymore, wielded by him, would cut through flesh and bone. He asks us to sit as he reads the cards.

‘I assume this is regarding the death of Mr McNeill. Rumour has it that he was murdered. I doubt if I can help you.’

‘On the contrary,’ says Symes. ‘We know that you could explain the whole affair.’ He holds out the Chalice. ‘This was with the body and is yours.’

Morton shakes his head. ‘You are mistaken. I do not recognise it.’

Symes changes from friendly demeanour to coldness. ‘Let us not play games, Mr Morton. You left traces at the scene of the crime. We will find that this is yours. Moreover we have Thomson, your accomplice. We

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