The King of Scotland's Sword by Steve Stevenson

Author:Steve Stevenson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780698159440
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-07-10T21:00:00+00:00

“The tide stripe’s still wet, so the tide’s on its way out,” observed Agatha. “If the accomplice fled in a boat…”

“The high tide has erased his footprints for good,” finished Dash.

They looked at each other. Agatha held up her cat, and they made their way back to the castle, discouraged.

Agatha and Dash arrived back at the manor just after 3:00 and went straight to the director’s office. They nodded to Chandler, who stood at his post by the door like a guard outside Buckingham Palace, and went inside.

As Dash laid the pickax and the other clues on the floor, Agatha noticed their grandfather’s dazed expression.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“These people are out of their minds!” Ian Mistery said, his voice shaking a bit. “I interviewed thirty people, and every single one of them told me something different. The details all contradict one another, and everyone blames someone else!”

The unflappable hot-air balloonist was visibly shaken.

“First things first,” Agatha said as she sat down beside him. “Did you take notes on the witness statements as I suggested?”

“Of course,” he replied, pushing a notebook across the desk. “One page for each guest, with detailed accounts of everything they saw and heard before they fell asleep, and their crackpot theories about what happened.”

“Did you find any common themes?” Dash intervened eagerly. “Do the witnesses agree on any key points?”

“Do you want the truth?” their grandfather asked enigmatically. “Are you sure?”

A little thrown by the question, Dash shrugged and said, “Um, it would be a good starting point…”

“The answer is no!” Granddad Ian practically shouted. “Not in the least! It’s just random nonsense!”

Agatha decided she’d better step in. She thanked Granddad Ian, gave him a reassuring hug, and skimmed through his notebook of statements. The handwriting was old-fashioned, tiny, and full of flourishes. The information was recorded in proper order, with the precision of an accountant. “You’ve done an excellent job,” she said gratefully. “Now, let’s line up the statements and weed out the ones that are useless.”

“That’s how we detectives work,” confirmed Dash, suddenly hopeful again. “We narrow the field so we can focus on the most likely suspects.”

Agatha flashed him a knowing smile and made room for him at the table. “Who should we start with, dear Granddad?”

Feeling comforted, Granddad Ian flipped through the notebook and pointed to a page. “This madman insists that he heard a gunshot. I had Chandler frisk all the guests, but he didn’t find any firearms.”

“Why bother?” Dash said. “The witnesses were all out cold, so the thief wouldn’t have to resort to violence.”

Granddad Ian turned the page. “This woman, a publicist with a nervous twitch, claims she saw a ghost walking upside down on the ceiling,” he said. “What do you think? Is she—?”

“Next!” Agatha cut him off.

“All right, how about the still-life painter who heard a wolf howl in the hall?” Granddad Ian continued, undaunted.

“I’d say he’s got some kind of imagination!” Dash snickered.

Agatha chewed on her lip, deep in thought. “Are we sure it’s just imagination?” she asked.

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