Death of a Charming Man by MC Beaton Page B

someone like you I’ll check into the loony-bin, said Hamish brutally. ‘I’ve caught your burglar.’
    ‘What?’ Miss Tabbet was obviously reluctant to let the thought of rape disappear.
    ‘I’ve caught the burglar. I’m waiting for the van from Strathbane to take him away.’
    She struggled up. ‘Where is he?’
    ‘Handcuffed to your kitchen cooker.’ Hamish turned and walked out and went back down to the kitchen.
    Dolan was quieter, but at the sight of Hamish he said, ‘I’m going to charge you with police brutality.’
    ‘Suit yourself,’ Hamish shrugged and went to plug in the kettle. He felt he deserved a coffee.
    Miss Tabbet appeared in the doorway wrapped in a pink chenille dressing-gown and stared at the figure of Dolan on the floor. Then her eyes went to the frying-pan, which Hamish had tossed on to the counter. She picked it up. ‘Why has my best frying-pan got a dunt in it?’
    ‘Because I hit Dolan on the head with it.’
    ‘Police brutality, that’s what it is,’ whined Dolan.
    ‘My best frying-pan,’ screeched Miss Tabbet. ‘And what are you doing with that kettle?’
    ‘You can put in a bill for the frying-pan if you like,’ said Hamish coolly. ‘And as I have chust saved you from being robbed, you can allow me one cup of coffee.’ His voice was quiet, but something in it made Miss Tabbet blink rapidly and retreat. To Hamish’s relief, he heard her going back upstairs. He made himself a cup of instant coffee and took it through to the living room and waited patiently until a police van arrived from Strathbane and took Dolan away. It was six in the morning. He should really wake the schoolteacher again and ask her to lock up after he went but he could not bear any more of her grumbling, and besides, the burglar had been caught. He took a childish delight in leaving his unwashed coffee-cup on the living room table. He went out into the light of a sunny morning, climbed into the Land Rover, and with a feeling of gladness, of release, set off for Lochdubh.
       
    After filing his report he slept most of the day and then awoke and phoned Priscilla. Sophy answered the phone and said she would find her. After quite a long time she came back and said in an amused voice that Priscilla had said she was out. ‘And what’s she miffed about?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘Some biddy reported we were seen kissing outside the craft shop in Carrask,’ said Sophy gleefully.
    ‘I hope you told Priscilla there was nothing in that,’ said Hamish sharply.
    ‘Oh, sure. But she wasn’t inclined to listen to me.’
    ‘I’ll be right up.’ Hamish slammed down the phone, cursing Sophy under his breath.
    He could feel his engagement, unofficial though it still was, falling apart. He no longer knew what he wanted. Why had Priscilla turned into such a managing female? Why couldn’t she have left him alone? He suddenly wondered if she would ever change. Would she clatter around the police station in Lochdubh eternally unforgiving when she finally realized he had no intention of leaving the village? Why couldn’t people realize it was a rare gift to be happy with one’s lot? Although this particular policeman’s lot at the present moment, and thanks to Priscilla and Sophy, was not a happy one.
    When he got to the hotel, Sophy said happily she would fetch Priscilla while Hamish paced up and down the reception. When Priscilla and Sophy walked in, Sophy went back behind the reception desk and leaned on it.
    ‘Yes, Hamish?’ asked Priscilla frostily.
    He gathered her in his arms and she suddenly gave a little sigh and leaned against him. Sophy watched wide-eyed as Hamish, with his arm about Priscilla’s shoulders, led her outside.
    ‘Now what’s all this?’ asked Hamish gently.
    ‘I couldn’t help remembering your reputation as a philanderer,’ said Priscilla in a low voice.
    ‘Look, you must know that Sophy found out that I was at Carrask and followed me over. We went for tea and then she kissed my