Stormy Petrel by Mary Stewart Page B

it myself because of the way it was rattling in the wind. I thought nothing of it, just that whoever closed the house up had overlooked it. So that could be it. He came back, and when he found the place locked up again, he got a scare, or he just decided to play it safe, and made off.’
    â€˜He did tell me he’d been to the house,’ I said. ‘He made out that he’d gone to take a nostalgic look at it, and of course he never said he’d tried to get in, or that he’d been before . . . I must say I thought at the time that it was a pretty rough night to choose for a sentimental journey . . . He did throw out a hint—’ I stopped.
    â€˜Yes? About what?’
    â€˜No. It was – well, personal. Nothing to do with this.’
    â€˜Till we know what ‘this’ is,’ he said reasonably, ‘everything may be to do with it.’
    â€˜I suppose so.’
    â€˜So go on, please. What did he hint at?’
    â€˜Honestly I doubt if it matters, and I don’t want . . . Oh, all right. He hinted that he might actually be connected with your family. At least that’s what I thought he was trying to convey.’
    To my relief, he laughed. ‘That figures. Great-Uncle Fergus’s love-child, adopted, presumably for a consideration, by the gardener? Don’t worry, I’ve heard that one before. And a few others even wilder. He lived in a fantasy world of his own, even as a small boy. He used to lie for no reason at all, as if he enjoyed it. I was only a couple of years older myself, but I knew enough never to believe a word he said. Did he shoot any more lines to you? Tell you where he’s been since he left Moila?’
    â€˜Only that he’d been abroad. I gathered that he’d been around in some pretty exciting – oh, do you mean he might have made that up, too? He didn’t actually sail round the Horn?’
    â€˜I’ll believe that when I’ve seen the boat’s log,’ said Neil drily, ‘and only then after it’s been checked by an expert. And talking of checking, I’d better have a look through the house to see if anything’s missing. The lawyers gave me an inventory. Blast. I had hoped to take my time over sorting out the house contents, but I’d better take a look straight away – at any rate for the movable stuff. Tell me, how sure were you that he had a gun?’
    â€˜Not sure at all. It was just the way his hand flew to his pocket when you hammered at the door.’
    â€˜Hm. Then let’s hope that was window-dressing, too. Well . . .’ He set his hands to the chair arms, as if about to rise. ‘He’s gone, so perhaps that’s the end of the mystery. When did you say your brother was coming?’
    â€˜Monday, I hope.’
    â€˜Then all we can do is keep our eyes open for the next couple of days, and you see that your doors are locked and bolted at night.’
    â€˜I certainly will. And you?’
    â€˜As you saw, I’ve got my tent set up now on the island. I’ll work there, and I’ll come back and sleep in the house. If Ewen does come back, he’ll see the tent, and if he thinks that “Parsons” is safely out of the way, then whatever his interest is in the house, he’ll no doubt show it. And I’ll be here to tackle him, hammer and all.’
    â€˜And I?’
    â€˜Stay safe at Otters’ Bay, and wait for your brother. Forget all this,’ he said, with decision.
    â€˜I could try,’ I said.
    He got to his feet then, and I followed suit. The sun, slanting in through the window, showed up the faded shabbiness of the room, but outside the treetops were golden and the bees were loud in the roses. The scents of the garden, blowing in through the open window, had removed the last trace of stuffiness from the room. It smelt fresh and warm. He moved to open the door to the hall.
    â€˜So before