“What went wrong?” demanded Hamish.
“I tried my best,” said Jake. “But thon fellow knew as much about cars as me. Here’s your fifty back.”
“Any idea where they went?” asked Hamish.
“I told them the Falls of Shin over by Lairg would look right pretty in the snow.”
“We’ll try there,” said Hamish.
By the Falls of Shin, Harold shouted above the roar of the water, “Are we going to stand here freezing all day? Think of it, Priscilla. We could be in London, instead of freezing our arses up here. Mind you, I know a good way to keep warm.” He jerked her into his arms and forced his mouth down on hers. Priscilla began to struggle. “Not here,” she pleaded, jerking her mouth back. He abruptly released her and then swore. A snowball had struck him on the back of the head.
He looked wildly around. “Where did that come from?”
“Probably kids,” said Priscilla. “We’ll go back to the car and find somewhere to eat.”
They climbed back up to the car park. That was when Harold found that his car would not start. Cursing, he got out and lifted the bonnet. “The distributor leads have gone!” he yelled.
He looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle to see the police Land Rover turning into the car park.
Hamish Macbeth climbed down and approached them. “Oh, it is yourselves,” he said. “Some wee laddies phoned up and said a woman was being raped down at the falls.”
“You can help out,” snarled Harold. “Someone has stolen the distributor leads.”
“I’ll get someone from the nearest garage over. It’ll be quicker than phoning the Automobile Association. We’ll take Priscilla with us because it’s too cold for a lady to wait here.”
“I’ll come, too,” said Harold.
“Och, no need for that,” said Hamish. “What if the thief came back and took the whole car?”
“It’s all right, Harold,” said Priscilla. “I won’t be long.”
Charlie moved into the back and Priscilla climbed into the passenger seat. “Now,” she said angrily, “did you stage this?”
“Why would I do that?” asked Hamish.
“To spoil my fun.”
“Oh, my.” Hamish threw on the brakes. “I should ha’ known you’d prefer to be wi’ your fiancé.”
“Just drive on!” snapped Priscilla.
The garage in Lairg was closed for DINNER, as the notice on the door said, dinner still being served in the middle of the day. They found out that the garage owner lived in a bungalow down by the loch, but he refused to move until he had finished his dinner of barley soup, stew, and apple crumble. Priscilla tried to phone Harold but could not get a reply. The reason was that Harold was sure Hamish had planned the whole thing. Thirsting for revenge, he phoned police headquarters in Strathbane and said he wished to report Sergeant Hamish Macbeth, who had deliberately sabotaged his car.
Blair heard of the call and said he would deal with it. This, he was sure, was Hamish trying to cover up something sinister. For Hamish had not put in a report. Careless of expense, he commandeered the police helicopter and set off.
Harold heard the whir of the helicopter overhead and got out of his car. The helicopter descended, covering him in a small blizzard. Blair and two policemen got out.
“Come with us,” ordered Blair. “We’ll sort this out at headquarters.”
“I am not going anywhere, you stupid moron,” raged the snowman that was Harold. “This is like the Keystone Cops.”
“Handcuff him,” ordered Blair. “I am charging you with abusing a senior police officer.”
Hamish, Priscilla, and Charlie looked up in the sky and saw the helicopter lifting off. “I think that was ower at the falls,” said Charlie.
“Probably some poor soul has had a heart attack or something,” said Hamish. “We’d better get to his car and fix it.”
He raced ahead of the mechanic. “You stay in the car, Priscilla,” said Hamish. “Don’t want you getting cold.”
He quickly replaced the distributor leads before the mechanic arrived. But Harold had taken the car keys with him. Hamish looked around and then down at the blown circle of snow. “He must have had an accident,” he said. “That helicopter must have been for Harold.”
He phoned the Air Ambulance, but they said they had not picked anyone up from Lairg.
Detective Chief Inspector Blair was a very unlucky man. Daviot was leaving the police station just as a handcuffed Harold was being marched inside.
“I wish to use my phone,” Harold was shouting. “My fiancée, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe, will wonder what has happened to me.”
“May I be of assistance?” asked Daviot.
Harold burst out with the whole story.
Daviot’s pale eyes fastened on Blair. “Why is this gentleman in handcuffs?”
“He insulted me,” said Blair.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said that Macbeth had sabotaged his car.”
“Did you phone Macbeth and demand an explanation?”