Chapter One

"OH, why do photographers have to take so long?" said Lady Janet Fraser, as she peered up the avenue leading toward Sir Adam Sinclair's gracious country house. "Adam, I'm dying to see the look on Julia's face when she sees the painting."

Behind them, ranged on the front steps and broad front lawn of Strathmourne Manor, nearly a hundred well-dressed wedding guests were chatting amiably and sipping champagne from crystal flutes on this sunny Saturday in May. Many of the men wore kilts and day-wear jackets; the ladies were resplendent in spring frocks and fanciful hats.

Earlier, they had gathered at St. Margaret's Episcopal Church in Dunfermline to witness the marriage of Peregrine Lovat, one of Scotland's most talented young portrait painters, to the lovely Miss Julia Barrett; now they prepared to celebrate those nuptials with a formal reception and luncheon, here in the gardens of Strathmourne, Scottish seat of one of Peregrine's more prominent patrons. Over on the south lawn, a vast yellow- and white-striped marquee had been erected to accommodate the guests. Half a dozen waiters in Stewart tartan trews and white mess jackets circulated among them with silver drinks trays, offering liquid refreshment before the bridal party arrived from the church.

Even as Janet spoke, there was a sudden flash of reflected sunlight among the tall beech trees that lined the avenue leading to the house. More flashes followed in quick succession, winking in and out among the beech leaves on the long approach.

"They're coming!" Janet declared, as her surgeon-husband, Sir Matthew Fraser, brought her a glass of champagne.

Adam smiled and glanced in signal at his stableman, John Anderson, kilted and filling in as domestic staff for the day. Anderson, in turn, beckoned to another kilted man, the teenaged son of one of Adam's tenant farmers, who nervously brought out a pair of ancient-looking broadswords. The two took up posts to either side of the entryway, swords at rest before them, as the first of three sleek Daimler limousines came into view, deep claret coachwork gleaming in the midday sun.

At a pace both stately and efficient, the first car eased to a stop at the foot of the steps and disgorged the bride's aunt and uncle and both mothers. Adam welcomed them graciously, deftly directing them to one side as the first car was replaced by the second, which carried the best man, Julia's matron of honor, and the two little flower girls. Other family members followed in the third car, and the tardy photographer bailed out of a hastily parked Volkswagen van and began setting up. As the newcomers availed themselves of champagne and joined the rest of the wedding guests beginning to congregate closer to the entrance to the house, the bridal car appeared at the far end of the drive and made its slow approach.

Rather than another hired Daimler, it was Adam's own classic Mark VI Bentley that carried the newlyweds, lent for the occasion along with Adam's valet-butler, Humphrey, in his well-accustomed alternate role as chauffeur. Though Humphrey rarely displayed much emotion, as befitted his station as manservant in a distinguished household, Adam thought he detected more than a hint of a smile on Humphrey's normally impassive face as he brought the big blue car to a smooth halt in front of the steps and came around to open the door.

"Oh, don't they make a handsome couple?" Janet murmured as the kilted Peregrine handed his bride out of the car, to a smattering of applause from the assembled guests. "And Julia's gown is absolutely stunning!"

The gown in question was an Edwardian confection of creamy silk taffeta, with wide skirts billowing from around Julia's tiny waist. Antique lace framed the wide neckline and frilled the puffed sleeves at the elbow, and dozens of tiny buttons marched down the back of the close-fitting bodice to a bustle-effect above a modest train. In keeping with the romantic mood set by the gown, Julia had pulled back her red-gold curls in a cascade caught at the crown, with a wreath of creamy-yellow silk roses securing her veil. Peregrine's cobalt-blue velvet doublet was frothed at the throat with an heirloom lace jabot, above a kilt of brown and blue and green - the hunting sett of his customary Fraser of Lovat tartan.

"Oh, I do love weddings!" Janet declared as the pair kissed for the photographer's benefit. "One of these days, Adam, I hope to see you getting out of that car with a lovely bride on your arm."

Adam shot her a forbearing smile and returned his gaze to the bridal couple, now posing for a more conventional photograph with Humphrey, beside the car. He hoped Janet was not going to bring up the subject of Ximena. On this day, of all days, he did not need reminding of his own domestic frustrations. A physician himself, he had met Dr. Ximena Lockhart in a hospital emergency room, after sustaining minor injuries in a car crash some eighteen months ago. Despite this inauspicious beginning, which had proven to connect with one of the highly unofficial investigations he pursued from time to time with the local police - and which had even brought Ximena herself into danger - his relationship with the lissom, dark-haired American had flourished in the next six months, leading both of them to begin entertaining serious thoughts of marriage.

But news of her father's terminal illness had summoned Ximena back to California the previous summer to nurse him in his final months - which now had stretched on to nearly a year. Adam could not begrudge them the time together, but he still cherished hopes that, when all was resolved, she might be moved to return to Scotland. Meanwhile, he must not let his own nostalgia for her company darken his enjoyment of Peregrine Lovat's wedding day.

The said Peregrine was looking very pleased with himself as he led his bride up the steps of Strathmourne, hazel eyes shining behind his gold-rimmed spectacles, the fair hair slightly breeze-ruffled. Behind them, Humphrey took the Bentley silently off to its garage in the stableyard, and ahead of them, beyond Adam, Anderson and his young partner came to attention and brought their swords smartly to salute.

"Welcome to Strathmourne, Mrs. Lovat," Adam said, gallant words to match his dark good looks and courtly manners as he bent smiling over her hand in a graceful swirl of red Sinclair tartan.

After clasping Peregrine's hand in more hearty congratulation, he invited the pair of them to follow him into the house. The swordsmen remained at salute until he had passed through the arched doorway, then smartly extended the blades in a sword arch for the happy couple, to the obvious approval of the wedding guests.

"Well done," came a murmured commendation from a distinguished-looking older man with a military moustache.

Anderson knew the speaker well; and when he and his partner had closed the arch behind the couple and returned to "shoulder arms" and "dismiss," he came back to attention and gave him a precise military salute. It was General Sir Gordon Scott-Brown who had given Anderson the recommendation that led to employment with Adam for the past ten years. Until invalided out from injuries sustained in a terrorist bombing, John Anderson had been a trooper in the Household Cavalry.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Anderson," the general said, coming to shake the man's hand. "I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten everything they taught you."

"No, sir," Anderson said with a smile. "And young Andrews has proven as a good a student as I ever had. May I present him to you? I've been trying to talk him into a career in the military."

Inside, Peregrine was drawn aside to answer a question from the caterer, and Julia glanced back over her shoulder appreciatively as Adam led her farther into the flower-banked vestibule.

"Oh, Adam, the swords were a wonderful touch," she said. "Peregrine told me you'd arranged a sword arch, but I expected the usual Scottish basket-hilts. Those look very old. Are they ancestral Sinclair treasures?''

"After a fashion," Adam conceded, smiling. "The blades were once used in the service of the Knights Templar - and as you know, both Strathmourne and Templemor were once Templar holdings."

He left unsaid that her new husband had been among those who helped acquire the swords, whilst in pursuit of thieves attempting to locate and plunder a secret Templar strongroom. It was but one of the instances in which Peregrine had aided Adam in his work, on many levels. The public and social face presented by Sir Adam Sinclair, Baronet, declared him a patron of the arts, an antiquarian of some repute, and an aficionado of classic motor cars. Professionally, Dr. Adam Sinclair was well regarded as a psychiatrist and sometime consultant to the Lothian and Borders Police. Only a handful of people, many of them present today, knew anything of his dedication to more arcane pursuits, as white-occultist, Adept, and Master of an esoteric fraternity known as the Hunting Lodge, charged with enforcing the higher laws of the Inner Planes.

"Well, then," said Julia, who was not aware of these other facets of her husband's patron and mentor, "we have the Templars to thank for the swords, I suppose. And thank you, Adam, for making all this possible. Peregrine says you always think of everything, and I'm beginning to see what he means. This whole day…" She gestured around the flower-banked vestibule with a happy sigh. "I still can hardly believe we're having our wedding reception here. You've made it especially magical for us."

"It's my pleasure," Adam assured her. "Consider it part of my wedding present to the pair of you. I only wish the restoration up at Templemor could have been farther along. It would have been a marvellous tribute to your new husband's artistic talents, to have held the reception in the great hall. I very much doubt we'd be even as far along as we are, if it weren't for his artistic vision."

"But Templemor wouldn't have been nearly large enough," Janet Eraser said, come to whisk Julia away to freshen up before joining the receiving line. "The great hall here isn't even big enough. Julia, this is an absolute fairy tale. Just wait until you see the marquee! Come upstairs, and you can look down on the lawn from one of the south bedrooms."

As the two women disappeared up the stair, chattering animatedly, Adam reflected that it was probably as well neither had any idea just how far Peregrine Lovat's range of artistic talents exceeded the norm. It was those particular talents that had commended him to Adam's attention in the first place - and soon had earned him a place as one of Adam's most versatile and useful Huntsmen, a preferred teammate on many an unusual investigation. Adam's Second, Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod, had come to value Peregrine's unique talents in a forensic capacity as well, so that on occasion, Peregrine, too, served as a consultant in police investigations that ranged beyond the conventional.

Adam spotted the grey-haired inspector and his wife just outside the door, McLeod uncharacteristically kilted and looking none too happy about it. As he lifted a hand in greeting, Jane McLeod saw him and also raised a hand to wave.

Jane was a rare gem. Adam hoped that Peregrine would be as fortunate in his choice of a mate as McLeod had been - and that he would be as fortunate. Though Peregrine would have been as forthright with Julia as he could be, about the demands sometimes placed upon him - and much could be explained away by the need for confidentiality, when off about police business - the more specific work of the Hunting Lodge was not something that could be readily accepted and understood by those who were not themselves initiates. Nor was it fair to expect active participation from those who had no calling in what, essentially, was a vocation. Given a spouse not so called, mere loving support and unquestioning acceptance were great blessings; and even those were not always granted to those who served the Light. It took a special kind of spouse to accept such an arrangement on trust.

McLeod's Jane was one such spouse - supportive but not herself directly involved - and Adam guessed that Julia would also rise to the challenge. He hardly dared to hope that perhaps, in time, Ximena might be able to do so as well - if the two of them ever got together again for more than a forty-eight-hour flying visit. As for an equal partnership in the Work, like that shared by Christopher and Victoria Houston - he dared not even dream that he might be that fortunate.

A sudden outburst of squeals and childish laughter broke in on his reverie. Glancing back, he saw that Peregrine was playing at being a snapping crocodile for the delighted benefit of Ashley and Alexandra Houston, aged seven and four, Julia's two little flower girls.

"Just offhand," said a crisp contralto voice at Adam's shoulder, "I'd say that Peregrine possesses all the right qualifications for future parenthood, wouldn't you?"

"I would, indeed," Adam agreed, smiling. The speaker was the children's mother, Victoria Houston, whose clergyman-husband had officiated at the wedding in conjunction with the elderly parish priest resident at St. Margaret's. Only their fellow Huntsmen would have been aware that Father Christopher had added one or two special touches of his own to ensure that Peregrine and Julia's marriage received not only the blessings of the Church, but also the benisons of the Inner Planes.

"I would also say that the girls have earned their sport with Uncle Peregrine," Adam added. "They were perfect little ladies for the ceremony, utter models of decorum."

"Goodness, don't say that!" Victoria said in mock alarm. "The next thing you know, they'll be trying to climb the wedding cake!"

"Those little cherubs?" Adam said with a droll grin.

"Well, the early indoctrination might hold," Victoria allowed. "Years of sitting still in church and watching Daddy parade around in fancy dress helps. Actually, they can't wait until they're old enough to be in the choir, so they can wear those flashy red cassocks and little white ruffs!"

Adam laughed aloud at that. Hearing him, Christopher excused himself from a conversation with Julia's mother and uncle and came over to join them, snagging a fresh glass of champagne on the way, dapper and elegant in his clerical suit and collar. He spared an amused look for his daughters, then asked in a conspiratorial undertone, ' 'Has Julia seen the painting yet?"

Adam shook his head. "Not yet. I've had Humphrey put it on an easel right beside the head table. She'll get her first glimpse of it when Peregrine leads her to her place."

"So it's still a surprise. Good." Christopher grinned like a schoolboy. "I hope that photographer will be around to catch the expression on her face!"

As soon as Julia rejoined them, the members of the wedding party reconvened in the vestibule and entry hall to receive their guests before retiring to the marquee for lunch. Following several of Julia's school chums, one of the first to come through the line was a fragile, elderly woman in a wheelchair, lifted up the steps, chair and all, by Anderson and Andrews. She was swathed in a graceful sari of sapphire silk shot with silver, with a paisley shawl draped over her lap. A handsome sapphire set in a golden scarab graced her right hand, and Indian bangles circled both wrists. A somewhat younger companion accompanied her, guiding the chair. Peregrine's face lit up at the sight of the pair.

"Lady Julian!" he exclaimed, going to her. "And Mrs. Fyvie! I'm so glad you could come!"

"You know I wouldn't have missed this day for the world," Lady Julian said, smiling as she gave Peregrine both her hands and accepted the salute of his kiss on her cheek. "Julia, my dear, you look positively radiant, as all brides should. Are you pleased with the rings?"

Slipping one arm through Peregrine's, Julia leaned down to display her left hand, for Lady Julian, an accomplished jeweller, had made both their rings. Peregrine had opted for a plain gold band lightly etched with a Celtic interlace design; Julia's narrower band nestled close to the heart-shaped ruby she wore as an engagement ring. The latter had belonged to Peregrine's grandmother.

"They're absolutely wonderful," Julia said, eyes shining, "and all the more special for having been made by you. I look forward to wearing mine for a lifetime."

"You have my prayers that that lifetime may be a long and happy one, my dear," Lady Julian said.

"I promise you, I shall do everything in my power to make it so," Peregrine replied, with an adoring glance at his bride.

The cheerful buzz of conversation swelled as guests continued to present themselves, passing through the drawing room then and onto the terrace, with the marquee beyond. Some of Peregrine's guests were former schoolmates, but many were his former clients and patrons.

Perhaps most prominent among the latter were the Earl and Countess of Kintoul. The earl was closer to Adam's age than to Peregrine's, but Peregrine had been close friends with the earl's younger brother, the Honourable Alasdair, tragically killed in a motoring accident shortly after both young men left university. After Alasdair's death, his mother had adopted Peregrine as a surrogate son, and had become his first really important client and patron as his career began to take off. She sadly had not lived to see the flowering of his friendship with Adam, following her introduction, but she had remembered him in her will with a modest bursary and the bequest of a beloved and valuable vintage motorcar. The dark green Alvis drop-head coupe parked near the marquee, poised for the honeymoon getaway, had been known affectionately as "Algy" by the Kintoul family.

"The best of all good wishes to you and your enchanting bride," the earl said to Peregrine, shaking his hand as Lady Kintoul gave Julia a fond hug. "Julia, has he let you drive Algy yet?"

Julia rolled celestial blue eyes and pulled a mock pout. "Not so far, I'm afraid - though, in fairness, I must admit that my esteemed husband has been having the engine gone over so that Algy will be ready for our wedding trip. I shan't tell you where we're going, but he has promised me a turn at the wheel once we get away in the countryside - and I intend to see that promise gets kept!"

"I shall look forward to your assessment of the old bus," the earl replied, laughing as his wife poked him in the ribs and said, "Shame on you, David Kintoul! Algy is not an 'old bus'! Julia, you're going to love it. Just don't let Peregrine bully you into thinking that driving vintage cars is an esoteric sport, reserved only for men!"

Of a slightly different tenor was the brief exchange with General Sir Gordon Scott-Brown, John Anderson's benefactor, soon to retire as Governor of Edinburgh Castle. He was escorting his wife and younger daughter, both of whom had sat for Peregrine to paint their portraits in the past year. A prominent Freemason, the general had been of material assistance to Adam and his associates some months past, when a lodge of black magicians had set about killing off Freemasons. Since then, Peregrine had received several important commissions on the strength of the general's recommendation. Now Sir Gordon shook Peregrine's hand vigorously and tipped him a jaunty wink.

"Come and see me when you get back from your honeymoon, Mr. Lovat," he told the young artist. "My Lodge is celebrating its centenary this year, and we're hoping to have a group portrait painted for the occasion. I've let it be known that you're the man for the job."

When it was time for the wedding luncheon to commence, the Earl of Kintoul's personal piper struck up "Mairi's Wedding" and led the newly weds out to the marquee. The photographer had been alerted, and was standing near a large gilt-framed oil painting set on an easel near the head table. Peregrine said nothing as he led his bride across the parquet floor, but Julia noticed the painting almost immediately. She caught her breath as they came abreast of it, half in delight and half in awe.

"Peregrine, did you do this?" she exclaimed, as the piper finished his tune.

Peregrine acknowledged responsibility with a sheepish grin. "Let it never be said that romance is dead," he told his bride. "I hope you like it."

"Like it? I adore it!" Julia exclaimed - and threw both her arms impulsively around his neck, to the delight of the watching guests and a smattering of applause.

It was a unique wedding gift, that only Peregrine himself could have created for his bride. In composition and technique, the painting was a faithful reflection of a nineteenth-century work by the Scottish artist Alexander Johnstone. The original portrayed a romanticized Bonnie Prince Charlie nrreecffig Ffora MacDonald for the first time, with the kilted Prince seated beside a rustic table in a rough stone cottage. Before him, outlined against the light from an open doorway, stood the legendary heroine who had helped him elude his English pursuers "over the sea to Skye."

Peregrine had re-created every detail of the original with consummate skill and deliberation. In his version, however, the features of the principals had been altered to mirror a cast of familiar faces. The Flora MacDonald of Johnstone's original painting now wore Julia's fair visage and a fanciful conjecture of her wedding gown, which Peregrine had never seen before today. The latter was a close likeness, suggesting that Peregrine might have had a conference with his bride's dressmaker.

Peregrine himself had assumed the identity of the Bonnie Prince, kilted in his customary Fraser of Lovat tartan, hazel eyes brimful of adoration as he gazed up at his fair rescuer. In a puckish display of humor, the glint of his wire-rimmed spectacles was clearly visible. The handsome laird who was presenting Flora by the hand displayed the darkly handsome features of Adam and wore his Sinclair tartan. Other figures in the painting were clearly recognizable as Matthew and Janet Fraser and Julia's Uncle Alfred, all of whom had been present when the newlyweds first met. Casting her gaze over the detailing, Julia gave a little crow of laughter and clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, Peregrine, it's wonderful. I hate to think how much time you must have spent toiling over this when you might have been doing other things. Whatever gave you the idea?''

Smiling, Peregrine captured one of his wife's hands and raised it to his lips with a smile.

"I thought the spirit of our first meeting should be preserved, and the Johnstone painting seemed somehow an appropriate model," he declared. "You have made me a prince among men, dearest Julia, and just as Bonnie Prince Charlie placed his life in Flora's hands, so do I place my happiness in yours."

"Hear, hear!" someone shouted approvingly as applause broke out again; and Janet Fraser murmured, "Who said that chivalry was dead?"

The luncheon menu began with a salmon mousse in shells of fresh melon and worked through a tomato bisque, breast of duck in a marinade of orange and ginger, and an accompaniment of new potatoes and garden vegetables, along with appropriate wines. Once the remnants of the main course had been cleared away, Humphrey wheeled in the wedding cake on a silver serving trolley: a glistening triple-tiered confection in white sugar icing. Decorating the top tier, in place of the traditional figures of a bride and groom, was a miniature scene from a fairy tale: a knight on a white horse doing battle with a dragon while his lady looked on from the turreted window of her castle.

"How lovely!" whispered Janet Fraser to her husband. "To be married in the spirit of chivalry…"

Once the cake had been cut, using a Victorian cavalry sword carried by the groom's great-grandfather in the Zulu Wars, there followed the traditional round of speeches while the cake was distributed and coffee was served. After the addresses had been concluded, Adam rose from his seat at the top table and gave his crystal champagne flute a chiming tap with a silver coffee spoon. As the buzz of conversation settled, he lifted his glass.

"My lords and ladies, honored guests, friends and family of the happy couple," he proclaimed. "Before we adjourn to the garden, please join with me in pledging Julia and Peregrine our best wishes for a happy, healthy, and prosperous future."

The toast signalled the formal end to the meal. Thereafter, the guests filtered out to the gardens while Lord Kintoul's piper played again and the marquee was cleared for the dancing that would follow. Adam, his formal hosting duties now done, circulated freely among the guests, enjoying the sunshine of the terrace and the chance to chat with friends.

Eventually his perambulations brought him round to the rose arbor, where he found Noel McLeod sitting alone on a stone bench in the shade, polishing his gold-rimmed aviator spectacles on a handkerchief. Something in the inspector's manner suggested that he might have been waiting for Adam.

"Hello, Noel," Adam said, wondering what the reason might be. "Don't tell me you've tired of the festivities already, when there's still some country dancing to be done."

Scowling beneath a wiry grey moustache, McLeod settled his spectacles back on his face and ran a hand through thick grey hair.

"Not tired, just hot," he said with a grimace. "I had to wear my winter-weight kilt." He picked up a pleat in distaste. "Jane discovered only yesterday that the moths had been at my summer one, and you know how women are, when they get something in their heads: She wouldn't even entertain the thought of me wearing a suit."

Adam smiled. "If you wore your kilts more often, the moths wouldn't have as much chance to get at them."

"Och, I know that." McLeod raised a hand in dismissal. "I could have hired one, I suppose, but things have been so hectic at the office lately that I haven't had much time to spare for anything apart from police business. As a matter of fact, the next time you've got a free moment, there's something I'd like to talk over with you - just to see what you think."

McLeod's tone was casual, but the very fact that he had broached the subject of business at a purely social gathering made it clear that the matter to which he was referring had been weighing on his mind.

"I suppose I could make a bit of time just now," Adam said, "so long as it isn't anything too complicated."

"Well, the telling isn't complicated," McLeod said as Adam sat beside him. "You remember Donald Cochrane?"

"Of course." Cochrane was McLeod's chief assistant.

"Well, about a week ago, Donald handed me the file on a case that had come over from Traffic Division. It seems that in the course of the past four months, for some unknown reason, a particular stretch of the Lanark Road west of Currie has suddenly become the scene of a whole string of serious traffic accidents, with several fatalities.

"I say 'for some unknown reason,' " he went on, "because that bit of road has never been a problem before. I've driven it many times myself, and I can tell you that it's just a straight stretch of plain tarmac - no curves, no roundabouts, not many access roads - no potential hazards of any kind. As far as these recent accidents are concerned, there are no reports of any particularly adverse weather conditions on the days in question, likewise no unusual traffic congestion.

"Nor have we been able to make any human correlations. Investigators from Traffic Division checked over the medical records of the various victims and couldn't find any medical anomalies affecting any of the drivers. And yet, for all these noes, there have been no fewer than nine people killed or injured along this roadway since the beginning of the year. It's getting so bad that the media have begun referring to this bit of road as Carnage Corridor."

During McLeod's recital, Adam had become aware of something stirring at the back of his mind. It was a sensation he had experienced many times before, and invariably signalled that there was more to a given situation than might meet the eye. Without having any special idea what he might be plumbing for, he asked, "What can you tell me about the accidents themselves?''

McLeod pulled a scowl, setting both hands on the stone bench to either side of him and studying his black brogues and kilt hose.

"The first crash occurred on New Year's Day," he said. ' 'Three local lads were on their way home after an all-night Hogmanay party when the driver ran his car off the road. The vehicle overturned into a ditch, killing the driver outright. One of the passengers died a few days later; the other survived, but is still in a coma. They haven't much hope that he'll ever wake up. Everyone involved in the investigation assumed that it would turn out to be a clear-cut case of drunk driving, but the post-mortem showed that the man at the wheel had a blood alcohol level well below the legal limit."

"Asleep at the wheel, then?" Adam ventured.

"Maybe. But the hostess of the party says that all three lads had caught a few hours of sleep in the wee small hours, and they'd had a solid breakfast before setting out for home, with lots of strong coffee."

"Go on."

"Since then, there have been four more accidents, occurring roughly at three- to four-week intervals," McLeod continued, ' 'each of them attended by at least one fatality. They form enough of a pattern to suggest that there must be some common factor - but so far, nobody's been able to figure out what it could be. Given the fact that all logical avenues of investigation have failed to turn up an answer, I've begun to wonder if maybe the explanation we're after is one that defies conventional logic."

"The situation certainly would seem to border on the uncanny," Adam agreed. "Have you any theories?"

McLeod pulled a wry face. "Nary a one. That's why I thought it might be worthwhile to let you have a go at it. If you've any chinks in your schedule this coming week, I'd appreciate it if you could come down to the station and look over the reports for yourself, just to see if you get any feel for what might be at the bottom of it all."

Adam nodded, considering. "Monday's actually not too bad," he told McLeod. "I've got my usual rounds at the hospital, together with some late-morning appointments, but I should be free by noon. Why don't I meet you at your office after lunch?"

"That would do nicely," McLeod said. "Maybe you'll be able to spot something I've missed. It's just too uncanny to be mere chance."

"What's uncanny?" said an interested voice from behind Adam's back.

Both Adam and McLeod looked around to find Peregrine Lovat standing on the path.

"Nothing that need concern anyone who's about to take off on his honeymoon," McLeod said sharply. "Believe me, you've got far better things to do than meddle in the affairs of Traffic Division."

"Traffic Division?" Peregrine looked briefly nonplussed at the possibility of anything unusual occurring under the jurisdiction of that generally humdrum aspect of law enforcement. "But if you've really got a case you think we should look at - "

"We don't know yet," Adam said firmly. "We won't know until I've had a chance to look over the paperwork, if then. And even if something does turn up that might prove worth our investigating," he continued, raising an eyebrow, "don't you think you might trust Noel and me to handle it in your absence?"

Peregrine had the grace to look sheepish. "All right, I can take the hint," he told his mentors. "But if anything interesting happens here while Julia and I are off in the Western Isles, I'll want to hear the whole story when I get back."

"Don't worry, you will," McLeod promised. "Now, away you go and dance with that pretty wife of yours. I hear the Ceili band tuning up. A man's wedding day doesn't last forever, so don't waste another minute of it standing around talking to us."