The procurator was startled enough to tip his glass of sherry. He swore under his breath as a golden river trickled onto the papers in front of him, and he took out his handkerchief to stanch the flow. The room smelled heavily of the richness of the wine, and Rutledge set his own glass down, untouched.

“That is, as you may know, my late son’s name.”

“Yes. But there are, I should think, many men called Robert Burns to choose from,” Rutledge replied.

“Where was this house you spoke of?”

“I’m told it was in the Trossachs.”

Burns dropped the wet handkerchief into the paperfilled wastebasket at the side of his desk.

“My son had a house in the Trossachs. Not far from Callander. But I have never heard that he was acquainted with Eleanor Gray. If I had, I should have said something to Inspector Oliver and the Chief Constable. Furthermore, my son was to be married. If—if he survived the fighting. He was not likely to be in the company of other women in London. Nor was he likely to bring them to his house!”

Rutledge said soothingly, “If she was a friend, and in need, he might. Whether he was the father of the child or not.”

It offered a way out. The fiscal seized it. “He would indeed have given what help he could. But I cannot believe he would allow her to use his house. It was his mother’s house before we were married. She had left it to him. Robert was close to his mother. He would not have dishonored her memory.” He looked distastefully at the remainder of the sherry in his glass, as if he blamed it for spilling. “Besides which,” he said, rather spoiling the lofty effect of his earlier words, “if there had been anyone living in the house, I would have heard. There is a neighbor who looks in on it from time to time, has a key and all that. I would most certainly have heard! Mrs. Raeburn is very particular.”

Hamish said, “Aye, if the neighbor is an auld biddy who would ha’ relished telling his father tales, I canna’ think Robert was sae foolish.”

“Indeed,” Rutledge said aloud, answering both of them. “Then he could have found another place for her to live until she was able to return to London. If it was your son. Did he have an interest in piping?”

“He studied the pipes as a child. But he didn’t continue. What has that to do with Eleanor Gray?”

“I recall someone telling me that this same officer was helpful in finding pipers to play for the wounded.”

“You needn’t play the pipes to like them. Or to know pipers.”

Rutledge said nothing.