‘Have you a copy with you?’ asked Rose eagerly.

He fished a small photograph out of the inside pocket of his evening coat and handed it to her. Dolores in peasant dress was photographed sitting on a stone wall on the ramparts. She was hatless and her hair was blowing back in the wind.

‘Kerridge hopes that there might be some English connection,’ said Harry. ‘You see, that young man who followed you to the hotel and put the letters in your luggage was English, not French. The photograph will be published in the newspapers tomorrow and he will let me know if there are any results. Is there a telephone in the castle, Lady Carrick?’

‘I am afraid not. The nearest telephone is at Inveraray.’

‘I’ll motor there tomorrow. Who is that old man by the fireplace?’

‘That is my old butler, Angus. He did not want to retire.’

‘I think he’s dead,’ said Harry uneasily.

‘Nonsense. He always looks like that.’

Harry rose from his seat and went over to Angus. He felt for a pulse and then turned a grave face to Aunt Elizabeth. ‘I am afraid he really is dead.’

Enormous preparations for Angus’s funeral were set in motion the next day. Madame Bailloux was urged to stay for it as a mark of respect. She longed to say that as she had not known the man, it was surely not necessary, but at the same time was certain her hostess would be shocked if she said such a thing.

Harry returned late from Inveraray to say no one so far had come forward to say they recognized Dolores.

Daisy and Rose were sucked into the preparations for Angus’s funeral. The little church on the estate had to be decorated with greenery, and that task fell to Rose and Daisy.

‘Perhaps Becket and I would have fared better in Scotland,’ said Daisy. ‘The servants seem to have respect.’

‘I am sure if you should die, Captain Harry will give you a splendid funeral. Are we supposed to tie large black silk bows at the end of each pew?’

‘I think so. I heard some of the servants complaining to Lady Carrick about this business of decorating the church, saying it should only be done for weddings, to which she replied that Angus was now married to God. Rose, could you please ask the captain if he really means to set me and Becket up in a little business?’

‘I will ask him today, if the opportunity arises.’

The wake following Angus’s funeral seemed destined to go on for at least a week, with everyone from far and wide who had attended drinking copious amounts of whisky.

Madame Bailloux fretted. Her luggage was packed and yet no one was free to take her to the nearest station. She took her problem to Harry.

Harry, feeling that Rose was surely safe, surrounded as she was by so many people, volunteered to run Madame Bailloux over to the Holy Loch, where she could catch a steamer to Gourock and the train to Glasgow. One of the footmen who did not drink was delegated to accompany her all the way to London.