“But not close enough to the throne to make any difference,” Sir Jeremy said. “So someone who has a grudge against those with any amount of royal blood—is that what we should be looking for?”

“Possibly,” I said.

I led him to the end of a long hallway and opened the door. As in all rooms at Castle Rannoch, the wind was swirling from an open window. It was a brisk morning and clouds were racing across the sky. Either Hugo was a tidy person or the maid had been in. His dressing gown lay across his eiderdown; his slippers were at the foot of his bed. His silver-backed brushes and shaving things were on the chest of drawers. But there was no hint as to the personality of the man who occupied the room. Sir Jeremy opened drawers, then closed them again.

“Nothing,” he said. Then he bent and looked under the bed. “Aha.” He pulled out a briefcase and tipped the contents onto the bed. There was a copy of Horse and Hound, train tickets and a small notebook. Sir Jeremy opened it expectantly, then he groaned. “Look at this,” he said.

“Someone got here first,” he said.

I stared at him. “You don’t think someone came into this room and tore pages from his notebook?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“But that’s impossible. There’s nobody in the castle at the moment except for the Simpsons, Prince Siegfried and my two cousins, and it wouldn’t be them.”

“Prince Siegfried? Of Romania?”

I nodded.

“A friend of the family?”

“I rather think the queen is matchmaking,” I said. “She wants me to marry him.”

“But you’re not keen?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And why should Prince Siegfried not be on our list of suspects?”

“He’s wet and harmless, I’m sure,” I said. But even as I said it I remembered the climbing accident, Siegfried was on the spot. But why tamper with a rope he was using himself?

Sir Jeremy walked over to the window and looked out. “We’re a long way up,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be impossible for someone to reach this room from the outside. He could climb up the ivy with very little risk of being seen.”

I stood behind him and looked out. “A long climb,” I said, “and a risky one.”

“We’ve seen this as a person who takes risks,” he said. “It took an enormous amount of gall to wait for the perfect moment to shoot someone, then calmly walk up to him and deliver the second shot.”

“Yes,” I said, and shivered again.

We continued to search the room but there was nothing more of interest, apart from a postcard Hugo had written to his mother. Having a fine time in Scotland. See you soon, I hope.

I put it back on the dressing table.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

The laird’s lug and later Balmoral
August 21