‘You’re the one who was always complaining I—’

‘Subject closed, Grant.’ She turned to him. ‘I mean it. It’s either closed, or I take it to the boss – your call.’

He started to say something, but stopped himself, folded his arms across his chest. Virgin AM was playing quietly on the stereo. She liked it; helped her wake up. Grant wanted something newsy, Radio Scotland or Radio Four.

‘My car, my stereo,’ was all she’d said to that.

Now he asked her to repeat what she’d already told him about the Farmer’s call. She did, glad that they were staying off the subject of the clinch.

Grant sipped his coffee while she spoke. He was wearing sunglasses, though there was no sun. They were Ray-Bans, tortoiseshell frames.

‘Sounds good,’ he said when she’d finished.

‘I think so,’ she agreed.

‘Almost too easy.’

She snorted. ‘So easy we almost missed it.’

He shrugged. ‘It didn’t take any skill, that’s what I’m saying. It’s the sort of thing you either know or you don’t.’

‘Like you said, a different kind of clue.’

‘How many Masons do you suppose Philippa Balfour knows?’

‘What?’

‘It’s how you found out. How would she have worked it out?’

‘She was studying art history, wasn’t she?’

‘True. So she might have come across Rosslyn Chapel in her studies?’

‘Possibly.’

‘And would Quizmaster have known that?’

‘How could he?’

‘Maybe she told him what she was studying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Otherwise, it’s just not the sort of clue she’d have been able to get. Do you see what I’m saying?’

‘I think so. You’re saying it needed specialist knowledge that the previous clues didn’t?’

‘Something like that. Of course, there is one other possibility.’

‘Which is?’

‘That Quizmaster knew damned fine she’d know a little of Rosslyn Chapel, whether she told him what she was studying or not.’

Siobhan saw what he was getting at. ‘Someone who knows her? You’re saying Quizmaster is one of her friends?’

Grant peered at her over the top of his Ray-Bans. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if Ranald Marr turned out to be a Mason, man in his line of work …’

‘No, nor me,’ Siobhan said thoughtfully. ‘We might just have to go back and ask him.’

They turned off the main road and drove into the village of Roslin. Siobhan parked the car beside the chapel’s gift shop. The door was locked tight.

‘Place doesn’t open till ten,’ Grant said, reading from the notice. ‘How long do you reckon we’ve got?’

‘If we wait till ten, not very long.’ Siobhan was sitting in the car, checking that there were no new e-mails for her.

‘There must be somebody.’ Grant banged on the door with his fist. Siobhan got out of the car and studied the wall surrounding the chapel grounds.

‘Any good at climbing?’ she asked Grant.