‘Would you like to come?’ he asked Rachel, when he called to tell her what Crosswick had revealed. ‘I’m not sure whether there’ll be anything there of interest for us, but I think it has to be worth at least a look. I called to make sure they were open and they’re expecting me. I’m going to go over there this afternoon.’

‘I’d love to,’ said Rachel. ‘Hang on and I’ll see if Gilly’s comfortable with me leaving her in charge for a few hours.’ He waited, listening to the muffled noises off as she consulted with Gilly. A moment or two later she was back in his ear. ‘She’ll be fine. Ezra’s coming up for her history lesson anyway, and we’re quiet. Shall I meet you by the bridge?’

The Great Dunbar Historical Society was above the library, housed in a large slate grey townhouse amid the tangle of streets that wound around the riverside to make up the town’s old quarter. They climbed a threadbare carpet up an echoing staircase to the second floor. Toby was sure he could smell the scent of old paper even through the heavy wooden doors that closed off the level. A brass plaque on the wall proclaimed the premises of the Great Dunbar Historical Society above a doorbell with a yellowing button. Toby tried the door and, finding it locked, rang the bell.

There came the sound of quick footsteps. The person who opened the door took Toby by surprise, because he’d been expecting someone far older. The young woman who greeted them looked to be in her early twenties, with large glasses and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a tweed jacket over a cream rollneck and blue jeans, and beamed a huge smile as she took them in.

‘Hi,’ Toby said, ‘I called earlier, about the Braecoille papers? ‘I’m—’

‘Mr Hollingwood! Yes, that was me you spoke to. Stephanie Warren. Come in, come in. I was so excited to get your call. As far as I know, no one else has ever asked about Braecoille. What we’ve got here is all that’s left of that big house now.’

She ushered them into a square room lined with neat bookshelves. The centre of the space was dominated by four tables pushed together to form a large surface.

‘Miss Warren—’

‘Oh, call me Stephanie.’

‘Stephanie, this is Rachel Talbot. She’s the manager of the Lighthouse Bookshop.’

‘Ah!’ Stephanie exclaimed. ‘I love that place! It must be so much fun to live in that tower – is it?’

Toby watched as Rachel smiled. ‘I’m not sure about fun, but it’s certainly different.’

‘I heard about the owner dying,’ Stephanie went on. ‘There was a notice in the paper. So sad. Do you know what will happen to the place now? Oh!’ she interrupted herself. ‘Is that why you’re here? Why you want to look at the papers?’

‘It’s sheer curiosity really,’ Toby told her. ‘On my part, more than anything.’