Ben drove fast away from the farm, and within minutes they were twisting through the maze of country lanes as they worked out the rest of the route northwards. By Ben’s reckoning Kinlochardaich was still at least fifty miles away, which meant they had little time to waste.

Their stolen car was functional enough, but handled evilly after the modern sophistication of the Mercedes, its worn tyres pattering and slithering on the bad roads and the tired suspension creaking and groaning as he ploughed ahead with his foot hard on the gas. With the fuel gauge deep down in the red they had to stop for petrol before hitting the A82 highway, the main route from the south, near a place called Black Mount. An hour later they were racing through the spectacular scenery of Glencoe, climbing to over a thousand feet over the great wilderness of Rannoch Moor before slowly descending through the glen itself.

‘To live in such a beautiful country,’ Grace murmured, more to herself than to Ben, ‘where so many terrible and ugly things happen.’ Snapping out of her reflective moment she turned to him and said, ‘There’s one thing we haven’t talked about. We need to think of an alternative meeting place to bring Stuart to. Assuming we even get to that stage.’

‘It has to be somewhere out of the way,’ Ben said. ‘Very private, and not too far to drive to. Any ideas?’

‘I was thinking, there’s an abandoned sanatorium about six miles north of the village. At the turn of the last century they treated tuberculosis patients there. Then it was used as a billet for troops in World War Two, and that was the last time it was ever used for anything. Supposed to be haunted, according to some. If you believe in all that ghostly crap.’

Ben nodded. ‘That could work.’

‘So let’s say Stuart goes along, and you get him out there. How do we deal with it?’

‘We lead him to the secret room where we tell him we stashed all the gold,’ Ben said. ‘We throw open the door. He’s distracted for a second, seeing nothing but an empty space, and before he knows what’s happening he’s waking up strapped in a chair, gagged and bound with a hell of a headache, where none of his men could ever find him.’

‘Okay. And what then?’

‘Still working on that one,’ he replied. ‘I’m kind of making this up as I go along. But I’ll think of something.’

‘I wish I had your confidence.’

At that moment, Ben could have used some of that himself. But he didn’t admit it to Grace.