Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

I had, I confess, no great knowledge of the subject, but it seemed to me that they each spoke with the authority of an expert. Odd it was, then, that the very next day, all met with calamity whilst engaged in their sport. The Johnstone brothers returned shamefacedly to the hotel about tea-time. Angus Johnstone's rod had broken, and their fishing-lines had become entangled, and in the resulting confusion, Fergus had fallen overboard, and Angus had lost his reel in the water. Mr Morton's accident had been potentially the more serious, although, in the event, he too returned to the hotel chastened but unharmed. He had been out alone, fishing among the islands in the bay, his wife having remained behind to do some drawing by the harbour, when his boat had sprung a leak. Unable to stem the inrushing water, and with nothing with which to bale out, he had rowed with all speed for the shore, but his boat had disappeared beneath him before he had reached it, and he had had to swim the remaining distance. Murdoch MacLeod was most distressed at this account, and rung his hands in his misery.

"You must have feared for your life!" he declared in a tone of great sympathy; but the other shook his head.

"I was nae worried," said he dismissively. "It was a matter of only five-and-twenty feet before my feet touched solid ground. I was more concerned about the walk home, I can tell ye! I came ashore on the south side of the bay, ye see, so I've had to walk the whole way round the loch to get back! My feet'll never be the same again!"

"And you have lost all your equipment?" inquired MacLeod. "Aye. All sunk wi'out trace."

"We will of course compensate you for your loss – "

"We can discuss it later," said Morton, turning on his heel. "For now, all I'm interested in is a hot bath!"

"This season has been an unfortunate one for us," said MacLeod, after Morton had left the room. "At this rate, we shall

soon have no-one wishing to stay here. Why, only two weeks ago, a young lady from Peebles slipped and fell down the main staircase in odd circumstances, and, just before your arrival, a Mrs Formartine from Arbroath lost a valuable pearl brooch. Now this! I felt sure that all the rowing-boats were sound.Thank goodness it was not more serious!" He shook his head as he left the room.

"What an odd and unfortunate thing!" said I.

"Indeed," said Holmes, and I seemed to read in his face that there was little point my raising again the idea of a fishing-trip.

It rained heavily that night, but the following morning dawned bright and clear, and there was much discussion at breakfast-time of plans for the day ahead. Several of the hotel-guests were to leave on the Friday, and were thus keen to make the most of their last day in Kilbuie. The Johnstone brothers, clearly undaunted by the previous day's experience, intended, once they had replaced their lost and damaged equipment, to spend their time fishing once more.

"We'll try among the islands today," remarked Angus Johnstone as they were leaving. "Whatever happens, it canna be worse than yesterday!"

To my surprise, the meek and frail-looking Doctor Oliphant also announced that he would be taking a boat, his intention being to visit Stalva Island, where, he said, there were the remains of a Viking burial chamber. The Mortons hired a pony and trap and set off with a picnic hamper and Mrs Morton's sketching equipment, to visit the Falls of Druimar, a well-known beauty spot, some dozen miles inland.The weather was fine and the wind light, and Holmes and I passed a pleasant day in ambling about the town and the harbour, and along the margin of the loch.

Despite MacLeod's worries for the welfare of his guests, there were no more accidents, and they all returned in good spirits, if a little late. I observed as Holmes and I went into dinner that evening that an extra table had been laid, but no-one arrived to claim it, and I saw MacLeod glance at the clock over the mantelpiece several times, and shake his head. It was clear that he was expecting someone, but how they might arrive, unless it were by private carriage all the way from Inverness, I could not imagine, for the coach which connected with the train had long since been and gone.

This little mystery was soon solved, however. As we were taking coffee in the drawing-room after our meal, the door was opened to admit two men, introduced to us as Alexander and Donald Grice Paterson, father and son respectively, who had, they informed us, arrived in their own little yacht which they had just moored in the harbour. Alexander Grice Paterson was a small, wiry man of about fifty, dark-haired and clean-shaven, with a shrewd, crafty, almost fox-like appearance. His son, Donald, was perhaps two-and-twenty, a little taller than his father, and sported a black moustache, but with the same dark, fox-like look to him. Plates of sandwiches and cheese were brought in for them, which they devoured hungrily, and, thus restored, they began to speak in excited tones. It was clear that they had recently had a very singular experience, which they were keen to share with their fellow-guests.

The older man was a senior partner in an Edinburgh legal firm, he informed us, into which his son had recently been admitted as a junior. Their speciality was commercial law, which could sometimes be a little dry, he admitted, even for those whose vocation it was.

"It's to remedy the dryness," he remarked with a crafty twinkle in his eye, in what was clearly a much-rehearsed witticism, "that each year we spend as long as possible on the water! In short, we have a little boat, a twenty-five-footer, the Puffin, which we sail about hither and thither for a week or two each year.

"In the past we've been blown all over the Firth of Clyde, back and forth from the Ayrshire coast to Kintyre. This year we thought we'd venture further afield, and plotted a course up the West Coast of Argyll and beyond. We've not had the best of wind, but we've done pretty well, all things considered, and two nights ago we slipped through the Sound of Sleat and moored for the night in Loch Alsh. Since then, we've not hurried, running in and out of bays and inlets, and exploring any nook of the coast which promised interest. We expected to arrive in Kilbuie this afternoon, but the wind has been unfavourable, and we've been beating this way and that for the last few miles. At last, earlier this evening, we turned into Echil Bay – and now we come to the most singular experience of my life! We knew when we first set off that we were sailing into unknown waters, to the land of myth and magic, but we

never expected that we'd be the victims of Highland magic ourselves!"

He paused and took a large mouthful of the whisky and water which stood at his elbow, glancing round as he did so, as if to judge the effect of his words, for all the world like an advocate addressing a packed court-room. His opening remarks concluded, he now came to the crux of the matter.

"We steered a course between the islands, but the wind was not so much against us now, as almost non-existent, and our progress was slow. It was just as the sun was setting behind us, and the shadows were long ahead, that we noticed what appeared to be a ruined tower, on one of the larger islands. Donald consulted the charts, and was able to inform me that the island was Uffa, and that upon it were the ruins of an ancient religious establishment. This seemed too good an opportunity to pass up, and we determined to go ashore and explore.

"We moored the Puffin some thirty yards from the shore, and rowed the dinghy into a little natural harbour among the great jumbled rocks at the extreme western end of the island. By the time we had our feet on dry land, the light was fading fast, but there was a well-worn path through the heather, so we were confident of soon reaching the ruins. The path meandered steeply up and down, however, and after a few minutes, we had quite lost sight of the ruins, and it became apparent that to get from the west end of Uffa to the east, where the ruins were situated, was going to take us longer than we had expected. Still, as we had by this time gone some considerable distance, we thought, like Macbeth, that it were as well to go on as go back. A mistake, perhaps, but we were not to know." He paused. "Perhaps you could tell them what happened next, Donald," he said, turning to his son.