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in Con’s mind. When it came to motive and opportunity he would have to put Frank Holland on the spot. There was no doubt about that.
    He realised, however, that he was allowing his mind to race too far ahead because, in the first place, it may not have been murder at all, just a simple but gruesome accident.
    He stared ruefully at his notebooks and realised that, once again, he would have to put them aside.
    Would he ever have his work in order?
    It seemed that Fate was frowning on his efforts and conspiring to undermine his whole project.
    Nonetheless, there was no point in persisting tonight so McAllister resolved to go for a walk and let the sea air clear his head.
    As he passed the restaurant building in the fading light he could see through the window of the small office.
    His heart sank as he noticed three figures talking solemnly inside. They were Curtis, Sergeant Cronin and Frank Holland.
    McAllister walked on and tried to clear his mind of idle speculation.
    He filled his lungs with the fresh night air and concentrated on his surroundings. The looming and barely discernible mountains on his right, and the sense of the vast ocean to his left, gave him perspective on his concerns and he was eventually able to shrug them off if only temporarily.

C HAPTER 6
    A PLEASANT CONTRAST TO THE STARK and grim happenings of Wednesday was provided on the following evening when McAllister found himself at an impromptu musical gathering in the Orchid Hotel.
    Eileen O’Leary had telephoned Susan to say that she had persuaded the Quintetto di Lucca to play informally for her. She invited Susan, Frank and McAllister to come along.
    They had to decline as Thursday evening was a free night for most of the restaurant staff but McAllister accepted gratefully and drove over to the Orchid after dinner with a light heart. The chance to hear these great musicians perform a second time was one he could not miss. It was such a beautiful dusk too, warm and balmy with not a hint of breeze, that he began to relax for the first time in quite a while.
    He was surprised to find the lawn to the side of the hotel bathed in light but soon realised that the music making was to take place outdoors and that the ad hoc lighting was for the quintet. Music stands and chairs were in position.
    Eileen welcomed him and McAllister was once again impressed by her grace and poise. Her expression was also a little more animated than when they had first met, keyed up at the prospect of an outdoor concert in such unique conditions, he assumed.
    “Isn’t this simply perfection,” she said in greeting, “I’m so glad to see you again.”
    “I wouldn’t have missed this for worlds, Eileen, and thank you for the invitation.” He was glad to see that her melancholy had lifted and sensed in her a great warmth of personality.
    Balfe emerged from the front entrance of the hotel and came across to them.
    “No positive identification on those French people you bumped into at Black Head I’m afraid. Couples like that on a motoring holiday are a bit of a stereotype without some identifying feature. Are you positive you took no note of the registration number, even a digit or two that would give us a lead?”
    “I was too shaken by the speed and near calamity of the incident to think clearly,” said McAllister ruefully,” but thanks for your help. Would you believe I’d forgotten all about them between the Hyland affair and trying to catch up with my lecture scripts.”
    “Oh yes, Hyland,” said Balfe. “That’s a strange business they’re saying it might be murder. Very likely I would think.”
    “Murder did you say?” , a short stocky man of about forty joined them. He exuded strength, and his steely grey eyes regarded McAllister inquisitively from a well weathered face. Though his shock of black/grey hair was mildly unkempt he was neatly, but casually, dressed. His accent placed him as Glaswegian.
    Balfe turned to him. “That’s right, Jack. The word is