"Nothing simple about this, Brigadier, something Marco specializes in," Morgan told him.

Marco entered the room at that moment with a large silver chafing dish, the maids behind him. He removed the lid and a most delicious smell became apparent.

"Cannolo," Asta said in delight.

"Yes, the most famous sweet in Sicily and so simple," Morgan said. "A tube of flour and egg filled with cream."

Ferguson tried a spoonful and shook his head. "Nothing simple about this. The man's a genius. Where on earth did he learn to do such cooking?"

"His father had a small restaurant in Palermo. As a boy, he was raised to it."

"Amongst other things," Dillon said.

"Yes, my friend," Morgan told him calmly. "I suspect you and Marco would have a great deal in common."

"Now then, Dillon, let's concentrate on the meal," Ferguson said. "There's a good chap."

Which they did, returning to sit round the great fireplace in the hall for the coffee, which was Yemeni mocha, the finest in the world.

Ferguson accepted a cigar. "Well I must tell you this, Morgan, that was the best simple meal I've ever had in my life."

"We aim to please."

"A most pleasant evening," the Brigadier replied.

Dillon felt like laughing out loud at the insanity of it, the pretense of this amazing game they were all playing, the urbanity of the Brigadier's exchanges with a man who only a few hours earlier he had seen dispose of Fergus Munro's body.

"Well now," he said. "If we're going to play patty fingers here I'll use mine on the piano if you don't mind."

"Be my guest," Morgan told him.

Dillon moved to the grand piano and raised the lid. It was very old, a Schiedmayer, but the tone wasn't too bad when he tried a few chords. He lit a cigarette and sat there with it drooping from the corner of his mouth and started to work his way through a few standards.

Hannah came and leaned on the piano, sipping her coffee. "You consistently surprise me, Dillon."

"The secret of my fatal charm. Any requests?"

Asta was watching, a slight frown on her face, and Hannah murmured, "Now that's interesting, I do believe she's jealous. What have you been up to, Dillon?"

"You should be ashamed, you and your bad thoughts," Dillon told her.

Behind them Morgan said, "Asta tells me you had an excellent day with the deer."

"Yes," Ferguson said, "only when we got close enough to a King Stag to see the damned eyes and I lined her up with my gun, she wouldn't pull the trigger. She said she couldn't kill such a magnificent creature."

Hannah turned. "Good for you," she said to Asta.

"Well it was magnificent," Asta said.

"Still a damn silly attitude," Ferguson told her.

"No, I think the Chief Inspector has a point," Morgan told him. "The deer can't fight back. At least in the ring the bull has a chance of sticking his horn in."

There was silence and Dillon said, "Sure and you put your foot in it there, old son."

"Dear me, so I did." Morgan smiled at Hannah. "So sorry, Chief Inspector, I wasn't supposed to know, was I?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Ferguson told him.

"All out in the open, so we all know where we are," Dillon said.

"And on that note we'll say goodnight." Ferguson stood up. "Whatever else, you're an excellent host, Morgan. You must allow me to do the same for you sometime."

"I'll look forward to it."

Marco opened the door and they moved out onto the steps. The sky was dotted with clouds and yet undulated with strange, shimmering lights.

"What's that?" Hannah demanded.

"The aurora borealis," Dillon told her, "the northern lights."

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Asta said. "What a night for a drive. Can we, Carl?"

"Asta, be reasonable. It's late."

"Oh, you're no fun, you." She turned to Ferguson. "Can I come with you, Brigadier? You could have that wonderful Ghurka of yours bring me back."

"Of course, my dear, if you'd like that."

"It's settled then." She ran indoors.

Dillon said to Morgan, "Don't worry, I'll bring her back myself."

"Now that I am worried about," Morgan said and Asta reappeared wearing a blue mink coat.

"I'm ready when you are." She kissed Morgan on the cheek. "I won't be long." Then she got in the rear of the estate car with Hannah.

Dillon got behind the wheel, Ferguson joined him in front, and they drove away.

The drive along the side of the loch was pleasantly eerie, the northern lights reflected in the dark water so that they seemed to sparkle with a kind of strange silver fire.

"Wonderful," Asta said, "I'm so glad I came."

Dillon changed down to climb the hill up through the trees as they rounded the eastern end of the loch. The old estate car responded well; they went over the crest and started down. It was very steep with a bend or two below. As their speed increased, Dillon put his foot on the brake pedal. There was no response and the pedal went right down to the floor.

"Damn!" he said.

"What is it?" Ferguson demanded.

"The brakes have failed."

"Good God, man, how? They worked perfectly well on the way here."

"Since when we've been parked outside Loch Dhu Castle," Dillon told him and desperately tried to change down.

They were going very fast indeed now. There was a grinding of gears as he wrestled with the stick and then he did manage to force it into third as they came to the first bend.

"Hang on!" Ferguson called as Dillon worked the wheel and just managed to scrape round.

"For God's sake, stop it, Dillon!" Asta cried.

Not that he had any choice and the estate car hurtled down the straight, another considerable bend waiting for them. Again he worked the wheel hard, trying the old racing driver's technique of driving into the bend and almost made it and then they scraped against a granite wall on the left and bounced away. And it was that which saved them, for Dillon got control again as they went down another slope into a hollow and started up a gentle incline. Gradually the speed slowed, he changed down to bottom gear, and applied the handbrake.

There was silence and Ferguson said, "Now that could have been very nasty indeed."

"Let's take a look," Dillon said.

He found a torch in the dashboard locker and went and raised the estate car's bonnet, Ferguson at his side. A moment later, Hannah and Asta joined them.

Dillon peered into the engine and nodded. "There you are."

"What is it?" Hannah asked.

"See that kind of canister there? It holds brake fluid, only it doesn't any longer. The valve's been ripped off at the top, probably with a screwdriver. No fluid, no brakes. It's a hydraulic system."

"We could have been killed," Hannah said, "all of us, but why?"

"I think Asta knows why," Dillon said.

Asta pulled the collar of her mink around her throat and shivered. "But why would Carl do that?"

"More important, why would he do it to you, my dear?" Ferguson asked her. "After all, he made no attempt to stop you coming with us." And to that she had no reply. He turned to Dillon. "Will it still work?"

"Oh, yes, it's a straight road to the lodge on the other side of this hill and I'll stay in bottom gear."

"Good. Let's get moving then," and Ferguson ushered the two women back into the estate car.

"I think you could probably do with this," Ferguson said to Asta, who was sitting by the fire in the sitting room at the lodge, still hugging her mink around her.

It was brandy he was holding out and she took the large crystal tumbler in both hands, staring into it, then swallowed the brandy down. She sat there, still holding the glass, and Dillon took it from her gently and turned to Ferguson.

"She's a little in shock," he said.

She stood up then, took off her mink, and tossed it over a chair. "Shock be damned. I'm angry, Dillon, bloody angry."