“Sure,” I replied, “But don’t forget we can’t use any of this stuff because it would get Sophie into trouble. Hacking in to their systems is a criminal offence. You don’t want her behind bars, do you?”

I then told them what Pierre and I had agreed. I showed them the list of the fourteen people who were prepared to send emails to AIM and explained our reasoning. Mike liked the idea of stirring things up. Sophie was a little more reticent, wondering what it might lead to. After all, Purdy had already shown he was capable of burglary. How much further was he capable of going?

I was able to rustle up a satisfactory lunch and Pierre arrived just as we were finishing. He had brought Sophie’s laptop over and we set it up.

“Here’s what I’ve found,” he said, as he brought up on screen a list of the investments that had been made by each of the three funds.

“I’ve been able to identify all purchases and sales during the year. It’s what you would expect. This fund has been going in and out of various stocks and bonds, presumably programming their positions to sell automatically when any investment hits a predetermined growth figure. They’ve even dabbled a bit in foreign exchange. The net result of all this can be seen at the bottom.”

He pointed to a figure at the top of his list. “This is the value at the beginning of the year. And this . . .”

He moved the cursor down to the bottom. “. . . is the value at the end of the year. I’ve checked some of these values with records from the internet and they are correct. What it says is that this particular fund increased in value over the year by eight point two per cent, which is close to the industry average.”

I powered up my computer and checked the details of the returns AIM had announced to its investors for the same fund. They had credited their investors at various rates, depending on the infamous “comments” column, at rates of between three point four per cent and five point eight. The weighted average, bearing in mind that not everybody had invested the same amount, was three point nine per cent.

“Mon Dieu,” said Sophie, so shocked that she had slipped back into her mother tongue. “Cela fait plus de deux millions!”

Mike tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Translation, please.” “Oh, sorry. That makes more than two million pounds.”

“Wow.” We then ran a check on the other two funds. AIM had sold their investors short to the tune of four point eight million pounds.

There were a few moments of silence in the room while we all tried to absorb the enormity of what was going on.

I broke the silence. “This needs a bit of thinking about. This is not just a case of someone cooking the books or fiddling their expenses. This is theft on a massive scale. I suggest we reflect for a couple of days and each of us come up with a proposal as to what we should do about it. And don’t forget we can’t use this information without getting arrested ourselves.”

I got up to pace the room and ease my back which was acting up from so much sitting.

At that point the phone rang. It was Doug, asking if Mike was around. I handed him the receiver. He listened attentively for a while then asked Doug if he was now back in Edinburgh.

“OK.” he said. “Call here tomorrow night and update Bob. I won’t be contactable,” and hung up.

He turned towards us with a thoughtful look. He was starting to look concerned.

“Doug has just informed me that the villa in Spain that our friend Dewar went to for the weekend is registered in the name of a Margaret Buchanan.”

“Who’s she?” we asked. Milking the mystery for effect, he went on. “Doug has come back to Edinburgh. He didn’t get the same flight as Dewar, who flew back on Sunday night, because he didn’t want to risk any chance that Dewar would notice him. He flew back this morning and, anticipating that we would want to know who she was, he went hunting and, lo and behold, Margaret Buchanan is none other than . . .”

Sophie broke in.

“Mrs Dewar’s maiden name.” Mike looked hurt. “How did you guess?” “Female intuition, darling,” she said and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.”You’d better get used to it.”

Mike glanced over at me with a look of resignation. Pierre and I shared a laugh at his expense, but he really didn’t seem to mind.

“So this man Dewar is a close buddy of Purdy. They play squash together twice a week and he goes off, presumably regularly, to Spain where he has bought a villa worth several million pounds and registered it in the name of his wife. Sounds like a typical bent French politician,” said Pierre. “And could it be that the money has somehow come from Purdy?”

He left the question hanging in the air – then went on. “Perhaps he knows about Purdy’s girlfriend and is blackmailing him.”

“Or he knows about the scam and is taking a cut,” I added. “One or the other would seem to fit.”

“Right,” said Pierre. “Let’s add that into our reflections and we’ll get together tomorrow and decide on the next steps.”

“Not tomorrow,” said Mike. “I’m afraid we can’t.” He looked at Sophie and took a step towards her. He put a protective arm around her shoulder and announced to us that they were going off for a couple of days – if nobody had any objections.

I pretended to look astonished. Pierre laughed. Sophie blushed and Mike looked combative. I joined in the laughter with Pierre, and Sophie demanded to know what was so funny.

“I’ll tell you when you get back,” I said. “Just make sure you take a camera.”

There was definitely very little brotherly love in the look I got from Mike.

“Are you planning to pop in and see Heather?” I asked innocently.

Mike’s response was to pick up his jacket and say to Sophie, “Come on. It’s time to go before these two old farts really get started.”

The next evening I heard from Doug. He had been continuing to keep an eye on Dewar and had picked up his trail at the squash club where he had known he had his regular court booked with Purdy.

“All I can tell you Bob, is that they had their game and a drink afterwards. I was able to watch them without being able to hear their conversation but there was definitely something fairly serious being discussed. It looked as if Purdy was telling him something important. Dewar was listening most of the time and when they left they gave the impression that they had come to some kind of a decision.”

“Thanks, Doug,” I said. “Can you switch your attention back to Purdy now for a couple of days?”

The Thursday morning sun woke me the next day. I had been fairly late in getting to sleep the previous night with my mind trying to sort out all the news we had learned from the day before.

What we knew for sure was that Purdy was skimming off millions through AIM. That he had a mistress whom he presumably wished to keep secret. That Dewar was clearly a friend of some sort and he had a villa in the south of Spain worth a lot more than he could afford on an MP’s salary and he wanted to keep it quiet because he had registered it in his wife’s name – no paper trail to him.

The question was whether Dewar had got the money from Purdy and whether it was because he was blackmailing him over the mistress or the fraud that he was running at AIM.

It didn’t really matter which. The fundamental question was whether Dewar’s money was coming from Purdy or not.

Then there was the conversation that Doug had observed. I had to consider the fact that, perhaps, Purdy had told Dewar that we were sniffing around AIM. He would have received the emails I had organized and had probably linked them to my question at the conference. Perhaps he had told Dewar of the burglary he had organized to get Alice’s papers.

The scenario seemed perfectly possible but at the moment it was only supposition.

Letham is a small village. It’s really not much more than a hamlet. The main street has houses down one side and stretches up to crossroads at the top. The other side is simply fields, giving a clear view across the Howe to the Lomond Hills about six miles away. There is a school and a post office and about sixty houses. It is quiet and suits me admirably. My cottage, unlike most of the others, has two storeys and is built in large chunks of granite. Half way up the street there is a lane which leads off to the right, past the village bowling green, which sits just behind my garden, and then on up to the farm. My house sits just on the corner.