"Wait here," said Bob.

He went into another room. There came sounds of an altercation. Then silence. Then Bob came back, followed by a tall young man with long unkempt hair and a straggly moustache. Angus, thought Hamish.

"What stuff?" demanded Angus.

"Heroin," said Hamish.

"Oh, yeah? What makes you think we've got any drugs."

"You haven't," said Hamish insolently. "Not in the quantity I need to buy."

Hamish knew impersonation came better from the inside. His very sneering insolence, the contempt in his eyes as he looked them up and down, he knew was a better disguise than if he had tried to dress up in the character of a drug baron.

"How much are we talking about here?" demanded Angus.

"Fifty thousand pounds for starters."

"Whit! Show us the money."

"Do you think I'd bring that much into a slum like this?" Hamish's eyes raked over the mess of the room. "I'm moving business to Strathbane and someone told me you two knew the drug scene."

"Oh, aye? And just who would that someone be?" demanded Bob, who had taken out a large knife and was waving it about.

"Put that bread knife away, you silly wee man," said Hamish.

"Who re you calling a silly wee man?" roared Bob. "I'll cut your face."

Hamish stared at him unmovingly.

"Put the blade down," snapped Angus. "So, big man," he said to Hamish, "which syndicate are you from?"

"As if I would tell you," jeered Hamish. "Just get me in touch and there's money in it for you."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"A hundred for each of you. You get me the contact and you get your money."

"Where do we get in touch?"

"You don't. Name a place and time and I'll be there."

"Wait a bit." Angus jerked his head at Bob and both went into the other room and shut the door behind them.

When they had gone, Hamish forced himself to maintain his role of big-time drug dealer. He knew if he relaxed the act for one moment, he would feel frightened and the fright would show.

There was an opened packet of cigarettes lying among the debris of Coke cans and half-eaten food in a corner of the floor. He stared at it hungrily, all the old longing for a cigarette flooding his body.

But just when he felt himself weakening, the door opened and Bob and Angus came back in.

"Took your time, didn't you?" demanded Hamish.

"Lachie's. Do you know Lachie's?"

"The disco."

"That's the one. Be there Thursday at nine o'clock."

"Okay. I'll be seeing you."

Hamish walked quickly to the door, nodded to them and walked outside, shutting it firmly behind him. He then stood a little way away from the door so that his silhouette could not be seen against the frosted glass and listened. "Follow him," he heard Angus say.

Hamish took off like a hare, running lightly on his trainers. He darted down the stairs and then along a corridor leading to the flats below. He pressed against the wall and waited until he heard Bob clattering down the stairs in pursuit. He waited until Bob's footsteps had faded away and then he made his way leisurely down the stairs, his mind in a turmoil.

What had he done? How on earth could he follow it through? What on earth had possessed him?

He would need to get hold of Sanders fast.

He made his way cautiously along the dark empty nighttime streets, always listening for the sound of pursuit. In the centre of the town, he found a phone box and dialled Sanders's number.

"Hamish," said Sanders crossly. "What now?"

"I need to see you. Now," said Hamish. "I'm in a mess."

"Okay, come round. Get to police headquarters, go on along Strathie Street past four turnings on the left going north, and the fifth is Tummock Drive."

"I'll be as fast as I can," said Hamish, and rang off.

Sanders listened to Hamish in silence and then said, "There's two things you can do, Hamish. One, go back to Lochdubh and forget about the whole thing. Two, come with me to police headquarters and let's see if we can follow this through."

"Blair will have my guts for garters."

"Blair's away for a week. Superintendent Daviot'll need to be in on this. You'd better stay the night and come in with me in the morning."

Wondering what they were making of his absence from the church, Hamish endured the wrath of Jimmy Anderson the next morning. Anderson howled that Hamish had lost his mind. Sanders said quietly that they had never really nailed a good drug bust and if Hamish could lead them to where the supplies were coming in, it would be a marvellous coup. Jimmy Anderson sourly said they should put the whole matter before Chief Superintendent Daviot. Hamish endured another gruelling session and then was told to go back to the church and maintain his cover until they got in touch with him. Until then, he was not to be seen at police headquarters again.

"Where the hell have you been?" demanded Barry when Hamish arrived looking haggard and unshaven.

"I talked most of the night with that fellow. He wass most helpful."

"I'm docking the time from your wages," said Barry. "Get to it. Any more days off and you're finished here."

Tired as he was, Hamish was glad of the work to take his mind off his troubles. He had gone to see Bob and Angus with no clear idea of what to say. Whatever had possessed him not only to tell that monstrous lie, but to say that he could come up with fifty thousand pounds?

He worked until just before the evening service was due to take place and put away his paint pots and soaked his brushes and then got in Sean's old car and drove to Lochdubh. After he had soaked in a hot bath and changed his clothes, he began to feel better. He had not been fired. As he had pointed out, he was doing the investigation in his own free time. They could either go ahead with it or tell him to stop being a maverick and never, ever do anything like that again without consulting his superiors.

There was a knock at the door. It was Angela, the doctor's wife. "Your sheep are all right and your hens are fed and locked up for the night."

"Thank you," said Hamish. "Come in."

"I can't. I'm rushing. You look awful. Been out on the town?"

"Aye, you could say that," said Hamish.

After he had said goodbye to her, he locked up the police station and drove off towards Strathbane. It was a cold, crisp night and great stars blazed overhead. He drove steadily until he saw the orange blot on the sky which meant he was approaching Strathbane.

He parked outside the church and walked around the back to the kitchen door. There were lights on in the kitchen. He stopped and then went forward softly and put his ear to the kitchen door.

Barry's voice sounded sharp and clear. "Betty Jones hasn't paid up. She's in arrears."

"Then take her pension book," came his wife's voice.

"She won't give it up."

"Threatened her with the wrath of God, did you?" sneered his wife.

"Didn't have the slightest effect. She says she can't pay."

"We need some muscle on this. Trust you to employ a halfwit."

"I wanted the church painted," said Barry peevishly. "We employ muscle, we'll have to pay for it."

Hamish drew softly away from the door. So the Owens were loan sharks, using the church as a front. Lend money at high interest and if they didn't pay, take their pension book or dole payment book. He was about to retreat and go back to police headquarters and report what he had heard. But he had been told to stay at his job at the church until he was contacted.

He went back to the car, let in the brake and cruised down the hill a little without switching on the engine. Then he switched it on and turned and drove back up to the church, revving the engine before he stopped and this time getting out and slamming the door loudly. Then he walked up to the kitchen door, whistling loudly, and opened it.