Hamish's mouth dropped open.

"I take sterling," she said cheerfully. "Fifty pounds."

Hamish fished out his wallet. Anna had closed her beautiful eyes again.

Vanity, vanity, he thought dismally. And I thought you fancied me. At least he was carrying around enough money in his role of drug baron. He peeled off the money and put it down on the table.

He made his way down the narrow dark staircase and stood outside blinking in the sunlight. He didn't know where he was. How on earth was he going to explain his absence? Perhaps he could say that he had given the Glaswegians the slip and then turned and followed them, to see if they contacted anyone. That would do.

He walked and walked down cobbled streets and along by canals until he saw a taxi and hailed it. "Hilton," he said, and lay back in the cab, thinking all the while of Olivia's angry face.

He used his own key to let himself into the hotel room.

Pieter and Olivia were sitting in armchairs. They looked up at him, waiting, waiting, and with that Highland sixth sense of his, he all at once knew that somehow they knew not only where he had been but what he had been doing.

"Where have you been?" asked Olivia.

Hamish pulled up another chair and sat down. Nothing but the truth would serve.

"I've been making a fool of myself." He sighed. "It wass like this. I felt confined in here. I've never been abroad before and I thought the only part of Amsterdam I'm going to see is this hotel room and maybe the odd restaurant or nightclub. I only meant to walk around for a bit. I went into a souvenir shop around the corner and I met this girl. I could see the Glaswegians across the road and wanted to give them the slip. She led me out the back way, lent me a bicycle and asked me to follow her and I did. We went to her flat. I didn't know she was a prostitute until she demanded payment. I paid her and came back."

"And this is what I'm supposed to be working with," said Olivia to Pieter. "The village idiot abroad. I'd better phone Strathbane and abort the whole business. This man"-she jerked a contemptuous thumb at Hamish-"is going to get us all killed."

Pieter repressed a smile. He had expected Hamish to tell some highly embroidered lie. The fact that Hamish had told nothing but the truth amused him. Also Pieter found Olivia's dictatorial manner irritating. Men must stick together against bullying women. Poor Olivia, had she been a man, Pieter would have backed her all the way.

"I think that Strathbane would be furious with you for aborting an already expensive operation," said Pieter smoothly, "and as you are in charge of this case, it is you who would look bad, not Hamish here."

Olivia felt suddenly weary. Oh, what it was to be a woman.' Hamish would emerge as a bit of a lad and she would emerge as a carping bitch.

"I shall never forgive you for this," she snapped at Hamish. "But Pieter has a point. A lot of money has already been paid out on this. But from now on you will obey orders and do as you are told."

"Yes, ma'am," said Hamish meekly.

Pieter took his leave and said he would collect them later for the nightclub.

"Don't you know a prostitute when you see one?" demanded Olivia. "What kind of copper are you?"

Hamish had suffered enough. He rose to his feet.

"If you will excuse me, ma'am, I will go to my room."

He walked stiffly past her, his face flaming as red as his hair, and, ignoring her shout of "It's my room, too," he went into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

He threw himself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Prostitutes in Strathbane were raddled middle-aged women or pallid young girls with so many needle marks on their arms they looked like pincushions. And even that damns me as a fogy, thought Hamish. When did anyone last see a pincushion? How was he supposed to know that a fresh-looking young girl who was helping out in a souvenir shop was a prostitute? She had been warm and generous and loving. He had thought his dreams had come true. He remembered that just before he fell asleep, he had imagined her in the kitchen of the police station in Lochdubh, busy among the cooking pots, her canary singing in a cage by the window. He felt almost tearful with shame.

Olivia was on the telephone to headquarters in Strathbane, using the mobile phone. Much as she would have liked to shop Hamish, to put in an official complaint, she was well aware that it would be the end of the operation. She would save the gem about Hamish and the prostitute for her final report. Mr. Daviot listened to her report about how they had laid the ground, that they were going to a nightclub tonight to set the scene. Then she said, "We were followed by two of Jimmy White's goons but they got arrested for harassing some woman in a shop. So I do not see any reason why we should stay here any longer than tonight, running up expensive hotel bills."

"I will rely on your judgement," said Daviot, who had a slight crush on Olivia. "So we can expect you back tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll make the travel arrangements."

She said goodbye and then collected her own and Hamish's airline tickets from her bag and phoned the airline and booked them both out on an early flight in the morning. Hamish Macbeth would be easier to control on home ground.

"Good morning, sir," said Chief Inspector Blair as he met Mr. Daviot in one of the long dreary lime-green corridors of police headquarters in Strathbane.

"Ah, good morning. Mrs. Daviot thanks you very much for the flowers. Fancy you remembering her birthday."

"Just a little something. Everything going well over there?"

"Things seem to be running smoothly so far. I hope Macbeth realises at last that he has potential. He's too bright to be locked away in a Highland village."

Blair nodded and walked on. He had a pounding headache, having drunk too much the night before. He seethed at the idea of Hamish Macbeth getting any glory at all. Would it be so terrible to drop a word in the wrong quarters? They wouldn't kill Hamish, just probably disappear back to Glasgow. It would not be as if he, Blair, would be thwarting the police and Customs and Excise from seizing a valuable cargo. The cargo was a scam.

He would never be found out. All it would take was one little whisper.

Hamish received the news of their impending departure calmly. He had lost all his resentment to Olivia. He was so ashamed of himself that he actually now welcomed her cold, brisk efficiency.

Olivia had put on less makeup that evening. She was wearing a brief black evening dress with gold jewellery. Her hair was down on her shoulders, smooth and shining.

"You look very well," said Hamish awkwardly as he helped her into her coat.

She threw him a brief smile. "I thought I was beginning to look a bit too vulgar."

Pieter called to collect them and they all set off for the nightclub.

The nightclub was dark, with candles on the tables. "I don't know how anyone's even going to see us here," he murmured to Pieter.

"The cabaret's about to begin," said Pieter. "We're near the front and the lights from the stage will show us clearly. We'll just need to hope your Glaswegians have been replaced."

"There was that chap with them, the one I saw in Lachie's office, the one I call the Undertaker," said Hamish. "He'll still be around. If he's not here himself, he'll send someone else."

Suddenly the stage was lit up and the compere dashed on. He spoke in rapid Dutch and then German and English. Lola was to be the first turn, a lady of renowned international beauty. The audience laughed and Hamish wondered what was so funny about that.

Then Lola came on, a statuesque blonde with enormous breasts and high cheekbones. In a Marlene Dietrich voice, she started to sing "Falling in Love Again." Hamish realised with a little shock that Lola was a man. The wrists and ankles were always a giveaway.