The King of Scotland's Sword

by Sir Steve Stevenson

  “I agree. And the guests hadn’t had anything to eat or drink yet when they fell asleep. The catered reception was scheduled for noon,” observed Agatha.

  “So it must have been some sort of gas,” concluded Dash. “But how was it distributed?”

  “If my memory serves me correctly, Ms. Ross found the windows wide open, right, Granddad?” asked Agatha.

  He nodded. “That’s what she said when I questioned her,” he confirmed. “If the room was pumped full of gas, it was fully dispersed by the time she got back.”

  Dash slammed his palm on the table. “What if she did it?” he said excitedly. “Maybe she released the gas into the arms hall and used her purse as an excuse to go outside while it took effect. Then she came back with a handkerchief over her nose, stole the sword, passed it to her accomplice, and opened the windows to wake everyone up!” He punctuated his flood of words by putting both feet on the table with a satisfied clunk. “Case closed, folks!”

  Agatha wasn’t convinced, but she decided to indulge him. “Even if your assumptions are correct, we need to find proof. Not to mention the sword.”

  “Would you like to question Ms. Ross again?” asked their granddad, heading for the door.

  Just as he was about to open it, Agatha stopped him. “To catch your prey, you need to bait the trap,” she said, smiling shrewdly.

  The others stared blankly as she summarized all the clues they had found so far, emphasizing that if Ms. Ross was the culprit, she would have needed help from an accomplice, who presumably carried the sword through the secret passage, escaping by sea. Then she went to the door and whispered to Chandler to gather the organizing committee together.

  “As you wish, Miss Agatha,” the butler replied politely. Then he remembered that he was supposed to act like a tough guy, and growled, “I’ll bring ’em right in, little girl!”

  The organizing committee came into the office moments later, eager to hear if there was any news. Ian Mistery sat with the depositions in front of him as though he had everything under control, and his “apprentices” sat in the corner.

  “In my line of work, we don’t use the word ‘news’ until the investigation is completed,” Ian Mistery said. “I’ve asked you back to explain a few things.”

  “What things?” Director MacKenzie sounded alarmed. His bald head glistened with sweat. “I hope we’re not suspects in this theft?”

  The Earl of Duncan traded frowns with his colleague Snodgrass, the North Sea oil millionaire. “Maybe you should put Professor Cunningham in handcuffs for his incompetence,” he sneered. “We’d all be delighted!”

  Behind him, Chandler loudly cracked his knuckles. A tense silence fell over the room.

  “None of you is a suspect,” Ian Mistery reassured them. “But you need to tell me whatever you can about young Ms. Ross.”

  All eyes turned toward Professor Cunningham. “Ms. Ross?” he repeated, sounding surprised. “I can’t tell you much, to be honest. I hired her as an assistant last month, to help set up this exhibition. She’s very smart but doesn’t work well under pressure. She tends to forget things.”

  Dash interrupted. “Are you referring to the misplaced purse, Professor?”

  If the antiques dealer was startled to hear from a teenage apprentice, he didn’t let on. “Not just that,” he replied. “Ms. Ross simply isn’t reliable. She can’t even make decent coffee.” He paused, then added indifferently, “I’m planning to fire her tomorrow.”

  Until he mentioned coffee, Agatha had felt sympathy for the handsome professor, but his coldness annoyed her. “What was so important in that purse?” she asked, struggling to maintain her calm.

  Professor Cunningham smoothed back his hair. “Official documents from the Museum of Edinburgh,” he said with a bitter sigh. “Without them, we don’t have permission to exhibit the king of Scotland’s sword here at Dunnottar Castle. And we’re going to owe the museum a huge sum of money!”

  As soon as they heard the words huge sum of money, the committee members exploded with fury. Chandler needed all of his skills as a bouncer to calm them down.

  Snodgrass, the oil tycoon, was the most agitated, threatening to strangle Professor Cunningham with his bare hands. “You’ll pay dearly for this, you academic runt!” he shouted. “I paid good money to set up this exhibition, and you’ve ruined everything. I’m going to sue your fancy pants off!”

  Chandler intervened, steering him into a chair.

  The other committee members showed their distress in various ways. Director MacKenzie muttered over and over that his reputation was ruined, and the Earl of Duncan sneered at the professor, who sat with his head in his hands, as if his whole career in antiquities had just gone up in flames.

  “Gentlemen, listen!” cried Granddad Ian. “Try to compose yourselves! This chaos is hindering my investigation!”

  “How can you still have any doubts, detective?” Snodgrass asked haughtily. “Arrest Ms. Ross and end this farce one and for all!”

  Dash shot Agatha a glance that said: “What did I tell you?”

  She didn’t react, but whispered something to her granddad.

  Ian Mistery nodded. “I’ll ask you gents to step out of my office,” he ordered in a tone that invited no arguments. “I will cross-examine Ms. Ross and let you know the outcome.”

  The organizing committee seemed relieved, and Chandler escorted them out of the office, still quarreling among themselves.

  While the butler went to call Ms. Ross for a final interview, Agatha peeked into the arms hall and saw the guests stirring restlessly, wondering what had just happened.

  She closed the door, staring into space for a moment.

  The hands of the clock clicked onward inexorably. It was already 4:30.

  Agatha whispered her new plan into her granddad’s ear, then returned to her spot in the corner. Relaxing in his armchair, Dash shook his head. “You’re so stubborn, cousin,” he goaded her. “You don’t give in even when all of the evidence points the same way!”

  “Does it?” asked Agatha. “If you ask me, Ms. Ross is innocent.”

  Before Dash could respond, they heard a soft knock at the door. They answered in chorus, “Come in!”

  A pretty girl in her twenties entered. She wore a tailored suit and makeup that seemed like an effort to make herself look older and more professional. She looked scared and dejected as she took a seat in front of the desk, with her hands in her lap and her head bowed. “How can I help you, detective?” she whispered without raising her gaze.

  Their granddad adjusted his bow tie; it was the signal he and Agatha had agreed on. Agatha took a seat next to the young assistant, trying to catch her evasive eyes.

  “Who is your accomplice, Ms. Ross?” she asked point-blank. “And what kind of boat did he use?”

  Ms. Ross’s head jolted up and she looked around, frightened. “My accomplice?” she stammered. “What boat? What do you mean?” She seemed genuinely confused.

  Even Dash paid attention. Granddad Ian nodded at him to stay quiet and passed the notebook of witness statements to Agatha.

  “Your statement is recorded here,” the girl continued in a gentler tone. “You’re the only person who wasn’t inside the arms hall, which makes you the chief suspect in the theft. You understand, don’t you?”

  Ms. Ross nodded, not saying a word.

  Agatha was used to evaluating people’s facial expressions on the spot, and she was convinced the assistant was innocent. But she needed to keep pumping her for as much information as possible. “So you didn’t widen the hole with a pickax and pass the sword to an accomplice?” she asked Ms. Ross.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied.

  “Tell us exactly what you did this morning,” pressed Agatha, wanting to delve deeper. “Give us every detail of what happened from the moment you drove up to Dunnottar Castle this morning.”

  The trembling assistant took a deep breath and began to talk.
She had arrived at 7:15 and found Professor Cunningham in the director’s office. The organizing committee was double-checking that everything was in place in the arms hall before the exhibition opened at 8:00. The professor had asked her to bring him some coffee from the machine in the kitchen at the rear of the manor. It had taken her a while, because she’d never used that kind of coffee machine and didn’t know where to find filters. When she returned, he seemed irritated by the delay. He had noticed the police car outside the castle and asked her for the exhibition permits.

  Ms. Ross paused for a moment to catch her breath. “The professor was so nervous,” she continued. “He kept looking outside, where the guests were already lining up outside the door. I had put the permits in my purse, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. When I told Mr. Cunningham, he was furious!”

  “What did you do?” asked Granddad Ian.

  “I looked all over the office, but I couldn’t find it,” explained Ms. Ross. “Meanwhile, Director MacKenzie and the others had gone to the entrance to let the guests in. Professor Cunningham ordered me to go out to my car, since it was the only place I could have left my purse, and to come back with the permits. So I slipped out the side door as the guests started to enter.”

  “Did anybody notice you leave?” Agatha interrupted.

  “I don’t think so.” She wavered.

  Agatha pushed her hair out of her eyes and gave her a clever smile. “Not even the two policemen in the parking lot?”

  The young woman didn’t even need to think about it.

  “Oh. They definitely noticed me,” she replied, blushing a little. “While I was searching the trunk, looking for my purse, they came over and asked me if I was a soccer fan, and who I was rooting for in the World Cup.”

  “Why would they ask you something so stupid?” Dash asked, surprised.

  Agatha and Granddad Ian looked at him. “Tell me you always say intelligent things when you’re trying to flirt with a girl?” his cousin said with a laugh. “Like, what did you ask Dorothy when you met her for breakfast this morning?”

  Dash flushed beet red and fell silent.

  Granddad Ian picked up where Agatha had left off. “Your purse wasn’t in the car, am I right?” he asked the witness.

  “I looked everywhere, even under the seats, but it wasn’t there,” replied Ms. Ross. “So I went back to the castle, sure that Professor Cunningham was going to be furious, but he was lying on the ground with everybody else.”

  Agatha checked the notebook. “It was eight thirty-five a.m. You were outside for twenty minutes,” she read calmly. “When you returned, you saw that the sword had been stolen, and you woke up Director MacKenzie. The rest of the story we know.”

  Ms. Ross nervously twisted her hair. She looked as if she was going to cry as she added, “You have to believe me. I’m positive I had my purse with me when I came into the castle this morning. I was in a hurry, and I was carrying a lot of papers, so maybe I dropped it, but I don’t know where!”

  “Or maybe someone made it disappear,” suggested Agatha. Before Dash could protest, she thanked the witness and asked one last question. “Can you describe your purse for me, Ms. Ross?”

  “It’s a shoulder bag, light brown leather, with a brass buckle.” This said, she thanked them politely and scurried out of the office.

  Agatha looked at her granddad and said, “Girls can forget many things, but never their purses!”

  “That doesn’t prove she’s innocent,” Dash cried, jumping to his feet. “She might have made up that whole story!”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes, I believe that!” he fumed. “Nothing she said can be proven!”

  Agatha glanced at the clock. “That’s where you’re wrong, cousin,” she said. “Let’s take a little walk.”

  They left the castle grounds, approaching the two bored policemen who stood on the roadside. “How’s it going in there?” the younger one asked, eager for any distraction.

  “The opening ceremony was wonderful,” Agatha lied through her teeth. Then she asked if they’d met a young woman looking for her purse that morning. The two policemen looked at each other, muttering something vague, but Agatha didn’t give up. “You asked her if she was a soccer fan, if that rings any bells. Talked about the World Cup?” The policemen adjusted their hats and confirmed the times that Ms. Ross had reported.

  Even though it was clear that the assistant was telling the truth, Dash didn’t give up. “What about this missing purse of hers? Who took it, and where is it now?”

  “All in good time, Dash,” said Agatha. “All in good time!”

  The sun was sinking low, and sinister shadows stretched over the courtyard of Dunnottar Castle. Agatha calculated that they had barely an hour left to solve the mystery.

  “So where are we going?” asked Dash, alarmed by this news. “Shouldn’t we try to track down the accomplice who’s got the sword?”

  “There is no accomplice, dear cousin,” Agatha said as they entered the gardener’s shed.

  “Are you crazy?” said Dash. “Then why is there a new hole in the floor of the tower? What about the secret passage that leads down to the beach? Where else would the sword be, and how was it stolen?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Agatha. “But I think we’re on the right track.” She found a garden rake and got Dash to lash a long bamboo pole to the handle with duct tape. He kept complaining about wasting time, but he knew enough to trust Agatha’s hunches.

  They walked back to the well with the extra-long pole.

  “Lower it and scour the bottom,” said Agatha. “I bet there’s a surprise inside this stinking well!”

  The first thing Dash brought up was a mass of decayed blackish leaves, but on the next pass, he hooked something heavy. As he started to pull it up, Agatha spotted a glint of brass.

  “That’s what I saw shining!” she said, glowing. “It’s Ms. Ross’s purse!”

  Stunned, Dash redoubled his efforts and pulled up the purse. It was soaking and stained, but when Agatha carefully opened the brass clasp, she discovered the permits were safe inside a plastic bag.

  “Do you still think she’s guilty?” she asked.

  “No way,” replied Dash, congratulating himself on his logic. “If she were the thief, she wouldn’t have thrown her own purse in a well—or wasted time going to look for it.”

  They left the rake on the grass, and hurried inside to show Granddad Ian and Chandler their find.

  “That narrows the number of suspects to four,” said Chandler.

  “Why?” Dash asked, puzzled.

  “The culprit must be on the organizing committee,” Chandler said, calm as ever. “The purse was dropped into the well before the castle was open to the public.”

  Agatha snapped her fingers. “Your reasoning is flawless, Chandler,” she said. “And I think I know why our thief tried to make the permits disappear!”

  The others fell silent, hanging on her words.

  “Ms. Ross said she found everybody asleep,” explained the girl. “But we know that the thief was awake, and had twenty minutes to commit the crime while she was searching for them!”

  “I knew I didn’t care for those fellows,” declared Ian Mistery. “But how do we figure out which one is the thief? I don’t know who’s the least trustworthy, Director MacKenzie, the Earl of Duncan, or that arrogant rich guy, Snodgrass!”

  Dash cut in. “Hold on a minute. Agatha and I found some clues in the ruins, near the well where the thief hid the purse.” He pointed at the pickax and ziplock bags in the corner. “If we add up all the clues and Granddad’s witness statements, what do we get?”

  “They’re all just red herrings,” said Agatha. “The thief scattered a bunch of false clues to create havoc in the crime scene.”

  “What about the bagpipe reed?” Dash asked stubbornly. “‘I still think we should question the piper.”

  “The thief must have taken it from his instrument while he was sl
eeping,” said Agatha. “Maybe he doesn’t like Scottish music!”

  Everyone laughed, except Dash. “And how about the golf ball?” he said. “Shouldn’t we read the file on that professional golfer, Panther or whatever?”

  “Cheetah Karp,” replied Agatha, “is a famous collector of medieval weapons. The thief figured we’d find that out in our research and wanted to send us down a blind alley with that as a possible motive. Nice try, but it didn’t work.”

  “And the peacock feather? Is that lady a suspect?”

  “I suspect she has bad taste in hats,” replied Agatha. “But that’s about all.”

  Dash didn’t even bother to ask about the hole and the pickax, since Agatha had already assured him there was no accomplice. So all of their clues were useless.

  Chandler excused himself to stand guard in the arms hall. He took his role in their act very seriously. Granddad Ian turned to his granddaughter with the notebook of statements. “Don’t you think it might be wise to reread these, now that we’ve narrowed the field? We might find something important.”

  “Great idea,” said Agatha.

  Even Dash agreed.

  They flipped through the pages, commenting aloud whenever something came to mind.

  “Remember the publicist who said she saw an upside-down ghost?” said Dash. “I bet it was the thief’s shadow when he took the sword out of the cabinet.”

  “And the wolf howl was probably the wind blowing in though the windows he opened,” said Agatha.

  “What about the gunshot?” asked Granddad Ian. “How can we explain that?”

  “Maybe he just broke something?” Dash suggested. “What do you think, Agatha?”

  She was silent, rereading a page.

  “Agatha?” Dash repeated.

  “The photographer!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Granddad, what did he tell you?”

  Ian Mistery slowly loosened his bow tie. “He was distraught that his digital camera was broken,” he said. “It slipped out of his hand when he fell asleep on the floor, so he wasn’t able to finish his job.”