That was how I came to see it. That fateful weekend in the country had been planned for some time-part of a confirmation celebration for the young son of a mutual acquaintance – and Pemberton knew about it. Indeed, I had been surprised that he was acquainted with the fiamily in question, and we discussed it. If Caitlin had not become ill, we would have been in that room to see him. Thus, he had appeared in the place he reckoned I was to be found.

But why me? Why not Genotti, DeCardou, Zaccaria, or Kutch? Why not Evans, our number two? What had he been trying to tell me?

The quesnon gnawed at me until I decided one day to go and interview Miss Gillespie in the hope of finding an answer. I wrote to her and established a place and time to meet: Kerwood's Tea House on Castle Street, a quiet place where we could discuss the matter discreetly. My guest turned out to be one of those modem emancipated young women for whom conventions of dress and manner are dictated by personal taste and not by tradition or propriety or, indeed, modesty. She appeared wearing one of those shimmery sheaths with little rows of tassels up and down its short, shapeless length, complete with spangled yellow hat and gloves. Confident, educated, and indifferent to matters domestic, she proudly disclosed that she was soon to take up training as a nurse in order to assist in the war effort.

Despite her deliberately provocative ways, I soon discovered in Miss Gillespie a competent, capable, level-headed young person, not at all given to flights of fancy. She also had a fine sense of humour-as I quickly learned, once the tea had come and we had settled into the discussion which was the purpose of my visit. 'To tell the truth, Mister Murray, I do not know which of us was the more frightened. If you could have seen the startled look he gave me. The poor chap-if he had been a haddock plucked from the sea and tossed into the middle of Waverley Station, he could not have looked more surprised. He was the most polite ghost you could imagine.'