“Aye.” Neil ran his hands up and down his trouser legs. “I was at a table by the window at the Claymore and Heath, waiting for my friends.”
Yardley wrote on his notepad. “In Free Caledonia, yes.”
Neil gasped. “How do you—?”
“Continue, Mr. Mackenzie. A spy is on the loose, and time is of the essence.” Yardley skewered Neil with his gaze.
A belligerent toss of his head, but then Neil sighed. “A man came in, went to the barman, and the barman sent him to my table.”
“Describe the man.”
“About our age.” Neil motioned toward Lachlan. “Average height, but big, the sort of man who could toss a caber if he were Scottish.”
Lachlan winced. He’d rather the spy were a scrawny wee man.
“Hair? Eyes? Anything else?” Yardley didn’t look up from his notes.
“Sandy hair. Eyes light blue or gray. Narrow face, a cleft in his chin.”
“What was he wearing? Carrying?”
“Gray suit and coat, black homburg, two suitcases, one of brown leather, the other was steel. I detected a mild German accent. He asked if I was in Free Caledonia and—”
“Hold on.” Yardley grabbed his phone. “I must send this description to the police straightaway. I’ll take the rest of your statement in a minute.”
Whilst Yardley rang the police, Lachlan removed his greatcoat, asked Neil for his coat, and hung them up.
“What is going on?” Neil asked Lachlan in a frustrated whisper.
Lachlan could only shake his head.
After Yardley hung up the phone, he picked up his pen. “The man asked if you were in Free Caledonia.”
Neil tipped his head. “Not straightaway. He set his suitcases on the bench at my table and looked me over, all the while fiddling with a red ribbon knotted around his suitcase handle.”
Yardley glanced at Lachlan. The spy had been looking for the fictional scarlet thread.
“I didnae fancy how he was looking me over, and I asked if I could help him. That’s when he asked if I was in Free Caledonia. When I said I was, he joined me and asked if I knew a Dutch woman named Cilla.”
Yardley’s gaze flew to Lachlan again but revealed nothing. “Did he now?”
“Aye. He said he was Cilla’s friend—the friend she’d sent for, the friend who had come to help us. He kept looking around, right sleekit.”
“Sly,” Lachlan translated for Yardley. “Suspicious.”
“Very,” Neil said. “I decided to keep him talking, so I thanked him for coming. He said he’d brought presents for us, but he’d lost them and hoped Cilla had found them. Now he was sounding right daft. Then—aye, right then—Cilla passed by on the street. The man asked if she was Cilla. But if he was her friend, why didnae he recognize her?”
Lachlan clenched his hands together. Now the spy knew what Cilla looked like as well.
“The man said he’d seen Cilla at the railway station. He mentioned a red rope in her hair. Those were his words—‘red rope.’ He said it wasnae right, reporting to a wee lass like her. She couldnae do a man’s job. He should be in charge, not her.”
Yardley grumbled and kept writing.
Neil raised one finger. “That’s when Cilla got into a motorcar with a naval officer. The spy was upset, said Cilla was betraying Free Caledonia.”
Yardley’s mouth twitched. “How did you reply?”
“I was very confused. I told him she doesnae belong to our group, just fancies our discussions. He grew more upset and said, ‘But she helped you commit sabotage.’ I was shocked. We’ve never committed sabotage.”
