Snare by Gwen Moffat Read Free Book Online

communists, ethnics, like that. I was perfect for the job; everyone thought I was a student. So I became an agent.’ He regarded her without expression.
    â€˜So who is watching your cottage?’
    But he’d decided to retract. ‘I don’t think anyone is at this moment. It could have been my imagination. We’re trained to be on the alert all the time. It’s all stress; you get so you see things that aren’t there.’
    â€˜Who did you think it was?’
    â€˜Someone from the Glasgow days, someone I’d put away, and he’d been released and come looking for me.’
    â€˜The police wouldn’t help?’
    He looked meaningly at the lad who was still tinkering with the boat. ‘That’s the police,’ he said in scorn, ‘sending his son out to keep tabs on me. Special Branch has got no time for the uniforms, and Gordon Knox can’t keep the local lads in order, let alone deal with a professional hit man. No, you settle your own scores in Sgoradale.’
    â€˜You said it was your imagination.’
    â€˜I said it could be – this time.’
    She suppressed a sigh, it could be more ... comfortable to share your anxiety –’
    â€˜Who says I’m anxious? I’m just on my guard.’
    â€˜If you talk it over with your wife, there are two pairs of eyes –’
    â€˜There are three pairs already. The kids know what to watch out for.’
    â€˜Mr Campbell! If the children are in your confidence, then your wife should be. She’s worried sick.’
    â€˜OK,’ he said, casual as a child, ‘I’ll go and have it out with her.’
    He turned and loped to his van. Amazed at his tone and not at all pleased with his turn of phrase, she stared after him as he drove away, then she looked towards the Knox lad. He had mounted his bicycle and was riding slowly in the direction that Campbell had taken.
    She went home to her domestic chores. While she was washing up she glanced out of the kitchen window to see what appeared to be a string of beads moving diagonally across the escarpment. As she watched, the leader turned at an acute angle and the rest followed in its tracks. They were sheep and they must be on a path that was invisible from below. That would repay investigation.
    After lunch, she followed the river upstream and climbed past a series of waterfalls to emerge on the open moor. She crossed the river by dry boulders and trudged through the heather to the lip of the escarpment. Following its edge, she came to the track where she’d seen the sheep and looked straight down on the roofs of the lodge. Beyond it were the grounds, less wooded than they appeared to be from sea level, more like parkland. Two riders were threading their way through spires of American spruce.
    They halted. They must be talking for the horses swung about, anxious to be away, but the people were deep in conversation and ignored the fretting of their mounts. Another person was coming up the lodge drive, accompanied by a diminutive orange speck: Alec and Baby on their afternoon constitutional.
    The sun was warm and she watched idly. She saw Alec approach the house but, before the drive widened to the forecourt, he took off across the lawns in the direction of the river. Where the lawns ended and the parkland began, man and dog disappeared behind trees, to emerge again – Alec plodding like an old man.
    The riders were between Alec and the river. Now they were in motion again, riding away from him a half-mile or so ahead, and each party hidden from the other. The riders were still restraining their horses and even at this distance a horseman could sense the animals’ frustration as they walked with short stiff steps. A head was tossed, haunches swung out. It happened once too often, too near a tree; there was a flurry of bucking and the riders faced each other, the ponies backing and filling. Suddenly one broke away – amazingly fast