Free Murder on the Flying Scotsman by Carola Dunn Page B

around when they heard he was well off after all. You’re right, miss, it was one of them did
it.’
    But which one? Daisy was rather surprised that none of them had popped in to see her since the discovery of Albert McGowan’s death. Did they realize they must all be under suspicion? Were
they closing ranks, or wildly swapping accusations?
    She decided it was time to put her thoughts in order so as to be ready to explain the situation to the Berwick police – in such a way as to persuade them to send for Alec.

 
    CHAPTER 7
    The Flying Scotsman made a brief, unscheduled stop at Tweedmouth station.
    Belinda lost interest in the game of draughts. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t concentrate,’ she said miserably.
    ‘That’s all right,’ Dr. Jagai assured her in the gentle voice Daisy was sure would bring patients flocking to him once he had his own practice.
    ‘But you haven’t had your revenge properly yet, though you’re winning by miles.’
    ‘Perhaps we’ll have another chance to play later. Here, let me help you pack up the set. You don’t want to lose any pieces.’
    Through the open compartment door and the opposite corridor window, Daisy saw the guard in confab with the station master. No doubt he was explaining the ruination of the LNER timetable. If he
had any sense, he would also ask for the Berwick police to be telephoned with advance warning of their coming.
    Ought she to suggest it? Before she had made up her mind, the guard strode back to the train, blew his whistle and waved his flag, and swung aboard.
    Slowly the train moved off again. Clattering over the points, it puffed at a snail’s pace around a bend, and rumbled across the railway’s Royal Border Bridge high above the Tweed
estuary. Downstream stood the old stone bridge with its multitude of low arches. On the far side, beyond the riverside embankment, the red-tiled, pinkish brown stone houses of Berwick spread up the
hillside, presided over by a tall clock tower.
    ‘What a pretty town,’ said Daisy. ‘Look, Belinda, wouldn’t it be nice to walk along the river wall?’
    Belinda slipped across to sit beside her. ‘What’s going to happen now?’ she asked, sounding apprehensive.
    Daisy took her cold little hand. ‘Nothing too frightful, darling. I expect the policemen will want to ask you exactly what you saw, but I’ll be right there beside you.’ Just
let them try to stop her!
    ‘I wish Daddy was here.’
    ‘I’ll do my very best to get him here, I promise.’
    ‘S’pose he’s awfully busy?’
    ‘No matter how busy he is, I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he finds out that you’re here.’
    ‘Yes, I ’spect so.’ Belinda hesitated. ‘Miss Dalrymple, can lawyers put people in prison?’
    ‘Lawyers are part of the legal system, like policemen,’ Daisy said reassuringly. ‘But don’t worry about it, we don’t have to rely on Mr. McGowan’s lawyer.
Even if your daddy can’t come, the Berwick police will . . . Ah, here we are already.’
    Belinda read the station sign. ‘Berwick-on-Tweed. But it’s pronounced Berrick , isn’t it? Sometimes people think you understand words when you don’t
really.’
    ‘Remember Durham,’ said Dr. Jagai.
    ‘English spelling is frightfully erratic,’ Daisy agreed. She paused as a heavy tread was heard in the corridor. ‘This must be the police, I imagine.’
    The brawny guard appeared in the doorway. Then he moved aside and pointed. ‘That’s the lady which stopped my train, Superintendent, sir,’ he said to the blue-uniformed police
officer at his side, ‘and them there’s the deceased gentleman’s vally and the foreign doctor.’
    The officer nodded his thanks. In spite of the uniform, he looked like a prosperous farmer, solidly built with a ruddy face, bluff and hearty. Daisy could imagine him leaning on a five-barred
gate, a muddy-booted foot on the lowest bar, directing the shrewdness in his china blue eyes at a prize bull – instead of at