‘Were you on duty when the London mail arrived this morning?’ he asked a porter.
‘No, but Lachie was,’ said the porter. He stretched his mouth into a line, let out a whistle that would have done credit to an engine, tilted his head back an inch to summon a distant colleague, and went back to reading the racing page of the Clarion.
Grant went to meet the slowly advancing Lachie and asked him the same question.
Yes, Lachie had been on duty.
‘Can you tell me if Murdo Gallacher was one of the sleeping-car attendants?’
Lachie said that yes, Old Sourpuss was on her.
Could Lachie say where Old Sourpuss could be found now?
Lachie glanced up at the station clock. It was after eleven.
Yes, Lachie could say where he would be. He would be in the Eagle Bar waiting for someone to stand him a drink.
So to the Eagle Bar at the back of Scoone Station Grant went, and found that Lachie had been, in the main, right. Yughourt was indeed there, mooning over a half pint. Grant ordered a whisky for himself and saw Yughourt’s ears prick.