Death of a Sweep by MC Beaton

after long service with only the rank of captain. Why was that?’
    John Sanders began to bluster. ‘Who can explain the ways of the army? I was only a sergeant, and—’
    Charles Prosser cut in. ‘May as well tell him. Nothing was ever proved but it left a nasty smell. It was when we were billeted in Northern Ireland. Someone sent an anonymous letter to the authorities saying that John here and Henry Davenport were selling arms to the IRA. Nonsense, of course. But mud sticks.’
    Another problem, thought Hamish wearily. If it was true, and the captain had maybe taken money from the IRA and then not delivered, he would be a marked man. ‘When was this supposed to have taken place?’ he asked.
    ‘Can’t quite remember,’ said John.
    ‘Oh, tell the truth,’ snapped Hamish, ‘before I start digging up your records in Northern Ireland.’
    ‘Nineteen eighty-six, I think,’ said John sulkily. That pretty much rules out the IRA, thought Hamish. Davenport , before he fled north, had been living openly in Guildford. They’d have shot him by now.
    ‘You all seem to have alibis for the time of Davenport’s death, but can you think of any other old army buddy he might have conned out of money?’
    General shaking of heads. ‘We five were always close,’ said Charles. ‘Now, look here, Officer, we’ve had a long journey and we’re tired and want dinner.’
    ‘I’ll be seeing you again.’
    As Hamish went out to the car park, he saw with a jolt at his heart the familiar figure of Elspeth getting out of a television van while a soundman and cameraman unloaded stuff from the back. A small anxious-looking girl was dithering about.
    ‘What’s this?’ exclaimed Hamish. ‘Never say they’ve put you back to reporting.’
    ‘Take me inside and buy me a drink and I’ll give you the whole sad story. I’m weary. I’ve been travelling all day,’ said Elspeth.
    ‘I’d better see if my animals are all right.’
    ‘For heaven’s sake, Hamish. Can’t they look after themselves for a moment?’
    ‘No,’ said Hamish curtly. He checked on Sonsie and Lugs, then walked with Elspeth into the hotel bar.
    Hamish listened to Elspeth as she poured out her worries about the new programme, Pandora’s Box , and her fears that the blonde would take away her news presenting job.
    ‘I wish you could solve this one quickly, Hamish,’ she said.
    ‘It’s going to be difficult. There are four men here, friends of Captain Davenport, and they all have alibis.’
    ‘Tell me about the case.’
    Hamish settled back in his chair, gathered his thoughts, and told her everything he knew.
    ‘Look,’ said Elspeth, ‘it’s bound to be one of those four.’ Her odd silver eyes gleamed with excitement.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘They must have hated him for diddling them out of their money and yet they turn up for his funeral.’
    ‘I’ve thought of that. I’m going over to Drim early to wait. If I’m not mistaken, they’ll wait until they think Mrs Davenport is alone and then tell her she owes them the money. When she says she hasn’t got it, they’ll tell her to sell the house and divide up the proceeds amongst them.’
    ‘Would they be so hardhearted, right after the funeral?’
    ‘I think so. I want to go back to the police station and go over their alibis. Jimmy has sent them over. There might be something there. If only I could go to Guildford and snoop around.’
    ‘I might go to Guildford for you. But for now, I’ll go with you to Drim. Two sets of eyes are better than one.’
    Hamish shifted awkwardly. ‘Like old times. Look, Elspeth, about Corsica …’
    ‘Oh, never mind that. Let’s go.’
     
    In the police station, Hamish printed off the alibis. ‘I’ll take Castle and Bromley and you take Sanders and Prosser.’
    Ferdinand Castle, he read, ran a small electronics firm which he had inherited on the death of his father. He had been seen by staff all day in his office; in the evening, he and his wife had dined at a local