Unknown by Unknown

was on her own.
     
    Gray was gone two days and returned in the Lamberts' super launch. This time he invited the Fergusons and Frances to join the party for drinks. Margaret excused herself, saying she did not like the stairs up to Gray’s eyrie, and she felt out of place among the jet set.
    ‘But you go, Fran,' she bade her, when Frances suggested she should stay with her. ‘You’re young, you can take it, and it’ll be an education for you to meet Gray’s pals.’
    Was there a subtle meaning behind her words? Frances had noticed Gray seemed to be partial to her help, and she wanted her to realise she had no part in his world.
    Frances wanted to go, not to meet the Lamberts, but to see Gray’s quarters which were out of bounds to any but Murdoch, except by invitation. They were in the top half of the old tower, the most ancient part of the building, approach by the original stone spiral stairs. The accommodation comprised two floors, the lower portion being divided into his bedroom, Murdoch’s cubbyhole, a kitchen and a bathroom. The upper one was one big sitting room, the enlarged windows looking out on all four sides over the loch and hills. It was simply furnished with a couple of oak settles, leather-covered armchairs, a large desk and a handsome Turkey red carpet. Above the desk was a large framed photograph of Silver Arrow, There was a telescope on a tripod trained upon the loch. The Lamberts were assembled when the three young people came in and Gray introduced them with a wave of his hand towards them. ‘My assistants, Ian, Lesley and Frances.’ And to them, ‘Meet the Lamberts, Stu, Brett, Carrie and Sam.’
    The Americans said ‘Hi!’ and the assistants murmured vaguely, then the buzz of conversation broke out again. Frances sought the seclusion of a deep window embrasure and from that vantage point tried to identify who was who. Stuart Lambert was undoubtedly ‘Pop', as his offspring called him, a stout genial personage, very much the successful business man, but he had kind eyes, and made a point of addressing a few words to each of them. His wife, Caroline, was also plump, her opulent figure moulded by her foundation garment, expensively dressed and coiffured, her manner aggressive, as was that of her son Brett, a mean-faced man, whose eyes were too close together. His mother had spoiled him utterly, bringing him up to believe that anything he wanted he must have, by fair means or foul. Frances instinctively distrusted him.
    The girl, Samantha, would have been pretty but for her petulant expression and slightly prominent front teeth. She had obviously tinted brassy hair, and hard blue eyes. She affected a nautical outfit, a sailor’s blouse over wide navy slacks with a yachting cap perched jauntily on her curls. She called Gray ‘darling’ and touched him whenever opportunity offered. She gave both the other girls an appraising stare. Lesley she dismissed as negligible, Frances’ good looks caused her a qualm, especially as Gray’s eyes kept straying towards her, where she sat, a silent lavender-clad figure on the window seat, but she consoled herself by reflecting the girl was probably penniless while she herself was an heiress, and few men could resist the lure of wealth.
    Murdoch handed round the trays of glasses with disapproval written all over him. He was a grizzled Highlander, who had served Gray since he was a boy and adored him.
    After several whiskies, Brett began to boast.
    ‘My old man’s backing the wrong horse,’ he declared. ‘Silver Arrow hasn’t a chance against my Sea Witch. All the wise guys are putting their dough on me.' He glanced at Gray and Frances sensed he hated and feared him. and he was not nearly as confident as he pretended.
    ‘You’re wasting your time competing,’ he went on, ‘and it’ll cost you a packet to get your craft across the Atlantic.’
    Gray smiled serenely. ‘Your victory wouldn't be worth much if you had no serious competition.'
    ‘And