The police came around the next day, asking questions about the grave-robbing. My bothy-boys were all out at the ploughing, turning over last season’s stubble left from the hairst. I was cleaning out the henhouse and seeing what eggs I could gather but walked over to the farm when the police pulled up in a smart gig.
“The lads are busy,” Mr Lunan said to the uniformed police sergeant. “You can see them at lowsing time.”
“I’ll see them now,” Sergeant Milne said, “or I’ll run you in for obstructing the police in the course of their duty.”
The horsemen were as reluctant to see Sergeant Milne as Mr Lunan had been to send for them. They slouched in one at a time, spreading mud over my newly scrubbed floor, and slumped onto the chairs, glowering at this figure of uniformed authority.
“What i
