Mr Carmichael looked slightly agitated when he hovered at the open door, or perhaps it was guilt that had eroded the laughter from his eyes.
“Have you completed your business, Miss Moffat?” Mr Carmichael asked.
“I have.” I found it hard to meet the gaze of the man who had pursued Matthew, yet had proved so helpful on the day of the hunt.
“In that case, I may enter the room.” Mr Carmichael's smile was unnaturally forced. “I don't like to enter when Beaton is working.”
I nodded. “I suppose, in your line of work, it is better not to speak to the accused's defending solicitor.”
“In my line of work?” Mr Carmichael shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot see the significance, Miss Moffat.”
“Well, I certainly can,” I said, with my temper growing hot. Mr Carmichael seemed to stir deep-seated e
