‘You're lucky you caught me,’ Doctor Obadiah Arkwright told them when he arrived twenty minutes later. ‘I'm off to Scotland for a fishing holiday later today.’
He sounded tired, Rafferty noticed, and badly in need of his break. Obadiah Arkwright must be approaching seventy, but he was still an impressive-looking man; tall and saturnine of face, a tendency which age had made more marked, with an air of authority worn as easily as his ancient Sherlock-Holmes-style overcoat.
‘Nice secluded spot,’ Arkwright went on. ‘As far from the joys of civilisation as it's possible to get, without either leaving the country or breaking the bank.’ He paused. ‘Upstairs, is she?’
Rafferty nodded, and he and Llewellyn followed the doctor up the narrow stairs to the bedroom.
The doctor approached the bed a
