That was how we found ourselves in the Howff graveyard at 11 at night, digging furiously to rescue a brooch from a coffin. We crouched behind a gravestone as the lantern light bounced towards us, with the watcher singing to keep up his nerve and holding a cudgel in his left hand.
“If he catches us,” Barbara whispered. “He’ll think we’re graverobbers.”
“We are graverobbers,” I said.
“Maybe if we explain what’s happened, he’ll help.”
I looked at Barbara sideways. “What will you say? It’s all right, my man, we’re trying to dig up a grave to retrieve the brooch that I made for Catriona’s sweetheart but which she threw in a coffin? Do you think they will believe you?”
Barbara shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
The man with the lantern stopped and opened the shutter further, sending a br
