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  “Wouldn’t we be better off in the music rooms up in the attics, Neil?” she whispered. “Old MacGregor must still be coming into school every day and he’s not daft. There’s no way he’d not notice!”

  Sir James, who was talking to Lady Ellan, beckoned them over and Clara was just about to blurt out her fears when Sir James put his arm round her. “Really, Clara,” he said, “this was a brilliant idea of yours. Lady Ellan and I have just been discussing it and she’s thought up a plan to make the MacArthurs a little less noticeable. The teachers probably come in from time to time during the holidays and there is a janitor who looks after the school, isn’t there?”

  “Old MacGregor!” agreed Neil.

  “You see, as there are quite a few of us,” Lady Ellan gestured towards the milling MacArthurs, “I thought it might be a good idea if we all became mice. In an old building like this, there will be lots of places for us to hide during the day when there are people in the building.”

  “Mice!” exclaimed Clara. “I don’t like mice!”

  “But the mice will be us, Clara,” she twinkled, “and you don’t mind us, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” said Clara.

  “First of all, I’d like you to show me round the school and then I think you had better go home.” Seeing the disappointment on their faces, she laughed. “Be sensible,” she said. “We can’t put any lights on and it’s almost dark now. I don’t want your parents to be worried about you.”

  “But how will we get out?” questioned Clara. “The school gates will be locked!”

  “You’ll use your carpets, of course. They’ll come to you whenever you need them and store themselves here when you don’t.”

  “That will be marvellous,” said Sir James, “thank you, Lady Ellan.” He turned to Neil and Clara. “I’d like to come with you, if you don’t mind. I want to have a word with your father so I can tell him all that’s been happening.”

  “In that case, Sir James,” Lady Ellan said, “let me give you a firestone for the Ranger. He may well need to use a carpet at some time.”

  “That’s a good idea. And now that he’s involved with the police patrols, I think we could also enrol him as ‘our man on the hill.’ He’s ideally placed to keep an eye open for Amgarad and Lord Rothlan.”

  “An excellent idea,” she agreed, nodding her head in approval.

  “Always a good idea to know what the enemy is up to! Another thing I’ve been thinking about,” and here he looked at Neil, “is supplying you two with mobile phones so that we can all keep in touch. I’ll have a word with your father about that as well.”

  “And we’ll keep in touch with you, Sir James, through Hamish and Jaikie as usual. Perhaps Clara, you and Neil could visit us tomorrow? Would the janitor let you in if you said you had forgotten some books?”

  Neil laughed. “I’ve a better excuse than that. I’ll take a tin of cat food with me. There’s a wee cat that hangs around the playground and she’s always hungry. MacGregor knows that Clara and I feed her so he won’t be surprised if we turn up.”

  “And,” added Clara, “he and our dad play darts together sometimes so it’s not as if he doesn’t know us.”

  “Wonderful! Now don’t worry about us. We’ll go out in the middle of the night and find some mice to merge with. There seems to be a lot of building work going on round about so I think we ought to find plenty.”

  18. Mischief the Cat

  The next morning saw Neil and Clara making their way up the High Street to the school. “Let’s hope the gates aren’t locked,” muttered Neil, as they reached it. But the gates were open and as they strolled into the playground they were amazed at how different the building seemed during the holidays. They walked round to the side door and, pushing it open, tiptoed into the school to look for the janitor.

  Clutching the tin of cat food and a spoon in the manner of a talisman, Neil went to the janny’s office and poked his head round the door. “Mr MacGregor!” he called.

  “I think he must be upstairs,” said Clara. “Listen!”

  From the top of the school came the sudden sound of doors banging and a great deal of thumping.

  Neil and Clara looked at one another in horror. Was old MacGregor being attacked? Neil’s heart sank as he realized that the noise was coming from one of the huge attic rooms at the top of the building. He put the tin of cat food on one of the stairs and peered upwards.

  “The MacArthurs!” he hissed at Clara, as he started leaping up the steps, two at a time. “Come on, we’ve got to help them!”

  They burst into the music room at the top of the stairs and stopped short in horror. Old MacGregor must have come up the stairs so quietly that he’d taken the MacArthurs by surprise. They certainly hadn’t had time to hide. The music room was full of mice — hundreds of them! Grey mice, brown mice and even black mice scuttled here and there as MacGregor whammed the floor with a brush in his attempts to flatten them.

  Clara gulped but Neil ran forward and grabbed at Mr MacGregor’s brush.

  “Mr MacGregor! Are you all right? We thought you were being attacked!” he shouted at the red-faced janitor.

  “Can’t you see them?” shouted MacGregor. “Just when I get rid of you lot, what happens? The school gets infested with mice!” He threw the brush to one side. “I’ll have to phone the Council,” he moaned, starting for the stairs. “Get the rat-catcher in! Pest control! You name it, I need it!”

  Neil looked at Clara in horror. The last thing they wanted was officialdom nosing its way round the school.

  “Why don’t you wait for a few days, Mr MacGregor?” suggested Clara. “They might all disappear … go somewhere else, you know …”

  The janitor looked at her in disgust. “If it were one mouse or even two or three,” he snarled, “that might be an option. But did you see them? Thousands of them!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say thousands,” said Neil. “Hundreds, maybe.”

  “And that’s nothing to worry about? I’m phoning the Council this minute!” He stomped down the stairs with Clara fluttering after him, wondering what on earth she could do to stop him. At the bottom of the stairs he almost tripped over the tin of cat food that Neil had left behind when they went upstairs.

  “What’s this?” he asked, glaring at them suspiciously.

  “It’s food for the cat in the playground,” replied Neil. “You don’t mind if we feed her, do you? Mum gave it to us.”

  “Aye! And since when did your mum run this school? I run this school, I’ll have you know, and I’m no’ having that … cat … in … here!”

  He paused thoughtfully. Neil and Clara had already grasped this possible solution but didn’t dare make any remark as they watched old MacGregor’s brain ticking over.

  “Aye, there now. A cat might be just the thing. She’s hungry and, let’s face it, there are enough mice upstairs to feed her till the end of the summer holidays!”

  “That’s a great idea, Mr MacGregor,” praised Clara, eyes wide. “Why didn’t we think of it?”

  “Much better than sending for the Council,” agreed Neil. “For if they saw all these mice they might think you hadn’t been doing your job properly! One or two, maybe … but hundreds!”

  An arrested expression in MacGregor’s eyes told Neil that his shot had gone home.

  “I’ll go and see if I can find the cat?” offered Clara. “She might be sunning herself on the back wall!”

  “Aye! Aye! You do that, Clara! Bring her in and we’ll feed her in here so that she kens she belongs.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Mice!” he muttered in disgust.

  Clara returned a few minutes later carrying the little black and white cat. She was terribly thin and the touches of white on her coat were smeared and dirty. Her bony face and the shadow of desperation that lurked in her eyes showed only too plainly the crushing deprivations of her short life. She trusted Clara, but once inside the school, she took one look at MacGregor and, given the past history of thei
r relationship, went rigid with fear, leapt from Clara’s arms and streaked up the stairs with Clara flying after her.

  “Leave them, leave them,” MacGregor said to Neil. “Maybe she’ll go into one of the classrooms and polish off some of those dratted mice. Here now, use this saucer to put the cat food in.”

  Neil, with visions of the MacArthurs being slaughtered by the dozen, ran to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, “Clara, have you caught the cat?”

  “Yes,” she called back. “I’ll bring her down in a minute. She seems interested in the mice!”

  MacGregor rubbed his hands and sighed with relief. The cat would solve all his problems! The mice had been a nasty shock and not his fault, whatever anyone might say.

  Clara came down clutching the cat who seemed to have calmed down considerably.

  “My, you’ve got a real way with cats,” said MacGregor, looking more approvingly at the cat who lay, purring loudly, in Clara’s arms. She put the cat by the dish of food and watched as it quickly cleaned the plate.

  “A saucer of milk!” said MacGregor. “I’ve got milk here for my tea.”

  Neil stroked the cat who wound her way round his legs and then went over to MacGregor and wound her way round his legs too. And drank two saucers of milk.

  “Well, now! She seems to have settled already! She’s quite affectionate!” He sounded surprised.

  “Why don’t you stroke her?” Clara said. “She’s really a nice little cat. You’ll have to think of a name for her.”

  “Yes, what are you going to call her?” Neil watched as the cat sat beside Mr MacGregor’s sandwiches and looked soulfully up at him.

  “She wants a bit of my sandwich! Would you credit that!” He broke off a piece and fed it to the cat, who purred even louder and rubbed her head against his hand. The cat then received another piece and in no time at all, had finished the sandwich.

  A terrible suspicion crossed Neil’s mind as he looked at the cat and then at Clara, whose face was disarmingly bland. She picked the cat up and spoke to it firmly. “Now kitty, while your new master is thinking up a name for you, I’m going to give you a nice bath!”

  Neil watched the cat’s reaction to this announcement with interest and promptly had his suspicions confirmed. The cat gave Clara what could only be described as a dirty look and stoically endured the rigours of a bath in one of the wash-hand basins in the girls’ toilet. “There you go,” said Clara, rubbing it briskly dry, “much better!”

  “What a difference!” MacGregor almost smiled at it. “I wouldn’t have given you tuppence for that animal a minute or two ago, but now … well, it looks more like a proper cat! Although there’s a real spark of mischief in its eyes, isn’t there? Maybe I’ll call her Mischief,” he said. “How’s that for a name?”

  Clara looked doubtful and glanced at Neil, who shrugged. Neither of them thought much of it but MacGregor obviously thought he’d had a brainwave.

  “Come here, Mischief!” he said.

  The cat looked undecided and then rose to her feet, padded over to MacGregor and jumped straight into his arms. It was so unexpected that he almost dropped her, but managing to grasp the tangle of legs and fur he held her like a baby and she purred.

  “I think a good name for that cat would be Archie,” Neil remarked sourly.

  The cat looked at him with a pained expression and Clara tutted disapprovingly. “I think Mischief is a lovely name,” she said frowning at him warningly. “Can we come to see her tomorrow, Mr MacGregor? We’ll bring some more cat food.”

  “Oh, I’ll be buying her plenty, don’t you worry about that, but you’re more than welcome any time. Aren’t they, Mischief?”

  And, with a sparkling look of devilment in her eyes, Mischief miaowed.

  Dougal MacLeod was also in town that morning although he was in the New Town rather than the Old. For Edinburgh divides itself into two parts; the Georgian and the mediaeval. Although he’d started the day in a fairly good mood with the feeling that his troubles were over, he was now becoming increasingly frustrated. The Festival was due to start in a few days, he had a rehearsal to attend that evening and the town was literally heaving with tourists. George Street was no exception and a seething mass of cars was grid-locked round the statue of William Pitt that stood in the middle of the intersection with Frederick Street.

  Dougal was wearing the ring, belt and necklace that he’d taken from the hill. When he wore them he had a sense of being able to do absolutely anything, but knowing that they were magic stones should have made him more circumspect. Be that as it may, the thought that the stones might be able to alter the course of events never entered Dougal’s head as he sat in his car, muttering at the hold up and cursing all three statues that decorated George Street.

  “Why don’t you just go away!” Dougal muttered under his breath. These, I must admit, were not the actual words he used, but the meaning was the same and the result totally unexpected. There was a tremendous flash, a loud bang and Pitt’s statue disappeared.

  Dougal sat in his car, his mouth hanging open, staring at the empty space where the statue had stood. Some motorists got out of their cars to view the damage, but there was no damage; not even a hole in the road. Having heard the tremendous bang, shoppers spilled into the street to join the growing group of people that milled around the empty space. The statue of Chalmers also seemed to have vanished and looking in his rear-view mirror, Dougal saw that George IV had disappeared as well! The knowledge that he might have been responsible shook him to the core and the sight of people jabbing numbers into their mobile phones made him sweat, especially as he was sure that a lot of them would be dialling 999. His name might be taken as a witness at the scene of the crime! Dougal’s brain went into overdrive!

  Suddenly he realized that a car had driven out of a parking place and he swerved in to take its place. He relaxed! No one could take his name and address now! Sticking a “pay and display” ticket on the car, he automatically looked at his watch to note the exact time. Half past twelve already. He’d been in town for longer than he’d thought.

  Now that no one could associate him with the disappearance of the statues, his mood changed to one of elation!

  Glancing down Frederick Street to Princes Street Gardens and the towering ramparts of the castle, Dougal was reminded of the needs of his precision marching team and his ongoing battle with Colonel Jamieson, whose sharp retort to what he’d thought a perfectly reasonable request, still rankled. As Dougal gazed at the rounded curve of the Half Moon Battery his habitually sour expression changed to one of undisguised glee. He touched the necklace of stones under his shirt. Could he do it, he wondered?

  It has long been the custom in Edinburgh for a gun to be fired from the castle at precisely one o’clock every day. American tourists tend to duck and run for cover as the report echoes through the centre of town but hardened Edinburgh citizens merely flinch and check their watches. Dougal gazed raptly at the castle, muttered under his breath and waited.

  The fact that the one o’clock gun had fired from the castle twenty minutes early, caused utter chaos in Princes Street as half the population stopped abruptly to change the time on their watches and then realized that they couldn’t be wrong by twenty minutes! Neither did it go down at all well in the castle itself although those on Princes Street were too far away to hear the Colonel’s roar of fury.

  Needless to say, the disappearance of the statues in George Street made the headlines in the evening paper. Theories abounded and many people associated the firing of the gun with the bang that had heralded the statues’ departure. Sir James, however, didn’t make that mistake. He read the newspaper report as he was getting ready to give the commentary at the Tattoo and flinging the paper down, phoned the Ranger.

  It was Neil, however, who answered.

  “Neil, if you don’t have an Evening News in the house, will you go out and buy one? I want to see what your father makes of the lead story,” instructed Sir James.

>   “Is it about the statues disappearing from George Street?” Neil queried. “There was a bit about it on the news.”

  “Statues as solid as those in George Street don’t just vanish into thin air, Neil. Someone made them disappear and my guess is that it must have been Dougal MacLeod!”

  “MacLeod?” echoed Neil. “But why would he want to make the statues disappear? It doesn’t make sense!”

  “The point is, Neil, that he seems to have had the power to do so! I don’t think that Rothlan has the firestones after all. I think MacLeod took them!”

  “Really!” said Neil. “That means that Rothlan doesn’t have the power that the MacArthur thinks he has!”

  “Look, Neil, I’m on the point of leaving for a Tattoo rehearsal at the Castle so I’m really pushed for time. Could you go to the school and tell the MacArthur? If MacLeod does have the firestones then we stand a good chance of getting them back!”

  “I’ll go there now and see if I can see the cat,” said Neil.

  “Cat?” repeated Sir James.

  “It’s a long story,” laughed Neil, “and it involves Archie!”

  “I’ll hear about it tomorrow! If you come to the distillery we can lay our plans there. Would ten o’clock be all right?”

  “Fine, I’ll tell the MacArthur. We’ll be there and Dad, too, if he can make it. Good luck with your rehearsal.”

  “Just a minute, Neil. I’ve been given a few tickets for the Dress Rehearsal tomorrow night. I was wondering if you and Clara might like to come?”

  “That’d be great!”

  “I’ll give you the tickets when I see you tomorrow then. Bye!”

  19. Nightmare Times

  Dougal MacLeod returned to his flat later that evening, totally euphoric at his success in the Tattoo rehearsal. His fear that Sir James might accost him had proved unfounded and his team had performed well. If it crossed his mind that the jewels were responsible for the almost magical confidence that had pervaded the team’s actions, he dismissed it from his mind. They had always been good but tonight they’d been perfect. Dougal ran up the stairs to his flat, his eyes alight with pleasure.