The Unbelievers Read Free

see his breath in front of him as he climbed, inhaling the city’s pungent blend of chill air and coal-smoke.
    Whatever he was being summoned to must be important if both the Chief Constable and Burgess were involved. Nothing in the usual round of assaults, thefts and murders had merited the Chief’s involvement.
    He quickened his steps as he turned into Heriot Row. The three-storied houses rose to his right, set back from the pavement, with well-lit steps leading up to double doors which, for the most part, opened into bright vestibules to receive guests. To his left, across the wide cobbled street, rose the dark shapes of the trees in the locked private gardens.
    As he walked along, a closed carriage stopped a few doors ahead of him, and a footman dismounted from the step at the rear of the carriage to open its door. The footman held out his hand as two giggling young ladies, girls really, stepped down onto the pavement.
    As Allerdyce approached the carriage the footman stood in the middle of the pavement.
    â€œCan you wait there for a moment please, sir? There are a couple of gentlemen still to get out.”
    â€œI have urgent business. Let me pass.”
    Allerdyce tried to walk on but the heavily-built footman blocked his passage.
    â€œIf you please, sir. We don’t want a scene.”
    Allerdyce was about to pull out his warrant card when two very young men got out of the carriage, pulling their top hats on as they descended. One, obviously drunk already, leaned against the other, punching him and laughing as the whole party crossed the pavement. He tripped on the second step, dragging his friend down with him. The girls seemed about to collapse with laughter as the footman rushed forward to help the boys up, supported them to the front door, and pulled the doorbell. An instant later, as Allerdyce passed, the whole party was safely inside.
    He walked on past three more houses, checking the numbers as he went. He’d addressed plenty of correspondence to the Chief Constable’s house – case reports, emergency requests for arrest warrants, and the like – but he’d never had occasion to visit it. In fact, he’d probably exchanged no more than 20 words with ‘Holy Joe’ Stewart in his fourteen months as Chief Constable.
    He went up the steps to the vestibule of number 38 and pulled the bell. Within seconds a butler opened it.
    â€œMr Allerdyce?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSir Joseph is waiting for you. Please come in.”
    As soon as he was through the door a maid appeared to take his coat and hat.
    â€œSir Joseph is in the dining-room,” said the butler. He ushered Allerdyce into the first room on the left, closing the door silently behind him.
    Four men were sitting around a highly-polished dining table, large enough to have seated sixteen people in comfort. The light of silver candelabra glittered off the cutlery on the table – eight untouched place settings, Allerdyce noticed, each of them set for five courses – and off the crystal glasses. A huge bone-china tureen stood in the middle of the table, a Chinese pattern in blue against the white of the porcelain visible in the steady flame of the candles, a gentle plume of steam rising from the small slot at the edge of the lid from which the silver handle of a ladle protruded. Game broth, thought Allerdyce as he sniffed the air, wondering what he was missing at Boyd’s house tonight.
    Three of the men sat in evening dress, glasses in hand, at the far side of the table. Allerdyce recognised each of them. Lounging to either side of their host were Viscount Dunsyre, Her Majesty’s Secretary for Scotland, and the nation’s Lord Advocate, Lord Kinnordy. Dunsyre was about fifteen years younger than the Lord Advocate, probably only in his late forties and still fair-haired, but Allerdyce thought the fixed hardness and arrogance of their expressions could have made them brothers.
    Between them,