Disclaimers: as before.

Thanks so much for the kind reviews. I'm glad I've made some of you laugh! Oh, and sorry to the few of you who read the unproofed versions of Chps 3 and 4 I accidentally put up on Monday. Whoops! Anyone interested in betaing? I can never see all my own mistakes. Please email me (see profile.)

Mr Bob's morbid revelation was followed by a moment of awestruck silence and then a short period of utter pandemonium.

Miss Macduff screamed, and collapsed dramatically into a large leather chair. When everyone ignored her, she weakly requested that someone 'get that charming boy to bring me something reviving.' Everybody persisted to ignore her. Colonel Milford cried 'what the devil,' and then seemed rather disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to pursue his grievance about the shooting. Most of the guests murmured to each other nervously, while a thin, redhead woman, who claimed to have had nurses training before she married her millionaire, tentatively examined the body. She conjectured knowledgeably that because he was still warm, he had not been dead for long.

'What do we do now?' whispered Nigel to Sydney. 'We can't exactly negotiate with a corpse, and taking the statue after what's just happened will look, well, like grave robbing!'

'Yeah,' said Sydney, seriously, 'and it would make us look a lot like suspects.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' said Nigel, slightly alarmed.

'We'd better make sure nobody finds out why we're here.'

'What'll we do with the police arrive? They'll ask for id. and know who you are instantly! They'll arrest us!' Nigel, not unreasonably, was starting to panic.

'But we didn't do it, did we?' hissed Sydney.

'They don't know that!' Worst-case scenarios were now bombarding Nigel's brain. 'I'm going to end up in a Glasgow jail!'

'No you won't…' Sydney was unable to reassure Nigel any further as Moira, who had gone to make the significant call to the police, returned to the room and a hush fell again over the agitated guests. The news was not entirely surprising: the storm had brought down the fragile phone cables that connected the island with the mainland. The ferry could never negotiate the mountainous waves in the straits. Of course, everyone knew there were no signals on their mobiles. They were completely cut off until at least the next morning.

Confusion reigned again. 'Heavens!' cried Miss Macduff, 'That means we're all stuck here with the murderer! I'll be slaughtered in my sleep!'

'That wouldn't be a bad thing,' murmured Sydney. Nigel silently agreed.

'We'd better split up for now,' whispered Sydney. 'It's best we keep our identities, and that we're working together, concealed as long as possible. With no authorities to explain ourselves to, or Maria to back us up, we're going to sound kind of dubious.' Nigel nodded, and reluctantly sidled away from his boss.

Before Sydney had time to ponder what to do next, Mr Bob clapped his hands and called politely for the attention of everyone in the room. He suggested that they should all return to their bedrooms and stay there till the morning when everything could be sorted out. The Baron and Colonel Milford, however, were having none of it.

'What! So we can be slaughtered in our sleep like that poor woman said? Not likely!' The Colonel stormed out of the room, with a shout of 'I'll be back!'

Several of the other guests went to follow him, but their way was barred by the not inconsiderable bulk of the Baron. 'Sorry folks, but there is a darn good chance the murderer is in this room.' The actor sounded like he was doing a slightly too jovial impression of Clint Eastwood. 'We just can't you let ya' go until we've worked out which one of your good selves did it.'

'Hey, what about him?' inquired Sydney, motioning at the door from which the Colonel had departed.

'He's a member of the British armed forces,' said the Baron, impressed by his own instant response to a difficult question. 'How can you question his…err, integrity?'

'Actually, he's a quantity surveyor,' said Lucy Milford timidly, but nobody heard her as panic and commotion broke out again. It was interrupted this time by the return of the Colonel with a large double-barrelled shot-gun.

There were several screams, and Miss Macduff cried 'he's going to massacre us all!'

The Baron and the Colonel, however, forcefully argued that the shot-gun was merely for the protection for of the upstanding citizens that made up the majority of the people in the room. Sydney had severe doubts about this, but realise that 'kicking ass' at that moment would only bring suspicion down on her and maybe cause an innocent bystander to get shot. She glanced across at Nigel, who was cowering in the corner behind a large Grecian Urn. He was desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Miss Macduff, who was muttering his name in anguish as she drooped in the leather chair. Neither she, nor Nigel, seemed to be in immediate danger, so Sydney decided to let things be.

'Who do it then? Somebody must have seen something. Come on. Cough up!' the Colonel scanned the gun slowly across the room, eyeballing each guest or member of staff as its aim rested briefly on each of them. As it reached Pansy, he paused for a moment and then cried 'You!'

Pansy screamed and jumped in the air. 'It wasn't me! It wasn't! He was always good to me… I couldn't have killed him, the poor old panda-bear.' She started to sob. 'I was very fond of him.'

The Baron leant over and whispered in the Colonel's ear. 'That girl was out of the room for half of the meal.'

Everybody knew this, and her affectionate term 'the poor old panda-bear,' made those who did not already suspect it, realise that there had been something other than a platonic 'employee-employer' relationship between her and the Lord. A rumour spread round the room, its origins unclear, that she had persuaded the old aristocrat to leave her the house in his will. Despite Pansy's tears and pleas, it was decided that she should be incarcerated until the police arrived. If she was innocent, it would be ascertained then. However, the Colonel was not finished. He continued to scan his gun across the room, and next brought it to rest on Sydney.

'You! You've been acting strangely all-night, woman. And you lied about going on a walk. It's raining cats and dogs out there and you were bone dry. What have you got to say for yourself?'

'Nothing, except for that I'm innocent,' said Sydney sweetly, relying on her feminine wiles. 'I'm just a guest. Why would I kill the Lord?'

'Except for you're not just a guest, are you Miss Fox?' The Baron smiled slyly.

'Excuse me?' said Sydney, but she knew that she was rumbled. There was a frisson of recognition among the onlookers as the name 'rung bells.'

'Yes, Professor Fox, and I know what you're here for.' The Baron was obviously extremely pleased with himself, and assumed a particular high and mighty tone as he continued his announcement. 'You're here to get your hands on a very valuable statue that Lord Bannockburgh, quite within his rights, refused to loan to a museum in Athens. Did you murder him when he wouldn't let you have it?'

Sydney raised her hands. There was no point arguing. Somehow, he knew the story. The last accusation had to be refuted, though. 'I admit, I'm a relic Hunter,' she said slowly. 'But I don't kill innocent people. If any of you really know about me, you'd be aware of that.'

'That may be so, Miss Fox,' leered the Baron, 'but we can't take that risk. I'm afraid we will have to lock you away with the other young lady until the police arrive.'

'Okay,' said Sydney. She wasn't afraid of these jerks. She knew she could 'take' them at any time. Her major concern at that moment was whether they knew about Nigel. If they didn't, she decided it would be best to let them lock her up so he could continue to act 'undercover,' to find the relic, the murderer, or whatever was necessary.

She looked over at her assistant, as unnoticeably as possible. Nigel had emerged from behind the Grecian Urn and, when he caught her attention, motioned frantically with his eyes and a small shrug of the shoulders. What should he do? Sydney responded with a sharp shake of the head, looking away from him so as to not be too obvious. She hoped he understood that this meant that he should 'do nothing for now.'

Unfortunately, the Colonel noticed their moment of eye contact. He swung the aim of the gun on to Nigel, his eyes simply bulging with excitement. 'You!'

'Me?' squeaked Nigel, and stumbled backwards in fright, checking his retreat only inches away from toppling the Urn.

'Yes, you! The clumsy oaf! You've been conspiring and whispering with that woman all evening.'

'H...have I?'

Sydney's bit her lip and hoped he would deny everything. She did not dare try to communicate with him.

The Baron strode over to Nigel and towered over him again, folding his arms. 'Are you working for the Relic Hunter, Nige?' His feigned friendly tones were loaded with menace.

'No! No…?' Nigel backed up until he was pressed precariously against the Grecian urn. The Baron leaned towards him, narrowing his eyes. Nigel felt he was back at boarding school, being persecuted by his beastly headmistress. His rescuer, however, came from an unlikely quarter.

'Leave him alone, you bully!' Miss Macduff had suddenly revived. She pulled herself up from her chair, swiftly adjusted her hair, and thrust her way officiously through the intrigued spectators. 'What woman wouldn't whisper 'sweet nothings' to such an attractive young man? That…that Relic Hunter has been lusting over him all evening,' she glared at Sydney disdainfully. 'She couldn't keep her hands off of him. I bet you've hated it, haven't you?' Here Miss Macduff patted an increasingly disbelieving Nigel on the cheek.

'Poor lamb,' she cooed, and then rounded firmly on the Baron. The big man found he was the one backing away. 'It's such a long time since you've exuded any youthful charm that I don't suppose you remember what it was like!'

'Well, you can talk, ma'am!' retorted the Baron. Miss Macduff slapped him.

Despite her predicament, Sydney couldn't help laughing. Nigel subtly sidled back behind the Grecian Urn, hoping he'd done what Syd intended him to do. The accusations against him were soon forgotten as general anarchy descended once more.

…………………………..

It was eventually decided that the most secure location for the prisoners was in a room at the top of the Gothic tower with the spire. Intended to be a safe, the chamber could only be entered through one, heavy metal door which had a sturdy, nigh-un-pickable lock and which was accessed only at the top of a narrow, winding spiral staircase. Outside its only, tiny window, was a sheer one hundred foot drop. Mr Bob muttered something about how he hoped the tower was still structurally sound. However, he had long since relinquished any control over the proceedings to the domineering Baron and the armed and potentially dangerous Colonel.

Sydney went quietly, placing her faith in Nigel to 'do something' if matters became urgent. As she was frogmarched out of the room, with the colonels shot gun at her back, her assistant peeped out from behind his Urn, looking particular bewildered. Sydney hoped that her trust was not misplaced, optimistically recalling all the times he had 'come through' for her in the past. She still figured that fighting her way out, at that time, would only make things worse. After all, when she escaped, there was no way she could leave the island until morning. Moreover, she didn't want to hurt the rather elderly Colonel. Bumbling old fool that he was, she had a feeling he was really harmless, as long as you weren't a deer or a pheasant. The Baron, however, she was not so sure about...

……………

To reach the tower, they had to cross the courtyard, and enter it through a narrow, pointed arched door. Once inside, there were no electric lights, and Mr Bob turned on a torch. The silence was broken by the eerie flutter of wings, like Sydney had heard earlier: more bats, and probably pigeons. The flashlight revealed that the tower had few floors in it, and that the space above them gaped upwards into murk. The spiral staircase, barely wide enough for one large person to squeeze up, was accessed through another small, arched door, opposite the entrance. Mr Bob led the way, followed by the prisoners, the Baron, and the Colonel with the gun.

'There are 242 steps,' said Mr Bob, 'and they're a bit uneven in places, so be careful.'

Nobody said anything, and the small procession climbed up behind him, feeling their way through the seemingly endless gloom. Sydney, through her doubts, prayed that she had made the right decision.

Thanks for reading. Reviews, as ever, are appreciated. There will be more by the weekend depending on how much of a chance I get to write!