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entered by a few steps leading down to an ancient iron-studded door.
    Vince pointed to the sea-bitten wall behind them. Only the arched window indicated the remains of a religious house. 'Hard to picture it now but at one time the Balfray tomb was in the nave of the abbey. Its policies were bounded by a wall which stretched for some considerable distance towards the cliffs. Now only these few stones remain.'
    Faro remembered the taciturn boatman's grisly tales about dead bodies as Vince continued, 'Worse than that, skeleton bones are sometimes found on the rocks below. There are apocryphal tales of skulls wearing diadems or hands still wearing rings worth a queen's ransom.'
    Observing his stepfather's look of disbelief, he said, 'It's true enough to bring treasure-seekers rowing across from other islands. Word gets around. All it needs is for one fisherman to find a semi-valuable ring or brooch and flourish it in the local tavern at Kirkwall. In no time at all you'll have a fleet of the curious setting sail.'
    Faro could see the reason in that. 'Quite understandable, since one small diamond or pearl would be worth more than a whole season's fishing.'
    Vince nodded. 'And much less effort, much less danger to life and limb involved.'
    'I shall bear it in mind. Perhaps some of these rock pools might be fished to advantage before we leave.'
    'But don't you ever be tempted to go out on your own, Stepfather, unless you know about the tides. The sea comes in at the very devil of a lick, no gentle lapping the shore by way of warning, just one wild demoniac rush. So be warned. That was how Mrs Bliss was drowned.'
    'Mrs Bliss?'
    'Yes, the last housekeeper at Balfray. The one Grandma replaced. It was all a tragic and quite unnecessary accident. Went out to rescue her little dog who got into difficulties and was cut off by the tide.'
    'How very unfortunate. I thought all dogs could swim.'
    'Not this one. No bigger than a squirrel and terrified of its own shadow. Apparently it had wandered out at low tide chasing something and once the sea came rushing in it was too scared to do anything but leap on a rock and bark.'
    'And the housekeeper heard it?'
    'Why yes, she was out searching the shore for the poor beast' Vince shook his head. 'As I said, all tragic and unnecessary. Seems she hadn't been at Balfray long enough to take seriously the treacherous floodtide.'
    'She was alone?'
    'I imagine so.'
    'Remarkable,' said Faro, and Vince looked at him sharply.
    'It was an accident, I assure you.'
    Faro nodded absently. A moment later he asked, 'Had she any family?'
    'Not that I've heard of. From the Highlands somewhere. She's buried in the kirkyard. Grandma knows all about it. She'll fill you in on all the details. What's wrong?'
    Faro had seized his arm. 'Take care. Someone's there...by the vault. Listen...'

Chapter Three
     
    They were not in any danger.
    As they listened, the sound became audible as stifled sobs from the far side of the Balfray sarcophagus.
    A man crouched, arms cradling his knees, his head against the stone and, oblivious of their presence, he wept in abject misery.
    Suddenly conscious of their shadows, he sprang to his feet and with one startled glance leaped away through the tombstones.
    A bizarre eldritch figure, Faro caught one glimpse of a dead white face, huge haunted eyes and tangled hair streaming in the wind.
    'Who on earth was that?' he asked, with a startled glance in Vince's direction. 'Not the bereaved husband, I hope.'
    'No. That was Troller Jack, the blacksmith's brother. Not quite right in the head, alas. Thora Balfray was very good to him, patient and kind. She never dismissed him, as most folk did, as a simpleton to be mocked.
    'Francis told me once that to her Troller was victim of some horrible disorder of the brain he could not control. She spent hours with him, even managed to teach him his letters. And, I gather, he worshipped her. He must have been here since the funeral, paying his own last respects.