"So what's the score with Elginbrod?" asked Teri, as she, Ludmilla and Jasmine made their way to the cottage in Darnick that was the local base for the Scottish Security Service; Jasmine laughed: "he was followed from Jinglin' Geordie's by The Justice League of Auld Reekie a few months ago, all the way to the top of Arthur's Seat—Riddle Rankine and Felix Rosenstiel heard him having some kind of drunken conversation with himself, and then he suddenly launched himself – ran full pelt down the hill in the direction of the Salisbury Crags, with them in hot pursuit, looked like he was going to threw himself off, but an old Irish fellah came out of nowhere and did a rugby tackle, brought him down and they overpowered him; they've been keeping him under wraps in one of their Safe Houses, supervised by Angus Og of the Bog!" and Teri laughed: "the Stand Up, the one with the anthropoglot cockatiel?" which Jasmine confirmed: "yepp, pal of Susan Calmac—you know Elginbrod was suspected of complicity in the attempted murder of Og a few years ago? he was whacked in the head by a shoe with a stiletto heel, lucky to survive; anyway, they've still got him under wraps—they have a pretty tight organisation and we've never been able to find out where he is, not that we've tried hard; there's no love lost between Elginbrod and either Sam or Tavish, but they should both be in so we can ask them," which was when they reached the gate and descended the short flight of old, worn stone steps into the little sun-trap, where, indeed, they found the two senior case-officers sitting in the last rays of the setting sun, reading newspapers and puffing on their pipes; two pint glasses, one half full, the other half empty, stood on the table and Sam Smiles, just reaching for one, looked up as he heard the three young women reach the bottom of the steps: "talk of the banshees," he said with a wide grin, and a jovial wink: "how'd you get on with the nippers?" and Jasmine said: "great, guv, they've given us some good leads and Ludmilla's going to follow them up, but we were wondering about Martin Elginbrod—he's still MacFarlane's lawyer, isn't he?" so Tavish sucked thoughtfully on his pipe and squinted back: "his family have been lawyers for MacFarlane's family since the 13th Century—although, of course, if Ludmilla's right, and all the appearances of MacFarlane's supposed descendants, since then, have been just Sir Parlane, with occasional name changes, popping up here, there and everywhere, to plunder, pillage, commit lèse-majesté, rape nuns and vestal virgins, maybe there might be confirmation of that in Elginbrod's archives; let me call Lord Linkumdoddie, I've known him since Uni, and he's in The Justice League of Auld Reekie, Hell, he founded it—I'm not going to ask him where they've got the scumbag, because I don't want to put him in a position where he might feel he has to lie to me, but I'll tell him what we're thinking; Riddle Rankine is the Chief Clerk at Elginbrod's chambers so if anyone's going to know where Elginbrod keeps his secrets, it's him," and taking out his mobile, he strolled to the shade of an old apple tree but before he could make his call, a strange cacophony burst from the phone – Tavish smiled apologetically for his ringtone: "it's Johnny Beattie's Glasgow Rap!" then answered and nodded to the others, mouthing: "it's Jock Linkumdoddie – either he's psychic or he's got us bugged," and Sam laughed: "you know, I wouldn't put it past them, we've not had this place swept for quite a while."