Malice in the Highlands
“He had set out from the hotel after lunch to snatch an hour or two of fishing. It was a glorious spring afternoon; green sallies of larch and feathery birches softened the stern relief of the headlands, a gentle breeze blew down the strath, and a pair of ospreys wheeled and searched overhead. Fishermen worked their beats with long rods and graceful Spey casts. Others sat on freshly painted white benches spaced at intervals along the river-bank, chatting about the prospects while waiting their t...urn to fish. The pervasive murmur of the river and the hum of insects created an almost overwhelming sense of tranquillity.Powell paused to rest on a bench on a pleasant little hillock overlooking the river, settling back to observe the fisherman directly below him. Something about the man seemed familiar, but Powell, lulled by the attractiveness of his surroundings, couldn't put his finger on it. The fisherman took a step downstream after each cast and had soon worked his way down to the rapids at the lower end of the pool.MoreLess
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